Postpartum: An invitation to rest

Last February at the online Catholic Writer’s Conference, I gave a talk about the importance of rest. One of the elements of rest that I discussed was “unproductive leisure" that does not prioritize productivity but instead focuses on resting and letting ourselves be rejuvenated in God. Unproductive leisure invites us to fully live in the present moment, to simply be.

As I spend day after day curled up on the couch with my newborn baby, my thoughts drift back to this concept. In our current American culture, this unproductive leisure can be difficult to pursue. Whether explicitly or implicitly, we often receive pressure to be productive and “get stuff done.” Yet, we are not robots with the sole purpose of creating products or performing certain functions; we are human beings, made in God’s image and likeness. When we rest and engage in unproductive leisure, we can remember our intrinsic worth and dignity. We also can remember that God invites us to rest in him.

Not only does this unproductive leisure benefit us, but it’s a witness to others; an encouragement that they, too, can rest. As much as I believe in the importance of rest, it can be hard to prioritize it at times. I’m grateful that some women I know have outright encouraged me to rest and really take it easy after having a baby. This precious postpartum time is an invitation into rest, and with each child that I birth, I plunge deeper into unproductive leisure. 

Tuesday Newsday is Overrated

My husband navigated our minivan down the long winding road that led away from the monastery. Our hearts and souls were filled with joyful peace from our time of prayer, and our shopping bag was filled with delicious treats that we purchased from the monks. 

Suddenly, as we drove into town, our gaze was hit by the chaos of culture: noisy cars, marijuana dispensaries, and billboards that cluttered the wide Oklahoma sky. 

"The monks aren't really missing much," I mused. 

Earlier that day, we had knelt in the dark immensity of the abbey's upper church. Amidst the flickers of candlelight, monks in flowing robes had filed into the church. I was filled with an overwhelming sense that I had stepped back in time. The monks soon filled the air with chanting, and as I joined my own silent prayers to the Latin chants of the monks, I thought about how small my problems really were. Yes, whatever problems and challenges I was undergoing were valid, but in the grand scheme of things, were they really that big of a deal? The cares and concerns of my daily life melted into the great stillness and peace of this monastery. 

That day at the monastery offered a chance for prayer and relaxation as a family as we hiked across the grounds, prayed in the church, and looked at the sheep and cows that grazed nearby. Yet, while our monastic outing was a good opportunity for prayer and contemplation, it also provided a good way to gain perspective. All of the stresses in my life and the culture seemed so small when I thought about them from the distance of the monastery. The choir stalls were filled with young monks, old monks, and young men who are discerning vocations to monastic life. These men spend their lives in contemplative prayer and work, offering life-giving hospitality to all who approach. Their lives are centered wholly and completely on God as they actively prepare for eternal life. 

A Education in Life

"You need to bring the kids over. Come anytime!" From beneath her white veil, the religious sister smiled at me and continued to insist. "Bring the kids over!" 

I knew that I needed to finally do it. 

When I had first learned that this woman had opened a home for elderly people and those near death, I was excited. The life-affirming mission of this home was beautiful. Yet, I hadn't taken my kids; it was hard to determine the "perfect" time to make a trip. However, that day after Mass, the answer popped in my head. 

"What if we just came and brought our schoolbooks?" I said slowly, turning the idea over in my mind. Instead of meandering home or heading to a park after daily Mass, once a week we could drive over to this home for the dying instead.

It would be, I realized, an answer to a prayer that dwelled in the depths of my heart.  

When we visited relatives last Christmas, I thought about how good it is to be with others, even if we aren't constantly doing an activity together. There's something reassuring and comforting about curling up on a couch with a book and seeing a couple other people playing a game nearby or watching a show together. Just being around other people, in community, is a beautiful and consoling thing. 

Rest and the Great Commandment

This scene has played out in my home more times than I can count:

I’ll be trying to accomplish something—put dinner on the table, take care of a crying child while other kids are asking me questions, respond to a month-old message from a friend—and my voice pierces through the crying and clamoring: “I’m trying, I’m working so hard, please just be patient.” I have a smile on my face, but the tension in my voice and shoulders quickly spreads throughout the room. I know that I'm on the brink of exploding into frustration. Sometimes, the dam breaks and my exhaustion and anger burst out into biting words. 

My husband’s voice calls out as he enters the room. “Do you need to go sit by yourself in your room?” 

Good man that he is, he sees through my attempted charade of patience and handles the situation while I dash down the hallway for respite. The overstimulation of the moment begins to dissipate as I let my body and my mind rest. Despite my best efforts, I struggled to patiently love others when I was wound up and filled with unrest. 

Just moments later, I am refreshed by my rest. I am renewed and once again can care for my children with patience and charity.  

While I continue to fall short of how God calls me to love, it always comes more naturally and easily when I’m encountering others from a place of rest and peace.

We often refuse to rest or even believe that we haven’t “earned the right” to rest. All sorts of excuses and objections fly up that hold us back from experiencing deep, healing rest in God. Yet, the more I explore this topic in my prayer and work, the more convicted I grow that rest is absolutely necessary for each and every one of us. While there are many mental, physical, creative, and professional benefits to regular rest, one of the most important fruits of rest slammed into my brain only a few months ago: Rest helps us live out the Great Commandment.

How Catholic parishes can support homeschooling families

My family and I are moving to the area soon, and we're homeschoolers. What is a good church that offers opportunities for homeschooling families?

A variation of this question regularly pops up within social media groups, especially as people look ahead to the coming school year. Over time, I've noticed that in the Catholic community, the same handful of parishes tend to be recommended over and over. Homeschooling families flock to these parish communities. They know they will be supported in their educational journey, and they are excited about the existing opportunities they can enjoy. 

It's wonderful when parishes encourage homeschooling families, and I'm grateful for the encouragement that homeschoolers receive from the diocese as well. However, I wonder if more parishes could join in this support and outreach. Catholic parishes do a fantastic job supporting and celebrating Catholic education when it comes to the school system. Yet, there are families in the pews who seek a Catholic education through homeschooling. 

Homeschooling families are part of the parish community, even if we don't utilize the Catholic school system. We don't need a homeschooling equivalent of Catholic Schools Week, but we would love encouragement and support, too. I've encountered Catholic homeschooling communities across America, and between my experiences and those of my friends and acquaintances, I've observed different ways that Catholic parishes can reach out to homeschooling families. Here are a few ideas to get us started as we support these families in their mission and work: 

Gather 'round the manger

The other day, our family attended an annual Advent Lessons & Carols; an event which intersperses Bible readings and hymns that prepare us for the coming of Christ. During the “Third Lesson,” from the Book of Isaiah, the following happened in our pew:

Reader: “They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace.”

My preschooler, an incredulous look flooding her face, leans over and whispers: “She said Princess Peach!”

Me: “Shhhh…no.”

My preschooler stands up on her seat, indignant as she loudly whispers: “SHE DID! SHE SAID PRINCESS PEACH!”

And thus begins Advent.

We've been gently easing into this new liturgical year, and only just pulled out our nativity sets and Advent materials a couple days ago. My young children excitedly opened boxes, handing plush nativity pieces to the toddler and "fluffing" our small tree. My five-year-old took it upon himself to set up the breakable nativity set on our counter. I walked over to see his work, and I noticed that he had arranged the pieces in the same way that he did last year.  

On Reading Cookbooks

As a young child, I'd page through the Philadelphia Cream Cheese cookbook, gazing at the photographs of creamy cheesecakes with longing. I'd happily pore over the themed crafts and recipes of the American Girl party book. Sometimes, I would even peek at the diagrams and detailed instructions of The Joy of Cooking with amazement. 

I loved reading cookbooks as a kid. 

Years later, when I got married and began setting up a home with my husband, I found myself scrolling through recipe websites as I planned our meals. As convenient as this was, however, it was not the same experience as my cookbook-filled childhood. So, I began to drift to the cookbook section of the library.  Eventually, one of my children even went through a phase as a toddler of always selecting a cookbook at the library each week. We'd spend great lengths of time on the couch oohing and aahing over photographs of food. 

There's something special about rifling through cookbooks; of looking at the glossy photographs and imagining that very dish sitting on my table. Of calling my children near to look at this! Of walking into the room and seeing my children curled up on the couch with a cookbook spread across their small laps. 

I really love food, so I think it's fitting that I enjoy reading through cookbooks. However, I've begun to wonder if my appreciation for these books goes even deeper than this.  

Musings on a broken butter dish

The glass jar was sitting too close to the edge of the counter. 

When I noticed that empty yeast jar, my mind immediately flashed to one of my young children accidentally knocking it onto the hard tile: a beautiful floor that brutally shatters everything that falls upon it.

I tucked my laptop under one arm and my opposite hand reached over to move the jar out of harm’s way until I could put it in the recycling bin. Flick. I accidentally bumped it into the butter dish. The handle of the butter dish—a little ceramic bird—flew to the counter, then slipped to the floor.

I slowly picked the shards up from the floor, shaking my head at the irony. 

All I was trying to do was move a now-useless yeast jar so that it wouldn’t smash in the floor; but I had to clean up shards anyway—and now my butter dish has rough, sharp edges. Really?

Writing through Burnout: Pursuing creative work when life feels overwhelming

I sit on the kitchen floor and place the baby nearby with toys. The toddler is napping in bed, and the two other children play quietly in the living room. I open a new document on my computer, proudly typing out the words: DRAFT 2. This is it--I am finally beginning a full rewrite of my book.  

My already-scattered thoughts started to drift away as my baby bangs on a tambourine and waves her arms. She gazes at me in anguish. It's okay, I can still do this, I think to myself. I pull her into my lap and wrap my arms around her, my fingers reaching for the keyboard. Slowly, the sentences start to form on the page, but progress is slow. The baby begins to grow even crankier, and I rush her to the bedroom, hopeful that she'll nap. I return to my spot in the kitchen and sigh, relieved that I finally have a chance to write in peace and quiet. 

I begin to type frantically. 

My other children appear. 

"Go back to rest time!" I insist. 

After several minutes of guiding them away (only for them to quickly return), I finally declare: "Okay, give me ten minutes of silence, and then you can be done with rest time." 

My children prance away to play, and I type as fast as I can, trying hard to fling words onto the page as I seize the rapidly disappearing minutes. Feelings of frustration begin to bubble within me, but alongside this, a strong conviction rises up: 

This is work that I can do--that I need to do!--in spite of any difficulties. It may not happen on my timeline or come together as quickly as I want, but it is still worthwhile--and I can do it.

Within the past few years, I've had a number of conversations about the creative life. The people I've spoken with have differed from each other: single, married, male, female, those with kids and those with no kids. Yet, despite the differences, there's a question that unifies us: 

How do I pursue my own creative projects when there's a lot going on?

We've all endured phases when life feels like a lot to handle. We may routinely feel frazzled or exhausted after a long day at the office. We may feel overwhelmed and overstimulated from being with other people all day long. The tragedies of the world might weigh on us in an emotionally heavy way. Any number of other factors can pour into our lives, and together, our creative work remains a dream for "someday."

Someday, when I'm in a new life phase...

Someday, when my kids are older...

Someday, when I have more time...

Someday, when I have a different job...

With so many demands in our lives, we may set our creative desires aside for months, or years. But, perhaps we don't want to do this. Maybe we want to engage in creative work now, in spite of less-than-ideal circumstances. We may even have the time, space, and materials for our creative pursuits. However, the exhaustion of our daily lives can begin to smother our aspirations. Feelings of burnout and mental fatigue grow. Our initial enthusiasm begins to dissipate. Maybe someday, I can try again...

What can we do when burnout knocks on the door? 

I look for an easy answer, but memories fly through my mind instead. 

The Tragedy of Mandatory "Sacrament Systems"

I remember how excited I was when I figured out that I could receive the Sacrament of Confirmation "earlier" than my peers at other parishes. My family had moved to a new state, and many churches in the diocese offered Confirmation for teens who were sophomores in high school. However, the Roman Catholic parish we joined offered Confirmation for high school students every two years--and it just so happened that I would be a freshman when the bishop came to administer this sacrament. With excitement, I tried to patiently wait for the day when I would receive this special outpouring of the Holy Spirit, as the Apostles did in the Upper Room (cf. Acts 2:1-4).  

I was ecstatic to be confirmed, and I was immensely grateful to God that I would be confirmed "early." In my excitement, naivety, and self-centeredness, I didn't even think about how tragic this was: that while I got to receive Confirmation as a fifteen-year-old, many of my friends would be deprived of this sacramental grace for another year. This was just "how the system worked." 

The "system" ("the way things are done here") decreed that the availability of this particular Sacrament of Initiation depended on what parish you attended. 

I had many classmates who belonged to parishes where Confirmation was only offered to sophomores, but these teenagers needed this sacrament just as much as I did. Why did I get the special privilege of not "having to wait" another year? 

The "sacrament system" at our parish worked in my favor.  

When you've grown up Catholic and you've seen things done a certain way for several years, it can be easy to assume that the way things are done is the one right way. If the systems seem to be working fairly well, we can just continue doing what we've been doing. We see no need to change things, so we don't. We attend Mass, celebrate the liturgical year in our homes and parishes, and we abide by the systems that regulate how the sacraments are administered. 

I've found that often, the people involved in the "sacrament systems" have a deep love for God and good intentions. Many times, these people have moved into a job or parish with no control over the existing systems that are in place. They try to do the best they can, with what they've been given. These people--both clergy and lay--offer a tremendous amount of their time and their talent to God, the parish, and the community. I am grateful for their many sacrifices. 

Unfortunately, there is a basic element that--at some point in history--went missing in our conversations about the "sacrament systems": A foundational examination of the Sacraments of Initiation. 

Tornado Warning

It was a calm and lovely morning. The kids covered our living room in toys as they created imaginative games to play with each other. I drank coffee, worked on writing projects, and played with my baby and toddler. Our neighbor's chicken flew into our backyard, and my kids happily tried to sneak up on it. The weather was perfect for shifting from outside to inside to outside again. 

After lunch, I told the kids that I could watch the street so they could ride bikes. One of my sons cheered, and my kids all dashed outside. I settled on the grass with the baby, and was about to pick up a novel as my preschooler zoomed up and down the quiet street. Suddenly, I heard it: a faint whining sound in the wind. Is that a tornado siren? I wondered. I squinted my eyes, trying to concentrate on that sound. Maybe it was a tornado siren from a nearby area. Or, it could just be someone mowing a lawn. I decided on the latter. 

My kids continued to play as I glanced up and down the unmoving street. And then I heard a mechanical voice ring out over a loudspeaker: 

…This is a tornado warning. Take shelter now…this is a tornado warning. Take shelter now.

 Huh, I’ve never heard a voice accompanying the siren before, I thought. I wonder why—perhaps the tornado is moving especially fast. Should I be concerned?

The voice continued to drone on, naming a tornado in an area just a couple miles away from our home.  

This is a tornado warning. Take shelter now.

“Kids, time to put up the bikes,” I declared as I grabbed the baby.  

Teething: a haiku

I have some thoughts and reflections on life and the world that are simmering. 

However, my toddler currently loves hitting the laptop's keys when I'm trying to write, and because all the kids now know how to unlock my bedroom door, there is no place I can hide to blog during the day...except the tornado shelter (which does not have an outlet for my laptop. Otherwise, I may consider it). 

This fact, combined with my total lack of energy thanks to lots of behavioral and physical developments my kids are going through has caused my writing life to be a bit lackluster lately. 

So, instead of a long post about Catholicism, literature, parenting, or whatever else I'd like to rant about, please enjoy this brief poem that was inspired by the lovely springtime and the not-as-lovely bout of teething that my baby is currently enduring ;) 

Lent, life, and a shrine: Spring 2023

Happy Ash Wednesday, everyone! We made it to an early Mass as a family today, and although it's a penitential day, I also experienced a deep joy...for beginning the day with a beautiful liturgy (with several other people, too!) and also entering the fantastic season of Lent. I felt renewed as we prayed together in the liturgy; today feels like a fresh start. We can begin again to plunge deeper into our relationship with God. We can refocus on the path of holiness. We can truly leave the past behind and step forward in faith, trusting that God will refresh and restore our weary hearts and souls.

 

Since it's so much fun to talk and think about food on penitential days: My husband recently started watching short food videos by Gordon Ramsay, and he's taken our family's scrambled egg game to the next level. (When I make food, I put together something super simple and throw it on plates; when my husband makes food, he creates gorgeous platters of deliciousness. It is always a treat when he prepares food for us!)

My husband put together this breakfast after Mass one Saturday morning.

Keeping vigil

Darkness fell over the city as we brushed teeth, grabbed breviaries, donned our Sunday Best, and hopped in the minivan. Gentle anticipation building, we drove down the highway while praying Night Prayer. 

City lights twinkled across downtown, mirroring our joy and excitement. Soon, we turned onto a side street and saw the cathedral looming ahead. Rows and rows of parked cars met our eyes. We saw people exit and enter the cathedral continuously. We grabbed hands and ventured across the dark parking lot and through the large cathedral doors. 

We were met with a hushed awe. 

A Rule of Life: Daily Mass

I once wrote about the importance of prioritizing our priorities; of making the time and space for the different things that are important in our lives--even when those look different from the priorities and values of other people. In that post, I mentioned that my husband and I practically accomplish this through our Rule of Life (a basic framework for how we want to live). I thought it would be fun to write a small series of posts that dive into a few different elements of our Rule of Life. 

Today, I'd like to share one element of our family's Rule of Life: Daily Mass.

An endless cup of coffee

I glanced at my three older children as we squeezed on the couch together. "We'll finish our stories and then I'll make coffee," I explained. They nodded in acknowledgment and focused their eyes on the pictures of a young frog and his family. Soon--once our story was finished and we had completed an I Spy challenge together--I leapt off the couch and dashed to the kitchen, hoping that I could make (and drink) a cup of coffee in peace and quiet before the baby woke from her nap. 

Naturally, as soon as I poured water from the steaming kettle into the French press, I heard the baby's cries. Setting the timer, I held the baby and began nursing her. Meanwhile, instead of happily settling into playtime as usual, my other children began simmering with an incoming chaos. We needed a new plan. 

"Everybody!" I called out. "Who wants to drop books off at the library before Mass?" As soon as my children heard me mention the library with a fancy book drop (which includes a conveyor belt that sorts books) their collective attitude shifted. They began hastily buttoning dress shirts and putting on shoes. I coaxed the baby off my chest and ran to my pot of coffee. The toddler and one of her brothers followed, so I poured them each a tiny amount and dumped the rest into a travel mug that I pushed out of their reach. 

I'll drink that in the car, I thought to myself as I trotted to the bedroom. My two-year-old followed, happily sipping her little cup of coffee. Hoping for just a moment of solitude, I locked myself in the bedroom and got ready for the day. When I emerged a couple minutes later, my two-year-old was still delightedly scampering around, sipping coffee. 

On low expectations

My house is currently filthy.

The living room is one solid layer of toys and dress-up clothes, the office is a sea of papers, markers, and crayons, and the dining room is sprinkled with dried granola. The baby, thankfully, went down for a nap (in the bedroom and not on me!), and my first instinct was to clean everything frantically. However, my husband and I are trying to teach our kids how to clean up after themselves, and I made it clear to my kids that I would clean with them, but not for them. To which they responded with a wave of a hand and a declaration that "I'm not going to clean." Particularly since I’m on day 2 of not having a voice, thanks to the cold that our family is dealing with, I have no motivation to instruct them on every single piece they need to pick up.

There was an old lady who swallowed a fly: Fall 2022

"There was an old lady who swallowed a fly. I don't know why she swallowed a fly"

I have a theory as to why the old lady swallowed a fly. 

Perhaps: She had been busily cooking a dish of fried cabbage, pork, and noodles in tonkatsu sauce, and it was finished. She was hungry, tired, and hot from working in the kitchen. She plunked the food on the table, and one of her children immediately began asking for food, over and over again, while another child was trying to dive her hands into the skillet to help herself. And in all of this clamor, as she scooped up noodles from the pan, she saw it: a black fleck. Must just be a bit of food that got charred in the cast iron, she thought. But then, she noticed tiny legs and little wings, and a limp, unmoving body. IT'S A FLY! 

And as one child continued to loudly ask for food, and another child tried to dive into the hot noodles, the lady tried to extricate this fly (while keeping her eye on the child who was about to burn herself on the cast iron pan), but the noodles were hot and slippery and she was distracted and all of a sudden, the fly was gone. There was no fly on the table, and no fly sitting on the surface of the noodles that she had worked so hard to make. So, the lady and her family ate, their eyes watchful for that little fly, but they could not find it, leaving her to conclude that someone (maybe herself?) must have eaten it. Perhaps, it got crushed and blended into the sauce. The lady thought back to a recent day, when she walked in on two houseflies who were mating in the doorway to her kitchen. Flies in the house are awful, she concluded as she feasted on her noodles that evening. 

That is why the old lady swallowed a fly. At least, it's my current theory. 

As you can see, it's been quite an adventurous falltime over here ;) 

Baby Girl is two months old, and the past several weeks have been wonderful, peaceful, and full of adventure. I am a big-time believer in "taking it easy" after having a baby, and I have thankfully been able to ease into "normal life" very slowly. The first few weeks of newborn life were very restful, but surprisingly full. 

Alexander had a Terrible Day—and it's OK to admit that

Years ago, when someone gave our family a copy of Judith Viorst's classic picture book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, I looked at it askance. I could not recall if I had ever read it myself as a child, because the title itself went against a particular belief that was engrained in me:

A Bad Day? We shouldn't EVER say that.

At some point, I had absorbed the idea that it is wrong to call any day "bad." Every day is a gift from God, so every day is good--and saying that we're having a "bad day" is not expressing an attitude of thankfulness to God for his gifts. I took this line of reasoning to mean that I could admit to occasionally having a "hard" day, but I could NEVER admit to having a terrible day or a bad day. 

Unfortunately, this logic helped me cultivate an unhealthy view of emotions. If something sad, bad, or difficult happened to me, I would push it down, frantically looking for the gift and blessing as soon as possible. I needed to embrace the gifts that God gave me with a thankful spirit! I needed to practice gratitude!

A Rule of Life: Marian Consecration

I once wrote about the importance of prioritizing our priorities; of making the time and space for the different things that are important in our lives--even when those look different from the priorities and values of other people. In that post, I mentioned that my husband and I practically accomplish this through our Rule of Life (a basic framework for how we want to live). I thought it would be fun to write a small series of posts that dive into a few different elements of our Rule of Life. 

Today, I'd like to share one element of our family's Rule of Life: Marian Consecration