I rediscovered how much I love the coast over this last weekend. I have always loved being out of the city/suburbs and before gas prices soared I used to just get in the car with the kids and drive anywhere to be away from buildings and manicured lawns. Other than the annual homeschool camping trip that we look forward to every year, we have stayed close to home for a while now. After Jonathan's death my sister, Melinda, would hike almost every weekend and found that it was very healing for her. I think she may be onto something. I've spent the last year mostly at home and not really interested in being around people, but I'm beginning to think that something needs to change. Going out to the coast reminded me how connected I feel to God through the water. I don't know what it is or why, but being near a natural source of water has always brought me peace. Whether it is going to one of the waterfalls, the river or the beach I just need to be near it. I sleep a lot better when I can hear the steady drumming of rain, the crashing of waves or the flowing of a stream or river. I suppose that is one reason why the Pacific Northwest has always felt like home to me.
The only thing I wish we had done differently on the trip was to have more quiet time. We saw some amazing things and did a lot more than I thought we would manage to squeeze in, but I wish we had more down time. I had my mornings with a cup of coffee just sitting watching and listening to the waves and birds, but more would have been good. Next time.
I do have to admit that I like the comforts of society. I grew up camping the "real way" with my parents that involved driving out to the middle of nowhere (as in no roads in addition to no buildings, running water, electricity, etc), digging our own pit toilet and surviving off only the things we brought for as much as a week. They liked to find the most out of the way places...I really should ask how they found the places they did. I was not a fan of it by the time I reached about 10 years old and we stopped going soon after that. I like having a bed to sleep in, electricity, a heater when it is cold, running water and hot water for a shower. So while our trip included all the standard comforts of home and more, it was still awesome and healing to be able to step outside and be so close to the water. It is something I need to do more often.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
A Year Later
July 20th at a little after 2:30pm, one year ago my life changed in a profound way. Those who know me well know that I over-think everything. That means this post will be rewritten too many times before I finally post it. Writing/talking things out helps me work through what I am thinking, but getting it down in a coherent way that I am willing to make public is harder.
Jeff was unemployed at the time and therefore at home. We were snuggling and talking with the little kids when I got the call. I couldn't believe the words Deborah, my brother's ex-wife, was saying. She told me that she just wanted me to know that Jonathan had died that day. She then went on and on in her usual way of filling the silence talking about a police detective who wouldn't talk to her about the details and therefore wouldn't talk to me (so don't bother calling), about how she would take care of everything because she was the beneficiary, I think she started talking about the details of how/where she would have my brother's remains cared for, then she asked if I heard that she and Jonathan were reconciling. That snapped me out of my fog because Jonathan and I had discussed the "reconciliation" and it was not what she was describing. He needed a place to stay because he was going to lose his house (because of her actions that cost him his security clearance and a good chunk of his salary - something I learned of later) and figured since he was paying for the house she lived in he might as well move in there. He had no intention of reconciling with her, but wanted to be there for his son. When he told me he was going to talk to her I encouraged him to make it clear he was not 'getting back together' but needed to live in the house - their marriage ended after 3 years because of her viscous verbal abuse which continued after the divorce. I may have started arguing with her, but ended up ignoring the tangent she was on and insisted on getting the detective's name and phone number from her. She begrudgingly complied warning me the detective would not speak with me.
The detective did not answer, so I left a message. Then I sent an email asking for prayers for my brother's soul. In between my short bouts of writing or talking I was crying. While I waited for the police detective to call me back I searched desperately online hoping to find news about a car crash or fire, something anything but what I knew had happened.
Jonathan always had a very hard time in social situations. He could not read body language and didn't understand empathy. In talking with him he would go off on tangents for hours about topics that interested him without any prompting - or interest sometimes - from his listeners. He was so very smart when it came to matters of book knowledge and so very lost when you had to add in the human factor. He told me once that even the thought of having to make small talk with others caused him physical pain. It wasn't that he didn't like people, on the contrary he needed that connection with others, it was just that his way of connecting was so different than the norm that it was off-putting for most people. I'm sure there is some kind of fancy label that could have been applied to him, but it doesn't really make a difference now.
In 2001 my entire family had to move from the large house in the South Bay Area in California, so my sister went to Oregon for college, Jeff and I and the kids followed (it was my idea first!), my parents stayed with friends to get back on their feet, my uncle moved into his own apt and Jonathan headed out to Virginia. Even with 3,000 miles between us I remember spending hours on the phone with Jonathan even in those first few months when he was staying with our aunt out in VA. As my family grew over the years, it became harder to have hours available to talk with him. In 2004 Jonathan decided it was time to get married because he was lonely in Maryland (where he had bought a house), so he joined a match-making company hoping it would work out. He wanted a Catholic woman who was loyal to Church teaching esp on things like contraception and abortion because he was so very pro-life. That one thing cut his list down to nothing. They kept setting him up on dates anyway, probably to justify their paycheck, and nothing was working out. Jonathan was frustrated and added in young adult gatherings that a local Catholic parish had. That is where he met Deborah. He was so excited when she called him back. That was his reason for marrying her - she had to be interested in him because she called him back. He had been rejected by so many people throughout his life that he couldn't believe she was interested in him after one conversation (that included his annual income as a networking engineer with a high security clearance and current business/get-rich-quick scheme). I was happy for him because he was happy. Jonathan felt things very deeply, but he wasn't very good about sharing those emotions with others. He also wasn't the most patient of people. On the one hand he used his incredible mind to plot and plan every detail of various schemes and ideas he had but on the other hand he wanted things done immediately when he decided it was time to move. Getting kids ready to go or the time to put them in carseats when we went somewhere with him would make him crazy. Anyway, after about 6 months of dating, Jonathan proposed to Deborah. The description he gave me of her was that she clipped coupons and was very careful with money, she called him regularly, she cared about her 11 year old son and was a good single mom and she was Catholic. She might not be as good a Catholic as he was hoping for, but he had no luck finding a good Catholic anyway. The other thing he said that sticks out in memory was that he could "save" her and her son by providing and caring for them. I think all men want to be the knight in shining armor, and my brother was no different. Our father left our mom with 3 small children and my step-dad had a lot of issues, so I think Jonathan wanted to try and make up for our crappy childhood. During their marriage prep a few warning signs started popping up, and they started fighting over those things. I spoke with her a few times and realized very quickly that they were not a good match. My mom realized the same thing and we tried warning Jonathan, but he had made up his mind to go forward. A few weeks before the wedding, Jonathan told me the honeymoon period was over. I tried warning him of how hard the marriage would be if everything he thought about her was wrong and they were already unhappy, but he was not willing to stop things. They got married in 2005 and problems arose almost immediately. Deborah had lived at her parents house and worked full time throughout her parenting experience, and as someone who did the same thing for a while, it is a hard adjustment to suddenly be a nuclear family. Poor Michael did not adjust well and Deborah disagreed with my brother on how to parent Michael. Once Michael made a few mistakes and ended up in the juvenile system, everything got worse. Through a difficult pregnancy, the housing market collapse, a disastrous attempt at being landlords, out of control spending and very different approaches to life and Catholicism, the marriage failed. Jonathan moved out in Jan 2009 after a particularly bad argument that caused him to call 911 to have the police there to protect him as he gathered his things and left. He continued to pay the bills and gave Deborah a few hundred dollars every month for things for David (their 2 year old son), but told her she would need to get a job to cover the rest (something they had been fighting over for months). Jonathan was devastated. He didn't understand why things got so bad, so just before leaving his marriage he left the Church. He told me it wasn't that he thought the Church was wrong, it was that he just didn't care about doing the "right" thing anymore. He had lived his entire life doing the "right" thing, and he had nothing good to show for it. The therapist he had been seeing for about a year had put him on anti-depressants and that definitely changed his personality and outlook on life. His phone calls came farther and farther apart, and were more cryptic. He told me that he had his faith in God restored, but didn't want to talk about what had happened. Then in Sept 2009 our grandma died rather suddenly and no one could get in touch with Jonathan. I began to worry, but continued living life. Then in January Jonathan called me. We had never been out of touch for so long. He told me that he had had a mental break and that he had ended up committing himself back in Sept because he was afraid he would hurt himself. He was there for a few weeks and felt like he was doing ok now. I encouraged him to get in touch with his closest friend from before his marriage who was a priest to talk about the demonic aspect of what he was describing. The way my brother described what was going on with him reminded me of Screwtape Letters. It was as if he could actually hear the angel and demon whispering in his ear. It sounded a lot like demonic obsession (as opposed to demonic possession). Whether there is a scientific/medical explanation for it or not, it doesn't change that it could have been happening. He had been taking anti-psychotic medication and was seeing his therapist regularly, which is why I suggested adding the spiritual to that routine. I spent hours everyday in the beginning talking to Jonathan because he said the voices didn't bother him as much when we talked. As time went on, the conversations would happen every few days and as he spent more and more time at our Aunt and Uncle's house there would be longer gaps between calls. During all of this, Jonathan did his best to keep Deborah out of the loop because he knew she would use it against him - he would have me listen to the angry, mean calls that would come in when we were on the phone (he called through his computer to avoid paying long distance charges) for hours. He started going to Mass again and became close to the pastor at the Benedictine church he could walk to from his house. He had been doing day trading for about a year or so to support both households and was doing pretty well with it. Things were looking up. Then somehow Deborah got enough details of his mental state to call his work and inform them that he had mental problems. Since his job required a high security clearance, they revoked his clearance until an investigation could be done. He was moved to another building and his pay was cut. He was also switched to a day shift, so he was working around a lot of people which has always caused him problems. After another stint in the hospital (one where he could call and let me know what was going on), he was moving forward. He gave the investigators all they needed and they were sure that his clearance would be reinstated since his issues were not going to affect national security.
July 20th, 2010. It had been about 3 weeks since I had heard from Jonathan. Our last conversation had been about money. The stock market was not doing well, so he had lost a lot of money. He could no longer afford to support both houses, was looking at having to declare bankruptcy and he wanted to spend more time with his son David, so he figured he could move back into the house since he was paying for it anyway. I cautioned him to be careful since the mean phone calls had continued and he had been so miserable when he was there before. He assured me he would be cautious.
As I waited for the detective to call me back, I knew. I knew he had killed himself. My brother who had spent almost his entire life doing the right thing. He had been a good Catholic, even when it was hard (other than the 1 year). He got it. He understood Faith even when there were so many things in life he didn't get. He knew so much - most of my Catholic education had been from him. If it weren't for his influence I don't know if I would be Catholic today. How, how could the Devil win with someone like Jonathan? It wasn't fair, more than that, the thought was unbearable.
The detective called me back as soon as she finished talking to my mom. She apologized for Deborah calling me. She had called Deborah (even though the divorce was finalized) to get phone numbers for our family and Deborah had been uncooperative. She had asked Deborah not to call anyone, and that she would handle things. The detective had to search my brother's things to find the phone numbers which sadly gave Deborah enough time to start calling people. Since Deborah had never liked my mom much (or maybe it was because she knew how much time Jonathan and I spent talking), she called me first so thankfully the detective was able to be the one to call my mom. Not only had Jonathan killed himself, he had done it very publicly at work - something way out of character. He was such a private person, he handled things on his own as much as possible. It just didn't make any sense. There was no evidence that he had planned to kill himself, and the detective was at a loss as to what pushed him over the edge. She felt in her gut there was more to it, but she could not prove anything. The next few months were spent sorting out Jonathan's affairs as much as possible. My mom as next of kin flew out and stayed with my aunt and uncle while dealing with everything. Since she is disabled, they had to do a lot to help her. If it weren't for their support I don't think my mom would have been able to function. There were little things we discovered that gave us hope for his soul - there was absolutely no sign of planning suicide, he had even just gone grocery shopping and ordered something from Amazon before he died. My mom found and talked to the priest Jonathan had been to regularly. He said Jonathan had been working to get better and that he had been to Confession regularly. The list goes on.
Since Jonathan had talked to me about wanting to move out to Oregon to be closer to family (once he got a more favorable custody arrangement and got his finances sorted out), we decided to bury him out here. Throughout all of this, Deborah was livid. She felt she should be in charge of everything and was not happy that as an ex-wife she had no claim. She had recently been named the sole beneficiary on all Jonathan's insurance policies, and we were not fighting that. We just wanted to bury Jonathan out here close to family who loved him. Deborah refused to be helpful in any way and would not let my mom see her grandson whom she had never met. My mom did her best while mourning her son, getting nasty calls from Deborah and resistance from my brother's bank and work to settle his estate. There wasn't much because of how much debt Jonathan had, but she did the best she could. Deborah ended up suing my mom to take over as administrator, so my mom came back out here to Oregon (my dad had moved up here the summer before and my mom had been taking care of her dad after my grandma died) and we buried Jonathan before the court date. Deborah won the case and was appointed administrator. She started calling every place we paid (for the cremation, burial, the church where the Funeral Mass was said, shipping his personal affects, etc) to harass them about how much money was spent and how she was not happy that nothing could be done. From the bank accounts that were pay-on-death and therefore not part of the estate and the insurance, Deborah should have gotten about $350,000. Jonathan's estate was about $8,000 which barely covered administrative costs, burial expenses and shipping. Every now and then I hear rumors that Deborah plans to sue my mom over the $8,000, but so far nothing has happened.
The last year has been a roller coaster. I feel like I lost a year. I can think of all the things I did, but it doesn't feel like I was living those memories, just going from thing to thing. I think I am doing better now. I still have off days, but overall I feel like I am starting to live again. I pray for Jonathan's soul regularly and hope that someday I can ask him what happened. In the meantime I plan to thwart the devil in any way I can, and maybe I can help get a few more souls out of his clutches along the way - just the way Jonathan would have wanted it.
Jeff was unemployed at the time and therefore at home. We were snuggling and talking with the little kids when I got the call. I couldn't believe the words Deborah, my brother's ex-wife, was saying. She told me that she just wanted me to know that Jonathan had died that day. She then went on and on in her usual way of filling the silence talking about a police detective who wouldn't talk to her about the details and therefore wouldn't talk to me (so don't bother calling), about how she would take care of everything because she was the beneficiary, I think she started talking about the details of how/where she would have my brother's remains cared for, then she asked if I heard that she and Jonathan were reconciling. That snapped me out of my fog because Jonathan and I had discussed the "reconciliation" and it was not what she was describing. He needed a place to stay because he was going to lose his house (because of her actions that cost him his security clearance and a good chunk of his salary - something I learned of later) and figured since he was paying for the house she lived in he might as well move in there. He had no intention of reconciling with her, but wanted to be there for his son. When he told me he was going to talk to her I encouraged him to make it clear he was not 'getting back together' but needed to live in the house - their marriage ended after 3 years because of her viscous verbal abuse which continued after the divorce. I may have started arguing with her, but ended up ignoring the tangent she was on and insisted on getting the detective's name and phone number from her. She begrudgingly complied warning me the detective would not speak with me.
The detective did not answer, so I left a message. Then I sent an email asking for prayers for my brother's soul. In between my short bouts of writing or talking I was crying. While I waited for the police detective to call me back I searched desperately online hoping to find news about a car crash or fire, something anything but what I knew had happened.
Jonathan always had a very hard time in social situations. He could not read body language and didn't understand empathy. In talking with him he would go off on tangents for hours about topics that interested him without any prompting - or interest sometimes - from his listeners. He was so very smart when it came to matters of book knowledge and so very lost when you had to add in the human factor. He told me once that even the thought of having to make small talk with others caused him physical pain. It wasn't that he didn't like people, on the contrary he needed that connection with others, it was just that his way of connecting was so different than the norm that it was off-putting for most people. I'm sure there is some kind of fancy label that could have been applied to him, but it doesn't really make a difference now.
In 2001 my entire family had to move from the large house in the South Bay Area in California, so my sister went to Oregon for college, Jeff and I and the kids followed (it was my idea first!), my parents stayed with friends to get back on their feet, my uncle moved into his own apt and Jonathan headed out to Virginia. Even with 3,000 miles between us I remember spending hours on the phone with Jonathan even in those first few months when he was staying with our aunt out in VA. As my family grew over the years, it became harder to have hours available to talk with him. In 2004 Jonathan decided it was time to get married because he was lonely in Maryland (where he had bought a house), so he joined a match-making company hoping it would work out. He wanted a Catholic woman who was loyal to Church teaching esp on things like contraception and abortion because he was so very pro-life. That one thing cut his list down to nothing. They kept setting him up on dates anyway, probably to justify their paycheck, and nothing was working out. Jonathan was frustrated and added in young adult gatherings that a local Catholic parish had. That is where he met Deborah. He was so excited when she called him back. That was his reason for marrying her - she had to be interested in him because she called him back. He had been rejected by so many people throughout his life that he couldn't believe she was interested in him after one conversation (that included his annual income as a networking engineer with a high security clearance and current business/get-rich-quick scheme). I was happy for him because he was happy. Jonathan felt things very deeply, but he wasn't very good about sharing those emotions with others. He also wasn't the most patient of people. On the one hand he used his incredible mind to plot and plan every detail of various schemes and ideas he had but on the other hand he wanted things done immediately when he decided it was time to move. Getting kids ready to go or the time to put them in carseats when we went somewhere with him would make him crazy. Anyway, after about 6 months of dating, Jonathan proposed to Deborah. The description he gave me of her was that she clipped coupons and was very careful with money, she called him regularly, she cared about her 11 year old son and was a good single mom and she was Catholic. She might not be as good a Catholic as he was hoping for, but he had no luck finding a good Catholic anyway. The other thing he said that sticks out in memory was that he could "save" her and her son by providing and caring for them. I think all men want to be the knight in shining armor, and my brother was no different. Our father left our mom with 3 small children and my step-dad had a lot of issues, so I think Jonathan wanted to try and make up for our crappy childhood. During their marriage prep a few warning signs started popping up, and they started fighting over those things. I spoke with her a few times and realized very quickly that they were not a good match. My mom realized the same thing and we tried warning Jonathan, but he had made up his mind to go forward. A few weeks before the wedding, Jonathan told me the honeymoon period was over. I tried warning him of how hard the marriage would be if everything he thought about her was wrong and they were already unhappy, but he was not willing to stop things. They got married in 2005 and problems arose almost immediately. Deborah had lived at her parents house and worked full time throughout her parenting experience, and as someone who did the same thing for a while, it is a hard adjustment to suddenly be a nuclear family. Poor Michael did not adjust well and Deborah disagreed with my brother on how to parent Michael. Once Michael made a few mistakes and ended up in the juvenile system, everything got worse. Through a difficult pregnancy, the housing market collapse, a disastrous attempt at being landlords, out of control spending and very different approaches to life and Catholicism, the marriage failed. Jonathan moved out in Jan 2009 after a particularly bad argument that caused him to call 911 to have the police there to protect him as he gathered his things and left. He continued to pay the bills and gave Deborah a few hundred dollars every month for things for David (their 2 year old son), but told her she would need to get a job to cover the rest (something they had been fighting over for months). Jonathan was devastated. He didn't understand why things got so bad, so just before leaving his marriage he left the Church. He told me it wasn't that he thought the Church was wrong, it was that he just didn't care about doing the "right" thing anymore. He had lived his entire life doing the "right" thing, and he had nothing good to show for it. The therapist he had been seeing for about a year had put him on anti-depressants and that definitely changed his personality and outlook on life. His phone calls came farther and farther apart, and were more cryptic. He told me that he had his faith in God restored, but didn't want to talk about what had happened. Then in Sept 2009 our grandma died rather suddenly and no one could get in touch with Jonathan. I began to worry, but continued living life. Then in January Jonathan called me. We had never been out of touch for so long. He told me that he had had a mental break and that he had ended up committing himself back in Sept because he was afraid he would hurt himself. He was there for a few weeks and felt like he was doing ok now. I encouraged him to get in touch with his closest friend from before his marriage who was a priest to talk about the demonic aspect of what he was describing. The way my brother described what was going on with him reminded me of Screwtape Letters. It was as if he could actually hear the angel and demon whispering in his ear. It sounded a lot like demonic obsession (as opposed to demonic possession). Whether there is a scientific/medical explanation for it or not, it doesn't change that it could have been happening. He had been taking anti-psychotic medication and was seeing his therapist regularly, which is why I suggested adding the spiritual to that routine. I spent hours everyday in the beginning talking to Jonathan because he said the voices didn't bother him as much when we talked. As time went on, the conversations would happen every few days and as he spent more and more time at our Aunt and Uncle's house there would be longer gaps between calls. During all of this, Jonathan did his best to keep Deborah out of the loop because he knew she would use it against him - he would have me listen to the angry, mean calls that would come in when we were on the phone (he called through his computer to avoid paying long distance charges) for hours. He started going to Mass again and became close to the pastor at the Benedictine church he could walk to from his house. He had been doing day trading for about a year or so to support both households and was doing pretty well with it. Things were looking up. Then somehow Deborah got enough details of his mental state to call his work and inform them that he had mental problems. Since his job required a high security clearance, they revoked his clearance until an investigation could be done. He was moved to another building and his pay was cut. He was also switched to a day shift, so he was working around a lot of people which has always caused him problems. After another stint in the hospital (one where he could call and let me know what was going on), he was moving forward. He gave the investigators all they needed and they were sure that his clearance would be reinstated since his issues were not going to affect national security.
July 20th, 2010. It had been about 3 weeks since I had heard from Jonathan. Our last conversation had been about money. The stock market was not doing well, so he had lost a lot of money. He could no longer afford to support both houses, was looking at having to declare bankruptcy and he wanted to spend more time with his son David, so he figured he could move back into the house since he was paying for it anyway. I cautioned him to be careful since the mean phone calls had continued and he had been so miserable when he was there before. He assured me he would be cautious.
As I waited for the detective to call me back, I knew. I knew he had killed himself. My brother who had spent almost his entire life doing the right thing. He had been a good Catholic, even when it was hard (other than the 1 year). He got it. He understood Faith even when there were so many things in life he didn't get. He knew so much - most of my Catholic education had been from him. If it weren't for his influence I don't know if I would be Catholic today. How, how could the Devil win with someone like Jonathan? It wasn't fair, more than that, the thought was unbearable.
The detective called me back as soon as she finished talking to my mom. She apologized for Deborah calling me. She had called Deborah (even though the divorce was finalized) to get phone numbers for our family and Deborah had been uncooperative. She had asked Deborah not to call anyone, and that she would handle things. The detective had to search my brother's things to find the phone numbers which sadly gave Deborah enough time to start calling people. Since Deborah had never liked my mom much (or maybe it was because she knew how much time Jonathan and I spent talking), she called me first so thankfully the detective was able to be the one to call my mom. Not only had Jonathan killed himself, he had done it very publicly at work - something way out of character. He was such a private person, he handled things on his own as much as possible. It just didn't make any sense. There was no evidence that he had planned to kill himself, and the detective was at a loss as to what pushed him over the edge. She felt in her gut there was more to it, but she could not prove anything. The next few months were spent sorting out Jonathan's affairs as much as possible. My mom as next of kin flew out and stayed with my aunt and uncle while dealing with everything. Since she is disabled, they had to do a lot to help her. If it weren't for their support I don't think my mom would have been able to function. There were little things we discovered that gave us hope for his soul - there was absolutely no sign of planning suicide, he had even just gone grocery shopping and ordered something from Amazon before he died. My mom found and talked to the priest Jonathan had been to regularly. He said Jonathan had been working to get better and that he had been to Confession regularly. The list goes on.
Since Jonathan had talked to me about wanting to move out to Oregon to be closer to family (once he got a more favorable custody arrangement and got his finances sorted out), we decided to bury him out here. Throughout all of this, Deborah was livid. She felt she should be in charge of everything and was not happy that as an ex-wife she had no claim. She had recently been named the sole beneficiary on all Jonathan's insurance policies, and we were not fighting that. We just wanted to bury Jonathan out here close to family who loved him. Deborah refused to be helpful in any way and would not let my mom see her grandson whom she had never met. My mom did her best while mourning her son, getting nasty calls from Deborah and resistance from my brother's bank and work to settle his estate. There wasn't much because of how much debt Jonathan had, but she did the best she could. Deborah ended up suing my mom to take over as administrator, so my mom came back out here to Oregon (my dad had moved up here the summer before and my mom had been taking care of her dad after my grandma died) and we buried Jonathan before the court date. Deborah won the case and was appointed administrator. She started calling every place we paid (for the cremation, burial, the church where the Funeral Mass was said, shipping his personal affects, etc) to harass them about how much money was spent and how she was not happy that nothing could be done. From the bank accounts that were pay-on-death and therefore not part of the estate and the insurance, Deborah should have gotten about $350,000. Jonathan's estate was about $8,000 which barely covered administrative costs, burial expenses and shipping. Every now and then I hear rumors that Deborah plans to sue my mom over the $8,000, but so far nothing has happened.
The last year has been a roller coaster. I feel like I lost a year. I can think of all the things I did, but it doesn't feel like I was living those memories, just going from thing to thing. I think I am doing better now. I still have off days, but overall I feel like I am starting to live again. I pray for Jonathan's soul regularly and hope that someday I can ask him what happened. In the meantime I plan to thwart the devil in any way I can, and maybe I can help get a few more souls out of his clutches along the way - just the way Jonathan would have wanted it.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
I realized last night how much I have gotten done around the house this week. One of the things I let go last summer after Jonathan died was the backyard. I didn't touch it, so the last time it was mowed or weeded was summer of 09. That is a lot of growth - some of the grass and weeds were 3-4' tall and the weeds I had previously been pulling out spread happily under my neglect. It took another 4 hours to dig up blackberries, gather sticks (we have a 40' willow tree on our small lot, so there are many, many sticks) and rocks and mow one corner of the yard. Then another 4 hours to finish mowing and hand weed a bit around the raspberries that are coming out farther into the yard than I planned for. It is amazing the difference a little care makes! The yard seems quite a bit larger now that it has been cleaned up some. There is still plenty of work that needs to be done, but at least I can go outside and not feel like there is one more pressing item on my To Do list.
The other big project I worked on this week was cleaning up the garage. Our house is 1000sq ft with a full, mostly unfinished basement and a 1-car garage. The only access to the basement is through the garage. Since we are not moving any time soon (and are a family of 9), I have to utilize as much space as I can so that we don't kill each other during the long wet seasons. My current plan is to finish the garage, so that we can have a family room in addition to the living room - which will also make the basement more accessible. I am just beginning this project and figure it will take about 2 years to get it done, but it will be so nice to have it! I spent yesterday working on clearing out junk, moving things we are keeping and cleaning items so they can be used. The garage looks a lot better, though now I have to clean up, organize and condense (and possibly move) my workbench. Then I can start on the wiring, insulation, etc.
When I add in making 3 meals a day, taking a day to clean the house (that was neglected last week while the kids were in soccer camp), changing diapers, feeding the baby, taking care of the kids, spelling countless words for Elora, taking breaks to look at or research various bugs Damien caught, listen to Zachery talk about so many, many things, get Ariana a tetanus booster when she stepped on a nail (I read her the pros and cons of the vaccine our ND recommended and let her decide), go in for the follow-up ultrasound of my thyroid (still waiting for the results) and spending evenings with Jeff, I suddenly feel like my days were a bit more productive than I originally thought. We even managed to pray the rosary yesterday.
Next week we have Zachery's 10th birthday, family coming for 4th of July (which will be bittersweet because the last visit with Jonathan was for 4th of July 2 years ago and it was one of the few holidays we loved as kids growing up), grocery shopping for a good chunk of July including our big homeschool camping trip and planning for and starting to pack for that camping trip.
Sadly the only project around the house for the next week or so will be cleaning and maintaining...and eating all the perishable food.
The other big project I worked on this week was cleaning up the garage. Our house is 1000sq ft with a full, mostly unfinished basement and a 1-car garage. The only access to the basement is through the garage. Since we are not moving any time soon (and are a family of 9), I have to utilize as much space as I can so that we don't kill each other during the long wet seasons. My current plan is to finish the garage, so that we can have a family room in addition to the living room - which will also make the basement more accessible. I am just beginning this project and figure it will take about 2 years to get it done, but it will be so nice to have it! I spent yesterday working on clearing out junk, moving things we are keeping and cleaning items so they can be used. The garage looks a lot better, though now I have to clean up, organize and condense (and possibly move) my workbench. Then I can start on the wiring, insulation, etc.
When I add in making 3 meals a day, taking a day to clean the house (that was neglected last week while the kids were in soccer camp), changing diapers, feeding the baby, taking care of the kids, spelling countless words for Elora, taking breaks to look at or research various bugs Damien caught, listen to Zachery talk about so many, many things, get Ariana a tetanus booster when she stepped on a nail (I read her the pros and cons of the vaccine our ND recommended and let her decide), go in for the follow-up ultrasound of my thyroid (still waiting for the results) and spending evenings with Jeff, I suddenly feel like my days were a bit more productive than I originally thought. We even managed to pray the rosary yesterday.
Next week we have Zachery's 10th birthday, family coming for 4th of July (which will be bittersweet because the last visit with Jonathan was for 4th of July 2 years ago and it was one of the few holidays we loved as kids growing up), grocery shopping for a good chunk of July including our big homeschool camping trip and planning for and starting to pack for that camping trip.
Sadly the only project around the house for the next week or so will be cleaning and maintaining...and eating all the perishable food.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
There is Never Enough Time
I have started several blog posts, but there is just not enough time to finish them before I get pulled in a new direction. It isn't just blog posts either, but all computer time. While it is good to be so involved in life that I don't have time for the computer, it is frustrating to feel like I am still not accomplishing much.
Several years ago I asked God to show me all the moments during the day when I could work on writing projects because I felt so overwhelmed, and he showed me so many that I finally had to ask him to stop! I keep meaning to ask to be shown those moments again, but then I get distracted.
Ariana asked that we pray together as a family again regularly, and we really need to. I know the time is there somewhere in my day, I just need to carve it out and make it a routine so that we don't forget...or get distracted.
Several years ago I asked God to show me all the moments during the day when I could work on writing projects because I felt so overwhelmed, and he showed me so many that I finally had to ask him to stop! I keep meaning to ask to be shown those moments again, but then I get distracted.
Ariana asked that we pray together as a family again regularly, and we really need to. I know the time is there somewhere in my day, I just need to carve it out and make it a routine so that we don't forget...or get distracted.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Unschooling Speech
On Tuesday I had the chance to talk a little about Unschooling at a homeschool meeting - the topic was on different methods of Catholic homeschooling. We were told to plan a 5-10 minute talk about the strengths, weaknesses and why our homeschool method works for our family. I planned the below talk, then the speakers before me talked about their method and how it fit in their family without any kind of speech. I decided last minute to ditch my talk and just wing it (pulling bits of my printed talk in), and it worked out well I think - at least I had a few compliments at the end. I didn't want all my hard work to go to waste, so here is my little speech that I may yet get to give someday:
The term Unschooling brings to mind different images for different people. Some see it as unparenting: allowing kids to do whatever they want whenever they want while parents are uninvolved or stand helplessly on the side. Others see it as a retaliation against any kind of learning or education. Many worry that kids can never learn what they will need to know or will never learn the discipline needed to succeed in life unless they are forced to “Do school.” When John Holt coined the phrase in the 70s he called it unschooling because it was exactly that: the opposite of school. Now “school” is not education, nor learning, nor it is discipline. School is an institution where children are sent for 6 hour a day, 180 days a year to be taught by a professional, not based upon their abilities or needs, but based upon what a group of professional educators have decided all kids born in the same year “should” know. Whereas Unschooling is learning everywhere, all the time by everyone a child meets based upon their abilities, needs and interests. God created us to be curious about the world and to learn from every experience. This is most evident in babies and toddlers who are fascinated by everything and gain new abilities almost daily as they imitate what they see around them, however it is also true for the 40 year old who finds a new faster way to work or the 70 year old who just started using a computer. We are always learning because that is what God made us to do – whether we like it or not.
Update: I honestly could not remember where I got the above quote from, and I am happy to correct it as a quote from one of Sue's emails on an unschool forum. That explains why I couldn't find the quote for verification when I went back through A Little Way of Homeschooling! It is still a beautiful quote and one that all the mom's at the Homeschool meeting liked and agreed with.
How does a parent fit into unschooling? First, by observing and talking with each child to see what their needs and interests are and then by finding resources, whether that be modeling an example, discussion, books, classes, tutoring, and so on to meet those needs and interests. How exactly Unschooling looks in any family differs day to day, year to year and child to child. I have heard it called Organic Learning and in many ways that is a great description. One day it may be breaking out a textbook, watching a documentary or having a three hour discussion; another day it may be playing Risk or other computer or board games, or going on a field trip to the zoo or OMSI. There is learning to be had in all these activities and unschooling allows the freedom to do whatever works best for that particular moment.
One of the wonders of homeschooling is we can pick and choose what works for our families. With all homeschool methods, including unschooling, it is never all or nothing. You can unschool, but do Math or use a curriculum but unschool science or history or various electives your kids are interested in. We do what works best and change as we need to, so that we can keep going.
First a few weaknesses of Unschooling. Choosing to unschool is so different from what people are familiar with, it is hard to deal with the assumptions, concerns and accusations that people make about unschooling. Homeschooling is becoming better accepted in the main stream, but you will still get comments, funny looks and outright shock or indignation at choosing to “unschool” or at least admitting that you unschool, for all the reasons I already mentioned.
Also, since unschoolers focus more on mastery of a subject rather than grades, it can be hard to prove where a child is academically – which just gives fuel to those who believe academic progress is the way to discern success or failure in one’s education.
Since Unschooling parents don’t have worksheets or grades to discern where their kids are, they have to use other methods to gauge progress. This means observing what a child does with their day, having regular discussions and trying to provide resources for interests that can last anywhere from a few minutes to years. From experience I can tell you, it is frustrating to have one of the kids express interest in a topic which leads to hours finding the best resources or information and then have them spend 5 minutes looking at what was put together and never touch it again. Being available to observe without interfering and time to have discussions as well as find resources can also be hard with all the other responsibilities around the house, but it is critical to successful unschooling.
As a parent it is hard to see your child’s academic weaknesses and yet allow them to continue to steer their own course. I don’t mean to stand back and do nothing, but to have discussions on the value of the skill, set an example using that skill, lay out resources that offer different approaches to the skill and then back off and Let Go. My experience is eventually unschooled children recognize their weaknesses (though it may take years) and they will develop all the skills they need to be successful. God made us inquisitive creatures who learn throughout our entire lives for a reason.
For me, however the benefits of Unschooling far outweigh the challenges. By allowing a child to explore topics as they are ready and for the length of time they are interested, they retain the knowledge faster and with the same joy that you see in young children. The tangible world is right there, ripe for them to touch, taste, handle and sometimes break. Once a new skill is mastered, it is incredibly gratifying to watch even my 12 year old excitedly share that skill with siblings, family and friends. Because a curriculum is not set out step by step, telling my kids what they ‘should’ be doing, they are free to talk about what interests them and ask for instruction or help when they want to learn something new. Unschooled children know they need to seek knowledge rather than passively wait for topics to be presented to them.
My family life generally is unpredictable between having a new baby every couple years and dealing with crises like unemployment, extended family problems as well as illnesses, allergies, etc. Unschooling allows us to be as flexible as we need to get through year to year. No matter how tired I am, I can always talk to the kids about whatever their current interests are, encourage them to tap into the many resources we have around the house and someone can take them to the library. More importantly, unschooling allows my kids to be aware of and involved in Life. They learned how to cut spending and the importance of a budget when my husband was out of work for 8 months; how to care for my mom who is disabled when she stayed with us; the dangers of addiction and the importance of Faith as we support extended family members who struggle; how to be your own advocate while dealing with the medical community and how to forgive and love unconditionally.
One of my favorite things about unschooling is No Burnout. Every year I try to be supportive as I hear stories of frustration, tears and stress that peak around Spring while it is business as usual in my house. It breaks my heart to hear of families who become so overwhelmed that they put their kids back in school because they can’t keep up or get too burnt out – not because they feel it is the best choice but because they just can’t take any more. I do have homeschool related stress, but it is a different kind of stress and I rarely feel like enrolling my kids in school because of being overwhelmed.
A huge part of not burning out is that there are no academic deadlines. We don’t covet summer break as a time to stop academics and recharge for the new school year, in fact we usually do more academic work in the summer because there is less running around to different classes and activities. Without those deadlines we get to skip out on the guilt associated with meeting school-like benchmarks, and we are free year-round to use classes, co-ops, tutors, etc for specific interests because there isn’t a huge pile of school work to get through daily.
Unschooling works best for my family for many reasons. Between our very limited school budget, several of the kids’ learning disabilities, strong personalities, diverse interests and the unpredictability of our lives, unschooling allows us to explore things at times and in ways that are different than the norm.
For example my oldest has dyslexia and is a perfectionist. By backing off and allowing her to work on reading in her own time, she unlike many dyslexics loves to read and does so regularly. She also discovered a talent for art and a love of literature because she was not forced to work on subjects based upon someone else’s time table. Right now with no pushing from me, she is working her way through history using the Modern Scholar series of college lectures from the library, continuing to explore new mediums of art, is listening to or reading several book series as well as the Taming of the Shrew (her 2nd Shakespeare play) and designed and built a simple wood end table. In Math she loves puzzles and has been working her way through several seek-and-find and puzzle games on the computer and DS, and she has started working through her first text book because she recognizes this is an area of weakness for her. She can also competently care for her 6 younger siblings, wash laundry, clean and plan and cook meals. This is just the tip of the iceberg, she also takes various classes, goes out with friends and is in many ways your average teenager.
I could go on and on through all of my kids’ diverse interests, but there isn’t time.
Through unschooling my kids are constantly observing and exploring the world. As they have gotten older, due to their freedom to explore they know what they like and they have been able to strengthen those skills. They are also able to see where their weaknesses are and through discussion are aware of how those weaknesses affect their lives. It all comes down to remembering why I am homeschooling in the first place. For me, that reason is I want my children to love learning, be able to find any answer they seek and above all get to heaven. I am preparing them first and foremost for Life and I trust that through prayer God will guide us where they need to go whether that is college prep, a life of holy orders, entrepreneurship or something else.
A quote from Suzie Andres’ A Little Way of Homeschooling that wraps my talk up nicely:
“As far as homeschooling goes, I have stopped trying to find the perfect method (there isn't one), and I've stopped thinking I must produce perfect children by the time they reach the age of 18. Can you believe that I thought it was possible to send my children out into the world as adults perfectly educated, perfectly brought up, perfectly ready to do whatever God wants them to do? And here am I many years older than 18 and I am still struggling along that pathway to perfection with a long way to go. I have learnt to be patient and accepting with myself and I am trying to do the same with my children.”
Update: I honestly could not remember where I got the above quote from, and I am happy to correct it as a quote from one of Sue's emails on an unschool forum. That explains why I couldn't find the quote for verification when I went back through A Little Way of Homeschooling! It is still a beautiful quote and one that all the mom's at the Homeschool meeting liked and agreed with.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Happy Mother’s Day: On Being a Mother
I found this article at Brave Writer (don't remember the link that got me there), and it is so true. Being a Mom is a privilege because I get to love, teach and help grow little souls that God put in my care. These wonderful little people are here with me for now and their presence has taught me so very much about life and what is truly important. Also, it was a great reminder why I have no desire to watch shows like Oprah, Dr Phil or whatever else is on these days.
Happy Mother’s Day: On Being a Mother
In April of 2009, Oprah featured an episode on mothering that ran so counter to my personal experience, I felt the need to write about how I understood mothering. Today, as we celebrate our mothers and are thankful for the chance to be mothers, I share it again with you. (The original posting of this blog entry yielded 73 comments! Clearly the most popular blog entry in our history.)
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From April 27, 2009
Oprah featured moms on her show a couple weeks ago. The two “experts” who “wrote the book” were bubbly, sharp, blond business-type women who wore chic outfits that had never seen spit up or spaghetti sauce stains. They rallied the audience into a frenzy of confessions about motherhood which variously decried the hardships of this “first order of creation” occupations.
“I hate the fluids of babies: pee, spit up, spilt milk, snot.”
“I cried the day I drove to the car dealership to buy a mini-van.”
“There were days I wanted to ’send them back to the hell from whence they came’.”
On and on the tales of woe pored from the mouths of devoted parents. Video clips of small kids on bikes, disastrous laundry rooms, “stuffed to the gills” cars with seats and sippy cups floated by, making one wonder why anyone would sign up for the task of mothering, let alone sustain it for decades. Moms confessed things, too, like the one who said she didn’t want to wake the sleeping baby by stopping the car for a potty break, but she needed to pee so badly, she took a Pampers diaper, stuck it between her legs and let it “go” as she drove. Yeah, I thought that was way more information than I needed to know about her, too.
There was a surprising lack of joy represented in the discussion of mothering. Mostly being a mom was held up as the hardest job on earth, the most demanding, the most self-sacrificing, the most misunderstood and overlooked work on the planet. A kind of shared martyrdom, underdog status united everyone and Oprah, never having mothered anyone, had to declare that indeed, they were right. Mothering equalled sainthood (which we all know implies burning at the stake and smiling through it!).
With my kids in the room, listening to the pain of childbirth and engorged breasts, the relentlessness of little voices, the demandingness of the small child’s need for food, sleep and comfort, the annihilation of a woman’s identity and sense of self, I couldn’t take it any more. After all, far from being the hardest job in the world, mothering has been the happiest, most satisfying, life-giving, joyful, rewarding, fulfilling and (dare I admit it?) easiest job I’ve ever had. Oh sure, the hours suck, there are anguishes deeper than the ocean, there are seasons (years!) of such utter exhaustion you can’t imagine ever being rested again… but all those discomforts are easily and unequivocally overturned by my children, themselves.
I punched pause on the DVR to set the record straight:
“Being your mother has been the single greatest joy and privilege of my life: not a burden, not a perennial unrelenting source of emotional and physical agony, not the ‘hardest job in the world’, not the knee-capping blow to my ‘adult individuality’ nor has it been the thankless, under-appreciated, most overlooked profession these mothers would have you believe. In fact, my sense of personhood, identity and self-knowledge has grown more through mothering than any business I’ve started, any degree I’ve earned, any relationship I’ve pursued. I thank YOU for being the best people to ever happen to me.”
Then I spewed in bullet style the privileges and unique joys that came with mothering them (all five of them, each one popping into my life like a fresh daisy, every two years for 10 years).
Cuddling: Being your mom means I got to have someone to cuddle non-stop for 12 years while sleeping with at least one of you at a time, nursing you, carrying you, holding you, helping you in and out of car seats, and backpacking you.
Sleeping together: There is nothing more divine than a baby who falls asleep on your chest while you fall asleep and the whole world stops while mother and tiny child become fused as one content, quiet, shared being. No meditation, yoga, prayer circle, private retreat has ever come close to providing me with the depth of peace, pleasure and abiding hope that sleeping with a baby has given me.
Playing: Board games and hopscotch, dress-ups, face paint, finger paint, walks in the woods, trips to the zoo, picking up bugs, rolling down hills, blowing bubbles, eating too many cookies, watching Arthur on PBS, rewatching Disney movies, cards, chasing a dog in the backyard, trampoline jumping, creek splashing, snowman building, skiing, middle of the night slumber parties, bike rides, soccer in the backyard, soccer on the official fields, ultimate frisbee… What adult gets to do any of this on his or her 9-5 job? Talk about luxury!
Conversation: Oh it starts off good - Why do bubbles float? How did I get red hair? Why doesn’t Santa Claus visit Moroccans, too? But boy does it keep getting better!? I’ve learned about human rights, veganism, Role Playing Games, Shakespeare, Klingon, fashion, exercise, lacrosse, birds, fantasy novels, conspiracy theories, atheism, feminism, linguistics, alternative monetary systems for world peace (seriously!) and more by talking to my kids.
Mothering is the job that means taking the dog and kids for a walk in the woods is on task. It’s the one where teatimes and picnics are considered achievements worth trumpeting to friends and family. It’s the job where even on bad days, someone tells you “Hey, I love you Mom” and then hugs you so tightly, you believe it.
There is no comparison to the jobs I’ve had in business and writing. Sure, affirmation and personal achievement are nice… but they are nothing like the bond that comes from the devotion of loving people who live every day looking for you to see them for who they are. I’ve found that the easiest thing in the world is to love my kids. All it takes is entering into their lives on their terms and giving all I’ve got. I get it all back and more.
Yes, there have been nights where I cried myself to sleep over a non-stop crying toddler or a teenager’s emotional pain. There are times when I feel out of control and invisible and fearful for my child’s future or welfare. But the rewards of mothering so far outweigh any of its challenges, I can’t relate to the repeated refrains of “how hard I have it” simply because I chose to have five kids. Instead, I just feel perennially lucky that my lifestyle has included such richness, tenderness and connection to immortality through my children.
I think it’s time we blew the whistle. Mothering isn’t a job. It’s a privilege.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
A Few Reasons I am Catholic Today
First would be my Mom who introduced us to Catholicism, it really was better late than never. She was and in many ways still is stuck knowing much of the Faith without understanding it, and therefore unable to live it or explain it to any of us kids. She did the best she could, and for that I am grateful.
My grandmother who prayed for the conversion of all her family daily, and taught us a few simple prayers when my siblings and I were little.
Steve, my high school teacher who challenged me on matters of faith. His pro-abortion stance made me own my pro-life stance as well as the tenents of Catholicism - though I was not practicing them at that point.
Fr. Amsberry for encouraging my fledgling Faith along when Jeff and I moved to a new state away from family and were living in sin. I worked my way into the Church, learned so much and have never looked back.
Above all though, Jonathan, my brother. If it weren't for him I would not be Catholic today. Finding the Church for him was like getting his first breath of air after struggling underwater for most of his life. He challenged me in different ways and like a good big brother took my hand and led me through the door my mom had shown us. We had so many conversations and plans of how we would fix the world by spreading the logic behind the Faith. While still living at home after I had come back from the brink of destruction, yet still stood near the edge of a terrible fall, he would take me and the kids to Mass. There was no arguing with him. He said it was time to go, so we did. A routine I continued even after moving out of state and away from all family. Even being 3,000 miles from each other, I went to him if I had questions and we grew together in our understanding of Christ and the Church.
My grandmother who prayed for the conversion of all her family daily, and taught us a few simple prayers when my siblings and I were little.
Steve, my high school teacher who challenged me on matters of faith. His pro-abortion stance made me own my pro-life stance as well as the tenents of Catholicism - though I was not practicing them at that point.
Fr. Amsberry for encouraging my fledgling Faith along when Jeff and I moved to a new state away from family and were living in sin. I worked my way into the Church, learned so much and have never looked back.
Above all though, Jonathan, my brother. If it weren't for him I would not be Catholic today. Finding the Church for him was like getting his first breath of air after struggling underwater for most of his life. He challenged me in different ways and like a good big brother took my hand and led me through the door my mom had shown us. We had so many conversations and plans of how we would fix the world by spreading the logic behind the Faith. While still living at home after I had come back from the brink of destruction, yet still stood near the edge of a terrible fall, he would take me and the kids to Mass. There was no arguing with him. He said it was time to go, so we did. A routine I continued even after moving out of state and away from all family. Even being 3,000 miles from each other, I went to him if I had questions and we grew together in our understanding of Christ and the Church.
Friday, April 29, 2011
A Little...or Big...Detour
Every time I sit to write about one topic, I find myself wandering off onto other topics. It feels wrong to start writing about a book I recently read and loved (A Little Way of Homeschooling: Thirteen Families Discover Catholic Unschooling by Suzie Andres), and how it was just what I needed as I have been struggling with unschooling and then go off onto how I have struggled just to survive day to day since July 20, 2010. Then go into how hard it has been to completely change our diet to try and accommodate little Corbin who cannot eat wheat, citrus, dairy and a variety of vegetables (and probably more that I cannot think of), which brings up how I have been trying to alter my own diet to try and shrink the growth in my thyroid. There is just so much going on, I can't keep all of it straight myself. It makes choosing one topic to write about that much harder.
I keep feeling called to write about my brother and my own grief, but to do that I have to face so much that I don't want to. It is much easier to continue faking day to day that everything is ok. For those first few weeks being able to write was the only thing that got me out of bed and able to face each day. I have been trying to write privately since then, but it just doesn't work. Maybe posting my rambling thoughts will keep me accountable and help me feel like I am getting things 'out there' to deal with rather than privately trying to deal with this.
I pray for courage because I am such a private person as was my brother. People who know me generally know very little about my past. That is, in part, because I do not want to be defined by my past. Also, it is hard to share my story (in which I have to be the protagonist) without saying things about others in my life that are less than complimentary. The idea of tarnishing the reputation of those I love bothers me greatly, but again I feel called to share - at least part of it.
At a baby shower 2 months after my brother died there was a gift swap and I got the book 10 Prayers God Always Says Yes To by Anthony DeStefano. In so many ways that book was just what I needed. I had not been able to pray since my brother died, I had gone to Mass and said grace before meals, but I was just going through the motions. I didn't feel it, and the book helped me get that back. One of the first chapters is "God Show Me You Exist" and while I had never doubted God's existence the book pointed out something I had never thought of. I was not really raised Catholic, my mom was a fallen away Catholic and my dad has always been more into the New Age scene. My parents were a bit ahead of the game in relation to how people are parenting today. My mom was big into home births (when they were illegal), attachment parenting, breastfeeding, eating whole foods, limiting television and avoiding commercials all long before it became popular. Religion was not a part of my life in any way before I was 11. My mom remembers talking to us about God and angels and the Devil, but I have little recollection of it - other than one instance. When I was about 4 my sister and I were taking a bath and playing when I looked up and saw a small figure made of light float past the open doorway. It was a very simple figure and did nothing threatening, but it startled me. I asked my sister if she saw it (she didn't) and we called to my mom to ask her about it. I still remember very clearly what the figure looked like, and whether it was my mom's explanation that I don't remember beyond "it was an angel" or something about that encounter, I have never doubted the existence of God. Even when my life was at its darkest and I was almost consumed with hatred and evil, I never doubted. I had not thought of that in years until reading "God Show me You Exist." In it Anthony says to be careful asking for definitive proof of God's existence because when he does, that person is expected to endure great things (he gives some examples like Moses, the apostles and St Paul). How true that has been in my life. I didn't ask for all this, yet here it is. If I had not encountered God's messenger would I be more like my sister who is still so lost and so hurt? I certainly don't feel like my life is completely together or even that I could be considered successful. What I can say is that despite everything I am here and I love God and the Church for helping me get here. I have a wonderful dedicated husband, 7 beautiful healthy children and we love each other and enjoy being together. Everything else isn't quite as I would like it, but that is ok because all those other things are not anywhere near as important.
I keep feeling called to write about my brother and my own grief, but to do that I have to face so much that I don't want to. It is much easier to continue faking day to day that everything is ok. For those first few weeks being able to write was the only thing that got me out of bed and able to face each day. I have been trying to write privately since then, but it just doesn't work. Maybe posting my rambling thoughts will keep me accountable and help me feel like I am getting things 'out there' to deal with rather than privately trying to deal with this.
I pray for courage because I am such a private person as was my brother. People who know me generally know very little about my past. That is, in part, because I do not want to be defined by my past. Also, it is hard to share my story (in which I have to be the protagonist) without saying things about others in my life that are less than complimentary. The idea of tarnishing the reputation of those I love bothers me greatly, but again I feel called to share - at least part of it.
At a baby shower 2 months after my brother died there was a gift swap and I got the book 10 Prayers God Always Says Yes To by Anthony DeStefano. In so many ways that book was just what I needed. I had not been able to pray since my brother died, I had gone to Mass and said grace before meals, but I was just going through the motions. I didn't feel it, and the book helped me get that back. One of the first chapters is "God Show Me You Exist" and while I had never doubted God's existence the book pointed out something I had never thought of. I was not really raised Catholic, my mom was a fallen away Catholic and my dad has always been more into the New Age scene. My parents were a bit ahead of the game in relation to how people are parenting today. My mom was big into home births (when they were illegal), attachment parenting, breastfeeding, eating whole foods, limiting television and avoiding commercials all long before it became popular. Religion was not a part of my life in any way before I was 11. My mom remembers talking to us about God and angels and the Devil, but I have little recollection of it - other than one instance. When I was about 4 my sister and I were taking a bath and playing when I looked up and saw a small figure made of light float past the open doorway. It was a very simple figure and did nothing threatening, but it startled me. I asked my sister if she saw it (she didn't) and we called to my mom to ask her about it. I still remember very clearly what the figure looked like, and whether it was my mom's explanation that I don't remember beyond "it was an angel" or something about that encounter, I have never doubted the existence of God. Even when my life was at its darkest and I was almost consumed with hatred and evil, I never doubted. I had not thought of that in years until reading "God Show me You Exist." In it Anthony says to be careful asking for definitive proof of God's existence because when he does, that person is expected to endure great things (he gives some examples like Moses, the apostles and St Paul). How true that has been in my life. I didn't ask for all this, yet here it is. If I had not encountered God's messenger would I be more like my sister who is still so lost and so hurt? I certainly don't feel like my life is completely together or even that I could be considered successful. What I can say is that despite everything I am here and I love God and the Church for helping me get here. I have a wonderful dedicated husband, 7 beautiful healthy children and we love each other and enjoy being together. Everything else isn't quite as I would like it, but that is ok because all those other things are not anywhere near as important.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
I Can't Do It All
I can't do it all. There, I said it. I really wish I could have a healthy strong prayer life, keep up with house and yard work, do house repairs, finish the garage and basement, work on the cars, keep up with the kids' various interests and classes (and feel confident in where they are), cook healthy food from scratch every day, plant and grow a good sized veggie garden, keep up on my emails, update my blog and the family blog, find sales to get the items we need at the best price possible, fulfill my duties in one homeschool group, participate in other homeschool groups, start a new Catholic homeschool group out near me, deal with my health issues, implement any number of ideas to try and bring in a little money and spend time with my kids and husband together as well as individually. Oh and of course, some time for myself and following the news stories, blogs and various topics that interest me.
It isn't reasonable to think I can do even half of these things, and yet I can't help but think that if I just planned my days right I could squeeze in a little more...
I have to prioritize and that is where I get frustrated and want to give up. At this point we are barely getting by with housework, the kids' interests and classes, cooking a lot from scratch (since Corbin has food sensitivities that severely limit what we can have) and dealing with my health issues. Everything else is done nominally or not at all. I have been trying to pray more regularly, and I suppose I should be asking for some peace with not being able to 'do it all' and guidance in prioritizing. That is a good place to start anyway.
Now off to put little ones and my barely recovering from a cold self into bed.
It isn't reasonable to think I can do even half of these things, and yet I can't help but think that if I just planned my days right I could squeeze in a little more...
I have to prioritize and that is where I get frustrated and want to give up. At this point we are barely getting by with housework, the kids' interests and classes, cooking a lot from scratch (since Corbin has food sensitivities that severely limit what we can have) and dealing with my health issues. Everything else is done nominally or not at all. I have been trying to pray more regularly, and I suppose I should be asking for some peace with not being able to 'do it all' and guidance in prioritizing. That is a good place to start anyway.
Now off to put little ones and my barely recovering from a cold self into bed.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Finally Done, but Never Over
Due to a bit of miscommunication with the cemetery we almost missed the placing of my brother's grave marker. Fortunately I was able to get work it out with them, so on St Patrick's day we went out there. For the week prior it had been raining heavily, this is not particularly unusual in the Pacific Northwest, but it meant we were prepared to be very wet. All day there wasn't a whole lot of rain which I was happy about, then about an hour before we were going to leave the rain started.
We timed things so that my husband would get home from work and then we would leave immediately with my parents following us to get to the cemetery for our appt. Instead the baby didn't take his nap and was cranky, the kids didn't want to go (which was fine) and my parents arrived late. We rushed through getting the baby ready to go with us and driving through pouring rain and traffic to get to the cemetery almost 15 minutes late. Fortunately I called ahead and they were ok with us being late.
My mom has taken my brother's death the hardest. Sometimes she talks about it as if it were a personal attack from God against her because she was just coming back to her faith, other times she seems to recognize that it had little to do with her, but more often she cannot even think about my brother or anything related to the outside world. She spends her days playing games on the computer and listening to audio books.
When we arrived at the cemetery the rain had slowed to a sprinkle and as I got out of the car I saw this:
The picture doesn't quite do the rainbows justice. The bottom rainbow was actually a double rainbow, making it a triple rainbow (though Jeff said the bottom two were only one because they were attached). My brother was 33 when he died which just adds to the whole 3 thing.
Corbin fell asleep on the drive over and miraculously stayed asleep. I went into the office to let them know we had arrived, and met the guy by the grave. Within a few minutes of our arrival the rainbows disappeared and the rain slowed and then stopped. The ground was saturated, but at least we weren't getting rained on.
Once the marker was placed and had the mud washed off we were left alone. Almost as soon as the caretaker drove the little cart off I noticed birds chirping loudly in a nearby tree and I looked up and saw blue sky. Not just a little blue either. It was blue and clear with just a few clouds and the sun was shining (something that doesn't happen often in Spring let alone the end of Winter). Every where I looked it was blue and clear.
My brother's favorite color was blue. My mom would work with him on his colors when he was a toddler (he was always precocious), and when he didn't want to play that game he acknowledged only two colors: blue and not-blue. He had his first car (and old beat up toyota corolla) painted blue. It was always his color.
When I looked over to my mom and saw that she got it, we both smiled. Then the church bells started ringing for the chapel across the street. I told my mom there was her sign. It couldn't have been clearer. The four of us talked a bit about my brother and how much we missed him, how we hoped he liked what we did for the marker and in choosing where to bury him. Then as we very slowly moved away we moved on to upcoming things and plans for the rest of the week. Finally, I gave my mom and dad a hug and then Jeff and I and sleeping Corbin headed home to our daily craziness.
Within minutes of getting on the road it started raining again.
We timed things so that my husband would get home from work and then we would leave immediately with my parents following us to get to the cemetery for our appt. Instead the baby didn't take his nap and was cranky, the kids didn't want to go (which was fine) and my parents arrived late. We rushed through getting the baby ready to go with us and driving through pouring rain and traffic to get to the cemetery almost 15 minutes late. Fortunately I called ahead and they were ok with us being late.
My mom has taken my brother's death the hardest. Sometimes she talks about it as if it were a personal attack from God against her because she was just coming back to her faith, other times she seems to recognize that it had little to do with her, but more often she cannot even think about my brother or anything related to the outside world. She spends her days playing games on the computer and listening to audio books.
When we arrived at the cemetery the rain had slowed to a sprinkle and as I got out of the car I saw this:
The picture doesn't quite do the rainbows justice. The bottom rainbow was actually a double rainbow, making it a triple rainbow (though Jeff said the bottom two were only one because they were attached). My brother was 33 when he died which just adds to the whole 3 thing.Corbin fell asleep on the drive over and miraculously stayed asleep. I went into the office to let them know we had arrived, and met the guy by the grave. Within a few minutes of our arrival the rainbows disappeared and the rain slowed and then stopped. The ground was saturated, but at least we weren't getting rained on.
Once the marker was placed and had the mud washed off we were left alone. Almost as soon as the caretaker drove the little cart off I noticed birds chirping loudly in a nearby tree and I looked up and saw blue sky. Not just a little blue either. It was blue and clear with just a few clouds and the sun was shining (something that doesn't happen often in Spring let alone the end of Winter). Every where I looked it was blue and clear.
My brother's favorite color was blue. My mom would work with him on his colors when he was a toddler (he was always precocious), and when he didn't want to play that game he acknowledged only two colors: blue and not-blue. He had his first car (and old beat up toyota corolla) painted blue. It was always his color.When I looked over to my mom and saw that she got it, we both smiled. Then the church bells started ringing for the chapel across the street. I told my mom there was her sign. It couldn't have been clearer. The four of us talked a bit about my brother and how much we missed him, how we hoped he liked what we did for the marker and in choosing where to bury him. Then as we very slowly moved away we moved on to upcoming things and plans for the rest of the week. Finally, I gave my mom and dad a hug and then Jeff and I and sleeping Corbin headed home to our daily craziness.
Within minutes of getting on the road it started raining again.
Monday, February 28, 2011
A Lot to Learn
This week I forgot, for a little while, to be first a good wife to my husband before worrying about trivial things like the condition of the house. I foolishly scheduled dentist and optometry appointments for almost all the children over the last 2 weeks, so the routine we are working to establish at home just didn't happen. When we don't stick to a routine, the house becomes a disaster and when the house is a disaster I get cranky. My brilliant plan to fix everything was to make the kids work on their chores over this last weekend between various activities. I figured it would help us start another busy week off right to have a clean house and I would feel a lot better. However I didn't consider my husband in all this, other than to assume he would, of course, help me keep the kids on task by sacrificing his tv time and helping me supervise.
It wasn't until Saturday evening that I realized my mistake. Jeff is a wonderful man, I could learn a lot from him. He truly is my knight in shining armor. He faces all the criticism of secular America from some members of his family, from people at work, pretty much anyone he talks to out in what he calls the "real world" for all the choices I have made for our family, yet he doesn't complain. He doesn't consider himself Catholic, doesn't have strong political opinions, and is content pretty much wherever he is and whatever he is doing. Yet he is a devoted father to 7 children, realizing there may well be more children in our future; he went along with my desire to buy a starter house that our family didn't really fit into with the hope that we could move in about 5 years into something bigger (in 2006 right before everything fell apart in the housing market); he is the sole breadwinner of our family working in a field he doesn't particularly like because that was the best job he could find to support us; he goes along with and listens while I complain/talk about my various passions (ie homeschooling/unschooling, alternative medicine, eating whole foods based on Nourishing Traditions, having strong Independent political opinions, being passionately Catholic and pro-life, etc); he became a Boy Scout Assistant Scoutmaster so that the troop could be started for our oldest son and parish and homeschool group; he went to school and struggled with working full-time, taking 2 classes at a time and still helping out around the house and taking kids to various events to get his AA degree just this last Spring because I wanted him to - and he never lets me feel the stress he is under. I have to really push him before I even get a glimmer of what he endures daily for our family. One of the very few outlets he has, one of his only passions is movies and video games which he wants to share with us as a family. Since I have strong opinions about everything, I really dislike the tv, but I try to let go on it for him (though I complain a lot). So when I plan for a weekend without tv, I am taking away the one place my husband can decompress from all the stress of the previous week. Yet he doesn't complain.
On Saturday he listened to the kids argue and fight over the chores they didn't want to do, tried to keep them on task, and took turns with me on running our weekend errands. Finally he went back to the bedroom for some peace and quiet and to be alone and I realized my mistake. On Sunday after Mass, but before I had to take Ariana to dance he got to squeeze in a movie at the theater, but then by the time we got home from dance it was time for bed. The weekend was over.
Here I sit on Monday with the house marginally better than it was on Friday, feeling like a fool for forgetting how lucky I am. Having the house clean is not worth the cost of our weekend. It is not worth the stress it puts on Jeff. I need to learn to relax a bit and let go if the reason the house is a mess is because I wasn't home to keep the remaining kids on task. I am thankful that I can stay home with the kids and homeschool, even if it is stressful from time to time. I am thankful that I get to choose my environment to be surrounded by like-minded families and read news from sources I agree with. Mostly I am thankful for a wonderful man who sacrifices so much for me and the kids without complaining about all he does. I have a lot to learn. I need to complain less and be thankful more. I need to plan better so that I am not overwhelmed, and I need to make sure we are home enough to stay on top of the chores so that when the weekend comes, we can relax and enjoy being together as a family.
It wasn't until Saturday evening that I realized my mistake. Jeff is a wonderful man, I could learn a lot from him. He truly is my knight in shining armor. He faces all the criticism of secular America from some members of his family, from people at work, pretty much anyone he talks to out in what he calls the "real world" for all the choices I have made for our family, yet he doesn't complain. He doesn't consider himself Catholic, doesn't have strong political opinions, and is content pretty much wherever he is and whatever he is doing. Yet he is a devoted father to 7 children, realizing there may well be more children in our future; he went along with my desire to buy a starter house that our family didn't really fit into with the hope that we could move in about 5 years into something bigger (in 2006 right before everything fell apart in the housing market); he is the sole breadwinner of our family working in a field he doesn't particularly like because that was the best job he could find to support us; he goes along with and listens while I complain/talk about my various passions (ie homeschooling/unschooling, alternative medicine, eating whole foods based on Nourishing Traditions, having strong Independent political opinions, being passionately Catholic and pro-life, etc); he became a Boy Scout Assistant Scoutmaster so that the troop could be started for our oldest son and parish and homeschool group; he went to school and struggled with working full-time, taking 2 classes at a time and still helping out around the house and taking kids to various events to get his AA degree just this last Spring because I wanted him to - and he never lets me feel the stress he is under. I have to really push him before I even get a glimmer of what he endures daily for our family. One of the very few outlets he has, one of his only passions is movies and video games which he wants to share with us as a family. Since I have strong opinions about everything, I really dislike the tv, but I try to let go on it for him (though I complain a lot). So when I plan for a weekend without tv, I am taking away the one place my husband can decompress from all the stress of the previous week. Yet he doesn't complain.
On Saturday he listened to the kids argue and fight over the chores they didn't want to do, tried to keep them on task, and took turns with me on running our weekend errands. Finally he went back to the bedroom for some peace and quiet and to be alone and I realized my mistake. On Sunday after Mass, but before I had to take Ariana to dance he got to squeeze in a movie at the theater, but then by the time we got home from dance it was time for bed. The weekend was over.
Here I sit on Monday with the house marginally better than it was on Friday, feeling like a fool for forgetting how lucky I am. Having the house clean is not worth the cost of our weekend. It is not worth the stress it puts on Jeff. I need to learn to relax a bit and let go if the reason the house is a mess is because I wasn't home to keep the remaining kids on task. I am thankful that I can stay home with the kids and homeschool, even if it is stressful from time to time. I am thankful that I get to choose my environment to be surrounded by like-minded families and read news from sources I agree with. Mostly I am thankful for a wonderful man who sacrifices so much for me and the kids without complaining about all he does. I have a lot to learn. I need to complain less and be thankful more. I need to plan better so that I am not overwhelmed, and I need to make sure we are home enough to stay on top of the chores so that when the weekend comes, we can relax and enjoy being together as a family.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Educational Discipline...friend or foe?
At a recent homeschool support group meeting we talked about discipline in education. Something about the discussion felt off to me, but I couldn't verbalize what it was at the time. The discussion started with one mom who said she used to think that if a child wanted to know something they would learn it due to their passion, but now thinks you have to push kids to learn or they won't really excel when they should.
She came to this conclusion after watching her daughter coast through math in a public school, never getting more than a B despite how easily she grasped the concepts. The daughter even tutored other kids and the teachers commented on how mathematically inclined she was. However the daughter never really loved math and today feels just ok about it - apparently she commented to her mom that she wished she had been pushed harder to excel by her parents (the implication being she would love math today if she had been pushed).
Another mom talked about how she told her son that he had to take piano for 5 years and how she pushed him through those times when he wanted to quit and hated practicing. Then when the 5 years were up, he realized that he actually liked how accomplished he was on the piano and decided to stick with playing it rather than moving on to something else.
These stories were told with passion, and while they sounded good on the surface there was something about them that just didn't sit right with me.
While arguably there is nothing wrong with training a child in what they will need to know, where I take issue is with the idea that by forcing kids to become disciplined in a subject they are then finally able to enjoy it. It sounds pretty on paper, but something tells me the girl never would have loved math the way it was taught and the boy doesn't and may never love piano (and may have loved another instrument if he had been given the chance). Just because someone is accomplished doesn't mean they will enjoy it nor that they will be prepared for life in that subject. It means they can parrot what they have been taught and pass a test with a good grade. I suppose they will be prepared for college and that is the goal our society emphasizes.
The second and more important thing that bothered me about this idea is you cannot discipline a child in creative thought and imagination. A child is born with the ability to reason and find creative solutions. We have to allow children time to explore and develop this part of themselves. By 'starting young' with timed tests and drill you are destroying this natural gift. So many kids go through the 'discipline' of education too soon and end up unable to think creatively. They are only good as worker bees, they no longer think of anything beyond what they have had drilled into their minds - as long as the soma (ie tv, sports, computers, the internet, etc) is available anyway. Once the soma of today loses its potency, you end up with depressed, anxious individuals who know something is wrong but cannot figure out what. Though we now have prescription drugs to boost the soma-effect for a few more years!
Universities were created for older people, not young children. A child can learn the basics they need - even for society today - in just a few short hours during their childhood. If they missed anything then they can pick it up as they get older. Yes, kids may pick things up faster when they are young, but I would rather that young children use their incredible abilities to learn and memorize on solving problems they face day-to-day (which include reading and math skills) and then train their minds for a discipline later, once they understand how to think creatively.
Sadly since I didn't figure out my problem with their form of discipline right a way, I wasn't able to express my concerns. I'm sure I will have other chances in the future which will give me time to work on developing my concerns more fully.
I get to do a presentation on Unschooling in May for this same group, so I may get a chance to voice my concerns after all.
She came to this conclusion after watching her daughter coast through math in a public school, never getting more than a B despite how easily she grasped the concepts. The daughter even tutored other kids and the teachers commented on how mathematically inclined she was. However the daughter never really loved math and today feels just ok about it - apparently she commented to her mom that she wished she had been pushed harder to excel by her parents (the implication being she would love math today if she had been pushed).
Another mom talked about how she told her son that he had to take piano for 5 years and how she pushed him through those times when he wanted to quit and hated practicing. Then when the 5 years were up, he realized that he actually liked how accomplished he was on the piano and decided to stick with playing it rather than moving on to something else.
These stories were told with passion, and while they sounded good on the surface there was something about them that just didn't sit right with me.
While arguably there is nothing wrong with training a child in what they will need to know, where I take issue is with the idea that by forcing kids to become disciplined in a subject they are then finally able to enjoy it. It sounds pretty on paper, but something tells me the girl never would have loved math the way it was taught and the boy doesn't and may never love piano (and may have loved another instrument if he had been given the chance). Just because someone is accomplished doesn't mean they will enjoy it nor that they will be prepared for life in that subject. It means they can parrot what they have been taught and pass a test with a good grade. I suppose they will be prepared for college and that is the goal our society emphasizes.
The second and more important thing that bothered me about this idea is you cannot discipline a child in creative thought and imagination. A child is born with the ability to reason and find creative solutions. We have to allow children time to explore and develop this part of themselves. By 'starting young' with timed tests and drill you are destroying this natural gift. So many kids go through the 'discipline' of education too soon and end up unable to think creatively. They are only good as worker bees, they no longer think of anything beyond what they have had drilled into their minds - as long as the soma (ie tv, sports, computers, the internet, etc) is available anyway. Once the soma of today loses its potency, you end up with depressed, anxious individuals who know something is wrong but cannot figure out what. Though we now have prescription drugs to boost the soma-effect for a few more years!
Universities were created for older people, not young children. A child can learn the basics they need - even for society today - in just a few short hours during their childhood. If they missed anything then they can pick it up as they get older. Yes, kids may pick things up faster when they are young, but I would rather that young children use their incredible abilities to learn and memorize on solving problems they face day-to-day (which include reading and math skills) and then train their minds for a discipline later, once they understand how to think creatively.
Sadly since I didn't figure out my problem with their form of discipline right a way, I wasn't able to express my concerns. I'm sure I will have other chances in the future which will give me time to work on developing my concerns more fully.
I get to do a presentation on Unschooling in May for this same group, so I may get a chance to voice my concerns after all.
Carlo Carretto, a leading spiritual writer of the past half-century, was a hermit in the Sahara desert for more than a dozen years. Alone, with only the Blessed Sacrament for company, milking a goat for food, and translating the Bible into the local Bedouin language, he prayed for long hours by himself. Returning to Italy to visit his mother, he came to a startling realization: His mother, who for more than 30 years had been so busy raising a family that she scarcely ever had a private minute, was more contemplative than he was.
Carretto drew the right lesson. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with what he’d been doing as a hermit. Rather, there was something wonderfully right about what his mother had been doing as she lived the interrupted life amidst the noise and incessant demands of small children. He had been in a monastery, but so had she.
A monastery is not so much a place set apart for monks and nuns as it is a place set apart (period). It is a place to learn the value of powerlessness and to learn that time is not ours, but God’s.
Our home and duties can, like a monastery, teach us that. John of the Cross once described the inner essence of monasticism this way: “But they, O my God and my life, will see and experience your mild touch, who withdraw from the world and become mild, bringing the mild into harmony with the mild, thus enabling themselves to experience and enjoy you.” John suggests that two elements make for a monastery: withdrawal from the world and bringing oneself into harmony with the mild.
Certain vocations offer the same opportunity for contemplation. For example, the mother who stays home with small children experiences a real withdrawal form the world. Her existence is monastic. Her tasks and preoccupations remove her from the centers of power and social importance. And she feels it. Moreover her sustained contact with young children (the mildest of the mild) gives her a privileged opportunity to be in harmony with the mild, to attune herself to the powerlessness rather than to the powerful.
The demands of young children also provide her with what St. Bernard, one of the great architects of monasticism, called the “monastic bell.” Bernard told his monks that whenever the monastic bell rang, they were to drop whatever they were doing and go immediately to the activity (prayer, meals, work, study, sleep) to which the bell was summoning them. He was adamant that they respond immediately: If they were writing a letter they were to stop in mid-sentence when the bell rang. When the bell called you to the next task, you were to respond immediately, not because you want to, but because it’s time for that task and time isn’t your time, it’s God’s time. For him, the monastic bell was a discipline to stretch the heart by taking you beyond your own agenda to God’s agenda.
Hence, a mother raising children, perhaps in a more privileged way even than a professional contemplative, is forced, almost against her will, to constantly stretch her heart. For years, while raising children, her time is never her own, her own needs have to be kept in second place, and every time she turns around a hand is reaching out and demanding something. She hears the monastic bell many times a day and she has to drop things in mid-sentence and respond, not because she wants to, but because it’s time for that activity and time isn’t her time, but God’s time. The rest of us experience the monastic bell when our alarm clock rings and we get out of bed and ready ourselves for the day, not because we want to, but because it’s time.
The principles of monasticism are time-tested, saint-sanctioned, and altogether – trustworthy. But there are different kinds of monasteries, different ways of putting ourselves into harmony with the mild, and different kinds of monastic bells. Response to duty can be monastic prayer, a needy hand can be a monastic bell, and working without status and power can constitute a withdrawal into a monastery where God can meet us. The domestic can be the monastic.
Father Ron Rolheiser
Carretto drew the right lesson. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with what he’d been doing as a hermit. Rather, there was something wonderfully right about what his mother had been doing as she lived the interrupted life amidst the noise and incessant demands of small children. He had been in a monastery, but so had she.
A monastery is not so much a place set apart for monks and nuns as it is a place set apart (period). It is a place to learn the value of powerlessness and to learn that time is not ours, but God’s.
Our home and duties can, like a monastery, teach us that. John of the Cross once described the inner essence of monasticism this way: “But they, O my God and my life, will see and experience your mild touch, who withdraw from the world and become mild, bringing the mild into harmony with the mild, thus enabling themselves to experience and enjoy you.” John suggests that two elements make for a monastery: withdrawal from the world and bringing oneself into harmony with the mild.
Certain vocations offer the same opportunity for contemplation. For example, the mother who stays home with small children experiences a real withdrawal form the world. Her existence is monastic. Her tasks and preoccupations remove her from the centers of power and social importance. And she feels it. Moreover her sustained contact with young children (the mildest of the mild) gives her a privileged opportunity to be in harmony with the mild, to attune herself to the powerlessness rather than to the powerful.
The demands of young children also provide her with what St. Bernard, one of the great architects of monasticism, called the “monastic bell.” Bernard told his monks that whenever the monastic bell rang, they were to drop whatever they were doing and go immediately to the activity (prayer, meals, work, study, sleep) to which the bell was summoning them. He was adamant that they respond immediately: If they were writing a letter they were to stop in mid-sentence when the bell rang. When the bell called you to the next task, you were to respond immediately, not because you want to, but because it’s time for that task and time isn’t your time, it’s God’s time. For him, the monastic bell was a discipline to stretch the heart by taking you beyond your own agenda to God’s agenda.
Hence, a mother raising children, perhaps in a more privileged way even than a professional contemplative, is forced, almost against her will, to constantly stretch her heart. For years, while raising children, her time is never her own, her own needs have to be kept in second place, and every time she turns around a hand is reaching out and demanding something. She hears the monastic bell many times a day and she has to drop things in mid-sentence and respond, not because she wants to, but because it’s time for that activity and time isn’t her time, but God’s time. The rest of us experience the monastic bell when our alarm clock rings and we get out of bed and ready ourselves for the day, not because we want to, but because it’s time.
The principles of monasticism are time-tested, saint-sanctioned, and altogether – trustworthy. But there are different kinds of monasteries, different ways of putting ourselves into harmony with the mild, and different kinds of monastic bells. Response to duty can be monastic prayer, a needy hand can be a monastic bell, and working without status and power can constitute a withdrawal into a monastery where God can meet us. The domestic can be the monastic.
Father Ron Rolheiser
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