Grinch or Grace?

How many times have we, as moms, waited for our children? Waiting nine long months, waiting through labor, waiting until our bundles of joy sleep through the night, enduring cries of teething, suffering through potty training. (Oh, I hated that last one!)

Once our children hit school we were placed on the schools’ schedules and later the sports’ schedules. Waiting for athletes to finally emerge from practice…night after night. Remember the bittersweetness of our teenagers learning to drive? Waiting outside schools and other functions was merely replaced by waiting up late at night worrying while our independent (ha ha!) ones were out having fun with their friends. Always waiting.

Now, as Catholics, we are in the official time of waiting: Advent. Saturday night I did something at which I usually procrastinate – I made the Advent wreath. Do my boys care? Quite doubtful at 19-24 years of age, but hopefully, seeing the familiar purple and pink candles surrounding Baby Jesus tugs my sons back a little from their me-oriented lives, realizing Someone is watching over us all “as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our Savior.”

Jesus will be coming back. And we are supposed to be living in such a way as to be ready when He comes. We are supposed to be using this time of waiting for something good. We have four weeks. And I’m not talking shopping days ‘til Christmas. I’m talking four weeks to prepare our hearts – to take whatever we have right now and make it better. It’s pretty simple.

As moms, we must fight what Charlie Brown calls the “commercialism” of Christmas. When my boys were school-aged, the TV was never allowed to be turned on in the mornings before school. This habit began the month before one Christmas. I nearly lost my mind hearing the never-ending toy commercials. Until I realized I could control it with the click of a button. No more TV. Much calmer, quieter mornings. How simple.

It’s horrendous how toy manufacturers seduce young viewers. Moms of youngsters today are assaulted on so many fronts as Christmas approaches. This Advent turn off the TV spending quality Advent time waiting, not for the presents, but creating an atmosphere where the Presence that IS Christmas will be welcomed.

In the coming weeks, as we face the inevitable Christmas tug-of-wars, let’s ask ourselves a question: Is it worth it? Is it worth the money? Is it worth the time involved? Is it worth the effort? Answer honestly and act accordingly.

These next four weeks of waiting could be very good or very bad. For the most part, it’s up to us moms to steer our families in the right direction. We can wait nervously on edge, or we can trust God, assuming the demeanor of one serenely waiting and ready for whatever may happen. We can be the Grinch or we can be Grace Kelly. Personally, I’ve always been partial to crowns!

~ Maureen :)

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thank goodness for those pilgrims and Indians! What a great tradition they started. The turkey's in the oven - it's 6 a.m. - and I am wide awake. I wish you all the very best. Hopefully you'll have a breath today to pause to remember the people and things for which you are most grateful.

Bring on the turkey and pumpkin pie! Have a great holiday!

~ Maureen :)

Good Luck Ladies

So, tomorrow's the big day. Are you thoroughly exhausted yet? I've often said that moms give the holidays and men receive them. Of course, coming from a houseful of men I am definitely biased. And not in a good way!

For once, I'm in great shape for tomorrow. Just shove the bird in the oven and wait 'til it's done. Table's set, pies are made, sausage cornbread stuffing makings are ready and waiting to be assembled. Tomorrow it's whipped potatoes and sweet potatoes, open the cranberry can and we are good to go.

I'm glad we have our own Thanksgiving. I insisted years ago. I bucked the well-established family system and our young family stayed home for our own dinner. We visit everybody later in the day, but there's just something so wrong about not having your own Thanksgiving Day leftovers, you know?

Hopefully you are not working too hard preparing your own feast. The funniest thing about writing this blog is that I doubt if one single lady will read it. You're all too busy!

Gobble! Gobble! :)

Pumpkin Cheesecake Tarts

You will need:

12 oz. cream cheese – softened
¾ cup sugar
1 T. cornstarch
1 t. pumpkin pie spice
2 eggs
1 cup canned pumpkin
1/3 cup light corn syrup
Gingersnaps
~*~*~*~*
Line muffin pans with cupcake liners. Put one gingersnap in each cup. Beat first 4 ingredients until mixed. Add next 3 one at a time and beat on high for 1 minute. Pour batter into cups. Bake at 325 degrees for 30-35 minutes until just set. Chill 1 hour. Makes 24.
~*~*~*~*
Easy decoration – sprinkle a very small amount of green colored sugar after baking. My disclaimer: When you can’t stop eating these, don’t blame me!

Enjoy! :)

My Flak-jacketed Heart

I warn you, this is not your typical Thanksgiving column. If you are the kind of Catholic mom who truly smiles from within to all comers, who wakes each morning praising God for the wonders He has bestowed upon you, who exemplifies living life for the other – well, you may just think me an ungrateful wretch.

If, however, you are a tired mom, a mom searching for meaning in your day-to-day round, a mom desperate for an identity that fits like a glove rather than a gunnysack – then maybe you can relate to my Thanksgiving frame of mind.

A week ago, one of my editors asked her columnists for a list of thank yous to include in her blog on Turkey Day. I haven’t responded. I don’t know what to say.

Do I spout off the familiar litany: family, food, home, friends? That’s superficial, and I know it. I AM grateful for these things, but I guess I’m not jumping for joy over what I’ve grown to take for granted. I try to see the glass as half full, but relate most accurately to the half empty vessel. And I know that doesn’t make God happy.

I come with baggage which I can’t seem to shake. Certain times are better than others. Good stretches last a while, but I’ve never been able to latch onto the Pollyanna frame of mind for extended periods. Life happens. I’m in the midst of a trying time for which I’ve coined the phrase, “Tweeny Mom,” to label this time of my life. The really fun and heartwarming moments of young motherhood are long past, replaced by the It’s-time-to-let-them-make-their-own-mistakes phase. This phase sucks. I KNOW something is wrong. I KNOW it will hurt, but do they listen? Sometimes, but not nearly enough for my liking. And I hate it.

My parents aren’t getting any younger. And I hate that too.

I am pulled in so many directions. I do have the availability of more actual time, but how do I best fill my time? I haven’t figured that one out yet. We tweeny moms are surviving our second stint at paralyzing adolescence. “Older and wiser” doesn’t seem to matter much when the rules have changed so drastically. Add another item to the hate list.

Lovely column so far, don’t you think? I did warn you.

However, knowing that there is a God who loves me—warts and all—is something for which I am truly grateful. God is always there for us, no matter what we feel. No matter how far we sink into the pit He accompanies us. Too bad we drag Him down to our levels so often. Poor Guy! But we do, time and time again.

After much consideration, I think I’ll send this list to my editor:

1. Nobody loves me like my mom does. This love which springs straight from her soul is the nearest I will ever get to perfection until I die. Last week one of my brothers was visiting my parents when I arrived. After my mom’s greeting to me he remarked, “Gee, I never get that response.” No. No one does. Just me. And I love it.

2. For an instant each Sunday morning, a friend who sings in the church choir grabs my attention with a smile that bull’s eyes straight through to my flak-jacketed heart. And I smile back wholeheartedly.

3. In today’s e-mail from a friend – her last sentence, and I quote, “Hang in there with your family of men – that is why you are crazy, you know.” It is true. Undeniably true. Five men versus one me has affected me in more ways than I’ll ever fully understand. However, lately, one son in particular, can zero in on my mood, and give me exactly what I need. We are on the same wavelength. And if only for snippets, every so often, I crave that momentary soul mate.

4. And then there are my friends who never let me down. The constants to whom I may complain or brag, laugh or scream. It doesn’t matter. Like God, they love me—warts and all.

So, God, please don’t mistake my turmoil for ingratitude. I am grateful to You for all the blessings in my life – even the ones I may not readily recognize. Thank You from the bottom of my flak-jacketed heart.

Love,
Maureen :)

The Boy who Cried, "Jesus!"

Once upon a time there was a little blond blue-eyed baby boy who brought such delight to his parents by his very existence. As he grew older this boy warmed the hearts of all he saw with his prize-winning grin and smiling eyes. Each night he prayed, “Goodnight Baby Jesus. We love You, Baby Jesus. Amen.”

And God said, “I love you, too.”

This toddler soon fell in love with Barney, and had eyes for no other. He spent his days playing in the company of his brothers. “Thank you, Jesus, for my mom, dad, and brothers.”

And God said, “You’re welcome.”

Time passed and school began as the Barney infatuation waned. Besides plunking this child into a loving family, God also saw fit to give him a most precious friend in the boy’s first year of grade school. This friendship strengthened and flourished despite a rocky start. One day tiny punches were thrown over the charms of a pretty little girl. Both Galahads were suspended from school for three days. “Thank you, God, for not letting me really hurt my friend today.”

And God said, “Take care of that friendship throughout your life.”

God blessed this boy with speed. Running, running, always running – just like Forest Gump. Breaking records, earning medals, this boy sped through his high school years. “Please help me race my fastest today, Jesus.”

And God said, “I’ll be waiting for you at the finish line.”

One Sunday at Mass this college boy knelt with his family and prayed, “Please, God, help me this semester. I want a 4.0.”

And God said, “I’ll give you plenty of time to study.”

God heard this boy’s voice whenever the boy spoke.

One afternoon the boy engaged in a fierce battle with an opponent while playing Madden football on TV. “Jesus Christ! How’d he miss that pass!”

God heard the most familiar voice and dropped what He was doing to help the boy who sounded so urgent in his cry. And God said, “Oh, I guess he doesn’t really need My help after all.”

That night – “Jesus Christ! Why am I the only one who ever has to do the dishes around here?”

And God said, “There’s that voice again. What should I do? He called My name. Does he need My help this time? Let Me see. Oh…no…he doesn’t.”

Next morning – “God damn it!”

And God said, “What now? He wants me to damn something? This friend of Barney? I think I hear another of My children calling. I better leave here and see what she needs.”

“Jesus! Can’t somebody else get the phone? Hang on. Jesus Christ!”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Jesus Christ!”

One day this young man received a package, heaven sent, you might say. Puzzled, he unwrapped the gift and stared at a coverless copy of what appeared to be a worn children’s story book. He began to read:

Once upon a time there was a blond blue-eyed baby boy whose job it was to watch over his father’s sheep. It was such a boring job day after uneventful day. The youngster was lonely and wanted someone to talk to besides sheep, so he hatched an idea.

“Wolf! Wolf! Help! Wolf!”

And his father raced to his son’s aid. But there was no wolf. The boy said he’d made a mistake.

A few weeks later, the little shepherd remembered how exciting it had been to see his father drop everything for him, and come running. So the boy did it again.

“Wolf! Wolf!” And his father came again. No wolf…again.

A third time this foolish child cried, “Wolf,” with no wolf in sight.

Months passed until one day the boy heard a ruckus among the sheep, and there it was – for real this time – a huge scary black wolf about to pounce.

“Wolf! Wolf!”

No one came.

“Father! Wolf! Help! Wolf!”

Still, no one came. The flock was desecrated in moments, fluffy white devoured to a lifeless, mangled red.

With nothing left to tend, the dazed boy stumbled into town. Where could his father be that he had not heard him? Had not come? In disbelief the boy ran right into his father.

“Why did you not come? I called and called. There was a wolf. The sheep – they’re all dead!”

And the boy’s father said, “I’m not falling for that one again, my son. Aren’t you a bit too old for such nonsense? You have called me needlessly time and time again. ‘Father, Father,’ you’d cry. I came to realize that my time was better spent elsewhere. I truly did not hear you today. I am sorry. Little by little I must have tuned you out.”

And the boy walked away, utterly crushed.

Shutting the book, our young man wondered who would send him such a story. And why? He spied an envelope, tore it open and read the note:

Hey! What’s up? Can ya take a look at this story for Me? The ending’s not quite right. Can ya help Me change it?
Later,
Jesus Christ

*****

Definite food for thought, don't you think, moms? This story was my CatholicMom column last week, and as a happy little postscript, I haven't heard, "Jesus Christ," around here in a week! Not that this could possibly be autobiographical or anything!!! Writer-mom scores one!

~ Maureen :)

Semper Fi

I wish to commend the honor, courage and commitment of the men and women who selflessly serve to defend our country. The following was written to honor a Marine who has been a best friend to one of my sons since they were in third grade together. This Marine has already come home safely from Iraq, but deploys to Afghanistan on Tuesday – the day before Veteran’s Day. Please keep him and another young man from the same high school, who is also headed to Afghanistan, in your prayers:

Infinite, Always Faithful, Love

You’re pregnant. You’re ecstatic. You call everyone you know. No one in the history of the world has ever had more urgent news.

You wait nine long months. Your baby boy arrives home and your infinite love overtakes him. No one in the history of the world has ever had a more beautiful baby boy.

He is yours, all yours. Oh sure, you must pretend to share him with the rest of the family, but in your core of cores you know he is all yours. You care for his every need. You are his entire world. What did you ever do to deserve such a love? You can’t recall, but you gratefully accept the gift. And you nurture the son.

From midnight feedings and bedtime stories to all that’s in between, you care for your son. You protect him. You shelter him from harm. You watch with astonishment as he grows and takes his first steps.

Years pass, memories etch. Your little boy is no longer a baby; he must go to that place called school with those children called friends. And you must do the grownup thing and let him go. You watch with apprehension as he boards the school bus.

As every season unfolds, your little boy unearths more of the world. He discovers basketball. No one in the history of the world has ever steered the ball down the court better. You watch with excitement as he swishes his first three-pointer.

And then come the girls. Ups and downs and turnarounds lead his heart to places where you can no longer protect him. You want to protect him, to keep him from harm, but now you must only advise, knowing he must do these things on his own. You watch with helplessness as his heart breaks; you send up thanks when his heart mends.

You consider yourself most lucky as you observe the circle of friends he has chosen. You feel the tug on your heartstring stretching a bit more as he embarks further away from you, but you trust his friends and you trust him. So it’s OK.

High school years fly by. You sit on bleachers in high school gyms, football stadiums, baseball diamonds and around quarter mile tracks. You hold your breath, you cheer, you live and die in the seconds it takes for him to catch that pass or to score that 1000th point. You are his biggest fan. No one in the history of the world is as special as your son.

You watch with pride as your boy-turned-man walks across the stage to accept his diploma. You step aside as he drives off to college. You understand when his choice detours and he returns home because no one in the history of the world has ever loved a son more faithfully.

And then he decides to become a Marine. A Marine. Your mind has a difficult time surrendering to this. Your baby, your son, turned soldier? It was one thing when he played soldier, but to be a soldier?

Ups and downs and turnarounds lead him to places where you can no longer protect him. You want to protect him, to keep him from harm, but now you must only watch knowing he must do these things on his own. He must go to that place called Afghanistan with those friends called Marines. And you must do the grownup thing and let him go. You watch with apprehension as he boards the plane.

Before you know it, the heartstring stretches across an ocean. You eagerly anticipate your Marine’s phone calls, letters and e-mails, for you know that beneath those dog tags beats the same heart of the baby you carried beneath your heart for nine months – the best heart in the history of the world.

You must step back. You have protected him and sheltered him from harm for as long as you could. It’s your son’s turn now to protect and to shelter a nation. It’s your turn to wait again…and to pray…until the day your baby boy arrives home and his infinite love overtakes you.

Semper Fi! Godspeed to all.

~ Maureen :)

Happy Birth-day, Mamazina!

I am very pleased to announce that Paula Schmitt of Mom Writer's Literary Magazine, for which I am copy editor and columnist, has joined forces with Joy Rose of Mamapalooza to create a new publication - Mamazina! The Fall/Winter 2009 transitional issue launched online last night: www.momwriterslitmag.com. Next Spring we will offer both a print and online issue for all you moms to enjoy.

Mamazina encompasses so much of motherhood. It's not just a magazine for moms of young children - it runs the gamut. It grows as we moms grow. We've had essays, columns, profiles, reviews and poetry about adoption, miscarriages, home improvements, empty nesters - funny stuff and tragic tales. In other words: It's true to a mom's life.

Personally, I target those searching moms who, like myself, may have forgotten what it's like to be a woman - those who have raised their children, and are in the time of their lives when minute-by-minute care for their children is no longer needed. So what do we do, we tweeny moms? We're stuck in the middle, and it's no less difficult than adolescence.

Join us at Mamazina to see how other women cope. And if you've a flair for writing, send your thoughts to us. Information is available on our site. We are a publication where "Women's Voices Unite." You are not the only one who has ever had the thoughts you are having. You are not crazy. You are not losing your mind. You are tired. You need insight as well as sleep.

Check out my column, Just Another Manic Momday, in this current issue: That's M-a-u-r-e-e-e-n! And search the archives to read my past columns dealing with this phenomenon of tweeny momhood.

Enjoy!

~ Maureen :)

The Candle Stays

Tonight my family of men and I sat down to dinner. What was commonplace for years has become a rarity. For the past week and a half I have been bitten by the flu bug. Although I haven’t yet let loose with a swine-like oink, I have been feeling pretty bad. Yesterday my only claim to fame was making dinner in a kitchen with more dirty dishes than clean before I began.

I kept it together. I didn’t get too mad. I’m resourceful. Certain utensils can double for others in a pinch. At the end we ate in the living room watching Notre Dame trounce their opponent. And dinner was appreciated by four.

But four isn’t six; four is not all.

Tonight I pieced together the last halfway simple ingredients for an edible meal. Mother Hubbard’s cupboards are bare. And tonight we were six; tonight we were all. I don’t know why, but I lit a candle and placed it in the middle of the table. I think somewhere in my psyche candles mean love.

We ate. We talked. Nothing special. I purposely brought up nothing disagreeable. Looking around the table at my five men I could have spouted plenty, and I’m sure they all could have reciprocated. But it’s difficult to be grumpy in candlelight.

When the first son started to bolt, I asked him to stay, saying simply, “Humor me. Pretend it’s Thanksgiving, and let’s hold hands.” My kids aren’t kids anymore; they are grown men aged 19-24. And they humored me – we all held hands.

A powerful strength lies in the family. Sometimes I wonder why none of my boys have gone off to college. What’s the draw to stay here to work and attend classes? God knows we certainly have our share of flaws. We know each and every button to push to bring out the worst in each other.

But when one is in need, another zeroes in on the cure. We try.

I can hold the fiercest feeling in my heart to walk out that door – Ooh, they’d miss me! – and someone will hug me or make me laugh or just be plain stupid, and thoughts of flight fly out the window. I survive another day among the men.

For good, bad or somewhere in between, I am one-sixth of this crazy pie called family. Our lives are intertwined. I’d like to think that the light that shone tonight was the Light – God’s Light – shining up a family in need of a little buffing.

The candle stays on the table.

Maureen :)

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10 - That's it!

It’s 1:30 in the morning. I have been sitting in what I refer to as my Happy Place for hours. It is amazing how time flies when I am writing – doing what I love to do. Do you have something you simply love to do? If you don’t, why don’t you? Really – why don’t you?

Being a mom means your time is not yours. You give of yourself to everyone else all day long. Am I right again? Am I two for two? How many things have you done for other people today? Perhaps it’s impossible to measure since there have been so many. Now don’t get me wrong – I’m all for doing for the other. But with one critical exception: not to the total exclusion of oneself.

What have you done for yourself today? Can you think of anything? Are you racking your brain to come with one thing? Oh, I hope you’re not. Because that’s not good. You’ll burn out. You’ll become grumpy. And probably angry. The holidays are rapidly approaching. Halloween costumes and classroom parties, Thanksgiving turkeys as the families gather, and then comes Christmas in all its exhaustive glory.

So…have you come up with anything yet? A bubble bath at the very least? An hour, half hour, OK - 10 minutes - to yourself to read a chapter of your favorite book? A shopping trip without the kiddies? A good old-fashioned date with your husband? Remember those?

We moms will soon be so busy thinking of a million details. Let’s stop now to take a moment to breathe, to prioritize our lives just a little bit more than we do. What’s working? What’s not? Because if it’s not working now you’ll hate it come December. Do something today to make your life simpler and happier. Take some time for yourself every single day. Begin with 10 minutes. You can find 10 minutes. You can. Quit mentally arguing – yes, you can! Then add another minute every day.

Pretend you are your best friend. Your best friend calls you every day. She has a problem, and you drop everything for her for 10 minutes because she means so much to you. She needs you so much. You know you’d do it for her, or for your child, or for your spouse. Do it for you. You are not seriously thinking that you are not worth 10 minutes a day, are you? You better not be!

Have some fun. Find some peace. Give it a try. What do you have to lose?

~ Maureen :)

The Great Gift

I have been given a great gift.

When I was little my parents owned a lumberyard, a fringe benefit being that when something was built around my house it was built to last. Case in point: my Little House. Built 60 years ago for older siblings, I inherited this child’s hideaway after its occupants had outgrown it. I adored my little retreat. All those years ago I sought quiet and solitude just as I do today.

Every spring I cleaned my Little House from floor to rafters. I re-painted as needed and decorated to my heart’s content. Little baby doll bed, table and chairs, knickknacks – all mine. My family moved from 311 East Archwood Avenue when I was 14. The Little House accompanied our family, but my dreams were no longer centered in it, taking a backseat to high school, college, teaching, marriage and children.

With the birth of each child I longed for that Little House: the embodiment of my childhood. Circumstances were never quite right, years turned to decades, and the elements battered my Little House in my parents’ backyard. But I never gave up on it, never stopped wanting it.

This morning my 21-year-old son came home from school. After chit-chatting a bit he says, “Hey, Mom, you want to see something I picked up for you yesterday?” Working in construction himself I thought perhaps he’d retrieved a treasure someone had discarded. We walk out onto our porch and he doesn’t say a word, just points to the trailer. And there it is – my Little House! The roof is next to it on the trailer, the house sits a teeny bit lopsided, the paint is peeling, and some of the floorboards have rotted. The rusty numbers, 311½, remain securely nailed as the address. It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen!

And you know what? I can’t stop crying. Big, blubbery tears. The more I think of the gift, the harder I cry. I may be 50 years old, but my heart’s still 5. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

I have such plans: scraping, painting, enlisting my son’s help for the more major aspects. I look at my Little House snugly sitting inside the trailer; I look at my real grown-up house needing so much work itself. In fact, I came home this morning with great visions of making a dent in merely the messes, but here I sit gazing at my Little House. A monarch butterfly landed on a dandelion next to the trailer. Bees are buzzing which I hadn’t noticed earlier. I’m hearing all kinds of critter sounds that I hadn’t heard before. The sun is warm, the breeze is light, and my heart is full to overflowing.

Soon I shall strip the wooden walls of the curling paint flakes, but already my heart feels stripped of some of life’s anxieties. This colossal gift of love has kicked out built-up negativity. As I paint my Little House I’ll also paint my own interior sunnier, happier. I’ll paint my world pretty once more, from my Little House to my real home, to my heart and mind and soul.

I have been given a great gift.

~ Maureen :)

Wow-What-a-Mom!

Do you work? Three words. Simple enough question. Do you work? Words asked of me as I introduced myself to the only woman I did not know in a group of friends. Do you work?

“No.” I said no! One short and sweet syllable: no. What an idiot! I sat there like a bump-on-a-log and said no. A mother of four young men still living at home while they attend a local college and work through school should have said, “I’ve worked every single second for 25 years, performing endless jobs which no one happened to pay me for!” But did I say all that? Heck no!

To my no, this woman said, “That’s great.”

That’s great? What does that mean? That it is really great, or that I am being placated? Not sure. And I didn’t care to pursue the matter. I failed Everymom. I did not speak up for her; I did not speak up for me.

Next time, here’s what I’m going to say: “Yes. Yes, I do – have for 25 years, raising four sons, and now those sons, those gold stars on my mom resume, are working their ways through college while I, their mom, carve out a newer, improved life for myself. I attend daily Mass each morning, and ask God what He wants me to do, and I try to do it.

“I also happen to be copy editor and columnist for a magazine written by moms for moms. And I recently joined CatholicMom.com as a weekly columnist. I write two blogs at my own Web site, and try to give God to those who cross my path.

“I have written three books, and two of them are under consideration with a publisher right now.”

Wouldn’t my imagined soliloquy have gone over like a you-know-what in a punchbowl?

But really, ladies, let’s become a little more evolved, shall we? Let’s not ask that question of other women. Don’t all of us know what a mom does – how incredibly much she does? Instead of, “Do you work?” how about, “Do you work outside the home?” And if asked the dreaded question yourself, politely reply, “I sure do!”

Make no excuses for being “just a mom.” Just-a-Mom is a mythical creature anyhow; none exist on this planet. Think more along the lines of Wow-What-a-Mom! God’s multi-faceted prism of darkness-conquering light. How’s that for a job description?

~ Maureen
First published at CatholicMom.com.

A happy little P.S. - A week ago I attended a bridal shower for my niece-to-be, and was, of course, asked THE question. I was ready! I sounded good! :)

Here's to the Future Me (and You!)

Was just over at www.faithandfamily.com and heard of a Web site that allows you to write an e-mail to yourself in the future. You write it, and it flies around in cyberspace until whatever date you specify. Awfully neat idea, I think. Try it. Might be fun! Heeeeere's the site: www.FutureMe.org.

~ Maureen :)

The Invisible Mom Bond

How to describe the feeling in a mother’s heart as she watches her child carted off to parts unknown behind restricted hospital doors? His name is called, and off my son walks…alone. Doesn’t seem to matter if the child is 8 months or 18 years old, the mom feeling is the same and the body involuntarily reacts as tears well, watching him dutifully follow the technician.

I felt an acute sense of physical connection to this child who was once inside of me, a part of me for nine special months. Do we ever truly separate from our children? My son had to swallow the nasty chalky liquid, and lie on the metal table to be scanned, but he wasn’t alone; I was with him. Did he feel me?

I recall the familiar helplessness as my 2-year-old walked down a similar corridor years ago, in his teeny hospital gown, trustingly clutching the nurse’s hand. The same feeling re-occurred later as two more sons needed surgery. Double the dread.

Throughout these last 25 years my sons were hospitalized for a couple three-day stints. There was absolutely no question that I would spend all nights with them – that I was not leaving the hospital until I took them home with me. We were one. I couldn’t have broken that invisible mom bond had I tried; it held me tight.

What must Mary have felt as she watched her Son being carted off to parts unknown? “Helpless” can’t come remotely close, just as stitches and surgeries can’t hold a candle to crucifixion and death. Yet Jesus’ mother stood firm; she stayed with her Son until the end witnessing…feeling…the indescribable abuse.

The invisible mom bond held her close, kept her one with her Child. Jesus felt her strength, and surely was comforted by her presence. This time the Son went Home before the mother, but the mother/Son bond remained unbroken. Each was with the other.

Hopefully, the next time we moms gaze up at Jesus on the crucifix we will no longer see him as being all alone. We’ll see a mother’s love surrounding Him.

~ Maureen :)
Column first published at CatholicMom.com

Faith and Family Small Successes

Why oh why, can something so simple two weeks ago frustrate the heck out of me this week? I cannot make the "button" of Small Successes magically appear on my site, but here are my successes anyway with an added bonus:
1. Went to the gym three times so far this week.
2. Sought the solitude of the beach four times.
3. Began writing a new book.
Bonus*****Didn't throw my laptop out the window in frustration over the difficulties of the Small Successes button!
~ Maureen :)
P.S. Hope you all had many successes of your own this week. Maybe by next week I'll conquer the button once and for all.

The Beach is Mine Again

The beach is mine again. Sand-throwing little kiddies gone to school. Texting teenagers gone to school. Three cheers for school – Hip Hip Hooray! It’s me and the seagulls now. Peaceful. Soothing. Restorative. My summer’s not over – not by a long shot. As long as the sun and the surf show up, I will too. To write. To pray. To be. To be alone.

Maybe this next phase of my life has possibilities after all. I really do not miss school shopping for four sons: clothes, shoes, backpacks, outrageously expensive required calculators. This year I went all-out when I saw notebooks for a quarter. I bought 20. And a few days before college began I bought each of my sons a pen – one pen. That’s it – notebooks and a pen. I think at their ages they are perfectly capable of purchasing the rest. Funny how when parents don’t foot the bill the child suddenly gets along with much less.

I remember when I drove my first car years ago; my parents bought the gas. They gave me a credit card. At about that time self-serve gas stations began popping up. Why on earth would I consider leaving the comfort of my car to pump my own gas? So it was a few pennies less, who cared? Me, that’s who, when the credit card went away. I hauled my cookies out of the car every time! I still do.

It’s a parent/child dance. Was then ~ ever will be.

My children and I “dance” together less frequently these days, but that’s all a part of the game, right? Love ‘em. Teach ‘em. Give ‘em space. Let ‘em grow. Love ‘em. Always love ‘em.

Even the seagulls are more content without hoards of people taking over their turf. Every creature needs space to live as God intended. Moms are no different. Find some space. Take some time for yourself. You’ve survived summer. You deserve it.

~ Maureen :)

Reach for the Heavens

I sat in the theatre knowing I was sitting amidst a story I had to write; it was too special to keep it to myself.

Rewind 40 years: Do you see us – my sister and me screaming “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” at the top of our lungs as if nothing else in the entire world mattered? Singing “A Spoonful of Sugar” in such a strange way as to roll every single “r” in the song – “A spoonful of sugarrrrrrr.” Silly. Fun. I’m surprised I didn’t carve new grooves into my Mary Poppins album I played it so often.

Fast forward to Mother’s Day 2009: To my delight I opened my card to find two tickets staring back at me – two tickets to Mary Poppins the musical. And my oldest son, the giver, was accompanying me. We waited three long months until the date finally rolled around.

I was so excited. We dressed up, plugged in Mabel a.k.a. GPS and away we went. We were in the company of many groups of mothers and…daughters walking toward the theatre. Many, many girls all dressed up in their Sunday best in sweet little sundresses swinging sweet little purses. Mother/daughter outings. Never had one of those. I commented on the preponderance of females. Monotone voice replies, “I know, Mom.”

What a trooper!

We enter the theatre and I step back in time. I love theatres; of course, my son knows this. We find our seats and wait for the curtain to rise. The instant it does we hear the little voice directly behind my son, “I can’t see anything!”

Oh well. Get up on your knees Sweetie! We’re not moving.

How the songs took me back! I was the little girl again. But as the production continued, songs that I had to have heard as a child, but didn’t remember at all, rang with new meaning: “Being Mrs. Banks should be an easy role. And yet it’s one which I don’t seem too good at on the whole. I have a comfy home. I have a comfy life. I have a name which tells the world I’m someone else’s wife.”

Ladies??? I’d wager one or two of you can relate. Am I right?

So now I’m sitting there experiencing a gamut of emotions. Next, the first haunting strains of “Feed the Birds” plays, and the woman next to me sighs. A minute later the woman in my chair cries. What is it about that song? From child through woman it’s been my favorite. The music, the words, the whole package has always touched me to my core.

“Feed the birds. Tuppence a bag. Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag…All around the cathedral the saints and apostles look down as she sells her wares. Although you can’t see them, you know they are smiling each time someone shows that he cares. Though her words are simple and few, listen, listen she’s calling to you.”

Oh, she’s calling to me alright. She’s been calling for over 40 years. You think just maybe the birds aren’t birds at all, but are the very people with whom we spend our lives – our children, spouses, parents and friends? Feed them. Help them. Love them.

So there I am surreptitiously crying all over the place.

And then Mary Poppins opens her umbrella and flies up, up, up. So cool! I know there are wires, but still, it’s soooo cool. The little girls are oohing and ahing. Just seeing the set of the Banks’ house, and the way the stagehands manipulate it is worth the price of admission, but there’s so much more.

When I saw Bert walk straight up the wall, across the ceiling and down the other side, again, wires, but this guy must be in such great shape to be able to do that. I have to go the gym more. However, even that, as spectacular as it was, cannot compare to the last scene.

Mary Poppins grabs hold of that magical umbrella (or is it Mary who’s magical?), and soars up once again. Only this time she floats up, up, out into the audience, above the audience, and UP TO THE BALCONY! Can you tell I’m just a little impressed! Can you imagine being a little girl and watching Mary Poppins fly above your head and disappear?

Well, I just had to have that souvenir umbrella, that’s all there was to that. And the purse and the CD and the pin.

In one heartfelt gift my son gave me my childhood, my present and my future. Mary and company sang, “Broaden your horizon, open different doors, you may find a you there that you never knew was yours…Anything can happen if you let it. If you reach for the stars all you get are the stars. But we’ve found a whole new spin – if you reach for the heavens, you get the stars thrown in.”

What a heavenly day! Thank you, my dear one.

~ Maureen :)

Queenship of Mary

The following is my favorite poem I've written about Mary. I've posted it before, but on this the Queenship of Mary, I thought I'd post it again. I hope you like it. It's called Tears of a Mother.

Drop by drop the tears spill out upon her cheek
Little spurts of sadness week after week
Quiet cries inflict the pain upon her heart
Until a new day begins and she must start
To do all that is expected of her
And say not a word

How will she watch Him day after day
Living and loving in that little boy way?
How will she do all for Him that she must
Instilling in Him faith, hope and trust
When all the while destiny draws near
And say not a word?

How will she steer Him on His clear course?
Who will be her unending source
Of wisdom and virtue and unending love
To teach her the values of God above?
For whom does she pray
Yet say not a word?

As her Boy grows into the Man
She can do more than anyone can
To ease His fear, to lift His eyes
To the Father above who also cries
In pain for the Son who must suffer
And still she says not a word

Why was she chosen to bear such a weight?
How will she live knowing His fate
Just waiting and watching until that day
When soldiers come to take Him away
To a death long foretold to save us all?
Yet all will watch and say not a word

by Maureen Locher

My Small Successes

My Small Successes This Week
They don’t seem so small to me – I’m really quite thrilled with them. They all have to do with my oldest son.
1. This week we had a heart-to-heart about many of his concerns. Being a young adult isn’t easy in this world. And for once, I listened more than I talked! I really listened to his concerns, and gave them thoughtful consideration rather than spouting the usual party line. We had a great dinner together, just the two of us, mother and son, friend to friend.
2. He took action on a key concern of his – real concrete action, and I feel very proud that I had something to do with his decision.
3. And my dear one signed up for one college class edging nearer his degree. I’m REALLY happy about this one!

So there you have it. Small successes of a mom in transition. I jokingly call myself a tweeny mom. Sons almost 19 through 24 don’t exactly come running for advice anymore; they need to make their fair share of mistakes so they will learn from them. However, taking a backseat in their lives is much harder than you may imagine, unless of course, you are also a mom in transition. If so, I welcome you to my Web site. Look around. You just may find something you like!

I encourage you to read Mom Moments and leave a message about your own children, as well as checking out My Take on 3.

~ Maureen :)

Change Your "To-Do's" into "Ta-Da's"

Yesterday I wrote about yesterday’s yesterday. Today I shall write about today’s yesterday. Got that?

For a brief, brainless moment yesterday while still lying in bed, I contemplated skipping Mass and Bible Study to instead: wash dishes, fold clothes, and generally whip my house into shape in preparation for my son’s birthday cookout on Saturday. And I also hoped to find the time to write something worth reading.

Sanity prevailed, no doubt by some heavenly mom writer nudge, and I dressed and went where I belong to begin my days. I could have washed those dishes, folded those clothes and written those words, among other ‘to-do’s.” Or I could have listened to God speak to me. I could have been nourished by His Body and His Blood, or I could have had a clean glass from which to drink.

I chose to follow the example of the enlightened woman at the well. She didn’t need a bucket; I don’t need a clean cup. I just need what’s in the Cup.

So, how did my day unfold? Mass, followed by Bible Study, writing, catching up with a friend, and writing some more. My kind of day! I filled up in the morning so I could empty myself the rest of the day, nourished from the Word, the Bread and the Cup. And among my scribbled notes at Bible Study, I happily reread: “My whole existence is in revealing God.”

Right now, I swear on a stack of bibles that I am looking at a little saying I’d ripped out of a magazine, and taped to my bedside table months ago: Change your “to-do’s” into “ta-da’s.”

I did that yesterday. I wish you the grace to change your to-do’s into ta-da’s today and all your tomorrows.

~ Maureen :)

Sanity Savers

Have you ever had so many words in your head you felt your brain would burst?

Last week I attended a Catholic Writers’ Conference in New Jersey. This “mom” interacted with total strangers all week long – such lovely memorable strangers. And all she wanted to do was write about her new experiences.

However, I drove home to my messy house with zero food that four men, called sons, occupied during said week. My first challenge: So-help-me-God, I was not washing one dish! And I haven’t; they have. It took the dear darlings two days of unconcentrated effort, but I didn’t cave. Score a very small victory for mom.

I’m lucky enough to visit my parents, ages 89 and 90, twice a week in their home. Every day they are able to remain in their own house is a blessing, so I shop and I help. Ours were not the only Mother Hubbard cupboards; two – count ‘em two – large grocery store trips punctuated my yesterday.

Second challenge: arrived home to no electricity. How special! And last night all I wanted to do was write, not buy many bags of ice, and borrow a generator. But as any mom writer feels resoundingly in her core, we cannot always write when we want to write. We steal our moments. We juggle. We make do.

Arriving home from Mass and Bible Study this morning, I faced the third challenge: How not to blow my top as one son was still asleep near noon and another was watching a movie. Movie son had straightened a bit, but only a bit. We had THE TALK again. They are working; I am writing…as God intended. I hear the melodious strains of the weed whip as I write – better than any celestial choir.

Moms’ lives are certainly fraught with endless challenges, but mom writers can write about them, and learn a little something from other moms along the way. I’m convinced we keep each other sane. Thank you for your part this day!

More tomorrow…

~ Maureen :)

I Remember Mrs. Reed

I remember Mrs. Reed, friend to a little girl who lived next door. With few children my age in the neighborhood, on any rainy day I could be found jumping through puddles in Mrs. Reed's blacktop driveway - only blacktop drive on the block. How I'd run up and down, squishing puddles, clutching my little umbrella having the time of my life.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Reed were most particular about their finely manicured lawn. We had grass; the Reeds had a lawn. By far the best grass in my little world, I skipped barefoot through it cutting across the putting green to points beyond. However, cutting through the Reeds' yard was a huge no-no for children of all ages in the neighborhood. All, that is, except for me. They both had a soft spot for me, and I for them. I never got yelled at, but I also kept a pretty good eye out when tromping across the sacred ground.

Every single evening from spring through fall, Mr. Reed meticulously watered every square inch of his front yard. Afterward, he lit up his big cigar, reclined halfway on his front porch swing, and swung with one foot dangling to the ground. Mr. Reed never swung back and forth; he swung sideways, slowly and methodically, until dusk descended and the lightning bugs twinkled the night. Spotting one, I'd race to catch it, then tuck it safely away inside the cleaned out mayonnaise jar with holes poked in the lid so the little buggers could breathe. On and on I ran through the damp lawn. Did life get any better for a 5-year-old?

Yes, it actually did...when the chimes of the approaching ice cream truck could be heard amid the squeals of laughter. All went silent. An exodus of children frantically fleeing to their homes in search of nickels and dimes before the ice cream man officially stopped. Banana and sky blue popsicles were my favorites. Added bonus to sky blue: blue lips, blue teeth, blue tongue. Just call me Baby Smurf.

On especially hot afternoons, a sprinkler twirled the coldest, finest spray all around the Reeds' backyard. Running through sprinklers was forbidden at my house. If I ran through a sprinkler I'd get polio. Oh my, what is it about that forbidden fruit to a child's young mind? I loved sprinklers, and I sneaked in under that cascading water as many times as possible, and I never got polio.

In the morning, Mrs. Reed and I would walk back to her old-fashioned red climbing rose bush which clung to a white arched trellis. And we'd pick roses together. Even taking the trash out was fun at Mrs. Reed's. I hated drying dishes at my own house across the blacktop drive, but doing dishes at Mrs. Reed's became magical. Perhaps it had something to do with the can opener-combination-ice crusher? This new-fangled contraption hung above the sink, and I thought it was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. Anytime I wanted to, I could walk over to the freezer, grab a few ice cubes and crush 'em to my heart's content.

Back in Mrs. Reed's bedroom she had every conceivable shade of Avon's tiny white lipstick samples with which to paint my face. Way neater than sky blue. Next I'd adorn myself with pieces from her extensive collection of costume jewelry. I was positively captivated by the fact that due to an accident when she was younger, Mrs. Reed was left without any eyebrows, and had to pencil them in each day. Remarkable!

Oftentimes Mrs. Reed would drag out her small phonograph and stack of children's 45s complete with accompanying color picture book, and we'd listen over and over to the same stories. One story, which was my absolute favorite, is so completely politically incorrect today that I dare not mention the title. But what did we know back then? It was a just a goofy story.

Back to the blacktop drive where I'd pirouette Mother May I? steps and Red Light/Green Light starts and stops with little friends. We'd have to move out of the way when Mrs. Reed needed to go somewhere. I mean, it was her drive, after all. And there she'd go in her little dark blue Corvair. Only person I ever knew who owned a Corvair. It simply added to her mystique.

We moved away when I was 14, keeping in touch with Christmas cards and the occasional visit. I missed her. But she never left my heart. A few weeks ago Mr. Reed passed away. He was 91. At the funeral home I first glimpsed Mrs. Reed's son who ushered me over to greet his mother. He asked me, "Do you remember my mom?"

Do I remember your mom?

"Yes, Dave, I remember your mom."

~ Maureen :)

You Break It ~ You Bought It

I hope you are enjoying reading posts of my recent vacation to Houghton Lake, Michigan with all of my five men. The following happened in one of the Indian gift shops:

Years ago when my boys were small we would eagerly await the dancing demonstration every Thursday by the local Indians. We'd huddle outside on the rickety bleachers listening to the locals spin their tales, watching them dance. We'd take video of my boys huddled in a tepee pretending to be Indians. And of course we visited all three of the city's Indian shops. Feather headdresses, coon skin caps, tom toms, rubber javelins and tomahawks all made their way back home to Ohio. My boys simply loved wandering around the gift shops. They had their souvenir money, and not one penny of that ever made it back to Ohio!

So there we were wandering around the very same gift shops a few weeks ago with much the same merchandise, when I picked up a small plastic hammer that looked like it was supposed to squeak when hit. So I hit it on the counter. And it broke right in two! I did not bang it down hard. Next, I did what any kid would do - I put it down...fast.

Hmmm...a dilemma. I actually was quite mad that the stupid thing broke. What to do? I walked over to someone who shall remain nameless, therefore blameless, and confessed. Nameless said, "Just leave it. Don't worry about it."

Hmmm...Didn't set well with me. What would Jesus do? Jesus would have had a nice sturdy toy hammer made out of wood. It wouldn't have broken. But I was stuck with a cheapy plastic piece of...well, you get the idea.

It cost $1.59 but it was the principle of the thing. I did not want to pay for a defective toy. I couldn't leave it in the bin for some poor unsuspecting child to cut herself on. No one but Nameless knew what happened - or so I thought. I grabbed the stupid hammer, marched up to the cashier, laid the hammer down and said, "This broke." Not too much information. Just enough. It did break.

The cashier said, "Oh." I walked away. Of course I spent a fair amount on other souvenirs I'd collected, and then went out to the car to my waiting family.

The instant the car door opened in rapid-fire succession:

"Did you really break it?"

"Did you tell them?"

"Did you buy it?"

To which I replied, "Yes, yes, and no."

Obviously, Nameless blabbed. Awfully glad I did the right thing. I always knew I would - it was just a matter of how.

Lesson taught - lesson learned. This mom thing is never really over, is it?

~ Maureen :)

The Princess and the Piece of Plywood

It has to be plywood, right? Or possibly cement? When I lie on the bed in our vacation cabin after a tiring day of travel, I think, You gotta be kiddin'!

No, not kidding. I stretch out expecting some sort of give in the mattress. Something. Anything. Nothing. N-o-t-h-i-n-g! How can a piece of furniture designed to bestow a good night's sleep be so unforgiving? The floor must be softer.

I try to sleep. I toss. I turn. My mood rapidly deteriorates. Why does the fan have to be whirling away? I'm freezing. Why can't my bedmate vanish into thin air so I don't have to suffer in silence?

And what is the crunching sound in my ears? Why is my hair soaked? Despicable thick plastic pillow protectors! Protection from what? Me from bugs? Them from slobber? I can't stand another second. I flee to another room. Same darn bed. This is just plain wrong. Whatever fraction of z's I catch are further fractured by nightmares.

On night #2 my son lifts the extremely thick and horrendously heavy futon pad to the bedroom for me. Now I really feel like the princess with her pea of a mattress resting beneath the cushioned barrier, the softness a definite improvement. It, however, subtracts from the overall sleeping space. Claustrophia of the mattress ensues coupled with the paranoid notion that I could quite certainly fall off!

No fan freezes me this night, but the uncirculating air feels stagnant, heavy. I can't open windows. Anyone walking by could see right in. Rational Mind realizes positively no one would ever walk by to peer in. Too bad Irrational Mind prevails.

Next, the pillow crunches one too many times. Me and my damp head storm out barely disturbing catatonic bedmate. He's enjoying the five inch thick futon pad all night long. I claim the 2X4 on the other side of the wall. Why, God, oh why?

I double every blanket I can find and zip off the plastic pillow protectors, feeling nearly as guilty as when tearing off the Do-not-remove-under-penalty-of-law pillow tags. What is that all about anyway? Have the pillow police ever arrested anyone? Intimidation, pure and simple. It worked on me for years.

But not tonight. Not in my cabin where the yellowy plastic bags are neatly folded in a corner of the room until I make next week's visitors miserable by re-zipping them around the soft, quiet pillows that never did anything to anyone to deserve such an incarcerated fate.

Quiet cabin, other occupant asleep, the minutes turn to hours. Where are those leaping little sheep when you need them?

~ Maureen :)

Fun in the Sun Minus the Sun

Some necessary background on me and water: first, I can't really swim. I say "really" because a very long time ago my mom took me to the YWCA to remedy that situation. I was about 10 years old. My most vivid memory is undressing with very many older naked ladies. I did not like that.

I wore glasses at the time but couldn't wear them in the pool so I couldn't see what was demonstrated. No pun intended, I felt like a fish out of water. I muddled through. My family moved to a house that had a pool when I was 14. My memories are of holding my breath, swimming one length, stopping, gulping for air and turning around to "swim" again. I used to think I could save myself if need be, but I highly doubt that anymore.

Next the whole vacation bathing suit dilemma. Ugh! Or beter yet, "Double Ugh!" as my dad likes to lament. I have never been a fan of swimsuits in any shape or form. May quite possibly have something to do with my shape and form. Oh well. What is, is.

A month before our vacation I began the online hunt for suits. Ordered one. It came. Ha ha ha! Ordered another. More laughter. More orders phoned in, knowing once I found an acceptable garment I'd send all others back. What a fortune temporarily spent. However, the horror of an actual dressing room experience kept me from all actual stores.

I finally didn't throw up when I tried on the last of the mail order suits, so that was the keeper. Vacation began in less than a week. I was ready. Me, my suit, my cover up and my floppy hat. I never wear hats but I thought, Why not? No one knows me up there but my family. It might be fun.

One more purchase necessary for fun in the sun: a float, a big huge 72 inch round float, and since I just wanted to lie on the float and not have to keep paddling myself around, I bought a small mushroom-shaped anchor, to anchor me in the middle of the lovely, calm, shallow lake I remembered so well.

We arrived - my five men and me. The place looked beautiful. Log cabins, same little play area where my young sons once played, same welcoming hosts. We were at Houghton Lake. We were back after an eight-year absence, and it felt great.

We blew up the float and although it was pretty windy we ventured out. The hilarious part of this trip into the lake is that my husband held the float for me at the dock. I didn't even have to get wet! Now that's my kind of swimming! Beginning to see a pattern? I like beer that doesn't taste like beer (previous post), I enjoy water if I'm not actually in it.

The waves got bigger and the water was mighty cold splashing up over my lake island. I lasted an hour tops, gracefully slipping off the back, into the water for maybe two seconds, and climbing the dock steps.

And that was the last time any of us were in the water all week long. The first day or two I encouraged, "Oh, this dreadful weather will never last. It came in fast; it will go away fast. The wind will slow, the lake will be calm, and we can swim and fish without upending on whitecaps." Didn't that sound like great advice? I thought so. My dear ones believed my optimism until about Wednesday. By then I didn't even believe it. It sucked! And we all felt the disappointment.

But my men did venture out to fish. It amazes me how two sons aged 20 and 21 can act like little infants when seated next to one another in the car on the shortest jaunts into town, hands all over one another. "Mom, tell him to leave me alone. I'm going to punch him if he doesn't leave me alone, Mom. I really am." (So punch him!)

How is it that these same two creatures can and did spend eight hours a day fishing together in a 14 foot aluminum boat? Remarkable! They had such fun. They reconnected; we all did. So we couldn't swim, or even lie in the sun. And you know that floppy hat I'd bought? I attempted wearing it only once when the wind nearly ripped it off my head. It joined the other misfits on the island of lost vacation toys: spray-on Coppertone, aloe for sunburn - now there's a hoot!, swimsuit, cover up, really expensive float, anchor, water cannons and big, soft, fluffy brand new beachtowels for six!

I now know it is possible to come back from a summer vacation whiter than when we left!

For more vacation memories tune in tomorrow.

~ Maureen :)

Don't Faint! New Post!

Yes, it's me. I'm here. I'm back. I realize the import-ance of many things as well as the profound insignificance of so much in the world. Key word - world. Worldly. Not of God. So much of what we do we think we are doing for noble reasons. But are we? We take care of our families, we earn a living, we enter and attempt to survive in the rat race. And somehow, little by little God gets shoved aside. Sometimes we hear His voice as the faintest whisper, so it is still audible, but when our children and spouses and bosses and obligations all speak at once they often drown out God's voice. The noise of others' demands and wants and wishes overtake us, and we succumb to what others think must be done in our lives. We listen to the world because it is so darn persistent and loud.

But I'm done.

My family and I have just returned from a family vacation - all six of us. Sons aged 18-23 came with mom and dad. Many thought that quite remarkable. "You mean all the boys are really going?"

"Yes, of course. It's a FAMILY vacation." Hence the cast of characters. But it got me thinking that it really is pretty remarkable and pretty wonderful. And somewhere somehow we've done a whole lot more good than bad, for all my boys realize the importance of family.

As vacations go, one could say our vacation sucked. That is if one were looking exclusively at the weather. The weather sucked - bigtime! We rented two cabins for a week. We go to Houghton Lake in Michigan. Began this tradition many moons ago when our sons were small. Hadn't been back in eight years what with stupid school sports practices which run all summer long and the rocky finances of a family of six.

Much anticipation and excitement built as we counted down the days. Lists were made. I'm a list maker for matters of importance. Provisions bought. Six people's stuff packed into our Suburban and away we went.

First stop: Frankenmuth, Michigan. We know this city by heart. Here is a glimpse into the extreme weirdness of me: Ever since our boys were young and had to use the restroom, of course, I took them into the ladies' room with me. Hubby wasn't exactly enlightened back then. I did the babies. Every single time we went to the very same larger stall because there was so much more room. It became "home" in Frankenmuth's Bavarian Inn. Many times the crowds would be pushy, we would be hot and sweaty, and we escaped, if only for five minutes into this little hide-away. And it refreshed us. Sound silly? Probably. But this year I visited my special little hide-away again. I didn't drag my young men in there with me - now THAT would have been weird! But I did enjoy the sameness, the familiar, the respite.

Frankenmuth was a huge success. We arrived for lunch at a brew haus, a micro-brewery which makes its own unique types of beer. I don't like beer at all. For me to drink a beer it must not taste anything like beer. And the menu offered one such flavor - raspberry beer. The beer flavor was nowhere to be tasted, so I drank with my over 21-ers. For some reason my sons get the biggest kick out of it when I drink anything alcoholic. I guess it's because it's such a rare occurence. Who knows? They're goofy, but I love 'em. Yes, that photo is three of them being silly in the brew haus. Ooh, don't they look scary! Not!

Next we checked into our hotel, rested a bit and went out to explore the street we know so very well. Same familiar haunts. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. At the Bavarian Inn we stuffed ourselves, but pleasantly so, on a family style smorgasboard of delicious fried chicken and German meats and the best noodles we've ever eaten. So much good food. Many other delectable side dishes. You know how sometimes when you build up something in your mind so much that the reality just cannot live up to the expectations? Well, this was not the case. We loved everything. It was as good, if not better, than we'd remembered. And to make the night even better we had the best waitress we have ever had - in any restaurant anywhere. Her name was Danielle and she'll probably never be reading this blog of mine, but she was so capable and friendly that I wrote her manager. I hope she realizes how much she added to our pleasure.

Life was good.

Next morning we drove up a bit north to our week's destination of Houghton Lake. The sky opened up, the wind blew and the waves crashed to shore.

To be continued - tomorrow - same bat time, same bat channel.

~ Maureen :)




Labels: Frankenmuth, Houghton Lake, Michigan, vacation

Welcome to My Happy Place

Hello Everyone or Simply One,
When I first began this Web site I operated on the assumption that if only one person read my words that was one person I was possibly bringing closer to God. Some"one" was hearing my story of God in my life. But then discouragement hit as I didn't think "enough" people were reading my words. But what is enough?

Yesterday I heard someone comment that when one simply stops writing on their Web site that is the same as saying to the readers, "I don't care about you anymore." That hit home with me. I do care about you. There is much I must do to ensure that more people read my blogs. But that's what I have to do. It's not your fault. So if you are but one or many I would like to share with you the column I wrote for Mom Writer's Literary Magazine in the Spring/Summer issue. I write the column Just Another Manic Momday for the magazine as well as serving as copy editor. Welcome to My Happy Place. I am writing to you from my happy place right now.

Here I am needing to write again. And it is a need for me, like breathing, food and love – it’s one of the must-haves in my life. When I pick up my pen I am transported out.

Out of: bickering boys, work-at-home husband, endless laundry, mountains of dishes, book revisions, Web site updates, MWLM copy editing. I am gone from all these places to my mythical Happy Place. If only for a little while, I tune everybody out. But soon the sheer unadulterated pleasure of peace and quiet is obliterated.

“Mom, he’s been playing that game all day. I want to pick on TV.”

“I’m not bringing Max in. I took him out.”

“Don’t hang up. This is not a sales call.” Yeah, right. Click.

And the ever-present husband who simply can’t, or won’t, see my laptop when he enters the room. I see myself. I am there sitting on my bed, fingers flying, eyes fixed, brain concentrating. But my computer must have a cloak of invisibility to it. I do not look up. I do not speak. But it’s coming. I know it’s coming.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Brain surgery, Sweetie. That’s what I’m doing. Want a free lobotomy? I can fit you right in.”

Concentration wrecked. Constant replay of this broken record is not healthy as I am not exactly sweet-as-sugar when interrupted. Atmosphere tense, tempers erupt. I just want to scream, “This is my new life. Sons grown. Maid gig over. Writer-life emerging. Get used to it!”

A huge contributing factor to the inner turmoil is that I have no place to call my own in this 1823 farmhouse. We had a little pantry; our dog, Max, woofed his way into that. We had a small room upstairs; my youngest son settled there. No livable space left. Full up. Except…one spot – our red room. Ridiculous name. It’s not even red. Plaster chunks hang from the ceiling, no electrical outlets, one rickety hanging light fixture, no heat, and piles of useless junk crammed from floor to crumbling ceiling. Dismal to most, but lovely to me because it is the absolute last vestige of possible sanity without mailing change-of-address cards.

My years of idealistic home improvement aspirations have deteriorated worse than my ceiling into a resigned realism. Cold, stark, in-your-face realism. This space is my only option – my final frontier. Either claim it or check into the looney bin sooner or later, most likely sooner. This large Federal style home has only two closets, next-to-no cupboards, and few drawers. But six people’s junk has to go somewhere, so everything was thrown into the red room.

Last week I couldn’t safely walk into the room. Couldn’t actually see a glimpse of the floor. Just junk upon junk. But basket by basket, bin by bin, beginning at the doorway, I hauled our discarded treasures into the hallway to sort. Very little made the Keep Me cut. One quick glance told me all I needed to know. If someone else could use it, I white-bagged it; otherwise, black-bagged for the dump. No vacillation. No, Maybe someday somehow someone may want this Bingo game. Highly unlikely my sons, ages 18-23, will ever become so mind-numbingly bored as to ask the question, “Where is that Bingo game Mom bought years ago that we’ve never even opened? We have a sudden urge to play.” Whoville-opoly as well as Hunting and Fishing Trivia white-bagged with Bingo.

In a matter of an hour and a half, I sorted down to the floor clearing a skinny path to the window – source of light, heat and hope. I charted my week’s progress with photographs. I want to remember how horrid it looked. Not sure why. But I do. Our grand sum of purged clutter stuffed the bed of a pick truck; Goodwill loves me.

What mom out there isn’t familiar with the childhood favorite, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie? Such was my encounter one gloriously fun day, only I dub it, “If You Give a Mom a Refund Check.” What a pretty desk. Pretty desk needs comfortable chair. Desk and chair must sit atop plush rug. Let there be light – once electrician comes – shining on this writer’s trio. Enter charming lamp. Spare twin bed stolen from son aches for frilly, girly sheets. Sheet set screams for pastel quilt as the lilac scent of candles begs to fill the air.

Now for my hopeful decorations – Picture, if you will: a brightly colored pillow adorned with the words, “Believe. Create. Inspire;” a plaque aptly summing up my life, “Yesterday a beautiful reflection. Today a new beginning. Tomorrow a limitless possibility;” a six-inch diameter ball, “Believe in Miracles;” and by far, my favorite acquisition is “Welcome to My Happy Place,” painted simply on a small piece of wood.

Ironically, this cheery open-arms greeting is for one woman and one woman alone, and that would be me! No one else in the house is going to be welcome. Welcome to my Happy Place, writer mom. All others keep out. Beware. No trespassing. Offenders will be shot with a volley of dirty looks and “About face” commands. I have set up writer’s shop away from the clueless. Boys lugged furniture upstairs. Floor washed. Rug laid. Sheets fluffed. Candle lit. Mom happy.

I’m making my dreams come true one lovely thought at a time. If I can do it, you can too. Make the space. Take the time. And keep the rest of the world out!

~ Maureen :)

Follow Your Heart to Find Your Purpose

Jesus came to earth for a purpose.

I came to earth for a purpose.

You came to earth for a purpose.

Jesus didn't become man on a lark. God didn't send His Son, His Self, for a joyride on the planet to check out the scenery and dabble in earthling life.

Jesus always knew His purpose. And His purpose was to die to self - to literally suffer and die so all of us could enjoy everlasting life.

Jesus existed for others. I exist for others. It's God's way. It's what He wants. After nearly 50 years I am finally (and I truly mean "finally") realizing this fact. I believe I was born to bring joy to my parents. I believe I was meant to marry and have children. And now that my children have let go of the apron strings, I believe I've been given more people to love, to watch over, to care for.

I exist for others. Always have; always will. It's my purpose. I exist to perform the at-times mundane chores of life, but also to experience the I'd-never-want-to-be-anywhere-but-here moments.

I have changed from a mom of four boys on her self-imposed neverending treadmill, to a woman who knows how God wants her to live - simply and for others. Not crazy-stressed every minute, juggling more plates than a Chinese acrobat. No. Simply, simply.

If I listen to God, if I'm aware of what's going on around me and attend to those needs, I am fulfulling God's purpose for my life. A satisfying happiness has come upon me ever since I was a child whenever I follow God's wishes. How do I know? I follow my heart. That's where God is.

Follow your heart to find your purpose. How are you to exist for others? Pray about it. Be quiet to hear God's answers. Hey, it's taken me nearly half a century to allow my brain to see what my heart's always known. I hope you learn more quickly!

~ Maureen :)

Watch Out for April-foolers!

Happy April! May you be ever vigilant today in recognizing pranks. It's a new month. Use it as such. Spring into the life which God made just for you a little more eagerly today. Go the extra mile. Surprise yourself. Surprise others. Start this month well. Good luck.

~ Maureen :)

Spring in My Soul

If I said I were sad for March to be exiting like either a lamb or a lion, I'd be a big, fat liar! I don't care how it goes; I just want it to go. Goodbye. Adios. Sayonara. Got the picture, ladies? Crying over spilled milk gets us nothing but a sticky, smelly spot on the floor. So good riddance to you, Mr. March. Notice the masculinity of him! Speaks volumes, I know. It's meant to.

Spring is just around the corner and this year I need a spring in my soul. I will die without it. Sound melodramatic or is it right on the money? How are you feeling on this last day of the month?

I know I can't fool around with this life of mine any longer. It's the only one God intends to give me. So what do I do with it? That's the $64,000 question now, isn't it? My life. My life. That right there is the biggest lie! It's not my life; it never has been. God never intended for my life to stay belonging solely to me. Maybe y-e-a-r-s ago on the day of my birth my life was mine for a second or two. But after that I've been supposed to live for others. I've always felt it. Even before I was purposely preached all the expectations of a Christian, it's lived as a tenet in my soul. I've always felt it. But does this "tenant" still reside in my soul or has she moved on?

Sometimes I wonder - like pretty much all of March! But I know what is right. And I know how to treat people well. I have hurdles to scale but what else do I have to do beside do what God wants me to do?

For a solid month I haven't known what to pray for. No specifics for myself. So I've prayed for God's will. And I still pray for God's will. Maybe in regard to all of us, ladies and moms, this is the one prayer that will soften God's heart so he inclines His ear to us. I sure hope so. Thy will be done.

~ Maureen :)

What Have I Been Doing?

I've been very, very busy. That's what I've been doing. Attempting to do all that God puts in my path and sadly, having to forgo some enjoyable activities, like writing to you. I hope you are well and closer to God during these 40 days than you were at the beginning.

I am well, and also closer to God, I hope. I have undertaken something which has given me considerable happiness. Details will be in my column Just Another Manic Momday in the Spring/Summer issue of Mom Writer's Literary Magazine, but you can have a preview.

I have cleaned out a hopelessly cluttered, crumbling room of my house to be my very own space with God. My writer space. My thinking space. My get-away-from-all-men-in-the-house space. And I love it. I adore it. I cherish it.

A friend e-mailed me the other day and said some very nice things about my Lenten journey because it was obvious to her the transformation in my life in this past month or so. Sometimes you don't see what's right in front of you. Before my friend brought it to my attention I had not thought of my pursuits as being on the Lenten Road - but they are, they truly are.

I have simplified, thrown out much visible, as well as invisible, clutter in my life. And it feels quite freeing. Opportunities have presented themselves which I never would have considered one short year ago, but now I have trips planned to Chicago, New Jersey and San Diego! I have been next-to-nowhere other than here at home for most of my life. So this is very exciting for me.

I credit alignment with God's wishes for my life for the turnaround in my life. I ask Him want He wants; I try to do it. It really is that simple. I made it much too complicated for years and years.

I wish you the same simplicity toward God in your life.

~ Maureen :)

Plan B

We all know God works in mysterious ways but today’s one for the record books. Some necessary background: As most of you know I am the mother of four boys aged 18-23. We should contemplate installing a revolving door as most days my sons are off to college classes or to work, and no one has the same schedule. Consequently, all are not home or away at the same time. How I long for solitude! I remember when they hopped on the bus at 7:00 each morning and returned at 2:00. All four. All together. Me here. All alone.

Anticipating this day I had re-arranged my schedule to be home after attending Ash Wednesday Mass in the morning. I had hoped to write undisturbed all day long and into the night if it struck my fancy because my husband had to go out of town. I could spread my papers all over the bed staying up all hours if I so chose. Last night he tells me he’s not leaving until sometime this afternoon. Blow #1.

We have so many cars and trucks spilling over our driveway into our muddy snowy yard people actually comment, “Wow, you must pay a fortune for insurance,” and, “Your yard looks like a Chevy truck lot.” Yes…and yes. Unfortunately this day we are three – count ‘em – three vehicles short. Two in the shop and one driving to Michigan. Blow #2.

We share everything here: one bathroom for six people, a community computer (although a couple laptops are interspersed here and there), and today – transportation. Many are sacrificing for the benefit of all. But I had to give up Ash Wednesday Mass with all my friends or one of my sons couldn’t go to class. Seems like cruel and unusual punishment to me. I don’t think that qualifies as giving something up for Lent. Blow #3.

I know I can attend evening Mass at 7:00 but I like being out in the world with those crunchy ashes on my head. I like telling the whole world I’m Catholic. Tonight I’ll receive them, wash my face and go to bed. Not the same. But this is how it is today. Plan B. It must have God’s stamp of approval on it, for everyone in my family is doing “for the other.” Some, myself included, begrudgingly, but doing it none-the-less. Not a bad way to begin this season of reflection and renewal after all.

This Lent I wish you quiet time alone with God as you map out your next fortysomething days. Let's draw nearer to God together.

~ Maureen :)

It's Mardi Gras - Eat that Chocolate!

Ladies, take some time for yourself tonight. Take it. No one's likely going to give it to you. Barricade yourself in bathroom or bedroom and think. Just think. What do you want out of this life? What do you want to give to this life?

The past few days have been quite enlightening for me in a sickening sort of way. I have been re-reading journal entries which go back seven years. And guess what? Most complaints are the same. Nearly everything. That is wrong. I've begun changes in the past year but reading in black and white was quite eye-opening.

Where are you on your journey? Are you stuck somewhere you don't wish to be? Does a situation have you in its clutches and won't let go? Are you a mom of young ones, older ones? We moms face so much every minute of our days. So again, I say grab that time tonight.

Think about the coming of Lent. What does Lent mean to you? Are you going to give something up? Or do you feel you've already given too much up by your motherhood vocation? Many thoughts occupy our minds when we moms think of sacrifice. One thing though, if you think you have it rough, tomorrow as you receive those crunchy ashes on your forehead, really look at that crucifix; you'll understand you don't have it as bad as you thought.

Let's use these next forty plus days to improve ourselves, our relationships with others, and most importantly, our relationship with our God.

~ Maureen :)

Happy Heart Day Ladies!

Have a great weekend!
~ Maureen :)

Beware of Dandelions!

Handy tips to survive this day:

You probably should avoid stepping on that crack, lest you break your mother’s back. And if you must open your umbrella in the house, turn clockwise seven times while doing so. Grab the garlic first if you feel the urge to rock an empty rocking chair. And as you reach down to capture that four-leaf clover don’t be alarmed as the black kitty crosses your path to get a closer look at you. Hook that horseshoe on your elbow if your travels take you under ladders.

Avoid washing dishes altogether if you don’t want company today because if you drop a fork a woman will visit, dropping a knife brings a man, and a child will show up if you drop a spoon. Did you know that a goldfish in the pond brings good luck, while a goldfish in the house brings bad?

And on your way to find the gold at the end of the rainbow, whatever you do – don’t stop to smell the dandelions – you’ll wet the bed!

Happy Friday the 13th!

~ Maureen :)

I Believe in Miracles

The cure isn't the miracle; it's all the people praying for it. We think we don't witness miracles in our world because we don't see a hillside Jesus sharing loaves and fishes. I have yet to attend a wedding where the water turns into wine. And how many more people are diagnosed every day than cured?

As economic woes pound our nation and far off enemies kill each other, it's easy to become jaded and question God's power to transform. We want peace now, filled bellies, and cancer eradicated. But that's not God's modus operandi. Of course He could perform all such miracles. So why doesn't He?

So we can.

For the past few weeks I have been working on a book pitch. B-I-G deal for me. My confidants knew D-Day was this past Thursday. Grateful for their prayers and encouragement I was sure to call them afterward to tell them the encouraging news that I am one step closer. It was a happy day.

Later the same afternoon I got a call from someone I'd forgotten to tell, "Hey, Mo, how'd your deal go? You know, I said a little prayer to God for you today at 11:00 and I don't do that very often."

THAT'S the miracle. That's why I went to sleep that night with a smile on my lips. That's why I'm misty-eyed right now remembering his words. His concern for me brought him closer to God if only for the few moments it took to utter his heartfelt petition. He talked to God on my behalf in the same way God's multitude does every day in the name of a sister, a friend, a spouse, a stranger.

The miracle is in the stocking of food pantry shelves, in relief efforts inundating victims of natural disasters, in calling up a lonely person to say hi. Whenever we give of ourselves for another it's a miracle. How many miracles will you perform today?

~ Maureen :)

Being Nice Matters

Still not quite up-to-par, when “Grand Hotel” flashed across the TV screen I retook the living room from the dear darlings for a two hour rest. No screaming video games. No moronic teenage shows of any kind.

A 1932 classic. This is the movie in which Greta Garbo utters, “I want to be alone.” Coincidentally enough, I Scotchtape a piece of paper touting the very same words on the outside of my bedroom door when the writing muse hits.

Beginning in the bustling lobby of the exquisite German hotel, we soon learn the shabbily dressed man is dying – but how he transforms in two hours! Why? Entirely due to kindness, pure and simple. Gentle words. Heartfelt human contact. And sincere appreciation in return.

Greed and cowardice of one character merely emphasize the goodness of the others. “Nobody gives you anything for nothing,” our greedy one laments. How wrong he is. Good people give it all away every day – for nothing. Good wins. Evil loses. Every day.

During morning prayers this very morning (for you visiting CWCO members – you know who you are!), a fellow attendee thanked God that the devil’s little snafu yesterday was easily remedied: Right during a chat our moderator’s computer died. OK, devil, you got her attention for a few minutes. What did you think? That the conference would come to a crashing halt? No…I don’t think so. People rallied. Good prevailed. Conference continued.

Good always wins in the long run. It may appear as if greed momentarily killed kindness in my afternoon movie, but it did not. The good flourished in the hearts of the supporting cast as they remembered their kind friend.

“I always felt better when he came around.”

“He was friendly to me as no man ever was.”

What a legacy! What dialogue! We understand the circle of life portrayed at the conclusion of “Grand Hotel.” The older visitors we’ve come to love check out while a whole new bunch scurry about to register. Movie’s final words: “People come. People go. Nothing ever happens.”

Yeah right! Every single time a mom holds her dear one close, soothes a sadness or admonishes a slight she gives God. Nothing ever happens? She makes the difference in another human being’s life, just as all the kind people in our movie demonstrated.

You may think you have no audience as you change diapers and wash dishes, that “nothing ever happens,” but you are tasting life. And our God sees everything we do. He appreciates it all. My sons pass a tiny heart-shaped sign every day of their lives in our home. It simply says, "Because nice matters." Today, remember how much nice matters and plaster on a few more kisses; it can’t hurt!

~ Maureen :)

Happy Birthday, Gabriel!

Did you read the news item on Yahoo! this morning? Here’s where to go if you missed it: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090130/ap_on_fe_st/odd_birthday_surprise.

In short, a father home from Iraq surprised his 6-year-old son on the boy’s birthday by hiding in a big wrapped present in the corner of the boy’s classroom. How cool! Happy birthday, Gabriel! Gabriel’s news must be catchy because our family just heard exciting news of a dear friend, honorary son/brother actually, who will be home on leave from Iraq sooner than later. Life’s good. We need to remember this amid the chaotic moments of motherhood, don’t we? Life IS good ~ Sometimes we just have to dig down really deep to find it, right moms?

~ Maureen :)

Give 'Em Space

Sometimes the best way to give God to your children is to be quiet. That's my plan today. In my part of the world we've just been socked with a big snowstorm and plenty more of the fluffy white stuff is on the way. My boys' college was cancelled so you know it's bad. It's a good old-fashioned snow day. And the little kid in my big kids is reemerging full force. They are silly and noisy as they play a football video game together. Usually they are working, studying, runnning off somewhere. But now they are stuck here; we all are.

I'm sick. Been trying to fight off a germ but the germ won, so I've been taking it easy, resting and writing. If I'm in the same room as they their antics hurt my ears. But they are having such fun I will not burst their bubble. I am enjoying my children behind a nice thick door. Occasionally I pop out to say hi but other than that the living room is theirs in which to call plays, shoot video enemies, whatever they want to do. I do believe they are wrestling around. Uh oh. Now I hear fake shooting noises like they are shooting each other as when they were younger. Goofy and fun. I hear plenty of laughs in between pleas of, "Get off me!"

So I'll stay away for a while. Give them space. Let them have their fun. And hope nothing gets broken!

~ Maureen :)

Obama not Glinda

We are Americans. That used to mean something. I hope it still does – something good. Today we inaugurate the 44th President of our United States. But our states don’t seem very united. Or our cities, neighborhoods or even our families. Maybe we can’t do very much about our country’s politics, our cities’ problems or our neighborhoods’ crime, but don't forget we are also moms. We moms still hold the power of the family in our hands. How are we going to use that power?

I’ve heard many people say our new President will transform their lives almost instantaneously as he’s sworn into office. Poof! All worries gone; plenty of money for all. Am I mistaken or did the majority of the citizens of the United States vote for a man, not Glinda the Good Witch?

President Obama is not a magician. We moms know how hard it can be to get our children to make their beds. How much more difficult for a President with many voters expecting a savior while others hope for failure?

Our nation needs no more failure. Instead of endlessly debating both sides of the same coin, let’s shine up that coin. Let’s protect it. Let’s cherish it. Before someone comes along and carries it off. It’s not the other guy’s responsibility; it is ours – each and every one of us.

Moms, let’s begin where we have that power – at home. Let’s teach our children by example. Teach them to work. Hold them accountable for their actions. No one gave us our United States of America. We Americans took it. Our ancestors fought for it long and hard. It’s our job to keep its principles safe, its people free. It is our duty.

So as our nation collectively holds its breath wondering what will happen, let us moms do something about it. Let’s do what we do best in our families by listening to our hearts while using our hands. May God bless America, its people and its President.

~ Maureen :)

As copy editor for Mom Writer’s Literary Magazine as well as columnist of Just Another Manic Momday, I invite you to visit Mom Writer's Literary Magazine at www.momwriterslitmag.com. Visit the MWLM Blog to hear what other moms are saying.

Good Things Coming

Dear Readers,
Soon you will find a new face to this blog page. I hope you are using this new year to let God work through you, I hope you find God in all things and I hope you ARE God to all you meet. Lofty goals? Maybe. But what's the alternative? Why not shoot for the stars and find God in His heavens by sighting Him in your ordinary everyday round?

He's all around us. Look. Feel. Love.

Talk to you soon.
~ Maureen :)

Clorox to the Rescue!

When I was little I never understood Matthew's account of the wedding at which the king ridiculed the wedding guest who did not wear proper wedding attire. The king didn't only disallow his guest entry; he threw him out with instructions to "bind his hands and feet, and cast him into the darkness outside, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth."

Wow. Just because the poor man wasn't dressed right? This punishment always seemed ridiculously harsh to me, as a child. The wailing and grinding of teeth stuck in my memory. I'm not a child anymore. I understand. The kingdom of God is somewhere I want to be allowed entry whenever it comes.

Now if I were preparing for a wedding on a certain date I'd have chosen an outfit, made sure it was clean, found shoes and purse, maybe even selected special occasion jewelry. When the day arrived I'd be clean head to toe with shiny hair and polished nails. A wedding celebration is a special event requiring special preparations.

How mush more special is God's kingdom? Light years above! The tricky part here is that nobody knows, no matter what anyone thinks or attempts to calculate, nobody knows the day we'll meet God. We don't know the hour of our own death or the end of this world as we know it. Hmmm...so when should I do my nails?!

Seriously though, the story I did not understand as a child is perfectly clear to me now: if you don't want to miss it always be ready. Have about you the proper attitude before God at all times. You know what you're supposed to do. If your white garment of proper attitude is not so white anymore, not so pure, what are you going to do about it?

Is it just a small stain from a thoughtless act? Nothing a little stain stick can't handle. Or do you need to douse it in Clorox and soak it in the radiant light of the SON to draw out all discolorations? Only you know what you need to do. So do it. Make your garment dazzling white to greet the Lord. Shine so brilliantly that He can't possibly pass you by.

Or if it seems too much for you to handle, you could always wait around for the wailing and grinding of teeth. Your choice.

~ Maureen :)

"We're Here to Get Each Other into Heaven"

"We're here to get each other into heaven": words spoken at a Bible Study class. Profound words. Words so profound to me that although I'd not been taking any special notes up until that point, I whipped out the first paper my hand grasped which turned out to be my checkbook, of all things, so I would remember the exact words. I do that sometimes when something is said beyond the norm.

How simple. How simply wonderful. What if we all operated on this premise 24/7? What would this world be like? Irrecognizable, I think. "We're here to get each other into heaven."

Today how would you change your actions, words, thoughts if that was your sole reason for living? What would you do? You would do and I would do what we SHOULD do. Don't we all know what that is pretty much every single moment of every single day? Really - don't we? In our heart of hearts? We all know what's right, what would please God the most, what would smooth another's way to heaven. We know. We're not stupid. Or are we? "We're here to get each other into heaven."

So what are you going to do today to get someone into heaven? One thing - what'll it be? Calling that friend to chat even though you, yourself, feel poorly. Volunteering at the soup kitchen. You've always been meaning to go but just haven't gotten around to doing it. Maybe now's the time. Or jotting a note to a lonely friend or a frazzled mom. Take that spotlight off of you. Shine it on another because "we're here to get each other into heaven."

Think about what you've just read. Read it again. Your mind heard it the first time - now read it a second time so it sinks into your heart. And then put that thinking cap on and do something concrete to make another's way easier. Just think - if you are pushing another into heaven look how closely you are behind them. God certainly can't miss seeing you there, too. What if the only question God asks you after you die is, "What have you done to get My other children here with Me?" Just as I whipped out my checkbook you can whip out a list a mile long if you take the time to begin now. Funny thing about God, though. With or without the lists, He knows - He always knows.

"We're here to get each other into heaven."

~ Maureen :)

Who Can be Against Us?

Who can be against us? Plenty of people can. Circumstances may leave us exasperated. Mistakes foil our plans. Our own dreams and desires seem to plot against us. Very many forces in this world can be against us at any given time. We feel as if we are being ganged up on. We have a problem and for the life us we cannot construct a satisfactory resolution. We worry. We lose sleep. We ask our friends for their advice. We run away. At such times we are forgetting the good. We are forgetting the God. Our God, our Father who desires only the best for us.

Forgetfulness is bad if it is God who is slipping our minds. Hopefully our moments of forgetfulness are few and far between where God is concerned. Best case scenario: we never forget.

But I forgot tonight - not for long - but just long enough to feel alone. Isn't there a song about feeling alone in a crowded room? Well, that was me. I knew what was happening but couldn't seem to shake the feeling. I tried to look at those around me and find God in them but I couldn't find Him. I scanned the crowd. No one looked remotely happy. And I could not push myself to be God for another. Just couldn't do it.

Mercifully, the time to depart arrived. I came home unsure of what I should do or where I should go. I opened the Bible to the phrase which began my post : "If God is for us, who can be against us?" Those first five words are pretty darn important. The ultimate qualifier, wouldn't you say?

I feel better. I don't feel alone anymore. God is here.

Remember, God is there, too. Never feel alone.

~ Maureen :)

God the Farmer

Are you wheat? Or are you a weed? How do you know? Do you hang around with other wheat or other weeds? What's the difference between a weed and a wildflower? Aren't they the same things?

In my part of the world chickory is growing alongside the roads. Such beauty. Wildflower? Weed? I say wildflower-weed because it is not only possible, but most probable, for the two to co-exist.

I'm wheat as well as weed. I have my multigrain moments on good days while on other days I'm sure my dear ones have wished to spray me with Weed-B-Gon. In this weekend's gospel Jesus reminds us in parable form that pulling out the weeds while the wheat is young may damage the wheat. So He encourages us to let both grow side-by-side just as He allows both parts of each of us to grow right alongside each other.

Days when we are grumpy or downright mean God does not smite us sending us to a fiery end. No, God the Farmer is patient with His cultivation. He watches over us, He cares for us whether we are weedy or wheaty. We are two sides of the same human coin. How we choose to flip is up to us – not up to God, or to luck or mere chance. We're talking free will here.

You can be the biggest weed the world has ever known. You can ignore your wheat side. It's up to you. Or you can cultivate the good in you. Only you can truly recognize the weeds as they surface, and only you can carefully separate weed from wheat. No one can do it for you. God won't do it for you. But He will be watching every moment. And He will freely give you all the tools you will need. He'll give you pointers along the way. So read His signs. Use His tools. Be His wheat. And watch your garden grow.
~ Maureen :)

Can you look square in the eye of God?

I am struck by this weekend's gospel as I sit amongst the flowers and weeds in my gardens. I haven't weeded for two weeks. Amazing how quickly weeds sneak in, isn't it?

Still, most of these weeds are small except for this one insidious type – fast growing with deep roots. A little effort and even those are history – dead.

I wanted this day, alone outside in my gardens. I had an extremely tempting invitation to breakfast from one of my sons. I declined, to weed. Crazy? As his truck pulled away I wondered. But no, not crazy. Just what I need. Just what God needs to work through me.

I crave quiet and solitude. Living in a house with five men is noisy. And when it's noisy it's harder to hear God.

So here I am taking a break from kneeling in the dirt, soaking in a little sun and enjoying a gentle breeze. And being open to hear God speak to me.

I have one weed right next to a hostas. This weed resembles the hostas so closely. Sneaky. How did it get there? Did this weed, in seed form, walk around looking for a compatible friend? Something it could fool into believing it was a fellow hostas? Hardly. But how did it get there? How did it know? One of life's mysteries. This wannabe hostas didn't fool me though. I saw it for what it was: a fake, a phony. I yanked it.

And that is how we must look at all circumstances in our lives. Will this get me closer to God? Or will it not? If you are willing to ask yourself that question and answer it honestly, God's Word has fallen on fertile soil and will flourish reaching out to others of God's children helping them on their journeys.

Once you accept God's Word you must be ever vigilant. You must nourish His Word. Attend Mass. Study the Word. Try hard to understand its meaning in your life, not necessarily what it meant to Abraham or Moses but to you, right now in your present situation. It will speak to you if you will listen.

Next, you must weed out whatever does not belong in God's fertile soil. Because, let's face it, fertile soil is fertile soil. It will make the weeds grow just as well as the flowers. When weeds in your life walk up to you, look you in the eye and wish to be near you, you must turn away. No matter how tempting it is. Remember the apple! A teeny apple and look at the ramifications for us all. So weed daily, hourly if need be. Weed. Keep your soul's soil fertile.

And finally, as difficult as it may be, you must prune away parts of yourself that have become unpleasing to God. Perhaps your job just isn't for you. Perhaps the stress level is so high it is steering you away from God. Pruning is choosing. Choose wisely. You may not get a do-over. Adam and Eve didn't.

Well, back to my gardens. Back to my life – feeding, weeding and pruning – so one day when this life is over I can look square in the the eye of God and not blink, not even once.
~ Maureen :)

Dear Readers,
Perhaps with this writing I shall transform from my hideously lax once a month writing to a more reader-friendly once a week! Do you ever have these times? You are well-intentioned, super busy and your writing falls to the wayside? Your writing - the thing that makes you happiest, the thing that gives you purpose - and you take a hiatus from it? How stupid is that? Throwing away something that gives you joy!

Those mom writers/readers of you clicking over from Mom Writer's Literary Magazine know the joy that comes from writing. You understand the well-intentioned mind, the frazzled life. My frazzle has been a graduation party which is now, thankfully, history. Done with last week. So now as I attend grad parties rather than orchestrate them I am much more relaxed. Today I shall attend two.

However, as I sit at these parties with time to visit and time to think, I cannot help but wonder what comes next for me. I am at a crossroads. My four children are grown yet still live at home attending a nearby college. I am missing another female in the house more than I ever have in the past. God blessed me with all boys. I do enjoy the visits of my son's girlfriend though. She is an ally in this world of men. Last night we three (son, girlfriend and I) were the only ones home and my son controlled the TV remote. On and on he scrolled down until we were all tired of seeing movies listed that are terribly old or just not worth watching. We women complained and suddenly my son chose Little Women. How happily surprising. Chivalry does exist. I enjoyed a pleasant evening with two very pleasant people.

So, I can orchestrate a graduation party for 100 people, I can enjoy some of life's simple pleasures, I can do what needs to be done when a deadline looms but what am I really supposed to do with this thing called life? With this joy called writing? What is my purpose now that the little kiddies are big kiddies? Much food for thought. Come back to see how I navigate through my life's questions. I welcome advice if you've been where I am now.

Happy Sunday!
~ Maureen :)

Hello MotherVerse Readers

About a month ago I took an online workshop at MotherVerse in hopes of improving my site. Lots of information, many helpful people but not much time to implement what I've been learning. Hey moms, can you relate? Of course you can. We come last. Sad, but true.

So right now if some of you moms have clicked over from MotherVerse ~ Hello, nice to meet you! ~ Right now I am living through the daily lunacy of throwing my very last high school graduation party. We have had three in a row in the past three years and I am soooo ready to be done! Until this party is behind me - 10 days and counting - my inspiration is focused elsewhere, but please check in here to see what's new once my brain cells are not so fried with party planning and doing! Talk to you soon.
~ Maureen ;)

Prayer Requests

I think you cannot have too many prayers flying up to heaven on anyone's behalf. So...if you have someone who is in need of God's help, please post your special intention here and we will send up the prayers.

For my five men, may God hold them in the palm of His hand always.
For my parents and brother, may God keep them in His special care as they fight their daily battles.
For all service men and women, may God bring them home safely, most especially Micah.
~ Maureen

Trinity to Infinity

On this Pentecost Sunday I would like to share a poem with you that I wrote about the impact of calling on the Holy Spirit, confident that He will work with you and through you.

Trinity to Infinity

Father, Son or Holy Ghost
Which One do you love the most?
Is it One or is it Three
In this Blessed Trinity?

Is it Three or is it more?
Add yourself then you have Four
Four in One not just Three
Adds up quickly so you see
As more and more choose the way
To strive for good every day

In all you say and all you do
Let the 3 in 1 shine through
Till the day when They will be
Transformed to Infinity

~ Maureen :)

A Love Throughout the Ages

May 10, 1941 – A very good day! Because, you see, on that day 67 years ago, a man named Franny and a woman named Ethy became one. At 10:00 in the morning this couple was united before God, family and friends promising to love and honor “till death us do part.”

Groom’s brother and bride’s sister stood as witnesses for the happy couple. A wedding party of 12 tuxedos and evening gowns did not march down the aisle. But they had love.

After the rice was thrown (not birdseed, bubbles or butterflies), the newlyweds toured the town in a 1939 LaSalle borrowed from groom’s father. They did not rent a freakishly stretched stretch-limo. But they had love.

First stop was Tomei Photography Studio in Akron, Ohio where the local photographer snapped a few photos. They did not immortalize every conceivable moment of the day on video. But they had love.

Second stop: The Canteen for a wedding breakfast for 20 honored guests. Next came some rest. (Now isn’t that a unique feature to include in one’s wedding day?) On to the parents’ of the bride’s house where an afternoon reception of cake and punch afforded well-wishers the opportunity to convey congratulations to the groom and best wishes to the bride. And then the guests went home.

That evening the mother of the bride prepared an elegant wedding dinner for family. They did not catapult bride’s parents into enormous debt orchestrating a catered extravaganza complete with mind-numbing music blaring from bass-boosted speakers. But they had love.

The honeymooners then drove to Warren, Ohio where they spent their first night as husband and wife, followed by a cozy week of fishing in Canada. They did not sail the seven seas with total strangers. But they had love.

And for the past 67 years they have passed that love down to their children and their children’s children with more than enough left over for their great grandchildren. They did it right all those years ago remembering what mattered most, and they are still doing it right 67 years later.

Still holding hands, still laughing, still waking up next to each other, and still listening to Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy belt out, “Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life,” on those Victor 78s. What is their sweet mystery of life? Simply this: because they were never stingy with love, because they didn’t store it up for themselves, but lavishly broadcast it time after time, decade after decade, to any and all who crossed their paths, they still have love.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Pop!
I love you infinity,
Your darling daughter

~Maureen :)

The following is a tribute written by me for my parents two years ago entitled, Overflowing Cup.

The love your parents give you
Is the love that fills you up
The love our parents gave us
Overflowed the cup

Generosity beyond belief
All their hearts could hold
Spilling over to their children
Treasured more than gold

Examples shared, values set
To love through every year
Of happy times as well as sad
Wherever our lives veer

Ears to listen, eyes to smile
Lips to praise and kiss
Hands to hold, arms to hug
We were given this

Given this by God Most High
Because He loves us so
And wants us all to share this love
With those whom we do know

We wish for you your hearts’ desires
And God’s protection, too
As well as a great big huge
Happy 65th anniversary to you

Have a most wonderful weekend, dear readers. Happy Mother's Day to all you moms.
~ Maureen :)

It's Your Move, God

Can you believe it is already May? Time does not merely fly by anymore, it blasts forward at warp speed. I turn around and another month is gone. Another turn – another year. On and on.

Which leads me to ask myself what am I doing with this precious time that vanishes so quickly? Am I accomplishing things that are pleasing to God? Am I asking God what He wants of me? Am I then doing whatever He asks? Whatever He asks???

Hmmm...Food for thought.

I'd like to relate a story that happened to me in the wee hours of the morning, just this morning. I have begun taking an online workshop at MotherVerse to jazz up this very Web site. I need to learn more of the technical ins and outs of posting blogs. So I sat down here late last evening and began to fool around with various fonts and colors. All was just fine for a while.

But then I couldn't seem to do anything right. I'd click my mouse and nothing would happen but the most irritating noise from the tower of the computer. On and on went this noise. Click, click, click. Nothing. I got so mad!

Finally I walked away. (Anyone who knows me, knows it was more like "stormed" away, but no matter.) I started flipping through the channels on TV and passed EWTN. I don't usually watch that channel. But I heard God as I quickly clicked by. He was calling me back. I listened to that commanding voice as God whispered to me. Had I let my anger control me, let "my" will control me, I probably would have watched Pride and Prejudice for the millionth time until I became sleepy enough to go to bed.

But I stayed right where God wanted me, and I watched and I learned. He sent me away from the computer so He could give me a few pointers. In this day and age of so very many diversions and dilemmas we must train ourselves to hear God's voice, be it a whisper, a nagging repetition or a thunderbolt. We must listen and we must act.

I really like having this God the Father taking me under His wing. I've been a mom for 23 years. You know, Mom, the be all and end all of most homes. "Do this. Don't do that. Are you crazy? What were you thinking? Or weren't you thinking?" Countless decisions made every day affecting lives most profoundly. I'm tired. I want some rest, some guidance. I am soooo ready to give it up to God. So here I am God. It's Your move.

~ Maureen :)

God Doesn't Make Junk

Have you been making God smile? I have…some of the time. More than one time a day so that’s good. We can always do more though, can’t we? All of us have such a capacity to love if we choose to love. Most times it is very hard to forget the hurts of the past though. Have you discovered that too? You are going along and BAM something or someone crosses your path and suddenly your world forever changes. You can’t go back but you can’t go forward either. You’re stuck in a limbo-like state. That’s when you really need God.

Do you let disappointment or failure derail you? Or do you learn from it? Most times I am not a quick study. I need to be bashed more than a few times before my thick skull is penetrated. And I guess that’s OK; that’s how God made me. Remember that old saying about God not making junk? Well, that’s all well and good when you are rationalizing about yourself: “I’m not so bad because God doesn’t make junk.” You pump yourself up to feel better.

But what about the other people in your daily path? Are they junk? Did God make them? Well then, there’s your answer. But it’s so hard sometimes – really, really hard. Do you have a co-worker who drives you absolutely nuts? A family member? A fellow church member, even? Do they push all the right buttons to make you crazy on a regular basis?

Here’s an added challenge to accompany your April commitment: next time you see that “special” person dig deep within yourself, look deeply within them and try your level best to find out what God could possibly like about them. There’s got to be something. Keep looking and looking until you find it (or until they think you are a looney tune and run away). Either way – you tried.

Remember: God really does not make junk. He makes people very different from ourselves, that’s all. We like the likable. We like the familiar. We like what makes us happiest, not what makes us work the hardest. We are most comfortable around these types of people. Why wouldn’t we be? So don’t beat yourself up as you enjoy the company of your best friends. Just don’t slam the door in the face of another. It takes less energy to let the door stay open than to slam it to smithereens. Take it from a door slammer from way back. Nothing gives such satisfaction as slamming a real solid wooden door to emphasize a point. Just be sure one of God’s own is not on the other side.

~ Maureen :)

The 30 Day Challenge

April 1st. A new month. A clean slate. A new beginning. What will you do with it? I challenge you to do something out of the ordinary. Depending upon where you are on your journey with God will dictate which road you take. Are you young or older? Are you in a relationship with God already or do you need a nudge? Each one of us is somewhere different along our faith continuum.

But this is a “one size fits all” challenge: do one thing each day for the next 30 days that you will be doing for the express purpose of making God smile. You know, being God must not be the easiest job in the world. He could use a little cheering up I’m sure when He looks out upon His people to see some of the horrors of this world – His world. So let’s cheer Him up.

How do we cheer God up? I can hear the question through cyberspace. We do for others. Pick one “other.” Could be the same other for 30 days. Could be various others with whom you come into contact. Could be anyone at any time – friend or stranger, spouse or child. What will you do to make the life of another better? What are you, your very own self, willing to do to help the other? This is not something you would ordinarily do. For instance, I’m supposed to make dinner for my family. That’s a given. That doesn’t count. What would count is if I visited a neighbor sharing some of that dinner, or better yet, invited the neighbor here to share dinner and conversation. Unfortunately, in this world at this time one does not have to look very far at all to find someone who could benefit from a little TLC. Tender Loving Care? Or The Love of Christ? Same thing, don’t you think?

So the challenge is put to you. You can be happy that Lent is over and you can again eat meat on Fridays and settle back into your Christian “routine,” or you can take your faith a step further and BE Christ to the other.

Do the unexpected. Be bold in your thoughts, and your actions will follow. Be open to the presence of God for He is everywhere. You will find someone whose day can be brightened by your presence. Do you live with other people? Give them each a big fat kiss and tell them you love them. It’s as easy as that. If you live alone, pick up the phone and strike up a conversation with someone you’ve been neglecting due to your busy schedule. Give them 15 minutes. You have 15 minutes. You do. So do it! No excuses this time.

I wish you well in these next 30 days. Remember, all you have to do is make God smile one time every day. Good luck!

~Maureen :)

Trust Him – Love Him

Happy Easter Week!

I hope you all had a peace-filled Easter. Most of you moms were probably busy beyond belief, but what else is new? Perhaps on this Easter Monday you are finding some rest. I’m happy to say I am.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of spending time with family, two of whom were under eight months of age – my little great nieces. Since it has been a long time since my children were so young I took great joy in holding these little bundles of joy.

You forget how small they are, how cuddly, so innocent. And what struck me most about these little ones, and all little ones, is the fact that they are totally dependent upon their parents for everything. Food, clothing, warmth, amusement, love. I shudder to think what would happen if these little cuties were not cared for so well.

Obviously much separates us all from the animals – our intellect, our souls – and our total dependence on our parents. Think of young animals who can walk or swim right after they are born. Some creatures have just a snippet of time with their parents before they are off to fend for themselves. Not so with children. Good parents protect and nurture giving themselves completely to their young. And the babies learn to rely on their parents – for everything.

That’s how we should all be with God who is our Parent. He should be everything to us. Father, Mother, Brother, Sister, Confidant…the list is endless. If you have a good relationship, a faith, with God you should be able to rely on Him for all you need. You should think of Him first every day. You should expect goodness from your Father just as little babies expect goodness from their parents.

God has never let you down. When all is bleak you may think the world has let you down but you will always have a Friend in God – God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit. As you begin a newness with the Risen Christ this Easter Week, I encourage you to put all your confidence in God. Put your health and well-being, your finances, any and all worries you may have, your wishes and dreams into God’s hands. Talk to Him as you would talk to your most loving parent because that’s who He is – your most loving Parent. See what happens. The more you trust Him the more you love Him; the more you love Him the more you trust Him...

~Maureen :)

Every Single Blessed Day

Burying wishes under their needs
Staring in horror as the Son bleeds
Compelled to do what is morally right
Though insignificant compared to His plight

Wishing and hoping for dreams to come true
Unsure of life - unsure of You
Feeling futile as you give self away
Every single blessed day

So many poor ones
Too many who cry
So many needing
Why, God, oh why?

To get us to Heaven
Is that the trick?
Each good deed
Adds a paving brick?

Cementing the path
Is that the key?
To do what is right for all,
Not just me?

You can always say no when you tire
Jumping right down from your cross
You can throw in that towel
To recoup some of your loss

Or you could learn from the Master
And stay the course come what may
Giving more of self away
Every single blessed day

© 2006 Maureen Locher

May God be in your actions every moment of this Good Friday remembering all that He did for us.

~Maureen :)

Tears of a Mother

Drop by drop the tears spill out upon her cheek
Little spurts of sadness week after week
Quiet cries inflict the pain upon her heart
Until a new day begins and she must start
To do all that is expected of her
And say not a word

How will she watch Him day after day
Living and loving in that little boy way?
How will she do all for Him that she must
Instilling in Him faith, hope and trust
When all the while destiny draws near
And say not a word?

How will she steer Him on His clear course?
Who will be her unending source
Of wisdom and virtue and unending love
To teach her the values of God above?
For whom does she pray
Yet say not a word?

As her Boy grows into the Man
She can do more than anyone can
To ease His fear, to lift His eyes
To the Father above who also cries
In pain for the Son who must suffer
And still she says not a word

Why was she chosen to bear such a weight?
How will she live knowing His fate
Just waiting and watching until that day
When soldiers come to take Him away
To a death long foretold to save us all?
Yet all will watch and say not a word

©2006 Maureen Locher

How on earth did she do it?
~ Maureen :(

Look to God Now

Whenever you feel alone
Remember Jesus was alone
So you’re in good company

Whenever you feel despair
Remember Jesus in the Garden
All His friends fell asleep
He needed someone to talk to
He felt alone and sad just like you do
He talked to His Father
Try talking to yours

You question your fate
Jesus knew His which is infinitely worse
Jesus had to live to die
For sins He didn’t even commit
Jesus was a good person just like you
He served others just like you do
People always demanded more of Jesus
As people demand more of you
More miracles, more wine, more loaves, more fish - always more

Whenever life demands you must give more
Remember Jesus, and cheerfully give more
For who is to say what is enough
Except our heavenly Father?
One day it will be enough
God will whisper in your ear
When enough is enough
And you’ll open your eyes and you’ll see God
You’ll have the answers
You’ll feel the true joy of being in God’s company
Look to God now, so He’ll look for you later
© 2006 Maureen Locher

Cheerfully give this Holy Wednesday. God will see you and smile. He needs smiles this week for He remembers the past events of this week just as we remember.

~Maureen :)

Dear God,
In three days Your Child is going to die. He has been Your pride and joy, a model child His whole life, a most loving Boy. You have watched Him grow and learn and come into His own. You have 33 years of memories stored up of Him.

You were so elated when He was born You sent Your angels to welcome Him into this world. You were such a proud Papa. As Your Son grew in age, wisdom and grace your pride increased accordingly. He could do no wrong.

He was a friend to the less popular; He shared all He had with any in need; He didn't care what people thought of Him; He knew Who He was. He was Your Son and He never did one thing to tarnish the name You gave Him.

But a few weeks ago the tide turned. You felt that shift, didn't You? You saw. It seems Your Son is too good all of a sudden. People are becoming jealous of Him, and very fearful. Do You know they are plotting against Him? You could change their minds. You could turn their hearts of stone. You could make them see. Why aren't You? Why won't You help Your Son?

Soon people will falsely accuse this Boy of Yours, betray Him and deny His friendship. Your heart will break when they spit on Him, when they insult Him and beat Him. You only have three days left with Your Son.

They will humiliate Him. They will scourge Him over and over and over. And at some point during the torture of Your Son You will die inside. You will not be able to endure watching Your Son suffer so. But You will do nothing to stop it. They will crush the thorns deep into His flesh and hammer spikes into His hands and feet.

You will watch as they hang Your Son on a cross in three short days. You will see every drop of blood and hear every sigh, every groan. But You will be numb to it, helpless. Just when you think You cannot possibly endure one more second of your Son's suffering, You will hear Your Son's voice loud and clear, wracked with pain, accusing You of forsaking Him. And suddenly Your heart will be no more; it will be gone. Your Son will be no more; He will be gone.

Why will You let Your Son die, God? How can You? You have three days to do something about it. Please do it. Please stop it. Make them see.
Love,
Me

Dear Daughter,
I know what's coming, you are right. I will not stop it. "Make them see," you begged. Instead I will make you see. I will make you understand. Find your son. Look into his eyes. You will find your answer. You will see the reason I will let my Son die on Friday. What do you see?
Your loving Father

Dear God,
I see me in my son's eyes.
Love,
Me

Dear Daughter,
You have your answer. I have already made my choice. I cannot have My Son and you. I choose you. Love Me.


~Maureen :)

We Need God; He Doesn't Need Us

Jesus came for the common woman and the common man. He came for the ones who are searching, the ones who are lost and lonely. He came down to earth to suffer as we suffer. Not only the scourging and crucifixion but also to experience the deep down sadness and loneliness that fill so much of our lives.

What if Jesus had been the most happily of married men with lovely children and not a care in the world? No worries touched his life, no sickness, no disappointment, no sadness at all. Isn't it really hard to imagine that life as one belonging to Jesus?

Don't you always relate best to someone who has gone through what you are going through? If you are sad and searching, to whom could you better relate than Someone who could have had anything He wanted, anyone He wanted, yet He chose to remain alone? Jesus didn't have a wife to love. No little Jesuses to whom He could teach His carpentry trade. No little Marys gazing up at Him as if He were the greatest Man on the face of the earth.

Jesus could have had all that and more. A loving wife, children, a home. Instead He chose to live the life of a nomad never settling down, not calling anywhere "home."

Why would He do that? To show us all that we can survive alone because we are never really alone. That when we seek comfort we need only look up. That when we desire a confidant we need look no further than the end of a heartfelt prayer.

We need God; He doesn't need us. We are to rely on God for everything. That's what Jesus did. He relied upon His Father for everything. Jesus had a tunic, a robe and a pair of sandals, so we're told. Not closetsful of clothes. Not shelvesful of collectibles. No transportation except when He rode into Jerusalem. He walked everywhere He needed to go. He didn't carry a Nazareth knapsack filled with food. Remember that when God the Father enabled His Son Jesus to feed the multitudes, God was feeding His own Son as well. He was taking care of Him just as He takes care of all of us.

You may think you are calling the shots in your own life, but you are not; God is. Chances are the more you truly think you are in control, the more mucked up your life probably is. Let God control your life; He does it anyway. Rely on Him. Expect Him to take care of you. Welcome it and show your gratitude to Him at every opportunity.

This start of Holy Week go to your Father. Tell Him you love Him. Tell him you need Him. Ask Him what He wants you to do. Ask Him what He wants for you. And then listen and obey.

~Maureen :)

Our Lord's Passion in Mime

I just returned home from a mime presentation of the Passion of Our Lord. It is Palm Sunday as I write this. I am proud to say I successfully fooled three of my sons. What do you think of when you hear the word "mime"? I think of Marcel Marceau and of course, no speaking. Not exactly the most exciting event for a 22-year-old, a 20-year-old and a 17-year-old. My 18-year-old was working this evening.

Tonight's journey began this morning. You see, today was a day when we could not go to church together "as a family," as I often say. I went at 9:00 and my 18-year-old went with his dad at 11:00. Those other three boys of mine decided they didn't need to go to Mass today; instead they slept much of the day away. I was at a church function so when mom's away...

But mom came home. And mom was not happy. At 4:00 in the afternoon her three sons were still sleeping. She formulated a plan. She woke them for dinner. They ate together and then she began her diatribe. I believe she talked for a good half hour without stopping. Talked of the evils of missing Mass, and many other potential young men evils. She was on a roll. She had quite the captive audience because these boys are great guys, but sometimes they decide to assert that independence thing. And today they did it en masse.

As I finished my heavenly inspired sermon I informed them that since they missed Mass, they were going with me to the Stations of the Cross at 7:30 this evening. Tomorrow begins their Spring Break so they didn't have a leg to stand on as far as any objections would go, and we all knew it. Another point to add: they really love me and they knew I meant business.

They asked about the Stations of the Cross. I was vague. "How long do you think it will last?"

"Not sure."

"Why not? You've been to them before."

"Yeah, but not like this one." Evasion working.

As we arrive at church many cars are already in the parking lot. My guys are amazed at this and persist in their questions.

"Geez, why so many cars?"

"I don't know."

And then my oldest son spots kids inside with paint on their faces. "What is this? The mime?"

"Yes." And in we went. They felt hoodwinked but I cared not. We were there.

And it began. As the first group of eighth graders pranced down the aisle complete with face make-up and wielding streamers I thought, "Oh no - they're going to start laughing." And then like a gift from God our priest came and sat right in front of my men. My worries were over. They wouldn't dare snicker. And the show continued.

It may take much reflection and many rewrites to do justice to what I saw tonight; I will never forget it. Here's an abbreviated version. The performers were eighth graders! I wasn't watching three minutes before my eyes were tearing up. And on and on it went through the horrific story we all know so well. Beautiful music with haunting words, exceptional performances, feeling beyond words. We watched as "Jesus" was baptized, cured the sick, and entered Jerusalem until He began His Passion. I never looked at my boys once throughout the entire 1 1/2 hours. I couldn't take my eyes off Jesus. By now the tears were rolling down my cheeks but I didn't care.

I watched, entranced, as Jesus was carried to His tomb by His believers/betrayers/beloved. For this production our church's altar was simply gone. Gone. Where did it go? I didn't even know it could be moved. But it was gone, and in its place the tomb: a table. And on this table Jesus was most reverently placed and covered completely with a white cloth.

There He was offered up on the table: the Lamb of God. He had been taken, blest, broken and given to us all. This young man, this boy not yet in high school, lying under a sheet. I'm sure by this time the church is back in its proper order; the altar replaced. But I know without one shred of doubt in my heart that every single day for the rest of my life as I gather around that altar to partake of the Body and Blood of Christ, I will see that boy's body, Jesus' Body.

As their final farewell, the players silently walked around the church, most of them truly crying, not acting, and each walked into a pew in front of every person there. They rubbed their own cheeks which were full of facepaint removing some of it and gently rubbed the cheeks of every person in attendance while looking into our eyes as if they were wise beyond their years.

My boys and I left the church without a sound; I cried all the way home. They were silent. We entered our house with the traces of facepaint still upon our cheeks. No one had made a move to remove it or was it that no one dared remove it?

We all knew we were in the presence of God this evening and we brought Him home.

~Maureen

The Tenacity of the Towel

Do you ever feel like you're just hanging out there? Not really attached to very much at all? Like a towel that's been hung on the clothesline to dry, battered about by the wind all day long until it is barely hanging on by the pinch of a clothespin? What options does our little windblown friend have?

Well, it could stay on the line being whipped about on the breeze. It could stretch itself out from under the restrainst of the one remaining clothespin hurling its flat self to the ground at the mercy of the next great gust of wind. Pretty scary for the little guy. A curious critter could haul it away to parts unknown. The wind could increase sending it up, up and away. Could be forever tangled on a tree branch. Could soar like an eagle seeing sights it had only imagined. Poor little fellow doesn't know what to do.

Or our little friend could just wait. It could try with all its might to hang on until the two familiar strong hands come to release it, to smooth it and soothe it, momentarily holding it against a big beating heart, breathing in the freshness of it. Next those hands will fold it ever so gently and place it in amongst the other cared for friends cradled in the sturdy wicker basket.

Today on your journey I wish you the tenacity of the towel. Wait for Him. Hold on. He'll come.

~Maureen :)

Try, Try Again

I just wrote a blog and for no apparent reason it disappeared. You cannot imagine the restraint I am using in not slamming down the top of my laptop. However, I did that once on a used laptop I'd had that had been giving me lots of trouble. Well, after that slam it didn't give me anymore trouble; I killed it! And forever were my words lost in the process. So I've learned a lesson of sorts with that experience. Patience is a virtue, so I've heard.

Sometimes I think patience is only meant to go so far though. Patience to the extreme can be a bad thing. Patience has its opposite in change, and most times change is very hard but very necessary for one's life. Status quo never really has a very good connotation. It implies stagnation. Are you experiencing stagnation in your life right now? Do you wish to be doing something you have not yet found the time or money or inclination to do? Do you just need a shot of courage? Too bad we can't walk down the Yellow Brick Road to Oz to get that shot of courage. Do you feel like the Cowardly Lion at times in your life?

What can you do about your circumstance today to make it better? Can you surf the Web to find answers or ideas? Can you call a trusted friend to ask her opinion? Do you have a quiet place in your house where you can go to ask God for some much needed guidance? Today, instead of patience, I wish you the courage to do just one small, yet important, thing. Steal the Nike motto and just do it. Remember if at first you don't succeed...
~Maureen :)

Happy Valentine's Day!

The title says it all: I wish you happiness this Valentine's Day. And happiness does not necessarily come tied around a dozen yellow roses. Or hidden in a box of overpriced candy. Or, or, or...

Yesterday I sat down to write a few valentines. My heart was not in it. Not in it at all. I actually put them aside. But then I thought, "This person will be really happy to receive this tomorrow and how much actual effort does it take?" So I picked up my pen and wrote and licked and stamped and sent. (Similar to took, blest, broke and gave, don't you think?) And I'm glad I did. I gave something of myself even though I didn't feel like it. Do you think Jesus WANTED to die for our sins? Do you think He woke up each morning knowing exactly what was ahead of Him jumping for joy at the prospect of starting His day? No. But He did it. He did it for us.

Just like everything else in life, it's not what you get or how YOU feel on this Valentine's Day or any given day; it's what you give. So give, just give - spread some joy today. A little bit of valentine joy goes a long way. Go make your heart happy by making someone else's happy. Happy Heart Day!

~Maureen :)

Will You Walk the Walk?

It's bitter cold in these parts right now. Quite unlike the climate in Jesus' whereabouts way back when. Nowadays people move at a frantic pace; back then more leisurely, I think. But 2000 years ago we did not have antibiotics or washing machines - two wonderful creations. I do not wish to live in Jesus' time. At least I don't think I do.

I always like to think that I would never be the one to yell, "Crucify Him." I refuse to do so during the Passion on Palm Sunday. I would hope I'd be a Mary Magdalene, but one never knows, does one? Would I really have the guts to buck the system and drop everything to follow Jesus if He asked me?

I'll let you in on an incident that happened at my house two weeks ago after Mass: For various reasons people were all in VERY bad moods after Mass. (Except me, of course.) So we head home, downward spiraling as we near our home sweet home. We arrive. The meanness and stupidity continue until I have had enough, and I scream in the middle of my dining room so all are sure to hear, "So where's the peace of Christ in this house?" (Remember, I am screaming these words. Crazy, huh?) I continue, "If Jesus came right now and asked me to go with Him I'd leave children, husband, nets, everything - and go."

But would I? Would I really?

I think I made my point. It took its toll on me though. I think being a disciple of Christ is one of the hardest things to do well. Note I said "well." Anyone can, as they say, talk the talk, but will you walk the walk? No matter what?

When you think of me think of me as a nearly empty vessel. God has systematically been presenting me with challenges which have gotten progressively harder. A few days ago I knew there was only one way to go, and that was up.

And so I asked God to begin filling me up with only the things He wants in me. Thankfully and finally, He has begun doing just that. Every one of my days is like a mini-play. There are only two central characters: God and me. Everyone else and everything else are secondary. They play bit parts in this life of Ours.

The Bible tells us Jesus was not accepted in His own hometown; sometimes I feel the same way. I think many here think I've jumped off the deepend into the Jesus pool. To me I'm just better for it, but they wonder, I'm sure. I can't worry about what they think though. Sometimes I simply brush their dust from my figurative sandals and go on.

So would I leave all to follow Jesus if I lived in His time? I don't know, but I know I'm trying in my time. Send a little prayer my way, will you, please? I'll return the kindness.
~Maureen :)

God's Will Is Always Goodwill

Hey, I'm back. You must be too if you're reading this. Were you able to carve out 15 minutes for you and God today? Did He speak to you? Did you recognize Him in the kind word of a friend or were you God to another with your kind word? Either way you're on the right track.

That's all most of us can do, I think - start small. One friend to one friend. Ladies, do you remember that Herbal Essences Shampoo commercial many years ago: "She tells two friends, then they tell two friends...?" Pretty soon the TV screen was filled with tons of little faces, all begun from one friend who had some good news to tell.

Well, I think that this Good News is certainly more important than what shampoo you use. So tell two friends. You need not spout Bible verse. Simply smile at them. Ask them how their day is going. TV commercials must be my theme today because I am reminded of the current ad from Liberty Mutual. I love this ad! It's the one where one person helps another, a third person witnesses the good deed and continues the chain of good will. I love everything about that commercial: the conveyed thoughts of helping, the music, all of it.

So when you ask yourself tomorrow morning what God's will is for you, remember that God's will is always goodwill. There is no bad will from God. So, go tell two friends...

~Maureen :)

Crunchy Ashes

Did you feel the crunchy ashes glide across and down your forehead today? Were you a visible reminder to all you met that we have begun a very special time of reflection for the next 40-something days? Are you giving up things this Lent or are you giving more? Or a combination of both? Enough questions.

When I look at the many and varied people in my life I can be in their presence for a very short time before knowing for whom they are living at any particular moment - whether it be living to do God's will or their own will.

I look at my own children. There is a life I want for each of them. I want them to learn the things I have been learning these past few years of daily Mass and attention to God's will in my life. But I can't force it on them. They must choose it. They are all old enough. I am greatly disappointed that none of them opted to go to Mass today to receive ashes. Why should it be an option? But it is. Everything in our lives is an option; it's called free will. Yet another instance of God's genius.

Ash Wednesday is so much more than being smeared with the burnt palms. It's a solid beginning to a time of reflection. In today's non-stop pace I wish for my boys and for all of you readers to take the time to slow down. If one doesn't avidly seek a slowdown it will never come. Unless perhaps God decides to intervene to seriously slow you down and in my experience that's usually a little scary - until you fully realize God's purpose.

So what is God's purpose for your life right now? Do you have a pretty good handle on it or are you clueless? Everybody must start somewhere, so clueless is OK - for now, if that's where you truly are.

Maybe you do not have the luxury of attending daily Mass; I consider it a great gift from God and I hope I must never live without it. Mass centers me. That's the key to a worthwhile day which, before you know it, turns into a wonderful life, George Bailey!

Too many people don't have a clue as to what God wants to do with their lives. Many simply do not care. They don't ask Him. Find that quiet time. Steal it if you must, but find 15 minutes a day if that's all you can muster.

Ask God what He wants you to do and look and listen all day long for His answers. You will be amazed at the ways in which He replies, and how frequently. It's scary and freaky and fun and awesome all at the same time. Do it and you'll begin a frienship for life - the Friendship that is life.

Happy Ash Wednesday! Find that time tomorrow. Come back. I'll be here. I promise.

~Maureen :)

Willpower - Whose Power?

Willpower. Today is a Saturday with nothing of great consequence on the horizon. So as I looked at the clock around 6:30 this morning I stayed snuggled under the covers and thought. I love the time before the sun comes up. I love the dark. Once the first streak of light brightens the sky it's just not the same.

So God and I talked about many things. For some reason the word "willpower" flashed into my mind. Now when I think of willpower the first thing that comes to mind is food and exhibiting willpower to resist food. But this New Year I made no such resolutions. In fact this year I made no resolutions of any kind. They don't work. And you know why they don't work? Because I am not resolute about my resolutions.

"Marked by firm determination," Merriam Webster's dictionary defines resolute. I guess I've just never had that firm determination for any resolution I've ever made. Nothing I've ever come up with seemed to matter all that much to me in the long run. And aren't resolutions supposed to be about the long run? Losing weight, doing this, not doing that - who cares?

Curiously, a synonym for resolute is "faithful." I can relate to that word. As I lay in bed this morning that's what I thought about. How can I do what I'm supposed to do to stay faithful - to do what God what's me to do? Then and there is how I thought of willpower in a different light. In a different light in the dark.

Whose will are we talking about in willpower? Whose will are we attempting to assign the power? If it's our will chances are we will fail. But if it's God's will He'll give us all the power we will ever need to succeed. So tomorrow as you lie in bed ask God what His will is for you just for that one day. Don't ask Him to lay out your life in front of you. That's not showing true faith. If you knew all the answers ahead of time what would be the point? I sure don't want a crystal ball. Sometimes I may act as if I do but that's when I'm not aligned to God's will. When I get to thinking too much I get into trouble.

Whatever is going to happen is going to happen. Whatever God wants to happen will happen. His power will make it happen. Yes, we all have free will - yet another "will" word. Free will, God's will, willpower. These are connected. Use your free will to choose God's will and God will give you the willpower to carry it out. Try it tomorrow. Continue it into all your tomorrows.
~Maureen :)

Why Do We Do What We Do?

As I sit here contemplating what God wants me to do today, I am compelled to write to you. I listen to God all the time now. I never used to be able to say that. It has been a process. A process that has taken me many decades, but I'm here now and that's what counts. I read another blog today which really has me thinking. I encourage you to click over to http://momwriterslitmag.typepad.com/ to look at Dionna Sanchez's blog entitled, "All I Have to Be," from January 23, 2008.

You see, I too, am a people pleaser. I want most people to like me. Only recently have I realized that admiration by others is not one of Jesus' top tens. You won't hear that proclaimed in weeks to come in churches. You will hear the Beatitudes and "being liked" is not one of the Beatitudes. Neither is admiration which is really what we are seeking when we strive to be liked.

One of the things that struck me the most about Dionna's words was the fact that Jesus wasn't liked by everybody back in His time and likewise is not liked in the present day by many people. Jesus! I mean, c'mon, this is Jesus for crying out loud! That thought is a very freeing concept for me. That says to me, "Just do it. You have a good head on your shoulders. You've long known the difference between right and wrong. Don't care what other people think. Do it because you feel it's what God wants you to do."

"Doing" for others is the major concept in the Beatitudes but I think it bears merit to ask yourself why you are doing what you are doing? Is it for the greater glory of God or is it for your greater glory - to be liked and admired? Your motive is key here.

With the season of Lent nearly upon us (I thought we just celebrated Christmas!) I know I am going to be doing lots and lots of thinking about why I do what I do. Is it for God's glory or for mine? Hopefully I can answer that question honestly and act accordingly.

~Maureen :)

Be the Prayer

Prayer. Is this a thing or a person? Is it something you do, as in, "I said a prayer"? Or is it someone: A pray-er, one who prays? Or is it both? Did you know you can be a prayer and a pray-er all day long? Have you ever tried?

Try it. Tomorrow when you wake up, in your first conversation of the day with God, tell Him you will offer your entire day up to Him. It's way better than reciting prayers all day long. This way you are the prayer. It's a hands-on way to pray.

Every single time you do something good you have already offered it up to God as a present. Think of all the gifts God gives you every day. Don't you think He'd like to get some back every so often? So try it tomorrow. Be the prayer.

Maureen :)

Feathers Not Bricks

I guess this is the time when I put my money where my mouth is. I feel rotten. I have been sick for days now, went to the doctor only to be told I must rest for four to five days without benefit of antibiotics. So here I am - just me and my letter to God:

What is it You want of me, God? What am I supposed to be learning from this? I have gone through the poor me mentality which is so crazy because so many people are way worse off than I am. I know this, but I still feel crummy. Why am I suffering now? What good is to come of this? Patience? Am I to learn patience? Am I to realize true gratitude for my restored health once it's restored? Each day I suppose I feel a teeny bit better, but still bad.

I'm trying not to yell at those around me even though I really feel like it. Are You teaching me restraint, God? What other virtues must I learn? That's a scary thought. I'm not exactly in the most receptive mood. What else shall be coming my way? You've been known to use the power of plagues in the past. Maybe could we bypass those in this modern day; keep them buried in the past? I can be a quick study when I want to be. Throw all the feathers You want at me, but please withhold the bricks.

You know I like to write. Are you disguising this illness as a means for me to slow down and grab the opportunity to write? Is the sickness merely the wrapping paper and bow with the true gift inside the pretty box being hours of writing? Is that it? Then I really should be thanking You, so thank You.

Am I simply supposed to take the time to look around and appreciate what I already have been given by You? There is absolutely no comparison to the wonders You have bestowed upon me compared to the poverty and abuse so many of Your children must endure on a daily basis. I complain too much. Maybe not so much anymore to others, but in my head and heart I'm still a complainer. And who hears the sounds of my head and heart? Yep, just You. I'm sorry.

I will sincerely try to be better - BE better - not feel better. Only You can restore my health, so while I'm laid up I will filter my heart and mind sounds so as to not hurt Your feelings, and open up the listening avenues to hear Your wishes for me.

'Member God, feathers, not bricks - pretty please with sugar and honey on top? I'll be good.

Love,
Me :)

Every Single Blessed Day

Burying wishes under their needs
Staring in horror as the Son bleeds

Compelled to do what is morally right
Though insignificant compared to His plight

Wishing and hoping for dreams to come true
Unsure of life - unsure of You

Feeling futile as you give self away
Every single blessed day

So many poor ones
Too many who cry
So many needing
Why, God, oh why?

To get us to Heaven
Is that the trick?
Each good deed
Adds a paving brick?

Cementing the path
Is that the key?
To do what is right for all,
Not just me?

You can always say no when you tire
Jumping right down from your cross
You can throw in that towel
To recoup some of your loss

Or you could learn from the Master
And stay the course come what may
Giving more of self away
Every single blessed day

©2006 Maureen Locher

Can we really live our lives for others?

OK, pick yourself off the floor for surely you have fainted seeing new material here! I'm a mom. I've been busy. It's Christmastime. What can I say? I can say thank you for keeping coming back here to check if anything is new. So, thank you very much. I hope you had a wonderful Christmas, or if that's too Pollyanna, I hope you survived Christmas.

Between serving lunch to my son's basketball team here at our house today, and awaiting my niece's family tonight, I have written some thoughts to you ~~~

Live our lives for others. Is this truly possible? Can it be done? It is really possible in this World of Me to put ourselves second, third, fourth, last? I know what I want. What I want. I think about me. I worry about me. I wish for my happiness. But can I do a 180? Should I do a 180? Is that what God wants of me?

I think that’s exactly what God wants of me.

It means that we keep giving until we think we can’t give anymore. And then when we are 100% sure we can’t possibly give anymore because we have completely lost our own sense of self, we keep giving. And when we turn that corner we discover a strength we never knew we possessed.

I have always been strong. I had to be. I raised four sons. I was not the breadwinner so I won everything else; that’s what was decided early on. I would stay home and raise the kids. Barefoot and pregnant.

So, in the first six years of my married life I had five c-sections. How crazy is that? Looking back I am simply amazed. But I did it. One daughter followed by four sons.

And then one day my daughter didn’t want to wake up. Three days later she was gone. No warning. Just gone. I was five months pregnant. I did manage to slip on some shoes for the funeral.

How did I survive? Really, how did I? How does anyone survive the loss of a child? For the sake of the others, that’s how. In my case, it was for the sake of my unborn child. He was my uppermost thought. I would have done anything to protect him, and protecting him meant keeping all those horrible emotions inside of me. It killed me but it saved him. Thus began the beginning of living for others.

At the time I did not understand the benefit of living for others; I just did it. It was the only way for me. But I didn’t do it selflessly. Most times I did it quite begrudgingly. As more and more children came, less and less time was available for me. Why did my job last 24 hours a day seven days a week with no time off for Sundays or holidays? (Or even for good behavior?) And although my husband was the sole breadwinner, his 9-5 job was finite. He got time off. He unwound. He unplugged. Every one of you moms out there can surely relate.

I was naïve back then, but I’m not so young anymore. However, I’m not so old either. I am what I am. And what I am is a questioning soul. I question many aspects of my life now. I could go crazy with all my wonderings. Or I could just let go of them and give them to God which is the route I have taken.

I feel God’s presence all around me. He guides my decisions and makes the ordinary extraordinary. I have been fortunate enough to love many people in this life – family as well as friends. They used to be my be-all-and-end-all. They are not anymore. Now God is my be-all-and-end-all. It is a very freeing way of feeling. His rules are clear; His love never-ending. He has no ulterior motive to anything He does. He only wants us to be the very best we can be. He gives us every single thing we need every single day. He gives us just what we need for today. Since no one is guaranteed a day beyond this one, that is enough.

So I live for this one day. Every day I pray the Lord’s Prayer, the Our Father, but many times I begin “My Father who art in heaven…” He is my Father. And He is yours. Do you talk to Him every morning? Do you thank him when your life goes oh-so-right? Or do you only curse Him when your life dive-bombs?

Would you even want to be around a friend who only wanted you for what you could give to her? Would you seek to surround yourself with takers if you had the choice? At my worst times I reeled about hating takers. On and on I would complain about, and to, the takers in my life. But you know what? Without all the takers I never could have given so much of myself for all these years. And isn’t that the point of a Christian life? To give yourself away every single blessed day?

So, even though I have screamed, cried and lamented aspects of this life because of the many demands on my life, without those demands I could not and would not have had the opportunity to give. You don’t give a glass of water to someone sitting in the middle of an oasis. God put me where He needed me to be, amongst all the takers. And each time I gave, He gave me more.

Remember the scene from “How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” when the Grinch’s heart breaks out of its confines bursting forth with the love of all the Whos in Whoville? He felt firsthand what it feels like to experience true love. That love enabled the Grinch to lift that sleigh full of toys and Christmas trees high above his head and turn it around to zoom down the hill to the throng of singing Whos. Love redirected him.

Love can redirect your life, if you are smart enough to let it. Not romantic love, but real true love. God’s love. All you have to do is look for God’s love and you will find it. Ask, seek, knock. Ever heard that? It works.

There is however a catch. It’s actually a rather large catch. You can’t simply ask, seek and knock willy-nilly. You have to ask for what God wishes you to have. So that pretty much eliminates winning the lottery or marrying the man of your dreams, unless, of course, it’s in God’s plan for you to marry Prince Charming. Some women do. But have you ever noticed that the fairytale life rarely, if ever, ends happily-ever-after?

There’s just something wrong with people having it all. Why? Because if we have it all down here why would we ever seek God in His heaven? If this is it and it is perfect, why wish for more? Why strive to attain eternal life?

I look at people in my life and cannot fathom why they must suffer in any way. They are good. They are giving. And therein lies why they must suffer. It’s not that they must suffer; it is that God has given them the privilege of suffering.

Yeah, I know, you probably think I’m nuts. You’re not the first. But think about it. What do you wish for your children? You wish for them the very best. Do you give it to them? Do you hand them anything they want right away just because they want it? I hope not because if you do you are going to have some rotten kids. You know what your children need. You know the need for discipline, the need for suffering. You are not a masochist for realizing that some life lessons can only be learned through suffering. God isn’t a masochist either.

He loves us as He loved His only Son. Did God the Father set God the Son before the world with a jeweled crown on His royal head and a silver spoon in His mouth? No, He did not. We all know the horror the Father allowed on the Son.

He allowed it. He witnessed it. He survived it. Why? Same reason I kept going after my daughter died. For the sake of others. God gave the supreme example of selfless love to all generations. Who am I to throw the example aside to live only for my wishes?

So I have begun to give to those who need it, to all those who cross my path. Not just the ones I choose to see, but finally I “see” the ones closest to me every day. Those who look me squarely in the face and strive to drive me over the proverbial edge. Those who demand and expect. Those who forget to say thank you. This is where God put me. I finally see why He put me here.

It will surely be a struggle. I expect it to be. I wish for it to be. If I am given a difficult path it means that God has put the same confidence in me that He put in the Son. His Son rose to the occasion. I will, too, and God will be with me every step of the way.

~Maureen :)

Tears of a Mother

Drop by drop the tears spill out upon her cheek
Little spurts of sadness week after week
Quiet cries inflict the pain upon her heart
Until a new day begins and she must start
To do all that is expected of her
And say not a word

How will she watch Him day after day
Living and loving in that little boy way?
How will she do all for Him that she must
Instilling in Him faith, hope and trust
When all the while destiny draws near
And say not a word?

How will she steer Him on His clear course?
Who will be her unending source
Of wisdom and virtue and unending love
To teach her the values of God above?
For whom does she pray
Yet say not a word?

As her Boy grows into the Man
She can do more than anyone can
To ease His fear, to lift His eyes
To the Father above who also cries
In pain for the Son who must suffer
And still she says not a word

Why was she chosen to bear such a weight?
How will she live knowing His fate
Just waiting and watching until that day
When soldiers come to take Him away
To a death long foretold to save us all?
Yet all will watch and say not a word

©2006 Maureen Locher

I hope you enjoy my poem; it's one of my favorites. Mary was just a mom - just like so many of us. And look what she did with her life. ~Maureen :)

Were Our Moms This Stressed?

So, how crazy are you on this St. Nicholas Day? Did the little kiddies put their shoes out last night? Christmas tree up yet? How many presents bought? Cards written yet?

I have “part” of one of those lovely Christmas chores done. I wrote most of my cards yesterday. Tree’s not cut down yet. Presents bought: next to nil. House messy as ever not even ready to receive decorations – Ho Ho Ho.

I, however, am trying not to be Scrooge-like. One year I sent my Christmas cards on Christmas Eve Eve and made the postmaster laugh. So, I’m ahead of the game on that score. Instead of a million things to do, I now only have 999,999! Score one for me.

Why do we do it, ladies? Why do we do so much? Were our moms this stressed? They had less modern conveniences, so they should have had less free time – or did they have more? Were they less-stressed than their daughters are? Were they happier? Or did they just not complain as much as we do? I wonder.

~Maureen Locher

You Can Comment Now

Thank you to all who informed me that I had to enable the comments. I told you I'm new at this - I wasn't kidding!

~Maureen :)

Tragedy or Statistic?

30,000 children die in poverty every day? 30,000? Children?

While listening to today’s radio installment of “Speaking of Faith,” I was struck by this statistic. Different words strike different people. As a mom this is unfathomable to me. If another tsunami hit or another terrorist struck, obliterating 30,000 people in one place, the generosity of the American people would be heard in such overwhelming chords.

That’s one of the greatest problems; these poor children do not die together in one space. If they did their plight could be ignored no longer. As when Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans, we the American people could not turn a deaf ear nor a blind eye to the devastation. For once, the “in your face” media attention had a striking purpose: to strike us all square in the face, heart and pocketbook to DO something.

But these poor ones are spread out all over. They are born, they suffer, enduring their hunger and illness relatively alone, and then they die. When this happens they become the “statistic.” Since when has the death of a hungry child been demoted from detestable tragedy to statistic?

I’m one person - one busy mom before Christmas. My “to do” list is just as long as every other lucky American mom’s. I almost wrote “every American Mom,” but stopped myself because that is not so. There are so many moms out there who are not scrambling to buy presents for their children that their children don’t really need. There are moms out there who are struggling to put a box of macaroni and cheese on their table for dinner.

We “lucky” moms must do something about this. Give to those Salvation Army bell ringers. Give to your church. Give to that homeless shelter. Go through all those clothes that your own children have long outgrown. It’s the beginning of a cold winter in many parts of our country. Cold children become sick children. Sick children die.

Statistic or tragedy? The spin you put on it shall dictate the way you respond.

~Maureen Locher

Taking Chances

Taking chances
Reaching out
to find the way

Leaving comfort
Working hard
to form the dream

Starting small
Hoping big
to make the difference

Putting faith
In a God
who's here for all