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 :)