Parenting Like a Convert

stained-glass-4052419_1920

I’m not a convert, but sometimes I wish I were. I come from a long line of cradle Catholics. It has undoubtedly been a grace to grow up simmering in the rich soup of faith seasoned over time with enduring traditions and profound familial witnesses. What a blessing! So why am I so darn jealous of converts? You know that superstar Catholic who dramatically joins the church after a lifetime denouncing the “whore of Babylon”? I can’t get enough! Who doesn’t love a captivating Scott Hahn story with all those twists and turns that ultimately lead to Rome? Or better yet, what about those amazing creatures who have come to faith after years of card-carrying atheism? Their stories are nothing short of remarkable and bear the stamp of God’s own imprint. They come to the Faith with such zeal, humility, compassion, and moral courage. 

And then there’s me.

I don’t mean to downplay my own “reversion” going from a barely checking-the-boxes pew warmer, to one who longs for deeper intimacy with Jesus and His church. But it’s certainly not the thrilling stuff of, say, Saints Paul and Augustine, Blessed Cardinal Newman, or Edith Stein. Or more recently, Jennifer Fulwiler, Tim Staples, and Leah Libresco. Needless to say, I admire their fire, grit, and heroic journeys of faith, risking so much to heed God’s call. I, however, was born into it, with the proverbial silver baptismal spoon gently nestled in my mouth.

Continue reading “Parenting Like a Convert”

A Face for Radio

bernard-hermant-665508-unsplash

I was on Relevant Radio’s Morning Air show recently. If you haven’t heard of Relevant, it’s a wonderful Catholic radio network that broadcasts all over the country. You can download the Relevant app and listen LIVE in case you don’t get it in your neck of the woods. I’m still trying to figure out why they’re interested in talking to me. I’m no theologian, nor a psychologist. I’m just a wife and mom who loves her Catholic faith. Nonetheless, I’m so honored to be able to talk about what the Holy Spirit has put on my heart.

My interview was set to begin at 6:30am Denver time, 8:30 on the East coast. So I said my prayers, injected some black coffee into my veins, fired up the old laptop, and quietly tiptoed to our basement. It was my hope to not wake up the rest of the house. I prefer to have serious talks about the faith when my kids aren’t screaming and horseplaying in the background. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like I lose serious credibility when I can be heard shouting, “You kids are killing me! STOP doing cartwheels off the coffee table NOW!!!” As I sat nestled on our downstairs couch in the beautiful silence of our basement playroom, my phone decided it wasn’t going to cooperate. Mere moments before I was slated to be on, as I was attentively listening to the interview preceding mine,  my phone reception started breaking up. This is a sample of what I heard:

Next, we’ll be talki—KSSHHHHHTTT—She’ll tell us abou—KRRRRRRRRSSSSHHHT—and join us fo—SSSSHHHHPLEK!

Continue reading “A Face for Radio”

Happy Mother’s Day: Lessons My Mom Never Taught Me

simon-rae-320817

I think about my mom almost daily since her death 26 years ago. While it’s been too long since I’ve heard her laugh, she has left me with a bounty of wisdom that sustains me. In fact, there are simply too many lessons to enumerate. She was a Catholic school teacher by profession, so it was in her nature to instruct and impart knowledge. But there were also things she most certainly did not pass down. There are some worldly teachings she decidedly left by the wayside. And for that, I am even more grateful and bolstered.

Continue reading “Happy Mother’s Day: Lessons My Mom Never Taught Me”

Where, O, Death is your Victory?

fernanda-marin-1358779-unsplash.jpg

For those of you who mourn the death of a loved one, this is the time when we joyfully (yet often with tears in our eyes) anticipate our eventual reunion in heaven. May the powerful hope of seeing our dear ones again, that is made possible by our Lord’s victorious Resurrection, be with you this Easter season and always. Oh, what a glorious day!

Continue reading “Where, O, Death is your Victory?”

Unplanned Peace on the Sidewalk at the Abortion Clinic

sandy-millar-750251-unsplash

There are those rare, fleeting moments in family life where all is strangely calm and even peaceful. Amidst the chaos of continual spats, boundless horseplay, jockeying for position, and a whole lot of random noise, quiet contentment is like a refreshing, cool rain after a stretch of oppressively, sticky-hot weather.

I can probably count those occasions on both hands. Don’t mistake me. It is not the stillness that occurs after a trip to the library when we are all happily, individually ensconced in our reading, or the brief, eerie quiet before an epic fight erupts. It’s those extraordinary times when we are resting in each other as a family. Picture a tranquil moment between a nursing mother and her baby. I remember the hours right after my dad died, when my brothers and I, a disparate group, to say the least, sat in a Denny’s, saying very little, yet joined together so profoundly. I’m speaking of a muted, but powerful connectedness—a surrender to love and understanding. Peacefully unified as we engage with one another. No one left out. It’s what I imagine to be a mere taste of the eventual glorious coming together with the Triune God in heaven.

Continue reading “Unplanned Peace on the Sidewalk at the Abortion Clinic”

An Open Letter to the Motorcycle Man with the Obscene Message on His Jacket

motorcycle-1827482_1920

Dear Mr. Motorcycle Man,

Our family saw you a couple weeks ago en route to dinner. We planned to hit the parish fish fry and follow up with stations of the cross. The hope was for a fun, wholesome family-friendly evening. 

We actually heard you before ever laying eyes on you. Your big belching Harley snaked through the lines of cars behind us. In seconds you were within eyesight range in the lane next to us as we slowed for a red light. It appeared a typical Friday evening rush hour. Commuters were jam-packed on one of Denver’s busiest thoroughfares, all impatiently waiting for the green after miles of painstakingly slow stop and go traffic. The leather jacket you wore, however, was anything but typical.

Continue reading “An Open Letter to the Motorcycle Man with the Obscene Message on His Jacket”

Snow Day Diaries

sam-beasley-327822-unsplash

Spring is officially here! There is no wiping this jubilant smile off my face. If you recall, it was just one week ago that we were facing winter Armageddon. In fact, while writing this little piece about the joys of spending time nestled in a snug home with my family as Mother Nature wreaked winter havoc, we received word that a third consecutive snow day had been called.  The school courtyard had been ravaged by heavy winds resulting in uprooted trees. While my husband’s office was officially reopened, the kids would be spending another day home with me… Lord, have mercy! To give you insight into my rollercoaster of emotions, I faithfully transcribed my marathon snow day diaries.

Monday: A huge storm is barreling towards Denver. So. Sick. Of. Snow. The last time they predicted a monster blizzard, it was a mere dusting. I guess if perchance we are homebound for a stretch, I could do some baking. In Little House on the Prairie, Ma Ingalls would’ve baked or churned butter. I’ve already got the butter. But homemade biscuits sound amazing. Our kitchen will smell like a cozy frontier home. Bring on the snow!

Continue reading “Snow Day Diaries”

Lenten Mercy & A Ball of Yarn

kelly-sikkema-487610-unsplash

I started knitting recently. It turns out the ol’ inter-webs aren’t all bad. Via the université de Youtube, some very gracious ladies have kindly schooled me in the art of “casting on” and achieving my very first stitches. Under their expert tutelage, I will now be spending my free time connecting countless yarn chains, while hopefully breaking the bonds of slavery to my phone. That’s the plan, anyway.

I’m kind of enjoying it… I think. Progress has been slow. My kids, however, are already extremely confident in my abilities. They’ve even placed special orders which seems wildly premature since I have only a week of experience under my sans-a-belt. Against my better judgment, I have promised each of them a homemade scarf. At this rate, the scarves will make wonderful college graduation gifts. That gives me a good ten years before my oldest graces the stage of the auditorium to pick up his diploma and hopefully collect his glorious handkerchief-sized scarf.

Continue reading “Lenten Mercy & A Ball of Yarn”

Smile Though Your Heart is Aching

brooke-cagle-52215-unsplash

When was the last time you smiled so hard it felt as if your face might crack? You know that ear-to-ear grin where you’re so committed to it you can feel the pull of every single muscle contorting your whole countenance. It would require more effort to suppress that goofy smile, if possible at all. It’s often when we try to quash the irrepressible smile when it bubbles up even more. Just thinking about those jubilant times in my life I feel the urge to break into a grin right now. But those giant beaming smiles are too rare for my liking. Unfortunately, they mark moments in time that can never be recaptured.

Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope.

1 Peter 3:15

Continue reading “Smile Though Your Heart is Aching”

Crying as We Rejoice: The Bereaved at Christmas

erin-walker-479735-unsplash

I secretly cried after Mass yesterday. My kids told me that one of the new altar boys that they served with had his grandparents in town for Christmas. The enthusiastic Nanna and Papa were so gleefully proud, they couldn’t refrain from snapping photos to memorialize their beloved grandson’s biggest moments. Clearly, their hearts swelled with pride for their daughter’s treasured offspring.

On the drive home, I told my boys that if Grandma Maureen and Grandpa Jerry were living, they would have taken loads of pictures too. How proud they would be. How proud they are. “Maybe they’re taking photos from heaven…” I mused. Then the quiet tears.

Continue reading “Crying as We Rejoice: The Bereaved at Christmas”