A Mary Moment Monday post

Did Mary yell at Jesus? I ask myself that question a lot sometimes.

Like the day I started the draft of this post.

I was trying to remain patient. I was doing my best to keep my voice calm.

I failed. I failed big.

If ever you think I am a model of motherhood or a mentor to emulate, let me set things straight right now. If you look at me and think, “I want to be like Sarah Reinhard when I grow up,” let me correct you loudly. If you smile when you read this and think I’m exaggerating, don’t tell me, because I will want to smack you.

I fail all. the. time. It’s part and parcel of who I am, how I’m made, what I struggle with.

Yelling: an ongoing struggle, a bad habit I fall back upon when I feel pushed, stressed, or otherwise cornered, and something I feel called, of late, to address.

It isn’t going to be easy to address.

Ask my fifth-grade PSR class: I’m not soft-spoken. Ask my husband: I’m not quiet. Ask my friends: I’m not calm.

So yelling fits right in, in many ways, with who I am.

Or so I used to think.

But that question keeps coming up in my mind when I think about yelling. Did Mary yell at Jesus?

Well, maybe she did: ”Jeeeeeeesuuuuus! Time for dinner! Come in, wash up!”

I can’t help but think, with some amusement, that she was one of the only people who could yell his name and not be guilty of breaking the Second Commandment.

On the other hand, I can’t help but continue to feel called to silence in different ways. And in that, my tendency to yell seems to clash.

My husband doesn’t yell a lot. For one thing, he doesn’t need to. When it comes to the kids, he can “growl” with great effectiveness. (Sudden insight: I need to learn to growl!) For another thing, he has presence. I can’t explain it more than that, but I get the feeling that it’s ingrained, not something I can learn.

Did Mary yell at Jesus, the way I slip and yell when I’m frustrated or overwhelmed? Did she give in to the emotion and let it out through her voice?

Is my yelling indicative of a lack of self-control? Does it point to a need for greater trust in others, in myself, in God?

As I consider my own question and Mary’s response in other areas, I think I stand a lot to learn, as usual, from Jesus’ mom. Maybe she did yell, but it wouldn’t have been in a way that would have been sinful. She certainly felt frustration, but did she give in and act on it?

Once again, I find myself turning to Mary and leaning back into her arms. I’m going to do my best, this week, to ask for her help when I’m on the brink of yelling in ways that aren’t positive.

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Today, I celebrate my 35th birthday.

There are at least two things I can guarantee about today.

First, I will get at least one phone call with singing from distant family. After their serenade, we’ll all laugh, they’ll ask how I am, and we’ll hang up.

Second, my daughters are going to enjoy this afternoon. They have been plotting and planning. They are up to something, and my seven-year-old especially doesn’t miss a chance to drop a hint or wink at her father across the room.

I am 35, an age I have never really thought about. Turning 30 was enough of an adventure for the rest of my life, thanks.

I’m not a big celebrator of my own birthday. I’m just not. I don’t know why.

But recently, a friend who has a talent for making me think pointed out something to me, “It’s really not about you.”

And you know, she has a point.

It’s not about me. It might be MY birthday, but isn’t this day more about other people’s celebration of my life? My parents, my husband, my children, and my friends all get a chance to thank God for the scourge pain presence I am in their lives.

Motherhood has stretched me and challenged me more than anything else in life. If I had to put my finger on one thing it’s taught me, it’s that phrase my friend uses to bring me to my senses. It’s not about me.

So today, as I bumble through a Tuesday that will be less typical than last week, I’m going to offer a prayer of thanksgiving for each of the little hurdles and reality checks that are sure to come my way. I’m going to do my best to be grateful for the gift that another year is to me.

And I’m going to eat some chocolate. (Hey, it IS my birthday!)

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It made me think how some of the very best gifts I’ve gotten are those that aren’t necessarily something I’ve asked for.

For the mom who wants time alone:

Oh yes, you can be awesome and give her an entire Saturday, but you could also arrange to give her an hour or two every Saturday through the winter, couldn’t you? Winter seems to be a particularly challenging time for me (mentally and physically), and the opportunity to be alone every week would be a truly wonderful gift.

Make this gift really shine by involving Eucharistic Adoration somehow.

For the mom who needs a nap: 

Well, you could make her a coupon or certificate for a nap anytime she wants, but you could also support vocations and hook her up with some Mystic Monks coffee. I had a subscription for a couple of years, and as soon as I can swing it, I plan to get one again. Their Midnight Vigils Blend is every bit as good as everyone says it is, and I’m also partial to their Cowboy Blend.

They just started selling tea, and it’s possible that my long affiliation with Republic of Tea (their ginseng peppermint is high on my list of favorites) could be endangered…

For the mom whose list is longer than your arm:

It’s possible she’s bad at planning or that she’s bitten off more than she can chew. It’s also possible that she’s just in that season of life where things are busy. So why not offer her your help–your actual, physical, full-attention self for a few hours every week? Now, mind you, you might have to be a little sneaky about this. She might nod and thank you and expect you to forget. There’s some accountability you’re going to have to take on to really give this as a gift of yourself to this mom. But wrapping a virtual ribbon around yourself and offering to fold laundry, do dishes, juggle schedules, or any number of other things will be something she won’t ever forget.

For the mom who likes to read:

A gift certificate might be appropriate, but it’s more fun to have something wrapped under the tree, don’t you agree? How about A Book of Saints for Catholic Moms: 52 Companions for Your Heart, Mind, Body, and Soul, by Lisa Hendey, or Stealing Jenny, by Ellen Gable? If she’s tech-savvy, download the Kindle app to her computer, phone, or tablet and hook her up with some of the many free books that are available? (Here’s a site I found the other day with free books available online.)

For the mom who’s technology-challenged:

Can you offer to be tech support for her? To take care of all the annoying little things that come up with her computer, her phone, or her other devices? Can you program her TV, make the remote work with the DVD player, or set up the computer to leave her alone about the anti-virus controls?

For the mom who never stops doing laundry:

Here’s an idea: give her a day off every month. Now, to do this successfully, you have to be able to do that laundry she would have done that day. And “doing” laundry doesn’t just mean washing and drying it. It means folding it and putting it away. And I don’t mean “putting it away eventually,” I mean “putting it away before she gets home.” The idea is that she has a day (or, in the cases of smaller families, maybe a whole week) free from laundry. This is especially good for those moms who hate laundry.

For the mom who needs a friend:

I don’t know what I’d do without my best friend. I have plenty of other friends, mind you, but this one friend is the one I lean on and turn to when I’m feeling particularly cranky or happy. She appreciates the little silly excitements in my day and she also reminds me when I might need to head to Confession or make an appointment for Adoration. Every mom deserves a friend…and while you might not be able to give the mom in your life a friend, you can carve out time to make it possible for her to go and spend time with Jesus, can’t you? Whether it’s making it possible for her to attend daily Mass or allowing her to escape to Adoration, Jesus is the best Person she can spend time with, don’t you agree?

For any mom:

I haven’t met many moms who don’t appreciate some form of homemade gift. One year, for my husband, I recorded my then-three-year-old singing songs for him and burned them to a DVD. I’ve caught him listening to them on his iPod, too. He loves them. And, truth be told, so do I. So, whoever the mom you’re gifting for, consider something homemade, with your heart in it. She’s sure to love it and to appreciate the fact that your heart’s in it.

Your turn! What ideas do YOU have for moms?

By Shelly Kelly

I woke up in the middle of the night convinced that Jesus must have been a preemie.

Or that Mary did not carry him for the full forty weeks we define pregnancy.

I know the Bible is big on the number forty, but it is impossible for me to imagine Mary willingly setting off on a four-day cross-country journey to Bethlehem riding on a donkey during the last two weeks of the traditional forty weeks of pregnancy.

How did she do it? Did she have any hesitation preparing for this journey when she was so swollen with child? How much did her hips and lower back ache during the ride?

How did she get any rest sleeping on the ground? What did Joseph do to make her more comfortable? Did he have to help her up from the ground every morning? How large was she? Was she irritable or calm and serene with a holiness bestowed by God for this purpose?

It occurs to me that all my ideas come from the traditionally told version of the Nativity Story, that implies she was “great with child” laboring as they entered the city, and delivering the very night of their arrival. However, we don’t actually know how pregnant Mary really was when she made the trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem. The Gospel of Luke only says, “And Joseph too went up from Galilee from the town of Nazareth to Judea, to the city of David that is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and family of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. While they were there, the time came for her to have her child, and she gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”   (NAB Luke  2:4-7)

Is it possible that Mary and Joseph traveled and arrived in Bethlehem weeks earlier, when she might have been less uncomfortable? Maybe they were in Bethlehem for the census and delayed their journey home because she was too close to delivering to travel.

My own final weeks of pregnancy are passing slowly, one day at a time, one night at a time. I realize that when I focus too much on my own discomfort and irritability, I’m disconnecting myself from God. Yet this is the time when I should be prayerfully drawing closer to Him. When I don’t, I find myself lying awake in the middle of the night with my head full of thoughts. Often, these thoughts gravitate towards Mary, wondering how she dealt her final weeks, awaiting the delivery of our savior, Jesus.

Hail Mary, full of Grace, grant me the sereneness and inner peace that carried you through your own anticipation of birth. Guide me to fully embrace these last days before bringing forth my own son. 

image credit: National Geographic

–

Shelly Kelly is one of the blogging sisters at Of Sound Mind and Spirit. She’s VERY pregnant and looking forward to FINALLY meeting her little guy. (Join me in praying for her and her family as her delivery time draws close!)

Part of the Mary Moment Monday series

It was a night that was longer and harder than any I’d had in quite a while, one where I started longing for sunrise at around 3 and dozed in 20 minute intervals. I held my hot baby’s body close to mine and made soft soothing noises, trying to keep the din down so everyone else, especially my overworked husband, could sleep.

When my husband walked by the couch on his way to get ready in the morning, I happened to glance outside my kitchen window, and across the expanse of two rooms, I saw the streaks of pink and the lightening of the sky to a gray-blue.

The day rolled in with a bang of colors, an explosion of cool air and beauty that I couldn’t help but notice. I could barely keep my eyes open and standing up was a chore, but here, visible through my kitchen window, was proof that life could go on and go on with a reason to smile.

With each successive baby, the reality of the long nights and short years of this phase of my motherhood touches me closer to my heart. It seems only a moment ago that I was holding my first baby, wondering what, exactly, I was going to do with her. Now I’m on my third and that first baby is boarding the bus every morning to go to first grade.

I’ve been hearing the phrase “Babies don’t keep!” from more mature moms in my life for many years now, but I’ve finally stopped retorting, “Good thing, too! I can’t take much more!” Maybe I’m finally old enough (and worn down enough?) to appreciate the moments of rocking the current baby’s small body and the downy softness of his hair.

Babies don’t keep, it’s true. They grow taller and begin running off to adventures and scrapes and new friends. They grow smarter and begin reading to themselves. They grow older and acquire their own style and their own taste in everything from music to books to shows.

I can’t help but look to Mary as my children get closer to eye-level in more ways than just height. She surely understands the excitement I feel to finally be able to communicate and be understood by my offspring. She must also, though, see the regrets I feel as I blunder through their growing up. Mary probably never lost her temper or yelled at Jesus, but I think she surely felt the frustrations I feel.

Those babies don’t keep, but neither do the toddlers, or the preschoolers, or the grade schoolers. When they’re teenagers, it will be just as fleeting a time as it is now, though for a whole different reason. Then, when they fly away, I’ll find myself busier than ever with the next level of my vocation.

What can I do to treasure the moments with these people in my life, whether they’re my children or my nieces, whether they’re babies or young adults? How can I step back and let the Holy Spirit speak through my actions and my love for them?

This “Finding Faith in Everyday Life” column originally appeared in The Catholic Times.

A Mary Moment Monday post

I never appreciated sleep as much as I do now that I have kids. I can feel, inside, how I’ve been stretched, pulled, reshaped by this vocation of motherhood.

I’m not sure I appreciate it on Mondays when I start out feeling as tired as I am today.

Dog tired, that’s me. And I have tired dogs to boot.

This will pass. Someday, hopefully, I’ll wonder what to do with all the time I have to sleep and all the sleep I have. Then I’ll be just like those women who tell me to enjoy ‘em while they’re little.

I believe those women. The years fly by, and it’s both a blessing and a curse. One of my friends regularly reminds me that her son–who’s in his 20s–was once the baby with two older sisters. Something in the way she says it makes me realize that the growing we do as mothers doesn’t stop.

Motherhood is a lot of work, and it’s work that doesn’t stop. If you’re lucky, there’s no getting rid of the kids when they’re 18 and technically eligible to get out of the house and live on their own. The worries continue and the work of mothering, though different in many ways, also keeps going.

Today, when I’m debating whether to work or to nap, whether to cuddle or hide with a blankie, whether to take the easy way or muddle through the hard way, I’m going to try to remember to turn to Mama Mary, who was surely dog tired with tired dogs a time or two.

Life was a different back then, more physical and full of real sweat. Did that make it even harder to get up with a fussy baby or a screaming three-year-old?

As I hug my coffee to me and try to not let my to-do list become more important than it is, I’m going to ask Mama Mary to hold my hand. Let’s walk together toward her Son and do the work He has in mind for our day.

image credit: D. Sharron Pruitt

A guest post by Kim Beeghley

In the later part of May, I said to myself, “OH NO! Three weeks until school is out. WHAT am I going to do?”  During this time, three of my four children (ages 13, 10, 8 and 6) were still in school and my six-year-old, who just graduated from kindergarten, was constantly asking me, “When are we going to pick up the kids at school so we can play?”

I started to ask myself, “How am I going to survive the summer?  Are there any camps or events for them?”

I decided I needed to take action.  I needed to find things for the kids to do to fill up the summer calendar and to keep them from killing each other out of boredom.

First, I needed a plan.  Living in central Pennsylvania, I was aware of some things for kids to do in the summer including free bowling, library reading programs, vacation bible school, cheap movies, and (of course) swimming.  I registered the kids for free rounds of bowling (which are AWESOME for those rainy days) and picked out a few movies that we could go see at $2 per person (popcorn before lunch?).

As if my head wasn’t swimming enough, I registered the kids for bible school and the three boys for Cub Scout Camp.  Then my mother called and suggested that each of the kids spend a week with them.  Where am I supposed to fit that into our schedule?  These will be special moments for the kids to spend time with their grandparents and form great memories, though.

At the end of June, the kids (and my husband) were presenting at an international educational technology conference in Philadelphia.  We were there for six days, and it was a terrific opportunity for the kids to give presentations to classroom teachers from around the world.

While these items filled up some of the calendar, I was looking for ways for my kids to keep learning over the summer.   I sent an email out to all my homeschooling friends to see if they had any suggestions for me.

Based on some terrific suggestions, I ordered the summer bridge math (2-3 pages a day) and the Wordly Wise (2 lesson a week) for them to complete.  I also ordered Prima Latina to help build those Latin skills.  Now my summer schedule is finally starting to come together.

Another advantage of living in central Pennsylvania is that we are “centrally” located to many different places.  We can take day trips to places like Gettysburg, Baltimore, Washington DC, Philadelphia, or New York City.  We just pack a lunch and snakes so it can be a cheap trip with only one meal to buy.

With a summer calendar full of fun, we can keep the “I’m bored” comments to a minimum, reduce the amount of fighting between the kids, learn some new things, and most of all have fun!

What are YOUR ideas for fighting summer boredom? What have you been doing with your family this summer?

–

Kim Beeghley and I met at last year’s CNMC and we’ve stayed in touch through Facebook in the year since then. She still hasn’t started the blog she’s been thinking about, but I have hope. She keeps busy with her family in their home in central Pennsylvania.

image from CatholicMom.com

It sounds so strange to my ears to say that I have “a mother’s hope.”

It would have made me cringe even a few years ago to use a phrase with that ring to it. But now I have a daughter asleep in the other room, and the phrase “a mother’s hope” stirs something deep within me, making me feel a rise of bile and tears. Bile, because I see how the world is. Tears, because I now have that very thing I have sought, without knowing it – hope.

I like to think that I’m an educated person. After all, I spent years earning college degrees. “Book learning,” you might scoff, “is nothing to experience.” I’ve had a few jobs, been a few places, and I still haven’t given up on a couple of deep-seated aspirations for myself and my life.

In short, I was in no way prepared for motherhood.

I was not ready for the little person who took over my life and who looks so much like the person I admire more than anyone else. I was not ready for her small, perfect hands, and her tiny, vulnerable head. I was not ready for the pleasure of middle-of-the-night feedings and the complete feeling my arms would have every time she was in them. I had no idea that a sincere smile would change my outlook forever, or that any little excuse was reason enough to take her back into my arms.

Nothing had prepared me for life beyond myself.

Motherhood is scary. There’s this great opportunity to shape someone, to impact their views and learning, to do everything right. Then there’s the risk: ruin their life in some inexplicable way, unconsciously make them a menace or a danger, pass along some uncontrollable factor that ruins your grandchildren’s lives. I should have considered all these things before I met the man who made me think motherhood was attainable. In fact, I did.

None of the risks matter anymore. (It’s too late anyway!) Nah, I don’t think there’s a maternal instinct any more than I think there’s a man on the moon. But I do think that there is something that has clicked in me. There is some wellspring of confidence that makes me know that my first interest is protecting my child. It is this same something that probably made the phrase “a mother’s hope” relevant to me, in all of my wanting-to-be-nonconforming-and-ending-up-just-like-everyone-else glory.

I find that I have so many hopes for my daughter, but they all boil down to one thing, the hope that she is safe to adulthood and that we provide the very best for her. Sounds a little “small,” even as I write it.

Modified from a post originally published August 19, 2006, when my only child was 19 months old.

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I discovered something almost three years ago: Facebook is not just for high school and college kids. It’s a really neat tool to keep in touch with your family and friends of old.  It’s a convenient way to share pictures of your family – whether growing in numbers or simply in size – with far-flung cousins stationed with the Marines in Texas, Florida, Afghanistan, with aunts and uncles living thousands of miles away, with dear friends you’ve known more than 1/3 of your life but who live too far to have coffee with.

I also learned that there are games! And, oh, how those games suck your time.  If you have even a smidgen of competitiveness combined with a touch of addictive nature, you can discover that your “quick couple of games” at Bejeweled Blitz have turned into an hour.  Seriously!  I mean, how can I let Rachel continually beat me at this game?  I can beat her this time.  Just one more …

So last year, I gave up Facebook for Lent. I had also been playing some other stupid game that was fun for a while but had become way too addictive.  When I returned after Easter, I had no idea how to play because they’d updated and changed it.  And so I stopped.

Time was gained back!  I did slip back into Bejeweled occasionally.  Okay, a bunch by the time Lent rolled around again this year.

Which is part of why I did the same thing as last Lent: I gave up Facebook.  My family can reach me still via email, and I changed my avatar to let people know I would be off Facebook until Easter.  (The only exception is that my blogs auto-post to Facebook, but I do nothing to make that happen, nor do I go and check if it’s actually posted.)

But I discovered something else in the last year: Twitter. I’d tried it before, but was quite limited in my uses.  I didn’t “get” it.  Until I tried again, being a little more open and following some bloggers and writers I like a lot.  (Hello, Sarah!)  I figured out that Twitter can be a very interesting way to find news, to learn about things happening as they happen, to find interesting articles on topics I really like.  I even learned how to use a hashtag – both seriously (#Catholic #prolife #40DaysForLife) and jokingly (#whyaremykidssobig #whendidIgetsoold #doespeerybinglemissmeontwitteroramijustbeingegotistical).  It was FUN!

(ahem)

A bit too much fun at times.

I suddenly realized that I was checking it WAY too often, wondering if I had re-tweets (which is, for the uninitiated, when someone likes what you say enough to pass it on – it’s basically an electronic “ditto!” that reposts your comments).  I wondered if I had more followers, if I had less followers, if I could say something witty that someone famous would respond to … for the introvert that I am, it was a way to socialize.

Now, I have actual and real socialization on Twitter.  I have made some friends there who I’d love to meet in person.  People I pray for, who (I hope) pray for me.  But I also know that there is some very fake socialization that I’d love to pass off as real, but isn’t.  Things that amount to shouting into a crowd of people who do not know me at all, thinking that someone might be paying attention to me.

And being addicted to that is not a good thing.  (Really, what addiction is good, save the addiction to God I ought to have but fail to nurture enough?)

And so, due to my own slightly addictive nature, I pulled the plug on Twitter as well as Facebook.  Again, my blog is auto-posting on Twitter, but I do nothing to make it happen.  I don’t go to check the news.  I did leave the Twitter extension at the top of my Safari browser, but mostly I don’t even see it.  I’m definitely not clicking on it!

I do sort of miss the back-and-forth that I occasionally shared with friends, but overall, I’m trying to use the time I was spending on these social networks to socialize with Someone more important.  I’m trying to read the Bible each morning, or at least the Mass readings for the day, and to focus more on my vocation and less on myself.  (My vocation requires me to focus on others first.)

I’m basically trying to live in the real world a bit more. Which, left to my own devices, I was tending not to do as much as I ought to.

One of the other things I’ve noticed is that constantly writing things in 140 characters can change the way my mind works.  There are some benefits: I have to express myself more succinctly, I learn to be more direct about what I’m saying.

But there are pitfalls, too.  I tended to feel more frenetic, less calm.  The speed at which things can move on Twitter and Facebook can really make you jumpy.  It’s as though I’m expecting everything to be in short soundbites.  I was having troubles really reading anything deep for long periods of time; for someone who loves reading as much as I do, that is a serious problem.

I wanted to break that a bit.  I wanted to force calm back into my life and sooth my mind so it’s able to contemplate, to be at peace, to meditate on the great mysteries of this life.

One thing I’ve discovered is that I’m a bit more able to concentrate lately, and to write longer things. I’m doing so with more clarity and with (I hope) less rambling.  But I think this break from the short, punctuated writing that takes place on Facebook and Twitter is helping me think more clearly.

The biggest benefactors of this break are my children, who get my undivided attention far more than when I’m busy joking with someone on Twitter.  And I’m a better mother for that.

So that’s why I gave it up.  It’s why, despite others who have said they couldn’t give up Facebook for Lent because it’s their biggest connection with others, I think it’s a good thing for me.

For some people, logging into Facebook and Twitter is a fifteen-minute activity.  It’s not usually that for me, or at least it eventually grows to be much more.  When I go back to it, I’ll try to limit my time better, but if it gets too hectic – if I’m finding that it’s too “important” to me, I’ll break from it again.

And maybe I don’t need Lent for that, either.

What are your thoughts?

Do you use Lent as a way to eliminate bad habits or to lessen activities that seem to take over your life?  Do you take breaks from those things at other times of year?

One of the Mary Moment Monday posts

A while back, Barb wrote a post about the gift of availability, which put words to many things that have been on my heart in the past few months. I did what I do when something resonates with me: I sent it to a certain friend.

Then, the other day, when I read Elizabeth Duffy’s brilliant piece “Released By Motherhood” at Faith & Family Live, I shared that link too.

The friend I sent it to replied, and her reply merits sharing with you.

Been feeling (or struggling with) similar feelings. Relieved that other(s) feel it too!

Would like to have my job well defined. Have either baby days behind me and full devotion to shaping older children (involvement at school, etc.) or know I have baby days ahead and keep myself in that mode.

And I’m 40 with no clear career path if I’m suddenly needed to earn money. My family is my primary job, yes, but I feel strongly that it should not be my only [job]. However, I don’t write or anything that I could do during my available time.

So struggling with this mini midlife crisis, I’ve decided to be a prayer warrior with service availabilty (I imagine myself as a part time nun). This is my gift to the world. Give up fear of the unknown, embrace God’s will and pray for everyone and anyone when ever I can. Offer services when I’m available.

This decision has certainly lifted my self imposed weight on my shoulders to produce something in my days and ease my guilt when I’m rundown as “just” a mom. And I’ll just have to trust God to help with the money part if needed.

This friend and I have been particularly struck by my sister-in-law’s new status as a single mom. A year ago, her husband died unexpectedly. Her income is…gone. She wasn’t the primary wage earner; in fact, her income (at her part-time job) offset the cost of their children’s Catholic education.

My brother-in-law didn’t have a will. He was only 38, after all. This came as a complete shock, a total surprise, and, really, it has me (and this good friend, too) totally tempted to manage by exception.

Back when I was involved in office life, and especially when I was the one in charge, I was dead set against managing by exception. “Rules and policies should not be made to deal with what-ifs and could-bes,” I’d tell myself and anyone who suggested a new rule or policy.

My husband suddenly dying is the exception, not the rule. It is unlikely, and if I live my life in fear of it happening, then I’m thumbing my nose at God’s goodness. I can’t help but think of yesterday’s Gospel reading, from Matthew 6:24-34. This, especially:

“Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself.
Sufficient for a day is its own evil.”

This Gospel is a little love note from God, a reminder that He loves me far more than I can imagine and that He will take care of me, no matter what happens.

It’s also a reminder that I have to get past myself: past my own fears, past my conviction that what I think is what’s most important. There’s a lot of humility required in embracing life and trusting God.

When I ask myself, How would Mary deal with this difficulty?, the word Yes comes to mind. Mary is such a role model for me: she helps me to shoot for the more perfect path to holiness, as opposed to the way of least resistance that I have a tendency to choose on my own.

Sometimes, I have to say Yes to things that are difficult and hard.

Sometimes, I don’t have a choice.

But I have a choice far more than I don’t. I can choose, as my friend did, to offer my prayer time to others. I can say Yes and minister to others with little acts of kindness and prayer, and, most importantly, give my attention to those people in my house who are my primary vocation.

On a related note, written in the past:

• Battling My Worst Fear

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