St. Monica

Mother of St. Augustine, St. Monica is a model saint for all of us mothers striving to keep our children close to God, call those who stray back to Him, and for me ...to advocate on behalf of those mothers, like me, who live in constant prayer, begging God to receive our lost children.
The Novena to St. Monica begins today in honor of her feast day, August 27.  I'll keep all of your children in my prayers during this novena.  Please pray for mine!

Novena to St. Monica

Exemplary Mother of the Great Augustine,
You perserveringly pursued your wayward son
Not with wild threats 
But with prayerful cries to heaven. 

Intercede for all mothers in our day 
So that they may learn 
To draw their children to God. 

Teach them how to remain
Close to their children, 
Even the prodigal sons and daughters 
Who have sadly gone astray. 

Dear St Monica, troubled wife and mother, 
Many sorrows pierced your heart
During your lifetime. 
Yet you never despaired or lost faith. 
With confidence, persistence and profound faith, 
You prayed daily for the conversion
Of your beloved husband, Patricius 
And your beloved son, Augustine. 

Grant me that same fortitude, 
Patience and trust in the Lord. 
Intercede for me, dear St. Monica, 
That God may favorably hear my plea 
For 

[State your petition here.) 

And grant me the grace 
To accept his will in all things, 
Through Jesus Christ, our Lord, 
In the unity of the Holy Spirit, 
One God forever and ever.

Amen.

---

August Sky

I always look to the sky.  I think I might have always done that, but now I notice how often I scan the sky, night or day.  The first thing I do when I step outside is look up, lift my eyes to things above.  We've been blessed to live in homes that give us a good view of the sky.  Recessed porches are unintentional features of each of our three places.  I guess it might be God's little detail that gathers us altogether on our porches, something He knows we always appreciate.  We've often stepped out in the rain, protected to watch trees bend, lightening strike and droplets pelt.  We always look up, measure the sky for whatever we're looking for ...sunshine, clouds ...Phoebe.
 When she was three she came running in one August summer evening, panting that she'd seen Jesus in the sky.  She insisted he was standing above the Boston skyline, a view from our backyard at the time.  With each recitation of the story,  her siting pared down.  As she finished, she clarified, with her three year old lisp,  that she had indeed seen Jesus, but just his feet and they were really, really big ...and he was wearing sandles.  At that age, her insistent, determined personality was fully developed, and she held to the viewing of Jesus' feet, and proudly told anyone who would listen.
  It's rare I look at the sky in August without remembering that story.  The August sky is different from July or June.  It's bluer and deeper ...it has promise.  I've always loved the sky of this month.  I remember sitting in the backyard of our first home, just steps from the beach, and pointing to the sky, its blueness, amazed at the difference in just days. 
  I look up now and find her.  I remember that tumbling into the house when she was little, so full of excitement and assurance that Jesus had revealed to her just his feet.  I remember listening over and over as the tale whittled down, until it was just right.  Because really, isn't it more exciting and poignant to have just a vision of his feet.  Lots of people claim to have 'seen' Jesus, but who has been able to focus in solely on his feet. 
  We used to joke when she was little that her own feet were as capable as her hands.  We fought to keep shoes on her.  She used her feet, like people use their hands.  Even older, she was rarely in shoes if she didn't have to be.  The first snow always found her barefoot outside.
  I'm sure we could do a whole analysis on Phoebe's viewing of Jesus feet and her own call to be forever barefoot.  But really, the story mostly speaks to her keen awareness of His presence in her life at an early age and her ability to communicate His place in it, and how He personally understood that she would be really, really interested in His feet, and so showed them to her. 
  There's a lot I could write about from here, but really, I want to appreciate the beautiful simplicity of that moment ...and hear her little lispy voice reciting what she'd seen. 
   Every August, the sky rewrites that memory for me ...helps me find my way to Phoebe every now and then ...when I look up.

Charlie too!

I'm on the heels of The Compassionate Friends conference this past weekend, which conveniently was held in Boston.  It was a hectic weekend with kids, so I was glad to have it so close by, allowing me to navigate the multiple obligations.  I'd hoped to spend all my time at the conference ...just to be with so many people, hear so many stories of loss and then hope, pain and the finding of joy in the most obscure circumstances.  I'll probably write more about that later ...there's so much for all of us to learn!
Phoebe never really cared for convention, so while I learn so much about other people and their own journeys, their sense of their child(ren) with them, I didn't really expect Phoebe to reveal herself in such an expected place.  But looking back, I realize she was front and center from the get-go ...in such a Phoebe way ... that it sprinkled a bit of joy on two sad hearts and lifted them in a shared moment of joy and assurance.
I'd worked the fourth of July.  I'd expected to all along since my work pattern would fall on that day.  But when the schedule had come out, I wasn't on my usual routine.  Holiday pay is double time, so we like those days if they fit into our families lives!  Someone had asked me to cover for them and before I could respond, another nurse, Holly, had already filled the spot.  I love this nurse, Holly; I usually pass my patients on to her for the evening shift ..we share an easy way with each other.  We bantered back and forth about her 'stealing' my shift, my spot.  As it turned out, I worked a different floor ...which was great since I was able to work with the nurse who'd trained me and share with her the excitement of the upcoming return of her son from a military stint that's left her a bit depleted.
Towards the end of our shift, I was called and told Holly's dog had just died.  All of a sudden, her dog went outside ...and just died.  I knew she loved this pet very, very much.  And as life can be with teenagers, her dog never talked back, never caused worry ...except in the heavy thickness of summertime when his breathing would often be compromised.  He was a great consolation and 'friend' to her.  When I made my way down to her ....she was so, so sad.  She didn't want him to be alone, she was afraid he was with no one now.  I offered her what comfort I could, but knew she'd need to go through the pain alone.  You learn that when you lose a child ...that most times, pain must be traveled alone.  No matter who, no matter how many, no one, no thing can lessen the pain, the hard work of sadness.  And the fear of her dog, Charlie, being alone seared her.  It was heavy on my heart that night, saddened for her, but as I drove home I thought that Charlie might just be with someone who had always wanted a dog, had begged and begged for one.  I thought of the girl who would plead, the girl who left us, and after she did, we'd just wished so much we had gotten her a dog.  And I thought of her beautiful face with her bright, laughing smile, calling to him.  "Charlie, Charlie ...come here Charlie, over here!"  And I'd thought about him bounding towards her and her laughing and running, playing.  I'd wondered if this could all be true ...who knows!  We don't know what God allows, but we do know His promise is that it is far greater and far better than we can humanly imagine. So I went with that thought ...and took great joy in Phoebe and Charlie being together.
The weekend got busy fast, and it wasn't until today, while finishing all my notes, Holly walked in and I was able to tune in to her recent loss.  I asked her right away if she was okay ...and she came to me and said she didn't know how I'd done it.  "How did you get up the next morning?  I just lost my dog, I can't imagine a child."  I'd told her that my husband and I had marveled that the sun had come up over the horizon, perplexed that it could still rise after Phoebe had died.  Aloud, she'd wondered if I worried about Phoebe being alone and I told her of course I had.  Was she safe?  Warm? Hungry? Scared?  So many things we wondered, and even more we wonder now, but less now with fear, and more now with awe ...and real wonderment.
I'd remembered then the image I'd had of Phoebe calling to Charlie.  "Holly, Charlie's not alone ....I think he's with Phoebe now!"  She looked at me quizzically ..."I really think so!"  "Really, you do?"  And I told her of Phoebe's  great desire for a dog and how we now regretted never getting her one, so Charlie had probably gone to her.  "If he did, I'm sure he's already been to the top of Mt. Everest ....probably chased sea turtles off the Galapagos Islands.  She was very spirited, very adventurous ...no boring walks for this puppy, they're exploring.  If Charlie is with her ....he's having a blast.  I bet he hasn't stopped running yet."  We both laughed.  Both comforted at the thought they might be sharing some great adventure ...enjoying each other.  And it was my way to give Phoebe something she'd always wanted.  And I know Holly was glad to share Charlie with my girl! 
As I walked away she told me that I always seemed to know the right thing to say. I made her feel better she said.  But what Holly couldn't know is how the tears stung as I walked away so grateful to her for being so generous and willing to share her treasure, her Charlie, with my girl.  "Finally Mom!  He's a great dog, I'll take good care of him"  I hear her say. 
Bookends to the conference ....losing Charlie and then finding where he was.  Phoebe finally has her dog!

Freedom

True freedom only comes with a surrender, complete submission, to God.  We live in the 'land of the free', a culture that puts a premier price on being able to exercise our freedoms.  Those freedoms used to be tied to our Creator, but now they've morphed into whatever we want them to be.  But the Truth will always be our source of freedom.  God must always be the core of our lives ....and even when He is, we wrestle with taking hold ourselves and defining freedom from an individual perspective, based largely on what 'pleases' us, what makes us most comfortable and happy ....even if we couch it in terms of faith.
And so ....God, knowing our struggles and our hearts deepest, true desire to be fully in union with Him, offers us the opportunity to approach Him.  Some of us need that theme over and over again in our lives, new challenges that humble us, break us.  I know I'm a challenging student, so He offers me lots of things to draw me out of myself and into Him. I'm glad he hasn't given up on me.  He never gives up on any of us!
After last weeks surgery, my sister did not get good news.  It is not what she wanted or expected to hear.  I beg prayers once again for her.  God is offering her true freedom, and it is a grueling path.   May the angels and saints guide her, and all her loved ones, gone before her, walk with her.
Blessed Freedom to you today!

Do Not Touch!

Two nights ago Nantasket Beach was in its full glory.  The moon, still full, meant an exceptionally low tide, leaving sandbars and tidal pools exposed.  A storm had just raged through leaving the sky with spectacular clouds rimmed in bursts of orange and pink as the sun set over Boston.  In this little town of Hull, a 7 mile peninsula jutting into the Atlantic, arching back towards Boston, we get the full view sunrise and sunset.  Nantasket Beach is my beach, it feels like home to me.  I have lots of familiar places and spaces, my home is my home, and lots of fond memories are conjured up and remembered from places all over.  But it is with my feet in this sand where I feel most settled.  And its a night to be settled.
Mary Claire makes her sand castles just beyond the tiny ripples of wave.  One of them stands tall, surrounded by a moat.  Another surrounds the small pool, I say it looks like a sea turtle.  Owen makes a run for a tennis ball, perfects it to a smooth track giving speed as the ball heads towards the ocean.  Lucy meanders between the two younger siblings helping, offering tips ...making things happen.  They are happy and free ...and here, on this sand, so am I.
It is the day after my sisters surgery, a double mastectomy.  Already, she is home, a brazen move on her part to get back into life as soon as she can.  She is halfway across the country, and I am here.  My life as a nurse causes me to worry even more.  Under this sky, I can imagine life less complicated, where the constant rolling in of waves isn't quite so rough. 
My sister's life has not been easy.  None of us sisters has had an easy life, and yet we've lived some great adventure ...even amidst the mundane.  This is another hard chapter for her.  She will survive it, because that's what we do. And we've survived lots of ugly things.
How much of our lives do we plan, do all we can to ensure nothing will go off track?  We tend, nurture, revise, research ...all in an effort to do things, whether parenting, professional, social, physical ...to do them all the 'right' way.  And if we can just do them the 'right' way, nothing bad will happen.  Our children will thrive, our careers ascend, friendships will be genuine and loyal,  and if we do all the things we're supposed to do to prevent breast cancer ...we won't get it.  But that isn't how it works.  We can do all the right things, and still 'bad' things happen.  Essential for our survival is an optimism that transcends what the world defines as good or bad.  Despite the odds, despite the losses, the surgeries, the need to rebuild ....start over, a healthy, hopeful optimism that God is here and there ...that His plan is perfect, will win over all the worldly realities.  He won already for us, and we live in this valley of tears, but not forever.
My sister's story is still being written, and she has a journey ahead of her.  Please pray for her, pray that she be well.
We gather our things to leave the beach as night falls.  Mary Claire shouts 'wait' and heads down towards the water.  She picks up a shell and by each sandcastle carves 'Do not touch' deep into the sand.  The tide has turned and the waves edge closer.  She is certain her sign will preserve her castles, that she will come back to find them.
She's ready to leave the beach.
How many times have I written that sign around my life, my children, my home, my husband ...all the things I want to preserve and protect?  I write it over and over, thinking I can stave off the harm, the danger.  But I can't.  Life will take its own course, the one meant for each of us.  Some seem to live a life on smooth pavement, while others are given more treacherous routes.    In the past, I've shared about my mother, our mother, and her resilience, perseverance ...her utter mission to survive. Her life wasn't easy either.  She readied us for the challenges to come.  And her faith remained strong and constant all throughout.  Some days it doesn't makes sense to me that some should be burdened with so much, so often in this lifetime.
 In a moment of pondering a friend sends this to me http://www.sacred-texts.com/chr/ioc/ioc013.htm  and then this http://www.sacred-texts.com/chr/ioc/ioc038.htm. The second one is long, took me several times through to begin to grasp it, and I will go back to it too.  The are both an exact answer to questions I'd prayerfully, but urgently, posed to God during Mass hours earlier.  This faithful, loyal, enormous hearted friend was prompted to send this to me in perfect timing, without knowing the moments of my own struggle.
My 'Do not touch' signs, are just that, signs ...of my fear, my uncertainty, my desire to protect and preserve. We can take all the steps we want, and we often should, even being sure to surround ourselves with people we think are of like mind ...and it can all turn.  And that's where we fail, in the trusting in our own steps, failing to trust in Gods, thinking we know better ....thinking we are as wise, or wiser than God.  But if He wants to bring about our own individual salvation, or those of someone we love ...He will choose the best path, and then our struggle is to give thanks in all things ...all things ...even the most despairing!
I don't want my sister to struggle or suffer.  I don't want her to live with fear of the unknown.  I want Mary Claire's beautiful sandcastles to be intact when she returns to the beach ....
But more, I want every cell of my sister to trust in God's way, to be free from fear (which is so, so hard, and a constant struggle!  I know, I live it!)  I want Mary Claire to see the flattened sand where her castles once stood and see the opportunity to rebuild, to make new ..and she will, because that's her way!   And she is still young enough to fully know that God makes all things new.
I would so appreciate any prayers for my sister, Betsy ...she would too!

Father's Day

These days the sky stays light well past nine.  It's finally dark, the day officially done.  Hard, hard day.  Harder for me than Mother's Day.  Every child has their own relationship with each parent beyond the family dynamic.  You can see mothers and daughters so in sync when there together, they don't miss a beat.  Others navigate tension and misunderstanding, often even when they think the same way or have the same goal, but they bond.  There's all different ways to bond.  Fathers and son's, mothers and son's.  Father's and daughters.  A father ...and his daughter ...his girl ...his Phoebe.
Like two peas in a pod, they shared a world view and a draw to the power of nature, the overwhelming strength of God's creation ...and found peace in their own smallness in relation to that power.  Their season is here now.  And I am at sea ...I want that back for them to share.  I want it back for me to watch.  I miss their relationship ...their way, together, a dad and his girl.
There is wonder and joy in every other child/dad relationship, and I love watching those too.  But it is the one gone missing that tugs the heartstrings most.  I know he misses her.  He knows I miss her, and the words become less and less.  Maybe we just share a glance or a sigh.  He paints the house and I say I wonder if Phoebe will recognize it when she comes home.  And he tells me she picked the color ....because she did pick one similar a few years back.  I'd forgotten. 
We talk surfing, and it is below the surface of the words, another child using the boards with friends, the proper care and use etc ...  He navigates it from work and our oldest steps in too, making sure everyone's on the same page.  But we both know who would have run the show.  She would stand shorter than three of her younger sisters now, but she would have ruled over them, and she would have protected the prized surfboards while giving tips for maximum fun.  But she doesn't stand shorter than them, and she doesn't rule over them.  But sometimes her death rules over our hearts, and today is one of those times.
I bumped into one of her friends in the parking lot today.  I'd stopped to get a few things for Stephen to have at work.  Forty hours straight is a long time to work, and at least on Father's Day, a delivery of treats is in order.  She peeks in the bag sees the cookies, "I'd rather chocolate chip myself."  Her nose scrunches up "me too, but Phoebe told me he goes all healthy sometimes, empties out the sugar bowl."  We both laugh, it's true.  But I share it because she is one of the very few people who speaks about Phoebe with ease, with the sense that her friendship with Phoebe is still very real, just different.  I like that, appreciate it.  Phoebe's name didn't get caught in her throat, wasn't said with hushed tones, or droopy eyes ...it was just there, as it should be ...present and real.  And you know, it's so fitting that it's this girl I bump into on the journey of making the delivery to Phoebe's dad.  He'd loved watching them together.  Maybe a little wink.
I don't really understand how God weaves such things, such a loss, into our lives.  I know few men who could have continued living and loving the way Phoebe's dad has.  He's all in ...a phrase we used for many years amidst the activity of a house full of little kids.  We were all in ...we took no short-cuts. He still is all in ...even when he doesn't feel like it ....even when his heart is dragging.  His heart hasn't given out.  He just gives more.  And that's the witness for me ...the endless giving, the willingness to serve,  the willingness to walk this life with a shattered heart, hidden, striving to make other's lives whole and full.
Bless him, this man, on Father's Day.  

May's ending

May is closing, just hours away and it will be June.
May has been a very hard, arduous month ...in many ways.  It will always be Phoebe's month.  Over time, maybe it will be someone elses too ...maybe a grandchild will be born in this month, lots of possibilities to soften the harshness of the loss tied to her.
I've pushed toward this day ....seems funny to me, that I would race through a beautiful month, as if I could make its passing come with earnest.
There's lots I'd like to say, and little time to write, but there are a few thoughts that close this month for me.  It ends with all my living kids home on a hot Friday night ...temps in the 90's.  I like that, them here, the buzz of life ...laughing, fighting, settling in and finding a way to cool off.  Close enough to the ocean, we can sense and feel a distant breeze ...fleeting, but bringing a moment of relief.  I'm glad for that!
I see all of us finding a way to make this month something other than what it is ...an exclamation point for Phoebe.  Intensity describes all of us well, intentionally, inadvertently, subconsciously.
The last time I approached a period of my life in a similar way was several years ago when our oldest was heading off to the Air Force Academy.  We would be out of touch for six or more weeks.  The thought of that overwhelmed me, thinking I might not be able to survive it.  The severing of a child from my life in such an abrupt way seemed harsh, irrational.  I invested myself full on into the prerequisites for nursing school.  It kept me focused, forward thinking.  I did well.
It's funny to look back on that time and see how God prepared me, us for the real severing, the real brutality of separation that would always be ...the loss of Phoebe.  He cares for us, crafts our lives so that we might survive it, because we've practiced.
Stephen didn't stay at the Academy, and for lots of reasons I'm glad.  At first when he left, I thought of it only as a loss.  Now, I see the gain, the benefit, the rightness of it all.  I see a young man heading off with his little brother, rubber boots on all four feet to find the secret pond, abundant with frogs for catching.  I see the smiles on both, and the days of enjoyment with frogs hopping around our backyard, until set free back into their natural home.  I see a young man who asks me about my day.  I get to watch him build a life.
Quite honestly, I don't know how I would have fared had he stayed in such a highly structured life, away from us.  Little did I know when he decided to leave the Academy, a dream of his for years, that it was an enormous gift ...one that didn't feel like or appear to be one at all.  I'm grateful.
A long day of work closed with a sweet encounter, a witness of great love and devotion ...of marriage.
Our marriage has been stretched and pinched, pushed, shoved, pulled, twisted since losing Phoebe.  How could it not be?  Our missing is both united and very separate.  At times of my greatest frustration and despairing I've wondered what good could possibly come from this.  How could God make this new, even though He makes all things new?  When I'm settled, in moments of peace, I've thought that all this ...all of it ...is the writing of a great love story.  Because love stories that are truly beautiful do not look like Hollywood, but rather they appear tattered and frayed lots of  times.  And surely, we are tattered and frayed.  I've looked at this man of mine, and known that the depths of his sorrow are deep in a way different than mine, and yet the same.  This girl, this great, magnificent girl, was ours for such a short time ....but an extraordinary time, and our years sharing her were woven with golden thread that will last for all time.
As my work day came to a close nearing 7PM, the calendar caught my eye, someone mentioned tomorrow would be June.  Inside, I sighed relief.  May would soon be over, I could breath.  We all could breath a bit easier.
A little man, about 5'1" passed me pushing his wife in a wheelchair.  I greeted them, she waved, he smiled.  "Where are you two lovebirds off to?"  They giggled and looked at each other, their eyes twinkling.  On they went to enjoy their time together.  Everyday he visits her, holds juice to her mouth, adjusts her napkin, pushes her.   Moments later, I'm asked to bring something for pain to someone else.  I find the patient and his wife sitting in the sunroom along with another couple.  Both husbands are in special reclining wheelchairs, both suffer with dementia, both are there with their wives.  A double date.  The wives beam as they smile and chat with each other.  It is not the two of them sharing this moment.  It's a foursome, two wives, two husbands, two marriages that have survived long years.   I chat for a moment, wanting to ask them to tell me their stories ...their love stories.  This snapshot would likely be seen by the world as sad, depressing ...ugly even.  But it's not, it's a tapestry, a beautiful weaving of a life ...of lives.  This is a love story.
God helps us write stories woven with sorrow, pain, suffering, disappointment loss ...and he makes it all new.  He helps us write our love stories ....without revisions, do-overs ....it is raw and real ....it is blessed.
And so May closes, and my hope soars ...that we are living and writing a love story of gigantic proportion with amazing chapters and characters, events ....it is an epic, and Phoebe, like each of our children, has helped us write it.
I thought I'd close May with relief ...but instead, six little old people, tired and worn out, showed me the true meaning of springtime ...of new life ....of true love.
God is amazing in His generosity!