Rethinking

Sometimes you can go along for years believing that a certain person is right about certain things. Whether that's because you truly agree with them or because they exert an unhealthy influence over your opinion is not what I'm here to discuss (though it's definitely worth examining.)

And then you find out that this person is wrong--very, very wrong--about something.

Suddenly all those other things you accepted because this person said so, and you trusted them, are suspect as well.

It happens to all of us at some point--someone we'd put on a pedestal falls flat on the ground. Along with them falls all those so-called "truths" that they'd espoused, and of which they'd tried to convince you.

The disillusionment can be tough to take. And it can take a long time to go away. But when it does, a gift is left in its place. Yes, a gift. You are now given the gift of starting over, of looking to form a new opinion, your own opinion. You can have this gift as soon as you are willing to accept it. That means, sometimes, swallowing a little pride. It requires humility and an open mind. But in the end you will be better for the experience. And you get to look at so many things in a whole new way.

(Just for the record, the person I am discussing here is not my husband or any other family member. But beyond that, it doesn't matter who it is. What matters is that I'm letting go--and it's long past time for that.)

Multitasking FAIL

In the interest of keeping to an absolute minimum the time the oven would be turned on, I got started on a baking session this evening. I needed a batch of blueberry muffins for tomorrow morning's Secular Franciscan retreat, and I also wanted to make a pan of brownies for Middle Sister. She's leaving for a week at the beach with a friend's family, and I thought it would be nice if she brought along a little treat to share.

So I got out my two big batter bowls and got started on the ingredients. Right off the bat I made my first mistake by putting the wet ingredients for the muffins in the big batter bowl (dry's supposed to go in there first!) But I figured I could make it work. And then I took the Hershey's syrup out of the fridge--it's the secret ingredient in my box-mix brownies. I poured a generous shot of syrup into the wrong batter bowl: the one meant for the blueberry muffins.

I'd finished off the carton of eggs in the kitchen, so I went to our spare fridge and retrieved the carton I had out there. Note to self: that was the last of the eggs. After dumping out the ruined batter, I went to crack an egg and discovered that those eggs were frozen.

My kind neighbor talked me down from the ledge, handed me two eggs to borrow, and told me that while she completely understood my reasons for attempting to bake two things at once, I shouldn't try it again this evening. Gratefully, I accepted the eggs and the advice.

There are things that just require your full attention. Fortunately, tonight, all that was lost was a couple of eggs, some milk and some vegetable oil. But multitasking can have its price. Just ask a parent who has lost a teenage child who texted while driving.

And what about the spiritual cost? Our attention is divided enough these days. I know that when I'm trying to pray, I struggle with intruding thoughts of shopping lists, chore charts, and what I'll be making for dinner tonight. Multitasking in other areas will only make us less and less able to lend our full attention to what really matters.

Impressive

Today I chaperoned an eighth-grade trip.

My daughter's class went on a pre-Confirmation retreat. We drove 1 1/2 hours to the retreat house (at the beach), where the students listened to a short talk by the priest who was coordinating the day. After that, they saw a prolife video that showed how babies develop in the womb--and just how soon after conception the heartbeat, brain waves and other functions have already gotten started. Mass was next, followed by lunch, a short activity on the gifts of the Holy Spirit, and then cleanup for departure.

The students were lucky to have as their retreat director Monsignor Michael Mannion, who has not only worked with Mother Theresa and been a campus minister at several universities but also has worked with Project Rachel, a group that ministers to post-abortive mothers and fathers. Msgr. Mannion and my daughter's teacher strongly believe that it is never too early to teach children about the sanctity of life and the value of each person.

In his opening remarks to the students and later during his homily, Msgr. Mannion explained the difference between "idols" and "heroes." Idols, he said, are people who may work very hard at what they do--but it is for their own gain. Heroes, on the other hand, work very hard so that others, rather than themselves, will benefit. He challenged this group of 30+ teenagers to strive to be heroes, rather than idols; to use the gifts of the Holy Spirit in ways that will help other people. The day closed with the famous reading about love from St. Paul's letter to the Corinthians.

The day was definitely worth the long ride on an unheated school bus. I hope that the eighth-graders were inspired by Msgr. Mannion's presentation and Mass today.

Junior Theology

Adventure Boy showed up here earlier with another little boy from down the street. I just overheard them having a heated discussion about Creation:

Little Brother: "Who made sharks?"

Little Boy: "God!"

Adventure Boy: "Who made the fish?"

Little Brother: "God!"

Little Brother: "Who made the ocean?"

Little Boy: "The people!"

Little Brother: "No, not people. God made the ocean."

Adventure Boy: "It was JESUS!"

It's Not Magic

Yesterday I headed over to Big Brother's high school to help process orders for their magazine sale fundraiser. I hate fundraisers like this, but it's a way I can help during the school day, which is the best time for me to volunteer.

It was nice to meet some other moms, since I know very few parents of kids in the high school. We had some down time, and it was a chance to discuss things about our kids, and the school, and sports, just all kinds of things.

One mom was telling a horror story about a soccer game her daughter had recently played, where someone on the opposing team caused an injury to her daughter and the opposing fans were yelling, "Hit her again!"

That conversation quickly degenerated into a denigration of the other school, with statements like:
"Well, after all, look where they draw their students from."
"I had to go in there one time and there were about 5 pregnant girls sitting outside the office."

At that point I had to jump into the discussion. I let them know that for many years I have been a "homebound tutor" for several area schools including Big Brother's high school. I've taught pregnant students before, and held their newborn babies while they took notes or completed tests. Some of these girls were from our school. A Catholic school.

Of course, they brushed off my comments. They were not interested in hearing about that.

Do they think that this school, because it's a Catholic school, is naturally immune from teen pregnancy, discipline problems, and drugs? Because if that's what they believe, if they leave it all up to the school, then they're lying down on the job. And those problems will never go away.

"I will run the race..."

One of my favorite songs to sing in church is "Only This I Want." It's based on one of the Epistles. Part of the song goes like this:
I will run the race, I will fight the good fight
So to win the prize of the Kingdom of the Lord.
Only this I want, but to know the Lord
And to bear His cross, so to wear the crown He wore.

This song kept coming to my mind today as I sat in a seventy-year-old National Guard Armory and watched Big Brother run the mile.

I'd never been to an indoor track meet before today. It's a crazy environment. There's lots of noise, starter pistols going off, bells ringing, and constant announcements being made. There are coaches yelling times as runners zip by. Parents are clapping and calling out to the runners. In the middle of all the running, there are other athletes jumping over high things and throwing very heavy things. People are moving in all directions all the time. Several athletic contests are happening simultaneously. I counted five other schools that had the same school colors as Big Brother's, so it's hard to tell sometimes which ones are your teammates.

And there's a lot of sitting around, waiting for your turn. The runners are restless; they use their nervous energy pacing, jiggling, cracking knuckles. And suddenly in the middle of the garbled announcements they hear something that makes them get up and move with purpose to the table in the corner of the room to get ready for their race. Suddenly they know where to go and what to do, and they hope they can do it fast enough.

On cue, the runners line up at the starting line and wait for the pistol. They're running a mile, so they conserve as they run. They don't start nearly as fast as those running in the 200-meter; those kids are just a blur going by. You can watch the milers, see who is in the lead, watch them pass each other and keep track of the runner from your team. Coaches follow the runners for a bit and shout encouragement along the way.

Big Brother ran a good race. His stride was confident. He saved his energy for the end, but he had passed several runners in the middle few laps. The official clock stops showing times after the top six come in, but his coach kept track and showed him that he had not only achieved a new personal best, but beaten his goal for the day. He does not go to the meet with the goal of winning, but of doing better than he did last time. Today, he did not win--but he came in under 6:00 for the first time ever. That was his goal. He beat it by 3 seconds, coming in at 5:57.

How different are all of us from these runners? We too are in a noisy, chaotic environment. We have to listen carefully for the Voice that calls us to do what we are here to do. We must pay attention to the advice of those more experienced, with the goal in mind of achieving our own Personal Best. And only then can we win the prize.

Going for the Gusto

There's nothing like the kind of enthusiasm a four-year-old can display.

Today we went to the mall to return a defective toy that he'd received for Christmas. After using the resulting store credit to purchase a new light sabre and Knight "costoon," we had a long walk back to the car. But he was so thrilled to have his new armor and weapons, and to know that I had a pocketful of pennies to pitch into the mall fountain, that he ran and jumped and zigzagged all the way.

He's been busy all afternoon, and after I finished helping him build a wall for his family-room fortress, I noticed that it was getting pretty icky under the couch there, and I took out the vacuum with the long attachment. I dragged out the Legos and little cannonballs and vacuumed up the pieces of pretzels and stray twisty-ties from Christmas packages.

He stayed out of the way for a few minutes and then started jumping up and down all over again. "Can I vacuum? Can I help?"

I told him that it would be a big help if he'd do the front stairs (all 5 of them) from the foyer to the living room. He plugged in the little vacuum and got to work, periodically stopping to inspect the job. He told me not to walk down the stairs or he would vacuum my feet. And he showed me how, if the vacuum wouldn't pick up some little bit on its first pass, he could pick it up in his hand and "feed" it to the vacuum. It exasperates me when I have to do that--but he thought it was fun.

I'm glad I have Little Brother around to remind me that it's OK to enjoy the work I do, even though it's pretty mundane stuff. It's a gift--and I should appreciate that gift.