Though we enjoy watching the neighborhood bunnies engage in frequent games of tag in our yard, we have been very careful this year to limit their access to our newly erected veggie garden. We are trying our hand this year at some tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers and carrots. Unfortunately, we didn’t plant quite enough to share with our fuzzy neighbors but they continue to bless us with their company anyway.
Many Catholics are familiar with Saint Anthony, the patron Saint of lost things. He is credited with abundant miracles and is often the one we invoke when we’ve misplaced our keys. This month we celebrated his feast day to thank him for his assistance. Although I hold Saint Anthony in the highest regard along with all those in heaven, I would’ve forgotten his feast this year had it not been for his holy intercession and a little help from my mom.
On June 13th my parents happened to be visiting to help us welcome our daughter into the Church through baptism earlier that week. My mom and I popped out with baby for a bit of antiquing around town. Little did I know that Saint Anthony had his eye on us. Just as we were leaving the last shop before heading for home my mom spied a thin blue rosary hanging by the door. I’m working on my holy card and rosary collections (you can never have too many) and couldn’t resist looping back for a second look. The tag on the simple strand of beads said $12. No doubt the shop owners had yet to meet the Blessed Mother and fully understand the miraculous power of this holy devotion. For 12 measly dollars I couldn’t pass up this sacramental. After purchasing the little rosary we once again made our way to the door and I examined the inscription on the back of the medal. “Saint Anthony” I exclaimed to my mom, holding it aloft for her to see.
“You know it’s his feast day.” She smiled back at me and the two ladies behind the counter. They nodded in a polite though somewhat uninterested fashion. However, I felt as though I’d stumbled onto a rare treasure. I’d of course heard of Saint Anthony and even prayed to him a number of times upon misplacing various household items but today I had the pleasure of finding him. No doubt this was due to his finding me first. Through the rosary, a most beautiful devotion to the Holy Mother, the Saint of lost things found this brand new mother, guiding her yet deeper into her faith.
No matter how many flowers I see I will never tire of trying to capture them in their best light with my camera. God smiles on us every time we step out our door and it brings me unending joy to savor these little flashes of heaven.
These words are so often the most difficult to say, yet always the most necessary. When approaching any cataclysmic shift in life; the birth of a child, marriage to your dearly beloved, the start of a new job, a move across the country to a new city, we have a vision for how we want these things to go. Obviously, we pray that they will proceed without complication and will lead us to further fulfillment of God’s plan for our lives. However, in all the commotion, when faith and trust in God are most critical, we are prone to forget both altogether. We content ourselves to power through by our own grit and determination, throwing ourselves into any labor that might bring about that shining vision we had when we started. There’s always one more thing on the to do list to occupy our time which seems far more pressing than falling on our knees before the blessed Sacrament. Carving out time for this is never a mistake and I suspect there are few people who would regret it. I was personally reminded of this during the days leading up to my daughter’s birth.
“Lord, give me strength. I trust you. Let your will be done.” These were the words playing on repeat in my mind prior to and during childbirth. I’d spent the previous nine months agonizing over potential complications and interventions, praying everyday for a safe, smooth and natural labor and delivery. However, when the time came, all that worry fell away. My baby girl did what all girls do. She took her sweet time getting ready. She took so long in fact that my labor ultimately had to be medically induced due to concerns regarding a skinny, single artery umbilical cord. This was not the totally natural, intervention free experience I had prayed for but even in this, God was present.
I don’t believe my scheduled induction was the refusal of a prayer but rather an answer to one. It required me to relinquish that glimmering vision of mine and instead place myself completely in His hands. Had things gone precisely according to my plan, I would not have been able to do this. After the better part of a year of fretting, I was blessed with the chance to simply let go and lean into His will and mercy. Once it at last became clear that I would almost certainly be induced all my fears evaporated. I had done everything I could do. Our daughter’s birth was now entirely in His hands. On the eve of my scheduled induction I told my husband that I didn’t know how to be nervous as I had no concept of exactly what it would feel like. The next morning I still couldn’t dredge up enough fear to be nervous; not during the drive to the hospital, not as I changed into the hospital gown, not even that afternoon when the midwife came in to break my water.
In that room as contractions mounted I could muster only one prayer for strength and that His will be done. I’m thrilled to say that He did indeed answer this prayer 100 times over. Although I was medically induced I was able to successfully deliver our baby girl without an epidural after a relatively brief labor, roughly nine hours in total. We’ve all heard stories of childbirth, the excruciating pain and gore of bringing a new life into the world. In many ways it was the most difficult thing I have ever done. However, at no point did it seem to me an impossible undertaking. I credit this entirely to His grace. Though it was a task that I alone could perform, I was never alone in the pain. God blessed me with a husband who was at my elbow the entire time ready to help in any way, even if it meant enduring a headlock from his laboring wife for three hours. God also blessed me with full confidence in the knowledge that He made me for just this purpose, to birth this beautiful little girl and raise her to know Him. He was there with me, assuring me all the while that this was exactly what I was meant to do.
When out on the trails, soaking in God’s blessings, it’s always a treat to be reminded that you’re never truly alone. There is an abundance of creatures happy to pose for a photo or two before continuing on their way.
This is not a parenting blog but in light of recent events I’m struggling to think of anything else. Of the many lessons I’ve learned over the last weeks as a first time parent chief among them is how to operate one handed. To many this may seem like a tremendous handicap, always having one hand occupied with the rocking and soothing of a delightful though frequently fussy newborn. However, I see it as a superpower.
It’s true that many things have temporarily gone by the wayside; things like cooking, cleaning and even blogging on the regular. My new superpower has granted me a hyper focus on my current number one job, caring for my baby. All else is a trivial second. Thankfully this single mindedness is made possible by a rockstar husband who has made it his mission to take care of everything else. All the while I have the supreme joy of staring into my daughter’s sweet little face at all hours of the day, no matter what that face is doing. Even when she cries I can’t help being overwhelmed with love for this little girl every time I look at her. I’ve also discovered just how much one can accomplish with one hand. Full disclosure, it’s not much but a little task here and there like emptying the dishwasher or flipping the laundry feels like a huge win. At the very least, it’s one less thing on the hubby’s docket.
I’m praying for the day when our daughter is big enough for her baby carrier, thus restoring mommy to two handed status. For now though, I’m savoring the blessings of only having one.
The world has woken up once again from it’s grey frozen slumber, dabbing on a bit of cheery blush and redecorating with every color under the sun. Evening walks through the neighborhood have been just as much a welcome blessing as always.
I was once asked in a discussion about marriage how I knew my husband was the one. By modern standards our courtship was the brief, whirlwind kind. After knowing me for only four months he asked my parents for their blessing to marry me. It took another two months for the ring to come in and he got down on one knee as soon as it did. Our official engagement lasted a short six months and we were wed almost exactly one year to the day that we met in person for the first time. To rational people, this timeline might seem crazy or, at the very least, a bit rushed. How can you possibly know after four months that this is the person you want to spend the rest of your life with? However, I can truly say that it was the easiest decision I’ve ever made.
I’ve written on this subject before in Dating to Courtship: Romance with Intention but I think the secret to our seemingly fairytale romance is that we never actually dated. From day one, we were vetting each other for marriage. The goal of our relationship was never simply to have fun though that was a huge bonus to our courtship. Pleasure and happiness were never the main objectives for either of us. Since that very first date to Pentecost mass it was obvious that this man wanted my soul to go to heaven and would actively work toward that end. There hasn’t been a second since that day that I doubted this key fact.
After this realization, “boyfriend” always felt much too inadequate a title. I never grew accustomed to it because, in truth, he could only really be described as a besotted suitor. It was a relief to graduate to the term “fiance.” On our third date we were discussing our marriage goals and not long after that I casually mentioned the story of my brother-in-law asking for my parents’ blessing to marry my sister. Call me old fashioned but it’s a tradition I value and the hubby took the hint at the time. The second time he ever met my parents he bravely initiated the “I’d love to marry your daughter” chat. They’d had a little heads up from me that this might be coming and were only too happy to grant their blessing. The hubby surprised me with ring shopping not long after.
Over the course of our three years together (two as man and wife) he’s never ceased to woo and spoil me and he’s never tired of what I know he considers his sacred duty to see my soul enter the kingdom of heaven. Each and every step of our journey together has been guided by that holy purpose. It was a very simple roadmap to follow and we both were totally dedicated to it. That’s not to say that we’ve been perfect people throughout the entirety of our relationship. Feelings and passions ran extremely high during our courtship, engagement and even still today in our marriage but we helped each other in those moments. We were and are helplessly, head over heels, weak at the knees, madly in love with each other but we checked each other when needed, taking great care never to get too carried away during those early months.
This was a kind of devotion I didn’t know existed before I met him. After encountering it, I knew that no one else would ever do. I could have spent the rest of my life searching for another man who would love me that much, right down to my very soul. Thus, I didn’t just want to marry this man. I had to or else resign myself to the reality that no one else would ever care for me so well. I still wonder sometimes how I could possibly deserve him but perhaps that’s the point. God didn’t send me this wonderful man because I deserve him. Perhaps He did it because I’ll spend the rest of my life doing whatever it takes to be a worthy partner. A life spent following and serving a godly man in the holy sacrament of matrimony is itself a godly life.
Blessed in the Midwest 