Vivian and Cathy, pictured here with their cute husbands. Treasures, all.
Her text opened with an update on her husband who has been hospitalized with heart trouble. “He is tired but okay today. Took a nap but just cannot catch up.” She’s one of those people, like me, who write texts so long you have to unscramble the order to make any sense of their content. “I took a long time at the store today, reading labels,” she continued, “he loves chili but the sodium is awful.” Finally, she closed with, “How are you? Your prayer life, your spirit?”
I replied with a great low sodium chili recipe I stole a few years back from my health conscious younger sister, and I followed up with a query about her own physical well being. You see, Vivian s a bit of a Florence Nightingale kind of gal. She often sacrifices too much for those around her. It’s my own personal observation, one with which I am certain she would disagree.
Wise and grace-filled friends are a gift from God.
Vivian responded, “Okay, respond to my question about your holiness and spirit.” Then, she added a smiley face emoji.
If the goal is to become a magnificent woman, then she has achieved it.
“My prayer life? Hmm. I am not taking enough time. My faith is strong but I am not praying much. I feel like all I do is petition. After communion today, I just thanked Jesus for being with me now and told Him I love You and I need help to love You more.”
After I watched Peyton finish off the home team in my beautiful new basement, surrounded by the handsome Thieme men, I re-read what I had written. It was clear to me I needed to work on gratefulness. I thanked our amazing Creator for pointing it out so loudly, and I closed my eyes.
Today, I woke to a Facebook challenge by another Jesus girl to write and post for 5 days, 3 things for which I am grateful. Coincidence? Ha!! I am taking that up for one primary reason. It’s clear to me that Jesus used Cathy, my challenger, as His voice today.
Ask and you shall receive…huh?!
DAY 1: Three (3) Things for Which I am Grateful
1. Magnificent Faith-Filled Friends (You know who you are!) These are the gals who zero in on what’s truly important, who walk alongside, keep their sense of humor, affirm the worth of themselves and those around them, express themselves authentically, and who listen with love. You girls have taught me how to juggle, rebound, nurture, commit and pray. You are the face of Jesus in my life….and I love you all!
2. My Achy-Breaky Heart: I curse it sometimes, like when the original mean girl, Nellie Olsen, is simply horrid to Half-Pint and my eyes instantly well up as I flip past an ancient episode of Little House on the Prairie. The thing is, that aching means God gifted me with compassion. When I feel that ache in real life, God is winking at me. He’s prodding. Go, Shelly, act. Give. Listen. Offer. Sometimes, I don’t wanna. Occasionally, I ignore it. However, I have found that when I feel the ache, see the truth, and do nothing….it is a day I die a little inside. That achy-breaky heart is a beautiful gift from God. Listening and acting (without being attached to the outcome)…It’s God’s light shining in me for a moment. Nothing feels better.
3. A Diet Coke, extra ice, in a styrofoam cup, with a lid and a straw. Not to be shallow or mean, but all other beverages fail to compare. Sometimes, my adorable husband hand delivers one to me. He just gets me.
WHAT ARE YOU GRATEFUL FOR?
Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives; and the one who seeks, finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. (Matthew 7: 7-8)
My dear friend, Janet (L) and her beautiful sister, Shannon (R).
Dear Jesus, I do trust You, but I don’t get it. I know You love us, but wrapping my head around this is impossible. She is with You now, in arms more loving than I can imagine. Help us to trust in Your plan for all of us. Fill Connor and Danny, Jan, Colleen, Rita and Danny with grace and peace. I ask this in Your most holy name. Amen.
He folded his little body in half, burying his face between his knees. No sound came from him but a puddle was forming on the otherwise dry sidewalk there on the bluff overlooking Lake Michigan. The grotto said, “Our Lady of Lourdes” but I thought of her that day as Our Lady of Sorrows.
It had been two days since she died, but we were out of town and isolated from the media and friends and I couldn’t figure out how to tell my freckle faced little man. I knew he loved her. She had just taken him to Steak N Shake along with Connor, Anth, Mikey and Ty between baseball games. It’s what baseball moms do. She was the teacher who taught them all how to hold their hands when they received Jesus for the first time. It’s what 2nd grade teachers do in Catholic schools everywhere. But, she did them, as all things, with special panache, filled with a twinkle in her eye.
Dealing with death is a fact of life, it’s true. This is different though. It broke me to think of it, and it crushed my spirit into 1000 pieces having to shatter the innocent childhood of my beautiful boy by telling him.
“Honey?”
“What’s going on mom? Why is no one telling me what’s going on?”
“Sweetheart, it’s Mrs. Hall. She died, Zach.”
“What do you mean? I just saw her. She was fine.”
“Zach. She died. I want you to listen to me carefully. Mr. Hall died too.”
“Mom? How? An accident?”
“ Mrs. Hall died when Mr. Hall shot her, and then himself. It was not an accident. It’s one of the most terrible things I can imagine, Z. We can’t be sure why something like this ever happens. You know, sometimes people can’t think straight and they are really sick even though they look okay on the outside. I know you want to understand why….but for now none of us know, and we are all sad. I think we should just focus on what we can do. We can pray.”
“I’m so so sad for Connor and Danny, Mom.”
“I know, Z. Me too. Me too.” “Spread love wherever you go. Let no one ever come to you without leaving happier.” –Mother Teresa
She died on July 27. It’s been a month.
I was not her Mom, or her Dad. I was not her sister or her son. I was not her nephew, niece, nor was I her best friend. I saw her frequently, and we were friends. We were “Bring Z over and swim” or “You know I am going to eat all of your sunflower seeds if you keep them there” kind of friends.
A month feels like 5 minutes. I was expecting her to walk into the lunchroom and tease me with her smile when I was at SLDM last week with my apron on saying, “What? No Diet Coke? I bet you brought a Coke for Jan! I keep telling her that I found you first and she stole you from me.”
She taught all three of my children and showed up every day with a smile, despite any personal hardship she might be going through on any given day. I saw her with fair clarity, and “I don’t mean to be mean” but Shannon was not perfect nor did she claim to be. Who among us is? It doesn’t change her legacy an ounce.
What I have learned as I have prayed, watched, listened and reflected in one month is that God called her to live that “Spread love” mantra of Mother Teresa and she did it with style and substance. She was not just smiling; she was giving us all an authentic piece of God when she twinkled those smiling Irish eyes in our direction.
My heart hurts—especially for those two boys. I pray, and then I pray some more. I try and make deals with God, and sometimes I tell Him that His plan sucks canal water.
Today, as the one month anniversary of her death is just hours away, I find myself thinking about what Shannon would have done if a terrible tragedy had happened to me, or you, or any one of the thousands in her path?
I know the answer right away. She would let her light shine every chance she had. She would pray with her class, give excessive numbers of hugs and she would keep on keeping on. She would spread love.
I’m not yet ready to change my prayer. I have it memorized now.
Dear Jesus, I do trust You, but I don’t get it. I know You love us, but wrapping my head around this is impossible. She is with You now, in arms more loving than I can imagine. Help us to trust in Your plan for all of us. Fill Connor and Danny, Jan, Colleen, Rita and Danny with grace and peace. I ask this in Your most holy name. Amen.
Tomorrow’s challenge: Let your light shine. Let no one come to you without leaving happier.
BRING IT, PEOPLE! Who’s with me?
We dug up St. Joe…thanks for helping us sell the place! NO SAINTS LEFT BEHIND!
“It’s been a good 12-year run” noted my succinct son Nick Fred.
Today, we begin the work of moving the boxes to a new address. I am sitting here in my stripped down house dripping wet and taking a break. There’s something cathartic and wonderful about a fresh start. Tons of sweaty work lies ahead, but I’m feeling enthusiasm.
My husband, however, seems to be struggling. Change stresses him out. Plus, he woke up this morning, the first day of our move, and he cannot feel his right hand. He injured his arm this week. Pain is never good– especially moving day! How are we going to do this when I can’t life anything? Is it the wrong lot? The wrong time? Did we make mistakes as we built? Is it too expensive? These are the questions I imagine in his mind.
He’s not alone, as I worry too. However, I just read a quote that sums up my feelings on the matter. “Don’t worry about being worried. You’re headed out on an adventure and you can always change your mind along the way and try something else.” –Tracy Kidder
Friends and family are priceless at these moments. Vivian is checking in and praying for us, and that’s excellent because I’m pretty sure she has Jesus ‘s cell number and everything. Ange and Katie brought dinner. Lisa, Dawn, Chris and Ann are loaning us their sons strong backs this afternoon. CAN I GET AN AMEN?! My youngest son has moved to Camp Schwegman for the week (thanks Renee and Jeff!!) and my dear friend Julie has been listening to my fretting for weeks on end.
Did I mention that the Hounds 14U team is hosting a tourney this weekend and the Thieme family is the slacker crew not available to help at all? Our long time baseball friends on the team were gracious and understanding. Mom has packed endless boxes and helped me get the house on the market with her mad organizational genius. Both parents are coming for moral support and unboxing at the new place tomorrow. Grandpa Tom spent his entire day driving Nick to and from Cincinnati for ball games so we could attend to the move. My next door neighbor Shelley dragged 4 big rugs from the curb to keep them from being ruined when they arrived earlier than expected. Karen showed up at my door with her headband and work clothes on ready to help me box up my life. The Kiffs hooked us up with both a realtor and an insurance man we dig and didn’t even act like they were bugged when we forgot their son’s graduation gift.
What I am trying to say is…………….WE ARE BLESSED BEYOND WORDS!
So, it’s a short entry today. I’m placing it in God’s hands and letting Him do with our next adventure as He wishes. I’m hoping He’ll choose to use us and our beautiful new place as a safe and positive environment for the our three crazy boys and their friends, for immediate and extended family gatherings, and for always remembering to be grateful to Him for it all.
I knew it was coming.
“Will all those married couples celebrating an anniversary in the month of May please stand for a blessing?”
My mind flashed back to that surreal day in the ER where her body laid lifeless in front of me and his forlorn eyes looked through me as his words echoed, “We didn’t make it to 50.”
Making no eye contact, I reached over and put my hand on his knee. He grabbed it and as couples in pews all around us announced how many years of marriage they were celebrating, my father-in-law and I just sat quietly, holding hands. This month, Jane and Tom would have celebrated 50 years of marriage.
Sigh.
Weirdly, this seemed like a good way to start Mother’s day to me. Together there at mass we sat, my father in law, my husband, and our three cute boys.
My own amazing mom was due to arrive shortly, and we would casually celebrate the day with a cookout, just hanging out together doing nothing, and doing it on a gorgeous and warm sunny day delivered with love by a God who seemed to spoil me with blessings on Mother’s Day 2014.
Nick and Drew wrote beautiful notes of thanks, and when paired with Zach’s hand drawn rainbow card, I wondered how God could choose me to mother these incredible children. As the daylight was starting to wind down, my hubby and I went on a joyride in his sporty little red car and finished the day with the most delicious margarita and a short walk downtown.
As I headed to bed, I texted a dear friend, “If I don’t wake up tomorrow, you can tell everyone that I died happy!”
So, this week started out spectacularly!!
Life can be a bumpy road though, and so the past 5 days have brought quite a bit of chaos, some interior anger and a touch of impatience. At one point on Tuesday evening, I found myself at an accident scene with my 16-year-old son and two Fishers police officers, with my phone ringing requesting a home showing, and my 9-year-old son feeling like he was going to vomit.
What happened to the convertible ride and the sunset margaritas, God? Sigh.
It’s so tempting to focus on what’s troubling us. It’s tempting to be angry, or impatient. I don’t know about you, but for me it’s easy to forget gratitude when life doesn’t appear to be going my way. The thing is, God knows exactly where I am. He knows all about my sick little guy, my shaken new driver and his crunched car, my 13 unsuccessful house showings, the giant laundry pile, stressed out husband…and on and on. And He placed me right here, right now. So, here’s where He wants me, and it seems like whining about God’s plan is a touch counterproductive. For pity’s sake, don’t start meeting troubles halfway. –St. Teresa of Avila
St. Teresa of Avila was a brilliant chick and is an inspiring saint. What makes her so amazing to me is that her advice is so accessible to me in 2014. I mean, she has a point. I’m guessing if she were here to give me some guidance, she’d suggest gratefulness to God for my MANY blessings, a joyful spirit, patience and trust. Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus. (1 Thess 5:16-18)
In the spirit of St. Teresa, I’m sharing today my rather un-fancy, somewhat inarticulate prayer, offered with a joyful heart. She famously said, “You pay God a compliment by asking great things of Him.” So, here I go.
Thanks, God for giving me a terrific father-in-law so willing to take in a sick third grader while my house is unavailable. You are amazing and awesome for keeping my son safe on the road, despite his accident and inexperience. I love you and I trust you with the circumstances of my life this day and plead with you for increased faith and the grace to be all that You mean for me to be for those around me today. Lord, You above all know my every need before I ask. Help me to love you more and to be a light for others. Please bless my family and all those for whom I have promised pray. Oh, and God? I know Your plan is the best plan and I thank You for taking great care of me, even when I grouse at you and act like a spoiled toddler. Amen. There’s no sin or wrong that gives man such a foretaste of Hell in this life as anger and impatience. –St. Catherine of Siena.
Children’s Museum “selfie”, including photobomb by Drew and Grandpa!
Spring Break 2014 is looking good so far.
Two of my three favorite young men are home lounging with me and yesterday we were greeted with a lovely sighting. Grandma Kate and Grandpa Jim brought us some special visitors from Chicago. A rarely and smiley day of fun with Aunt Robbi, along with cousins Maddie and Ellie ensued. We giggled our way through the Indianapolis Children’s Museum then onto a late lunch before most of the crew headed off to see either “The Muppets” or “Noah” and I drove down to Bishop Chatard High School to catch some Guerin Catholic baseball action where son # 3 simply couldn’t be left without a fan base, despite the rain.
Granted, it’s not sun and sand, but it’s an overflowing scoop of favorite people topped off with the angelic little toothless grin of my youngest Goddaughter, Ellie! Elle-belle is a 1st grader at All Saint’s Academy near my sister’s home in Naperville, IL.
“Aunt Thelly. I read at thcool math. But it wathn’t even fair. The reading wath impothible. It wath full of eth-eth”
I couldn’t stop smiling at her. She was just like a piece of candy….you want to eat her up she is so sweet.
“Thesse thent hith theven thons to Thamuel.” She explained.
“Jesse sent his seven sons to Samuel?” I interpreted. “That’s what you had to read at school mass, Ellie?”
“Yeth!”
I mean, she’s 40lbs of sunshine that one. I couldn’t stop laughing. That moment of toothless cuteness is just a tiny window of time I now realize as my boys are all well past it. I SOOOO wish I could have been a fly on the wall at that mass. I think it’s a little rude of my sis to marry a guy from Chicago and move so far from me, actually. Don’t you agree?
Today is Spring Break day 2 and it’s a bit lower key. I let my two “staycationers” sleep in while I headed to 8am mass. As I was getting ready to leave, my “holy texting friend” Vivian invited me (via text of course) to come sit with she and her hubby for the mass, after which I had set up an appointment for confession.
If I am honest, I didn’t sleep well last night. I was reflecting again on what I needed to apologize to Jesus about and I was tossing and turning. This confession seemed particularly overdue. There are loads of things every day I do or don’t do, or say, for which I know I need forgiveness. I suppose they had been piling up a bit.
Really, though, the biggest impediment for me in being the woman Jesus means for me to be this day is my own lack of forgiveness of myself. Many times, even after I know Jesus has forgiven me, I hang on to my sin, beating myself up over mistakes big and small.
My inner dialogue goes something like this:
Shelly. You know better and look at you. You act like you love God but you are just a worthless sinner. What qualifies you to talk about faith with your kids or friends? You’re nothing but a hypocrite anyway.
When it starts to sound like insanity, a broken record inside my crazy head, I know that I am overdue for some sacramental assistance.
It’s funny what happens when I pray “Jesus, I don’t know what I need, but You do, please help me. I want to love You more.”
“Shelly, Satan is clever. He’s insidious. He knows just what to do to disarm you. Lack of forgiveness of self, stirring up old wounds, that’s the devil. The prayer to St. Michael is a prayer of exorcism– say it. It will help you,” said my confessor very matter-of-factly.
We talked a bit more, and he absolved me, then he handed me a book. He asked me to read it, giving me the assignment of reading the first chapter as my official penance.
As I left my realization was that I cannot allow myself to be far from the grace of the sacraments. I need to be at mass receiving Jesus and I need more frequent receipt of the sacrament of reconciliation. Our priests are exhausted, and so I feel guilty asking for even more of their time. The thing is, that whole “the last thing Father needs is a call asking for time from a pain in the ass housewife”… that’s not righteous guilt. What that is about is Satan trying to take away what I know… by any means he can find which will work to unravel me. However, he cannot. Jesus loves me. This I know.
“St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl throughout the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.”
Shortly after I returned home today, I got an amazingly well timed message from a friend via email. It was a copied little piece of a larger work of commentary on David by an author with whom I am not yet familiar named Mark Buchanan.
I don’t believe in coincidence. God’s perfect timing is at work.
In Louis Ginzberg’s monumental 7-volume work The Legend of the Jews, a compilation of the Jewish oral tradition, he retells the story of David in paradise.
According to the legend, David is the superstar of the after life, a personage of “glory and grandeur,” whose throne sits opposite God’s and from which David “intones wondrously beautiful psalms.”
David’s “crown… outshines all others, and whenever he moves out of Paradise to present himself before God, suns, stars, angels, seraphim, and other holy beings run to meet him.”
But the main thrust of the legend is David’s relationship with God.
God throws a lavish feast on the Day of Judgment, and God at David’s bidding himself attends.
At the end of the banquet, God invites Abraham to pray over the cup of wine. Abraham declines on grounds of his unworthiness.
At the point I read this, I think, “Ok God. I’m listening. What are you doing to me today?”
It goes on.
So God asks Isaac, who for similar reasons declines. God then turns to Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Joshua. All beg off for reasons of unworthiness.
Finally, God asks David to bless the cup. And David replies, “Yes, I will pronounce the blessing, for I am worthy of the honor.”
At first blush, this is shocking as I read it. It seems brazen and delusional. Who do you think you are?
The author goes on.
“On second thought, this sounds biblical. The heart of the Bible’s message, muted in the Old Covenant but shouted aloud in page after page of the New, is the improbable, astonishing, breathtaking good news that I am the one Jesus loves.
I am the tax-collector whose house Jesus had to enter, so that salvation could invade it.
I am the leper who cried out to Jesus on his way past Samaria, so that he could speak wholeness into me and then woo me back to worship him.
I am the lame man whose friends lowered me down through the rafters, so that Jesus could speak forgiveness and healing to me.
I am the invalid Jesus found in a dark part of town, bed-ridden and complaining, so that he could say to me, “Get up, take up your mat, and walk.”
I am the prodigal he saw a long way off, who ran to me, threw a feast for me, put his robe and ring and sandals on me.
I am the elder brother who refused to join the party, and so he went out to me and begged me to come in.
I am Lazarus, the one he raised from the dead and then invited to recline with him at the table.
I am not worthy to bless the cup, except He makes me so.
At great cost, all by his own doing, Jesus makes me his own, loves me without condition, forgives me without remainder, places his own name on me, puts his own Spirit in me, and goes ahead to prepare a place for me.
He’s made me a chosen people, a holy nation, a royal priesthood, one who belongs to God.
I am the one Jesus loves.
Let that rattle around a bit. Then say this out loud.
THE AUTHOR OF SALVATION IS CRAZY, MADLY IN LOVE….WITH ME.
You’d think this would be the end of my entry for today, wouldn’t you? But for me, who is a certifiable supernatural thinker, it got even better.
So, I read this lovely email which spoke just exactly to the sinfulness which was most bothering me this morning and I felt it was God kind of yelling at me to get it together. I quite literally took a deep breath and said ALOUD, “Thank you, God. I am listening. Your will, not mine…I get it. You love me. I love you.”
DING.
“One new email message has just arrived.”
I click on it, and the email makes me laugh aloud.
It’s from the editor of a Catholic periodical asking ME to write an article on THIS bit of scripture “How can we know the way?” (Jn 14:5).
What took you so long, Lord? I mean, I think I agreed to try it Your way about 6 seconds ago.
You best be sending the Holy Spirit in a big bad way if You want ME to show anyone the way to anywhere, Big Man. I can get lost on the way to the bathroom sometimes.
Our God is an Awesome God. He also makes me laugh. And laughing makes me smile.
God gave you a gift of 86,400 seconds today. Have you used one to say ‘thank you’? –William Arthur Ward
That’s me blowing out the candles yesterday.
“You know you round up to 45 now? And 45 rounds up to 50. So basically, you are 50, Shelly!”
Then, gleeful grins followed by cackling.
This is the kind of grief I am getting this week. But, when you dish it out yourself, you’d better be able to handle a little ribbing. For the record, however, I think I should state that I am actually a very youthful 43 this week—contrary to what some have been told by my husband Tom and my good friend Lisa.
In honor of the occasion of the 43rd anniversary of my birth, here are 43 things, some completely silly, some more substantive, for which I am grateful. They are listed in no particular order.
Family. Yes, some of them are goofballs. But they are MY goofballs.
Birthdays. Just love everything about them—yours, mine—life is such a gift!
Yellow Box flip flops. Thank you, Yellow Box people for making the cutest, most comfy flip flops ever made (and making them in size 11)!
The Laudate App. If you’re a Jesus girl who loves your iPhone, it’s a must have.
French chemist Eugene Schueller, inventor of hair dye. ‘Nuff said.
Pansies. You dudes get a bad rap. What an unfair name. Thanks for being there to usher in springtime!
Teachers who don’t give homework on the weekend. It’s tiring for moms trying to pass 3rd grade for the 4th time.
Books by George Weigel. He has an intelligent, faithful, and accessible voice. Love him.
Santa Margherita Pinot Grigio. Yum.
People who smile….cuz smiling’s my favorite!
The St. Margaret’s Guild Decorator Show Home. An annual girly tradition with Mom.
Kenny, who bags my groceries and cheerfully escorts me to my car at O’Malia’s grocery store!
Catholic Schools
Diet coke, with a lid and a straw…in a Styrofoam cup. Lent is extra-long without you!
Boys playing ball outside for hours in my driveway.
Jimmy Fallon. Geez that guy is funny.
Happy, chill music. Stuff you can listen to while you drink your margarita too fast so it won’t melt.
People who “follow me” on Twitter….because let’s be honest….they are a rare breed!
The garbage man. Without him, smelly chaos.
The sun. May I never take you for granted again!
Mass. When Jesus is on board, life just works better.
Laughter. What beautiful noise!
That feeling when you know Jesus used you to help someone.
Hugs. My husband actually calls me a “hug whore”. Is that a compliment?
Acceptance. I’m so thankful to people who like me just the way I am.
Kid President. Don’t know him? Look him up. That’s one cool little dude.
Glitter. It’s just fantastic sparkly stuff and you know it!
Friends. “Faithful friends are beyond price…” (Sir 6:15)
Hand dancing. If it was only an Olympic sport, I’d be IN!
Compliments. Accentuate the positive. Latch on to the affirmative. Just sayin.
Confession. It’s like free therapy for Catholics. Brilliant invention. Forgiveness is pretty great, and that is all.
People who can laugh at themselves.
Dangling earrings. What’s not to love?
Pope Francis. Domus Sanctae Martae, regular guy shoes, a Jesuit who chose the name Francis? He rocks.
Sports. Especially games the Thieme boys are playing in. When Nick Fred crushes it over the head of the outfielder, or Z crosses someone over, or D drains another 3….then the smile.
Bonfires—with marshmellows.
St. Therese of Lisieux. Don’t know her? Read Story of a Soul. Saccharine, sentimental awesomeness!
Chuck Lofton, WTHR-13. He just seems like he enjoys his job so much I don’t even get cranky when his forecast is a bust.
Mackey Arena. Not a bad seat in the place.
Songs from the old “Glory and Praise” book. Sing to the Mountains, baby!
My husband’s socks. Warm, cozy, cushy. Sorry, hon.
Vacation sex. (Sorry, Mom).
Love. “Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God.” (1 John 4:7)
Mother Teresa said, “Every time you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing. So, my birthday week gratefulness list is my attempt to smile at you, and to inspire myself (and maybe you too) to notice how big we are blessed in ways “itty bitty” as well as “ginormous”.
This is the day the Lord has made. Let us be glad and REJOICE!
“Bracketology” as it turns out, is not a word that appears in my dictionary app. The people at Merriam-Webster have apparently not spent enough time in Indiana during the month of March. As we speak, there are six completed NCAA men’s basketball tourney brackets posted on my pantry door. When the “picks” arrive from Grandma Kate and Grandpa Jim, we will have the door completely covered in scotch tape. It’s a time of year filled with laughs and bragging rights….and the official start of spring here at the Thieme house.
Do you want to know what is bugging me? NONE of our teams are in the tourney. IU, Purdue, Notre Dame, Butler, Ball State…..out, out, out and out! Since I bleed black and gold, it’s the woeful Boilermaker program that is a tough pill to swallow. I could go on about my opinions with how to fix that, but I doubt Purdue President Mitch Daniels is in the habit of taking the suggestions of stay-at-home moms about the future of the athletic department—which is in embarrassingly bad shape—in case I failed to adequately communicate that earlier.
Let it go, Shelly.
Serving burgers to grade schoolers is what’s up next on my schedule today. Usually, I really look forward to being lunch lady. Today? Not so much. You see, this morning my youngest son was sobbing before school. I am sure he calmed when he got to school. He’s waaaay too cool to cry in front of “the guys”. You know when you’re upset , containing it, then you see your mom and you just lose it? That’s my prediction for how lunchroom will go today.
Last week, he spent two days taking I-STEP tests. Yesterday, he did a “practice test” for the I-READ. This test is now required in order for students to be promoted to 4th grade in the Hoosier state. In Zach’s case, he has been getting A’s on all his reading tests in class. Of course, that doesn’t matter a bit to the state of Indiana. Zach is anxious because the tests are given on computers. He isn’t comfortable with the computer test. He has developed some test taking strategies which help him (like circling questions you aren’t sure about and underlining key sentences in text) which you can’t do on a computer. He is sure his computer will crash. Or, he won’t know how to work it….and of course you aren’t allowed to ask any questions under penalty of death. Needless to say, he is pretty sure he will be in the 3rd grade until he’s 21. That seems like pretty high stakes pressure for a 9 year old.
I could expound at great length upon what I think of all the standardized testing and how we have taken education away from the educators and turned our kids into dots on a big bar chart. Instead, I will spare you from suffering further under my black cloud.
Did I mention he will see me right before he takes this “make or break” test that has him in knots?
Let it go, Shelly.
My washer made this morning’s laundry smell like rotten eggs. Nick’s new car starts—sometimes. Caesar, the neighbor’s big fluffy mutt, prefers using our yard as his “potty.” I miss actual keys because keypads seem to hate me. Energy-saving light bulbs? The ones that are supposed to last like seven years? Ugly, expensive, and mine have all burned out. Again. Also, you should congratulate the 3 Thieme boys when you see them. I am pretty sure they have now officially set a record for most leaves and mud ever tracked into a house. Impressive accomplishment, gentlemen!
All of this junk is a little taste of what is getting to me today. As I pondered my excessive negativity and prayed for grace this morning, I found myself suddenly humming.
Here’s the lyrics to a terrific song by Francesca Battistelli,(@francescamusic) whose chorus came humming out of me, without my permission:
This is the stuff that drives me crazy
This is the stuff that’s getting to me lately
In the middle of my little mess
I forget how big I’m blessed
This is the stuff that gets under my skin
But I gotta trust You know exactly what You’re doing
It might not be what I would choose
But this is the stuff You use
Thanks, God, for reminding me that getting my underwear in a knot over the minutia of life is a useless waste of time. Thanks for the grace to see my shortcomings clearly this day and for sending me a song to lighten my mood and knock me awake. You gave your grumpy, undeserving daughter a beautiful gift—that song in my heart. You are light years beyond any kind of fantastic word I can think up. Thanks for loving me just the way I am, while challenging me to be more. Thanks for my beautiful boys, including their filthy shoes. I love you too.
Off I go. I’ll give those kids a little of what You gave me. Promise.
“Global warming, my ass!” This is the response a friend sent when I shared the following tweet from our local ABC affiliate, WRTV:“@rtv6: Record low for Indianapolis tomorrow is 2 degrees set in 1873. That record is very much in jeopardy.”Another pal texted, “Why do we keep breaking all these crappy records?! SERIOUSLY…I need sun and heat!”
I admit, the 55 inches of snow we have received in Indianapolis this year is making me start to wonder whether the locusts are next. I know I am supposed to wake thanking God for the day, but I am feeling something less than gratefulness. It’s March 4th and it’s 11 degrees outside. I just want sunshine and a temperature warm enough to take a walk outside without my nostrils freezing when I inhale.
So, what’s my point?
Well, besides being another in a long line of frigid days, it’s also Fat Tuesday—Mardi Gras! Meaning what? It’s our last day to “revel” before 40 days of penitence, sacrifice during the season of Lent? Umm. This thought is a major struggle for me.
Here’s what I’m really feeling: I’m fat and it IS Tuesday. That’s about the only commonality between “Mardi Gras” and the space I am this day. I just put a roast in the crockpot and that’s the closest thing to a “king cake” happening at the Thieme house. It’s tax season and we are missing our resident CPA. The whole damp, white of the outdoors plus the frozen, slate colored sky is a winter that has been like the longest Lent I can imagine. Add to that the rawness we feel from losing my mother-in-law, followed shortly thereafter by the loss of a treasured uncle, and now I have painted you a picture of our emotional and physical state here at the Thieme house. Now, God wants 40 more days? What if even just being nice is starting to feel like a stretch?
“My soul is sorrowful even to death….”
Those are the words of Jesus that feel meaningful to me this day. He spoke them about how He felt knowing He would be put to death—for you and me.
I think the call for me today is to GET OVER MYSELF.
Like the older son in the famous “Prodigal Son” story, I have acted as if I am put upon. There he was, obeying his father, trying to do the right thing. Little brother disrespects his dad, runs off with his share of the money, blows the wad, and then comes back to a hero’s welcome. “Hello? Over here, Padre? Been doing all my work plus that little goofball’s jobs too? Now, you’re making over that guy? How about a little love pour MOI??!” I completely get that big brother. Legitimate beef, if you ask me!
I’m a lot like that bugged older brother as I think to myself how “poor me” this winter and growl at those around me (sometimes aloud, other times with my evil stare). Class act, huh?
Here’s a quote that reflects my feeling for what Lent should really be about in terms of my frame of mind:
“True humility is not thinking less of yourself, but thinking of yourself less.” –C.S. Lewis
Lent is about reflecting on what Jesus did for us. It’s about gratefulness permeating us to the core of our being.
I, for one, can clearly see that my heart is not yet ready. It’s possible that I am just a touch crabby. So, MAAAAYBE I do need Lent.
It’s comforting to me knowing that Jesus spoke these words, “The flesh is weak, yet the spirit is willing.” The mind of a Christian should be open to God’s will even though we may not understand. It should be filled with compassion, showing love for others. We cannot suffer with those around us, we cannot love them as Jesus wishes, if we are too busy thinking about ourselves and grumbling about [fill in your irritants here].
We are called to live outside of ourselves, dropping any self-righteousness or self-pity we may surmise is justified. It isn’t.
“But You, O Lord are my protector, my glory, and the lifter up of my head.” (Ps. 3:3)
So, as Lent begins, I plan to make a conscious effort to begin my day with something slightly better than “Good morning, God. Talk to you later.” By focusing on all that is positive and beautiful, I know that I will open my heart to the great truth Jesus wants me to live— that all is a gift.
The saint to whom I will call for intercession this lent is Mother Teresa. She’s the perfect choice. Think about it. Where did she live most of her life? Calcutta. Google it. It’s similarities to downtown Carmel, Indiana are mindblowing—NOT! Who did she serve? The poorest of the poor. AND YET, instead of grumbling like yours truly about gloomy surroundings, or people that irritate, she was just such a cool chick, always quick to smile. She is famous for posting the following on the walls of her convent:
The Anyway Poem
People are often unreasonable, illogical and self centered; Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives; Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies; Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you; Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight; Build anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous; Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow; Do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough; Give the world the best you’ve got anyway.
You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and your God;
It was never between you and them anyway.
Is it just me, or does this pithy little poem seem like a great Lenten list from which to choose? I believe I will start with a very intentional “Do good anyway” for my first week of Lent. I’ll let you know how it goes.
My 16 year old son, Nick, with his first car…a 2003 Hyundai Santa Fe!
Oh what a day! Oh, what a day!
My baby brother ran away.
And now my tuba will not play!
I’m eight years old and turning gray.
Oh, what a day! Oh, what a day!
–Shel Silverstein
Admit it, this is a lively little poem, huh? It’s catchy, silly and it rhymes. Silverstein’s work stuck in my brain when I was a girl the first time I heard it. Anytime I exhale the words “Oh, what a day” (for reasons either positive or negative) I can’t help repeating this goofy, brilliant little poem at top speed right behind it. Sometimes I even do it aloud, which typically elicits a stare which wonders silently about my mental capacity.
OH WHAT A DAY!
The forecast this gray day called for 6-10 inches of additional snow in my weather weary hometown of Carmel, Indiana. Ugh. But, it’s a big day here at the Thieme house, so I shook off Chuck Lofton and Al Roker with their unfriendly news of the morning and got ready to face the day.
As the mother of a son who has reached the age of 16 years, 183 days, it happened to be the first date on the calendar where he was both eligible to receive his Indiana driver’s license AND the BMV is open. It’s a big day.
I’ll never forget my own Dad leaving work to come and pick me up at Central Catholic High School the day I was eligible for my license many moons ago. Mom and Dad didn’t make me wait until a day and time that was practical…when there was no school or sports conflict, for instance. They let their inner teenager lead the way. I recall extreme gratefulness and pure joy!!
OH WHAT A DAY!
First, however, there was the carpool full of grade schoolers to escort to St. Louis de Montfort Catholic School. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I felt a strong inner tug to stop for daily mass. It’s something I do with fair regularity, but I lack discipline and so hadn’t necessarily planned to do so this morning. But I have prayed much of late asking for God’s help on this weakness so the tug was all His perfect timing. Okay, Holy Spirit, I thought. You win. I keep praying about how I need Your help with discipline in all things…physical, spiritual, practical. Thanks for being loud. I hear you. Mass it is.
Just moments after my arrival, in came my father-in-law. I quickly realized God nudged me intentionally and for a specific reason. My silent quick glance to heaven was a prayer of thanksgiving.
“Is mass this morning being said for Jane?” I quizzed.
“Yes. “
We sat together, sang together, and Fr. John asked us to bring up the offertory. It was a lovely, intimate mass and I had the opportunity to pray aloud for the souls of two cherished family members whose losses are fresh and for peace for all of us who mourn. We held hands as we said the Our Father and we hugged at the sign of peace. It felt like a great and undeserved gift and if I am honest my heart was aching with both the losses and the overwhelming gratitude for a God who would love me so much that He would know just how to nudge me into attendance so that I wouldn’t miss His incredibly beautiful hug this morning.
OH WHAT A DAY!
At midday, my oldest son got his driver’s license, picked up his first car (a 2003 Hyundai Santa Fe) and got his first tank of gas courtesy of the thoughtful and pretty terrific Dawn and Craig Miller at Indy Auto Source. He drove himself to grab and sandwich, and he made his way home across 116th St. for the very first time all alone. He acknowledged that his dad and I were due “some extra love” and gave me a high five. Exuberance and joy were quite evident on his scruffy teenaged face. I told him that if God blesses him with a family someday to remember how he felt this morning, continue to work hard in school, and pass on the moment one day to my grandchild. I also told him I loved him and am proud of him and that he has given us no reason not to expect he will be extremely responsible with his newfound freedom. Then, a tear I could not reign in fell down my cheek. He smartly ignored it.
OH WHAT A DAY!
What else? They poured the floor in the basement of my soon to be home today. That job was finished moments before the snow began to fall. That would be the same snow that is not supposed to stop until nearly a foot of it has collected. I am not a builder, nor have I recently slept in a Holiday Inn, so I don’t understand that decision.
My friend, Kris, asked our help for her daughter at Purdue that suffered a bad fall today and was in need of medical attention. She reached out knowing our families are both from Lafayette. We passed along the names of a couple doctors, the best ER in town and our promise for prayers for our fellow Boilermaker. A CT scan and X-ray later, we learned there’s no internal bleeding….Thank you God!
My youngest forgot his reading book, my carpool partner called to warn of a problem for her 4th grader arriving home in my car, the ball games were cancelled (again), the kitchen is covered in melting snow footprints, and three friends offered to get my kiddo home from school. Chase is sending me a new credit card because they think someone is trying to steal my identity. Oh, and the 9 year old is thrilled I remembered the peanut butter crackers on my grocery run.
And NOW, here comes the SNOWVERLOAD!!
OH WHAT A DAY! OH WHAT A DAY! MY BABY BROTHER RAN AWAY. AND NOW MY TUBA WILL NOT PLAY. I’M 8 YEARS OLD AND TURNING GRAY. OH WHAT A DAY, OH WHAT A DAY!!
Like moms everywhere, the life I live is completely without glitz. It used to be that I struggled to find my worth in the invisibility that is the day to day existence of the stay-at-home mom. Now, I realize this is the most important work imaginable and I only get one chance to give it my best shot. I am so grateful for every silly moment of this snowy February day. My 16-yr old gave me a high five for goodness sakes and I got to hold hands with my pretty amazing father in law and pray with him. It doesn’t get much better than that. This is the journey. This is the good stuff. Today was a crazy day filled with smiles and a few tears.
Here’s my prayer today. Maybe a few of you will find it suits your needs sometime. My great honor would be if you pray along.
Dear Jesus,
I praise you and I thank you for my very full and often invisible life. In each small detail, in each circumstance, I am given a chance to praise You, Lord, and thank You for loving me perfectly. When I choose to smile through both routine and chaos with peace in my heart, grateful for the blessing of my family and friends and the life You provide me, I honor You. Like St. Philip Neri, who was famous for his joyful spirit in right relationship with You, I invite You to be part of all the smallness of my life. I ask Your help with the discipline and desire I need to grow in holiness and ever closer to You.
Amen.
And now, I’ve gotta go!! It’s time to work the snow shovel!
Mother Theodore Guerin Teacher of the Year, Kristy Worthington and family
Imagine if you will the horror of being a 14-yr old high school freshman and being asked to play the guitar at an all-school mass the very first week of school. Nobody knows who you are yet and the first impression they are going to get is that you’re a “religious guitarist”?
As my husband tells it, we were practicing the mass songs with the students prior to mass when I became perturbed. “Ok, you St. Lawrence people, I know you know this song….so sing!!”
If I was there playing, they better be there singing, darn it! So, I decided to take my case to the entire student body rather loudly into the microphone. Clearly, I’ve never been one for sliding under the radar.
With is tongue firmly planted in cheek, he tells people all these years later “She was sooo H-O-T. That’s when I knew she was the one for me!” He quite enjoys torturing me with his mocking of this moment from our shared Catholic school experience years ago.
This is the life moment that came to mind as I read about Pope Francis and his daily homily from yesterday.
“You’re able to shout when your team scores a goal, and you are not able to sing praises to the Lord, to come out of your shell ever so slightly to sing (his praise)?” the Pope asked during Mass.
The guy’s got a point. We all need to get over ourselves and sing. Don’t have a good voice? Well, God gave it to you, let Him deal with it.
Are you more grateful when the Colts score a touchdown or PG drains a “3” than you are for your healthy children, your thoughtful spouse, a sunny day, your eyesight, the ability to smell the chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven, a warm bed, your kids amazing school? The Pope is reminding us that God loves when we love Him with enthusiasm, praising Him for all the blessings He pours upon us. It’s something to think about.
Catholic Schools Work
Today at my parish school, a kind, gracious and faith-filled teacher named Kristy Worthington was honored by her peers as the “Mother Theodore Guerin” Teacher of the Year as part of our Catholic Schools Week celebration. While she is deserving of the honor for many reasons, I would argue her most laudable quality is the JOY she exudes to all in her path. It draws us in, calls us all to our own discipleship.
Our churches, our schools and our communities need people like Kristy, along with her enthusiasm, her creativity and the joy that is so characteristic of her youthful spirit.
Do you know what else? When the school choir breaks out a few verses of “Trading My Sorrows” and they get to that refrain which is a beautiful prayer of joyful praise, she is ALWAYS among the first to bust out her “Yes, Lord, Yes, Lord, Yes, Yes, Lord” hand motions….and it quickly spreads.
Says Pope Francis, “The fruitfulness that praise of the Lord gives us, the gratuity of praising the Lord: that man or that woman who praises the Lord, who prays praising the Lord, who, when praying is filled with joy at doing so, and who, when singing in the Mass rejoices in singing it, is a fruitful person.”
Today’s prayer:
Thank you, Jesus, for Catholic Schools where our children can learn about how much You love them. This week we thank You for all the amazing gift of that grace filled presence in our lives and for all the underpaid, but AMAZING teachers like Kristy who make it possible and through whom You work. Today on the carpool ride home, Lord, we’ll be breaking out a song of praise to honor and thank You for the blessing of all the schools where we can pray with each other and with our classmates. We ask for Your grace to help us to do a better job of honoring You with JOY each day!
Yes, Yes, Lord….Amen.
**Post script: The song I referenced (link below to listen) is called “Trading My Sorrows” by Darrell Evans and is available on iTunes.
He Never Misses 