“Do not be afraid, I am with you. I have called you each by name. Come and follow me, I will bring you home; I love you and you are mine.”
– You Are Mine (hymn)
Always a good thing to remember. This was a really hard week, and next week is going to be a really, really busy one. I will try to keep this hymn in mind as I go through everything.
“Love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” 1 PETER4:8 (NIV)
-From the pamphlet, Blessings of the Cross, Day 5
Love each other deeply. Today my oldest child turned eighteen. What a huge milestone! We celebrated yesterday because today he went for fire department training, but we came home and had more cake. Cake is a good thing. Eighteen is a good thing. My son is a good thing. Happy birthday, Z. You are deeply loved.
It was eighteen years ago today that I became a parent; a mother. A first baby changes things. It changes everything. From one to two to three. A little early, a little small, but a perfect baby with all the pieces that babies are supposed to come with. Things did not go as the textbooks and classes promised but the one thing they did promise is that each birth is different even as it’s all the same, and it is. Twelve days in the hospital, a feeding tube, a phenomenal rash, jaundice, but once we went home, it was baby, baby, baby, all the time, baby.
He was small but grew quickly. He ate everything including onions and broccoli, Chinese and Indian food. He tried anything you gave him. He sat up, he crawled, he walked, he ran. He never wore shoes but he always wore socks. His favorite color had always been red, and he loved fire trucks. He dressed as a firefighter for Halloween at least three times. On days not Halloween, he still dressed like a firefighter; all the time.
He used my father’s desk, and when he graduates from high school he’ll get my father’s ring. Video games and iPods, Skype with friends, theatre and stage crew.
In Jewish culture which is how I (and he) grew up, the two letters that form the word Chai translates to life. L’chaim. Chai is also 18. So this is also his Chai birthday.
Today he turns eighteen. We celebrated yesterday because today…. what’s he doing today? He’s about an hour or so away, doing trench training with the fire department. He starts college in five months to study fire and paramedicine service. He drives, a little too fast for my comfort and he’s planning a trip to see his friend away at college, also out of my comfort.
While he’s not a baby, he’s still my baby.
“Lord, open my eyes to see you and my ears to hear you speak this Lent so that I might know you more.”
– The Word Among Us, March 20, 2015
Today is the feast day of St. Joseph, husband of Mary and father of Jesus. He was thrown a curve when he found out Mary was pregnant, and after the visit from an angel, he accepted his role in this Holy Family. All across the world fathers do what they do, working and caring for their families, their children, their parents, and more often than not without getting or expecting a thank you.
This would be a good day to do that; to show your appreciation for all they are to you, and all they do for you.
My husband is a son and a father. He talks to his mother all throughout the week. Every day after work, he spends time with his kids, walking, reading, snow-playing and play-shoveling. While he’s working, though, he’s also doing laundry, washing dishes, going up and down the stairs all day long getting things done.
It is a thankless job.
He’s always available to drive them or take a special trip to the ice cream shop. Sledding at the park. Putting out the compost. Taking out the trash and recycling. Going to the comic store and picking up the comics. Getting the groceries and cooking dinner. Getting the kids out the door in the morning and on the bus.
All the time busy, taking care of his family, unspoken gratitude hovering nearby.
St. Patrick’s Day in the Morning by Eve Bunting, illustrated by Jan Brett
In Bruges starring Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson
Here Be Dragons by Sharon Kay Penman
The Winter King by Bernard Cornwell
A Writer’s House in Wales by Jan Morris
Brittany, age 27 died instantly when she was shot by her ex-husband while she rinsed out a teapot. This was one of many headlines in the days that followed her murder.
That was May 7, 2011, but before she died that day, she was born. Today is that day. She would have been thirty-one today. I knew her only a short time, but in that time she taught me things.
Quietly.
Unintentionally.
For my part, skeptically.
She showed me things about myself, things I didn’t like, things I regret, but I managed to come through them, and I couldn’t have done that without her help in the weeks before she died and for the year after, as I mourned her.
I learned.
Compassion.
Understanding.
Tolerance.
Less judgment.
Help for no reason but to help.
Yes, even if you’re angry.
Cooperation.
Kindness.
She was there when no one else was at a moment that it mattered. One moment, but it was an important one, and it mattered.
And so did she.
Happy Birthday, Brittany. I know your spirit is soaring; I can hear the flutter in the air.
Saint Brigid.
You were a woman of peace.
You brought harmony where there was conflict.
You brought light to the darkness.
You brought hope to the downcast.
May the mantle of your peace cover those who are troubled and anxious, and may peace be firmly rooted in our hearts and in our world.
Inspire us to act justly and to reverence all God has made.
Brigid you were a voice for the wounded and the weary.
Strengthen what is weak within us.
Calm us into a quietness that heals and listens.
May we grow each day into greater wholeness in mind, body and spirit.
Amen.
“Tri chysir henaint: tân, te a thybaco.”
Translation: “Three comforts of old age: fire, tea and tobacco.”
“Dywed yn dda am dy gyfaill, am dy elyn dywed ddim.”
Translation: “Speak well of your friend; of your enemy say nothing.”
“Deuparth gwaith yw ei ddechrau.”
Translation: “Starting the work is two thirds of it.”
Source: http://www.theapricity.com/forum/showthread.php?2364-Some-Welsh-Proverbs
I’ve always been drawn to the Irish, all Celts really. The Irish captured my heart throughout childhood and college until my spirit finally fled to Wales. Today is St. Patrick’s Day, though and because of that, I will tell you one or two of my favorite St. Patrick’s Day college stories:
I went to college in a college town. Small semi-rural community with two colleges, fifty-two bars and no curfew.
One year, as usual I was underage (they raised it on my birthday), so I became the designated driver. We went to Murphy’s on the other side of town. You actually needed a car to get there; the buses didn’t run that far. We sat, they drank, and as the designated driver, I got free Cokes. At some point I was asked for my driver’s license, which I gave to the cute bartender.
He looked at it three times and exclaimed rather loudly, “Why did you give me this?! I can’t serve you!”
“But I’m not drinking!”
I had to leave and the bartender was pretty upset that I took my four friends, who were paying for their drinks, with me.
Green beer was a big thing at my college, but not in the capital where four of us were student teaching. My friend Mike and I whined (and whined) about green beer until the other two piled us into the car and drove us the 72 miles to our college town for green beer, and then back in the wee hours of the morning, but still in time for us to student teach.
We were warmed over yuck but we were there as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as we could manage. All of us that is except for Mike, who had the day off and presumably was still in bed.
🙂
Griffins and Ginger Snaps 