She wasn't where she had been. She wasn't where she was going…but she was on her way.
I cursed when I almost fell down the front steps. (again) I cursed when the church bell clanged directly overhead, soul leaving body as I rushed late for pickup. (again) I found them waiting in a pew like the angels they (sometimes) are. I cursed quite loudly in the valley of the shadow of Walmart when the six-year-old knocked the cart completely off balance. (again) But we return, we reset, we begin. (again)
3/20/22
I’ve been thinking a lot about pruning. About vines and branches, about dry and brittle undergrowth, about the coming harvest. I’ve been drawn into a season of pruning myself. The perfect storm of past hurt and present pain are intermingling in my heart and demanding to be dealt with. It’s hard, to be honest, but I keep trying to remember that hard doesn’t necessarily mean bad.
I am the true vine and my Father is the vine grower. He takes away every brand in me that does not bear fruit, and every one that does he prunes so that it bears more fruit. You are already pruned because of the word that I spoke to you. Remain in me as I remain in you. Just as a branch cannot bear fruit on its own unless it remains on the vine, so neither can you unless you remain in me.
I am the vine and you are the branches. Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit, because without me you can do nothing. Anyone who does not remain in me will be thrown out like a branch and wither; people will gather them and throw them into a fire and they will be burned.
John 15: 1-6
How often do I separate myself from Christ, put myself at the mercy of others, allow myself to be gathered up by whomever and whatever version of “good” and “successful” comes along only to be burned again and again and again?
It seems to me that either way there is pain. Both pruning and leaving the vine guarantee a certain amount of suffering, but only one requires suffering in order to bear fruit.
The question remains, will I put myself at the service of the pain? Will I submit myself to pruning in order that I might grow? Will I trust Him?
We’re inching closer to the feast day of St. Joseph, probably my favorite saint. St. Joseph was presented with a situation which he certainly didn’t plan for, a set of circumstances that stripped him of the future he had imagined for himself and set him on a path of hardship. (It was also a path of immeasurable beauty, to be sure, but we can’t say it was easy being the protector and provider of the Holy Family.) I think we can all agree that St. Joseph could be granted a meltdown or two. One can imagine the temptation to fall into self pity or anger, especially at the outset of this journey. I mean, that’s what I usually do when things don’t work out the way I expect them to.
And yet, when given a situation that was confusing, when dealt a change that was challenging to his belief system, that required great sacrifice to his reputation as well as his physical safety, Joseph didn’t have a pity party. He didn’t lament and moan and look for sympathy. He waited. He made a plan to act out of charity. He prayed. Most importantly, he stayed open and receptive to the voice of God. St. Joseph was sensitive to the working of the Holy Spirit and he trusted that the words spoken to him from God were true. So, when the angel advised him to take Mary into his home, Joseph partnered with the problem, offered himself in service to the pain, and humbly submitted himself to God’s will, putting aside both his plans for a “normal” marriage and his plans to divorce her quietly.
Mercy, how I long for a faith like that.
So much about enduring suffering and darkness has to do with perspective. In an often isolated post-Covid world, where there’s still so much doubt and uncertainty, I find it particularly difficult to see the glass as half full. I struggle a lot with partnering with the problems in my life. I find it difficult to view the dead ends as anything but just that: closed doors and locked gates. In a season when I’ve endured more loneliness than ever before, when I’ve seen the carnage of fractured relationships and been disappointed by so many things, large and small, I’m just done. I don’t want to endure any more. I don’t want to partner with anything, I just want to be done and for things to be easy.
But that’s where my need for pruning is shown. That’s precisely why I need a Gardener to rein me in, redirect my growth, train the tendrils of my heart to wrap around Him instead of growing out and away, grasping for whatever the world tells me is sturdy.
My friend Henri Nouwen says,
…what seems a hindrance becomes a way; what seems an obstacle becomes a door; what seems a misfit becomes a cornerstone.
Jesus changes our history from a random series of sad incidents and accidents into a constant opportunity for a change of heart. To wait patiently, therefore, means to allow our weeping and wailing to become the purifying preparation by which we are made ready to receive the joy that is promised us.
And so prayers of lament and complaint being uttered, I’m left with the choice: do I look to the Lord with trust, submit myself to His hand and His pruning, or do I go my own way offering myself to whomever wants to gather me up knowing full well I’ll get burned again?
Either way there is pain. Either way there is suffering. But only one way contains the promise of joy, a joy I have seen lived out in the lives of the saints and proven again and again in the scriptures. So my prayer must become one of trust, one of offering, one of partnering.
Jesus, change my heart. Take this anxiety and anger, this frustration, loneliness, and grief and change it all into something beautiful. I cannot do it on my own. Help me, Lord, I need You. Show me how to be held in your arms, to be loved by You in the pruning. Heal my heart and reorient it toward Yours. Help me to endure the suffering, endure the pain, endure the not knowing, to stay steady and to bear it all for love of You. Help me to be your partner, to submit myself to your pierced hands. O Sacred Heart of Jesus, I put my trust in You.
You are loved, my friends. Eternally adored by a Creator who thinks that you’re worth pruning, worth guiding, worth redeeming. It doesn’t matter how far we’ve wandered or how tightly our hearts are wound around the world, He’s waiting to prune and to train those tender vines so that we might bear more and more fruit for his Holy and Sacred Name. Even the wildest, most overgrown, driest, and thorniest of hearts can be redeemed. That’s where the hope lies, in the truth that the places in our lives that look like dead ends and closed doors are just odd looking ways back to Him.
The Lord is my shepherd;
there is nothing I lack.
In green pastures he makes me lie down;
to still waters he leads me;
he restores my soul.
He guides me along right paths
for the sake of his name.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for you are with me;
your rod and your staff comfort me.
Psalm 23: 1-4
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
through the valley of apathy,
the valley of contempt,
of distrust,
of deconstruction.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of doubt,
the shadow of distance,
the shadow of disappointment.
Even then, do I trust.
I will fear no evil, no rejection, no humiliation, no loneliness, for you are with me . Your rod and your staff comfort me. Even when they block my way, when your rod hems me in and your staff forces me on a path I would not choose, even then they comfort me. For my thoughts are not your thoughts and my ways are not your ways.
Though I wander through the valleys confused, unsure, worried, overcome by my own smallness amidst so large a flock, I trust that what you say is true.
I trust that your word will not return to you empty, that if I find myself despairing in a low place, it is because you are not done with me yet. I trust that our journey is ongoing, that you are calling, leading, prodding me forward toward your promise of cool water, verdant pastures, and rest.
I choose to believe that promise.
On a bumpy trail, a monotonous track of irritation when I am tempted to make my own way or out of weariness to rail against what is asked of me, I submit myself to your rod and staff. I submit myself to your guidance and your care. I will allow myself to be loved.
I will fear no evil and I will take the next step in faith, for I believe that you are who you say you are.
I believe that I am who you say that I am.
O Sacred Heart of Jesus, I put my trust in you.
One thing I’ve felt called to this Lent is to write more and to share more of what God is stirring up in my heart. I’ll be sharing reflections taken from my daily scripture readings and personal journaling. I’m not going to focus on sharing at times that will suit the algorithm or gain the most likes/follows/comments. I’m just planning to share when the spirit moves me and trust that the folks who need these words will come to them. I’m excited to share with you all and see where this goes. As always, thank you for taking time to read and for being here. You are such a gift to me and so eternally loved, my friends. -Mary Susan
They seek me day after day, and desire to know my ways, like a nation that has done what is just and not abandoned the judgement of their God; they ask of me just judgements, they desire to draw near to God.
“Why do we fast, but you do not see it? Afflict ourselves, but you take no note?”
See, on your fast day you carry out your own pursuits, and drive all your laborers. See you fast only to quarrel and fight and to strike with a wicked fist!
Isaiah 58:2-4
I’ve been spending time in Isaiah 58, pondering these words in ways I haven’t before, realizing that like most other things in life, I am guilty of making things about me. As we ease into the second week of Lent, many of us are refining our sacrifices, realizing the extent to which we’ll be challenged, reevaluating the offerings we’ve chosen, or maybe even still trying to finalize our “plan” for Lent. That’s all fine. It’s normal for Lent to begin with discomfort, frustration, doubt.
What I’m realizing is that, like many other unhealthy enneagram two’s/recovering codependents before me, my Lenten observances are often tainted by misguided motivations. And I think that’s what Isaiah is getting at here in chapter 58. Israel is seeking God, they genuinely want to know Him, to feel heard by Him, to have their sacrifice recognized by the Father…but they’re going about all of that on their terms alone. They’re checking off boxes, their fasting fueled by self-righteousness and judgement and God calls them out. It’s as if God says, “Okay, but why are you fasting? Is it to control others, to place judgement through your actions, to elevate yourself? Do you fast purely so your voice can be heard above your brother’s?”
And I have to ask myself the same questions. As I lean into this season of fasting, penance, and almsgiving, what are my motivations?
Do I sacrifice, offer myself, allow myself to be tread upon, take on the cloak of the martyr or victim as a way of making a point, drawing attention to how “good” I am while punishing everyone in my path with a bad attitude and critical demeanor? Am I loudly suffering, taking on guilt that is not my own so that I might publicly complain or lord it over others?
Is my sacrifice and fasting merely an outlet for my resentment or do I act in true humility and obedience to the Lord? Am I using my penance as a passive aggressive way to make a statement to someone in my life about behavior I don’t approve of or do I fast to achieve a specific “level” of holiness?
I must be careful that I am not using my sacrifice as a weapon, a measuring stick, a blinder that enables my pride and judgement. It’s a normal aspect of human nature to want to see where we measure up to the rest of the pack. But in that measurement, it’s easy to drift into the dangerous waters of comparison, to elevate ourselves above our brothers, to use our “holiness” as a way to make a statement about who we are rather than what God is doing in us.
So, what’s the answer here? Where can I find true communion with the Lord during this complicated season of Lent? What do I do if I realize that my motives are less than ideal?
It’s important to remember that Lent is not a contest. There is no Lent Police roaming about looking for people who aren’t “doing it right.” Each person’s Lenten observance is intimate and personal. We shouldn’t approach Lent like the Pharisees in the Bible, eager to look the part but stinted in our actual observance of God’s law. What we should do is offer grace to others. In my experience, the surest way to reorient myself to God is through service to others.
If you remove the yoke from among you, the accusing finger and malicious speech; If you lavish food on the hungry and satisfy the afflicted; Then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom shall become like midday; Then the Lord will guide you always and satisfy your thirst in parched places, will give strength to your bones and you shall be like a watered garden, like a flowing spring whose waters never fail.”
Isaiah 58:9b-11
Oh, my heart longs for that satisfaction from the Lord. When all of life feels like perpetual Lent and I’m asked to give more, offer more, sacrifice even more, I desperately desire my thirst to be satisfied, my bones strengthened. A watered garden sounds like paradise right now and that satisfaction only comes from a pure offering of myself to the other.
What am I yoked by? By comparison, by competition, by quick judgement, dehumanization of others. The media to which I am addicted is peppered with accusing fingers and malicious speech. Scrolling leaves me dissatisfied and disgruntled, horrified by “those” people and stuck deep in my own judgmental mire.
Who are the hungry I am called to lavishly feed? Who are these afflicted I am asked to satisfy? The poor, the lonely, the imprisoned, the children in my midst who just long to be listened to; the people in my life hungry for acceptance, not conditional on certain beliefs or behaviors, but acceptance just as they are.
I am not Christ. I cannot satisfy these needs on my own, but I can speak love to the widowed and the orphans of the Church. I can offer the lonely a seat at my table and set aside my own version of what’s best to allow the people in my life to be who God created them to be. I can sacrifice voicing my opinions and make space for the words of others. I can lay down my expectations and receive both complicated people and challenging circumstances as gift. I can give monetarily to people in need, regardless of whether or not they align perfectly with my worldview. So many are starving for affection. I can lavish love on them. I can.
It is only in that lavishing love that I will be able to see the light break through the gloom. It is only through making sacrifices that are not about me, but about loving Christ in others that I will have my own thirst quenched. It is only in recognizing the belovedness of my brother that I will gain eyes to see my own belovedness. I am strengthened by carrying the cross of Christ, a weight which nourishes my soul rather than weighing me down like so many yokes I habitually strap myself to.
Father, heal my wounded heart, reorient all of my being to your most holy Sacred Heart. Nestle me there, that my sacrifice might not be motivated by a sick attempt at administering my own form of justice, but by a desire to be healed of my own disordered affections. Help me to remember that I am responsible for myself, that before I seek to judge my brother I am called to reorient myself to You. Lord, help me to submit myself to your most holy and perfect will, that I might offer sacrifice not on my terms, but on Yours. Break down the things in me that rebel agains You. Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make my heart like unto Thine. Amen.
The other night one of my kids was acting weird. She just wasn’t herself and I could tell that something was bothering her. When I prodded a little, she completely and theatrically melted down. “I don’t know, I don’t know,” she kept repeating. “I don’t KNOW what’s wrong with me. I don’t KNOW what I’m feeling, if I’m happy or if I’m sad. I don’t know what to FEEL. My life isn’t turning out the way I wanted. Like, who am I even??!?”
Did I mention we have a flair for the dramatic?
I tried to cover my grin as I calmed her down. Poor kid was just so frustrated with so many things and having such a difficult time articulating her emotions, so I leaned back onto something that I’ve used with the kids for a long time now. It’s just a quick check in that reminds them of their identity and consists of three simple questions: Who are you? Who made you? How did He make you? Being reminded that she was created by a loving God who made her and made her good was enough to settle my girl for the night.
And the whole situation seemed hysterical to me until I was having an identical breakdown like two days later.
I’m feeling rather adrift if I’m honest, having a difficult time finding my place in things. Without Easter to look forward to or Lent to keep me disciplined and no solid end in sight for the stay at home order, I’m having a hard time coping. It’s like the “day after” feeling I always get after holidays, but amped up a few hundred notches.
Who are you? Who made you? How did He make you?
Today’s Gospel reading from John (20:11-18) shows us Mary Magdalene encountering Jesus and mistaking him for the gardener. When she fully recognizes Him, it’s obviously a moment, but eventually Jesus says, “Stop holding on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. but go to my brothers and tell them…” and gives Mary that incredible job of being the Apostle to the Apostles.
In today’s Blessed is She devotion, Kendra Tierney writes:
She can’t hold on to Him as her friend and teacher. She needs to let go of Him as a Man so she can embrace Him as God. She can’t get caught up in her expectations for the moment and for her life, because Jesus has a new and different love for her to experience. And an important job for her to do.
Kendra Tierney, Blessed is She, 04/14/20
“She can’t get caught up in her expectations.” Man, that gutted me. I think that much of the reason I’m struggling to cope these days is that I’ve been caught up so tightly in what I expect my life to be like. I have a vision for how I think things ought to be, what Lent should look like, how I want Easter to be celebrated, how frequently I think I should be able to receive Holy Communion.
“…Jesus has a new and different love for her to experience. And an important job for her to do.” I think it’s only human nature to cling to what we know, especially in difficult times of transition.
I’m a birth doula, so I often see the world through the lens of childbirth. I always say that life is like labor, transition is the hardest part. Transition is the part in childbirth that seems to take the longest, when a mother’s body is completing its final preparations to deliver her baby, it’s an eternity of seemingly unstoppable intensity. This is the point when mothers frequently begin to doubt themselves, when they say they can’t go on any longer, beg for it to be over, many times searching frantically for any “out” they can find. Alas, the only way out is through, as we all know. In order to get through transition in childbirth, a mother must push through the intensity so that she can push in a more literal sense to bring her child into the world.
And as I’ve seen time and time again in childbirth, the women who cope with labor the best are the ones who submit themselves to the experience. They don’t try to control or manipulate the situation, but surrender themselves to the waves. Laboring women who do fight their bodies get panicky, tension making the pain more intense. Labor oftentimes takes longer and is more of an ordeal that they survived than an event they took part in.
We’re in transition right now. Just like the experience of a laboring woman, it feels that there’s no end in sight. Our current reality feels like some sort of endless in-between where we’re promised something good on the other side, but it feels like we’ll never ever get there.
The only way out is through. The only way to cope is to refocus our lives on the One who is calling us to a new and different experience of His love. In order to progress, we must let go of our expectations, lay down the ideals we’ve been clinging to, the preconceived notions of what “normal” is or what our lives “should” look like, and submit ourselves to the experience, however difficult it may be. It is only in surrendering to labor that a pregnant woman comes to deliver her child. It is only in surrendering ourselves to our present circumstances that we will encounter new ways to experience the Risen Christ and, like Mary Magdalene, receive a deeper sense of what we are called to as His disciples.
Who are you? Who made you? How did He make you?
Well, the good news is I think I hit my stride with the whole home school thing. The bad news is I still have my new chin hair. I tried real hard to find my tweezers, desperately ransacked the bathroom cabinets where they’re *supposed* to be before I remembered that I had to throw the tweezers away the other day because a kid was using them to fish for turds in the toilet. Not lying. Wish I was, but I’m not.
So, the next time you see me I’ll probably look like I’m auditioning for Duck Dynasty, but I’mma go with it and embrace the new normal. (It has yet to be determined if my husband will want to embrace this new normal. However, he is a wise, intelligent man, so I think he’ll take what he can get chin hairs not excluded.)
As I settle into this new schedule, new facial hair and all, it’s been amazing to me to look back and see how God has been preparing me for this time. I’m part of a ministry team that leads a women’s retreat every year at our church. This year’s speaker, Amber VanVickle, spoke about suffering and trust. She told us about how she did a challenge once in which she didn’t ask God for anything for an entire month. And the second she said it, my stomach dropped. I instantly knew I had to, needed to try it, and I thought, “Well… shit. I’m going to have to do that.” (Sometimes my response to the Lord tugging at my heart is less than stellar, y’all.)
So that’s what I did for Advent this year. I did not ask the Lord for anything in prayer. There were no requests, no supplication, no demands, nothing. Just me and Jesus and lots of time…because incidentally this was around the same time that I thought I was signing up to do a holy hour in the Adoration and somehow got signed up for a holy two hours. This was also before I had come to terms with the idea that silence before the Lord is an integral part of prayer. I had the blessing of hearing Meg Hunter Kilmer speak at my parish and when asked about how to pray, Meg said, “Silence. You need to sit in silence with God for at least 15 minutes a day.” My response, again, was, “Well, shit.”
Clearly Jesus had work to do on my heart.
What followed was an intense, challenging, beautiful time of me being frustrated with my own distraction and struggling to maintain focus while also trying not to fall asleep in Adoration. And at the same time, I was fighting every urge to ask, ask, ask in prayer.
Important side note: obviously, God wants us to ask things of him. Very specifically in scripture he tells us to knock, seek, ask. But so many times in our asking, we’re not surrendering. In our requesting, we’re actually trying to control or manipulate the situation. At least for me, my prayer life had become more about what I thought was the best solution to the problem and less about fiat and Thy will be done. Letting go of asking meant letting go of control.
When you take away the ability to ask and request, you’re left with only the ability to state and to profess. So my prayer life quickly became statements of trust and truth rather than begging to have my desires fulfilled. My journal entries during this time became less lists of demands and morphed into litanies of truth and surrender:
Jesus, you know my heart. You know my weaknesses and my failings. You know my addictions and sins. Lord, you know the depths of my hurt and all of the spots, the deep places I need healing. Jesus, I know that you are faithful, that you are before all time, and transcend all knowledge and understanding. You are unchangeably good. I believe you are pursuing me, healing me, drawing me out of the walls I’ve put up.
God, I believe you are faithful and you have a plan for me. Jesus, I trust in you. I trust that no prayer is ever wasted, no moment unproductive if spent with you. I trust that your will would be done and that you are holding me securely in your hands. Jesus, I trust in you. I trust that I will meet you in faithful silence every when it is hard for me. You are real, you are moving, transforming, dwelling, and guiding. You are love. Jesus, I trust in you.
Dec. 1, 2019
God, I don’t know what our future holds, sometimes I’m tempted to listen to fear and the idea that we haven’t suffered any real tragedy so it’s coming, that our future is somehow shadowed and shaky. But I’m reminded of your truth, that even in hardship and worry and storm and draught, you are present. You never change. Your love is constant and so is your mercy. So, whatever the future holds, I know you are holding us. Whatever the tides may bring, I will say yes to the call, your call to me within them.
Jesus, I trust in you. I trust that whatever you’re calling me to, you will equip me and provide for me within that call. Jesus, I trust in you. I trust that your ways are not our ways and that is good. Jesus, I trust in you. Trust that you are guiding, protecting, leading, and shepherding all of us. Even when you seem distant, you are there. Even when I’m confused, threatened, and afraid you are there. Jesus, I trust in you. Whatever the next days, the next year bring, I know I am covered in your mercy.
Dec. 15, 2019
I find myself compelled to return to these entries because once again I’m in need of peace. When my heart is troubled, when I’m grasping too much, attempting to control too much the answer, at least for me, is to trust. Trust and truth can do much in the face of fear and anxiety.
The truth is that God has not changed. He is real, He is moving, He is intimately in love with us, and He can redeem all things. All things.
The truth is that sometimes we have to get uncomfortable to really see how Christ pursues our hearts, how he wants to sneak in past our messy, disordered affections and addictions to show us what real satisfaction can be. There is truth and peace resting in his Sacred Heart and he longs for us to make our way there.
The truth is that when I let my dog out early this morning, the birds were still singing. Up before dawn, perched in a dying tree in my back yard, they were singing their hearts out to herald the coming day. They’re still singing and I think there’s a lot to trust in just in that.
Things have been pretty quiet around here lately, partially because life it eternally nuts and also because I’ve been wrestling with some really weighty issues. Maybe it’s because we’re getting deeper and deeper into Lent so I’ve got these things on my mind already, but I find myself struggling with anger, fear, frustration, guilt, and feelings of unworthiness, loneliness, and doubt. So basically, I’m Catholic. (Ba-dum-ching!)
Did you get that that was a rim shot? ‘Cause it totally was.
I think this happens to us all from time to time. Not bad sound effects, though those happen too, but these moments of spiritual, mental, and physical grief. These are times when we just can’t wrap our brains around situations, around suffering, around life. And these are the times we need the cross.
And I don’t know about you, but the times when I so need the cross are the times I feel the cross is so unfair. When I’m struggling with my sins, the cross is hard for me to handle. The cross is ugly. It is violent. It asks too much of Christ. I hate that I so selfishly seek my own comfort when Christ went through such agony on the cross.
Sometimes I feel like life asks too much of us all, that God asks too much of all of us. Obviously, I understand that the Cross had to happen, has to happen, for us and for our salvation, but that doesn’t make it any less hard.
Now, I’m a firm believer in free will, and in knowing that bad things happen as direct consequences of the choices we make, not necessarily because God wills bad things upon us. God is not malevolent, He is not vengeful or spiteful. He’s not out to make me pay for my sins. Quite the opposite, actually.
In all the negativity, the struggles, the fears He is present. And what’s more, He wants to make me better. It is in the wrangling with sin that I find redemption. It is in the fighting to find goodness that I see that it’s been there all along…I just needed the grace of the cross to see it.
I’ve been getting these daily Lenten reflections from Fr. Robert Barron and I really like them. The other day I read something in regards to the cross and Christ’s sacrifice that has really stuck with me:
“So the Father sent the Son all the way out into the furthest limits of God-forsakenness, but why? To usher into those places the divine light. Is death a place that God is not? No, because God is present there in Jesus. Is suffering a place that God is not? No, because the Son entered into suffering. Is sin a place where God is not? No, because God became sin on the Cross, says Paul.
Through Jesus, the divine light journeys into our worst darkness. His aim is to divinize us, to allow us to “share his divine nature” in St. Peter’s words, even in those dark places and conditions. Sin is a turning away from the divine life, and death is a fearful place that seems alien to God. But Jesus invades all those places, and thereby illumines them. He offers us new life even when we’ve wandered as far as we possibly can from God.
In that sense, the Cross was necessary for our salvation since it allowed the Hound of Heaven to hunt us down, even in the darkest places.”
I like that. I like knowing that I am hunted, pursued by a Savior who desperately wants to be with me in the midst of the darkest, most dismal places I find myself.
And there’s a deep, deep comfort in that. He’s not asking too much; he’s just asking to be with me.
Well, I intended to do a Seven Things post and had actually been working on it earlier in the week (imagine that!), but then life happened and we ended up at the Emergency Room last night with poor Mags who’s got a UTI. It was as pleasant as you can imagine and we didn’t make it home until well after 3 am…which is why I’m posting this now.
These were our medicinal highlights:
Aaaaaanyway, here are some of the things that went on this week…I hope you had a good one!
1.) Everett can sit in a high chair now. I’m not sure how I feel about it, so I’m going to pretend it’s not happening.
2.) I’m in pre-Lent training and have decided to really limit my phone usage. I got creeped out the other day because I woke up early to get things done and somehow managed to spend over an hour looking at Facebook. I’m a firm believer that great things come from social media. However, I’d be lying if I told you my obsession with “missing out” on something didn’t severely hamper the amount of time and focus I spend on my children. And that’s just pathetic.
You may remember that I attempted to limit my media use during Advent, as well, which was fair-to-middlin’ (oh, yes I did just quote the Oregon Trail CD Rom game I had growing up), but I’m going to be more specific in regards to Lent. So, my specific intentions are to take the Facebook app off of my phone, make the Pinterest app harder to find, and replace them with Daily Reading and Rosary type tools.
So far I’ve been fairly unsuccessful. Facebook usage is down, but Pinterest and Instagram usage are at an all-time high. I may have to get drastic and just pull the entire plug come Lent. Clearly self control isn’t my strong suit.
What are you planning for Lent? Do you give something up or take something on?
3.) Some of you may remember that I work part-time as a Children’s Librarian. That mainly consists of reading awesome books to awesome kids, creating awesome Pinterest crafts with awesome kids, and practicing for awesome puppet shows. As you can see, things are pretty much awesome. However, the other portion of my job is to answer reference questions over the phone. What kinds of questions do people call the library for, you ask? Here’s just a sampling of the questions I answered in the last week or so:
4.) Apparently there’s this burning ball of fire in the sky that some people call the sun. We Clevelanders have really only ever heard of it, but on Wednesday it appeared!!! I kid you not when I say that Maggie saw the sun and immediately put her swimsuit on.
After a change of wardrobe we went out and built the happiest snow girl I’ve ever seen!
5.) And speaking of wardrobe choices, here’s Lily’s mash-up of Tinkerbell and Yoda.
6.) I have the most wonderful dad on the planet. Wanna know how I know this? He sent me the complete set of The Mysterious Benedict Society books that I raved about earlier this week.
I seriously can’t tell you how excited I am. Best dad of all time.
7.) And, last, because she was so excited, here’s Lily with her brand new car seat. It’s the first one that wasn’t a hand-me-down. We sure know how to make a middle child happy around here!
Have a great weekend!!
ohblessyourheart 