Yarn Along

My project this week is making hand towels for my powder room. I'm never able to find towels that satisfy both my taste and my budget, so I'm knitting some rather nice (I think) cotton towels in colors that make me happy. I love my cotton dishcloths, so we will see if I like the hand towels as well. My towels are actually half the width of the original pattern, and one skein of Peaches and Cream is just about the perfect size.

I'm reading Shadows on the Rock by Willa Cather. I enjoyed a couple of her other books a long time ago, and dh put this one in my Easter basket. I think it is a total win, even though I'm not too far in yet, but I keep itching to get back to it when I'm not reading it. It's historical fiction based on the lives of the early settlers of Quebec.

It's not shown, but I'm also reading the Betsy-Tacy series of books with Meg. We take turns reading aloud to each other---because I love them and because reading aloud is good for her. I think she's learning to love them, too. ;-) We are currently on Betsy's senior year in high school: Betsy and Joe. I adore these semi-autobiographical books which cover Betsy's life from age 5 through her first year of marriage. They mostly cover the first 2 decades of the 20th century. This one also has me itching to get back to it several times a day, even though I have read the series several times. In fact, when we were a couple of books back, I had to read through the rest of the series because we weren't reading fast enough! And I still think we could read faster. :-)

Speaking of itching....allergy season is in full bloom here. If you look closely at the photo, it's not blurry---there is a green haze covering the area. With the pine and oak trees at peak pollen season, there are patches of green fog everywhere. Driving down the highway you can see a green haze on the horizon, like smog. Even without allergies, it's gross to be out in this. It gets in your eyes and chokes you, even if you're not allergic to it!

An Easter Gift

Happy Easter! We slept late after our Easter Vigil and 11:30 p.m. Krispy Kreme run. :-) Lunch was not a spectacular affair with 5 of the 6 kids here, and everyone helped, so it was lovely, low-key, and just enough. While waiting for the ham to cook, we played in the backyard with Pip's "crossbow" that he modified out of a regular bow. It works extremely well!


Before he returned to the Institute today, just after Katie and Brendan left, son Tom suggested I listen to this poem by former U.S. Poet Laureate Billy Collins. It probably had exactly the effect he anticipated---it made me laugh and brought a few tears to my eyes

THE LANYARD

The other day as I was ricocheting slowly

off the blue walls of this room

bouncing from typewriter to piano

from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,

I found myself in the "L" section of the dictionary

where my eyes fell upon the word, Lanyard. 

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist

could send one more suddenly into the past.

A past where I sat at a workbench

at a camp by a deep Adirondack lake 

learning how to braid thin plastic strips into a lanyard. 

A gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard. 

Or wear one, if that’s what you did with them. 

But that did not keep me from crossing strand over strand 

again and again until I had made a boxy, red and white lanyard for my mother. 

She gave me life and milk from her breasts, 

and I gave her a lanyard 

She nursed me in many a sick room, 

lifted teaspoons of medicine to my lips, 

set cold facecloths on my forehead

then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim and I in turn presented her with a lanyard. 

"Here are thousands of meals" she said, 

"and here is clothing and a good education." 

"And here is your lanyard," I replied,

"which I made with a little help from a counselor." 

"Here is a breathing body and a beating heart, 

strong legs, bones and teeth and two clear eyes to read the world." she whispered.

"And here," I said, "is the lanyard I made at camp."

"And here," I wish to say to her now, 

"is a smaller gift. Not the archaic truth, 

that you can never repay your mother, 

but the rueful admission that when she took the two-toned lanyard from my hands,

I was as sure as a boy could be 

that this useless worthless thing I wove out of boredom 

would be enough to make us even."

-- Billy Collins

I recalled all of the little things that children do and make for their parents, especially moms---sometimes they craft them out of their own imaginations and hearts, but, more often, they are probably forced to make them during camps or classes, and then they give their gift lovingly to the one who does so much for them. It's a little thing, probably not worth much on its own, but given with the love of a child it is imbued with greater meaning and worth.

So it is with the insignificant gifts we give to the One who does so much for us. Our little sacrifices that we make as we follow St. Thérèse's Little Way, are received by by Our Lord with an even greater love than our mothers could give. According to another Teresa, St. Teresa of Avila, "It is Love alone which gives worth to all things."

The size of the gift doesn't matter, only the love with which it is given. Today, and the next 50 days, we celebrate the greatest gift ever given. Have you made a lanyard with which to repay it?

Thoughts on Holy Saturday

Recently, I had the occasion to read a beautiful quotation from Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta.

Christ came to be Father’s compassion to the world. Be kind in your actions. Do not think that you are the only one who can do efficient work, work worth showing. This makes you harsh in your judgment of others who may not have the same talents. Do your best and trust that others do their best. And be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies.
― Mother Teresa, In the Heart of the World: Thoughts, Stories and Prayers

This morning it hit me square in the face as I contemplate which Easter Mass to go to.  I generally try to be non-judgmental in most areas of my life, but I had not extended that courtesy to the people who put together the Mass at our local parishes. :-(

As I recall, we have gone to the Easter vigil almost every year since I entered the Catholic Church in 1996. Our 4th baby was baptized at that Mass, and we had 2 more after that, so we have always dragged 6 small, whiny, sleepy children to this longest Mass of the year! Why? Because it's the most beautiful, and we love seeing new Catholics born into the faith on this night.

But this morning, I found myself suggesting that we go to the earliest Mass of the day---because there is less opportunity for frustration at a shorter Mass. I get so tired of the deviations from the missal where there aren't supposed to be deviations. I get tired of the performance atmosphere that makes the congregation applaud anytime children (even teens) are singing. I get tired of priests not being reverent. Frankly, I get tired of of myself, of judging every Mass and decided what the priests, deacons, and musicians did well and what they didn't.

We have a priest friend, a convert like me, who is of the same mind and celebrates Mass exactly the way I would like it, but his assignment is much too far away for us to attend. He says I'll never be happy. And he's probably right, but I hold my breath and say a prayer every year when new priest assignments come out, hoping he'll be transferred to our parish or one nearby!

Reading this conversion story this morning made me realize that while it would be nice for the Mass to be as heavenly as I hope every time I attend, I don't go for that. I'm Catholic because I believe that Jesus Christ is present, body, blood, soul, and divinity, in the Eucharist and that the priest brings Him to me despite his own personal sins or failings. We all have different spiritual gifts and I really do appreciate the special joyfulness that some priests have (even though they tend not to follow the rules as closely!), and I need to stop being so judgmental. After all, they have given their lives for the Church, and maybe those sanguine priests are better at nurturing their parishioners than some of their fellow-priests.

Maybe my time in Mass (and out of Mass) is better spent praying for our priests than griping about their failings. I'm doing my best in my vocation, and I have to trust that they are also doing their best.

I hope you have had a prayerful Lent and that you are looking forward to the joy of Easter as much as I am.