I remember confidently sharing this deep secret with my childhood friend at the age of 11 years old. We were stargazing on a camping trip, laying on our backs in a giant field. Staring at the millions of twinkling lights in the sky seemed to bring heaven closer to earth – including the longing I had in my heart to know my brother.
Outside my immediate family, no one knew I had a big brother. Inside my family, this baby was the “miscarriage before Mary.” I knew my mother lost a baby a year before I was born and that, in the great Mystery of Life and Death, this baby’s life made way for mine. Inside my heart, I was sure that baby was a boy and that his name should be Michael.
It was a relief to share this with my friend as such a young age. I had only just been baptized into the Catholic faith, and life and death were things I was coming to discover to new depths. My friend confided that her mom also lost a baby before she was born and that she, too secretly called him Michael. If there was any question that we should be friends, that similarity sealed the deal.
As years passed, the memory of little Michael was faint yet always present. As two more little siblings went to be with God, my awareness to the proximity of Heaven grew and I became aware of the place given to them in the presence of God. The meaning in Michael’s life continued to grow in my heart and I was sure I was getting to know him better.
Soon, I began to ask for his intercession specifically in situations when I was alone or in pain. “Michael, be a big brother to me” I would pray. And he would.
Michael wasn’t the figment of my imagination: Michael was real, and he had a mission. I knew it – after all, I am his sister! I’m pretty sure Michael’s mission is to be with those who are lonely and in pain. (I think he had something to do with sending Ian my way some years ago!) Michael’s life on this earth was swift and unknown to most, but his life eternal is one that connects to the Father. Maybe he is supposed to connect you, too!
I believe that the Lord has a mission for every child He takes to His heart before or after birth. In the aftermath of grief that accompanies the loss of a child, I have found time and time again a small bud of hope growing from their life – a mission for the Kingdom of God. I have witnessed their mothers, my friends, rise in their grief, asking to know their child’s mission. I firmly believe that the mother is given a special intuition to know what that mission is and to call that child by name in the Presence of God.
Now, when I pass cemeteries where my friends’ babies are buried, I call out to them as the little friends they are, asking them for a favor or just offering a “hello.” My own life is made better because of theirs, and I admire their mothers for embracing the hard to keep their children’s mission alive in their hearts, homes, and the world.
If you have lost a child, I offer you my deepest sorrow and join you at the foot of the Cross. With you, I pray to know this child’s unique mission.
If you are feeling alone or in pain, I offer you the intercession of my big brother Michael.
Do not be afraid to make your child known: we need them and the unique way they are called to show us the Face of God.
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To learn more about the mission of a child lost to miscarriage, check out this prayer:
It’s been a while since the “Dear Single Sister” theme was carried through in our content. The truth is, I’m writing this letter to altogether discontinue the theme. Before you close your browser and chalk me up to another woman who going to pretend she doesn’t have a longing for a husband, children, and family, please hear me out.
I’ve learned something that begs to be shared: our longings can coexist with our contentment. It sounds crazy, but it’s true! I’ve learned that this (and all of the most essential lessons for single woman) are no different than they are for married woman, divorced women, and widowed women. That is why you are no longer my “single sister.” The days of calling out the single lifestyle as part of our name and title is over. You are simply His beloved, and my “sister” in Him.
I found a gal group that I call home and together we study scripture, reflect on spiritual readings, and treasure each other’s hearts. We never even think to identify ourselves as “single” or “married,” but as beloved daughters of the Father. We uphold the same core values and seek to cultivate the same virtues. Our lessons in hope, surrender, faith, and fortitude might look different in the day-to-day details, but they lead to the same end.
I want the same for you, and I believe God does, too.
If you’re reading this, you’ve likely heard the theory: “the moment you are content with your life is the moment that Mr. Right will step into it.” Well, I’m here to tell you that’s not true, and it doesn’t only apply to women seeking a spouse. Women seeking to conceive also hear this same story, with a slight twist. They hear, “The minute you adopt is the minute you’ll get pregnant.”
Has Mr. Right come to the woman who finds joy in her singleness? Yes. Do biological babies come to couples when they adopt? Yes, sometimes – but when these things come, they are not the reward for contentment.
If there is one thing that I would tell my 30-year-old self, it is this: God does not give gifts to the content; He gives contentment as a gift. Contentment is not something we “strive” for or work hard to achieve, rather, it is something we receive through prayer and God’s grace.
When we have contentment – man, woman, married, single, you name it! – we have intimacy with God. That isn’t just “all” we need or “enough” for us. It is everything.
Dear sisters, go ahead and select “single” on your tax return, but please don’t stamp it on the front cover of your passport to life!
If every Catholic woman could identify as “content” with God, then no mountain would be too tall, no ocean too deep, and no desert too dry for our satisfied hearts! We would be unstoppable in our ability to receive more grace from the Father and share it with others around us. In this kind of feminine acceptance and appreciation, there is no room for comparison. We know it steals joy… so we run to share in life together!
So, I invite you, Dear Contented Sister, to join me in this high dive of trust, and pray to the Lord that He will give us the gift of contentment. Like the Samaritan woman at the well, let us say to Him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may not be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.” (Jn 4)
Pilgrimages hold a special place in my life. Give me a sacred destination that allows for contemplation, prayer, and time spent with fellow travelers and I’m hitting the road before you can pack a snack.
My love for pilgrimage has taken me to sweet neighborhood shrines in my own town to long and hard walks through the Adirondack mountains, sandstone caves, and the Camino de Santiago in Spain with its brisk 25 kilometers walk per day. On a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, one holy site where Jesus called James and John required me to swim to the sacred spot along the banks of the Sea of Galilee. That was a refreshing twist to the concept of pilgrimage!
While there are many pilgrimages I’ve taken in this life, there is only one that matters.
That pilgrimage is from the cross to the empty tomb – from Calvary to the Holy Sepulcher. It is the shortest pilgrimage I’ve ever encountered, and yet, it is the hardest. I didn’t count the steps between the two, but if I had to guess, I’d say the distance is only that of a couple hundred feet. When I knelt on the ground and put my hand on the rock of Calvary where the blood of Christ was shed, I was aware that several of my friends knelt around the corner in the very place where he rose from the dead. Suffering and joy; bliss and pain; gratitude and grief; life and death – all under the same roof.
In God’s great salvific orchestration, He saw fit to place death within sight of life, joy within sight of pain, and suffering in the shadow of peace. They are so close together that they are even covered by the same roof of worship.
This pilgrimage is one we are all familiar with and encounter on an often-daily basis. There is tension on this journey that we often struggle to justify, and we are very good at trying to escape one location for the other (especially to “skip to the good part”).
The “both/and” teaching of St. Thomas Aquinas is true. In short: it is possible for two things to be true at the same time, even when they seem diametrically opposed to one another.
The juxtaposition of the cross near the empty tomb is often deeply felt in our lives. Are there moments in your life when you feel pain for yourself and joy for a friend? Or perhaps you are grateful for a gift and grieving a loss at the same time? Just as the cross is not invalidated by the empty tomb, so are our sufferings not invalidated by simultaneous joy. God wants both – and. When God died for us on Calvary and rose again just steps away, He invited us to a journey of a lifetime that speaks of a righteous dissonance.
Tension is not a bad thing, and I think we can sharpen our ability to hold space for it in our hearts. Here are three things we can consider when invited to journey the shortest pilgrimage from the cross to the empty tomb:
Embrace the Unfinished Symphony: In music, tension is often expressed through dissonance. There is a lack of resolve or harmony in a chord or melody that leaves the listener longing for unity, resolve and oneness. The next time you feel tension of two things being true at the same time, try to think of it as the unresolved dissonance in a masterpiece symphony, knowing that the grand finale is yet to come, and allow yourself to long for its fulfillment.
Let Opposites Attract One Another: When I offer catechesis to small children, I never lift up the death of Jesus without also proclaiming the Resurrection. Similarly, when I speak of the resurrection, I always mention His death. The loss of Jesus would be too much to bear without the Resurrection. And the Resurrection would mean nothing without the sacrifice of His love. So it is in our lives: suffering means more when it’s held with joy, and the joy has much more meaning when it’s accompanied by suffering. Let’s not shut one out from the other but let them live together.
Surrender the Unknown to God: When Mary and St. Joseph received the gift of myrrh from the Magi, I can imagine it caused some tension in what a very joyful occasion was otherwise. Myrrh – used for anointing the dead? Mary had to hold the newborn along with this ominous gift. God repeatedly asked her to live in the tension, holding tension in her maternal arms. Like Mary, we cannot let the tension stop us from our walk on the journey to God. There is no way to know why certain tensions exist. God will either surprise us or give us the courage to endure until He’s ready to give us an answer. We can go to Mary for comfort and aid. She understands.
As strange as it seems, the challenge we are given to walk the hardest pilgrimage comes with a privilege that even those who witnessed Christ’s crucifixion did not have – we can see the Resurrection! Our eyes and ears were made to see redemption. When we behold His face in all its glory, we also see His wounds of love. Through this lens, every pilgrimage, no matter how arduous or long, can become a step toward profound intimacy with the divine.
One summer morning, I stopped at the local coffee shop after a weekday Mass. I expected to see college students or groups of retired individuals gathered inside. But to my surprise, the coffee shop was scattered with fathers spending time with their small children.
There was one father-daughter duo that stood out to me among the rest. They were in line to order when I arrived. The father’s hand was holding that of his daughter who was elegantly clad in a princess dress. A paper crown donned her tangled hair, and her little high-heeled shoes clicked as she walked.
He placed his order for coffee, making sure to add her choice of pastry. As they waited, the little girl spied a canister of water and cups for guests nearby. Loudly, she told her dad she was thirsty and wanted water. Her dad gently leaned down and said, “No, you have water in the car, and we’re going there as soon as our order is ready.”
This decision launched the little girl into a spiral of sadness. She fell to the ground as if her legs gave way. Her father tried to calm her down, but it was no use. The tear dispenser was on full throttle.
The barista handed the father his coffee and, with his daughter’s pastry tightly clasped between his fingers, he bent down and scooped her up into his other arm and proceeded to walk out the door. Her paper crown was crumpled and nearly fell offer head. They passed a lady who smiled and said, “Is the princess having a bad day?” The father nodded and replied, “We’ve all been there.”
I was touched by the father’s response and words of compassion about his daughter’s emotional state. It made me think about my Heavenly Father, and I wondered if He felt the same way about me? Is He also unfazed by my responses to life’s challenges – especially when they seem to be unbalanced to the situation? Does He commiserate with my pain, even when it seems trivial?
The answer is yes.
I walked away from the coffee shop that day with my cinnamon latte and three things about the Father that I want to remember:
Let the Father Carry You: Life is so much better, even in hard moments, when we’re held by the Father. We know He loves us like the sheep in the parables, carried around the neck and held in the arms of the Good Shepherd. He loves us so much he’s ready to literally walk for us, and bring us to a green pasture. The next time I’m hurting, I want to know that He’s not only walking for me, but transporting me to a better place that I can’t get to alone.
All is Not Lost: (aka. There is a pastry waiting for you in the car.) When presented with hard things, most often I assume that the hard thing is the Father’s main focus (because it’s my main focus!). While He no doubt has His attention fixed on my pain, deep down inside, I know He also has His sights set on something more – something good that He has prepared for me that’s bigger than whatever makes me cry. Like the pastry clasped between dad’s fingers in the coffee shop, the Father has something good already picked out for me that He knows will be my favorite. I don’t need to see it in this lifetime to know that it’s there. (Matthew 7:11)
The Father Loves Me, even when I’m not at my best: “We’ve all been there” the coffee shop dad said about his daughter’s tantrum. He could have very easily (and understandably!) looked in exasperation, rolled his eyes, or showed frustration. But he didn’t. He remained calm and showed his daughter by his actions that he was on her side. He was in her court, and he wasn’t about to let even a stranger have any last word on her tears. He stood up for her in that moment and claimed her. The father does this for me, too, so that even when I’m misunderstood or looked upon by others with pity, the Father sees in me the strength and goodness he knows is at the core of my heart.
The next time we have a hard moment or a difficult day, let’s remember that we are just like this little girl and her dad. We are held, safe, and loved, even when our paper crowns are crumpled. We are daughters of a King. Perhaps he kisses our foreheads with the same tenderness of this father, happy to love on us through thick and through thin. It is good to be a daughter!
“I’m really disappointed. But for some reason, I still trust him.”
Those were the words I typed to Faith on the morning of March 19th after she wished me a happy solemnity of St. Joseph, acknowledging at the same time that the occasion was marked with some sadness and lots of discouragement. It was not even 24 hours prior that I had received the news that my offer on THE house was rejected by the seller. In the days leading up to this one, I had prayed with a remarkable certainty that God he did, in fact, want to see me settled in my own little safe and secure home, and that He was leading me there. As the head of the Holy Family, I prayed with confidence that St. Joseph would help oversee the process and guide me safely into a home – and soon. This was my 7th or 8th (I lost track) offer on a home over the course of several years. I was sure this was the one. But as it turned out – it wasn’t.
I was aware that St. Joseph knew a thing or two about walking a long road. I had traveled the same road from Nazareth to Jerusalem, but in my car, I was spared from the dry air and hot sun. I prayed that he would keep walking with me, just as he walked – and led – his Mary.
While the disappointment did not mar my confidence in St. Joseph “for some reason,” it did make me question that I was on the right track with what I was seeking for my life. On the day my offer was rejected, I was sure this “no” was more than “not now.” I was ready to stop looking altogether. But I received good counsel that, while disappointing and frustrating, this “no” did not warrant putting the idea to rest. I resumed the search with an overemphasized and reluctant daughter’s sigh, saying, “fine…. I’ll keep looking…”
I wondered if God was asking me to make bigger compromises. So instead of sacrificing a garage or dining room, I began to sacrifice location. My search the next day included homes that were much further away from the area where I hoped to settle. Being close to those who are dearest to me was a non-negotiable that I suddenly began negotiating.
That same day, I wandered into the living room and noticed my egg chair sitting in the corner with it’s crisp and fluffy cushions. “Why do I have this chair, anyway? It’s too big for this space. And it’s not comfortable.” In my frustration (which was about much more than a chair!) I took a picture of it and listed it on Facebook Marketplace.
What came next was a total surprise: within 20 minutes, I had 40 women wanting to buy the chair. I messaged them all and declared a “first come, first serve” arrangement. My buyer arrived within 40 minutes. She opened her car doors and together, we began loading the cushions of the chair into her car.
She had a four-week old baby in the car and had just come from the doctor’s office. She seemed a bit flustered. So, I began to strike up conversation about the chair. She got excited, “It’s for my new house!” she said. “My husband and I bought a new home and are going to move there eventually. I’m on maternity leave and can’t help buy a few things while we prepare to move!” I congratulated her on the new baby and the new home, acknowledging that it’s a tough time to buy a house. “I’m so glad you found something!” I said, “I’ve been searching for years, with no luck. It’s a buyer’s market!”
Suddenly, the woman became very silent. She looked directly at me and asked, “What are you looking for?” I shrugged off her interest and said, “Oh, something small.” She insisted, “Like two bedrooms, one bath, a sunroom, finished basement, and a patio?”
I stared. This stranger just described a dream house. “That sounds amazing!” I said.
We looked at each other for a good long moment, standing in the middle of my neighborhood street, the baby cooing from his carseat nearby. The woman explained to me that they had no timeline and, because of the birth of their baby, had to put the sale of their current home on hold.
Friends, I suspect you can see the rest of the story starting to unfold. What happened next launched me into a new chapter of my life with unusual speed and succession of miracles. Within ten minutes of meeting this stranger on Facebook Marketplace, I had an appointment to see her home at the end of the week. There was just one problem: I didn’t know where the home was! I sent a text and what I received in reply explained every single step of the long journey I had taken to find a home of my own. The answer explained every “no:”
The address of the home was within walking distance – and literal eyesight – of the homes of nearly every single person I “do life” with on a weekly and sometimes daily basis. It was smack dab in the middle of my friends, my newest godson, and so many others. It was all too good to be true.
Two months later and it’s still too good to be true. I have a little cottage home of my own that is in excellent condition after a listing was created just for me by the seller. When the realtor told me that at the time, she said in disbelief: “The sellers said they really want you to have it.”
Why they wanted me remains a mystery to me. But I know that this was part of the plan all along. Remember when I listed the chair on Facebook Marketplace? Well, that day was March 19th – the feast of St. Joseph, just hours after responding to Faith’s text with, “…for some reason, I still trust him.”
But wait! It gets better!
When I finally saw the house for the first time in March, I stood on the front doorstep and looked down the street. There, I could see the top of a little grotto dedicated to St. Joseph in the neighborhood that I had adopted in 2020 during the pandemic, planting roses around it and tending to it for months on end along with the Carmelite sisters who lived nearby. The St. Joseph’s Grotto is my neighbor. All I have to to do is look outside my front door and I am reminded of both his journey – and his home.
This story is about so much more than me and my little cottage from St. Joseph. It’s an affirmation to anyone waiting or walking a long road that God is walking that road with us. It’s an invitation to invite St. Joseph on the journey with us. It’s a real-life example of how God is working beyond the “no’s” and breathing into the silence. He wants abundance for us, and He will keep wanting it, providing for it – even when we doubt and grow discouraged.
My little cottage is already overflowing with memories of backyard dinners, baking parties, game nights, toddler exploration, and quiet times for conversation, tears, and rest. My people make themselves at home in this place with me, coming and going as friends and loved ones do. Students know where to come for a home-cooked meal, friends who work nearby already know where to stop to share lunch or go for a walk, and Aunt Mary days of summer with my favorite little people are already in full swing. There is life in abundance, just as He promised. And I know He promises the same for you, too.
Where there is silence… Where there is “no”… Where there is discouragement… Where there is a long, weary road… Where there there is famine – He is there.
“He made him lord over his household, ruler over all his possessions.”
A few years ago, I had the great joy of visiting Ein Karem in Jerusalem – the place where Mary and her cousin Elizabeth met, and the words of the Magnificat were spoken for the first time. It was on my list of top 3 things I HAD to do while in Israel next to venerating the place where Jesus died on Calvary and jumping into the Sea of Galilee. After spending several days in the desert and walking countless miles throughout the city of Jerusalem, I was pleasantly surprised and relieved when we got in our car and began driving to a more remote part of the city toward Ein Karem- with beautiful green foliage and flowers lining the streets.
My relief was short lived. We parked the car and began walking up to the Church of the Visitation. Yes, it was up. There was a reason why I didn’t walk up Mount Tabor earlier that week, and why every mile in Jerusalem had been counted. Two days after our arrival in Israel, while jumping and swimming in the Sea of Galilee, I broke part of my foot on the slippery wet fishing boat near the city of Tiberius. Somehow (and with the help of splints and bandages), in spite of my injury, I had managed to keep walking… up Calvary, up to Gethsemane, and now, up to the Church of the Visitation.
As I walked up to Ein Karem, I thought about what this looked like to Mary when she approached the home of her cousin. I imagined her joy, knowing she was so close to seeing her friend – and knowing that the journey was almost at an end. She must have been SO tired and worn out from her travels! My friends and I drove the distance Mary took from Nazareth to Jerusalem just a few days before, and it wasn’t an easy one. The desert sun was brutal. The distance was considerable. It occurred to me that Elizabeth wasn’t the only one who needed companionship in that meeting; Mary too, must have needed a friend in her tiredness and in the remaining days of her own pregnancy.
There’s so much to say about that place and the gift that Mary and Elizabeth in their Visitation are to us! But today, I’m going to stop and ponder the summit of that hill at Ein Karem…
I eventually reached the top with my broken foot, thanks to the help of friends. Mary too reached the top, and when she did, she proclaimed the greatness of the Lord. One could say that this was a “mountaintop” moment for Mary and the glory of her unborn son.
So often, the mountaintop (or, Ein Karem) moments in life are proceeded by a long journey – be it physical, emotional, or spiritual. And Mary shows us that these moments are meant to be shared with another… and that we need each other to get there.
Last week, I lived an Ein Karem moment of my own. My friends and I decided to meet one last time for our weekly Bible Study on the Gospel of St. John before pausing for the summer months. As we settled into our weekly evening routine, we took some time to first check in on each other and catch up. What I witnessed – and received – in those moments became a mountaintop “Ein Karem” moment.
Within the span of 30 minutes, I watched, listened, and shared in deep friendship between women. Some came to the group with tears and hearts full of mourning over recent losses. Others came with joys of new life, new homes, and new opportunities. Some spoke of great challenges and seemingly impossible situations of discouragement and doubt. Others spoke of freedom, joy, and rejoicing.
It was only afterward that I realized this was a Five-Way Visitation. We proclaimed the greatness of the Lord, we extended our arms in support for one another, and we called out the presence of God in our midst. There was room for everyone and everything. Our hearts were open and full. We cried tears of joy and tears of sorrow. Some of us had entered after climbing a mountain with a proverbial broken foot. Others were already at the top, extending open arms of welcome to the wearier hearts. Every time we are together, we take turns in the two postures of proclaiming and welcoming.
My friends are my Ein Karem. They are the place where I come to see another, to be welcomed, and ultimately, to proclaim His greatness and His presence among us. We all need an Ein Karem, dear reader! As you ponder these words and the prayer of the Magnificat below, I invite you to ask yourself to identify a “Visitation” or “Ein Karem” Moment from the past month. Who came to you with open arms? Who proclaimed the greatness of the Lord in your presence? Who showed you that Christ was present in your labor and pain?
We cannot live this life alone. It is easy to let insecurity and fear crowd your heart in female friendships. Mary and Elizabeth show us how to let go of those things that bind us to ourselves and invite us to bear witness to the life inside the womb – the life of Christ. If you have not yet experienced what it’s like to be received or to be seen, know that you already are in the heart of Mary. Let’s be like her and run (or walk!) toward that which we love, proclaiming Him in our life and pointing Him out in the lives of others.
My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant. From this day all generations will call me blessed: the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is his Name. He has mercy on those who fear him in every generation. He has shown the strength of his arm, he has scattered the proud in their conceit. He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty. He has come to the help of his servant Israel for he has remembered his promise of mercy, the promise he made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children forever. Amen.
It’s a phrase I think of often when accompanying 3-6 year old children in the atrium on their journey with the Lord. It’s not very often, but sometimes, a child will enter the atrium (or have a “moment” once inside) with an unsettled emotion. It could be fear, disappointment, anger, or sadness… But just like the children themselves, all are welcome.
Part of the catechist’s role is to model behavior and be a house of peace for every child, so that they can be free to explore the carefully prepared environment before them and ultimately, come to better know God. The phrase, “let me share some of my peace with you,” is something I think about as I prepare myself to be with the children each week. While this phrase might accurately describe my offering to the child, it is first, a prayer to God: “Lord, share some of your peace with me!”
I’m told that this scenario is not a singular experience in the raising or teaching of children – that parents as well as teachers have an unmistakable gift and challenge to show up for their children from a place of self-regulation. I’ve seen it first hand in my friends who are healthy mothers; they react and respond to their children’s big emotions with such poise and peace that they do not add to confusion, but absorb and deflect it so that the child can be safe to express and navigate the world around them.
Such adults as these offer their children co-regulation. For those not familiar with the term, Jessica Cosby, PhD referred to co-regulation as a means to “connect in such a way… that helps a child’s emotions come, flow, and pass in a way that feels safe and manageable.” Co-regulation is the sharing of one person’s peace with another who’s nervous system is out of control.
Yet, as healthy adults: who is going to help us co-regulate?
That’s where my Sunday morning phrase comes in: “let me share some of my peace with you.” Friends, what if we looked to the Father for our co-regulator? What if we became the child in our innermost identity as sons and daughters?
God the Father wants our emotions. He longs to soothe them and bring them peace. He waits and He welcomes us in our most childlike needs. He makes it possible for us to give our emotions, experiences, and perceptions a home without imposing them on others.
God the Father wants our reactions. He loves them. He treasures them and He knows all about them and how they came to be. Taking time to work them out with Him and know that they have a place in His Heart will afford us the chance to be free to engage in healthy relationships.
Exercising healthy behaviors in relationships (of any kind!) requires us to be self-regulated. Seeking co-regulation with the Father allows us to live from our natural order of life with God: reception first, and then self-offering. We can receive His peace and then offer it to others.
My friends, let’s not skip the first step, but try instead to first receive peace.
This isn’t something we need just for the sake of children! We need this to cultivate all healthy relationships in our lives, whether as parents and teachers or spouses, siblings, or friends. Even the closest, most intimate relationship is not – and should not – be the source of all co-regulation. The Father must always come first.
I saw a mother once receive her crying, angry two-year old daughter with an incredible amount of self-regulation. She offered it to her daughter in such a way that the daughter regulated her reaction to going to bed by angrily sharing her frustration with her mother and then burying her head in her mother’s lap. Her mother acknowledged the frustration, soothed the daughter, and reminded her just how much she loved her. That was all it took. The daughter walked back to bed, dried tears, murmuring something about her stuffed turtle.
We can all be like this mother by first being like the child – not once, not twice, but every single day. This is part of Maria Montessori’s methodology of being the “prepared adult.” She says, “Be a prepared adult, aware of your gifts, blindspots, fears, and needs.” We can prepare for any environment we encounter – works, school, the grocery store, or the dinner table – by offering ourselves to the Lord and asking Him to be our co-regulator.
A Prayer for Co-Regulation with God the Father My Father in Heaven!
I lay my head on your heart, the source of all love and tenderness. Lend the rhythm of its beating to my own, so that the emotions inside me may find steady peace. Take my frustration, anger, pain, tiredness, sadness and anxiety and give them space in your Heart, so that I can be fully present to the souls before me and the tasks at hand.
As your daughter, I ask that you share your perfect regulation with me. I know you never tire of my needs and treasure the moments I come to you. Guide my behavior to reflect your peace and give me courage to notice impulsive reactions and respond with self-compassion, choosing to give them over to you rather than giving in to them.
Make Your willpower my willpower. I give all control to you and trust you will strengthen my behavior for good and reflect your light instead of confusion.
You are the Heart of all hearts! Share with me your grace and your peace, in unity with Jesus Christ, your Son, and the Holy Spirit.
It’s a phrase I heard many times in my adult life while searching for a home to call my own. I took that question quite seriously! While I had a list of “must have’s,” I also had a list of “could do withouts.” As I looked at houses, I found myself doing “without” on several occasions. I didn’t need much – just a place to call a home.
The result was that I found many “good” homes on which I promptly placed offers over the span of a few years. Before doing so, I made sure each one was a space I could live and love for many years to come. While the offers themselves were placed with haste due to the influx of buyers, the decision-making came from a solid belief that I could make “this house” my home.
The offer process was for me, a place where dreams lived. It was also where I discovered things about myself and desires of my heart that I didn’t know were there…
The first little house was a gardener’s dream. Aside from my plethora of indoor plants, I am not a gardener. But that didn’t stop me from suddenly thinking I could become one, spending my days cultivating seedlings in the little backyard greenhouse and trimming dozens of hedges in my “spare” summer time. I‘d have to do without a dining room, but in this house, I would become a gardener.
The house with the trees in one of the area’s oldest neighborhoods promised to be the perfect home. It had the loveliest outdoor patio, indoor den for entertaining, and cozy bedrooms. It was the type of home that sang a “hygge” song and promised many winter evenings curled up in the den with a good book. I was sure I’d love it there. This house had no backyard, and I was convinced that was for the better. Who wants to spend their whole summer growing plants and cutting grass? 🙂 I’d have to live without a yard, but in this house, I would become a hygge master.
The cottage by the park was my favorite of them all. It had New England charm, with white wood trim and bookcases from floor to ceiling. The upstairs gabled rooms were perfect for my home office and for entertaining overnight guests. The backyard seemed to belong to a landscaping company, with a fire pit and chicken coop. Do I like chickens? No. But that didn’t stop me from thinking this was the absolute perfect house. I’d have to live with some highway traffic, but in this house, I would become a backyard party hostess.
The green-trim house was the simplest one of them all, in the most beautiful neighborhood. It’s square footage was minimal, and it had no basement. Still, I was sure that if no one else wanted it because of it’s size and platform foundation, I would love it and make it a bright and cheerful space for myself and friends willing to squeeze around a kitchen table. I’d have to live simply, but in this house, I would become a member of a tight-knit neighborhood community.
House after house came and went. My offers were received along with as many as 15 other offers, some of them promising to pay in cash and waiving inspections – two things way outside my league.
And then it happened: one day, my house found me. It was everything that the other houses were and weren’t – all at the same time! In my house, I can be a gardener, a hygge master, a backyard party hostess, and a member of the tightest community (my own friends!). I have a dining room, a yard, the quiet sound of birds around me, and 500 additional square feet of home to share with others. It’s everything I could have imagined – and then some.
Now that I have my home, it often happens that I think of the other homes I “almost” owned as I drive around town. It’s easy to remember them as I pass the streets, grocery stores, and parishes that I was so close to calling my own, not that long ago. How strange! In my gratitude, I often feel amazed that my story could have been so different depending on the home where I lived. The truth is, I would have been totally happy in any one of them.
But mine! My little cottage tucked away amongst the homes of my friends, is the little space in this world where I claim my life, work, tears, and joy.s And I am totally okay with that.
It often makes me think about all the things we could have, do, or be in life – relationships, careers, studies, volunteer work, and even “stuff.” Many women I know are working a certain job or raising beautiful children – or both. Could the teacher make a great executive? Maybe so! Could the homeschooling mom make a great marketing guru? Absolutely! Would the nurse make a great stay at home mom? You bet!
Might that change for them or me someday? Yes! But if any one of us tried to be more than what we are right now and who we are called to be, to chase too many dreams just for the sake of being or having more, we could lose our sense of “home” inside us.
Dear reader, I hope this experience of my house hunting can be an encouragement to us all when it comes to what we desire and the places we “claim” in life. Let us not try to be everything to all, but to be who God made us to be and claim that “home” in His Heart for all eternity. Sometimes, He chooses to give us everything in return.
For many, many years, I admired Polish pottery in the homes of friends, on the shelves in picture books, and in local artisan shop windows. If given a chance to choose my coffee mug, I would choose a Polish pottery design every time it was available. The warmth of the signature Polish pottery colors and the shape of the ceramic always gave me a sense of comfort and home. I knew it fit within my cottage-style home with plants in the windows and olive wood treasures from Israel on my bookshelves, but I never could find an opportunity to bring a piece of Polish pottery home.
In spite of my deep appreciation of this useful European art for the kitchen and dining room, I never even so much as whispered my interest aloud – not even in the silence of my own home.
A few years ago, I decided to try and find my very own Polish pottery mug. An internet search revealed the retail cost to be well outside my budget. As Christmas approached, I resolved to find just one piece that I could wrap under the tree and address to myself. There were no other gifts under the tree that year, and I felt quite strongly that there should at least be one – something that could be treasured.
I scoured eBay. I scanned Facebook Marketplace. I combed through thrift stores. I even checked Craigslist.
-all for a gently worn piece of Polish pottery. But alas! The pickings were slim, and the prices was still too high for my pocketbook. As Christmas approached, I gave up my search with an effort toward resigned detachment, sipping tea instead from my well-worn and beloved Mandalorian mug.
Given the futility of the search and my lack of financial resources, I promptly made myself forget about Polish pottery altogether.
As Christmas approached that year, so did my annual frenzy. Simply put: gift giving is not my featured love language. In fact, it’s not even on my top three love languages. While financial resources were low that year, my creativity was quite high. I bustled about town as the big day approached, visiting craft stores and gathering ingredients at the grocery store for baked treats.
On this particular day, for no reason whatsoever, I entered Marshalls. I found myself walking through the rows of clothing, décor pillows, candles, perfumes, and picture frames.
“Why am I here?” I wondered. I started making my way to the door. As I did, I suddenly veered off the main aisle and started walking toward the very farthest corner of the store. “What am I doing?” I wondered again. I stopped before the furthermost shelf in the store and stared at the stacks of plates, dishcloths, and pepper-shakers.
Then, I saw them: the sweetest, coziest Polish pottery mugs on the shelf at eye-level, staring right back at me. I gasped. Could it be? “These are either knock-offs or are very expensive” I thought. I turned one mug over and saw the familiar insignia of genuine pottery from Poland.
They were REAL! The price tag also caught my attention: $9.99.
It didn’t take long for tears to flood my eyes and run down my face. Right here in Marshalls department store, I found myself being loved by my God in an intimate way. No one on this earth knew that I liked Polish pottery mug. No one on this earth – save Google and Facebook analytics – knew that I had been searching for one as a gift this Christmas to myself. But He knew, and He sent it to me in a way I could afford and treasure. Of this, I was sure: I was known by an all-knowing God, and loved beyond measure!
There were four mugs on the counter. I noticed the theme of His signature abundance and walked away with two. Some might regret not being able to purchase the whole set. But for me, having two was already double what I had been searching for – such abundance!
As my own love for God has grown, deepened, and matured over time, so has my understanding for the contentment that comes only from Him, and Him alone. Polish pottery mugs are nice of course, but the love I ponder every morning when I sip my coffee from them are so much more “heart-filling.”
“My beloved is mine, and I am His” the Lover sings in the Song of Songs. That’s me! I am His and He is mine. The same is true for you. Dear sister, I ask myself and you today: is He ALL yours? Are you ALL his? Does your love start, end, and cycle through Him and Him alone? It is only when He is the source of our most imitate love that every other relationship in our life is truly whole and free.
When we fall short, He lifts our burdens.
When husbands let us down, He holds us up.
When children are lost, He finds us.
When friends turn away, He runs toward us.
When fathers doubt, He believes.
When mothers fret, He rejoices.
Only He can fill all that is good, true, and beautiful within our hearts. Only He can know who we truly are.
Today, as the world finds itself in a conversational-heart-frenzy, let us open our hearts up in conversation with Him and Him alone, asking Him to show us the ways that He loves us as the Bridegroom loves His Bride. Chances are, He’s trying to tell you right now!
I am confident that He will not only tell you, but lead you to it, just like He led me to my Polish pottery.
Her Soul Proclaims 