Grace Will Lead Me Home (Adapted From An Upcoming Work)

Today marks one year that we’ve been in our new home.

This time last year, it was Holy Week, and I felt a little odd doing something that was customarily celebratory in nature during the most solemn time of the year. But at the same time, it didn’t feel quite celebratory. It felt more like relief- the kind that envelops you when you’ve been in labor for 20 hours and your exhausted body finally surrenders your baby.

 

It was also a hesitant- yet hopeful- surrendering of the previous three years to a solution I wasn’t quite sure was right. I could only celebrate the fact that my husband was sure. That he was leading us. That he had chosen, and that I was even willing to surrender to that. I celebrated the fact that here there would be no one threatening us, that my children were safe, and that I knew exactly where they’d be laying their heads to sleep in six months.

 

In this last year I have grieved and I have ached, and I have wept, yet I have laughed. The essence of our journey has taken its toll, yes. But there is beauty even in the darkness of our journey. In the breaking. In the bleeding. In the salty tears of heartache and betrayal and fear and angst.

 

And this past year has ceded to a slow, forward movement away from the bitterness and sadness of grief, toward a healing and wellness that only God’s grace can provide.

 

It's ever so small a movement, truly, but I feel it, and I see it:

It’s in the way I catch sight of the old me sometimes- the me that wasn’t always overwhelmed, the me that relished small hands constantly needing their mother, the one that had no concern for tomorrow or where my children would lay their heads at night, or which people in our life would still be there in the morning. I see small glimmers of the hopeful mind I used to have, filled with dreams and plans happily abandoned to the will of God. The one whose creative side found its voice in writing, baking, and painting old furniture.

And sometimes I even feel the joy that had always been entangled with the craziness of our life, and I know it isn’t the pretend happiness I was forced to build on quicksand. 

True joy. Just there….Maybe a little bit further below the surface now, but definitely there.

I’ve been asked how I am still standing. How I can function. How I can move forward after everything we’ve been through. My answer is always the same: God’s grace. I have no abilities on my own. Everything I’ve been able to do these last few years, especially this past one, is because God, in His deep well of generosity, has given me what I have needed to stand, to put one foot in front of the other, and inch by inch, move. Move forward, deeper, further down the path which He set us on those long four years ago. His grace sustained us through so much loss, so much betrayal, so much hardship. Through the dark valleys. Through the storms. Through the unknowing.

God’s grace.

 

A month ago I bought this picture for our living room:

 

When I saw it in the store, something stirred quietly in the depths of my heart. Considering all that we had been through to find our home, and the fact that I was ever-aware of the light of God’s grace working even in the darkness, I knew that picture- the very last one, slightly hidden on the shelf- was meant for me.

 

Of course I know this life is not our true home. This fact has been especially profound in the course of this past year, and really in the overall journey of finding a home. But a house, a shelter, somewhere for us to live out our ordinary days, striving to love God and each other, a place from which to serve, a place to which my husband and working children may return at the end of a weary day- that is what we call home here in this life. That is where we little beings who are chasing after the Beatific Vision, who are just living and loving and growing our families, find the grace of God- tucked into the crevices of the painted walls, the messy floors, the coverlets we lay across our children at night.  

 

That picture spoke of the grace which led me through one of the darkest valleys I’ve ever traversed in this life. Through that valley, to this little home we now call ours- here on the mountain. This mountain, though lackluster at first, has spent the last year singing of God's glory with every new sunrise He paints across her peaks, and whispering of His making all things new at each change of the season. 

It's been a whole year since grace has led us home. 

God is so very good.

 

 

PS. I'd be remiss without a little shout to our realtor, Michelle Leo Hart, for being an angel in our story of finding home. She truly made the process so much brighter than it would have been, especially after the experience we had with another realtor before her. She could never know how deeply grateful we are, and how much her guidance and patience felt like balm to our weary souls. If you live in the Central PA area and are looking for a new place to call home, connect with her! You won't regret it, I promise!

A Story About My Mother, Our Lady of Guadalupe

Let me tell you a little story about my mother...

Today, while clearing out untitled google docs, I clicked on one, and all it contained was this link. It's a link to an article over at Catholic Exchange, about Our Lady of Guadalupe. Although I don't remember it, I apparently had copied the link to the doc and saved it, on March 20, 2018,* in the midst of a painful struggle I was having three months after my seventh baby was born. 

The day she was born was a miraculous day. It was the day I almost died, and it also happened to be the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. With her very tangible intercession, God kept me here instead. 

While I was still recovering from all of the physical and emotional things of that time, I felt so broken. I didn't know if I'd ever feel whole again. I didn't know if God desired my brokenness to be permanent, or if it was just temporary. I was just trying to put one foot in front of the other, care for my new baby and my other six children, and try to remember who I was. That was around the time I must have found that article, gleaned something from it, and saved it for another rainy day. 

Hang onto that, because I'll come back to it.

My mother interceded for me in another way 

At another point in the months that followed my experience close to death, when I was in tears over the endless cycle of illness and grief in which I seemed to be drowning, my mother interceded for me in another way- 

One night, I randomly came across the words that Our Lady spoke to Juan Diego when she appeared to him in the year 1531: 

"Am I not here, I, who am your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not the source of your joy? Are you not in the hollow of my mantle, in the crossing of my arms? Do you need anything more? Let nothing else worry you, disturb you." 

Instantly I had had peace. It was a reminder to me how God allows His mother to be my mother, and not just on the traumatic day my little baby was born, but in those moments of grief and emptiness out of which I could not climb afterward. 

And every day of my life, if I want her.

A message I needed to hear in this moment 

For months now, I've often found myself frustrated, fretfully wondering how I'm going to get back to "normal." How all the broken pieces of me would be restored, as I continue to sift through the shards of life created by the destruction of this past year+. How can I trust people again? How can I ever allow anyone close to our family, close to my children, close to me?  How can I get back to the way I used to be- The way I was before we moved the first time? The person I desperately tried to keep hold of when we moved again? The person I lost sight of as we were moving twice more, heartache and betrayal marring the already-withering landscape of our dreams? How do I heal from one betrayal that traumatized my family in such a profound way? 

How do I reclaim my old self from what feels like an illness I have yet to name, much less heal? 

It's been a long, dark struggle, during which I've frequently cried out to God for answers. 

Today has been a particularly difficult day. 

So when I rediscovered that link, over eight years after I had saved it (and then promptly forgot about it), and I once again read the article by Maura Roan McKeegan, peace seeped in, along with some conviction. The story of a broken statue which she writes so beautifully, conveys a message I needed to hear in this moment of my recovery: 

"Let go of worrying about how the broken pieces of life will fit together again. Instead, simply hold onto to Mary and love her. Then, God will have room to take the shattered shards that seemed hopeless, and from the hollow He can make me whole." 

Although I know God is with me, and that His path for me has already been trodden by His divine feet, I still find it hard sometimes to just keep going without having knowledge of what's up ahead. To not be privy to His plan for how He will restore me sometimes leaves me feeling a little bit anxious. But children do not think like this. Children just keep moving, and in innocent trust, they don't need to know the details. 

This is why Mary's motherhood and intercession in my life is such a beautiful gift to me. It was so random to come across that link which I saved so long ago, on a day when I have felt particularly hollow...  I am always amazed at how much God allows His mother to be my mother. To be with me in moments of despair, darkness and grief. She is so loving and gentle, especially when I am such a baby. She draws me up into her arms, safe within her mantle, so to carry me to the feet of Jesus.  

He gave to us His mother as a gift

When Jesus was dying on the cross, He gave to us His mother as a gift. In His divine wisdom, He knew we needed her, and He knew no one could ever love her more than He did. He allowed her to intercede for us, much like she had for the people at Cana. I cannot ignore the many times she has shown up for me over the last eight years especially, particularly in her title of Our Lady of Guadalupe. God has allowed her apparitions to draw people to Him, the way He converted 9+ million Aztec people to Catholicism through her, in the decade following her apparitions to St. Juan Diego. 

She is our mother, gifted to us by God Himself. If we become like little children, she will take our hands in hers, and gently lead us Home.   

 

*You may notice that the date on the linked article says 12/12/24. I confirmed with the editor that the article was originally printed on 3/8/18 (shortly before I first discovered it), and then reprinted 12/12/24 for the Feast of OLOG.

Of Trads and Deconstructionists

A few years ago, I got a little bug to start a blog which highlighted all the negative things I've been experiencing in my traditional community. It was going to be sort of tongue-in-cheek, but focused on the many true reasons why the traditional communities sometimes get a bad rap. It was to be called, "Clutching My Pearls," after the silly phrase people use when they're making fun of us trads. 

Funny, right?

Well, I decided not to do it after all. I realized that if I did that, I might be tempted to fall into the same mindset as deconstructionists, because I was coming from a place of hurt. I have had trad friends hurt me. Trad priests, and higher leadership have also let me down. There have been trads who hurt my children, too, which, as a mother, is really a difficult kind of injustice to contend with. But I didn't want to align myself with all the many minds out there that deconstruct generally good things solely because they have been hurt by them. 

Here are just three reasons why:

1. In my experience, the main objective of the deconstructionist (in this sense), is to destroy stuff in order to make themselves feel better. It's the weaponizing of strong feelings in order to tear down someone else. When you're hurt by someone over and over, it's understandable to want to find a place where your feelings have a voice, but it's easy to fall into the false mindset that you're doing something about your pain by deconstructing that person or group. Trying to destroy someone isn't really productive in any sense; it is literally destructive. 

2. It's a dishonest and fruitless way to heal. It's not only a false narrative about an entire group of people, it's also not a genuine path to healing. Usually, people don't find healing when their MO is to deconstruct. They end up in an echo chamber, which illuminates their pain and magnifies the imperfections and sinfulness of other people. It also isn't healthy, and it certainly won't incite healing. If anything, it'll just perpetuate a cycle of anger and pain. I've noticed a rising theme of anger within the deconstructionists, and a lack of peace. This is not a healthy path to healing. Deconstructionists usually paint these dark pictures of what they perceive is the cause of their pain, when most of the time, the truth is that it's one person who happens to be such and such a way, or it's one small group, not the entire group of whatever category they fall under. For me, I could easily deconstruct the traditional Catholic world as a whole, but it wouldn't be productive, nor- most importantly- honest. It's important to not place blanket statements on a group of people, especially when you know for a fact that not every single one of "them" are that way. 

3. Aligning myself with the same mindset of deconstructionist would be to cut myself off from the truth, goodness, and beauty found within our faith. One example of what this looks like is their deconstruction of the lives of some saints. Like totally rewriting their story, spreading a false narrative about the reality of their saintly lives, perhaps in order to quell some growing guilt in their own life, perhaps to water down the faith, and spread doubt within the minds of those still searching or still unsure. I don't know the reasons. However, it's one thing to recognize that NONE of the saints were perfect, and many led sinful pasts before becoming saints. It's totally different to put a slant on their lives that questions their sainthood entirely, when we have so much in the way of proof, tradition, and teaching to honor the original belief about them. 

Listen, I'm somewhat of a "trad life refugee" myself, having experienced a well of hurt and pain, judgment, control, pretense, (and gosh, the unhappiness, what's with all the unhappiness?) coming specifically from some of the people (including priests!) who identify as trad Catholics.... I get it. I've been betrayed, abandoned, and let down by people I thought I could trust within the traditional community, because of radical beliefs or superior attitudes. Or just plain brokenness which, in trad communities is sometimes twisted into virtue, and weaponized. I just don't believe that "deconstruction" is the way to go, and I think I'd say this even if my trauma was deeper than it is.

To my fellow traditional Catholics who have suffered at the hands of their own trad community: 

Don't be a deconstructionist, tearing down the beauty of the traditional faith because of the ones who have hurt you, and painting it into some warped picture because of your trauma. It isn't everyone who aligns themselves with trad life who are that way! I'm still a trad in most ways (specifically, I am still in love with the TLM, my husband is still the head of our household, and we are still open to life), and I don't operate in that manner.

Also, PLEASE don't leave the faith! Especially for your children's sake. Sort out what is actually true (for instance, veils are NOT about keeping the guy creep behind you from being distracted by your uncovered hair), and find your ground within the actual teachings of the Church, the lives of the saints, and most importantly, Jesus Christ in the Eucharist- the source and summit of the faith. Yes, I'm aware that this process can also be somewhat of a deconstruction of its own making, but the goal is Truth (which you have in the Catholic Church, the fullness of God's Truth). It is not searching for an outlet for your pain. And it is honest and good.

Remember: Always view it from the humble lens of LOVE for Him Who is LOVE. The traditional Catholic life is very beautiful if you shut out all the noise and opinions of extremists and liars, and listen to the Holy Spirit within you as you search for the Truth.  

 And...if you have been hurt in this way, my inbox is always open. ❤️‍🩹  

Of Prayer Shawls, Government Mandates and the Battle Within The Church

In God's name, let us go on bravely.  ~ St. Joan of Arc

It's a bit chilly today. The weather we've been having as of late is kinda not...April.  Temps this morning in Central PA dipped to 29 degrees.  I didn't even have any decent coffee in the house to warm me up!  I'm currently 1.5 weeks from giving birth to our number 8, and my husband has taken #s 1-7 on a ride to give me some much-needed quiet, which may or may not be legal right now amidst the strangest government mandate of a quarantine.  I can't keep up with the ever-changing rules, and at this point, I do not care. This pregnancy has been the most stressful, angst-filled one I've ever endured.  As a matter of fact, I never felt this way before my last pregnancy took a downturn at 36 weeks.  Added to that memory during this pregnancy is the stress of being stuck at home, our freedoms and rights- both divine and constitutional- being quickly stripped away.  So I've been a little anxious and as soon as I hit week 36 this time around, my anxiety kicked into overdrive, and in an attempt to combat, my prayers kicked up a notch.

Jesus, I trust in You. 

But sometimes I need more than prayers.  I need the Mass. I need the sacraments.  I need my friends.  The anxiety abates at times, but at others, clings and discourages.  I spent weeks after my last birth on my couch, wrapped in a pink and white prayer shawl gifted to me by a ministry at my mother's church, trying to stay alive, while one of my daughters took care of my new baby except when I had to nurse.  The prayer shawl became a part of my wardrobe, its imperfect lines and soft threads (lovingly stitched by women who don't even know me) daily enclosed me and my nursing baby in a cocoon of warmth and safety.  When Spring came, and we were healthier, I put the beloved shawl away.

As the chill in the house got to me this afternoon, I pulled out that same shawl and wrapped it around my shoulders.  The cold I feel is a mixture of both the low temps creeping through the 70 year old windows of my home and the chill I feel deep in my heart.  I was just told that because of the on-going quarantine, baptism, as with everything else, is not allowed for our baby right now.  I kinda lost it.  If not for a dear friend who texted with me for awhile about it, I would probably still be crying.  The idea of not having the sacrament of baptism bestowed upon my son soon after birth was kinda the last straw for me.  You see, for the past five weeks, we have not been able to attend Mass in person, have not been able to receive the Eucharist, and except for one instance of what felt like a covert operation to have Confession, we have missed even that.  Every Sunday, we've wept and prayed through Mass as it live-streamed through the television, technical issues and fuzzy pictures interrupting the sacredness of the time, illuminating all that is wrong with right now.

Acts of Spiritual Communion have their merit, true, and I try to make them frequently, especially during Mass, but they do not replace the actual Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of our Savior.  They just don't.  And sitting on our couch in the comfort of our home, even if still dressed in our Sunday best and sitting, standing and kneeling at the appropriate times, falls so short of the wooden pews and squeaky kneelers of the church, the atmosphere of holiness, the Lord present in the tabernacle mere feet away.  There is so much about the Mass in its entirety, within the hallowed walls of the church, in all of its ceremony and tradition of thousands of years, that speaks to all of the senses, and infuses the soul with the presence of God.  In His perfection, He made it so.  It isn't about feelings so much as about the fullness of His Truth, and when you have experienced that, it's hard to settle for anything less.

As I sit here, contemplating what we will do about baptism for our son, I wrap the prayer shawl tighter around me, and a sense of both comfort and longing fills me.  I remember when my entire family was sick just after I had our last baby, another splinter added to the immense cross of all that had happened before and after the birth.  The shawl reminds me of all the prayers people said for us in that trying time, each person a Simon of Cyrene in their own way.  And I am reminded of one of our priests, who visited me in the hospital during my induction to offer Confession and comfort.  And of that same priest risking sickness himself to bring us the Eucharist and offer Confession in our home because we were all too sick to go to the church.  Of the meals that were made for us, lovingly dropped off by generous and wonderful friends who, while cautious of germs, risked the visit anyway to care for us and love us, catch a glimpse of our tiny, premature baby, and offer prayers for our recovery.

The longing I feel, so heavy and deep, is for what should be:  To be able to receive our Lord in the Eucharist, and our ability to have our baby baptized soon after he is born, most definitely.  But also for the faithful of a Church already in turmoil to rise up and defend the idea that our souls are to be cared for first, above our earthly body, not the other way around.  And for the hierarchy to make decisions not based on fear or government mandates but on the Catholic Church's wisdom and teachings, Her laws and Her love.  It is a sin to presume God's mercy.  It is a sin to lead others astray from the Truth.  I am devastated by these mandates from the hierarchy, tying the hands of our priests and relinquishing us to the emptiness and sorrow of daily life without the sacraments, without even the Eucharist, without the community of support most needed in such a strange and difficult time.

How will this time make us saints?  How can we reflect back on this and confidently say that we did exactly as we should have, cowering in our homes and doing the very little we still can do to attend to the sanctity of our souls, and those of the children in our keep?  How do we justify the utter loss of access to almost everything about our Catholic identity?  When we've been taught our whole Faith journey thus far that the sacraments are necessary and important for the sanctity of our souls, but right now, for some reason, they magically are not.  How many will fall away at this time?  How many will lose hope? If those of us who are faithful are hanging on by a thread, teary-eyed and white-knuckling it through this dark time, what about those who have already been on the fringes, disillusioned and luke-warm in their faith because they just haven't been convinced of the Truth quite yet?  Or the ones new to the Catholic Faith?  Or the ones who peer in from the outside with interest, but through this time see nothing more extraordinary than what they currently know?

And- If we are but wayfarers in this earthly life, and the Church, our ship to carry us through to heaven, how do we remain confident when Her sails have been ripped to shreds, and our captains have all but jumped overboard?

We are the Church Militant, are we not?? And yet, here we are, wandering like lost sheep, commanded by bishops who should know better how to shepherd their flocks with not just the concern- but also the loyalty and faithfulness- of the Good Shepherd.  In the beginning, my battle cry, shared with my friends to bolster their faith and lend comfort, was a quote from the book, The Spiritual Doctrine of Sister Elizabeth of the Trinity:

"When they tried to console her at being no longer able to receive the Blessed Sacrament, 

she said, 'I am finding Him on the Cross; it is there that He is giving me life.'"  And this was 

followed by my further attempt to encourage:  Hang in there my sweet, fellow Catholics 

longing for our Beloved.

And while it is yet true that we can- and are- finding Him on the Cross daily in this, and we can- and are- given life through that, the unrest is rising, the emptiness spreading, because in all honesty, none of this makes any sense to any of the faithful, and we were given the sacraments as gifts, the principal way to obtain a certain communion with God, His graces heaped upon us to help us through daily life.  Some counter our questions with heretical ideology, vitriol spewed in blogs and comboxes with what essentially equates to the idea that our bodies are more important than our souls.  People who allude to such things should not be listened to, but oh, how so many Catholics are falling in line with this thinking because it's easier to swallow, and it's safer for our priests.  And because our bishops are saying the same sort of things with their mandates.  But is it not our priests' and our bishops' duty to attend to the needs of our souls? Why would we expect them to do any less? Why would we want the care of our bodies to outweigh the care of our souls?  We shouldn't want that. I don't want that- not for me or my family.  And I don't think our priests want that, either.   In the words of General George S. Patton, I'd rather "live for something than die for nothing."  We are to be living this life only to reach the promise of Eternal Life.  But, we could die an eternal death because we didn't take care of our souls.  And in reality, perhaps the General's words should have been, "die for something rather than live for nothing." 

I can't help but feel a sense that, especially because the Church has been in such turmoil, there is a diabolical nature to what is being mandated currently.  We are in the midst of battle.  I am thankful, though, that when Christ instituted the Church, He promised that the gates of hell will not prevail against Her.  Two thousand years and counting, despite splintering into thousands of different heretical factions, and despite some of the shepherds falling away, She remains solid and Her Bridegroom, Jesus, has remained faithful to Her, guarding the Truth, and keeping Her from permanent detriment.  So She may come out of this haggard, desperate, weary, poorer, and smaller, but the gates of hell have not- and will not- prevail. Deo Gratias!  

So we press on, I guess.  Maybe my daily armor in this will have to look less like a pink fluffy prayer shawl and more like the chainmail of my beloved Confirmation saint, St. Joan of Arc.  One thing for sure, though, we will be baptizing our baby...somehow.

Oh...And my new battle cry?  St Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.  May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, oh prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God, cast into hell satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.

All The Things Pale in the Shadow of Christ's Cross

So I'm laying here, nursing a sick baby, fighting my own sickness, exhausted.  I was up most of the night feeling like my head was caught in a vice, unable to breathe well, and then Little Miss decided it was time to party at 3 AM.  Hubby and I didn't get back to sleep until after 5, then up at 7:30 when the first set of little feet came padding through the door.  In any case, it's second nap time and I'm laying here in my bed, listening to her labored breathing, the melody of a sleepless night and the remnants of that week-long cold winding down to a steady rhythm, and my mind wanders, as it's wont to do.

I am taking inventory of all the things:

How this time last year we were still battling an even worse sickness, and I was just beginning to recover from everything that had happened with this baby's birth.

How since then, it seems like one thing after another keeps tumbling down upon us.

How starting even further back, there was all this stuff...  All this stuff that began in our life that seemed to just keep piling up, overflowing.

How our life, believe it or not, has seemed- for the last year especially- much like a windowless, doorless room, filling up with sand.  There are a couple of major things that are out of our control right now, things we just need to wait on God to take care of.  He hasn't opened any doors or windows and there are literally none even to be seen.  And so we wait.  And pray.  Meanwhile, little and big things (the sand) continue to tumble down, filling this desperate place with the heaviness of a hundred crosses...

Then I look up.

I look up and I see this:

Jesus.

On His cross.

And I think to myself, Gosh... How long have we faced what we have and it hasn't been our doom? How long has He held us up with the very same strong hands that were nailed to that rough-hewn tree?  

All the things pale in the shadow of Christ's cross.

Then I realize that in thinking of all the things, I'm still at peace.  I'm at peace and have been most of this time, and I didn't even realize it until now.  I just kept a hold of my husband's hand, putting one foot in front of the other, continuing to labor forward.  I remember talking to a good friend one day about one of the major things going on.  It had come up in conversation about a related subject, and when I told her, she replied that she had no idea how I wasn't freaking out.

The only thing I could say is that it's been by God's grace alone.  

In reality, sometimes I start to hesitate, slow my pace, but I am continuously, gently called back, back to the way of the cross.

I am kinda excited to see what comes of all the things:  The inescapable room that is our life, the sand pouring in...  I don't really believe that there is no purpose to them.  I don't believe it's just bad luck, Murphy's law, or punishment for my sins. I think that once it's all said and done, there will be an amazing testament to God's perfect love, timing and plans.  Even if our circumstances never change; even if all of the things continue to rain down, there will be beauty in our path. There will be growth.  There will be light shining in the darkness.  And to Him will be the glory.

So, dear friends, if you are struggling with some things right now, take heart!  If you are currently living in a windowless, doorless room, especially one that is also filling up with sand, don't give up!  Keep putting one foot in front of the other and keep moving forward.  Christ wasn't stripped bare, scourged, and nailed to a tree to die just to leave you in despair.  He rose, and so will you.

Pick up all your hundreds of crosses, even the last splinter of one, and unite yourself to Him on His.  He will surely lift you up.





PS. On a particularly "sandy" day recently, my husband was in the Catholic goods store getting our newest goddaughter a gift for her baptism, and sitting RIGHT NEXT to the item he was in there for was this:

If you don't know this already, this verse, Jeremiah 29:11, is very near and dear to my heart, and this would be the second time it was "left" for me unexpectedly at a moment in time that I needed the reminder.  And of course my hubby bought it for me.




I'm praying for you. Please pray for me!

Shoes By the Door

The kids wanted to go to Bass Pro Shops on Father's Day.  After the eternity of digging out all our shoes from the pile by the door or tracking a stray match elsewhere in the house, we ventured out into the merciless heat to make the 20 minute trip up there.  As usual, once arrived and before we got out of the minivan, I voiced our regular "what we expect" spiel, which usually goes something like this:

"Remember, kids, we expect you to be quiet and calm.  You need to respect other people's space and their right to not have craziness and noise around them.  We are representing big families and Jesus.  Show the public how awesome both are!"

Or something along those lines..

Honestly, this actually works about 98% of the time.  There's something to be said for offering an outline of your expectations JUST before you want them carried out.  If I had said anything when we got into the vehicle to leave, by the time we got to our destination, all would have been forgotten, lost in the excitement of getting out of the house and all the shiny things to be found.
In any case, this trip proved to be, for some of the kids, in that other 2%.

By the time we got to the checkout where the nine year old was buying himself a froggy doodad (not official fishing lingo), I was D-O-N-E.

The kids had asked if they could spend their dollars on something. "Something" led to picking out nine different things and not being able to decide which ONE they wanted.

And then...there it was...

"Are they all yours?"

GAH!

I sighed really loud and rolled my eyes away from stranger, pretending to focus on helping the kids pick their one item, but really just cursing low underbreath.

I was livid, really.  For so many reasons.  I took the two babies in the stroller and left.  I didn't abandon hubby, I did ask if I could take them to the car while he had the big 4 at the checkout and he said yes. They had finally picked out their loot and were somewhat quiet again.

Mind you, they weren't even loud or crazy as they chattered and chose their items.  I have serious issues when we go out. Everything they do, the decibels of their noise, it all seems to me to be so much MORE when out in public. As if I'm constantly aware of the scrutiny we get as a big family.  As if we actually are constantly under said scrutiny.  It agitates me.  I sometimes freak.

And there is the problem.

It's not really them, it's me.

I think about this fact, that I probably wouldn't be so agitated if I didn't care so much what other people think.

And then I started thinking about how it's not just the general public with their unfiltered thoughts and their self-imposed "right" to say whatever they want to anyone at all.  It's even within my own social circle.    I recently had a discussion with a friend about how she feels she is judged by big families for NOT having one.  We are both Catholic and it's interesting to me that in the same arena she feels judged for not having a big family, I feel judged for having one.  I can't even tell you how many Catholics asked me after having my fifth if I was "done."  Like the fact that they graciously brought me a meal while I was recovering lent them license to ungraciously ask me such a thing.  But not only did they ask, they then went on to talk about why they could never have more than the two or three they have.  Like having to dig out 8 pairs of shoes instead of 4 to go out somehow equals mission impossible.    That projects onto me.....how?


In any case, I was sitting here thinking about it for a minute and in case there is some lost soul who wandered here to read, I just wanted to encourage you (and this is as much to myself as to you):

DO NOT BE AFRAID.
DO NOT WORRY WHAT OTHERS THINK.

You may wonder, which is right, a small family or large one?
My answer is this: When we are steadfast in prayer and desiring to do what God wants with our family life, NOTHING else matters.  Not that nosy stranger at the checkout, not the generous meal-making mama who comes over after you've had baby #2...or baby #8.  Not Catholics with bigger families or ones with smaller ones.  When you are following the designs of God's will for your life and as a Catholic, the Spirit-inspired teachings of the Church, you are doing exactly what you need to be doing.  Everything else is just white noise.  Our lives are meant to be lived for eternity, not here on earth. Meaning while we spend our days growing, raising and loving our babies- however many we have- if it's all for the Lord, if it's all for God's glory, that's all that matters.

When we stand before God to answer for our lives, being able to say we followed Him instead of the world will be HUGE.  What following the Lord looks like in your life may be different than what it looks like in mine.  Your pile of shoes by the door might be larger or smaller.  Neatly ordered and matched, or strays lost somewhere within the belly of your home.  And that's ok. How boring would the world be if we were all called to have the same exact family size and dynamic?  God is a god of order, but He isn't a bore.  We aren't measuring our worth by the number of shoes by the door.
All of our families vary in so many ways.  As long as we are chasing His plan for our lives, the number of children matters not.

There is no point in having one or two kids and then stopping just to appease the world.  What does this teach your children about following God's will instead of the ways of the world?  There is also no point in having a dozen or more just because you can/feel you should, without also grounding their souls in the Lord.  Quality trumps quantity every single time.

Live life for the Lord, not the world, and you are always right.