Empty Bed, Full Heart- A Single Mother's Journey

 Instincts are a funny thing. Sometimes, instincts are natural and immediate, the way you jump back if a spider falls out of the sky or the way a mother fiercely protects her child. But sometimes our instincts are developed over time by experience and habit. Pavlov’s dogs began to drool when the bell rang because they learned that the bell was equal to a treat. So what happens when trauma informs our experiences and our instincts have been shaped by that trauma? How do I relearn that relationships are healthy and good, when they’ve so often been toxic and dangerous? How do I relearn that trust is essential and not foolish? How do I relearn that vulnerability isn’t weakness, that watching someone I love leave for the night doesn’t mean they’re leaving forever? How do I relearn that tired doesn’t mean disinterested; away doesn’t mean cheating; space doesn’t mean rejection? How do I relearn that I’m worthy, that I’m enough for another person to love? My instincts, the learned ones, pr...

 Some days, it feels like the world is imploding.  Yet, here we sit, in our whitewashed tombs, thinking only of what the world outside is going to see and not concerned at all that death lies within. This morning, as I read through the Gospel of Matthew (Mat 23:27-32), these hard words struck me as particularly relevant to today's social and political climate: "You are like whitewashed tombs.... on the outside, you appear righteous, but inside you are filled with hypocrisy and evildoing ." Isn't that what Facebook is for? Grandstanding? Being right? Tearing down other human beings in an effort to gain superiority, while our brothers and sisters around us are suffering, hurting, and dying? Beautiful pictures and high ideals sweep the page while the comments ravage any contradiction in belief; and the real world outside the confines of that pretty page continues to break and despair.  "You say, 'If we had lived in the days of our ancestors, we would not have jo...

Amidst the political and social turmoil that assails us nearly everywhere we look, a common theme I often hear echoed is the desire for others to be kind and compassionate. Kind. Compassionate. Such simple words. Let's face it; the mere sound of those words elicits a flood of warm and sometimes deeply emotional sensations and longings. Not only that, but just sharing those words gives us (or at least me and I would suspect many others) the sense that we are good people for wanting those things; that somehow, we are morally just in calling for compassion and kindness; that others are cruel for not espousing such simple ideals. I've reflected sometimes on the ideas of kindness and compassion. Being human, I've had many moments where I've needed and been shown compassion and kindness. But here's the kicker - in none of those instances was compassion or kindness a simple or easy thing. Nor did it come about by words spoken to me in a vacuum. While cruel words can ...

Today, we had a guest pastor at Sunday Mass. The priest who gave the homily is a young, energetic, dynamic speaker whose sermons I almost always enjoy. He was there today for one main reason - to advocate for Catholic Schools. I adore the idea of Catholic schools. I love the idea of my children being taught faith in conjunction with general education; the idea that they get a holy and holistic education. In theory, Catholic schools are wonderful and I will support always those who choose to send their children; I will also monetarily support them through giving any day of the week. I love hearing the homily during Catholic Schools Week because the priests usually focus on the JOY of teaching little ones and how much they appreciate all the amazing people who contribute to the success of their schools. Today, friends, I struggled to sit through that homily. Not just because of the wiggly bodies next to me, which is the usual reason for my distraction. Today I struggled because the p...

Summer is here, which means more time to ruminate on the deep, philosophical truths of the universe. The questions of the cosmos, the meaning of life, the nature of beauty and art, the wickedness of men, and of course, the confounding second child. This may not be a rule with specifically the second child, but all parents with more than one child have that one child  whose personality and mischievous spirit are larger than life, wilder than the woods, and more persistent than an angry wasp. Of course, these are some of the biggest reasons why I love my second child. She'll be the first woman president, an Olympic gymnast, or a crime boss. Go big or go home. Picture something in your head that goes in your house. Maybe it's something you use so seldom that you almost forgot it was there (or have forgotten it). Maybe it's something dangerous, or destructive, or special, or white.*  That object is the object that should not, for whatever reason, be used by your child. H...

Four years ago, when I got my first dog, Maverick, many friends and family tried to tell me I was an insane person. "You already have three children, you don't need a dog!" "Dogs are so much work!" "Dogs cost so much money! Dog food is expensive!" "Dogs need lots of attention!" "When will you have time to walk him and play with him?" "What will you do when you want to go on vacation?" "You'll have to clean up accidents in the house!" (These people liked to use exclamation points, apparently.) Of course, I thought smugly to myself,  but it will be worth it, because I love dogs and those things are all worth having a constant and loving companion.*  In all of these discourses, one thing was left out. Not one single person mentioned this to me, and since this was my very first dog, it didn't occur to me. At all. In the summer and fall, I diligently and dutifully cleaned up my yard every few days...

I've never been a particularly patient person. Lately, I feel like I'm always waiting for something. What am I waiting for? For answers, for direction, for change, for relief, for help, for understanding? For motivation? For peace, for calm, for assurance? For all of the above? Life seems like an endless game of waiting. Waiting for bedtime. Waiting for the end of the day. Waiting for the weekend. Waiting for this or that to be over. Waiting for this or that to begin. Always and ever moving on to the next thing and the next thing. The present moment wished away because surely the next moment will be better. Tomorrow will be better. The weekend will be better. Summer will be better. Something that's unclear will become clear if only I just keep waiting.  But I think sometimes the moment holds the answers that we continue to put off. The trick is that it's hard to sit still in this moment. It's hard to give up the anticipation of what's coming and immerse onese...