Filling Buckets

Last semester we read a series of books and articles on strengths-based development. I have always been a big believer in working on my weaknesses with more vigor than developing my strengths. As it turns out, there are data-based reasons why this way of thinking is exactly backward.

Here's the theory in a nut-shell: If you concentrate on your weaknesses, or the things that you don't do well, you will improve them, but you will never be great at them; you'll only be "not bad" at them. But, if you develop your strengths, and always play to them, you can develop those into towering strengths, be more engaged at work and feel more productive and fulfilled everywhere.

When I first went to college, I majored in Music, but ended up in Philosophy. I discovered that, while I loved music, there were things I needed to be able to do (like play the keyboard) that I would never be good at. I would only ever be "not bad". What I loved about music was all the Philosophy that is contained in Music. I was still playing to my strengths, just in a different way. In thinking about other people I know, I realized that what makes them happiest and most productive is when they play to their strengths. They know what they are good at and they use those talents every day.

One of the common misunderstandings of strengths-based development is that you ignore the weaknesses. That's not true. Your weaknesses can be your Achilles Heel, and if they are, you must address them. But there are things we work at that are not mission-critical, so to speak. If you're not a good pianist, you let someone who is play and you sing. If you're not a good singer, but you play piano well, you will always have a job in the Catholic church, you can let others sing while you play. Strengths-based development, then, is not really about the self - it's about the team.

It's just like Paul tells us in 1 Corinthians "There are many gifts, but the same Spirit." As the body of Christ, we are all called to a mission and given the specific gifts and talents to accomplish those. No two of us will be exactly alike - and that's a good thing! How would it look if we walked around with three feet instead of just two? Well, the Body of Christ is no different.

Recently, as I was prepping to pass this information along to some of my younger friends who are getting ready to graduate, I discovered another facet of this theory - the relationship facet. One of the suggested books for follow-up is a book called "How Full Is Your Bucket?" (Clifton and Rath, 2009). In this book, Don Clifton, the father of strengths-based development theory, puts forth the idea that when you are positive, and share genuinely positive interactions with people, you and the person you share with are healthier and happier. He suggests a 5 to 1 ratio of positive to negative interactions as the "golden ratio". No relationship is completely positive, but when you get more negative interactions, to positive ones, you drain people, and you drain yourself, too.

This is a great way to develop and mend relationships. When you fill a bucket, you aren't just blindly dropping compliments that mean nothing. You are taking the time to get to know each person. To get to know who they are, what they do best and how they are motivated best. It becomes a personal relationship and the people you work with or live with become Persons, not just cogs in a wheel or problems to be dealt with.

I see this as a very Christian way to look at the world. If we are truly serious about the idea that when we act with kindness to even the least of God's people, we are acting toward Him, then there is no other way to act. When we recognize the strengths of those around us, we recognize the gifts that God has bestowed on each individual - gifts he has given in to that person in that combination. When we complement those strengths and draw others' attention to them, we honor the presence of God in each human soul.

It's not always easy to look for the good in the bad. It's there, I promise. Recently, my sister-in-law and I were discussing how much it stinks that my brother is so sick and in the hospital. I reflected that it could be much worse. We live in a city with one of the most highly rated cancer research hospitals in the country. We live in a place where we are close to family and friends - our roots run deep here. And, though this is awful - no doubt about it - it could be a worse situation.

For me, it's a reminder that time passes quickly and you may not get another chance to say "I love you."

Do it today. Fill that bucket.

A Full Church

Will my church be full or empty?

In my family it's not a matter of if you will get cancer, but where and when. All four of my grandparents and one of my uncles have tangled with (and lost to) cancer. I have already battled thyroid cancer and I am staring down a second biopsy for breast cancer in just a couple of weeks. I don't really want to talk about dying here, though that's an inescapable part of the conversation. I want to talk about the way we live.

I was very young when my grandfather was diagnosed with lung cancer. He died when I was 7 so I don't remember many of the details of his illness. What I do remember is being at the funeral home the day of the funeral and all I could see were knees in dark dress pants. I actually got lost in the crowd of business suits thinking I was still standing next to my dad. Later that day, I remember exiting the limousine at St. Patrick Church and walking through a crowd of people standing all the way out to the sidewalk. I didn't realize what that meant as a small child.

It wasn't until my uncle died of cancer about 7 years ago and there was a similar traffic jam at the funeral home and the church that I realized that both of these men had made a tremendous impact on the community around them. The church was absolutely packed for both of their funerals and the crowds spilled out onto the sidewalks with people whose lives were touched in a very real way by these men. At my uncle's funeral, I heard story after story from people who he had cared for and whose lives were better for him being in it -not because it was him, but because God called him to serve the poor and the lonely, and he heeded that call.

When I think of these men, I think of the Just Man as described in  Psalm 112: 9 "Open-handed he gives to the poor; his righteousness endures forever; his horn shall be exalted in honor."

My brother is currently fighting cancer and right now he's fighting off pneumonia and a sinus infection, too. It's hard to watch him go through this. John has always been the one who was more active, more in shape, more driven, more generous, really - kind of more "everything". He is a great friend and a wonderful and supportive brother. To see him scrambled and gasping for breath was disturbing to say the least.

In my grief over my brother's illness, I have realized that John's church will be full. Over the years, he has served the community in many ways - inviting those without family around to share Thanksgiving with us; donating time, money and toys to struggling local families; working as a volunteer firefighter; giving of his substance to people when ever and where ever they needed him. He, like his grandfather and uncle before him, has made an impact on his community, and, God willing, will continue to have an impact for years to come.

I want my church to be full when I die, too -not because I am so awesome (I am not), not because I am ready to die (again, I am not) -but because I am ready to live. I am ready for God to use me to really make a difference in people's lives. I am not so sure that my life right now is one that inspires a full church at my funeral, but I hope that I can live up to that charge. Just like the cancer, it seems to be a family tradition.

Photo Attribution: St. Patrick Church, Columbus, OH by Nheyob (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

On Expectation and Gratitude - A Stoic reflection on Mother's Day

My flowers? No, they were for my Mom.
But they're lovely all the same.

Yesterday morning I sat with many of my friends in the social hall following mass commiserating about what a disappointment Mother's Day is.  On a day when Mothers should feel honored and special for all that they do, all we could do was complain:

"All I want for Mother's Day is a clean house."
"All I want for Mother's Day is a nap."
"All I want for Mother's Day is for my kids to behave like human beings."
"All I want for Mother's Day is to have my kids at mass with me."

 And everyone together: "Is that too much to ask?"

I'm not sure when things changed for me. I can remember one Mother's Day, in particular, when I was crushed that my husband hadn't even gotten me a flower. The house was always a wreck. Nothing ever went as planned on Mother's Day and invariably, I was working. I think I have cried on every single Mother's Day since I was married. But this year was different.

Maybe it's the Epictetus I read earlier this year. Epictetus (c. A.D. 50-130) was a Stoic philosopher of the Hellenistic period. The Stoics believed in controlling the things that are up to us, (like our thoughts, desires and reactions,) and letting go of things that are not up to us, (like other people and things.) Epictetus would have loved the Serenity Prayer.

This plays out in a few different ways, but by and large the Stoics are known for treating everything generically - nothing is more important than anything else. If your favorite dish breaks, then you should just say, "It was just a dish." and move on. When something that belongs to you passes away from you, be it an object or a person, Epictetus tells us that we should just say "I gave it back." It's almost as if everything is on loan to you. When things come to you, you should appreciate them, but when they pass on, you have to let them go.*

That's a pretty radical position if you think about it. Epictetus takes this position to its outermost limits in The Encheiridion, saying that when you kiss your wife or your child you shouldn't think of them as "yours" but as "a wife" or "a child". That way, it won't hurt if they are lost to you.** I think this goes too far. It denies the incommunicability of the human person (the idea that every person is unique and cannot be replaced), but there are still lessons we can take from Epictetus.

One of the most important lessons Epictetus has for us is Fragment 8 - "Do not seek to have events happen to you as you want them to, but instead want them to happen as they do happen, and your life will go well."***

Yesterday I realized that because I wasn't expecting anything for Mother's Day, I was not going to be disappointed in the way the day played out. Because of that lack of expectation, everything was a gift and I was more grateful and relaxed than I would have been had I been expecting something specific.

The nap I got, my son and his fiancee coming to Mass with us, the lovely chat with dear friends, the delicious dinner made by my youngest brother, the lovely walk with my husband in the evening --everything was beyond my control and so it came to me as what it should have been: a gift. It was something I didn't ask for but it was given freely as a token of affection.

I think that in the past, I have set my family up for failure. When I expect great things, sometimes I get them. But often times, life intervenes and makes even the best intentions fall apart at the seams. When things happen on Mother's Day like colds, Houdini-Dog escapes, or freezers being left open accidentally, our yelling and tears and hurt feelings don't change those things. They are out of our control and Epictetus would tell us that we should just let them go.

I think he might be right about that. It is definitely a much more peaceful way to celebrate the day.

Want to learn more about Stoic philosophy? Read "The Handbook (The Encheiridion) of Epictetus".

* Epictetus, The Handbook (The Encheiridion). trans. Nicholas P. White (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company: 1983), 12.
** Ibid. 12.
*** Ibid. 13.

Lazy, Lonely Saturday

It sounds a little boring, but it's just what I needed: A lazy, lonely day to read and think.

The girls and grandson are off helping with a move. My husband is at work and my parents are off to a concert in the northern part of the state. It's just me and the kitties today. I have reading and writing to do, but somehow, they just needed to sit by the wayside and wait for me to catch up.

Sometimes all the things that crowd my time and compete for my attention, even if they are good things, crowd out my thoughts. Then, I become ineffective and stressed out.  One of my friends tells me this is because I am an introvert. I don't know - I like people. I love to visit with my friends and to talk for hours and hours, but somewhere deep down, I long for quiet solitude.

It's not really loneliness (I can be more lonely in a crowd). It's more like a retreat. I think that's one of the reasons that Adoration is such an effective prayer form for me. It allows me time to just Be. I have to be quiet and I have to listen.

I have been studying the pre-Socratic philosophers for the past four weeks and read in a secondary source that the Pythagoreans believed that silence was divine. Of course, the only primary fragments we possess from this school are those of Philolaus, who really says nothing about silence being divine, but I think they probably did believe that. If moderation and the study of the smallest clues that Nature gives us to seduce us into discovering her secrets is what you're after, then observing them in silence makes sense.

It's the same with Prayer.

When I shut up and hold still (which isn't often!) I can actually hear the world around me. I pay attention to and address the small things that help me head off big problems that might follow later. I give myself time to think and plan a course of action instead of rushing head-long into something I'll regret later. Through prayer, I find the small things about myself that need amending and being quiet gives me the mental clarity to see what needs to change and how best to change it.

So, while I didn't get much of my reading done for the week, I spent a good bit of time unpacking the past week. Now, I have a direction and a plan for the coming week and with my batteries recharged, I'm ready to take it on.

Success, Marriage and Spiritual Growth

Every achievement I make has a component of cooperation involved in it.
This post is for my husband of 22 and 1/2 years - the hand that I hold and the wind in my sails.

I have had some very nice compliments this week from my professors and from my friends and it's very flattering. But it's also kind of disquieting.

I have been considering applying for a fellowship that would take me overseas for a week to cover international aid efforts in the Middle East. I mentioned the possibility in passing to a colleague and she passed it on to others who have written to encourage me. They really believe I could do this. I have gotten huge support, ideas and backing from my professors, family and friends, too.

Frankly, this terrifies me.

What if they say yes? Yes, it would change my life. It would change the direction of my work and give it some real substance. But, wow! I never thought I'd go this direction. Sometimes, God's ways are kind of, well, off-beat.

There are 3 professors (in 3 different fields) trying to convince me that their Master's program is the best Master's program and I should really continue with my studies after I finish my bachelor's degree. I am game, really. Now, I just have to figure out if I can find the right combination of money and time to make it happen. Oh, and I have to pick a field!

One of my professors was joking with me Friday afternoon and said I was a pretty hot commodity. Everyone wants me and for good reason - I am (and I quote him here) "An excellent student". He opined that it must be nice to know that.

And it is. It is really nice to be recognized for your talents. But, so many people have been heaping compliments on my head that it's actually beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.

The truth is, I am a remarkably shy person and I squirm a little bit at unbridled enthusiasm for my accomplishments. I am also a naturally skeptical person. One might even say I am a "negative" person. I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Sometimes this fear of "doing it wrong" paralyzes me and I freeze. I just stop moving altogether. I think this is in large part because these are not my accomplishments alone.

Everything I have ever accomplished has been due to someone else pushing me, believing in me or inspiring me.

Because of this, the next step that I take will impact more than just me. If I do it right, it could be a very positive change for my entire family. But if I do it wrong, it will hurt more than just me.

When I married Michael I had no plans to be a Church Musician. I had been singing in the choir at church, but I had no plans of making that a career. It was through his encouragement and musical taste that I became fascinated with polyphony and chant. It was on these that I built my professional reputation.

At Michael's urging, I developed a choir. With his encouragement, I maintained it. He worked long hours doing hard labor so that I could continue to work at a job that I loved, but would never pay well. And, through his sacrifices, I became a pretty decent music director.

Going back to school was a real step out of my comfort zone. But Michael encouraged me to move forward. In my darkest moments, I worry that I am causing financial pressure to build on my family, and that 2015 graduation date looks too far away. Michael continually steps into the gap and makes it all happen.

For the past two weeks, he has been working 12 hour days in order to make it possible for me to spend as much time as I can on my studies and not worry about the financial end of things. All of this while listening to me talk about all my classes and sort through the tangle of questions I have about what I am learning or reading or writing about.

He doesn't ask for thanks. For him, it's all part of the job: Love, Honor and Cherish. He never gives up on me, even when I give up on myself.

So, when my professors say things like: "You're an excellent student!" or "We need people like you!" I am pretty proud of myself. But standing right behind me, pushing me kicking and screaming into the spotlight is the person who makes it all possible. And he does so to his own personal detriment.

That is what marriage is all about.

We pour our lives out for each other and deny ourselves to help lead our spouses to holier lives. As we live our vocation as Husband and Wife, we move ever closer to God, not just as a couple, but as individuals. Each of us fosters the gifts of the other to give greater glory to God.

I sometimes wonder what I give back to my marriage. I often feel like all I do is take. I can be a pretty harsh critic. I am tough to please and I demand perfection, not just from myself, but from all others who touch me.

This is an unreasonable expectation. I know that. The truth is, I need to do a better job of lifting Michael up. I have been woefully falling down on the job.

Now, I have to figure out what to do about it. Maybe this post is a start.

Snowball Fight of the Giants!

It's a regular Winter Wonderland around here. I love the snow. It makes the cold all worthwhile.

All over the fields around our house there are balls of snow. 

Big balls of snow.

It looks like a thousand little kids all started a snowman and then went inside for hot chocolate after getting the base started.

Or like the frost giants, Fafnir and Fasolt, were having a snowball fight.

In any case, it's a fairly uncommon thing to have happen here in Central Ohio (well, at least for the past several years.) We haven't had much snow each winter and even when we do, the conditions for snow rolls weren't here.

Basically what happens is that the snow got a little tiny bit warm and clumped up on the top layer. Then the wind picked up the edge of a chunk of re-frozen snow, and rolled it up like a scoop of ice cream.

This year, we've got plenty!

It's really rather amazing and made me think about how small we really are, and how very grateful I am to have walls for the winds and a roof for the snow.

Immortality and Other Second Chances

"Look toward Him and be radiant and your faces may not blush for shame.
This poor one cried out and the LORD heard and from all his distress He saved him."
Psalm 34: 6-7

This past week I received a diagnosis that I was sort of expecting. After extensive testing my doctors have discovered two nodules on my thyroid gland. We already knew it was big, but now there are nodules on it and it has to come out. The further threat is that these nodules might be cancerous. The blood work looks good, but there are other biomarkers that don't look so good.

Usually, people with overactive thyroids are given radioactive iodine to kill the thyroid and then they are monitored for new lumps and bumps over the rest of their lifetime. But not so with me. In the course of my testing, we discovered that I am very allergic to the iodine. So surgery is the only option for me.

So, out it comes!

The thyroid gland sits at the base of the throat and surrounds the windpipe. Just behind the thyroid are the vocal nerves. In order to get at the gland, they will have to cut an incision in my neck and move all the muscles aside so that they can see what they're doing. Everything is so tightly packed in there, that they don't do laparoscopic surgery. This means that for the first several weeks of recovery, my speaking voice will be hoarse. My singing voice will be out of commission for about three to four months. If it is not damaged by the surgery (and there is no cancer - please, Lord, no cancer!) I should be able to sing again by the summer.

I'm worried.
Okay, I'm terrified.

There have been times, in the depths of my depression that I have wished for some deadly disease to take me quietly. Something that I wouldn't have to explain to God. I have hated my life - and that is a very sad thing. There is so much joy in my life, but all I could see was the suffering.

And that's the dark part. But that's not the end of the story.

This is old hat, but here goes: You never appreciate what you have until you might lose it. 

I have always appreciated my voice. Maybe I've appreciated it too much, in fact. While I have been off chasing my muse, everyone else has had to stand by and wait for me. My husband put college aside for me. My children have done without me for large expanses of time. My faith is intimately connected to my voice and my ability to sing for Mass.  It is an exercise in humility for me to NOT sing (and to ignore those who sing poorly) during Mass.

So many, many times I have bristled with the idea that I could do something so much better than someone who already had the job. I have harmed friendships and careers with my ambition. And where has that left me? Busy to the point of a breakdown. Lonely, though I have many friends. And frightened that the thing on which I have built my life, (and in many respects, my faith,) is going to be taken away.

But, there is hope. There is always hope - because we have a Savior. And he is so good to us.

For me, that hope came to me while singing for the funeral of a woman who was just a little bit older than me. As I sang the familiar parts of the Requiem Mass and listened to the readings I had heard a thousand times over I was reminded of God's great generosity.

The first reading was Isaiah 25:6-7, 9:

On this mountain the LORD of hosts will provide for all peoples. On this mountain he will destroy the veil that veils all peoples, the web that is woven over all nations; he will destroy death forever. The Lord GOD will wipe away the tears from all faces; the reproach of his people he will remove from the whole earth; for the LORD has spoken. On that day it will be said: "Behold our God, to whom we looked to save us! This is the LORD for whom we looked; let us rejoice and be glad that he has saved us!"

I know that I need to trust that God has a plan for my life. I have no idea what that plan is. Maybe that's why things have rolled out the way they have over the past several weeks. There have been many new doors opened to me - and some closed, too.

I may have years left or I may die tomorrow. There is no way for me to know when I will be called. The best I can do is to live for God in the time I have - however long that time may be.

So, in the midst of all this Sturm und Drang, I found a prayer today while beta testing an app that I thought fit the bill pretty well:

Prayer Against Depression

by St. Ignatius of Loyola

O Christ Jesus

When all is darkness

And we feel our weakness and helplessness,

Give us the sense of Your Presence,

Your Love and Your Strength.

Help us to have perfect trust

In Your protecting love

And strengthening power,

So that nothing may frighten or worry us,

For, living close to You,

We shall see Your Hand,

Your Purpose, Your Will through all things.

(via Catholic Short Prayers App - http://shortprayers.valent.co/)

Epiphany and epiphanies

Every year we go to a party at one of my friend's houses for The Feast of the Epiphany (the 12th and last day of Christmas). She is a musician, like I am, and her husband is an artist. Though I only see him a couple of times a year, this particular gentleman is a man that I respect, not only as an artist, but as a person. He's unbelievably intelligent and insightful. He is charitable and prayerful, but in a quiet way. When I speak to him I get the sense that he is drawing from the springs of the greatest silences in the world. A place where things that have been unspoken dwell waiting to be given words to express what they are. He seems to have the gift to see right into your soul and say to you exactly what needs to be said at exactly the right moment. You find that you must listen carefully and completely to get the full impact of what he has to say because it is as rich as a really good cheesecake: you want to savor every morsel of it and get every crumb of meaning out of what he says.

Several years ago, I had quit singing. There were many reasons for the decision, some valid, some not so valid; some my own reasons and some were reasons that were foisted on me. My soul was just withering up and I was becoming a very bitter, angry and sad person.

I was at this Epiphany party and our host made the point to seek me out and talk to me. He told me that the music was as much a part of who I am as my body was. He told me that my particular gift was the ability to sing from"inside the song". He told me, "It's a gift that not all singers possess. There is something that moves me every time you sing at church. It moves me like no other singer."

As he spoke to me, I began to cry. I couldn't stop myself. I just stood there holding my wine glass and my plate of desserts with silent tears streaming down my face. My husband came to try to "rescue me", but I didn't really want to be rescued. I wanted to be told the truth. Not singing was eating away at me. I was dying inside.

My friend never broke eye contact with me, "I know this might be painful for you, but I really feel like I need to say this to you. I couldn't let you leave without telling you: You need to sing. You have to find a way to sing."

I nodded. I don't think I could even speak. I knew he was right. I did take his advice and found a way to sing. It truly has made all the difference. I couldn't pray without my music. Sure, there are times when it's nice to just go to Mass and not be "on". But, week after week, the music is where I find my prayer. It's where I find encouragement, a kick in the rear and comfort. With out it, I am diminished.

This year, I was chatting with him about this blog and about how I haven't posted much on this blog in the past year. He kind of smiled and said, "You know, I find that I have to wait a few years for things to become a story. If I try to write about things that are going on right now, they become to big and overwhelming to me. They have no perspective. It's better to let them sit for a while until they can be encapsulated into an 'episode' and then they can be dealt with as a story."

And, you know, again, he's so right. This past year was overwhelming. Between the four people in our family we had 10 hospitalizations, a car accident, a death in the family and all the attendant drama of being a modern family with special needs children. How on earth could I hope to give some perspective to that mess while I am still going through it?

I don't think it is an accident that both of these revelations happened on The Feast of the Epiphany. God puts people in your life at the most unexpected times and places. He provides guidance from the most unlikely sources. I never expected to have the direction of my life changed by idle cocktail chatter. But, that's how it is sometimes. Sometimes, Epiphany is quite literal.

In the meantime, I am so grateful to have friends in my life to help me get through the rough times. For all of you who have said prayers for us, sent us cyber hugs or just thought fondly of us in this past year, I thank you. My thoughts and prayers are with you all this morning.

Hopefully, 2010 will provide some perspective so that I can start writing again. I know it's not great stuff. It's not the height of political prowess. It's not the grandeur of life-changing prose or poetry. It may not be anything important or moving or consequential that I am writing about. But, I appreciate you reading it all the same.

The Christmas Tree that I absolutely, positively could not get up before Christmas Eve

Years ago, my husband and I started a tradition born of a conflict between two family traditions. His: Put the tree and every piece of tinsel you can find out on the weekend after Thanksgiving so we can enjoy it all the way through December. Mine: Get the tree up, simply decked out with just enough lights and no tinsel, on the weekend closest to Christmas Eve.

I adored his Mom's fabulous Christmases! And I wanted more flash and dazzle than my Mom did, but I didn't think it was appropriate to put it all up quite so early. So, we compromised and decided that St. Nicholas would "bring" the tree on December 6th. We always put the tree up on the 6th or the weekend closest to it and then it comes down on Epiphany (January 6th). Up for a nice, neat month that brackets the entire Christmas celebration, we thought we had the perfect solution. This worked for years. The kids grew up under this model and there was great joy in the O'Keefe household. But times have changed.

Last year was the first time it happened. The weekend closest to the 6th, we had a concert. The next weekend was a party. As there was the following weekend. And, because I direct choirs, just forget all about evenings. Those are completely booked from November 1st until Christmas Eve.

And so it happened that the children were in bed, we had guests coming over the next day and my husband and I sat sagging on the couch. We stared at the little grouping of trees, set up and lit, but not one ornament on them, at 2 AM, following Midnight Mass. Without looking at each other, we conversed. We were that tired.

"Well," he said," you know, they kind of look nice that way."

"Hmmm...." I replied, kind of absently, "Kind of rustic."

"Maybe we could just leave them that way, " he suggested hopefully.

"Well, I think they need a few ornaments." I said, sitting up a little to get a better view of them. "Maybe we'll just use our very favorite ornaments." I started digging through boxes. "At the very least we have to find Engel Elsa." (Engel Elsa - "Angel Elsa" in English- is our tree topper.)

"OK, we'll just work for a little bit and see where we get."

Well, we worked until 4 AM and the trees were beautiful. We used every ornament in the boxes (once they were open they all came out). The next day we garnered rave reviews of the decoration job, even if we had bags under our eyes, it was worth it. On the downside, we didn't actually take the trees down until February (or so...)

Well, it looks like this year, we are headed in the same direction. When I left for work this morning, there weren't even any lights on the tree. We are as far behind as we were last year. This year, however, I do not have to sing a Midnight Mass, which will make things earlier. Plus, we are planning it all out. We have a dinner planner and snacks for setting the tree up (donuts and mulled cider...). But, of course, anything could happen.

Whatever the outcome, whether the tree is dressed or not, Christmas will come. Just as Jesus comes to us, ready or not, in His birth at Bethlehem. Mary was certainly not prepared to have her baby sleeping in what amounts to the animals' food bowl. I am sure that she never imagined that a manger is where she would lay her Lord and Son. The Shepherds were surely surprised. They were sleeping, after all!

But, Jesus didn't seem too concerned about all the trappings of His Kingship. He was ready to be here. It was the fullness of time. He wasn't embarassed by sleeping in a manger. That was the plan. The star shone brightly and all the angels sang of the Glory of His coming to us on Earth. All we are asked to do is show up and pay him homage, and then go out and tell of His glory.

Not prepared for Christmas?
Maybe the only person that has ever really been ready for Christmas is Jesus.

Painting: Nativity (Holy Night) - Correggio

We will miss you, Grandpa D

Missing Man Formation

I am re-posting a blog from many months ago. Today we lost my husband's grandfather. This post was written with him in mind. We will miss him, but I am sure in the knowledge that he has gone to be with his beautiful wife and is no longer in pain or confused.


I'm going to put in a plug here for "The Writer's Almanac", published by Garrison Keillor. The Writer's Almanac comes to my mailbox daily with a poem and then tidbits and biographies about authors who had significant events on this day in history.

Today's poem was written by a man who, to my knowledge had only one poem to his name: John Gillespie Magee, Jr. He was a pilot in WWII and flew with the Royal Canadian Air Force, before the US entered the war. Today is his birthday. Like me, you have probably heard this poem before, but today, it really moved me. I'll tell you why after you read it.

High Flight (an Airman's Ecstasy) by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air...

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, nor even eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

My grandfather-in-law is an aviator. He flew at around the same time as Magee, fighting in WWII and then again in Korea. After he retired from the Army Air Corps, he continued to teach in his flight school in Texas. One of his students was my brother who tells me that Grandpa has nerves of steel. Yep, I'll bet he does.

This brave man has more decorations than you could shake a stick at, including several Purple Hearts and at least one Bronze Star. In WWII, he was shot down in enemy territory and crawled out on his belly with a broken jaw, after watching his friend be killed. And yet, he is good hearted, humble and kind. His love for his grandchildren and great-grandchildren so very great. It even extends to me, outsider that I am, and I am doted upon.

But now, he suffers from Alzheimer's and we are watching this fantastic man slip away. But he is not slipping away into nothing. He is still the kind hearted, humble, loving grandfather I have always known him to be. True, he no longer teaches flight. True, he needs a little more help, but would I give back even one second of this time we still have with him? No. Do my children benefit for having him in their lives even in a diminished capacity? Yes. I do not believe that any time that we have left with this great man is a waste in any way. I am so honored to know him one of our great American Heroes and to be loved as one of his children.

And when he does finally pass on from us, though right now he cannot take flight, I know that he will be going to touch the face of God once again.


As we sat with Grandpa last night for the last time, holding his hands and reading to him from the bible, I realized that, though he was unresponsive, every time one of my children spoke, he would twitch his hands and his face would relax. I am grateful for the time we had with Grandpa. My kids are so lucky to have been able to get to know and love him, and he to get to know and love them.

Anniversary

As I sat at lunch today, eating a sandwich with my husband in honor of our 18th anniversary, I had a memory that I shared with him. I remembered being a child and deciding that what I wanted to get for my parents for their anniversary was "dinner out". So, my brother and I talked to Dad and convinced him (somehow, who knows how) that he should take us all out to dinner for his anniversary.

Michael laughed and said, "And it was your present to him, right?"

I laughed too, "Yeah, 'Hey Dad, we want to take you out to dinner for your anniversary, but we don't have any money, so you have to pay.' Yep. Just like that."

And then Michael said, "Wow! That's a great analogy for the Gift of God's Grace."

"Huh?" I looked up at him a little startled.

"Yeah, think about it. Most people use the analogy of God drawing a picture with you, but really that means you're still doing something. This is much better. You did nothing. Your father gave you the gift of the money to give back to him in the form of a present. Dinner. Grace."

You know, I have been with Michael as his fiancee and then his wife for more than 20 years and he still amazes me. I did nothing that would ever have merited such a wonderful man as I have, but here he is. God has richly blessed me.

Grace.

"We put organs near things that we find most important."

My husband and I just returned from a trip to Philadelphia where we saw and heard the magnificent John Wanamaker Organ in the Macy's, Center City, Philadelphia. It is truly a magnificent instrument. It is known as the largest functioning pipe organ in the world with 28,500 pipes. But, I will tell you that it is a beautiful instrument, as well. We heard all kinds of music played on it in the three concerts that we attended and all of it fit the instrument nicely.

Upon returning home, my husband remarked in a conversation that "We put pipe organs near the things that we find most important," and I began to reflect upon how very true that is.

Pipe organs take a very long time to build. Many, many hours of labor and concentration go into making the music come alive from the throats of those pipes. Each pipe has to be voiced so that it sounds like its neighbor to create a fluidity of sound. Each piece of wood has to be placed and glued in exactly the right spot, with the right amount of pressure to make sure that wind does not escape where it is not supposed to. Every piece of leather has to be perfectly cut and placed and glued so that the notes all play correctly. It is the work of artisans. The people that I work with, fill me with awe. They do all these things so easily. Pipe organs are truly monumental instruments, in every sense of the word.

For centuries, we have put pipe organs into churches. Then, into opera houses. It was not much of a stretch, then, to add them to the posh movie theaters of the 1920's, but it is remarkable to me that the Wanamaker Organ exists in a department store. What are we saying here?

The Wanamaker Organ is a jewel in the "City of Brotherly Love". It stands as a monument to the dream of a man who wanted to be all things to everyone (or at least sell anything that you might need in a place where you would feel special). The beautiful vaulted marble halls of the Wanamaker building now house, not only Macy's, but also several offices. But, one can easily see the grandeur of the original plan: A place where you could buy anything from a ball gown to a new horse. But even now, after the dream has faded and the stark, sterile and familiar Macy's-look has been exacted on the store, the organ still exists and is maintained and played daily. Why?

Because it honors the value of hard work and a dream for something better for ourselves; something greater than the work-a-day lives we lead. It is a finding of the beautiful in that everyday life.

Just a little late

There's a song that I have heard a lot lately called, "You Found Me" by The Fray.

The first verse deals with finding God at the a most unlikely place, all alone and smoking His last cigarette. The singer then asks God "Where you been?" and God replies, "Ask anything." The rest of the song is a broken-hearted diatribe about losing a loved one and why God seemingly abandoned the singer. In the refrain, the singer sings,

Lost and insecure
You found me, you found me
Lyin' on the floor
Surrounded, surrounded
Why'd you have to wait?
Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late
You found me, you found me

And actually I think that why I like this song so much and why it stays with me. There are times when I truly feel like God is just gone from my life and I feel "lost and insecure" and I feel as if I will never be happy again. But God always finds me, even if I think it's "just a little late", it really is all in God's good time. So, even though the song communicates that the singer is angry at God, it always reminds me, that no matter how far I have placed myself from His Presence, it may be late in the game, but God always finds me and rescues me.

Complaints? Save it.

In revisiting old blog posts, looking for things to redevelop, I found this post from August 2009.  It's still a good reminder:

I have a collection of signs about not complaining.  This one was taken by my brother, Joseph, as part of a retrospective that he compiled about bringing Sisters of the Missionary Servants of the Word to Columbus to serve the parish that I work for. This picture was taken in the house that is their convent and was taken only 10 days from the date of their arrival! As you can see there was a lot of work to be done, yet.

When I saw this picture, it made me realize that I have been complaining a lot: about the pains in my back, how tired I am, how I never have enough money or time...the list goes on and on. So, this simple little sign, scribbled on a paper plate hit me right between the eyes.

I have so much to be thankful for. Both my husband and I have jobs and in this economy.  That is really something! I have a wonderful, loving husband. I have beautiful, intelligent, independent (if somewhat troublesome) children. I have amazing friends. This list could go on and on, too.

When I posted this sign on my office door, at the organ company, my boss took a look at it, chuckled and raised an ironic eyebrow at me. (I really have been very whiny lately.) So I shrugged and told him, "It's as much for me as it is for anyone else." And it's true.

God has blessed me abundantly.

No complaining allowed. :)

Photo by Joseph L. Harris

This is a gift from one of my crew members from a recent trip. It's a sign that is posted in a deli over the serving counter. She took the picture so that I could post it over the upcoming tuning schedule. I love it so much, I thought I'd share it with you.

Open Letter To My Husband on Father's Day

Dear Honey,

Seventeen years ago on this date, I gave birth to our first child, a son, whom we named for your father (and incidentally, you). As I lay in my hospital bed, pretty near dead from exhaustion, you stroked my forehead as I nursed our son and you told me that this was the very best Father's Day present I could ever give you. Terrified to be a mother, I told you, I couldn't do this alone. You promised me you'd always be there. Now, as our son turns 17, a year away from being a man in his own right I have some things I want you to know.

You are an example to our children of a good father in that you lay your life down for us, as would a good shepherd, and that is what God has called you to do. You provide a good example in the temporal world by your work (you almost never miss a day) and in the spiritual world with your prayer life.

I want to thank you for continually setting the limits, setting the bar and policing the action in the house and on the town. I know you get frustrated with our kids when they get lippy or don't seem to get the idea of "social graces", but they are listening and absorbing. If it's any comfort, I always get compliments on how lovely our children are to have around.

Rebelling is all part of being a teenager, I suppose, but never ever doubt that your children love and adore you. Who else would lead sing-alongs to "The Nightmare Before Christmas", I ask you? Certainly not their mother!

You are a credit to your vocation and we all love you! Thank you so much for being the father of our children. I am no longer terrified to be a mother. I know that no matter what happens, you will be there, as you always are. I feel blessed everyday to have a partner in this life like you!

With All My Love,
Katie

Delegation

I am notoriously bad at delegation. Somehow I always end up running everything I touch. I have one friend who teases me, not-so-gently, saying, "Oh yes, as long as I am here everything will go right." And he's right. There is a part of me that thinks that. I fight it, of course, but the control-freak in me wants to have control because then things will go as I have planned them. Which is the "perfect" way, right?

When I took over the Children's choir that I direct, I was put in place as President. The hope of the outgoing President was that I would continue her work as an able administrator and be able to recruit more children. I served as President for half a year. In that time, my director left, because I had new ideas about how to run the chorus. And out numbers were still not growing, though they were steady. I knew that I could not direct and administrate at the same time.

Because I wanted things under my control, I put my husband in place as President. He has done a fantastic job. We have gone from 8 kids to 24 kids in 4 years. Because he is a great delegator he has formed a Parent's Board and all the attendant committees to help run the chorus. I realized today, while answering an e-mail that the chours runs itself, and I have to do nothing but teach music. God has dropped all these wonderful, capable people in the Parent's Board and they run the nuts and bolts. I could not do what I do without them.

All I had to do was let go a little bit to let the chorus grow. It reminds me of the Chinese practice of binding feet: the more tightly you bind them, the smaller they are. The more tightly I hold on to projects, the more they shrivel. They can only grow, when I unclench my fists and my teeth and let go.

Picture by Jaime de la Cruz on flickr

Fire and belief

Without belief the phoenix
is just a bird on fire.
-Kate Horowitz

I have recently spent a lot of time "on fire". These past few weeks, especially, with Easter tuning, all the liturgies to prepare for Holy Week, family "fun", traveling, sickness. The doldrums hit me like a truck on Monday. The weather wasn't helping any either in going from overcast, to rainy, to continual downpour. I was burned out, wasting away, and sure of nothing except my weaknesses. And just when I was ready to stay in my bed and never get out again...the sun came out. Literally and literarily. (OK...I made that word up.)

When I checked in with all my blogs this morning, the half-haiku above was sitting in my "to read" box. It took me only a second to understand. The reason I was feeling burnt to a crisp was that I had allowed myself to stop believing that I could do it. I was the "bird on fire".

I just have to thank God for all the wonderful people in my life who believe in me enough to make me back into a phoenix again.

Atlantic City: Part 2

The other thing about this trip to Atlantic City was the fact that this is the first time I have seen the ocean. I think I may have been more excited about the ocean than I was about the pipe organ we went to see.

And it was even better than I had imagined. I could see the ocean from my window and spent 20 solid minutes watching the waves when we got to our room while I waited (patiently) for my roommate to be ready to go to the beach. My roommate thought this was hilarious. Finally, it was time to go and we headed out to the Boardwalk and the beach.

The ocean is an awesome thing. It is more huge than I could have imagined. The sound of the surf blocks or blunts all other sounds. It makes everything sound muted or sotto voce. I stood and watched the waves for about 20 minutes and probably would have stayed longer if the group hadn't wanted to move on.

I swear the ocean called to me. I wanted to get into the path of the waves just once, to jump in and feel it. But, my mother's voice kept shouting from the back of my head, "It's freezing out there! Don't you dare!" and, "While you're at it, button up that coat, young lady." The last instruction I disregarded, but I heeded the first and did not jump into the ocean.

The second day, I woke up at 4:00 in the morning. I lay there for an hour thinking I would go back to sleep for an hour or even two, but I did not. So, relenting, I got up and got ready for the day. I left a note for my roommate to call me when he was up and slipped out to the beach. I stopped along the way for some White Chocolate Mocha to take the chill off (which was a good investment) and headed out to the sand dunes and the rising sun.

As I was standing there listening to the wind blow through the sea grass, and the waves crashing on the shore, watching the sunrise over the ocean and the beach, I realized that I was really here. I felt a sigh well up inside me like I have only felt when I come home and lay down in my bed after a long day. God's creation is so marvelous!

I went hunting for some shells to bring home to the kids, after that. The tide was receding, but you could still find pools of water on the beach where the water had been just a few hours before. They kept refilling when ever a wave would creep up to the edge and spill in. It was in watching this routine that I came into contact with the ocean. I was standing watching and suddenly, I realized that the wave was going to come all the way up to me. I moved, but not fast enough and the wave soaked my right shoe. It was freezing. When the wave began to recede, I reached down and put my hand in the water. It really does feel different to the touch. I wouldn't have believed that, but it's true.

So that was my big date with the ocean. I am so glad I went. The drive was long, but worth every minute and I can't wait to go back with my family.

The dead face

Several years ago, there was a priest who used to come from Russia to solicit donations from my parish for the Dominican Mission that he was in charge of. One day he was describing coming back into the country and how one had to hold you face so as not to look "American". Americans, he said, had a lively look to them. There was a smile on their face, even when they weren't smiling. And it was a dead give-away to the border police and you were sure to get your baggage searched. He explained further that Russians had no such life to their faces. He called the look "the dead face" and then he demonstrated it. It is achieved by looking at a person directly, without seeming to see them and keeping your face and eyes absolutely and totally expressionless. And really,(knowing a couple of Russians) he was quite convincing. I could not hold the look for longer than a few minutes. But Father could hold it eternally it seemed.

Yesterday, while I was riding home on the bus, I realized that I was seeing more and more of "the dead face": in the other passengers, in people on the street, in shops and even in the reflection of myself in the window of the bus. I realized this was really the case when I sat right next to a woman with whom I had attended Mass for years and did not even recognize her...and she didn't recognize me either. When we finally did recognize each other, we were both very embarrassed and blamed it on the heavy coats and hats we were wearing. Who could recognize anyone in those heavy things?

But practically speaking, "the dead face" is the face you put on when you don't want people to talk to you or sit next to you. If you smile on the bus, even at people that you know, someone might decide to come sit next to you and talk to you. And some of these people, you really worry about talking to. Really.

But, at what price? At the price of bringing joy to another person? At the price of not recognizing your friends? At the price of not spreading the joy the God gave you? Why infect everyone with a bad mood, when I could infect everyone with a good one?

Yesterday, while I sat waiting at the Doctor's office, I read an article in Time Magazine about the "Happiness Effect". Some researchers are opining that if your friends are happy, you are more likely to be happy. Conversely, if they are sad, you are more likely to be sad. There are other effects that are being studied, too.

The upshot of the article is the viral infectiousness of behaviors, like a smile or a frown. They estimate that a smile can be passed on to a person 3.8 points of contact away! So the next time I catch sight of myself in the bus window reflection giving off my dead look, I think I'm going to remember to smile. Maybe that will make someone else's afternoon, later in the day.

Just something to think about.