Blog Entry:

Ten years ago, when Anne was four years old, and Betsy was a toddler, I had my first inkling of real Lenten temptation.

Oh, yes, previously, I'd been tempted to eat chocolate, or to have a juicy burger on a Friday, but all that seemed quite benign in comparison to a moment at Mass, on the first weekend of Lent ten years ago.

I was a relatively new Catholic and Atticus was not even thinking of becoming Catholic. But, I was certain this would be the year that I'd be a shining, stellar example to him of patience, faith and God's love. I would let Christ shine through me so clearly, so incredibly, that my husband could not help but be touched, and could not help but run to the nearest priest and beg to be brought into the Church.

I breezed through Ash Wednesday, not even missing the things I'd given up. I was too focused on being so good, for Atticus's benefit.

On the first weekend of Lent, we went to Mass on Saturday night. Atticus came along, because he'd made a Lenten promise of his own: although he wasn't considering Catholicism, he offered to attend Mass with me every week during Lent.

Normally, he didn't go at all. And, since he stayed home, he usually kept our very little girls with him, and I zipped off to Mass alone. Though I longed for us to be "one of those families — the ones who are together at Mass", I enjoyed the experience of entering fully, quietly into the Mass, without distractions.

So, there we were, on the first weekend of Lent, all of us. "Together at Mass."

And, I felt impatient.

And uncomfortable.

And angry.

I'd had my daughters at Mass plenty of times, but this weekend it suddenly seemed different. They were acting like … ummm, like … little girls. Energetic little girls. They were squirmy, and loud and fussy.

Atticus was oblivious to their antics. It was impossible for me to be oblivious. I was frustrated with all of them, including Atticus. Maybe especially Atticus.

The church was crowded, stuffy and warm. I could barely hear the readings.

But, then, I heard the priest say this:

"… led by the Spirit into the wilderness for forty days, to be tempted by the Devil."

And I was struck, perhaps for the first time, by two realities:

1. We are not alone in the desert.

2. We are being actively tempted.

We are not alone.

We, too, are led by the Spirit into the wilderness of Lent, but, we are not abandoned. And, we are not expected to do this of our own strength.

To be tempted by the devil.

Yes, certainly, I had always thought of Lent as a time of temptation, but I thought of it as "me against myself." I thought that if I had enough resolve, if I were "good enough," it would be easy.

But, suddenly, in that stuffy church, surrounded by fussy children and a husband who didn't want to be there, I realized that I'd been tempted to impatience with the very thing I longed for with my whole being.

"My husband's conversion, and family togetherness at Mass, will mean this?," I'd been thinking. Unpleasantness, distraction, impatience, anger? The desire to be here alone?

I had been tempted away from the good, away even from the desire to be the clear window through which Atticus could see Christ.

Only by God's grace was I able to see the moment for what it was:

Temptation in the desert.

But, I was not alone.

The moment was redeemed by that realization. I reclaimed my longing for my husband's conversion. I knew it would mean giving up "entering fully into the Mass alone," but it would also mean gaining a new way of entering fully into the Mass: as a family. A loud, messy, imperfect, distracted, and sometimes-frustrated family.

I knew then that many more temptations would pop up on this rocky road of my continuing conversion. I knew that there were forces at work actively trying to discourage me from praying for my husband's reception into the Church (which did not come until two years later.) I knew that these things would be, (and would feel) stronger during times of fasting, when I was hungry — both literally and spiritually — and vulnerable.

Lent can still be hard.

But, I know I'm not alone.

And that has made all the difference.

(This post also appears on my blog .)

Blog Entry:

If you're Catholic …
and you homeschool …
you're A Catholic School!

Celebrate!

You're doing all that you can to give your child an authentic Catholic education. That's worth celebrating.

Personally, I think chocolate should be involved, but follow your own instincts. If your celebration is particularly interesting (with or without chocolate) drop me a line (leave a comment at my blog on this post ) and let me know what you're doing.

(Custom image thanks to ImageChef.com)

Blog Entry:

So, yesterday I mentioned this woman. She wrote a book detailing her "40 Reasons Not to Have Kids."

Today, I present:

40 Reasons to Have Kids.
(loosely based on her 40 reasons not to ….)

1. Desiring children with the man you love is as natural as breathing.

2. The experience of delivering a new life to the world is singularly exhilarating. If you fear pain, there's this lovely thing called an epidural.

3. Breastfeeding: it's not only economical, efficient, and good for the baby, but it releases hormones that relax and calm both mother and child, lulling both of you to sleep. Who wouldn't want a natural nap-inducer?

4. The world doesn't revolve around me and my daily desires.

5. Every human being has dignity and worth.

6. A child is an unbreakable bond between husband and wife. Love breeds love. And more love. And more. There's nothing more desirable than the father of your children.

7. A couple becomes a family — the whole becomes greater than its parts.

8. Having a child is a cooperation with the sacred.

9. Children are some of the most charming little people I know: full of wonder, curiosity and innate kindness. Properly nurtured, they become equally charming adults.

10. You get to read all the favorite books of your childhood all over again.

11. Children naturally grasp the lesson that people are more important than things.

12. Children teach us the freedom that comes with self-discipline and self-sacrifice.

13. The biggest drudgery is facing no one but myself day after day.

14. I am not ideal … why should I expect my children to be? Kids teach us the joy of unconditional love and acceptance.

15. I will inevitably disappoint my children because I am not perfect. But, along the way, I'll be able to teach them that — while nothing on this side of heaven is perfect — the journey and the perfection that awaits us are worth every moment of trial on earth.

16. To remain or become a self-centered, self-enclosed egotist: what horror!

17. Taking time to care for the gifts I've been given … yes, thank you.

18. Motherhood is a vocation: fulfilling, rewarding, and full of unpredictable surprises.

19. Families: they are a reflection of the Trinity.

20. Relive childhood and all of its innocent wonder and mirth.

21. To persist in saying "me first" is a sign of immaturity.

22. A child will ignite the fond memories of your own childhood.

23. While you cannot ensure that your child will be happy 100% of the time, the desire for her happiness is a good, admirable and unselfish thing.

24. The enchantment of being with one's children outweighs any and all other difficulties.

25. If you worry about sending them off to school, homeschooling is a delightful, intellectually stimulating option.

26. Do something to change the world. Have a child. Raise a saint.

27. Revel in the simplicity of a child's unconditional love and trust.

28. Parenting will soften your hard edges and sharpen your compassion and empathy.

29. Motherhood is an insight into one's soul. It's better than analysis.

30. Success is not defined only in terms of what one does for money. To succeed as a mother is beyond worldly success.

31. When your husband becomes the father of your children, a new man appears: fiercely loving but practical and still-logical, nurturing but fiercely strong and protective. You will fall in love with him all over again.

32. The child to whom you give life may be the one to fight the culture of death and the notion of a brave new world.

33. "How can there be too many children? That is like saying there are too many flowers." — Blessed Teresa of Calcutta

34. Children whittle away your time in ways that are ultimately beneficial: they have an uncanny knack for getting rid of the meaningless hobbies that used to consume you.

35. Watching a child grow into a caring, sensitive soul is a reward that cannot be measured in book sales.

36. It's an awe-inspiring thing to have a child and the experience of feeling, "I didn't think I could ever love anyone that much."

37. Already have a child? Have another. Siblings are the best birthday presents, Christmas presents, Father's Day presents, Arbor Day presents ….

38. Baby toes. Need I say more?

39. Okay, I'll say more. Watching your baby sleep: You didn't know that angels could be held in your arms.

40. Worried about money? What's worth more than a soul?

(This post also appears at my blog.)

Blog Entry:

Recently, I had an email exchange with a friend about things that bother, gnaw at, weaken, or paralyze us. You know the things I mean — the ones that begin to loom large in our minds, worries we can't seem to banish. Or, the habitual sins … those things from which we try to flee, but seem only able to inch away, slowly and painfully, and only a bit at a time.

All of these things were on my mind when I went to bed that night. I woke up about 4 a.m. and couldn't get back to sleep. The windows were open, and I felt very hot and sticky.

And as I lay there, all those things — the worries that gnaw at me, the sadnesses that sometimes permeate life — seemed overwhelming. And, just as some tears welled up in my eyes, an unexpectedly cool breeze blew in through the window … over me, around me, through me. It was lusciously sweet, and welcome relief from the heat.

And, I thought of how God's hand in my life is like that … just when I begin to think that I can't take whatever cross or sacrifice He's asking of me now, just when I think it's too much, just when I begin to cry, He sends a cool breeze. Deceptively simple, at times: an unexpected note from a friend, a prayer I've stumbled on, sublime moments spent in Adoration, provision from a surprising source, a small kindness bestowed … These breezes blow over and around and through me, and remind me that He is there, that He is everything. That He is, really, the only thing.

And, after I've been refreshed, I know that I can go on. I can and will assent to whatever He wants, whatever He allows, whatever He sends.

He is, and will always be, the cool, sweet breeze that sustains me.

Blog Entry:

Nancy C. Brown's The Mystery of Harry Potter, a Catholic Family Guide,published by Our Sunday Visitor, is a book I've been waiting for.

Weary of defending the fact that I've allowed Harry into our home, I longed for some good Catholic mom to write down all the reasons why Harry can be perfectly compatible with a faithful, orthodox Catholic family.

I've mentioned on my own blog a couple of times that I wanted to write a series of posts about how I came to be a fan, came to allow the books for my older children, and about the ways in which I believe the books are misinterpreted or misrepresented by some outspoken Catholic critics. I haven't gotten that series done because other things have simply taken priority in life and writing, putting Harry on the back burner. And, being a stickler, I didn't want to write about the books until I could devote the time necessary to do them justice.

I still don't have that series of posts written, but now it doesn't seem nearly as important. My own experience of initial reluctance, followed by treading slowly and carefully into Harry Territory, and then not only allowing the series, but enjoying it along with my kids, is very similar to Nancy Brown's experience.

And, my overall take is the same as Nancy's, and it's simple:

Read … Guide … Discuss.

But, then, that's my take on everything with my kids. We read a lot of stuff together. Their dad and I guide them. There's discussion, often fun and lively, sometimes critical and dissecting. Isn't that what we parents are supposed to do?

I really enjoyed the opening of Nancy's book, because it all sounded so familiar. Like Nancy, I was initially reluctant to jump on the Harry bandwagon. Like Nancy, I'd read a number of critical reviews from writers I respected. Like Nancy, I'd concluded that there were good reasons to stay away. My kids weren't interested anyway, so there was no conflict. But then, my kids started to ask about the books. I began quizzing friends who were simultaneously HP fans and orthodox Catholics. Then I decided to do the most common-sensical thing:

It was time to read the books for myself. (Hmmm … just like Nancy.)

I previewed Book One about four years ago. I found it delightful. Not perfect, but delightful. A "rattlin' good story," as C.S. Lewis liked to call such yarns. And by the time I reached the last page, I was surprised by the overarching themes: sacrificial love, friendship and doing "what is right over what is easy."

I decided to share the book with the kids as a read-aloud. From the get-go, we talked about the difference between "magic" as it is forbidden in the Catechism of the Catholic Church:

2116 All forms of divination are to be rejected: recourse to Satan or demons, conjuring up the dead or other practices falsely supposed to "unveil" the future.48 Consulting horoscopes, astrology, palm reading, interpretation of omens and lots, the phenomena of clairvoyance, and recourse to mediums all conceal a desire for power over time, history, and, in the last analysis, other human beings, as well as a wish to conciliate hidden powers. They contradict the honor, respect, and loving fear that we owe to God alone.

2117 All practices of magic or sorcery, by which one attempts to tame occult powers, so as to place them at one's service and have a supernatural power over others – even if this were for the sake of restoring their health – are gravely contrary to the virtue of religion. These practices are even more to be condemned when accompanied by the intention of harming someone, or when they have recourse to the intervention of demons. Wearing charms is also reprehensible. Spiritism often implies divination or magical practices; the Church for her part warns the faithful against it. Recourse to so-called traditional cures does not justify either the invocation of evil powers or the exploitation of another's credulity.

and "magic" as it is portrayed in Harry Potter:

the magic of an imaginary fantasy world. J.K. Rowling's creation is an imagined, alternate universe in which "wizards" and "witches" are people who are born with the ability to do magical things. They do not call upon Satan or demons and they do not try to tame occult powers. There are no "occult" powers, because there is not a "source" for their kind of magic. "Magical" in Harry's world, is simply the way some people are born. There's an entire alternate wizarding world, unseen by "Muggles" (that would be us — non-magical people) in which the fantastic is normal: unicorns exist, giants dwell in the forest, invisible creatures pull carriages and folks fly on broomsticks for a fast-paced game called Quidditch. Wizards can travel through fireplaces and wave a wand to get dinner going or to knit a cap for an elf.

This is all quite different from the case of a Catholic child sitting in her bedroom and attempting to call upon spirits, summon the dead, read tarot cards, use a Ouija board or rely on a horoscope. We know and understand these differences and we take them seriously. (It would take more than one blog post to address all the reading I've done on the HP issue, both pro and con. Suffice to say for the time being that it's been extensive, and over the past few years I've read a great deal of the resources Nancy lists on this bibliography page at Our Sunday Visitor.)

Back to the HP books. We kept reading. I previewed, then we did them as read-alouds together. We made it through the first three and I was hooked. I quickly read Books 4 and 5 just before Book 6 came out two years ago. The kids and I were sharing the adventure, and we talked about everything: from Harry and his friends' mistakes, to their courageous choices, from the ways in which they were growing up to the ways in which they stayed the same, from the Christian symbolism and the theme of free will to the delightful imagination of the author.

And this is exactly the sort of thing that Nancy Brown recommends in The Mystery of Harry Potter, which is why I'm so grateful to have this book to share with friends. Nancy says, and I agree, that we need to know what our kids are reading. We need to talk to them, help them figure it out and, most importantly, place it in the context of their faith. My goal as a Catholic mother is to do this with everything my kids encounter. This is how we teach them to be in the world but not of it.

The Mystery of Harry Potter addresses the concerns that Catholic parents may have about J.K. Rowling's books. Nancy Brown answers the objections with clarity and common sense, as well as literary and theological support. She doesn't give the books her unconditional approval, and rightly so. She doesn't brush off concerns and counter that the books are harmless fun for all ages. No — Nancy Brown is a responsible mom who gave the series a critical read and moved forward from there. She encourages other parents to do the same.

My only quibble with the book is a selfish one: I would have loved to see more explication of specific examples from the books that illustrate the Christian themes. But Nancy, an avid reader who is considerate of other readers, didn't want to create a book full of spoilers, and I have to admire that consideration and restraint.

The Mystery of Harry Potter doesn't try to convert anyone to Potterism. But, if you've wondered what all the fuss is about, if you've had doubts or concerns, if you've read things that convince you your children will be drawn into the occult as a result of reading the series, then Nancy Brown's book can help you. It offers a concise guide to the objections that have been floating around for years, as well as reassurance that not only is Harry not going to harm your well-guided children, but you and your family just might even find joy and unexpected delight in Harry's extraordinary, imaginary life.

(This post also appears on my blog .) 

Blog Entry:

I've been talking on my blog about plans, and in doing so, I was reminded of this piece that I wrote several years ago for New Covenant magazine. This was after our fifth miscarriage, and before we had Ramona (the four-year old mentioned here is Betsy.) It's a piece about dashed plans and a broken dream. But, it is also about renewed hope and strengthened faith, and I offer it today to anyone who has ever lost a baby.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Broken Rosary

It was November, just before Thanksgiving and I was at the doctor’s office. I was pregnant, and cautiously hoping I would carry this baby to term. Though we have two beautiful children, after multiple miscarriages I take nothing for granted. The image on the ultrasound screen was not what it should have been.

“I’m concerned it may be ectopic,” said my obstetrician, “but this early, an ultrasound can fool us.” He told me to come back in five days, as “a few days can make a huge difference in what we see.” He did his best to assure me that all would be well.

I left the office feeling frightened and terribly sad. I was seven weeks along. We should have seen a heartbeat. The possibility that "all was well" seemed remote. I prayed. I hoped. But I feared.

Five days later, the picture did look different. There was no sign of trouble in the fallopian tube, and the baby was indeed in the womb. Still, we could not detect a heartbeat. My doctor wanted to try one more ultrasound in a few more days — couldn’t we have miscalculated the date of conception, he wondered? Not likely, I said, for a couple who knows the finer points of Natural Family Planning as well as we do. And, given my history, I feared the worst.

I reported the news to my closest friends with great sadness. “No heartbeat,” was all I could manage to say. My friends offered me prayers, comfort and shoulders to cry on.

But I had one friend who remained upbeat. “Hang on until the next ultrasound,” she urged. “We have no idea what God has in store for your little one. Pray to Our Lady of Guadalupe, the protector of the unborn.”

Of course! Our Lady of Guadalupe! And so began the rosaries, asking for her intercession. A few days later, out of the blue, I received a beautiful rosary in the mail — it was a gift from a pro-life organization to which we had donated, and it bore the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe. My heart jumped, and I dared to hope this was a sign of an impending miracle.

The next day, on our way out of the house to go to the doctor’s office, my four year old begged to hold the pretty rosary. I handed it to her, and we drove to the home of a friend who'd offered to watch the kids while I went to the doctor. When we arrived at my friend’s house, the rosary was in pieces. “I’m sorry, Mama,” my little girl said with sad eyes. “It broke.” Indeed, beads and links were scattered everywhere.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “Things break. You didn’t mean to.”

But inside, I feared that my “sign” had broken too. I had been hoping and trusting in my prayers to Our Lady of Guadalupe and now the rosary, that unexpected gift that prompted me to hope for a miracle, was in pieces.

Later, at the doctor’s office, the final news came. No growth… no heartbeat… no sign of life. Blood tests over the next week confirmed that my levels of pregnancy hormone had dropped; the baby had died.

In my grief, I forgot for a time about my broken rosary, but then a strange thing happened.

Though I mourned our lost child, circumstances surrounding the miscarriage led to amazing resolution regarding an old and painful emotional wound. In other words, had I not miscarried, I would not have been healed of this old wound. What an amazing grace, I thought, and I thanked God for what He had done for me through the short life and the death of my child.

It was then that I remembered the rosary. As I pieced it back together, I saw that I had nearly all of it. One decade was missing two beads, and my tinkering with the links left it looking a bit crooked here and there, but it was repaired.

Gazing at it, I was struck by the incongruity. This once-perfect thing was now bent, crooked and imperfect, yet still beautiful. It was like us — like our lives. Though we were made in the perfect image of God, we are bent and crooked with original sin; even after baptism we are still crippled by its after-effects. We stumble through this life tarnishing the perfect image while our Lord repeatedly tinkers with us, repairs us, and heals us.

I remembered the sinking feeling I got when I saw that the rosary had been broken, how I felt all my hopes instantly dashed. I had imagined that the gift of the rosary meant that I would receive the gift of my baby. What I received instead — the healing I received — was a great gift that I could not have predicted.

I couldn’t have known how beautifully the Lord would use my child to heal me; I couldn’t have known how this unexpected rosary would become the symbol of God’s work in a broken part of my life. Now, when I pray with my broken rosary, I think of my baby and I know that my friend was right — we had no idea what God had in store for my little one.

He is always, ineffably, and so unexpectedly, making crooked ways straight. 

Blog Entry:

By George, I think she's got it!

If you've read John Paul the Great's work on the "Theology of the Body," you know that one of his starting points is that the body and soul are integrated in a supernatural way that precludes anything being "purely physical." The integration is so complete that, although we could speak of the body in objective terms, to do so is to greatly diminish its worth, because the body is the man, the man is the body. Nothing is "merely" physical … our bodies are too intertwined in our eternal reality to speak of them as "merely" anything.

JPII wrote (emphasis mine):

Certainly, it is possible to describe the human body, to express its truth with the objectivity characteristic of the natural sciences. But such a description with all its precision cannot be adequate (that is, commensurable with its object). It is not just a question of the body (intended as an organism, in the somatic sense) but of man, who expresses himself through that body and in this sense is, I would say, that body. So that thread of evaluation, seeing that it is a question of man as a person, is indispensable in describing the human body. Furthermore, it is necessary to say how right this evaluation is. This is one of the tasks and one of the perennial themes of the whole of culture: of literature, sculpture, painting, and also of dancing, of theatrical works, and finally of the culture of everyday life, private or social.

~~ St. Paul's Description of the Body and Teaching on Purity, General Audience of Wednesday, February 4, 1981

With this in mind, I share with you this sweet exchange with Ramona, who, like most four-year-olds, intuits Truth when she lives it.

Ramona has never latched on to a blankie, or a "snuggly" of any kind. I'm her blankie, and always have been (how many of you can relate?) In particular, she's attached to a certain spot on my arm, which she lovingly rubs when she's stressed or tired.

The other day, as I was typing something, she approached me and rubbed my arm. I stopped what I was doing, turned and looked at her with a face that no doubt was bursting with love for this sweet girl.

I said, "You really like my arm, don't you?"

"Ye-e-e-es," she replied with a sly smile.

Still beaming, I said, "Why do you like my arm so much?"

Her expression switched to one of amazement and confusion. She couldn't believe her mother would ask such a ridiculous question, and she replied, quite sensibly:

"Because … it's you. Your arm is you, Mommy. That's why I love you."

Ah, the wisdom of four-year-olds.

Now, the challenge in parenting? To keep the Truth alive.

This post also appears on my blog.

Blog Entry:

I'm being redundant.

As you probably know, the word "patient" comes from the Latin root "pati", meaning "to suffer." Therefore, to be patient is to suffer. What affirming words for a mother.

We moms tend to suffer practice patience all day long. When you:

*change another diaper. Then another. Then another, even though you should have been out the door for that appointment ten minutes ago …

*pick up after a toddler's trail of destruction in the room (or many rooms) you cleaned just a half hour ago …

*mop up the second cup of spilled milk in fifteen minutes …

*give the potty training another valiant try …

*read Brown Bear, Brown Bear What Do You See?, one more time, even though you are so exhausted you think (and wish) you could sleep like the dead …

*disentangle a tantruming two-year-old from a shopping cart and carry her from the store, even though you really, really need to get these errands done …

*call Poison control in a panic, because you're worried that the little guy just ate some hand sanitizer …

*say, for the 210th time, and as you are placing her in yet another time-out, "We do not bite!" …

*eat the remnants of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and call it lunch …

*fall into bed, are slack-jawed within ten minutes, and awakened ten minutes after that by a toddler crying for mommy, courtesy of a Disney-induced nightmare …

… then you are suffering. You are experiencing the passion (another word that comes from the same root) of your vocation. And God is drawing you closer to Him through it all. It's through patience, through our small daily sufferings, that we shed the skin of selfishness and emerge a new creation.

So, I want to take a minute to thank Him.

Thank you, Lord, for these simple, everyday opportunities to suffer, to be patient, and to grow in holiness — one diaper, one sandwich crust, one sleep-deprived night, one tantrum at a time.

And thank you, Lord, for this little tidbit, too: that only occasionally am I the one having the tantrum.

(This post also appears on my blog .)

Blog Entry:

Comparing the grand plans to the unfolding reality:

*Operation Rice Bowl

Check. We're following this pretty closely, though I sometimes forget to check the calendar for a particular day and I've yet to make one of their suggested recipes. It's been good, though, and enlightening for the kids. We read about a different country each week , and the stories about real people have touched the girls' hearts. The coins and IOU's are going in the rice bowl regularly (IOUs are for larger amounts … I never have cash, beyond some quarters. Perhaps it's time to raid the couch cushions.)

*Lamb of God Calendar

Check. Ramona loves to glue the cotton balls on , and we do it every couple of days.

*Lenten Caterpillar/Easter Butterfly

Haven't made them yet. Want to. Plan to. Hope to. Kids may not forgive me this year if we (yet again) use the same caterpillars we used the last two years. Those ones are supposed to have already gone through metamorphosis, you know.)

*Lenten (salt dough) Crown of Thorns/Crown of Glory

Nope. We started the salt dough crown of thorns, and I realized that I didn't have anywhere near enough toothpicks. I had about twelve of them. Then, the braiding was going badly (you'd think with all that St. Lucia bread experience that I would be better at this.) So, trying to cover my extreme annoyance with myself, I told the girls we would "just experiment!" Instead of all of the thorns being toothpicks, I cheerfully intoned, we would just shape the dough to look like thorns. Simple as that. We're creative people, right?

We finished, and Anne-with-an-e looked the sad thing over and said, "Ummm … Mom. It looks more like a crown of peaks than a crown of thorns."

Sigh.

Peaks will not do. They did not look at all terrible, the way thorns should, and there was nothing beautiful about the thing to make up for that fact. Out it went, into the trash.

So, instead of candles being inserted into our salt dough crown, my regular, real crown of thorns is on the table, surrounded by candles. I painted the candle holders purple and we lit all six candles the first week, but we're lighting one fewer candle each Sunday. The "lights are going out" as we approach Good Friday, but come Easter morning, all candles will be blazing once again when the Light of the World has returned.

(Last year we started by lighting one candle, and lit one more each week, as we anticipated Easter, but this year we made the switch. I owe credit for the reverse candle lighting idea to Kelly at The Abundant Life. She mentioned the idea on this thread at 4Real. Thank you, Kelly!)

I think we'll still make a "Crown of Glory" before Easter — we'll do the salt dough one more time (after all, I was so happy with last year's) and will decorate it with silk flowers and ribbon. I'll replace the purple candle holders with something bright and golden.

*Homemade Soft Pretzels

Check. Made 'em. We'll make 'em again, although really they're too delicious to be considered penitential, so I think the next time we make them they should be my only food for the day.

*Sacrifice Jar

Check. We're doing it, but it needs a whole lot more beans to be plunked into it before Easter morning.

Holy Family Meal

The kids had requested that we do this again this year. Haven't done this yet, and I think I'll replace it with the Seder Meal night at our parish. We're really looking forward to that.

*Have You Ever Wondered Where the Easter Bunny Comes From?

Check. We will read our well-worn Radix coloring/story book and Anne and I will cry, as usual.

Radix no longer prints this little book, but you're in luck, and so am I — the latest issue of Faith and Family magazine (edited by none other than the delightful Danielle Bean) has a gorgeously illustrated rendition of this story which I will be tearing out and saving. It so perfectly ties the Easter Bunny to the Cross and the Resurrection — you will never again worry about how to marry the sacred and the secular at Easter.

A Sacrifice a Day

My girls need a little more encouragement and variety in their Lenten sacrifices at this point, so we're adding the "choose what you'll give up today" option to the other thing they're doing.

And that's the scoop on how Lent is really going at our house, at this not-quite-halfway-through-the-desert point.

Blog Entry:

What shall we do with these forty days?

In addition to displaying our crown of thorns, which helps me to contemplate the sacrifice of our Lord, we'll do some of the following. We're still deciding what we'll do as I write this, ten days before Ash Wednesday. (The starred items are things we always do, in addition to learning new prayers, giving up a few things, and giving additional alms.)

*Operation Rice Bowl

This program is part of Catholic Relief Services. Each year, we get a cardboard "rice bowl" from our parish, and we fill it with the money we save through the things we've given up, such as meat on Fridays, sweets, and whatever else. This is such a great, concrete way for our kids to see that our sacrifices bear fruit: We didn't eat chocolate today? Someone in the world will be able to eat dinner tonight with the pittance we gave up.

See this page for resources to download, including a Lenten calendar that contains personal stories, statistics and simple, meatless meals.

*Lamb of God Calendar

On poster board, draw a large picture of a lamb. I have used, as a model, the clip art I found here. Divide the body into squares to make a calendar, covering the entire period of Lent. Each day, have your children glue a cottonball (or a few, depending on how big the squares and how eager the little hands) on that day’s space. This is a great way for little ones to count down to the great feast of Easter and it gives them a concrete picture of the length of the season of waiting. Ramona loved this last year.

*Lenten Caterpillar/Easter Butterfly
(This idea is from my dear friend, Holly, who is godmother to all of my children.)

Cut out 1/4 of a cardboard egg carton and have the children paint it for the caterpillar's body. Glue on "googly eyes" and use pipe cleaners for antennae and legs. Display the caterpillars throughout Lent. When Holy Week arrives, wrap your caterpillars in paper or coffee filters (their cocoons.) On Holy Saturday night (after kids are in bed) tear open the cocoon and replace it with a butterfly.

The butterfly will depend on the artistic skills — or lack thereof — of Mom and Dad. Our butterflies have ranged from drawings, to origami to a picture downloaded from the internet (that was a hectic year) to fun foam and sequins. Add to the symbolism of rebirth with a note proclaiming, “Jesus gives us New Life! Alleluia!”

I also just found this really cute idea from Abbey Press. It starts out as a caterpillar, but you rearrange it during Lent to turn it into a butterfly.

*Lenten (salt dough) Crown of Thorns/Crown of Glory

We just adopted this one last year, thanks to my great friend, Johnna. She invited us over to make salt dough crowns. We braided the salt dough, and formed it into a circle. We inserted six candle holders into the crown, one for each of the weeks of Lent. Throughout Lent, we lit a candle each week (just as we do in Advent) to "count down" the days and add a special sense of anticipation to the coming of Easter. We added Scripture readings and prayers.

When Easter arrived, we spray-painted the crown gold and decorated with silk flowers and ribbon. Johnna chose to break the toothpicks off when she turned it into a Crown of Glory. I left the toothpicks in, and liked the effect of the "gold rays" emanating from the crown.

Here's a link from Catholics United for the Faith, with a variation on this idea (the kids pull out a "thorn" for each sacrifice or act of kindness performed during Lent.) This crown looks very much like the one we created.

*Homemade Soft Pretzels

1 pkg. yeast
1 tsp. salt
4 c. flour
Coarse salt
1 1/2 c. warm water
1 tbsp. sugar
1 beaten egg

Measure warm water into large (warm) mixing bowl. Sprinkle on yeast and stir until it looks soft. Add salt, sugar and flour. Mix/knead dough. Shape dough into standard or your own special pretzel shapes.

Grease cookie sheets and lay pretzels on them and brush with beaten egg. Sprinkle with coarse salt. Bake at 425 degrees for 12-15 minutes.

*Sacrifice Jar

On Ash Wednesday, put out an empty jar and a bowl of kidney beans. For every sacrifice, prayer, act of kindness or penance performed, the children place a bean in the jar.

On Easter morning, your children will find the beans have been replaced with jelly beans, M & Ms or other favorite candy, reminding them that the rewards of Heaven will be sweet.

Holy Family Meal
(this idea came from an article by Maryann Davis Cochran, which I read years ago, somewhere ….)

Show your kids how Jesus and His family would have eaten. Sit on the floor (only wealthy people had chairs…) and serve 1st century fare. Fill pita bread with your choice of salad greens, onions, garlic, parsley, cucumbers, cheese and fish (I have substituted tuna for smoked fish or sardines … my kids aren't that culinarily adventuresome.)

Remember — they used plates, cups and knives, but not forks and spoons! For dessert, Jesus might have eaten a mixture of figs, dates or apricots, raisins, walnuts and honey. Eating this sticky mix with a knife or fingers will leave an impression on your kids. For the beverage, serve grape juice. Before and after the meal, read from the Old Testament, as the Holy Family would have (a good reading is the “Shema”, an ancient Jewish prayer from Deuteronomy 6:4-9).

(The following ideas have been collected over the years from a variety of sources, and I'm not entirely sure where credit properly belongs. Variations on these ideas are found in a number of places online. If any of these are original ideas of yours, please let me know) :

Lenten Chain

Make a chain from purple construction paper. Each day of Lent, each family member writes (on a purple strip) an intention for the day: a prayer, sacrifice, or penance they intend to carry out. Every few days, glue or tape them together into a chain, and keep it in a prominent place, reminding all of the spirit of Lent.

Jelly Bean Prayer:

Red is for the blood He gave.
Green is for the grass He made.
Yellow is for the sun so bright.
Orange is for the edge of night.
Black is for the sins we made.
White is for the grace He gave.
Purple is for His hour of sorrow.
Pink is for our new tomorrow.

A bag full of jelly beans, colorful and sweet,
is a prayer, is a promise, is a special treat.

Various crafts can go along with this prayer. Jellybean bracelets, mini-baskets, jelly beans wrapped in cellophane and given to friends as gifts ….

*Have You Ever Wondered Where the Easter Bunny Comes From?

We will again read this little booklet, subtitled, "a Children’s Tale of the Passion, as told by Radix." It's a wonderful story that places the Easter Bunny at the Cross. Unfortunately, Radix no longer publishes this coloring book, but check out what else the Radix Guys have to offer.

A Sacrifice a Day

Sometimes, for children, the idea of giving something up for six weeks is quite daunting. An alternative is to do "a sacrifice a day." From a central source, let your child choose what she will give up each day. The central source could be a list of ideas, posted in the kitchen. Or, cut that list into strips, place them in a jar and let the child choose one at random each day.

Stations of the Cross, for children

Visit this web page for an online set of meditations by Fr. Victor Hoagland. See Catholic Culture for another idea.

*Make your "New Year's Resolutions" now.

Lent is a time of renewal. I find Lent is a much better time than January to examine my life and reassess what I do.

What are we "supposed" to give up during Lent? There are some things that are prescribed, certainly, by the Church, such as meat on Fridays. And there are other things that are encouraged, such as giving up most or all "festive foods." But, sometimes, my unconventional sacrifices have borne unexpected fruit, too.

One year, I decided to give up listening to anything while I was in the car. It led to more prayer time (we happened to live about a half hour from everything at that time), more thinking time, and it led to being much more selective when I did start adding some "noise" back into my travel time.

Another year I gave up wearing earrings during Lent. Sounds silly, doesn't it? These days, I don't think of myself as a heavy consumer of jewelry, but I do have pierced ears, and there's usually something in them. But, giving them up helped me to focus on my vanity, and enlightened me as to how much I think about such things. And, now that I think about it, not being a heavy consumer of jewelry probably has something to do with Lent that year.

One other addition: one year I gave up complaining .

Various Great Links for more ideas, recipes, crafts and information:

Catholic Mom
Domestic-Church.com
Catholic Culture
Fr. Victor Hoaglund's pages
Apples 4 the Teacher
EWTN's history of Lent

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do not dismayed daughters, at the number of things which you have to consider before setting out on this divine journey, which is the royal road to heaven. By taking this road we gain such precious treasures that it is no wonder if the cost seems to us a high one.

The time will come when we shall realize that all we have paid has been nothing at all by comparison with the greatness of our prizes.

~~ St. Teresa of Avila