Coach was preparing for the Masters National Swim Meet, therefore I prefaced my text with:  “You don’t need to reply.”  Yet, within an hour, my Inbox revealed this answer, “ Wow — that’s awesome!  You’re right!  That puts everything into proper perspective!  Have you written an article about that?  You should, because that’s such a good point.  Thanks for sharing.”

I thought, “‘We’re infinitely valuable; ergo the Cross’, everybody knows that!  Why write an article saying, ‘God doesn’t make junk?’”  Yet deep within myself, I know I haven’t internalized that truth.  For Satan continually tempts me to envy other people’s success or progress in virtue.  I imagine that if I could be the brightest star in the heavens, then certainly my worth will have been proven.  I may sulk, “But why didn’t God give me the talents he gave her?  What’s wrong with me?  I’m so worthless.  It’s no use.  Who would love me, anyway, if they really knew me?”

Then my Guardian Angel reminded me of a book I read years ago called The Search for Significance by Robert McGee.  In this Christian self-help book, McGee reveals a lie that Satan uses to cause people to despair.  The lie is this:  Your success, plus what people think about you, equals your value.  I recognize that evil axiom as a perversion of truth and a lie.  For Genesis tells us that each of us is created in the Image and Likeness of God.  He has animated us with his pneuma (breath of life and spirit); therefore, we have dignity as transcendent beings.  Father Walter Schu writes in The Splendor of Love , “No single human being can be relativized in the presence of another.” The philosophy of Rationalist Materialism promulgated by secular humanists reduces the human person to the status of an “object” to be exalted for what he can do or produce. Original Sin, combined with that philosophy, continues fueling my pride yet sense of worthlessness.

The lust for temporal glory tempts many of us.  We erroneously believe our worth must be quantified.  For instance, “the mother of Zebedee’s sons came to Jesus, with her sons at her side. Kneeling before him, she asked a favor of him. ‘What do you want?’ Jesus asked. She said, ‘Promise me that my two sons may sit at your right hand and at your left hand in your kingdom.’  Jesus replied, ‘You don’t know what you’re asking for,’ Then Jesus said to the sons of Salome. "Can you drink the cup of suffering I am going to drink?"  Jesus refers us to the cross as the way to regain our true identity as sons and daughters of the king.

Before he was Pope John Paul II, Bishop Karol Wojtyla wrote:

The evil of our times consists in the first place in a kind of degradation, indeed in a pulverization, of the fundamental uniqueness of each human person.  This evil is even more of the metaphysical order than of the moral order. To this disintegration planned at times by atheistic ideologies we must oppose, rather than sterile polemics, a kind of “recapitulation” of the inviolable mystery of the person.

Perhaps there is no greater mystery than the full response Jesus gives to his disciples about one’s importance. “ Instead, anyone who wants to be important among you must be your servant. And anyone who wants to be first must be your slave. Be like the Son of Man. He did not come to be served. Instead, he came to serve others. He came to give his life as ransom for many people." Quite beautifully, Mary carried the preborn Jesus as she, the “handmaid of the Lord”, hurried to serve her cousin, Elizabeth.  We do well to remember that Mary, God’s vessel, evoked Elizabeth’s greeting, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb” (Luke 1:42), not because of who she was, but, rather, who she carried within her.  Whenever we serve in Christ’s name, His presence within us blesses the work and evokes authentic praise.

A person’s genuine success derives from freely choosing to place one’s talents at the service of God and man.  Jesus clearly states that only God exalts a person; and, if you exalt yourself you will be humbled. Of himself, he said, “I do not receive glory from men” (John 5:41).  Over the centuries saints have abased themselves for the sake of furthering God’s plan.  St Thomas Aquinas refused many temporal honors such as becoming archbishop of Naples. He believed he could better serve the Church through his study, contemplation, prayer, and writings.  Ironically, in his humility of simple service to God, the Church venerates his name centuries after his death.  Who did accept the archbishopric of Naples?

Saints Martin de Porres and John Masias, Dominican brothers who lived in Lima, Peru during the late 1500s, became saints by living simple lives of charity toward the weakest among us:  the poor. Martin de Porres had the intellect to serve as a doctor, but because of his biracial heritage, that occupation was denied him. Yet, he never embraced the presumption of self-pity and lived joyfully.  St John Masias served his community as its Gatekeeper for years.  His docility to his state in life, gave him the Wisdom to recognize Jesus in the poor who came to his gate.  He fed them the Bread of Life along with bodily sustenance.

Mother Theresa believed God chose her because her nothingness allowed only Christ to live within her.  Within this purity of heart, she began her work as a solitary nun working under the Indult of Exclaustration (a religious living apart from their community).  Hidden in Calcutta’s slums, the only witnesses to her love died before testifying to her greatness of spirit.  In secret and in darkness she brought glory to God and recognition to the dignity of the poor as she gave Jesus what he asked of her.  Yet, her simple “yes” to God in the work he gave her, garnered praise. Causing her much suffering, the world heaped honors upon her including the Nobel Peace Prize.   Through prayer, she guarded her “nothingness” which accomplished greatness for God’s glory.  She told her sisters, “The work is God’s work and not our work, that is why we must do it well. How often we spoil God’s work and try to get the glory for ourselves.”

Frequently we seek praise and recognition as proof of our worth.  Mother Theresa understood our value lies in dying to ourselves so that Christ can live in us.  She embodied St. Paul’s words, “I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me; and the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”  (Gal 2:19,20) What is this “faith”?  It is the certainty that “while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”  Jesus shed his blood for each one of us individually.  Each one of us is the Prodigal Son, the lost sheep, the missing coin. We’re infinitely valuable. Filled with God’s grace, the Holy Spirit allows each one of us, using faith and reason, to incarnate Christ’s humanity and live as adopted sons and daughters of the Eternal Father.

Repeatedly Sacred Scripture tells us of God’s tender love for individuals. Isaiah says, “Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne?  Though she may forget, I will not forget you!  See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.”  (Is 49:15-16) Having borne and nursed 11 children I cling to that passage as re-enforcement of God’s love for me.  In a sense, he carved me on the palms of his hands when my sins nailed his hands to the cross. Also, of sparrows Jesus tells us “that not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father.  And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  So don’t be afraid: you are worth more than many sparrows.” (Matt 10:29-31)

Through his humanity, Jesus perfectly understood the need for people to experience a personal love.  He experienced the love and nurturing a family provides.  Each of us is born into a family that should provide the first glimpse of the agape love of God for each of us.  Indeed, the Church declares the family is a School of Love. In his divinity Jesus knew that, unlike angels who posses infused knowledge, people come to understanding in and through their bodies and minds.  Therefore, he washed the disciples’ feet as an example of humble service to us and loved us unto death on the cross.  Jesus gave us the Eucharist so we’d never be lonely.  Finally, he commanded us to love one and other, as he had loved us so we could incarnate God’s love for man.

Individually, we must embrace God’s personal love for us and return charity to Jesus as we find him in our brother.  Tragically, some of us might not know what love is because we have not experienced human love in a meaningful way.  For this reason, we must reach out in love to others in a heroic way. Sadly, too, we might not want to accept God’s love, because in order to swoon on his breast, we must embrace the stumbling block of our personal sin and nothingness without the Trinity.  Our contrite heart and the worthy reception of the sacraments, especially Eucharist and Confession, activate the redemption of the Cross and the resurrection of the empty tomb.  We must constantly strive, with God’s grace, for freeing self-knowledge.  Mother Theresa’s prayer, her little way , can help us:  “Jesus in my heart, I believe in your faithful/tender love for me.  I love you.”

St John of the Cross knew that the only significant accomplishment of our life would be accomplished in our soul, unseen by human eyes.  He wrote in Dark Night of the Soul

When a person journeys through the temporal world guided by God’s secret plan for his soul, he will achieve the success of which St John of the Cross writes: union with God.  The Trinity exploded with love, creating bright lights: each one of us.  God destines each of us to dwell in the “mansion” he has prepared for us in heaven.

In faith I do believe my email to my daughter’s good coach for, as St Thomas Aquinas wrote, “To take something away from the perfection of the creature is to abstract from the perfection of the creative power itself.”  Each of us is the “bestest ever”; and so I pray, “Holy Spirit, increase my faith as I accept God’s love for me and for each human being, regardless of our flaws or outward success.” Despite temptations toward human respect, I have embraced the vocation of raising a large family in the cloister of my home where washing feet and dying to self occurs continuously and unseen.  In my heart, as proven by my works, I do not want to be the brightest light in the universe, a supernova, a dying star.  In faith, hope, and love I’ll happily reflect authentic Light right here on Earth.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, that whoever believes in him, shall not perish but have eternal life — John 3:16.

Similar stories abound in Christian’s lives. For instance, St Catherine of Sienna, who loved to wander the hills of Sienna, was called to be a hermit for a time. St Therese of the Child Jesus, who wanted to be a foreign missionary, became a cloistered nun and is the Patron Saint of Foreign Missions. Two of my favorite paradoxes are God’s will for Saints Peter and Paul. Only God could name Simon, "Rock", and transform Saul into "Paul the Evangelist". God has chosen irony as His will for me, again. On the very day my essay, "Running the Rosary" , was published, I suffered a serious ankle injury which left me in a cast and dependent on crutches for weeks. Such a paradox exists, I discerned, because God must want a postscript to that essay written! Most certainly, I will write as He wills.

Quite apart from my habit, of praying while running, I prayed the Rosary this morning while sitting
still, my leg propped up, and fingering amber Rosary beads. “Peace. Be still”, Our Lady infused into my soul, as I listened to the chirp of Momma Hummingbird sipping nectar from the hibiscus tree, which brightens the veranda. In contemplating Jesus’ crowning with thorns, my mind wandered back to St Paul’s words about running the race and being crowned with the victor’s crown. He didn’t literally mean one must run. For, while running, how can one appreciate a hawk circling and gliding on unseen airflows above one’s praying head? The ancients recognized the presence of God in such gifts of nature. St Paul’s words apply even to those who never feel the snap of a branch on their face while persevering on a rugged cross-country trail.

For some reason God’s will for me this summer is to contemplate him in the stillness I find hard to achieve when I am of sound body. Since my injury enforces a driving hiatus, I must sit and read to my “little ones” from whom I can become distracted during my hectic days of bustling around the house and town. Weeks of healing have given me the gift of listening to tiny voices doing “talk-overs” for Polly Pockets. Their pleasure at play reminds me that my Heavenly Father, too, delights in my smallest endeavors, like when I “crutch over” to inspect sun-kissed blueberry bushes.

Relying on chauffeurs has meant I no longer attend mass daily. My longing for Jesus in the Eucharist inspires a deeper appreciation of, and thanksgiving for, those times I can receive him. Several times, because of my chauffeur’s schedule, I have arrived quite early for mass. Therefore, I’ve been able to pray the Rosary before, and receive graces from, the Blessed Sacrament. Once I attended mass at the driver’s convenience and stumbled upon a mass in which the Anointing of the Sick was offered! Divine Providence, while having a sense of humor, never mocks the Beloved.

My hot-pink cast reminds me of the gift of a sound body. I’m already anticipating my joy and ensuing thanksgiving when I can freely run again. However, the injury forces me to contemplate that we are called to be detached from everything but God in this life. No pleasure, even a seemingly benign one, like running, can begin to approximate the Trinitarian relationship that God wills for us. Therefore, he slowly detaches those whom he loves from their very selves. Eventually, our soul will separate from our body for a time. Those who cling to life in this world grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope (1Thess 4:16) as they lose anything of worldly importance to them such as health, relationships, or hobbies. God uses these mini-deaths to prepare us for eternal life with Him in our glorified bodies.

For His Divine purpose, I Am deigned that I would neither run nor walk this summer. Like Our Lady of Mt Carmel, in quiet and stillness I will ponder within what this can mean. Was I becoming vain and self-satisfied through my achievements? Was my prayer superficial while on the trail? Or, was He entirely pleased with me and in His mercy rewarded me with rest? Most fervently I will, as St Catherine of Genoa wrote, give “myself wholly into His hands, that He might strip me of all that was not pleasing to His most penetrating eyes…Pure Love wishes to be alone.” He lavished this gift of mortification on me so I am “stripped of every other love and entirely possessed by the pure love of God”. (St Catherine of Genoa). The theological virtues of Faith, Hope, and Love are the gifts that the Holy Spirit infused into my soul at my baptism and through worthy reception of the Sacraments, to draw me away from myself and unite me to the Trinity during this apparent trial. As St John of the Cross taught: Faith will purify my intellect so that I can rest in Divine’s wisdom, Hope will purify my memory and allow me to anticipate the true good my loving Father has prepared for me, Love will purify my will so that I align it with God’s will for me. Satan will not snatch the Victor’s Crown that awaits me as I run the race God has prepared for me.

Despite the human sadness at my pain and disability, I chuckle at God’s sense of humor while He lovingly draws me closer to Himself. I can say, “This stinks!” while knowing the fragrance I inhale is Heaven Scent perfume. Now, there’s a paradox!

During the year of my beloved St. Paul, his words in 2 Timothy4:6-8 echoed in my soul as I ran along my chosen path: As for me, I am already being poured out as a libation, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. From now on there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have longed for his appearing.

God has whispered His wisdom to me while praying the Rosary and running over the years. Taking only my fingers and rectitude of intention along as prayer tools, I open my heart to receive His light. I feel like the disciples whom Jesus instructed to take nothing with them during their first mission. I, too, have only the Paraclete to unite me to heaven as my Nikes pound the earth. The totality of the running experience frees my soul to pray. Even distractions, such as airplane engines ripping the sky above, serve as a point of meditation for me. This is earth. There are no planes in heaven. The noise reminds me that I will not let Satan snatch the joy of my prayer-run from me. I then hear only the birds or the wind-tossed leaves. I’ve even heard the silence of a fawn nestling in moss. She echoed the silence of my soul at prayer.

The Joyful Mysteries seem to yield abundant fruit during my runs. On the Monday following the Notre Dame student body’s standing ovation of President Obama, Our Lady reminded me to rejoice in the midst of fear. God’s perfect will for Mary, and humanity, was announced and incarnated, in time, both 2000 years ago in Nazareth and two days or weeks or years ago in Indiana. Christ defeated death through his birth in a stable. My fast-beating heart gave birth again.

While leaping roots and mud puddles: expected stumbling blocks along my way, the Holy Spirit showed me that love and service of others requires sacrifice. The Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth was not without its trials either. Mary had to overcome her own exhaustion, nausea, and travel logistics to attend to Elizabeth’s needs. She persevered. While praying this second mystery of the Joyful Mysteries, I meditated upon what keeps me from serving others. Do I judge whether their needs are legitimate? Are they worthy of the service of a very busy woman? Can I even afford to make the meal or donate the diapers? “Why is my hardened heart leaving good undone”, I’ve contemplated while approaching a hill I’d rather walk than charge. Mary then energizes me not only to run up the hill, but to act in the service of others.

During one run several years ago, I had counted off the Joyful mysteries with each breath but without apparently receiving the Breath of Life in my prayers. Finally, as I began to pray the fifth Joyful Mystery, the Finding in the Temple, my heart began to pound with joyful understanding. Jesus’ words to his parents, “I must be about my father’s business” became my answer to those who had chastised me about yet another pregnancy with the following comment, “Whatever you’re trying to prove, you’ve already proven it. You don’t need any more children.” Peace caressed me and my tiny, unborn tenth child. Perhaps Jesus didn’t know why He was in the temple. He only knew that He “must be about my father’s business”. I, too, couldn’t explain why my husband and I were open to a large family. My reasons weren’t important. I knew, with every stride, that I was running the race for God. Only His perfect will mattered for me and my family. The Father wanted Grace in the temple of my body and I submitted, answering, “Yes, I will be about your business, Lord.” The supernatural gift of Understanding given to me four years ago continues to breath life into me while I run and pray. Effective exercise and true prayer continue energizing one long after the prayerful run has ended.

Often, running is my prayer. It’s my small way of returning thanks to God for allowing me to co-create eleven children with Him. I struggle to regain fitness postpartum in order to glorify God in my body. Also, in justice, my children and husband deserve a mother and wife who cares about her body and soul. They deserve an energetic and happy mom. Prayer and exercise produce that fruit. I believe God is using my family to evangelize the world to the truth and beauty of the human family and to the goodness of children. Therefore, in living my vocation I represent what a Holy Catholic Mother may resemble. I try to present to the world an attractive example of Christian life in everything I do, including care of my body. God willing, my runs are helping to forge my victor’s crown.

The prayer of running inspires me to “finish the race” when I feel exhausted both on and off the trail. Running the Rosary has taught me to persevere through the end despite the crosses of my vocation. Many times I have not wanted to begin a run. On those days, I am gentle with myself. I start slowly. I walk until my body remembers that I am a runner. Sometimes I’ll walk for a time and then recommence the run. My body deserves respect and recognition for what it has given the world: children. Training myself as a runner teaches me to nurture my soul too. As St. Frances de Sales wrote, “Hate your imperfections, then, because they are imperfections, but love them because they make you know your nothingness and give to you an opportunity to exercise yourself in virtue, and to God to show His mercy towards you.” Running and praying work together and teach me another lesson of St. Francis, “Courage! Let us rise above ourselves, for God will help us, and we shall advance.”

St. Francis must have been speaking to me, because some mornings I advance by leaping out of bed when the “alarm” of a child screeches. Therefore, my Morning Offering lays unsaid on my nightstand. I don’t despair of my slow prayer-start to the day. When I remember what I’ve forgotten, I return to my prayers. All is not lost. St. Paul tells us to persevere to the end. He doesn’t give us a time frame. Physical conditioning takes months and years to attain. Athletes continually train in order to improve. So, too, our souls require the humility of patient nurturing. St. Alphonsus Rodriguez wrote, “Let one say to himself in the morning, ‘This day I mean to perform my ordinary actions well.’ So, that becomes easy and tolerable, which might appear very difficult if it were taken in a general way, and with the thought that this effort was to be made for a lifetime. Meanwhile, by proceeding every day in this manner, little by little a good habit is formed…” Beginning to run again after each pregnancy has informed my prayer-life. My legs have run St. Alphonsus’ counsel on wooded trails while my soul, too, journeys along its path to heaven.

Regardless of one’s hobby, if it is of God, it can become a prayer. I have mulched my yard and meditated, cooked and contemplated, cross-stitched and beheld the cross. For one whose mind is set on things above, everything becomes an opportunity to contemplate the goodness of God and to glorify Him with your body. Ora et labora, indeed.

Another illuminating experience occurred recently for me.  Upon finishing the book He Leadeth Me by Father Walter Ciszek, S.J, I noticed at Barnes and Noble a youth novel, The Endless Steppe, about a young girl’s experience of deportment from Poland to the steppes of Siberia.  Since I had just finished reading Father Ciszek’s faith story about his 26 years internment in a Soviet gulag post WW II, I was intrigued by a young girl’s perspective of her imprisonment during WW II by the Soviets.

In The Endless Steppe Esther Hautzig, her parents, and grandparents are deported before the invasion of Germany from Poland to Siberia.  As Jews, their only crime was being “Capitalists”.  Esther’s mother, while gathering her belongings under the watchful eyes of the Soviet police, renounced her brother who knocked at the door so that he would not be deported along with them.  Mrs. Hautzig lived to regret that deception for the rest of her life.

Despite enduring over five years of suffering as deportees in Siberia, the Hautzig family, less the grandfather, survived and were returned to their homeland after the war.  Tragically, all of their family had been murdered by the Nazis in the Holocaust precisely because they were Jewish.  Mrs. Hautzig never forgave herself for disavowing her brother as he begged recognition at her door before the war.

Exile and the life it entails was the primary theme animating The Endless Steppe.  I reflected that the suffering of exile, that the anguish of separation from loved ones, that the uncertainty of survival, that being sojourners in a strange land was precisely where God wanted the Hautzig family in order to preserve their lives.  Exile by the Soviets to the Russian steppe was their hiding place from the Nazis.

“Thus, even while they [the Jewish people] are in the land of their enemies, I will not reject or obliterate them, lest I break my covenant with them by destroying them. For I am the Lord their God; I will remember them because of the covenant I made with their original ancestors whom I brought out from the land of Egypt, in the sight of the nations, so that I might be their God” (Leviticus 26:44).

Another Son of Israel, Joseph, from Genesis is the archetypal Old Testament figure of exile providing salvation not only for himself, but also for his entire nation.  Reuben tried to save Joseph’s life by throwing him in the darkness of a pit.  From there he was sold to Ishmaelite traders.  If he hadn’t been sold into slavery in Egypt, he couldn’t have masterminded the plan to save Egypt, and by extension Israel, from famine.

In 1Samuel 19:2 we hear Jonathan tell David, “Saul my father seeks to kill you; therefore, take heed to yourself in the morning, stay in a secret place and hide yourself…”  David recalls these experiences of being driven into hiding in his psalms.  Repeatedly, he praises God as his protector while in exile from Saul, his King.  He sings, “For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble: he will conceal me under the cover of his tent, he will set me high upon a rock” and “in the Lord I take refuge”.  David connected his episodes of hiding in caves, with God’s means of protecting him.  His great gift to us is illustrating that we are cradled safely in the palm of God’s hand despite what appears to be dire circumstances.

Throughout the scriptures I have found examples of exile preparing the people for true liberation.  The Jewish Exile (597-538 BC), simply called the Exile, spawned the books of Job and Lamentations.

The deportation of prominent Jews from their homeland by the Babylonians was a defining moment in Jewish history.  Although the apparent evil of exile caused suffering among the deportees, the Hebrews who remained suffered a worse fate: famine, death, and despair.  Conversely, for the Jews in Babylon their exile became a purifying experience.   They believed their own impurity caused their downfall.  Therefore, while in Exile, their faith was actually strengthened.  Constantly the Israelites harken back to God as their refuge.

Of course, we know that the New Testament is hidden in the Old Testament and that the Old Testament illumines the New.  Given this axiom, it should come as no surprise that Jesus’ life is the ultimate example of exile being a place of safety and subsequent rebirth.  As an infant His parents escaped to Egypt in order to save His life from Herod.  Horribly, other Innocents, whose parents knew of no threat to their lives, continued living in Bethlehem and perished at the hands of a jealous Herod.

Jesus shows us throughout the Gospel how periods of exile like abandonment, emptiness, and even death work to the benefit of the plant, object, or person.  A mustard seed planted in the darkness of soil must die to become a large tree.  The wine must run out in order for the miracle at Cana.  Lazarus dies from his illness and lies alone in a cave before Jesus renews his life.  The sacrament of Jesus shows that only through His passion and death could His resurrection occur.  For Christians, the only way to new life is through plunging into the waters of death through baptism and emerging, reborn, as Children of God.

Christians experience the world and its periods of darkness as Children of God who know that “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).  Throughout the world Christians suffer not only minor setbacks but the oppression of brutal governments.  In China, Saudi Arabia, and Cuba, to name a few nations, Christians are persecuted for their faith.  These Christians must feel alone and lost when sometimes they have no visible church upon which to cling.  In the United States some Catholics feel abandoned by their elected leaders and clergy.  The sheep believe they have no shepherd.  However, the Good Shepherd is Jesus the Christ. We do not know God’s plan for those of us in exile.  Perhaps God is allowing such situations outlined above to persist so that the faithful cling to Him and Him alone.  No false idol can sustain a person stripped of everything that seems to matter.  The greatest calamity to afflict one is not exile, but falling into sin and losing one’s eternal soul.

After reflecting on various stories detailing experiences of separation and loss, I remembered how several years ago I applied the words of St Catherine of Sienna to my own situation.  Upon becoming a hermit, some wondered how she could renounce traversing the hills of Sienna.  She replied, “If God wants me to wander the hills of Sienna for all eternity, then I will.”  I echoed those words to encourage myself one day while sitting in our small, one window schoolroom teaching my children.  I recognized that the loss of my former way of life: socializing, Bible studies, teaching aerobics, leading groups, and napping were God’s way of giving me a new life.  In the sanctuary of my exile He protected me from vanities and increased my faith and love of Him.

My heroes in faith, Fr Ciszek and Corrie ten Boom, embraced God’s Will despite enduring inhuman experiences at the hands of their captors.  Fr Ciszek accepted his many years in the gulag by recognizing that “He leadeth me” through every situation, day after day.  Corrie ten Boom titled her book, The Hiding Place.  I am convinced that, although the book tells the story of her and her sister hiding Jews during WWII in Holland, that her true intent with her title was to express, “To Do Thy Will is My Hiding Place”.  Whenever we feel abandoned, we can pray with St Ignatius, “Intra tua vulnera absconde me”.  Rocked in pools of warm, purifying blood safe in the palm of His hand, we are always living in the holy sanctuary of His peace, which surpasses all understanding.

Luke tells us that Anna was married for 7 years (biblically seven is a perfect number, therefore, she was married the perfect length of time.)  I theorize that she was married at 14 years of age, which was within the custom of her culture. Therefore, she must have spent 70 years (another perfect number) in the temple praying and fasting until she reached the age of 84. God’s perfect timing is evidenced in this woman who trusted Divine Providence while she prayed and sacrificed. Perhaps unknown to herself, she was preparing for all those years to recognize the salvation of Israel and then had the spiritual zeal to herald the news to all who were awaiting the redemption of Jerusalem. 

In ancient times a Herald would keep watch for the king, prepare the way for him, and trumpet his arrival. In some ways the prophetess Anna parallels John the Baptist. They both spent time in seclusion praying and fasting. John acted as the herald who prepared the way of the Lord by “proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” Anna also reminded me of the shepherds “living in the field (exiled) and keeping the night watch over their flock” (Luke 2: 8). During the faithful fulfillment of their duties, the angel of the Lord appeared to them and proclaimed “Good news of great joy… for today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord… When they saw this, they made known the message that had been told them about this child” (Luke 2:  10-11,17). Like the shepherds, Anna, while living God’s will for her, saw, believed, and announced the good news.

Like the Biblical figures, God is preparing us for our mission. His time must be respected as perfect for His purposes. We may not know what His plan for us is, but we must live faithfully and hopefully each day just like Anna who worshiped and prayed and fasted for, in my estimation, 70 years.   

Although I took “Anne” as my confirmation name, I have failed to live up to my namesakes over the years. Anna is a variant of Hannah. It means: gracious, favored one, prayerful, and one who gives. The prophet Samuel’s mother was named Hannah. We know from 1 Samuel that Hannah was faithful, yet infertile. She went yearly to the temple and offered sacrifices to God. She also prayed for a child whom she would dedicate to God’s service. Eventually she gave birth to Samuel, who recognized and anointed David as king. In addition, tradition tells us that the grandmother of Jesus was a barren woman named Anna. She, too, waited patiently until God chose to give her offspring: a daughter who would become the Mother of God. In Luke’s gospel, I believe Anna’s given name is meant to harken back to the Old Testament Hannah. All these women animate and fulfill the promise of their name.

Unlike me, the faithful prophetess Anna never left the temple. We are told she “worshiped night and day with fasting and prayer” (Luke 2:37). Scripture does not tell us what Anna hoped to attain by worshiping God ceaselessly. I think she wanted to behold the Face of God. Indeed she did. However, more importantly, she recognized the infant she beheld as the Messiah, the Anointed One of God. Then she heralded His arrival to those who awaited salvation.

At times I have fallen into self-pity and lacked a thankful heart. I have failed to recognize God working in my life. Through neglect, I have prayed less than I needed to pray, relied on myself, and suffered the consequences. However, God never abandoned me but wrote me into my own “Prodigal Son” story. Some call this Gospel story “The Faithful Father.” As with John the Baptist, the Shepherds, and Anna, sometimes God does dramatically enter our lives and reveal His face.

Credo.

Years ago our family was in desperate need — or so I thought — of a 15-passenger van for our expanding family. I felt completely discouraged when, after the birth of my 6^th child, my husband went to the junk yard, bought a 3 row bench and screwed it into my Dodge Caravan in place of the 2 seat bench. He proclaimed with pride, “Now you have your Suburban!” I laughed, but wasn’t entirely amused. Over the next 2 years the minivan broke down repeatedly even as it logged thousands of miles. Then one day in late March, “I jokingly shook my finger up to heaven and proclaimed, “God, you need to make a 15-passenger van fall from the sky!” Less than an hour later I was sitting in the rain, very pregnant, surrounded by 6 kids, in a minivan whose axle had broken for the 3^rd time. I shook my finger again up to heaven and said, “God, you sure have a sense of humor!” A friend drove us in two batches to the Bible study I was leading that Ash Wednesday morning.  

At 168,492 miles, the Caravan had died. Amazingly, I felt no angst or fear about being a one-compact-car family. Even if we needed several roundtrips to transport our family, I knew God would provide. After years of anxiety about lack of money for a van and jealousy when smaller families loaded into a 15-passenger van, I knew we’d be okay. Peace reigned in my soul. God would provide. I just knew it. Exactly 5 days later, on a Monday, my husband unexpectedly returned home from work several hours early. He gathered us together exclaiming, “Family meeting, everybody! Family meeting!” I started crying, “It’s the van! It’s the van! I know it’s the van!” (I still begin to weep in retelling the story.) Indeed, a 15-passenger van HAD fallen from the sky in the form of 30 thousand dollars wired by my mother-in-law! Furthermore, we had never told her about the dead Dodge Caravan! The 2001 Chevy Express, direct from Detroit, invoiced at $29,372. We could even afford the property tax and gas!

God’s timing was, indeed, perfect. My 7^th child and the 15-passenger van joined our family together. God had tested my faith and patience for several years and I had failed. However, He never lost faith in me. Finally, when I clung to His Divine Will exclusively, the van arrived. I joyfully received the gift with a contrite heart, while praising God. I am convinced God allowed me to despair so that I could glorify His name and share the story of my weakness and His infinite goodness.

Like Mary, I will continue to ponder the lessons learned this Christmas. I received them as a gift during the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. I will receive Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament with fervor, knowing that while He dwells in the temple of my soul, there is no time, only eternity. I can go into the mansion He has prepared for me and keep watch for Him during the duties of my day. I can see Him in the harried commuters, the frazzled carpooling moms, the worldly neighbor. I can proclaim Him with charity when asked whether I “know all their [my 11 children's] names.” I can announce Him to those who enter my house and see crucifixes and statues of Mary and the saints as my décor along with a plaque which reads, “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” (Joshua 24:15). I can bring him to those watching my banged up 15 passenger van whiz by with bumper stickers proclaiming, “A nation who kills its own children is a nation without hope!” (John Paul II). God provides infinite ways to herald Him for each moment in time for, “To everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1).

We are all like Anna in that we are called to “stay awake” and “watch” repeatedly in scripture so that we can recognize Christ when He is passing by. Through frequent reception of the sacraments, including not only fulfilling the Sunday obligation but sacrificial daily Mass attendance, confession, daily scripture reading and meditation (preferably with a guide such as the In Conversation With God series by Fr. Francis Fernandez) or the monthly Magnificat booklet, and praying the Rosary we will be able to go forth and “make disciples of all nations”. Jesus is with us “until the end of the age” because there is no time in eternity. However, we live in time, therefore He prepares us daily to accept and fulfill His will for our lives. Our duty as baptized Christians is to keep the vigil so we can see and believe. Then we can announce every day with Mary Magdalene, “I have seen the Lord!”

I had not anticipated sharing Thanksgiving with Alejo and his 10-year-old daughter, Jessica, this year. However, since Alejo’s wife had decided not to share Thanksgiving with them, my brother wondered if Alejo and Jessica could join our family. At first I felt annoyed that they had invited themselves and intruded on our personal family time. “Why, we hardly ever spend time with the college girls any more,” I grumbled. Did we really want to divide our attention with a person we hadn’t seen in years? Then the Holy Spirit started to soften our hearts. Alejo had chosen our family’s Thanksgiving for his daughter. They planned on driving 10 hours to feast with us, a Norman Rockwell Family. I was humbled.

A “Norman Rockwell Family?” I kept musing. Just what is that? I understand the difficult marital situation of my brother’s friend, therefore, I recognized that he craved the stability of my 22-years-long marriage and the 11 children born of it. In the words of Robert A. M. Stern, the New York-based international architect, “Rockwell’s art mirrors our world — or at least an ideal, slightly lost version of that world…. Mom and apple pie are very good institutions, and so was Rockwell’s America.” Alejo believed that about my family. He even thought the annual pecan pie experiment would have a flakey crust and not stick to the pan. Alejo projected onto my family what he would like it to be. As Rockwell wrote, he “excludes the sordid and ugly” from his pictures. By his pilgrimage to my home, Alejo was trying to give his daughter an “ideal” family experience.

Sadly for Alejo, he doesn’t understand that the animating aspect of our family life is The Holy Family. Almost 15 years ago we prayed a simple prayer from a child’s religion book. It was, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph please make us a holy family.” What began as a one-week activity has become part of our nightly prayer ritual. We pray every night during grace, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph please make us a holy family. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph please make us a holy family. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph please make us a holy family.” Yes we repeat the prayer three times. Then we pray one or more Hail Marys for various intentions. We pray for the sick, the deceased, the end to abortion, the Bosnian babies, and for all children of war. Finally we eat! Sometimes it is difficult to say the prayers. Preparing dinner for 13 people and getting it on the table takes heroic effort by all family members. Sometimes squabbles ensue. “It’s your turn to get the water!” “No! I got them last night. I’m doing napkins!” At times the toddler is screaming and I’m shaking a three year old off my leg while nursing an infant and stirring gravy. Still, we pray. Yes, we pray to be a holy family. In a way we are a Norman Rockwell Family when we pray together. After all, he painted families praying together. He even painted one in 1942 called Freedom to Worship.

However, it is not in the Norman Rockwell moments of our days when we progress swiftly along the path of holiness. Our family times of tramping through the woods, making music, rolling Russian Teacakes, and cheering VaTech to victory celebrate our holy family. Becoming a holy family requires frequent self-offering. Rockwell never painted a mom tearing the house apart looking for keys or a dad cleaning a carpet at 3:00 AM after a stomach erupted violently Easter Eve. Norman Rockwell intentionally painted what he perceived as uplifting. Mounds of laundry covering a table littered with day old dishes inspire revulsion in most. However, what patience it requires to endure such an experience because mom is very pregnant and dad is harried from earning a living! What joy erupts when the children secretly return the kitchen to immaculate order! Only the Holy Spirit captures that image, perfects it, and imprints it in eternity where all acts of love linger. It is the holy family prototype. It is the Trinity.

Alejo idealizes my family, but he doesn’t want to live as my family lives. He is a good person, however he told me he isn’t “big” into religion. Without our Catholic faith, my family wouldn’t be. Through a holy priest, Fr. Jay Scott Newman, Pope John Paul II inspired my husband to convert to Catholicism. My husband has become a holy father who devotes his entire life to his family for love of God. He embraces his vocation by working hard and creatively to support us. He leads by example through weekly Mass attendance, weekly adoration for many years, and through the simplicity of virtuous living. Right now, at 10:00 PM, after tucking the little ones in bed, another Norman Rockwell image, he is watching EWTN.

Because we are Catholic, we are open to life. My husband’s and my married love is exclusive. However, our love is inclusive which is why we have welcomed 11 children into our family and embrace — in spite of initial misgivings — all who have a need for love during a lonely holiday. The popes have said that the best gift you can give your child is a sibling. Truly our family bears witness to that axiom. The family is the “School of Love” wrote Pope John Paul II. Within our family we do forgive each other for such offenses as clogging the toilet with a deodorant stick or trashing the playroom — again. We rarely have bickering, I am convinced, because our home school, “Holy Family Academy,” provided hours of opportunity to work together and come to know one another. We are trying to live St. Paul’s words to ”bear with one another patiently”. We want to live in peace. We want to attain heaven individually, of course, but as a family. Therefore, we pray: “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph please make us a holy family.” Three times we pray those words. Three.

Perhaps Alejandro understood our family better than I thought. An authentic family, of the type Norman Rockwell painted, is a holy family. A holy family is one modeled after The Holy Family to do God’s will. A holy family transmits physical life and assists God in creation. God always delights in Man. So did Norman Rockwell. He said, “Commonplaces never become tiresome. It is we who become tired when we cease to be curious and appreciative.”

When I gave birth to Annaliese Joy, my 11^th child, my children gathered from around the state to marvel at their newborn sister. My Clemson University student drove several hours to visit her sister in the hospital. The teenagers missed school so they could be the first to see Annaliese. Even three-year-old Luke exclaimed with pure joy and deep feeling, “I love her!” One year later, two year old Grace is a little mother to her toddling sister. There is no jealousy in a holy family, only love.

A holy family is the incarnation of the Trinity in a profound way. It is founded upon the sacraments, so that Pope John Paul II could proclaim in Familiaris Consortio (n.17), “Family become what you are!” He loved families intimately because, upon losing his own mother at a tender age, the Blessed Mother supernaturally adopted him into the Holy Family. (His motto was “Toto Tuus”–everything for you, Mary). He enfleshed for his flock the Vatican Council’s teaching which calls the family, “the intimate community of life and love” (n.48). He was a faithful son to his mother Mary and brother Jesus.

The sacred duty of parents in a holy family is to transmit the faith that has been handed down by the apostles. Parents are the first Gospel their children will ever read. Therefore, parents must read the Gospel and pray. For this reason, my husband took the words of Fr. Newman seriously. Fr. Newman emphasized that fathers are the head of the household and profoundly responsible for the souls of their respective wives and children. My husband heeded that call 13 years ago. I feel certain St. Joseph, his role model, held him close in prayer. After all, St. Joseph loved and protected Jesus and his mother Mary from his conception, during their flight into Egypt, and throughout his childhood. St. Joseph raised a man who fulfilled God’s will perfectly. Would that all holy fathers raised their children so they would drain the cup when God offered it.

As a mother striving to raise children for heaven, I am loath to describe myself as a holy mother. One thing I know, God is using my family to perfect me in holiness. I read a book called He Leadeth Me by Fr. Walter Ciszek. I joke that God may be leading Fr. Ciszek, however “He Draggeth Me”! I willingly allow myself to be dragged, however. I could have chosen not to mother a large family. But, I heard God’s call in my heart to strive toward being a holy family. Year after year, for 20 years, I have said, “This is my body, given up for you, my God”. The fruit of the Holy Trinity is Love. The fruit of a holy family many times is children: love incarnated. I pray St. Augustine’s words, “you have made us for yourself, oh my God, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.” My fiat: “Here I am, Lord, take and use me.”

Norman Rockwell painted the “Marriage License” for the 6/11/55 cover of The Saturday Evening Post. Such a painting reveals the societal relevance of the sacred love between man and woman. Marriage was instituted by God to bear and nurture children. It is a preeminent sign of love in the world, therefore, a holy family sanctifies its members while they live out 1Corinthians 13. The angels do not want to hear a cacophony of hatred within a household. I often remind my children, “You will have the family you create. What kind of a family do you want to live in?” “Family become what you are!”

At some level Norman Rockwell understood the sacred nature of family life since he did portray families in religious settings. Without knowing it, Alejo deeply yearns for a holy family whose love lingers for eternity, not a family trapped on a Norman Rockwell canvas. In some small way I hope our family provided succor to him and inspired him to search for the truth inherent in family life. St. Augustine provides inspiration by recording in his Confessions how he searched for God everywhere outside himself, but God was within Him. God dwelt in his soul. He prays:

Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you! You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you. In my unloveliness I plunged into the lovely things which you created. You were with me, but I was not with you. Created things kept me from you; yet if they had not been in you they would not have been at all. You called, you shouted, and you broke through my deafness. You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness. You breathed your fragrance on me; I drew in breath and now I pant for you. I have tasted you, now I hunger and thirst for more. You touched me, and I burned for your peace.

A blessed Thanksgiving, which mirrors yet perfects the Norman Rockwell thanksgiving painting, would be one where Alejo, his wife, and their daughter celebrated their sacred, permanent relationship, which, with God’s grace and much prayer, can bear all things.

This Thanksgiving our Chocolate Pecan Pie experiment was devoured. It received rave reviews. More importantly, I pray that the Holy Family was honored by Alejo and Jessica’s presence at our Thanksgiving dinner table.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph please make us a Holy Family.”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph please make us a Holy Family.”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph please make us a Holy Family.”

My mother kept reading about a “too small fire engine” and I thought about Mother Theresa. Mother Theresa said to do small things with great love. Yet most of us, driven by pride, would rather hit a game winning grand slam than bunt a team mate around 2^nd base. St. Therese of the Child Jesus taught her “Little Way” of perfection and became a great saint by living a hidden life of prayer and small, unseen acts of service to her sisters. Yet, some mornings I resent the endless rhythm of spreading peanut butter over seven sandwiches. I grumble as I wipe the same patch of countertop again and again throughout the day. I whine when loading and unloading small children into the “activity shuttle”, my 15 passenger Chevy Express, repeatedly during an afternoon.

As I continued scrubbing stubborn rice kernels from the pot, I listened to the story about a too small fire engine who wanted to extinguish huge flames. Puffed with pride, he refused to listen to his mentor. Because he was little he got burned, through hubris, when he tried to extinguish a big blaze. Finally he understood his calling. ”I’m a little engine. I’ll fight sparks!” And so he did. And successful he became. My heart softened to those recalcitrant rice kernels. They soaked and softened while I listened and scrubbed. Only now I scrubbed in peace.

During that entire day I pondered the truths and morals found in children’s books. A children’s classic I enjoy is Corduroy by Don Freeman. In this story young readers meet a little girl, Lisa, who saves her money until she finds something worthwhile to purchase. She settles on a stuffed bear, Corduroy. Despite his worn appearance, she tells him, “I like you just the way you are.” Lisa settles him into a home that is not a palace like the department store, but rather a home prepared just for him. 

Our heavenly father is like Lisa. He planned our salvation for generations. Finally, He sent His only son, Jesus, who bought us for the price of His life.  Jesus tells us “in my father’s house there are many mansions… I go to prepare a place for you.” I’ve read Corduroy to my kids over the course of almost 20 years. Yet, only today, as I continue to ponder the wisdom written for young hearts, have I made this connection with Corduroy and Lisa. God continues to help parents grow in grace even as they remain childlike.

I love all of Virginia Lee Burton’s stories. In fact, I read The Little House, Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel, and Katy simply to inspire me. In The Little House I remember to accept God’s will for me each day. He has a plan for my life. Perhaps I’ll face the exile of a grimy city before he relocates me to paradise on Earth. Mike Mulligan reminds me to be a loyal team player. Katy inspires me to work hard against the odds. Proverbs speaks to all these virtues. I’m sure Mrs. Burton knew them well. She created lighthearted stories to warm the hearts of young and old alike.

Classic children’s literature continues to inspire the child in parents each night as a pair of readers snuggles under a blanket. Also, the books we loved as children may reveal something about our adult personality. For instance, early in our relationship I discovered that The Little Engine that Could was my husband’s favorite children’s classic. My husband is a positive, optimistic man. I barely remembered that story. Tootle (written by Gertrude Crampton), a story about an independent locomotive who frolics off the rails, was my favorite childhood book. Even at Parris Island (USMC boot camp) my DI would scream, “We don’t need no individuals in my Marine Corps, Pvt. Bettis!!” I now wonder if Tootle shaped my character. That said, Tootle does learn to “stay on the rails no matter what” if he wants to become a Flyer, an elite engine.

Many excellent children’s books have been written over the years. My home library contains hundreds of titles. Classic children’s literature, with its simple story lines, nurtures a child’s soul while entertaining. A child’s innocence incubates Truth. Golden Books simply turn up the heat. 

Indeed, “out of the mouths of babes” becomes  “off the pages of children’s books… poignant truths”. I’m feeling cozy already.

Years ago while descending the steps of the Smithsonian’s Museum of Natural History I noticed a pink slip of paper fluttering under my windshield.  “Oh no!” I muttered, “I must  have gotten a ticket!”  As anybody who has ever visited The Mall in the District of Columbia knows, tickets fly like confetti on DC streets decorating many a windshield with an unhappy fine.  After a pleasant morning reliving my childhood fascination of Wooly Mammoths with my two small girls and baby boy, the apparent ticket annoyed me.  However, I probably deserved it.  I noted, even from a distance, that I was over a yellow line by about two feet.  “Darn!  I wish I could’ve backed up more.”

I had arrived at the Mall an hour early to park and await the ten o’clock hour when I could leave the vehicle.  Then I realized the “call of nature” and started driving around DC trying to find a spot to park so I could use the restroom, which was a fruitless endeavor.  So, back to the Mall I went to park again.  By now it was about 9:30.  I celebrated my good luck at finding a spot directly in front of the Museum of Natural History.  With my 8-month-old nursing baby in the back seat beginning to whine, I decided to nurse him while waiting.  I felt very proud of my organization, indeed.  As I began relaxing under a prolactin buzz, I looked up and noticed the sign directly in front of me:  “Taxi Parking Only” it screamed.

Frantically, I jumped out of the car with the baby under a blanket.  I saw 100 cars parked bumper to bumper about 50 ft behind me.  “Oh no”, I mumbled.  Then I proceeded to ask the first five or so cars behind me if they would kindly back up about a foot or so.  Most folks obliged.  One said, “I wondered what you were doing parked way up there.”  (“Yeah”, I thought, “And my SC license plate and car top carrier didn’t give you a clue that I am a tourist?  Why didn’t you say something?”)  A couple of folks scowled at my stupidity, but  moved anyway.  Relieved at my ability to back up and still get a spot,  I unfolded my stroller, grasped my two year old’s hand, and entered the museum with the crowds promptly at 10:00 AM.

Sixteen years have elapsed since that episode.  I returned home and resumed my duties.  Now that former nursing baby waits in the car with his nursling sister if I need to use the restroom.  I believe I am doing my duty to God and country by raising virtuous kids who will hang out with old moms such as myself.  I believe I am doing my duty to God and country by providing a loving and nurturing environment in which children can maximize their talents and potential.  I thought I was a patriotic mom doing my duty to God and country by raising loyal citizens until I read some liberal blogs.  Statements in those blogs brought the flapping pink slip under my windshield into my memory.  The blogs have accused Sarah Palin of harming society by knowingly bearing a child with Down’s Syndrome.  Some have called her a “breeder” who couldn’t possibly govern while being “continuously pregnant”.  They have denigrated the privileges of marriage and motherhood, and mocked humanity with a few strokes of the keyboard.

However, I knew that particular evil lurked in America 16 years ago.  I knew contraception and eugenics, and population control and abortion, and misogyny and hatred of the human person thrived under the cloak of well-groomed citizens driving compact cars.  I knew the insidious nature of the Culture of Death as it jeered my innocent parking error.

Sarah Palin recognized Evil, too, and chose life for her precious child.  She encouraged life for her unborn grandchild.  She chose love and family, and duty to God and country over expedience and power.

Ah!  I digress.  What about the  pink slip waving at me?  My “ticket” was nothing more than a nasty note which read, “To the Dumb Lady With all Those Kids:  It’s people like you who ought to be neutered.”  After my shock, I have gone on and lived my response.  Heeding the call of John Paul II to combat evil “with an explosion of love”, I have given birth 8 more times since that note.  Love and life, and love of life have embraced in our family.  My family is my witness to the goodness of the human person.  Furthermore, the human family can only be born one child at a time.  Sarah Palin’s family is her response to the Culture of Death.

I feel certain she would join me in jotting a brief — signed — note to “Mr. Anonymous”.  It would simply say, “We love you and so do our 16 (total) children.  We’re praying for you.”