Mom: Why don’t you want to go to church?

Vaughn: It’s bor-wing.

Mom: It’s a chance to visit Jesus at his house.

Vaughn: Well, I like Jesus {{pause}}. But I don’t wanna go to church!

I have to admit, there were times in my life when I felt the same way.

While Vaughn’s pre-Mass crabbiness is disheartening, there’s a silver lining: it reminds me how important it is for me, as a parent, to help her understand the significance and beauty of Mass. The Catechism says “parents have the mission of teaching their children to pray” (CCC no. 2226) and for Catholics there’s no greater prayer than the Mass.

Oh and she likes Jesus, we can build on that.

Part of the enlightenment process includes teaching her what Mass is not. It’s not a presentation put on by actors (e.g. priest, deacon and choir) for an audience (the congregation). It’s not just a series of random words and calisthenics: stand, sing, sit, respond, kneel, repeat. And it’s not an event we attend simply because the musical arrangements are nice or the priest’s jokes are funny. Don’t get me wrong: I appreciate those things but they’re icing on the liturgical cake, so to speak. (On the subject of sweets, I’m not above providing a doughnut after Mass for good behavior.)

Now, on to what Mass is. What I want to get across to Vaughn is that the most important thing about Mass is … meeting Jesus! I want her to know how fortunate we are that the Eucharistic Lord comes to meet us each and every time we join in this celebration. He comes to feed us, strengthen us, get us through the nitty-gritty of the week—and ultimately to make us more like him. That’s an incredibly lucrative trade for one short hour of our time.

One way kids can begin to understand this encounter with Christ is by participating more actively in Mass. Last spring at Denver’s Living the Catholic Faith Conference, I attended a workshop called “Leading youngsters to full, conscious and active participation in the Mass.” Here, Sister Kathleen Harmon offered several ways to get kids involved. These suggestions can be incorporated any time after a child has graduated from the cry room or surpassed the need for a sippy cup, coloring book or other diversion in the pew (and as we know, these accomplishments vary from child-to-child based on age, maturity and attention span):

• Tell them the parts of the Mass. Point out the four main parts of the liturgy and tell them to look for the Sign of the Cross, and the kiss, in each part. Ask them about something they’ve kissed (e.g. Mom, Dad, Grandma, a beloved Pillow Pet) and why.
• Print a copy of a Eucharistic Prayer (she suggested #2 since it’s shortest) and read through it together line-by-line (for as long as they can sit still) then discuss: What does holy mean? What does it mean to “send your Spirit and make us holy”? What are ways we can treat each other in a holy manner?
• Talk about the importance of looking at something (or someone) with reverence. Tell your child every time you look in their eyes it’s like Christ looking at Christ. Talk about what it means to look at someone in the eyes.
• Bless your children at night saying “I love you and you are the Body of Christ.” Teach them who they are and who you are (a child of God).
• Point out the concluding rites “Go forth. The Mass is ended.” Why does Mass end by telling us to go forth?

When we go forth on Sundays and keep Jesus present in our daily lives, hopefully it will sink in how important these weekly visits are—not only for the hour we’re there but all week long. While I continue to try to get that concept across to a determined preschooler, I hope the Sunday when I don’t hear: “I don’t wanna go to church!” is coming sooner than later.

If you care for other people you cannot avoid putting yourself out for the sake of another.

And it’s just what we need, really.

Sacrifice for another, it might be said, is perhaps the ultimate “yes” that one can offer another person, and unto God.

Sacrifice acts on behalf of another, putting them first, not furthering one’s own cause. It entails interrupting or delaying our own plans, desires, trajectories, goals, and even giving something we may be afraid to lose—our time, money, comfort, power, or prestige—for the sake of another who may or may not be worthy of it.

True sacrifice is a profound offering—a mix of generosity, magnanimity, humility, love, and selflessness.

We sure do appreciate it when someone else shoulders our burden in the muddiness of life, or has our back when the fight is on, or stands in the gap between what we can and cannot do for ourselves.

In the midst of being on the receiving end of another’s loving service, we often have no idea to what depth they chose to intervene on our behalf. And it’s often not until long afterward that we have an opportunity to respond in gratitude to what’s been received.

We can all tell the story of how someone’s sacrifices, be they large or small, have made a difference in our life.

Not so long ago, in the middle of the night, I watched my husband moving around in the dark of our bedroom—not wishing to awaken me—using his trusty flashlight. He didn’t know I was already awake.

In the dim light I could see Jesus: head bowed, arms stretched wide open upon the crucifix on the wall, a cherished gift from our wedding day. Just beneath the feet of Jesus, a wooden frame displayed a much younger bride and groom gazing into each other’s eyes, unaware as yet of how proximate the love of the cross would be to their own. Next to the wedding photo, my favorite person dropped down to sit in our old comfy chair. His head bowed as he leans over, stretching lanky arms to reach the laces of his dress shoes. He is preparing to catch yet another early flight for business travels.

I am still in bed taking in this little scene against the backdrop of the cross of Christ and my marriage memories. And suddenly I’m wondering about Eden and just what it meant when God said man would now earn his bread “by the sweat of his face” (Gen. 3:19). And I find myself moved by this man of mine, who faithfully bears that burden in the early morning hour.

And in the next moment, a holy clarity comes into view—Someone Else was Once So Moved—and the words of Jesus echo in the example of my spouse: “This is my body, given up for you” (Lk. 22:19).

And I wondered how many other people were making sacrifices on behalf of someone else in that moment. I’m sure many were up before the first light, whether by choice or by duty.

There are babies to be nursed, hands to be held, fields to be plowed, meals to be made, trains to catch, and all-night care in the local Emergency Room. There are soldiers standing guard, police and firefighters keeping watch, and a third shift needing a fresh pot of coffee. Somewhere someone is receiving the last rites and Viaticum. And in every case, someone is up in the wee hours tending to what is needed.

Sure, some folks might say there is nothing heroic or special about what they do to provide for those they love, or to keep a stable home, or to keep the bills paid. But what is heroic is the faithfulness in which they do it. The giving up and the laying down of a million and one sacrifices made every day and every night. “This is my body, given up for you.”
This is the sacrifice that we bring to the pew at Mass. We kneel, we pray, we offer. We gaze at the blanched corpus of the Savior, no longer bleeding, for it is drained of every last ounce of blood for the sins of the world. Now, it is poured out in a new way.

The priest’s voice breaks in again with the clear truth as he elevates the Host: “This is my body, given up for you.”

I gaze at the Eucharist being offered by the priest unmistakably positioned under the crucifix that hangs from the rafters in our church. I smile a wry grin as I lift my prayers, for I am learning.

A broken body is no longer repugnant; it resembles the sacrifices of many people I know. They all just happen to look like Jesus.

The cross is the unique sacrifice of Christ, the “one mediator between God and men”.1 But because in his incarnate divine person he has in some way united himself to every man, “the possibility of being made partners, in a way known to God, in the paschal mystery” is offered to all men.2 He calls his disciples to “take up [their] cross and follow [him]“,3 for “Christ also suffered for [us], leaving [us] an example so that [we] should follow in his steps.”4 (Catechism of the Catholic Church, par. 618)*

It’s one thing to witness and applaud the extraordinary sacrifices of our esteemed heroes and heroines, thanking them for their determined and dedicated service, especially when we consider the tragedies of 9/11, or any other epic disaster you can name.

But it’s another to remember that sacrifice, for a Christian, is not for emergencies only. It is a way of life, a path to life-giving love. Every day.

The call to holiness is not for wimps. They don’t remember a martyr as having “heroic virtue” for nothing. Indeed, the call to sainthood—sanctity—summons the baptized first to prayer and then to action. Often simultaneously.

In September, the feasts within the Catholic Church’s liturgical calendar lend perspective to depths of sacrifice. The Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, on September 14, readily comes to mind as we contemplate the salvation won for us by Jesus on Calvary. On September 15, the Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows is recalled. September 20 commemorates the 19th-century Korean martyrs of Sts. Andrew Kim Taegon (Korea’s first priest), Paul Chong Hasang, and companions. Finally, September 24 reminds us of the forty-nine Martyrs of Chalcedon who perished under Diocletian’s reign in the 4th century.

You cannot get better role models embodying sacrificial love than Jesus and Mary, and the faithful martyrs of the Church who sought to imitate them.

We see in Mary the woman whose fiat at the Annunciation brought a surrender of her own will to the will of the Father. Her “yes” led to the Incarnation and the immense joy of God’s Son come to earth. It also required, in part, a life that suffered what the Church traditionally labels as the Seven Sorrows of Mary. Each exacted various sacrifices in Mary’s life; including her suffering what theologians call a white martyrdom at Calvary, the bloodless martyrdom that is a true offering of oneself. Still, we can envision her life as a series of many steps of faith leading up to that moment.

We can imagine the young Mother Mary, with tenderness, teaching her young son Jesus the ways of obedience. Demonstrating by her own fortitude that while giving one’s “yes” may be costly, it is often it is the only response required.

Fast-forward, and we can see Jesus as a young rabbi, facing his own imminent death as he prays in Gethsemane. Sweating blood, the soon-to-be-Savior has a very human moment of struggle and anguish as he submits his flesh to the “yes” to do the Father’s will.

This article appeared previously at the Catholic Portal on Patheos, and is used with the author’s permission.

The third apothegm invariably runs along the lines of consolation to the downtrodden, “Oh, well, don’t worry. Girls are so much easier than boys.”

If I have allowed the conversation to get this far, I am obviously either too weary to deflect their advances with humor or I have become so accustomed to the inane babblings of puerile minds (I do, after all, have three small children) that two or three more idiocies don’t even register.

But, really, people. Girls are easier than boys? Have you spent much time with a 12-year-old girl? Have you spent much time with any woman between, say, puberty and menopause? I look at my three angelic daughters and hear echoing in my head, “The days are coming, sayeth the Lord, when I shall strike the land with doom.” My parenting challenges are only just beginning.

We women are sugar and spice for about 5 years, then fade into a sweet sort of lemon-zest dessert, and then… just plain lemon juice.
Take, for example, my poor, 6-year-old Miriam. She’s had a brilliant 5 weeks of second grade. She’s had a brilliant childhood, in general, to be honest. She’s smart. She’s gorgeous.

But, oh, the drama. The drama really kicks in this year.

Today the world fell apart as we attempted a simple home school exercise: I asked her to narrate for me (just me! her mother!) the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes. She knows this story (we’ve been reading it since she could talk!), she loves to narrate (she’s been talking since she was 10 months!), and she has memory like glue (when she was four, she memorized an entire Dr. Seuss book!).

Today, however, she froze. She couldn’t even begin. Because I was asking her to do something different: “Just tell me the story.”
“Mommy, I can only think if you’re writing it down!”

“Miriam, I’m not going to write this one down. I’m helping your sister build her Lego house, and this is also an important way of telling for you to learn. Just tell me what you know.”

Tears. A full-out fit. Neither of us backed down. But what struck me was her (ir)rationale: “Mommy, it’s too embarrassing!”

Embarrassing is her code word for: I might mess up. I’m going to make a mistake. It’s not worth trying, because I can’t do it perfectly. It’s the same reason she won’t try her new bike: I might mess up. I might get hurt. It’s not worth trying. It’s the same reason she won’t play the new piano song: I might mess up. It’s not worth trying.

Embarrassing makes her immobile. She can’t function. She is angry with everyone and with herself. She says nasty things to those who love her most. In short, she has drama and it creates more drama. She’s a tragic little blue-eyed snowball rolling down that emotional hill.

Drama runs deep in the family, in both the males and females: It’s too hard. Our over-achiever front belies a deep insecurity: What if I mess up? It’s better not to try.

For the woman, the feminine genius for intimacy and passion becomes the female stupidity: I’m going to sit in my hidey-hole, feel miserable, and spread my misery to the world. Infecund, miserable me.

I remember clearly those piano pieces I refused to learn, races I refused to run, classes I quit, and professors I never went to for help. All because of this fear, paralyzing and ugly. The woman hates to be wrong, but even more so to be caught being wrong. I don’t mind a mistake that no one can see, that I can fix on my own (Spanx, anyone?), but oh! to be seen in my imperfection. That makes me throw a fit.

So, today’s drama was less about my daughter than about me: I can see with a magnifying glass into her soul, even at the moment she feels most alone.

And that, too, is the mark of a woman. Our intensity gives us–poor children of Eve–the possibility of that deeply personal bridge: I know you. I have been where you are. I will be there with you again, if you will have me.

I want to try to teach my daughter, poor little daughter of me, to take that drama all locked up inside herself and let it out. Let her recognize that her struggle goes on in the hearts of so many others. Let the drama breed, not more drama, but womanly compassion, communion, and a fierce devotion to the weakest souls still in the grip of that struggle. Let her drama and fear of embarrassment translate into understanding and gentleness.

The feminine genius, without which the world could not be saved.

Its owner stood in the airline-ticketing queue clutching an American Girl doll while all around her, family members hugged and cried.

It didn’t take long to figure out what was happening; the little girl’s family was moving from Michigan to Hawaii, where they hoped to find work. The ambivalence on her face seemed to say this move wasn’t a happy family adventure.

I swallowed hard to fight my tears as I watched two middle-aged sisters hold each other in a painful embrace, and then hug each other’s children. Their elderly father wiped his tears as he kissed his daughter, shook the hand of his son-in-law, and then said goodbye to his grandchildren.

Slowly, reluctantly, they separated, leaving some of them to embark on an uncertain journey and the rest to resume their lives, unchanged, but emptier.

With the remarkable strength that women often muster, that grown sister passed her sleeve across her face to dry her tears, then flipped the switch to be a wife and mother nurturing her family through a difficult moment. “You guys OK?” she asked.

But it was clear from where I was standing that she was not OK. Her heart was breaking.

Such is the reality of out-migration.

Blogging on the Midwest economy for the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago, Bill Testa says, “Given the dismal national unemployment picture, the state of worker dislocation in Michigan and other Midwest automotive communities may not be fully appreciated. But unemployment in these communities is significantly worse than national averages. While the national unemployment rate has just now reached 9.7 percent, Michigan’s unemployment rate is now at 15.2 percent and has exceeded 10 percent since December of last year.”

It’s troubling enough to consider the impact of that level of unemployment on communities and, ultimately, on an entire state. But the true cost of this recession can’t be measured in statistics on jobs or home foreclosures or failed businesses.

It has to be measured in human terms – in families who resort to relocating in order to make a living and put food on the table, extended families who give up the support and comfort of being near one another in order to find work.

It’s birthdays and holidays spent apart, hospital stays without a visit, sporting events and graduations without proud family members in the stands.

Unfortunately, these sacrifices take an even greater toll on children, for whom stability and routine are often the keys to surviving a stressful economic cycle.

Experts say that when times are tough it’s better for kids to stay put, if at all possible, where aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, teachers and coaches can help maintain a sense of security. But in Michigan, it’s increasingly difficult, if not downright impossible, to hold onto the lifestyle that’s best for families and children.

On Saturday at the airport, one little girl held onto her doll and her bear and her mom’s hand instead.

Sometimes the line at the ticket counter is long enough so you can learn the whole story. Then again, sometimes it’s just enough to leave you asking questions.

As I wandered away from the counter, I found myself wondering what will become of them. Will they find work? Do they have a place to live? Is there anyone waiting at the airport on the other end?

Is this adventure, born of adversity, holding out the only hope they can find?

Here was the question: Several mothers of girls ages 10 to 12 want to know whether they should allow their daughters to buy instrumental versions of two currently popular – though extremely inappropriate – songs, “Poker Face” by Lady Gaga, and “Low” by Flo Rida featuring T-Pain.

I know what you’re thinking. Are those the names of singers or brands of toothache remedies?

Lady Gaga is the stage name of one Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta, who, according to Wikipedia, is a Catholic school graduate and erstwhile student at New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts. Flo Rida is a hip-hop, R&B and rap singer from Florida (get it?), known also by his given name, Tramar Dillard, while T-Pain is actually Faheem Rasheed Najm, a hip-hop star whose moniker is a nickname for a nickname – Tallahassee Pain, which Wikipedia says commemorates the artist’s “hardships while living there.”

Both of the songs in question include heavy-duty sexual slang, orgylike dance rhythms, and degrading references to sex acts and money, exchanged casually on dance floors. As you can imagine, the music videos for these songs are equally pornographic.

The moms all agree that the lyrics of the songs, which their daughters already have heard, are unacceptable, but “the girls have indicated that they like the catchy beat to the songs rather than the words.”

The parenting dilemma: Should the moms A. print out the (pornographic) lyrics of these songs and review them with the girls to persuade them that they are inappropriate; or B. allow the girls to download instrumental versions as a way to protect the girls from the racy themes contained therein, despite the fact that they already know enough of the lyrics to sing along?

How about option C: “AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGG.”

For once I might side with our deranged, obscene, sex-obsessed, hip-hop culture. Why not? At least Lady Gaga and Flo Rida are true to their convictions.

America’s parents, on the other hand, need professional advice about whether to safeguard their children from influences they already deem grossly inappropriate and potentially destructive. Nevermind that research proves that adolescents who listen to degrading sexual lyrics engage in more and earlier sexual behaviors than those who do not; the girls like the “catchy beat.” Isn’t that what matters most?

In my mind, the fact that hip-hop artists are able to disguise sexual perversion with a catchy beat isn’t remarkable or even noteworthy.

What is noteworthy is that researchers have proved beyond doubt the ways in which our crass and vulgar culture damages our children, and common sense tells us we ought not expose them to media that exploits their innocence. Yet, for reasons I don’t understand, parents are unwilling or unable to simply say to their children, “My dears, those songs – with or without lyrics – aren’t good enough for you. Let’s find something better.”

When it comes to media generally, and music in particular, most parents I know say they “choose their battles.” After all, doesn’t every generation push the envelope of propriety to make its mark on the culture? “Remember Elvis’ pelvis,” folks say.

Maybe. But in today’s culture war for the hearts and minds of our children, I think we’re choosing too few battles. It’s time for parents to stop tapping our toes and instead fight the catchy beat that is stealing an innocent childhood from an entire generation.

Our son is teething, which is the adult equivalent of having your skeleton slowly pulled to the outside of your body over a period of months. Needless to say, I’m glad I have no recollection of this happening to me. Perhaps this is why most of our first memories only go back to say, our 4th or 5th year of life.

So teething makes for some lo-o-ong nights for all of us, especially Mommy, who continues to amaze me with her lightning fast tenderness and penchant for turning anything into a soothing melody. We dole out lots of whispered songs and stories, walks down the hall and back again, and heartfelt assurances that “Mommy’s here” and “Daddy’s here.” What else can we say?

We could try something like: “Listen little one, you’re getting your teeth. You’re going to love them! They will help you chew up your food. You’ll be able to eat lots of new things with your teeth, things you couldn’t eat before. Your teeth will help you talk to Mommy and Daddy and ask them all sorts of things because your teeth will work with your tongue to form words. And your teeth will bring a whole new gift to the world; your smile! It will be a way to let others know you are happy to see them or that something gives you joy. Teeth are a great gift! Trust me… it’s going to be OK…. Daddy’s here with you!”

And he would respond with something like: “AAAAAAAGHAHGHHGRR?#@!?OW-W!”

I think we Big People can learn a little something about suffering from all of this pain our little ones go through. After all, I’m discovering that God the Father has written countless lessons for me right in the flesh and blood book of my family life.

“Everything speaks to me.”

Don’t we cry too in our moments of “spiritual” teething? We cry our, “God, why did such and such have to happen? Why didn’t You stop this or that from happening? Why is there evil in the world? Why do the innocent suffer? And what is this painful longing and this aching thirst in me that I can never seem to quench in this world?”

The Father could try saying something like: “Listen little ones, you’re getting your heart. You’re going to love it! It will help you chew up the food of your experiences. You’ll be able to taste lots of new things with your heart, things you couldn’t swallow before. Your heart will help you talk to Daddy and Mommy and ask them all sorts of things because your heart will work with your mind to form words. And your heart will bring a whole new gift to the world; your spirit! It will be a way to let others know you are happy to see them or that something gives you joy. The heart is a great gift! Trust me… it’s going to be OK…. Daddy’s here with you!”

How do we respond to a Word like that?

While these things are true, after seeing Pixar’s latest offering today I will add the following caveat. “Take him to go see UP.”

As an adoptive parent, I was deeply moved by the irascible Carl’s character – grieving over the loss of his beloved Ellie, he strives to carry out her wishes as best he can, in her memory. What he doesn’t count on is a little stowaway named Russell – a boy with a deep need for a father figure, someone who can show him how to be a man. What touched me so deeply about this movie was Carl’s emerging need to father, to protect and guide the boy as only another man can.

Why Carl and Ellie had no children of their own is not fully explained. Together they dreamed of babies, and even decorated the nursery. And yet, for many reproductively challenged couples, the “why” is never fully explained – and even when it is, is seldom satisfying.

Faced with the devastating loss of his wife, and the prospect of losing even the home that contains his memories, Carl shuts the world out . . . Until young Russell comes knocking, then stows away on the floating home. As the adventure progresses Carl recognizes in the boy a kindred spirit. And in their quest – an adventure marked with great personal self-sacrifice, which is the essence of true fatherhood – the pair formed an extraordinary bond.

Why do I find this movie such a compelling argument for fostering and adoption? Carl does not formally adopt Russell, whose father’s absence is never fully explained. However, in reaching out to the boy, a most remarkable transformation occurs in the man. This movie reminded me that, just as God has placed in every woman the need to mother (which each of us expresses a bit differently), so he places in every man the desire to father. Not simply to provide, as the drive to father can never be fully satisfied in acquiring things. It must be lived out in relationship with other people, and in a particular way with the next generation – whether or not they share a biological connection with those they mentor.

In my blog for adoptive, foster, and special-needs parents, the Extraordinary Moms Network, I frequently write about the natural need God places in women to nurture and protect human life, whether or not they become biological parents. “Extraordinary Moms” are (like Eucharistic ministers) women who come alongside biological mothers – sometimes for a short time, other times for a lifetime – for the sake of the child, to help her raise him to responsible adulthood. In this movie, I saw a poignant image of Extraordinary Fatherhood – a bond very different from a mother’s, but no less important.

Of course you can’t just take something from a 17-month-old without causing a waterfall of crocodile tears, so I fished around my purse and came up with an empty, plastic Easter egg to trade. Feigning the sound of awe, I held the egg out to him. Persuaded in a nanosecond, he chucked the $20 bill onto the floor and grabbed the plastic egg with both hands. Reassembling my purse, I chuckled at his behavior and at how differently his teenage sister would have responded to the same presentation of objects, especially after a very long day’s work.

I offer this anecdote, along with my most heartfelt congratulations, to all graduates who will soon be taking a giant step toward independence by leaving the nest. What an exciting time in life! As you go forward, please, know that you are in my prayers. Be assured that wherever you are headed, God is already there. Be confident that God loves you beyond anything you can imagine. Know that he has new friends for you, a fulfilling life, and most of all, a work for him that only you can accomplish.

The truth is that God is counting on you to bring his love to wherever you are going, so as you leave your family, don’t make the mistake my toddler did and chuck your incalculably valuable Catholic faith in favor of the countless “plastic eggs” that will be held out to you with feigned awe. These plastic eggs may take the form of negative things like drugs, drunkenness, or immoral sexual activity, but I know you’ve encountered these counterfeits already and haven’t been fooled. These plastic eggs may take the form of positive things like scholarships, increased knowledge, money, and positions of power. These substitutes for God may be harder to recognize, but don’t be duped by anything or anyone that tries to unseat your faith. Remember, all that glitters is not gold.

There is another insight to be had from my toddler’s behavior versus my teenager’s. The toddler and I were bored stiff, doing anything we could to amuse ourselves, while my teenager was thoroughly engaged in productive work. My toddler, of course, can’t be faulted for being at the mercy of other’s schedules or being unaware of the comparative value of things, but you are not like him. Don’t dilly-dally around waiting for someone or something to amuse you. Get straight to work finding an excellent Catholic parish and developing solid Catholic friends. Roll up your sleeves and participate in the corporal and spiritual works of mercy.

God has given us such an exciting and beautiful world. Glory in it! Instead of chucking your loving Father in heaven and all the goodness he has in store for you, shock the socks off your new friends or co-workers and hold fast to your faith with two hands. Shock the socks off your parents and teachers by pursuing the faith they taught you with more zeal than ever. Be a witness to the fact that independent living only equals rebellious, ungodly behavior for those who are not confident in themselves and God’s love for them, and that is not you. I promise, if you do these things, God will shock your own socks off with an energizing sense of purpose in life that you’ve never known before.

God’s love is not like a plastic egg; cheap, hollow, and disposable. God’s love is the golden egg of life; precious, solid, and everlasting. If, perhaps, you don’t believe me, then my toddler has a great trade for you.

All I can do is offer observations from experience gained in more than 20 years of parenting a large family. From my own experience, in my own house, my overriding parenting principle is to stay close to your children and to stay close to God. It’s simple advice, but not easy advice.

In the excellent book, Hold On to Your Kids, the authors write:

“No matter what problem or issue we face in parenting, our relationship with our children should be the highest priority. Children do not experience our intentions, no matter how heartfelt. They experience what we manifest in tone and behavior. We cannot assume that children will know what our priorities are: we live our priorities.

“Many a child for whom the parents feel unconditional love receives the message that this love is very conditional indeed … unconditional acceptance is the most difficult to convey exactly when it is most needed: when our children have disappointed us, violated our values or made themselves odious to us. Precisely at such times, we must indicate, in word or gesture, that the child is more important than what he does.”

There are two aspects to staying attached to children that I want to unpack from that quote. And then, I’ll look at staying close to God.

The first aspect of attachment is that we absolutely have to be honest with the way we spend our time. If our families are our first priority, then we need to devote more time and attention to them than anything else (except Our Lord — but I think we serve God when we serve our families). That means that every time we are presented with a choice about how to spend time — and there are countless times every single day — we choose according to priority. It’s not a stretch to say that most parents don’t do this. They choose work. They choose adult social relationships. They choose hobbies.

“But I need to work to support them!” goes up the cry. “But I need friends, too!” “But I need to pursue a creative outlet or a sport of my own.” Of course you do. So do I. It’s disordered, however, to ignore our children in order to support them. It’s ridiculous to spend more time developing and nurturing relationships with our neighbors, while our precious child gets the leftovers of our social attention. It’s silly to devote time to creative or athletic endeavors to the neglect of the children we co-created with God. It is up to each of us to discern if we truly manage our time according to our professed priorities.

The second aspect of attachment addressed in the quote is the idea that we love our children even when we don’t love what they do. This seems so simple and every parent I know would affirm that they do, indeed, love their children unconditionally. But many a child would tell you that they don’t know that.

I was in a fast food restaurant the other day. I spoke with six of my children at the table before leaving them to go order our food. I made my expectations for behavior clear. This was one of those times when all the stars lined up and every single one of them was good as gold. Sometimes, it happens. Actually, often it happens, and it has very little to do with the stars and everything to do with how hard we work as a family at behaving well so that we can all enjoy each other. The man in the booth next to them was not enjoying his children. And he told them so. He pointed to mine and asked his why they couldn’t be more like mine. Then, he looked at me and said, “You’re really lucky. You have good kids.”

I caught the eyes of his children and I wanted to cry. His implication was that he did not have good kids. I am certain that this man loved his kids, but if I had been his child at that moment, I would have asked myself if my dad valued me at all or if he valued some stranger’s children more than me.

One thing is certain: I wouldn’t be inclined to go out of my way to be particularly well-behaved for him. If he acted that way often enough, I’d just give up, resign myself to never “winning” his love and move on to other relationships. The best case scenario would find me flourishing in a relationship of well-expressed unconditional love away from my father. The worst case scenario would find me in a string of hurtful relationships. Chances are good I’d not be inclined to behave well.

The point is that everything we say and every behavior we manifest toward our children has an effect on them for good or ill. They feel and absorb our every action. We need to act with them in mind, every single time. Parenting with empathy is good parenting. Period.

We need to stay close to our children and we need to stay close to God. Attachment parenting requires sacrifice. God is the expert at sacrifice. There is no mentor better than Christ on the cross. We are good parents when we embrace our vocations with our whole beings; when we see that there is no greater privilege than to be someone’s parents; when we love wholeheartedly, unabashedly and with the self-donation of the Savior Himself.

My husband convinced me to at least get out and stretch my legs, however, and as we trudged through the storm to the edge of the Canyon, an unbelievable event unfolded before our eyes.  Layer by layer the snow and fog parted, and sets of cliffs were unveiled one by one by the retreating curtains of gray.  Each time a new ridge was revealed, it didn’t seem like the scene could get any grander.  Then, with flare as dramatic as any night at the Oscars, the setting sun broke through the clouds and a series of exceedingly brilliant rainbows appeared in the bottom of the Canyon.  It was a drama of National Geographic proportions, and we were left speechless.  Looking back it seems plausible that it was the presence of ice crystals in the air that created the extra vibrant rainbows we witnessed, meaning that, without the bad weather our experience wouldn’t have been nearly as spectacular.

In 2 Corinthians 5:7 St. Paul tells believers in Christ that “We walk by faith, not by sight.”  Whether or not we can see him, feel him, or experience him, faith tells us that God is with us.  Faith says that God is as real as the Grand Canyon hiding behind a bank of snow and fog.  Faith tells us that whatever circumstance or mindset is holding us back from believing in the reality of God’s presence, we need to break free and walk toward God, expecting and believing that in his time God will part the clouds of doubt and disillusionment and reveal a spectacular view of his majesty.

Walking with such faith and trust is not always easy.  I don’t know about you, but as it was at the Grand Canyon, my impulse is not only to stay in the car, but also to drive away from God as quickly as possible when a fog of doubt or disillusionment looms around me.  Of course further on in 2 Corinthians 12:7-10 St. Paul gives us another story to help us know how to live in times of uncertainty, pain, or disappointment.  “There was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

Whenever we drive through a fog bank on a bridge, hike through clouds in the mountains, or arrive at the ocean only to find it shrouded in misty gray, someone in the family will say, “Wow! Would you look at that?  It’s the Grand Canyon!”  Of course we all laugh, knowing someone just had to say it, but more importantly, fog and clouds now remind us that we walk by faith and not by sight, that God’s grace is sufficient for me, and that God’s power is made perfect in my weakness.