For several years now, the first song we sing in our home for Advent has been J.S. Bach’s “Break Forth, O Beauteous Heavenly Light.” I’ll admit it was a bit of a stretch for us the first couple of years with it’s unexpected turns and harmonies and extended high range for the average singer, but now, we know it. We are comfortable with it and we do not shy away.

On the first Sunday of Advent, I find it appropriate that we should go ahead and stretch ourselves. We are waiting for an event that will change the course of humanity both collectively and individually for all eternity. We really should get ready for this.

So this Advent, stretch yourself. Reach for higher notes of ecstasy spiritually. Give more, be patient more, be quiet more, be prayerful more, be prepared to meet Christ the King of the Universe in the form of a very small child.

Here are the lyrics of “Break Forth” for you. Read through it and mediate on what we are in for.

1 Break forth, O beauteous heav’nly light,
and usher in the morning;
O shepherds, shrink not with affright,
but hear the angel’s warning.
This Child, now weak in infancy,
our confidence and joy shall be;
the pow’r of Satan breaking,
our peace eternal making.

2 He comes, a Child, from realms on high,
He comes the heav’ns adoring:
He comes to earth to live and die,
A broken race restoring.
Although the King of kings is He,
He comes in deep humility:
His people to deliver,
And reign in us forever.

We do not sing this perfectly, but neither are we perfectly holy. We continue to stretch and strive for the perfection of looking on God’s beautiful face.

Here is a list of stories and individuals we often admire because they chose to take risks instead of stay safe:

St. George
Bilbo Baggins
Frodo Baggins
Amelia Earhart
Albert Einstein
Abraham Lincoln
Michael Jordan
The Beatles
Harry Potter
Jesus Christ

This is an incredibly short list of people and stories we love to talk about. We read these stories to our children and talk to them about adventure and risk. We praise these characters for pressing forward in the face of adversity. These characters do not throw caution to the wind, but they press into the wind of challenge. They move forward and advance against the enemy bravely.

Our society loves to tell children to “go, have adventures.” In fact, we say that to adults, too. “You’re never too old! Go, try something new! Have an adventure and tell us about it.” At the same time, we are constantly being reminded to “stay safe” and “take care.”

The thing about adventure, though, is that it is by nature full of challenge, risk, danger, and often suffering. A true adventure is difficult and dangerous. It’s a tough and risky business. And it’s worth it.

When I was getting married several years ago, my friends kept telling me, “Congrats on your new adventure!” I was excited and thrilled to be starting this adventure with my husband. I imagined our adventure including things like canyoning and volcano sighting. Fun, big laughs, great photos. I imagined us laughing and holding each other tightly as we tried new and exciting things every weekend.

This did not happen after our literal honeymoon in Costa Rica. We did rappel down waterfalls, but only once! Soon we ran into the troubles of life: the exhaustion of pregnancies, the uncertainties of work, and more. In the hard times, I kept asking myself, “Why am I not having an adventure? Where is the adventure everyone kept promising me?!”

Then several years into our marriage, my husband was reading “The Hobbit” to our eldest child. Tolkien kept mentioning the “adventure” that Bilbo was setting out on. Adventure, adventure, adventure. I grabbed our copy of “The Lord of the Rings.” Tolkien uses the same term. But everything Bilbo and Frodo encounter is difficult, terrible, and life threatening. This is adventure, folks!

An adventure is climbing and scraping your way up a terrifying mountain to do something incredibly important. There are obstacles and enemies on these epic adventures. They are not glossy or safe and they do not end with a glass of wine and a photo shoot. But truly, in the end, these adventures accomplish incomparable good.

I am not climbing the mountain of Mordor to destroy an evil ring, but I am climbing some scary mountains. Mountains called Marriage, Parenting, and Off-script Life Choices: moving my large family to a busy city for my husband to start a PhD program at the age of 36. This is our adventure and through all the difficulties it is worth it for the good it brings to the world, both now and eternally.

So if you, like me, have come to value adventures for what they are, fear and all, consider now what staying safe and taking risks means to you. What do you really value? What do you want to teach your children? Are you willing to teach adventure lifestyle by example or do you wish to relegate risk to a bedtime story?

Aside (In case this post naturally causes you to consider current events):

This is a challenging question in our current health climate when we are constantly being told to “stay safe.” My post today is not to get into the weeds of lockdown verses opening up the US economy. There are innumerable factors to consider in that debate. Instead, what I am hoping to spark in you today, is that knowledge deep inside that sometimes we have to set out on long, arduous journeys that are not perfectly safe and that’s okay–in fact, it is necessary.

What will your brave story be?

This question carries more weight lately. A friend asked me with worried eyes from her van, “How are you?” My family and I nodded, “We’re good.” We looked at each other to confirm–more nodding, “Yeah, we’re good. You know.”  As in, you know what we mean by “good,” right?

We’re good in the ways that you can be good when you don’t know what’s coming next. We’re good in the way that we feel like we are living in a movie where the audience knows what’s coming next, but the characters have no idea. We’re good in the way that I keep thinking that I can hear someone through the screen yelling at me, “Look out! Don’t go that way! Oh my gosh! She did it?! Why would she do that?”  –Which makes me say, “I’m good” with giantly wide open eyes.

So sometimes I feel a little crazy. Call it stir crazy or call it anxiety; it’s there.

But we are also good in other ways.

We’re good in the way that we get to be more intentional with our prayers and our devotions. We’re good in the way that we get to kiss each other goodnight every night.
We’re good in the way that we are trying new recipes and perfecting our bread making skills. We’re good in the way that we aren’t letting conflicts fester, but offering swift and salvy sorry’s.

We’re good in some ways and less good in other ways. But still, challenges, stir crazies and all, we’re good.

We’re good because we can grow from this. We’re good because we can adjust our dreams from this. We’re good because we can uncover parts of us that have been hiding for too long. We’re good because God is good and his steadfast love endures from generation to generation.

So I’m putting my oxygen mask on every morning–sometimes in the afternoon, too. I’m writing. I’m praying. I’m reading. I’m smelling lilacs and noticing buds on branches. I’m sitting down with no agenda to play Calico Critters with my daughter. These things give me oxygen to take another step forward and be good.

This is a new topic for me, but one that I have been leaning into for a few years unknowingly. Recently, I read a book called “Deep Work” by Cal Newton. This book describes the deep work needed to make real strides in academia and business. Not being in either of those arenas, I sought to apply his principles to my work–homemaking.

I’ve read a gazillion blogs and pinterest posts about how to be an excellent mom and wife. I know about organizing schedules and minimizing closets and planning date nights and freezing meals. I get it and I agree that hacking back your life is great.  But at the end of the day, is it deep or shallow work? Is it meeting the temporary or long lasting goal of the home?

After years of decluttering our homes, I will tell you now that I’m done with it. It takes a lot of time and energy and things pile up again and again. Do I believe in tidy habits? Yes. Am I teaching them to my kids? Yes. And I fully believe in chores and not having too much stuff in general, but my friends, a minimal and tidy home is not the holy grail of homemaking.

That is to say, my worth as a mother is not determined by the number of freezer meals I just shoved in my freezer. My worth as a mother just is. Full stop. I am the only mother in this home and I cannot relinquish that role to anyone or anything else.

With the birth of our fourth child, I felt like my mothering was really taking on a swirling effect. I needed to take a break from my regular input machines and try something new.

Thanks to the suggestion of a neighbor, I listened to Deep Work via audible and began to really take the time to discern what the deep work of motherhood is.

Here is what I came up with–by no means a complete or final list:

The deep work of motherhood is creating, preparing, and shipping off good things into the world and I don’t mean baked goods or even only children. It is sometimes baked goods and sometimes children, but there is some deeper element that mothers bring to the world. Have you ever walked into a room full of mothers? There is something very secure and mysterious about a place like that.

The deep work of motherhood is learning how to be brave when you don’t know the outcome of your actions. It is knowing that sometimes people let you down or do the wrong thing, but you can love them anyway and offer a refuge when they are ready to recuperate, rest, and move forward.

The deep work of motherhood is carving purpose into daily tasks like baking bread, vacuuming, and taking out the trash through means of thoughtful discussions and clear explanations. Why does our family do the things we do? Why do little things make a big difference? How do sacrifices become sacramentals in our souls?

The deep work of motherhood is shining truth in a murky world. It is teaching children that excellence means being thoughtful, taking your time, and making choices for the right reasons. This comes from a continuing revolutions of praying aloud, praying silently, praying with a child or two or three in your lap, answering difficult questions to the best of your ability, staying present during difficult discussions, and studying.

Being a mother is worthwhile. It is hard. It is painstaking. It will bring you to tears on a regular basis. But it is deep. It is meaningful. As I heard a veteran mother say recently, “You are the mother. Do not abdicate!”

I did it. I did exactly what I wanted to in 2019. I worked hard and I rested well. Did everything go exactly as I planned? No way. Were there scary moments? Difficult days? Things I wish never had happened? Yes. Many. But through it all, I worked hard, stayed the course, didn’t lose my sh-t, and I rested well.  I rested every Sunday, all the Holy Days of Obligation, and all of December when my fourth child was born.

I did exactly what I wanted. I sunk into the hard times. I rejoiced and spoke my joy through the good times. How often do we get to say that? How often do we get to say, “I did what I wanted?”

We get to say that every time we allow contentment and purpose to fill our hearts.

In many ways, it doesn’t matter what is happening from the day to day. What happens to us does not truly define us and it certainly does not determine our worth.

Trauma affects us, of course, but even trauma does not need to define us or dictate to us what we do next.

We started 2019 with high volumes of work frustrations, that were piling on top of work frustrations from 2017 and 2018.  This dominated our nightly conversations and wrapped us in stress. We had little to no direction concerning our future. We were very much in flux and it was a cold, dark, uncertain beginning to our year.

But even so, I pushed into those closest to me and to the saving hand of Christ.  I chose listening over speaking. I chose staying over going. I chose contentment over jealousy. I chose yes over no. Those choices became my habits and they made a huge difference over the next twelve months.

Does this sound cliche? Does this sound like a motivational speaker with perfect make-up? Because it’s not. This is me not afraid of the trenches. This is me with dirt on my face from crying into the ruthless wind. This is me with my heart longing for holiness.

Since joining the Catholic church almost two years ago, I have learned the secret of being content. Others have known it in and out of the Catholic church, but for me, I had to learn it in the church.

I’ve found that Catholics have a unique and beautiful understanding of suffering that I had not known before. It’s expected. Suffering is expected, even welcomed.

Previously, I attached a certain disdain for times of suffering, thinking that since Christ came to make me a victor, I must be doing something wrong when life was upsetting. The story I told myself was, “I must not have enough faith. I must be making mistakes. I must be a fool.”

But more and more I realize every bit of suffering that I do, whether it be a sink full of sticky pans or being told that we won’t get paid this month, is me taking up my cross.  In the suffering I experience, I connect with the sufferingness that Christ experienced.  In fact, suffering is one of the most sure ways to connect with God.

When we taste and see that the Lord is good, we are usually tasting salty tears.

I cannot create ex nihilo. I cannot heal out of my own power. I cannot save souls. But suffer? Yes, I can do that.  As far as I can see today, to suffer is the one sure thing that God did, that I can do, too.

Paul says, “I can do everything through Christ who strengthens me.” This is the crux of a good theology of suffering.

I, personally, cannot do anything out there in the world just because “Christ strengthens me.” Christ has not strengthened me to run a marathon or to make six figures or to be an influencer. Those fall under the “anything” category, right? But I’m not doing any of those things.

No, the real “anything” that Paul is talking about is suffering.  Skim back a few verses and see. He is talking about doing with more or with less, being filled and being hungry. He is talking about the highs and lows, the easy and the excruciating. The true anything is picking up his cross and following Christ.

I can follow Christ because Christ strengthens me. Any amount of suffering: I can handle that because Christ suffered first. I can pick up my cross, as Christ called me to do, because Christ picked up His.

So this January I am doing more of the same. It is a tight squeeze once again. January is a cold and bitter month for us, but I am choosing to lean into the strange comfort of a rough hewn cross.  Over and over and over again.

At 33 weeks pregnant, weariness is normal. A friend recently told me that during her most recent pregnancy, her fifth, she never actually felt rested.  I bear the same testimony. Four pregnancies in and I never feel completely rested.

Today’s rainy morning was really just more of the same. Low energy and plenty of searching. What do I do? How do I motivate myself to cook breakfast, teach homeschool, do chores?

Yes, I believe in rest and taking it easy, but I also believe in finding answers. Sometimes a walk helps bring energy, right? Maybe I need just twenty minutes with my feet up. Or should I go for the coffee?

Up at 5:45AM, an hour of searching and yearning for fullness in my soul, an hour of teaching online, breakfast of champions on the table for my kids and husband, and me at 8:30AM sunk into the couch.

But not sunk. Buoyed. I turned on a collection of worship choruses from a well-known Protestant church. I was seeking the Lord’s leading, some words of inspiration and suddenly, there they were about 10 minutes in…

The lyrics were not unlike a Psalm:

“The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.” (Psalm 19:1)

And a Gospel:

As He rode along, the people spread their cloaks on the road. And as He approached the descent from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of disciples began to praise God joyfully in a loud voice for all the miracles they had seen:

“Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!”

“Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!”

But some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Him, “Teacher, rebuke Your disciples!”

“I tell you,” He answered, “if they remain silent, the very stones will cry out.”
(Luke 19:36-40)

The new song ran out:

If the stars were made to worship, so will I
If the mountains bow in reverence, so will I
If the oceans roar Your greatness, so will I
For if everything exists to lift You high, so will I
If the wind goes where You send it, so will I
If the rocks cry out in silence, so will I
If the sum of all our praises still falls shy
Then we’ll sing again a hundred billion times.
(“So Will I” Houston, Hastings, Fatkin (c) 2017)

Glory! I am here, the apex of creation, to glorify the God of all the universe.  I will not be outdone by stars or stones or even a mountain.  He has chosen ME to lead the creation song of glory.  Let me sing His praise!

No, I am not here to be filled up with some sort of emotional experience or to be comforted in my weariness or to be sheltered from the storms of life. I am here to bring glory to God. So let me rise up! Rise up and shout for God has made today, for God has made me, for God has put work at my hands.

I said a Sanctus and put myself in place. Physically a little less weary, but spiritually strong in the power of His Spirit.  The weariness drifted away and I taught a math lesson to my son.

Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus,
Dominus Deus Sabaoth.
Pleni sunt caeli et terra gloria tua.
Hosanna in excelsis.
Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.
Hosanna in excelsis.

(Piazza di Colazione, Roma, Italia)

If you know my husband, you know his vocabulary is both deep and wide. He has always been a reader, a writer, and a seeker. While packing books last week, my 4 year old daughter asked me what each book was about. The answer over and over was: the History of War, Philosophy, Jesus.  That’s my husband, the Soldier, Seeker, and Servant.

But with all the words he knows, my favorites to hear from him are really quite simple.  He says them to me and to our dear children on a regular basis.

Here is his everyday Father’s Lexicon:

5. Yes.  I love to hear my husband say, “Yes! Let’s do that. That is a great idea. That sounds fun and I’d be happy to do that with y’all.”

4. No. I love to hear my husband say, “No. Let’s not do that. I think there is a better way. Let’s try to do our best and invest well with our hearts, minds, and time.”

3. Forgive. I love to hear my husband say, “I forgive you. Please forgive me, too. Let’s forgive others even when we feel entitled not to. Let’s forgive even if it hurts. Let’s pray about forgiveness now.”

2. Love. I love to hear my husband say, “I love you. I have always loved you and I will always love you. I am seeking your good at all times.”

1. Come. I love to hear my husband say, “Come here. Have a snuggle. I am here for you. Lean on me. I got you.”

These words father both me and our children.  They lift us up and generate Christ in us.  I pray they dig deep in the soil of our hearts and grow into restful places for friends and family in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Happy Father’s Day, love.

What do you love to hear from the father in your life?

Motherhood takes grit. I think it’s the grittiest thing I’ve done, aside from being a wife—which also takes a lot of grit.

On those days, when I’m digging deep for one more scrap of “stick-with-it,” those are the days when I feel most significant, when I really feel like a mother that matters. But I don’t do that digging in my own strength. That grit that causes me to dig a little more comes from other mothers. I turn my eyes outside myself to the camaraderie and influence of other moms I know have been there.

But do you know who I think the grittiest mom is? She’s that mom that we’ve been talking about for a couple of millennia. The young mother who traveled a dangerous road on a donkey while quite pregnant and gave birth in a messy, stinky stable. I’d say she had a pretty gritty start to motherhood and it didn’t end there. Mary, the mother of God, had true grit.

Mary walked a road none had ever walked before. It was difficult, mind-bending, dangerous, and filled with eternal ramifications. And she walked it well—head held high and heart open wide.

While some Christians only talk about Mary during the Christmas season, it is worth knowing that May is actually the month of Mary in many traditional Christian circles. So it is really appropriate for mother’s day to be in right in the middle of May.

So how gritty was Mary, really?

First, there is the conception and bearing of Christ. In this time, Mary generated Christ into the world. She physically grew and nourished Christ. She cooked vegetables for him, bathed him, taught him, prayed with him, worshipped with him, told him stories of the faithful, and on and on for a couple of decades. Even this fully God, fully human child learned from his mother. And even though he was the most magnificent being in the universe, Mary valued teaching him all the steps of walking toward God from the small, simple ones to the incomprehensible, complicated ones. She brought God right alongside her as she worshipped God. Mindbendingly bold. Gritty.

Second, we see Mary present when Christ begins his ministry. She nudges him forward and urges others to listen to him. She has recognized his position, his purpose, and his capabilities. Jesus was a very capable 30 year old man when he began his ministry, not to mention the fact that he was God, but Mary knew that her role as a mother was not diminished by these things. This was a gritty and audacious move on her part. She saw the necessity of pointing out the goodness of God in Christ and she did not hold back. Showcasing good, showcases God and that requires grit, too.

Third, we see Mary at the cross with Christ. Here, she suffers with him. She weeps with him. She stays with him. She sits in the darkness and is shaken by the earth quake. She does not deny him. Christ bore the cross not only of sin, but also persecution, injustice, grief, loss, strained relationships, and spiritual darkness. How strong Mary must have been to say near him and continue to attend to him. When she looked at the pain and suffering of her son, she remained intimately close. And Christ looked down in the midst of his deepest suffering to address his mother. Indeed, Christ loves the mother steady and prayerful at his feet. He knows what grit it takes to remain faithful in the suffering.

Finally, we see Mary at the resurrection and, this is important, at Pentecost. When the Holy Spirit descends, Mary is there. She is there for the victory. She is there for the fulfillment of Christ’s promises. And she is there as a leader. Those present were transformed by the Holy Spirit and THEN sent out to complete their apostolic missions, bringing Christ to the world through preaching, teaching, miracles, and more. Mary was there. She did not quit in the exhaustion of childhood, she did not quit in the excitement of beginnings, she did not quit in the sorrow of suffering, nor did she quit in the satisfaction of the great resurrection joy. She continued on, knowing that her work as a mother was not done when Christ ascended. To see the seeming end, recognize that greater things are yet to come, and stick around to pray in and see that fulfillment, that is grit.

So we see this very consistent, and I think, very gritty, Mary. She never gives up on or denies the Christ, her child. And what’s more, she consistently leads the way to him. She is always bringing others along: Joseph, shepherds, wedding guests, servants, the poor and marginalized, the mourners, the church leaders, and the world.

Mary’s work was hard. She walked a path none had walked before her. There were no models of mothers of God for her to follow. She was the one and only. She recognized the vitality of her unprecedented motherhood. So I think she tied her sandals up tight and mothered without shame or guilt, but with grit. With lots and lots of grit.

God, in this new day, help me to see my children, unique and God-made, and to mother them like Mary did your son, with grit and confidence, pointing the way to You.