[BEFORE I BEGIN THIS WEEK'S COLUMN, let me just say it's so fun to be (finally) sharing about my life in community, because now all these little stories might make more sense. What you are about to read is just another example of life in community. This is the way I like to share about it best.]

Isabel’s birthday crept up on me this year, and the fact that I’m even admitting that to you proves just how crazy life is right now. Her first birthday, The Princess Turns One!, was something I thought about and planned and executed with much fanfare and glee.

But this year, life seems to be flashing along at lightening speed, a combination of too many activities to list and a myriad of details to manage. Thousands of them it seems, no one big large thing as much as so many small ones.

Of course the big elephant in the room is dumb old cancer and watching my mom get to the other side of this. Even a wonderful prognosis doesn’t change the fact that it’s the journey she’s on and watching someone you love suffer like this is emotional. It’s not what you would choose for them and you hate it, that’s all.

In the weeks leading up to Isabel’s birthday, we were at a point in my mom’s treatment where she was really suffering. Even though I’m not her primary caregiver, it weighs on me to watch this journey. Yes Jesus is here in the midst of it and his grace is sufficient. But still, it’s not like ordinary times and therein lies the rub.

So planning a party in the midst of this just felt like too much. Would my mom even be up for coming over? The thought of her ailing right next door was more than I could think about, so I opted not to — not to think about it, not to plan, not to dwell. It wasn’t that I was voting against a two-year-old birthday celebration; I just couldn’t vote for one either.

So that was that. And then it turned out my sister was going to be out of town, and so were Isabel’s godparents and that was the final straw. There you go. Big fat raincheck.

I made my decision to forgo a party and I won’t lie, I was feeling a little emotional about it. “I’m just ready for this season to be over,” I told Paul. And that was the truth.

Not long after that, my friend Sharon called to say she was having some of the young children in the neighborhood over for a celebration the day before Easter. She wanted to invite Henry and Isabel to an egg hunt in her backyard that morning.

“Perfect,” I said, “that’s Isabel’s birthday!” I explained how I wasn’t going to have a party but it would be nice to at least be at some kind of gathering to make the day feel special. Yes we’d be having a nice family meal with Isa’s older brothers, but this might give the festive feel the day would otherwise lack.

When we got to the egg hunt that morning, I discovered that Sharon’s beautiful Easter spread included a special Easter bunny birthday cake, with two pink candles just for my girl. We all sang Happy Birthday and she blew out the candles and just like that, through my generous friend, God filled in the gaps where I could not.

Momma and Isa girl, sweet birthday serenade

It was such a simple thing, my friend thinking to make a cake for Isabel and having everyone sing. It was simple but overwhelmingly generous. Through this act of kindness, Sharon let God show me his love. In that moment, God used her to remind me that He really does love us so much, that no detail is too small for his love and care. Because it wasn’t just about a party — it was about feeling supported and loved. It was about knowing God cared and that he was here to hold my hand.

“Look at the birds in the sky,” says Matthew 6:26, “they do not sow or reap, they gather nothing into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are not you more important than they?”

How easy it is to forget the depth of God’s love for us. If we let him, he will pour out that love upon us. If we don’t remember to let him, he will still find ways.
In our beautiful neighborhood surrounded by some of our beautiful neighbors

This originally appeared in The Southern Cross.

1. This week has been crazy. Like, cah-razy. You’ll read about it a little in next week’s column but let’s just say that the pressure points of my Tuesday were many and included: soccer game at 4; soccer game at 5:15; confirmation at 7; coming home to finish a country report after that; being done with report, only need to print it out and color cover sheet; printer out of ink; Paul going to CVS at 11:30 p.m. (to no avail); Paul going to Walmart at 6:30 a.m. (hooray and we’re done!).

2. Today was Part II of Country Day, which involved the costume/food portion. It’s really quite fun and I think the best part of it all for me this year is that I’ve done this three times before and thus, freakishly calm about the whole thing. When Ethan did his country day (our first as a family) it all felt so epic, so overwhelming. You would have NEVER caught me waiting until the night before to put on the finishing touches. Too risky. But life is moving a little faster these days and I knew that the night before was what we could swing (for a variety of reason, but I’ll admit I don’t like to roll that way) and it all worked out. For country day, Augie focused on Sweden. Today, he dressed up as Leif Erickson and brought a smorgasbord that included Swedish pancakes, Swedish meatballs and Swedish fish.

Gå sparka rumpa, Leif!

3. Henry had his Kindergarten visitation today! Oh boy!

4.Here is Isa and her friend Ainsley, waiting for their brothers who are at Kindergarten visitation. This is Kelly’s little girl and she and Isa will be good, good pals because a) each is the only girl and b) they have a bunch of older brothers. They are in this together.

don’t they look like they’re sitting there solving all the world’s problems?

5. The book giveaway! We have a winner.

Tori says:
April 26, 2012 at 9:19 pm • Edit
Woohoo! I really want to read this book

Thank you all for entering. I wish I had 123 books to give away! Next week I’m doing another giveaway, this time for a MOPS book I was recently published in, Always There.

6. I don’t say much about our pup Enzo, mostly because my feelings about him change on a minute-to-minute basis. But we had a little breakthrough yesterday when I said to Paul, “hey, I actually kinda don’t totally feel annoyed by the dog.” Do you have a dog? Then you understand it’s really complicated. We have moments when I think this dog is the greatest most smartest cutest thing in the world. And then he’ll jump up on my leather chair and I’m all “what?! NO! Down!!” The other day (see Quick Take No. 1), in the midst of that crazy day, the dog had the unfortunate habit of barking wildly whenever he was being ignored (which was much of that cah-razy afternoon) and I thought he was going to be FTGH (free to good home, will consider bad home too). But then we made it through all that stress and the next day was when I told Paul I guess we’ll keep him after all (and you realize we’re totally keeping him. That is part of the deal, it’s just I have moments…)

7. Tonight we have a big Soccer Championship Game and everyone around here is buzzing with excitement and nerves. I’ll keep you posted!

Thank you Jen for hosting the fun!

My friend Anna was giving me a hard time the other day about how I have put off answering some of your questions.

“You have GOT to answer them,” she said. She was smiling when she said it, she wasn’t being bossy or anything. But she’s right, I need to answer. (I will! I promise!)

In my defense, we had a funeral early this week for our dear Uncle Dennis, my neighbor for so many years, the patriarch of that amazing family who means so much to my own family. That in itself could be a good four or five posts and I’m trying to figure out how to distill it all down to the heart of what I want to say. But (before I move on for now) I will say this: we know how to do death around here, y’all. And I realize how totally creepy that sounds.

What I told Anna, and we were actually discussing this right after the burial, is that the cold hard facts are so much harder to write than just sharing. So please bear with me and give me time. I want to share with you the best way I can, the way that paints the picture and reveals the spirit of this life, not just the FAQ’s.

So back to the funeral.

Honestly, I think you don’t really know how well you share life with others until you let people in to see It All. The good and the bad. The Nasty Bits, as Anthony Bourdain says. And while I wouldn’t call death ugly or nasty (though I know it can be), it’s obviously not the fun, happy time that say, a new baby is. Or a wedding reception. Sharing the sacred season of death with those around you is something quite beautiful. But it takes a special kind of grace, a special kind of relationship and depth.

We watched Uncle Dennis suffer for three weeks, this after several years of deteriorating health. In those final days, people (us, our community) were invited to come over and say goodbye. I know it was hard for his family to see their dad suffer, but I’m amazed at God’s economy. Here was one of the leaders of our community, someone who poured his heart and soul into this work, and we all had the opportunity to say goodbye to this man who was influential to anyone called to life here. People drifted in and out of that house over the course of those weeks, and went into that room. They bent down and kissed his face and rubbed his hand and said “thank you for this life you were willing to pioneer.”

For me personally, I thought about living next door to this family for so many years. I thought about their friendship to my parents, what it meant to my family to share life so deeply with another family — a family who could not be more different from us. At least, I think so. I can’t really say, because I feel so connected to them. But I think about that friendship between my parents and the McBride’s and how I probably can’t appreciate all it meant to my family — and vice verse — to have the influence of such good people in our life. For me, I think about the friendships Paul and I have, the support we have with other couples whom we can be totally honest with (“today? Not a good day.” and “NFP? Not For Wimps.”) and how it builds us up to have people who encourage us to do the right thing, even when it’s hard.

That’s what this family has meant to us, what they continue to mean to us. And the beauty is that the personalities are all so different, it has helped us grow and blossom in ways we can’t even fully comprehend. My brother Josh (two years younger than me) was telling me today that he wants to write a few notes to some of the kids, to tell them how much he loves them. And the more he got to thinking, he really couldn’t come to a stopping point in which of those ten children he considers to be “lesser friends” than the others.

Today my parents celebrate 43 years of marriage (Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad!) and they are so solid because of being surrounded by people like the McBride’s. People who always encouraged them to do the right thing, who never pretended it was perfect but who always agreed perfection in Jesus was a goal worth striving for.

One part of this journey was watching him suffer. Sharing that with his family — how generous of them. How easy it would have been for them to say “enough! No one else allowed! This is OUR time.” And they certainly had plenty of time as a family, hours of private time together. They were not robbed of that. But still, they opened their home — literally — and said, “come in. Say goodbye to our beloved.”

I continue to be inspired by their generosity.

The night Uncle Dennis died, the funeral home had been called. People had gathered at the house — neighbors and friends, a wide range of ages. The men from the funeral home came for Uncle Dennis, for his body, to go get him ready to come back home a day later for the most wonderful wake right there in his home, right in his front room filled with those same neighbors filing in and out, singing and praying (and drinking beer).

The man from the funeral home loaded Uncle Dennis into the vehicle and that whole group of people, young and old, men and women and children, they all stood there on the deck that overlooks the driveway. They stood there and watched the car pull out and they sang to him. They sent him off by waving and extending their hands and telling him just how much we love him. A whole big group of people right there at his home singing to him as he left our little neighborhood.

This is my reality. This is the life I live. It overwhelms me with its goodness.

UPDATED TO ADD: COMMENTS CLOSED! THANKS FOR ENTERING!

I’m having a book giveaway. I’m giving away a copy of the book Hallie edited! The one with chapters by many of today’s top Catholic lady writers! The book that had the book trailer banned on Youtube!

You! You’re gonna want this book.

Enter to win. Leave your name in the comments below and I will use a computer generated number to pick a winner (or I might make the boys cut up a bunch of tiny slips of paper, if they are in need of a project).

Contest closes noon on Friday!

UPDATED TO ADD: Ya’ll, I did NOT come up with the “sometimes you’re the windshield” line. It’s from a country western song that, when I wrote this column, I figured everyone would recognize. Which I why I didn’t reference it. I WISH I was that clever, but alas I’m only clever enough to remember the song! I just don’t want to give the impression that I came up with that myself. Thank you for liking it though. The songwriter is clever indeed.

The other day I was running a million errands with my favorite little shopping buddy, two-year-old Isabel. Even for all her toddler-ness, she is still a much better shopper than her five older brothers, the lot of which get twitchy and suspicious if we start looking at items not on our shopping list. (They get this from their father.)

So that morning, while all the boys were at school, my girl and I did our running around, climbing in and out of the van as we did our little quick trips in search of our wares.

Lunchtime snuck up on us, so we popped into our favorite chicken spot to grab some food. Isabel was being especially good, most likely exhausted from all our comings and goings. She sat dutifully in her seat, calmly eating whatever I set before her.

Just beside us was a couple with a daughter a little older than Isabel. That girl was giving her parents a run for their money, wrestling with them to get out of her seat and escape to the playground. “After we eat,” explained her daddy for the hundredth time, “sit and eat your chicken.”

I felt for those parents. I’ve been in that boat many a time and it’s always such a relief when you’re the one not in it. It’s nice to be the person sitting still enough to actually notice what’s going on around you. For the longest time, this was not me.

After the family departed (for a quick side trip to the playground), a man at a nearby table got my attention.

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of them,” he said, referring to the other family, “but your daughter is so well-behaved. She’s doing great.”

A complicated wave washed over me. I felt grateful and proud and humbled and sheepish. Also unworthy and like a fraud.

Not three days before, I had been sitting at the front of our church on Easter morning, wrangling with this girl (and her brother) and white-knuckling my way through Mass. I made it to the homily before I lugged dear, sweet Isa back to the cry room where I commiserated with a friend about the joys of dealing with wild toddlers in church.

It wasn’t until the end of Mass that I noticed another friend had been sitting right behind us in the church — she with her perfectly-well-behaved young child. I had a brief flash of embarrassment, thinking about our antics and how insane we must have looked, before I took a deep breath and pushed past the analysis. Where would the self-loathing get me? Not very far.

And so it was with the kind man at the restaurant. I thanked him for his compliment, and was quite proud of my daughter’s good behavior. But I also made a mental note to stay detached from this dining success. In the same way I chose not to focus and get too defeated about our Mass failure, I opted not to get too puffed up about our lunchtime victory.

Sometimes you’re the windshield. Sometimes you’re the bug.

Too easily can we gauge our parenting skills on our victories (and failures). Too easily can we assess our parenting abilities on one child’s ability (or inability) to behave.

It’s important to have good behavior, to do the right thing and honor the occasion. That’s certainly part of our job as parents, to train our children to act like they should. We can’t sit back and laugh at bad behavior or quit trying to discipline just because it’s a challenge.

But at the same time, we have to be sure that our victories don’t feed our ego. We recognize that ups — and downs — are part of the journey. We put one foot in front of the other, remembering to ask for grace in the difficult moments, remembering to thank the Lord for all of it.

1.This week I asked for an extension on my weekly column. My editor was kind enough to give two extra days and I still managed to wait until the absolute last minute. I pulled into the driveway from grabbing lunch with Paul; Isabel was sleeping and I was loathe to wake her. So I grabbed the ipad and keyboard and sat in the passenger seat of the van to write. It was the least distracted I have been in quite some time. The perfect office.

2. Speaking of ipad, it’s Isabel’s favorite toy. Yesterday she padded around the house after me asking for the “pi-dap.” She had put her little croc clogs on by herself and they were on the wrong feet and she waddled around behind me saying “wha-chee-pi-dap.” It was like having my own wee little foreigner in the house to keep me company.

3. Thank you all so much for the interest and support on my writings on community. I have gotten so many emails and comments and I’m hopeful to answer them all. I know we still have a lot of ground to cover — I’m  committed to that being a prime focus around here for the next season. But you know, I also don’t want to deprive you of important fart stories either.

4. Speaking of which, yesterday I was holding my phone and looking at something when I realized Henry was talking to me. “Why are you smiling, mama?” he asked. I was reading a hilarious comment from that post and it was making me laugh. Thank you all so much for sharing your stories with me. Isn’t it great to know you aren’t crazy?

5. In that vein, here’s a tidbit of wisdom I’d like to share with you, something I know to be true but that bears remembering: there is a point each night at which no one in your house should be up. If they are up they should not be up and about and interacting with other members of the household. We were reminded of this the hard way last night when a scuttlebutt of epic proportion helped us close out our day. Already, about ten minutes before, one of the boys came into the kitchen to ask about a costume for literature class the next morning.

“I need help with my Hunchback of Notre Dame outfit,” he said, to which I most uncharitably replied, “heck to the no.”

Nah, I didn’t really say that. I actually said, “I love you son there is no way I can think about one more detail tonight it’s actually bordering on the criminal for you to be asking about that at this hour go to bed we’ll figure it out in the morning I love you amen.”

So off he went and then a few minutes later we fo’ rizzle closed out the day with a fight involving a plastic toy gun being pointed at someone and someone acting in self-defense with a pen and a third party yelling and a fourth party crying (guess which party I was?). Yes the hour was late.

Today at lunch Paul and I agree that the new household rule is “After 9 p.m. you are allowed to be awake but only from the comfort of your own bed.”

6.  Thanks for all the prayers for my mom. She’s not doing great, but much better than the first two rounds of chemo. Next week should be her good week and then she will start the next go round.

7. I close out today’s Quick Takes with this picture from a quick little family vacation we took over Spring Break. I took the kids tubing by myself because Paul had some work to do (we hadn’t planned to go out of town so I took what I could get!) and it was a delightful adventure for us. Here was our picnic spot before we took off:

Sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits.

Go tell Jen hello!

So here’s the thing: you and I both know there’s no such thing as a Utopia, right? There’s no place on this earth that is perfect, that is filled with perfect people free of problems and strife. That place does not exist down here in our earthly realm.

It seems silly to say that, but I figure I’d put it out there. I want you to know not just that this place isn’t perfect but also that I know it isn’t perfect (and I know that you know that I know it isn’t perfect).

There. I said it and now we can move on.

I’m establishing that point so I don’t feel compelled to mention it every step along the way. Because after a while it would get old and perhaps a tad awkward (“we had the nicest gathering the other day, but you know things aren’t perfect…”). I’m saying it here, loud and clear as the given of all this talk on community life: things around here are not perfect.

Here’s something I hear from time to time, something I myself am compelled to utter every so often: People Be Messy.

It’s the reality of dealing with other human beings and it’s the challenge of it. It’s also what makes community living so darn effective at helping me chip away the scales and try to be better, to be more virtuous, to put my hope and trust in the Lord. I am forced to grow in virtue, in patience and kindness and self-control. And me, in all my loving kindness, well my wounds help those around me in just the same way. Dealing with other people can be hard and it can be messy. But why it’s worth it is a) because this is what I know God wants me to be doing and b) hmmm, I don’t know, I guess nothing else comes close to competing with point A (but there are other great reasons for community: the support, the love, the unity of neighbors and friends).

Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not some big train-wrecky scene all the time. There is not drama after drama. But it’s just, it’s not Utopia.

This is basically no different than family life: you get to a point, for some people it comes sooner than later in life, when you realize your family is not perfect. This happens even in the happiest of situations. You might wake up one day, assess the scene and think “wow! I never realized we were like this.” Hopefully, it won’t take too long to move forward from there. Maybe it does, but ultimately, Lord willing, you learn to accept the healthy crazy, deal with whatever bad crazy you must, and then move forward.

(and here in my need to cover all my bases: I am not talking about disfunction, never ignore unhealthy disfunction.)

You know I’ve written about my own family plenty. I love my family and I’m so grateful God plopped me down into the center of that world. I love my family and I know we’re not perfect. But I don’t feel compelled to mention that every time I write about us. It’s a given: we aren’t perfect, but we’re trying to be good.

And so it is with this community. This community is a combination of a church group and a large extended family and a very, very small town. Put all of those things together and you start to get a sense of what it’s like. It’s wonderful. I love it.

We’re not perfect. But we’re trying to be good.

Two boys are playing a game of brotherly poker which they should totally not be playing because the hour is just late enough that things aren’t going well. Not well at all.

One brother goes upstairs in some kind of agitated state and after a minute, calls down to his unfortunate roommate.

“I just farted on your bed,” he announces with tremendous satisfaction.

“Son,” says my non-plussed husband, “why would you tell him that?”

Not “why would you do that?” But why would you tell him that.

If that doesn’t speak volumes about life with boys, I don’t know what does.

(Enjoy this post now because I’ll probably wake up in the middle of the night and feel embarrassed and ashamed and toy with the idea of deleting it. Maybe I will. We shall see.)

Tonight, our small group gathered in one of our big open yards for a picnic and a kickball game. My boys look forward to this annual event and it never fails to entertain.

The more I think about the kinds of things I want to write — to share details of my life and to answer all your questions — I realize how I’m so much more comfortable sharing the “how” and the “why” of community living. When I get down to the “what” of it all — the basic cut-and-dried information, I start to feel stifled. Because that aspect of it — the number of meetings, the organizational structure, the nitty gritty of it all, it’s very important. But it’s not ultimately what this life is all about.

To me, it’s about the relationships. It’s about living and loving and being encouraged and built up and yes, stretched and challenged. It’s about a life that is more than just me and my wants and desires.

Tonight, we walked up the street to the picnic. Paul was meeting us there in his truck so I was towing Isabel in the wagon, loaded up with our food and blanket and her, that sweet little two-year-old trying to climb out. Henry was on his scooter, a few boys were on bikes. Moments before we were set to leave, Henry (accidentally) broke a window in the garage door. There was glass everywhere. We cleaned that up, which put us about ten minutes behind schedule. As we ambled up the street (a three-minute walk) I was feeling frustrated and spent. I really blew my cool with the window incident. Then I started to have some more negative feelings and by the time I got to the dinner I was in a “bad place.” I really wanted to go home. I was in no kind of social mood.

“How ironic,” I thought to myself most fouly, “that I’m trying to write about community living and here is a prime example of how it is way too difficult.”

But here’s what happened: instead of retreating home to stew and boil, there I was. Surrounded by other people. And little by little, after a few minutes standing there having to push through my emotions, I got over it. I got out of “myself” and within a few short moments I was able to just totally change the channel mentally.

So that’s the heart of this life for me — it’s being drawn closer to Jesus by being surrounded by people on fire for Him. When you’re immersed in that kind of river, you can’t help but get swept along.

Proof that boys can stand still (for a moment)

Proof that little boys grow up

Proof that sometimes you get a girl, even after all those boys

Proof that it just keeps getting better, don’t be afraid that your “now” is the best it will ever be

Proof that you can love your spouse more with each passing year, especially as you watch your children grow and blossom

Proof that there is room in your heart for each and every one of them, it’s a mystery but it’s true

also: proof that Charlie didn’t have time to fashion his bow-tie after serving the altar; proof that my church has one of the prettiest rosary garden’s in all the land; and proof that we own an ever-loving ton of blue blazers!