08.29.08
Posted in Quotes and prayers at 3:03 pm by ginny
I’m a big fan of St. Thérèse of Lisieux … I have been ever since I found out that she struggled with anxiety disorders, as I do. She’s a great example of how sometimes you just need to rely on love and tenacious faith to overcome the dark times.
So I was especially thrilled when I came across this quote from her, talking about Mary:
For a sermon on the Blessed Virgin to please me … I must see her real life … They show us to her as unapproachable, but they should present her as imitable, bringing out her virtues, saying that she lived by faith just like ourselves, giving proofs of this from the Gospel.
In writing Mary and Me, I certainly found this to be true. Many women described how Mary often seemed distant, more a plaster statue than a real woman. Often, there was a critical moment in their lives when they realized that she was, as St. Thérèse says, imitable — and that all of us can relate to her, in ways that may take us by surprise.
(The quotation is from a great book called Spiritual Writings on Mary, edited by Mary Ford-Grabowsky.)
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08.22.08
Posted in Musings at 4:11 pm by ginny
So here’s what I’m wondering these days: Did Jesus, when he was just under two years old, take mouthfuls of milk and spit them out on the coffee table? Did he then proceed to play with the milk as if it were fingerpaint? Did he do this repeatedly, undeterred by strident admonitions, timeouts, and the confiscation of the offending sippy cup?
And when he did all of this, how did Mary respond?
I have to admit, as my son Matthew enters the so-called Terrible Twos, that I find myself wondering whether Mary’s experience of this time was in any way similar to mine. I mean, how does the whole sinless child/sinless mom thing actually WORK? My son’s behavior isn’t a sin, of course, but still, it’s not the kind of behavior that I imagine the Son of God would have indulged in.
Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Jesus explored his world in all the ways that my toddler does, ways that invariably result in bumps on the head and sticky spills on the furniture. And maybe Mary too had her days when she just had to take a deep breath and laugh it off rather than go bang her head in frustration.
I once heard an educational speaker talk about how the “Terrible Twos” aren’t terrible for the child, only for the parents. For the kid in question, it’s a thrilling, exhilarating time of discovery and independence. She has a point. In a way, Matthew’s behavior is kind of cool; he’s exploring a new artistic medium. Obviously, he’s tired of the washable Crayola crayons, thick as my fingers, that he uses to draw arcs and zigzags on scratch paper (and once, before I caught him, on the walls). Seen in this light, he’s an innovator, a juvenile Picasso in a dinosaur sunsuit.
But his artistic expression wastes milk. It also mucks up the furniture and repulses anyone who sees it. So we’re putting the kibosh on it, and he’s not buying into it, and we’re getting a little glimpse of what the next year of parenting is going to be like.
And Mary has to understand this, right? I mean, lovely harmonious images of the Madonna and Child aside, she must have had her days where she had to pray for patience. She must have consulted others on how to help her son navigate the line between creativity and responsibility. There’s a learning curve to parenting, I’m finding, and I’m sure this was true of her. I know she gets it — the frustration, the uncertainty, and the tenacious love that lies underneath it all.
Our Lady of the Terrible Twos, pray for us.
Detail of The Sacred Family by Pompeo Batoni
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08.17.08
Posted in Quotes and prayers at 9:18 pm by ginny
Check out this prayer, attributed to St. Jerome. It’s printed on a bookmark that a reader kindly sent me. The prayer is a mere eleven words long, but the more I reflect on it, the more beautiful it is.
O Mary,
Nourisher of Him who nourished all,
Pray for us.
Think about it.
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08.15.08
Posted in Adventures in Parenting, Feast Days and other fun times, Musings at 12:20 am by ginny
Today – Friday, August 15 — is the Feast of the Assumption. Rather than making a huge assumption (ha ha; couldn’t resist!) that everyone is familiar with this event, here’s an exceedingly brief explanation.
The Assumption is a Church dogma stating that “the Immaculate Mother of God, the ever Virgin Mary, having completed the course of her earthly life, was assumed body and soul into heavenly glory.” (Pope Pius XII, Munificentissimus Deus). In other words, unlike the rest of us, her body did not have to stay on earth after death, left in a tomb or grave or vault. Her physical person, not just her soul, went straight up to join her Son.
Traditionally, I’ve never thought much about the Assumption. It’s always sounded like a nice event, and I’ve never had a problem accepting it, but it’s never been particularly meaningful to me.
Until now. Now, as a mom, I think it’s absolutely beautiful. I love it for what it says about Mary … but, even more, I love it for what it says about Jesus.
Here’s the thing that I’ve learned in the twenty-three months since my son’s birth: mothering is very, very, VERY physical. I take care of Matthew’s body in countless ways. The same, of course, was true of Mary. She carried Jesus in her womb and felt him kick; she nursed him; she wrapped him in those famous swaddling clothes. When he got older, she helped him blow his nose and kissed his owies when he fell. She combed his hair, bathed him, urged him to eat when he’d rather get out and play (“Jesus! Honey! Finish your dinner! You’re skin and bones!”). She mended the clothes that covered his changing body as he shot up into manhood. For years, she administered gentle touches, affectionately rumpled his hair, and constantly monitored and cared for his body (because, in the early years at least, moms know their kids’ bodies as well as they know their own). She did all this for her little guy.
And so, at the end of her life, I can imagine Jesus remembering all those things. I see him looking at her with infinite gratitude and endless affection, and saying, “Okay, Mom, you spent years taking care of my body. Now, I’m going to take care of yours.” And he does this in the best way he can: he spares her from having to lie in a tomb and instead takes that body up to heaven with him. In that way, he makes a special statement of love for the body that carried him and cared for him, the body that was his tangible source of comfort for so many years.
That’s one pretty terrific son.
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08.12.08
Posted in Feast Days and other fun times at 11:02 pm by ginny
So this coming Friday is the Feast of the Assumption. It’s also a Holy Day of Obligation.
To be honest, I’m not nuts about that term. It makes going to Mass sound as appealing as taking a midterm or cleaning the rain gutters. But it’s my experience that when I force myself out of my normal routine and actually do attend Mass during the week, it always ends up being rewarding. Sometimes a little shakeup of the normal schedule, a little dash of something different, can be inspiring.
And it’s a day to honor the Mom of all Moms, Mary. I’m always up for that.
If you are still approaching Friday’s Mass with as much enthusiasm as going to the dentist, try this: think of it as an occasion to reflect on your own mom , or on the woman who has played a mother’s role in your life. Maybe think of three or four specific ways that your life is better because this woman has been in it. In the great cosmic network of interconnected Mom-ness, I have a hunch that Mary gets really happy when we express our thanks for the women who have made us who we are.
And this Friday is a great time to start.
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08.11.08
Posted in Images of Mary at 10:04 pm by ginny
Okay, so I love this statue of Mary. I found it on Ebay a while back and could not resist.
The funny thing is, this is not at ALL how I picture Mary. Lately, I’ve been imagining her as a comfortable motherly figure with laugh lines … not as a glamour girl with lipstick and Jean Harlow eyebrows.
But I love it anyhow. Maybe it’s because I gravitate towards things that look a little retro, or because it’s the kind of Mary that I imagine my grandmother would have had on her dresser. And this Mary never fails to make me think of springtime and flowers. I’m always happy when my garden provides me with a few blooms to put by her.
So how do YOU picture Mary? Young, old, blonde, brunette, always dressed in blue? … or maybe none of the above?
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08.09.08
Posted in Books about Mary at 11:18 am by ginny
What does Mary mean to you? What role has she played in your life? How has your experience of her changed over the years? 
These are some of the questions that I posed to Catholic women of all ages as I researched my book Mary and Me: Catholic Women Reflect on the Mother of God. It’s a topic that is close to my heart, given that my own Marian journey has evolved in unexpected ways throughout the years. I couldn’t wait to hear what other women had to say about the world’s most famous mother.
I was not disappointed.
In the book, forty-six women, from their twenties to their nineties, reflect on the role that Mary plays in their lives. Their stories reveal how Mary has been present during a wide variety of life events: having a baby, discerning a vocation, recovering from a breakup, losing a spouse, healing from abuse, overcoming an eating disorder, re-entering the Church after decades of absence. In the process of collecting these stories, I was amazed to learn how many faces Mary wears, and how easily she slips into women’s lives when they need her most.
One story comes from a forty-two-year-old teacher named – appropriately enough – Mary. In this excerpt, she describes the life-changing event that, years ago, made the Blessed Mother suddenly real to her:
At age thirty-four, Mary was blindsided by terrible news: She was diagnosed with uterine cancer and given a 20 percent chance of survival. Suddenly, everything in her life was different. “One month, you think everything is fine, and the next month, you have your uterus removed, you’ve been given giant doses of chemotherapy, and you’re just trying to grapple with the fact that you can never have your own children, also dealing with the fact that you may lose your life,” she says. “And it’s a cancer that no one my age usually gets, so it’s very hard to find peace or a place to rest anywhere in your mind or body when that’s happening.” In the midst of her fear, she needed the comfort of prayer, but found a barrier in praying to God. She was grappling with the question of why she had the cancer – had God caused it? Was it his will that she suffer and perhaps die? Was it some kind of punishment he was giving her? “I didn’t know who God was at that moment,” she says.
In the midst of these questions, she found herself turning to the Blessed Mother for comfort. “I knew this was the best person who could possibly intercede,” she says. When she approached Mary, there were no spiritual barriers. “I just felt a wave of listening and compassion come over me and almost felt understanding from her, and I suddenly felt as if I could pray. It was really important to have that female to talk to.” Mary was comforted to think that the Blessed Mother knew the pain she was going through at being unable to have children of her own. “All of a sudden, I felt like someone understood – not that Jesus couldn’t, but in my limited human way at the time, I needed to talk to a woman.”
To find out how the story ends, read Mary and Me!
P.S. To read another excerpt, go to St. Anthony Messenger Press and click on “Sample Chapter.”
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08.07.08
Posted in Adventures in Parenting, Musings at 2:26 pm by ginny
So here I am, in the last month of pregnancy. It’s a strange time. I vacillate between feeling dewy and radiant and Earth-Mother-like to feeling like an elephant lumbering through the savannah, inadvertently crushing things in its path.
Make that an elephant with chronic heartburn.
Still, as pregnancies go, this is perhaps the best time in history to be in the family way. I was thinking about this earlier, reflecting on what Mary had to go through two thousand years ago as the birth of her own child drew near. A comparison chart might be helpful:
ME: I complain about having to drag my unwieldy body approximately five steps down into the garage to load laundry into the machine.
MARY: She had to do it by hand, no doubt leaning her pregnant body over a tub on a dirt floor.
ME: My feet ache as I dump a bag of frozen Trader Joe’s pasta into a skillet, add water, and stand stirring for five minutes.
MARY: She probably had to make every meal from scratch.
ME: I have a massive bottle of TUMS, my new favorite snack, at my disposal.
MARY: No TUMS. (Were there home remedies for heartburn in Biblical times?)
ME: At the end of this – God willing – I’ll deliver in a sanitized, clean, well-lit hospital, in a wing designed for maximum birthing comfort. A call button will bring trained personnel to me within minutes. Meal trays will appear, bearing Jello and hot tea and other things I feel like eating and don’t have to prepare myself.
MARY: She gave birth in a barn, surrounded by dirt and manure. Instead of nurses, she had cows and sheep looking on. There were no trained personnel that we know of (Joseph, though strong in many virtues, surely did not count midwifery among his skills). Who brought her food? What did she eat, after that exhausting delivery? Who helped her clean up, regain her strength, swaddle the baby?
So I have it pretty good, I’d say. But there’s one more thing to add:
ME: I’m so eager to meet this little acrobat who’s been rolling around inside me, the baby whom I love already, the peanut who is poised to utterly transform my life.
And so – I know – was Mary.
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08.01.08
Posted in Adventures in Parenting, Images of Mary at 10:25 pm by ginny
or, What Happens When a Fisher Price Nativity Set, a Tolo Car, and a Fifteen-Month-Old Come Together
I came upon this scene one evening last December. I know my son was the one who put her there, but I get a kick out of imagining Mary actually choosing this particular mode of transportation. Heck, if I had a choice between going to Bethlehem on a lopey old donkey or taking a convertible with flashing headlights AND real “vroom vroom” noises, I’d go with the latter, too (wouldn’t you?).
Incidentally, a day or so later, one of the Wise Men ended up in the John Deere Farm Wagon. Life is never boring with a toddler in the house.
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