10.25.08
Posted in Adventures in Parenting, Musings at 4:22 pm by ginny
A bouncy chair sits in the living room. Burp cloths are draped over the back of the sofa. The laundry basket overflows with onesies and swaddling blankets and sleepers.
It would take a stranger about 0.5 seconds to realize that a baby lives here.
Now that I’m in Round Two of parenting a newborn, I’m struck anew by how much these little people NEED. The feedings, the diaper changes, the swaying and singing when fussy, the baths in the sink, the binky re-inserted after little hands knock it out of the mouth — it’s all a lot of work. My little guy is utterly helpless to do anything himself.
That makes it all the more jaw-dropping that God would actually choose to become a newborn. I’m not the first person to realize this, of course; plenty of homilies touch on this topic, particularly at Christmas. But I’ve got to say, when a little scrunched red angry person is actually in the house, the incredible nature of the Incarnation takes on a whole new immediacy. God chose to become an eight-pounder with a bundle of needs that could not be met except by others — primarily by his mom. She did the things that the infant God could not do for himself.
I think that this is why so many people make a big deal of honoring Mary. If you’ve spent any time raising a baby, you know firsthand that she matters. She matters a lot. She will be loved as long as women feed their tiny babies and bathe them and watch them grow into people who will, one day, be able to do all of this — and more — for themselves.
Permalink
10.18.08
Posted in Adventures in Parenting, Images of Mary, Musings at 10:55 pm by ginny
It’s pretty easy to find beautiful images of Mary. This is one of my favorites:
It’s called Song of the Angels, by William-Adolphe Bouguereau. Why do I love it?
For one thing, it has a gentle feel. The colors, the pastoral background, the soft edges are calm and soothing. The subject itself is sweet. I mean, angels playing a lullabye to a baby; what’s not to love?
As nice as the serenade is, though, somehow the picture speaks most powerfully when I block out the angels and just focus on Mary and Jesus. They are the picture of peace, sitting there together, mother and son. He sleeps in her lap and she looks equally relaxed. It’s like a little moment in which the world outside them is held at bay. Peace reigns.
I spend a lot of time these days in that pose, sitting with my newborn in my lap or on my shoulder. Sometimes he snoozes, and I watch him as he sleeps. There’s such a heartbreaking innocence to the sleeping face of a baby. My little one doesn’t carry stress, or fear about money or health or the future. I wish I could say the same about me.
But there are times when I hold him and — somehow — the peacefulness of the moment overcomes the worries that normally shadow me. All the outside stressors are pushed away and I’m fully present in the reality of that little boy who rests on me and trusts that I’ll always be there. I drink in his smell and memorize every little detail of that face that is changing, imperceptibly, day by day. I know that in years to come, I’ll want to have this moment fixed in the photo album of my mind. I’ll want to revisit it and remember a fall afternoon when nothing else mattered but this moment of communion between my tiny boy and me.
Permalink
10.11.08
Posted in Musings, Quotes and prayers at 3:18 pm by ginny
For most of us, it’s impossible to be around a newborn without playing the compulsory Guess-Who-The-Baby-Looks-Like Game. Now that Luke is here, family and friends are offering their opinions on the subject. A few people have said that Luke seems to take after me. I have to say, it’s tough for me to tell. Maybe I don’t have the distance — either from him or from myself — to really look at his features objectively. The same was true with Matthew as a newborn; I could see my husband in him far more easily than I could see myself.
But every now and then, there’s a little glimpse of something in Matthew’s face that brings to mind the photos of myself as a toddler. And I’m caught anew in the fascinating world of genetics, marveling that his features are an echo of mine. It’s mysterious and beautiful.
Maybe that’s why I like this quotation from Dante’s Divine Comedy. It’s a reference to Mary. The italics are mine:
Look now upon the face that most resembles Christ’s,
for only through its brightness
can you prepare your vision to see Him.
In Jesus’ face, we see Mary — and vice-versa. I have to say, I find that pretty mysterious … and very, very beautiful.
Permalink
10.07.08
Posted in Feast Days and other fun times at 9:25 am by ginny
Note: October 7 is the feast day of Our Lady of the Rosary.
Disclaimer: I’m not going to put pressure on anyone to pray the rosary. Goodness knows I’m the last person who can claim to pull out my beads on a regular basis. I think a healthy prayer life is all about finding the type of prayer that most calls to you … and that’s different for everyone (and for me these days, my prayers are more of the “mindfulness” variety — a few seconds here or there to register the presence of God as I burp my son or pick up toys or stare out the kitchen window at the morning fog. It’s what my spiritual director called “opportunistic spirituality” — stealing a few seconds of reflection wherever I can).
That said, there are times in my life when the rosary has drawn me like a magnet. I never quite know when the desire to pray it will arise. I do know, though, that there are some beautiful things that the rosary has to offer.
1. It gives you something concrete to hang onto. When I’m fumbling my way through any kind of emotional turmoil, that tangible aspect of the rosary is a huge plus.
2. It’s soothing. There have been many times in my life when I’ve started the rosary feeling like I’m on the razor edge of sanity. As it goes along, I find that my breathing slows down and the anxiety starts to dissipate, little by little. The repetition of the Hail Marys and Our Fathers does bring me peace.
3. I don’t have to learn the prayers. I memorized them in Catholic school all those years ago. Praying them over and over is the spiritual equivalent of putting on a comfortable pair of slippers: I feel right at home.
4. I never know when some lightning bolt of insight will arrive. There have been times when, as I meditate on the mysteries, I get some flash of understanding that I didn’t have before. I’d never thought much about the Visitation until the morning years ago that I was praying the Joyful Mysteries, trying to decide if I should go to my friend’s baby shower that day (I’d suffered a pregnancy loss and was not sure I could bear all the baby talk). I talk more about this experience in Mary and Me, so I won’t recap it all here, but I will say that the rosary did change me, for the better.
5. It leads us to Christ. Sure, Mary is a key player in several of the mysteries, but they all point towards her son. As John Paul II said in Rosarium Virginis Mariae, “To recite the rosary is nothing other than to contemplate with Mary the face of Christ. ” And if you ask me, that’s a very nice thing.
Permalink
10.01.08
Posted in Books about Mary at 9:15 pm by ginny
Two weeks after my son’s birth, I’m getting back into the rhythms of life with a newborn. Basically, each day is one long feeding session, punctuated by short breaks in which I madly shower, load the washing machine, and attempt to write a few hopefully coherent thoughts on this blog. I have tiny portholes (I can’t even call them windows) of free time in which to accomplish my non-baby-related goals. Clearly, this is not the year in which I will read War and Peace.
But I am still hungry for a good read: something short but meaningful, that I can read and digest in little snippets. Luckily, I found one. The book is Behold Your Mother: Mary Stories and Reflections from a Catholic Convert, by Heidi Hess Saxton.
I’m always fascinated by stories of women who converted to Catholicism, and how they view Mary. Some Christian denominations approach her with silence, others with suspicion, so devotion to Mary can be slow in coming for Catholic converts. Saxton’s book is a beautifully-written love letter to Mary, the mother whom she has come, gradually, to trust and love. In the three essays that open the book, she describes key moments when Mary crept into her life. The last of the three essays — a reflection on Saxton’s life as a foster mother, and her attempts to break down the walls of resistance her young children had initially constructed — is my favorite. It’s a moving meditation on the way that Mary, too, waits patiently for us to realize that we need her.
Following the essays are the forty-eight reflections that make up the heart of the book. Each one is a personal meditation on the life of Mary, often written in her own voice. Saxton writes about key events from the Bible, such as the Visitation and the crucifixion, and includes Scripture passages and short prayers. I love how the author describes quiet moments between Mary and Jesus, imagining the feelings Mary must have had as her boy grew up. They put a human face on Mary, fleshing out the daily interactions between mother and son (and as a mom myself, they speak right to my heart — I dog-eared several pages so I could go back and quickly find my favorites again).
But you don’t have to be a sleep-deprived mom — or a mom at all — to love this book. All you need is an interest in Mary, and the desire to engage with her in a fresh new way.
You can check out Heidi’s blog at http://beholdyourmotherbook.blogspot.com/
Permalink
