So I went back and forth about what to do for Lent this year. As always, there’s the classic dilemma: do I give something up, or embrace something new?
I’ve decided to do both.
I’m two months into my Year O’ Prayer Experiment (explained in detail here) in which I try a new form of prayer each month. That means that the “embracing something new” bit is already covered. (February is the Month of the Bible. I’ve been reading the daily Gospel every day, and it’s been a good thing. More later).
But I still had to figure out what to give up. Here are the ideas that came to mind:
1. Caffeine. I did flirt with the idea of sacrificing coffee and tea for forty days, and — well, let’s just say that this flirtation did not develop into a serious relationship. To put it more accurately, I realized I’d be insane to try this. Yes, it would be a chance to grow in virtue. But the fact is, the ONLY thing that gets this sleep-deprived mom down the freeway to her job is a large commuter mug of Sumatra laced with half-and-half. I fear I’d be a safety hazard were I to commute without it. That is not a hyperbole.
2. Online time. Last Lent, I limited myself to one online visit per day (when not at work, that is). It was definitely a sacrifice, and it made me realize just how much I turn to this computer whenever — well, just whenever. I couldn’t figure out how to make it work this year, though. With the doubling of the number of children in my household since last year, I find it very hard to finish any online task in one sitting. I’m also bad enough at answering email as it is; I don’t need a reason to become worse.
Finally, though, I settled on a good Lenten sacrifice. I think it’ll be challenging and meaningful without making me a highway hazard or a hermit. As of today, I’m giving up Office Food.
Office Food is just what it sounds like: food that people put out in the department office at school. It ranges from leftovers (pizza from the journalism kids) to treats made especially for us hardworking pedagogues (rich gooey brownies baked by a teacher in the Social Studies department). You never know what will show up on the counter: earlier this week there was, inexplicably, a large box of Froot Loops out for the taking (and yes, I partook). Office Food gives me a little lift in the middle of the school day. I love it. I eat it without thinking.
And that’s exactly why I’m giving it up. It’s a chance to stop in my tracks, alter my normal routine, and remember that there’s a different kind of hunger that Lent is meant to satisfy.
And, right on cue, today I had to say no to something delish. One of my colleagues, who had just been granted tenure, brought in a Draeger’s chocolate cake to celebrate. The velvety dark cake, the thick brick of white frosting, the little dark chocolate curls: oh, it was painful to turn it down. But I did. And when I remembered why I was depriving myself, it made the whole thing a little bit easier.
One of the challenges of writing a newspaper column is fitting my Catholic experience into a mere 510 words. That’s always the tricky part for me. I mean, if you didn’t limit me, I’d write volumes about the complex thing called faith.
But I love writing this column, because it makes me really focus on the essence of what I am feeling and believing. And I always learn something about myself in the process.
My latest column — “The Ritual I’ll Never Outgrow” — is a reflection on the Mass. As you’ll see in the article, my kids have given me an entirely new lens through which to view this subject. It’s just one more way in which those little people leave their fingerprints on every surface of my life … and thank God for that.
What diehard Mary fan could possibly resist buying this T-shirt?
Cleary, this Mary fan could not.
I am already sensing that it may open the door to some interesting conversations. I happened to be wearing it the other day as I dropped old clothes and housewares off at Goodwill. As I filled out the donation receipt, puzzling over how much an old eight-track is worth, one of the Goodwill guys — who up until then had been a silent figure in the background — suddenly asked, “Who’s Mary?”
I looked up from my form. My head had been lost in numbers and figures, so it took me a moment to register what he was asking. It then took me another moment to figure out what to say. I mean, how do I answer that question? “You know Jesus? She’s his mom,” or “She’s one of the most beloved women in the world, and with good reason,” or “She’s the one I turn to whenever I need a holy woman up there to talk to”? An interesting puzzle.
Before I could open my mouth to respond, though, he suddenly got a light of recognition in his eye. “Oh, the Virgin Mary,” he said, smiling.
“Yes, exactly,” I said. I left it at that and turned in my receipt. I could have said oh, so much more.
Have you seen these things? They have them at supermarkets. You dump a bunch of loose change into the tray, and it pulls the change into the machine, where some gizmo counts it (accurately, one only hopes) and totals it up for you. You then take a receipt to the register, where you can redeem it for cash or store credit.
Yesterday I decided it was high time to take the box o’ change off of my husband’s dresser and put it too good use. Into the car with me it went (was it just me, or did the car sink perceptibly under its weight?). At the store, I loaded it all into the machine, and listened to it chug chug chug away, while the little digital numbers showing the total just kept climbing. I had to fish out a few things that are not American legal tender: paper clips of various sizes, a Silver Legacy casino token, a coin-sized medal to my Guardian Angel, as well as some French centimes and a small silver coin featuring the profile of Queen Elizabeth. I also had to extract some dimes that were covered in tinfoil* (quite a few of them, actually).
The result of my efforts? A whopping $88.53. It would have been more without the $8 fee that Coinmaster skims off the top (if I had more time, I’d have skipped the machine and rolled it all myself). But still, I’m pretty happy. It feels like finding money in the street. We can use it for a birthday dinner at a nice restaurant.**
So yes, I think there’s a life lesson here: something like “little things matter,” or “don’t sneer at small change.” And the other lesson I learned: take the tinfoil off of the dimes BEFORE you leave home.
* dimes covered in tinfoil - a tradition, apparently from Rochester, NY, which my husband learned from his friend Dave. On New Year’s Eve, you cover a dime with tinfoil and put it on the windowsill before the stroke of midnight. If you do so, you will have all the money you need in the New Year.
** nice restaurant (n) — 1. A restaurant that does not provide crayons and balloons to its patrons. 2. A place that we Moyers almost never go to anymore.
I bought this postcard in Lourdes. It was July of 2002, and my husband and I were on our honeymoon throughout France. It was a great chance for us to combine our respective skills: he drove the rental car (a stick shift; I’ve never bothered to learn) and I was the communicator, drawing on the French I’d learned to speak during my two stays in Paris.
We didn’t actually plan our trip around Lourdes. It just happened to be there, a stop on the way up to the mountain town where we hiked up jagged beautiful peaks and rattled around a huge almost-empty hotel. But on the way back down, we stopped in Lourdes for an afternoon.
What can I say about Lourdes? It was so many things: busy and peaceful, tacky and graceful, souvenir shops and churches coexisting in this once-sleepy town at the base of the Pyrenees. We stopped at the grotto where Mary appeared to Bernadette, and I touched the dark rock below the statue of Bernadette’s beautiful lady (or “girl,” as the saint always insisted). It was a point in my life before Mary had inched her way into my heart; she felt distant from me. Though I wanted to feel a close connection to her at that holy place, I left Lourdes feeling rather flat.
And yet that wasn’t the end of the story. Lourdes ended up being the catalyst for my first real, adult reflections on Mary. In the weeks following the trip, she began to figure more and more prominently in my thoughts. I won’t go into the details here, mostly because it’s just too much to fit into a blog posting. I do hope to tell that story in my next book.
But it showed me that faith can begin in us quietly, without our even suspecting it. I remember reading once about the seeds that clung to the hems of pioneers as they traveled across the country, unseen by those who carried them along, only to later take root in a new place. The seed of my love for Mary came to me in Lourdes, and I carried it back to California, little suspecting that it was there. It’s set out sturdy roots since then; boy, has that love of Mary grown. I had no idea how much it would end up changing the landscape of my life.
I’d love to go back to Lourdes someday. It hasn’t changed, but I have. I’d love to see it again, through new eyes: not just as a tourist but a pilgrim, grateful for the gift I never expected to receive.
NOTE: If you are interested in reading an excellent explanation of the apparitions at Lourdes, check out Sarah’s wonderful column at Today’s Catholic Woman.
“Let’s go see Mary,” I told Matthew after Mass today. He agreed eagerly, running down the aisle to the Mary statue with a spring in his step.
When we got there, he stopped and I picked him up. He seemed awed by the people touching Mary’s robe, picking up free rosaries from the baskets at her feet, moving their lips in brief inaudible prayers. “Want to touch her?” I asked.
He did. He reached for her hand sweetly and earnestly and unabashedly.
Both boys are napping (a happy coincidence of timing!) so I am doing a little personal stock-taking here. A good thing to do on a Friday, I think.
Things I Still Need to Do, At Some Point (Hopefully Before 2010)
1. Update baby books, both of them. Luke’s is in particularly dire shape. I am comforted, though, that I am not the worst offender: my uncle did not even get a baby book until he was in his early twenties. Of course, he was the youngest of four kids, so we can let my grandma off the hook for that one. With only two children in my nest, I do not have her excuse.
2. Work on my blog site: specifically, include a blogroll. Somehow this one always falls off of my radar. Is it because there are too many good blogs out there, and every time I start to research them, I end up reading and getting utterly distracted? Ah, the black hole that is the blogosphere!
3. Clean out my wallet. It weighs about five pounds, and no, it’s not because of bills. It is where receipts go to die.
4. Call the billing office of my son’s pediatrician because of a bill they sent me that should have gone to insurance … and oh, rats, they closed fifteen minutes ago. Aargh. I always remember this one too late.
Things I Am Very Proud of Having Accomplished Recently
1. Praying with more intentionality and creativity. January was the month of the rosary; February is the month of the Bible. I am learning a lot through this Year O’ Prayer, and it’s only two months into it. A more detailed update will come later.
2. Getting myself back to the Y for some exercise. I put my membership on hold for a few months around Lukey’s birth, then suddenly remembered that I had been reinstated in December and was not darkening the door of their fitness center, even though a monthly membership fee was being quietly extracted from my bank account. So I’m back, baby. I like using the treadmill; it’s a nice time to read (current YMCA text: Dreams From My Father, by our new president. Highly recommended).
3. Finishing my Christmas thank-you notes. At least, I think I have. Actually, have I finished them?
Hmmm. If you gave any member of the Moyer family a gift and did not receive acknowledgement, please let me know.
4. Pruning my roses. Always a big task; now completed. Huzzah!
This is one of those Marian feast days I’d never thought much about until I had kids. Mary and Joseph, in accordance with the Jewish law, take the baby Jesus to the temple. A nice outing; a happy day; end of story. Right?
There’s so much more to it, though. I picture Mary, particpating in this ritual of her faith, proud that her son is being formally welcomed. I felt the same way at the baptism of my boys: those baptisms moved me more than I had expected. We were participating in something bigger than ourselves. I was granting my boys a place to start from, a beginning point of belief. Hopefully it will be their end point, too, though I know from my own experiences that the journey into adult faith is one of hills and valleys and switchbacks. All you can really do is pray for your children, and trust that they do not stray too far from the paths that will ultimately lead them home.
I'm a formerly lapsed Catholic who likes to write about faith, real life, and how the two intersect. Oh, and I love Mary -- check out my book Mary and Me below!
