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Suddenly Spring

We find ourselves suddenly faced with a few challenges. How did the snow give way to spring so fast? Where did Lent go? Why can I suddenly see all the dust in the house and the dirt on the windows? Will the lawn mower be ready for use in time?

The family also finds itself on a familiar journey with a parent/grandparent. Maureen’s dad was diagnosed last Thursday with stage four Esophageal Cancer. He went in on Tuesday with a low blood count and feeling tired and by Thursday he couldn’t eat. Yesterday he suffered a stroke and has been unresponsive since. It is a familiar journey, whose path and timing and outcome are known to God alone.

So while Maureen is in Baltimore with her dad and siblings, the kids I and will tackle the dust, prep the mower, and clean the house. I call it a staycation. The kids call it choremageddon.

The beauty outside will distract our work. As the rain turns the world here in New England from white to green, we see new life all around, even as we wait for sad news from the south.

Today and tomorrow, we will dust and clean and look for the perfect tree branch for a swing.

Thursday, the poet’s words will come alive as we “discover who we are in the act of washing feet.”

Friday, we will venerate and commemorate and be still.

But on Sunday we will remember how the story ends – we will be reminded that death falls over into life and that for those who believe, the cross is not foolishness or folly, but a sign of the saving power of God.

May God continue to bless Maureen’s dad on this last leg of the journey and may we all have a happy, healthy, holy week.

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The Hat

There is a couple that sits in front of us at Mass on Sundays. She always wears the nicest hats. They are the quintessential older couple: smartly dressed, clearly still in love, and about the same age as our children’s grandparents. I would like to say that we would know them anyway were it not for the hats, but you never know.

A few Sundays after the family moved up here last summer, the oldest child wore a hat to Mass. It provided the perfect opening for Mrs. C to say something to our eldest about how good it is to see someone else who appreciates a good hat.

Since then the friendship has blossomed. Mrs. C has presented hats to the girls and going to Mass has become something I know they will enjoy because Mr. and Mrs. C will be there.

We have been to their home. They have baked us a cake. We pray for their daughter, who’s fighting an illness, every night. Mrs. C is one of our first-born’s “five” – that small group of people she knows she can count on, go to, trust, admire, and emulate. It’s more than just a hat now; they are part of our extended family.

As we sat behind them at Mass this morning, Mrs. C in her purple hat and Mr. C in his matching scarf, I thought about how, in a few short months, they had become a part of the village helping to raise our children. It made me think of the life of our parish community – filled with many such stories. A parish ought to be a family. Faith ought to be transformational. We discover that God loves us and values us only when we are loved and valued by others.

No matter where you sit on Sundays, relationships matter. Stories matter. Stories disarm us; shared responsibility disarms us. Faith is at the center of the table but we all share in the responsibility to make sure faith doesn’t just stay there. Our understanding of God grows only as we learn that God is beyond our understanding.

Sharing the Good News requires legs and arms and voices.

And, yes, on occasion, the right hat.

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The “A” Word Disappears

Lent begins on Wednesday. In the Donovan household (and at liturgical celebrations everywhere), it has always meant the absence of the “A” word. When the children were younger, it seemed like a big deal. You could not sing “Alleluia” around the house – and when one child did, another would correct them (sometimes harshly). Yes, it seemed that “dummy” and “idiot” remained in the common vocabulary, but heaven forbid that anyone sing praise during Lent.

The children are getting older and I doubt there will be much discussion of the “A” word this year. I don’t know whether they have aged out of the novelty of it or if their focus is pulled in so many directions, they have just forgotten the big deal it used to be. This year, we need to make Lent a big deal again. We need to try harder to “live Lent” intentionally. Perhaps this will mean giving up ice cream or candy or making a concerted effort to read more, watch less, or spend more time outside. Perhaps the iPad or Wii will go unplugged and we will dust off the family Bible.

Family time has always been a sacred tradition in our home. Friday night movie nights are a long-standing commitment we enjoy. Sunday Mass is sacrosanct. But last year Lent was consumed with packing and moving and emptying a house we occupied for 11 years. Lent rushed by and we fell into Easter without realizing we had failed to live Lent well.

This year, we will slow down. We will pause. We will pray. We will sacrifice. We will make some new traditions in our new home and we will spend the next forty-plus days understanding why the Church asks us to live in the dessert for a bit.

Then, when Easter comes, we will sing that “A” word loud and long. We will rise up and celebrate the reality that death falls over into life. We will celebrate being Easter people.

But to make Easter a more powerful experience, we must first live Lent well.

Are you ready?

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Unbelief

In today’s Gospel we see a man who hurts for his suffering child. “Help my unbelief,” he calls out to Jesus. I have been thinking about that line these past few days.

I can’t believe the things that pass for news. I can’t believe the people that pass for leaders. I can’t believe the same people who proclaim that life begins at conception also say that guns belong in schools.

I can’t believe that people really think the world is flat or that all undocumented workers are criminals, or that refugees arrive without years of vetting. I can’t believe Twitter is a thing.

I can’t believe how big my children are getting and how much fun they are when they play together. I can’t believe how often we say we are people of justice and mercy but behave quite differently. And yet, I can’t believe the recreational outrage to which so many people subscribe is quickly become the norm for our news and our politics and our communities. I can’t believe it’s almost Lent.

I can’t believe there are people who look at the wonder of creation and doubt the existence of God. I can’t believe that there are people who love God but don’t love their neighbor. And I can’t believe that there isn’t a scientist in this world who can’t come up with a rational reason that convinces us all that ice cream is, in fact, good for us.

As people of faith, there will always be things we struggle to believe. That God is love and that we, in turn, are called to share that love with others, shouldn’t be a struggle.

Help our unbelief, O Lord.

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Family Dynamics

The first readings the liturgical calendar offers us this week have some serious family dynamics going on. Perhaps dysfunction is a better word. Cain kills Abel. Noah sails off with his family in a giant boat filled with animals. The families of Shinar, all speaking the same languages, build a city with a giant tower that concerns God so much he changes the one language to many, scattering the people to the corners of the earth.

And we thought our families had issues.

Families are a funny thing. You grow up with brothers and sisters who know everything about you: what makes you happy, what buttons to push to get a rise out of you, how to make you smile, or angry or sad or whatever. Families know how to avoid conflict or pit one sibling against another. They not only know your story, they had a hand in writing it. Families have our past and serve as a compass for our future. No matter how far we wander, families point us home.

I don’t connect with my original family nearly enough these days. There are some siblings I email or text or write to often and others I haven’t spoken to in months. The excuse I use is that my present family – the one I live with – are now my focus. But the fact is I could do more. I just don’t.

This week we will celebrate Valentine’s Day. The children will give cards to their classmates and the stores will discount the candy for those who forgot to plan ahead. It’s meant to be a day you show your loved ones that they are, in fact, loved. It seems odd to have a day set aside for that. Shouldn’t we be telling people we love them everyday?

Still, it’s a special day. So, Mom, Terri, Cathy, Tim, John, Cindy, Kris, Kevin, Meghan, and Timmy – consider this your Valentine. Tell your spouses and children too. They are loved; you are loved, and I am grateful we are a family. Dysfunctional though we may be (and we are), we belong to one another.

We are, as they say, our stories. And you will always be part of mine.

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God Saw How Good It Was

It is a dad-only week as mom travels to Pittsburg for her organization’s annual meeting. I have caught up on laundry, mostly because Maureen did nearly all of it before she left. I have tried a new recipe for slow-cooker oatmeal, which the children voted “not as good” as the last recipe. And I let them have garbage for dinner one night while we watched the documentary, Planet Earth (and no, the irony of mankind’s treatment of the earth and the effect of dinner on their bodies wasn’t lost on the eldest).

It is only day three.

But there was moment in Mass yesterday when I was listening to Father John read about salt and light, that I began to think about how my children are lights in the world. The oldest is fascinated with the possibility of alternate universes and wants to study quantum physics. I’m not sure I could spell the word “quantum” at eleven.

Child number two wants to be a teacher. I have never met a child who could turn anything into “playing school.” If she helps her sister study, there is an imaginary classroom involved. If they are playing with Legos, she’s building a school. I’m not sure if she wants to impart wisdom or just likes being bossy.

Child number three will illustrate the next great graphic novel. He has taken a cue from his eldest sister and fills sketchbook after sketchbook with illustrations. When he isn’t drawing, he is casting spells from Harry Potter on all of us. I think he wishes the school would add Parseltongue to their foreign language choices.

Then there is the youngest. We are hoping the upcoming celebration of Reconciliation curbs her ability to lie to your face (“You were gone for thirty seconds and I’m not deaf, so there is no way in the world you brushed your teeth!”). Still, her gymnastic abilities are amazing. Her confidence is overwhelming. The lying will pass, I am sure, but I pray the playfulness never leaves here.

I look at these four amazing children and pray their father doesn’t screw things up. I pray that they will grow to cherish their relationships with each other. I pray that they will change the world in powerful, pervasive ways. I look from my chair to the four of them sitting on the couch, eating Chex mix and popcorn (we were out of ice cream) and I realize they are the light of the world. They are the light of my world.

And it is very good indeed.

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Movie Night

The launch of the Institute was a great success. This week I hope to get the video of Chris Padgett’s reflection online. It was raw, honest, and one of the best presentations I have heard on the many ways we encounter Christ in our family, our work, and our world. The evening was a wonderful celebration of a new adventure in the life of the Diocese of Bridgeport.

This weekend, a long weekend for parents and children, gave us a chance to put Christmas decorations away and unpack the few remaining boxes that have been shoved aside as our busy lives left little time for such things. It was like a second Christmas; opening a box and finding toys we haven’t missed and decorations we forgot we had. I finally found the other glove I have been missing – and with a Saturday’s snow of an inch of so – and more on the way, matching gloves were a welcome sight.

As many of your know, movie night is a staple here at the Donovan home. Someday I will finish my next book, “Movies I Want My Kids To See” (or at least that is what I call it in my head) and finally write down the movies we have watched together and those I recommend for a family movie night with children of varying ages. This past Friday found us watching Disney’s newest remake, this time retelling the story of Pete and his dragon, Elliott. We had watched the original Pete’s Dragon from 1977, which starred Helen Reddy, Mickey Rooney, and Jim Dale some time ago, and I was afraid of what the remake might do to the original story. I remember going to see the original at West Town Theater when I was seven and I have always loved that story.

The new movie was great and I wish we had bought it instead of rented it. The music had the children dancing to the credits and I was pleased to see even the oldest child, who stopped dancing somewhere along the way, join in the fun. In fact, I am not sure when the dancing after movies stopped in the last year, but it did. I was so happy to see it return.

School begins again tomorrow and the next break comes Presidents Day Weekend. Maureen flies out in the morning to Spokane and there are projects waiting at work. But if you get a chance, try the new Pete’s Dragon for movie night and listen carefully for the words of the song in the final credits.

If you’re lost out where the lights are blinding
Caught in all, the stars are hiding
That’s when something wild calls you home, home
If you face the fear that keeps you frozen
Chase the sky into the ocean
That’s when something wild calls you home, home

May your week be filled with dancing.