Posted on

Angel of God

When the children were little, their prayer time at night always included the song to the guardian angels, whose memorial feast we celebrate today.

Angel of God
My Guardian Dear
To whom God’s love entrusts me here
Ever this day, be at my side
To light, to guard, to rule, and guide.

Katie held on to that song the longest, I think. I suppose the youngest child always holds on to certain traditions far longer than others. Perhaps it is rooted in the parents’ subconscious desire to hold on to those days of innocence.

Now, there are days when we just want the kids to go to sleep. There are nights, I am not proud to admit, that my prayer is something along the lines of: “Sweet Jesus. Will you please go to bed?!”

We still tuck them in, visit their rooms, kiss them, and bless their foreheads, but the song has been replaced with conversations about homework, uniforms, and which day is a gym day. They have perfected the delay tactics.: bathroom visits, just one more thing to draw, looking for socks, and my favorite: “I think I left something in the basement.” Bedtime comes too late sometimes and mornings almost always come too early.

This week, with mom in Indianapolis and dad at home, perhaps we will resurrect the old tune and sing again.

Lord knows we need the angels watching over us.

~pjd

Posted on

This Week

Do you remember when you were little and you had absolutely nothing to do?

When evening arrived after a day of doing nothing with people you loved and as day turned into night, nothing mattered, nothing was important, and nothing worried you? You would stay up late because there was no bedtime and the stars were out and there were fireflies to chase and put in jars? There was no to-do list. No email. No one waiting for you to text back.

You could eat ice cream and not be intolerant and you could drink a coke and still fall asleep. If you were like me, you would mix up your ice cream until you made soup out it and still think it was delicious. In fact, you could eat pretty much anything because no one cared how you looked or what you wore or whether your pants were too tight?

Your parents said things like, “Be careful,” when you left the house and, “Be home before dark” as you rode down the street on your bicycle, without a helmet but with all the intentions of staying out until it was exactly dark and not a minute before.

Do you remember? Can you remember?

Me neither.

But as we worked in the attic this weekend, I found myself humming a song I thought I had forgotten. The song is “Eulogy” by The Hereafter and, though I have no idea of its origin, I love these lyrics:

Let’s pretend that we can still pretend/Let’s pretend that we are young again/I am only looking for a friend/Let’s pretend that we are young again.

It reminds me of those days so long ago and I’ve decided that this week I will worry less, have more fun, eat more ice cream, connect with a friend or two, and maybe, just maybe, go outside and ride my bike.

Close the computer. Put away the phone. Worry less. Pretend with me.

~pjd

Posted on

Strange Dreams

The last week has been filled with incredible dreams. I have dreamt about the lottery (I won), America’s Got Talent (I lost), and inventing something that lets children fly, but not adults, which seemed cool until the parenting side of the brain kicked in and realized how irresponsible it was.

I dreamt about visiting Rwanda and about dining with celebrities in New York. I dreamt about taking the children to Ireland but being disappointed when Ancestry DNA told us we are not Irish at all. At one point, at around three am, I was wondering around the house when Maureen found me and asked how I was. I mumbled something about being in the show Quantum Leap and West Side Story at the same time and then went back to bed.

Yes, it’s been an interesting week. What the doctors swore would be a routine surgery with a superficial extraction of a benign tumor in my neck turned into a four hour surgical event where they essentially cut my ear off, lifted one side of my face up, dug around for a while and then stretched everything back together. In what I can only imagine was something akin to getting a Tupperware lid that doesn’t quite fit to stay into place while not spilling the spaghetti sauce all over the counter, this mess has kicked me around a bit. The tumor, while still benign, was entangled in the optic nerve, the facial nerve, and had grown into the muscle of the jaw.

In the age of digital everything, the doctor had pictures. I think, in part, because he was so proud that he was able to do his job without too much permanent damage. Time will tell if the feeling comes back into my ear and the paralysis leaves my face, but the stitches come out tomorrow and for now, I feel comfortable walking around the house instead of staying in bed.

I have come to understand more about offering it up this week and have freed the pagan babies from Limbo. Our Lady and I have been in constant connection – sometimes just to pray and sometimes to beg her to make my face fall off.

Maureen is a saint. Kids like to look and say, “ewwww.” and none of the neighbors minded when I puked all over the driveway after returning from the doctor’s office.

Next week will be better. I am working on getting out to get a lottery ticket and trying to figure out what the judges didn’t like about my performance on America’s Got Talent.

Posted on

The In Between

I find myself once again in that in between stage. Not in the metaphysical sense as in between birth and death. Not in the seasonal sense as in between the end of school and a new beginning.

No, I’m talking about pants.

I find myself too big for one size and too small for the next size up. One pair is too tight and hurts. The other pair falls off when I walk. I’m in between.

The way I see it, I could eat well and exercise, take the stairs instead of the elevator, take a walk around the block, ride the stationary bike, and risk shedding a few pounds so the pants that are tight fitting more comfortably.

Or I could eat more.

People say nothing tastes as good as being thin feels but I don’t think those people have ever tasted Breyers ice cream. Or peanut butter. Or the chocolate chip cookies I make with the kids.

I talked it over with the children and they voted for the stationary bike. I think they like to see me sweat – or maybe they are tired of my telling them, “I don’t bend,” when things are on the floor.

So that’s the goal: five pounds. I’ll start there.

It’s time to charge the Fitbit, that annoying piece of technology that screams, “Hey Lazy,” at the end of each day. It’s time to take a walk, ride a bike, take the stairs, and put the chips away. Starting today, I will use a smaller bowl for ice cream (let’s be honest here…)

About the same time I noticed the in between situation with the pants, I noticed it had crept into the rest of my life too. I am in between classes in my doctoral studies. I am in between four different projects at work. I am in between two books I started around Christmas. I am in between series on Netflix. I am in between the prayer I started last night when I fell asleep and the prayer I started this morning.

Living in the in between is frustrating. In this morning’s readings, we find Abram living between his old life and the new one to which he has been called. In the Gospel, we find Jesus chastising the disciples to stop being hypocrites: remove the beam from our own eyes before reacting to the splinter in our neighbor’s eye. We live in between being accepting and judgmental, kind and vicious, helpful and lazy, brave and cowardly, saintly and sinful.

Maybe this week we can choose a side that is healthy, holy, righteous, and peaceful. Tell the devil named Breyers to get behind us and choose the side that leads to better choices.

It might also lead to smaller pants.

 

Comments have been turned off because computers are getting smarter and keep trying to posts garbage disguised as comments. If you want to reach me, you know how.

Posted on

Pop Pop

On Wednesday, we will bury Maureen’s father.

Ed. Dad. Pop Pop.

As we celebrate resurrection and sing our Alleluias, we will pause to remember the life of a man who meant so much to so many. He raised six amazing children and often said he lived a life more blessed than he ever imagined. We will take comfort in knowing that his suffering was minimal and give thanks that the stroke that took him in the end was, in many ways, a blessing.

Most of all, we will remember that the relationship is changed, not ended.

Still, saying goodbye to a parent is devastating. A child losing a grandparent is heartbreaking. In time, we will remember him with smiles and laughter. This week, we will take our turns crying – not for him, but for ourselves.

And so we pray:

Take my heart, O Lord, take my hopes and dreams.
Take my mind with all its plans and schemes.
Give me nothing more than your love and grace.
These alone, O God, are enough for me.

Take my thoughts, O Lord, and my memory.
Take my tears, my joys, my liberty.
Give me nothing more than your love and grace.
These alone, O God, are enough for me.

I surrender Lord, all I have and hold.
I return to you your gifts untold.
Give me nothing more than your love and grace.
These alone, O God, are enough for me.

When the darkness falls on my final days,
Take the very breath that sang your praise.
Give me nothing more than your love and grace.
These alone, O God, are enough for me.

Saints of God, come to his aid! Hasten to meet him angels of the Lord! Receive his soul and present him to God the Most High.

We will miss you, Pop Pop.

 

Prayer from These Alone Are Enough © 2004, Daniel L. Schutte.

Posted on

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.

Posted on

Expectations

I heard once that most of the world’s conflicts are rooted in expectations that are unclear. This would explain why my children are hardly ever able to clean their rooms without very specific instructions. It’s even gotten to the point where, when asked to clean the basement, the children will often reply, “Do you mean neat or really neat?” Clear expectations can save a lot of time and frustration.

I thought of those endless conversations with my children the other day as some colleagues and I were brainstorming about expectations when it comes to our faith communities. We wanted to create a general list that answers the question, “What should be able to expect from my parish community?” Just to be fair, we also wanted to answer the question, “What should my parish expect from me?”

Our initial list is below. Feel free to use the comment section to add to the list. We plan to publish our list as part of a report we are working on as we reimagine faith formation in our diocese. Our hope is that these lists will help parishes become more welcoming and engaging.

What should I expect from my parish community?

  1. A welcoming, Catholic community, rooted in the Eucharist
  2. Liturgical experiences that are engaging
  3. Accompaniment through life’s joys and struggles, celebrations and heartbreak
  4. Opportunities to use my gifts and talents in service of the parish and wider community
  5. Opportunities for Reconciliation
  6. Parish leadership that is well formed for their ministry
  7. Parish staff that is friendly and knowledgeable
  8. Opportunities to pray for the needs of others and learn more about my faith
  9. Opportunities to support the community through prayer and tithing
  10. Regular, ongoing communication about the life of the parish

What should my parish expect from me?

  1. Regular, active participation in Sunday Mass
  2. Ongoing prayers for my parish leadership and community
  3. A willingness to get involved in the life of the parish
  4. A willingness to serve in ministry
  5. A willingness to learn more about my faith
  6. A willingness to share my faith with others
  7. A willingness to reach out to others, welcoming them to join our faith community
  8. A willingness to support the parish financially

What would you add or change?

May your week be blessed!

Posted on

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?

Posted on

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.

Posted on

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.