Just Faith, Everyday

I'm amused whenever I hear Isabella cooing and babbling to herself in the backseat; I can't see her but I know what state of mind she's in from the sound of her voice, or her cry, or even the kind of breathing in her sleep--measured, easy, peaceful. It helps me feel everything is alright in the world, regardless of my stress level. Thinking this through, I placed myself in that spiritually: I believe God understands and listens to the stirrings of my soul, when all is sound and babble. I have days when that's ALL I sound like, and knowing someone's listening is the source of comfort. I know some find this support in the ear of compassion, and we can all be a source for others by our silent listening, wise words, or compelling action. We can reflect our Creator's mercy in this world by our presence to others. Consider that next time you're traveling along your way, and listen to what comes back to your soul.

And I’ll rise again. Ain’t no power on earth can tie Me down. Yes, I’ll rise again. Death can’t keep Me in the ground. "Rise Again," a traditional Spiritual It occurred to me, sitting and listening to Good Friday unfold this year amongst my friends, that what we celebrate is something of a funeral. This seems obvious, but it's not until you have experienced death first-hand, and considered what it means to rise from the depth of that sadness--or watch a child go through this. When my uncle died I watched his daughter go through a significant change in her life, watched it sap her energy and addle her mind, never mind my own. It's hard to relate if you feel wrapped up in the death of things--the potential "funerals" we can experience each day, be that of loved ones or of things ended, like relationships, jobs, dreams. Those things we cling to can feel much more important than what the big picture of life's meaning can offer us. As our choir director ...

Lately I'm learning lessons about mercy in unexpected places, with people I thought had lost hope, and in situations I never thought I'd be in. Handing over my daughter to a surgeon--however talented he may be--was one such mercy; the nurses, doctors, and people who surrounded us helped me understand that while we wrung our hearts out, there were many parents and children who felt helpless surrounding us, but would make it through. I heard next door to our room the constant rocking of an old chair, a parent relentlessly trying to sooth a little one who suffered as well; I would see in the faces of the children who rode along in their radio flyer wagons a sense of hope, some fear, some pain. Maybe a sense gratitude in what was now possible. More recently this sense of mercy came to a head with the death of a cousin who long suffered in life--he'd experienced every imaginable sort of tragedy, suffered especially physically, and to some might have seemed the embodiment of J...

After feasting on a lovely "date night' with my husband I found myself thinking about the way food nourishes in more than one way. All my life that's been a visceral experience. Potluck was the idea I had while drifting off to sleep that night of our feasting--a potluck for Isabella's first birthday. I wondered--is it appropriate to ask others to contribute? That's what my family did for well over a decade of birthdays--maybe fifteen-odd years of birthdays, first Communions, an anniversary or two, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. I recall always summer parties--though we had them all year long. Our table, brimming over with platter after casserole dish of Portuguese favorites and the occasional "American" cuisine: tripa (cow stomach), bacalau (salt cod), caçoila (beef and liver stew), favas com linguiça (a garlicky, spicy sausage), povo (octopus, now and then), meatballs or lasagna, or linguiça and peppers (always from my Godmother). Desserts of all sort...

Wind blowing at twenty to thirty miles per hour through tall pines sounds to me like surf pounding shore--both meditative and restorative to a mind addled and overworked. I sit and listen--just listen. It's rare, this giving in to the senses, making it a prayer. I seek again a prayerful practice, and it turns out I need go no further than my seat at home to get to this Holy Grail. I look to the slant of sun, the way it drapes on different parts of the house at different times of day. I smell the savor of food prepared by willing hands, made excellent by a desire for something delicious and nourishing. I touch the warmth of tiny hands on the babe in my lap. All prayer. Taking this further, I'll cultivate presence--mindfulness in my everyday interactions. Ordinary, everyday encounters, ones I take for granted, I'll elevate. Bring understanding and love to the fore--speak only to nurture (I need to work on this). Harbor no resentment. These take real work, and are the ...

OK, so I nearly went nuts the other day, trying to do too much at once. I thought I would end up doing laps around my house, screaming and blathering, and that someone would come and "swaddle" ME and take me away. Thankfully, I knew enough to do what many a girlfriend has suggested before I even had a baby: take a mental break. What I've found over the years doing this is that stepping back and taking stock has evolved into a physical, spiritual, AND mental phenomenon. Let me go ahead and suggest this to any of you struggling to stay afloat--it's well worth the pause in your life. Taking the break, though, reminded me of perhaps the most sobering aspect of motherhood (or adulthood, for that matter). There's more to life than just me. Hear me out--this isn't a downer. Of course that ice cream (ok, Skinny Cow ice cream sandwich) and walk in the park was something I absolutely needed and deserved-- I'd spent all day grading miserable papers and caring for ...

Just some quick thoughts before I go to sleep. Today is the anniversary of my Baptism. The rain patters overhead on our thin roof, everyone snores about me (husband, daughter, dogs), and I sit here and think of the many ways my faith has led me to this point, with and without my help. I find it extraordinary. There are so many ways to initiate one's life--some we choose and some foisted upon us. Yesterday I recalled that phone call of dread three years ago when I heard my uncle had died--and all the changes since then. He's anointed, in the heavens with all those our family misses, and his death began in those left behind a desire to be healthy, to love fully, live wide and large. It was a different kind of baptism--death and birth and everyday living can grace us with those moments. Sometimes the most ordinary experience can make us stop in our tracks and think of the life we're given. The other day it was watching my dog, Dot, lift her head and howl straight up at t...