I'm going to step out on a limb here. It may be a stretch, and maybe I am totally off base, but I am going to guess that I am not the only person in the world who hates going to Wal-mart. Maybe I should be fair and say that it is really going to the grocery store that I hate, but since tonight I braved Wal-mart I am going to just pin the blame right there. Ugg - I really despise going there!
I usually have to work up my nerve for a couple of days. It is one of those things that I dread and usually put off until the very last minute - the minute where my children are scraping the bottom of our pantry and trying to make lunches out of three week old left overs (which I didn't know were still in our refrigerator) or condiments. That kind of last minute. (Before you worry, yes I do always feed them, even if it means going to the nearest restaurant and buying them something to eat.) That is pretty much out of character for me because I usually get things that I dread over with so that I don't have it hanging over my head. Not so with Wal-mart. Maybe it's because I know that the longer I put it off, the longer it can be until I have to go back again. I don't know. Regardless, it is one of those necessary evils (evil being the key word here) that I have to bite the bullet and do - week after week after week.
Our trips start out with me circling the parking lot looking for a decent parking space, praying that I don't get plowed down by the car behind me as we race for that last space that comes open within walking distance to the front door. When we finally get parked, I then deal with the quandary of deciding what to do with the baby who always has a knack of finally falling asleep in his car seat five minutes before we arrive at our destination. Tonight, since I had forgotten his Ergobaby carrier at home (of course), I left him in his car seat and hauled the heavy carrier inside. Since I had the car seat, I had to get two shopping baskets and take the chance that my older son wouldn't run down any old ladies with the one he was pushing. When we finally got situated with the baby carrier in one basket, my daughter carrying the diaper bag, and my son pushing the other basket, we stepped out into the aisle. We then had to almost immediately stop because the lady right in front of us decided she wanted to take an assessment of her basket. If she had only known that it was MY son pushing the basket behind her, she wouldn't have stopped with such reckless abandon for fear of being run over by the wild basket with the eleven year old driving it. I managed to get both baskets stopped and ward off any potential law suits, and we were on our way. As is typical of most trips, as we hiked to one end of the store, the baby woke up (of course). So I am trying to read my shopping list, keep the cart moving so the baby doesn't start screaming, and keep the other wild basket under control. My stress level started to rise. As is typical when that happens, my children sensed that and did what any sensible child would do - they got hyper. Then they started asking for things.
After I put my foot down over not getting a fish, we maneuvered to the next aisle. This happened to be the clearance aisle. In a moment of temporary weakness, I decided to see what was there. After I laid down the law over not getting new curtains (?!) just because they were on sale, I found a good deal. In true Wal-mart fashion, I had to work for the good deal and dig to find what I wanted. Of course this took too long and the baby started getting fussy. Sigh. We kept moving - aisle after aisle trying to pick up the things we needed, then back tracking aisle after aisle because I forgot something (which was, of course on the other end of the store). After firmly denying a matchbox car (even if it WAS just ninety-nine cents), we finally got all of our non-food items and headed to the grocery side of the store. By that point (after I solidly refused to buy a new movie that had just come out) my daughter was having to carry the storage bin that I needed to buy, I was pushing one cart, and my son was pushing the other cart. This was when the baby had it with being in his carrier and let us and the rest of the store know it. So, I rearranged. The baby came out of his carrier so that I could carry him, the storage bin and carrier (which was now tilted on its side) were in one basket (which my daughter was pushing), and the rest of the groceries were in the other, which my son was pushing. Now we had the fussy baby on Mama's hip, the steadily filling (and becoming heavier by the minute) basket being pushed by the eleven year old (who makes it a habit of looking behind him as he is pushing the basket forward), and the basket filled with an enormous storage bin (that was higher than my daughter is tall) being pushed by the ten year old (who had to push, then peak around the storage bin to make sure she wasn't going to hit anything, then push some more). Yes, and we were also being gawked at by other shoppers.
It was at this point that my husband called. My poor husband. The one who had been at work all day and was finally on his way home and decided to stop off and see about getting a new phone. My sweet husband who got me the really nice, new, expensive iPhone and suffered his way through an old phone that alternates between dropping calls and deafening him with a faulty speaker. This saintly husband wanted my advice as to what I thought would be best - a nicer phone like mine or one a little less expensive but more his style (he usually hates new technology and wants the older and simpler items). So we stopped the caravan and tried to stay out of the way of the many, many shoppers around us so that I could help him make that decision. I balanced the phone on my shoulder, the baby on my hip, and tried to corral the kids (after adamantly refusing the more expensive soup that you could drink like a drink). After about the fifth or sixth interruption of my wonderful husband so that I could chide the kids about asking for yet something else, I decided that it would probably be better if I just got off of the phone and we discussed this later. He had already decided not to get a phone tonight anyway.
By the time we made it to the check out counter, we had made several trips from the back to the front to the back of the store again (because I can never seem to forget something that is just on the next aisle). My arms were aching from hauling the twnety pound baby around the store, and I was exhausted. We made it through the check out line with the person behind me probably becoming annoyed because I was trying to load two baskets with groceries and keep the everyone under control (all the while explaining to the eleven year old that he should not overstimulate the baby - who was back in his seat by this time - and that just because he made him laugh once he probably didn't need to make him laugh ten more times in a row). I recovered from the heart attack of the total price while explaining that no, the eleven year old does not need to allow the baby to pull his hair hard, but that if he puts his head down next to him while he is in his seat and shows him the top of his head, the baby will probably reach out and grab his hair. After finally getting everything loaded into the baskets and the eleven year old's hair removed from the grasp of the baby, we managed to get out of the door (past the greeter guy who always has a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face as he watches me leave - probably wondering if I had dropped my sanity on aisle three). When we finally made it down the hill with the two heavy baskets (that were being pushed by the two kids because I was carrying the baby carrier that I could have sworn weighed ten pounds more than it did when I carried it in), I breathed a sign of relief that we avoided leaving any dents in anyone's cars or being run down (by the next person looking for a parking spot within walking distance to the front door). We loaded the car to the tune of the crying baby who didn't understand why Mama had to leave him in his seat while she loaded everything up and uttered the words that break his Mama's heart every time she hears them (Ma mama - ah ma in the MOST pitiful voice). Driving out of the parking lot I felt as if I had survived a battle.
You know what? I realized that I did, in fact, survive a battle. No, not the kind that has machine guns and bombs (good thing - no telling what I would have done in the heat of the moment when I couldn't find the price I needed if I had known I had a loaded gun I could whip out and REALLY intimidate the rude Wal-mart worker with). In all honestly I survived a spiritual battle. The kind that separates, well, the virtuous from the non-virtuous. I'm not going to say that I was full of grace the entire time, but I wasn't frothing at the mouth either. I wasn't the model of patience with my children, but I didn't back hand my son and send him sprawling across the produce section either when he thought I was the meanest mom in the world for not buying him the clementines he wanted (and no, I didn't even want to - the thought didn't cross my mind). This was my opportunity to be stronger than my fallen human nature, and for the most part I succeeded. This was the the spiritual pain so that I could gain - gain grace and virtue. No I wasn't perfect, but maybe next time I can be a little better and the next time a little better than that. Isn't that our path to sainthood? Accepting our crosses that Jesus sends us (so that we can be closer to Him) is what we are all called to do. St. Paul had a lightning bolt that knocked him off of his horse, St. Joan of Arc had a steak on which she was burned, and I have Wal-mart. Boy does it put things into perspective when I put it that way. I hope and pray that God will give me the strength to grow and become closer to Him with every trial that I face - every cross that he sends me. Heck, if I can be really good and offer it up, I just may come out of Wal-mart with less temporal punishment and time in Purgatory. Now wouldn't that be nice?
There were even glimpses of Heaven mixed into all of that - like when my son turned around a magazine that had a scantily clad woman on the front so that he didn't have to look at it (he does notice when I do that after all!). Or like my sweet daughter who managed to push around a basket that was bigger and taller than she was around a very crowded store, and didn't complain. Or the sound of a silly baby laugh as he gleefully yanked on his sweet brother's hair (a brother who was sweet enough to just let him because it made the baby happy - he didn't stop until I told him he shouldn't let the baby hurt him - it was okay to make him stop). God was reminding me of what I'm striving for with these little glimpses, and I was blessed enough to be able to recognize it! :-)
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Competition
It seems as if I am going to be doing a lot of blogging in the middle of the night. That's okay, I've been a night owl my whole life anyway - it's genetic (just ask my mom). I am up because, well, I need to stay awake long enough to put my husband's work jeans in the dryer so that he can have clean clothes to wear tomorrow. Why, you ask, am I proclaiming this to the world? Well, because it got me thinking about something that I wanted to share.
I have found something as a mother and a wife. Women take their housekeeping and child rearing seriously. We take pride in what we do in our homes, and we pretty much define ourselves with how well we do it. I do it too. When I hear a knock on the door, my first thought is, "Oh my gosh, the house is a MESS!" (And yes, it usually is.) I don't want people to judge me poorly about the state of my house. I have spent a lot of time beating myself up for not keeping things perfect, and I very, very often feel like I am not doing a good enough job.
I grew up in an immaculately clean house. I don't know how my mom did it or had the energy to keep everything so perfect, but she did. Then, a few years back, God, in His infinite wisdom (and Divine sense of humor) surrounded me with a whole lot of women who are really, really good at the whole keeping of the home thing. These women are holy, and sweet, and thoughtful, and their houses are ALWAYS clean. They are always baking things and hosting little parties, and they never forget to write a thank you note. I am not saying these things in a snide way - I really and truly admire all of these women, and I feel blessed to be friends with all of them. Also, don't get me wrong. I know how to cook and bake, I can clean and wash with the best of them, and I usually remember to get thank you notes written. These women just take it up a notch - they usually bake their own bread and make their cakes from scratch. I really admire them and feel blessed to have their friendship.
The problem comes in when I take my admiration of their accomplishments and starting comparing them to myself. Of course, I never feel good enough. My house is not always clean, and I struggle to keep the laundry done. I buy our bread at the store, and I rarely have time to bake anything - much less from scratch. I broke down during labor and had an epidural, and now my baby wears disposable diapers (not cloth). We even (gasp!) eat fast food sometimes. I remember one time in particular, reading the Facebook status of a friend. She was talking about how much better her muffins tasted with her home ground flour. What?! Here I am feeling accomplished when I am able to cook dinner and get my family fed at a decent time every night, and she is grinding her own flour! I remember thinking, "How can ever keep up with that?'
Well that is just it. I don't have to "keep up with that." To say that is just silly. What other mothers are able to do in their homes are their accomplishments, and I need to focus on my own accomplishments in my own home. To think that I can have all of my accomplishments plus have everyone else's accomplishments too is just absurd, and it is quite prideful! It is the devil who is whispering those thoughts that I am not good enough in my ears, and when I give in to that I fail at what God expects from me. Anything that I am able to accomplish is all a gift from God anyway - I sure can't take credit. I do have my own unique set of God given talents and abilities, and I do have my own unique set of accomplishments too. If right now, God has me using my talents and energies in places that are different from the places He has my friends using their talents and energies, so be it. I need to simply be obedient and thankful and realize my place. It is the devil who would have me constantly compare myself to others - he does not want me focusing on what God is wanting from me.
So, instead of worrying that I am not baking treats daily from scratch or even grinding my own flour, I need to be thankful for what I am accomplishing (through the grace of God). My children and husband are healthy and happy. They know that I am here if they need me. This week, God has me spending most of my time comforting a tired and teething baby, being a support to an overwhelmed husband who is in the middle of a very busy work week, going over math problems with kids and giving them positive reinforcement, and keeping the chaos away in our home. I need to quit having my own agenda as to what I should be doing, and be more open to what God's agenda is. When He is ready for me to put my energy in other places, He will make that happen for me. His agenda for me does not include comparisons to what other people are doing in their homes.
With that in mind, I come back to my husband's work jeans (that now happen to be in the dryer). Instead of focusing on the fact that I forgot about them and had to wash them last minute, I need to focus on the fact that I did knock out the monstrous pile of laundry that came from our recent camping trip. I also need to focus on the fact that my husband was supported when feeling overwhelmed, my kids were given more confidence in their own abilities in math (and other things as well), and my baby is sound asleep next to me, quite secure in the fact that his mama loves him and will ALWAYS be there for him to make it better. Thank you God for helping me to accomplish those things!
I have found something as a mother and a wife. Women take their housekeeping and child rearing seriously. We take pride in what we do in our homes, and we pretty much define ourselves with how well we do it. I do it too. When I hear a knock on the door, my first thought is, "Oh my gosh, the house is a MESS!" (And yes, it usually is.) I don't want people to judge me poorly about the state of my house. I have spent a lot of time beating myself up for not keeping things perfect, and I very, very often feel like I am not doing a good enough job.
I grew up in an immaculately clean house. I don't know how my mom did it or had the energy to keep everything so perfect, but she did. Then, a few years back, God, in His infinite wisdom (and Divine sense of humor) surrounded me with a whole lot of women who are really, really good at the whole keeping of the home thing. These women are holy, and sweet, and thoughtful, and their houses are ALWAYS clean. They are always baking things and hosting little parties, and they never forget to write a thank you note. I am not saying these things in a snide way - I really and truly admire all of these women, and I feel blessed to be friends with all of them. Also, don't get me wrong. I know how to cook and bake, I can clean and wash with the best of them, and I usually remember to get thank you notes written. These women just take it up a notch - they usually bake their own bread and make their cakes from scratch. I really admire them and feel blessed to have their friendship.
The problem comes in when I take my admiration of their accomplishments and starting comparing them to myself. Of course, I never feel good enough. My house is not always clean, and I struggle to keep the laundry done. I buy our bread at the store, and I rarely have time to bake anything - much less from scratch. I broke down during labor and had an epidural, and now my baby wears disposable diapers (not cloth). We even (gasp!) eat fast food sometimes. I remember one time in particular, reading the Facebook status of a friend. She was talking about how much better her muffins tasted with her home ground flour. What?! Here I am feeling accomplished when I am able to cook dinner and get my family fed at a decent time every night, and she is grinding her own flour! I remember thinking, "How can ever keep up with that?'
Well that is just it. I don't have to "keep up with that." To say that is just silly. What other mothers are able to do in their homes are their accomplishments, and I need to focus on my own accomplishments in my own home. To think that I can have all of my accomplishments plus have everyone else's accomplishments too is just absurd, and it is quite prideful! It is the devil who is whispering those thoughts that I am not good enough in my ears, and when I give in to that I fail at what God expects from me. Anything that I am able to accomplish is all a gift from God anyway - I sure can't take credit. I do have my own unique set of God given talents and abilities, and I do have my own unique set of accomplishments too. If right now, God has me using my talents and energies in places that are different from the places He has my friends using their talents and energies, so be it. I need to simply be obedient and thankful and realize my place. It is the devil who would have me constantly compare myself to others - he does not want me focusing on what God is wanting from me.
So, instead of worrying that I am not baking treats daily from scratch or even grinding my own flour, I need to be thankful for what I am accomplishing (through the grace of God). My children and husband are healthy and happy. They know that I am here if they need me. This week, God has me spending most of my time comforting a tired and teething baby, being a support to an overwhelmed husband who is in the middle of a very busy work week, going over math problems with kids and giving them positive reinforcement, and keeping the chaos away in our home. I need to quit having my own agenda as to what I should be doing, and be more open to what God's agenda is. When He is ready for me to put my energy in other places, He will make that happen for me. His agenda for me does not include comparisons to what other people are doing in their homes.
With that in mind, I come back to my husband's work jeans (that now happen to be in the dryer). Instead of focusing on the fact that I forgot about them and had to wash them last minute, I need to focus on the fact that I did knock out the monstrous pile of laundry that came from our recent camping trip. I also need to focus on the fact that my husband was supported when feeling overwhelmed, my kids were given more confidence in their own abilities in math (and other things as well), and my baby is sound asleep next to me, quite secure in the fact that his mama loves him and will ALWAYS be there for him to make it better. Thank you God for helping me to accomplish those things!
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Forgiveness
Boy are we blessed! :-) We had an amazing glimpse of Heaven through our very saintly priest today. Do you know the kind of priest I am talking about? Do you know the kind who actually gives you useful information? He doesn't hold back or water things down in order to keep from offending anyone? He is the very essence of the strong man who leads and takes his role seriously. He is the kind of priest who inspires a sense of security - you actually feel safer in his presence (much like a small child feels safer in the presence of their father), and you are reminded why we actually call him "Father." I hope you know the type and are as blessed as we are. Anyway, I had a reason for going into that (I know you are wondering what that tangent had to do with the name of this post). One of our wonderful priests had the most amazing homily today at Mass, and I just had to pass along the information.
So Father started out by telling the story of a young man who went to his priest for help. That young man was possessed by a demon. (I should let you know that this is a real story that our priest had personal experience with - he offered advice to the priest that was helping the young man.) Anyway, the priest helped that young man get in touch with the exorcist of his diocese. In the course of the exorcism, the priest who was performing the exorcism spoke with the demon and demanded to know what the doorway was that allowed him to possess the young man. At that point the demon started taunting everyone and laughing. The demon said that he would never have to leave because in order for him to leave, the young man would have to forgive his parents. That may seem rather minimal, except for the fact that the parents of this poor man were satanists and had tortured and abused him both physically and mentally from the time he was an infant. Wow! How can you forgive something like that? It is humanly impossible. In the end, the young man was able to forgive his parents and be freed from the terrible demon. Do you want to know how (and this is where the useful information for everyone comes in)? The priest counseled him to accept the fact that it was humanly impossible to forgive his parents. Instead, he should pray a certain prayer. He should tell Jesus that he was incapable of forgiveness in this instance, and that he should ask Jesus to do it for him. That man did pray that prayer daily, and in praying that prayer, Christ forgave his parents for him and then worked through the man to the point that he was able to forgive his parents too. We know that the man forgave his parents because the demon left.
I have to say that I was floored. Sitting in that pew, I was profoundly moved. Who in their lives hasn't had the need to forgive someone? (For that matter, who hasn't needed to be forgiven?) Forgiveness can be such an abstract thing. I have often wondered what it actually means to forgive. I mean, do you have to feel all warm and fuzzy toward that person after you have forgiven them? If you don't, does that mean that you didn't actually forgive them? How in the world do you let go of hurt feelings and heal, and if your feelings are still hurt, does that mean you haven't forgiven? Can you actually give forgiveness immediately, or does it have to take a long time? If it takes a long time, how can you heal if you haven't forgiven? As a woman, it seems that feelings and emotions are how I am wired. How in the world can I feel hurt but still let go, forgive, and move on?
Well, now I have the answer. I just need to give it to Christ. I just need to ask Him to forgive for me. If a man who had been tortured and abused from the time he was an infant is able to forgive (and truly forgive to the point where a demon no longer could have possession of him) by first asking Christ to do it for him, then I can certainly let go and forgive the minor things that I have faced in my life. Father reminded us today that Christ doesn't force Himself upon us. Rather, He waits for us to ask. If we ask, He always, always helps. We are always called to move past our human nature and imperfections, but Christ will ALWAYS help us do that. All we have to do is ask.
What an amazing glimpse of Heaven! Indeed, Father's words were an outright window!
So Father started out by telling the story of a young man who went to his priest for help. That young man was possessed by a demon. (I should let you know that this is a real story that our priest had personal experience with - he offered advice to the priest that was helping the young man.) Anyway, the priest helped that young man get in touch with the exorcist of his diocese. In the course of the exorcism, the priest who was performing the exorcism spoke with the demon and demanded to know what the doorway was that allowed him to possess the young man. At that point the demon started taunting everyone and laughing. The demon said that he would never have to leave because in order for him to leave, the young man would have to forgive his parents. That may seem rather minimal, except for the fact that the parents of this poor man were satanists and had tortured and abused him both physically and mentally from the time he was an infant. Wow! How can you forgive something like that? It is humanly impossible. In the end, the young man was able to forgive his parents and be freed from the terrible demon. Do you want to know how (and this is where the useful information for everyone comes in)? The priest counseled him to accept the fact that it was humanly impossible to forgive his parents. Instead, he should pray a certain prayer. He should tell Jesus that he was incapable of forgiveness in this instance, and that he should ask Jesus to do it for him. That man did pray that prayer daily, and in praying that prayer, Christ forgave his parents for him and then worked through the man to the point that he was able to forgive his parents too. We know that the man forgave his parents because the demon left.
I have to say that I was floored. Sitting in that pew, I was profoundly moved. Who in their lives hasn't had the need to forgive someone? (For that matter, who hasn't needed to be forgiven?) Forgiveness can be such an abstract thing. I have often wondered what it actually means to forgive. I mean, do you have to feel all warm and fuzzy toward that person after you have forgiven them? If you don't, does that mean that you didn't actually forgive them? How in the world do you let go of hurt feelings and heal, and if your feelings are still hurt, does that mean you haven't forgiven? Can you actually give forgiveness immediately, or does it have to take a long time? If it takes a long time, how can you heal if you haven't forgiven? As a woman, it seems that feelings and emotions are how I am wired. How in the world can I feel hurt but still let go, forgive, and move on?
Well, now I have the answer. I just need to give it to Christ. I just need to ask Him to forgive for me. If a man who had been tortured and abused from the time he was an infant is able to forgive (and truly forgive to the point where a demon no longer could have possession of him) by first asking Christ to do it for him, then I can certainly let go and forgive the minor things that I have faced in my life. Father reminded us today that Christ doesn't force Himself upon us. Rather, He waits for us to ask. If we ask, He always, always helps. We are always called to move past our human nature and imperfections, but Christ will ALWAYS help us do that. All we have to do is ask.
What an amazing glimpse of Heaven! Indeed, Father's words were an outright window!
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Chocolate Milk
So I am finally writing my first real post, and I have to admit that I am a bit nervous. I mean, I am the type of person who has my Facebook page on all of the super private settings, and I am quite careful on the internet. I always proof read and double check any type of correspondence that I send out, and I have to physically force myself to misspell even in a text message ("ur" makes me shudder). What if my postings are boring? If I make too many grammatical errors, will I seem ignorant? Are my thoughts really crazy, but everyone around me was just too nice to inform me that I am really a raving lunatic? This is basically me posting my thoughts in diary format for the world to see (and yes, I made this blog public and didn't block anyone - gasp!). In the end, though, I guess those things really don't matter. My thoughts are mine, and if someone doesn't want to hear them (or is turned off by too many punctuation mistakes or run-on sentences) they don't have to read my blog. I think that I will have fun sharing my thoughts anyway!
With that said, what did I choose to make my first post on? Chocolate milk, of course! Why - you ask? Well, allow me to explain. You see chocolate milk, for me, is my stress reliever. I love the taste of it and I crave it most of the time. (Yes, there is probably some medical explanation for that - something to do with calcium and pregnancies and breast feeding, but that is beside the point). When I sit down to drink a glass of chocolate milk, it is a "taste of Heaven" (if Heaven actually has a taste) and kind of gives me a chance to regroup before I move on to conquer the next task at hand. I quite often joke about needing a shot of chocolate milk when I am stressed (or even a keg if life is getting too much out of hand). It is my comfort food and my own little guilty (somewhat) pleasure. My husband learned early on in our marriage that chocolate milk has a direct link to my sanity, and that if he wants a sane wife he should keep me well supplied!
Chocolate milk being what it is for me, it is the perfect Lenten sacrifice. When I want something extra to offer up to Christ, and I want to work on leashing that pesky human nature that causes so many problems, I give up chocolate milk. Yes, it may sound silly, but it works for me. No, it is not all that I give up for Lent, but it is probably one of the things that I notice the most.
So why, you still ask, am I writing about this as my first blog post? Well, because it is 1:00 am on the Feast of the Annunciation of Our Lady. Everyone else in the house is finally asleep, and everything is peaceful. The Feast of the Annunciation of Our Lady just happens to be a solemnity and a respite from our Lenten sacrifices. (What better celebration than the day St. Gabriel appeared to Blessed Mother and she allowed God to give the world a Saviour through her!) You guessed it - I just finished a tall glass of chocolate milk! This most definitely is a glimpse of Heaven for me! Is it worth staying up this late, knowing that I am going to be up again in just a few short hours to take care of three children (one of whom is an infant) and all of my other duties with very little sleep? It was after the very first sip........ :-)
With that said, what did I choose to make my first post on? Chocolate milk, of course! Why - you ask? Well, allow me to explain. You see chocolate milk, for me, is my stress reliever. I love the taste of it and I crave it most of the time. (Yes, there is probably some medical explanation for that - something to do with calcium and pregnancies and breast feeding, but that is beside the point). When I sit down to drink a glass of chocolate milk, it is a "taste of Heaven" (if Heaven actually has a taste) and kind of gives me a chance to regroup before I move on to conquer the next task at hand. I quite often joke about needing a shot of chocolate milk when I am stressed (or even a keg if life is getting too much out of hand). It is my comfort food and my own little guilty (somewhat) pleasure. My husband learned early on in our marriage that chocolate milk has a direct link to my sanity, and that if he wants a sane wife he should keep me well supplied!
Chocolate milk being what it is for me, it is the perfect Lenten sacrifice. When I want something extra to offer up to Christ, and I want to work on leashing that pesky human nature that causes so many problems, I give up chocolate milk. Yes, it may sound silly, but it works for me. No, it is not all that I give up for Lent, but it is probably one of the things that I notice the most.
So why, you still ask, am I writing about this as my first blog post? Well, because it is 1:00 am on the Feast of the Annunciation of Our Lady. Everyone else in the house is finally asleep, and everything is peaceful. The Feast of the Annunciation of Our Lady just happens to be a solemnity and a respite from our Lenten sacrifices. (What better celebration than the day St. Gabriel appeared to Blessed Mother and she allowed God to give the world a Saviour through her!) You guessed it - I just finished a tall glass of chocolate milk! This most definitely is a glimpse of Heaven for me! Is it worth staying up this late, knowing that I am going to be up again in just a few short hours to take care of three children (one of whom is an infant) and all of my other duties with very little sleep? It was after the very first sip........ :-)
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