Many of us take part in the Catholic tradition of picking a patron saint for the year.  Some of us even use the lovely Jen Fulwiler's' Saint Generator to do it!

I typically choose a saint along with my Religious Education students on the first day back from Christmas break.  For 2014, however, I did not do that.  This year, God had a specific patron in mind for me, and it took me until this week to finally appreciate the wisdom of His choice.  

As I wrote back in January, a friend sent me a St. Philomena prayer card out of the blue.  Just that weekend, I'd laughed at the idea of St. Philomena being my patron because I couldn't fathom why God would stick the poor girl with the likes of me.  However, getting that card made me realize that was precisely who God sent for me.  

So here I am in December - almost a full year later.  I've kept her card and medal next to my computer this whole time, still not completely sure why God would choose to have this sweet, chaste young girl for my intercessor.  

Until now.

Some of you are aware that I have my Religious Education students give oral reports on their patron saints.  I have them choose patrons for each semester, and their projects were due this past Tuesday.  

One of them had chosen St. Philomena.

Now I know the story of St. Philomena pretty well, but for some odd reason, I never knew what she was considered the patroness of.  As part of her report, my student explained to the class who she was partial to.

Does anyone here want to take a guess what my dear Saint Philomena is patroness of?

Patroness of the Youth with predilection for babies and children.
Protectress of young married couples, many times giving the joys of motherhood.
Assists and protects expectant mothers.
Comfront of the afflicted and imprisoned.
The solace of the suffering and sick.
Consoler of afflicted mothers who invoke her for material or spiritual help for their children.
Great helper of students and those who sit for examinations.
When invoked she encourages many conversions.
Conversion of sinners and return to the sacraments.
Assists priests in their work.
For all Spiritual and temporal problems.
There is no case too trivial or unimportant to concern her.
She exhibits her greatest patronage towards her devotees by leading them to the love of Our Lord and Our Lady.
Patroness of the Living Rosary.
Protectoress of the Children of Mary.

My SIL just posted this photo of Alliya and I.  As soon as I saw it, I recognized the setting. This was taken as John, Vince and I were leaving our cousin's wedding.  I sought out Alliya and knelt down to give her a big hug.  I wanted to thank her for giving me the rose out on the dance floor.  I'm so glad my FIL caught this moment because to me, it conveys so much more than Aunt Gina smiling at Alliya.  It's me - on my knees with gratitude - beaming up at my source of Divine Providence and Consolation... my hands around her waist and her hands on my shoulders.  

I love that she's in Blessed Mother blue to boot.  

:)

Last night, we celebrated the wedding of our cousin, Ryan. 

Something really, really special happened out of no place, and my heart is still incredibly grateful.

Vince and I were taking a rest from the dance floor when I heard the beginning chords of "Can't Help Falling in Love With You" by Elvis.  

I thought it'd be nice to scoop Vince into my arms for a slow dance.  As we began rocking to the music, I felt John come up and put his arms around us.

Instantly, I had this inner yearning for him to be dancing with Myla.  I was struck with missing her fiercely.  I should be dancing with Vince, and he should be dancing with Myla.  

Suddenly, as if on cue, our niece, Alliya, tugged on my dress and said, "Here you go."

She held in her hands a perfect, pink rose.  

I took it from her and handed it to Vincent.  Immediately he began kissing it over and over and over again.  

Just when I began grieving being unable to physically hold her in my arms, Heaven sent me a rose in the vein of Myla's namesake, St. Therese, who is still known to shower these flowers to those who ask for her intercession.  

I clutched Vincent to myself and felt the tears of gratitude spill.  Vince kept that rose with him for the rest of the night.  He fell asleep with it on the way home.  When I finally tucked him away in bed, he wanted to make sure that "his flower" was safe in water.  We put it in front of the Blessed Mother statue on his dresser. 

What a blessed gift when I needed it so.

Thank you, God, for giving me these little kisses from my daughter.  Myla Therese, you be extra sweet to Sister Therese for me, okay?  One day I'll return all of these kisses a thousandfold.  I love you, sweetie.  

John, Vincent and I attended the surprise birthday party of a friend of ours this past weekend.  It was really nice of Vincent to be invited, too.  Several children were in attendance with Vince being the oldest (and most active!).  

Unfortunately, John and I didn't know there would be a pool at the house.  Had we known, we would've gone out of our way to find a babysitter.  Vince, like every other child in the universe, can't be near a pool without wanting to dive in head-first.  

It was still too chilly for a swim and we hadn't brought bathing suits anyway.  That didn't stop Vincent for begging, bartering and pleading to go for a dip, though.  When he realized John and I weren't going to budge, he placated himself by zipping around the edge of the pool, successfully giving John and I enough agita to last us the rest of our lives.

I had to put him into a time out for disobedience.  He wouldn't stop running around the edge of the pool even though I'd asked him not to three times.  So I stuck him in time out.

My friend, Leo, made a well-meaning comment.  He said, "What's the worst that can happen?  Skinned knee?  Soaked pants?  Just let him be."

Oh Leo.  How I love Leo.  He's a new parent, himself.  He's got a little princess named Maggie who is about 8 months old.  He hasn't had the pleasure of her testing boundaries yet.  He hasn't tasted the anxiety of seeing her (in his mind) tumble head-first into an ice-cold swimming pool.  He can't even imagine what that's like until she takes those first precarious steps into toddler-hood.  It's all fun and games until your kid discovers how much fun dangerous situations are.  LoL.

Anyway, Leo didn't realize that aside from me trying to teach Vince obedience (and actions having real consequences), I was also trying to prevent, specifically, soaked clothing.  Most people don't like sitting in wet clothes, but for an SPD kid, that's akin to being water-boarded; it's torture.  

Vince sometimes freaks out if he feels even a spot of wetness on his pants or shirt. Imagine, then, the freak out that would occur if ALL his clothes were soaked through and clinging to him.  

Leo doesn't think it'd be a big deal, because to him, it wouldn't be a big deal.  To Vincent, however, it'd be huge.  

John was getting increasingly agitated, so instead of leaving, I took Vincent inside and away from the temptation.  The poor kid was over-tired and frustrated by several things: 

• new house = novel visual stim
• large group of strangers = anxiety and overwhelming auditory stim
• pool = supreme tactile stim temptation
• laser lights = ridiculous amounts of visual stim
• sound system = even more auditory stim

The fact that he hadn't had a nap that day (because the party started when he usually goes down) only added to his upset.  After I had him sit and settle for 15 minutes to regroup, he was able to sit on the couch and watch a game being played without issue.  

It's funny.  I don't fault Leo at all for the comment he made.  Several of our friends waved off my attempts at wrangling Vincent as overprotective.  They didn't realize I wasn't worried about him bumping his knee or even going for a swim.  I was aware of a bigger problem that would come should the latter accidentally happen.  

My guess is that's how God feels sometimes.  So often, I look at a situation and figure "Eh, this isn't really such a big deal" while God is shaking His Head and saying, "Gina, put down the extra slices of bacon.  You don't think it's a big deal, but you've been eating like a glutton recently and are increasing your risk for heart attack.  I want you to die saving orphans from a burning building, and you can't very well do that if you're dead of a bacon-induced heart attack."


God is able to see so much more than we can.  He knows more than we do.  He's experienced more than we have.  So when He repeatedly throws up roadblocks to our own ideas of satisfaction, my guess is He has good reasons.  Just as I had reasons that went beyond Leo's understanding, God has reasons that extend well beyond mine.  

My proudest accomplishment in Mexico was my conversation with a friendly old landscaper. We went back and forth several times until I had to apologize (which I did in Spanish) for my rudimentary grasp of their language. He grinned so broadly and said, in English, "It is good you try!"

I had been so self-conscious until he extended appreciation for me trying. I realized how arrogant we are to always expect English, so offering even my butchered bit of Spanish was accepted as a gift. How kind of that gentleman to be so gracious. 

Until that point, I'd sheepishly greet folks or excuse myself as I made my way around people in the resort.  I knew how to say "Hi" and "Excuse me" but I felt silly for even attempting because my accent would be terrible or people would think I was trying to sound more worldly than I am.

After that conversation, though, the tiny bit of Spanish I retained from high school came out freely.  I was even complimented by one kiosk worker (who was likely just trying to charm his way into my wallet, but I appreciated that particular compliment nonetheless).  

That kindly gentleman freed me from my inhibitions and empowered me to use the knowledge I'd been given.  What a blessing.  :) 

I can't help but imagine he's an example of how God views us.  In our feeble attempts at honoring His graciousness, we stumble over ourselves, unsure of how to best communicate with Him.  However, God does not frown at us for our weakness in this; instead, He smiles broadly and appreciates the effort.  Just as a parent appreciates the torn up weed bouquet clutched in their child's fist, so too does God appreciate even our smallest efforts to return to Him the love He so graciously gifts.  

<3

Here I go again.

I'm about to gush about Blessed Teresa of Calcutta Parish for the billionth time.  A quick search pulled the following entries:

• Original "So I found a Cool Parish" entry
  
• Readings for Christ the King
• Prophet Isaiah homily

Those are just the ones I found doing a quick search.  I know I've written about this parish and its pastor plenty of times.  In fact, should MY pastor ever figure out I've got a blog, he might be inclined to think I'm playing favorites.  *Grin*

Truth be told, you guys know I love my priests - all of them.  And I view each of them as gifts.  I adore my pastor, but I try not to write about my actual home parish for privacy reasons.  

That being said, I LOVE this priest, and I love the community he has built up in Collingswood.  If you're ever lucky enough to find yourself in S. Jersey and in need of an evening Mass, stop on by.  Fr. John will welcome you with open arms and an educational homily that stirs both your intellect and your heart.

God bless him, he's a true pastor in this regard.  He takes time to teach his parishioners, and he teaches straight from his super-sized heart.

He doesn't just teach during the homily, either.  He pointed out the liturgical colors of the 4th Sunday at the beginning of Mass, and also touched on why the readings and music were thematically different from those we hear the rest of Lent.

After all, we've now reached the midway point.  Though we still face the night, we see dawn on the horizon.  The light of the Resurrection - Christ's triumph over sin and death - is awaiting us should we persevere in His Way just a little longer.

The music director chose an entrance song I'd never heard before.  I snapped a photo of the missal after Mass so I wouldn't forget it.  Have any of you (barring Frank K. or his wife who, I feel, have a terribly unfair advantage - ha!) ever heard of it?

I thought it was a great balance between the solemness of Lent and the hopeful supplication we offer for the promise of the Resurrection.  I absolutely BUTCHERED the music (sorry, Congregation), but I was appreciative of the thoughtfulness put into the selection.  

The Recessional Hymn was a favorite from childhood - Lead Me, Lord.  All you trads out there, try not to roll your eyes too much at me.  I enjoy uplifting songs at the end of Mass, especially when they are warranted and flow with the message of Mass.  This was perfect.
Offertory / Communion songs were also fitting.  Kudos to the music director - really.  In truth, he always does a great job, but last night's selections were just so spot on that I couldn't help but say a prayer of thanks for his subtle highlighting of theme.

But back to the pastor.  His homily was STELLAR.  He's a homilist who can happily run on for 20 minutes.  Best part?  He's a homilist you don't mind listening to if he does stretch his time.  I love that he's not worried about keeping within a restrictive time limit.  He's not afraid to expound or share anecdotes that color God's movements in his life.  He shares what's in his heart and what's in his heart is a complete reflection of the Gospel message.

He made a great point about "the poor" last night.  So often we talk about "the poor" during Lent, offering prayers and alms for "the poor."  We need to shift our view and recognize them as "our poor."  These people belong to us.  They are our responsibility and God gifted them to us as ways to act in the name of Divine Providence.  We can and must reach out with love to these brothers and sisters.  I just found that reflection to be beautiful.

Alright, I'm gonna stop now because I'll just wax poetic for another mindless 10 paragraphs. I'll spare you, but be warned... I'll likely be bringing up BTC in the future.  BTC and Mary, Mother of the Church (St. Rita's Parish) are my two buddies.  If I'm not at my home parish (which I also love), I'm hanging out with one of them. 

{BIG HUGS} and a heartfelt "Thanks" to those of you who sent messages, e-mails and prayers on Friday.  It turned out to be a wonderful, beautiful day that was far removed from the fear and anxiety I had felt leading up to it.  

No doubt this was a result of your love and prayers.  Thank you!!!

Here are some of the items Vince and I brought to one of our local children's hospitals on Friday.

It was a very fun experience.

Vince had helped pick out the majority of these toys (which is why there are so many Ninja Turtle things for the boys).  The chair that has the stuff piled up is almost exclusively Ninja Turtles.  I kept pulling girly stuff into the basket so they wouldn't feel left out with all the stuff geared to boys!  What a joy it was putting this basket of goodies together, though... especially with Vince.  He understood that he was going to be giving these things to other children to "make them happy."  

After school, I picked him up we drove over to the hospital.  He was excitedly chatting about how he was going to share all "his toys."  It made me really happy that he was so excited about our little adventure.  That he willingly participated in charitable giving made me feel like I was doing something right as a parent.  God bless his little generous heart.  

When we got there, security had us wait in the lobby for a nurse to come for us.  While in the lobby, Vince had a field day hopping on and around the turtle statues in the waiting area.

Before we'd even gotten upstairs, Vincent began trying to share the toys with random children in the lobby.  One little boy, in particular, drew Vincent's attention.  His name was Antonio and he was 3 years old.  Antonio was there with his mother, and Vincent hurriedly ran up to him and said, "Hi!  I'm Vincent.  What is you name?"

(Eventually we'll get his parts of speech right...)

The little boy shied away behind his mother.  His mom smiled at Vince and said, "He's Antonio."

Then she gently pushed Antonio towards Vincent and said, "C'mon, Antonio, say 'Hi' to your new friend!"

Vince didn't wait to hear a "Hi."  He just started rambling off, "Hi Ann-toe-nee-o.  Do you want to share with my toys?  I give some to you!"

And without hesitating, he rummaged through our bags until he came upon a set of blocks. I stopped him from handing them off until I asked his mother if it would be alright.  

She looked confused so I said, "It's okay.  We're here today specifically to donate these toys.  Would it be okay if Vincent gave Antonio the blocks?"

His mom nodded her head and smiled down at Antonio.  She said, "Look, Antonio, blocks! You love blocks!  Thank your new friend."

Antonio was quite baffled that he was being given blocks.  He reached out happily for them, but wasn't sure if he should open them or not.  Vince made the decision for him and began to pull at the box.

I said, "Hold on, Vince.  You gotta ask his mom if that's OK."

Vince stopped and looked at Antonio's mom.  She shook her head yes, and Vince went to work opening the box.  He and Antonio played for about thirty seconds before Vince decided he wanted to give more toys to other kids.  

I was beginning to worry they'd be gone before the nurse came to collect us!

Luckily she arrived a few minutes later and we took our goodies upstairs.  I don't have any pictures of the joy behind those doors for obvious reasons (patient privacy being chief among them), but suffice to say the smiles and hugs and laughter will remain etched in my heart forever.  

I really think Vince gained so much from the experience, and I know the kids (and their families) enjoyed seeing him bounce around like a mini-Santa Claus.

We gave a different set of books / toys to another nurse so she could take them to the kids too sick for us to visit with, then it was time to go.

All in all, it was a fantastic experience.  It really was.  I highly recommend volunteering your time at a children's hospital if at all possible.  There is just SUCH joy there.  The children, though sick, have such joyful, loving hearts.  And they're SO appreciative of even tiny gestures like coloring books or matchbox cars.  What's more, their families instantly welcome you as part of their circle.  They, too, are so beyond gracious for the time you're willing to spend with them and their children - I was incredibly moved.  They are a special group of people.

Please keep them in your prayers this Lent.  <3

Have you ever heard someone roll their eyes?

You read that right.

Have you ever HEARD someone roll their eyes?

I have.  It's almost as annoying as seeing it.

I was talking on the phone to a friend when she asked me how I always chalked up "coincidence" to God.  Everything that happens in life, regardless of situation, is somehow attributed to God in one way or another.  

Now we were on the phone with one another, but I absolutely heard the eye roll, and I called her on it.  I asked, "Why is that so hard to believe?"

She said it was arrogant to think that God would waste His time giving me these little "signs of love" when there were people starving all over the world.  She felt I was thinking too highly of myself.  God doesn't do little things (or, I guess, in her mind, He shouldn't do little things when there were BIG THINGS to be done!).  

My mind immediately thought back to that story of the little boy and the starfish.  Have you heard it?

Moral of the story is that what may seem a little, insignificant act to you is, in fact, a life-changer for the one receiving the act. 

And I fully believe that God, the same God who condescended to become human... to lower His Divinity to take upon and raise up the dignity of Humanity... of COURSE He would seek to send us a constant stream of loving gestures throughout our lives... even the life of someone ordinary and mundane like me.

The reason I think she presumes my arrogance is that I publicly acknowledge these little love notes.  However, I don't write about them to say "Look how special I am because God keeps doing all these cool things for me!"

Instead, I'm writing them because I'm grateful that God takes such an active role in our lives.  He's not only doing these things for me, people.  He does them for each and every one of us EVERY.SINGLE.DAY.  

And you don't have to view your life as a Where's Waldo puzzle to understand that.  God's love notes to us aren't hidden behind colorful characters or disguised with a striped shirt and glasses. 

God's love is all around us.  He doesn't keep His love hidden from us!  We don't have to play seek-and-find for it!  We, however, are like children who are oblivious to Mom's constant labor to keep our clothes laundered, food on the table, and school work in order.  We do not understand how active God is in keeping our lives filled with joy.  

Even I, who apparently writes about His love too often (as if such a thing is possible!), am negligent in recognizing His constant stream of love.  We will never understand the personal attention God pays to us every second of every day.  Never.  

But it's still good to try!  

After all, how appreciated and loved do our parents feel when we acknowledge the things that, upon reflection, were worth so much than we'd ever given them credit for?  God, too, appreciates (and reciprocates) the love we give Him through our gratitude.  

And yes, I really believe God is so personally active in my life.  That doesn't make me arrogant, though, because I know He's just as personally active in your life, too.  In everyone's lives.  We are ALL His children. 

And we'd all do well to remember that (and thank Him for it!) every now and again.  

Today was Nanny's funeral.  She passed away last week surrounded by her children.

God is good in that He allowed her to let go while holding the hands of those who loved her so much.  

She is at peace.  

Throughout my vigils while she was in the hospital or in hospice care, I would pray with her.  I'd say, "Nanny, offer up everything as Purgatory on earth.  This way, when you see Jesus come for you, you can fly right to Him.  You fly RIGHT TO HIM."

She opened her eyes at one point and I knew that she understood.  As the priest said today at her funeral, Nanny's path to Heaven was well-worn with prayer.  She knew Jesus and no doubt offered up her last moments in union with Him.  I really believe she went straight to Heaven as a result.  

The funeral was held at St. Edmond's again - just like Uncle Billy's.  Nanny, too, was lucky to have her final Mass said in such a beautiful church.

I was asked to do the 2nd Reading and General Intercessions.  You folks know I don't like going into the sanctuary for any reason (so I gave up duties as a lector), but I didn't want to turn down my mother-in-law when she asked.  I willingly offered myself for any and all roles they wanted me to handle.  One less thing on their plate to worry about...

The reading was fine.  The funeral intercessions always give me a tough time because they focus heavily on the grieving family.  I had to read them at my own Grandmom's funeral, and I remember faltering over words because I was trying to contain my tears.  Today, I fought the same battle, especially when I read the intercession to pray for those who passed before Nanny and who welcomed her into Heaven.  

I thought of Myla, and I knew Nanny had gotten to meet her.  

As I made my way back to my seat, I asked Nanny to hold her and kiss her for me.  Nanny responded by sending me a tiny white carnation at Communion.

After I received the Eucharist, I turned to walk back to my seat when I saw this small white flower on the sanctuary floor.  I knew it was mine.  It was as if I recognized my wallet or saw my purse hanging off the back of a chair.  Instantly I stooped down - without thinking - to pick up my flower.  

As soon as I held it, I realized it was from Nanny.  I believe it was her way of letting me know she'd heard my prayer.  She sent me my favorite flower - a carnation - in pure white, a sign of innocence.  And given how tiny it was, I knew it was for Myla.

I must've thanked God for this favor a million times.  I was so appreciative of this gesture of love.

I was holding John's hand, so I slipped the tiny bud between our intertwined fingers.  This is what it looked like:

See how tiny it is in comparison to our hands?  This tiny bloom of life briefly held, again, between the two of us.  It was just very, very special to me.  

God is so good to us, and for no other reason than love.  

<3

Rest in peace, Nanny.  We love you.

I got a completely unexpected phone call from the Child Study Team today.  

Vince was approved (AHEAD OF A WAIT LIST) to attend a special Pre-K that's taught by a Special Ed instructor and has specialized aids in the classroom.  

It's an inclusive class (meaning children with and without special needs are included together) and relatively mainstream. 

Best of all, he begins on MONDAY!!!  MONDAY!!!

Can you believe it?

I almost can't believe it.  When I got the call, it was like a dream.  

They had a spot open up?  They skipped us ahead of the wait list?  Vincent was a "perfect fit" for the room?  He could start Monday???  You want us to fill out paperwork tomorrow???

YES, YES, and YES!

God has just been so incredibly good to us throughout this entire process.  Every time I was beginning to feel painted into a corner, He came in to point out the window I had my back against.

Gotta keep reminding myself that...

Even finding a Pre-K program when we most needed it.  Even finding it in the middle of a school year amidst wait lists that extend to double digits. 

I'm just... I am in awe of how perfectly He sets the stage for us.  

Thank you, Lord!  Thank you for taking such good care of Vincent.  Thanks for having this fall into my lap just when John and I were beginning to go a little nuts trying to come up with a solution ourselves.  

On Tuesday night, I explained the roots of St. Valentine's Day to my class.  I told them about Father Valentine and the love for (and dedication to!) God that he was ultimately put to death for. I explained how from his jail cell, awaiting death, this holy and courageous priest would write letters to his parishioners telling them to hold fast to their love of Christ through their love of one another.  

Many of them were surprised to know the national day for flowers and candy actually springs out of the martyrdom of a holy and courageous priest.  When I pointed out the liturgical color for a martyr's feast is red, it took them all a quick moment to connect why everything associated with Valentine's Day follows suit.  Tradition is a terribly hard thing to bury indefinitely.  *Grin*

Anyway, at the end of class, I read an excerpt from The Hours of the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ.  For those of you unaware, this incredibly beautiful prayer book was dictated to Luisa Piccarreta by Our Lord, Himself.  Together, the two of them journeyed back to His Passion and experienced it for the purpose of sharing the depth of His love story to us.  

I could speak of this prayer book forever, but I chose a small snippet for my class expressly for St. Valentine's Day.  It is taken from the 10am-11am hour of His Passion, just as He takes up His Cross.  It reads:

I reflected thusly to my children:

Jesus did not run from His Cross.  He did not turn away from the torturous and humiliating death He was about to endure.  Instead, He JOYFULLY accepted His Cross.  He kissed the very instrument of His death because He understood how necessary it was for the salvation of His beloved family.  WE are His family.  He kissed that Cross for Love of us.  He shouldered that Cross for US, and He left to us the inheritance found within its splinters so that one day we might be reunited with God in Heaven.

This is our constant Valentine.  Each and every time we see it, we must stop to reflect upon the Divine Love that was infused within its very existence.  

"Behold, I make all things new."

Oh Lord, behold, indeed!  You took the world's symbol of humiliation, agony and defeat only to turn it into the triumphant throne of mercy, salvation and victory.  This is, indeed, our truest love letter from You, signed in Your Most Precious Blood and delivered with Your final, loving sigh.  

This is my reflection for Saint Valentine's Day.  

May the Lord bless each and every one of you with peace, love and mercy.

I was goofing off in this picture, but whatever.  Let's pretend for a moment it's a legitimate moment of distraught frustration.

Today was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.  

My sitter got a late start on account of snow and traffic which made me late for work.  As I pulled into the parking lot, my tire hit a pothole and I got a flat.  The biting cold nearly turned me into a popsicle, and then a UPS driver just about ran me over accidentally because he couldn't see me crossing the street (I had the light).

Work, itself, was a symphony of insanity.  Folks needed things ordered yesterday, two closets needed to be completely reconfigured so as not to pose a fire hazard, database changes from angry callers were pouring in, and to top it off, my second babysitter (for the 2-5 shift) got the dates wrong and just no-showed, causing me to fly home (with the flat tire, PRAYING the entire way home that I made it) way earlier than I should have had to relieve Chrissy.  

Uuuuuuuuugh.

I haven't felt this frustrated and frazzled in a while.  I was near tears on the way home because I just felt like everything - EVERYTHING - was out to get me.  It was so frustrating.

I kept getting annoyed at God.  "Why are you doing this?  What in the world did I do to you???  C'mon with the onslaught of tests, already."

That sort of mindset.  Things don't just fall apart like this.  I started getting anxious that the day was going to get worse, and given that my husband was taking two planes, I was on edge.  

When I finally did get home, Vincent was in the mood to play, play, play, so there was no rest for the frazzled.  I had almost forgotten my friend, Jay, was coming by until he messaged me to let me know he was on his way.

Thank God for Jay!  A big bright spot at the end of the symphony of dark.  

We went out to Chik-Fil-A together.  Vince loves Jay, so he was all sorts of excited to have his best buddy to romp around with.  However, after he ate, Vince found a friend whom he went off to play with, content to forget about Jay and I while we caught up.  

We hung out at Chik-Fil-A for about two hours, and in that time all the stress from the day seeped out of me.  By the time Jay and I hugged goodbye, I was in a much, much happier place.

And I realized while talking to Jay that I should've kept my cool all along.  Things always happen for a reason.  I know that.  I've witnessed it.  However, I couldn't see the forest for the trees today because my own short-sightedness.  God had His Hand in everything.

Firstly, had my sitter not been late, I would have been in work before my coworker had the chance to request I drive to Staples to pick up some supplies she hadn't realized she'd need.  That means I would've been forced to walk around in the frigid air over several blocks twice over trying to lug the materials back from the closest Staples.  Instead, I was able to pick everything up on my way into work.

As for the frigid air, itself, that was the prime reason I'm not road kill.  Usually my hood is wrapped up over my face and I can't hear anything.  Just before I crossed in front of the truck, a huge gust of wind blew my hood off my head.  I then heard the revving of his engine and ran out of the road, just in time to stare him down with my best "What in God's Name were you THINKING?!" face.

God didn't want me to be squished, so He used the weather I hated to clear my ears.  Fancy that!

The cherry on top was my sitter no-showing.  You'd think that'd be the worst of all given I was freaking out about leaving work and trying to get home with a flat tire with no notice at all.  However, had my sitter shown up on time, I might not have gotten home at all. 

Why?

Because when I ran back to my car, I remembered about the flat tire.  I drove it to the nearest gas station to see if they could do anything about it so I could safely get home. They couldn't, but the customer behind me just happened to have Fix-a-Flat in his car that he put in for me.  

Had I not left the office on account of my sitter, I would have never bumped into this customer and I might still be waiting for AAA somewhere on the side of the road.

So really, why was I angrily calling God out for leaving me high and dry?  If anything, I should be thanking my lucky stars He lined everything up for me.  Life happens.  We live in an imperfect world.  He, however, can make sure we've got things ready for those moments we unexpectedly need some Divine Intervention.

And yes, I just considered Fix-a-Flat Divine Intervention.

So next time Life has you wanting to stab things with sporks, look around.  God's got you covered.  

This weekend was a good weekend.  I’m utterly exhausted, but my mind and body needed to be bombarded in order to help me out of my depression a bit.

Friday found me miserable.  I woke up and my body had lost the last signs of pregnancy.  I was almost frantic, then, because I had nothing – NOTHING – left either within me or around me that spoke of my little one. 

I didn’t know what to do.  I was angry.  I was so, so angry.  I was terrified, too, because I knew I’d officially lost something I could never replace.  A friend of mine had said, “At least you didn’t deliver a still born.”  Another had said, “Be grateful you didn’t miscarry in your 6th or 7th month.”

I just… saying those sorts of things, while true, are SO incredibly hurtful.  It seems as if they were invalidating my emotions… invalidating my child.  “Meh… a few weeks in and it’s not a child anyway, so why the long face?”

I mean, would they say that to a mother who lost her child to cancer at 5 years old?  “Hey, lady, at least he wasn’t 18 or 32.  Then you’d’ve REALLY been upset.”

I’m pretty sure a mother is going to mourn her lost child regardless of the age that life is taken from her.  I admit it is likely much more traumatizing for mothers to endure stillbirth and late-term miscarriages, but making comparisons of any sort are just… they’re not helpful.  Just because my pain is not the same or as terrible does not mean my pain is not present.  It does not mean I can just wash my hands and forget.

Maybe that was my oversensitive heart reacting poorly, but I felt so hurt by those comments… so brushed aside by such tiny statements.  I wondered at how many other women were dealt such callous blows by folks trying to soothe broken hearts.

Argh.  So with those statements in mind, I was heartbroken and angry on Friday.  While it’s true I didn’t suffer the same heartbreak as a mother bearing a stillborn nor a mother who went through pregnancy long enough to prepare nurseries and quilts and research on schools, I also didn’t have the tangible evidence they carried of their child.  I have no ashes with which to place into an urn on a mantle.  I have no locks of hair to gently touch when I’m hurting.  I don’t even have a positive pregnancy test to hold as proof this miracle was granted to me.  I only have my faith and the same maternal instinct that confirmed I was carrying Vincent before doctors could find any evidence of him.

*Sigh*

So on my way home from work, I was angry and hurting and asking God why I couldn’t even be given some small piece of my child to hold onto.  I have nothing, and that really bothered me.  I wanted something – ANYTHING – to mark this little one’s passing.  But nothing – there was no response.

But silly me, God had heard my bitter diatribe before I’d even uttered it.  He understood that I’d have a longing in my soul for some physical memorial I could look upon with love while uttering a prayer of thanksgiving for His great gift.  He had arranged to send the Holy Spirit all the way to the opposite side of the country so that my intense sadness could be looked after.

So a friend of mine brought up a good question while we were discussing theology yesterday.  Mind you, this friend is an atheist (I wonder, sometimes, if I have any other variety), so the typical atheist "But What Abouts" came up.

But What Abouts (BWA) is my shorthand for any of the typical "But what about God telling you it's OK to kill a slave" or "But what about God allowing for rape so long as you pay the virgin's father a few shekels" arguments that arise when folks try to change a faithful person's belief in the truth of the Bible.

Anyway, the BWA that came up yesterday revolved around good old Samson.  Many non-Christians are familiar with his story because he's typically portrayed as a Conan-like warrior with long, flowing locks that magically give him power to topple entire buildings with the flex of his biceps.  The implication was that Christians believe in magic hair.

Unfortunately, what's typically left out of these childhood stories of Samson is anything of substance. 

Samson wasn't just some Hulk-figure who had "magic hair."  He was one of the Judges of the Old Testament.

Judges were God's answer to the constant failings of the Israelites during their 40 year punishment outside of the Promised Land.  In the 40 year time span between Israel coming upon the Promised Land and finally inhabiting it, the Israelites went through a well documented cycle of: