Tag Archives: grace

Trembling at Confession

Posted on March 11, 2013 by Haley | 21 Comments

As we approach Holy Week, I’ve been thinking about all my friends and readers who are going through RCIA this year to be confirmed this Easter. Are you afraid about making your first Confession? I was. I was terrified. I was so excited to be confirmed, but the anxiety of making that first Confession loomed over me. It felt like an excruciating torture I was going to have to endure before being accepted into the Church.

I remember so vividly coming to the end of the Penance service during Lent, lining up for the confessional and trembling. Most cradle Catholics I know are surprised to hear how scared I was, but they also haven’t ever carried 25 years of unconfessed sin around. It’s a tad intimidating.

One of my anxieties was just the shame of telling someone out loud everything horrible I had done. As I waited for my turn, I realized my perspective was off. Jesus already knew. He already knew everything. And he was the only one that mattered. But I was still afraid that I would chicken out. That I would hold back the worst things because I was too ashamed to speak them out loud. There was a statue of Our Lady right next to my spot in line. I asked her to pray for me. “Please give me the courage to make a true, full confession. Don’t let me knowingly hold anything back. Please, please, help me.” My hands shook. The people in front of me in line were chatting together about this and that and I was baffled by their nonchalance. Why aren’t they scared? I wondered, as my knees knocked.

When it was my turn, my stomach lurched. I knelt. My voice trembled. The tears came. It all tumbled out: my sin, my selfishness, my failures. Then I heard the priest’s voice. Not words of condemnation, but encouragement. Not despair, but grace. He told me my penance. I prayed the prayer of contrition and heard the words of absolution. Then: Go in peace. And let me tell you, I did. When you get to leave 25 years of guilt behind you, you go in peace.

I left and knelt in the church to complete my penance. Ask for Jesus’ blessing on you and your family. That’s it? Is that even a penance? I wondered. Sounds more like a gift. That’s not nearly enough to make up for what I’ve done! I thought as I looked up at the crucifix above the altar. It’s not enough. Was the answer. You can’t make up for what you’ve done. I made up for what you’ve done. Just like this. On the Cross. This is all my gift to you. I love you this much.

Can we understand God’s love and mercy if we don’t face our sin? Can we rejoice over our salvation if we don’t realize what we’ve been saved from?

I had been wrong about Confession. It wasn’t a humiliating hoop God was making me jump through. It was a gift offered out of His love. He didn’t want me to bear the weight of my guilt any more. He wanted me to offer it to him, to let it go, to be reconciled, to live in grace. He wanted to give me the chance to be free from sin, to receive his mercy and love.

Now when I hear someone is about to make their first confession, I am so excited for them. The joy, the peace, the beauty of it. During this lenten season when I go to Confession before Holy Week, I won’t tremble in fear like I did the first time, three years ago. I will tremble instead at the weight of God’s mercy. Behold! God’s love for you.

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Posted in catholicism, Lent, Penance

Tagged Catholicism, confession, faith, grace, guilt, mercy, reflection, sacrament of penance

A Letter to My Former Self On the Day I Became a Mother

Posted on February 7, 2013 by Haley | 28 Comments

On the eve of my firstborn’s fourth birthday…

Dear Former Self,

You think today is memorable because you’re recovering from the Great Gatsby-themed college graduation party you threw last night and looking forward to a trip to see Radiohead. But that’s not why you’ll remember this day in May for the rest of your life. The funny thing is, the reason today is memorable won’t even occur to you for weeks to come.

A few days from now, you and Daniel will be celebrating your second anniversary, dreaming and planning for the future. “I’m just too selfish to be a mother right now. Let’s try to get pregnant in about…five years,” you said. What you won’t realize yet is that an entirely different plan has been forming inside you, starting today. It’s a plan that won’t just transform your body, but will turn your soul upside down. You weren’t wrong when you said you were too selfish. To be honest, you’re kind of shallow and vain, as well. You’ve never really learned to love something more than yourself. But everything is about to get shaken up.

In about 6 weeks, you will be sitting, trembling, waiting, for the results of the pregnancy test to appear. Your obliviousness to your body is going to be pretty embarrassing, actually. It took a few inexplicable meltdowns, second breakfasts, and unreasonable naps for your close friends to finally drive you to the drug store and insist you take one. And now that the moment has come, and much to your surprise, you realize that you want the test to be positive more than you’ve ever wanted anything in the world.

When you get a moment outside by yourself and a breath of fresh air, you will lift your face up to the sky and thank God for having a different plan than you did. You will say, “Thank you for giving me what I didn’t even know to ask for, what I didn’t even know I wanted. I know I don’t deserve this, but oh! I’m so glad!” Then you will consider whether they make armor or chainmail maternity wear, something indestructible to keep this tiny person safe. Because all of the sudden you will love something more than yourself, more than you’ve ever loved anything. And that love will be fierce and strong and every fiber of your being will want to protect the tiny life being formed inside you.

Sometimes it’s hard to even recognize the spineless girl you are as the mother you’ll become. Not because I’m not selfish anymore, but because this love will change you so utterly. But I don’t want you to worry about losing your identity in all this motherhood stuff, you’re about to discover who you really are, or at least, who you were born to be. Who you are in the process of becoming. Not everyone has to become a mother to learn to really love, but God knew this was the path for you. It’s only looking back that I can see how perfectly planned this path of motherhood is for you, for me. To experience this transformative love. The sort of love that will give you the strength to give of yourself until you think there’s nothing left.

Nothing I say can prepare you for the path ahead. You will think at the end of nine months that you couldn’t possibly be more exhausted. You will be wrong. When your beautiful, colicky baby arrives and you don’t get a full sleep cycle for months, and it physically hurts to be awake, you look back on pregnancy as a nine month vacation. Nothing can prepare you for the sight of that stretching, crying, smiling, dreaming, little one that makes you feel that you are looking at your very heart outside of your body. At every moment for the rest of your life, no matter where you are, or what you are doing, part of you will be thinking about your child. Is he safe? Happy? Thriving? The fears of motherhood, the trials of motherhood, will make you think every challenge you experienced before was a piece of cake.

You will finally get that hour for a cup of coffee and a book all by yourself only to realize that you miss your baby. You will think that the contented sigh of your child is the most perfect sound in the world and hearing his asthmatic cough will cause you physical pain. When he gets stung by a wasp you will wish you had been the one stung instead. In The Violent Bear It Away, Flannery O’Connor describes a father’s bewildered response to the love he has for his child, “powerful enough to throw him to the ground in an act of idiot praise.” You will come to understand this love. You will cross yourself and kneel on your kitchen floor at the sound of your child’s laughter because the only response to the overwhelming love is a prayer of thanks to God.

It all comes down to the grace of God’s love, flowing through blessing of this child into your soul and out again, transforming all your relationships, everything you know. You will love your husband more than you ever imagined you could. You will begin to love other people without selfish motives because you’ve experienced an inkling of the love God has for you: a father for his child, and he sees everyone as essential, precious, and beloved.

That’s why today, this beginning you still are unaware of, is memorable and epic. You are finally free, liberated from the tyranny of yourself in this tiny world in which you were the most important. You are free to love and give and sacrifice. And that holy grace will make you something altogether different. You will be shaken, humbled, stretched and broken.

And it will make you a mother.

(linked up at Mama And Baby Love)

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Posted in Baby, Children, Motherhood

Tagged grace, Motherhood

How My Kids Didn’t Ruin Mass

Posted on January 14, 2013 by Haley | 74 Comments

Confession: my kids are not typically little angels at Mass. ‘Typical” Mass behavior being our 3-year-old banging the kneeler open and closed and then dropping it on his own foot. Commence siren-like wailing. Or the kids tussling over who gets to hold the Baby Jesus finger puppet. And, to no one’s surprise, the preschooler throwing the St. Joseph finger puppet at his baby sister’s head doesn’t solve the dilemma. The newborn is startled out of a deep slumber by the bells heralding the Consecration and starts screaming. The toddler yelling (and I mean yelling) “Jesus! Jesus COME OUT!” as the Consecration approaches and he knows that “Jesus is coming.” And, yes, I said “typical” behavior. Don’t even get me started on the extraordinarily humiliating days.

Have you been there? When you just want to crawl into the floor and die of shame because surely your kids are ruining Mass for everyone? Your cheeks are burning? You consider a cross-country move?

You see, I grew up Protestant in a tradition in which young children do not attend “the service” until they can sit quietly with their families. It’s quiet, it’s composed, and you can actually hear the words of the sermon. I am still getting used to “the hum” that graces the background of every Mass: squirming toddlers, whispering preschoolers, fussing babies. Children are not banished to the nursery. Our Parish doesn’t even have a cry room. You see, children are not just tolerated, they are welcome. And what my parish has shown me, is that my children are wanted.

So that moment when I thought I would surely die because my 3-year-old made a mad dash for the altar when I was about to receive the Blessed Sacrament and I had to make an awkward wrangling motion to grab hold of his Houdini body in between the “Amen” and the moment the Host touched my tongue…well, the priest’s eyes didn’t narrow. He didn’t give me a stern look that said, “I hope the grace of Our Lord helps you recover from being the worst mother ever.” Nope. His eyes sparkled. He smiled. And, dear me, was that a quiet chuckle?

It’s the moments when I think my kids are the ultimate distraction that my parish family shows me that they are gifts of God’s grace. When the baby is fussy and the toddler is grumpy and loud and I think that surely the homily is going to be a desperate plea for our family to high tail it out of the church so everyone else can enjoy Mass in peace, the priest says, “Look around you. Look at all the babies and children in Mass today. As I’ve been hearing the sounds of infants and children this morning, it reminds me of the amazing gift of new life. What a blessing. I am so glad they are all here.” Gift? Blessing? My kids could have passed themselves off as small dragons this morning, and you heard their whispers and shrieks as echoes of God’s grace?

Or when the baby is insistent on nursing, even though I nursed her right before Mass and the only way to avoid a screaming fit is to nurse right there in the pew. I can feel my cheeks get warm and pink. Is my scarf covering us up? Am I flashing anyone? Is this ok? Is everyone looking at us? That lady in the back certainly is. Is she glaring at us? After Mass, there she is again. She’s probably coming to tell me off… But to my surprise she touched my shoulder and said, “I just wanted to tell you what a good job you did nursing that baby. You are such a good mom. It was so special to see a mother nursing in Mass. I remember having small kids in Mass and how hard it is. Your kids are always excellent.” Well…that last part was surely a kind-hearted fib, but could our family have blessed her by being there? By not sending our kids to the nursery? By trying to make it through Mass without causing a fire or anyone needing stitches? By choosing to nurse my baby, did that image of love between a mother and child actually make Mass more meaningful to her?

Because I think that’s part of what it means to be pro-life. To see children always as gifts of grace, not inconveniences. As always welcome as part of God’s family, not as distractions to be avoided. To encourage and love them and show them that they are wanted. That we want them there because Jesus wants them there.

There’s one sweet couple and their adult daughter who have adopted our family during Mass. They make it a point to always sit near us. The mother is a bonafide baby whisperer and when Lucy gets fussy she will say in my ear, “You pass me that baby!” and she will snuggle a shockingly calm Baby Lucy sometimes for the entirety of Mass. Benjamin adores their daughter and on one occasion, we weren’t sitting close enough to “Miss Kerri” for his satisfaction. So he snuck out of our pew, tip-toed across the aisle, and plopped down right on her lap. As I prepared to stand up, bring him back, and reprimand him for leaving his spot, this dear soul gave me a look that said, “Don’t you dare! He’s FINE.” He sat like an angel with them for the rest of Mass. He even knelt quietly during the whole Consecration (usually our wrestling-match time). And as I knelt and peeked at him out of the corner of my eye, I started to feel tears roll down my cheeks. Because he looked so wanted, beloved, and cherished. Because this family’s love for my children communicates a vital message: Jesus loves them. Jesus wants them. They are not inconveniences and distractions. They are blessed outpourings of God’s grace.

I pray that during Mass, and every day, I can remember to see my children the way Jesus sees them. The way my parish sees them. I am so thankful for the love my children receive, even at their worst. And thankful for the reminder that Jesus wants all of us, even at our worst, to come and love and be loved.

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Posted in Baby, Breastfeeding, catholicism, Children, Family, Motherhood

Tagged breastfeeding, Catholicism, children, grace, kids in Mass, our parish, parenting

When Motherhood Is Hard

Posted on November 12, 2012 by Haley | 23 Comments

Becoming a mother is truly one of the very best things that has ever happened to me. I get so much joy and satisfaction from raising my babies. But I don’t want to give the impression that it’s always sunshine and rainbows over here. And if I’m honest, I’ll confess that I’ve just come out the other side of a time when motherhood was a little dark and very difficult. A time when I’m faced with the fact that like anything worth doing, motherhood is really hard.

And sometimes that’s the way it is. I think motherhood can be a little bit like marriage. Sometimes it is just pure bliss. Other times, well, it’s work. And when you’re in the midst of those times, it’s hard to imagine that it will get better. But the truth is, it does and suddenly the struggle behind you is like a blip on the screen in your long journey.

I’ve discovered that my physical well-being has a huge effect on my emotional life and ability to “see straight.” If I’m sleep deprived and sick, I really can’t trust what my thoughts and emotions are telling me. It’s very difficult for me to have a mind over matter approach and not be affected by my physical challenges. What I can do is tell myself that this too shall pass. I won’t feel like this forever and when it’s all in the past it will be hard to remember. Kind of like labor pains, I suppose. When you’re in the midst of labor, you may know on some level that it won’t last forever and that you’ll see your baby at the end but the pain of those contractions can take away all sense of time. I get completely “in the zone” and it’s hard to imagine anything outside of the pain. But then it’s over! And you forget how much it hurt while you bask in the joy of new life.

I’ve had two really hard times in my journey as a mother. The first was during Benjamin’s first year. We lived a thousand miles away from family. We were 23. We had almost no friends with kids. I was working full-time while Daniel finished school full-time and we had a newborn that only slept in 45 minute increments for months on end and suffered from extreme colic. I was so stressed out and exhausted that I had almost nothing left to offer during the brief times at home that I actually got to spend with my baby. It was so hard. It actually physically hurt to be awake and I could barely think straight with the 3-4 hours of sleep I was getting a night (in 45 minute increment, mind you).

The second time was the 6 weeks or so during the first trimester of this pregnancy when I was so sick and so tired that I felt like I couldn’t be a good mother to my two little ones. Once the constant nausea and vomiting hit by Week 6, it was honestly hard for me to feel excited about our new baby. I really couldn’t think about anything but how sick I was and how I felt like I was letting Benjamin and Lucy down because I couldn’t get out of bed except to throw up. I also felt so overwhelmed by the state of my house because I physically could not keep up and I could barely set foot in the kitchen (the smells!). Since my husband works a full-time job plus a part-time job and I get to stay home with the little ones except for one afternoon a week, I consider keeping house primarily my responsibility. It was hard for me to see Daniel work a 10 hour day, then come home and clean up whatever mess had been made in the kitchen since he left, cook dinner, and then do the dishes and whatever else was needed to keep us afloat while I ate Preggy Pops in bed and tried to keep food down.

During these “survival mode” times, I also remind myself of things I know but might not be feeling. I remind myself how grateful I am for my babies. And I remind myself that I wouldn’t change anything. Sure, the baby might be waking up every hour wanting to nurse. It’s hard and exhausting. But, thank God I have a precious baby to wake me up and nurse. Yes, I might be miserably queasy and all I can think about is wanting to feel normal again. But would I rather not be pregnant anymore? No, of course not! It feels so ungrateful to focus on the negatives when we are being blessed with new life–a gift for which so many couples would happily give much more than a few weeks of throwing up to receive.

But I think it’s also important to acknowledge that the challenges are real. That we’re not bad mothers because we’re struggling. That we don’t love our babies any less just because we’re having a hard time finding the joy in our vocation. And those moments and seasons always teach me that I am weak. I can’t do it without God’s grace. Sometimes that grace flows out when I’m at adoration. A big wave of joy, gratefulness, and peace is given from being in the presence of Our Lord. Sometimes it’s receiving the Blessed Sacrament. Nourishing my soul with enough strength to keep going. Sometimes Our Lord gives us his grace through other people. My husband’s tireless servant-heart. A friend bringing food over when I’m too queasy to cook. A text saying, “How are you feeling? I’m praying for you.” The joy and lightness you experience after going to confession and starting anew. Grace.

When I’m able to look with clear vision on times I felt like I was drowning, I realize that I was actually floating in the boundless ocean of God’s grace. And those moments when motherhood is just pure joy….those moments are so sweet. I’m dreaming of that beautiful newborn smell. I am so looking forward to experiencing the sacred thrill of labor. I am reveling in the joy of my two littles. Grace.

Have you experienced a difficult time in your journey as a mother?