Aggie Catholics: The Cutest Christmas Video Ever...

Aggie Catholics: The Cutest Christmas Video Ever...

Being "Blessing Conscious"

Our words are like photographs of our thoughts. The moment we express them, we empower them. We also create a climate that affects everything and everyone around us.

Being mother to a large family, I fight the tendency to whine and complain about so many things all the time. Every time I voice a complaint, I feel ugly. I seldom see much good come from the negative and often sarcastic comments I spit out there, yet it's like I think everyone is going to jump up and change my world.

David said, “I complained and my spirit was overwhelmed.” (Psalm 77) The more we complain, the more we believe our complaints. Likewise, on days when cheerfulness is my creed, I seem to get happier as the day progresses - as do those around me.

Two weeks ago, I was on a team that led an ACTS retreat for women at my church. I needed a get-away as much as the retreatants did, and am so glad I had said yes to serving on the team. It was truly a mountain-top experience with the Beloved and a shot in the arm for my tired mind, body and soul. As a result, I feel much refreshed now.

Interestingly enough, the team spends most of the weekend "serving" other women - the first time retreatants. We sleep less hours, run behind the scenes setting up for each 'event', feed them, love on them, take care of every need they might have - and yet, it is a labor of love. (That description sounds much like my job description as a mother and even at my job as coordinator of a Catholic campus ministry to college students.) Nonetheless, after catching up on some sleep the day after the retreat, I feel amazingly refreshed and renewed. God had plenty of 'good stuff' for me that weekend, as well.

Most of the time, however, I can’t seem to give myself permission to take time “for me.” I think that is true for so many people, especially women. We grew up “burden-conscious,” instead of “blessing-conscious.” We say things like, “I don’t have time.” "Who will do my work?” “No one appreciates how much I do or how much I need this.” Or even, “I don’t deserve it.”

Who created our schedule any way? Do we get our self worth from carrying the world on our shoulders? Does the voice in our head say, “If I don’t do everything perfectly, and on time…I’m a failure…others won’t respect me…need me…love me?” Look out! That’s the voice of pride! However humble and self-sacrificing it may sound, it’s just pride. We all have limits and we all need time to recharge.

What’s really important in our lives? If we had only a year to live, we’d figure out in a hurry, wouldn’t we? Three things would change right away: We’d place more value on what we have, than on what we want. We wouldn’t be in such a hurry. Being right and perfect would lose their appeal.
Instead of complaining and being overwhelmed today, why don’t we count our blessings, and figure out what’s really important. And if you have to get away for a day, or two, or more - DO IT! I recommend a retreat. They refresh you at such a deeper level, but, however you can take a break "for you", find a way. You will thank yourself and so will those around you!

Whoa! What happened?

I forgot I had a blog. What happened?!

I cannot believe it has been almost one year since my last post. What a difference a year makes!

Last year this time, we were reeling from the news of our little Clara's diagnosis of leukemia. We all held closely guarded our secret fears that we would lose her before her life had really begun. Today, we laugh and marvel at her progress and her spirit as she moves forward and away from her bone marrow transplant to continued health and freedom. She is absolutely an amazing little miracle.

Last year this time, I had just taken on a new job as Secretary/Coordinator of St. Peter's Catholic Student Center at Baylor University. At the time, I was mostly staring down the barrel of a filthy clean up job. I had thrown myself into cleaning out closets and file drawers and trying to create some sense of organization into a badly neglected building. As the year progressed, I learned how to design and manage a website, keep books on Quickbooks for a non-profit, support an annual giving program, write newsletters, manage a database, supervise an ethics and integrity program, manage weekly bulletins and announcements, feed the hungry at weekly Mass lunches, hunt down a missing priest, and counsel students who need advise or just want someone to talk to.

Last year this time, my two teenagers ('the babies') were trying to find their way in their new high school and make some friends. Now, they are Mr. and Miss Popularity at school. John Mark is reveling in his membership in the school spirit squad, "Blue Crew" and everyone knows his face and loves his crazy fun personality. Mary Kate had to say goodbye to all the seniors who embraced her into their inner sanctum last year and is getting to know her own class better. Miss Popularity had to bring herself down to her own age group finally. Ha! They are definitely settled. When I asked John Mark this summer if he would want to move back to South Carolina if we could, he said without hesitation, "No way!" (I was actually quite surprised!)

What a difference a year makes!

Last year this time, I had started to blog. Hmm...

Monsters, Saints and Other Dead People

This is a very interesting time of year. Halloween, followed by All Saints Day, followed by All Souls Day...yes, very interesting.

Halloween, for some reason, has never been one of my favorites. I always felt pressured as a child to get my costume just right, and, if I did, my mother always ruined it by making me wear my coat or something. As an adult, I just never have liked the darkness or absurdity associated with it. Blood and gore and witchcraft and superheroes and walking dominoes are just not my thing. I do realize, however, that dressing up is fun and I am always happy to give candy to cute little monsters. I still chuckle over my surprise four nights ago when after opening the door to about a dozen 3 ft. tall pink princesses and miniature spidermen in a row, I opened the door bending down in anticipation of another cute little trick or treater and actually jumped at the sight of a lone black 6' TALL robed teenager with no face. I got tricked into thinking all my "monsters" would be little ones. Isn't that just like life? Just when you think you have figured out how to deal with all the surprises at your doorstep, life gives you a real monster of a challenge. I know I have been lulled into this false sense of security many times. I thought I had wrestled with monsters all year as we faced financial crisis, loss of friends, a move across country, separation from my spouse, empty nest syndrome, etc. Then, we open our door and Leukemia casts its menacing glare at us. Anyway, I just really don't like Halloween that much.

In contrast, the next day is the Catholic tradition that I LOVE, we celebrate All Saints Day. (You know...Hallowe'en = Eve of All Hallows Day) This is a day I can embrace. Dwelling on all the earthly heroes that left their mark on the earth as good and holy, humble yet courageous and all that stuff I ain't. But I can hope, and I can dream, and I can 'dress up' in the virtues they represent. Maybe if I 'play' saint long enough, I will finally figure out how to 'be' saint. I often imagine my favorites standing with me when I need them during the day helping me battle the challenges that I face. It gives me great comfort. Indeed, I have put it on paper and in 'the file' that I want the Litany of the Saints sung at my funeral. I will call on them till the bitter end to help me reach my goal.

Then, yesterday, the Church celebrated All Souls Day. That's the day we remember and pray for all those who didn't quite make the mark for a straight shot into heaven. They're the ones who are headed there but probably get to the gate and say, "Whoa! I can't go in dressed like this! Give me a minute while I find a nice enough outfit." Yeah, and depending on the shape of their closet, especially if it's anything like mine, it may take awhile. That'll be most of us. So, I like this day because I know there will be people praying for me someday to help me 'finish what's lacking' before I enter the party.

Honestly, after three days of celebrating 'dead people', my mind turned to the memory of my father. I have confidence that he has joined the 'heroes' beyond and stands with them in supporting me through my life challenges. He was a hero to me in my life as a little girl, and although as an adult I now know he was not as perfect as I perceived him then, he was a noble and forthright man who loved me very much. My memory of him is still one of admiration and great affection, but my strongest memory is of his passing.

There are so many things in this life we assume will always be there for us. I think our parents are one of those things when we are young. To lose a parent in your youth really shakes your world to its core.

When I was 16 years old, I had charge of my younger brothers and sisters one Friday evening while my parents had an invitation to dinner at friends'. My sister Valerie and I were supposed to be sharing the babysitting job, but neither of us were doing a very good job. She was gabbing on the phone with who knows who and I was engrossed in a suspenseful movie on the television. We later discovered that at least one of our five younger charges were down the street in their pajamas playing with friends at the end of the cul de sac. I know, great babysitters, huh?!

Anyway, at some point earlier my mother told us that she was not waiting for my daddy's arrival any longer and to tell him when he arrived home from work to just meet her at their destination. Val and I both assumed the other had seen him come through and leave again, but that was not the case. In fact, throughout the course of my movie, I was interrupted three times by irritating phone calls that should have aroused my suspicion that all was not well. I actually had heard from a policeman looking for my mother, my daddy's only brother from out of town about an emergency phone call he had missed and a close friend of my folks who was concerned about something that had been announced on the evening news that night. It was only after my movie finally ended that I sat back and started pondering all the strange calls.

It was about this time that I decided to call my parents only to discover that my mother had been in the driveway for about an hour trying to get herself together enough to come in and tell us that our father had been struck by a drunk driver on his way home from work that evening and had died at the scene. Our world turned upside down in an instant. One scary monster had just shown up at our front door. My life would never be the same and innocence was lost that night with my first real experience of the facts of life and death. Forty years later, I see both the good and the bad that came from that painful night, but at the time it was just scary.

No, I don't like Halloween. I will share more on the aftermath of my daddy's death later. I think I will go to bed now...after some prayer time with my favorite saints, including St. Ed - my daddy.

I Watched Them Dance

It has been a week since I returned from my last visit to our Baby Clara and her Mommy and Daddy. Time passes but certain images just have not faded from my experience in the hospital in 1 North - the Hemetology/Oncology ward of Lucile Packard Children's Hospital. I don't imagine they will ever leave me...

...I watched them dance. MY daughter, holding HER daughter, swirling and tilting and backing and tipping in a syncopated rhythm that confused the pain Clara was feeling. Sweet sick little baby, comforted and distracted from the pain that was keeping her from sleep, Clara relaxed as her mommy hummed or sang quietly in that beautiful voice God gave her the very lullabies I had sung to her at bedtime - so long ago that I wouldn't think she remembered - and danced her into peaceful sleep...for a little awhile.

...the beeping and whirring of continuous feeds and IV machines! 10 minute warning beeps that the machine would be beeping again when the medication was complete. Beeps to warn of beeps. Maddening! This is her world of sounds. Endless beeps, door creaks just as she falls asleep, hushed nurses' voices (or not so hushed) offering helpful (or not so helpful) words that keep you and her from sleeping, babies and toddlers crying out on either side of her room, "Mommy, don't go!" or "Go away! Go away! You're hurting me!" Somehow the sweet melodies from Bach or Brahms on the mobile just didn't cut through the strangeness of the other sounds in this baby's world.

...my daughter feeding her child through a tube. Counting out ml of breast milk or formula or medications in a syringe that she inserted carefully through an NG tube to keep her baby growing. Counting every thousandth of a kilogram she gained as a victory.

...crying as I watched her pleading with doctors on rounds to hold onto even the smallest of mother/daughter privileges, like breastfeeding her baby. Wanting so hard to have just a little of the normalcy of a baby's life in the midst of the bizarre and nightmarish reality of their own.

...the interaction of my daughter and nurses who have become friends, confidantes, sweet relief, and sometimes great annoyances (those were rare). Watching her jump up and hug a passing favorite nurse, squeezing in a quick update on the floor's favorite baby. Good nurses are angels on earth.

...discarding every toy/blanket/pacifier that dropped on the floor. Caution. Caution. Caution.

...the smell of antiseptic hand gel. I actually missed the dispensers immediately upon leaving the hospital, looking for them at every turn at the airport, my hands feeling so dirty after days of pumping gel into them every time I walked through a door of the hospital.

...mostly I will remember, forever, the look of total exhaustion on an anemic child's face blended seamlessly with total joy at the sight of her daddy or mommy when they spoke to her. The obvious toughness and strength of will in one so young, to endure what she has been handed and bloom where she is planted. She is a bright purple blossom, blooming sweet aroma and taking the breath away from all who pass her way. She is her Mimi's favorite flower. I love her. I always will.

...

Falling into...

A fire pit in the back yard

Encircled by five chairs

Five teenagers laughing

Faces lit with firelight

Sticky fingers and lips

Chocolate and marshmallow breath

Warm against the cool air

Savory pork roast with

Perfect rice and gravy

Glass of Cabernet

Toasting end of summer

"Here's to Fall!"

(Yeah, this was a VERY nice evening!)

Seasonal Changes

I mowed the lawn today. It is amazing the inspirations that come to me while I am mowing or pulling weeds. I take after my mother in that regard. I do some of my best praying with my hands in the dirt. When I tell someone that yard work and painting are therapeutic for me, they look at me like the fertilizer or paint fumes have affected my brain. Actually, I think it is not the activity, but where my mind goes during those exercises that is therapy.

The interesting thing about my delight in mowing today is that I reveled in the spring-like response my yard is having to my care. We arrived in this little rent house in the extreme heat of early August. The previous tenants (males) did not do yardwork...my neighbors let me know that the first week. They were clearly feeling me out to see if we were "gardeners," hoping the eyesore across the street wouldn't continue to decline. It was evident. The grass was thinned to almost gone and everything was brown and dry and withering. You could hear the crunch with your eyes!

Remarkably, just turning the irrigation system back on, some heavy pruning and mowing, and six week later this yard is on its way back! So, just as Autumn has begun, my yard is experiencing the rebirth of Spring. Ironic.

Anyway, as I mowed through newly thickened bermuda grass in my backyard, I was thanking God that what looked like a doomed situation had taken a sudden turn to life and promise. Even about six shrubs in the backyard, the variety of which I am unfamiliar with, have broken out into color. I am delighted with the potential for a lovely yard next spring and even think we can enjoy it this fall from the deck after all. Thank you, God!

The irony of this situation is not lost on me at all. This past year has been one of steady and frightening decline for the Shannon household. At times it felt like gloom and doom for sure.

The "Great Recession" had hit our family squarely and we were forced out of a community and home we loved dearly just in order to survive economically. It required my dedicated and hard-working husband to pack his bags and move to another state to work while the children and I remained behind to try to sell our house. This was so hard on all of us, but I know it was darkest for him. Winter truly FELT like winter in 2010 - dark, cold and lonely.

Hardest on me was that it hit at the same time many of my adult children were trying to find their way in the world as well. I worried so much about their ability to find work and fretted about where they would live if they didn't, because we were headed West. It was so hard to find work in their fields in South Carolina. It was harder for some than others. Our sweet newlyweds, Lauren and Alex had to take low-paying jobs just to cover student debt and gasoline - living with parents the first year of marriage. NOT what they had envisioned at all! (To their credit, they held their heads high during it all.) Ultimately they stepped out in faith to head westward also, in hopes of more fertile employment territory. Thankfully, that was a good decision and bore fruit quickly with good jobs in a town (Austin) they really like. The fact that it is down the highway from us in Waco is even better.

Now, the hardest challenge of all! Just three weeks after we moved into our new house in Hewitt, Texas, we get the devastating news that our precious new grandbaby in California, Clara Violet Boyle, has leukemia. I didn't think our lives could get any worse, but they just did. I already felt so dried up from the past year's journey that I was not sure I had anything left to run on. How could I even help my daughter bear such an inconceivable cross? Could we possibly endure this?

Well, of course, we can. And we are. Our yard may be dry and crunchy right now, and I only see drought ahead of us, but just moisture from the heavens and some pruning and cutting of damaged leaves and branches can turn it around to lush and green again. I know Who to ask for the water and I have been pruned and weeded and cut so many times in my life that I actually know which branches to stick out for shaping automatically, if not, I know the Master Gardener will reach in and tend to them anyway. God cares about the Shannon Garden. He planted it. He rejoices in it - as I do my silly, sickly backyard. It will turn green and lush again. I am sure of it.

And I will try to be patient. These things don't happen overnight. But my yard proves that spring can come in autumn and I know that the sun does shine in winter. By next summer, I plan on watching my little Clara run through the thick, green and healthy grass in my back yard, chasing the three bunnies that live there. They will both be healthier. I am counting on it!