Ready
As I sat in Mass, exhausted, just happy that I got there on time I realized that three candles were lit. Yes, the pink one, too. This rosy candle is supposed to tell us “Rejoice! Gaudete! Our Savior is almost here!” Instead, what I heard was, “Oh no! It’s almost Christmas and I still have so much to do!”
I battled my distraction with concerns over the traditions and social obligations as I tried to focus on the Advent readings. “I am the voice of one crying out in the desert, make straight the way of the Lord.”
Geesh! I am nowhere near the desert. I am so worried about how behind I am. My head is at the grocery store, the toy store, work. No wonder my soul fails to hear this call. No wonder my soul fails to hear the rose-colored candle beckoning me to rejoice.
So I take a deep breath, and I let it go. And yes, I continue to be distracted. I mutter a few absent-minded “And also with you’s” as I hear, “And with your spirit” all around me. However, this time the culprits are my four-year-old and five-month-old. I’m distracted now by the present and the necessary, not the future, not the far-away, not the to-do list.
This doesn’t make the list go away. It doesn’t change my desire to have Advent and Christmas become special times for my children. It doesn’t make me want to abandon the Trees and the gifts and Santa. What it makes me want to do, is not worry about it. It doesn’t need to be perfect. We can take our time. We can let some things go. My children can build traditions and learn to be flexible at the same time.
My ideal is to finish most of my shopping and planning before Advent, so I can focus more on the spiritual preparations for Christmas. This year, more work outside the home, some extra doctor appointments for some of the kids, and a new baby have prevented that. Likewise, my personal, spiritual preparation is also lacking.
Something’s got to give. Maybe we won’t make peanut brittle for the neighbors this year. Maybe the garbage man will be happy with a gift card. If we don’t manage the Jesse tree this year, it will be more impactful next year. I’ll just need to let it go.
There is still work to do. I’m still going to need to take a few evenings out to finish some shopping and wrapping. But, I’m also going to take some moments during each preparation to enjoy and to ponder in my heart, the deeper meanings behind all these traditions which lead us to this little Baby’s birthday, the day our God became Incarnate.
As we planned my 8-year-old’s birthday party (4 months late, but that’s another blog), he made a specific request for Kool-Aid. I cringed. Kool-Aid. I don’t like the way it tastes. I don’t want my kids to like the way it tastes. More importantly, it really isn’t good for you! I left it at a maybe. 
We went to the store for party foods and I walked up to the Kool-Aid. I read the ingredients. I put it back. I could not add an envelope of all the things I avoid to a pitcher of sugar water and serve it to my kids and our guests. Artificial color and flavor were prominent ingredients. I have children who are sensitive to food dyes, and was willing to bet that other 8-year-old boys attending the party may share this trait. Why would I add to the chance of a behavior problem at this testosterone-laden event?
In these hard financial times, one of the greatest sacrifices we made turned out to be the greatest blessing. I was very upset to find myself pregnant and unable to see my usual, pro-life obstetrician because of our insurance changes. The new, low-budget insurance continually pointed me to a pro-choice clinic that put me in line to talk to a nurse so I could talk to a doctor weeks later. Already almost 3 months pregnant, my regular doctor began running tests and found that I had some serious complications and needed to get prenatal care ASAP. The clinic’s biggest concern was that I was missing my window for “genetic counseling”, which translates to being able to get an abortion. The distress of feeling like I could not take care of my unborn child, could not get the medical care I needed, could not find a pro-life option, was overwhelming. 
Two friends urged me to investigate a new doctor at a new place, Gianna , the National Center for Women’s Health and Infertility at St Peter’s University Hospital. I was so generally discouraged that I was sure that they would not take my insurance. One friend called Dr. Beiter’s wife for me. He quickly called me and discussed my initial test results with me, putting my fears to rest. Then, we discovered that he just started accepting my plan the week before that. God had answered my prayers.
I loved my pro-life doctors in the past, but Dr. Beiter and the Gianna Center have taken the definition of pro-life to a new level. The love for my unborn child and his value was unequalled. The respect for my ability to cooperate with God in giving life, despite my “advanced maternal age” of 39 was refreshing and comforting. The medical expertise that resulted in the birth of a happy and healthy seven-and-a-half-pound Max after numerous pregnancy complications was the best benefit. My husband described the care and attention of the labor and delivery staff at St. Peter’s as “luxurious”. 
When I was little, my mother always told me how old she was.
My life is not simple right now.
I just had a wonderful gift of delivering an information session with no voice.
Many of you probably know that the Church places great importance on the family and has coined the phrase, “The Domestic Church” to refer to the vocation and importance of family life.
Moses called all the elders of Israel and said to them, "Go and procure lambs for your families, and slaughter them as Passover victims. Then take a bunch of hyssop, and dipping it in the blood that is in the basin, sprinkle the lintel and the two doorposts with this blood. But none of you shall go outdoors until morning. For the LORD will go by, striking down the Egyptians. Seeing the blood on the lintel and the two doorposts, the LORD will pass over that door and not let the destroyer come into your houses to strike you down. (Exodus 12: 21-23, NAB)
Many years back, I was watching a television program which portrayed a dopey husband who couldn’t remember the details from his first encounter with his wife. Of course, I felt it was a good time to ask my husband if he remembered our first meeting. I was both smug and dismayed when he answered, “Yes, in the cafeteria of the school.” He was the Business Manager of the Navajo Mission where I was the school music teacher, and our work paths rarely crossed. I corrected him and reminded him about the party early in the school year at which we talked for a few minutes. 
