Praying in My Mary Garden

It's been a long summer and summer isn't even over. My family has managed to declutter dozens of bags of excess from our home and weed bag after bag of weeds from our yard. With the help of my sons and a young adult family friend, (pictured here with our cat) I managed to carve out a Mary Garden from an overgrown patch of yard.

Death Is Not "The Worst Thing About Life"

On this most difficult day I am thinking about death.

Last night, on my way out of my graduate class in Jersey City, a friend texted me to let me know our next door neighbor's infant son had died suddenly. I spent the long drive home talking to Ruth. When I got home at 11 p.m., I sat in my car in the driveway, crying and still talking with her and noting that all the lights were on in the family's home and all the shades drawn. My friend and I were grieving, trying to make sense of the unimaginable.

When Words Fail: Pray for Sarah Harkins and Her Family

When I was in high school, I had the role of Laura in Tennessee Williams' play The Glass Menagerie. I remember our drama teacher, Mr. Stewart, discussing a scene with us, a scene in which Laura's brother, Tom, does not say a word. "Why isn't he speaking?" Mr. Stewart asked us. "Because he is so full of emotion he cannot speak."

And so it is with me, following the sudden death Monday of Sarah Harkins, 32, of Fredericksburg, Va., a friend I never met face to face, but a woman who has helped to guide my journey for several years. Sarah, who was carrying her unborn child, Cecilia, died after an allergic reaction to many stings from a yellow-jacket hive disturbed in her backyard. She is survived by her husband, Eric, and four children.

Vonnegut: On Being Poor

AP: People on line for a job fair in Atlanta

From Slaughterhouse-Five:

"America is the wealthiest nation on Earth, but its people are mainly poor, and poor Americans are urged to hate themselves. To quote the American humorist Kin Hubbard, “It ain’t no disgrace to be poor, but it might as well be.” It is in fact a crime for an American to be poor, even though America is a nation of poor. Every other nation has folk traditions of men who were poor but extremely wise and virtuous, and therefore more estimable than anyone with power and gold. No such tales are told by the American poor. They mock themselves and glorify their betters. The meanest eating or drinking establishment, owned by a man who is himself poor, is very likely to have a sign on its wall asking this cruel question: “if you’re so smart, why ain’t you rich?” There will also be an American flag no larger than a child’s hand – glued to a lollipop stick and flying from the cash register.

Americans, like human beings everywhere, believe many things that are obviously untrue. Their most destructive untruth is that it is very easy for any American to make money. They will not acknowledge how in fact hard money is to come by, and, therefore, those who have no money blame and blame and blame themselves. This inward blame has been a treasure for the rich and powerful, who have had to do less for their poor, publicly and privately, than any other ruling class since, say Napoleonic times. Many novelties have come from America. The most startling of these, a thing without precedent, is a mass of undignified poor. They do not love one another because they do not love themselves."

A Day of Sweet Hours with Our Sons

"All our sweetest hours fly the fastest." Virgil, who figured this out more than 2,000 years ago.

Today began, quietly enough, with a prayer to the Holy Spirit. Two friends and I are praying a novena for a special intention close to our hearts. I have never prayed a novena with friends before and it was calming to know they were praying the same words for the same intention.

The rest of the day sped past. I took Gabriel to his appointment at the pediatric trauma unit, where a nurse removed the five staples in his scalp and declared him good to go - to the gym, to the swimming pool, to Spain. I discovered finding a parking spot at our local hospital takes more time than having staples removed from one's scalp.

A Blessing for All the Gadflies

I've written before about how our local board of education hired a woefully unprepared man with a slim resume to run our public schools in a borough with a high poverty rate and plenty of economic disparity. This has been a rough school year in town. I am grateful to live in a place where scores of people care so much about what is going on in the public schools and understand the principles of democracy so well that they are willing to spend evenings attending board meetings and speaking up. Most do not relish this role. 

On the Eve of High School Graduation: Some Lessons from Our Son's Encounter with a Bus

At work Thursday the school secretary called my name on the public address system, telling me to come to the main office right away. I was packing up my classroom for the school year and left the door open and walked down the stairs and they were calling my name again. 

Instinctively, I made a sign of the cross when I was on the phone with my husband in the main office and he was telling me how our older son, Gabe, had been hit by an NJ Transit bus while riding his bike and was in the pediatric trauma unit and that he was alive and alert.

The sign of the cross was a sign of thanks for his being alive, and my plea for strength to get through whatever it was we were facing.

Solace at the Shore

My husband has a high-stress, high profile job and is recognizing that he takes very little time to care for himself. As he puts it, he needs time for solace.  This weekend he proposed we - just us two - go to Mass at 7 a.m. and then drive with our dog to the Asbury Park Dog Run Beach. So we did.

In Which I Try to Stop Comparing and Start Embracing the Lives in Front of Me

One of my bad habits is comparing myself to other women. Lately, I have been reading a lot of blogs by women I consider similar to myself, thoughtful literate mothers who are raising their families in the Catholic Church. I learn so much from them about how they manage their time and responsibilities while nurturing their faith.

I gotta say, though, I allow myself to feel "left out," when I consider their large families and the time they spend homeschooling their children and creating home and nurturing friendships with like-minded women living similar lives. My life looks nothing like this. I start to feel inadequate, as if my life is less than theirs. This is, in the end, a kind of idolatry and a disregard for the One who called me by name into being.

From Barnard, Vermont: Rebuilding After a Home Fire

My husband's Aunt Dagney lost her Vermont home of many years in mid-March in a fast-moving fire. Fortunately, noone was hurt and her only child, an adult daughter who lives nearby, is raising funds to help her out. The link is here. 

From A Stage Four Cancer Patient: "Never Have I Felt So Accompanied in My Life"

I have shared by friend Frank Simmonds' journey of pain and faith. He has stage four neuroendocrine cancer. Here is another remarkable video from him, just before he undergoes open-heart surgery at Maimonides Medical Center in Brooklyn tomorrow. Please pray for him, his wife and their two young sons. This Lenten season, Frank is facing the prospect of his own death with a deep gratitude for the life he has been given. We should all do the same.

"We live our life but a minute... like a whisper. Then we come fact to face with an unknown entity called Death..The good thing about me is. I encounter another entity...my faith in my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
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My Frozen Soul and My Lenten Journey

This whole winter it feels as if I have been stalled. In our small town, there is a seemingly never series of water main breaks, which means we can't use our tap water. A pipe burst under the river, which meant the air was filled with the smell of gas. There have been blackout after blackout in many neighborhoods because of our ailing electrical system. And despite all the efforts of so many, our public schools appear to be breaking and our elected officials indifferent. One of our sons is struggling in school. And the older child is still waiting to hear back from the many colleges to which he has applied. No word from any of them yet. Oh and then there is the snow, inch after inch of snow, day after day, delaying the start of so many school days. It feels as if my family will never unfreeze, never move forward from our permafrosted positions.

Enduring Trials and Reminding Ourselves What Will Endure

I long ago gave up believing in coincidences. I believe that everything that happens in our lives, happens for a reason. Over the weekend, something ugly happened. An adult took it upon himself to insult our eldest son publicly, Our son has become deeply involved, publicly involved in writing,speaking, going door to door and otherwise peacefully  and respectfully organizing opposition to our local school board, which is pursuing policies that are serving to destabilize our public schools. Our son wants to enter the world of public policy and politics .After reading cruel remarks on a facebook page and in private emails to my husband and me, Greg told our son this is the price that sometimes must be paid for working for the common good. Our friends rallied around us with sweet phone calls, and homemade chocolate cake and wise admonitions to steer clear of the internet, where this whole effort at public humiliation was unfolding all weekend..

My Life is Beautiful, Even When I'm Bone Tired

I decided to post this picture first to remind myself that my life is beautiful. This was the front of our house yesterday. New Jersey has been hammered with snow and the boys and I had yet another snow day from school. I am tired, bone tired, between working full time, taking two graduate classes in Special Education, advocating for our own son and helping to organize resistance to our local Board of Education, which hired a technocrat to run our local public schools and who seems intent on destabilizing our tiny school district. And so it is I find myself sitting in the family van at the end of another long day, unable to find the energy to open the door and walk into our home.

This Moment: Monroe County Courthouse, Monroeville, Alabama

Last week I attended a teachers' workshop in Monroeville, Alabama, Harper Lee's hometown, on how to teach her novel, To Kill a Mockingbird. That book has found its way deep into my heart. Lee based her fictional town, Maycomb, on Monroeville, the town where she grew up next door to writer Truman Capote, after whom she modeled the character Dill Harris.

Much of Monroeville has changed since Lee and Capote were children. Both their homes are gone; her family's lot now houses Mel's Dairy Dream; the site of his summer home now is just the stone foundation. The jail on the courthouse square has been remodeled beyond recognition and now houses the Monroe County Human Resources department.

But the courthouse is unchanged. Universal Studios came to Monroeville when it was filming the Academy-Award winning movie based on Lee's book. They recreated every last detail on a Hollywood set. I've watched the movie nearly as often as I have read the book - perhaps a dozen times. As readers of the book know, the dramatic height of the novel is the trial of a black man falsely accused - and convicted - of raping a white woman.

So you understand why, when I walked into the courtroom, I nearly burst into tears. Tears of joy that a writer could create such a world from the confines of her imagination. Tears of joy that the world she invented a half century ago  still makes its readers laugh, and cry, and rail for justice that still eludes us.

Linking with Amanda.

When History Comes Alive: Listening to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., In His Kitchen

Montgomery, Alabama is a remarkable place: the Confederate States of American was founded here and, less than a block away in the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, the American Civil Rights Movement began. Today, with my friend Meredith and her daughter, Anna, I toured the church and its parsonage, which is at 309 Jackson Street. In 1956, local segregationists had bombed that home, where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. , pastor of the church, was living with his wife and children.


A highlight of our tour was the kitchen, a place where Dr. King said he had a religious epiphany, where he felt Christ's presence, which gave him  the strength to soldier on. He learned that night   to never fear death.

Our docent, Rev. John Wesley Summers, (pictured at left with one of his grandsons) played an audiotape of  King's writing to us as we stood in that kitchen. We were permitted to take pictures in the kitchen, but not in any other room of the house.Listening to Dr. King's words in that kitchen gave me goosebumps; they reminded me that we all belong to Another, that our strength and hope comes from the One who called each of us into being.

Missing Treyvon Martin and Rallying for Civil Rights in Birmingham, Alabama

In downtown Birmingham today, I had hoped to visit the Civil Rights Institute, which documents the struggles of the American Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 1960s. I discovered it is closed on Mondays, as is the Sixteenth Avenue Baptist Church, which the Ku Klux Klan bombed 50 years ago this September 15, killing four young girls.

So instead, I walked through Kelly Ingram Park, across from the institute and encountered some modern-day civil rights activists and had the privilege of talking to a woman who lived in the city when the church was bombed.

Can a Disability Be a Gift? Let's Share Videos about Disabilities

Find a video that you think is especially useful on You Tube or Teacher  Tube  regarding children with disabilities in relation to this course.





This is an assignment I am working on right now. As most of my regular readers know, I am a Special Education teacher and I am the mother of a son who has a language-based learning disability.I also am working toward my master's degree in Special Education. One of my professors this summer is asking her students to find a video online that will help folks understand some aspect of Special Education or of people with disabilities.

Here is the video I chose; I like it because it was produced by a young man with dyslexia.

I would love to hear what videos you have found helpful to understand disabilities or special education!

A Catholic School Closing Hits Close to Home: "May Our Tears Be Turned Into Dancing"

My brother and his wife are raising three children just outside Washington, D.C.  This year, their children's parochial school is closing after 60 years. The school was founded by the Daughters of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul, and became run by lay administrators and teachers about 10 years ago. Nationwide, hundreds of these Catholic elementary schools have closed due to declining enrollment,  secularization and rising costs.

A "Very Safe Place" for Music

Sherri Anderson's mission is to bring music to everyone. She spends her life providing opportunities for children and teens of disparate backgrounds—kids who live in boarding schools or who live in homeless shelters—to make music.

"Sherri sees harmonies that to most of us are hidden," says Professor Jim Wetzel, who holds the St. Augustine Chair at Villanova University, where Anderson recently earned a master's degree in theology. "She is a professional musician and is peculiarly gifted in using music as a way of healing. For her, it's a grace."

Keep Reading over at Patheos!