Terrible Twos (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest Blogger Wednesday. :) My freshly-turned 3-year-old is going through a delayed version of the terrible twos.  It’s possible that these frequent meltdowns can be partially attributed to the fact that we took her pacifier away at the beginning of the summer so she no longer has her instant calming aid to take the edge off.  Or it might just be her feisty personality which isn’t so very different from her Mommy’s and Daddy’s.  Whatever the case, it is exhausting me!  She gets upset about everything:  if her shorts are crooked or I select the wrong show on Netflix or I put the wrong floaty on her at the pool and so on and so on.  One never knows what will tip her over the edge.  As I slumped on the couch during her most recent tirade, I was struck by the fact that God must get so tired of MY constant tantrums. I get so easily annoyed, angry, frustrated or stressed out.  I was watching the movie Crash for the second time (thought-provoking movie…well done) and found myself relating to Sandra Bullock’s character when she was admitting to her friend that she is always angry at someone or something. 

My husband laughs at me when I get angry because I mutter under my breath as I am chucking laundry into the washing machine or slamming silverware into the dishwasher.  Just like my 3-year- old, one never knows what will set me off:  ungrateful kids, a messy room, a classmate who makes fun of my child, a coach who doesn’t tap into my child’s potential, a family member with different standards of disciplining, a neighbor who wants us to  move our basketball hoop, a teacher who gives too much homework, a priest who does not make me feel welcome, a TV station that shows inappropriate ads, a government that prohibits religious freedom, a husband who doesn’t unroll his shirt sleeves when he throws them in the hamper.  Oh, there are so very many things that have the potential to irritate me.  So I slosh my dishes and slam my washer and whine to no one in particular.  In fact, I try not to complain to others.  I know better than to spread the negative poison so I convince myself that my irritations are justified, and I am only verbalizing them to my husband or a friend/family member here and there.  No big deal.  Ohhhhh, but it is.  I am allowing these negative thoughts to take root. 

I remember hearing an analogy once about impure thoughts: they are like birds and we should just let them fly over our heads.  It’s only if we allow the bird to build a nest in our hair that the thoughts become a problem.  The same can be said for negativity.  When I get angry or annoyed and allow myself to stay that way, feeling quite justified, it’s like I am putting up a sign on my forehead that says “hey, bird, build your nest here!”  I need to start heeding the advice I so freely give my 3-year-old (and 9 yr. old and 12 yr. old):  “If you can’t say something nice, (or positive or edifying) don’t say anything at all.”  That’s one of my Dad’s gems.  Next time I have a tantrum, I should put myself in timeout.  No, that sounds too relaxing.  Maybe I should just lose a privilege.  Or keep it really basic and simply say a prayer…right then and there…for the irritating person or frustrating situation.  Give it to God and then move on.  Let the bird fly right over my head.  I would feel much lighter without all this negativity weighing me down…. And I would certainly smell better too.

From The Desire of Being Loved (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest Blogger Wednesday :)
Pride.  One of the Seven Deadly Sins.  Often the root of many other sins.  Also, one of the easiest temptations to succumb to.  I have always been a prideful person, I am embarrassed to admit.  Internally, that is.  My parents did an excellent job teaching us to not be outwardly prideful. “Don’t flaunt your grades.” “Don’t toot your own horn. If someone else does the tooting, be humble and gracious in your response.”  But I confess that while I am quick to admit my weaknesses and failure, I do find pleasure in the things I do well.  In the past, I would have prided myself in achieving good grades, having a lot of friends, or winning student government elections.  Now I tend to take pride in my commitment to mothering (notice I didn’t say ‘being a good mother’) or in the positive traits my children may exhibit.  Even writing this blog can become a prideful temptation.  Of course, in God’s great wisdom, parenting is also the source of greatest humility for me, as I tend to take it personally whenever one of my children behaves in a less than noble manner in a public setting (see previous blog re: kids climbing on the roof).  The bickering, meanness, disobedience or whininess can all be sources of frustration for my husband and I who are working so hard to raise them in a Godly manner.  Letting go and allowing them to experience growing pains, make poor choices and learn from their mistakes is a real challenge for this prideful mother. 

I also struggle with my pride when I am not given credit for something good I may have done, or on the flip side, am possibly thought ill of for something I did not do.  I worry far too much about what other people think.  One silly but real example occurred after my two littlest ones spent some time away at my in-laws.  They were so unselfish and compassionate to give this gift of babysitting, and at one point were excitedly sharing how they had taught my 1 yr. old to go backwards down the stairs.  This was a skill I had been working on with Elly in the weeks prior to the journey to Nana’s.  Instead of swallowing my pride and allowing my in-laws a tiny bit of pleasure in their accomplishment, I had to blurt out that I had already been teaching her to do this.  I was completely annoyed with myself as the words were spitting forth from my mouth.  Pride, pride, pride.  Small incidents but great opportunities for humility … or pride … to surface depending on how we handle it.  Of course, the ultimate irony is being victorious in a moment and not allowing pride to rear its ugly head, only to find myself feeling prideful that I was so humble!

The point is that I desire to be a humble person, doing what I am called to do without need for affirmation and acknowledgement.  Part of being truly humble also means recognizing my gifts and talents and thanking God for them.  My spiritual director recently gave me a prayer that I have not uttered for a long time titled “Litany of Humility.”  It includes such lines as “From the desire of being praised, deliver me Jesus…. That in the opinion of the world, others may increase and I may decrease.”  Difficult words to say let alone to really mean.  All I can do is try.  So I will embrace the moments when my boys are openly calling each other names and fighting in the front yard as a result of heated neighborhood football game or when my family doesn't notice my efforts to clean their rooms or unpack their suitcases.  God knows the good and the bad and loves me even when others may not.  That is ultimately all that matters.

Eucharist (by Diane Gallagher)

(Guest blogger Wednesday:) We just returned from a wonderful family vacation with my parents, most of my siblings, and their families in the breathtaking Smokey Mountains.  What a week – lots of giggles tubing down the river, lots of exercise hiking in the mountains and biking through the coves, lots of sights to behold from waterfalls to bears.  There was zip-lining and white water rafting, go carting and dance parties (an impromptu music fest in the basement of our 35 person house). So much fun was had, but if I was going to be perfectly honest, one of the activities that I enjoyed / appreciated / looked forward to the most each day was daily Mass on the deck overlooking the mountains celebrated by my brother, Fr. Rich Toohey. I think one of the reasons this was such a treasured gift for me is because I don’t get to daily Mass at home these days.  This used to be part of my regular routine when I was single and even in the early days of my marriage.  It became a bigger challenge when I first had babies, but I would still get there a couple times a week.  Now I am lucky if I attend the Friday school liturgies in addition to Sunday Mass.  My attempts to get there were causing stress and tension so I realized a couple years ago that it may not be the season for this.  But I miss it.  There is something about the simplicity of daily Mass that I love…the smaller crowds, the quiet.  Most importantly, I miss receiving the daily Eucharist that nourishes my weary soul. 

I turn to so many other things to refresh me or keep me centered including good, old fashioned prayer,  exercise, fellowship, coffee, “the Voice,”J , but I don’t prioritize the Eucharist on a more frequent basis any more because it has become too hard.  Whatever happened to the ole “no pain, no gain” mentality?  It applies for my physical AND spiritual well being.  Our Tennessee vacation reminded me of this truth.  Receiving the Eucharist is absolutely the closest I can be to Jesus.  The more I receive Him, the more I can become like Him – and heaven knows (and my family knows) I need this transformation. 

I remember a friend of mine sharing that he had been in a state of depression.  He was a tough guy who did not seem prone to tears, but he admitted that he would be sitting on his bed staring at the wall and sobbing.  He didn't know why.  I can’t remember how long he suffered in this way or how he came to the next step… I just remember what he finally did that helped him crawl out of this hole.  He began to attend daily Mass.  Now I am not suggesting that Mass is a good luck charm that will outwardly solve all of our problems.  I do realize, however, that only the Lord who created me can truly give my heart what it needs for true peace and joy.  St. Augustine asserted that “my heart is restless until it rests in God.”  Sure, a glass of wine can be a nice balm at the end of a stressful day and a challenging workout on the elliptical can relieve my physical stress but nothing will bring me the long lasting peace and strength that Jesus gives me in the Eucharist.  I NEED to make this a priority in my life again.  Hopefully, by making this public, I will feel more accountable and actually make this a reality.  Being a huge fan of the Olympics, I enjoyed watching an interview with Michael Phelps yesterday after he broke the record for the number of Olympic medals received.  The newsman was focusing on the fact that Phelps did not train as hard these past 4 years and was consequently not receiving all gold medals as he had done in the past.  This struck me as I reflected on the Eucharist in preparing this blog.  I say that I want to be a good and holy wife and mother…but I don’t want to put the effort into the things that will allow me to do this.   I am grateful my brother gave me the gift of the daily Eucharist last week, and I hope that I can have the dedication to my vocation as those Olympic athletes have to theirs…..and do whatever I need to do, primarily to receive the Eucharist as often as possible, so that I can be the wife and mother God has created me to be.  No pain, no gain.

Into the wee hours of the night...

  Crickets chirping, fireflies floating, full moons hanging low over silhouetted trees, bonfires, campfires, marshmallows on fire- (yup...like mine black), these are just some of the treasures of a summer night.

  This summer has seen my eldest son teaching himself to play the guitar (acoustic- but just bought an electric...with an amp).  I have no complaints there- actually it's AWESOME to have music permeating the house, porch, and even the side yard on occasion.  And what's really a bonus is that he's very good;)  And I don't think that's just the "Mama Love" talkin'.

  Yesterday, my son revealed the result of a bunch of wadded up paper balls littering his bedroom floor- his first COMPOSITION (that was actually written out and planned.)  I loved it!!  I had seen his sample titles and knew he was going for a "Summer" kind of feel...so I, being the good mother and lover of words, immediately began to string a few lines together.  I was halfway through my second rendition, trying to demonstrate how cool it was to sing about our recent vacation to Cook Forest, when he said, "Mom, don't waste your breath.  I'm not trying to be mean but have you noticed most of your songs are for old people.  They kinda sound like John Denver."  Well, he couldn't have paid me a better compliment.  "John Denver is a total inspiration to me!" I responded, thrilled he had picked up a similar vibe between Mr. D and me.  "Yeah, Mom- uh, I know- that's what I mean."

  Whatever... He thinks I write like John Denver!! 

  Ok, I am well aware the general population won't admit their absolute respect and admiration for Mr. Denver's lyrical genius- I can handle that.  I don't mind being brave in my proclamation that J.D. (God rest His soul) was AWESOME, uplifting, and created a peaceful haven that allowed the beauty of nature to inspire listeners.  And THAT my friends is the essence of simplicity: to experience beauty then write about it.  Let the music flow to give background to what inspired the words.  Or write words to express the beauty that flows out through the lilting chords- it's all good!

  Back to my opening paragraph about the crickets etc... the simple joys and sounds of summer have been a balm for my soul during my hiatus from this blog.  Sure there's the distinct chaotic "music" that echos from our windows letting the neighbors know summer is here--that music being the bellows resembling a tuba, followed by loud clashes that could nearly sound like cymbals...yes, my children are not in school.  Yet, all symphonies need their orchestra Maestro.  And that being me- I've decided to treat that position with prestige.  Time to plan trips to the local nature center, bike rides through the park, lounging at the pool, and watermelon feasts to treat the sweet tooth.  I've been reconnecting with what my family needs- FUN!  And even as I'm writing into the wee hours of the night here...with the hum of the dishwasher vying for a seat in the cricket symphony I'm reflecting on this recent evening of "Game Night".  Tonight we had Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, and Siblings gathered round our large, oval, oak table playing the new game, PIT,  discovered during our week in Cook Forest.  If you are fond of games I recommend you go online and order this now- seriously- it's addictive- BUT I wasn't singing about it in my son's song...even I have boundaries. 

So, let me know:
                      1. If you are a John Denver fan (openly or secretive)
                      2.  Have you ever played Pit--do you LOVE it?
                   

Pilgrimage (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest Blogger Wednesday!  I’ve been reading this awesome book called To The Field of Stars by Fr. Kevin Codd.  It is about this man’s pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in Spain where, legend has it, that the bones of St. James the Greater are buried.  Pilgrims from every walk of life, age, ethnic background and religion journey together through mountains and wheat fields, blazing sun and torrential rain, with blisters and pulled tendons and back aches to reach the tomb of St. James.  It is a book that has really moved me as I am a big fan of travel and new adventures, especially in the name of spiritual growth.  As I’ve been reading, I’ve begun to mentally plan my trip to Spain:  when will I go?  With whom?  It has stirred up the ole “wanderlust” spirit within, and I have gotten excited about the potential trip. 

Yesterday, I was having an emotionally challenging day.  I was exhausted and having a little pity party for myself.  As I was rocking my fussy, fidgety 1 yr. old in an attempt to lull her to sleep, I began to daydream about this pilgrimage to Spain.  I was rudely brought back to reality when a couple of my supposedly sleeping children began to cry for me down the hall.  “Moooooommmy….I’m scared!”  “My toe hurts!”  We were already getting them all to bed later than we like (that dang summer schedule!) so my patience was worn thin.  I began to have an internal temper tantrum.  I just wanted them to all go to sleep so I could wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen that had been left in a whirlwind as we ran off to pick boys 2 and 3 up from camp (see footnote).  “I can’t do this,” I internally cried to myself, when I heard a whisper deep in my soul – reminding me, challenging me – that THIS was my pilgrimage.  Ugh.  Spain is so much more exciting!  But a true pilgrim perseveres when the going gets tough and endures all kinds of adverse conditions that others would look at and ask “why would any sane person want to go through that?”  I imagine people look at my husband and I with our 7 kids and have the same thoughts.  Pilgrims travel because they believe in the journey…and so do I.  I have days that are so challenging I want to crawl into a hole and escape.  Then there are days that are rewarding and remind me it’s all worth the pain.  I may not get blisters and pulled tendons, but my back certainly aches from carting the baby and laundry and groceries around.  I do have the aches and pains of a pilgrim mother who is journeying toward heaven, and hoping her kids follow.  It may not be as glamorous as Spain, but I believe that this destination will be more worthwhileJ 

As I reflected on all of this, I paged through the dictionary to find the official definition of pilgrimage:  “journey of a pilgrim to a sacred place” and “the course of life on earth.”  I had never thought of my life as a pilgrimage before.  Guess I was wrong.  Bring on the blisters and blazing sun… bring on the crying babies and messy kitchen.  I’m a pilgrim on one exciting journey right here in Erie, PA!

Footnote:  In his book, Fr. Codd shares about the struggles and crosses of the pilgrimage and how refreshing it is when a fellow pilgrim or a kind outsider performs an act of kindness toward you – massaging your feet or tending to a nasty blister, for example.  That night, my husband was that kind fellow pilgrim.  He, too, had an exhausting day but was downstairs doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen while I put the kids to sleep.  Indeed, a very welcome and pleasant surprise for my weary bonesJ