Cottage Blessings

Two readings

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Agnes and Theresa lectored at our parish family Mass this morning. They have read publicly before--two Christmas pageants, my father's funeral, their baby sister's Baptism--but this was the first time the girls read together at a Sunday Mass.

I sat in the front row watching intently as my daughters stepped forward one by one. Theresa began with a passage from the book of Hosea, her ten-year-old voice ringing with almost musical clarity:

"Thus says the Lord: I will lead her into the desert and speak to her heart. She shall respond there as in the days of her youth. . . . "

Theresa appeared so poised and self-assured that my heart beat with gratitude for something I rarely give even a moment's thought--the privilege of having been there to teach her to read and the opportunity to witness the fruits of our efforts. Hosea's words, spoken by that familiar, beloved voice, echoed my tacit and ceaseless prayer as a mother--that I may "speak to her heart" and that Theresa and her siblings "respond there" always.

Agnes came next, discreetly tucking the superfluous stepping stool under the podium before presenting the passage from St. Paul's Second Letter to the Corinthians:

"Brothers and sisters: Do we need, as some do, letters of recommendation to you or from you? You are our letter, written on our hearts, known and read by all, shown to be a letter of Christ ministered to us, written not in ink but by the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets that are hearts of flesh."

Listening to Agnes speak St. Paul's metaphor, it occurred to me that his words articulate the only truly indispensable aspiration of home education. Our children must be a "letter of Christ ministered to us" so that "the Spirit of the living God" be written "on tablets that are hearts of flesh." How difficult it is to keep sight of this during the daily demands and details of our bustling days, but, as St. Paul says,"Such confidence we have through Christ toward God. Not that of ourselves we are qualified to take credit for anything as coming from us; rather our qualification comes from God."

The Catechism teaches that marital "love extends to the fruits of the moral, spiritual, and supernatural life that parents hand on to their children by education." CCC Sect. 1653. Home education is an immense task, but, as always, God does not leave us to scale the mountain alone. He bears us up by His gift of grace so that we may provide a home that is "the first school of Christian life and a 'school for human enrichment'" where children "learn[] endurance and the joy of work, fraternal love, generous--even repeated--forgiveness, and above all divine worship in prayer and the offering of one's life." CCC Sect. 1657.

The youthful lectors at this morning's Mass beamed in my direction at the end of both readings, their faces alight with the pleasure of having completed a task well done. Little did they know they had just presented a Catechism lesson their mother hopes never to forget.

Once upon a time

"If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales."

--Albert Einstein

We picked up a beautiful array of Hans Christian Anderson illustrated fairy tales at the library this morning and spent a quiet afternoon reading our favorites and admiring the appealing artwork. One of the things I like best about sharing old fairy tales is the strong religious faith evident in so many of them. In Anderson's "The Little Mermaid," for example, the mermaid desires with all her heart to become a human because, unlike her kind who may expect to live a few hundred years, human beings possess an immortal soul and the potential to reach Heaven.

This is a bit of the text from the original version:

"'If human beings are not drowned,' asked the little mermaid, 'can they live forever? Do they never die as we do here in the sea?'

"'Yes,' replied [her grandmother], 'they must also die, and their term of life is even shorter than ours. We sometimes live to three hundred years, but when we cease to exist here we only become the foam on the surface of the water, and we have not even a grave down here of those we love. We have not immortal souls, we shall never live again; but, like the green sea-weed, when once it has been cut off, we can never flourish more. Human beings on the contrary, have a soul which lives forever, lives after the body has been turned to dust. It rises up through the clear, pure air beyond the glittering stars. As we rise out of the water, and behold all the land of the earth, so do they rise to unknown and glorious regions which we shall never see.'

"'Why have we not an immortal soul?' asked the little mermaid mournfully. 'I would give gladly all the hundreds of years that I have to live, to be a human being only for one day, and to have the hope of knowing the happiness of that glorious world above the stars.'"

Check the shelves for these Hans Christian Anderson titles on your next library visit:

The Snow Queen, illustrated by P.J. Lynch

The Tinderbox, adapted and illustrated by Barry Moser (post civil war version)

The Nightingale, retold by Stephen Mitchell

The Steadfast Tin Soldier, illustrated by Thomas Di Grazia

Thumbelina, illustrated by Arlene Graston

Living Poetry--The Northwest Passage

We have always enjoyed Robert Lewis Stevenson's A Child's Garden of Verses, but years ago, I realized my young ones were listening to "The Northwest Passage" without half grasping its meaning. With evenings illuminated by electric lamps and a house warmed by central heat, my modern girls could not begin to imagine the eerie experience a simple trip up the stairs might have been for children of another age.

One twilight, we read the poem and waited expectantly--not switching on a single light--as darkness descended upon the house. Suddenly, "the sunless hours," barely noticed in the past, took on a measure of significance for them. The girls huddled close to me as the last rays of dusk died down and tittered with excitement as I lit one small candle. Shadows danced and glinted on the walls, and the windows mirrored back the lonesome light. We all stood up to look around, and for the first time noticed "our pictures painted as we pass, like pictures, on the window glass."

Moments later, I announced that it was time to walk upstairs to their room. Knowing it would enhance the experience for the others, seven-year-old Agnes pointedly objected to the notion of ascending the gloomy staircase with only the feeble candle to light our way. Her younger sisters cried out excitedly, "That's just how the child in the poem felt!" Holding hands and following the flickering candle, it was easy to see what Stevenson meant when he wrote that the jet-black night, "crawls in the corners, hiding from the light" and "moves with the moving flame." With each new step, we could plainly see, "the shadow of the balusters, the shadow of the lamp, the shadow of the child that goes to bed--all the wicked shadows coming, tramp, tramp, tramp, with the black night overhead."

Reaching the top landing, the girls could just make out the door to their room at the far end of the hall. Light escaped through the crack near the floor, and the intrepid older two could not resist running ahead to fling it open. To their surprise, I had left all the lights in that one room burning, so they would "come from out the cold and gloom into [their] warm and cheerful room" where they found a tray of milk and cookies waiting on the craft table.

Simple as it was, "The Northwest Passage" instantly rose in the ranks to one of their all-time favorite poems. Twelve year old Agnes passed by earlier as I typed the text of the poem for this post and beamed, "Remember the time we climbed the stairs with the candle?"

Indeed I do--and I am delighted that she does too!

*******
The Northwest Passage

I. Good Night

WHEN the bright lamp is carried in,
The sunless hours again begin;
O’er all without, in field and lane,
The haunted night returns again.

Now we behold the embers flee
About the firelit hearth; and see
Our pictures painted as we pass,
Like pictures, on the window-glass.

Must we to bed indeed? Well, then,
Let us arise and go like men,
And face with an undaunted tread
The long black passage up to bed.

Farewell, O brother, sister, sire!
O pleasant party round the fire!
The songs you sing, the tales you tell,
Till far to-morrow, fare ye well!

II. Shadow March

ALL round the house is the jet-black night;
It stares through the window-pane;
It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light,
And it moves with the moving flame.

Now my little heart goes a-beating like a drum,
With the breath of Bogie in my hair,
And all round the candle the crooked shadows come,
And go marching along up the stair.

The shadow of the balusters, the shadow of the lamp,
The shadow of the child that goes to bed—
All the wicked shadows coming, tramp, tramp, tramp,
With the black night overhead.

II. In Port

LAST, to the chamber where I lie
My fearful footsteps patter nigh,
And come from out the cold and gloom
Into my warm and cheerful room.

There, safe arrived, we turn about
To keep the coming shadows out,
And close the happy door at last
On all the perils that we past.

Then, when mamma goes by to bed,
She shall come in with tip-toe tread,
And see me lying warm and fast
And in the Land of Nod at last.

(From "A Child's Garden of Verses" by Robert Louis Stevenson)

A Woman of Faith

Emily on the CCM list posted a link to the website of Rebecca Dussault, an Olympic skier with devotion to Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati and a passion for the Catholic Faith. At the top of her list of ambitions, Rebecca writes, "To live heroic virtue and become a Saint" and "Have several more children and educate them at home."

I will be cheering for her as she hits the slopes in Pragelato, Italy to represent our country in the 2006 Winter Games.

It's never too early to begin a caffeine addiction

Baby Maureen: Mommy, I tired.

Me (very surprised): Really?

Maureen: Yes. I need chocolate.

Preparing for St. Patrick's Day

Several weeks ago, the girls were playing with Sculpey clay, and I found myself creating a small thatched cottage reminiscent of the one on a music box my grandmother used to have. The children admired it, but it needed a green background, perhaps a small map of Ireland.

That night, on the internet, we discovered a source for cookie cutters in the shape of Ireland, not to mention a large Celtic Cross. Our Sculpey palette included: Ivory (501), Lt. Blue Pearl (1103), Tan (301), Emerald (323), Black, Yellow, and one other lighter shade of green. (You bakers out there might prefer to make these as cookies with marzipan embellishments!) The photos below show a step-by-step guide to these quick and easy projects:

Margaret's Projects

Eight year old Margaret put her own unique stamp on the venture, creating these four beauties. Hers have tall spired churches as the centerpiece. On a day like today, I especially appreciate her snow scene:

Under Our Lady's Mantle

I just couldn't resist posting this image of the perfect day--blue skies and a blanket of white!

Mathematics and the One True God

"He took him outside and said: 'Look up at the sky and count the stars, if you can. Just so,' He added, 'shall your descendants be." Genesis 15:5

When God spoke these words of hope and promise to Abraham, He used mathematics as a way of revealing Himself and His generosity. And well He might. As the author of the universe, God is the creator of Mathematics, the originator of the majestic order governing all of His creation.

This afternoon, I spent time enjoying the spectacle of countless snowflakes swirling through the air and swelling in drifts as far as the eye could see. Each of these flakes obeyed the laws of mathematics in its wild and windswept descent to earth. Examined individually, most also would display a distinct pattern of hexagonal symmetry, each a mathematical marvel in itself.

As we approach the subject of math with our children, we should remember to point out the hand of our Creator in mathematical truths. Observing the paths of the planets, the curve of a nautilus shell, tesselations in fish scales, fractals in ferns, and the ripples in a reflective pool are a few of the many ways to recognize Mathematics as the thumbprint of God. Even the more mundane math lessons--addition and subtraction, multiplication and division--possess an undeniable beauty and order, a dim reflection of the flawlessness of God and His laws for the universe.

The mathematics behind a snowstorm may appear hidden at first, yet it is there all the same. So it is with God Himself, as Abraham learned so many years ago.

The Easter Vigil

"It is truly right that with full hearts and minds and voices we should praise the unseen God, the all-powerful Father, and His only Son, our Lord Jesus Christ."

--from the Exsultet

Ash Wednesday is fast approaching, and we are looking forward to spending time this Lenten Season re-visiting our Easter Vigil Notebook projects from last year. Now is the perfect time to plan and gather materials, especially binders and sheet protectors.