First Week of Lent 2012

I don't have a cute photo of my kids with crosses of ash but I did learn an interesting little fact on Ash Wednesday. Coming out of Mass, I noticed that my kids' ashes had already worn off and, in fact, almost every body's ashes were gone. When Chris stood in line to talk to the priest about something else, he was present to hear another conversation in which a parishioner joked, "Father, you gave us defective ashes!" Father explained that some parishes use "fake ashes." (I doubt they're really fake, as I imagine that they're burned something). Those are very black and stay on for hours and hours: I've definitely received that kind some years. (One time, even, I was in a grocery store after Mass and a fallen away Catholic rushed up to me, asking if today was Ash Wednesday, could she go to Mass, was there a nearby parish, and what were the times? What a good thing that was!) But Father said that authentic ashes, made from last year's burned blessed palms, mixed with blessed oil, don't stick very well. Who knew?!

My kids are liking doing the Holy Heroes Lenten Adventure (free, you can still sign up!), but it took a couple of days for them to understand that they would not be receiving a chocolate every morning after doing the Adventure . . . like they had opening their Advent calendar!

On Saturday, I was privileged to attend the Charlotte Catholic Women's Group annual Lenten retreat, which lasts a half day. That is about the right length, I think, for mothers of young ones, which many of us are. Right now I just don't see how I could manage a weekend retreat away, especially with a nursing baby. The nun who was the speaker this year introduced us to St. Teresa Avila's "The Interior Castle," which is about the development of the soul through seven stages. That spiritual classic has been on my list to read since I became a Catholic almost seven years ago. The speaker reduced down this meaty work and explained the basics of the first three stages of a soul's advancement. She was engaging, humorous, and bright. I found the retreat to be deeply inspiring for me and I came away feeling so excited.

And Miss Margaret, who came along with me, did beautifully. She didn't utter one cry from 8:00 a.m. till 3:00 p.m., something that doesn't even happen in the comfort of her own home! She slept on my back through the Mass, toddled around quietly and happily during the first talk and during most of the Adoration hour (when I just stayed in the gymnasium), rode on my back during lunch, and napped on my back during the second talk. Such a gift from God, that's what I believe.

I will share with you what I believe was God nudging me until he just about knocked me over. In fact, as the nun that day explained, God communicates directly at times (e.g., by reading his Word in Scripture, or by miraculous communication), and indirectly most of the time (e.g., when one can feel God's truth through a sermon or through someone else speaking). This was God communicating indirectly with me, I believe!

I was not going to attempt any Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament because a potentially loud toddler has no place amidst two hundered silent women (many of whom are finally getting a break from their noisy toddlers!) trying to adore Jesus in the Real Presence. I let Margaret walk around the gymnasium while I followed her around, waiting for the hour of Adoration to be over. It did occur to me that I could go adore Jesus from the vestibule behind glass, with the baby toddling around, and it wouldn't be less of adoration but I told myself, "Oh, don't be stupid, Katherine, just do your duties to the baby."

Then Chris and I checked in with each other by phone and he immediately said, "Aren't there any ladies there that you know? (Yes.) Well, go find M---- and ask her to watch Margaret." I said I surely didn't want to interrupt her very special Adoration time. Chris replied, "She will thank you for interrupting her for this."

Chris knows how much I hate to ask for help. I hate it because it makes me small and not independent. Hate it. (If it's not obvious, I realize that this is a bad spiritual vice of mine.)

So I trudged over to the church and peered inside, only to find dear M----, whom I trust implicitly with my children, almost next in line for Confession. 'Ah, see, I can't interrupt her now!'

But then I thought that I should at least try adoring from the cry rooms (which have glass looking into the church). I marched into one darkened cry room only to realized instantly that Father was hearing Confessions and one can hear his voice audibly from the adjoining cry room. Ooops! So I turned on my heel and zipped right out of there. I walked across the way to the second cry room only to discover that it was full of a bridal party getting ready for the wedding in two hours!

I thought, "Well, see God, I tried."

So I stood in the vestibule just waiting till Adoration was over, a buzz of wedding workers around me. Then a woman whom I've met a few times came out of the church, made a beeline for me, and said, "I'm so glad you have your baby with you. You know, if she gets fussy at any time, I'm sure there would be plenty of arms ready to hold her."

Immediately I knew God was speaking to me and that we are the body of Christ, those arms would be the arms of Christ, and that I was supposed to ask her to watch my baby. Did I do so?

Noooooooooo.

Oh, thank you, polite thank you, nod, smile. She left.

One minute later, now a woman who was a perfect stranger to me came out of the church, made a beeline for me, and, after complimenting my cute baby, asked, "May I watch her for you so you can go in to Adoration?"

'Okay God, I get it. Thanks for the two-by-four.' So, I left my baby with a stranger and went (ten feet away, separated by a glass door through which I could watch) into the church for the last ten minutes of Adoration . . . which I admit was very nice and good.

All in all, a very fruitful retreat!