Look Alikes

In case anybody wondered where Mary gets her looks . . .

Chris (Daddy), age 3, and Mary (daughter), age 3

John Francis' First Holy Communion

On Sunday April 28, 2013, our firstborn, John Francis, received his First Holy Communion! What a joyous day! Family who joined us were Grandmom and Pop-Pops from Georgia, Grampa Neil from California, and Aunt Erica from Oregon. The beloved godparents would have just about moved heaven and earth to be there, but had a (good) family matter come up that kept them at home.

Source of holy cards: click here

Fifty-seven of the children received their First Holy Communion on Saturday at the Mass specifically for them. I took John to church that day to have individual photos taken and to join his classmates for the official group photo.

John is in the front row, second in from the left

Three of the children had elected to receive at the Latin Mass on Sunday, the subsequent day.

John, Katherine, and Noah with Fr. Reid

Family photo after Mass

It was a stretch for me to keep 25-month-old Margaret in Mass the whole hour-and-a-half--and in the front pew no less! But I didn't want to miss a moment, so Grandmom and I worked hard to keep her quiet and entertained. Memorable moments were when she broke out singing the Wonder Pets theme song during the Consecration and when she heard the bells marking moments of the Consecration and she echoed with her words, "ding dong! ding dong!" . . . just in case we hadn't heard those bells.

Another incident I considered fondly as a "mom moment" was during the Mass when I glanced down at my only pair of nice shoes: light tan leather pumps I bought to be my Mass shoes. I noticed they were now speckled, like a leopard print, and I was momentarily confused. Then I remembered that an entire week ago, a child had dropped a cup of chocolate milk on my feet and, in all my busy-ness, I had yet to clean off my shoes, thus their being leopard printed now!

The three communicants' families held a reception in the parish hall after Mass. About sixty people joined us and it was a lovely, warm celebration.

The exquisite cake: what a baker! I highly recommend her: my local friends may contact me for her name, if interested. The decoration was beautiful and the cake itself was moist and delicious.

The First Holy Communion-themed cookies made by a new company called Sweet Celeste. I recommend this company highly: they did a fabulous job, and they tithe on their profits to organizations that support pro-life or Down Syndrome endeavors.

Fr. Reid talking to the children

Auntie Erica, teary at Father's meaningful words: She will scold me for posting this (lovely!) picture of her, but it turns out to be the only photo I have of her from that most special day!

Receiving Holy Communion does not mean one is too old to play with trucks!

After the reception at church, we returned home and enjoyed dinner with one other family that joined us.

The menu: hot dogs and hamburgers, potato salad, coleslaw, green salad, macaroni and cheese, chips, and grapes.

The cake: layers of ice cream sandwiches, Cool Whip, and crushed Oreo cookies

Audrey, John, and Ariana

John ended up opening his gifts over several days, which was so much more peaceful than doing it "birthday party style." Since each gift was holy and meaningful, it worked better that each gift-giver was able to pull John aside at a quiet moment and give him his gift, to talk through what it meant.

Mary wrote this card for John: I realized that I have been looking at a lot of young children's writings as I was able to decipher her writing "First Communion" right away!

Come Meet My Priest

I don't think I've heard Catholics use this phrase, but Protestants certainly will refer to "my home church," meaning the first church into which they converted or were raised. I still refer to St. Stephen's the First Martyr parish as "my parish" and Fr. John M. Berg, FSSP, as "my priest."

I am an adult convert to Catholicism and I tell just a little bit of my story here in hopes that even more people will register to attend Fr. Berg's reflection here in Charlotte on Thursday, May 2 (register here for the free event).

Fr. John M. Berg, FSSP

I converted to Protestant Christianity around 25 years old (and there is a lengthy story encapsulated in those nine words). Later my beloved Aunt Erica was in the midst of converting from Protestantism to Catholicism and I was very worried for her soul. I began researching the Roman Catholic Church in order to rescue her, to stop her from converting. I started with "Catholicism for Dummies" to get the most broad information: honestly, this was not a bad book! It remains on my shelf and I recently looked through it again, sure that with my now excellent catechesis, I'd find it fraught with errors, but it is straightforward but neither superficial nor misleading. 

From that bright yellow book, I proceeded to read the Early Church Fathers. I told myself that I would not judge the Catholic Church on its people, many of whom are stumbling sinners (including myself), but only on its official teaching. Over the months, I read most of the entries in this free online collection of writings by the Church Fathers.

We're getting closer to meeting Fr. Berg . . . 

I was extremely distressed that everything I read by these pillars of the earliest Christian community looked like they were describing the Catholic Church of today, not any of the Protestant denominations I could see. I sought high and low for someone to convince me why not to convert. I fought my conversion to Catholicism far more than I fought my conversion from nothing-New Age-paganism-worldliness to Protestantism. I went to many Protestant experts, pastors, leaders to try to show me why Catholicism was wrong and none of them could.

My aunt was coming to town to visit and I knew that, as a Catholic, she now had this rule that she had to attend an actual Mass, not my worship service. I inquired of my boss (a Catholic, and the man who later introduced me to my husband) where we could attend a Mass that was fairly orthodox and traditional. After joking, "Well, then, not my parish!" he asked around and sent us to St. Stephens because "they say the Mass in Latin." I didn't know any phrases like old Mass, Latin Mass, Traditional Latin Mass, or the new label Extraordinary Form of the Mass . . . but my aunt and I thought Latin would be a fascinating blast to the past, so we went.

When we walked out of the Mass, my aunt had a thought she kept quiet: "Katherine is going to become a Catholic and this is going to be her parish." This was a shocking thought if you looked at me (law school student at the time) and then looked at our surroundings where all the women wore long skirts and chapel veils and were gilded with a dozen children whom they home-schooled!

I wandered into the bookstore because how could I not, right? There I got to talking with T---, the owner, and when she heard that I was exploring Catholicism in order to rescue my aunt from it, she said, "Wait right here!" She dashed off and came back with the pastor: Fr. Berg. Only later did I realize that what he did was extraordinary: he left that long line of parishioners who stand outside after Mass waiting to shake hands and say hello to the priest in order to meet me . . . to find that lost sheep wandering in the dale.

Fr. Berg stood chatting with me in the bookstore for a good ten minutes and then offered that if I wanted any catechesis, I could meet with him in his office for one-on-one talks, even once per week.

Now, I know my fellow Catholics have their jaws hanging open because you know how short-staffed we are with priests. Most priests don't even teach their parish RCIA courses, and those are to large groups. To receive individual catechesis in this day and age is nearly unheard of.

At the beginning of my meetings with Fr. Berg (when I was fighting Catholicism and had not yet met Chris), Father told me one day, "I shouldn't say this but within two years, you will be Catholic, be married, and have a child." 

He was right.

The infamous binder

We began meeting for one hour weekly. I'd spend all week researching a topic and writing it up in my binder, "Comparison of Catholicism and Protestantism." Each week, I'd march into Father's office and announce that this week I had him, I'd prove him wrong, and he'd probably have to stop being a priest. Each week he smiled kindly and refuted perfectly what I presented him.

Index of topics

Finally after months and months of this, Fr. Berg said with a twinge of exasperation, "Katherine! When are you going to stop trying to convince me and let me catechize you?" From then on, I let him give me a proper catechesis, in an orderly fashion.

I wrote in a detailed outline with many source citations (Scripture, Catholic Church documents, saints' writings, Canon Law) and analysis of Latin, Greek, and Hebrew Scripture.

Fr. Berg playing one of his famous games of kickball with his Altar Guild at St. Stephens

Meanwhile, I was introduced to Chris who lived 3,000 miles away. That is a long story in and of itself, but I will simply share Fr. Berg's part in it: When Chris flew to meet me for the first time, I wanted a Catholic man to "vet" him for me. Still ignorant of just how busy priests are, I approached Father and asked him, "Would you please join me on my first date with this gentleman and ask him some questions to determine if he is a worthy man, a good Catholic worth courting?" Fr. Berg said 'yes' immediately.

You can imagine the scene as Chris and I, having just met in person, sat waiting in the bar of a very posh hotel, surrounding by business people, and in walked a traditional priest in his flowing cassock to join us. We had a wonderful meeting and Fr. Berg said Chris was a good guy.

Later Chris had a private meeting with Father Berg to ask, "Just how long is this catechism going to take? I want to propose to this girl!" You see, I love academics and I'd have continued those hour-long weekly meetings for as long as I was allowed, year in and year out! Fr. Berg got the hint and put an end-point to my catechesis and set a date for my Conditional Baptism, First Confession, Confirmation, and First Communion.

However, Fr. Berg did not get to administer my sacraments as he was transferred to the Priestly Fraternity of St. Peter's North American seminary to teach for a year, on his way to being elected as the General Superior. I cannot tell you the tears I cried when I found out I was losing "my" priest.

We timed our visit back to California when Fr. Berg got to visit his old parish a couple of years later where he met three-month-old John. The prophecy that I'd be Catholic, married, and a mother within two years was fulfilled almost to the day. 

Can anyone guess who John's namesake is?

Fr. Berg is an amazing priest and I wrote all of this ONLY to make him seem a little more human than simply "the General Superior of the FSSP," in hopes that my local readers will join us for Father's reflection (sign up here). He is coming all the way from Switzerland to our little town of Charlotte, where we don't even have an FSSP apostolate for him to visit, in order to visit with our diocesan priests, give the people a reflection, socialize with us at a reception afterward, and the next day say Mass and hear Confessions. Please join us!

Tiger World

I felt that today redeemed my lost attempt at a really fun Easter vacation: we visited Tiger World for the first time! I had planned to take the children on the last day of Easter vacation week, but we were all sick. Tiger World is an accredited, private zoo of exotic animals about one hour north of our home. It is rather expensive at $12 per adult and $10 per child because it receives no government subsidies. We were able to find half-off coupons on Living Social, which made the cost much more reasonable. 

The layout was wonderful, the weather a refreshing 70 degrees, the children cheerful, and we could have spent even longer than the four-and-a-half hours we spent there. Next time I'd pack more food so we could stay as long as we wanted. The children spent a tremendous amount of time just running around having healthy free play in grassy areas, in between visiting animals. All the adults remarked what a good set-up the zoo offered for young children and how we'd like to go again.

Upon arrival, climbing the lions at the gate: nine children attending (Joseph not in the photo), ages 3 months to 7 years

As I walked into the gift shop to present our tickets, I saw the above feline in the window and thought it was yet one more stuffed animal tiger on display for sale--but, no, it was a real tiger! It was asleep on the other side of safety glass, but startling nonetheless.

Mama and Margaret in sun hats

We packed lunches and ate at the clean and ample picnic benches when we first arrived.

Margaret and a white tiger

Margaret walked in circles around the umbrella pole singing "Ring Around the Rosey"

The sleeping Ti-Liger and the bird

The most dramatic animal encounter we had today was with a baby bird who could not yet fly. We were looking at the wolves when the children saw a baby bird fall out of a nest. It was unable yet to fly, so flopped around on the ground in fear while the parents fluttered above, squawking in panic. First the children tried to chase the bird, so the bird fled as fast as it could through the dust and stumbled its way into the cage of a ti-liger (it looked like a lion to me!). There the bird found respite and I snapped the above photo of the baby bird resting in front of the drowsy cat because I thought it made for interesting composition. After some moments, the bird must have calmed down and regained its strength because it started moving again. The movement of the now tasty morsel caught the immediate attention of the large cat, whose eyes widened before it stood up quickly. Now the bird knew it was in mortal danger again (from Death by Cat instead of by Affection by Children). The baby bird began hopping as fast as it could away from that cat and it jumped out through the chain link fence into the back woods . . . but with so little time to spare that I saw the cats big black lips actually brush against the metal fence as it tried to eat the bird. Meanwhile, the mama and daddy birds had been flapping and shrieking above this dramatic scene playing out! It was so exciting. Nature in action!

Chasing hapless ducks (and later chasing wide-eyed, wild rabbits)

In the gift shop which, naturally, one must walk through to enter and exit the zoo

Ice cream snack before the one-hour drive home

Miscellaneous from the Week

Mary writing JMJ at the top of her schoolwork: can't start too early teaching that all work is for the glory of God!

Enjoying Oreos and milk after picking a wagon full of weeds for Mama

Margaret donned a cape in the afternoon, announcing solemnly, "I a Wonder Pet." We went to dinner and that's when I noticed that she was still wearing the cape!

Mary at bedtime

How could anyone ever be frustrated by her?

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Apparently twice per year, our local minor league baseball team, the Knights, hosts an education day: it plays its game in the daytime instead of the evening to facilitate school groups attending. Some families from our homeschooling group decided to attend. I thought it was a neat opportunity for our children to try this bit of Americana for only $5 per ticket.

Grampa Neil is in town from California for John's upcoming First Holy Communion!

Neil and I remarked at the incessant and blaring noise at the game. I was feeling spiritually assaulted: is it purposeful that the worldly spirit incites us to listen to noise all the time? If we are constantly hearing noise, every moment of the day, we can hardly hear God. If we can't so much as drive in the car without music or talk radio, if we can't set down our smart phones and stop checking email incessantly, how can we feel the Holy Ghost moving in that moment?

I noticed that watching the game itself wasn't enough. During every moment of transition, clowns would run out on the field and play games, do antics. Voices blared over the microphone encouraging us to dance in our seats or make the weirdest faces possible or just scream as loud as we could. Rock music shook the speakers all the time. Honestly, I couldn't hear my kids and I had to shout to communicate with them. It was as if we couldn't go one moment without double and triple layers of entertainment, leaving no ability to just talk about the game with a companion or notice the quiet interest in how the men rake the field in between innings.

The close-up view from our seats

Sharing one small ball of cotton candy: I have a major sweet tooth but was only able to stomach one bite of it!

Our sweet children showed their natural, human avarice at the game: nothing was enough to satisfy them. I don't say that to be particularly critical of my children: avarice is yet one more sin natural to the human condition since the Fall. There was a play zone at the baseball park, an area similar to a carnival and requiring additional tickets. Of course, the kids wanted to play there and one child wouldn't drop the subject till, after all my calm explanations and firm boundaries, I had to say that not one more word would be allowed to be said about the play zone. Similarly, the children wanted me to buy the junky toys for sale--foam fingers and the like. I explained yet again that we were going to enjoy the very special treat of attending a baseball game with our friends, eating the park's expensive food, without also buying overpriced junky toys that we don't need and will break very soon, and without going to play at a carnival. This led to complaining that "nothing about the day would be fun" unless we could play at the play zone and buy the junky toys . . . and while we're at it we needed to buy more treat food than the pizza, water, and cotton candy that cost an arm and a leg.

I was becoming very distressed at my children's complaining behavior. They were complaining so much about nothing ever being enough, I felt they couldn't even enjoy the baseball game. But then I realized that it was not my children in particular (I hope, I think), but the human condition. This is what sin looks like. I see it more obviously in small children because they don't know how to be sophisticated like adults. They throw fits, stamp feet, and cry.

But we adults struggle just as badly with nothing ever being enough. Whatever insufficient progress I have made in this spiritual area has taken me several decades. Why on earth would I think my children six, four, and two would have achieved any sort of mastery of detachment from objects? It's a ridiculous notion.

So, I moved from feeling distressed about how the children weren't perfect to meditating on how we adults are rarely satisfied. One cookie isn't enough, we want two, three, the whole bag. A few decent outfits are nice, but it would really be okay if we had this many more. The car is fine, but really we want this other better one. The thanks we received felt good, but we really won't feel appreciated till we receive this many more accolades. The income buys A,B, and C but we really want enough to buy X,Y, and Z. It's never, ever enough.

I decided that I was going to stop considering myself a total failure in the moment because I couldn't get my children to feel satisfied in their hearts and to consider that I'd done my duty by God by holding firm, not giving them anything more than the fun day as planned, and giving them the talk several times about being satisfied and not coveting. One thousand experiences like this (boundaries, limits, the talk) later and we might start to make some spiritual progress!

(On the topic of gospel poverty, if you want to read a really scary and convicting book, try Happy Are You Poor: The Simple Life and Spiritual Freedom. It was so well-documented and convincing in its terrifying message, I had to set it down numerous times and stop reading.)

Scrubbing Down the Outdoor Furniture

Each spring, we spend an afternoon scrubbing down the outdoor furniture and wood framing in the sun room. We do this right after what we locals call "pollen week." I don't know much about the phenomenon except that for one week, every tree in the South drops all its pollen. One can watch waves of yellow pollen floating in the air. Every surface becomes colored with thick yellow dust. I know I get headaches, scratchy throat, itchy eyes. We don't even let the kids play outside that week. Bees and wasps fly thickly, drunk on pollen. I just looked at the local Pollen Count for the last month and see that it went dramatically from numbers in the mere tens day after day to 700 and peaking above 1,000.

As if scrubbing with soapy water in the warm weather wasn't motivation enough, the children jumped for joy at getting to wear their swimsuits for the first time this season.

They actually did a really good job and I remarked to myself how much labor three little kids six and under can accomplish. After all the furniture was washed, I suggested they wash the swing set, which they did: and then they promptly made a water slide out of it!