Light The Way

If I had to pick one, I'd Be A Lamp...how about you?

Light, for me, is magic.

Finding my way in the dark of night, stumbling and bumbling, feels like my true self.

Opening my eyes each morning and receiving the gift of sunlight and new eyes that can see clearly feels like some sort of angel sitting on my shoulder guiding my way.

Sun salutations?

Definitely.

Flashlights.

Candle glow.

Fireplace warmth.

Fireworks.

Reading lamp.

Camping lantern.

Flash of a camera.

Christmas lights.

All of it - every last twinkle - makes me smile and fills my heart.

*****

My other love...books.

Ever since I've been little I've escaped into their world.

Books are friends.

They share dreams, wisdom, an alternate universe, the dangers of evil, the strength of heroes, 

the laughable, the cringeworthy, the thought-provoking.

They are what I turn to in times of deep sadness.

In boredom.

In joyful moments of lounging.

They provide supreme comfort.

Books are also a link to friends and strangers.

I remember standing in line at midnight for not one Harry Potter book but four different ones.

I got teary seeing all those people lining up, excited and energized, for a book!

Those were my people.

*****

So it only makes sense that a book would lead me to light.

Do you know Susan Branch?

I feel like I might have shared her with you before...

she's a cookbook author who handwrites every page of each book and then sprinkles it with watercolor pictures and quotes and provides the most delicious of recipes.

Her first book is called The Heart of the Home.

Her vibe is all about the beauty of home:

a carefully made meal, a mindfully set table, flowers in a vase, family.

She's about comfort and care.

Love distilled into food and friendship and family.

I found her cookbooks probably from my mom and then became a hard core fan.

I just knew we would be besties if our paths could cross. :)

But over the last few years, things have changed.

Susan Branch has moved from writing cookbooks to sharing her life story.

In the span of four years, she's written three books:

If you look carefully you can see all my tabs...loved too many pages in these books.

And so it came to pass that I shared Susan with anyone I could...

...my friend Michelle made a spontaneous road trip down with me and toddler Caroline to Susan's store in Arroyo Grande, California when it was closing

...my sister-in-law, Audrey, would share her favorite Susan Branchisms

...my friend, Kim, would read and share and meet for coffee...and even come with me to a book signing when Susan and Joe made their cross country road trip to independent bookstores all over the nation.

Martha's Vineyard was always a place to visit...someday.

I live on the west coast...it is all the way across the country.

That's a thing for another day...

...only it didn't feel like that any more.

My Somedays need to be more present-day.

How many Somedays do I have??

None.

Only this day right here.right.now.

My friend Kim was convinced we should create a trip to Martha's Vineyard with our husbands...that sounded pretty great to me...so we speculated and dreamt and discussed over coffee.

Months later she uttered the truth out loud:

"We're never going to go to Martha's Vineyard with our husbands, are we?"

It sat there...getting dusty...before I could wish out loud:

"Nope...but we could just go."

*****

It rolled around in my head.

It flexed its muscle in my heart.

The seed was sprouting and I found myself randomly smiling at the thought.

What if?

Why not?

I shouldn't.

And then, well, I started poking around...

how was John's work schedule, the kids life schedules, were there sisters who could pick up after school, a babysitter who would hang out for some hours???

Those pieces of the puzzle felt like border pieces. They felt smooth and possible.

What about flights?

Kim's schedule?

Her family?

Hotels? Ferry rides? Airport shuttles?

And like some crazy meant-to-be moment the universe kept saying 

Y-E-S.

Nothing was hard.

The flights weren't expensive.

The hotel was available.

Everything worked...so we leaped!

Within ten days of wishing out loud, it happened.

This is real. Oak Bluffs Ocean Park.
Please go there.

*****

  We chose to make our way to Martha's Vineyard in August so that we could attend 

The Grand Illumination.

Something that Susan had described in her book.

There is a Methodist campground in Oak Bluffs on Martha's Vineyard.

In the center is an outdoor covered amphitheater.

It's used for church services on Sundays...

and outdoor movies and concerts and gatherings all the other days.

Surrounding this amphitheater is grass and trees and on all four sides, tiny Gingerbread cottages. (their words, not mine)

These tiny homes are built on what used to be tent platforms.

They are every color imaginable...

blue, purple, orange, red, yellow, pink

a rainbow of relaxation.

Nothing is serious here.

Except family.

In this little spot, family is everything.

For 148 years these families have been celebrating The Grand Illumination.

They decorate their gingerbread cottages with Chinese lanterns - every front porch is adorned - and then these families sit on their front porch and chill (as Patrick likes to say) until dark.

They want to talk to you and share their family's story.

They make food for you to snack on while you visit.

Free drinks. Some houses give away glow in the dark necklaces.

Or flags.

But they all give away friendship.

Two tourists with no clue...meandering...and visiting and everyone wanting to share the secrets:

Get their early.

Bring a picnic.

Be ready to sing.

Ask the people about their houses.

Visit.

Take pictures.

Soak it all in.

These two were born on the Vineyard...lived their whole life here. Lucky.
Hand painted lanterns...just because.

A veteran just waiting to share his story.

Yes, this is the family that belongs to this home.
The woman in the pink on the right hand side made every costume for her family.


So we soak it all up, have a picnic of egg salad and turkey sandwiches made from
Skinny's Fat Sandwiches and get ready for the dark.

We know there is some sort of singing concert before the lanterns are lit...so like true groupies we stake out our seats early, expecting a California-sized crush of people.
We're here after all. :)

But, although every seat fills up, there's no frenzy.
No huffing and puffing about getting the right seat...or who is saving seats.

Right on time, the Vineyard Haven band begins a patriotic concert to rival anything you've heard in Washington, D.C. or any other hub of American life.
The Boston Pops got nothing on Vineyard Haven.

Plus, there are a few thousand of us willing to sing.

So we belt out every tune you can imagine, beginning with, I'm not kidding,
Amazing Grace.

I just sit there, wondering, truly if this is real.
The tears come before the second verse.
Dancing children.
Entire families.
People who have been doing this for more than half a century.

Together we sing:
76 Trombones
Old New Orleans style hymn
Star Spangled Banner
Working on the Railroad
I Don't Want to March in the Infantry
Happy Birthday
In the Good Ole Summertime
Michael Rowed the Boat Ashore
Amazing Grace - just for good measure
My Hat It Has Three Corners
John Brown's Baby Has a Cold Upon Its Chest
God Bless America
Yankee Doodle
Glory Glory Hallelujah
Grand Old Flag
America the Beautiful
John Phillips Souza March

You would think we might be over it...
but in truth, we were hypnotized.

The Obamas were visiting the island while we were there.
Plenty of black SUVs lurked around every corner.
Crowds gathered all over trying to get a glimpse of the President and his family.

We never saw them...
but the whole time I was singing I was wishing he could be watching this from some little obscure Gingerbread cottage.

Wish he could see these people, our shared history...and just feel the connection we all had.

I like to pretend he got to see it.
So he can know.

And then the emcee called up the person who has come to The Grand Illumination 

for the longest time. 

For us, the woman was attending her 68th Illumination.

She had the honor of lighting the first lantern.

In the dark of that giant amphitheater we strained to see the tiniest light surrounded by a paper lantern...the woman walked to the very edge of the theater and like magic, all of the lanterns on the theater lit up in a gorgeous circle of light.

And then...poof...all of the 300 gingerbread cottages lit up.

The entire place was dark except for the glow of those lanterns...

No other way to describe it...magic.

The full moon was even trying to be part of the party.

Just in case you wanted to see the hand-painted lanterns in the dark.

The crowd was reverent and fun if that is even possible...but yes, things that seem impossible are common place around here.

The crowds were full of joy and genuine wonder...

like we all were holding our own personal firefly.

We wandered and followed the light...never caring which direction we meandered - 

feeling like we were nestled in a cocoon of candlelight.

We walked our way back to our hotel and couldn't really let it go.

Laughing and smiling, it still felt like a dream.

*****

I'm back now.

A seashell tucked into my purse right in the spot I can see it every day...

to remind me of the light in the darkness...

of dreams coming true...

of friendship and Somedays lived in the Now...

of books and authors and the magic of connection...

of beauty all around us.

Light the way.

Brave in September

Remember when I talked about wishing out loud? Well, here goes...Jack is graduating from college in May.  That's right, clearly, I was a child bride, and my oldest is now old enough to be darn close to a college graduate.  

That means that I've been thinking and wondering and pondering about the many, many wonderful gifts of congratulations I could give him.

I got nothing.

And then it came to me...I will give him my words.

For the next ten months, I'm going to write one blog post a month, just to him. And then at the end, in May, I will find a way to publish just those ten posts.  It can't be that hard,right?

How cool would it be to give him an actual book?

So, I'm wishing out loud.

right here.right now.

Physical book to wrap up and hand over.in May.

*****

Dear Jack,

So, do you remember way back in 2011, when things were very very unclear and you were going down to Los Angeles but we weren't sure what that would look like and we weren't sure how that first semester was going to go and it was all confusing and cloudy and funky?

I do.

It was then, at that point, that one day I was walking down B Street with Caroline -- her tiny five year old hand in mine, when we began a conversation about all of the changes going on in her life.

One of her favorite people on the planet was leaving her world -- hint: you -- and she was beginning kindergarten and she was scheduled to go to the dentist for the very first time and that was the one biggie we were talking about.

And she kept walking and sort of mumbled, 

"I don't want to go to the dentist.  I'll be brave in September."

I stopped and was shocked at the beauty of that.

Brave in September.

Her five year old self figured out that human of all traits: 

postpoing the hard stuff.

Yep.  She wanted to avoid.

Avoid.Avoid.Avoid.

I got it.

I really did.

In fact, I was in the aovid-at-all-costs mode right then too.

I didn't want to think about my family changing.

Didn't want to contemplate you being out of my daily life.

Didn't want to deal with my dirty house.

My back-logged work.

All of the many things I'd been avoiding for a long long time.

But when Caroline said that it made me contemplate my avoidance techniques.

I needed a due date.

September.

September became synonymous with pausing the big old freight train of life and checking out what I had shuffled under the rug.

In September I would face it.

Caroline never knew she gave me that gift...but ever since, I've used September as my get-it-done month.  

I've tried to be brave in September.

Maybe it was Patrick who made me brave...

it was his heart surgery that made me want to run for the hills.

I remember nursing him just two days after open heart surgery and looking right in his eyes and saying, 

"You are making me brave, Patrick. I can't believe I'm doing this."

All those Septembers ago I just didn't think I could do it...

but I had no choice.

And I got through it.

As you get older, you tend to put off more and more things.

You don't travel to the places you think about because the time never seems right or you don't have the money or you should be more responsible and use your time or money some other way.

You don't go after the job you think you should...or the education that you need...

or the _____________ . (insert dream here)

You have lots of reasons and most of them are very mature.

Other adults nod and understand because they are putting stuff off too...

or just not dreaming anymore.

So that's where you come in.

I am so proud of you.

Immensely proud of the man you have become.

As far as I can tell, you don't put things off.

You seize the opportunity.

You find a way.

You gut though.

Just like you did in that crazy, awkward, kind-of-in-kind-of-not first semester at college.

I guess I just want to encourage you to always live like that.

Don't let adulthood be the excuse for not trying something.

Don't let "real life" bog you down.

Please, please, please continue to dream and reach and fight back when you get shot down.

Cause it's gonna happen.

Life has a way of wearing you down.

Stop right now.

Listen to your heart.

What are your wild and precious hopes?

List them all.

Even if they seem crazy -- especially if they seem crazy.

Those are usually the best ones.

Promise yourself to be Brave in September and set a due date.

Go for it.

Most of all, know that you can do the hard things...

you can make the miracles happen...

you will find your way.

It doesn't have to be perfect 

or sane

or what I think is right.

It just has to be yours.

Hold it close...use the flint...blow on it...and light that fire.

It's gonna be amazing.

That hero is YOU!

Being Catholic

I'm Catholic.

Yesterday, I had a chance to practice my faith and deepen my faith and share in it with Caroline as she prepares to make her 

Holy Communion next week-end.

We had a Bread Retreat for the entire second grade.

We made bread.

Simple. Humble. Delicious.

We said a blessing over every single ingredient:

"Bless this flour.  May it remind us of all who have helped us come so far.  

We pray for all people who work to make the world a better place."

"Bless this sugar.  May it help us to be sweet in our words and actions toward others."

"Bless this water -- a sign of our baptism.  May we always remember that we are God's children."

"Bless this milk.  It reminds us of our first food -- mother's milk.  Bless our mothers who love us and care for us each day."

"Bless this salt.  Life first began in the sea.  May we show respect for Life in how we treat all of God's creations."

"Bless this wheat flour -- it reminds us that change is hard.  The wheat had to grow in hot sun, be cut, ground and milled.  Sometimes we also struggle to do what is right.  Give us strength Lord."

Even the pans got a blessing:

"Bless these pans that give bread shape.  God has shaped us from the earth and love.  

May we remember that He is always there to help us and love us."

Honestly, the whole day is a lesson in being grateful for the most essential and simple items that we take for granted and barely notice.

It's humbling and beautiful and it fills me up for a good long while...like a cold, icy drink on that ragged, hot day...I am so so good after this retreat.

Caroline brought home her bread, eager to share it with all of us.

We had to wait until John got home from a business trip so we waited a day to break the bread together.

And in one day...a tiny blip of a few hours...

our priest was arrested and put in jail for statutory rape of a minor.

And that is being Catholic too.

(And I'm not being ironic.)

We are in this together.  There is no us vs. them.  We are all us. 

Always.

Bad things, terrible things, heartbreaking things are all around us.

Really good people make really bad choices every day.

People who you count on, disappoint.

Hell, we disappoint ourselves and the very people we love dearly, constantly.

It's messy being human.

It's hard to have moral courage day in and day out...damn near impossible.

It's shameful and heartbreaking and sometimes just plan sad.

But then we get moments like this:

And it all becomes really clear.

We only have each other...for a limited time at best.

Even when it's messy, scary, dangerous, or maybe especially when it is those things, 

we need to cling to each other.

Cling to the ancient wisdom that is our faith.

Cling to the holy words of St. Francis:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.  

Where there is darkness, light.

Where there is sadness, joy.

Oh, Divine Master, grant that I may

not so much seek to be consoled, as to console.

To be understood, as to understand.

To be loved, as to love.

For it's in giving that we receive.

And it's in pardoning that we are pardoned.

And it's in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Amen.

Somehow.some.way.we find comfort that this messy crazy world has been just like this for thousands of years...full of broken people doing their best  -- and failing quite often.

Still in this world of sadness, disappointment, loss, ignorance and hatred there is the beauty.  

Unmistakeable beauty.

It is full to the brim with miracles like water and salt and sugar and love and redemption and second chances and new life...

over and over again.

For some people, faith seems ridiculous.

Laughable.

For me, especially in times like these...it's the only thing that makes sense.

It is a comfort to know that others have been right here in the middle of their messy, broken lives and found a way.

It's a comfort to rest in the words, the prayers and the basic truths that are my faith.

I'm going to wait for the light.

It's coming.

I have faith.

Until then, I'll make my peace with the dark.

For that's what makes the light even more beautiful.

365 More

"525,600 minutes, 525,600 moments so dear.  

525,600 minutes.  

How do you measure? Measure a year? 

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee. 

In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.

In 525,600 minutes -- how do you measure a year in the life?  How about love?  

How about love?  How about love? Love.  

Measure in love.  Seasons of love." 

-- "Seasons of Love" from Rent (the musical)

I've had her for three hundred and sixty five more days.

An entire extra year.

Hundreds of thousands of minutes, countless moments, dozens of books and a myriad of chances to squeeze tighter, hold closer, give second chances and measure in love.

Today, of all days, it happened to be her First Reconciliation.

The irony of talking about sin and transgressions with someone who still believes in Santa and carefully writes notes to the Tooth Fairy and still sleeps with a multitude of stuffed of animals is not lost on me.

She knows about making good choices.  She knows how to be kind and thoughtful.

She does it pretty much every day.

I'm not too worried about her spiritual health.  

She's closer to God than almost anyone I know.

And yet, this is when our church says she's ready...and on this terrible anniversary of losing 20 six year olds, 

a whole bunch of seven year olds made another step forward.

In the glow of candles, amid family and friends, they spread out among four different priests and went up there and asked for forgiveness.

So much lighter now!

Caroline was worried about this whole process and so her teacher helped her out.  She asked her to hold a book.  Then she piled another one on top, and another, and another -- until she was holding five heavy books.  She told Caroline that when you do something wrong, it feels heavy and weighs you down. Then she swooped in and removed all the books.  She told her that she would feel so much lighter after Reconciliation. 


As we walked up to church, Caroline wondered aloud if she would "feel lighter".  She couldn't wait to find out.
She wasn't fearful.  She wasn't anxious.
She was curious.

Afterward, she sighed and said, "I'm so much lighter!"

I smiled...that lucky smile.
The smile of a momma who had someone else give their child a gift.
Someone else had given her another way to see the world.
I was so so grateful.

Walking home, I tried to hold her hand but she was skipping ahead.
My heart is always lifted when she skips...but then it remembered the twenty who no longer skip...and the many, many heavy hearts surrounding those twenty.
My heart always holds those twenty close.
I can't look at Caroline and not see them.

At her birthday, I thought of the quiet homes with no extra candle to add.
When she lost another tooth; got bolder swimming; started voraciously reading.
All of the days she spent singing, dancing, creating, laughing and telling knock knock jokes.


Six moving to seven -- 525,600 extra minutes.


What did I do with those precious extra?
How did I spend them?
Sadly and beautifully, we just went about our days...taking hikes, trying new things, making new pictures,
learning and wondering and asking and celebrating...
nothing too special...

until it's gone.

So, Newtown, Connecticut and most especially the families who have not had that extra,
I want you to know that your insane, mind-numbing loss is not forgotten.

You are alongside us on our journey now...forever.

We are lighting candles,
remembering
and choosing love every chance we get.

Blessings

"A blessing is a circle of light drawn around a person to protect, heal and strengthen."    -- John O'Donohue

Tonight we schlepped our way through 4th of July traffic and the 105 degree heat to a nun's house.

To be honest, I didn't really even know that nuns or sisters or women religious just live in regular old houses on regular old streets. Turns out they do.

 (I think I'd love to have a house full of sisters in my neighborhood...but that's for another day.)

We walked in late and sweaty and hassled.  We found a group of young women, including Mary Kate, getting ready to go on a trip.  We had parents and siblings there to support them.  Teachers and some women who had gone last year were there to share in this moment.  We had the wonderful teacher who founded the non-profit foundation that is the vehicle to our girls' journey to helping others and
we had Sister Maria.

She opened up her home.

She blessed our girls.

Well, actually, she provided the thoughts, prayers and beauty behind the ceremony that became The Blessing.  She gave the parents the privilege of actually blessing our daughters.

First she reminded us of our many blessings of living in a first world country.

70% of the world lives without electricity, running water, healthcare and most of the time not enough food to eat.
70% -- that alone is a stunning number.

Then she went through the difficulties parents in the third world face.  The lack of time to love and care for their children because parents are working so hard to meet the basic needs of survival.  The lack of opportunity...not to mention the shorter life span...
just by having the misfortune to live in their country instead of ours.

Yeah, made the 105 temp not seem like such a biggie...or the traffic...or the hassle of juggling jobs and kids to get to the place...

Then Sister Maria handed us a piece of paper with some prayers and some blessings.

The girls stood in a circle facing out toward their parents.
We faced them.

Seeing my daughter staring at me with an embarrassed smile and a "hurry up" vibe made me, like a small child, want to do the opposite.

I wanted to linger over her eyes and ears as I dipped my fingers in water and blessed her clarity of vision and her ability to hear the truth.

Using a cotton ball dipped in oil, I rubbed her forehead and palms, blessing her thoughts, asking her to be filled with wisdom, and then blessing the work of her hands...asking that they become healing and compassionate.

We took a tiny muffin cup of salt and rubbed her feet.  Reminding her that she is the salt of the earth.  Asking that she walk steadfastly, gently and with reverence upon the earth.  The blessing asked the girls to "never leave a footprint of worry" and to always walk humbly with God.

Finally, the girls were handed a candle of Our Lady of Guadalupe.  We lit their candles and watched the light fill up the room.  I noticed the glow on her face.
I took a deep breath.
The girls were reminded that they are the light of the world.  One does not light a lamp and then put it under a basket.  Rather it is placed on a stand, where it gives light to a house.
In this same way, the girls' light must shine.

Even though they were in a circle, we were each in our own little world...stopping and taking in the beauty of our daughters...

their bright eyes
their keen mind
their big heart
their bright light.

In a little over twenty-four hours we will be sending that big heart off.
Off to Belize.

While she is away, we will light her candle.
We will bless her from afar.
We will hold her close and hold our breaths as she journeys out into this amazing world.

She's been blessed.
We have too.

Sister Maria, for the record, you rock.

Joy

                                                    

Here is my joy...

 I call him prozac with fur.

Three years ago he was born...he entered my life 1023 days ago.  There has not been a single day that he didn't add a little bit of joy.  Many, many days he's added big heaping gobs of joy to my life.  As a matter of fact, my love is irrational, biased, over the top and just plain sloppy.  

I like it that way.

I'm officially one of those dog people. And guess what, my dog is one of those kinds...the one who sticks by me, follows me around the house.  Wherever I am, he is.  

Do you notice my pile of clothes in the background of this pic??

 Yeah, me neither.

That's how it goes with Buddy.

He makes it all better.

When one more piece of crap piles on an already bad day and my tears can't hide anymore...little padded paws come and check on me.  They don't tell me to hush.  They don't ask me to explain or need me to think.  A pair of chocolate eyes just looks at me...a wet nose nudges...this unbelievably wise and gentle soul just bears witness and comforts.  He's just there.  Present in the moment.  That alone is enough.

I want to bring him to every hurting place on our planet.  I want him to comfort sad kids, lonely old people, angst-ridden teenagers...even my crabby, weird neighbor.  But then, I wonder.  Maybe his comfort is made for me alone.  (Well, I can't leave out the rest of my family, but you know what I mean.)  Maybe dogs and our other bright spots in our day are just that...our individual, made-just-for-us-in-this-crazy-universe kind of joy.  

Maybe our dog is like our fingerprint...personal, identifying and only ours.

It's a mystery.  

One of my very favorites.  

I waited a long, long time to get a dog...too long.

I'm so very grateful for him.

Grateful for his effervescence.

Grateful for his willingness to just hang out with me day in and day out.

Grateful that somehow our worlds collided and I get to be with him each and every day.

I marvel at the sheer luck...but maybe it is something bigger.

Maybe something, somewhere, knew I needed this kind of love.

Maybe, just maybe, it was meant to be.

Buddy...

Little Voices...Big Message

"We worry about what a child will become tomorrow, yet we forget that he is someone today." -- Stacia Tauscher

My heart is so full.  So full to the brim, it is bursting with love and peace and connection.  What did I do?  How did this transformation happen?

  I attended a mass presented by First Graders.

Up at the podium stood a line of small children...each were waiting their turn.  Some had hands tucked in pockets.  Some were looking down.  Some were nervous and awkward and extra careful.  They all took a turn and repeated the line they had practiced: softly, slowly, carefully and reverently.  Next to them was their teacher, arm wrapped around them for support...whispered words to help or clarify or encourage.  They knew this was the big time.  They knew they had to do a good job.  This was their chance to shine. 

Their radiant, holy light was luminous.

There is something so holy about hearing sacred words read by a tiny voice.  Something so humanizing and beautiful.  Listening to those tiny children my heart just kept filling up.  Is this how we sound to God?  So fragile. So small. So meek.  No wonder he gives us his blessing!

After mass, the entire class shared drawings and words about how they viewed Jesus.

He always shows up.

He is always ready to listen.

He is calm and loving.

He is your friend.

It hit me so clearly that the tears came...a big neon sign pointing the way.  That is exactly what we need from you, mom.  We need kindness and second chances and your presence.

Just as I was catching my breath, an entire class of First Grade voices started singing, "You've Got A Friend In Me".  They were smiling now.  They were confident and triumphant. Together, their voices could make an entire church full of bigger kids and adults stop and take notice.

God's biggest blessing comes to us in the form of an infant.  His tiny voice belies the great, great spirit transcending time and space.  He approaches us in a vulnerable, needy way...mirroring for us our frailty and natural weakness.

Today I am so grateful for tiny voices and the big messages they carry.  I am humbled and moved.  Thank you to an entire class of six year olds for showing the way.  Thank you for your love, your grace and your immeasurable presence.
You are the heart of God.

One Small Light

"Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened.  Happiness never decreases by being shared." -- Buddha

Tonight was a dark and stormy night.  I didn't want to go.  I wanted to put on my jammies, snuggle up with Patrick and Caroline and call it a day.  But, instead I got into my cold car, alone, drove through the pelting rain and walked into a chapel.  Mary Kate was on the first night of a four day retreat and her high school asked that the parents attend an evening prayer service on their behalf.  Other rain-soaked parents drifted in.  Some were alone, like me.  Some were together as a couple.  It was obviously uncomfortable for some and painful for others -- another reminder of past sorrows. The evening began like all good Catholic ceremonies: with a prayer and a song. The irony of the opening song was not lost on me: Come Down To The Water...really, the water had come to us...I wasn't feeling the need to come down to it...but I sang it in my head and looked down for fear of rolling my eyes to anyone nearby.

Kairos is a Greek word.  It means "time".  But not the measured time that we are used to.  It mean's God's time...the unencumbered luxury of time without measure or limit.  This retreat was to allow busy high school girls a chance to breathe and take note of "God's time".  I can't say much more than that...there's a mystery surrounding Kairos.  A surprise element that holds the imaginations of those that haven't gone yet. That needs to stay sacred and whole.

What I can tell you is that in the dark, on a rainy night, next to parents that I didn't know in an unfamiliar chapel I lit the very first candle and thought of my daughter.  We were asked to think of small graces that we could hope for our daughters.  We were asked to hold those close as we lit the flame.  I thought of friendship and peace, a chance to feel God's holy presence, an opportunity to break down walls and open up hearts.  I watched that tiny flame and felt its glow.  I watched 58 other candles get lit one at a time.  Some parents came up together, some alone.  Some of us were tired, wet and bedraggled.  Others looked professional and business casual.  Some had tattoos.  Others had younger children in tow.  We were parents with a daughter the same age, in the same location, at the same time but that was it.  Yet we all felt the need to take the time and make our way in the rain through the dark of night to light a candle and sing a song.

I thought of the many, many times we have been up in the night with our daughters: as newborns needing a night-time feeding and change, with a feverish toddler, with croup, with the stomach flu or nightmares.  If only we could have seen the other candles and known who was alongside us in the journey.  Later on, we've been up with the same girls with worries over friendships, boys, tests, the uncertainties of life, social media, midnight texts, or waiting up for the drive home from some adventure 

-- a dance, a party, a football game.

Where was our candle light to guide us?  Where was our kinship?  

Parenting is hard stuff.  We blow it all the time and still we have to get back at it.  Pick up the pieces, mend the broken hearts and find the strength to light the candle.  

Just one tiny light on a rainy night.

That warm, cozy glow at first lulled me into wanting to take a short nap...but then it refueled me.  I looked up and smiled at strangers.  I bathed in the gift of getting a chance to stop and pause and consider my daughter: this amazing, incredible teen-age girl on the cusp of being a woman.  How had so much time passed?  How had she grown so much? 

Tonight, I relished in the beauty of unmeasured time and a line of candles glowing brighter because of each other.  

For the rest of this week, we are supposed to light the candle.  

I think I just found a new favorite hobby. :)

Candle Glow

Today was a little boy's birthday.  Surrounding him was his family, two grandmothers, family friends and some friends from school.  We don't know this family very well but we are always up for a celebration and the rule in our house is if you're invited, you go.

The preschoolers had fun playing outside on a sunny day...the parents made simple conversation.  For a moment I was pulled out of the party and came back to see everyone gathered around the table, a little boy bathed in the golden light of a handful of candles.  His earnest face enjoying the moment, the kids voices innocent and so very sweet -- love filling the room.

So many candles, so many birthdays where my own heart has welled up in pride as I watch the face of someone I love with my whole heart glow in that candlelight.  Some religions ask that you not celebrate a birthday.  They somehow feel that the personal celebration could dull the celebration of the Lord.  For my money they couldn't be more wrong.  How can celebrating the delicious joy of your baby's birth be anything but a chance to move the joy along and notice the gifts given from some greater source?  How can seeing the eyes reflected with candlelight and the love of family and friends be anything but an extension of God's love?

As I think of the many candles in my own life, I can feel the perpetual glow.   Sometimes we need someone to stop and light our candle...we feel so dim inside, so alone, so cold.  We need someone to pause and acknowledge the joy and glory in our existence.  We need someone to notice.  Funny how we are good at lighting the candles of children...their own joy is so contagious and effortless they barely need it.  We really need to take the time to light the candles for the rest of us...a teen-ager full of angst, a twenty-something making his way in the adult world of work and relationships,  a thirty-something busy juggling the craziness of young children and the rest of life, a forty-something dealing with being "sandwiched" in the caregiving departments of both children and parents, a fifty-something addressing the realities of aging, a sixty-something who knows about loss and disappointment and redemption and renewal, a septuagenarian, an octogenarian and if you make it to 90, there will be a celebration, guaranteed.

These days that we circle the sun should be noted. The candle should be lit and the song sung.  It doesn't matter the language, the flavor of cake or the person bathed in the glow. Birthdays are for celebrating, every single time.  So, take a deep breath, make a wish and bloooooow!  I'd love to know whose candle you are going to light? I'd also love to know who has lit a candle for you.