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Hawthorne House Renovation

The House, Week 1

The House, Week 1: Part Deux

The House, Week 4

Day Drinking in the Rubble

Renovation Lessons: God is God, I am Not

One Year Later: An Update…Of Sorts

Two Years Later: A Before and After

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Who wants a free book? Better yet, who wants 5 fre Who wants a free book? Better yet, who wants 5 free books and the discussion guide (with a bonus letter), so you and your friends can spend some time together (and with me) talking about faith, trust, prayer, love, babies, and the surprising paths to which God calls us?⁣ ⁣ My other baby of 2021, “Letters to Myself from the End of the World,” is three months old today, so I am hosting a little giveaway. 5 books, one study guide, and, if you want, an evening hanging out with me.⁣ ⁣ I can’t travel to give talks and hang out in person right now (because many babies), but I can virtually attend your book club for one night, drink wine with you, and answer questions about the book…or life…or babies…or cooking…or whatever.⁣ ⁣ For those new here, “Letters to Myself from the End of the World” is a huge piece of my heart. I wrote it last summer and fall while the world fell apart and as we adopted Becket (and prepared to adopt Ellie.) It holds all the wisdom I’ve got on how to navigate this upside down world of ours with faith, hope, and charity and offers you an intimate look at the work Jesus has done in my heart and mind these last 20 years.⁣ ⁣ If you’re struggling with the Church or culture, if you’re struggling with motherhood or what the world expects you to be as a woman, if you’re constantly fighting anger and envy, if you don’t know how to pray right now, respond to injustice right now, or hold on to your faith right now, I wrote this book for you. And I want to talk with you about it!⁣ ⁣ To enter the giveaway:⁣ ⁣ 1. Like this post.⁣ 2. Save this post.⁣ 3 Tag at least two friends you want to read this book with.⁣ 4. Tag more friends (up to 5) for extra entries.⁣ 5. Share in Stories and tag me for another extra two entries.⁣ ⁣ Giveaway closes Monday, September 20 at 11:59 EST. Winner will be randomly selected and announced on Tuesday, September 22. Winner must live in the continental U.S. This is definitely not affiliated with Instagram. 😁
We always mention the weather. Have you noticed th We always mention the weather. Have you noticed that? Those of us who were there, in New York and DC. When we tell our stories about September 11, we always bring up the blue of the sky or the clarity of the air. That’s as locked into our memory of that day as falling towers and rising smoke.⁣ ⁣ That morning, we walked into work-or onto planes-smiling, whistling, chatting, feeling wonderfully, gloriously alive. Then seconds later, some of us weren’t. In an instant, 2,997 of us were gone.⁣ ⁣ In the moment, it gave us whiplash. We stumbled around in shock, the sun still shining, but the air now thick with smoke and ash.⁣ ⁣ I know now, though, what I didn’t know then. This is life. For all of us. All the time. We are always just one heartbeat away from our worlds being turned upside down. One fall down the stairs, one slip on the ice, one driver not paying attention, one babe who slips unnoticed out of the house, one doctor’s appointment that ends with bad news, one aneurism that bursts, one gun shot that rings out, one heart that just stops.⁣ ⁣ We rarely know when the moment will come. But it inevitably does. It comes for us and for our spouses, children, friends, and enemies. It comes in an instant and steals what we love. We can’t stop it. We can’t hide from it. No one yet has escaped it. Not even the one who defeated it.⁣ ⁣ Which is why it’s so important that we live now, while we can. That we give thanks for healthy babies and healthy bodies now. That we hug the ones we love now. That we look at their faces and hold their hands and soak up the time we’re given now. Because tomorrow is not guaranteed.⁣ ⁣ Life is short. Each of us is only given so many minutes. And the older you get, the faster those minutes go. They slip through your fingers like sand. You can’t hold onto them. You can only use them well, lavishing each precious one on loving God and neighbor.⁣ ⁣ Don’t be reckless. But also don’t waste the minutes God has given you in anger, bitterness, envy, and hate, trying to control what you can’t control. Use those minutes. Use every one. Because in an instant, they can be gone. Death comes for us all. Even on a glorious September day.
How do you eat that and not gain weight?⁣ ⁣ Ev How do you eat that and not gain weight?⁣ ⁣ Ever since I started sharing our family’s meal plans, I’ve gotten that question. Sometimes politely. Other times less than politely.⁣ ⁣ I’m never sure how to respond. Partly, because I have gained weight. Not because I occasionally eat pasta and rice with my family. But because I’m 46. That’s what happens in your 40s…although I probably would’ve gained less if I hadn’t blown both my knees last year.⁣ ⁣ Nevertheless, I haven’t stopped eating pasta and rice. Why?⁣ ⁣ First, because I value my mental health over my jean size. I spent 6 years in my 20s starving myself, and I never want to go back to that prison. For me, restricting food groups is a one-way ticket back to anorexia. So, I don’t do it.⁣ ⁣ Second, because I’m not just eating for myself. I’m eating for my children. I’m showing them what healthy, normal eating looks like. Eating that is balanced. Eating that is grateful. Eating that is temperate. Eating that is not overly picky or particular (two things which the Church teaches are forms of gluttony). Eating that is intuitive. Eating that is communal. Eating that rejoices in the goodness of God’s creation, recognizes all foods as good, and only eliminates foods that will cause sickness or death. Like, for me, peanuts.⁣ ⁣ On another level, I’m eating for Ellie. The majority of women who develop eating disorders had mothers who habitually dieted, restricted, and fretted about their bodies. No one else in this world will affect how Ellie thinks about food and her body like I will. And I do not want my past to become her future.⁣ ⁣ Lastly, I eat pasta and rice because they taste good. Really good. They bring me joy. They are a glorious gift from God, and life is too short to not occasionally partake of that gift. Unless of course that gift makes you sick.⁣ ⁣ But they don’t make me sick. And even if they do contribute to a bit of inflammation and weight gain, I prefer that to the obsession, compulsion, and self-flagellation that would follow if I gave them up. I prefer just about anything to that.⁣ ⁣ So, tonight, we’re having scallops with brown butter risotto for Mama Mary’s Birthday. I wish you could join us.
We were not made to carry the sorrows of the whole We were not made to carry the sorrows of the whole world on our shoulders. We were not made to grieve every loss, fight every fight, right every wrong. We were not made to save the world. Someone else already did that.⁣ ⁣ Instead, we were made to love the Lord, our God, with all our heart, mind, soul, and strength.⁣ ⁣ We were also made to love our neighbor as ourself. Not abstractly. But concretely. Practically. Personally. By feeding the hungry in our home and in our town. By welcoming the stranger at our table and at our parish. By giving to the poor, visiting the sick, and clothing the naked—both our naked babes and the babes of the single mom.⁣ ⁣ We were also made to love our neighbor by treating our employees justly, paying a fair wage, and honoring every person as the image of God they are. ⁣ ⁣ We were made to love our neighbor by praying for them, offering our suffering for them, and walking with them in their time of need.⁣ ⁣ And we were made to love our neighbor by not committing the sins of rash judgement or detraction, by bearing wrongs patiently, doing good to those who hurt us, and forgiving others even when we don’t think they deserve it. Because who among us does.⁣ ⁣ Above all, we were made to love our neighbor by taking the plank out of our own eye, examining our heart, and asking Jesus for help rooting out all the envy, bitterness, bigotry, ignorance, prejudice, and hate that dwell there.⁣ ⁣ And really, this is where loving our neighbor starts. There will be days in each our lives where we must stand firm against injustice in our home, community, or world. But most days, it’s the injustice in our hearts against which we must stand firm. It’s our sins, not the world’s, which we must conquer. It’s our mind, not the mind of the stranger on the Internet, that must be transformed.⁣ ⁣ This is the hardest work. And the most important. Because if injustice reigns in our hearts, it will reign in the world. We will commit injustices as we fight for justice. We will perpetuate injustice in the name of justice. We will never truly love God or our neighbor. And the griefs, sorrows, and wrongs of this world will just grow and grow and grow and grow.
I cannot find time. Not to do so many things I wan I cannot find time. Not to do so many things I want and need to do. Not to exercise. Not to call my friends. Not to read. Not to pray. Not to drink water.⁣ ⁣ If 3 crazy years of mothering babies and working from home has taught me anything, it’s this. I cannot find time. There are too many urgent tasks that need doing. There are always deadlines to meet, babies to feed, laundry to wash, papers to sort, and bills to pay. My to-do list replenishes itself daily. There is no spare time to find. ⁣ ⁣ I cannot make time either. I’m not God. I can’t add hours to the day or days to the week. Time is fixed. I can create no more of it.⁣ ⁣ But what I can do is take time. That’s what I’ve discovered in this 4th year of motherhood and 46th year of life. If I want to do things I love, things that are important but not urgent, things that make me feel whole, joyful, and at peace, I need to take time to do them. That’s the only way.⁣ ⁣ If I want to shower, I need to take time from work. If I want to pray, I need to take time from sleep. If I want to read, I need to take time from cleaning. If I want to exercise or drink water or call a friend, I need to let something else go. I need to take time from one thing and give it to another.⁣ ⁣ And that’s okay. It’s more than okay. It’s healthy.⁣ ⁣ Realizing I can’t find time or make time, only take time, is teaching me to set boundaries and prioritize the things most important to my heart, soul, and body, not my ego or bank account. It’s reminding me that some things matter more than met deadlines and clean kitchens. It’s forcing me to surrender my need to control everything, do everything, never fail at anything. It’s helping me remember God is in charge, not me, and this earth will keep spinning even if I drop a few balls (or a few dozen balls).⁣ ⁣ I’m still learning. Taking time doesn’t come naturally to me. Stressing about time does. And, of course, sometimes it works in the opposite direction, where I have to take time from holding babies to meet deadlines or take time from exercising to clean.⁣ ⁣ But slowly, I’m figuring out the right rhythm of give and take. I’m learning to breathe. And it’s so good.
Once, long ago, I wrote a book. I’ve written man Once, long ago, I wrote a book. I’ve written many books, but this was my first, about being single. It wasn’t a topic I wanted to be an expert on, but God had other ideas.⁣ ⁣ Regardless, after I wrote the book I was proud of it. I hoped it would help women. To get that book into their hands, though, I had to market it. This is where I faced one of the most important choices of my life. ⁣ ⁣ It didn’t seem super important at the time. A friend, who was a big marketing executive, saw my book and loved it. He loved it so much, he offered to market it.⁣ ⁣ “We’ll build a website,” he offered. “We’ll do a Facebook page. You can build a personal brand as the go-to expert for single women.”⁣ ⁣ I thanked him, then said no. I didn’t want a personal brand. I didn’t want to put my writing or me in a box.⁣ ⁣ It was the right call. The book didn’t sell as many copies as it might have. I never built the audience that someone who focuses on 1 topic builds. But I built something more important: myself. ⁣ ⁣ In the years since, as a writer, I’ve pursued 100 interests, not 1. I’ve written about Catholic social teaching, adoption, infertility, the Eucharist, the theology of the body, food, prayer, mystics, Church history, and now skin care.⁣ ⁣ As I’ve done that, I’ve discovered how endlessly fascinating everyone and everything is—how every person and place has a story and how those stories are all part of the greater story of salvation history. I’ve found grace in unexpected places: a trailer park in the Sierra Nevadas, a restaurant in Ukraine, an old house in Pittsburgh. Most important, I’ve gotten to be me while doing it, with all my complexities and contradictions, not a shiny, polished, one-dimensional brand.⁣ ⁣ I am not a brand. Neither are you. We are persons. Not cereal boxes. We exist to know God, love God, and love one another. Not to be a personal corporation. It’s okay to focus your career or social media on 1 topic. It good to know and do something well. But don’t ever be afraid to try, do, or say something new just because it’s not your “brand.”⁣ ⁣ God is calling you to more than the boxes of this world can hold. Don’t let a label stop you from answering that call.
I saw her face days before she died. A friend shar I saw her face days before she died. A friend shared a photo, tweeted by the military, of her with a baby in her arms.⁣ ⁣ When I saw her face again, it was flashing through my feed alongside photos of other mothers’ babies, who aren’t coming home.⁣ ⁣ I don’t know her. But not a day has gone by since I saw her photo for a 2nd time where I haven’t wept for her. The tears come from nowhere. While I’m making dinner, cleaning my bathroom, holding one of my babies.⁣ ⁣ Sometimes, it’s not tears, though. Sometimes, it’s anger. Anger at those responsible for her death. Anger at our confusing, maddening, broken world. Anger at all the craziness that has crippled and divided us this last year.⁣ ⁣ Anger, you see, is my besetting sin. I’m a redheaded choleric who craves justice. Anger comes naturally. Mercy doesn’t. So my greatest sins have come from anger. Words I’ve said. People I’ve hurt. Bridges I’ve burned. They haunt me still. So, I’ve spent 2 decades working to control my anger—to restrain my tongue and my judgements, to feel compassion, to extend mercy, to avoid near occasions.⁣ ⁣ I haven’t mastered my anger yet. I still lose my temper. But not as often as I once did. Which is something.⁣ ⁣ This past year, though, has tested my progress. There’ve been moments where my anger flashed so hot, I felt sure, if I let it loose, it could burn the whole world down. ⁣ ⁣ But if I did, the first world to burn down would be my own.⁣ ⁣ So, when my anger runs ahead of my reason, I fight to call it back. I ask God to transform it from fire to fuel, fuel that helps me pray more urgently, give more generously, write more powerfully, and pour myself out more completely. I beg for the grace to let anger motivate rather than lead. And when all else fails, I throw my fireballs at Him, knowing He can consume my fury in the flames of His Sacred Heart, a heart that has every right to feel wrath, but chooses mercy instead.⁣ ⁣ If you struggle like me, I get it. There’s so much to be angry about. And holy anger is real. It can motivate and inspire.⁣ But it can’t save. Only mercy can do that. Only mercy has done that.⁣ ⁣ When in doubt, choose mercy. He does. And He knows what He’s about.⁣
Last week, we took the side off Toby’s crib, tur Last week, we took the side off Toby’s crib, turning it into a toddler bed. Our hope was it would stop Toby from screaming like the house was on fire when he woke every morning at 6, and waking the other babies in turn.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ It has.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Now, instead of waking at 6, Toby wakes between 1 and 3, then comes flying into our room. With one word, “Mama,” he rouses me, then proceeds to hop into our bed, climb on top of me, wrap his arms around my neck, and fall back asleep.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Shockingly, I don’t fall back asleep nearly so quickly. ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ I am exhausted. My brain is a muddled, sleep-deprived, slow-moving mess. But I’m not here for advice about how to get him to stay in his bed. I don’t really mind his presence. In some ways, I kind of love it.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Those of you who have been here for a while, will remember I started writing regularly in these here squares while baby Toby napped on me in the afternoons. From the start, he was a great morning napper, but afternoons naps needed to take place on Mama.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Eventually 2 naps became 1, and I was no longer needed as an afternoon bed.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ In the evenings, however, I was. Cuddling at length with Mama was how toddler Toby drifted off. Everyone warned me he’d never learn to fall asleep on his own. But he did. Now, I can leave him day and night, awake, looking at his books, and know he’ll close his eyes soon enough.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ I also know that one day these night wakings will end too. And there will be no little Toby climbing in bed with me in the wee hours of the morning, nestling up against me, drifting back to sleep, safe in Mama’s arms. There will be no little Toby. He will grow and change and not even think of running into my room at night. More likely he’ll be sneaking past my door, like I now sneak past his, trying his hardest not to wake me.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ So, I’ll take the exhaustion and the muddled mind. I’ll take the weight of his sweet warm body, half crushing me in the dark. I’ll praise Jesus for every night this child still runs to me. And I’ll pray that no matter how big he grows or how far he goes, that he knows he can always run back to me, that as long as I live I will be here, ready to hold him tight, safe in Mama’s arms.
I don’t know what the days ahead will bring. I c I don’t know what the days ahead will bring. I can’t guess at what new sorrows or new mercies await us. But I do know those sorrows will be amplified and mercies missed if we continue to harden our hearts against each other—dismissing, demonizing, and detracting when we disagree.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ I understand the fear. I understand the frustration. I’m caught up in the same vortex of uncertainty as you. But everyone who doesn’t see what we see is not the enemy.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ All of us are formed by our experiences, fears, and anxieties. Those things often push us in opposite directions. They push one family to vaccinate, one family to not vaccinate. They push one person to mask, one person to not mask. They push one person to champion one candidate, policy, or political party. They push another person to the opposite candidate, policy, or party.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Sometimes, the direction we’re pushed is wrong. Sometimes, it’s dangerous. Other times, it’s just different. But while some might choose a direction because of ignorance, precious few choose one because of malice.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ The malice usually comes after the choice. In how we view those who choose differently. In how we talk about those who choose differently. In the pride we feel in our own rightness and righteousness. In the injustices we perpetuate in the name of justice.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Contempt makes no converts. Love, however, does. Compassion does. Respect does. So too does humility. We can’t begin to understand how others’ experiences, fears, and anxieties have shaped their thinking, until we recognize how our experiences, fears, and anxieties have shaped our own.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Sit with that. Figure it out. Then, the next time you’re angry or frustrated with someone standing on the other side of an issue, put the most charitable “why” on their thinking. Or better yet, ask them about their “why,” with no plan to change their mind. Listen to them. And love them, even if you still think they’re wrong. That, more than anything, will change their mind…or yours.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ One of the hardest things Jesus asks His followers to do is love people when they’re wrong. But He loves us when we’re wrong every day. And if we ask Him, He’ll give us the grace to do it, too.
What do you do when the world is burning? What do What do you do when the world is burning? What do you do when everything and everyone seems to be spinning out of control, whirling and tilting in some mad, pointless dance? What do you when everywhere you look there is so much damned waste—of life, of love, of effort, of families, of reason and friendship and commonsense?⁣ ⁣ First, you pray. You ask Jesus to be with us in the mess and show us a way out. You offer your own mess to Him. Then, you do what Catherine Doherty called “the duty of the moment.” You do the task that God has put right in front of you in that very second.⁣ ⁣ So, you hold the baby. You change the diaper. You wash the bottles. You wipe the tears. You do the laundry. You play the game. You listen to the story.⁣ ⁣ Or, you smile at the customer. You file the report. You return the email. You teach the lesson. You check on the patient. You sit down with the client. You meet the deadline.⁣ ⁣ You also call the friend. You offer the dinner invitation. You make the new mom a meal. You check in on your parents. You watch your sister’s kids. You kiss your spouse when he walks in the room. ⁣ ⁣ Whatever the next right thing in front of you is, you do it. And you don’t just do it. You do it with love. You do it with attention and care and the heart of a servant. You do it with everything you’ve got. You do it like you’re doing it for Jesus Himself. You change Jesus’s diaper. You meet Jesus’s deadline. You make Jesus’s meal.⁣ ⁣ Then, you do the next duty of the moment. And the next. And the next. And you keep on doing the duty of the moment until you are standing before Jesus, hearing Him say the words, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”⁣ ⁣ It may not seem like much. It might not earn you any applause or gold stars or even a thank you. But it will change the world. It will help save the world. Slowly. Often imperceptibly. But change will come just the same, one moment at a time, one person at a time.⁣ ⁣ And the more people there are doing the duty of the moment—whatever that duty is, in whatever place God has placed them—and doing it with love, attention, and grace, the faster that change will come. The faster peace will come.
Have you ever wanted to hide your face? Not metaph Have you ever wanted to hide your face? Not metaphorically. Literally. Cover it. Veil it. Keep it inside the house and away from mirrors so not even you have to see it⁣ ⁣ I did. When I was 23. Some eating disorder related problems with my cycle led my doctor to put me on birth control (Yes, bad call). When the side effects became too much, I went off it abruptly. That’s when the breakout started.⁣ ⁣ My skin had broken out before, and in my teens I dealt with occasional acne. But all those breakouts together didn’t compare to what happened to my face in the summer and fall of 1998. Every inch—every centimeter—of my face was covered in small red pimples. There were hundreds of them. Maybe a thousand. And no amount of makeup or concealer could hide them.⁣ ⁣ In the months that followed, I tried over-the-counter creams, prescription creams, antibiotics, special diets, everything. Nothing worked. So, I tried something else—something so toxic that it required regular monitoring by a doctor. That worked. My skin cleared. But to this day, I wonder how that contributed to the myriad of weird health issues I’ve battled ever since.⁣ ⁣ That experience is one reason why, as I got older, I became more committed to clean beauty products. It’s also why 3 years ago, I made the switch to using @Beautycounter.⁣ ⁣ In a season of life where I can’t do much for myself, I can still care for my skin. Yes, it’s getting older. But skin doesn’t have to be young to be beautiful. Skin can glow, shine, and feel supple at any age. Sunscreen, good nutrition, and virtuous living all help. So too do quality skincare products, free of toxins and harmful chemicals.⁣ ⁣ Starting today, August 11, until Monday, August 16, @beautycounter, is having a site wide sale. All skin care products are 15% off. This only happens 3 times a year, so if you’re ready to make the switch to clean beauty and give your skin the best care you can give it, head to my stories for details. Together, we can figure out the best products for you. ⁣ ⁣ I know what it’s like to want to hide your face. I also know the confidence and peace beautiful skin can give. That confidence and peace is all I want you to know.
It’s August 10, and I haven’t had a nervous br It’s August 10, and I haven’t had a nervous breakdown yet. Which may not seem like a big deal, but a few weeks ago, that’s where I thought I was heading. The stress of babies, laundry, cooking, cleaning, adoption paperwork, knee surgery, and writing deadlines had my adrenal levels in overdrive. No matter how much I prayed, ate right, and tried to have reasonably expectations about the day, my heart still raced from morning till night, and I felt like a stupid, weak, self-absorbed failure for drowning in what, compared to others’ struggles, was barely an inch of water.⁣ ⁣ But here I am, 3 weeks later, still busy, still juggling, but no racing heart. When a sitter cancels or a baby won’t sleep or the house looks like a three-ring circus practices in it, I don’t break down crying or lash out at an innocent bystander.⁣ ⁣ What changed? Just one thing. I talked about how I was struggling.⁣ ⁣ I talked to Chris. I talked to a few friends. And I talked to you. I shared what I was going through. I admitted I needed help. And then I accepted the help offered.⁣ ⁣ I also heard again and again that I wasn’t alone—that so many of you feel this way too. In my head I already knew that, but it made a huge difference to hear it from those going through the same struggle at the same moment.⁣ ⁣ Now, 3 weeks later, I’m breathing again. Just because I didn’t keep the stress, anxiety, and sadness bottled up. I didn’t pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t. I did what someone made in the image of God was created to do: I communicated. I shared myself with others. And it helped. It helped a lot.⁣ ⁣ All of which is to say, if you’re struggling, if you’re hurting or drowning in the chaos and confusion of this life, please tell someone. Your husband. A friend. A therapist. The Internet if you have to. God for sure. Let it all out. Even if it doesn’t come out naturally. Even if you feel like a fool. Even if the first person you talk to doesn’t receive it well.⁣ ⁣ You are a gift. Every part of you. Including the struggling parts. Don’t hold that gift back from others. Life is a valley of tears, but it’s so much easier to walk through that valley when we don’t try to go it alone.
Happy Friday! For those new here, I don’t normal Happy Friday! For those new here, I don’t normally walk around in formal wear at noon, but my husband and I are off to a wedding and this is the dress Instagram found for me.⁣ ⁣ We’re leaving behind our boys (3 and 1) and bringing our baby girl (4 months). The story of my late marriage (at 41) and 3 adoptions (at 43, 45 and 45 again) is long, crazy, and shot through with grace. If you dig back some, you can read about it here, but I’d rather tell you about it over a martini (gin, always gin).⁣ ⁣ I’m a writer by trade, and when I’m not feeding, chasing, rocking, cooking, cleaning, and tripping over trucks, I write everything from books about faith to ad copy. This has been my job for 20 years. I am old.⁣ ⁣ Here, I write about what I find interesting AND what I think I can engage in productively online. That means plenty of talk about motherhood, suffering, faith, hope, trust, human dignity, food, body image, adoption, homemaking, and the love of God. It also means no talk of politics, plagues, and current events. I’ve tried that, and it does ugly things to my soul.⁣ ⁣ Last, I’m Catholic. Full stop. No qualifiers. Not conservative. Not liberal. Not traditional. Not charismatic. Just faithful. I strive to abide at the heart of the Church, believing everything she teaches, living everything she teaches, and accepting everything she says is acceptable even if it’s not my preference. I stumble plenty and curse like a redheaded sailor when I’m hurt or frustrated, but I’m trying my best. Which is all Jesus asks. His grace takes care of the rest.⁣ ⁣ If you decide I’m not your cup of tea, no worries. I just hope you leave knowing: ⁣ ⁣ 1) You are loved by Love Himself—totally, forever, even when you fall;⁣ ⁣ 2) God knows what He is doing. And it’s good.⁣ ⁣ 3) God made you to shine like the sun, in His image, with a dignity greater than angels;⁣ ⁣ 4) Every other person has that same dignity: born, unborn, black, white, young, old, healthy, sick, man, woman, Democrat, Republican, American, immigrant, rich, poor, vx’d, unvx’d, masked, unmasked, sinner, saint. We’re called to treat (and speak about!) each other accordingly.⁣ ⁣ Now, tell me, what do you want people to know?⁣
Time. Last week, you said you wanted to know my se Time. Last week, you said you wanted to know my secrets for decorating on a budget, and “Time” is number 1.⁣ ⁣ It’s not a big secret. It doesn’t offer you a quick fix for your decorating woes. But it’s still important because the world doesn’t want you taking time with your house. It wants you spending as much as possible as quickly as possible, striving to replicate the overnight transformations seen on HGTV and many accounts here.⁣ ⁣ But budget wise that’s not possible for most of us. Making a home beautiful when funds are tight takes time. Time to find the perfect piece of furniture. Time to wait for sales. Time to save for the occasional splurge. Even for those with money to spend, instant makeovers aren’t ideal. They result in a generically decorated house, not a uniquely beloved home.⁣ ⁣ Your home should not be generic. When you look around, you should see you (and your family). Your story, your faith, your heart should be incarnate in your home. It should take on flesh in favorite pieces of art, beloved dining room tables, and sacred objects dearly treasured.⁣ ⁣ That doesn’t happen overnight. Not on any budget. Rather, it happens slowly, through the decades, as you find a one-of-a-kind table in a junk shop and inherit a crucifix from your grandmother and finally have enough money to buy the good sofa that’s now on clearance.⁣ ⁣ For me, this approach has meant leaving shops empty-handed because prices were too high. It’s meant having empty corners and walls longer than I’d like. It’s meant accepting free things that aren’t to my taste while I wait to find what is.⁣ ⁣ But it’s also meant not wasting money on cheap junk I don’t like. It’s meant less clutter. And it means now, after 25 years of thrifting, saving, and laying claim to dead relatives’ stuff, my family gets to live in a home thick with stories, memories, and beauty. There is grace in these rooms because of the lives we’ve lived here, but also because of the objects that fill our rooms—beloved, beautiful objects, each with stories of their own, of little value to others, but of great value to us.⁣ ⁣ Time did that. Not money. So, take your time. Be patient. And time will do its work.⁣
I worry about many things: my kids, work, health, I worry about many things: my kids, work, health, finances, and so much else. But you know what I don’t worry about? People using Natural Family Planning in a sinful way.⁣ ⁣ Can some use it selfishly? Sure.⁣ ⁣ Do some avoid pregnancy with NFP because of fear, vanity, greed, lust, envy, or a whole host of less than just reasons? Probably.⁣ ⁣ But if that’s what’s motivating a couple to abstain, rarely will they stick with it. Sooner or later—usually sooner—they trade tracking fertile windows for pills, barriers, or sterilization. Or they realize their reasons for abstaining aren’t all that good and decide they’re cool with having a baby after all. Why?⁣ ⁣ Most of the time? Because NFP is hard.⁣ ⁣ Sometimes, it’s hard to identify fertile signs. Or to find the right method. All the time, it’s hard to not have sex with the person sleeping next to you. Your favorite person. The person to whom you are most attracted. Especially at the time of the month you’re most interested.⁣ ⁣ Using NFP to avoid pregnancy requires so much virtue. It requires justice, temperance, fortitude, and prudence. It requires chastity and self-control. It requires trust and generosity. It requires a spirit of poverty. And it requires hope. None of which our instant gratification, sex-obsessed, consumer culture equips us to practice. ⁣ ⁣ NFP also requires a whole different understanding of sex, children, family, marriage, money, desire, love, freedom, God’s will, suffering, and sacrifice than that preached by the culture. Which is why NFP is not Catholic birth control. It’s the Catholic worldview lived out in the bedroom.⁣ ⁣ Using NFP to delay or avoid conceiving is a radical, counter-cultural choice. And couples who make that choice for the long haul—not for a month, a year, or until NFP “fails,”—almost always have serious or “just” cause for using it (which is the actual word used in Humanae Vitae—iusta, not gravis). True necessity (and grace) are the only thing that makes that hard, hard choice sustainable.⁣ ⁣ Either way, the Church leaves it to the couple to discern. Prayerfully. Thoughtfully. Monthly. That’s their job. Not mine. And I’ve got too many other things to worry about anyways.
It’s been the busiest of weeks in the busiest of It’s been the busiest of weeks in the busiest of years, but I couldn’t let today pass without marveling at the fact that this little boy turned three today. Three! For the few of you who were around back then, can you believe it? Where did the time and my baby go? (Swipe for some throwback Baby Toby.)
A year ago today, while I was organizing my baseme A year ago today, while I was organizing my basement, this guy came racing into the world, six weeks ahead of schedule. I had no idea, as I broke down boxes and filled bins, that a little man who would change our world was lying alone in a Dallas nursery, waiting for his first mom to choose a family for him.⁣ I wouldn’t find that out until the next evening, when we got the call from @cradledingrace, telling us we had a son.⁣ We began the long drive to meet him, just two hours later. ⁣ Despite the smiles in so many of the early pictures, Becket was my hard baby, my intense baby, my “push me to the edge of my sanity” baby. For 4 months, he refused to sleep anywhere but in our arms. For 6 months, he threw up 4 to 6 times, every single feed, every single day. For 7 months, the floor was lava, and being put down the occasion for total despair.⁣ ⁣ Then, around 8 months, all that intense despair turned to intense joy. Or, about 90 percent of it did. The world still occasionally becomes lava when Daddy leaves the room. But the rest of the time, Becket doesn’t stop smiling. At Toby, whom he follows around like a puppy dog. At actual puppy dogs, who are universally greeted with delighted shrieks of “Do Do!” At Ellie, who lives in constant danger of losing an eye from Becket’s attentions. At any and all food, which he eats with abandon in shockingingly large quantities. At worms and bugs, which he gleefully snatches up from the ground. At Alexa, whenever she plays music on command. At stained glass windows, as the light shines through them. At the rainbows, which dance around our floors and walls every sunny afternoon. At “Goodnight Moon,” which he sits patiently through every night. At the wind, when it blows on his face. At all the little moments of life, which I take for granted, but he sees with astonishment and wonder.⁣ ⁣ Chris and I are so blessed that we get to be Mama and Dada to this beautiful, passionate, strong-willed, curious, joyful, holy little man. He is pure gift, total grace, a wonder himself. And we are so grateful to his first mom, for choosing life for him, when almost the whole world would have had her do otherwise.
A year ago today, I was worried about so many thin A year ago today, I was worried about so many things.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ I was worried I’d heard God wrong, that He wasn’t calling us to adopt again.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ I was worried Toby would grow up alone, with no sibling to play with, fight with, and live life with.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ I was worried I’d never hold a baby of my own again, that I’d never feel the weight and warmth of a little body against mine in the night and never celebrate another first smile, first coo, first word, first step.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ I carried those worries with me every moment of every day. I lost sleep over those worries. I shed tears over those worries. And I was blinded by those worries. I spent so much time and energy fretting over my fears, that I couldn’t see the precious gifts God was giving me in what turned out to be our last days with just Toby.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Looking back, it all seems so ridiculous. Such an insane, worthless, useless waste of my days. Because not one thing I worried about came to pass. Not one.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ This has been a long, hard, crazy, beautiful year for us. Like everyone, we’ve carried our fair share of crosses. But none of those crosses were even in my imagination on July 15, 2020. And even if I had somehow anticipated what was to come, worrying about it wouldn’t have changed a thing. It only would have caused me to miss out on more beauty, more joy, more life.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ I’ve learned a lot this past year. But this is one of the most important things I’ve learned. When Jesus said, “Do not be anxious about tomorrow,” He meant it. There’s no point. We can’t see what’s coming. We can’t see the crosses of tomorrow. We can’t see the gifts of tomorrow. We can’t see the graces of tomorrow. It’s all fantasy, fear, and conjecture, which distracts us from what can be seen: today’s crosses, today’s gifts, today’s graces.⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ Tomorrow will come soon enough, with crosses and graces of its own. But it’s not here yet. God is—blessing us, loving us, speaking to us. Being with Him in the day—refocusing on Him and the present work and present blessings when worry strikes— is where the peace is. It’s where the grace is. So that’s where I’m working on staying: with Him (and these babies) in the day. Tomorrow can be anxious for itself.⁣⁣
Being single is not the worst thing. And being mar Being single is not the worst thing. And being married is not the best thing. ⁣ ⁣ That seems like an odd thing for a woman who is besotted with her spouse to say on her 5th anniversary. But so many of you have asked me for advice about singleness or finding a spouse, and this is the best I’ve got. ⁣ ⁣ You see, when you know singleness is not the worst thing, when you know it’s a state in life with its own blessings and opportunities, you’re less inclined to settle. You’re less inclined to give yourself to the wrong person or in the wrong ways. You’re less inclined to say yes to a man who doesn’t draw you closer to God or love you as you need to be loved.⁣ ⁣ Knowing singleness is not the worst thing also makes you more inclined to receive its blessings and seize its opportunities—to study, travel, pray, work, serve, and be Christ to those in need. Or to simply sleep in on a Saturday.⁣ ⁣ Likewise, knowing marriage is not the best thing makes you more capable of saying yes when a good man does come along. It helps you not hold him to impossible standards or measure him against some unrealistic checklist.⁣ ⁣ It also helps you know that marriage can be an occasion for growth, but it will not make all your wounds disappear overnight. The words “I do” are not a magic spell. Married or not, you will still be you, beautiful, broken, in need of a Savior. And that Savior is not your spouse. It’s Jesus.⁣ ⁣ Even the best of spouses will annoy you, frustrate you, and hurt you. Happy marriages require patient love and ready forgiveness. Both come more easily when you’re not looking to another broken person to bring you your happily ever after.⁣ ⁣ I adore my husband. I love my life with him. But I loved my single life too. God was in that life then, just as He’s in this life now. I was following Him then, loving Him then, and seeking His will then, just as I am now. And that is the best thing. He is the best thing. He is the goal. Not a diamond. Not a baby.⁣ ⁣ Knowing that makes hard single years and hard marriages easier, and happy single years and good marriages better. More important, knowing that will lead all of us to the joy of which a wedding day offers only a foretaste.
Feeling better. Chasing rainbows. Feeling better. Chasing rainbows.
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