And then go your way.

And don’t worry about knowing how you are going to manage.  It is enough to have told our good Lord.

He has an excellent memory.

Saint Jeanne Jugan (Saint Marie de la Croix)
courtesy of Among Women, Episode 29

My devotion to the Divine Mercy Chaplet goes back to my early days of Catholicism, when it was included on the CD from Catholicity that I used to learn the rosary.

For one thing, it was quick.  And unlike the rosary, that had me fumbling and mumbling, the Divine Mercy Chaplet rolled off my tongue.

I forgot about it for awhile, until the novena before Divine Mercy Sunday would roll around each year, or until I’d have a special request or a special set of stressors.

Then, last year, I found the sung version, courtesy of a post at Faith & Family Live.  All of a sudden, it became easier to pray, part of my iPod experience.  Recently, I started listening to it before I listen to my daily dose of podcasts.

It’s changed my approach to my days.  I’ve always struggled with patience and calmness (not naturally possessing either), but I find that by injecting my mornings with this song-prayer, I’m playing offense.  Last year, there were mornings, driving my oldest to preschool, feeling pressure to be on time and to get to work and to balance my checkbook (they seem unrelated, don’t they?), that the words would wash over me and literally stop my mind in its tracks.

Forgive me if I’m making it sound magical or mystical.  It’s not magic.  It’s not mysticism.  It is prayer that’s unlike any other prayer for me (though very similar to my experience with the sung rosary).

The other day, as I had the Divine Mercy Chaplet blaring out during my shower, interrupted by a four-year-old wanting to play the “Anything Game.”  (This is a guessing game, where we take turns giving each other clues and guessing.  We play it all.the.time, and she’s pretty good at actually stumping me.)  Hearing her sincere belting out of the song, punctuated by “Mom, your turn!,” made me smile.

It also made me think about how Mary must have used prayer in her daily life.  I’m pretty sure she had a fair share of stress in her life.  Life back in those days was hard in a way few of us can appreciate.  She wasn’t rich, and she didn’t have the luxury of sitting down for a few minutes of “Me Time.”

I wonder, though, how prayer played a part in Mary’s life, how conversation with God — both the talking and the listening — worked in her life.  When she woke up to the silent house, everyone else still barely asleep, did she share those precious still moments with God?  As she scrubbed, did she silence herself and wait for the small Voice to pierce through the activity?  As she prepared food, did she laughingly recount Jesus’ latest antics to His Father?  Before collapsing at night on her bed, did she offer a thankful Psalm of praise?

The Divine Mercy Chaplet has taught me a lot about Mary.  As I contemplate the words in their cycle, I see her as a guide to understanding God’s infinite mercy.  The words become a way to keep my restless self busy as my mind delves deeper into the idea of how much God must really love me.  He gave His Son; His Son said Yes to the Cross.  Though the language feels old-fashioned, at first, it also reminds me of the timelessness of God.  Though it always feels like I don’t have time, like I can skip it just this once, like I can save it for later, I need the daily reminder of God’s mercy and love.

With so much wrong in the world, the Divine Mercy Chaplet anchors me in hope, with Mary guiding me to a deeper understanding of her Son.

But, since you’re here and looking for me, check these out:

• This week’s Catholic Moments, where I’m Mary Moment-ing about Mary Vitamins.

• My column this week at CatholicMom.com, where I’m prattling about the loveliness of my car’s decorations

1. Not only did I buy a new vacuum to replace the old broken one, but I used it. On the floors. Without kicking and screaming and protesting.

2. I’m not micromanaging the time change this year.  Yes, we’re messed up and I’m constantly tired (there’s no such thing as an extra hour, thankyouverymuch), but I’m just going with the flow.  Kids in bed late (according to “old time”)?  Well, at least they saw Daddy before they went.

3. Last night I updated my Christmas spreadsheet (yes, I’m that much of a geek) and discovered that (a) I’m almost done with gift buying (making calendars and buying the big gifts for our girls are the only things left!), thus putting me well in line to be free of Christmas shopping during Advent, and (b) thanks to some (accidental) thriftiness, I’m $100 ahead!  (Guess where the money for the dreaded dress is coming from?)

Go sound some trumpets over at Faith & Family Live, where you’ll find Small Success Central.

The discussion over Ohio’s Issue 2 has had me thinking for a month or so about agricultural things.

During college, I learned a lot about agriculture from people who actually grew up on farms.  I was involved with the dairy club, though I had zero background with dairy animals or life on a dairy farm.  I just liked cows, and I was accepted into that group (though perhaps with a few raised eyebrows).

I did grow up in the country, though, and my dad had an agricultural background.  I credit that with what I now think of as my farm girl sensibility.  Through the years, one thing that has stuck with me and has continued to be reinforced in my various agricultural exposures: most people, and especially those outside the small percentage who actually work in agriculture, do not understand or fathom what’s involved in bringing the bounty of food from the field/barn to the store to their tables.  In that lack of understanding comes some very misguided conclusions.

I can’t help thinking, considering the mud-slinging I’ve seen in my inbox over Issue 2 (which passed, by the way), that some other folks could use some farm girl/boy sensibility.

Livestock animals are not pets.

There, I’ve said it.  It’s been simmering in me for weeks.  Now it’s out there.

I don’t agree with making laws by constitutional amendments (but I forgot to vote yesterday, so my voice was silent in the whole debate).  I also don’t agree with the humanization of animals that’s going on in our country.

As our dogs and cats — our pets, which are animals — become more important, have more rights, it trickles over into other areas, like animal agriculture.  As more and more people get a farther and farther distance from their country roots, livestock — cattle, swine, chickens, and so forth — start to seem like pets of a different nature.

The danger of that is that then the same parameters you use to determine if your dog — who you probably think of as a family member — is comfortable start to seem a logical set of criterion for determining if any other animal is being well tended.

The line between abuse and humane starts to look ridiculous, in other words.  And don’t be surprised when the price of your food starts to skyrocket.

The reason for some of the practices that you might not understand, that you might mistakenly think are inhumane, is to increase efficiency, raise productivity, and, in the end, keep the price of food low.

Unfortunately, you can’t have cheap food and livestock as pets.  Perhaps even more importantly, livestock do not need to be treated as pets.  (Your dog doesn’t either.  But that’s a different discussion.)

There’s a danger in this humanization of animals, a danger for us. If animals are equal to us — and I don’t believe they are, though I’m not in any way advocating abuse — then what’s the next step?  If abortion is a right we have already, and unborn babies aren’t people until some point that we’re all going to argue over in a quest to deny the Truth, how does animal rights encourage the dehumanization of us?

I’m out of writing time this morning, so I’m going to leave it at that.  For further reading, check out The Omnivore’s Delusion: Against the Agri-Intellectuals.  It should be required reading, as far as I’m concerned.

Out of nowhere, presumably in the interest of shaking things up a bit, he asked her, “Do you want a new dress for the company Christmas party?”

In a moment filled with sinking feelings, she realized she should have read the company party email more carefully to see where it would be held.

She knew he didn’t mean “You have nothing to wear that’s worthy of such an esteemed event” or even “I can’t be seen with someone who dresses like you.”  There was no doubt that he meant something like “You deserve a new dress” and “Here’s your chance to buy a little something special to wear.”

Nevertheless, as a die-hard tomboy, she felt panic rising quickly in her.  She was unable to concentrate on the book (which couldn’t have been the book’s fault).  She started thinking about the raves he had shared about his colleagues, and she started imagining their awesome wives.

“I’ll have to be sure to keep my mouth shut,” she blurted out.

He looked up, confused.  The team he was interested in had just scored or fumbled or something.

She had to face facts, and quickly. There was a little over a month before the company Christmas party.  She had zero fashion sense outside her comfort zone of jeans and cowboy boots.  Though she hated shopping almost as much as she hated wasps and creepy crawly bugs, there was no doubt that shopping would be involved.

Will our heroine find a dress that’s within her budget, that fits her right, and that she likes?  Will shoes be a possibility?  How about a coat that won’t look dorky and farm girlish over a stylish outfit?  You’ll have to stay tuned for the next installment…

What was that weight?  Could I put it down?  Why was I carrying it?

We all have weight on our shoulders.  Maybe it’s grief or pain; maybe it’s stress or worry; maybe it’s a project or a deadline.

What I forget, so often, is that I don’t carry my weight alone.  Right beside me, if only I’ll look, is Mary.  She’s trying to reach my hand, but I keep moving it out of her reach.  Jesus is there too, and He’s trying to get that heavy load off of me, but I keep shrugging off His touch.

If only I’ll let them help me.

Do things have to get bad, explode in my face, leave me in tears, before I’ll accept their help?

Reaching out, at last, I feel the relief, the comfort, the embrace.

Here’s hoping today is a lesson in remembering their support and knowing that the weight of the world is theirs to carry.

—

My column at Today’s Catholic Woman this week is about Mary’s title Mother of Divine Providence.  Here’s a snippet, and then you can run along and read the rest:

In June, my husband said something that shattered me.

“I think you’re depressed.”  He thought, in fact, that I had been depressed for months.

How could this be?  Surely I wasn’t suffering from something so cliché as depression.  I wasn’t ready to kill myself, after all.  Come ON, I thought, there’s NO WAY.

When I started paying attention, I couldn’t ignore the little signs and symptoms.  I had to listen to the voices… the voice of my husband, the voice of my spiritual director, and the still, small voice.  They were all telling me that something had to change.

The change was eight weeks long, an unpaid sabbatical from my parish work.  The battle I began with became less center-stage, and I wondered, over and over, if my struggle, at the heart of it, was one of trust.

When I ignore that small voice, that call from above, that inner wisdom that isn’t mine, then I make a mistake that ripples to the rest of my life.  Left untended, the ripples turn into waves, and then they affect everyone around me, especially those closest to me.

On the other side of my sabbatical, I could see the peace I felt as cloaked in something else: trust.  I had to trust in God that in this unplanned leave from work, taking away a needed portion of our income, that the bills would still be paid, the kids would still be fed, the financial side of things would turn out OK.

Trusting God doesn’t always make sense.  In fact, we are often asked to trust Him when it makes the least sense.

Mary is a model for me of trust in God.  At the wedding at Cana, when they ran out of wine, she could have just shrugged.  What did it matter to her, after all?  There was no need to get involved.

To read the rest, visit Today’s Catholic Woman.

—

Both images in this post are of Mary as Mother (or Our Lady) of Divine Providence.  Aren’t they just great?  I feel comforted just looking at them.

To me, the last day of October means the last day of the Month of the Rosary.

(That either makes me an endearing Mary geek or an insufferable Mary obsessor.)

Before you go writing the month off and moving along to trying something else, let me put a final plug in for the rosary.

I know it’s not easy. I know that, for some of you, I might be kicking a dead devotion, one which you think has no hope of life.

But sometimes, we measure success by the wrong standard.  I do this all the time.

Have I planned it and coordinated it and figured it all out?
Is it going the way I want it to go?
Am I the one in control?

I propose a different way to assess effectiveness with the rosary.

Have I tried it?
Have I asked for help…from a friend, from someone with a devotion to it, from Mary herself?
Have I actually sat down and spent time with Jesus’ life?

Maybe you struggle in different ways.  These questions reflect MY specific struggles with the rosary, and you can see that there’s a theme of pride and stubbornness.  You might have to discern the questions that help you reflect on a way to approach the rosary.  For me, it came down to making time and just doing it.

The rosary is a trip down Memory Lane.  Through the rosary, we keep ourselves busy and we enter into meditation on the most important parts of our Christian faith: Jesus’ life.

You might not feel anything.  This isn’t about feelings.  It isn’t about bolts of lightening or sudden insight.

It’s about making time, taking Mary’s hand, and venturing into the place of the rosary.

You can do it!  She will help.  (And I will pray for you.)

It’s been a while since I’ve assembled a list like this (two years!), so, inspired by my guilty confessions when I was on the Faith & Family Live Cast yesterday and in the spirit of Jen’s weekly Quick Takes, here goes:

–1–
My family doesn’t pray the family rosary. It’s not that I don’t want to.  It’s just that we…don’t.  Guess you’ll have to listen to more of the conversation, but given some of the surprise that my family doesn’t, I thought I should mention it here, in public.

–2–
When I grow up, I want to be a grandma. This isn’t the job description that I went to college to get degrees in, and I never even considered it viable until I had young children of my own.  Whether or not I have biological grandchildren, when I’m gray enough, I plan to adopt them from other people.  I think young children exist for grandparent-aged people to enjoy, or maybe my parents and my in-laws just have me hoodwinked.

–3–
Nothing says “great dinner” to me like a big steak, baked sweet potato on the side and a salad with chipotle ranch dressing, from Long Horn. I know it’s not good for me.  I don’t care.  These are guilty confessions, after all! 

–4–
I don’t really like vegetables. There, I’ve said it.  I used to operate under the assumption that I did, that I enjoyed eating healthy, but I have come to the realization recently that I don’t.

–5–
My kids watch TV. Probably more than they should.  (But we read lots of books too.  And yes, I comfort myself with that.)

–6–
Some weeks, we live out of laundry baskets. The clothes may or may not be folded.  I may or may not feel guilty about this, depending on the week.

–7–
I am not crafty, I don’t sew, and my creativity is limited to certain parameters that don’t involve coordination. Therefore, it should come as a great surprise at Christmas when unsuspecting family members receive homemade gifts. 

The Quick Takes jackpot is over at Conversion Diary.  Go check it out!