A little plug: UPDATED.

UPDATE: Here is the link to "Parenting Advice" (previously run here).

I haven't had much time to explore CatholicLane yet, but it looks like a great home-on-the-web for Catholics. My favorite bit so far is that they have two liturgical calendars: "In the Ordinary Form" and "In the Extraordinary Form." That's the spirit! No, literally. That's the spirit.

And I have a column going up there tomorrow. Keep your eyes peeled!

That pesky sixth commandment.

Miriam and I were reviewing the Ten Commandments this past week. She's regulation-oriented and loves a good "To Do" (or "Not To Do") list. I didn't censor any words, had a headache, and was relieved when we got through "Thou shalt not commit adultery" without comment.

We finished the list, and she turned to me and asked, "Mom, what's your favorite commandment?"

"Oh, gosh," I mumbled. "Uh, I guess the first. It sort of sets the whole stage for the rest."

"Mmmm," she nodded wisely, glancing up and down the list. "Well, that's okay. My favorite is, of course, number six."

Oh, she did not just say that, I choked, "Huh. Well, Miriam, why is that?"

"Well, I just need you to tell me what adultery is. Then I will explain."

Of course. "Okay, well. You know how Daddy and Mommy are married?"

"Yes."

"And what if I decided I was tired of being married and left Daddy to marry some other guy? That would be adultery. If you pretend someone is your husband who is not really your husband."

Her eyes grew very wide, "Oh, that would be a bad decision. That would make lots of people very sad. And if Daddy pretended there were more mommies, that would be bad, too."

"Yes," I concluded.

"Well," she sighed, "That's why it's my favorite commandment. Because I love just one mommy."

At this point Belly chirped in, "Well, I would like to have morwe mommys."

And that, as they, say, is that.

Wait...

... it's Friday again?

Parenting advice from the brink.

The Gray Lady ran an opinion column this weekend by Emily Rapp, mother to 18-month-old Ronan. Ronan has Tay-Sachs disease and, by all medical estimates, will die in a particularly gruesome manner before he is three.

The subject is chilling, but I was particularly struck by her critical analysis--wisdom gained in suffering--of our parenting culture. Today's parenting advice, she writes, is entirely future-oriented:

"All parents want their children to prosper, to matter. We enroll our children in music class or take them to Mommy and Me swim class because we hope they will manifest some fabulous talent that will set them — and therefore us, the proud parents — apart. Traditional parenting naturally presumes a future where the child outlives the parent and ideally becomes successful, perhaps even achieves something spectacular. Amy Chua’s “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother” is only the latest handbook for parents hoping to guide their children along this path. It’s animated by the idea that good, careful investments in your children will pay off in the form of happy endings, rich futures."

Then she throws the punch.

"But I have abandoned the future..."

Emily, I know you say that no one ever asks advice from the parents of a terminally ill infant. But I have learned so much from you, and from reading and knowing the mothers of children who have died. Your particular wisdom is this:

"But the day-to-day is often peaceful, even blissful. This was my day with my son: cuddling, feedings, naps. He can watch television if he wants to; he can have pudding and cheesecake for every meal. We are a very permissive household. We do our best for our kid, feed him fresh food, brush his teeth, make sure he’s clean and warm and well rested and ... healthy? Well, no. The only task here is to love, and we tell him we love him, not caring that he doesn’t understand the words. We encourage him to do what he can, though unlike us he is without ego or ambition."

While parents of dying children didn't ask to be signposts, they have in fact become reminders of a truth all parents forget at their own peril: Our children are not ours first. Their lives are not directed to an imagined future, a blank slate on which we get to draw what we would see. Children themselves are not future-oriented. They live now and today.

Miriam loves ballet class today, in this moment. She dreams of getting bigger and making stronger leaps and more powerful turns, but those dreams do not yet diminish the drills and little jumps she can make right now. Belly loves to work out puzzles and build towers, regardless of the future I imagine for her of mathematical prowess or craftsmanship.

For these little people, their lives are already a whole. If Miriam were to die tomorrow (and who knows what the hour is for any one of us?), Todd and I would be devastated and the world would wonder, "What could have been?"

But she would not.

The one who dies has made a complete life. The end and the beginning are known to her and to God.

So, before we parents of the healthy, strong children leave Emily Rapp and Ronan to the mercy of God, perhaps we can admire her wisdom and learn from her how to prepare our children for the only future we know: that moment when the veil between this world and the next lifts. Are they ready to step peacefully from God's hidden presence into his unhidden presence? Have we reassured them that death is not the end or the destruction of dreams? Is our confidence in the victory of life over death the guiding principle of our parenting style and our parenting advice (which we so freely dish when it comes to sleep schedules, slings, and breastfeeding)?

If first things are first, then in our homes, too, "the day-to-day is peaceful, even bliss." And the end will be awful, but it will not be the end.

Image: Antonietta Meo.

New look. Same blog.

It's finally time for a little makeover. For those who know me, this not-so-radical change will appear right in line with my more conservative tastes. They will also feel my melancholy as the blog of yesteryear turns to the blog of today.

Or perhaps I should Just Keep Quiet and Nobody Will Notice.

Enjoy!

Holding on to Hope.

Before reviewing this book, I have to make a full disclosure: I have not actively done the exercises in it. I have read it, but not done it. And this is definitely a book that was written to be worked through, to be actively engaged. Sr. Kathryn J. Hermes, FSP, is the author of Surviving Depression and now brings us Holding on to Hope: The Journey Beyond Darkness. She intends this book as a sort of sequel or "something more" than her first. Holding onto Hope is for those who have survived depression and now are at a place in their lives when they are ready to be healed.

First, the good news. Sr. Kathryn's use of Scripture and her obvious love for the prophets and patriarchs is beautiful. Her choice of texts and some of her more personal stories are touching and really can give comfort and hope.

But the over-riding vocabulary of the book smacks often of contemporary psycho-babble. It is "therapy speak," with lots of dream-symbolism, discerning our "true feelings," and self-limitation and self-conceiving. I don't think it ever crosses the line and stands against the faith, but the packaging of her otherwise much-needed message of hope just turns me off.

The exercises provided by co-author Sr. Helene Cote, PM, are kind of silly. I'm not a licensed "inner healer," and these guided meditations may provide some real peace to some people. But I'd rather stick to a more traditional Scriptural meditation that does not include unScriptural "guided imagining."

On a happier note, it looks like Sr. Helene had nothing to do with Surviving Depression, so I might give that a gander. I also found an interesting recourse on Christian cognitive therapy over at Eighth Day Books; it looks a little more promising. I'll stick to Scripture and the Fathers for now.

This review was written as part of the Catholic book reviewer program from The Catholic Company, and the reviewer received a free copy of the text in exchange for her opinion. Visit The Catholic Company to find more information on Holding on to Hope. They also have great resources on and copies of icons.

A secret.

From Evlogia, via Melanie at Wine Dark Sea: How to do it all. I love this bit:

No one does it all and the more stretched a life, the less well it’s lived. It’s not about doing it all. It’s making sure that all you’re doing is the work He’s really given you. Not only the art of saying no, but the art of doing things unnoticed. The greatest lives are lived small, doing the little things that only God sees. A life magnified by grace.