The Gift of Hospitality

I get such joy from opening up my house up to others.  I think that's actually one of my favorite things in the world to do--to play hostess.

Showing hospitality to others is kind of what I live for...well, that's mostly true, but not totally.  [Gulp.] Time for a reality check.

Opening up my home when I'm just being "Mom" and "Grammy"-- that's what I live for, and that's easy. Playing the more demanding role of plain old "Hostess" is a tad harder for me.

When it comes to hosting family events, I am all in, all the time.  Even when it's our whole gang--five married sons and the 22 kids they have between them--I am never daunted by the idea of having them all descend upon us, though it is undoubtedly chaotic.  I love to cook for them.  I love making pre-party menu lists, setting up the buffet and/or dining table, putting up party decorations if the occasion calls for it, and the whole nine yards.  My husband and I seriously can't ever get enough of watching our grown-up boys interacting with each other, hearing their laughter in the house again (our favorite sound); it's wonderful seeing our girls, who get along so beautifully, swapping mom stories; it's a hoot seeing the little cousins chasing each other around the house or the yard, or playing together in our basement playroom.  It's loud and crazy and so much fun for us.  Being down here in VA, where we live near three of our sons and 14 of our grandkids (and we're actually centrally located, almost exactly midway between the two boys who live south of us and the one who lives north), our house is often the meeting place for Pearl holidays and family get-togethers.

But since moving here in 2017, we haven't played host and hostess to too many non-family members.  We had the pastor of our sweet little parish over once for lunch--and a house blessing--a few years ago.  We had our good friends (whom we met at church--natch!), T and R, over for a nice steak dinner a few months ago.  But as I said, when we're playing host and hostess, the guests are usually named Pearl.

Last week, on a whim one day we decided to invite a nice woman whom we see at daily Mass to come to our house for coffee afterward on Friday.  We chat with her often on our way out of church, but we never see her anywhere else.  This darling lady, who is about 20 years older than we are, has been widowed for many years and lives alone.  We just thought it would be nice to have the opportunity to really get to know her and to make her feel special.  On Thursday night, I was already getting excited about having company the next morning, so of course I got the table all set up in anticipation.  This was going to be a very casual affair, but I still wanted it to be nice.

My initial menu plan was simple: coffee, a bowl of mixed fruit, and some pastries (store-bought mini-muffins, some delectable little caramel-iced cakes from our town's popular local bakery, and some leftover banana bread I'd made for my hubby).

My husband and I drove to church in separate cars, because although we usually stay after Mass to do the Divine Office prayers with some of the other parishioners, I knew I was going to want to go right back home and get things prepared.  Plus, he was the sacristan that day and was going to have to stay to clean up, and our guest had to do some work involving the altar flowers as well. So I went home ahead of them--to fill the cream and sugar dishes, to brew a fresh pot of coffee, to pour a lemon-sugar glaze over the fruit, and to slice the cakes and put out the goodies.   

It was a treat to use my three-tiered dessert tray, a gift from son #2 and his wife, Ginger.  She found the blue-and-white plates (my weakness!) at the thrift, and he drilled the holes in them and added the hardware.  I would love this piece if it was store-bought, but it means so much more to me that it was designed and homemade by two of my favorite people.  Such a thoughtful gift!

I decided at the last minute to make some mini-quiches, stopping on the way home to get some scallions at the grocery store because we were out.  To make these quiches, I flattened slices of white bread with a rolling pin, cut out little circles with a biscuit cutter, buttered the bottoms, and put them in a muffin pan to make the "crusts." Then I added diced scallions and grated Swiss cheese, and finally poured an egg and cream mixture into the muffin cups until they were almost full, and baked at 350 degrees for 15-20 minutes. Luckily I had plenty of time to get them made before my husband and our sweet guest got to the house.

I was able to use another gift from son #2 and his wife for our little after-Mass get-together: a handy thermos coffee pot.  Now that I have a Chemex pour-over coffee maker, I use it pretty much every day.  I used to rely on a Keurig and brew my cups one at a time; now I make a six-cup pot first thing in the morning and transfer the coffee from the glass Chemex carafe to the thermos, where it stays hot for hours. (I don't know about you, but for me, just about any time of day is a good time for a cup of coffee!  #addictedtocoffee)

Our church friend stayed for about two hours, and we just sat at the dining room table talking that whole time. There was not one lull in the conversation!  It was so enjoyable, and I'm now inspired to invite some of the other nice folks we see every day at Mass over for coffee.

I'm a rather shy person--an introvert, a homebody, a reader, a lover of peace and quiet and solitude--and I'm not naturally gifted at making friends.  Being open to sharing my home with others outside my comfortable circle of Pearls (or should I say string of Pearls?!) is not really one of my charisms--that is to say, gifts given to us from God that enable us to live out the Gospel.  If all I had for friends were the members of my beloved family, I would be perfectly content.  But I'm determined to work at developing this charism of hospitality.  

The wonderful book Theology of Home* has a whole chapter devoted to hospitality.  This quote in that chapter spoke to me: "In opening our homes to others, we allow ourselves to detach from our relatively comfortable, safe, orderly ways so that love, which by its nature is not confining or insular, can spread out beyond these walls and these inhabitants."  Also this: "Hospitality is rooted in kindness--not a kindness that is mere politeness (though that is important) but a kindness that actively seeks to fulfill a need of another unprompted."  What lovely sentiments, so eloquently expressed!  And I'm taking them to heart. I'll let you know how it goes!

Have a wonderful weekend, dear readers.  One filled with faith and family--and friends, too.

*I actually have a copy of this book signed by one of the authors, Carrie Gress.  She gave a talk to a group of women at a church hall here in VA a few years back, and I attended the event with my daughter-in-law, Ginger.  (Gress is a phenomenal speaker!)

Fiction Imitates Life

I have been AWOL from the blog for quite some time now (what else is new?!).  There have been so many family goings-on since I was here last, and I definitely want to get my online scrapbook of memories up to date.  But there's a reason I haven't been blogging as often as I should...because I've been busy working on a different sort of writing project, another novel that I hope to publish myself as a gift to my grandchildren. I have been working on this book, an historical fiction novel that is a sequel to Erin's Ring (but a "stand alone" book, I believe) for a little more than a year now.  I've blogged about this several times over at my secret blog, where I sometimes write posts dedicated solely to the subject of writing.

I love writing fiction.  I love creating characters who start out inspired in part by real people I know, but then totally take on lives of their own once the writing gets underway.  This happened with both of the books I've had published so far, but especially with Finding Grace. And I'm finding that with this new story titled Marguerite's Diary, there is one character who, though she isn't just like me or meant to represent me, shares many of my thoughts, feelings and passions.  She's a 19th-century Belgian immigrant named Camille--a wife, mother, and homemaker, a pioneer woman with five children and another baby on the way.

This passage (still a WIP) is about Camille, but I could have almost written it about myself, if I'd lived when and where she did:

Home was Camille’s happy place, to be sure; and she felt that making a warm, safe, beautiful dwelling where her family could grow and flourish was a noble endeavor, a true vocation.  She was a wife first and a mother second, and then homemaker was her third-highest calling.

Making a home: it took so much more than wooden planks and shingles held together by nails!  It was no use having a well-built roof that would shield them from the weather if what was found underneath that roof wasn’t cared for properly.  Camille believed that it was a wife and mother’s job to create for her family a domestic Church, an earthly reflection of what they could expect to find in the next life, in Paradise.  That’s how seriously she took her housekeeping duties.  A home needed someone to tend to it lovingly, to keep it clean and orderly, to give it the decorative touches that might not even be consciously noticed (by that trio of little ruffians she’d birthed, especially, and their doting father) but were unconsciously appreciated, nonetheless.  She had made this home her life’s work, and she loved it so.  Indeed, she loved the safe haven she and Henri had created for their family out here in the Wisconsin wilderness so much that she sometimes wondered if she’d made an idol of it.  Did she love it too much?

Camille had to remind herself daily that this home was not her real home, and that her only purpose on this earth was finding her way to that one.  To becoming a saint in Heaven.  She prayed fervently for detachment from worldly comforts and desires, but she knew that her great weakness, her attachment to the things of this world, was something she would always struggle to overcome.  Every time she thought of her good fortune—of her happy marriage and healthy children, of Henri’s financial success that had afforded them the lovely nest she’d feathered with such care—she was also assailed with a fear of losing everything.   “God, help me to yearn only for You!” she would silently cry, whenever she became too enamored of the things of this world.

But the joy Camille felt when she looked around the large, sturdy wood cabin Henri had built for his family was achingly deep, almost painful in its intensity.  All about her, the history of her most cherished loved ones was on display.  Everything she saw, no matter which way she turned, filled her with satisfaction and gratitude, and her heart was full to overflowing.  Even the sight of dirty overalls tossed haphazardly on the floor by one of her careless boys was merely a reminder of how lucky she and Henri were to have so many surviving children, whose clothes bore the telltale signs of a busy life filled with farm chores and tree climbing and all kinds of outdoor activity. 

She stooped down to pick up the overalls, adding them to the laundry basket in the corner.  It was full to overflowing and would keep her busy at the washbasin in the coming days. But how lucky she was to have so many dirty clothes to wash!  It was a sign that there were many bodies to care for in this house.

Camille’s eyes, watery now, lit on her grandmother’s dishes, which were lovingly arranged on a shelf of the oak sideboard in the dining area.  She moved closer, so that she could better see the delicate hand-painted flowers that graced the rims of the porcelain plates.  She licked her thumb and used it to wipe away a bit of dust she’d spied on the edge of one piece.  Next, she removed the gilded lid of the sugar bowl and checked to make sure that it was full; it was, so she gently replaced the lid.

From the sideboard, the happy homemaker made her way to the pie safe in the kitchen.  She opened the door to check on the two fresh ones stored there.  She leaned in, breathed deeply, and smiled; they smelled delectable, and Henri would be so pleased!  Her husband worked so hard to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table; making him dishes that he loved was her favorite way to show him how grateful she was and how much she loved him.

So now you know how weak I am, how much in need of grace I am...but also how much I love being a wife and mother and making a home for my family!

I am 126 pages into a book that will probably be about 200 pages long by the time all's said and done.  It's a big BIG story, involving an amazing and awe-inspiring historical event about which few people really know (I never did!).  I have gotten to the point in the narrative where things really start to heat up--and it's at times like this that I usually get a case of writer's block, because I'm afraid I won't be able to do the story I'm working on justice.  Wish me luck, dear readers!  I could use it (as well as prayers, of course!).

*I used the phrase "full to overflowing" twice in the above passage; I kind of did it on purpose, to show how many things in Camille's life could be described that way.  But do you think it's too repetitive?  (Come on, play editor!  Leave me a comment, I promise I won't be offended!)

Blessed

I was at the sink washing dishes one night last week, and suddenly I was struck by the most intense feelings—of gratitude for the many blessings in my life, and of joy for the privilege of being alive and having so, so many people to love. These emotions were triggered by the simple tableau right before my eyes on the kitchen counter: gorgeous blooming roses, given to me as a hostess gift from my daughter-in-law Braveheart's mother on Easter, when she joined us here for brunch; and nearby, a candy dish filled with chocolates, because we were still in celebration mode in this house, at least until the end of the octave of Easter.  (We're still in celebration mode!)

But it was more than just those two items that stirred my soul.  It was what I could see beyond the blooms, adorning the walls of our family room: family photos, many of them of our five boys in various stages of growth (five of the most lovable people in the universe, and that's no exaggeration); a poster-sized enlargement of a photo I took of the Pantheon in Rome, when my husband and I were there on a once-in-a-lifetime trip almost exactly two years ago, staying in a tiny apartment just around the corner from that iconic building; a small replica of the Pieta resting on the ledge of the transom window, a group gift from my sons for Mother's Day many years back; and two signs that were gifts from son #3 and his wife to reflect the reasons we relocated to this VA house four years ago, one that reads "Papa and Grammy's House, Where Cousins Become Friends" and another that says "Our Greatest Blessings" and has pictures of our boys and their families hanging from it, as if on a little clothesline.  From my vantage point at the sink, I could also see my husband's navy blue leather recliner, a gift I gave him for his 50th birthday in 2008; it's the chair he sits in when we watch a show or movie together, and when we pray our daily Rosaries and novenas.  (Okay, full disclosure: it's also where he sits to eat his dinner most nights, with a tray on his lap, while I eat mine in my comfy armchair on the other side of the room.  Yes, we are those old people you swear you'll never become!)

Every single item I looked at gave me pleasure. Everything I saw warmed my heart.

There are less pieces of religious artwork in this room than in most of the other rooms of the house, and yet I was seeing God everywhere I looked.

And I thought to myself, "God, why have you given me so much, when so many have so little?  What can I do to deserve this?"  Of course I realize that no one "deserves" anything, and sometimes the best souls have to endure the worst deprivations and trials.  But still...I did ask Him anyway.  And I think He gave the answer I knew already: to whom much has been given, much will be required. (Luke 12:48)  So I've got some work to do!  

I really don't know why I've been fortunate enough to live the life I've lived—the very life I dreamed about when I was a little girl. I have a husband who loves me as Christ loves His Church and gave Himself up for Her, as St. Paul instructed all good husbands to do. I've been a mother to five sons whom I adore, and now I'm a grandmother to the most eclectic and adorable assemblage of little people on God's green earth, 17 of them here with us (so far!) and five in Heaven.  Blessed. That's what I am.  So blessed.

My whole life has revolved around what was going on at home, and I have never felt like my triple vocation of wife, mother, and homemaker was not “enough.”  It was enough and then some.  I always felt privileged that I was able to focus my energies on the needs of my family (especially since I'm just not as good at juggling lots of balls at once as some people are), and I will be eternally grateful to my husband for making it possible for me to do so.

I believe it's part of the Theology of Home philosophy that your home, your domestic Church, should be a reflection of what is most important to your family, and that it should provide an oasis of peace and tranquility for its members—even when the whole world outside your door seems to be in chaos and turmoil.  Home has always been an oasis for me, no matter where we've lived;  I can only hope that it was the same for our boys when they were growing up and sleeping every night under our roof.  I hope they felt safe, cherished, and as happy as it is possible to be in this imperfect life on earth.

I stood there at the sink, deep in thought, looking like I was wasting time staring out over that counter at our family room; but really, I was doing the very important work of trying to unlock all the mysteries of the universe—and specifically, trying to understand how God would like me to spend the years I have left in my life, for His greater glory and the good of my own soul.

And all of these deep thoughts were inspired by a vase filled with roses sitting next to a bunny dish filled with chocolates!

Refelctions on "Theology of Home" (#3): Setting the Table with Blue-and-White Transferware

Sometimes, I have an interior battle over THINGS.

I mean, I know that we're not supposed to love things--clothes, electronics, jewelry, household furnishings, knicknacks--too much, because they are of this world.  And as the saying goes regarding all the material possessions we accumulate in our relatively short lives here on earth, when our time comes to meet our Maker and begin our eternal lives (hopefully with Him!)--"You can't take it with you!"  None of it will be the least bit important in the hereafter.  Most of our stuff, quite honestly, will end up at Goodwill after our children have taken the few items they might actually want for their own households.

I know this, I do; and I want to become completely detached when it comes to things.  I want to give up any and all feelings of attachment I feel toward the "have to have's" that I've been collecting over the course of my 60-plus years on the planet.  I'm not there yet, and I dearly hope I'll get there in time.  But I'm working on it.  For instance, I popped into TJ Maxx yesterday and during the 20 minutes I was in the store I picked up four or five different decorative items that caught my fancy and then talked myself out of them and put them back.

They had the sweetest little porcelain candy bowls, with little bunnies perched on the side, some of them frozen in the act of climbing in.  I picked up two of these bowls, thinking that when my family comes for Easter brunch, one would hold chocolate eggs and the other jelly beans.  After all, they were only $4.99 apiece!  Why shouldn't I get them?  Then I paused and thought of all the pretty candy bowls I already have at home.  (None of them have climbing bunny rabbits on them, but they will certainly do for holding Easter candy!)  And I put those adorable little bowls back on the shelf.

Lest you think I'm bragging about my ability to walk away from the home décor aisle of TJ Maxx with nothing in my shopping cart, I have to be completely honest: I'm still thinking about those bowls, and it's not out of the realm of possibility that I'll be heading back to the store soon, hoping that there are still some left.

As I said, I battle.  Sometimes I win, but often I lose.

One of my biggest weaknesses over the years has been for blue-and-white transferware dishes made in England.  My love affair with blue-and-white started back in the early 90's, when my mother-in-law (who loved dishes and tableware like nobody's business) gave me 10 dinner plates she'd gotten years earlier at of all places the grocery store, which was running a special (spend X amount of dollars and get a plate for X).  These plates purchased by Mom for a mere pittance, emblazoned with a Colonial-era scene depicting Independence Hall, are now a collector's item.

My mother-in-law got me started with 10 of these beauties.

I was hooked.  And I started keeping my eyes open for inexpensive blue-and-white pieces to add to my collection at places like TJ Maxx and thrift stores.

Over the course of a few years, I found 15 of these at TJ Maxx, each for between $3.50 and $5.

I LOVE that they depict Ireland's Blarney Castle!

More TJ Maxx treasures, collected for a few dollars apiece over a number of years.  I think it's

fun mixing and matching the different patterns.

A thrift store find.

Some years ago, I was able to accompany my husband on a working trip to Amsterdam. 

So when I found this platter with its quaint Dutch scene at a second-hand store, it was hard

to resist.  (And I didn't resist!)

I feel like blue-and-white always looks good, no matter what the occasion.  At Thanksgiving, I add orange napkins; at Christmas, I use red and green.  I so enjoy setting my dining room table with these well-loved dishes.  They are just so pretty, but also so durable and affordable.  (And I know I have a lot of plates!  But we have a lot of people in our family now!  So they are getting used.  Often.)

Not all of my blue-and-white transferware makes it onto the table; some of it is for decoration only.  We are a Notre Dame family, so when I found a transferware plate dedicated to that beautiful campus on eBay, I had to have it.  My baby sister knows about my obsession, so when she and her husband were visiting Jefferson's Monticello, she got me a souvenir plate from the gift shop.  We live in VA now, so this iconic image has even more meaning for me.  These two very special plates hang on one of the walls of our dining room.

Just when I thought I had better put the kibosh on collecting blue-and-white china--I mean how much does one gal need?--my husband surprised me this past Christmas with possibly the coolest platter in existence.

It appears to have a typical Blue Willow pattern, but look closely...

BTW: This is not a sponsored post; but if you're interested in blue-and-white dishes with

all kinds of whimsical creatures on them, check out calamityware.com. 

My husband got just the reaction he'd hoped for when I opened the box and oohed and aahed about how pretty the platter was--but then laughed and exclaimed with delight a few seconds later when I realized it had DINOSAURS on it!  It totally took me by surprise.

That guy knows me, that's for sure.  Our boys were absolutely obsessed with dinosaurs when they were little fellas (actually, they kind of still are!).  To have found a platter that combines blue-and-white transferware with images of those prehistoric beasts is to have found the perfect blend of beauty and whimsy--both of which make my heart extremely happy.

Should dishes make me happy?  Maybe not; after all, they are just things.  But maybe the reason they do make me happy is that, for me, they are so much more than just plates, cups, and platters.  They symbolize hospitality, because I use them whenever we have guests for dinner.  They symbolize serving my family whenever we gather for special occasions.  They symbolize holidays spent together with my favorite people on earth.  It is not necessarily sinful to find joy in the things we use to set a beautiful table, as long as we don't make an idol of them.

I love this quote from page 121 of Theology of Home: "A life seeking God above all else is a reflection of a deeper, more profound order within the soul, an order that frees us of distraction and attachment so that we might strive with constancy for God.  In giving us a desire to live beautifully--in the humble garden clippings adorning our tables, in items arranged on a shelf with care and consideration--even in these quiet ways, he invites us to closely participate in his very essence which is beauty itself."  (Emphasis added with italics is mine.  And I would add to the part about garden clippings and items on a shelf, "in the setting of a table with blue-and-white dishes.")

On that same page of the book, the great C.S. Lewis is quoted: "These things--the beauty, the memory of our own past--are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers.  For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never visited." 

And that right there is the theme running through Theology of Home: we create earthly homes with as much comfort, beauty, light, warmth, peace, and security within their walls as we can, and we do this to make of them a foretaste of our final home in Heaven, the home for which we are always yearning ("the country we have never visited," as Lewis calls it), whether we are aware of it or not.

When I set my table with my beloved blue-and-white, it is not really the dishes themselves that I love.  They are beautiful, indeed, and just looking at them fills me with pleasure.  But what really makes them so special to me is what I am reminded of when I see them: memories of the times that our family or friends have been gathered at our table, talking and laughing and sharing a meal.  I hope that when our children and grandchildren look at them, they have that same association.

I have just one more reference from Theology of Home before I wrap this up: on page 84, the authors quote J.R.R. Tolkein: "If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world."

Perhaps there are worse things to collect, after all, than the blue-and-white transferware dishes that have graced our table for so many food-filled, cheer-filled celebrations over the years.  I hope they have made it a merrier world for the most important people in my life--a world that is not only merrier but also gives them a glimpse of what the next one will be like, when they're back home with God.

My dear late mother-in-law had 8 kids and 32 grandkids; we have 5 kids and 16 grandkids (so far).  I wonder if the desire to amass a huge collection of dishes kind of goes along with the territory when your family is so big...just a thought.  (Or a justification?  LOL)

Happy weekend, dear readers!  I hope yours is filled with food, cheer, and song!

Reflections on "Theology of Home" (#2)

I am about two-thirds of the way through Theology of Home, a lovely book that was gifted to me recently by one of my daughters-in-law, Preciosa, as a way to thank me for watching her children for the day (a favor for which no thank you gift is ever needed, by the way--but this one was much appreciated).

We have only known each other since she started dating my third-born son in 2012, but this D-I-L knows me.  She could not have picked a book that speaks to my heart as loudly as this one does.

Theology of Home is all about the importance of creating a warm and beautiful dwelling where the members of your family can gather and feel loved, safe, accepted, and part of something so much larger than themselves, where their family history and memories are on display through photographs and souvenirs, where guests always feel warmly welcomed...a light-filled sanctuary where they feel God the Father's presence in every little nook and cranny. Because rather than merely dealing with the physical aspect of a home's beauty--the renovating and decorating and furnishing projects with which all the popular HGTV shows are primarily concerned--this book exposes the deep underlying truth that the reason human beings crave a happy earthly home--a "true north," no matter how far they travel in the world--is because they are yearning (whether they are conscious of it or not) for their eternal home in Heaven.

Just as the members of our families who have gone to their eternal homes live on in the next life, the photographs of these deceased loved ones that grace the walls of our earthly homes keep them alive in our memories.

In our dining room: my dad (who died in 2016), my mother-in-law (who died in 2009), and my 

father-in-law (who died in 2003).  The ornate carving above the photos was my M-I-L's and I

acquired it after she passed away; it reminds me of angels' wings, and I hung it above the pictures

of these three with the hope that they are now together in their Heavenly home.

Here is a quote about family photographs from Theology of Home: "There is scarcely a human alive that has not, at some point, felt a keen desire to be both there and here simultaneously.  But the limitations of humanity quickly remind us that we can't be in two places at once...We bridge this gap in our homes with photographs of loved ones...that remind us of the times and places we wish we could relive."

Family photos have always been the backbone of my wall décor.  I used to watch a silly TV show called "Trading Spaces," where two families would trade house keys for 48 hours and with the help of designers, redecorate a room in each other's homes.  I was fascinated by the idea of these folks being able to trust someone else with changing the appearance and personality of the places where they lived, which I never could have done myself.  My youngest son (now 26) once came into the room when he was just a little guy and watched the big reveals of an episode with me. When he saw the before shots and the afters, he said, "Those rooms look terrible now.  Where are all the family pictures?"  He was used to a house that had walls plastered with those, rather than designer-style statement pieces of art.

My only worry is that as my family continues to grow (we are at 16 grandchildren and counting now), I will run out of wall space!

Dear readers, if you cherish the concept of HOME, with all the many deeply emotional elements those four simple letters imply, you would love this book.  The title is spot-on, for it truly is a theological treatise on the very meaning of the word, and it illustrates how every aspect of human life here on earth is ultimately tied in with our need for God and our desire to be with Him in eternity.  It also emphasizes the importance and worth of work done in the home, which seen in a theological context can hardly be thought of as repetitive drudgery: "Whether it's baking bread, pruning a garden, sewing a dress, or even sorting and folding clean laundry, when done with love and in this context of order and freedom [which can assuage fear and anxiety], what was a burden and chore is transformed into a means of sanctification."

Before Theology of Home found its way to me, I had already been inspired  many years ago, when my five sons were still young boys, by similar words in a book that my husband got for me called Holiness for Housewives.

This slim volume was life-changing for me in a way, because I began to see the folding and putting away of every load of clean laundry, the washing of every dish, and even the scrubbing of every toilet as joyful endeavors, because these seemingly menial tasks I was performing were necessary to make our home an orderly world where everyone's needs were lovingly taken care of.  It's not that my husband didn't help me with household chores, because he did; but because he was the one who went out in the world to work and support us and I was the one who stayed home with the kids, the lion's share of the housework fell on my shoulders.  After I read that sweet little book, though, I began to enjoy the work I did around the house on a deeply spiritual level (I mean it!  I did!), and instead of resenting the never-ending chores required to keep our household running smoothly,  I truly began to see housework as a means of sanctification.  Every act performed with sacrificial love for my family became almost like a prayer.

Depending on your vocation in life, holiness will look different for everyone.  For the woman who works primarily in the home, these words from St. Frances of Rome should be an inspiration: "It is most laudable in a married woman to be devout, but she must never forget that she is a housewife.  And sometimes she must leave God at the altar to find Him in her housekeeping."

That sentiment might sound archaic and sexist and who knows what else, but I think there is so much beauty in it.  To know that being "just" a mother and homemaker is noble work is to be a true feminist--IMHO, as the kids say nowadays.

Anyway, getting back to Theology of Home--

I love the way the authors handle the subject of LIGHT, and how important it is for the comfort of body and soul.  Children are often afraid of the dark, but never the light. And there is so much symbolism involved; after all, Christ is the Light of the World, and "darkness, like sin, is characterized more by its deprivation.  Light can, in an instant, cast out the darkness."

As I read a section of the book about candles, and how sitting by candlelight should not just be reserved for romantic dinners, I realized it had been ages since I'd lit real wax tapers for a special family meal.  I used to do it all the time, but in recent years I've gotten lazy, and I've been relying on electric lighting or on pillar candles with LED faux flames.  Well...I have been inspired to light candles again.  As the authors point out, even in a group where creating a romantic atmoshphere isn't the goal, when the only light comes from a campfire, a fire pit, a fire in the fireplace, or candles, conversations feel "cozier and more engaged" as people huddle together near the light. 

Not only am I determined to bring more candlelight back into my home because of this book; I am also determined to eat at the table more often.  As empty nesters, my husband and I have gotten into the habit (when none of our kids are visiting and it's just the two of us) of eating in our respective recliner chairs, with trays on our laps, while we watch a movie or an episode of Glenn Beck together.  While I have been thinking of this as a cozy routine, I wonder if perhaps we need to make an effort to set the table nicely--with candles--at least more often than we do now.  Even when it's just us. 

Yesterday, I was telling my middle son that the last time his dad and I visited the treat aisle at Trader Joe's, I'd made an impulse purchase and brought home a gingerbread house kit--the first one I've ever bought in my 61 years of life.  "I don't know why I never thought to make them with you guys when you were little," I said.  This son and his wife Preciosa have already begun the family tradition of making gingerbread houses with their children every Christmas season, so my boy joked, "Mom, you failed us!"  For just a second, I thought, "I did!  Their childhood contained no gingerbread house-making contests!  That should be a staple of childhood!"  But then I thought, well, we did dye eggs with them every Easter.  And we carved pumpkins at Halloween.  Gingerbread houses just weren't part of our family's "thing."  Neither my husband nor I have any memories of making them with our parents and siblings when we were young, so I suppose it's not that surprising that we didn't think to make them with our kids.

That random conversation about gingerbread houses led me to think of the homes where my husband and I were raised.  We both grew up in comfortable, middle class families, in nice but relatively modest houses, with lots of siblings (he was one of 8, I was one of 5) but not a lot of extra money for things like fancy vacations, new cars, or top-of-the-line wardrobes.  Our family cultures were different in some ways, but also alike in many others.  Both families have always cherished time spent together more than anything--just talking, laughing, eating, drinking, telling old family stories over and over.  When we have reunions, we rarely have any special "activities" or "events" planned; the plan is usually just to hang out in someone's home and enjoy being together.  Our "love language," if you will, is quality time spent together.

Just as a happy, cozy home where the members of the family feel safe and loved is a reflection of the love of our Heavenly Father and the eternal home He has waiting for us, this love of spending time together, too, is a foretaste of what the afterlife we yearn for has in store: it will not be about the material things we enjoyed on earth, but about the people we love here.  They all play a part in our journey back to the Father.  "It will only be in the next life that we will fully understand the effect of our prayers for our ancestors in purgatory and how they, in turn, intercede for us."  Indeed, we make the strongest connections of our earthly lives with our families, in our homes.  And not even death can really separate us.  We are all connected, forever, in ways we will never fully understand in this life.

I feel as if I've gone off on too many tangents here, so maybe I should end this post and pick up later where I left off.  But just one more thing before I go: I am going to a book talk in Falls Church, VA tomorrow, where I will meet author Carrie Gress and have her sign my copy of Theology of Home!  I will be sure to let you know all about it next week!

Blogging is Writing...Right?

My last post  here at String of Pearls bemoaned the fact that my writing career has been somewhat less than stellar, in terms of worldly success.  I have had two Catholic novels published, one in 2012 and the other in 2014, and if I measured their value by the number of book sales they've generated, I would feel like a bit of a failure as a writer.

But never fear, it was not a sad or negative post!   Because I do believe that the path my life took is exactly the one God had mapped out for me.  I know that writing success is not measured in dollars, at least not in God's eyes.

And what a bonus blogging is--because even if I don't have another novel in me, I have this marvelous writing outlet.  If nothing else, dear readers, I can still come here any day I want, write up a post, and push the "publish" button.  I am so grateful for this blog--which has brought so many blessings into my life over the years.  I have "met" people here whom I would otherwise never have known, and these connections have enriched my life in countless ways.  (One of these people is Kari Burke, author of a lovely pro-life novel called The Life I Dreamed.   If you can get your hands on a copy of it, do!)

So today, I am doing a very writerly sort of thing--the sort of thing I used to do when I was writing my second novel, Erin's Ring: I am sitting at a table at Panera, with my laptop plugged in and my stomach way too full after a pretty awesome lunch (comprised of half of a Bacon Turkey Bravo sandwich and a cup of tomato soup--is that TMI?).  And I am blogging--which is writing...right?

I've been meaning to reply to some lovely messages that were left in the comboxes of my last few posts, but I've been so busy that past few days with family events and activities that I haven't had the opportunity.  So that was the first order of business today.  And hopefully, while I'm sitting here without all the usual distractions of home (my favorite place to putter mindlessly), I'll also be able to type up a second installment of the "Refections on Theology of Home" series I started here.

If I was at home, I might put blogging on the back burner and instead find a piece of furniture to paint--like a sweet little antique table that my mother-in-law gave me decades ago.  This humble pine beauty started its life with us as a side table in our NH family room, with a honey-colored stain and a country-style stencil treatment.  Then it was painted black and used as a bedside table in the guest room.  It's been languishing in the basement storage area of our new house for the past few years, still black but nicked-up and looking a bit worse for wear, until just the other day--when I decided it should have a new home in our VA family room and gave it a chalk paint makeover.

My favorite hue for giving a room a "pop of color" is red!

I love that when I look at this little red table, I am reminded of Mom.  Because of that, I could never part with it.

I am an incurable homebody, and I can always find a thousand little projects like that one to work on in my endless quest to make my home as cozy and comfortable as it can be.  And don't even get me started on baking.  (Does anyone else out there find baking to be a deeply therapeutic activity?)

Luckily, with a family as big as ours is now, there is always a birthday cake that needs baking--so Grammy's Bakery is always open for business.

Well, that's it for this post, which is seems to be about nothing (like Seinfeld--remember that hilarious episode?).  It's kind of all over the place.

But hopefully I'll be back next time with more cohesive thoughts inspired by Theology of Home--a book that is beautifully written and filled with gorgeous photographs, a book that I highly recommend.

Reflections on "Theology of Home" (#1)

Not too long ago, I spent the day taking care of my middle son's three little ones (G-Man-5, Princesa-3, and Rosita-almost 2), while my daughter-in-law Preciosa showed some houses to a prospective real estate client.  I don't ever expect any sort of official "thank you" for helping out in this way, because the very reason my husband and I moved down to VA just over two and 1/2 years ago was so that we could see our four oldest married sons and their families--who by some miracle had all migrated to and settled in the same area of the country!--on a regular basis and offer support and help when needed.  But Preciosa gave me the most thoughtful gift after my day with her darling offspring: a copy of Theology of Home, a beautiful book with the subtitle "Finding the Eternal in the Everyday."

To say that I love this book is putting it mildly.  I started to read it a few days ago and decided that I'd like to devote a series of blog posts to it (thus the addition of the "#1" in the title of this post!).  This eye-pleasing hardcover coffee table book deals with a subject that is near and dear to my heart: HOMEMAKING, in the truest sense of the word.  Being a homemaker is a vocation I take very seriously; after marriage and motherhood, I feel it is the most important work I do in my life here on earth.  As the "heart of the home" (a title that I believe belongs to all mothers, everywhere, whether they work inside or outside the home), I long to create a sanctuary for my family.  Because as authors Carrie Gress, Noelle Mering, and Megan Schrieber say in the introduction to Theology of Home, "Home is that place where we are meant to be safe, nurtured, known for who we are, and able to live and love freely."

"Ironically," the authors also say, "despite the innate human desire that there is for home, the notion that someone would actually want to make a home, providing a place of safety, love, order, education, and hospitality, has fallen out of favor.  Could there be, in the minds of millions of women today, anything worse than being a 'homemaker'?  The pendulum, however, seems to be swinging back toward home even if the homemaker title is still unpopular."

Personally, I don't care if the term is unpopular.  I am actually proud to call myself a wife, a mother, and a homemaker.  (Homemaker is a title that much more accurately describes the role of a woman who works primarily inside the home than the term "housewife," which really must be unpopular these days!)

My husband and I will celebrate our 39th wedding anniversary this December.  We are more financially capable of home improvements now than we were in the early years of our marriage. To say that we didn't always have the means to have the newest and the best of everything, when it came to the homes we lived in and the kind of furnishings and finishes found within them, is an understatement.  Back when our boys were little, our priorities were keeping them healthy and well-fed and paying their Catholic school tuitions; home improvements were usually put on the back burner until we could afford them.  So my home might not have always been ready for its HGTV close-up; but even during those times when we were on a shoestring budget, I always tried to make it as warm and cozy and comfortable as it could possibly be. I also wanted it to be pretty--a kind of foretaste of Heaven, a dwelling place that might ultimately help to steer the beloved members of my family to the Father's House, their eternal home.

Luckily, my husband learned over the years to be an outstanding handyman, tackling every sort of building, plumbing, and electrical project imaginable, and I have always been game for wall painting, picture hanging, and furniture refinishing.  We did our best to make every home we lived in feel uniquely "ours," even if it was just a rental.  We started out in a small apartment in Corpus Christi, TX; next, we moved into Navy base housing in Beeville, TX, and at the end of our time there, we became parents when we welcomed our first son; from there, we moved to Jacksonville, FL, where we bought our first home, a ranch-style house, and welcomed three more little boys; after my husband switched careers from Naval to commercial airline pilot, we lived for less than two years in a 1,100 sq ft house in the Chicago suburbs; next we moved to a rental home in Dover, NH; and after just a year there, we bought our "forever" home in that same town, a big Colonial on a quiet, wooded cul-de-sac street, where we lived for 26 years, welcomed a fifth baby boy, and raised our family.  In every one of those settings, I was a SAHM and homemaker, working tirelessly to make my family feel safe, comfortable, and happy within the walls of our home.

Eventually, when our boys grew up, moved out, and moved away, the NH house didn't make as much sense anymore.  We were constantly on the road, traveling to visit them and their growing families.  So we made the somewhat painful decision to sell that house (the one into which we'd poured so much sweat equity over the years, the one we thought we'd never leave), and we moved south to be near all of them.  I wasn't sure if our new, smaller house--located on a postage stamp-sized lot, in a cookie-cutter VA neighborhood--would ever truly feel like home.  But not quite three years in, I can happily say that this new house is indeed our HOME now.  A house is not a home if your people are never in it--and ours sure spend a lot of time in this one!

My husband is busy working on a project that will really make this new house work even better for our ever-growing brood of grandchildren (15 and counting!!), who come to visit here often.  He is currently finishing off the basement, so that we will have a huge, kid-safe play area (as well as another guest bedroom and bath).

I help him any way I can, but let's be honest--he does most of the work!  However, I am always busy myself at the task of homemaking, looking for ways to make this VA house of ours attractive, welcoming, and grandchild-friendly.

I love this G.K. Chesterton quote in Theology of Home: "There are two ways of getting home.  One of them is to stay there.  The other is to walk around the whole world till we come back to the same place."  Which one are you?  The homebody who never wants to leave, like me?  Or the world traveler who loves change and adventure, but breathes a sigh of relief when you finally return and walk through the door of your own house?

Discuss amongst yourselves!  I'll just be in my living room, staring at those canvas images of my grandchildren there on the wall...sighing with contentment because I'm home sweet home.