Why Catholic? Catholic=universal

I am profoundly reminded every day of the many reasons we converted to Cathoicism, and am bursting with a need to share a particular "Baker's Dozen" with others. These 12-13 posts will come sporadically as I strive to shape into words some of those transformationally transcendant experiences I've had with the Church that have solidified my commitment to her over these 5-6 years.

Let's begin with Sunday, August 9th.

My younger children and I attended a Sunday morning mass while on vacation at a small church across the street from my sister's home, 5 minutes from my parents'. We'd been before as vacationing drop-ins, but on this day I was reminded of the universality of Catholicism, and it is one of my favorite "donuts" in the box.

Catholic. Though Protestants speak this word when reciting The Creed ("I believe in one holy, catholic, and apostolic church") proper nouns are listed plainly, without capitalization, nor an understanding of their full meaning. Non-Catholic Christians believe that all churches that follow Christ are One Church, despite their great variances and disagreements, so they continue to speak this word, "catholic," while simultaneously rejecting the Church-Catholic. I used to, too. I remember learning the Creed as a child at my grandparents' Presbyterian church, and wondering, "Why do we say we believe in the 'one holy and apostolic Catholic Church' when we're Presbyterian?" The answers were simple--"We believe in a universal body of Christ--all Christians are Christians," and, "It doesn't mean 'Catholic.'" But I scratched my head every time we recited the Creed collectively in a brick building that had expanded to almost touch the walls of the next door Baptist Church, where they, too, recited the Creed occasionally ... but not necessarily weekly, because they practiced differently. The two neighboring buildings filled two neighboring parking lots with families driving from the same neighborhoods in the community to worship differently while reciting the same Creed. Even as a child this disturbed me. In high school my teacher marked a bold A+ across the top of my poem about the discord. He knew the buildings. He, too, had wondered.

But on this Sunday morning I took the pew I was ushered to by an elderly man whose smile I could see in his eyes, in spite of the mask over his mouth, and began the practice of Catholic mass: in Michigan as in Virginia. I knew the order. I knew the expectations. It gave me great peace to know. Due to Covid some things had changed here, as they had in other congregations across the country, but we met in alternating rows, and listened rather than singing; otherwise, all was set within a familiar frame. Then the moment came that caught my attention.

In every Roman Catholic sanctuary around the world there are prescribed moments when we all stand. This was one of those moments. We were all standing when the same deacon who'd shown us to our pew earlier approached a trio of women two pews ahead of us, gently tapping the closest and youngest of the three on the shoulder, then whispering into her ear a message that caused her great sorrow. The woman to her left--seemingly one generation older--leaned in to gather the same information, and she, too, was obviously taken aback, standing there. She leaned to her left to clarify the moment for the third generation, who was seated (due to her age, not lack of respect or knowing). Something had happened to strike all three with great grief. Someone had died, I was certain, and it was not an unexpected accident. I observed quietly from my position this private moment unfolding before me.

Then we all sat, and these women, too, sat. They whispered among themselves, and passed tissues. Their shoulders heaved, as they wept quietly, and as privately as they could in the middle of a crowd. But, they did not leave their seats. They continued through the mass. When we all knelt, they knelt. And, when we all rose to line up for communion (taking of the Eucharist), they, too, lined up and went forward.

My eyes widened here, though: many casual Catholics will slip out after taking the Eucharist. There is more of the mass to be said, there is more music, there are more prayers, there is an exiting blessing, but they slip away, because they came for the Eucharist, and they are done. I am sorry for those people as they miss the whole. As they came for one thing, they were also probably late, and then they leave early. Yes, there is some grace in it, but there is greater in the fullness of beginning to end.

But here, even in the midst of their clear and obvious heartache, these women kept the pace in line, drawing no attention to themselves, then returned to their pew to complete what they'd started. They did not hasten to leave, though they clearly had cause greater than a football kickoff. They came for this, they remained for this, and without knowing it, they altered my own participation in the mass for a lifetime.

Our seat was prime viewing, so my children also saw. I let them take it in (without staring), and we discussed its meaning on the drive home as I cried, too. The mass is not just a sermon from your favorite teacher. It is not coming for your favorite worship leader's wonderful music. It is not a communion of friends and a fellowship of a congregation. The mass is a sacrifice, and it is held every hour on the hour around the world somewhere. As I type this right now somewhere a mass is being held--on a Monday... on America's "Labor Day." Even during Covid when congregants were barred from entering the building, faithful priests continued holding masses with no "audience" but Christ, himself. Their sacrifice was for us. We could not be present to witness the goodness, truth, and beauty, but that did not stop it from taking place on our behalf.

This is one of the delicious donuts in the box for me! This is the "taste and see" that the Catholic Church is very good. Arrive early, stay, kneeling, in thanksgiving. There is none other like her, and I'll never look back.

Dreams Lost and Found

I was impatient again the other day, and raising my voice at the children. It was one of my Bad Mothering Days. Ever have one of those? I have them too frequently, to be sure. I tell myself that the other days--the ones when I encourage, and lift, praise, and hug--will brighten the darker days so much that the lesser will fade into lost memory. But, I know better. I know that no matter my humility afterwards, or my request for forgiveness, and no matter how many mommas commiserate with me that they, too, have had similar Bad Mothering Days, there is no real excuse for entirely losing it on my precious children.

But this particular day gave me a sucker punch that may have been the turning point I need to truly listen to those small voices, and make a permanent change.

My strong and ambitious daughter growled loudly back at me, "I'm never going to have children!"

I was stunned. She's always had a heart for adoption, and has wanted to scoop up all the children into her home who she can, to give them fullness in life. I've seen this in her future, and know she would make a better-than-I-am mother. I know that my girl has tremendous wisdom and startling insight, so I, of course, stopped everything and asked her, "But, why not!?"

And, here is the moment: My 5' 4" 100 pound preteen said to me, "Because it seems like you have to give up your dreams when you have children!"

Oh!

How had my life taught her that kind of lesson!? Where had I gone wrong?

"No, no, Baby Girl! That isn't true at all," I cried back. And then my mumbly words gushed out love for her and her brothers, and how they are a fulfillment of one of my many dreams. I told her how sometimes dreams are put on hold, as sometimes life asks us to pause, but that this has been a year of redemption for me with so many of those dormant storylines. I taught ASL professionally this year; I taught art techniques and art history this year; I accepted an opportunity to solo at two local minor league games coming up this summer! Those little pieces of me that reflect a past when I was much younger have never gone away, they just rested until life was ready again for me to enter back in fully after a season of making mothering my number one chosen profession.

No, this is not the season for me to march across stages in 5" heels, afford five tones of brown & blond coloring in my hair, sing around the world, or run marketing campaigns. So? Who said those things have greater value than parenting!? Where did I receive THAT message?

The vocation I have now is nuanced and complex, extremely challenging, and soul-altering. Not only is my own soul being shaped for eternity with every choice I make as a momma and wife, but so are the souls of those with whom I live. I've always been frank on this blog about my struggles with impatience, and this is my weakness I may never entirely squelch, but with every day I am a mother I am humbled to ask my Lord, "What new thing do you have to teach me today?" Every day, (and I've said this many times), I thank God for the sunrise, and a new chance to make a change in myself that makes change in my children.

May I never project in any way again to any of them that I've given up any valuable dream, or that I cherish anything I once was before they were born greater than my life as a parent. Heaven, forgive me for ever offering material for that mindset at all. And, moving forward, may I do everything possible to erase that error.

Beautiful children, three, I love you. I am so overwhelmed by your existence! You alter me for the better with every challenge you give me; you grow me as I mark your own growth on our door post; you are my greatest occupation, and I have no regrets.

Love,

Mommin, AKA Marmie, AKA Mom

House of Cards

My daughter has recently taken to stacking playing cards into houses. She gets quite serious about our not bumping the table as she focuses on her own every move. She cannot get too high, yet, but she's determined to, and will stack again and again trying to best her last achievement.

In mass, recently, I was pondering this new hobby of hers, and reflecting on the parable of the foolish man who built his house upon the sand. Did you learn the children's song with hand motions when you were young? "And the rains came 'atumblin' down." One slight breeze, or one hip bump, one wrong jerk of her elbow, and the cards come tumbling down.

I confess, this is how I sometimes feel as a mother--that I am trying to build a house not of solid blocks (be they alphabet or otherwise), or upon the rock, but of cards. In one moment I am concentrating and building, but then some small movement has me crumbling.

When I met my firstborn, I entered into this vocation of motherhood without realizing there was such a thing. "Vocation--" what a beautiful word! The implications are rich. I am called to be a parent of these three young people put in my husband's and my life, and there are certain requirements of me that will help me fulfill my obligations well, to help form an adult who reflects heaven's beauty for those who do not know their own Creator.

But, my foundation is sandy. My table is wobbly. I don't always feel like I have the right tools in hand to build this house.

Vocation. It's something you study to perfect. The word indicates a work, and a practice. Like other habits--virtues or vices--there is strength in repetition. What I need throughout this season of penance and contemplation, is to acknowledge the habits that are effective (those "building blocks"), and do all in my power to dig out those which are too fragile to build on or with.

Journaling, nightly Examen, prayer, confession, and fellowship with like-minded women can help me discern those Best Practices. And, for us (always), a jaunt into nature, to reconnect with the One who knows us best.

Hoping for you houses built strong, steady, and lasting. Build on The Rock--the best foundation.

Languishing at Lent already!

Typically, haven't you noticed that when you make a resolution for a New Year, or other cause, that you exit the starting gate at a sprint, only losing momentum slowly along the way? I tend to follow the standard: set up high expectations; pile too many changes upon one another at once; plan to become the "best version of myself," as Matthew Kelly would say, almost overnight; and then, inevitably, realize I've overexerted myself, and peter out fairly soon. I'm not a long distance runner, it seems.

Short distance is what I saw this year not long after January 1. I decided to repeat my commitment to a Ninevah 90 program, taking on the period from the first of the year all the way to Easter to lengthen the typical Lenten fast, dedicating myself to daily meditations, rosary, prayer, and more. Even with a teammate friend encouraging my efforts, I made it about 6 days. In those six days, however, some glorious things happened to me. I received phone calls from friends in need, and had the chance to pray for several people over the phone, or help in other practical ways. I knew that my commitment to the program had opened me to the Holy Spirit's promptings in my life, and that it was He who provided the moments for me to step in and serve my friends.

But, I failed fairly fast. I slept in, tired; I ate sweets instead of salad to satisfy my hunger; I got impatient and unfairly replayed my worst version of myself for the audience of my family.

I knew Lent was coming, and I could start again. Start smaller. Be devoted to something reasonable!

But, Lent began a mere two days ago, and I didn't sprint out of the gate. With a sick child at home and too many restless nights, I barely even stumbled forward. Today? Today I failed horribly at every attempt to reach for holiness. There was screaming and gnashing of teeth among all five of my family members as we devoured one another like a pack of starving hyenas, turning on each other. The house was an ugly space.

And, this is why I'm writing. To remind you, and myself, that although some days are marked on our calendars as special ones from which we are to anchor better habits moving forward, sometimes we hit a storm that overtakes us, and even the anchor is pulled up from the sand. Ash Wednesday's anchor was awash for our family this year. But every single day presents us with a New Beginning! And, I can start again tomorrow, restating my commitments: avoid social media; use my computer only for work, and not as entertainment; control my tongue when I am irritated; rise in the morning with my husband to help him find his sleepy way to the kitchen for breakfast and lunch preparation before even the sun has risen; pray for my children each day. These are not too challenging to accomplish, but they are sacrificial for me, personally, because my habits of vice are more deeply rutted into my life path than are the virtues. Every habit must be repeated to grow, and Lent offers us a beautiful set-apart time--a holy time--to try. We are to try! And, in trying, we can truly grow in humility each time we fail, so long as we forgive ourselves, and ask forgiveness of others.

Today, there were many apologies, but there was also honesty, humility, and growth.

May your own Lent be one of getting back up when you fall. Don't you dare give up, just because you got a bad start! The best athletes overcome. I will be an overcomer! I will not allow anyone or thing to hold me down, and the enemy will keep trying to push me back, but I will get back up.

You, too!

Appreciate your Lent. Start again tomorrow.

A New Year; How to Plan?

You tell me, now, how does one train an old dog to perform new tricks? I was 45 years old when I stood before a welcoming crowd of friends to take with my husband & children vows of fidelity to the Church. FORTY five, you understand? That is a terribly long time to dig heels deeply into my own old ways. I greet each new day humbly now, ready to hear, and learn, and try, knowing that I will slip, and slide, and struggle. Rising is heroic some days. I have the natural gait of a toddler, who trips, then gets back up, determined to find steady feet somehow.

Before entering the Catholic Church, I only registered into my spiral bound paper planner those events which applied to the children's homeschooling schedules, or family birthdays/anniversaries. I've been less than excellent even tracking those dates. But, Lo! and behold! Now, I am trying to incorporate into my life a liturgical calendar and domestic church events.

It's January 12th, now. We're already nearly two weeks into a new calendar year, and the liturgical calendar switched on January 8th to ordinary time (green). I crave all the meaty theology and practices at once, but am only able to consume controlled portions of what seems second nature to so many cradle Catholics. Every new taste brightens my palate. Every new image lightens my hopes and dreams. I am in awe, even as I drag my heavy body through all the newness.

Catholicism is written in a different language than our pasts: it is ancient and strange sometimes, and we are ex-pats. I have experienced moments where my eyes glaze over, because it's been expected that I might be up-to-speed on 2000+ years of Church development, so I wanted to implore seasoned sisters to be patient with those of us who are fresh to the faith. Our longings are rich and true; but our vocabularies are weak, and we need you to come alongside with mercy. Thank you to the many women who do this well, so many of whom are, yourselves, converts.

I hope to explore in this blog the newness of Catholicism to any non-Catholic. Consider these thoughts as you talk with your unchurched friends, or those like me, who are at the bottom of a long growth curve.

New Life; New Associations.

I stood shivering a little, (but not uncomfortable enough to leave the huddled group gathered outside in laughter), wondering at this new life we've been experiencing for almost three years. Every woman around me was an utter stranger to me until quite reccently, and yet, they are now among my favorite people. In our shared homeschooling adventures, and in our paths toward sanctity and holiness, we are raw with each other without shame or masks. We have dug deeply into each other's hearts many times already, and I am warmed by their presence in my life. Last night, I was literally warmed in their presence when one momma opened her shawl like a mother bird's wings, to gather a couple of us closer in December's gentle chill.

What is it about these Catholic women that causes our connections to feel deeper and richer to me than so many friendships I've had through the years? I believe the answer is found in the saving work of confession. We are not compelled to present our imperfect selves as perfectly formed at all, but accept graciously our own frailties, and eachothers', as truthful gifts. Have you been in churches where you thought you had to appear flawless before others? The burden of wearing that mask every week is heavy. Internal shame is given room to grow, when honesty is not welcome.

In the Catholic Church, there is always confession.

My teenager is struggling the most with this sacrament. "What is confession," he asks me, "What is its point? I just tell my troubles to Jesus."

I would never discourage any soul from unburdening before the Lord. Oh, yes! Please do so! But, I told my son, it is very difficult to hear Jesus's voice replying to your weeping. So, many who claim to hear him disagree with one another in what they claim to hear. The Lord "tells" one to form his own church, so he does. The Lord "affirms" for one that a divorce from her spouse is justified, so she does. The Lord supposedly keeps telling people in that silent place of their minds answers that conflict. How does one discern the Lord's voice from ego, or from the voice of the temptress? How does one discern the Lord's voice from a place of self-preservation, or self-loathing?

In the priest's kindly voice, I hear a consistent message. He acts in persona Christi (in the person of Christ), as Jesus speaks through him to my heart. I hear the audible representation of Jesus spoken through one dedicated to giving me a message consistent with the Scriptures, history, and the teachings of the Church. Man is not infallible. Priests are not infallible! But, in that secret closet, where he hears my wounded soul speak and compassionately addresses me as daughter, I hear the voice of Christ: "You are forgiven." He is sworn to never retell my story, at the cost of his own life, so I am freed to tell all, and breathe again. No secret remains in my heart, though I had been dragging along many for too many of my forty five years. The unleashing of my tongue face-to-face with my first confessor was not unlike a young child coming clean about a hidden discretion to his earthly father. I cannot say I opened up those dark places joyfully, but I knew it was good, and I knew I was safe.

Each of us has a different struggle--some one thing we cannot seem to undo in ourselves (or perhaps more than one thorn stuck in our sides), and we may certainly bear one another's burdens as travelers along the way, but have you ever had a moment when you thought you might be “over-sharing?” Have you wearied your friends from a repeated challenge or an unresolved sin? Can you imagine them parting from you & wondering when you'll clean up your act? This is how that internal shame or secrecy stretches its roots into us, preventing us from being further honest about our truest selves with others, for worries of losing our friends’ interest in our high-maintenance selves.

Thankfully, no priest will see you as a lost cause. No priest will see you as his worst case! No priest will grow weary of hearing from you. He will, instead, listen with mercy, and offer you grace.

When I spoke to Jesus, alone, before I met the sacrament of reconciliation in a closet, I would still beat myself up about those wretched behaviors that held me back. But, when I speak to a Father of the Church, I feel a great burden lift. I am not the worst; I am not alone. I am forgiven.

Of course, I knew myself forgiven in the past, but there is a certain personal coaching we must speak into our own mirrors when our conversation with Jesus is entirely silent. It's almost a personal affirmation, isn't it? And, those can sometimes be loaded with prideful flattery.

"I am OK," is an easy mantra, but we don't often follow it with, "You're OK" towards others, because we can still see faults in others from this place of listening to our own voices, alone. We can still struggle with unforgiveness of those who’ve offended or harmed us. “I am OK,” does not tell you the truth. You are a sinner in need of grace… every day.

Another voice we may hear ourselves repeat is, "I am forgiven." Of course you are! But, the rest of the statement from Christ when he walked among us was, "Now, go and sin no more." Do we remember to recall this to ourselves after we pray in silent earnest? Isn’t it simpler to see ourselves as Contemporary Christian Music sings—flawless? That is a problem, isn’t it--seeing ourselves as flawless? Of COURSE we are still flawed! This is why we need a Savior every single day, “till death do part us” from this earth.

In the confessional booth, we are offered actions we can take immediately to present our souls bare before the Lord, in an affirmation received from Christ's lips via the priest, not our own: "Now, make these changes. Make a new day. Be your best self for Christ's sake, and the sake of your soul's salvation.” When I walk away, and open the door for my sister in Christ, standing behind me to be honest with Jesus in the same booth, I participate in a true act of cleansing.

But, "He has washed me clean." Yes! Yes, he has! But you keep getting dirty! Would you stop brushing your teeth after your next annual check-up, and never think maintaining dental hygiene to be important again? Would you stop washing your hands or your body after one time under the water? No. Of course not. We return to confession as often as our souls are laid heavy again. We return for maintenance of good spiritual hygiene. We come to the Eucharist cleansed before Jesus, freely entering into communion with our brothers and sisters in Christ, unburdened.

Christ did die so you could be free—oh, yes, he did. We ought not treat that death so cheaply as to think that one 10-second prayer unites us with him perfectly forever. His grace is not cheap—it is participatory. So, at the evening’s Christmas celebration, surrounded by fellow sinners who I know have frequent full-disclosure accountability to a priest, I am my most free self ever. And, I thank God for this beautiful, true, and good change in my life!

A cautious return...

It appears I have not written a blog entry in ... FIVE YEARS!? How much has changed in YOUR life in that time? In mine... practically everything. The question now: do I print off this old blog, delete everything, and begin anew? Or, is history so relevant to my present that it ought to remain here, for posterity, and for reflection?

Today, I'll keep all simple. I'll start a new entry on a new day on an old blog. I am still a musing modern mom. I am still a lover of Jesus! I am still married, and I still have three children (God bless them for being raised under my shredded wings). But, in five years... !? Wow. Where do I even begin?

One simple statement: My family now practices our faith as Catholics.

At the tender and innocent (cough, cough, cough) age of 45, I entered the Catholic Church with my husband of 20 years, and our three children, just two springs ago. The journey to that moment was a winding, hilly, and complex one, to say the least. Over these past five years, I have been privileged to see my work published on new and different formats, including MyFriendDebbie.com and CatholicStand. Now, I'm entering a new season of forming my thoughts afresh around a brand new base. I am a toddler in the Church. I am wobbly, and weak, and highly dependent on my dear sisters in the faith, many who are cradle Catholics, but more who are converts, like me.

Before my family entered the Church, I didn't know that many people did such a thing. I knew of one family man who'd entered the Catholic Church a few years into his marriage to a Catholic woman; I shared the singing stage with one woman who'd reverted to Catholicism after a long season as an Evangelical. I thought them anomalies. I wondered what could possibly compel them! Since entering the Church, however, I have been astounded by the population of on-fire Catholic converts. In our homeschool community, they may outnumber the lifetime Catholics.

Fascinating, and stunning, isn't it?

Today, I'll just begin there. Day-by-day I'll unpack what that means to me now--how does it change my prayer life? My parenting? My efforts to be the "best version of myself," as Matthew Kelly would encourage? In truth, over five years, everything has been altered. I am so grateful for that, and I am eager to take you on a brief tour of how I arrived where I am today.

Humbly,

MMM

Toddler's joke...

Four of us gathered over soup & bread at the dining room table. Logan joyfully asked, "So, does anyone have a good joke for me?" Stephen excitedly raised his hand as high as he could & called out, "I oh, I oh!"

He's mostly non verbal, and now 27 months old.

We all gave him our fullest attention as he told us a very animated tale. It went something like this: "uh n' ah n' ah," as he gesticulated appropriately for skilled joke presentation.

His joke got a seriously colorful laugh out of his siblings & mom! Oh my, how my side hurt!

NoVA Endangered Species Club

I am thrilled to present the blog pages of our eldest child. He & his younger sister have a deep concern about animal welfare, and he has particularly taken an interest in the idea that some animal species might be wiped out of existence if not cared for by the earth's caretakers--we humans! The blog features activities of his local, self-originated Endangered Species Club.

For my husband and me this is a foundational proof that homeschooling is working for our son. He has an entrepreneurial spirit, and his leadership skills come forward well in this environment. He does not bully; he manages. This is a smart working space for character development in him.

Next up is a large project which requires many elements of coordination--a fundraising lemonade stand.

The rest of the details are on the blog.

Proud of him!

Charlotte Mason summed it up pretty well!

Charlotte Mason's Student Motto

Charlotte Mason created a motto for her students that is inspiring and thought provoking. We have written the words on our kitchen white board and have decided to make it our new mission statement for our family. We hope you enjoy the student motto as much as we have.



I am a child of God, a gift to my parents and my country. I am a person of great value because God made me.



I ought to do my duty to obey God, to submit to my parents, to be of service to others, and to keep myself healthy with proper food and rest so my body is ready to serve.



I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. God has made me able to do everything required of me.



I will resolve to keep a watch over my thoughts and choose what's right, even if it's not what I want.



Charlotte Mason taught her students the motto I am, I ought, I can, I will. I am means that we can know ourselves and understand what we're really like. I ought means that we have a moral judge inside us that we feel we're subject to. It lets us know what our duty is and compels us to action. I can means that we have the ability to do what we feel is right. I will means that we resolve to do what our inner moral judge has urged us to do. These four thoughts make a perfect, beautiful chain.

I am sorry, cannot tell you where I got the wording for this. I found it in my digital notebook. No intent to break (c) rules whatsoever. I will credit it if/as soon as I find its source.

I gander he was a Michiganian

I am throwing away copious amounts of paperwork in my attempt to streamline the townhouse where we will most certainly continue to live for at least another year. It's 1000 square feet or so for 5 of us, and the children are growing! So, since leaving isn't yet an option, we have to make some more room for those long leggy kiddos--it means throwing away my piles...organizing the details...changing my ways!

In going through one pile I came across this fantastic little poem from the turn of the century:

There was a man in Michigan
A citizen of Lansing
Who used to pass his time, alas!
In frolicking and dancing.
As one could see, no goose was he
But still it was no slander
When folks would say, in spiteful way
He was a Michigander


SOURCE:
Bloom's Baby Ballads Verse by James O'Dea (pictures by Harry Kennedy; hand-lettered by Chas. Costello)
Entertainment for Young & Old Replete with Seven Colors
A 34-page Picture Book of Humorous Jingles
Sol. Bloom, Publisher
54 Dearborn St., Chicago

Var Lachland Christian Academy

Well, we've named our school, and established a slogan, and we're starting lessons on Khan Academy now, so that I can track the kids' progress on the gorgeous Kahn learning tree. Loving it!!

Using parts of our last names we have created the school name Var Lachland. In German the Lachland part means Laughing Land. I'd like to be a laughing land. I invite that JOY to enter our home environment. Can we use the school name & slogan ("Where the correct answer is 'Yes! and Amen!'") to guide our direction? Can we establish some foundational goals for ourselves based on that, plus the idea that "'I can't' never did anything!"--the expression my Grandpa Smith instilled in me? I'd like to try. I think I need some solid guiding principles.

Now, for a scripture verse to support the rest.

Why is any of this necessary? It it just a matter of giving myself a frame around our school life--something that helps guide me, personally, on the days when I feel aimless.

Back soon with our Scripture. I'll pray that one makes itself clear--not just the standard "Train up a child in the way he should go..." I don't think. Something inspired & specific to Who We Are, and What We're Doing...

LEGO Club!

The kids have been featured on their LEGO club's blog page. So fun!!

Teagan! Featured @ Reston CC

Teagan is now front-and-center on the Reston CC homepage. Cute girls!!