Easter

Our Holy Week and Easter was fabulous! (If you just want to see pictures, scroll down to the bottom.)

Lent got off to a rocky start in our home. I had grand plans for activities, projects, fasting ideas and the like. As a family, we decided to once again give up tv.



The first weekend of Lent, we went camping. Jacob, Mary-Grace and I all came home with the flu. Maybe I'm a wimp, but I wouldn't dream of enduring the flu without the tv. Already, I felt like it was all falling apart, mostly because I could barely lift my head up. Then I read a blog that said something to the effect that "sometimes we plan our penances, and sometimes the Lord chooses them for us. Wouldn't I much rather pick up the cross He's laid out before me than the one I choose for myself?"



YES! The tv stayed on all week long!



By God's grace, and the invention of tamiflu, I was well by Friday of that week to travel with two dear friends to the Wholehearted Mother's Conference in Dallas. AMAZING! One day, I will get around to posting about that.



So, we began again when I got home. No tv, but LOTS of read-aloud time. It was all good, but I really wanted to kick it up for Holy Week. I checked out tons of books from the library to read them many accounts of the Passion.



For the first time, we brought our kids to the Holy Thursday service which includes the washing of the feet and the commemoration of the Last Supper. They shocked us with how good they were.



On Good Friday, we went to our parish's living Way of the Cross through the park. There were at least 300 people there by someone's count. It was beautiful and gut-wrenching and moving. Because of the huge amount of people, I could almost imagine the crowd following Jesus to the Cross.



In one last, long haul, we brought our kids to the Easter Vigil. We were not prepared for the fact that it would last three hours (and it doesn't begin until 8pm), but they loved seeing adults being baptized in the new big baptistry, and Jacob was intrigued by the adults who were entering the Catholic Church.



Needless to say, on Sunday morning we were pooped out. We enjoyed a breakfast of Resurrection rolls and dyed eggs. And later on, we feasted on some amazing crawfish!

Crawfish chefs hard at work!

Hunting eggs for the first time was serious business for Ava!

Ava and Nana

Mary-Grace got brave and decided to hold a lizard that my cousin caught. She didn't know what to think about herself after that!

Then, of course, Jacob had to try it. My sweet little boy is turning into a real boy! This is the first time he holds such a creepy crawly thing.

Two very tired girls in their dresses made by Nana.

Remembering a Great Man

Today marks the third anniversary of the death of Pope John Paul II. While I love Pope Benedict XVI, and I was hoping he would be the successor, it is still strange to me that JPII is not our Holy Father anymore. It still catches me off guard when the name of Benedict is spoken during the Eucharistic prayer instead of John Paul II.

I will always remember his big smile, his deep reverence, his love for God's people, his love for Our Lady, his love for the Church. I will never forget sitting in front of the tv for hours watching and waiting for the light to go out in his room. I will never forget the deep sadness that welled up in my heart when it did. What a gift he was and continues to be to our Church.

I came across this blog a few months ago, and found this entry from last year. At first, I thought the lady was writing to her own father, but upon further reading I discovered something beautiful...

April 1, 2007

Dear Papa,

I had planned to write a long column this weekend, in time for tomorrow. But the baby was sick and my hands were full ,so all the writing I did was in my head. I planned to write about that sobbing prayer two years ago, when I begged you to intercede for me. And then I'd write about all the little miracles strewn like roses in the days and weeks and months that followed.

Instead, I stayed up all night, dancing with my daughter. She was feeling poorly and whimpering to be held. I gathered her up out of my bed and swayed with her in the darkness. For hours. I sang my full repertoire of musicals. I moved on to old Raffi tunes. I added a little Glory and Praise. And then, I switched to "You Light up my Life." Her tears ceased and mine fell freely. I settled into the big chair, her head heavy against my chest and I remembered.
I remembered a time two years ago that was dark and sad. I was struggling with depression and so was Mike. Together, we were fumbling in confusion. Recovery from childbirth had been difficult. Recovery from a miscarriage more difficult. A year of infertility following that miscarriage was a year of pain like none I'd ever known. No light. Only darkness. And on that Friday night, I held an eerie vigil in front of the muted television.

Please God, I don't know what I'll do without my Papa. And yet I know, I know that he is yours; he always was. Morning dawned and the day moved forward and then you were gone. And as naturally as the sobs escaped my throat, my soul begged your intercession. Tell Him, Papa! Please tell Him how sad I am, how much I want a baby, how much Mike needs him. Tell Him, Papa--I know you can.

And you did. Within an hour of that prayer, the answers began to become so clear. You led us to a different parish. You put people in my path who would insist that I get to know the Little Flower you loved so well, the dear Saint you called a Doctor and by whom you trusted that the fullness of faith could be taught. She and you taught me about Love--Love incarnate, a good and gentle God who understood my pain and stooped to bind my wounds. I re-read all your letters to me. I read her words. Light dawned, love flickered.

Looking back, I should not be surprised that in the months following your death, I pushed by forces greater than me to travel. You were never afraid to travel. I had not been on an airplane in fifteen years. But I flew three times that year. The first time, I went Chicago and visited the shrine of St. Therese and left my petitions there. The last time, I went to Florida at my husband's insistence. We were there for an art gallery opening but we took a day trip to St. Augustine and the Shrine of Our Lady of La Leche. I had a long talk with Our Lady that day. She already knew.I'm sure you told her.

One night, nine months after you died, my husband lit a candle in a church where you once celebrated Mass, in the presence of your relics. And then, our wait for a baby was over and yet it had begun. For nine more months, I was still, love growing inside of me. I learned to love your favorite prayer and I prayed the rosary with St. Therese, sometimes twenty decades a day, including the five new decades that were your gift to me. All the time, I was almost afraid to believe, almost afraid to think that the light had returned and darkness was dispelled.
Then she was here. A glorious, beautiful, darling little girl. We call her Karoline Rose. She is a shower of roses, a basket of blessings. She is sweetness and she is light. As she grows, I will tell her. I will tell her about her Papa. She will know you and she will be grateful to share your name.

But now, she calls again. Enough remembering. I am living in the present, embracing every moment. I know you're here. I know you see her dear, dimpled chin. I know you watch me kiss her fat little cheeks and I know you smile. (http://ebeth.typepad.com)

(That baby's name, Karoline, is after JPII's birth name, Karol Wojtyla.)