Love Versus Maternal Instinct – Christ in the Home

With so much talk of snowflakes and seeing those who don’t get their way resort to rioting and looting, let’s make sure we are raising children who can say “no” to themselves. If your home is filled with love, your discipline will have the desired effect.

From Christ in the Home by Fr. Raoul Plus, S.J.

A mother of a family, herself a noble and spiritual educator wrote:

“We never succeed in making of our children all that we should like to make of them; and sometimes we do not accomplish anything of what we thought we could accomplish.

The role of educator in theory offers many charms but in its fulfillment how many thorns! Not to become discouraged is in itself quite an achievement.”

The most important virtue to engender in the souls of children is confidence.

Children always have faults; they develop with age; when one fault is destroyed, another appears.

What ought to be developed first is confidence; a confidence which will make them docile solely because of the conviction that there can be nothing better for them than the arrangements of the persons who are training them; but when they seem to torment them or cross them, they truly have their good at heart.

The most agreeable training is not always the most salutary. Far from it! Adversity and contradiction are useful for all ages but particularly for the young, to correct their violent tendencies and strengthen their undeveloped wills.

For those who consider everything from God’s viewpoint, adversity gives the final touch; it adorns as with gold one in whom virtue is deeply rooted.

But how can one call upon this harsh instructor to teach one’s very own children?

Mothers are too tender to be perfect educators or rather their tenderness has about it too much sensitivity which, we might say, aggravates the eternal conflict between the spiritual man and the carnal man.

Maternal love is often too much hampered by maternal instinct which protests and prevents the forceful action that ought to be taken.

This distinction between real maternal love in the full sense of the word and maternal instinct should be maintained; the author of the preceding lines is alert to the difference and concerned about not confusing them; one of her daughters had a particularly difficult temperament; the mother encouraged herself to exercise the necessary firmness with her just as with her other children:

I shall set myself the duty of not being weak, too easy, of not giving in to all their desires.

I shall try to give them the reason for my decisions, but I shall believe that I do them a service by putting some obstacles to their desires.

Kindness will dictate my conduct; I hope that kindness will render it bearable for them.

“Who shall blame a child whose soul turns eagerly to the noise and distraction of worldliness, if his parents have failed to show him that love and peace and beauty are found only in God?” – Mary Reed Newland

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Losing your peace of soul over the state of the world and the Church? Don’t! Consider the following books…..

We live in an age characterized by agitation and lack of peace. This tendency manifests itself in our spiritual as well as our secular life. In our search for God and holiness, in our service to our neighbor, a kind of restlessness and anxiety take the place of the confidence and peace which ought to be ours. What must we do to overcome the moments of fear and distress which assail us? How can we learn to place all our confidence in God and abandon ourselves into his loving care? This is what is taught in this simple, yet profound little treatise on peace of heart. Taking concrete examples from our everyday life, the author invites us to respond in a Gospel fashion to the upsetting situations we must all confront. Since peace of heart is a pure gift of God, it is something we should seek, pursue and ask him for without cease. This book is here to help us in that pursuit.

Reverend Irala here addresses ways to promote mental and emotional well-being to help increase one’s health, efficiency and happiness. He speaks on topics such as how to rest, think, use the will, control feelings, train the sexual instinct, be happy, and choose an ideal. Included are also many practical instructions on dealing with mental struggles of all kinds. This book is most useful in our present times of worldly confusion.

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Pious People/Saintly Mothers/Discouragement

by Rev. Daniel A. Lord, 1950’s

These Pious People

He was what the boys call a regular guy. They put the accent on the word “regular,” and they mean it for a compliment. He never made the varsity football team, for he was too light; but he went out for practice and sat cheerfully on the bench.

When the tennis season came around, he did his school honor on the courts. He managed half the student activities, sang a bit, danced well and eagerly, liked boys and girls frankly and was frankly liked by them. A regular guy, the faculty liked him too.

Yet, as I slipped up from my classroom late one afternoon, I found him on his knees in the dusk of the chapel praying as hard as he played. Then I discovered that he averaged three Communions a week; and once when he was fumbling for change, he pulled out an unashamed black rosary. So I decided that he was a pious chap, and suddenly liked the word pious.

Funny the way certain words get into bad odor! Take “pious” for instance. No young man objects to being thought honorable or honest or clean-minded or reverent; but pious—rather not!

Even young women have a sort of idea that a really pious person never wears this year’s styles and probably thinks a musical revue is a magazine for music teachers.

As a matter of fact, it’s a beautiful word, and it takes a really courageous, two-fisted, red-blooded person to be pious. Not to look pious, understand! Looking pious has nothing in the world to do with being pious.

St. Louis as he rushed out to battle in his golden armor; Joan of Arc astride her white  horse; St. Stanislaus walking vigorously across the continent of Europe to get from a palace to a religious house; St. Catherine of Siena insisting that the Pope return from Avignon—none of these looked pious. But their piety was a beautiful thing, though it took courage for them just as it does for us.

For that matter, it takes courage just to be good. With the modern world determined (as Joseph McCabe, fallen monk, says it is) to destroy our fundamental idea of goodness, it takes courage to be decently pure and honest. To go the step beyond and to be pious demands positive heroism.

Who prays nowadays? Yet the pious man or woman has the courage to make the sign of the cross in public, and to kneel before God admitting that prayer is a duty and a genuine need.

Who believes nowadays? Yet the pious man has the bravery to tell the scoffer, whose laugh is his loudest argument, that he accepts God’s word before any man’s and bows his intellect more readily before God’s mysteries than before nature’s.

Who follows Christ nowadays? Why, they’ve made of the Savior a sort of platitudinous Babbit who praises big business and approves the naturalism of our times.

But the pious man remembers His humility, His love of little children, His hatred of pride, His contempt for wealth, His beautiful (let’s use the right word) piety, and has the bravery to accept Christ’s standards of value in an age that ignores them.

For Christ our Blessed Savior had the courage to be pious in an age quite like our own. He prayed when religion was mere formalism. He demanded faith from the rationalistic Sadducees. He talked religion when talking religion was regarded as not quite good taste.

If religious essentials were at stake, He spoke the truth and offended the conciliatory. He shed tears over sin, wept tenderly with friends, prayed to His Father before the world and through the long silences of the night. He was pious and He was the essence of heroism.

On your knees beg of Him the courage, in the face of an impious world, to deserve the despised adjective “pious.”

Mothers of Saints

The Church does not often canonize whole groups of people. She has seldom canonized groups of martyrs, like the companies of Roman soldiers who were shot to death by their companions, or the Japanese martyrs, or the companions of Rudolph Azevedo.

And though you and I may regard mothers as martyrs, the Church will never canonize them as a class, because they do not fit her definition. Still, if ever the Church should start to canonize whole groups of people, she would certainly begin with mothers, mothers like yours and mine.

For she remembers gratefully the fact that almost every saint in heaven, whether canonized or utterly unknown by the Church on earth, is a saint because a saintly mother set the feet of her child on the road to perfection. The child may be the one canonized; back of that child is the saintly figure of the mother without whom he would  never have reached the altar nor the glory of martyrdom.

Such mothers were Blanche, mother of Louis the saint; the exquisite mothers of Aloysius and Alphonsus; the saintly peasant mother of Don Bosco and Pius X. Motherlike they step aside so that their child may receive the glory of canonization. They are content with the shadows of comparative obscurity provided their children stand in the white light of a halo.

Yet the Church knows whom under God she may thank for her saints. She knows that, as before Christ came the Mother of Saints, so before almost every martyr or confessor or virgin came a holy mother whose brave, quiet soul held tight the unrecognized heroism of high sanctity.

And we in our hearts know that if we are not saints the fault is ours, not that of the mothers who turned our infant steps straight up the road of sanctity.

Cheer Up!

An optimist is one who sees an opportunity in every difficulty — a pessimist is one who sees a difficulty in every opportunity. Which are you?

A WORD ON DISCOURAGEMENT

Believe it or not, —Once upon a time the devil decided to go out of business. He offered his tools for sale to whomever would pay the price. On the night of the sale they were all attractively displayed, a bad-looking lot.

They were Malice, Hatred, Envy, Jealousy, Sensuality, and Deceit, and all the other implements of evil. Each was marked with its price. Apart from the rest lay a harmless-looking wedge-shaped tool, much worn, yet priced higher than any of the others. Someone asked the devil what it was.

“That’s discouragement,” was the reply.

“Why do you have it priced so high?”

“Because,” replied the devil, “it is more useful to me than any of the others. I can pry open and get inside a man’s conscience with that when I could not get near him with any of the others, and when once inside I can use him in whatever way suits me best. It is so much worn because I use it with nearly everybody, as very few people yet know it belongs to me.”

It hardly need be added that the devil’s price for discouragement was so high that it was never sold. He still owns it and is still using it. Beware of it!

Are you an optimist or a pessimist? An optimist looks at an oyster and expects a pearl. A pessimist looks at the same oyster and expects ptomaine poisoning.

 

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As no sensible person would make a long road trip without first consulting a map, so the person intent upon gaining Heaven should first resort to a competent guide to reach that Goal of all goals. And no better guide to Heaven exists than An Introduction to the Devout Life by St. Francis de Sales (1567-1622), Doctor of the Church. It is at once easy to read, being laid out in short chapters, yet thorough, authoritative, reliable, kind and gentle a mirror of its author. It is a book, moreover, for all, because all are called to the devout life. True devotion to God, the author points out, adorns every vocation. The devout life, moreover, is a lovely, a pleasant, and a happy life.

If your life seems to make no sense, or if you don’t know which path to take, St. Francis de Sales will console and inform you. In this warm little book, he explains to you what God’s will is and how He reveals it yes, even to you, and even in the seemingly random events of your life.

No matter what you’re going through now (or may have gone through), you’ll see why you should love and trust in God’s will and long for its fulfillment. Best of all, you’ll learn a sure method for discovering God’s will in any situation today!

As you begin to discern God’s loving hand even in seemingly chaotic events, St. Francis de Sales will lead your mind and your heart to the still waters of God’s gentle consolation.

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Impediments to Spiritual Progress – Counsels of Perfection

by Marie Spartali Stillman 1885

From Counsels of Perfection for Christian Mothers

My daughters, I seek an answer to a most important question: Why do we not advance? The subject is too broad to be treated in one chapter, so we shall divide it.

Here is the first answer: We do not advance because we are ignorant of the things we ought to know. We do not advance because our intelligence is not sufficiently enlightened, that is, we do not possess, in an adequate degree, the science of the things of God.

Are you fully aware of the importance of light in the spiritual life? If you ask me what relation there is between clear knowledge and progress in the matter of spirituality, I will tell one simple sentence: Knowledge always precedes love. Suppose, for example, that you have before you the most beautiful picture in the world; if you close your eyes so as not to see it, or if, on account of some distraction, you see it obscurely, will you love it? Never! It would be impossible for you to love it under these conditions.

Again, if after partly opening your eyes you close them again, or direct them towards some other object, will you love this picture? Perhaps, but how superficially! You have not sufficiently regarded the object before you; you are not well enough acquainted with it to admire it, to say nothing of loving it.

Let us apply this principle to our subject. However admirable and worthy of love God may be in Himself, and whatever admiration and love the things of God may merit, you will love God, and the things of God, only when you know Him and then in the measure in which you ought to know them.

Here I must anticipate a false interpretation of my words. From what has been said pray do not conclude, that spiritual progress is intended only for the learned, and that in order to strive for perfection, it is necessary to possess a mighty intellect and profound learning.

There are two kinds of knowledge. The one resides in the mind and consists in merely knowing one’s religion. This sort of knowledge is worth little or nothing. If it does not stimulate the heart and direct the conduct, it will be a source of condemnation.

The second kind of knowledge is that which is acquired by meditation, that is to say, by fixing the mind on the things of God and contemplating them seriously and profoundly; but above all, it consists in loving them. Now the poorest servant who knows neither how to read or to write is as capable of acquiring this knowledge as the most learned doctor.

Certain geniuses like St. Bonaventure, or St. Thomas, have possessed this knowledge in all its fullness, but a poor menial in their convent could have attained it as well as these princes of the Church. For example, it is related that a poor servant to whom St. Bonaventure had expounded the truth that I have just set forth, ran to every one whom he met, crying out in his excess of love: “Do you know that I can love God just as much as our great theologian, Brother Bonaventure?”

This humble servant loved God as much as the great Bonaventure, because he had acquired that knowledge of God which is founded on prayer and meditation.

My daughters, we are all capable of acquiring this knowledge, regardless of our degree of intellectual culture; and if your progress in the spiritual life has been slow or insignificant, it is due to the fact that you have not sufficiently known God nor the things of God.

Let us now consider the principal points of this knowledge. Do you reflect profoundly on your dependence upon that God who has given you life, who conserves it, and in whose hands you rest like a crystal globe which would break into a thousand pieces were that hand withdrawn?

How important it is for you to know your true situation relative to God, you must remember that he has every right over you, and that in relation to Him you have only duties!

How necessary it is for you to be convinced that His presence envelops you on all sides, that His eye follows you everywhere, and that nothing of your inmost life, thoughts, desires or affections, can ever escape that infinitely penetrating eye!

My daughters, do you consider well what your lives would be, what a great change they would undergo, if these fundamental truths were profoundly engraved on your minds? Do you not know that they would direct your conduct, and hold you unceasingly in your place relative to God?

Are you well acquainted with Jesus Christ? Do you meditate on His mysteries? Do you study that Heart which inspired all His actions? Are you convinced that the Incarnation, the Redemption and the Holy Eucharist are proofs of His love?

Do you center your thoughts especially on the Eucharist? Does It arouse an immense gratitude in you? Oh, if we had a profound knowledge of what the Eucharist really is, we should be astonished that the entire universe does not bow down in adoration before the tabernacle.

But alas! is not Jesus in the Sacred Host a stranger to many among you, my daughters? Is not the manner in which you treat Him after Communion a sad fulfillment of the words of St. John: “He came unto His own, and His own received Him not”?

Permit me to acquaint you with a very important subject for meditation. I refer to the supernatural life, the life of grace that is within you. The angels contemplate with ecstasy the marvelous operations of grace in your souls. They are astonished at the goodness of that God who gives to His creatures the treasure of all treasures, divine life. And do you ever give it a thought?

Seldom if ever do you reflect on the fact that grace has deified you, and yet more seldom do you center your eyes on those marvels of grace which are continually taking place in your souls.

How astonishing it is that you take so little pains to augment divine grace in your souls? How strange it is that you do not use all the prudence necessary to guard and protect this treasure.

My daughters, let us now make a serious examination of conscience, and be convinced that if we have not advanced in the spiritual life, it is owing to the fact that our knowledge of God and divine things has been very insufficient.

Let us promise our Lord that we shall strive to acquire this knowledge by serious meditation on all the great truths which have just been expounded. Let us strive to know God better, so that we may love Him more ardently.

Be sure to treat all alike. Nothing is so disrupting to home life as favoritism for one or the other child. The same measure for all! – Christ in the Home, 1950’s, Fr. Raoul Plus, S.J

Thank you so much for the prayers for my mom. She is still having a rough time so please keep her in your prayers! She loves to sit outside among her flowers and listen to the birds sing and feel the warm sunshine!

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A wonderful book showing how the angels have visited people innumerable times in the past, how they do so today, and would do even more if we asked them. Also, how they prevent accidents, comfort us, help us, and protect us from the devils. Contains many beautiful stories about St. Michael, St. Raphael and St. Gabriel; plus, angel stories from St. Gemma Galgani, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. John Bosco, etc.

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A very optimistic book showing how an “ordinary” Catholic can become a great saint without ever doing anything “extraordinary”–just by using the many opportunities for holiness that to most people lie hidden in each day. Written with an assurance of success that is totally convincing and infectious. Many easy but infallible means of reaching great sanctity.

 

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A Tribute to Mothers

Happy Mother’s Day to Mothers Everywhere…..to mothers who give and give and then give some more. It is what we were made for, it is what we live for and it will be what we die for. Once a mother, always a mother. We watch them come into the world, we nurture them, try to solve their problems, and then watch them as they leave and embark on their own journeys.

We pray for them, we hurt for them, we rejoice for them. Whether they are near or far, our hearts are entwined with theirs. It is bittersweet…..more sweet than bitter!

“A mother will never desert her boy. For she loves him with a love that is as strong and deep as life itself.”

Angelo and Mom (me)

My Mom

A Tribute to Mothers by Rev. John A. O’Brien, 1953

By universal proclamation our nation has added another memorial day to her calendar – Mother’s Day.

It is a day on which we pause to pay the tribute of our love and reverence to our mothers if living, to their memory if dead. It is eminently fitting that we should thus pause for a brief moment in the turmoil of life to give explicit expression to sentiments which have been latent in the hearts of each of us throughout all the days of the year.

It is good psychology to give fitting expression to such sentiments. For instead of allowing them to wane, we thereby strengthen and intensify them.

Such considerations are, moreover, wholesome and salutary for us because they render us more clearly conscious of the debt we owe our mothers.

“Motherhood,” says Frederick A. Stowe, “is the Gethsemane of nature.”

When the child is born the mother begins to die—die for the new life dearer than her own, die in service for another, die in dreams of peaceful valleys she shall not enter, die upon battlefields whose shouts of victory she shall not hear.

No sacrifice for the young is begrudged by the mother. Toward the sun of a new life, all nature turns. The springtide bursts with prodigality but there is not a drop of sap for the autumnal leaf. At the meridian declination begins. Reproduction is the inexorable ambition of the material world.

“In its spiritual aspects, motherhood is isolated because it is great. There is no speculation as to mother’s status. Conceded eminence is as lonely as some crag which lifts its head above the fugitive clouds and defies the furious winds below.

Youth loves to dwell in the warm valleys of patronage. It is eager for adventure and the conquests of blood. It rushes toward prospects and is ever willing to take a chance.

Reflection is the fruit of maturity. We do not begin to bear sense until passions are spent, and Time, which is a strict accountant, demands an audit.”

Various Kinds of Love

There are various kinds of love on this earth. There is the love of a friend for a friend, of a chum for his chum.

It is a beautiful sentiment and one which all the world admires. But friends fall out at times; the love cools and even turns to hatred.

There is the love of sweethearts. It is beautiful and tender and sweet. But sometimes the fancy changes, the romance fades, and sweethearts part.

There is the love of husband and wife, tender true and sanctified by divine grace. But the world witnesses at times the separation even of husband and wife, the pitiful tragedy of a broken home.

Then there is the love of a mother for her child. It is the climax of all human love – as strong as the great rugged Alpine Mountain peaks, as tender as the breath of an angel, as infinite as the measureless waters of the ocean, as changeless as the stars that shine eternally in the skies.

Friends may fall out, the romance of sweethearts may fade, husband and wife may separate, but a mother will never desert her boy. For she loves him with a love that is as strong and deep as life itself.

Aye, it seems to rise above all human love, and to burn with a spark that was caught from the flame of the love that is eternal and divine–the love of God for man.

I like to think that God has given us a foreshadowing and a foretaste of His own infinite love for human souls in the love He has planted in a mother’s breast.

From the Prayer Book Precious Blood and Mother:

There are soft words murmured by dear, dear lips,
Far richer than any other;
But the sweetest word that the ear hath heard
Is the blessed name of “Mother.”

O magical word! May it never die,
From the lips that love to speak it.
Nor melt away from the trusting heart,
That even would break to keep it.

Was there ever a name that lived like this?
Will there ever be such another?
The Angels have reared in Heaven a shrine
To the holy name of “Mother.”

 

Mother Songs:

This first video/song was the song for our Mother and Son Dance at my son’s (Colin’s) wedding.

Colin and I, Mother-Son Dance

It has beautiful words and brings tears to my eyes each time I hear it. 🙂

This song is beautiful, also. A Mother’s song by Celtic Thunder.

“For years, while raising children, a mother’s time is never her own, her own needs have to be kept in second place, and every time she turns around a hand is reaching out and demanding something. Hence, a mother raising children, perhaps in a more privileged way even than a professional contemplative, is forced, almost against her will, to constantly stretch her heart.”

 

S

In With God in Russia, Ciszek reflects on his daily life as a prisoner, the labor he endured while working in the mines and on construction gangs, his unwavering faith in God, and his firm devotion to his vows and vocation. Enduring brutal conditions, Ciszek risked his life to offer spiritual guidance to fellow prisoners who could easily have exposed him for their own gains. He chronicles these experiences with grace, humility, and candor, from his secret work leading mass and hearing confessions within the prison grounds, to his participation in a major gulag uprising, to his own “resurrection”—his eventual release in a prisoner exchange in October 1963 which astonished all who had feared he was dead.

Powerful and inspirational, With God in Russia captures the heroic patience, endurance, and religious conviction of a man whose life embodied the Christian ideals that sustained him…..

Captured by a Russian army during World War II and convicted of being a “Vatican spy,” Jesuit Father Walter J. Ciszek spent 23 agonizing years in Soviet prisons and the labor camps of Siberia. Only through an utter reliance on God’s will did he manage to endure the extreme hardship. He tells of the courage he found in prayer–a courage that eased the loneliness, the pain, the frustration, the anguish, the fears, the despair. For, as Ciszek relates, the solace of spiritual contemplation gave him an inner serenity upon which he was able to draw amidst the “arrogance of evil” that surrounded him. Ciszek learns to accept the inhuman work in the infamous Siberian salt mines as a labor pleasing to God. And through that experience, he was able to turn the adverse forces of circumstance into a source of positive value and a means of drawing closer to the compassionate and never-forsaking Divine Spirit.

He Leadeth Me is a book to inspire all Christians to greater faith and trust in God–even in their darkest hour. As the author asks, “What can ultimately trouble the soul that accepts every moment of every day as a gift from the hands of God and strives always to do his will?”

Keeping the House – The Gentle Art of Homemaking, 1894, Annie S. Swan

This is a gentle reminder to all mothers to make sure we are teaching our girls the basics of domesticity. It is also a nudge to young, single women,  to roll up their sleeves and do what it takes to learn the basics of homemaking so they can step into marriage with somewhat of a knowledge of how a house is run, etc.

From Courtship and Marriage and the Gentle Art of Homemaking  by Annie S. Swan, 1894

Making the home and keeping the house are two different things, though closely allied. Having considered the graces of mind and heart which so largely contribute to the successful art of home-making, it is not less necessary that we now devote our attention to the more practical, and certainly not less important, quality of housekeeping.

Ignorance of the prosaic details of housekeeping is the primary cause of much of the domestic worry and discomfort that exist, to say nothing of the more serious discords that may arise from such a defect in the fitness of the woman supposed to be the homemaker.

For such ignorance, or lack of fitness, to use a milder term, there does not appear to me to be any excuse; it is so needless, so often willful.

Some blame careless, indifferent mothers, who do not seem to have profited by their own experience, but allow their daughters to grow up in idleness, and launch them on the sea of matrimony with a very faint idea of what is required of them in their new sphere.

It is very reprehensible conduct on the part of such mothers, and if in a short time the bright sky of their daughters’ happiness begins to cloud a little, they need not wonder or feel aggrieved.

A man is quite justified in expecting and exacting a moderate degree of comfort at least in his own house, and if it is not forthcoming may be forgiven a complaint.

He is to be pitied, but his unhappy wife much more deserves our pity, since she finds herself amid a sea of troubles, at the mercy of her servants, if she possesses them; and if moderate circumstances necessitate the performance of the bulk of household duties, then her predicament is melancholy indeed.

To revert again to our Angelina and Edwin of the comic papers, we have the threadbare jokes at the expense of the new husband subjected to the ordeal of Angelina’s awful cooking.

At first he is forbearing and encouraging; but in the end, when no improvement is visible, the honeymoon begins to wane much more rapidly than either anticipated.

Edwin becomes sulky, discontented, and complaining; Angelina tearful or indignant, as her temperament dictates, but equally and miserably helpless. The chances are that time will not improve but rather aggravate her troubles, especially if the cares of motherhood be added to those of wifehood, which she finds quite enough for her capacities.

True, some women have a clever knack of adapting themselves readily to every circumstance, and pick up knowledge with amazing rapidity.

If they are by nature housewifely women, they will triumph over the faults of their early training, and after sundry mistakes and a good deal of unnecessary expenditure may develop into fairly competent housewives.

But it is a dangerous and trying experiment, which ought not to be made, because there is absolutely no need for it.

It is the duty of every mother who has daughters entrusted to her care to begin early to train them in domestic work. A Wise woman will take care to show her young daughters, as time and opportunity offer, every secret contained in the domestic répertoire.

“When the results of life are all gathered up—it will probably be seen that the things in us which have made the deepest and most lasting impressions in our homes and upon our children—have not been the things we did with purpose and intention, planning to produce a certain effect—but the things we did when we were not thinking of training or influencing or affecting any other life!” -J.R. Miller

Inspire and delight your children with these lighthearted and faith-filled poems. Available here.

These books give us some lovely rhymes that can, and should, be committed to heart by your children. Not only will they provide all the benefits of reading and memorizing, but they will supply some simple reflections that will turn those little minds to what is most important in their life….their Catholic Faith….

 

 

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Filled with inspiration, encouragement, and tried-and-true tips, this book is a must-have for every woman!

The good news is that a beautiful home doesn’t require too much money, too much energy, or too much time. Bestselling author and home-management expert Emilie Barnes shows readers how they can easily weave beauty and happiness into the fabric of their daily lives. With just a touch of inspiration, readers can

• turn their homes into havens of welcome and blessing
• build a lifestyle that beautifully reflects their unique personalities
• enrich their spirits with growing things (even if their thumbs are several shades shy of green)
• make mealtimes feasts of thanksgiving and kitchen duty fun
• establish traditions of celebration that allow joy to filter through to everyday life

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The Delights of Motherhood

by Clare Hardess (Australia)

Motherhood is a full-time occupation. Actually, it’s a life time institution under the normal circumstances of married life. You think back, as you walk the floors at night with your first born, and ask yourself whether you knew you were going to live in an institution when you married him. You’re pretty sure he didn’t mention it.

You knew about the love, honour and obey bit, but that was easy compared with stumbling round in the dark, with a SCREAMING 8 lb. bundle of selfishness that you were supposed to be bonding with.

Six or seven babies later, you’re none the wiser, but the number living in the institution has increased, and what’s more, you’re the heart of the happy place. Motherhood has tamed you, softened you, deshaped you, and sent you a bit crazy; but with the joys and delights brought by so many children, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Well, not for long anyhow.

The Psalm of Young Mothers

From Christ in the Home by Father Raoul Plus, S.J., 1951

A young mother–very true to her role of mother and at the same time very artistic–got the idea of comparing her role with that of cloistered sisters.

Between her washing, her cooking and the care of her youngest, she managed to compose “The Psalm of Young Mothers” which appeared in the 8 November issue of “Marriage Chretien.” It is full of love, full of spontaneity. Every young mother will recognize herself in these passages we are quoting:

My Mother – Fr. Bernard Vaughan, S.J.

Painting by Alfredo Rodriguez

by Father Bernard Vaughab, S.J., early 1900’s

I was only a little boy when we lost our mother. It was a loss I cannot think of even now, after half a century and more, without a shudder. To all of us she was the very ideal of everything that is lovely and holy.

We thought, and were brought up to think, that she was in every sense perfection. Hence her blessing was more to us even than her caress.

Well do I remember how we used to rush at her coming into the nursery to see who should be the first to kiss her hand with reverent devotion.

Then she would sit on the floor with half a dozen of us clinging to her, while she would give us her little crucifix and medals to venerate and fondle, or perhaps take out her watch, and placing it against the ear of one of us, would say, “Life is passing away just like that tiny ticking watch, but when the little heart stops beating here, we shall all know that God didn’t wind it up anymore because He wanted you home with Him for a never-ending holiday.”

Of course we used to kneel round her lap morning and evening to lisp after her our childlike prayers, and then were carried off, two in her arms, and others clinging to her skirts, to the chapel, where on great feasts we were privileged to kiss the altar-cloth, or even the altar itself.

Our mother reminded her children that, there in the Tabernacle, One who loved us more even than she did, was always abiding, ever ready to greet us when we went to see Him.

She loved her garden, but would have been shocked if the fairest flowers had been sent to her boudoir instead of to the chapel. She herself would gather nosegays for her children to place on our nursery altar or before the statue in her bedroom. When I look back it seems to me she could talk only about God, or the poor, or our father.

She made Heaven such a reality to us that we felt that we knew more about it, and liked it in a way far better even than our home, where, until she died, her children were wildly, supremely happy.

Religion under her teaching was made so attractive, and all the treasured items she gathered from the lives of the Saints made them so fascinating to us, that we loved them as our most intimate friends, which she assured us they most certainly were.

Our mother thought that it was her duty to teach her little ones in the nursery all manner of pious childlike practices, while the bigger children would often have to remind them not to forget God and His presence in their midst.

But it was of Our Lord’s Agony in the garden and His sacred Passion and Death that she never tired to remind us: “Look at those dear Five Wounds,” she would say; “fancy all that pain suffered, and all that blood shed, for you. You must never forget, no matter how long you live, to love more than anything on earth those Precious Wounds. If ever you are naughty and hurt God, it will be because you forget how much you have cost Him.”

What tricks and devices did we not resort to in order to be awake in the night nursery when, after dinner, Mother would pass from cot to cot blessing her children, crossing their hands upon their breast, and lulling them to sleep with such words as “Sweet Jesus, I do love Thee, Holy Mother of God, be a tender Mother to me, My good Angel, watch over me and keep me this night from all sin.”

It was not our mother’s practice to bring us any dainty from the dinner-table. We were never allowed to go down to dessert, our father thinking it might encourage greediness or undue fondness of food. We dined at our parents’ lunch and then were allowed to take what we liked.

I remember one day being offered some dish which I rejected with the incautious remark, “Thank you, Father, I don’t fancy it.” Should I live to the age of Methuselah I shall not forget how he turned upon me and in solemn voice said, “I do not wish any of my boys to indulge in fancies about food; fancies are the privilege of your sisters.”

On another occasion, when I had shown overmuch relish for some dish, my father reminded me that it was a poor thing to be a slave to any appetite or practice. Blushing to the roots of my hair, I ventured to retaliate, saying, ‘Well, Father, how is it that the snuffbox is brought to you every day at the end of dinner? — you always take out a big pinch.”

For a moment he was silent, and then made me fetch the box, and while in the act of tossing it into the fire he said, “There goes the box, and that is the end of that bit of slavery.”  His training was somewhat drastic, but it was a fine counterpart to that of the ever tender mother.

There were some fine customs which our father insisted on; for instance, that we should take our places with the village school children when they were catechized on Sunday afternoon in the chapel; and the chaplain was encouraged to be specially severe with us if we did not answer correctly.

Father liked us to give of what we had, and not merely our used-up toys, to the less well-off little ones, and nothing pleased him more than to see his children trudging off with their mother laden with good things for those who most wanted them.

When people expostulated with her for taking her children where they might catch something worse than a cold she would say, “Sickness would be a small price to pay for the exercise of this Christlike privilege — but God will take care of my children where my love fails.”

Her love of the poor was almost a passion, and but for her own children’s sake she would have parted with everything . Washing the bedridden, changing their bedding, sweeping their rooms, was the sort of thing in which she felt a real pride. Not even when she was very seriously ill would she call in any but the parish doctor, protesting that if he was good enough for her poorer sisters he would do very well for her.

As she herself could not seek perfection in the religious state, she strove to attain it in the sphere of life to which God had called her. I am told that she said the Divine Office daily, and when too ill to say it herself had it said for her. She died while Compline was being said in her room.

As a girl she had spent some considerable time in Paris receiving finishing lessons in drawing, painting, singing, and music, and nothing delighted us more than to gather about her in the round drawing-room, wild with joy, to hear her recite, or sing her own songs or hymns about Heaven as she accompanied herself on the harp. When our enthusiasm was thoroughly stirred she would pause to remind us that all this was but discord compared with what the rapturous music of Heaven would be. She was fond of whetting our appetites for Heaven.

In our mother’s time Courtfield was always so cheery, bright, and holy, that it used to be said in the county, “You nearly break your neck going, but more nearly break your heart leaving there.”

When I look back to those young days so crowded with life I cannot remember any quiet games entertaining us. Birds, dogs, other pets, and ponies were our chief delight. I fear we were dreadfully noisy, loving hare and hounds, blindman’s-buff, snapdragon, and above all theatricals, in which movement was a safety valve for what was called “the Vaughan spirits.”

On the Feast of Holy Innocents, when it was our custom to dress up in the habits of different religious orders, we used to hold high religious functions, and preach one another down till the result was a sort of pandemonium, ending in clouds of incense and a blaze of candles round the schoolroom statue, where we made peace.

I think I have sampled our early life fully enough for even an inordinate taste for childhood’s days, but I cannot end without referring to the irreparable loss that came upon us when God called our mother away. It was a catastrophe.

Personally I was too young fully to understand what had happened; what I do most vividly remember is going down to the library, where the blinds were drawn and everybody was in black.

I recollect my father’s grief-stricken countenance as, amid the sobs of his children, he called my eldest sister, Gladys, to his side, and, placing on her wrist my mother’s simple silver bracelet, with crucifix and medal attached, he told us that our mother had gone to Heaven and that the eldest girl must take her place.

I bit my lips, exclaiming internally, “She never shall with me.”

He said much more, but I did not quite understand what it all meant, or why everybody was crying. I felt sure, even if mother had gone to Heaven, she would somehow be back soon, for she was never away from us for long. It did not seem that one could possibly live without her.

Very gradually the reality of the loss came home to one, and then it seemed that nothing much mattered. We rarely spoke of mother because the mere mention of her name awakened feelings that could not be controlled.

Herbert even to the last was shy of speaking to me of her; sometimes when I ventured to plead for some of his reminiscences of her he would get red and hot, and after saying there was no one ever like her, he would turn to some other subject; and till shortly before his death he kept by him a tiny picture of :—

“That countenance in which did meet

Sweet records and promises as sweet.”

“We all carry two bags—each and every one of us—one is packed with virtue, the other our faults. I’m talking marriage here, when I say that somewhere between courtship and the seventh year many women have shifted their focus from one of adoration to fault finder. We start to analyze, dissect, and over analyze the faults that we find, hoping to reshape our husbands according to our version of the perfect man. Living in harmony requires patience on both sides as we work to rebuild our view of one another.” -The Good Wife’s Guide, Darlene Schacht

Painting by Robert Papp

November – The Month of the Holy Souls in Purgatory

The Suffering Souls are very powerful with God. You take care of them and they will be praying for you!
Novena for the Holy Souls in Purgatory

Prayer to Our Suffering Savior for the Holy Souls in Purgatory

O most sweet Jesus, through the bloody sweat which Thou didst suffer in the Garden of Gethsemane, have mercy on these Blessed Souls. Have mercy on them.
R. Have mercy on them, O Lord.

O most sweet Jesus, through the pains which Thou didst suffer during Thy most cruel scourging, have mercy on them.
R. Have mercy on them, O Lord.

O most sweet Jesus, through the pains which Thou didst suffer in Thy most painful crowning with thorns, have mercy on them.
R. Have mercy on them, O Lord.

O most sweet Jesus, through the pains which Thou didst suffer in carrying Thy cross to Calvary, have mercy on them.
R. Have mercy on them, O Lord.

O most sweet Jesus, through the pains which Thou didst suffer during Thy most cruel Crucifixion, have mercy on them.
R. Have mercy on them, O Lord.

O most sweet Jesus, through the pains which Thou didst suffer in Thy most bitter agony on the Cross, have mercy on them.
R. Have mercy on them, O Lord.

O most sweet Jesus, through the immense pain which Thou didst suffer in breathing forth Thy Blessed Soul, have mercy on them.
R. Have mercy on them, O Lord.

(Recommend yourself to the Souls in Purgatory and mention your intentions here)

Blessed Souls, I have prayed for thee; I entreat thee, who are so dear to God, and who are secure of never losing Him, to pray for me a miserable sinner, who is in danger of being damned, and of losing God forever. Amen.

Written by St. Alphonsus Liguori this novena has prayers for each day which are followed by the Prayer to Our Suffering Savior for the Holy Souls in Purgatory

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Saint Monica (332-387 A.D.)

We must always have hope and continue to pray for our loved ones who do not have the faith. St. Monica, pray for us!

PATRICIUS

It was a gala day in Carthage when Monica married the wealthy Patricius, but there was little reason for anyone to be envious of the gentle Christian bride. Her husband was a fiery-tempered pagan who had little respect for the teachings of her faith.

At first the young bride trembled whenever the face of Patricius flushed with anger or when his gruff voice thundered out some command. But, timid as she was, Monica always gathered enough courage to argue with him or correct him. This increased his rage and caused him to heap more abuse upon her. What should she do?

His violent temper and his sharp tongue often brought sorrow to her heart She had learned that it was useless to argue with him or thwart him in his fits of anger.

She thought of the meek and gentle Master Who overcame the world by His meekness and resolved to imitate Him. Therefore when Patricius stalked about the house during his violent outbursts of temper, Monica remained meek and quiet as if she deserved whatever was said.

However, she always managed to straighten things out later in the day when Patricius was calm. Often in the evening she would lead him to some favorite nook in their garden to enjoy the cool sea breezes and listen to the laughter of their two boys as they raced over the gravel paths and through the berry bushes.

St. Monica would wait her chance and then speak to Patricius about his fit of anger. She would gently show him how wrong and unjust he had been.

Casting his eyes on the ground or gazing steadily into the rippling fountain, he would listen patiently to St Monica. Her tenderness would conquer him and he would plead for forgiveness.

Time after time he promised, as they sat beneath the tall palm trees, to control his anger. He improved with the years but never became as patient and meek as his gentle and holy wife.

THE STUBBORN SON

Imagine how grieved and worried St Monica was when she noticed that Augustine, her younger son, was becoming more and more like his father. On several occasions he had shown a stubborn, angry temper.

Monica had trained her boys well because she wished them to be good Christians. With all her holy zeal, she was preparing them for the great day when they should be baptized and enrolled among the followers of Christ.

Full well she knew the dangers that beset them with pagan playmates and pagan teachers. Time and again, she warned them against the false teachings of their pagan friends. The loving mother felt that she had done her work well and had little to fear for the future of her boys.

What a blow she received when she heard that Augustine had joined the ranks of the anti-Christians! Could it be possible that the boy she brought up so carefully would turn his back on the God she loved and served? It was too terrible to be true. “It cannot be,” she cried. “Have all my efforts been of no avail?”

Sad to say, it was only too true. Augustine, a bright, clever lad of seventeen years, had joined those who despised the God Whom Monica loved. She heard it from his own lips when he returned from school.

Her loving heart was crushed when he told her that he knew too much to be a Christian and to believe their foolish teachings.

St. Monica was heartbroken. She withdrew to her room and shed tears of sorrow and anger. Her boy—her son—had become a traitor to her God. “It would have been better if he had never been born,” she moaned as she paced the floor, wringing her hands. She tried to pray but could not; the shock was too great.

BANISHED FROM HOME

The chirp of a bird drew her attention to the open window that faced the sea. She paused before it and gazed at the foamy waves as they dashed themselves upon the sandy shore.

Fond memories of other days rose before her—memories of her boys playing on the sand or battling in the waves, as she prayed for them. How proud she had been as they grew into stalwart youths! But that pride was crushed now.

“For seventeen years,” she sighed, “I have watched him and prayed for him. Morning, noon, and night, I have asked God to keep him good and holy and to protect him from evil. I had often dreamed of having him with me in heaven, but now—all is changed. He spurns the true God. He gives himself to sin and his soul to hell.”

The distracted woman cast herself upon a marble bench and wept bitterly. She arose shortly and brushed aside her tears. She had formed a plan to conquer the stubborn will of Augustine.

Banishing him from home would bring him to his senses, she thought. The echo of her son’s voice reached her ears as he called to one of the servants in the garden. She resolved to make a last plea and if this failed, she would send the boy away from his home.

Followed by her faithful brown dog, she approached the bench where Augustine was studying. The boy was surprised to see the sad face of his mother.

Kissing him, Monica begged him to give up his new friends and return to the God he had spurned. He told her very firmly that he had studied the matter most carefully and was convinced that she was in the wrong and he was right He was only a boy of seventeen, but he felt that he was much wiser than his mother.

A mother’s tears and a mother’s pleadings had had no effect on Augustine. There was nothing left for her to do but carry out her determination.

“Augustine,” she said, “there is no room in my home for a traitor to my God. Ungrateful, stubborn son, be gone from my presence forever!”

Augustine was dazed. Never before had he heard his mother speak like this. Nervously pushing the pebbles with his foot, he thought for a moment He was making his choice between his mother and his friends.

Too stubborn to give in, he decided in favor of his friends and hastened to the house to gather up some clothing and a few books. He left without a word of farewell. A mother’s love had banished Augustine from his home in order to bring him to his senses.

Night and day, St. Monica prayed for him. She pleaded with God to have mercy on her wayward son and to bring him back to see the truth. She asked the priests and the bishop to reason with the boy. But the stubborn youth refused to listen to reason.

The priests grew tired talking to him and they avoided his mother because the same cry was always on her lips, “Will you see my boy? Will you talk to Augustine? Will you pray for him?”

One day the good bishop, who was weary of listening to her pleadings, told her that he would trouble himself no more with the stubborn boy. This answer grieved the poor, distracted mother. She had determined to save her boy’s soul and she would have no rest while that soul was in danger of damnation.

Tears filled her eyes as she looked into the face of the bishop. “Oh, good bishop,” she cried, “during all these years have I prayed for him; during all these years have I wept for him. Yes, and gladly would I lay down my life for him. Do not tell me that there is no hope.”

This tender plea was too much for the bishop. Blessing the weeping mother, he said: “My friend, continue your prayers. It is impossible that the child of such tears should be lost.”

AUGUSTINE GOES TO ITALY

By this time, Monica had permitted Augustine to return home. Year followed year, but there was no change for the better in him. Finally when he was about twenty-nine years old, he decided to go to Rome to teach.

Monica feared that life away from his native city would only delay his conversion and, perhaps, bring him in contact with still more evil companions. She used all her powers to induce him to remain at Carthage.

But the call of Rome was ringing in his ears. His love for learning and adventure was stronger than his love for his mother.

Unknown to her, he boarded a small sailboat that had been lying at anchor in the harbor and sailed for Italy. When poor Monica heard the sad news, she hastened to the shore to bring her wayward boy home, but, alas! it was too late. The boat was fast disappearing from view.

“My boy is gone,” she cried, “but I shall follow him. I have prayed and suffered too long to give up the struggle now.”

St. Monica sailed on the next boat She wished to be near her son to protect him as much as possible. Augustine’s surprise was very great when his mother greeted him one day on the streets of Rome.

Augustine and his mother lived for some time in Rome but Augustine was not contented. Milan, the city of the north, attracted him. Thither he went, accompanied by his mother and brother and a few friends.

Monica was secretly pleased at this journey because the great St. Ambrose lived at Milan. Stories of his wonderful powers had long before reached the shores of Africa. New hope now dawned in Monica’s heart.

“If Augustine would only meet Ambrose,” she repeated over and over again. One day, through curiosity, Augustine and some of his friends wandered into the church to hear St. Ambrose preach. They wondered if the stories about his wonderful sermons were true.

The stirring sermon more than proved Ambrose’s greatness. The curious visitors returned again and again. They listened to Ambrose as he denounced their sins and their errors.

CONQUERED

The grace of God began to work in Augustine. He made private visits to St. Ambrose, who clearly showed him the error of his ways.

St. Monica was overjoyed when she heard this. However, she did not stop her prayers on the eve of victory; she doubled them.

The great day finally came when Augustine was baptized and received into the church of God. The grace of God had brought success after thirteen years of prayers and tears, and the mother’s prayer was answered. Monica was satisfied and happy. She felt that her life work was over.

She yearned for her home in far-away Carthage. Augustine was now more obedient to her wishes. He made arrangements for the homeward journey.

It was, indeed, a joyful group that set out from Milan—Monica, her two sons, and some of their friends. They traveled by land to Ostia, a seaport near Rome.

Here a deadly fever attacked St Monica. She knew that her end was near. As Augustine sat at her bedside one day, she said to him, “My son, there is now nothing in life that gives me any pleasure. All my hopes in this world are now at an end. The only thing for which I desired to live was that I might see you a Christian and a child of heaven. I ask for nothing more. Be loyal and true to your God till death calls you.”

During the next few days the fever increased and, in her delirium, Monica spoke of nothing else but her love and prayers for Augustine. He had never realized until now the terrible sorrow that he had brought into his mother’s life. He stooped to kiss her fevered brow and his silent tears fell upon the holy face that had shed so many tears for him.

Just before the end, the dying mother opened her eyes and smiled at her sons. They told her that it grieved them to have her die in a strange land, far removed from home and friends.

But with her dying breath she whispered: “It makes little difference where you bury my body. The only thing I ask of you both is that, no matter where you are, you remember me at the altar of God.” Breathing became more difficult and soon St. Monica passed to God.

Augustine, the boy of her prayers and tears, later became the great St. Augustine.

Children miss nothing when their father comes first, but rather feel more secure and happy. This is because when you make your husband number one, you build a happier relationship with him. Your happy marriage will be the foundation of a happy home in which the entire family benefits. If you find it hard to understand how to make your husband number one in priority, without neglecting your children, keep this rule in mind: Don’t put the comforts and whims of your children ahead of your husband’s basic needs.
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An Introduction to the Devout Life is a book to be read with pencil in hand. It is a book to be read again and again. It is a book to make your guide for the rest of your life. It goes to the heart of becoming good. Its aim is to help you be rid of sin and even the inclinations to sin. Alone, its 10 brief meditations in Part I will orient you toward God for the rest of your life. No one will come away without being profoundly impressed and without being motivated to enter upon the devout life . . . which leads ultimately to God and to Heaven.

In Consoling Thoughts on Trials of an Interior Life St. Francis de Sales, beloved Doctor of the Church, gives us treasured insight from the master of spiritual direction. How can the soul persevere in piety in the midst of affliction? How should we conduct ourselves when suffering interior trials? How can we profit from our own faults? St. Francis de Sales explains all this and more.

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Is Your Time Spent Well?

A somber reading for today reminding us of the value of time…not to make us scrupulous, though. Busy mothers need legitimate recreation and time to recharge. Keeping that in mind, let us read today’s article asking ourselves if our pursuits are worthy….if the time spent doing our duties, which can be taxing indeed, is embraced with an attitude that this, yes this, is what is important.

 

From Counsels of Perfection for Christian Mothers

by The Very Venerable Reverend P. Lejeune

Need we be astonished at the fidelity with which the Saints have put their maxims into practice? I defy anyone to find even one of them who did not employ his time to the best advantage.

Are not holiness and the proper employment of time intimately related then? A saint who would have trifled with time, who would have squandered it, or thrown it to the winds of vanity or frivolity, would be one whom we might well ridicule, and you yourselves would politely invite him to descend from a pedestal to which he had no right.

St. Francis Borgia, when he was yet in the world, thus answered those who sought to have him devote a part of his time to the vanities of social life “Let me alone, for I prefer to pass for a common person, rather than lose my time.”