Review: A Book of Saints for Catholic Moms

When I received my copy of Lisa Hendey’s new book, A Book of Saints for Catholic Moms, I did a little dance in the driveway. I’m nerdy that way — who doesn’t love to get stuff in the mail? When it’s a book — JOY!

Of course, I immediately sat down to read it, but rather than starting on page one, I flipped around, stopping to read when I recognized a favorite Saint, but also when I ran across a Saint that I didn’t know.

I spent about an hour reading in this manner, and I didn’t realize how much time had passed until my husband asked if I had picked up the mail.

Oh! I was that engrossed!

One of the things that I like about Lisa’s writing is that it comes from a practical place. Her first book, The Handbook for Catholic Moms, is a resource that can be used, re-used, and adapted to mothers’ needs. A Book of Saints takes that to the next spiritual level. As mothers, we are well-aware of our responsibilities to provide sound instruction for our children, but we also need to nourish ourselves spirtually along the way.

In spite of my enthusiastic jump into the book and the sporadic jumping around to get a feel for the contents, I recognized a different gift in the book. Lisa presents us with companions on a faith journey that spans a year.

One part history, one part reflection, and one part mini-retreat, A Book of Saints for Catholic Moms will slow me down. I love that. It meets me where I am (needing some spiritual growth) and asks of me something I can easily work into my busy schedule (52 saints instead of a daunting 365).

Whether I sit down with my new companions for a little while every day, or in a weekly marathon session to get everything read at once, I know I’ll be a better mom and a better Christian for spending time in the company of Saints.

Thanks Lisa!

obligatory nano-avoidance post

I should be working on my novel. Instead, I am laughing until tears flow (perhaps I needed that) as I read through my journal from 1984.

Holy cow, that was a hundred years ago. Or, well, a whole bunch. I was 21. TWENTY-ONE! I have a daughter that’s 21. And one that’s older. Where’s my walker?

Anyway, in my typical stream of consciousness insanity, my trip down memory lane started rather innocently with a conversation at lunch. I was sharing a beautiful experience from Mass last night. My colleague and friend is in her church choir and loves music (I surround myself with music-lovers — don’t think I haven’t noticed) and I was telling her about a little girl that sat in front of me and sang with the purest, sweetest, most angelic voice I had ever heard.

It truly was like a choir of angels. At first, I thought it was one of the adult women near me, but no, it was the little pig-tailed sweetness in front of me. Listening to that little girl was one of those experiences that I know will remain with me always. There was just something transcendent about it all — her innocence, the clarity, and above all, the absolute joy and love that she radiated. I should worship like that.

And it reminded me of another transcendent experience…many years ago. It involved music, too. I was studying in France and was invited to an outdoor music festival. There was a small amphitheater for a more formal show and I was given a ticket to a special performance of Mozart…I can’t remember what it was but it was easily recognizable to me at the time, so I imagine it was selections from Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, no doubt; it when I truly fell in love with the strings…and then a gorgeous piano piece that I don’t remember. That’s what sent me searching for my journal. I was sure I had written about it.

Unfortunately, in a fit of writer’s angst angst, I threw away all my writing in the pre-digital age. The only thing that remains is this little leather travel journal. I don’t know how it survived, but I am so grateful that it did. It was a gift from a professor and friend who encouraged me and mentored me at a time when I was struggling with my career options.

It reminded me, as I laughed through the memories, of how a soft encouraging word or even the acknowledgment of a dream can buoy someone’s spirit. The writing in the journal is sometimes painful to read…I hope I’ve come a long way from that…but I think I’ll keep it on my desk as a reminder to keep plugging along this November.  A quarter of a century later, that little journal, and the woman who encouraged me, are still with me. I’ll honor that by trying to do the same.

Keep writing, Nanos. The month is still young!

why am I doing NaNoWriMo…again?

Well. I said maybe I was, then I wasn’t, now I am. This NaNoWriMo thing is crazy. I’ve done it for several years, and here I am doing it again.

I never win. By that I mean I never achieve the 50 thousand words I’m supposed to produce. Interestingly, it’s about producing words. Not producing some good content. So you’d think I could do a massive brain dump and give myself permission for a terrible draft.

We’ll see. Stay tuned for some unexpected updates. Like. Maybe I finish. Or give up after 75 words.

Coincidentally, St. Teresa of Avila happened to write on scraps of paper (see picture above). Now that she and I are friends, maybe things will change.

I don’t know why she has a tambourine in this picture, but I’m going to take it as a sign that she’s my cheerleader. I’m sure that’s it, cuz I’d be sorely disappointed if it was to launch into a painful rendition of Kumbaya.

St. Teresa, pray for me.

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