A little family baking

Francesca finished her tennis season today with semi-finals and finals (in Reston, which is not close...not sure I'm on board with traveling for sports). I'm embarrassed to say I don't know who won of the teams. But she did great personally, winning two matches and losing one (to a couple girls who looked like 6th graders). Very promising foray onto the sports scene. We'll see if she sticks with it. 

Dave left for Chicago Wednesday for a Catholic Stewardship Conference. He got back today and we're all very happy and relieved to have him home to relieve the monotony of life with mommy safe and sound. Teresa and David were bent on a baking project yesterday to ease the boredom of Saturday without Daddy, so we made dinner rolls. The results were surprisingly bread-rolly, given all the handling.

Count-down to Halloween with the cousins!

Lessons in gratitude at CVS

One of our favorite portraits by Rose. "Daddy" 

Very helpful, very Frankie.

The tennis team.

Today I went with David and Rose to CVS to get flu shots (not even a whimper from them, to the nurse's and my utter amazement) . On the way out, after latching Rose in to her carseat and turning the corner to get in myself, I became aware that an elderly man in the car next to us was talking to me and gesticulating. I got out and approached.

He was likely in his 70s, and his legs were awkwardly sticking out of the car as he sat in the driver's seat, crutches leaning against the open car door. In a thick southern Virginia accent, he said "They're quite a challenge, aren't they?" For a moment I was confused before realizing he was talking about David and Rose. I smiled and laughed. He went on, "You don't expect how it gets when you have grandchildren. I have an 11 year old grandson who went to..." He scratched his head a moment remembering. "Kindergarten! When he was in kindergarten they realized he was reading at a 4th grade level. His little sister who's 8 will be just like him. She called me up the other day and said 'Pop-pop, I love you'. I never knew I'd like being a grandparent." I smiled and said that's wonderful and agreed that the grandparent/grandchild relationship is indeed special.

He continued, "I had a bad knee and the doctor took it out. Don't have a knee now. Then he took out some of the bone up here," pointing to his femur, "and really messed me up.  I had an infection that cleared up, and he should have put the knee back in, but he wouldn't. I don't know, I think that doctor's in court now. But you know, it could be worse. Could be cancer." Looking at his mangled leg I saw that it was indeed without a knee and much shorter than the other one. It washed over me how much this man had suffered, and how he was simply resting in his car before beginning his trek into the CVS and wanted some company.

I told him how awful, what suffering. He changed the subject. "How do you like your car? Is that a Dodge?" We spent a short time talking about our van. I asked if I could help him get out of the car. "Oh no, I'll be fine." I told him it was nice talking to him, and that I would pray for him. I meant it. He smiled and said "Thank you. I appreciate that."

As I was pulling away, I watched him as he figured out how to lift the bad leg up over the curb. He made it. I'm still pondering the lesson this fellow human being, having suffered so much and seemingly without someone to help him, taught me about cheerfulness and gratitude. Whenever I have a trial I'll think of him, and that is a gift.  

Chiara Corbella Petrillo

Have any of you heard the story of Chiara Corbella Petrillo? I just devoured her biography, which apparently came out last month. It's the story of a young, joyful, ravishingly beautiful woman in Italy, her courageous husband, and their astonishing approach to suffering and death- both their children's and Chiara's in 2012.

There's something both irresistible and troubling about the lives of the saints. Their self-forgetfulness, charity toward their fellow humans, and love for God are mesmerizing. But their sufferings, which they view as their means to heaven (Jesus tells us the cross is the way), make us uneasy. How is it possible to suffer so much and remain not just faithful, but joyful?

If you're like me, you feel a little spiritual jealousy, realizing your disinclination to view each pain in life as a "kiss from Jesus" (Mother Teresa's words). And yet, I think we find that stories like Chiara's are the antidote to a fear of suffering and death that is particularly Western. Those being persecuted for their faith as we speak would likely not be as shocked by Chiara's story as we are. I would imagine joy and complete dependence on God in the face of poverty, death and destruction come more naturally to those who experience it regularly (witness little Miriam and her song).

We, however, who are privileged to have safe neighborhoods, access to doctors, good food, warm homes, jobs, loving families, etc., whenever we need them, would benefit enormously from reading how a fellow privileged Westerner heroically embraced tremendous sufferings and ultimately death instead of running from them in fear or falling into despair.  Chiara's story provides a beautiful template for those of us struggling to joyfully emulate Christ in our sufferings. I think it will also draw in many non-believers who are captivated. I'm confident we have modern-day saint on our hands here. St. Chiara, pray for us!