A weary mama's morning offering

By Jaime Cheaney

Dear Jesus, I offer you my sufferings today.  The lack of sleep, messy house, never-ending laundry, marathon nursing sessions, and squabbling children.  I especially offer up the feeling that I am failing as a parent.  I entrust myself and my entire family to your care, knowing You are in control.

Please unite my sufferings with Yours on the cross, using them to bring others to know You.  Please comfort those who pray for a baby, those who mourn the loss of a child, and the neglected children unloved by anyone but You.

Jesus, I thank you for every late night teenage heart-to-heart, every sloppy kiss and snuggle, and even the constant busyness.  Every day with my family is a gift.  Please give me Your heart and Mother Mary’s simple yes to Your will.  Guide me as I teach this to my children.
In Jesus’ name, I pray.  Amen.

**The picture above is one of my favorites.  I took it standing at the foot of the crucifix statue at the Black Madonna Shrine in Eureka, Missouri.

Jaime blog at Fruitful Mama.

A morning exercise

By Nancy Shuman

Early Morning by von Schwind

Today I re-read the following advice from one of my favorite saints.  It is so practical, so concise, that I might just print it out and tape it to my mirror.  And to the bedroom door.  And to the window.  And to the computer screen (in case I forget to look everywhere else).

In his "Spiritual Directory," St. Francis de Sales proposes a simple morning exercise.  He counsels us to keep this prayer "brief and fervent..."

A.  Think.  Thank God and adore Him...

B.  Consider:  The gift of the present day is a preparation for eternity.  Make a firm resolution to use the day well for this intention.

C.  Look Ahead:  Foresee opportunities in which to serve God.  Anticipate whatever temptations might occur.  Prepare yourself by a good resolution to avoid carefully whatever might be against God's glory and your salvation.  Then consider how you plan to carry out this resolution.

D.  Humble Yourself:  Acknowledge your dependence upon God.  Hold your heart in your hands and offer it to His love, together with your good intentions.  Ask His protection, His strength, that you be successful in His service.  (from In the Midst of the World by Sister Joanna Marie Wenzel VHM, Visitation Sisters, Brooklyn NY)

St. Francis de Sales, ora pro nobis!

Nancy originally published this at The Breadbox Letters.

Jesus and the jar of pickles--distractions at prayer

By Amanda Rose

Washing of the Feet (artist unknown; photo credit: Wikimedia Commons).

I admit it. I am not a "morning person." Morning prayer times were not fruitful for me for many years. By "not fruitful," I mean that I would fall asleep whenever I attempted mental prayer in the morning. Even if I was sitting in an uncomfortable pew after morning Mass and wanted to stay for a bit with the Lord, my head would nod and I would startle awake, only to nod off again. I could pray in the afternoon, or late at night and stay awake, but not in the mornings. I read and was told that it was preferable to have a morning prayer time, but I just couldn't stay awake through one!

Well, I have been quite pleased with myself for faithfully praying Morning Prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours the past months – and staying awake. Maybe it's because I pray the Liturgy of the Hours from my phone using the Laudate App and electronics really do keep us awake? Or maybe it's just - cough, cough – middle age? Whatever the grace, I was doing so well that my spiritual director suggested I add the daily Mass readings to my morning prayer time, and that was a nice thought - a little time to meditate on the scriptures before starting the day.  

Maybe I shouldn't have been quite so pleased with myself and my success. After all, Proverbs 16:18 says, "Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall." I was feeling a little proud, kind of full of myself. Should have known better and remembered - it's all a gift, not me at all, whether I am awake or asleep, it's a gift from God. But I forgot and this week in my exuberance I added in a little something extra in the morning instead of waiting til later in the day. I read the verse of Jesus washing the feet of the disciple, meditating on it and praying for the grace of humble servitude.


Read the rest at Amanda's blog Little Steps Along the Way.

Praying with your body

by Daria Sockey

St. Francis in Meditation by Zurbaran (photo in Public Domain)

This morning, I began my usual Morning prayer from the Litugy of the Hours, making the sign of the cross while saying the opening verse: "O God, Come to my assistance/Lord, make haste to help me.”

Later on into the prayer, I again made the sign of the cross while praying “Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel, He has come to his people and set them free...” in the canticle of Zechariah. I did this once more at the conclusion, while saying, “May the Lord bless us, protect us from every evil, and bring us to everlasting life.”

It struck me—what an interesting thing it is to make the sign of the cross while saying other words than the usual invocation of the Trinity. I was expressing two different prayer-thoughts at once, by using two different language formats: spoken English and sacred sign language. Put another way, my mind prayed one thing (“God, come to my assistance”) while my body prayed another (invoking the blessed Trinity.)

Come to think of it, there are many ways we pray with our bodies, whether or not our minds and lips are praying at the same time. The simple act of kneeling down is itself a prayer—an act of humility before God. Likewise, genuflecting, kissing a crucifix or other holy object, taking holy water, folding or raising one's hands in prayer. All these gestures, and many others, are themselves acts of prayer, even before a single word crosses our lips or even our minds.

A Protestant teacher of mine once expressed befuddlement with her experience attending mass: “All the up-rising, down-sitting, kneel here, bow there—I just couldn't keep up with it. It was like an exercise class.” I wish I could go back in time to high school and explain to her, “Yes, that's the whole idea. We pray with our bodies, minds, and souls."

It's just another aspect of the Church being so very Sacramental. Things--including our arms, hands, and legs--are vehicles through which God receives our praise and sends His grace.


Read more about praying with the Church at Daria's blog Coffee and Canticles.

How to complain to God in 3 easy steps

by Daria Sockey

Mary Stuart's Breviary (Photo: Wikipedia)

I used to think it was wrong to complain to God. I had overdosed on those stories where saints are portrayed as  positively craving new opportunities to suffer for the love of God-- bursting into rhapsodies of delight at each new illness, inconvenience, and disappointment. And so, when the thought would cross my mind in times of trouble—God, what on earth were you thinking to let this happen to me?—I thought I was being at least slightly sinful.

But King David and the other psalmists complain plenty. They go on in great detail about how bad life is at the moment, and ask God why He hasn't fixed it yet. They tell God they don't understand why He worked so many miracles in the past but doesn't seem to do so anymore. They point out that non-believers are suggesting that maybe God is not so great if He allows  such  disasters to happen to His friends. 

We can't dismiss this by saying, "That was the Old Testament."  After all, the psalms were the prayers that Jesus used. As He was dying, he cried to His Father with the ultimate complaint from Psalm 22, “My God, my God, why have your forsaken me?”

Psalm 42 shows us the way

Yesterday's Morning Prayer from the Divine Office (Psalter, Monday Week II) starts with a wonderful example of the biblical way to complain--Psalm 42. It opens with sheer poetry, expressing our deepest longing:"Like a deer that years for running streams, so my soul is thirsting for you, my God..."

But soon the psalmist makes it clear that he is pretty miserable: "My tears have become my bread by night and by day, as I hear it said all the day long,'Where is your God?'"

"I remember...how I would lead the rejoicing crowd into the house of God...the throng wild with joy."

Now, check this out: "Why are you cast down, my soul, why groan within me? Hope in God, I will praise Him still, my savior and my God." A complete acceptance of suffering? Not quite. After this expression of trust, he is immediately back to complaining. "Why have you forgotten me? Why do I go mourning, oppressed by the foe?...my enemies revile me, saying to me all the day long, 'Where is your God?'"

Despite that, the psalm ends with the refrain, "Hope in God, I will praise him still, my savior and my God."

Complaining and trust aren't mutually exclusive

The pattern is easy to see. Complain while trusting. Trust while complaining.

This makes perfect sense. In fact, it is what good (albeit fallen) children will do. Think of that fussy toddler screaming his head off while clinging to Mom's leg.  The whiny six year old whose favorite phrase is “That's not fair.” Or the  teenager pouting in her room. Despite each age-appropriate version of “why have you rejected me?”  they know that you love them and have their best interests at heart. Not that they are likely to say, “That's okay, Mom. I trust you, even if you don't buy me an Ipad.” These are fallen children we're talking about. But their continued trust is, I think, implicit. Maybe this is part of what Our Lord meant when He said we should become like little children.

Of course, it would be better to follow up our complaints to God with explicitly stated trust in Him. And the psalms are excellent models of how to do this. Complain. Trust. Repeat.

Daria Sockey originally posted this at her blog  Coffee and Canticles.

Each Morning

by Cynthia Scodova

                                                                      My heart is ready, O God –

                                                                      my heart is ready.

                                                                      I shall sing and make music.

                                                                      Awake, my glory!

                                                                     Rise up, harp and lyre!

                                                                     We will awaken the dawn.

                                                                                           Psalm 107

The River of Light bu Frderic Edwin Church (Photo Credit: Wikimedia
Commons).

                                                                  What love
                                                                   Each morning

                                                                   Diffuses our darkness
                                                                   Brightens the yards of our sleep

                                                                   Making rose-gold fire
                                                                   Spill into the branches of trees

                                                                   The soft flesh of the hills
                                                                   Burning

                                                                   The worn crusts of our hearts
                                                                    Into a glance of you

                                                                  Wherever I look
                                                                  Whomever I see

                                                                   Something of you Lord.


Find more of Cynthia's poetic reflections on the Liturgy of the Hours at  The Mad-Eyed Monk