like riding a bike

A few times now recently I have warmed the bench of the piano at the Catholic parish where I had served as music and liturgy director before the elder lad arrived on the scene.  Going back to play the piano is at once easy yet challenging, comfortable yet awkward, as not only am I not exactly in practice like I was when I was playing several masses in one weekend, but also time has marched on for the people of that parish just as it has for my family and me.  Some things are as ever. Some things are a lot different.  In many ways, it's like riding a bike: it all comes back quickly once I settle down and get going.

Few things allow me a more direct route to that place of prayer in action like playing the piano at Mass.  It truly is a blessing and honor to be able to use this gift from God at his service.  Balancing serving him by playing at mass with serving him by serving my young family at home is something I'm still trying to discern and navigate.  I always envisioned my children nearby as I played the piano, either at home or church, somehow finding it completely normal for me to be doing that while they were doing something else.  It hasn't worked out that way.  Maybe the time for that is just now beginning, or maybe it has yet to arrive, or maybe the eventual solution will be somewhere in between...

speed dial

In case you've been trying to put a face with my name, here's a fairly recent portrait by the younger lad:

"Momm" by Younger Lad, age 4.5 • November 2011

Yes: my hair usually does look like that, and I'm trying to incorporate more "bling" into my everyday look with accessories and embellishments.

These bambini of mine are by turns sweet, spirited, imaginative, and resilient.  They along with my beloved play a major role in the ongoing process that is my conversion of heart to the will of Christ.

Someone who always spoke of the lofty nature of motherhood while acknowledging its far less glamorous aspects was the pastor emeritus of the parish where I served as director of music and liturgy for a few years.  He was a man of such size and stature as to cause young children to wonder if he was God or Santa Claus.   He died a few days before Christmas this past year, and his absence is felt keenly by those whose souls he tended for many years and whose hearts he lifted with words of encouragement and prayer. 

I had the great honor of playing the piano at the vigil service held for him the night before his funeral was celebrated.  I chose music to reflect the servant leadership he so deftly offered as well as music that summoned the prayers of Christ's mother Mary, whom this Irish Catholic priest (as noted by the funny sign stationed at the head of his casket for the vigil that proclaimed "parking for Irish Catholic priest only") held in highest regard and mused about often. 

The well-timed phone calls from him are sorely missed, not just by me but by lots of folks, I'm sure.  The brief exchanges of pleasantries and vocational affirmation always helped me in my quest to mother intentionally, faithfully, and gently.  As much as I miss those phone calls now, I trust he continues to pray for us, and that those prayers are carried to the Father speedily. 

With sincere appreciation for my mother, my beloved's mother, our grandmothers, godmothers, aunts, cousins, and friends who mother us so lovingly and for those who support and care for mothers of any kind, I pray the Lord will bless in a special way those who are in dire need of mothering, whatever their age, and in need of someone like this dear priest to affirm them in living out the call of Christ. 

great expectations

When I was a novice music director planning the first Christmas liturgies of my service, I selected Marty Haugen's ebullient "Awake, Awake, and Greet the New Morn" as the opening song of the Christmas Day liturgy.*

"Awake, awake, and greet the new morn,

For angels herald its dawning,

Sing out your joy, for now he is born,

Behold! the Child of our longing.

Come as a baby weak and poor,

To bring all hearts together,

He opens wide the heav'n-ly door

And lives now inside us for ever."

Festive, yes, and fitting, sure -- but not "O Come, All Ye Faithful" or "Joy to the World" or some other such bulwark of the Christmas carol repertoire as some might have been expecting.  I was known for introducing a lot of new music to the parish, and Christmas was no exception.

Each of us has our own set of expectations when it comes to such things as major holidays like Christmas.  They are built on tradition, the memories of our childhood, the hopes we have for how we'd like to celebrate in the future, and (at least) what we think the people we plan to celebrate with expect of the holidays.  But what happens when it all turns out differently?

The final two weeks of Advent passed in a blur for our family.  Our lad who seemed so fragile was for good reason.  He was diagnosed with pneumonia, then a week later turned up with an allergic reaction to the antibiotic prescribed to treat the pneumonia.  Before that latter revelation, we were contending with breathing treatments and medicine and such.  This left little time or energy left for fully entering into the Christmas mystery -- at least, in the way I thought I should have.

With Christmas Eve came a blizzard -- an anomaly for our region of the country.  Its arrival meant no family coming over to spend Christmas Eve with us or us going to visit other family on Christmas Day as we had planned, treacherous travel conditions for those who did venture this way, and no outing to Mass -- the centerpiece of our entire Christmas celebration.

Now the weather conditions are improving, and family is on the way to celebrate with us.  May our tidings be festive, joyful, and grateful for the blessings of family, the restoration of good health for our young lad, and most of all for the gift of redemption that comes with the arrival of the Christ child.

Christ enters into our reality knowing full well what it is, and wanting to be a part of it.  Our desire to be still and listen and make every little detail perfect is itself a gift from God -- a stirring of our devotion and faith.  But he knows our particular circumstances -- chaotic and stressful and exhausting though they may be -- and embraces us and them.  Even when we can't come to him, he comes to us.

I don't remember if we got to this fourth verse of the carol that Christmas morning with the obscure music (there *were* other, more familiar selections that morning), but it certainly seems fitting this year:

"Rejoice, rejoice, take heart in the night,

Though dark the winter and cheerless,

The rising sun shall crown you with light,

Be strong and loving and fearless;

Love be our song and love our prayer,

And love, our endless story,

May God fill ev'ry day we share,

And bring us at last into glory."

*In our Catholic tradition, there are several Masses celebrating Christmas beginning on Christmas Eve, including the vigil Mass on Christmas Eve, Mass at Midnight, and Mass during the Day on Christmas Day.

my former life

Before marriage and motherhood, I spent a lot of time perched on a piano bench.  It was a favorite spot of mine from the time I was a wee lass, so much so that I majored in piano in college at the encouragement of my aunt Robin (an encouragement that took on an added dimension of poignancy when she died of breast cancer at the age of 37 when I was a junior in college preparing for my recital).

Determined *not* to be a piano teacher, I instead set out to be an arts administrator.  I landed an internship in the development (i.e. fundraising) offices at Lyric Opera of Chicago the summer after Aunt Robin died. Promotional writing for special events was a primary focus of my internship, and it led to my first job out of college as a PR lackey for the local (now defunct but resuscitated under new leadership and an inventive business model) professional orchestra.  Here I learned a lot about mass media (even embarking upon a master's degree in this field), marketing, and graphic design, and put a ridiculous number of miles on my little car ferrying musicians (and signage and props and even a beer keg for a season wrap party) around the region.  I was very fortunate to have several articles published in the monthly magazine of the performing arts center where the orchestra gave two of its concert series, something which led to future publishing opportunities and a keener interest in writing and communications.

When the orchestra met its unfortunate demise, I went to work as the director of music and liturgy for a local Catholic parish whose pastor had been stationed at my home parish when I was in middle school.  It was an honor to serve in this capacity, and a natural outlet for my musical training.  I had begun playing at Mass when I was a teenager and had done so throughout college. This stint coincided with one writing a monthly column for the diocesan newspaper.

Then I met my husband at an event for Catholic young adults.  Within a year of our meeting we were married, and soon thereafter our first child was on the way.  I left my post at the parish to devote myself to full-time mothering and home-tending.  Every once in a while I would substitute for a pianist at one of the local Catholic parishes.  Now with three small children, it's been a while since I played at Mass.  God willing, I'll be back on my piano bench perch sometime soon, for it is there that I am most sure to be utilizing the particular talents He has given me that I have cultivated through years of practice and study.

For now, though, I am cultivating other talents and striving for everyday sanctity by loving and caring for the ones He has placed in my midst, tending to their souls, praying for the Grace to reflect the Lord's love and light at every moment. It's my honor to do so, and I'm so grateful for the multitude of blessings bestowed upon me by living out this particular vocation to which God calls me -- one I pray I will share hand in hand with my beloved for length of days.