A Different Valentine Story

Every day when we drive to school, we say set prayers.  It is partially to settle the crowd in the van. It is partially to pray. It is partially to prevent or stop fights. 

It does not always work.  
But we do it.

Each child has a separate designated prayer.  The youngest gets the "Glory Be," the next "Hail Mary," the next, the "Our Father," then the "Hail Holy Queen" and the oldest going to the elementary school has "The Prayer of Saint Francis."  I have the "Act of Contrition."  Yes, sometimes there are editorials in those prayers. 

However yesterday, the children were not happy.  The prayers came grudgingly. 

"Make me (Kick) an (Kick, Kick, Kick) HEY! an instrument of your peace...
"Where there is Hatred..."MOM! HE'S KICKING MY SEAT!"
Mom edict from front seat, "NO KICKING DURING PRAYER..."

Prayer/Kicker is still going...
"To Console as to be consoled...to understand as to be understood...."
I am not quite in a consoling mood.  I have already said my prayer and am feeling it big time that I need to say it again. 

We have to cross a train track to get to the school. The train guards are down. We will be delayed. We are already late.  Tattles are starting to roll in like thunderclouds with a cold front.  Mommmmmmm.....
   MOM!
MomMomMomMomMomMomMom!

I can see the snake/mongoose faces of my children in the back seats preparing for battle during the stall at the station. 

I turn off the car for dramatic effect.  (We're stuck waiting for the train to go past so it won't matter). 
"Attention. ATTENTION.  Right Now...Saint Francis is face palming because you asked to be an instrument of peace and yet you are still kicking your sister's seat." 
"Well she was making faces..."
"Well he looked at me funny."
I am not happy.  I launch into a lecture.   Let me sum up with the take away shout being, "Talk about NOT GETTING IT!"

"Mom! Count to Ten!"
"Mom! Calm Down!"
"Mom, You need to Chill."

I get a chorus of corrections.
I lose it.
"I don't want your advice. I want you to listen TO ME!"

"But You're the one who Told Me to Count to Ten."
"Fine.  First, we are going to pray one more prayer."
I begin the Act of Contrition.
"Mom, you already said it."

"Evidently, it didn't take." I explain and carry on.  Halfway through, I have a vision of all of Heaven, face palming as I run through the prayer with no small amount of irritation.  I can hear Saint Francis whispering to Saint Anthony. "Talk about Not GETTING IT."  and swallow hard.

The train is passed. I restart the car.  I tell them I love you, and there is the settled silence of a crowd that has been squirrely and fighting and now realizes, it is over.  

They get out of the car and I get a small chorus of, "We're sorry Mom." and I am too.  We missed out on a morning, we missed out on getting to school on time, we were lost, all of us.  I felt it all day until I came back to the school in the afternoon for the class parties (Valentine's day).   I'd spent the afternoon feeling as if I'd flunked love 101.  It was hard to focus, it was hard to do anything.  My heart felt shriveled, like whatever it was, wasn't yet finished.  I was still damaged from the morning. 

 Arriving, each child is pleased to see me and their younger siblings in tow, they are eager to load my two toddlers down with red lollipops, chocolates and heart stickers.  The principal gets on the intercom to say the afternoon prayer; it is the act of contrition and the prayer of Saint Francis.  And my heart starts to unfold.  Somehow, everything is better.  Somehow, all of the morning is washed away in the saying of the prayers now. 

I look at this place, this annex of my home for my children, and if I could hug every parent for sending their children here, I would. If I could send a card to every teacher that pulls late nights to grade papers or do extra research to teach here and try to get my kiddos to listen, I would. They are all deserving of a dozen roses, a box of chocolates and a paid day off.  I know they work hard, and part of what they do, is create this place with its capacity to pull back to health, the crumpled foil heart of this parent when she's done her best to close off.  This is why they are here, in part, to protect me and grow my faith.  This is why I am here, because I need these feasts, these moments even during Lent, even only one day into Lent.  

Happy Saint Valentine's Day

Back in early January, late December I was surfing the web, reading some of my favorite Catholic bloggers. As a lurker and sometimes participant in "7 Quick Takes Friday," with my blog via "The Conversion Diary" I saw the saint generator and thought about it but didn't push the button. Then I saw a link again when I was over at First Things reading another favorite of mine, “the Anchoress." This time, I decided to try. I got Saint Valentine of Rome. Feeling vaguely disappointed, like oh, I already know this saint....I scanned his biography but didn't give the matter much thought.

Two hours later, my second daughter was helping in the kitchen and explained out of the blue, how she loved all the celebrations at her school except for Valentine's Day. I asked why. She said, "It is just an excuse to give paper and candy, it doesn't have anything to do with the real Saint Valentine." I gave my educated Mom answer, "Saint Valentine is patron saint of marriages and happy couples, having celebrated the sacrament for early Christians who wanted their relationship to be reflective of the person of Christ. It's the beauty of sacramental relationships as versus their lesser imitators, relationships not rooted in a desire to be faithful, forever and oriented towards deepening the other's connection to God."  I thought I was on a roll.  "It is as the difference between fine chocolate and carob; vintage wine and grape juice, a deeper fuller relationship than can be imagined by this world or those who love the world first." I'd overdone.  It happens.  She sort of rolled her eyes a bit and left the kitchen.   But I knew right then and there I needed to go back and start to know this saint better. Saint Valentine had asked for my attention twice in one day. God doesn't do random.

Now my middle daughter had struggled with double vision since November. Over the weeks, we have been scared out of our minds about the possibilities --cancer, tumors, stroke, blindness, diabetes; you name it, and had all sorts of tests to try and determine the cause but to no avail. We also had her eyes tested in November and December and visits to a Neurologist and were in the process of trying to bang down a door for an Educational Psychologist on the theory that she might be seeing things that weren't actually there. All we ever got was "We don't know. Let's do more tests."

The week I accepted the invitation to let Saint Valentine be a source of inspiration and education in my faith for the year, I got a phone call. The team of specialists had discussed my daughter's case and asked that I take her back to the eye doctor. They were finally able to address her vision properly and now she has glasses that correct her vision and her handwriting which had deteriorated to the point of being illegible is beautiful. She is 8. She fell asleep that night reading. I can't tell you the last time that happened or how much great joy and blessed relief seeing her resting with the lights on and the book over her chest 3/4ths of the way through brought me.

I went back to reread the story of Saint Valentine and the part about the daughter of the jailer being cured of her blindness leapt out at me. I had not seen it or taken it in before. Saints are God's means of bringing the community of Heaven and Earth closer together, of connecting us in our modern world and sensibilities with the universal timeless truths of our Church, as revealed across centuries of faithful witness.

So I'm heading out to buy chocolates and cards for my children and a little something for my husband. We've already sent flowers to my mom and his as part of celebrating this Saint's feast day with a bit more emphasis and personal enthusiasm for the traditions however hokey they may appear. The hearts and flowers mean a lot more than Halmark's bottom line with the focus on beauty and truth; how much we love and how much we want to love.  And I want my kids to know that while you can go overboard with words and sentimentality, you can never go overboard trying to be loving to others, it's an infinite gift to give.

Happy Saint Valentine's Day!

P.S. If you want to use the saint generator, go to http://jenniferfulwiler.com/saints/. I'll be spending this year in Saint Valentine's tutelage.