Tag Archives: craving

Craving God 🔥

Craving God 🔥

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Dale and I were on a hike yesterday and as usual, when I am in motion, I get loose lips.  “I feel guilty.  I’m working from home.  No makeup.  No dress up.  No gas expenditures.  And I’m pulling in a good salary.  So are you.  This shelter in place has been sort of nice for us.  But not for others.  I feel guilty.”

Dale’s response? “It’s the Catholic in you.”

I was grateful for his comment.  He noticed.  Even though my Sunday Mass attendance has been abysmal and at times I can cuss like a sailor.  You can take the girl out of the Catholic but you can’t take the Catholic out of the girl.  Maybe I’m still going to heaven.  Who knows.

On the downhill, Dale wants to run.  I say go ahead.  I’d rather walk.  And walk in silence with this beautiful sky.  It’s Holy Thursday and I am craving God.

It’s true.  I do Catholic everyday.  I work for a Catholic high school.  We pray.  We sing.  We work on being in community.  All the things that are meaningful for me.  But with all the controversy in the Catholic church and my growing concern that women will never be priests- it’s all caught up with me.  Some despair.  Some dissatisfaction.  Some disbelief.  Did Jesus really wash the feet of the apostles?  Did they really nail him to a cross?  Did he really rise from the dead?

I do like to believe that the women were the first to see that the stone had been rolled away at the tomb.  That might be my favorite part of the Easter story.  And Veronica.. how she wiped the face of Jesus and it left an impression of his face on her veil.  I love that..

Later, over a home cooked meal of pot roast and salad with Dale’s favorite dressing, blue cheese, we agree on a news station to watch.  (That’s a challenge for us.. )  PBS is covering how people are practicing their faith during this holy week.  There is a spotlight on the Muslim religion and how they celebrate Ramadan- fasting from dawn till sunset- it’s a time of prayer, giving, and self evaluation.  Prayer together is so essential to this community and not being able to be together in prayer at the mosque is very sad for Muslims.  When they break the fast, there is much celebration and food and people who are not as fortunate are invited and included.  And there is so much joy.

I’m thinking of my own Catholic traditions.  Tonight at 7pm, Holy Thursday services will be streamed from Bellarmine College Prep, the high school my three sons attended.  Regardless of my doubts and my reservations, I want to be on the other side of that screen.

I feel spiritually depleted.

I am craving God 🔥

 

 

 

The Mom Void

The Mom Void

It’s Mother’s Day and it seems appropriate that I would be channeling my mother in the kitchen this weekend.  Tabouli, Hummus, Baba Ghannouj- salt, allspice, cinnamon, garlic, tahini, eggplant, and parsley dripped and splashed everywhere!  You can’t make Lebanese food without making a mess, using your hands and taste testing along the way.  The sterile kitchen police would have me under arrest.

My daughter in law is craving Lebanese food for my little Lebanese grandson still nesting just under her heart.  A new little Shaheen boy in the works.  My mom would be beside herself!  Another man to cook for!

I found my place very early in life next to my mother in the kitchen.  I had no choice really.  I just grew up in there with my own apron and stepping stool, stirring the rice pudding, chopping the parsley and washing the dishes.  Sometimes all at the same time.

I never complained.  With a family of eight and so many brothers, it was the only way I could sneak something to eat before the food hit the dinner table. It was also my special time to be with my mom.  To smell her perfume and sing songs with her.  At a very young age, I wanted to be just like her.  She was so loved and admired by everyone.  And she was a fabulous cook.  I think she invented that idiom about the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach..

She always knew just what to do in every situation.  What to cook for every ailment.  How to take care of her family.  She could have written the book on mothering.

I watched her as a young mother wrap up my babies and sing to them.  When my youngest, Peter, was born, I found her playing in the sandbox with Patrick and Robert and their trucks.  “Whose mother is that??” I wondered!  My mother never got dirty.  My mother had her nails and hair done every week and wore heels and hose.  My mother didn’t own a pair of jeans until she turned 50!

As I recuperated from each pregnancy and birth, she cleaned my house and did the laundry and cooked delicious things for us in the kitchen.  I just held my babies and watched.  I wanted to get in there and chop and stir and wash dishes but clearly our roles had changed and I was no longer the little girl helping.  I was the mother. Still learning from her.  Still needing her advice and expertise.  Still wanting to be close to her in the kitchen.

Now on the cusp of being a new grandmother myself, I’m feeling a bit insecure in the transition.  What will my new role be like?  What are the expectations?  Will I know what to do with a new baby?  After all, it’s been 30 years since I had Peter.  Things have changed. Mothers are more enlightened due to the internet.  Information is dispelled easily through a quick Google.  Does anyone call their mother for advice anymore?

The new parenting trends bring natural fibers and toxic free toys.  Gender fluid nurseries and neutral color schemes.  Babies sleep face up instead of face down.  Bumpers are no longer safe in cribs.  There’s something called “sleep training”.

Maybe I will Google “gramma training”.

So I find myself in the kitchen where I feel safe and smug.  I know the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.  Or through his mommy’s stomach.

It’s a start.  The rest will come in time.

As I chop the parsley and squeeze the lemons.  Smash the garlic with the salt just how she taught me.  Mix the Tabouli with my unsterile hands- I haven’t killed anyone yet with my cooking- I feel her standing next to me and I smell her perfume.  I am infused with her wisdom and her strength and her confidence in me.

“You got this, Sissie!  You’re going to be a wonderful Sittie!”

Feeling the Mom void..

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