 Ave sacer Christi sanguis,
Iter nobis rectum pandis Ad aeterna gaudia. Ave ponis salutaris, Nullus unquam fuit talis Bonitatis copia. Miserere mei, Christe, Fiat Mihi rivus iste Peccatorum venia. Salva me ab omni malo, Fac me frui summo bono In colesti patria. Hail sacred Blood of Christ, You open for us the right path to eternal joys. Hail saving Drink, No one has ever been such a source of goodness. Have mercy on me, O Christ, May this stream be for me the pardon of my sins. Save me from all evil, Make me enjoy the higher good in the heavenly fatherland. ~Kevin Allen The month of July is dedicated to the Precious Blood of Jesus, and during July's First Sunday gathering our three oldest children sang a capella Ave Sacer Christi Sanquis, a most fitting piece for the occasion. And it was a balm for us - hearing those wonderful, beautiful, almost angelic voices of our own flesh and blood - when the world continues its rapid, chaotic, and diabolic decline and fall away from God. May the blood of His glorious sacrifice make and keep us worthy! Also, we had spent the 33 days in preparation and on the Feast of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel, on July 16th, our family was able to renew our consecration to Jesus through Mary according to the instructions of St. Louis de Montfort. We have a special book in which we all right a portion of the consecration prayer (even the youngest copies out a little bit) and each of us signs our name after making the prayer together after confession and communion at Mass. Our Lady of Mt. Carmel is most known through the practice of wearing the brown scapular, a sign of devotion to Christ's mother. Wearing the scapular and making the consecration renewal each year have become fruitful mainstays for our family, and it is hard to remember how we got by before we grew into these humbling practices! Surely it is a sign of God's providential care, and the power of prayer - for surely others must have prayed for us over all the years - that we are where we are today, rich not in material wealth but in the desire to do God's will. Simply, we hope to continue firmly on the path upon which God has placed us and pray for perseverance and humility to do so. Most recently we were talking with close friends about the humbling blessing of finding ourselves at a moment when there seems no other course to take - difficult as it may be to live out the faith without obstacle or some semblance of attack - but yet there is no feeling of anxiety or hesitation, rather a steady resignation, hope, and deeper happiness than ever before experienced in life. Christ is King and His blood is precious, this we believe! We also reflected upon the overlap of homeschooling, getting back to the land, and the rich and abiding treasures of our faith - intricately woven are these things, and we are glad! Certainly our Holy Mother, sorrowful and pure, has helped us every step, as St. Louis de Montfort teaches, making the way clear and showing how the Lord's burden is light. Deo gratias for His gifts, graces, and divine guidance; for His precious and purifying blood; and for the aid of Our Lady!
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 We have been grateful not to have to schedule "art" into our homeschooling as it has always been a natural part of everyday life. Especially from the children's maternal grandparents and great-grandparents, a wonderful innate gift for drawing and painting, and even a little clay and woodwork has manifested for most since the earliest ages, and from both sides of the family but most directly from their father the children have blossomed with a gift for music, both singing and playing instruments. Lately, we've discovered a new and enjoyable facet for the whole family: pyrography, the art of woodburning, and are happy to say the creative outlet has already taken hold as if a long-held pasttime (though admittedly we are budding pyrographers all!).
The draw and appeal is easy: we use wood as a canvas, pencil for sketching out a design, figure, or scene, and then carefully employ a pen-like hot iron to burn the image into the wood. Even the aroma of the artwork is alluring, since the woodsmoke is pleasant and old-timey and the finish is natural and delicious - so far walnut oil and beeswax. We had anticipated that everyone would enjoy this kind of creative work but were delighted to find the ease with which the boys particularly have taken to it. We are still working up a small stock to hopefully offer for sale, but so far we've accomplished gnomes, fairy-tale-, classic children's fiction-, fable-, and folklore-images, as well as native birds. We look forward to doing holy images, such as the Sacred Heart, the Immaculate Heart, and favorite saints. Each child (and their mother too) have discovered with practice which tip is their favorite to work with, and we're all getting better with script and shading. We believe and teach that art is not merely personal expression but an expression or reflection of God's truth, goodness, and beauty - and so our inspiration comes from the masters who came before us, and of course from the Master of all. Otherwise our summer days so far have been filled with endless tasks outdoors and in - clearing a line for a fence, burning brush and branches, hauling stones for a wall, tending to the garden and animals, preparing for Masses and feasts, prepping for our monthly gatherings, writing letters, enjoying friends and music and food, and all encompassed in the happy feeling that only comes of having all the children under one roof for these months. May our endeavors knit us ever more closely together in the ways that matter most, and may our summer, hot though it may be, last forever!  During this time of the year, when spring has full sprung and summer is hinted at around every corner, we have been as busy as ever with both culminating projects and the beginning of new endeavors. Full of hope are we, ever forging our life in the sacraments and in heartfelt petitions, as we realize daily that our children are growing right up under us, and there is no rest for the weary, especially when the family is trying their best to live on a little farm!
Recently, we have progressed from full-blown consternation in the adventure of learning to milk goats to moderate manageability in the process, which is something to be grateful for. That one can say she knows how to milk a goat is no small feat - at least not now in our book. The rich and creamy liquid gold we get in return for our efforts has made the hard work worthwhile! In the same matter of many weeks, we loosely watched one of the hens sitting and then hatching eggs - though, all Jemima Puddleduck, she decided she had accomplished her task after a mere two adorable chicks were born and abandoned the rest of the enormous clutch! The family scrambled to make a make-shift incubator and, after sorting them as best we could, fervently poured all our attention to those abandoned eggs with prayers to Our Lady of the Hens and honestly feeble hopes that any would come to fruition. But, as things often go in surprises around here, we ended up with one miraculous hatch and it was a wonder to witness. After a week of warming and tending to and turning those eggs, we were on the cusp of giving up, when we heard a peep from inside one of the shells! And the next day we watched the little creature emerge. For five days more we nurtured the dear little thing - the only new sibling to make it - and learned a whole world about what chickens are like when they are first hatched and in their first days of growing up. It came when we called, and snuggled happily into our lightly cupped hands, peeking curiously out every once in a while to make sure all was well before snuggling back down again, and we all cheered when it took its first proud drink of water all by itself! These happy moments are lifetime treasured memories for us with the children, for it is in their shining eyes we get a glimpse of heaven! It was with trepidation that we introduced it to its mother and the other two chicks, since there was no guarantee she would accept it. Enduring fierce pecks, we tried to sneak it under her one night, and though it was a precarious thing Our Lady did not fail. In the morning we saw our little one hopping around happier than it had ever been, finally having found its proper mother and family. It will always remain special since we had to help it so and, to boot, it was born with a funny leg...the infinitesimal-seeming bandaid cast we made its infant foot did not avail...and so it will also remain in the care of Our Lady of the Hens - may it thrive! We take the wonders we encounter seriously and do believe He made the world full wondrous, never ceasing, really - and are grateful for our small part in His beautiful end. Even as these feathered creatures are but a shadow of the intricate wonders of the life of the created human soul, it is a joy to be reminded that out of love He made us and everything that exists, that even in a fallen world He affords us moments of real happiness, and that through every trial and little consolation He is drawing us ever closer to Himself and our eternity with Him in heaven!  Non nobis, Domine, non nobis,
Sed nomini tuo da gloriam. Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but to Thy name give the glory. It has been said that April is the cruelest month, and we have noticed that our St. George festival, held as closely as possible to the saint's feast on April 23rd each year, is sometimes marked by the wickedest of spring storm weather. We have fond memories from a couple of years ago when our entire party had to flee indoors in the middle of the St. George play being performed outdoors in the gazebo - on a day when we had already been dodging rain-showers to narrowly accomplish the obstacle course - the sky to the west suddenly turned black, thunder and lightning cracked everything asunder, and friends and family scooped up babies to run indoors as a torrential wall of rain came rushing across the field to devour us. It had happened at a pivotal moment in the play, so in the end it was a beautifully dramatic touch! This year, we drove to Mass in a thunderstorm, and while we had forewarned everyone of the day's potentially poor weather and expressed our understanding for all the rain checks, we were going ahead with the gathering rain or shine. We petitioned heaven that the rain would at least cease by the time the party would begin, willing to run and play in the mud even if it was overcast and cold. What we were not expecting was that the rain would not merely cease but that the sun would come out, and that it would turn out to be one of the most beautiful days ever. All of the trees and flowers were in bloom (most of them white - a wonderful and cheerful and hopeful spring scene) and the green leaves and white blossoms shone in the sunlight, and the mud was really not so muddy. The gathering was small in number but big in joyfulness, as the happy change from rain, grey, and chill to sunny, breezy, and near-perfect affected everyone's moods. We really could not stop commenting on the unexpected good weather! As in years past, the St. George festival is meant to give honor to one of our favorite saints, the penultimate knight in shining armor, and all for the glory of God. We model after St. George, praying for an increase in courage to battle the daily foe that threatens all that matters most in the world, particularly the purity and innocence of our children. We lay out an obstacle course that spans the property and involves a race through the woods and creek, axe-throwing, arrow-shooting, and spear-throwing. In the final stretch runners have to carry a pine-pole-spear up the long drive and around the house to the mulch-pile finish line, thrusting their spear into the small mountain, our dragon, shouting "Christus Vincit!" Later we put on a little play of the story of St. George, and hand out blessed saint medals to the day's winners. The play always ends with the singing of Non nobis Domine, marking the theme of the day, "Not for our glory, but Yours, O Lord." We are grateful for good friends who join us on these occasions and for simple joys. May God's Word remain hidden in our hearts so that our days will remain so blessed, and may we continually seek and find His powerful protection against every storm!  Arise, make haste, my love, my dove, my beautiful one, and come.
For winter is now past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers have appeared in our land, the time of pruning has come: The voice of the turtle is found in our land: The fig tree hath put forth her green figs: the vines in flower yield their sweet smell. Arise, my love, my dove, my beautiful one, and come! ~ from Canticle of Canticles He is Risen, Alleluia! We have happily arrived at the great Feast of Easter after the long and penitential season of Lent, glorying anew in the reality of our salvation through the Lord's magnificent sacrifice. Lent, the spare time of going without, of giving things up, of taking on more and growing through prayer and good works in humility and virtue is - ideally - a fruitful time not only since it draws us closer in our weakness to our Maker, but since it culminates, the great preparation that it is, in the glory of Christ's Resurrection. Today a child asked, "Do you think today was a good day?" This came after a long and glorious Easter Sunday. After a momentary thought, we decided that Easter Sunday is good no matter what - it must be, and if it seems not so in some way that must be because of human error. But it was a very good day - bursting with life and the enjoyment of good things and of course revolving around the beautiful Mass that extols and celebrates most fully the Risen Lord, the pinnacle facet of our faith. As well, nature sings the song of new life, with spring springing all around in all the creaturely ways - the fields and trees are green with budding life and flowers sing with the birds and humming bees. Here on Holy Saturday, despite the somber nature of the day, the sky was a beautiful and nearly piercing windswept blue, clean and clear and bright and making the perfect backdrop for wheeling martins and the high swaying branches of green-topped trees. The spring climate stands in contrast to the weeks building up to such Easter joy - winter felt long and cold and heightened the depravity of the penitential season - as it should be (a gift and a help, indeed) - and the last gathering before Lent was on a stormy day that tested the hearts of all of us. Our Scottish themed gathering in February (in honor of Robbie Burns) was at once a rain-out and a resounding success! Our family had begun the weekend by setting up a little canopy in our small historic town's square by the old courthouse and, with a Scottish flag hanging and our crew all decked in kilts, we regaled whoever was interested with a round of Scottish folk songs and poetry recitations. We didn't have our winning oldest children with us, but we sang and played with gusto - and one of our younger sons entertained with the diablo, a spinning wheel that is tossed on a string between two sticks held in hand and which keeps the wheel spinning (or tossing high, as the case may be). It was freezing cold and we had a great time and we earned our first dollar, placed in the open banjo case by a passing child. The next day, the weather promised to be terrible and it was, but we didn't cancel the gathering at the farm and in the end the storm created a passel of brave souls of good will who bonded with us in the cold and rain to pray and eat and toss cabers and stones in the rainy field, and then bustle into the house to gather around the fire and sing songs. It was a very good time - and in its way related to how Easter must always be good no matter what, because it is. Even when our second goat delivered her babies - she had two little bucklings - and we lost one, it was a good day. We cherished the life of a helpless little creature for thirty-six hours, doing everything we could to try to help it survive, and then had to accept that it just wasn't meant long for this world. The tiny thing wasn't a person, but it gave us an up close, intimate glimpse at God's handiwork, and it was beautiful and worth the pain of our temporarily upended little existence for that short while. We carried that experience in our hearts through Lent and continued to see God's handiwork in a new way through the ups and downs of our days, learning to give and learning to be humble and learning, most importantly, that life is short so why not do our best? Now, though, we have two adorable bounding-growing baby goats and are beginning to try to learn how to milk their mothers (more on that another time...it is a patient and ridiculous and seemingly fruitless - though indeed in the most important ways most fruitful - labor). And, as said, the world is springing all around, we have much good work to put our hands to, and it is difficult not to simply feel hopeful. And Easter is finally arrived, and it is good, and we are filled with abundant joy and hope for certain since He is Risen, Alleluia!  We keep Christmas til February 2nd (Candlemas) here, and while the exuberance, so keen those first moments, days, and even weeks after the Nativity - has quieted, and while our oldest children have gone back to school after a long and lingering, generous break back here at home, we were recently blessed by a seeming belated Christmas gift.
Originally we had gotten our goats with the hope of having a source of rich goat's milk someday. A year and a half ago our breeding experiment didn't take, and so even though we took in a wee buckling at the end of this last spring with the hopes of trying to breed again at some point, the last several months our expectations have been reserved. How surprised we were two weeks ago when, lo! Rosie suddenly had a kid! Truly, we had only been watching her very roly-poly sister, and so the birth came as a shock - but naturally also as a welcomed surprise. It was a wonderful jolt into the natural order of things, and also an immediate reordering of our daily life - including the beautiful experience for most of my children to have witnessed the birth. Now, we have little Elanor, and have been offering continual prayers of thanksgiving that Our Lady saw fit to bless us with a relatively easy experience in expanding our little stock of creatures. Cotton, the other pregnant doe, seems ready to kid imminently, and prayers for vigilance and fortitude match our prayers of thanksgiving, since we are really in for it with kidding in the winter! Below freezing temperatures nights (and some days) recently have kept us on our toes, and now that it is a bit warmer it is rainy. But we are in Georgia after all, and their shed is quite cozy when they are all battened down, and me and the children are home days and watchful and ready to be on hand, so we are trustful in His providence. It has been a lesson in humility and gratitude, for which we are always glad. We are grateful for simple, hard but good, work to do. Witnessing the miracle of life even in the animal realm is really something, and it is inspiring to see how this doe cares for her kid, and how the kid came into the world knowing how to live. She stays close to her mother, who nurtures her in every way, and clearly has an eye for enjoying her little world in every moment. These goats are mild-mannered, affectionate, stoic, interesting, lovely. In addition, there are few more adorable creatures than a baby goat, especially a tiny little Nigerian dwarf goat the size of a kitten, whose feet are made of springs! Please God we will have one or two more safely delivered any time, and please God we will continue to learn to be good stewards, and perhaps enjoy that milk in the next months - another something new we will have to learn to do. Too, may we keep Christmas in our hearts in the most important ways, and always be thankful for the treasures God affords us in this life!  Hail and blessed be the hour and moment
In which the Son of God was born Of the most pure Virgin Mary at midnight In Bethlehem, in the piercing cold. In that hour, vouchsafe I beseech thee, O my God, to hear my prayer and grant my desires Through the merits of Our Savior, Jesus Christ, And of His Blessed Mother. Amen. The beautiful St. Andrew novena prayer has become a traditional part of our preparation for the Nativity of Our Lord. Each day from the Feast of St. Andrew, November 30th, until Christmas Day, we repeat the prayer fifteen times. It proves, like the prayers of the rosary, to facilitate meditation on a most holy mystery: the Incarnation, God-made-man, and the wonderful part of the story of our redemption when Christ was born in Bethlehem. This year, the repeated prayer is manifested in even more significance, as our son was given the humbling privilege to paint a nativity scene to be matched with St. Andrew's well-loved petition for Gregory the Great Academy's Christmas art project. Since receiving the triptych, the family has gathered around it each evening to pray - the ancient (but newly depicted by our son's young hand) imagery brought to life by a small but bright and flickering candle flame. There is much to ponder, much to anticipate, much to prepare for! We hope that all families of good will are gathered together these increasingly cold nights of Advent, prayerfully counting the days til Christmas day together. It is a penitential time writ small, when sacrifice and penance is made - not in the more austere measure of Lent, but still in a way that marks the time as somewhat mortified and pre-celebratory - to prepare for the coming of the Lord. We make attempts to purify ourselves, keeping in mind the purity of Our Lady, blessed vessel of God. We hear John the Baptist's echoing admonitions in our hearts - and also raise our hearts in hope and excitement, we adults like the children, over the most delightful days to come. We sing Veni, Veni, Emmanuel, look forward to our oldest daughter and son coming home for a long Christmas visit, make plans for Christmas Mass and celebrations with family and friends. Dad reads aloud a little of A Christmas Carol each night - a sobering and a heartening tale, evoking chilly thoughts and heartwarming reflections. Outside, if the night is clear the cold makes the pitch dark sky, with its twinkling stars and brilliant but meditative moon, look sharp; and it is not difficult to wonder over Jesus born at midnight in the piercing cold - may He vouchsafe and grant our most fervent prayers! Come Lord Jesus, come quickly!  "But it is true that anyone who dies
in contumacy of the Holy Church, though he repented at the end, must wait along this shore for thirty times the span he spent in his presumptuousness, unless that edict is abridged through fitting prayers. Now see if you, by making known to my kind Constance where you saw my soul and why delay's decreed for me, can make me happy; those here - through those beyond - advance more quickly." ~Dante's Purgatorio, Canto III, 136-45. In November we celebrate the saints and pray for souls, the ones to whom we look as models, and the ones we remember to pray for after their earthly pilgrimage's end. At home we go all out, as much as can be done on a humble scale, inviting young and old alike to join us on the First Sunday dressed as a favorite saint. This year we had a happy turnout - happy most of all since there were many, many especially young ones in costume, and our little farm was covered as if in parade by a festive looking lot of little people (though we had some good big people dressed up, too). It was a sight to see everyone kneeling for the rosary before the Mary statue, more like saints than ever. And later, everyone took a turn saying a few words and having the crowd guess at each identity - in the end the best imitators were picked and recognized with a blessed medal and holy card. Everyone had a good time! St. Patrick (our host for the day) reminded everyone that we model after the saints because, in all their myriad histories and legends, they show us the way. Not always do we dress like them, but always should we take on their spiritual cloaks, devoting ourselves in prayerful imitation of the holy ones who have gone before. This last gathering, we had many saintly knights and soldiers in attendance, lords and queens, but also quiet, lowly servants who would have died unknown had it not been for their supernatural piety and graceful endurance in the face of all kinds of assault to body and soul. Obviously the body must perish, but the soul must win, if we are to gain the goal set for us by our Creator. The children enjoy the pageantry and drama of it all - plus there is something special about spending the day - praying, eating, playing, singing - in costume, donning the character of not merely someone else, but someone great. St. Patrick also most notably reminded everyone of the lessons of Dante, whose Divine Comedy teaches the story of souls. Many souls in Dante's Hell suffer for fear they will be forgotten, since they long, as they ever did, for glory and fame. The souls in Purgatory suffer too for fear they will be forgotten, but not from desire for worldly honor, but since they need the prayers of their loved ones to help them make it finally to Heaven. The souls in Purgatory beg Dante to seek out their loved ones still on earth and ask them to pray - tell them please do not forget! We must not abandon the poor souls in purgatory. Our duty to our loved ones does not end with their parting from this world; sometimes, indeed, this duty begins in earnest once they've died. May we remember to model after the saints, to live a life well, dying to self, decreasing in self so that He may increase. And may we remember to pray for those still waiting to see the face of God! This past Sunday, we looked to and honored many holy ones and ask them to continue to intercede for us: St. Patrick, ora pro nobis! St. Rose of Lima, ora pro nobis! Venerable Leo Dupont, ora pro nobis! St. George, ora pro nobis! St. Matthew, ora pro nobis! St. Eustace, ora pro nobis! St. Lucy, ora pro nobis! St. Christopher, ora pro nobis! St. Drogo, ora pro nobis! St. Teresa, ora pro nobis! St. Ludmila, ora pro nobis! St. Anne Line, ora pro nobis! St. Leo the Great, ora pro nobis! St. Philomena, ora pro nobis! St. King Louis XI, ora pro nobis! St. Florian, ora pro nobis! St. Elizabeth of Hungary, ora pro nobis! St. Joan of Arc, ora pro nobis! St. Martin de Porres, ora pro nobis! St. Albert the Great, ora pro nobis! Infant Child of Prague, miserere nobis!  Dim drums throbbing, in the hills half heard,
Where only on a nameless throne a crownless prince has stirred, Where, risen from a doubtful seat and half attainted stall, The last knight of Europe takes weapons from the wall, The last and lingering troubadour to whom the bird has sung, That once went singing southward when all the world was young, In that enormous silence, tiny and unafraid, Comes up along a winding road the noise of the Crusade. ~ from "Lepanto" by G.K. Chesterton Recently we held a wonderful First Sunday gathering, honoring Our Lady of the Rosary as always but especially so in this month of October. Mr. Verlander told the story of the great victory in the Battle of Lepanto of the Christians over the invading Turks in 1571, and recited Chesterton's epic poem. What do we make of such far away dangers and feats? The daunting deeds accomplished by heroic, valiant, holy figures against certain death, with miraculous success, at once highlights our smallness and emboldens our better natures. And we fight in the same great battle, truly, granted on a different battlefield, wielding the same great weapon that accomplished the victory of Pope Pius V's Holy League under Don John - the Holy Rosary. The world is less friendly than ever before to those who love the Lord and wish to walk in His ways, especially via the sorrowful way of His Holy Mother and according to the old traditions, and we live our daily lives in spiritual battle. Like the unlikely hero we find in the figure of Don John and even more fittingly, in the figure of Don Quixote, we are able to pick out our path, filled with obstacles as it is, in faith and confidence and through prayers offered to Our Lady. We may seem foolish in the eyes of the world, but we trust to hope in the rewards of eternal salvation, divorced from this world. Our Lady is our loving guide and protectress, to whom we offer roses in return for strength and grace to persevere. This time, we were missing our two oldest children, both off at school. We wondered what the day and evening would be like, not in doubt over its success, but nevertheless curious over how things would unfold. It is no secret that our daughter is a lively hostess and a talented musician, and takes lead in those arenas with great ease. And our son is simply one of the most likable kinds of boys to be around, and tends to garner, unwittingly, a happy little gathering of like-minded fools (wise fools, to keep the theme). Happily, the day was different but entirely good and enjoyable, and it was something to see our younger set take lead here and there. The poetry recitation stirred hearts and the music did too, growing quickly out of the Fatima Farm theme song to a rousing singalong to all manner of folksongs, romantic to melancholy to rebellious. We've said such things before, but the experience was a welcome respite from the worries of the world, and a vibrant proof that the way to victory is to pass on the things that matter to children, again and again. It must be admitted that the missing party was missed, and we look forward eagerly to the days of their return - for the sake of the home and hearth; for the sake of our friends - but we also are certain that their successes afar add to the richness of life at the farm here at home, sweet home! There is much to be thankful for even as it is the time of year when the natural world loses its luster. The vibrant, steady greens of summer are traded for the rustic hues of fall, and things go quieter, more restful and reflective; there are fruits but of a different sort. Wardrobes are changed, both for us and for the world outside. It is a favorite time of year around here, as there is nothing quite like the beautiful colors and fragrances of autumn - colorful leaves crunching underfoot and the smell of fire-smoke wafting on the chilly air. The stars seem more twinkly if the sky is clear when the air is cold, and the recent full harvest moon proved that something so silvery can also give off a golden glow. The moon ever reminds us of Our Holy Mother, whose radiance only reflects that of her Son, and points us to him. We know a storm is ever brewing, threatening our way of life, and it seems we should be afraid; but we will continue to sing and pray and tell stories together, holding to the Old Mass and sacraments as the heart of everything - the whole of what we want to pass on to our children.  Weeks ago, when the oldest two children were still home and we were all in the wonderful throes of summer, working and playing together through our days and enjoying relaxed dinners and long-lit evenings, even through the heat - we had indulged in watching a movie. The movie was a rare treat - a warmup to return to school, we had picked the charming Goodbye, Mr. Chips - but it was what happened during the movie that is more memorable. At some point in the middle of watching, we noticed an ephemeral glow through the living room windows. It was one of those moments of very unusual lighting, when in the sunset the sky is not only lit in glorious brilliance in the west, but the whole sky, in fact the whole world, is bathed in an other-worldly kind of color and light, so that things almost look unreal. At a glance, someone piped, "Oh! Look at the sky!" and in a minute we had paused the movie and all ran outdoors to see what amounted to a vision. Our whole landscape was transformed - somewhat like that surreal cast upon nature that happens during a full solar eclipse. Everything, everything, was golden, afire, basked and charged with a heavenly character. Of course it was fleeting - but we had a space of time to walk around the house, gazing and taking it all in, amazed at the affectingly breathtaking scene. It is not every day that the place is swathed in such beauty, so that all the old and rusty and messy edges of life are remade into a most sentimental, beloved picture. Soon enough the vision passed, and as the sun set more fully the light faded and we returned to regular life, but somewhat refreshed with the reminder of God's glory.
It brought to mind a memory from many years ago. I remember being struck by a bright and beautiful full moon in the night sky. It shone out so brightly and suddenly as it broke through the clouds, I was transfixed and somewhat overwhelmed, reflecting in that moment that there was a time in my youth that I would have missed it, being caught up in selfish things. "How many moons have I missed?" I wondered and prayed simultaneously that, may He help us, my family will always remember to look at the sky and be grateful for His creation. It is a simple, common experience, but in these days of artificial reality it may be that many fail to realize there are actually stars in the heavens. This evening of supernatural fleeting beauty had brought to mind the grand lesson that life, too, is fleeting, and that rather than live like a candle burning on both ends we should live each day well, truly well, so as to die well. We just returned from an epic family road trip wherein we took our oldest child and daughter to college for the first time, and brought our oldest son back to boarding school for his second year - we have two now in "far far" school. The eight days on the road across 14 states contained too many blessings to count, with quick stopovers and reunions with family and friends, endless perfect weather, endless bountiful vistas of fields, mountains, sky, endless encounters with beautiful, striking people and many holy Masses in indescribably beautiful churches. We don't deserve such happiness but we are so thankful! And so, at home now, it is another "new" year and this week is full of adjustment in heart, mind, soul, habit. The fundamentals are the same, but the environs is changed, and we may never figure out how much food to make for meals ever again. Deo gratias we wouldn't have sent them off if we didn't believe these undertakings to be most fruitful, for them and for the family, but still! And so, homeschool has begun in earnest for the other four children, the father of the family is back to the full teaching work-week out of the home, and endless little farm tasks and chores greet us each day. Actually, we came home to hit the ground running - as the first morning home a chicken died and so had to be buried (poor Brownie! She was a favorite!) and that same day we had to dig a post hole and replace our fallen mailbox. But we did it all together, with prayers and even good cheer. May God keep us grateful for good work and continue to give us the strength to grow in virtue through the daily pains of life and loss, the daily pains of overcoming self to do worthy things. It would be impossible not to mention a much more significant recent loss, one that nearly coincided with the evening of the heavenly sunset. We have followed long-distance the story of a family whose little son was suffering from cancer over the last year and a half, and recently Our Heavenly Father saw fit to call little Michael home. The abundant faith with which his parents and family poured their every last ounce of energy into caring for this dear boy, innocent and even self-sacrificing as he was, offering his pain for souls, was and will remain a remarkable inspiration for us in our own lives. Rife with mystery, poignantly beautiful, purifying and strengthening when we accept His grace - Our Maker draws us along a path of wonder and trial. In your charity, please offer a prayer for the repose of the soul of Michael Harrill, whose life and death proves an example of God's great love in a fallen world. |
Fatima FarmOn this little homestead our family aspires to work the land and hand on the Catholic Tradition, walking in wonder and learning to live by the fruits of our labor, in honor of Our Lady of Fatima, who guides us to Him. Archives
August 2024
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