Feeling the need to purge a few thoughts from my mind this week …
Just got back from the Immaculate Conception Vigil Mass. I left the house in a flurry, not thinking one bit about what I was wearing and realized, as I walked into church, I was wearing jeans. I sheepishly admit that to all my “What I Wore Sunday” friends who are encouraging others to dress with dignity for Sunday Mass. Not only do I rarely wear jeans to Mass, I rarely wear jeans. Still in an awkward post-partum phase, I just don’t have a pair that looks or fits nice.
Well wouldn’t you know, the pianist didn’t show up for her assigned duties (not judging, I’ve screwed up before, too!). The music director sees me, heads over my way, and asks me to fill in. But not as a pianist where no one would see me thereby negating any issues about my attire; he asked me to cantor while he filled in on piano. God didn’t give me the charism of music to sit on the sidelines in times like this, so I fill in, literally, at a moment’s notice, jeans and all.
At this point, though, the last thing I’m worried about is my jeans. We are using a new Advent musical setting for the Mass parts, and I’ve never sang them before. So after the gathering song, I start rehearsing in my head. We get to the Gloria and the priest looks at me to start singing it. I shake my head “no.” There is no music for the Gloria in my cantor book to even sing it. The priest gives me the “I am your father, do what I say!” look and shakes his head “YES!!” I then start shaking “NO!!!” harder and mouth the words “I DON’T HAVE THE MUSIC!!!!!!” Thankfully he starts speaking the Gloria. Whew. But it’s not over yet. Those damn jeans come back to haunt me.
Right before I have to get up and walk in front of the entire congregation and take my place at the ambo to cantor the Responorial Psalm, I remember the jeans I’m wearing are too big. And because I’m too cheap and lazy to buy a new pair, or even a belt for that matter, my jeans fall down a lot. So now not only am I freaking out about cantoring a psalm I’ve never rehearsed, or totally irritated at myself for not wearing something more dignified for a King, now I have to worry about my pants slipping so far down where butt crack might show. Did I mention my husband is in deacon formation? Yes, future deacon’s wife here. Did I also mention that the Director of Liturgy for our diocese was in attendance at this Mass tonight? Oy.
Long and short of it … okay, just short of it … we still celebrated the Eucharist and honored our Blessed Mother.
So is 12/12/12 the end of the world or is it 12/21/12? Seems the experts disagree. Can we get together and achieve consensus, folks?
Of course it really doesn’t matter, but now seems a good time to pass along the following message. I can’t remember who said or wrote this — heck, maybe my husband did for all I know — but if you were told today would be your last on earth, and then you dramatically changed your daily order of things, it might be time to reassess how you’re currently living. Food for thought.
Some of you saw this post on my Facebook wall and have since accused me of being too suspenseful. So what did Joel do this time to earn my enthusiastic public display of affirming words? Well, let’s just say it has something to do with me pondering the point just made in QT#2 about how I’m spending my days.
Two years ago I resigned from my job to be at-home full-time. I’ve since struggled with restlessness. And it took most of these two years to pinpoint the root of it. I had an epiphany a few weeks ago when I realized I’ve never felt at home in our house — how the spaces are used, the traffic flow, the placement of furniture, the energy of the colors, the lighting, even the placement of windows — there is very little about the way we are using our space that works for us. And I often feel like I am reacting rather than just living.
Joel and I have talked about how to make our home flow and function better, but we talk about a lot of things that never get done. While I was out of the house with the kids last Friday, Joel basically rearranged our entire house, minus the toilets and sinks. He moved sofas, big chairs, dining room table and chairs, ottomans — up and down stairs, too. And he did it all by himself. MY HERO!
Now we have purposeful rooms, prayerful rooms, and playful rooms. And what’s super cool is that we didn’t have to buy one thing to make this shift happen. All the items were already in our home, and we (and by we, I mean Joel) just found a way to repurpose it to function better. Who needs HGTVs Candice Olson and Divine Design anyway? I got Joel Schmidt baby!
Serendipitously, the following promo book arrived from Ignatius Press the day after all that furniture rearranging. Hallowed Be This House: Finding Signs of Heaven in Your Home. Looking forward to diving into it.
Question: What is the perennial must-see Christmas movie watched in your house?
Growing up in the Underhill family, ours was Smoky Mountain Christmas with Dolly Parton and Lee Majors (please, don’t judge). It’s about a country-western singer on a trip through the Tennessee mountains who runs into a reclusive backwoodsman … and a witch. Just screams instant Christmas classic doesn’t it?
Seems we have a new foodie in Das Schmidt Haus: Jude, 10-months. The kid is a human vacuum. After his plate is clean, he eats his sister’s scraps. Then mine. And sometimes needs more. Is this a boy thing? All I know is he is a one happy kid right now. And his digestive system seems to handle all this food just fine.
Signing off — in joyful hope. For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!
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