faith fridays: grappling with my relationship with my church

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“How much I must criticize you, my church, and yet how much I love you! You have made me suffer more than anyone and yet I owe more to you than to anyone. I should like to see you destroyed and yet I need your presence. You have given me much scandal and yet you alone have made me understand holiness. Never in this world have I seen anything more compromised, more false, yet never have I touched anything more pure, more generous or more beautiful. Countless times I have felt like slamming the door of my soul in your face—and yet, every night, I have prayed that I might die in your sure arms! No, I cannot be free of you, for I am one with you, even if not completely you. Then too — where would I go? To build another church? But I could not build one without the same defects, for they are my defects. And again, if I were to build another church, it would be my church, not Christ's church. No, I am old enough, I know better.” - Carlo Carretto

I must confess, whenever evils within the Catholic Church rise to the surface, as they have so loudly recently, I go to Mass the following Sunday expecting the pews to be empty, and I’m always shocked on some level to see that they’re not – that the church is as full as ever. And there I am among those who have returned, clamoring back into the arms of the one who has so often sheltered me, knowing there are still, and always will be, evils lurking somewhere within.

How can a church be holy and still house such wrongs?

It seems impossible at times to sort through, yet the answer is very simple. It comes down to this: the Church comprises both God and man, good and evil. This is true not only of the Catholic Church, but every church and every relationship that has ever existed and will exist. The Church teaches truth and offers guidance on how to achieve holiness, even though its members cannot possibly reach perfection in this life. She remains there for us as we reach toward what is good and pure and eternal, even while we move through our earthly lives of suffering and imperfection.

The above reflection by Carretto, shared with me by a fellow Catholic writer, describes well how many of today’s Catholics feel. We are weary, tired of feeling we must defend the Church we love, and yet we have no choice but to stay near Her, even while the dichotomies swirl around us. There is no other place for us to go.

I can’t help but relate this reflection to those other relationships in my life that are nearest and dearest to me, yet fraught with love-hate passion. I think back to when I was seven and feeling so severely misunderstood that I decided I must leave, must run away from the wretched place causing such turmoil within me. I put an apple and cheese and some crackers in a backpack and headed off into the Great Beyond. But just a few blocks down the road, in our town without a leash law, I was confronted with snarling dogs and forced to return to the place where, I stubbornly realized, I would be the safest and most loved, if not always completely understood.

"Countless times I have felt like slamming the door of my soul in your face—and yet, every night, I have prayed that I might die in your sure arms!"

I am thinking now of my almost-teen daughter, who is caught between wanting to do her own thing and realizing that if she does, she could compromise her well-being. It is a tenuous situation, that of a 12-year-old whose brain is complex enough to know a few important things but who is still not mature enough to go without her mother’s counsel. In one hour, she’ll tell me I am the worst mother in the world, and in the next, hand me a note that professes her love and sorrow over how she’s conducted herself in my presence. She frequently ping-pongs back and forth between emotional extremes, deficient in her ability to distinguish where hate ends and love begins. "I don't know what's come over me," she'll say, aching for reconciliation.

Humanity is what has come over her, of course. The interior battle of the soul, of right and wrong choices, is raging within her, as it rages in all of us every day of our lives.

"But I could not build one without the same defects, for they are my defects."

Like a frustrated teen, it is so tempting to unleash our frustration in a single direction, at a single person, at a single entity, as the case may be. I am often the brunt of my daughter’s fury because I am the one who happens to be standing in the way of her wild will to do as she pleases and not consider the consequences. I'm a perfect target. Because of my love for her, I've set myself up.

Similarly, it has become easy, even popular, to cast stones at the Church for what “it” has done, while failing to examine our own sins and wounded-ness. It is easy, while trying to sort through true injustices, to not see the whole picture and discern where love might begin and hate end.

Certainly, the evil within our Church needs to be brought to light. But let us not, in our fury, as we examine the facts, forget to also examine the imperfections inside ourselves. And let us not forget that, like the loving mother whose arms are ready to receive back her disenchanted daughter, it’s quite possible that the one we so easily condemn could be the very one we most need, the one who is still best equipped to save us from ourselves.

Q 4 U: Where do you see yourself in your faith journey? As an innocent child, a rebellious teen or a wise adult?

writing wednesdays: writing wellness

I didn't attend the North Dakota Professional Communicators spring conference with the thought I would be learning how to stay fit as a writer, but that was one of the take-aways. Read more today at my new writing blog, Peace Garden Writer. "Talk" to you there!

forum column april 2010: peeking at the what-might-have-beens

[Note: I hope you enjoy my April contribution to "Parenting Perspectives," a weekly column of The Forum of Fargo-Moorhead, North Dakota's largest newspaper. As a monthly contributor, I'm usually satisfied with the headlines The Forum selects, but this time, their version didn't seem to encapsulate what my column is about so I added the alternative title to this post.]

Parenting Perspectives: Life’s path is a choice (a.k.a., peeking at the what-might-have-beens)

By Roxane B. Salonen, The Forum

This fall will be a significant one for our family as our baby enters kindergarten and our oldest begins high school.

Though we’re not there just yet, the momentum toward change has begun. In anticipation, I’ve found myself startled by occasional episodes of dream-like ruminations.

I am walking hand in hand with our youngest, approaching a long hall. Light emanates from sporadic spots up ahead. Doorways, I realize.

We move forward, and though we don’t linger, we slow at each of the openings long enough to peek inside, where I glimpse moving pictures of what might have been.

In one room, I am dressed in a business suit giving a presentation to clients who sit in rapt attention. Later, I drive away in a shiny car with a sun roof, heading for my red-brick mansion on a hill. Two children, a dog and a nanny greet me at the door.

Another room has me on a plane, living the life of a travel writer. I’m off to Egypt to see the pyramids. Next week, it will be Greece, where I’ll eat my fill of souvlaki and baklava and write my next novel.

I walk farther and find myself in the English department of a university, where I am filling my students’ minds with classic texts and poems. One of them will go on to win the Pulitzer.

There are more doors filled with similar visions, all of which surprise me, not because they couldn’t have happened but because they could have. I sense I should be looking into the rooms with longing, but I’m distracted by a draft that has me searching for something warm to wrap myself in.

For one brief moment, a voice taunts: “See what you could have been, what you might have done?”

Suddenly I am aware my son has let go of my hand. I shirk the voice as I look around, panicked.

Oh, there he is! He is rushing toward me with a daffodil in his hands, its petals still folded. “Here, Mommy,” he says, reaching upward. I am thrilled to accept his spring gift.

He dashes off again, returning a few moments later, this time walking slowly as he precariously balances a glass of sloshing water. As I place the flower inside it, a look of contentment spreads across his face.

I glance behind me; the doors have vanished. Ahead, a heart-shaped door beckons us back to where we began. Its frames have been decorated haphazardly with the artwork of five children. A welcome mat below shows wear and a few stains. Loud noises come from inside – and warmth.

I’ve arrived at the place of my dreams, exactly where I was meant to be.

Roxane B. Salonen works as a freelance writer and children’s author in Fargo, where she and her husband, Troy, are the parents of five children. She also has a blog at www.roxanesalonen.blogspot.com.

mama mondays: indulgences and awards

I had a chance to experience my second conference of the month this weekend. While it's not typical for me as a busy mom to indulge in two conferences so close together, these two opportunities were too good to pass up. So, Daddy had soccer duty (four games in all) on Saturday while I headed out to the conference site, here in Fargo this time, ready to grow in knowledge of what it takes to thrive in the profession of communications.

I mentioned in a post-conference essay a few weeks ago that good food (and the luxury of not having to prepare meals) is among the wonderful perks of conference-going. The spring conference of the North Dakota Professional Communicators this weekend was no exception. The pasta bar at lunch and the London broil with seasoned potatoes and fresh green beans at the VIP Room for dinner really topped off the experience, not to mention the homemade dessert:

The conference ended with the presenting of the Communicator of Achievement Award, as well as other award-giving, in particular those for the 2010 NDPC Communications Contest. I was very pleased to learn that entries for my parenting columns received both first- and second-place honors. The first-place entry will go on to nationals. I felt honored to accept my awards and enjoyed watching fellow communicators receive theirs.

In case you missed them when they first appeared, here are two of the four columns (two per entry) that garnered the awards:

Stay or Go: A Mother's Perspective on Valley Flooding

Twelve Days of Christmas and Chaos

And speaking of awards, I have been feeling terribly guilty because, while I have received various blogging awards from blogging friends in the last six months or so, I have yet to reciprocate. And even though these honors are perhaps less distinguised than the more formal sort, they are the way we bloggers give thumbs-up to one another and I definitely feel there are bloggers in my midst deserving of the same awards I've been so delighted to receive.

For example, last Friday, I received the "The Beautiful Blogger" award by Laura at Wavy Lines:

That made my day! So now I'd like to turn back to the blogosphere and award some of my most beautiful blogging friends the same. There are many worthy recipients. These are just a few that have brought a particular spark of beauty to my life lately. If you have a moment today, please visit them:

Mary @ Play off the Page

Marie @ Murray's Momma

Liz @ Random Thoughts of a Lutheran Geek

Kim @ Kim's Pondering Beyond Breast Cancer

Who in your life deserves an award this week?

faith fridays: 7 quick takes friday (vol. 25)

Welcome back to “7 Quick Takes Friday,” an occasional feature that offers a glimpse of where my thoughts have been lately. It's been a while since I've joined the quick takes "carnival" so glad to be contributing once again!

---1---

Kid quotes:

Nick, 5, standing by the door to the garage, talking in a loud, whiny voice:

“Are we gonna go now?”

(Pause...)

“I was just wondering. I don’t really wanna go.”

This reminds me of a time our family was traveling through the Badlands when I was about his age, and my father was upset because my sister and I were not paying attention to the surroundings, looking for wildlife. He’d suggested we do so, I think mainly as an antidote to our squabbling, but also because it wasn’t uncommon to spot buffalo, or even something exotic like a cougar, in that area.

“Why aren’t you two looking for animals?” he’d reprimanded.

To which I, now looking out the window, quickly replied: “I see an animal! (Pause...) ...called a cow!”

This story was repeated many times so I never forgot it, but what impresses me now is that I remember my thought process at the time. It went something like this: “I want to prove to my Daddy that I am looking for animals, and there’s one to prove it, and I’ll tell him. Oops! He’s gonna think I saw something really interesting and he might be mad when he realizes it was just a plain old cow. I’d better tell him the name of the animal, just in case.”

That’s how it went, and I can imagine Nick’s similar thought process, clarifying that he wanted to know whether it was time to leave, but that his question did not indicate he actually was excited to go. Just that he wanted to know. You know. Just cuz.

--2--

Speaking of...look who turned FIVE a week ago today!

---3---

First letter: Nick's first letter to me, written a week or so before he turned the corner:

A note to all those who thought we were stark-raving mad to welcome a fifth child into our lives: just two words...no regrets.

---4---

She shows seashells: Troy’s parents came back from their southern winter getaway recently, and had some treasures to share with us that they’d collected on the Atlantic seashore. Here, Troy’s mom has gathered the kids to tell them the Legend of the Sand Dollar. And yes, she had an extra one that we pounded open to see the legendary “doves.” As it turned out, there was too much sand to really get the full effect. Still the kids enjoyed sorting through the collection and claiming some for themselves. Who doesn’t like touching a piece of the ocean?

---5---

Inspiring quote: I heard this on Catholic radio earlier this week but can’t remember the exact source or wording. Still, it seemed profound to me:

“It is through suffering that we come to know ourselves. Those who do not suffer cannot know who they are.”

---6---

The tulips are back! I'm partial to the peach-colored one.

---7---

New writing blog: I’ve taken some concrete steps toward a long-range plan involving a new venture. I launched my new writing blog, Peace Garden Writer, last week as one of the steps toward this goal. It will replace my “Writing Wednesdays” that used to appear weekly here. If you have a chance to stop by, please leave a comment so I know you’ve visited.

Q 4 U: Share one thing about yourself that most people wouldn't guess or know.

For more “quick takes,” see Conversion Diary.

writing wednesdays: we all started here

I'm over at my new writing blog, Peace Garden Writer, today. I hope you'll swing over and see what the youngest writer in the family is up to in my second post, "We All Started Here."

mama mondays: five!

Our Baby Then:

And Now:

“Mama, did you see me waving to your feet?!”— Nick, 5, to me in the pool this weekend after emerging from the water sporting his new goggles.

And then, after I joined him underwater with my goggles so we could “talk,” upon popping to the surface: “Mommy, you look funny under there! You look like Harry Potter!”

+++

It’s hard to believe, but our youngest of five is now five. For his birthday, we took an early summer vacation at a hotel here in town. Having been assigned a room on the fifth floor, he delighted in pushing the 5 on the elevator button panel. Our little fish then spent half a night and several hours the next morning doing his favorite thing: swimming and exploring the vast "ocean" with his super-cool underwater exploration goggles.

Five is a big age. The morning of my fifth birthday, I stood on a stool in the bathroom in front of the mirror, where I waited...and waited...and waited to see myself growing a year older.

When you’re five, the world is full of delightful possibility. You question everything and nothing all at the same time.

I appreciate these realities so much more now than the first or second or even third go-around. As a 41-year-old mother who has nudged four others from the hearth and into the beginnings of the real world, I understand well what’s coming. Soon, the zeal for life will lose some of its shine. The freshness that comes with turning five will fade with each passing year. If he’s lucky, it will return many years from now, when wisdom trumps knowledge and the world becomes, once again, a place in which to witness everyday miracles.

For now, I’m taking notes. I’m re-learning what’s important: the pure beauty of the first spring flower, letters on a page, numbers on fingers and a warm place to go at the end of the day. I’m re-visiting the chance to laugh at things that normally might whiz past me, to blow bubbles in my milk, to make funny faces just because I feel like it.

I’m re-discovering how to play the air guitar, suck the ice-cream out of the bottom of my cone, and look at the world from a new viewpoint.

I’m finding all over again that you can be someone’s friend even if you don’t know their name, that soup is better when slurped, and things don’t always have to match to be useful.

When you’re five, the world is big but everything is possible.

When was the last time you did something goofy, just cuz?

faith fridays: good dirt

Shortly after I returned home from a writer’s conference on Sunday, my youngest son, age 4-3/4, came in from outside with a little gift. It was a daffodil, only it hadn’t yet opened so it was all folded onto itself. I felt a little melancholy receiving it, knowing he’d be turning five by week’s end (today) and that this could well be the last spring I’d receive a gift of flowers from his small hands.

“Oh, thanks honey!” I said. “I guess we’ll need to get some water for this.”

A few minutes later, he came back into my bedroom where I was “recovering” from the drive. He was holding a glass filled to the brim with water, which was sloshing over the edges. He had a serious look in his eyes. He set the glass down on the nightstand next to me and we placed the flower in it.

The next day, he was telling me about all the other flowers like that one in the back yard. He was excited and asked if I would come see them later. I didn’t want to discourage him from picking flowers for me, but I did want him to know that the flower he’d brought in the day before likely would open up and die before the others.

“But why?” he asked.

“Because in order to grow well, a flower needs water but it also needs dirt to live in,” I answered.

A little while later, I could feel his presence nearby but I was too distracted to notice what he was doing, how he was hovering near the flower. When I looked at it a few minutes later, I could see something was different.

“Did you do something to the flower?” I asked.

“It has dirt in it. Now it won’t die so fast.”

This kid was melting my heart left and right. His gestures of love, for me and the flower, were not getting past me. He not only wanted to give me a gift, he wanted to give me something that would last, that wouldn’t die soon.

The flower has opened up beautifully. One of its petals is suffering at this writing, not for lack of soil and too much water but because of a curious cat that won’t leave it alone. Even so, every time I pass it, I hear it whispering something to me. “Love,” it says. “I am infused with love and now you are as well."

When the two of us finally went outside to look at the daffodils in the dirt, he was so joyful he was practically dancing on the way to the spot where they were growing. My young son’s appreciation for spring flowers has been such a beautiful sign of what is possible. New life is so captivating, even to an almost-five-year-old.

Yesterday, he drew a picture for me at the drop-off childcare where I brought him while I attended a meeting. He pointed out the green flower he’d drawn and made sure I saw that it had dirt, just like the yellow flower in our home and those outside. He wanted to make sure his pretend flower had as long a life as possible, too.

And today, I can’t help but think of that dirt and that flower and how eloquently they point to our relationship with God. Dirt isn’t always, well, dirty. We need good dirt, good soil, laid down at our base in order to flower in the way God wants us to. Without good dirt, we, too, will die an early death, spiritually if not physically.

My son’s small but poignant gesture has given me so much. It’s reminded me of the power of love, the power of new life, and the power of nurturing a rich-soil relationship with the Creator.

What are some of the things you do to enrich the soil at your base? OR, when was the last time the simple act of a child touched your heart?

don't forget the chocolates!

When packing for a conference, there's an unwritten rule about one item that must be included:

Chocolates. Don't dare forget the chocolates!

There's just something about getting out of town for a weekend that brings out the playfulness in a mother, and chocolates seem to be the writer-mother's "drug" of choice.

This time last week, after throwing in the final load of laundry prior to my out-of-town trip, I opened my Facebook wall to update my status:

"Heading to Sioux Falls later today to take in a Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators conference. Having a slumber party with my writer friends tonight. Pillow fight anyone?"

Later that evening at the hotel, I checked and saw that my best writer-mama-pal had posted a response. Mary and I have traveled to many conferences together, but she learned about this one after she'd scheduled her piano students' annual spring recital. Though I enjoyed the solo drive south, Mary's absence was felt. So I was especially delighted to "see" her on Facebook responding to my earlier proclamation:

"But, you're eating chocolate, aren't you?" she asked. "And, talking as fast as you can about books and ideas and kids and writing. I know what I'm missing!!!"

Of course, she nailed it. She did know. She'd been there before. The bag of Dove chocolates was indeed within reach, and my two South Dakota roommates and I were on a roll, ruminating about the world's problems, commiserating over the challenges of the writing business, and sharing our joys and hopes for what we'd like to achieve in our lives as mothers, wives and writers.

As with most such things, conferences are valuable experiences in and of themselves. They are time-outs from the real world to think about the bigger picture. Everyone needs that every once in a while. But the behind-the-scenes moments can be every bit as valuable as the presentations themselves.

I will count among the weekend's treasures two evenings of dining with conference organizers and presenters -- the good food that was consumed as well as the lively conversations that went down as a result of being gathered with like-minded colleagues from far and near.

Driving from Fargo on a sunny, spring afternoon, listening to the book-on-tape I'd checked out at the library a few days prior in anticipation of time alone -- this, too, will remain a cherished part of the weekend.

I needed this conference. It was time. I'd just emerged from winter, Lent, flood worries and a desserts fast into Easter and spring. After pulling back from the world for a while, it was time to engage in it again. The conference fit in well with the grander scheme of where I'm at in my life and what I seek.

While I can't share every last detail of my Sioux Falls adventure, I do want to leave you a few morsels of sweetness -- bits of food for thought I wrote down over the weekend, notebook in hand. I hope something here inspires you, whether for writing or life in general:

Rebecca Johnson, author -

"Your best resources are the people in your life."

"Most subjects have been written about before. Let your challenge be to look for the fresh approach."

"I never apologize for writing non-fiction. It's been such a source of inspiration for me!"

"Think of how humbling it would have been for the scientist who held this new species for the first time, knowing you're the first person to see it, ever." (When talking about the Census of Marine Life discoveries, in particular, the never-before-seen rainbow crab.)

Chris Richman, literary agent -

"You need to be prepared for the opportunities."

"Even if you've written the next masterpiece, the pitch has to be something that makes someone want to read it."

"Simply put, a query should state what your book is about and who you are."

"(Within the query) Use funny turns or phrases to make your voice come out."

Linsday Schlegel, editor -

"You must write for children the same way you do for adults, only better."

"A picture book story should take you somewhere."

"You can use rhyme but don't force it."

"You also can use repetition. Just don't say it exactly the same way every time."

Maya Angelou, from the book-on-tape, A Song Flung Up to Heaven -

“To become wonderfully successful and to sustain that success in any profession, one must be willing to relinquish many pleasures and be ready to postpone gratification.”

Q 4 U: When heading out of town for a weekend, what is one item for which you'd have to turn back if you forgot to pack it?

writing wednesdays: debut of peace garden writer

Well, it's a big day for me. I'm launching my new writing blog, Peace Garden Writer. From here on out, most of my Writing Wednesdays posts will be over at this exclusively writing-oriented blog. This new blog is part of a grander vision that I'm revealing little by little, and I hope that if you are a writer or are interested in the writing life, you'll consider stopping over there, today and on each Wednesday from this day forward. It's still pretty bare bones in layout, but I'll get there eventually. It takes time to build a good blog.

Thanks to all of my readers for your faithfulness. I really do appreciate you!

Debut Post on Peace Garden Writer: Top Ten Reasons to Attend a Writer's Conference

See you at Peace Garden Writer, and if you feel inclined, leave a comment to let me know you've stopped by.

I'll be back here on Friday!

Roxane

the wow factor: a hungry leopard seal and a fish with a transparent head

Does the blond woman, second to the right, look like someone who once narrowly escaped a run-in with a leopard seal? Looks pretty relaxed, doesn't she, in her comfy sandals and attire? That was not the case several years back, however, when she was doing research for an important project.

Before I get into the details of her near-death experience, let me introduce all the major players at the SCBWI conference I attended in Sioux Falls, SD, this past weekend. (SCBWI, or "squib" as some say, stands for the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators.) Above, from left to right, are: Chris Richman, book agent for Upstart Crow Literary; Lindsay Schlegel, editor for Simon & Schuster; Rebecca Johnson, local author; and Chris Browne, cartoonist of the nationally syndicated and long-running comic strip, Hagar The Horrible (his father was the originator of the cartoon).

Each of these presenters offered a phenomenal talk. Each brought wonderful insight into the room where we had gathered for the day to obsess over the business of children's literature. But one in particular wowed me, keeping me on the edge of my seat. Going into the conference, I had no idea what was coming.

When I say she had me on the edge of my seat, I am not talking metaphorically. Though Ms. Johnson talked quietly in an even, eloquent fashion, this author of over 75 books for children and adults has literally gone to the depths of the earth to conduct research, and was all too happy to bring us with her (figuratively this time). What an adventure! If I had met this woman as a child, I might well have become a scientist, or a scientist writing books for children, as she has done so prolifically.

According to the conference brochure, Rebecca has written on "subjects ranging from climate change and polar exploration to carnivorous plants and new organisms discovered during the Census of Marine Life, a ten-year global survey of ocean life. To gather firsthand information, she has worked with scientists in far-flung parts of the world, including those studying volcanic dust trapped in Antarctic glaciers...as well as one of the world's rarest birds, the kakapo in New Zealand."

Alright, stay with me here, because I'm getting to the really good parts. In the mid-1990s, Rebecca was working on a book, Braving the Frozen Frontier: Women Working in Antarctica, and was mesmerized by the leopard seal. Not long before the harrowing, above-mentioned incident, she'd been observing these creatures through a safe lookout, watching as they repeatedly seared skins off penguins just before devouring them. When an opportunity presented itself to take a photograph of one of the seals, Rebecca was game, having been assured she would be at a safe enough distance. So, at the appointed time, down to the edge of the ice she went with her trusty camera. "When leopard seals wait for penguins, they are very still," she told us. "I didn't know it, but just below me one of these seals was waiting for the right moment to pounce." After a while of hearing and seeing nothing, Rebecca finally decided to retreat, certain her opportunity had come and gone. But just as she stepped back, the large beast rose out of the water, its mouth wide open and snarling, anxious for a taste of human. Just imagine it:

Meantime, some of Rebecca's colleagues had been watching at a distance. "Run Rebecca!!!!" she heard, and she did exactly that as the leopard seal glided along the ice after her, angry and ravenous now. "I ran about 100 yards and he was gaining on me," she said, explaining how she eventually was yanked to safety -- pulled to a high spot where the seal couldn't reach her by the men who had been observing her earlier. "My camera dropped to the ground as they lifted me up," she later explained, noting that, having lost its main entree, the seal settled on her camera as a substitute appetizer.

"Kids love it when I tell that story almost as much as the books I share with them," she said. I can see that. I'm just glad she was able to maneuver her clunky parka well enough to run and be hoisted to safety!

I thought her story rather amazing and dramatic, but then Rebecca calmly began telling us about her involvement in the Census of Marine Life, a project through which around 20,000 new organisms will have been recorded by its upcoming completion. Because of her involvement, Rebecca has helped produce a book, due out next month, called Journey Into the Deep: Discovering New Ocean Creatures, which will include photos of marine life that the world has never before seen. Rebecca showed us slides of photos from the forthcoming book, including one of an incredibly colored rainbow crab. "Think of how humbling it would have been for the scientist who held this new species for the first time, knowing you're the first person to see it, ever."

One of her favorites, she said, was the barrel-eyed fish, a fish with a transparent head. "It's incredible. This fish hunts by looking up through the top of its transparent head," she noted. A "ping-pong ball sponge" was the next amazing sight; a creature that "sits in total darkness along the ocean bottom."

"I never apologize for writing non-fiction. It's been such a source of inspiration for me!" Rebecca noted, addressing those who question non-fiction writing and its worthiness of being considered real writing.

You can be sure that when Journey Into the Deep comes out, I'm going to find a copy. This is assuredly a book that kids are going to look at and say, "Kewl!!!" Based on the preliminary photos and Rebecca's explanation of the marine census and what is has accomplished, I will agree that, yes, it's definitely that.

Rebecca wowed me because she expertly pulled us into her presentation, a little at a time, building to the climactic tale of the seal escape, then wowing us more with the astounding photos of species the world has never seen before but is about to be introduced to through her book.

WOW and COOL. To read more about Rebecca, visit her site here.

I'm thankful to all the presenters. They all infused moments of "WOW" and "COOL" into their talks. I definitely came away inspired to continue my journey into book-writing.

Q 4 U: When was the last time you were wowed? What was it that caused your jaw to drop?

mama mondays: sioux falls sojourn

Unbelievable. I'd been to Sioux Falls before, but not to "the falls" themselves. In fact, I'd heard they were rather uneventful, far short of spectacular, so there was nothing within me that felt compelled to go out of my way to see them while visiting the South Dakota city for a writer's conference this weekend.

But as I've found so often in life, the best moments are those mostly unplanned.

"What do you think, should we go along?" my author friend Jean Patrick asked just after she'd given directions to the car load of people. Two passengers in particular, an agent and editor from New York, were especially intent on seeing something besides the inside of a conference hall and hotel room during their first-ever visit to the Dakotas.

"Sure, why not?" I said, realizing that it was one of the most optimal times in the day for photo-snapping; that time in the early evening when the sun is about an hour from dropping and provides a natural fill light to heighten lines and shadows and sparkly places.

Indeed, it turned out to be a wonderful segue from the energizing/exhausting atmosphere of the writer's conference that had just taken place to the delightful dinner we would enjoy together about an hour later. As we emerged from our vehicles, warm weather tickled our skin, luring us from the parking lot toward the nearby sounds of rushing water spilling from one layer of rocks to another and another. Standing out from the crowd of onlookers was a sprinkling of girls in prom dressers. They teetered on the rocks while posing for photos with their dates. A while later, the group rushed back to the parking lot, girls with sandals in hand and dresses hiked up, guys in a black-suited cluster unaware of the delicate dance going on behind them.

It was no Niagra, mind you, but walking into the embrace of a spring evening on the tail of a harsh, wet winter, wasn't the worst experience in the world, by any means. What stands out in my mind, besides the water and beautiful rocks, was the stunning sight of GREEN!

I will have much more to tell about my short sojourn in Sioux Falls later in the week. But I do want to share now that I was most fortunate to have met one of my newest and most faithful blog readers, Kim, who blogs at Living4Today. Kim was one of those sweet people who popped into my inbox during Lent, even when comments were closed, to tell me she was still reading and appreciating my words. I felt like we journeyed through Lent together in some ways, and I feel so grateful for her presence. Having a chance to meet her in real life for the first time on Saturday was definitely one of the highlights of my weekend. Thanks so much Kim!

I likely will blog daily this week. I am brimming with insight and can't wait to spill a bit of it here for your benefit. I don't think you'll want to miss it, unless you really don't care to hear how one new author friend was nearly killed by a leopard seal while doing research for one of her books. Yeah, I know. Pretty ho-hum, huh? You really ought to come back. I promise to make it worth your while. (Teaser: she may have narrowly escaped death but the seal did not go hungry.)

Q 4 U: Were there any dramatic moments in your weekend? Any you'd care to share?

faith fridays: because we exist

Fourth Station of the Cross: Jesus Meets His Blessed Mother

By Adam Salonen (inspired by Mrs. Jean Eppler)

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“Our worth is in our being not our doing.” – A good friend

My reasons for turning off my comments and refraining from commenting on other blog posts during Lent were multi-layered. Part of it was a need to turn down what I call “brain buzz,” that frenzied activity that goes on in our head and sometimes distracts us from our relationship with God. Part of it was a gut feeling that, in general, I was spending too much time online and needed to pull back and make room for other pursuits. Part of it was a need to simplify as many areas of my life as possible; the “less is more” mentality.

But there was another part as well. Though I might not have been as consciously aware of it at the outset, I’ve slowly come to see what a vital role it played in my fasting.

The exchanges involved in being engaged in the online world can and do serve a life-giving purpose at times. The frequent stream of esteem stroking that goes on can be a positive push to keep one moving forward. It’s a give and receive that most days can be helpful, and mightily appealing, especially on those down days when a little lift is needed. But at some point, even when the words are sincerely given, an empty feeling can creep in. Despite this daily infusion of loveliness, on some level the recipient is aware that it is not enough; that the soul is thirsting for something deeper.

I think it’s fairly human to desire a regular sense of affirmation that we’re on the right track. We can go along our path only so long before we begin to look for that little nugget of something that says to us, “You’re doing great -- keep going!” Sometimes we get that, but what about when we don’t? Or what about when the words of affirmation we receive are not enough to quench that deep-down thirst at the bottom of our souls?

In the last couple of days, I’ve been feeling thirsty, and I’ve been wondering why. My unconditional-love-giving mother just paid a visit, I feel very alive in my faith, and I have a lively family, the members of which often let me know I’m appreciated, even if in the subtlest of ways some days. I really have no reason to feel sorry for or to doubt myself.

And yet, here I am, feeling a little uncertain about some aspects of my life despite all of the signs that point out that I am exactly where I ought to be; that, in fact, everything in my life that has happened up to this point has led me to this moment in time, and all is well.

I shared some of my nagging vulnerabilities with a good friend this morning, and in the middle of an encouraging email message back, these words from her popped out: “Our worth is in our being not our doing.”

I recognized the words. I’d heard them before, in a different context and by a different person. But on this day, they lilted away from the computer toward me, wrapping themselves around my tender heart. And I realized that this is what I have thirsted for – this realization that I am loved, not because of anything I have done or aspire to do, but simply because I am.

That kind of love, the deepest kind of affirmation there is, can come from one source only: God. Ultimately, that knowledge is the only thing that will truly satisfy. No amount of blog followers or publication credits or achievements by our children can raise us up like the unconditional love of God.

The death of my friend Ryan on Holy Thursday helped this statement resonate even more fully with me today. After listening to family and friends share at the Vigil what made Ryan special, what stood out most wasn’t any amazing earthly accomplishment, but the fact that he was such a genuinely good person. It was such a simple reality and yet the love that became evident in his parting was so palpable as to be felt physically, in some strange sense. There was joy even in Ryan's death because of what he had left behind: the mere fact of his having existed. A sense seemed prevalent that the world had become an infinitely better place simply because he had been with us, and that because of this fact, the world would never be quite the same again -- ever.

Ryan was just a few months younger than I, but in his 40 years of life, he had accomplished all that he needed to in this life just by being, and by being the kindest person he could be in the time that he had among us. It was clear to me, and others I think, that Ryan had done everything God had wanted him to do in simply showing up and offering himself to others.

How often do we allow ourselves to realize that our worth is not in our doing but in our being? The very fact that we are alive on this earth is the most amazing contribution we will ever make, or need to make. God loved us into being, and so we are. And that...is enough. Compared to that, everything else is peanuts.

(Thanks, Mary, for the inspiration today!)

Have you allowed yourself to realize that your worth is in your being? At the point at which you are able to wrap your brain around that reality, how does it make you feel?

'spotlight' series: lorraine o'donnell williams

Spotlight's on...

Lorraine O'Donnell Williams!

It’s time again for Peace Garden Mama’s “Spotlight’s on...!” This monthly feature highlights fellow mother-writer-faith friends I’ve met over the past years who've been immersed in the writing life long enough to have stored up some insight that begs to be shared.

For the April ‘Spotlight’s on...!’ we’re crossing the United States-Canada border to introduce Lorraine O’Donnell Williams, a Canadian author whose memoir, Memories of the Beach, has just been released.

First off, Lorraine, congratulations on finding a publisher for your memoir. It must be thrilling for you to be at this place. Is this the first book you’ve authored, and if not, is it the first memoir you’ve birthed?

I've written two other books, one for the Canadian market and one for the U.S. market. From my long years as a trustee on public library boards and position as former president of the Canadian Library Trustees Association, my books dealt with the partnership between the chief librarian of a system and the board members. It's called, The Library Trustee and the Public Librarian: Partners in Service. I've also written two smaller books - one the history of a pioneer Catholic Church and the other a history of Carmelite Sisters in Toronto. However, this is my first memoir.

What is the basic premise, and what prompted you to write it?
The basic premise of my memoir, Memories of the Beach: Reflections on a Toronto Childhood, is to celebrate a particular locale and era in which I grew up, to show how important a part it played in my formation. I also wanted to celebrate the city of Toronto and particularly The Beach district where I grew up. Although there are a few books out there detailing the history of the area, no one has ever written a memoir of growing up in The Beach. Where I grew up turned out to be an integral part of me.

You’ve shared with me before that Memories of the Beach is not defined as a spiritual or Catholic memoir, and yet it has some elements of spirituality in it. Being that we’ve just emerged from Lent and are now in the Easter season, I’m curious about those elements and how you infused them into your memoir.

Those elements of Catholicity just came naturally as I wrote. The grade school and high school I went to were both Catholic, staffed mainly by nuns of the Sisters of St. Joseph. My mother was a very pious French Canadian and my father was second- generation Irish, so their Catholic faith was prominent in our daily life. One example of that French -Canadian influence was that a large picture of The Sacred Heart, hanging over our fireplace mantel, dominated the living room. (This was a prominent French-Canadian custom). For any guest coming to our home, it was evident where we stood in our beliefs! Interestingly enough, it was a picture which I had won in Grade 4 for having the highest marks in religion. By the way, did you know that in the province of Ontario and several other provinces throughout Canada, Catholic schools are funded by the provincial (i.e., state) government. No tuition required!

What were the most difficult aspects of writing about your own life? Did you rely on people in your life to help piece together the details, or mainly on your own memory of it?

The most difficult aspects were were: a) trying to figure out which time period of my life would I cover. I ended up doing birth to end of high school, with some of my parents' background worked into the narrative. b) The chronology was another challenge. Should it read in a straight linear fashion or should some chapters cover several years, if they dealt with the same topic - e.g., influence of movies and books in my life. I ended up with a combination. Most of my writing came from my own memory of things, although I did ask others or consult references when certain factual or historical events (e.g., dates of births, famous events) were written about, so that I could get them correct.

When you were writing this book, whom did you have in mind as far as the typical reader?
I thought the readership would appeal to: a) readers who have lived in The Beach, or live there now, or know others in either of those two categories, b) people of my own age range who had experienced Toronto and The Beach area, c) people who have an interest in the social history of those times in Toronto and The Beach in particular and d) my children, husband and family members.

Everyone has a story – things in his or her life that are unique. How does one discern whether they have a story that is memoir material? And how did you set about putting your story onto paper?

That's a great question and a hard one to answer. Most memoirs I read nowadays seem to be about very dysfunctional families. I grew up in a normal family which had some problems, but very minor ones. Our upbringing was pretty blessed and I wanted readers to know that not all family life is blighted, and especially, that in order to write, you don't have to be neurotic or a product of an alcoholic or abusive home. Also, as mentioned earlier, my book was unique in that no one had written a memoir about that place and time in Toronto before.

How did I put it on paper? I wrote one incident years ago that's now in the memoir and entered it into a contest and it got excellent results. That gave me confidence that there was something there worth telling. However I put that aside and started writing a historical novel about a completely different place and time. One day, I went to my daughter's, who has a small town house at The Beach, to write in silence. Suddenly the memories of growing up there started to wash over me like flood waters. I had to put them down and abandon the novel. From then on, everything came pouring out. I was back in the environment of my youth, and it took over!

How long did it take you to write it, and how much longer to find a publisher? Do you work with an agent?

It took about five years off and on to write the complete memoirs and edit them for submission to a book publisher. I was working on other freelance writing - travel articles, pro-life issues, book reviews, histories of churches and religious order. It then took about three years to find a publisher. Then the publisher who wanted the book was absorbed by a bigger publisher and the latter had to decide whether he wanted my book or not, and that stretched out another two years.
I had an agent for my first two books, but by the time I'd finished this one, she was only doing movie and TV scripts, so I had to send it out myself - many times. I always got glowing praise for the writing, but most big publishers felt it was placed in too local a setting and I wasn't a high name that could overcome that.

Are there marked differences between the publishing industries in Canada as opposed to the United States? How did being a Canadian resident make it either harder or easier to bring this story to fruition?

I'm not sure. I know in Canada the publishing industry is highly subsidized by grants from the Federal Government. Our population is so much smaller compared to yours, resulting in lower sales, that it can't support book publishers without help. I didn't submit this to any American publishers because the locale might not be of interest to them. On the other hand, maybe finding a publsher might have been easier, since Canada has many publishers who are interested in literary (or creative ) fiction and non-fiction.

What did your family of origin think about your project? Did you meet any resistance in sharing what is, in part, their life story, too?

My family has been extremely supportive. I didn't meet any resistance. Maybe because it only covers our childhood up to end of high school. If I was telling about their private lives after that, they might have had some objections.

I noticed you have a son who is also an author. Who became an author first?
I became the author first. But Harland has written far more than I - nine children's books and now one for adults just out called, The Things You Don't Know that You Don't Know.

If you could write in only one genre, what would it be?
Probably memoir.

How has your faith impacted how you approached this story?
In the sense that I would pray that I would not hurt anyone by what I wrote. Also my faith had to be imparted in the story because it is such a fundamental element in my formation.

What would deem this story a success, in your mind?
If my nuclear and extended family enjoy it, and if it achieves good reviews from the critics. Of course, it would be wonderful if someone wanted to make a movie or tv series out of it!

What writing advice that has been particularly helpful to you?
"It’s by remaining faithful to the contingencies and peculiarities of your own experience and the vagaries of your own nature that you stand the greatest chance of conveying something universal. — David Shields, "Reality, Persona" in Truth in Nonfiction (edited by David Lazar)

Where can we find your book? Do you have an author website?
The book's available for presale on Amazon, Barnes and Noble etc or from me at lorwill@sympatico.ca or from my publisher, Dundurn Press. I don't have an author website as yet.

To the aspiring memoirist who might be reading this, what advice do you have?
Just get started and keep writing. Don't worry about editing until later. Don't worry about chronology. Start anywhere and then go back later if that is what gets you started. As with any form or writing, join a group where you can read and critique each other. Be sure to be consistent about VIEWPOINT. Put in bad or sad parts as well as good times. No one has a perfect life and no family has a perfect life. If everything in your memoir is "peaceful and light", there is no tension and the reading gets very boring.

Thank you so much, Lorraine, for sharing a bit of your writing journey with us. We wish you the best in the launch of your memoir. Congratulations on its completion and your success in landing a publisher for it!

Q4U: What question do you wish I would have asked Lorraine? Here's your chance!

mama mondays: this and that

Ah, it's nice to be back! Though I continued blogging regularly through Lent, my regular readers know I changed up my schedule a bit, took a break from accepting and posting comments, laid off Facebook (except when communication was absolutely necessary) and abandoned Twitter. The world went on without me, and while at times I had to force myself to refrain from engaging in online conversations, overall, aside from missing my "peeps," it was a very edifying experience. Thanks for your patience as I stepped away for a bit. I especially appreciate those who stayed near even when the silence felt a little like a punishment (which it wasn't intended to be -- I promise!). Several of you even took time to let me know you were still with me in the quiet, which endeared me to you all the more. Needless to say, I feel so fortunate to have such special people in my life, both IRL and online!

To try to catch up, thought I'd start my first post-Lent Mama Mondays with a little of this and that:

* The Smells and Bells of Spring:

I am loving the sounds of birds chirping in the trees near our home, the echoes of children's voices throughout our cul-de-sac, bikes and balls being rolled out of the garage, the smell of fresh soil presenting from a thawing ground, and the scent of tree buds readying to burst free.

* Kid quotes: “I can’t get my eyes to get open!!!” - Nick, 4,trying to wake up.

(The following morning...) “My eyes are doing that again!!!!!”

* Head shot with a purpose: I've been getting such a lovely response from my friends on Facebook who've noticed my new profile picture. Though I have to say it's nice to have an updated image out there, I didn't have this taken simply because I am "all that and a bag of potato chips." There is a purpose behind the "new" image, and I will share more soon. In fact, I'm bursting to say more right now. But...it's not yet time. I will give you a hint though: in the near future, the writing part of Peace Garden Mama will become a separate writing blog called Peace Garden Writer. That gives you a little but there's still more. I hope it's enough to satisfy you for a bit. (Relentless teasing is not fair -- at least that's what I tell my kids.) The credit for this shot goes to Fargo photographer Michael Smith. I first met Michael nearly a decade ago when he did my head shot for The Area Woman Magazine, for which I am a contributing writer.

* Life and Death: Easter this year proved bittersweet with the death on Holy Thursday of a really good guy, Ryan Mayer, 40, the father of three darling kids and husband of a very special woman. I've spent a couple posts blogging about this remarkable man, who is already very missed. That said, he had the most amazing exit from this world and I will be inspired by what I've witnessed through being on the outer fringes of his life for a very long time. Bottom line: if I am as blessed to die as Ryan did, I would consider myself tremendously fortunate. As Ryan's brother-in-law Ken said at the Vigil Sunday evening, repeating words he'd heard a priest once say that he felt Ryan would want to impart to us now: Darkness does not win. Alleluia!

Alright, that's about all I have for now. The "Spotlight's On..." monthly interview will resume on Wednesday. You'll hear from a Canadian memoir writer, whose book is coming out this month. Please come back -- and comment freely!

Q 4 U: Describe what spring means to you in five words.

easter 2010: alleluia!!!

"He has this big globe thingy and he spies on us." - Adam, 7, on how the Easter bunny knows us so well.

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"ALLELUIA!!!!!!!!! ALLELUIA!!!!!!!!! ALLELUIA!!!!!!!!!!!"

In the Catholic tradition, we refrain from saying "Alleluia" during the quiet days of Lenten reflection. But today, we celebrate the Resurrection of Jesus Christ -- the true climactic moment of our faith -- and once again, we sing, "ALLELUIA!" Without this belief in the Resurrection of Christ, everything else falls away. His rising and power over death is what brings us HOPE that we, too, will rise above our suffering -- an unavoidable and even necessary condition of our earthly journey -- and be with Him in glory someday. Until then, how will we live our lives, knowing how much each day counts and brings us either closer to or further from this ultimate destination?

Today is a day of family and celebration. My mother arrived yesterday, one day late due to a spring blizzard that raged on the other side of the state on Good Friday. We left early for church this morning to secure a good spot at Mass -- just a few rows back from where the children's choir was seated and led us in song. The sanctuary and stained glass windows were brilliant with the light of the glorious day. We sang, "This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad!" This psalm of Scripture has become my mantra. Even when the day is gray, I try to remember that "This is the day the Lord has made" and give thanks for the very fact that I am alive!

The weekend also included a visit from my friend Mary from Minnesota yesterday. One of her love languages is gifts, and she presented me with a beautiful bouquet of spring mums before we trotted off to our favorite coffee shop for some uninterrupted girl time. Life is good! I also was asked yesterday to sing the psalm at my friend Ryan's funeral Mass tomorrow. It is always a gift to me to be able to sing a psalm of sending off to a dear one. I feel energized by the thought that Ryan is watching us celebrate from his new perch, and that he is still with us, leading us onward.

With Lent past, I have a lot to share in the coming weeks about the fruits that took place during my time of trying more diligently to turn off the noises that kept me stalled and listening more intently to God's voice. I'm looking forward to revealing more soon.

Enjoy your Easter blessings in all of their lovely manifestations!

easter vigil 2010

Signs around here that the Resurrection is near:

lent 2010 (the eve of good friday): he's gone...

The kids were home on Easter break today, and I started out with big plans to get the house in order for my Mom’s impending visit. But at some point in the day, I just couldn’t make myself move. I felt melancholy and, instead of breezing through the house with Swiffer in hand, I dropped onto the bed and let my body go limp for a while.

It was around this time, I later learned, that Ryan, the friend I mentioned the other day, sighed and prepared to take his last breath.

Ryan and son at a Minnesota Twins game

Ryan's wife, Lori, briefly chronicled his final hours on the hospital “Caringbridge” website about an hour and a half later. I feel her words are worth repeating here, shining as they are as an example of how a Christian death can be:

We received our miracle of Eternal life today.

2 pm - Ryan skipped a few breaths and we began praying the rosary and received communion.

3 pm - We sang the Chaplet of Divine Mercy to him and he "snored" along. He was very relaxed today and shrugged his shoulders and sighed as if to say "I'm getting tired." We took a break for some treats, visiting and laughter.

Then we sang him the Litany of Saints. It was perfect...as we finished his breaths got slower and finally around 4:15 he took his final breath. He was ushered into Heaven with all the saints around 4:30 pm. It was beautiful if you can call death beautiful. He was surrounded by family and friends. We know he's already praying for us. He gets to enjoy the big Supper in heaven tonight!

This is what I was getting at in my post the other day when I said I can’t fathom how the end of an earthly life can be processed without the faith perspective. Lori’s bravery can only be explained in terms of a deep knowledge of God and the eternal home He’s preparing for all of us. With this knowledge in her head, Lori will have the courage to move through the rest of her life without Ryan being physically present. Certainly, it won't always be easy. We’re not promised eternal ease in our lives here. But we are promised joy if we seek the Source of our existence and draw near to Him frequently.

Another update on Wednesday’s post: I didn’t get to say goodbye to Ryan as planned. When I arrived at the hospital, he was agitated and the nurses felt it best that his room remain as shuffle-free as possible. I trusted God’s will in this and headed, instead, to the Adoration chapel to say the Rosary for Ryan, meditating on the Sorrowful Mysteries -- The Agony in the Garden, The Scourging at the Pillar, The Crowning of Thorns, The Carrying of the Cross and the Crucifixion. It was both powerful and emotional and I’m hoping my prayers stored up a few more gallons of grace for Ryan and his family.

Before I left, though, I ran into his mother and sister (my sister’s former college roommate). I was so glad to be able to talk with them, give them both hugs and assure them of my forthcoming prayers.

“Please pray that it goes quickly,” his mother said as she squeezed my hand, a look of exasperation in her eyes.

Yes. A mother asked me to pray her son would die fast; a mother who could not bear to watch her son in agony any longer.

And no, the parallel has not escaped me.

Death is difficult to grasp, but life is so easy to embrace.

Dear Ryan, now that you are with us in a more vibrant way, please help us live the way we’re meant to be living in the time we have left. And live well in the eternal peace of Christ!