The Catholic Vacation Bible School Edition
It was worth it—is always worth it—to dive head over heels into the
pretty beautiful truths of our Catholic faith.
It is also really beautiful the way that my friend Cathie stepped up to the plate when our beloved DRE became ill. Cathie took on the leadership of CVBS this summer the way she takes on everything—with tremendous energy, efficiency and grace.
Everything is grace, I’m learning—everything that’s worth anything, anyway. I’ve spent a fair share of time wondering about…life this past month. Where am I supposed to be spending my time? How do I fit it all in when the seams are already bursting? Is it God’s will for me to spend my free time online when there are so many people (and dust bunnies) that need me?
And…um….heck if this “Choose Life” table isn’t pretty!
(Like how I snuck that last one in? I am all about coming full circle with these categories.)
All seven of my kids are participating this year: three as helpers, three as students, and one as a hold-me-please-never-put-me-down tumor.
They have a special room for tumors. They call it the nursery.
Working in the nursery is hard work, of course, but little faces like this one make me happy:
Her name is Hannah and she’s a major honey.
At the end of each and every very full morning, my kids come find me in the nursery.
And then they try to eat up all our treats.
“Funny” is getting seven kids up and out the door by 8:00, five summer morning in a row.
Ha HA! That one really made me laugh.
Funny, too, is teenage helpers teaching my kids the “Baby Shark” song.
You can see one version here.
And finally, “funny” is seeing my little George in a classroom setting. “Weird” is seeing him working alongside his big brother, who was the same age—four—when we first started doing this vacation Bible school.
Weird. And hard.
Fast-forward, please, to the next category of “Real.”
“Real” is the hard work of parenting both a baby and a teen.
Mentally…emotionally…it’s hard to feel that you’re on top of things because, in truth, you’re not. Real is watching your teenager pull away from you because that’s what he’s supposed to do. It’s teaching him to drive (Lord have mercy; this may kill me) and sitting back while he accelerates—fast & hard & fearlessly—onto the freeway of independence.
I prefer, I think, the quiet country roads of children.
I want to hold them all close and never let them go.