In light of all this, I was oh-so-happy, when 9-year-old Chiara came out of confession last week and announced, “That made me feel really happy!” Exactly. That’s what confession should do. She even said the priest gave her “good advice.” You can’t ask for more. I went to confession right after her, and I had the exact same feeling when I re-entered the chapel.

Unfortunately, not everyone at the service that day — almost no one, to be honest — got the memo on the meaning and significance of this sacrament. Or how to behave in a church. This particular reconciliation service was designed specifically for the fourth-grade faith formation class. At our parish, parents are able to choose whether a child receives the Sacrament of Reconciliation in second grade or fourth grade. We opted for the former, so this was not a first-time sacrament for Chiara, but for many of the children attending that day, it was. And so it should have been a big deal, an important step in their spiritual life, but it was more like a circus than a sacred event.

Families were invited to attend with their children and were encouraged to go to confession as well. After a brief Scripture reading and reflection, our pastor reminded everyone that we were in a chapel and the time waiting for confession should be spent in silent and thoughtful prayer in preparation for the sacrament. Then he left and went to our larger church to hear confession while two other priests waited in reconciliation rooms just off the chapel. Children lined up against the wall, parents sat back in their chairs, and that’s when the mayhem began.

It felt more like I was sitting in the bleachers at the Little League field than in front of the tabernacle in church. The folks behind me were talking — loudly — about grocery shopping and vacation. A good number of the kids were twirling around, laughing and jumping, doing push-ups against the chapel wall, and only one teacher attempted the Herculean task of trying to quiet the kids while their parents sat a few feet away oblivious and talking a mile a minute. There was a moment when I actually considered taking my three kids off their various confession lines and and returning another day. It was that bad. I was racking up sins even as I sat waiting for my confession. Let’s just say some of my thoughts were less than charitable.

How did we as a Church and a society get to this place — where there is no sense of the sacred, even when we’re sitting in a chapel waiting to receive a sacrament? It was depressing and deflating. I’m used to the cavalier attitude of the teenagers in my ninth-grade faith formation class, but seeing it from my fellow parents just drove home the fact that we have a lot of difficult work ahead of us if we want to reach adult Catholics who no longer understand the basics of the faith they apparently want to pass onto their children.

Only three parents, myself included, stayed to go to confession after the children were finished. Everyone else had coats on and keys ready as the boys and girls exited the reconciliation rooms. We teach our children by example, so for most of those children, the clear message was that confession doesn’t matter. Somewhere along the way, I’m assuming their parents got the same message.

We so desperately need to re-catechize the parents of children in our faith formation programs, and this was the perfect opportunity, a teachable moment tossed to the curb. Here we had a captive audience of adult Catholics, many of whom may not be practicing but could possibly be hungry for spiritual nourishment. Had the time waiting for confession been coordinated in a way that reinforced the need for silence and prayer, or had there at least been a warden in the chapel to give chatty parents the stink eye, perhaps we could have conveyed the sacredness of the moment, or even better, we could have made the moment something that would offer these obviously frazzled parents a slice of sanity amid the chaos of their lives. Prayer and confession can offer that, but only if we stop talking long enough to hear the sounds of silence, only when we realize that if we just take a moment to focus on something bigger than the grocery list or the summer lake house, we just might find the perspective we need.

If you haven’t gone to confession this Lent, find a parish near you that has convenient hours this week and give it a whirl. Even if you’re a bundle of nerves going in, you, too, just might come out smiling and realizing you feel real happiness for a change. Not the happiness that comes from scoring a great sale at the mall or watching your kid hit a home run, but the joy that comes from realizing none of that really matters because happiness isn’t a moment or an accomplishment but a state of mind, or, in this case, a state of grace.

For those in the Diocese of Rochester, a Day of Penance and Mercy will be held Tuesday, March 24. Every parish in the diocese will be “open for forgiveness” from 12:30 p.m. to 7:30 p.m.

For those downstate, the Archdiocese of New York, the Diocese of Brooklyn, and the Diocese of Rockville Centre, will jointly hold “Reconciliation Monday,” encouraging Catholics to come back to confession. Next Monday, March 30, every parish in the New York City area will be open for confessions from 3 p.m. to 9 p.m.

If your diocese or parish is making a concerted effort to bring people back to the Sacrament of Reconciliation this season, be sure to leave information in the comment section.

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Menu: We prepared for Lent with Fat Tuesday pancakes at the kids’ request. There’s something especially fun about breakfast for dinner. We added in some bacon since Noah said he was going vegetarian for all of Lent except Sundays. The rest of us decided to join him in that endeavor. Well, Olivia was already there, but Dennis, Chiara and I signed on for that sacrifice as well. Chiara did it under duress and was given permission to eat meat at school when she buys lunch. I think eating school cafeteria meat ranks as a sacrifice all on its own.

Here are our yummy Mardi Gras pancakes, made with Kate’s Real Buttermilk, our favorite for pancakes and Irish soda bread:

We followed that up on Ash Wednesday by breaking our fast with loads of veggies over linguini, and we rounded out the week with vegetarian split pea soup, mushroom and onion quesadillas, and vegetarian penne a la vodka for the kids on Saturday while Dennis and I had sole Francaise at Milestone Restaurant for our weekly date night.

Bookshelf: This week I’ve got a few books going at once, which is never good because it means I’ll remember nothing. I’m simultaneously reading Home-Based Business for Dummies because I’m trying to expand my reach, as well as Adult Faith: Growing in Wisdom and Understanding because I’m taking a class at my parish during Lent. In between I’m looking at guidebooks to Italy because I’m thinking about leading another pilgrimage next year.

However, because I never seem to finish any book, I recently purchased Read More Books Now by Brandon Vogt, a 10-video course with bonus materials to help me read faster and retain more. Just started that, so check back in a couple of days for more on how that’s going. But, if you’re interested in checking it out right now, click HERE. If you purchase it by Thursday of this week, you’ll get it on sale with the bonus material, so don’t wait.

Viewfinder: Lots of fun things going on this week thanks to my children. Here’s Chiara attempting to snowboard using a regular sled. (We’ve promised to get her real snowboard lessons, if not this winter then next.) She’s pretty good, and she’s a daredevil, so I think she’ll be a natural.

And here’s my little snow bunny up close. Too cute:

As you know from earlier this week (if you stop by NSS regularly), Olivia is leaving positive post-its in random places as part of her Lenten practice. Yesterday morning we came down to the kitchen to find the one below. We also spied her leaving a “You are wonderful” note inside a worship aid at church. I love these kids.

We capped off our weekend with a winter martini in our Oval Office glasses that we found in an antique store on South Congress in Austin years ago. Austin — where it’s warm right now, or at least not -11 degrees. Did I mention that I’m not sure why we ever left? Sigh.

GPS: We head back out to SUNY Oneonta this week with Noah for a Scholars’ Day event. It’s on his short list of possible college choices along with Siena, Le Moyne, and possibly SUNY Geneseo, if they ever get to sending those acceptances out (March, we hear).

Soundtrack: Heard this on The Coffeehouse on SiriusXM this week and went directly to iTunes to buy it. Check it out:

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When I became pregnant with my youngest, I immediately honed in on the name “Chiara.” At the time, I will admit, it had nothing to do with the most famous Chiara, St. Clare of Assisi, or, as they say in Italy, Santa Chiara di Assisi, whose feast day is today.

No, my fascination with this beautiful name started in college, when I was on a trip to China and spent three weeks traveling with a young woman named Chiara, who was part of our university group. The name struck me as the most beautiful name I’d ever heard, but that may have had something to do with my being named Mary. As they sing in the old-time classic, “there is something there that sounds so square.” Chiara (the name, not the person) was about as opposite of “square” as I could imagine.

For more than twenty years, the name Chiara lingered in the back of my brain. I never really considered it when I was pregnant with Noah and Olivia. Not sure why not. But when I became pregnant just about six 10 years ago, this name was my clear favorite. I loved the sound of it. I loved the fact that it reflected my Italian heritage. (Although we did at one point consider its Gaelic cousin, “Ciara,” which also means Clare but is pronounced KEER-ah, as opposed to key-AR-ah.)

So Chiara Elizabeth was born on July 21, and her Italian name seems perfectly suited to her. Of all my children, she is the one that will settle down with a stuffed artichoke and pull the leaves through her little white teeth as if she’s been doing it for a lifetime in Massa Lubrense, hometown of her great-grandpa. She will go to a deli and request provolone and dried Italian sausage for lunch when the others are getting standard turkey sandwiches. She will scarf down fried calmari and pesto with sausage any chance she gets. (Note that she’s rolling out pizza dough in the photo above.) So the name was definitely a good call.

Surprisingly enough, however, this name has led me further along my own spiritual journey. Knowing my daughter shared a name with St. Clare of Assisi made me want to explore this holy woman in more depth. I’d always been a fan of Francis, her spiritual mentor and friend, but Clare was a spiritual footnote for me.

As my own Chiara has grown over the past five nine years, so has my love of Santa Chiara. Her courage, her faith, her strength were remarkable, especially in light of the fact that she did what she did as a woman in medieval times. Next month, when I finally get to Italy, I’m hoping to find a way to get to Assisi for one day, so I can walk in the footsteps of Francis and Clare. And then some day I’ll take Chiara back to do the same. *(I didn’t get there in 2010, but, God willing, I will be there this October when my pilgrimage group spends two days in Assisi.)

Today, when I opened my “Word of God Everyday” daily email, it included a quote from St. Clare: “Look into that mirror daily, always study your face in it, so that within and without you may adorn yourself with all manner of virtue.”

I liked the quote, which was connected to an Old Testament verse about the Son being a reflection of God’s glory. But something about the quote from Clare didn’t sit right with me as it was. It was incomplete and could be confusing to those of us in the modern world. It almost sounded as though Clare were suggesting that we look into an actual mirror and study our own faces. So I searched for it and found the full quote from a letter she wrote to Blessed Agnes of Prague:

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Well, the answer is simple enough: Chiara really can’t be defined or pigeon-holed. She is such a beautiful and interesting blend of qualities and characteristics. I always say she is somewhere between Noah and Olivia, but that’s not true. She’s her own Mighty Girl through and through. She’s silly one minute, serious the next. She’s sensitive and caring but at the same time so incredibly fearless she makes my heart skip a beat. Like when she nonchalantly does a double back handspring across our backyard (against instructions, by the way).

And so, my dear Chiara, I think what I want to say most on your birthday is “thank you”…

…for bringing your bouncing, giggling, cartwheeling brand of joy into my life

…for making me laugh with your jokes and comments and beautiful smile

…for reminding me that sometimes I need to stop being afraid and just jump, twirl, spin, cartwheel (or at least try)

…for being my last-chance baby, who shows me again and again what it means to go after life — or a big plate of pasta and mussels — with gusto.

Your beautiful Italian name can be translated as clear or bright or light. You are all of those things and more. I love you. xoxo

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Chiara: “I like ‘we.'”

Me: “Huh? Why do you like ‘we’?”

Chiara: “What does ‘we’ mean?”

Me: “It means me and you.”

Chiara (nodding happily): “Mmm-hmmmph.”

Sometimes I need to remember that it’s the really simple stuff that makes a difference. I don’t have to come up with fabulous activities to wow my kids. I just have to be present. Me and you — that’s often what they want more than anything else. Go makes some “we” moments today!

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Dennis: Who did Jesus tell,”Upon this rock, I will build my Church?”
Olivia: Simon?
Mary: Yes. Simon who?
Chiara: Simon Cowell?

We don’t normally focus on this sort of stuff while passing the mashed potatoes, but tonight we went off on a religious education tangent. This answer definitely won the prize.

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Auriesville is one of my favorite spots in upstate NY. Every time I go there, I feel peaceful and joyful. There’s such a powerful sense of the sacred on this holy ground. Go there if you can find the time.

Chiara dusting the Jesuit saints

Olivia polishing pews

Chiara refilling holy water fonts for maintenance crew

This took some patience and a total lack of skipping

Outside the Coliseum

Looking over the Mohawk Valley

Down on the ravine trail

Two toads, who were dubbed Isaac and Rene

Total peace

Ravine bridge

Ice cream at a farm stand nearby

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The recipe for Ray’s Mud Pie, believe it or not, is from a Disney cookbook that ties in with the Princess and the Frog movie: Tiana’s Cookbook. It’s the perfect summer splurge.

20 whole chocolate graham crackers
6 Tbl melted butter
1 Qt Chocolate ice cream
1/2 cup chocolate fudge topping
1/2 cup semisweet chocolate chips
1 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup powdered hot cocoa mix

Seal the graham crackers in a large plastic bag and crush with a rolling pin until they resemble dirt. Stir 1 1/2 cups of crumbs into melted butter. Pour the mixture into a 9-inch pie pan.
When the crumbs have cooled, press them against the bottom and sides of the pan to form pie crust. Freeze the crust for 20 minutes.

Scoop half the ice cream into a bowl and let it soften about 10 minutes. Then spread it in the chilled crust. Dig eight holes in the ice cream and fill with a tablespoon of fudge topping “mud.” Freeze the crust for another 10 minutes.

Stir chocolate chips “rocks” into the remaining ice cream and spread it over the pie. Return the pie to freezer for 10 minutes.

Beat the heavy cream at high speed until cream begins to thicken. Add cocoa mix and beat until it begins to stiffen. Spread the whipped cream evenly over the pie and sprinkle with the remaining cracker crumbs.

Wrap the pie in plastic and freeze for 3-4 hours before serving. Serves 8

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Seven years ago today my beautiful and brave Chiara Elizabeth was born. Seven. Where did the time go? Seven years ago at this time I was waiting for my castor oil cocktail to kick in so I could bring on my extremely overdue delivery without being induced via IV. Called my midwife, told her what I did and to expect me later that day. Right around noon labor kicked in, right on schedule. At just about 7:30 p.m, Chiara entered the world, and what joy she has brought to our family ever since.

I’ve written a lot about the benefits of being an older mom — I was just about 43 when Chiara was born — because every day I am the one who continues to learn new lessons from this fearless little being. Just a few weeks ago Chiara’s absolute courage at the top of the Shotgun Falls at a Wildwood water park inspired me to go down on the chute next to her. Two days ago she insisted on going off the diving boards at the town pool, something I have yet to do. Although I am often hesitant to let her do things out of my own fear, she will have none of that.

Her enthusiasm and sensitivity, her courage and kindness teach me on a daily basis how to be a better person. Happy birthday, baby. I love you, and I’m so glad I decided to forget my old age and become a mom one more time.

Here’s a snapshot view of Chiara’s life:

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Although on the surface that might seem to be a negative, when I am willing to look beyond the inevitable challenges of being an older mom — like not having nearly the same energy level I had when I was running around with my first 15 years ago — I think being of an “advanced maternal age,” as they say in the OB/GYN industry, has it benefits. Wisdom is the obvious gift that comes with age, but also a deeper appreciation for making the most of the moment when you’re in it. As I approach the half-century mark, I have become all too aware of how fleeting this life is, how quickly my 15 years of motherhood have passed and how quickly the next 15 years are likely to fly by.

Because of my age, many people assume Chiara wasn’t a “planned” baby, that she was an unexpected or maybe even an unwanted “surprise.” If they have the nerve to ask, they are always shocked to find that she was more than planned; she was desperately wanted. At 41 years old, when I thought I was done with babies and diapers and preschool selections, Dennis and I decided we really wanted to try to have one more baby before it might be too late. We were lucky, and blessed, because not long after I found out I was carrying Chiara.

And as much as I offer my littlest one the wisdom of age; she offers me the joy of childhood, something many women my age have outgrown, so to speak. Chiara keeps me young and gives me a chance to play, sometimes when I don’t really feel like playing but find out only after the fact that it was exactly what I wanted, and needed.

Just recently, Chiara and I went on a Daisy Girl Scout winter camping trip in the foothills of the Adirondacks. As far as I’m concerned, that’s enough to scare even the bravest, most energetic mom, no matter how young or old you are. I wouldn’t have chosen this trip, but my co-leader, who is probably 15 years younger than I am and with ample survivalist camping experience in her back pocket, suggested we give it a try. And so we did, with eight 6-year-old girls and seven moms in tow.

“This is our first camping trip with just the two of us,” Chiara said with excitement, hugging my leg as we waited for our ride to arrive and take us to camp. And with that one comment every doubt about the weekend vanished from my mind.

As we pulled our backpacks out of the truck and made our way on foot down the ice-covered road with only a flashlight to guide us, I looked up and saw the night sky flooded with stars. Then I looked down at Chiara holding my hand and saw the joy in her eyes as she faced the dark woods before us filled not with fear but with anticipation of the adventure that was to come.

That night we slept in our mummy bags head-to-head on crummy mattresses on a hard floor with 28 other people and only one bathroom among us. If you’d told me those details ahead of time, I would have cringed, but there, with Chiara reaching out to pat my hair now and then from her spot inside her sleeping bag, all I could do was smile and savor the moment, grateful for the gift of being the oldest mom in the crowd and knowing just how precious life is right now.

To read other Life Lines columns, visit my website at marydeturrispoust.com

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