The Feast of St. Thomas More

Happy Nameday, William Thomas!

Our youngest son, William Thomas, was named specifically for St. Thomas More.  Shortly before God sent crazy William along , we'd read the novel A Man Born Again by John Edward Beahn (an excellent book we highly recommend) and, finding ourselves the parents of children numbering in the double digits, felt like St. Thomas was just the man we needed on our saintly speed dial.

The father of four children and the counselor and father figure to several others during his life, St. Thomas was the consummate family man, intimately involved in the lives of his children, highly interested in their education, their friendships, and their health, -- physically, mentally, and spiritually.  We're fortunate to have proof of his fatherly concern for his children in the letters he wrote them, and I've never found a better model than this father for saintly, every day parenting ; all through his correspondences -- clearly on  the surface and in between the lines of his practical advice on every day matters, St. Thomas shares his love of God, his love of his Faith, and the priority he holds them.

As most Catholics know the story goes, Thomas More backed up his words and advice to others with action.  He didn't just talk the talk; he was one of the few who get the chance to really walk the walk.  Many of us have played out the scenario in our minds...  Seriously what would we do if we do if we really had to choose between our Faith and the status quot?  What if we had to choose between our Faith and our lives?

  Thomas, a respected employee of the "government" of the king of England in the 16th century (he was named Lord Chancellor of England in 1529) was forced to make that choice -- and he was horrified that he had to.  He was not one to run to the embrace of the executioner.  He had a family he loved that he didn't want to leave and, hoping it might be possible to circumvent the the madness of King Henry's obsessions, he tried to find a loophole out of the whole business.  But it was not to be.  When required by King Henry VIII to sign allegiance to him over the pope, accepting Henry's newly formed Church of England, St. Thomas, against the pleadings of his loving family, refused -- and refused; and refused -- and ultimately lost his life rather than give up his Roman Catholic faith.  

And his family was left.  No father to protect them, to support them, to joke and advise and hug them on his return from the castle every evening. It was a sad earthly loss.   But, what an example!  And what a legacy of Thomas More's real love -- of God, of his Faith, and of his family.  There was never anything more important to St. Thomas than eternal salvation -- for himself and for his family.  Everything else was transitory; he taught his children so and sealed his belief with his blood.  His children did not get to live out the rest of their lives in earthly comfort and honor in King Henry VIII's England, but they had a father who was a saint.   You can't beat that.  You really can't.

Celebrating the Day

*  You can find the life story of St. Thomas -- in a nutshell -- here.
*   There are two versions of the life of St. Thomas on film, A Man for All Seasons, of course.  One stars Paul Scofield (1966), the other, Charlton Heston (1988).  (Though we can't help liking Charlton Heston, we prefer the Scofield version, ourselves...)
* It might be appropriate for the day to serve traditional English fare.  Here's a recipe for Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding and here's one for Cornish Pasties.  You can find lots of other ideas here.

Prayer of St. Thomas More

Give me the grace, Good Lord
To set the world at naught. To set the mind firmly on You and not to hang upon the words of men's mouths.
To be content to be solitary. Not to long for worldly pleasures. Little by little utterly to cast off the world and rid my mind of all its business.
Not to long to hear of earthly things, but that the hearing of worldly fancies may be displeasing to me.
Gladly to be thinking of God, piteously to call for His help. To lean into the comfort of God. Busily to labor to love Him.
To know my own vileness and wretchedness. To humble myself under the mighty hand of God. To bewail my sins and, for the purging of them, patiently to suffer adversity.
Gladly to bear my purgatory here. To be joyful in tribulations. To walk the narrow way that leads to life.
To have the last thing in remembrance. To have ever before my eyes my death that is ever at hand. To make death no stranger to me. To foresee and consider the everlasting fire of Hell. To pray for pardon before the judge comes.
To have continually in mind the passion that Christ suffered for me. For His benefits unceasingly to give Him thanks.
To buy the time again that I have lost. To abstain from vain conversations. To shun foolish mirth and gladness. To cut off unnecessary recreations.
Of worldly substance, friends, liberty, life and all, to set the loss at naught, for the winning of Christ.
To think my worst enemies my best friends, for the brethren of Joseph could never have done him so much good with their love and favor as they did him with their malice and hatred.
These minds are more to be desired of every man than all the treasures of all the princes and kings, Christian and heathen, were it gathered and laid together all in one heap.
Amen

(Written by St. Thomas when he was imprisoned in the Tower of London)




St.Thomas More wrote the following letter to his daughter Margaret with a charcoal stick. It was written from prison on July 5, 1535, the day before he was executed.

---

Our Lord bless you, good daughter, and your good husband, and your little boy, and all yours, and all my children, and all my god-children and all our friends. Recommend me when ye may to my good daughter Cecily, whom I beseech Our Lord to comfort; and I send her my blessing and to all her children, and pray her to pray for me. I send her a handkercher, and God comfort my good son, her husband. My good daughter Daunce hath the picture in parchment that you delivered me from my Lady Coniers, her name on the back. Show her that I heartily pray her that you may send it in my name to her again, for a token from me to pray for me.
I like special well Dorothy Colly. I pray you be good unto her. I would wot whether this be she that you wrote me of. If not, yet I pray you be good to the other as you may in her affliction, and to my good daughter Jane Aleyn too. Give her, I pray you, some kind answer, for she sued hitherto me this day to pray you be good to her.
I cumber you, good Margaret, much, but I would be sorry if it should be any longer than to-morrow, for it is St. Thomas's even, and the utas of St. Peter; and therefore, to-morrow long I to go to God. It were a day very meet and convenient for me.
I never liked your manner towards me better than when you kissed me last; for I love when daughterly love and dear charity hath no leisure to look to worldly courtesy. Farewell, my dear child, and pray for me, and I shall for you and all your friends, that we may merrily meet in heaven. I thank you for your great cost. I send now my good daughter Clement her algorism stone, and I send her and my godson and all hers God's blessing and mine. I pray you at time convenient recommend me to my good son John More. I liked well his natural fashion. Our Lord bless him and his good wife, my loving daughter, to whom I pray him to be good, as he hath great cause; and that, if the land of mine come to his hands, he break not my will concerning his sister Daunce. And the Lord bless Thomas and Austin, and all that they shall have.


St. Thomas More, help us, by your holy example and your prayers, to save our own souls and lead
 our children also to heaven!


*Repost from 2012

Baby, Baby!

The Family Meets the Newest Davis

Evelyn Elizabeth

(Kindly click the start arrow for the soundtrack to this post.)

Baby, baby, who's got the baby?

With Daddy (Paul)
H/T: Nina

Uncle Dominic and Aunt Theresa, Evie's Godparents!

Aunt Nina

Great Grandmom

Who will always have the magic touch...

Uncle Frater Philip, with the Blessed Mother looking on...
(Don't know what Frater is pursing his lips about...  May have been
watching soccer at about this time...)

Uncle Dominic again (Similar complexions, these two.  ;)

Now Aunt Cathy's got her.

Mommy (Nicole) and Miss June 

Uncle Frater Philip and Uncle Omar

Sweet for everyone, our Evie. But Mommy is home base.

*Going ahead and posting this one...  But, adding more Evie pictures as I find them.  Do please send me some more, family, if you've got them!

Soccer

This Guy

The one on the right in the blue plaid button-down.  This is my husband.  In his element.

You just gotta love this guy.  Two or three times the age of any other player on the field and he hasn't played soccer in -- not just years -- but decades!  Still, he held his own in the midst of them, on the ball constantly, contributing heartily, no incidents, accidents or writhing of any kind.  He didn't make any spectacular goals, either, but he more than justified playing among his sons and their friends. One of the players, a very athletic
young seminarian we know, sat down to visit with me on the sidelines while he rested out.  Shading his eyes as he watched the continuing game, he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye (a trademark look of this particular friend of ours) and smiled a big wide smile.  "It's amazing, Mrs. Davis," he said. "He's really pretty good!"

Haha! ' Yes, he is!' I had to smile back at him, and agree.  Not surprising to me, of course, my husband's athletic prowess -- but, yes, he is amazing.  He keeps the ball in play, attuned at all times to where all the other players are; he passes, blocks, and guards -- and allows the kids to make the goals that he has helped set up.  No drama, no grandstanding, no calling attention to himself, but aiming for the goal all the time, just the same -- and never shy about diving into the action. That's my husband.

 Just the kind of guy God would pick to be the father of ten children.  The Pele of parenthood.

(Thanks, God.  I don't deserve him -- but sure do need him.)


A chart of unfortunate parenting:

Heehee!  Not really.  I just thought it was funny.  Americans are pretty vocal about how they hate the writhing act, but our players are among the top ten worst!  I have to admit, though, not being a soccer fan myself, it's the dramatics of the players that interests me most: the agony of the supposedly-wounded, the unbridled ecstasy of the victorious, the suicidal displays of the defeated. It vies with American Idol for entertainment value.  But don't tell the boys that this is why I watch it (distractedly, while pinning on pintrest).  Check out the lengths they went to in order to watch the games (since we don't have cable):

Anyone else out there remember using wire coat hangers to assist the rabbit-ear antenna on top of the TV?  Or am I exhibiting my advanced age?  :)  But, with age comes wisdom, right?  Or at least weird tidbits of knowledge! Knowing this little trick brought the World Cup to our living room for all the grown-son soccer fans and their friends -- and it worked splendidly, though it only helped picked up the games broadcast on a Spanish station.  And if you sat on the metal glider outside the back door, it turned the feed to static... Loud groans from the soccer fans!  And the game resumed  to choruses of, "Get off the Glider!!"  (Snickersnicker!)  Memories are made of this.

 (And obsession is sometimes the mother of invention.)

 Click to find: World Cup of "Flopping" article if you missed it last week.

Keeping Cool

Last Weekend of June, 2014

Davis Family Reunion

26 people at the height of the party on Saturday

Check out the temperature!

(And this is after the thermometer had been inside cooling off for a couple minutes.)

What to do?

(Thank the good Lord we found a house to rent that had a swimming pool!)

Here are some snapshots of the day.

(With more to come later... fair warning.)

Dominic, Luau King

Omar, his accompanist

Paul, and Shock Top or Angry Orchard?
So cool in the pool

Michelle (Birthday Girl, turned 19 on Sunday!)
Kevin, behind her, the resident licensed bar tender
and fruit smoothie maker. He could fix the
air conditioner on his car would be rich if he got
paid for all the drinks he made last weekend!

L-R: Kevin, Michelle, Gavin, Paul -- chilling

Kevin -- or Elton John (one or the other)

L-R: Paul, Nicole, baby Evelyn, Kevin, Theresa, and Gavin on the side of the pool...
More chilling.

Kevin.  He's just silly, that's all.  And Dan's back. (Don't ask where he's been, ok?)

Usual suspects: Theresa, Dominic, William, Kevin, Gavin, Nicole, Paul...
Still chilling.

Nina, picturing the picture-taker

Kevin, Michelle, Gavin, Paul

The entertainment again

I don't know.  Paul looks just a little too comfortable here.  I'm just betting
this didn't last long.  Wish I got a picture of William breaking this up.

Uncle Dominic with Evie in her stunning bathing suit.

Gavin getting ready to "Canonball!)

Gavin right before squirting Nicole (his Mommy) with the squirt gun.  

As hot as the weekend was, I think everyone will remember the fun and games, the swimming and splashing, the food and the fruit drinks, the laughter and time together,  and not the triple digit temperatures. It was a time to never be forgotten.  It's so rare that we have everyone together any more!  Everyone -- and then some, as so many of our old friends happened by over the weekend, too.  It was amazing!  People just kept coming... and coming... and coming...  As out of the way as we are now, it boggles the mind how such a crowd still gathered.

Everyone (all the big kids, extended relations, and friends) has gone home now, though, except for Dominic (who's still here waiting to have his wisdom teeth pulled, poor fellow) -- and I miss everyone more than ever -- though (good grief, kids!) I'm still finding half-finished water bottles all over the house to remind me of all your smiling faces.

And I can't wait until we can figure out a way to do this again. Hopefully soon.  Maybe next time we'll have a house in the country instead of a pool to play in.  Praying on that.

But grateful, regardless, to understand more and more how home really is where the heart is -- and the heart is that link of love amongst the bunch of us not rooted in any mere place.  We've been so thrilled to come together where we can hug and tease and sing and play and pray together, but the bond of family is deeper/stronger/more important than time and space.  It's founded on God's Will for us to be a family and has been nurtured by our shared Faith, our common values, and the respect and regard we've learned to have for one another, child to parent, parent to child, sibling to sibling, and so on. Respect, regard, and tease, that is!  But on thing is certain: the never-endingness of it of our family bond -- in all its causes and manifestations...

  All real love comes from God -- is God -- and so it is eternal.  Our bond of family love is forever -- timeless and without boundary.  We may not all be physically together again for a time, but that's OK.  As long as we all make a corner of Christ's Heart our home, we are all really together.  Forever.  Please remember that, children.  It is the one thing.  Home is where His heart is.

Oh To Be Four Again!

* Reposted from 2009 (Holy Moley! Five years ago!)  Gabe is a big ole 9-year-old now, and though he's matured to be a little more sober and sedate, he's still the joy he was as a 4-year-old. Look at him, though. These pictures do make me smile!  And the contemplation at the end is one I'm still working on.  Praying for joy and trust!  What more can we ask for here on this earth?

*

To have no regrets about the past, no worries about what might lie ahead.
To live 100% in the moment.

To laugh and play,
to learn and teach,
to love and be loved,
to spread joy by your mere existence.
To understand and enjoy perfect trust and contentment.

Is this what the saints did? How do we get back to that? How can we actually become "as little children" again? Is there a way to keep our children "as little children" through their growing up years?

Just thought I'd throw the questions out there. These are the things I'm contemplating tonight. What do you think?

Happy Fathers' Day to the Guy Who...

(A family participation blog post...)

1) insists on barbecuing his own Fathers' Day meal because he has a bee in his bonnet about making "burnt tips" better than Famous Dave's...

2) has worked in LasVegas for a year and a half and still doesn't complain as much as his family who has lived here for six months.

3) always has time to beat up the boys before he goes to study, even after a long day of work!

4)  works hard trying to get us out of here.

5) always makes the best onion dip!

*  And, now, numbers 6-10  (or eleven or so...), your turn!  Add to the comments or on FB, if you like.  (But Dad'll see them here before he'll see them on FB most likely.)

**  And, oh yeah!  This photo is just screaming for a caption...

Happy Father's Day

To this guy:

 My Dad.  Look at him, so young and handsome here, pictured with his Dad and grandmother some time in the 1950s.  Little did he know then what the future held for him:  his conversion to the Catholic Faith,  his long career in the Navy, his marriage to my Mom at the age of 30 -- and then the seven children who followed.  The joys and sorrows, the long hours and short years.  I wonder what he would have thought if you'd told him back then that he'd d have seventeen grandchildren and two great grandchildren before Father's Day, 2014?


 He might not have said much...  just raised his eyebrows and bugged out his big cow brown eyes in that familiar way of his.  Unfortunately, because of the ravages of alzheimers, he can't tell us what he thinks nowadays. But we can guess.  His memories are ours now and his reactions have always been tried and true, solid, dependable.  He'd get mad over a light left on, but barely blink an eye at the sudden realization of all these grandchildren and great grandchildren.  It was always the big picture with my Dad.  Feeding us, keeping us safe and sheltered, saving our souls.  Those were his chief goals.

He can't tell us any of that now, though -- and he can't fuss at us for lights left on -- but it's all still there. He'll always be here on this earth in a particular way, living on in all of his seven children, seventeen grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren.  And their children, and their children's children.  His influence so honorable, so faithful and true, his loving care, his duty and his vigilance -- usually unspoken anyways -- lives on in us.  And, regardless of his diminished state right now, we still love him and honor him.  Always have, always will.

 Happy Fathers' Day, Dad.  You'll read this post in heaven; I know it. And I know just the silly face you'll make because it will embarrass you, my saying all this.  And I'm taking that as a thank-you right now. (Whether you like it or not.  I love ya, Dad.)

Trinity Sunday

When I was a wee kindergartener (over forty years ago!) our family belonged to Holy Trinity parish in Norfolk, Virginia.  It was an old established parish, one of the oldest in the city.  A walk to the beach and a short drive to the Navy base where my Dad was stationed, the air smelled of the sea and flower gardens and history. Stone walls and high hedges cloistered an old convent on the block-long grounds, a magnificent magnolia tree shaded the two-story K-8 school building -- and looking down on everything and everyone carved in bas relief high upon the facade of the church was an enormous crucified Christ.

 In my kindergartener's perspective the stone-carved crucifix was as-big-as-God-must-really-be. It hung over the main doors of the church, dominating the architecture of the entire block.  From my classroom on the first floor across the street, I had to crane my neck clear heavenward to see up into His face.  He looked down and I looked up, and, though the eyes on the crucifix were hard stone, the reality of Him somewhere-up-there was as real as the guardian angel sitting on my shoulder.  And the real  Face I saw was kind and gentle and soft to touch.

 Later on, when I was an eighth grader looking out the second-story windows, Christ's arms were eye-level, outstretched, and welcoming. I couldn't quite catch His eye any more because He looked downward.  But I knew He was thinking of me; He often startled me into remembering Him when my mind and eyes wandered out the window during class time.   Caught again!  I could imagine in my mind's eye the twinkle in His eye as he nudged my attention back to my work with a tilt of His head. And I'd glance over at the flowers on the magnolia tree peeking into the side windows, take a drought of the heady fragrance coming in the open windows and tell Him, "Alright, alright..."  and turn back to square roots -- knowing He was still watching -- and I really had no choice. 

No getting around it.  There was the Son, together with the Father, the Holy Ghost -- the Holy Trinity, the patrons of our school --  all around us like the scent of the magnolias, like the big old tree itself, planted and taking root under us and in us, shading us, looking over us like the giant crucified Christ. It didn't matter where I was, I couldn't hide from Him.   The Holy Trinity, the real Being of God, present in my little baby soul at Baptism, had taken a deep breath and filled my lungs within the walls of my kindergarten classroom at Holy Trinity school.  A half century of dear teaching Sisters fanned the very air with that breath of God, and it swirled through the hallways and out the doors to the rose gardens behind the convent walls, curling through the walls of the convent and the rectory, out even to the seesaws on the playground and back to its beginning, under the giant crucifix, through the doors of the church, and into the door of the tabernacle...

  Where I still find Him today, under the much smaller crucifix at our little parish church.  Like the magnolia, the Blessed Trinity waits there, as always, to fill the corners of my soul and my life and all I have to do is take a deep breath and fill my lungs.

OFFERING TO THE HOLY TRINITY

MOST Holy and Adorable Trinity, One God in Three Persons, I praise Thee
and give Thee thanks for all the favors Thou has bestowed upon me. Thy
goodness has preserved me until now, I offer Thee my whole being and
in particular, all my thoughts, words, and deeds, together with all the trials I may
undergo this day. Give them Thy blessing. May Thy divine Love animate them
and may they serve Thy greater glory.

I make this morning offering in union with the Divine intentions of Jesus Christ
Who offers himself daily in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, and in union with
Mary, His Virgin Mother and our Mother, who was always the faithful handmaid
of the Lord.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost. Amen.




A Blessed Feast of the Holy Trinity to Everyone!

*Repost from 2011