Rosemary of the Wood

I turn 33 years old on the Feast of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. The Holy Spirit whispers to write a blog. A blown tire on the interstate, a billboard of the Sacred Heart, five children, and the beach glory of God.

We drove home from the beach all day yesterday and arrived at 2:45 a.m. I awake to a persistent knock on the door. My brother is outside trying to rehabilitate the sick goat. By evening, Lulabelle is gone.

I start the day with a morning offering. By afternoon the children have dumped the entire bag of diatomaceous earth and rolled in it, looking like Marie Antoinette's court.

Slow morning, drinking coffee and talking about needing to build a house with spaces and walls. Then I see a heart in the rug that I have never seen before. God shows me hearts all the time, reminding me that He loves me.

Lazy morning, nursing Janie-Rosemarie under the fuzzy blanket. The farm eggs are a game of suspense. One egg feels rather light and hollow. When I crack it, it sounds like a gunshot and out runs green liquid. The children yell, Who tooted?!

Husband arrives at 3 a.m. from his road gig. Father's Day errands feeling so womanly walking through the stores holding the baby. Then blueberry picking at sunset. Just think, God made these berries. Yep, Jesus is King! Gabriel says, matter-of-factly.

I awake feeling sick but get up to make bacon and muffins and coffee. Husband says: You feed the baby with your body. That is so beautiful. We go to Mass, then to the in-laws for barbecue and pecan pie.

I awake very sick. I lay in bed, pray my rosaries, and listen to He Leadeth Me — the story of a priest kept in solitary confinement in Russia. We have only to say, Be it done unto me according to Thy word.

I awake soon after midnight to the sound of throwing up. Sophie is sick beside me. I praise God for paper towels as I clean the sheets. Then as the house finally quiets, I start coughing. By morning, miraculously, I feel so much better.

I wake at 6:30 to a violent coughing fit. I heat up leftover coffee and sit to pray Lauds. The Lord reigneth: He is clothed with beauty. The baby falls asleep as I nurse her and I love that I satisfy her deepest needs.

I prayed to my guardian angel that if God wanted me to go to Mass He would wake me up in time. I awoke at 7:15. We make it — barely — navigating lost shoes, a narthex meltdown, and a priest who says Sophie is solidifying his vocation.

I awake to Husband being gone. I carry buckets from the pool to the garden in the blazing heat. At the car wash, right by the trash can, I see a pink heart lying on the sidewalk. God always finds me.

I awake with one purpose: clean the house. We pray the Seven Sorrows rosary as we clean, all day long. Then Vovo and I work through the hymns for evening Mass. When I play harp specifically, I feel His pleasure.

I wake up early, the sun already streaming in at 5:45 a.m. I open the Bible to Do not let your hearts be troubled. Husband is coming home. He arrives about 8:30 and the joy is beautiful. He truly is my covering, my shelter.

It is the Nativity of St. John the Baptist. I sneak out very early with Giovanna so she can be blessed on her feast day. The children's babysitter offers to hold the baby post-Mass so I can go pray. I just sit and soak in the Presence.

We arrive after the Sacrifice has begun so we refrain from receiving. The deacon carries Jesus to the chapel. I step in with the baby and see a great vase of sunflowers in front of the monstrance, below the Heart of Jesus. A silent Yes.

Husband decides to bush hog around the new animal enclosure. As I wait by the gate I soak in the hot summer morning. Mama, can you marry Jesus? Mary asks. He is very handsome, replies Mary-Anastasia, wisely.

I wake up early and sit on the porch in a misty sunrise. I almost flip the Bible pages but hear a little voice say, It is open for you. I read the page already open: the House of Joseph asking Joshua where to build.

I awake early after a sleepless night. We load up and head to the Mary garden at church. I sit and pray two rosaries while the girls play. Sophie uses the potty for the first time. It is one of my rosary intentions.

Husband is in bed with COVID. I make coffee, get the children fed and dressed for church, and head out the door. Only to find I have no keys.

I sneak out early to Adoration and Mass, just me and the baby. After Mass I sit for a long time, really listening. How loving the Presence is. I feel His strength and such great warmth. I just want to stay with Him forever.

A new month and I awake to incense. We go to Mass together as a family. Then to Goodwill — a paisley armchair that perfectly matches our rug, only $14. And for the price of one bike at Walmart, we come home with three.

Husband works all morning settling last farm odds and ends before he has to leave for the road. We have a wonderful Bible time and rosary as a family and then he has to leave. He will be gone for almost six days.

I awake at 7:15 to the sobering thought that I must go milk the goat. The children have a sick day. I work all day, organizing, cleaning, cooking, doing laundry. I am ecstatically happy when the house is clean and organized.

A rather fitful sleep. I run out to milk the goat before the rain. I launch into prep for the children's summer music camp. Things are very chaotic. Then Elsie announces that Sophie has a mountain of poop in her panties.