Molly Sabourin

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If this old house could talk…

Posted by on Sep 29, 2010 in Reflections | 9 comments

House 3
 

 

I know this may sound bizarre, but sometimes I am quite convinced this ancient house we Sabourins dwell in has a soul. I think of her not as a place but as an extension of our family, one I bicker with when she springs random leaks or when her plaster cracks and crumbles – when she invites the cold to pour in through the numerous gaps in her (peeling) wood siding, and single pane windows. I have found that when I gingerly tend to her, however, with a soapy mop, a swiffer feather duster – when I care for her by keeping her tidy, and by adorning her with cut flowers and framed photos of those most precious to me, she responds, she stands a little taller, a little prouder,  like how Charlie Brown's humble Christmas tree bloomed miraculously with beauty and gracefulness upon feeling truly appreciated.  

This morning, I awoke to Troy's arms around me and Mary, on the other side of the bed, snuggled up beside me, snoring; Priscilla was laying at our feet under the heavy down comforter which kept us toasty and me hitting the snooze button not once, not twice, but three times before finally emerging from our oasis of rest and comfort. My old house creaked and moaned right along with me as I ventured down her stairs to make the coffee.  Sunlight greeted us in the kitchen and the reality that life consists mostly of plain old hard work peppered here and there with sweet moments of giddiness,  relaxation and laughter, jolted me awake and right back to the grind that is managing a household  as I began preparing breakfast, gathering laundry, spewing reminders about teeth brushing, bed making, putting homework in backpacks.

"Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you have was once among the things you only hoped for," wrote the Greek philosopher, Epicurus. I dreamed, when I was teenager, of  someday finding a good man to share my days on this earth with, of having children with him, of inhabiting a house containing priceless memories of our long life together and enduring love. Ya'll, I'm livin' the dream! I cannot forget that! I should never forget that! And this house, as crazy imperfect as it is, is our shelter from the storms. My job as a mother is to keep it a sanctuary of peace, a place for my family to refuel before heading out into the hecticness and ruthlessness of this world. We are partners, the house and I, laboring as a team to forever bless my beloveds with a courage inducing, faith inspiring, sense of security.  Today I dedicate the following poem to her, and vow to really try to grumble less about the inconsequentials, especially in light of my family's health,"wealth" (our physical needs are being more than met) and limitless devotion to one another.

Here's to you, my fine, three-story, Victorian friend! 

 

What My House Would Be Like If It Were A Person

 

by Denise Levertov

 

This person would be an animal.
This animal would be large, at least as large
as a workhorse. It would chew cud, like cows,
having several stomachs.
No one could follow it
into the dense brush to witness
its mating habits. Hidden by fur,
its sex would be hard to determine.
Definitely it would discourage
investigation. But it would be, if not teased,
a kind, amiable animal,
confiding as a chickadee. Its intelligence
would be of a high order,
neither human nor animal, elvish.
And it would purr, though of course,
it being a house, you would sit in its lap,
not it in yours.
 
For more poetry, click HERE!
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Time for something sweet

Posted by on Sep 28, 2010 in Reflections | 5 comments

Cookies one


 


 


 


Cookie two


 


 


 


Cookie three

 


 


 


Cookie four


 


 


 


 


Cookie five


 


 


 


 


Cookies six
  


 


 


 


 


Cookies seven


 


 



 


Cookie eight


 


 


 


 


Cookie nine 


 


 


 


 


Cookie ten


 


Beg your five-year-old to whip you up some of these this afternoon:


 


Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies


Ingredients:

  • 1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened
  • 1/2 cup chunky or smooth peanut butter
  • 1/2 cup granulated sugar
  • 1/2 cup brown sugar, firmly packed
  • 1 egg
  • 1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 1 cup semisweet chocolate chips

Preparation:


Preheat oven to 375°.


Cream the butter, peanut butter and sugars until light. Add the egg and mix until fluffy.

Blend the flour, baking powder, soda and salt together well. Add these dry ingredients to the butter mixture. Add the chocolate chips.

Drop cookie dough by teaspoonfuls onto lightly greased baking sheets. Bake for 10-12 minutes at 375°.





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weekend in review

Posted by on Sep 27, 2010 in Reflections | 15 comments

Troy and mary

 

 

Troy and priscilla  
 

 Everything about this past weekend was deliciously Autumn. It's officially sweater weather out here:  cool, dry, dying leaf scented. Troy and my brother, Bobby, took our girls and my neices, Jane and Isabelle, to a father/daughter campout. Isn't that the sweetest? I heard  some serious four-wheeling took place followed  by smores and a bonfire. Elijah, Benji  and I, meanwhile…

 

Mom and boys 2

 

Mom and boys
stayed at my parents' house just for fun where we had our brand new niece, little Ann, all to ourselves!

 

Ben and ann

 

Annie

 

Ben and annie 2

 

 I also played Wii bowling for the first time ever and got totally and completely schooled by my boys…and my own mother.  Wii tennis? Forget about it.

We ate chili (or inhaled it, rather) – my FAVORITE:

Chili
 

and apple pie:

 

Apple pie
  

Then on Sunday, after Liturgy, I welcomed home my dirty, scruffy husband and daughters and  we all headed back to my parents' to celebrate Janie's 4th Birthday:

Jane b=day
 

Jane b-day 2

It's too bad her birthday candle was so small and dinky ; ) 

Finally, we headed home to get ready for a brand new school/ work week where we were greeted by this guy:

Spider

 After assuring Benjamin he was not a tarantula, we headed inside. The kids got showers, I started some laundry, made lunches for Monday, and then walked upstairs to find this tender moment taking place:

Hairdresser troy

which made me fall head over heels in love with my husband all over again. 

We brought out our down comforter and I crashed into bed at 9:30 pm. I woke up refreshed for a change (I've had some insomnia issues lately) and therefore much more prepared to absorb the unexpected, such as a phone call from the school nurse saying my son had accidently stapled his thumbs together. He's fine now, thank goodness and I'm fine -I didn't break out into hives or anything.  

I hope you all are pacing yourselves as well this morning, and praying along with me that God might, "teach us to treat all that comes to us throughout the day with peace of soul and the firm conviction that His will governs all." 

 

Peace to you!

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Home is where I want to be

Posted by on Sep 23, 2010 in Reflections | 8 comments

Home 1

 

 

 

Home 8

   

 

 

Home 6

 

 

 

Home 3

 

 

 

 

Home 5

 

 

 

Home 2

 

 

 

Home 11
 

 

 

 

Home 9

Maybe it’s because the house smells like crock pot chicken, or because I finally sorted through the kids’ clothes and de-cluttered their dresser drawers, that I am feeling especially thankful. There was awhile there when I seriously wondered if, by having four children, I’d bitten off way more than I could chew. The sleeplessness, the chaos, the laundry was going to completely do me in, I was sure of it. We’re always going, going, going, us mothers, putting out fires, cleaning up spills, crying behind locked bathroom doors. Every once in awhile, however, we are gifted with a moment of silence to reflect on how far we’ve come since those first shocking days when it began to sink in that this whole parenting gig was going to be demanding with a capital “D.”  Sometimes, we remember to lift our gaze up from off of the craziness and focus in for a minute on all that is good – so very, very good about our lives.  

 

Presently, my heart is swollen with an awareness of the extraordinary love pulsating with zest and vigor between these walls. It hasn’t always been pretty, and certainly not easy, but I believe we’ve made some great  strides as a family these last eleven years. There is nowhere else on earth I’d rather be, honest and true, than holed up here in Indiana with these five characters God deemed best to shape and challenge me, delight me, keep me always on my toes. We’re a quirky bunch, alright - just perfect for each other. It’s an amazing honor, if you stop and really think about it, to be a mom, or a dad – to be so needed. Oh yes, I remember now:  I am the queen of this here castle.

Lucky me.

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it’s your limbs He’s come to fill

Posted by on Sep 22, 2010 in Reflections | 3 comments

Cross

 

Descending Theology: The Resurrection

by Mary Karr

 

From the far star points of his pinned extremities,
cold inched in—black ice and squid ink—
till the hung flesh was empty.
Lonely in that void even for pain,
he missed his splintered feet,
the human stare buried in his face.
He ached for two hands made of meat
he could reach to the end of.
In the corpse’s core, the stone fist
of his heart began to bang
on the stiff chest’s door, and breath spilled
back into that battered shape. Now

 

it’s your limbs he comes to fill, as warm water
shatters at birth, rivering every way.

 

My 6th grader, Elijah, asked me yesterday what my favorite oxymoron is. "Tell me yours first I said," because I was only 90% sure I knew what that term meant (yes, I've gone ahead and accepted the fact our eleven and a half year old is smarter than me).   "The living dead," he answered.

"It's a good one," I had to admit. Not only because that particular  figure of speech follows to a tee the guideline of being "seemingly self-contradictory" but also because, when unlinked from its traditional "Zombie" association, that phrase conjures up in me wonder -  an awe of Mystery -at the "seemingly self-contradictory" elements of the Christian faith.

You see, I am in the process of dying, not to make sense of it all but TO LIVE.

"For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it." Matthew 16:25

Isn't it just so crazy to believe in the Resurrection, salvation, eternal life? Isn't Love itself ridiculous what with all that illogical sacrificing, forgiving, turning the other cheek? 

Yes.

But in the words of Sarah Miles, one of the main characters in my favorite novel, The End of the Affair by Graham Greene:

 I’ve caught belief like a disease. I’ve fallen into belief like I fell in love.

It is certainly not my aim to prove anything to anyone - to pretend to know what none of us could ever know:  how the unfathomable mercy of God works (Mercy bigger than the stupidity of those on earth who attempt to put borders around it, who claim to  understand it). I'm just a frail soul all bound up in what I've come to embrace wholeheartedly (Foolishly? Perhaps. I Cor. 1: 27) as the entire Truth, the only Truth, the fullness of  Truth. "Why am I so repetitive with all this "Orthodoxy," "Resurrection,"  and "Christ" talk,  you ask?  Because, my friends, if I remained silent then the rocks would cry out (Luke 19:40).  I write and write and write about my faith, because my faith is all that matters.

Find more poetry HERE.

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