What to expect when you become a Deacon's Wife

Since I am a Deacon’s wife I have been asked to write something occasionally about my “Life as a Deacon’s” other half. I guess the reason I don’t write about it more often is because it is not something that I think about very much. It simply is a fact, one that I would not change. I am going to try and address a few of the most common questions that I am asked – most questions come from wives of men in formation. Here is the test – if anyone out there is reading this that has a question feel free to send it to me either by email are by way of a comment and I will answer it to the best of my ability.
1. My husband is going to be an ordained deacon will I be Rev. Ms. Smith?
The short answer is NO. It depends on your diocese but in Atlanta wives are encouraged to attend classes with their husbands. It will educate you not only to what will be expected of your husband after ordination but you will learn more about what the Church teaches. If at all possible I urge you to attend when possible – education is always a good thing! The church is paying lots of money for your husband’s education and you have a chance to get it free.
2. What will be expected of me from the church after he is ordained?
Short answer NOTHING. This is not your “vocation” it is your husbands. All the Church asks is that you support your husband. Truth is the Church will appreciate you being as involved as possible. You and your husband may be involved in some of the same ministries and you may find your own nitch. Remember that you represent your husband and the Church at all times.
As a Deacon’s wife you will be privy to some information that is not intended for the general population – as good as you might feel the gossip is don’t share! Support comes in all forms and proper behavior and trust are just a couple.
3. We do “EVERYTHING” together. I am afraid that after he is ordained he will not have any time for me.
Short answer Maybe Not! This is the question that is always first and foremost in wives of “soon to be Deacons”. It is also the hardest question to answer because the answer depends on your husband’s ability to say “No”. Your husband has accepted the call to become a Deacon because he has a deep desire to serve God’s people. In accepting a position as a Deacon your husband has accepted a position of “service”. In most parishes he will be used to serve to the point of physical, mental and spiritual exhaustion if he does not learn to say no. While it is your job to support your husband in his service it is also your job to remind him if necessary that he just might be burning the ole candle at both ends. We have a group of Deacon friends and we try and get together every few of months(the Deacon’s in formation in our area are also invited) and as it always happens the men end up in one room and the wives in another and “family time management” is always a topic of discussion. Some men have been Deacon’s for years and still struggle with “family time management”. Others learned early on that their first commitment is to their family – these wives are the ones with the big smiles on their face!

I could write in length about this topic – and I will if you want me to – but the bottom line is: Our husbands walk a very tedious and demanding tight rope. Most have full time “money” jobs – strange how many parishioners think that just because they become “Deacons” that they only work for the Church – that require more than 40 hours a week. They have families that depend on them to be their “Sheppard”. Then there is the Church “flock” that they are to serve. One wrong step in either direction can cause their house of cards to crash. Not enough emphasis placed on their “money” job can place their employment in jeopardy, too much time spent with their “Church family” can place their own family in danger.

The one thing I know for certain is that your husband will not be able to succeed in any of these areas without your love, support and prayers.

What do I do as a Deacon’s wife you might ask? Well, last night at mass I was the sacristan, alter server and choir director. The week before I was the janitor, the people that clean did not show up. I try to wear what ever “hat” needed so that Mass is all my husband and Father have to worry about. My love is teaching OCIA, which I have been doing for 10 years. I go with Tom as often as possible (and when needed) to make home or hospital visits, home blessings and Adult education classes that he teaches.

I have no idea if this ramble will help anyone or even if there is a need for such a post. If I can be of any help to anyone all you have to do is drop me a line. I will continue to post questions if you ask them. If not I will be forced to go back to talking about my childhood!

Finding Home -

Within each and every one of us, there lies a place called “Home”. It may look and feel different at various points in our lives. There are times, perhaps long ones, in which Home seems to be absent. Did it move away and forget to tell us, or did we wander off from it? It is there none the less and if we are not presently aware of living in it, we are necessarily engaged in the search for it. Home is that place where we feel the greatest inner warmth, where we can go to be ourselves, and it is where we must go if we are to fulfill our purpose in the world.
Home is an inner place, not an outer one. It is important for us to know that, and to know it for sure. Numerous people and influences in our lives will merrily assure us that Home is somewhere on the outside. People spend lifetimes, fortunes and much, much energy trying to find it or create it outside of themselves. But until Home is found on the inside, all our best efforts to build it on the outside eventually come to naught.
Contrary to appearances and to common belief, Home is not something that can be lost. Certainly, there are times in life when we feel rootless, Homeless, sitting among the ruins of shattered lives and broken dreams. In those times, everything in our experience tells us that all is lost, that we are lost. The truth goes otherwise. No matter how discombobulated our lives seem to be, there is still that inward place to which we may turn for solace.
The illusion that we have nowhere to turn, that we might lose our Home, is the basis of fear. When someone or something threatens to take away our security, our life, our domicile, our means of support, or people that we love, we become afraid and often panic. The basis of that fear is our belief that our very roots can be taken away. Our enemies will have us believe that they have the ability to destroy us. All their power over us lies in their assuring us of the truth of that belief. No matter how sever, or sudden or unforeseen something is it cannot destroy the foundations of Home.
Home is where we know we were always meant to be. It is an inner experience of belonging, but belonging not to something outside of ourselves, but rather of belonging within ourselves.
Because Home has only to do with having a certain job, or a certain amount of money or a certain type of friends or furniture, good luck or even an unblemished moral record. Being Home has only to do with being Home. The door is always open!
Father Paul Keenan – Beyond the Blue Snow

When we have no words of our own – sometimes we can find comfort in the words of others.

I don't want to be alone when I die!

I don’t want to be alone when I die. That thought hit me very hard this morning. I would say I don’t know why but I do. It is that whole birthday thing for one and the fact that Billy will be leaving Saturday. Why would this cause me to contemplate my death you ask? Well, the birthday thing should be self explanatory – I ain’t getting any younger. I have already lived more years than I have left to live. Something tells me I want make it to 120! Billy leaving is for some reason is making me feel abandoned. I use “abandoned” because I cannot find the right word. No, Billy will not stop being my son, but he will not be able to be my “go to person”. I have always tried hard not to “intrude” in Billy’s life – well not since he got married – before that he was fair game. I know from experience that having your own “life” – work and family – is hard enough without having a Mother that has to give you her opinion on everything you do. So, I have tried hard to let Billy and Mont live their life BUT I always knew that Billy was only a phone call away if I needed help with anything from moving furniture to answering a computer problem question or just talking to me about how much we both miss my Dad. But what I counted on him and Mont for most was something I have never had to ask them to do. I always knew that if something ever happened to Tom they would be there to help me hold it together. No, I don’t think anything bad is going to happen to Tom – but we both spend a lot of time on the expressway. The last thing I say to Tom every morning is “Drive careful”. So, this thought is on my mind. I guess you could say I have always counted on them to be my “back up”.
I know that I kid and say I don’t care if Mont and Billy leave as long as they leave Hunter but this statement is far from the truth. First of all there is no way I could keep up with kid for more than a couple of days. And since I am not real good at making him toe the line he would be as mean as a stripped leg snake in a few weeks – when people would see us coming they would lock the doors because “here comes that bad kid”.
I am very proud of Billy; he has accomplished something very few people do. Billy set a goal for himself and his family and he worked hard to achieve it. I know that Billy accepting a position with the FBI will be a great adventure for him, Mont and Hunter. It will make their future brighter! I am excited and happy for them and if they were not “my” kids I would be ecstatic!
Oh, I know there are phones and planes and we have a new car, heck I have a computer with a camera on it! So, we will be in touch. And I am sure when Billy gets through the academy he will have time to answer a few of my calls. Mont and Hunter will come home to visit often and the 3 years that they are gone will pass quickly. I know that Tom and I will be fine and don’t need a back plan – we got each other. If I get really bad off and need a kid fix Julie will let me barrow Calla. These are all thing that my rational mind knows ------
Right now my rational mind is in my back pocket and my heart is in the driver’s seat --------
So, forgive me this weekend if I sit and contemplate death and cry from time to time. Because on Friday I will be a year older and Saturday the most precious gift God has ever given me – my son – will leave the nest.

You can't be stupid all your life - or can you?

As you know we live on the outskirts of Atlanta so you cannot turn on the TV or radio without hearing about Michael Vick. I try and avoid this discussion at all cost but I have decided to go on record or blog I guess I should say.

HOW STUPID CAN YOU BE? I do not even know where to start! How could someone with such a bright future ahead of them do something so stupid? Setting aside for a moment (I will get to it later) the horrific inhuman acts that he was involved in. Why would Vic not want to do everything within his power to live up to the “reputation” that had been created for him? Vic’s reputation was created by the Falcon’s Organization, Nike, Rebook and numerous other companies that signed him to advance their products. Vic was and is a good athlete, I do not disagree. BUT these companies turned a virtually unknown college football player into the quarterback that every kid wants to be.

Every kid in Atlanta wanted a pair of Vic Nick’s. Vic had made it! And so could they. I feel sorry that yet another “role model” has toppled from the pedestal these kids placed him on.

Now, to how I feel about his involvement in the “sport” of dog fighting. HOW STUPIED CAN YOU BE!

While using animal fights for entertainment has been around since Biblical times, heck they feed Christians to the lions, it did not then and does not now make it acceptable. Yes, I realize that animals do not have souls and I have no problem making the distinction between humans and animals. I still feel a responsibility to take care of God’s smaller creatures. I have 3 dogs –Max has ADD, Honey is a paranoid skio and Toby has no idea he is a dog. I cannot imagine how anyone could derive pleasure from watching any animal kill another one. As I have mentioned many times I was raised in the country on a farm and my Dad taught me a healthy respect for animals. Yes, some were raised specifically for food but they were always well taken care of. Dad believed that if you had an animal it was your responsibility to take care of it.

Guess I need to tell you a funny story about the farm. There were no vet’s down at the mall to take care of your animals, unless you had a sick cow or horse. Then you could give the vet a call and they would come out. Other than that the role of vet fell to the farmer. My Dad was pretty dang good! He could give our animals all the shots they needed and sew them up when need be. Well, one of the horses got caught in the bob wire fence and cut his forehead pretty badly. Dad got the necessary items to stitch the horse up – needle, fishing line and a large shot of Novocain. It was Charles’s (one of the cousins I refer to as my brother) job to hold the horse’s head still. Charles wrapped his arms around the horses head and set his feet to brace himself. Dad took aim and drove the shot of Novocain home – problem was the horse jerked his head up and Dad hit Charles in the side of the face with the needle. In the excitement Dad delivered almost a full does of Novocain into Charles face. Charles dropped to the ground, rolling around holding his face and swearing like a sailor (this is who I learned to cuss and spit from, and he was good at both). Charles was sure that Dad had numbed his brain and he would die at any moment. Charles was not the best of guys so I am sure he was thinking he needed a bit more time to make amends! My Aunt found lipstick on Charles socks once and when she questioned him about it he told her he had been to a “foot washing”. At last it was not Charles time to meet his maker and in a couple of hours he was fine.

I am glad that Vic has got “jail house religion” before he has served any time. The Lord is the only one that can truly know Vic’s heart and pass judgment on him. I am glad I was not placed on earth to judge anyone because I am afraid I would judge Vic very harshly. I do not understand people that visit harm on animals or humans.

You cannot be stupid all your life but Vic is off to a good start!

Mother Teresa is not a Saint .......

The talk today has been all about the book that is coming out which consist of letters Mother Teresa wrote to friends and spiritual directors. In these letters Mother T talks about what she called her “crisis” of faith or her “dark nights of the soul”. Apparently it comes as a surprise to some that Mother T questioned her beliefs and even the existence of God.

These are a couple of the most quoted lines I heard today.
"If there be no God - there can be no soul - if there is no Soul then Jesus - You also are not true."
At times she also found it hard to pray.
"I utter words of community prayers - and try my utmost to get out of every word the sweetness it has to give - but my prayer of union is not there any longer - I no longer pray."

One person even suggested that she be removed from the beatification list for sainthood. Well, guess we will have to take the keys of heaven away from Saint Peter. Saint Peter walked with Jesus and still had doubts – there was that whole denying Jesus three times, and the time Peter stepped out of the boat to walk to Jesus. How about Saint Thomas, guess his Sainthood will have to be called into question also – he was with Jesus and had to place his hand in the nail holes before he would believe that Jesus had risen. Throughout the Bible and the life of the Saints there are examples of their “crisis of faith”.

I wrote just the other night about my “desert” periods and my inability to pray. Why does the fact that Mother Teresa struggled come as a surprise to anyone? If you have ever read any of her books or books about her or had the experience of hearing her speak you would know that this was something she talked about often.

I live in a wonderful home surrender by things and people I love and still I have “desert” times. Mother Teresa was with the poorest of the poor, she saw dying every day – several times a day. How could she not be filled with doubt at times? How many of us have lost a child or family member too soon and looked up and said “GOD WHERE ARE YOU”?

I complain about not being “feed” from time to time and this is no one’s fault but my own. I have family, friends and a parish family that I can turn to for nourishment – Where did Mother T go to be “feed”? Who was there to prop her up when she had to pray over a dying child? Who did she turn to when she needed to let it all out? She had no one – because she was the one that everyone else turned to. How very draining spiritually, mentally and physical that had to be for a small little woman that did nothing great only “small things with great love”.

Does doubt make our faith any less? In my opinion NO. Sometimes, I think the stronger our spiritually is the more “crisis” we seem to face. When you walk close to the Lord, when you talk to Him and feel His presence daily and then you lose that closeness for whatever the reason, for even a few hours there is a “crisis” of faith. Sometimes it last for a few day or weeks or months or even years.

I cannot speak for Mother Teresa I can only trust that in her final journey home that Our Blessed Mother took her by the hand and lead her to her mansion in heaven. And I hope Mother Theresa is one of the first people I see when I trade my baseball cap for a crown.

When is a lie not a lie?????

Well, it is thundering and that means I am sitting in my chair with 3 – count them 3 dogs in the chair with me. Then how am I typing you ask, they are all use to me laying the laptop on top of them. Given the choice of having to stay in the floor 2 feet away from me or laying under the laptop they will choose the laptop every time. You are now shaking your head asking why I put up with this. Animals have always been a part of my life. When I was growing up I turned everything on the farm into a pet given half the chance. Once while I was out hunting big game in the woods around the farm in Alabama I spied a little baby fox. I have no idea how old he was but I decided he would follow me home. A couple of hours later and a piece of rope around his neck we arrived home – I swear he followed me! I named him Shipper. Dad felt he was a cross between a wild dog and a fox. Made no difference to me what he was I just needed a dog. At that point I was down a couple of dogs – only had 7 dogs and 21 cats. So, Skipper became my new best buddy. He was the smartest dog I had ever seen. Skipper could learn tricks must faster than Penny (one of my beagles). We spent many hours together hunting big game and swimming in the creek. He was allowed to sleep with me, which was a real treat. I had always had pets but none of them were allowed to sleep with me until Skipper followed me home.
Skipper had one bad habit – now remember I grew up in the COUNTRY – he would run in front of the fox hunter’s dogs. Every week on Thursday night the men would get together and have a fox hunt. My Dad did not hunt – thank goodness! Skipper would go and get the dogs to chase him and then run home, scratch on the back door and I would let him in. I had no idea what he had been up to. One morning Skipper did show up. I called his name for hours. Dad suggested that he had gone to visit his old friends for a few days. At the end of two weeks it was pretty clear that he was not coming back. Dad said he felt pretty sure he had gone back to join his fox family. As broken hearted as I was I could accept the fact that Skipper needed to be with his family just like I needed to be with mine.
Many years later I happen to walk up behind Dad, he was talking to some of his friends. Dad did not know that I was there. He was telling the guys about Skipper. It seems that the fox hunters got tired of Skipper messing up their hunts. They figured out where he crossed the road every night and one of the hunters sat and waited on him. Dad found his body the next morning when he went down the mountain to town. I walked away and did not let Dad know I had heard his conversation. I was broken hearted; it had been several years since Skipper went to join his family. Enough time had passed that the edge had worn off the grief. Now I needed to process the new information. Why had Dad not told me the truth? He lied to me. There was one thing you learned early on with Dad – you did not lie to him and he did not lie to you. Dad would not even teach me that there was a Santa Clause because he knew someday I would find out it was a lie. Now, my granddad – his dad – would lead a cow around the house every Christmas Eve and tell us it was the reindeer. So, I did believe in Santa, Dad just never helped predicate his existence. So, here I was – lost my dog and Dad had told me a lie.
Somewhere in the wisdom of my 12 year old mind I reasoned out that Dad did not really lie to me. Well, he did but not a bad lie. Really, just a story to save a little girl from the truth. Dad tried for many years to protect me from the lies of the world. I lived in a fairy tale world created by all those around me. I was the youngest of the cousins living on the mountain so I was treated like a little princess. The lies of the real world would have to be faced soon enough.
I would not take anything for my childhood in the country. I only wish kids now days had the chance to live where there are no tiny backyards with fence that you cannot venture out of. A place where you knew everybody and you were somebody. A place where you could have 7 dogs and 21 cats and nobody cared. (We had a big barn and crib so there were plenty of mice to eat) A place where the morning smelled like honeysuckles and the night was filled with fire flies.
Yes, I am talking about the “good ole days” and for me they truly were good.
I did not tell Dad that I overheard his conversation until I was 16. He knew and I knew it was O.K. and I appreciated what he did for me.
When is a lie not a lie – when someone you love loves you enough to make the story have a happy ending.
May all your stories have happy endings and may God send you honeysuckle scented mornings.