We live in a 1906 craftsman-style home within walking distance of work, the library, the farmers market and our thriving downtown. The neighbors on our block are awesome; we even have block parties. Our house has four bedrooms and beautiful wood trim and features throughout. The space is laid out well and lives bigger than its 1,700 square feet of living space. I can clean it top to bottom in a few hours on Saturday morning.

Sounds great, right?

But our house has its old house problems: chipped and peeling 1970s kitchen cupboards, a dilapidated downstairs bathroom, a non-functional garage, ugly fir trees that drop pitch and needles all over our car, the fence, the basement . . .

Did I mention we got a great deal on this house?

We bought this fixer-upper house at the bottom of the market and have already had some work done on it. The market here is hot and we'd make a pretty penny if we sold the house. We might even be able to buy a better house, one with less needed repairs and a bit more space for spreading out (and maybe an office!).

Maybe we could get a house with a VIEW! Get my nature-loving, space-loving, vista-loving self into the country and out of town!

More. Bigger. Better. These desires are so hard to resist.

Our house is fine. It's a lovely home. We're incredibly blessed in having it. Our family can grow and we'd still have room. So why this restlessness?

I find the battle to be satisfied to be a forever battle. I'm a doer, a go-getter, and am always looking to the next thing. I like changing stuff up. I like technological gadgetry and wish I could have and afford the newest iPhone. I like thinking through systems and work flows. I'm always redoing my websites. I'm always tempted to take on more projects than I can handle.

Stuff does not make me happy. Doing, doing, doing does not make me happy. I know this. So why the continued temptation?

I know I'm not alone. Wanting more, bigger, and better is a human problem and a particularly American one. It explains our national debt, our runaway credit culture, our exploitation of the underprivileged, the expansion the state and its bully pulpit and crony capitalism, our suburban sprawl, and our lack of self-control in many areas of life other than the material.

This is one reason I'm grateful my husband and I took the Dave Ramsey course a few years ago - it's given us tools for taking care of our family while fighting the urge to buy more crap.

The desire for more, bigger, better can't be answered by crap. More, bigger, better is something only found in God. Seeking it in anything else only leads to the disintegration of self and society.

Small is beautiful. It's hard fighting the consumerist tide, but it's worth it.

In an Instagram instant, my Lenten story . . .

Worst penance ever, DONE. Happy Easter! #mmmcoffee #catholic

A photo posted by Rhonda Ortiz (@rhondaortiz) on Mar 27, 2016 at 3:46am PDT

. . . to which everyone on Facebook said . . .

. . . YOU ARE A SAINT.

Not true. I'm not a saint. The problem was that after my third was born, I went from one to three cups of coffee a day, which was too much for me. This Lent I knew that God wanted me to let go of my reliance on coffee and try relying on him.

So I switched to tea. Ain't no way I was giving up caffeine.

I was telling my priest all about my no good, horrible penance on Easter Sunday, making him laugh with my exaggerated anecdotal account of my forty weeks in the desert without Cafe Bustelo. Father, evil man that he is, then gave me an evil directive in an evil tone of voice:

"Keep it to one cup from now on, huh?"

ONE CUP?!?!? My husband says it's priestly prejudice against coffee. One cup. Hmmmph.

In all seriousness, Father's my regular confessor and when one's regular confessor gives a clear and not-objectionable directive, there's not much to be said except, Yes, Father. Our priest isn't the type to bark orders. If he says it - even during light banter, as was the case here - he probably means it.

One cup. Keeping it to one cup a day is healthier, and holy obedience is better than coffee. Le sigh.

Warning: The following story is thoroughly and strangely Catholic. Skeptics forewarned.

By Manfredo Ferrari - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0.

My husband and I hoped for children as soon as we were married. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. I have endometriosis and despite a surgery a few years into our marriage, it soon seemed that we might never have children.

I was praying one summer morning in our mint green wing chair Jared found on the side of the road before our wedding. As usual, I was spaced out, thinking on I don't know what. That's when I heard her voice:

"Take care of my children."

To which I immediately replied:

"My own, first."

It was Mother Teresa. I knew the moment I heard her.

I could not respond to her heavenly request with fiat. Her request frightened me. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I was afraid of having an adopted child who didn't measure up to my standards of beauty. To be blunt, I was afraid of having an ugly child.

Is that horribly shallow or what?

Mother Teresa didn't say anything else (and I don't blame her). The following December we found we were expecting our oldest son, thanks to the prayers of four different people who didn't know each other, all of whom felt compelled by the Holy Spirit to pray for us on the solemnity of the Immaculate Conception. Mother Teresa honored my request, despite my no.

Interestingly, our son is autistic, whose special needs have challenged me to be more accepting of others. My fears had to be confronted. My shallowness needed to be corrected. I needed to learn how to love.

If Mother Teresa were to ask me today, I think I would accept. At some level I might still be afraid, but being a mother has taught me that beauty is so much more than I thought back then.

Is this the end of a story, or only the beginning?

A Boyar Wedding Feast, Konstatin Makovsky, 1883. Image courtesy Wikipedia (CC).

A Boyar Wedding Feast by Makovsky is part of the Hillwood Estate collection in Washington, D.C. at the home of the late Marjorie Merriweather Post, heiress of the Post cereal fortune. Sometime during the Bolshevik Revolution Marjorie Post visited Russia and rescued artifacts, art, and religious items. A Boyar Wedding Feast and its luxurious depiction of 16th or 17th century Russian nobility would have definitely been in the Bolshevik burn barrel had not Post saved it.

The painting struck me so much when I saw it that my sister-in-law, whose idea it was to visit Hillwood, bought a print of it for my birthday soon after.

The subject matter seems joyously romantic and nationalistic at first glance. But inspect the painting closer and you'll see tension: the bride's shy, sad face; the difference in wealth between the bridal families, the uncertainty of the younger sister (she is at the exact center of the painting), the conversation and varied facial expressions among the guests in the background, the straining and darkened face of the servant - family to family, upper to lower class, man to woman - these are the tensions of Russian society in Makovsky's day as much as they were in the 16th century. In many ways this painting is a prophesy of the coming revolution, whether or not Makovsky intended it at an homage to Mother Russia.

I have a draft of a (very bad) novel based on the characters of this painting as well as a few more story ideas. Someday I will write one of these stories. For real. In the meantime, the print I own reminds me to keep on asking, What if . . . ? Because this painting is only the beginning of the story.

Happy Solemnity of St. Joseph! St. Joseph is perhaps my favorite saint. I loved this from today's Office of Readings and thought I'd share. 

There is a general rule concerning all special graces granted to any human being. Whenever the divine favor chooses someone to receive a special grace, or to accept a lofty vocation, God adorns the person chosen with all the gifts of the Spirit needed to fulfill the task at hand. 

This general rule is especially verified in the case of Saint Joseph, the foster-father of our Lord and the husband of the Queen of our world, enthroned above the angels. He was chosen by the eternal Father as the trustworthy guardian and protector of his greatest treasures, namely, his divine Son and Mary, Joseph’s wife. He carried out this vocation with complete fidelity until at last God called him, saying: Good and faithful servant, enter into the joy of your Lord . . .

Although the joy of eternal happiness enters into the soul of a man, the Lord preferred to say to Joseph: Enter into joy. His intention was that the words should have a hidden spiritual meaning for us. They convey not only that this holy man possesses an inward joy, but also that it surrounds him and engulfs him like an infinite abyss.

From a sermon by Saint Bernadine of Siena, priest
(Sermo 2, de S. Joseph: Opera 7, 16. 27-30)