MSB {29}: Troubled Hearts


We didn’t have any slithering today at Mass.  Or major blood gushing.  Overall it was not the worst ever, either.

I wouldn’t say it was great…I did have to stop Moe from chewing my sweater (because that’s a thing?!?!).  And Bea got wiggly, so David took her out for a bit.

During consecration Moe was resting his face on his hands, and at one particularly quiet point he exhaled in a way that produced a surprisingly flatulent sounding raspberry.  I’m not sure if our poor pew mates knew from which end that sound came…

Really those seem like reasonable issues for their ages, though, even if as parents we’re exhausted after Mass, it’s not surprising.


I’m wearing the usge– fit and flare dress, sweater, and sandals from Lands’ End, and a wooden bead necklace from the Cee & Elle collection.


I stayed after Mass to visit. With adults.  For realz.  David took half the kids home, and I kept half who played in the nursery.  Usually I’m so drained after reigning everyone in that we leave right away, so it was a treat to talk to adults without someone tugging at me saying, “Let’s go, Mom,” over and over.


Since the call from Cincinnati we’ve been having a tough time adjusting.  It doesn’t make sense, really, because nothing has changed.  But there’s this increased understanding that life is going to get more complicated.  As more and more doctors concur with the need for a double hip replacement for Cee, it’s becoming an unavoidable reality.

She’s doing well now, but we don’t know how quickly things are going to deteriorate.

In the SJIA online group a couple days ago one mom shared a picture of her hospitalized daughter who looked around three years old.  She was connected to a whole network of cords and machines because she is struggling with complications to her heart and lungs.  Another parent asked for an update as to her condition, and the response was, “She’s still alive.”  That was the update.

Another family just posted that they have lost their battle with SJIA.

It’s hard not to dwell on both the suffering of these other families and the possibility that we could be next.

The Gospel reading from John 14 today opened with

Jesus said to his disciples:
“Do not let your hearts be troubled…”

And I’m all, “But my heart *is* troubled.  My heart is majorly major troubled.  How do I not let it be?!?!”

Denial isn’t healthy.  But neither is wallowing.  I’m not sure how to balance that.  How to feel all the feels without letting it spoil Mother’s Day and life in general.  We know people who are firmly in the denial camp or the wallowing camp.  We don’t want to be in either.

As I’m type-ity typing, I can hear Elle singing in the next room.  She’s making up the melody and words on the fly as she draws.  She is singing the story of what she’s drawing. “Nothing at aaaaaaaalllllll!” she just belted out, power-ballad style.

My little sunshine about to eat her special Mother’s Day breakfast dessert.


This is life.  This is not letting my heart be troubled.  It is choosing to focus on the positive, not denying the gravity of a bad situation, but not allowing it to consume us either.  It’s taking time to cry alone, but then choosing to get up and participate in life again.  We’ve got dandelions to pick and books to read.  There isn’t time for feeling sorry for ourselves or worrying about what might happen years down the road.

We are scared.  We are worried.  We don’t know what to do.  But we can’t let that overpower the beauty of our imperfect life right now.

We only have today. That’s all.   Today’s Gospel reading is a reminder to me, and to all of us, to keep sweeping up bits of joy from the dustpile.


Go visit Rosie for more prolly less depressing My Sunday Bests.  🙂


If you haven’t already, you can like Sweeping Up Joy on facebook so you don’t miss posts.  After a little break this Lent, I realized I didn’t have to say goodbye to social media forever.  🙂  We’re going through tough stuff…if you know anyone who is going through tough stuff too, feel free to pass along the blog so we can get through it together.  <3


  1. // Reply

    I don’t think your post is depressing… it’s real, it’s honest. It’s life with a chronic illness for your child… and, the only thing I can keep thinking is remember Our Lady – who also had to, in the darkness of night, struggled to comprehend what was to come to her Son. And, how difficult it was, she willingly, time and again, turned blind trust (I’m sure easier at some times than others) toward Our Father. It doesn’t make things easier, but her example provides us with a constant role model and a constant challenge.

    And, I had to giggle at the raspberries… apparently it was a blowing kind of day today, since my youngest spent the 30 seconds leading up to the Sign of Peace blowing bubbles at me… and giggling, when I tried to wipe it away. It resulted in this mama getting a slobbery kiss at the Sign of Peace! 😉

    Hooray for the “mom got to visit with other adults” – we all need that time, occasionally! And, I dig your Sunday best outfit today!!

    1. // Reply

      I loved your recent post about Our Lady of Sorrows. Thank you for sharing here (and at your home blog) in ways that help me plod on. <3

  2. // Reply

    I am still holding out hope for some interesting or actionable news (eventually) from the genetics work up. Hate that those things take forever. It’s really okay to feel anxious and troubled, to acknowledge and sit with it. Just keep bringing it to the cross. Remember His face was in the dirt, too, that He felt overwhelmed and impotent when He fell. Share Cee’s story as a gift the world and let other people carry your candle of hope for a while. I’m one of them, sister. <3

  3. // Reply

    I see the “bad news” stories in the group I’m in for babies with Edith’s condition, too… So so hard, and so frustrating because nobody’s manifests in the same way. Gotta love those rare diseases. Not. ?

  4. // Reply

    I am the worst at knowing how to deal with trials in the Lord’s way. How do you grieve a situation and feel joy at the same time? There are people I know who’ve had a lot worse things happen in their lives than I do and they seem to weather those situations with such grace and I think, “I should be more like THAT,” but I suppose if I asked them they wouldn’t think they were managing it well at all. I think we do the very best we can at handling the situations life gives us, and as time goes by and we look back we realize (usually) that we HAVE done alright, and that we have learned and grown, and that we have come closer to God through the whole painful experience. I hope you can hang in there, and especially give yourself some grace. It sounds like you’re doing your very best.

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