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In helping out with Catechesis of the Good Sheperd, Lindsay Schlegel notices the joy of the atrium present in her home.  


Once a week my youngest son attends Catechesis of the Good Shepherd at our parish. The program is generously run by two ladies who provided an atrium (classroom) for their children as they were growing up.   

Every now and then, one of them can’t make class in order to care for a family member. They ask me to step in and be another adult present, largely because I’m the only parent in the class whose youngest child is in attendance.   

I’ve not been trained in leading CGS, nor did I participate as a child. But I’ve seen the difference it’s made in the two of my children who were of the age to participate when it was offered. It enriches the way they approach Mass, and so the way they approach Christ.  

 

A plan diverted 

My thought this year was to spend the hour my son is in this class in Eucharistic Adoration in the chapel. The first week, this was partially diverted by some other things I needed to attend to. Last week, it was diverted by a (literal phone) call to be in the atrium.   

Five children were present, and most were in the program last year as well. They knew the space, and they knew what was expected of them. They participated in prayer, wiggled a little during a presentation, and then got to work on what they’d chosen for the day.  

As these five sweet little ones were engaged, each in his or her own work, the teacher leading the class leaned to me and remarked that the work is prayer for them. I wouldn’t have put it that way, but I quickly saw how right she was. Their minds, bodies, and souls were engaging in activity that was entirely developmentally appropriate, that both challenged and delighted them, and that indirectly drew them closer to the Lord Who loves them.  

One sorted pompoms by color using tongs. One used a hammer to push golf tees into floam. My son worked puzzles. Another child poured colored water from a pitcher into a glass, only to a certain level.   

They were learning control, precision, and purpose with every movement. They were quiet, but only because they were so beautifully focused in the task at hand.  

 

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The atrium in my home 

The teacher’s comment about their work being prayer reminded me of what I’ve noticed are my favorite moments as a mother. I love when we are laughing together over a shared joke. I love reading stories to them and then having the characters show up in family conversations. I love eating the bread they’ve baked and watching them play knock out and one-on-one basketball.   

But my favorite moments are when the house is quiet and I look around to see each of them engaged in activity all their own. They might be reading, drawing, building with LEGO. I thought this was because I appreciate quiet (and with five kids, that can be hard to come by), and honestly I felt a little guilty about that. Shouldn’t I be most content in my motherhood when kids are talking and interacting and enjoying each other?   

Now I see that their being involved in something, each fully participating in the good task before them, is a kind of prayer. They are being who they are called to be. They are growing toward a purpose in Him. And in these cases, they are doing it side by side.   

Ultimately, this is what I want for my family: for each of us to strive to do the best we can in what we’re called to do, to recognize that means being on a path toward Jesus, and to be beside each other along the way.  

 

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Learning from the sheep 

This fall has been a busy season. Sometimes I wonder if we have too much going on. Maybe we do. But there is so much good coming of the sports my children do, the faith formation they’re involved in. They are happy, if tired, growing all the time and living each day to the fullest.   

What’s more, I’ve been surprised to notice how often the busyness is yielding — typically in ways we can’t control — to periods of rest and stillness, to being together and being at peace. These moments balance the rest; they give us strength. A cross-country meet is canceled. A soccer game’s time turns out to be just right. All the pieces are fitting in and where they don’t, they are mostly falling away.  

 

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Our relationships with the Lord grow in the stillness, but they can grow in the work, too, when we’re doing it well and with good intentions, with our priorities in the right order. The children in the atrium don’t know how to proceed any differently yet. Their prayer became my prayer.  

 

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Copyright 2024 Lindsay Schlegel
Images: Canva