Not only are the books educational (they are filled with tidbits of fun facts on all types of creatures) and entertaining (who doesn’t melt at the sight of infant twin Bengal tigers with piercing blue eyes?), the kids and I loved the visually stunning photos. The pictures are works of art that highlight fury friends in danger of extinction.  As soon as we read the books, my son begged me to bring them to school to share with his teacher.

Perfect for either home or classroom, the books are based on the popular website which tracks the birth and progress of these endangered babies.  I love that a teacher or a mom could supplement the terrific, informative books with the additional on-line resource.

I highly recommend these treasure troves as the perfect holiday gift for your favorite kid or teacher: Zooborns for All Ages  and Zooborns! for Young Children.  Need another incentive?  10% of all book revenue goes directly to the Association of Zoos and Aquariums Conservation Endowment Fund.

Copyright 2010 Colleen Duggan

And we wore that sucker out.

In the deep south, it’s too hot to spend a lot of time in the kitchen in the summertime.  So, John became quite adept at flipping steaks, burgers, and the like during the warm months of June, July, and August (okay, April, May, and September, too) in the effort to help me out.   We loved the taste of charcoal grilled food and we would invite friends over to share drinks and dinner with us.

But, sadly, over the years and with much use, our little grill rusted.  The bottom literally fell out and with a growing family, a new one wasn’t a priority.  For Father’s Day this year, though, I decided to upgrade and get a new gas grill.  (If you had seen the condition of our old one, just about anything that cooked food was an improvement, really.)

Unfortunately, we miss the flavor of charcoal but we just don’t have the time to cultivate the skill of traditional bbq.  We’ve been very pleased, however, with the gas grill because it actually tastes grilled! We’ve been using it to sample lots of new recipes and to feed our family of six!

When my parents visited a few weeks ago, for instance, my Dad prepared these ribs for us and they were finger-licking good.  Literally.  I also tried out this Blue Cheese Burger recipe per the recommendation of my blogger friend, Kate.  As we ate, my Mom shared, “These are the best burgers I’ve ever had.”

Perhaps, though, the easiest meal I’ve yet prepared was the one last night.  It was so effortless,  I’m almost embarrassed to tell you about it.

Oh, okay, twist my arm, why don’t you.  Here goes:

I took a bunch of pork chops with the bone in them (this is where lots of the flavor is, in my opinion) and marinated them in a bottle of Italian salad dressing for a few hours.  (Confession:  I didn’t even make the marinade.  It came straight out of a bottle.)  Then we grilled ‘em up and served them on paper plates with a big green, leafy salad as a side.  Pure deliciousness.

My three year old, Mary Bernadette, said, as she cleaned the bone, “This meat is weally good, Mama.”

“Why, thank you, my Darling,” I replied with a twinkle in my eye.  “I slaved away all day just for you.”

I figured, what she didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt her.  And though the food wasn’t time-consuming to prepare, it was made with love.  That counts for something, right?

Go ahead.  Try them.  You won’t be disappointed.  Then,  you too can say you knocked yourself out to lovingly prepare a home-cooked meal for your family.



Copyright 2010 Colleen Duggan

9. Let me never forget how much work it was for that mother of young children to feed, dress, and ready all those little people to shop in the first place!

8. Let me never forget the challenge a mother of young children faces when asked to do anything extra like bake cupcakes for an event, make a meal for a new mom, attend a meeting or another adult-only type event (which requires calling a sitter, meal planning, baths, and bed preparation all before leaving the house).

7. Let me never forget what it’s like to be a mother of young children who brings small children to Mass while struggling to glean some small insight into the sacrament and keep kids orderly, calm, and quiet at the same time.

6. Let me never forget how humbling it is for a mother of young children to loose control over those small children as she bursts into tears and wallows in her sense of failure.

5. Let me never expect a mother of young children to entertain me while her children engage in attention seeking behavior like fighting, crying, and jumping off the couch.

4. Let me never judge a mother of young children for parenting in a way different from my own. Rather, let me give her the benefit of a the doubt by saying, “She’s doing the best she can.”

3. Let me never superimpose my ideals for my family as the perfect standard for everyone else’s.

2. Let me never forget how powerfully kind it is to offer a mother of young children a few moments to herself so she can bathe, pray, have a cup of coffee alone, or escape on a date with her husband.

1. Let me never make commentary to a mother of young children about her children that is not going to positively bolster her confidence and affirm the dignity of her children.


Copyright 2010 Colleen Duggan

Although we were visiting friends to baptize our new godchild, our plans were soon interrupted as we were promptly admitted to a nearby prestigious medical facility.  Unfortunately, this was not our first time.  During the four months prior to this hospital stay, Patrick had become all too familiar with doctors, cat scans, magnetic resonance imaging procedures, spinal taps, electroencephalographs, and the like.  The physicians pinpointed abnormal brain activity on his left parietal lobe they connected to seizure-like episodes but none of them could explain why he was so sick.

On this particular evening, two neurologists poked, prodded, and extracted many vials of blood from Patrick’s little veins.  My usually joyful child, held down by physicians, screamed through racking sobs,  “Mommy!  Mommy!  Pick me up!  Help me!  Please, Mommy!”

Putting my head down, I too began to silently sob and pray,  “How did I get here?  Why is this happening?  You want me to stand here, Lord, and watch him suffer? Do you hear his pain?  His cry?  Is this what you want?  I can’t do it.”

I heard a small voice in reply, “My mother did it.  She watched me from the cross.  I’m asking you to do it.  Now.”  Amidst the deep sadness I felt and the growing worry over Patrick’s health, I experienced a deep and immediate peace.

Yes, I thought, Mary did this.   Right now, I must too.

“Help me, Mother,” I prayed.  “I’m not strong like you.”

Years ago, a friend’s son was diagnosed with brain cancer.  She once shared with me there were many times when she too had to sit and watch as he endured tremendous pain.  For fifteen years, my own mother sat and watched as her son struggled with a $5,000 a month drug habit.  Imagine the agony and the heartache of these mothers.  It’s not natural for any mother to silently watch a suffering child, regardless if the pain endured comes from a physical or a moral wound.  As women, we tend, we nurse, and we make things better.  We don’t just sit and watch.

Yet that is just what Mary did.  Her Son was the victim of abuse, slander, and eventually murder.  Despite the injustice, she didn’t meddle in His affairs.  When Jesus was being nailed to the cross, she didn’t push her way through the crowds yelling, “Take me instead!” Nowhere in the gospel does Mary tell a Pharisee, “You can’t talk to my Son that way!”  Suffering silently, she sat and watched.

That night in the hospital Christ taught me sometimes sitting and watching is exactly what He calls me to do.  In that moment, there was nothing I could do to alleviate Patrick’s pain.  Like Mary, all I could do was be present and love him with all my might.  Mary couldn’t choose Jesus’ anguish just like I had no say in Patrick’s.  Although I wanted to protect him, I had to relinquish my desire to control and prevent his suffering.  Jesus’ pain allowed Him to save the world.   Patrick’s pain drew him closer to the heart of Christ.  If either mother had her way, God’s perfect plan would have been thwarted.

Now, after much physical suffering, my friend’s son rests in the arms of Jesus in heaven.  One day her entire family will be united in joyful triumph over sadness.  My brother is one year and three months clean and sober after a long battle with addictions.  Both of these young men experienced physical and emotional suffering.  But now they both know Christ.  Their mothers watched it all.

Recently, my four-year-old daughter came home from school emotionally distraught.

“The girls didn’t want me to play with me today.  They said I couldn’t come into the playhouse,” she shared as she nervously fiddled with her hands.

Scooping her into my arms, I listened as she spoke and I guided her in addressing the situation.  I was hurt for her; hurt others would be mean to my baby.  Honestly, I briefly considered showing up at the playground the next day and “handling” the situation.

Later in the still silence, softly, gently, Jesus reminded me I must again sit and watch. This small battle isn’t mine to fight.  I can’t take away the cruel words or the sting of being snubbed.  I must trust that God is using these moments to form her will and heart.  It’s his plan, not mine.  I must accept it.  I must love it.  I must sit and watch.

So again I pray, “Help me, Mary.  I’m not strong like you.”



Copyright 2010 Colleen Duggan

At 9:00 a.m., thirty inner city kids flooded through the entryway of the abandon school building where the Sisters ran a soup kitchen and a home for unwed mothers. On this particular morning, we were taking the children swimming in a neighborhood pool about fifteen minutes away.

After prayers and bible time, the Sisters announced that we would be leaving shortly. While we waited for instructions, I noticed all the Sisters huddled in a corner seriously discussing something. Walking over I asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?” Sister Bernadette, the Mother Superior, responded in her thick Indian accent,

“We don’t have enough drivers. I’m not sure how we will get all the children to the pool.”

“Oh no,” I exclaimed as I scanned the room of kids who were now fully bouncing off the walls in excitement. Most of these kids had never been swimming in their life. This was a rare treat, a once in a lifetime experience for many of them, and we didn’t have transportation!

My critical nature and desire to control took over. Why didn’t Sister plan better? I thought to myself, She knew all week that we were going swimming. If I had known, I could have tried to round up some help. Instead I said, “What are we going to do?”  In total serenity and in all kindness she replied,

“We’ll wait fifteen minutes.”

Wait? She’s loosing it! We need to leave!  We only have two hours. That’s not much time and it will take a half hour to get there and back. The kids are going to be so disappointed if we don’t get to go, I carried on in my thoughts.

Within a few minutes, the Sisters organized the children into teams for tag and hula-hoop races. Happily they ran all over the over-sized recreation room screaming and shouting in joy. Despite the fun, they kept asking, “When are we going? Who am I going to drive with? Will Sister be in my car?”  Attempting to divert their attention to something else, I became annoyed.

Time passed and Sister Bernadette continued to pop in and out of the room to check on us. Never once did she look stressed. Never once did she appear nervous or frantic with extra energy. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.  I walked out of the room to look for her. As I rounded the corner, I practically collided with her. With a big grin on her face she announced, “Speedy just showed up. He’s getting some drivers and we’ll be ready to go in five minutes.”  Walking off quickly, she hurried to the room to round up the large group of children and deliver them to the cars. Before the hour was up, the kids were kicking, splashing, and cannon balling into the blue water.

I’ve never forgotten that experience because it taught me an important lesson in trust. So often, I run around tirelessly toiling as if everything depends on me. Though I know intellectually that God is all-powerful and can do all things, my daily activity demonstrates a conviction that the salvation of my family, friends, and the entire planet rest on my shoulders. Even if I believe He’s in charge, I usually don’t allow Him an opportunity to prove it to me!

On that hot, summer day, Sister Bernadette did. Resting in her deep faith, she remained convinced and calm that Jesus wasn’t going to let her down. She didn’t hop on the cell phone and frantically dial the number of every volunteer she knew, like I would have done. She didn’t spend the extra fifteen minutes explaining why she had no transportation to the pool, like I would have done. What she did do was go to the Chapel and ask God to help her, something I probably would not have done. Her fidelity allowed God to work. And He did.

The Scriptures are littered with examples of prayer warriors, like Sister Bernadette, who made requests fulfilled by our faithful God. Consider the centurion in the Gospel of Matthew (5: 8-13). His servant is sick so with tremendous confidence he approaches Jesus, begging Him to heal him. When Jesus asks the centurion to bring the servant to Him, he replies, “But, Lord, just say the word and my servant shall be healed!” It’s as if he’s saying, “I know who you are, Jesus. I am aware of your great power. It’s not necessary for you to physically touch my servant. You can save him on your own accord. Please, just do it.”

When Jesus heard this, “…he was amazed and said to those following him, “Amen, I say to you, in no one in Israel have I found such faith.” What was so amazing about the centurion’s response? He didn’t control, he didn’t question, he didn’t freak out, and he didn’t doubt–all typical human responses. He simply asked for healing and then confidently waited for it to happen. By turning to God in the moment of trial, he demonstrated trust in God over trust in himself.

I, too, must be firm and unyielding in the face of any obstacle–big or small. When the tough times hit, I don’t want to be the one whose faith waxes and wanes. I want to resist the temptation to run around like a chicken with my head cut off. In the midst of the storm, I want to be calm and peaceful. Trusting in Him, I want to confidently allow Him to work.

Hebrews 11:6 states: “Without faith it is impossible to please him, for anyone who approaches God must believe…that he rewards those who seek him.” So, when my own three-year old daughter dumps a million plastic pieces on the floor for the second time in a row, I want to trust that God will give me patience to deal with it. When I’m worried about my children’s future, I want to believe that God will protect them. When I focus on my struggles as a wife and mother, I want to have faith that in my weakness, He makes me strong. After all, if the Good Lord sent a bunch of cars to transport thirty inner city kids to a pool in fifteen minutes, I know He’ll answer me.

Copyright 2009 Colleen Duggan

“You are the bestest Mom ever. You are better than Jack’s mom, Kyle’s mom and Timothy’s Mom,”

“Thank you, Son. You’re the best, too.”

“Am I the bestest of Jack? What about Kyle and Timothy?”

I didn’t know how to respond. I hesitated a minute and he said, “Okay, I’m not the best.”

“Yes, you are the best, Patrick,” I assured him. “You really are.”

Despite my words of affirmation, I left the conversation with my five-year-old son very unsettled. To me, Patrick is the best kid in the whole world. But, do I want him to go around comparing himself to others in order to feel good? It’s a simple question he asked but it reflects a much deeper issue. In his Kindergarten mind he’s wondering–“Am I good enough? Am I as good as Jack or Tim or any other kid that walks the face of this planet? Do you think I’m good enough, Mom? Does Dad?” In his seemingly unimportant comparison of himself against his friends, Patrick is seeking to prove his worthiness, his dignity. Like all members of the human race do at various times, he’s mistakenly looking to others (and eventually maybe to things) to discover his value.

Once a priest shared how the altar boys in his sacristy one up each other. “Well, I’m older than you. But I have bigger feet. Yeah, but I’m taller.” Even at such young ages, the boys, acting from deep wounds within themselves, attempt to demonstrate self-importance. They are already beginning a quest to fill themselves with things of empty value (height, weight, size, etc) instead of the value that they have simply because they are children of God. This quest becomes more complicated and elaborate as the boys grow—as they look to prestigious colleges, cars, nice houses, jobs, looks, exercise and other worldly realities to prove their worth.

When I was in graduate school at the University of Notre Dame, a potential benefactor visited the program in which I was enrolled. The guy was worth billions. He was wealthier than anyone I had and will ever meet again. The administrators of the school, hoping to secure a sizable donation, threw a bonafide dog and pony show for him. At one point during his visit, all the students were gathered into a large auditorium to welcome him and his family and listen to him speak.

As he took the stage and began, I was struck by how someone with as much power and money as he possessed could look so completely lost, so hopeless. Even as a young graduate student, I could see this guy’s soul waning and weeping for lack of Christ.

“I have more money than I know what to do with,” he started. “My kids and the future generations of my family will never have to worry about finances. I have a yacht, homes on every coast and my own personal jet. I own many companies, most of them ones I’ve started. Yet, I’m still not happy. I heard about you ‘do-gooders’ and thought ‘Well, I’ve tried everything else, maybe these people are on to something.’ So, that’s why I’m here. To see what you’ve got, to see what you are about.”

When he finished speaking and took his seat, the Vice President of the University approached the podium and looked the man in the eye. “One thing you’ll see we have here,” the priest said, “is Christ in the Eucharist. He may be what you’re looking for.”

I don’t know what happened with that man but I’ve never forgotten him. To me, he epitomizes a vainglorious search for money, power, prestige, and pleasure that, at the end of the day, leaves one completely empty and still searching.

Oh, to what depths of misery does the quest for material things and self-worth lead! For no matter how hard we work, no matter how hard we try, no matter how hard we pretend, there is always someone else prettier, smarter, richer, skinnier, holier, kinder, and just plain “better” than us. We spend all our time perfecting ourselves in these areas yet we still aren’t good enough. What does that mean for our value, for our worth as a person, when we end up less than someone else?

The conclusion is obvious. It means we are no good—that I am no good. Or at least, I’m not good enough.

That is a lie. The Catechism of the Catholic Church tells us:

“Of all visible creatures man…is “the only creature on earth that God has willed for its own sake”, and he alone is called to share, by knowledge and love, in God’s own life. It was for this end that he was created, and this is the fundamental reason for his dignity.

…Being in the image of God the human individual possesses the dignity of a person, who is not just something, but someone. ”

Patrick, the altar boys, the powerful professionals, and even the stay at home moms of the world aren’t good because they are better than others, or because they are taller, prettier, or possess the best jobs or the nicest homes. They are good because they are created in the image of God. Their very being reflects divine nature and that, in and of itself, makes them very good! Not just good—it makes them the best!

After reflecting on these things, I approached Patrick again as he was playing with a box of toys in his room.

“Patrick, remember when you asked me if you were better than Jack?”

“Yes,” he replied looking at me with those smiley eyes of his.

“Do you want to know what really makes you the best?” (Editor’s note: Here’s where I thought we were going to have some deep theological discussion on how we, as human beings, are created in the image and likeness of God and are, therefore, fundamentally good.)

Reaching into his box, Patrick pulled out a picture of Jesus. “He makes me the best!”

It seems he wasn’t that off course after all.

Copyright 2009 Colleen Duggan