Doing Lent with Grandkids: The Pretzel Prayer Position

Sunset over Apalachicola Bay

We just got back from a trip to St. George Island, FL and Charleston, SC. It was a great break from the cold. When we left February 18th it was snowing in Woodstock. We returned to temps in the upper 60s and the very beginning of buds swelling with the promise of an early spring.

While I enjoyed every minute of our trip, I missed our grandchildren. The ones we see most frequently live only twenty minutes away and visit every week. We didn't see them for about two weeks before we left because they were passing around a bug and we certainly didn't want to pick it up and take it on our trip. So we hadn't seen them for over a month and were happy at the thought of their visit.

The youngest, Max, who is going on two wanted to call us often while we were away and say his newest word "tractor" to Paka. (We knew he meant, "Please take me for a ride on the tractor.") He calls me "Mom" and likes me to sing his special Max song which lately he has chimed in on when I reach "baby Max." At that age every day brings more words and phrases.

Whenever Max called, I said he and his sisters would have to come over and make pretzels after we got home. The girls eagerly agreed that was a good idea.

Well, we arrived home Monday night and Tuesday afternoon became pretzel day with the grandkids, an activity their mom remembers well from Lent growing up. Why pretzels in Lent? Because they look like little praying arms. In fact, the word pretzel comes from high German and means "little arms." The small breads are believed to have developed in the monastery.

So I pulled out my pretzel handout (I used to use it with my religion classes) and we made pretzels together. They did a great job rolling, shaping, and "painting" the pretzels with egg to get a nice brown color during baking. And here is what I read to them:

We said grace with our arms in pretzel prayer position

The Pretzel Story: Many years ago people, especially monks, prayed with their arms folded across their chests. During Lent they kept a very strict fast with only one meal a day and a few snacks to keep up strength -- usually bread. One day, a monk working in the kitchen took the bread dough and made it in pretzel shapes like little praying arms to remind his brother monks to devote themselves to prayer. When you eat a pretzel, let it remind you to pray like the early Christians.

Pretzel prayer: Dear Jesus, bless this little bread. Help it remind me to pray and do penance during this holy season of Lent. 

Pretzel Recipe: Dissolve one Tablespoon of dry yeast in 1 1/2 cups of very warm water. Add 1 teaspoon of salt and 1 Tablespoon of sugar. Mix well until yeast and sugar are dissolved. Add about 4 cups of flour (you can use a combination of white and whole wheat flour if you like). Knead dough until smooth. Roll in ropes and twist into pretzel shapes. Bake at 425 degrees about 15 minutes. For a browner shiny pretzel brush pretzels with beaten egg before baking. 

Enjoy making pretzels. Coming soon: Hot Cross Buns.

Sometimes Lent is Literal

Well, it's been a challenging winter and the Lord apparently is not finished with me yet. I took a fall last November (off a skateboard - don't ask) and ended up with a massive right rotator cuff tear. After doctor visits, an MRI, and more doctor visits I ended up with surgery at UVA on January 20th to repair the tear. Another surprise turned up during surgery. My biceps had shifted and had to be cut and reattached. After several weeks I went into PT and have been doing well at regaining my range of motion and strength. Then about a week before Ash Wednesday I started having slurred speech and ended up in the emergency room at Shenandoah Hospital with them thinking I might be having a TIA (mini stroke). So they sent me for a CAT scan - no bleeding in the brain thank God. And then off in an ambulance to Winchester where they did an MRI - no active stroke, but couldn't rule out the TIA. So home again and a search for a neurologist to find out what's going on.

The neurologist wasn't sure so she ordered some tests. This was the day before Ash Wednesday and on Friday we left for our daughter's in Zelienople, PA to see one granddaughter play Auntie Em in The Wizard of Oz and enjoy a piano recital with our other four granddaughters. Over the weekend I started having blurred vision and a drooping eyelid (fortunately the day after the play). Oh joy!

So when we returned to Virginia I called the neurologist and she had me come in the same afternoon. The new symptoms gave a clearer diagnosis and a shifted direction in tests and treatment. After a neuro-muscular test with shocks and needlepricks the next morning the diagnosis was confirmed. I have an auto-immune disease called Myashenia Gravis. (What a mouthful!) It is a disease of the junction between nerves and muscles. For some reason my body is attacking the chemicals that send information to the muscles to do their thing. Antibodies gobble up the chemical causing muscle weakness which explains the drooping eyelid, the slurred speech, and the double vision. In retrospect I can identify some minor muscle weakness in my legs making it a little difficult to get up out of a chair.

In some ways it was a relief to get a diagnosis, but I can hardly call it good news to hear that you have an incurable disease, especially when the doctor told Larry it would be prudent to take a course in the Heimlich maneuver. Fortunately, while I've had some difficulty chewing, swallowing hasn't been an issue. And as the doctor said, "Don't hang up the crepe." So I'm working on being optimistic and cheerful.

I confess, though, that Stations of the Cross last evening was difficult. To be saying, "I embrace all the sufferings You have destined for me until death," takes on new meaning when one's in the midst of real sufferings rather than offering potential ones. To say, "I will not refuse the cross as Simon did: I accept and embrace it," is an easy proclamation when all your sufferings are minor, but can I do it? I want to. So I cling to the plea, "I beg You, by all You suffered in carrying Your cross, to help me carry mine with Your perfect peace and resignation." I think  I will pray that often.

I read recently that St. Jose Maria Escriva would lament on a day he had no serious suffering, "Don't you love me anymore, Lord." I know Mother Teresa told suffering souls that Jesus was kissing them. And St. Therese of Lisieux often said she preferred the vinegar of suffering to the sweetness of consolation. I hope to walk in their footsteps; I'm not there at present. But I know Jesus and His sweet Mother are walking with me on the road of trials  along with my guardian angel and patron saints. So I've decided to consider my disease, called MG for short, as "my gift from God." Please help me, Lord, to embrace it with joy and use it for your glorification, through Christ Our Lord, Amen.