Erin McCole Cupp - All Things New: Breaking the Cycle and Raising a Joyful Family

Breaking the Cycle and Raising a Joyful Family

Erin McCole Cupp

Nihil Obstat

Msgr. Michael Heintz, Ph.D.

Censor Librorum

Imprimatur

Kevin C. Rhoades

Bishop of Fort Wayne-South Bend

December 19, 2020

The Nihil Obstat and Imprimatur are official declarations that a book is free from doctrinal or moral error. It is not implied that those who have granted the Nihil Obstat and Imprimatur agree with the contents, opinions, or statements expressed.

Except where noted, Scripture texts in this work are taken from the New American Bible, Revised Edition 2010, 1991, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Washington, D.C., and are used by permission of the copyright owner. All rights reserved. No part of the New American Bible may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Copyright 2021 by Erin McCole Cupp

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ISBN: 978-1-68192-421-2 (Inventory No. T2314)

1. FAMILY & RELATIONSHIPSParentingGeneral

2. RELIGIONChristian LifeFamily

3. RELIGIONChristianityCatholic

eISBN: 978-1-68192-422-9

LCCN: 2020942141

Cover/interior design: Chelsea Alt

Cover art: Adobe Stock

P RINTED IN THE U NITED S TATES OF A MERICA

To my children,

who will gleefully tell you how often I fail to take my own advice.

Thank you for pointing me to heaven in all you do.

The jar of flour did not go empty, nor the jug of oil run dry, according to the word of the L ORD spoken through Elijah.

1 Kings 17:16

On May 18, 1980, in Washington State, the volcano Mount Saint Helens erupted. An entire slope of the once-conical mountain collapsed in a dramatic landslide of super-heated gas and rock. The devastation that followed killed every living thing, including fifty-seven humans, in two hundred square miles. The rich pine forest that covered the acreage around the mountain was simply sheared off, clogging nearby bodies of water with thousands upon thousands of naked, heat-blasted logs. The mountains pyroclastic flow didnt just singe the earth. It scorched everything in its path, plunging into neighboring Spirit Lake and boiling away every sign of life in its waters.

As soon as it was deemed safe, the United States Geological Survey sent scientists to what became called the blowdown zone or blast zone. The USGS didnt just send geologists, however. They also sent biologists, looking for signs of life in the devastation. With that level of destruction, nobody expected to see anything but barren dust for at least a decade, probably more. The eruption had blanketed the soil with nutrient-poor ash, hostile to most plants. The pyroclastic flow had cooked the lakes inhabitants and deprived the waters of oxygen, making it inhospitable at best to any wandering species looking for a new settling spot.

Then, something unexpected happened. Not three months after the explosion, there were signs of tunneling through the ash the types of tunnels made by the northern pocket gopher, a species protected from the volcanos effects by its burrowing habits. Less than a year after the eruption, biologists were even further surprised to find an actual plant in full flower in the most devastated, least fertile area of the blast zone. This flower, a purple-and-white-bloomed prairie lupine, managed to establish itself in the layers of barren ash thanks to its root structure, which hosts bacteria, which in turn provide the host lupines roots with the nitrogen that volcanic ash lacks.

As first months then years went by, USGS scientists were ever more shocked by how quickly species after species returned to the region, bringing color and life back to the blast zone. A process that wasnt expected to start for at least ten years began in only three months. While the area around Mount Saint Helens will always show evidence of the May 18, 1980, eruption, it also shows abundant proof that natures default state in the face of devastation is rebirth.

I resist thinking about what I may have been doing on May 18, 1980. I would have been six years old, living on the coast opposite Mount Saint Helens. May 18th was a Sunday that year, so we probably went to Mass some time that morning. That much I can guess with reasonable confidence. What happened that day besides? I dont really want to wonder. Perhaps nothing happened of either monumental goodness or badness, but I automatically resist thinking about any part of my childhood. Why? Isnt childhood supposed to be a joyful romp? Isnt childhood designed to be spent learning the art of unconditional love at the feet of able mentors? Isnt the soil of childhood supposed to be rich and encouraging, full of emotional nutrients that make fussy babies flower into mature, caring, empathetic adults?

Its supposed to be all those things, yes. But for some of us, its just a barren blanket of blasted ash.

I dont need to go into much detail to express that the way I was parented left me with few positive memories of growing up. I dont need many words to convince you that looking back at my own parents methods of dealing with me as a child did nothing but teach me how I dont want to parent. I only need the shadow of language to express that my childhood was a time of helplessness, of not mattering, of screaming to have my pain heard only to be told to stop screaming so much or the neighbors will hear, dont you know this neighborhood is some kind of echo chamber? People are trying to sleep, you know.

If youve picked up this book, you probably dont need too many details from me. You can fill in your own from your own life. You, too, know what it feels like to hurt the most at the hands of the people God meant to love you the most. You know what it means to not matter when you should, to be called selfish for asking to matter, to never know enough, do enough, or be enough to the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally, who shouldnt ask you to be enough of anything.

If youve picked up this book, you probably look back at your childhood and see devastation, barrenness, nothing to call nurturing. Nothing to call sacrificial love. Nothing vibrant enough to call life. Ill bet that you, too, also feel the same dread when well-meaning people chuckle phrases like, Like mother, like daughter! or, A chip off the old block! or, The apple doesnt fall far from the tree! Like me, you look at your childhood and know how you