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Emily Stimpson Chapman

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This week’s newsletter for all subscribers just This week’s newsletter for all subscribers just dropped. Swipe for a taste, then read the whole thing via the link in my bio or in today’s stories.
Contractors are here today. They’re drywalling o Contractors are here today. They’re drywalling our filthy basement bathroom, which has been torn apart for 7 years now. They’re also installing basement outlets, cutting down dangling dead wires, and patching our crumbling front porch steps.⁣ ⁣ None of this will ever be photographed for Instagram. I won’t be making reels about my newly drywalled basement bathroom. Nor will anyone but Chris and I ever notice the end results of these little projects.⁣ ⁣ Just the same, they matter. Chris and I are the stewards of this old house, and if we want this house to endure for another 133 years, we have to do the work that isn’t glamorous, that isn’t for visitors or followers or anyone else besides us and the owners who come after us.⁣ ⁣ As is so often the case, what’s true of old houses is true of our hearts.⁣ ⁣ There is lots happening in my heart these days that isn’t for Instagram. There’s lots happening in every heart that isn’t for Instagram. Very little of the growing, learning, loving, losing, breaking and remaking that is part of every journey can fit into this space. It’s not meant for here, to be smushed in between ads for comfy shoes, vitamin supplements, pillows, and life insurance. It’s too sacred for that.⁣ ⁣ Remember this, and try to think kindly of the people who flash by on your screen. Remember that each account you see is just like a star twinkling in the night sky. All you see is a small light. But behind that light, whole worlds are hidden from view.⁣ ⁣ Remember also that sacred work isn’t always fun or interesting work. The journey to holiness is not a leap from one mountaintop to another. Most of the time, it’s plodding through mud, making the difficult and completely unglamourous choice to hold your tongue, restrain your anger, make your bed, honor your commitment, avert your eyes, listen to your spouse, hold your child, and say your prayers, all when you’d rather not.⁣ ⁣ Virtue grows in the ordinary. Grace is given in the plodding. Holiness takes root in the quiet places, far from the clapping crowds. Very little of the work God needs to do in our hearts photographs well. But that’s the work that has to be done if we want the joy that endures.
“What does the Church teach about yoga, and can “What does the Church teach about yoga, and can Catholics participate in a yoga class?”⁣ ⁣ “Can Satan be redeemed? Is that something we should want?”⁣ ⁣ “I’m happily married, but I still want guys to think I’m attractive. Is that wrong?”⁣ ⁣ I’m answering those questions of yours and more, plus sharing what I’m watching, reading, cooking, and listening to, in this week’s Substack newsletter. This one is free for all subscribers, so click on the link in Bio (or Stories, while it lasts) to read it for free.
Sharing a clip from yesterday’s discusssion in S Sharing a clip from yesterday’s discusssion in Stories about why, in the hardest moments of parenting littles, I pray first for myself and then, aloud, over my toddlers. ⁣ ⁣ You can see the whole discussion in highlights, but if you take one thing away from it, I hope it’s this: God doesn’t want us or our kids trying to white knuckle our way to virtue. He also doesn’t want us struggling alone. He wants us turning to Him and relying on Him and trusting that He will give us the graces that we need. ⁣ ⁣ Praying alone and praying together as a family are important. Going to Mass and Confession alone and together as a family are important. But praying together and for each other in the midst of hard moments helps us tap into the graces of all that family prayer and all those the sacraments.⁣ ⁣ This kind of prayer is not a magic bullet. It won’t fix every problem you have or guarantee you some perfect outcome. You still have to do the hard work of parenting. But it helps you remember you don’t have to do it alone. And that can be a game changer.
Is Becket not in the shot? Yes. Is Ellie picking h Is Becket not in the shot? Yes. Is Ellie picking her nose? Also yes. 🤣 Was the whole morning a hot emotional mess for 3 of the 4 of us? Yes, yes, and yes. But this picture makes my heart melt all the more for the insanity surrounding it, and I want it in my feed where it will endure, long after this crazy day has passed. Dang, do I love these kids.
Grace really does build on nature. And my 4-5 step Grace really does build on nature. And my 4-5 step, 3-4 minute Beautycounter skincare routine has given me one concrete thing I can for myself daily, no matter how crazy life gets. It is truly clean beauty, and it also truly works. ⁣ ⁣ If you’re a new customer, you can save 20 percent right now with the code CLEANFORALL20 . Beautycounter also has a great return policy. You have 60 days to return, can return for any reason (no matter how much you have used), and Beautycounter will pay for the return shipping. Just dm me with any questions. I am so happy to help you find the right products and steps for your skin. ⁣ ⁣ Here’s what I used or mentioned in the video:⁣ Countertime Lipid Defense Cleansing Oil⁣ Countertime Mineral Boost Hydrating Essence⁣ All Bright Vitamin C Serum⁣ Might Plump Ceramide Water Cream⁣ All Bright Brightening Oil⁣ Reflect Effect AHA Smoothing Mask⁣ Countertime Tripeptide Radiance Serum
Demons one day. Recipes the next. That’s the fun Demons one day. Recipes the next. That’s the fun of following me—a person, not a brand.⁣ ⁣ Anyhow, back in my Steubenville days, when I had a garden that would make any Italian grandmother swoon, I would grow a thousand Roma tomatoes, then roast a whole bunch of them to turn into Roasted Tomato Pesto. I no longer have a garden that grows a thousand tomatoes, though, so the tomatoes I do have—Cherries and Beefsteak—mostly go into sauce.⁣ ⁣ But last week, when I was making said sauce out of all the tomatoes that had ripened during our absence, I had something of a guilt complex about throwing away the pile of seeds and skins, all with bits of delicious sauce clinging to them, that remained in the mesh strainer after the finished sauce had passed through it. I wanted to use it, but how?⁣ ⁣ Then, I remembered the pesto.⁣ ⁣ I had everything on hand that I needed, so into the food processor went the seeds and skins and bits of sauce, along with basil, roasted almonds, garlic, parmesan, olive oil, and salt.⁣ ⁣ Out came a pesto every bit as delicious as the one made with Roma tomatoes. I divided it up into 4 ounce mason jars and popped them all in the freezer. I’ll now pull them out through the winter to toss into pasta, gnocchi, risotto, and cream sauces. Super easy, super delicious, and all my guilt about wasting the yummy discard has gone.⁣ ⁣ If you have discard you need to use up (or if you want just go buy some Roma tomatoes), here’s the recipe: ⁣ ⁣ *16 ounces tomato sauce discard (or 7 large/10 small Roma tomatoes, roasted in olive oil for 40 minutes at 400 Fahrenheit)⁣ *2 garlic cloves, minced⁣ *3/4 cup slivered almonds⁣ *1/2 cup shredded Parmesan⁣ *1 cup shredded fresh Basil⁣ *1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil⁣ *Kosher salt and pepper to taste⁣ ⁣ ⁣ 1. Preheat oven to 400 F. On a parchment lined baking sheet, roast almonds for 3-5 minutes until light golden brown;⁣ ⁣ 2. Combine tomato, garlic, almonds, Parmesan, and basil in food processor; pulse, drizzling in olive oil until smooth;⁣ ⁣ 3. Add salt and pepper to taste;⁣ ⁣ 4. Divide into 6 4 ounce jars and freeze.⁣
This month’s essay for full subscribers to my Su This month’s essay for full subscribers to my Substack went out early this morning. Swipe through to see a few highlights. It’s not a light one. Click on the link in my Stories or bio to read (or listen to) the whole thing.
I’ve shared so much bad news with you lately, so I’ve shared so much bad news with you lately, so it’s time for some good news: Next June, when my family heads to Italy with @selectinternationaltours , my cousin, Father Adam Stimpson, is coming with us!⁣ ⁣ This trip isn’t a vacation; it’s a pilgrimage. It’s a prayerful journey to sacred spaces and holy places that will be made in faith, hope, and love. Every person on the trip will carry with us a heart full of intentions, both our own and others. We’ll also each carry a heart full of fears, hurts, concerns, and wounds that need healing.⁣ ⁣ Because of that, having a prayerful, holy priest with us who can lead us in prayer, hear Confessions, offer Mass, and help us see the spiritual riches all around us is absolutely essential. And since about a third of the pilgrims will be bringing young children with us, having a strong, healthy, fun priest who loves kids and understands the importance of short homilies is equally essential!⁣ ⁣ That’s why I am so, so excited that Father Adam was able to find a way to join us as our trip’s spiritual director. For those of you who don’t know him, Father Adam is a pastor of two parishes in the Diocese of Peoria and the chaplain at Western Illinois University’s Newman Center. He’s also a fellow alum of Franciscan University (he graduated with his undergraduate degree in 2002, the same semester I arrived to start graduate school). And, of course, he’s my cousin, which is the most fun part for me. ⁣ ⁣ If you are already signed up for the pilgrimage, I am so excited for you to meet Father Adam. And if you are still thinking about signing up, there are just a handful of spots left, so please take it to prayer and don’t wait too long. ⁣ ⁣ We have such a great group coming with us—about a third are families or single parents with kids ranging from 14 to under one, another third are married couples traveling without children, and the final third are women traveling solo. In exactly nine months and one week, we will be arriving in Assisi, and I so hope you will be there with us.⁣ ⁣ For all the details, click on the link in my bio or Story Highlights.
All I wanted to do was get out. I never wanted to All I wanted to do was get out. I never wanted to raise a family here or build a life here. But now all I want to do is come back, to these hills and these people and this old river town, where the Mississippi bends not once, but twice, as it flows East to West for just a handful of miles. ⁣ ⁣ I don’t know if that will ever be possible. But for now, I’m grateful for all the time I have been able to spend here with my mother and with my father during his last days. In the midst of all the grieving, it has been such a consolation to hear the crickets sing, to drive through fields of corn and soybeans,, to watch the old muddy river roll by, and to see men walking the streets in John Deere hats instead of Steelers gear. It’s been especially consoling to spend the last five days at my parents’ best friends’ home, where every corner of their property is filled with the happy ghosts of my childhood.⁣ ⁣ I am so grateful to them for hosting us. I’m grateful to the many friends and family who have helped us this week. And I’m grateful to you for your kind words offered, prayers said, and coffee money sent. I have a hundred thoughts tumbling around my head right now, none complete enough to share. So, as my family drives back to Pittsburgh, my gratitude will have to suffice. Thank you for everything. And please, if you don’t mind one more prayer request, please ask God for some grace for my Midwestern heart, which is already lonesome for the people and the place we’re leaving behind.
“They get old, you know. They get sick. They won “They get old, you know. They get sick. They won’t be here forever. I didn’t think about that when I was your age. I didn’t think about it for a long time. I think about it now, though. I think about it all the time.”⁣ ⁣ I wrote those words two years ago, in my book “Letters to Myself from the End of the World.” At that point, my dad had been cheating death for the better part of five years. He’d cheated it so many times, part of me thought he would outlive us all. ⁣ ⁣ But late last night, on the Feast of St. Augustine, my good, kind father, Gary Martin Stimpson, went to our Heavenly Father. ⁣ ⁣ Please remember him in your prayers. And my mother and sisters, too. We are Rock Island bound again, after less than three days at home. So, maybe add a prayer for my poor babies, who have yet another 10 hour car ride ahead of them. And thank you to all of you who have already reached out to offer prayers. We appreciate every single one.
Art on the fridge. Laundry piled high. Dirt on the Art on the fridge. Laundry piled high. Dirt on the deck. Ball in the driveway. The glorious, wondrous, ordinary mess of it all. Not one bit of it is Instagram perfect. But all of it is perfect just the same. And I am not taking one precious second of it for granted. Because I am straddling two worlds right now. This one. And the one where it all is just a memory. And these, these are the days. The very best ones. The blessed ones. The miracle ones. The ones that, someday, we would give anything to have back. They are messy, crazy, exhausting, loud, and just absolutely graced. Not for anything, not for anyone, would I give up one second of this.
Yesterday, my family had the usual choice of Holy Yesterday, my family had the usual choice of Holy Day of Obligation Mass times: wakeup time, naptime, dinner time, and bedtime. I don’t understand why people play Russian Roulette when they could just take toddlers to Mass on Holy Days.⁣ ⁣ Anyhow, we went with naptime. The boys did fine. But Ellie spent the full hour screaming, crying, and wailing like a banshee in the back of the Church. I was right there with her, only my screaming, crying, and wailing was on the inside. I tried to hold her for as long as I could, but the girl is a 30-pound brick, and my back isn’t what it used to be. Once I put her down, she added running to the wailing and logged about 350 laps of the vestibule. I followed along and had worked up a grand old sweat by the time Communion came.⁣ ⁣ I think, at that point, I got in one Hail Mary before I received, then it was off to the races again with Ellie who DONE with Mass and shouting that to everyone within earshot.⁣ ⁣ All through this wild, wailing, marathon of a Mass, I kept thinking of a reel that had popped up in my feed yesterday morning, proclaiming, “Holy Days of Obligation are not a burden; they are a gift.” My first thought to that was “Horse puckey.”⁣ ⁣ “Horse puckey,” was my second thought, too.⁣ ⁣ But my third thought, in the cool light of morning, is, “They are both.” Both burden and gift. They are absolutely a burden—for parents of little ones and for anyone who doesn’t have total freedom in their schedule. They are also absolutely a gift. Not only because we get to go receive Jesus, but because they are, in fact, a burden.⁣ ⁣ Burdens, after all, aren’t all bad. Burdens can be gifts too. Burdens that call us out of ourselves, that require us to suffer and sacrifice for the one (or the One) we love, are gifts. They’re a chance to die to ourselves and show our love in a way that isn’t easy, convenient, or fun. And that’s not a bad thing. That’s how love grows. That’s how we grow, too. Grace is always given. Whether we feel it or not.⁣ ⁣ Believe me, I did not feel it one bit yesterday. If you didn’t either, that’s okay. You don’t have to feel it. The graces comes just the same. And that is a gift. No both/and about it.
Yesterday, when I was out in a linen dress and lin Yesterday, when I was out in a linen dress and linen apron, gathering these tomatoes and more, I thought I looked like quite the Instagram mom. Chris, however, said I looked like an abbess tending her monastery’s garden. Which is not quite the look I was going for, but it probably suits me better.⁣ ⁣ Either way, it was good to be planting, pruning, and picking, all while praising God for the harvest He brings forth. Our little garden here will never be as spectacular as the one I left behind in Steubenville, but it makes me happy, and I love it just the same. ⁣ ⁣ I also love each precious little tomato that comes forth from the vine like some kind of miracle. I love that despite my ignorance and neglect, fruit is still born. I love that in it, God lets me be a part, in some small way, of things growing and becoming. And I love that what God and I have grown together won’t stay in this basket. It will become part of something more beautiful and more wonderful—salads, sauces, tartes and more, all cooked with love and served with love to people I love.⁣ ⁣ I think it must be hard to remain an atheist in a garden. Not impossible. Some certainly manage it. But when I am in my garden, all I see is grace. Even with the aphids, creeping blight, and spotted lantern flies, there is so much abundance. There is so much life. ⁣ ⁣ Pests and drought can make it harder for that life to be all it should be, but they can’t change the goodness of the life that is born. That’s the underlying reality: goodness, beauty, life, coming back year after year, holding on, shining forth, increasing our longing for the day when pests and blight are no more, and abundance is all there is.⁣ ⁣ God is in the garden, friends. Meet Him there if you can. ⁣
Don’t wait. If the last year has taught me anyth Don’t wait. If the last year has taught me anything, it’s that. When God opens a door that you want Him to open, walk through it. The chance might not come again.⁣ ⁣ This is why Chris and I traveled with our children to Quebec this past June. We didn’t want to wait for our children to experience the graces of pilgrimage. This is also why, God willing, we’re leading a family friendly pilgrimage to Assisi, Siena, and Rome next summer, from June 13-22, 2024.⁣ ⁣ It’s been a rough few years, and my heart is longing for the graces to be had in Italy’s thin places—the places where two millennia of prayers have worn thin the veil between heaven and earth and where the very air seems to tingle with grace. Both Chris and I could use the infusion of faith, hope, and love that a pilgrimage to the heart of the Church can bring. And we don’t want to wait until our children are grown to receive that.⁣ ⁣ If your heart is in need of those same graces, we don’t want you to have to wait either.⁣ ⁣ I know trips like this are expensive. Not everyone who wants to go on them, can. But while Chris and I can’t make pilgrimages free, what we can do is make ours open to everyone—couples and singles, parents and grandparents, and children of all ages, including the littlest ones.⁣ ⁣ And that’s what we’ve done. With the help of @selectinternationaltours , we’ve planned a pilgrimage that is family-friendly, so no matter how small your children are, they are welcome on this trip. More important, we’ve planned a pilgrimage that is human-friendly, one where whether you’re traveling alone or with loved ones, you can drink deeply of the graces found in Italy’s thin places and find the rest your heart needs.⁣ ⁣ I’m praying for your discernment and trusting that if God is calling you to join us, He will make a way. You can see the full itinerary and register via the link in my bio. I hope to see you next June!⁣ ⁣ Quick Info:⁣ ⁣Dares: June 13-22, 2024⁣; A deposit of $500 per person is due upon registration, with final payment due April 14, 2024⁣; I’m bringing my children and you can too, regardless of their age⁣; The trip is limited to 50 people and filling fast
Today is the feast day of Saint Edith Stein, also Today is the feast day of Saint Edith Stein, also known by her religious name, Saint Teresa Benedicta of the Cross. The 90 second highlight reel, doesn’t do her justice, so to learn more about this amazing, brilliant saint and martyr, start with her own works, especially:⁣ ⁣ Essays On Women⁣ (the best there is) The Science of the Cross⁣ The Hidden Life⁣ Life in a Jewish Family⁣ ⁣ Then check out these books by other authors:⁣ ⁣ “The Conversion of Edith Stein” by Florent Gaboriau⁣ “Edith Stein: The Life and Legacy of St. Teresa Benedict’s of the Cross” by Maria Ruiz Scaperlanda⁣ “Seeker of Truth: St. Edith Stein,” Endow Groups
It’s been 5 years since Toby was born. In that 5 It’s been 5 years since Toby was born. In that 5 years, other than walking the neighborhood, I’ve left the house alone maybe 8 times. A few times I went out with a friend. A few times I went to Target. And a couple times I worked in a coffee shop.⁣ ⁣ I’m not saying this is good. It just was. Between the needs of my babies, who came in quick succession, plus the lack of family help and my desire to spend every minute not working with my kids, it’s just how things have worked out.⁣ ⁣ So, today, it feels especially weird to be sitting in an airport by myself, getting ready to fly to Charlotte. Beautycounter is hosting its annual leadership conference there and under orders from Chris, I’m going. ⁣ ⁣ Conferences are not my thing. Even when people are paying me to go, large groups overwhelm me. But I’m receiving an award from Beautycounter, and Chris thought it important I be there in person. He also thought I needed a break. It’s been a stressful summer, a stressful year, a stressful many years, and it’s had me close to the edge for a while. ⁣ ⁣ Even with Chris feeling so strongly about me going, I called my friend @elizabethfoss to talk it over. I felt like if anyone understood the guilt of going someplace, especially someplace that wasn’t home to my parents, it would be her. But she was just as firm about it as Chris.⁣ ⁣ “They will take good care of you,” she told me. “And you need a little time where you’re just being taken care of and not caring for anyone else.”⁣ ⁣ As soon as she said it, I knew she was right. I clicked “purchase” on the ticket minutes after we hung up. Now, here I am, sitting in an airport, getting ready to pop the 1 mg Xanex I need to fly. ⁣ ⁣ I would love your prayers—for safe travels, for a good trip, and for Chris and the kids. But also, in case you don’t have an Elizabeth or Chris in your life, and have been taking care of everyone but yourself for a long, long time, let me be the one to say, “It’s okay to take a break.”⁣ ⁣ You don’t have to get on a plane. Maybe all you can swing right now is an afternoon in Adoration. That’s okay. But when you can, give someone else the chance to take care of you. It’s not selfish. It’s sane.
I married up. Everyone who knows us, knows this. I I married up. Everyone who knows us, knows this. I know it most of all. It never ceases to amaze me that this wise, funny, intelligent, gentle, and good man loves crazy old me. I don’t quite know how I lucked out. There are a hundred things I could say to praise this man today, on his 55th birthday. But I am going to share what I am appreciating most about him right now, in this season of life: He eats everything I cook. Really. He not only eats it, he praises it. Even when it’s not his favorite. Even when it’s not my best. He eats everything and praises everything. It’s such a simple act of love. But on days when I feel like I am failing at everything and much of what I’ve cooked gets thrown on the floors by toddlers, his grateful acceptance of whatever I put before him, makes me feel like I am doing one thing right. And that is, quite often, an absolute sanity saver. It is the little things that make a man, a marriage, and a saint. And I am so blessed to have a husband who loves me this well in the little things. They matter. They matter so much. Happy Birthday, @christopherchapman1968 . Thank you for always eating what I cook … and for saving my sanity in a hundred other ways, both little and big, on the regular. You are a good, good man, and the children and I are so blessed to call you ours.
It’s 4pm, and another naptime is about to have c It’s 4pm, and another naptime is about to have come and gone without me making nearly as much progress as I needed to make on the third children’s book. This little book has been such a slog. Partly because I am worn out. Partly because who thought it was a good idea to write a poem for children about Confession and Original Sin? 🤪⁣ ⁣ Either way, I’ll be back at it tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. Until finally, somehow, it’s done. Which is just how writing goes.⁣ ⁣ Sometimes it’s easy, and sometimes it’s hard, but you just keep writing regardless. Always trying to do better. Fixing what you can as you can. Praying for inspiration and grace. Trusting that what God has called you to do, He will not only help you do, but also, somehow, make beautiful.⁣ ⁣ This, at least, is how it’s always been for me. Not just with writing. But with life, too, I think.⁣ ⁣ Here’s to the grand glorious slog, friends. And cappuccinos way too late on a Monday afternoon.
Five years ago today, at age 43, I became a mother Five years ago today, at age 43, I became a mother. A black-haired, amber-eyed boy was placed in my arms, and my whole world changed.⁣ ⁣ People often ask if this was hard, becoming a mom so late. But it wasn’t. It was wonderful. That’s not to say there aren’t challenging aspects. There are. I wish my parents were younger. I wish they could enjoy these babies more. I wish I had the energy of my 28-year-old self. Or even my 38-year-old self. More time for more babies would have been nice, too.⁣ ⁣ But for every challenging part of being an older mom, there are a thousand glorious parts.⁣ ⁣ No matter my age, there are still heads resting on my shoulder, cheeks pressed against mine, and bodies lying heavy on me in the night.⁣ ⁣ There are still peals of laughter and choruses of song. There are books being read and stories being told. There is whining and crying that grate the nerves, but also the sweetest little conversations between the sweetest little people who don’t realize you’re listening.⁣ ⁣ There are still personalities developing and temperaments emerging. There is growing and becoming, discovering and wondering, apologizing and forgiving.⁣ ⁣ Most of all, there are moments like this, during a visit to Illinois, where heaven comes to earth and no fancy editing or soundtrack can improve one bit upon the whirling, twirling beauty of it all.⁣ ⁣ Energy would be nice. Family help would be lovely. But I wouldn’t trade all the energy and help in the world for one second with this man and these babies. Every one of them was worth the wait. And I believe every one of them is why God had me wait. He saw this dance before He laid the foundations of the world, and only His timing could get us here—not mine, not my mother’s, and especially not the judgy lady on the Internet’s.⁣ ⁣ If motherhood has come for you early, praise God. But if you’re still waiting for that gift, praise Him still. No matter how it may seem, His plan will be better than yours. And if motherhood is part of that plan, your age won’t diminish the joy you find in your children. It’s not babies arriving on schedule that make motherhood grand. It’s just the babies, whenever and however they come.
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