Ginny Kochis

Five reasons to evangelize, even when you don't want to

Evangelization is not my cup of tea. I don’t like conflict. I don’t like to be challenged. I also don’t like to appear weak or misinformed, and while I’m definitely knowledgeable when it comes to Church teaching,

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How the Impostor Syndrome hurts Catholic women, and what to do about it

In the range of Catholic family size, ours is relatively small. Three children can seem like a lot to the rest of the world, though, so when I take my circus into town, someone inevitably tells me I’ve got my hands full.

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How to do small things with great love, even when we are tired

Wrestling a toddler into his diaper is the worst time to consider one’s current status. And yet there I was, attempting to stave off my son’s third Huggie death roll, staring darkly out the window at the hydrangeas below. I was done. Done with the diapering. Done with the nagging. Done with the unmade beds, the cluttered countertops, the constant wave of stuff threatening to overtake my home.

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The Gifts of the Spirit for Mothers

I was confirmed in the Catholic Church at thirteen. My sponsor had been in a car accident a week or so prior, so my father stood in as a proxy. He placed his hand on my shoulder during the rite of confirmation, its heft a testament of an earthly and heavenly father’s love.

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On ambulance rides, St. John of the Cross, and learning how to love

I was supposed to host Junior Book Club that Friday. I’d spent most of the week trying to shorten my miles-long to-do list. It never seemed to get any shorter, and by the end of the week I was fixated on it. So much so that Thursday afternoon found me crafting a last minute plan of action.

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Finding God's will in the novena

The first time I prayed a novena I was 24 and on my way to work. My father was in the hospital, a semi-annual occurrence for a heart patient with a medical history longer than the Mississippi and twice as wide. One week prior, I had driven past the entrance to my parents’ neighborhood, only to come upon an ambulance on the side of the road.

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Quiet miracles: lessons learned in grief

I was three years old the first time my father had open heart surgery, a quadruple bypass that saved him from a widow maker. My memory of that event comes from a photograph. We’re in a wheelchair outside the hospital’s main entrance, he with his trademark goofy grin and dark hair; me in a blue and white pinafore perched comfortably in his lap.

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The Other Side of the Fall: Humility and Postpartum Depression

Writing about postpartum depression is sticky, and I've erased more versions of this post than I can count. Why? Probably this little issue I have with pride. You know that saying, "pride goeth before a fall"? For me, pride has consistently goneth before all. I don't like being wrong.

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A Mother's Rule of Lent

When my middle child was about six months old, I decided that attending daily Mass would be part of our Lenten efforts. Dear reader, I am sure you can tell where this is going.

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Pondering in my Heart

Twenty weeks into my third pregnancy, I found myself crying hysterically as the ultrasound technician glided a magic wand over my swollen belly. She had just told me I was having a boy. I crumbled.

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Whispers in the Wind

Since the day started, I’ve stepped on a Lego, an oddly shaped block, one 1980s vintage Fisher Price Little Person and a pet rock. The poor little person got chucked across the living room in a fit of quiet rage, his blue cap pinging every so satisfyingly off the front door frame. The other items fared much better, my foot getting the worst of our confrontations.

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