Sunday, October 12, 2008

New Blog

We are currently blogging at a new place.

If you are wanting to read about our son Eliot's life, you are at the right place.

We still get the comments & still can be reached at

Matt & Ginny Mooney

Friday, April 11, 2008

we're still here

Hello all. We wanted to drop an update into the blogosphere.

We have been overwhelmed by the amount of e-mail and encouragement that has continued in our absence. Thanks to all who have made the effort to let us know that you cared.

In the way of update, Ginny and I are at work in much the same way as we left. Ginny’s pursuits in the jewelry business continue and she is hoping to take her ideas to another level soon with the unveiling of a new direction. I am in my last semester of law school with a few more hours this semester then I would recommend, but the powers that be have promised to let me out upon attaining this magic number of credits. Thus, the schedule reads as follows: finish school, graduation, and then bar exam.

And yes, I am still not thinking I will actually practice law. We’ll see- I’m open. I even still threaten to walk away from school, but this stems mainly from the awkward laughter and concern that this remark conjures up in my wife and friends. What a good woman.

One of the greatest joys has been the realization of a non-profit idea that we had hoped to start. The name of the non-profit is 99 Balloons, Inc. The first activity that we have pursued is a respite night for special needs families to drop off their special needs child along with the siblings. Thus, some parents have been able to receive a long-overdue night off. The name of the night is “rEcess”.

rEcess has provided many highlights, but at the top has been the opportunity to watch others jump in and serve with humility and grace. I can now say that I know a place where Christ is on display each month, and we are humbled to be a part of it. It has become increasingly obvious that the whole thing has nothing to do with Ginny and I; rather, it is much bigger than that.

The website is still under development, but feel free to check it out (

And now we segway into what I will call a letter…

I believe in restoration.

Not too long ago, Fayetteville got our big snow of the year. We pretty much get once a winter to justify the sled in the garage. Previous to what we’ll affectionately call the “winter storm”, I was talking to a friend on the phone who had become aware of the forecasted 6 inches.

.....Aside: We got less than 3 inches which was gone by brunch,, but you must understand that it was our weatherman’s annual shot at being a big-timer- with the exception of delivering the news that a wall cloud might have been spotted near Goshen by Hal, one of the stations weather-watchers. I digress.

I believe in restoration.

On this phone call, my friend was lamenting the future of his almost budded flowers, and how, again, this year’s beauty would be stopped before it began. Now, to my parent’s chagrin, I have never been accused of having a green thumb, and even the manly yearn to mow is foreign to me. So, admittedly, flower-worry was not on my radar when talk of a blizzard began.

Within a week of the whiteout, I had another encounter with lawns and gardens. I am a creature of habit, and pretty much walk Wilson (the dog) on the same route daily. It is upon this route, where I take stock of the neighborhood and busy myself trying to ensure that the dog’s business does not occur in the lawns of neighbors I actually like. Certain aspects along this urban trail do not go unnoticed: my neighbor still does not know that the trash can is only supposed to stay curbside one day a week. Yet another has not received word that his yard is actually not a crap museum.

It’s not all bad on the dog walk. Not having a green thumb does not mean I cannot be green with envy when I see a great yard. You know the one- plush, green, thick. The one we all spy on to confirm our suspicion that the work is hired labor. Somehow makes us feel better if it is.

In our neck of the woods it lies just two blocks away, and is referred to only as “the yard”. I always take stock of this lot and ruminate about how pathetic it is to care so much about grass (it’s my problem, I am working on it). On a recent walk, while deriding the pitiful owner in the secrecy of my mind, I realized that the yard looked terrible. It was dusk, so I gleefully moved closer to examine what had occurred.

Sure enough. The yard was not plush; in fact, it was dead. The secret was out. The lot had been purposely burned down to nothing but charred, black earth.

And that is what Ginny and I have been doing. Learning from life that, although, all that is good can be covered over to the point where no bloom is forthcoming. And all that is for viewing is dead earth where vitality once resided. Herein lies a strange but beautiful recipe for life. Plush, full life.

I have long examined and not concluded why sometimes blooms come back more beautiful than ever, while other blossoms never return. And I can only point to the one who willingly died, that life could take root in me.

I believe in restoration.

PS we’re pregnant.