Maybe they were busy

A couple weekends ago the Gospel reading at Mass was from Chapter 10 of Luke, where Jesus tells the parable of the good Samaritan. In this story Jesus tells us to love our neighbors. When asked "Who is my neighbor?" he tells the story of a man who was robbed, beaten and left for dead on the side of the road. A priest and a Levite walk right by without helping him, but a kind Samaritan man gives him assistance.

I didn't spend a whole lot of time pondering the reading since the message is so straightforward. Good point, I agree that it's horrible that the priest and the Levite didn't help the man, not much more to say. Though I didn't consciously think through it, in the back of my mind I'd categorized the characters who walked by the ailing man as entirely different from myself -- I might not be a saint, but I'm certainly not a "bad person" like these fictional characters. I'd never do anything like that!

So it piqued my interest when our priest said in his homily that he imagines that these two men were not really bad people, that they were perhaps like a lot of us. How on earth could that be?, I wondered. Certainly I would never be so callous, and I assume the same could be said for the majority of my fellow parishioners here.

"How could these two men walk right by someone in need of help?" Our priest asked. And when he gave his answer, it was as if he was speaking to me personally. "Maybe they were busy."

Maybe they were busy.

Oooooh, boy. I think I might have physically gasped a little bit when I heard that. That one statement brought to the surface something I'd been thinking about -- or, really, trying not to think about -- a lot lately: how very often I use "I'm too busy" as an excuse for not making my stated priorities my actual priorities.

And it also made the characters of the priest and the Levite seem a whole lot more familiar. Instead of imagining them as these nearly inhuman figures who walked by the injured man with a shrug or a "Who cares?", I could now practically hear their internal dialogue verbatim: "Poor guy! Ya know, I'd really like to give him a hand but I'm already late for that meeting in Jericho, and I have a million things on my plate today. This is a busy road, I'm sure someone else will come along and help him. I'll keep him in my prayers."

Here in suburbia we don't have a lot of dying people lying on the streets, so I've never been faced with that actual situation. But I am constantly faced with situations of the same type, to varying degrees of severity; opportunities to do what I know is the right thing, what I give lip service to being very important to me, and yet I walk right by on the grounds that I just have too much to do. Why don't I visit my grandfather more often, pray the rosary regularly, go to daily Mass sometimes, keep in closer contact with my friends, call my dad more regularly, make time for daily prayer, or all the other things I claim are top priorities? I'm "too busy".

Like all good lies, it's based on truth -- I really am busy. I do have a lot on my plate. I honestly don't have time to do it all, to undertake every charitable act that comes to mind, to pray for hours each day, etc. But yet, I've allowed "I'm too busy" to become a sort of mantra, a plausible sounding knee-jerk reaction to gloss over those times when I'm just too lazy or too tired or too distracted or too stuck in a rut to do the right thing.

And hearing the story Our Lord told so long ago, realizing that these men were probably not unlike me at all, that they were probably just people overwhelmed by their to-do lists and running late for somewhere they needed to be, and seeing from an outside perspective the horrible mistake they made by walking by the man in need, makes me wonder how many times I've done the same thing. Could anything they had going on possibly be more important than lending a hand to that poor man on the side of the road? Doubt it. And I turn the question to myself: next time I casually blow off an opportunity to help someone in need, or just give a friendly phone call to a loved one, or to grow closer to God, on the grounds that "I'm too busy", I should think of this parable, and remember that the priest and the Levite were busy too.

Church is for sinners: Exhibits A and B

My husband and I went to Vigil Mass last night (sans kids again since we were heading out for a date night). My husband has been into sitting in one of the first few pews lately, so as we dashed in the building before the opening hymn began I followed him up to the very front. To my surprise, he walked past three empty pews to squeeze into the second pew from the front, finding a space just big enough for the two of us in between a religious sister who works with our parish and one of the lay missionary families.

As much as I respected his desire to be as close as possible to the presence of Christ, I grumbled a whisper (undoubtedly interrupting the prayer of those around us) that I didn't see why we couldn't have sat in one of the empty pews right behind us.

"What's the difference?" he whispered back. "This way we're a little closer."

"I just like to have plenty of room...for when we kneel...and pray," I lied. Feeling a twinge of guilt for starting out the Mass with a lie, I fessed up, "OK, look. If we sat in one of those pews back there we wouldn't have to give anyone the sign of peace. Look at all these people here! This is going to be chaos!" [Regular readers know that I'm too socially inept to handle complicated rituals like the sign of peace.]

Evidently my husband had some motivations to come clean about as well. As it turns out, his desire to sit up front was not born entirely of a yearning to be as close as possible to the Real Presence. "Well I want to sit where the fewest people will drink from the chalice before us," he said. "It's just gross, you know, having a bunch of other people's lips touch it before we do."

"WHAT?" I said loudly enough to startle a woman praying the rosary in front of us. "Is that why you're so into sitting up front lately?"

He gave a kind of vague answer about there being a lot of factors, that he did like to sit closer for other reasons, but that, hey, it is great if you can be one of the first people to drink from the chalice. Luckily the opening hymn began and saved us from delving any further into this conversation.

Ah, yes. You want to make sure that before you receive the Blood of Christ that was poured out for your sins, that not too many of the unwashed masses get to it before you do. Talk about missing the point! What you need to be focusing on at Mass is sitting in an area where you can ignore the maximum number of your fellow parishioners (otherwise known as the Mystical Body of Christ).


When I was first looking into religion I had this idea that church was for very holy people, a place where they could grow even deeper in their holiness and become even more Christ-like. Then I realized that church is for sinners, a place for wretched people to throw themselves before God and beg for his mercy. On this matter, I present to you Exhibits A and B.

Can ambitious women be happy at home?

Occasionally friends and old clients rope me into doing a couple hours of consulting work here and there, and the other day I found myself listening in on a business conference call. The subject of targeting a certain product to stay-at-home moms came up, and this led to the subject of women outside of the workforce in general. One of the women on the call said in passing, "Obviously an ambitious woman could never be happy staying at home with kids." The group reacted to this statement as if she'd said "the sky is blue," and moved on to the next subject.

What's surprising is how often I hear this. I've had a couple of friends say the same thing to me within the past few months (each time leading to the awkward moment when they realize that I am one of those stay-at-home mommy people now). To my ears it sounds like a shocking, borderline offensive statement, yet I know that that's not at all how it's meant. Many people perceive it to just be an obvious truth.

Since I seem to hold the minority opinion on the matter, it's left me to wonder a lot lately: Can ambitious women be happy making their full-time job the raising of children and the running of the household? My gut reaction is to say yes, of course, since I think of myself as ambitious and I'm happy with my role as a housewife. But the more I think about it I realize that maybe that's just my personality type -- I'm ill suited to be a mother, so raising my children is far more challenging to me than any job I ever had, leaving me with a feeling of great accomplishment that we're all still alive (so far). Also, my entrepreneurial spirit (read: inability to handle being told what to do by a boss) makes it fulfilling for me to come up with my own little challenges and projects, even if they don't involve a salary or any other sort of public recognition. ...Or maybe I'm just not as "ambitious" as I thought I was.

The other issue that usually goes hand in hand with this is the perception that men have it easier on this score, since they can be married and have families and easily fulfill ambitions outside of family life. I think that there is some truth to this, although plenty of men have to stifle their ambitions, at least job-wise, to support a family (most of the fathers I know are not pursuing their career dreams because of financial or work/life balance issues). But since a husband's traditional role puts him outside the house for much of the time, I suppose it is easier for men to pursue personal goals that don't necessarily involve the family.


All this is to say...what do you think? Can the ambitious woman be a happy housewife? Is it easier for ambitious men to be happy husbands and fathers than it is for ambitious women to be happy wives and mothers?

This sounds like a fun/interesting conversation, I can't wait to read the comments.

Friday Favorites for July 27

Twelve of my favorite blog posts from this week:

1. Rear-view lens for minivans and SUV's: This isn't an ad, I just wanted to rave about this great lens. A backup sensor or camera for our new minivan wasn't in the budget so we just got this thing, and I can't believe how well it works. For example: yesterday there was a Toyota Camry behind me at a light. Looking through my back window alone I could only barely see the top of its roof; through this lens I could see the entire car, down to below the tires. A must-have!
   
   
2. How my garden does grow: Sarah offers a beautiful reflection on bringing new life into the world as a gardener, and as a mother.
   
   
3. God can transform anything...even me: Pretend you read this post on my blog, because it's better than the stuff that I write, and it conveys my thoughts exactly. Hallie pretty much sums up my pre-conversion life when she says, "I wore black, made snide remarks, and embraced cynicism." If I ever write an autobiography I can pretty much cover the first couple of decades of my life with that one line.
   
   
4. Pain and forgiveness: I had tears in my eyes after reading this email exchange between Sarah and her father, and her touching reflections on the challenge of Christian forgiveness.
   
   
5. The broken rosary: Karen's story of hope and prayer in the face of recurring miscarriage is beautiful. It's also an inspiring reminder that sometimes God doesn't answer prayers in the manner we expect (or hope), but they're still answered prayers nonetheless.
   
   
6. "I just don't get anything out of going to church": How many times have we all heard that one? Melanie has highlights from an article that's a good reminder that going to church isn't all about us.
   
   
7. Answers to 20 "unanswerable" questions: Mahsheed lists the answers to 20 questions about God that many parents said were unanswerable (story about original parent survey here).
   
   
8. Blood-sucking sins: It's tick season where Kristine Franklin lives, and she makes a makes a great analogy to "little" sins and those little blood-sucking creatures. (Expect me to one-up her with a scorpion analogy soon.) (via Domestic Vocation)
   
   
9. The cat who predicts death: Wow. Crazy. This is one of those reminders that there are a lot of unseen forces in the world that we haven't even begun to understand. (On an unrelated note, do you think that the journalist who came up with the headline "Grim rea-purr" is maybe re-evaluating his career path right now?) (via Some Have Hats)
   
   
10. A special mother is born: Leticia has a beautiful story about discovering her newborn daughter had Down Syndrome.
    
    
11. What was the point of Vatican II?: I generally skip discussions like this since I don't know enough about Vatican II and always end up overwhelmed by the details. Darwin, however, offers a very interesting, very readable summary of why the Second Vatican Council came about and the impact it's had on the Church.
    
    
12. Some "what if's" before becoming a nun: I'd never thought about all the questions and concerns you'd have before entering religious life! Thanks to intothedeep for her honest reflection.

Thanks to the writers of all these great posts. Hope everyone has a nice weekend!

Crying at Mass

Jennifer's recent post about those moments in life that have "the smell and flavor of God" reminded me of something I've often observed but have never quite understood: the surprising number of people who cry during the Mass.

When my husband and I first started attending Catholic Sunday services, I was perplexed by the fact that I usually walked out of the building wiping tears from my eyes. It was the strangest thing. At the time the ceremony was held in a nondescript building constructed in the 1980's, the choir was small and sang pleasant but not particularly stunning hymns, the homilies were thought-provoking but not designed to stir up emotions, and I wasn't even convinced that the body and blood of Christ were actually made present in what looked to me like bread and wine. And yet, sometime around the consecration (what I called at the time, "that part after the priest talks where we kneel") I would feel the familiar yet unexpected sting of tears in my eyes, almost every time.

One day I looked up to glance at the people around me, half expecting to see people pointing and snickering at the crazy emotional girl who was crying for no reason. To my surprise, I noticed that at least two or three of the people kneeling near me were crying as well.

Ever since then I've never ceased to be amazed at how many people you see wiping their eyes right before and after they receive the Eucharist. There have been times when it seems like almost everyone is in tears. (And this is just from limited glances as I get in and out of the pew to go up for communion! ...For the record, I don't make an effort to stare at other people to see what their emotional emotional state is at this time). :)

I'm really not quite sure what to make of it, especially that it used to happen to me before I even believed in the Real Presence. My best guess, of course, is that it's simply the Holy Spirit at work. Although I may be missing something since I'm not a cradle Catholic, perhaps the Mass has an emotional significance to people who have been Catholic all their lives that I wouldn't understand. Also, I've only been to Mass at a few Catholic churches, so I can't speak to whether this is a common occurrence.


I don't exactly have a "take" here, I mainly just wanted to throw out this observation and see what others think. Does this happen at your parish as well? Why do you think so many people -- even, as in my case, the occasional agnostic -- are moved to tears by what is on the surface a rather unemotional ceremony?

Life with the saints

I just finished My Life With the Saints by Fr. James Martin, and I want to thank everyone who recommended it to me during my wish list panic attack. It's one of the best books I've read in a long time.

In each chapter Fr. Martin lovingly chronicles the life of a particular saint, and weaves in stories of how this holy man or woman inspired him during the ups and downs of his life, which has ranged from the corporate fast track to the Jesuit priesthood.

There are so many inspiring stories here, and not just from the canonized saints themselves. I found just as much inspiration in the stories of the many saintly people Fr. Martin has met in his journeys as a Jesuit priest: the religious sisters who cheerfully ran a hospice in the slums of Jamaica; the African refugees who had suffered unspeakable tragedy and lived in squalor and yet were moving on with their lives by starting small businesses; the Little Sisters of Jesus in Nairobi whose tiny house with hardly any possessions, no electricity and very little water overflowed with joy and laughter; and the countless saints who will never have a canonization ceremony, never have the world know their names, yet humbly serve God and see joy in beauty in the world around them, even in circumstances that are miserable by worldly standards.

For example, Fr. Martin recounts a story told by former Jesuit Superior General Pedro Arrupe of a man he met in a poverty-stricken slum in Latin America. Fr. Arrupe had just celebrated Mass in a decrepit building with dogs and cats wandering in and out of the service, and afterward he received an unexpected gift:

When it was over, a big [man] whose hang-dog look made me almost afraid said, "Come to my place. I have something to give you." I was undecided...but the priest who was with me said, "Accept, Father, these are good people." I went to his place; his house was a hovel nearly on the point of collapsing. He had me sit down on a rickety old chair. From there I could see the sunset. The big man said to me, "Look, sir, how beautiful it is!" We sat in silence for several minutes. The sun disappeared. The man then said, "I didn't know how to thank you for all you have done for us. I have nothing to give you, but I thought you would like to see this sunset. You liked it, didn't you? Good evening." And then he shook my hand.

As much as I loved these stories, I think my favorite part was just how human and accessible Fr. Martin makes all the great saints whose lives he covers. For some people (ahem, me) it's easy to think of the saints as those perfect images who beam at you from prayer cards, who didn't have to struggle with doubts and temptations since they were just naturally good people, that it was somehow "easy" for them to be completely dedicated to God. Probably the biggest thing I took away from this book was how incredibly, well, human the saints are. The implications are inspiring yet a little bit daunting. Realizing that it wasn't necessarily easier for any of these men and women to be dedicated to God than it would be for me starts to make all my excuses sound like just that: excuses.

"But I still have doubts!"...Mother Teresa had doubts. "But I have a really hard time being humble and obedient, it just doesn't come naturally to me!"...It didn't come naturally to Thomas Merton either. "But I have so few people who really support me in my faith!"...Neither did the Ugandan martyrs, or Bernadette Soubirous, or a lot of the saints.

Fr. Martin says it best in his chapter on the great St. Peter, who is the ultimate example of the fact that God doesn't reserve the call to holiness for people who are perfect:

Peter was not perfect...A perfect man would never have denied Jesus and therefore would never have understood the human desire for forgiveness. A perfect man would never have argued with the other disciples and therefore would never have understood the need for reconciliation. A perfect man would never have realized how desperately he really needed Jesus, and would never have understood how this truth is the basis of all discipleship. [...]

Sometimes I wonder if Jesus chose Peter not despite his imperfections but because of them. Peter's knowledge of his own limits led him to understand his reliance on God. It also enabled him to appreciate the love that Jesus had for him, as well as to celebrate the fact that God can work through anyone, no matter how human. And that's not such a bad message to carry to the ends of the earth.

Not a bad message at all. Thank you to Fr. Martin for such a delightful book.

The gift of trolls

***UPDATE BELOW***

I just sat down to do my naptime email and blog reading and came across this gem from my inbox. I've edited it slightly for clarity, brevity and profanity, but here's the gist:

your site is such a waste of time. have u ever thought of writing something that isn't stupid? well done.....i just wasted more time doing nothing but reading garbage.

This reminds me of something I've been thinking about lately, one of the oddest twists in my spiritual journey.

When I think back over my conversion process, I often marvel at how my faith increased rapidly over a short period of time starting sometime late last year. I went from a mostly dry, intellectual conviction (with plenty of doubts) to pretty solid faith and a deeper, more personal understanding of God over the period of just a few months. I've thought a lot lately about what happened to bring about those changes.

There were a lot of reasons, some of which I discussed here. But I recently realized that a surprisingly significant factor in my growing closer to God during this time came from the most unlikely of places: trolls. (For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, a "troll" is a person who leaves a nasty comment on a blog or message board.)

There was a time when my posts were not infrequently met with the comments of folks who adamantly disagreed pretty much everything I said, and some of those comments were not very charitable (some examples here and here -- warning, some profanity). As anyone with a blog knows, it's surprising how much words from a nameless, faceless person out there on the internet can bum you out.

I remember the first time I sat down at my computer to check comments to this blog and read something that made me feel very insulted, and infuriatingly misunderstood. I actually don't remember what the comment said or which post it referenced, just that it was something very hurtful. After spending a moment fantasizing about all the things that I would do if I had this person's home address and phone number (OK, all the things that "Alternate-Universe Assertive Jen" would do), my frustration level reached such a height that I actually decided to turn to prayer.

And the prayer went something like this: "God, look at how much this guy sucks! Look at these unfair, terrible (not to mention incorrect) things he said! Poor me!"

Oddly enough, my prayer did not leave me with a sense of peace. As additional comments rolled in that were insulting to various degrees (the original commentor found my site through a link on an atheist chatroom, as did many others), I continued to turn to prayer. And when I actually took a breath and paused my "Whaaaa! I'm so misunderstood!" whining, an insight occurred to me that I believe was a direct answer to my prayer.

The thought popped into my head that I needed to take a hard look at why these comments were hurtful to me. And when I did, I didn't like the answer. I made my best attempt to come up with convoluted explanations about rules of etiquette and the way that disagreements should be phrased, but I quickly realized that it all came down to one thing: pride. God gave me the grace to realize the absurdity of my situation: I was being called a moron and a fool for believing in God, and my first reaction was to think about me, me, me. In fact, I was so consumed with the impact all this had on my ego that I'd completely missed the fact that I was witness to a great tragedy: I had just read the words of a person who does not know God. And rather than immediately bow my head in prayer, I'd turn inward to focus exclusively on how it all impacted me.

In my spiritual journey so far, I've encountered few things that have made me look my pridefulness in the face as effectively as the "trolls". I'd sometimes read a comment and turn my eyes upward to God, asking, "Even him?" -- meaning, "You said we're supposed to love our enemies...but not these idiots, right? I can feel hateful towards this guy who just called me a 'stupid b-tch' for being Catholic, right?" But, of course, I knew the answer as soon as I asked the question. If I'm to call myself a Christian I'm supposed to be kind to everyone, to avoid fostering hateful thoughts toward even the people who insult me most. The guy who said I was a terrible mother for raising my kids with faith? Even him.

At one point I was tempted to write a post reminding certain commentors that behind every blog is a real person with real feelings, so they should watch what they say. But, again thanks to prayer, I realized that I was actually the one who could use the lesson: behind every post in my combox is a real person -- and the more hateful and vitriolic their tone, the more likely it is a person who is in pain.


Since that time I've received very few comments that I would classify as trolls; yet, as those of you with blogs can probably imagine, I do occasionally get comments that I find irritating or even a little insulting, like that email above that I received today. I almost always end up with unsettled feelings like frustration or even anger -- yet I now realize where those sensations are coming from: my own pride. I'm a looooong way away from peacefully praying for anonymous commentors who have annoying things to say. Yet I do think they're a sort of gift, to remind me how incredibly full of self and empty of agape love I really am.


***UPDATE***
Reading through the comments made me realize that I should have been more clear in the paragraph where I said "I had just read the words of a person who does not know God". I wasn't trying to say that all "trolls" don't know God. I was thinking back to certain comments that were left by self-described atheists (not all of which were contained in the two posts I linked to, those were just some examples).

Personal encounters with Jesus

I was listening to a radio interview with Steve Ray the other day, and he mentioned that for many years he was a lukewarm Christian, until he had a "personal encounter with Jesus Christ" that changed his life and brough him back to faith in a big way.

I realized that I've heard this phrase used all my life, yet I'm not sure what it means. I understand encountering Jesus as a general term -- e.g. I feel that I've seen and felt his presence many times in the actions of saintly people, in prayer, in the Eucharist, etc. -- but it's often used to describe a single, powerful, life-changing experience, as in "I was on the wrong path but turned my life around after I had a personal encounter with the Lord Jesus Christ". From what I can gather these events typically don't involve hearing the voice of God or seeing a great vision, so I can't figure out what exactly they are.

For some reason this concept has really piqued my interest, so I would love to hear any thoughts on this. Also, if it's not too personal, I'd be honored if anyone would share his or her own story of a personal encounter with Christ.

How important is it to pay for college?

I've enjoyed following yet another great thread over at Danielle Bean's blog, where she asks readers to talk about how they afford to have more than one or two children on one income.

One thing that surprised me was how much of the discussion is focused on paying for children's college education. If I'm understanding correctly, it seems that some of the commentors thought that not being able to afford to pay for all or most of college for additional children would constitute a serious reason to avoid pregnancy. (It's quite possible that I did misunderstand what the writers on this particular thread were saying...but certainly that is a common notion in our society.)

Personally, I disagree with that -- I'm biased, however, because I have the most amazing husband in the world, whose mother knew full well when she decided to get pregnant that there's no way she'd ever be able to pay for him to go to college. :) She ended up becoming a single mother and was so poor that they often couldn't run the heat in the winter, so paying for even a single textbook was out of the question. He ended up getting an undergrad degree and two graduate degrees, all from Ivy League schools, so the student loan debt we're paying off boggles the mind. He was able to get some scholarships and financial aid, but it didn't even come close to covering the total cost. When we got married the debt we had on student loans was more than some people have on their house! To this day, it continues to be an albatross around our necks, especially since we've restructured our lives around stability and family instead of making more money. Our debt payment on the loan each month makes it really hard to get by, and it's going to take us forever to pay it off. All that said, would it be better if my husband had never been born?

I understand wanting to do everything possible to help your children not begin their post-college lives under a mountain of debt. I also understand that certain dire financial concerns are surely "grave and serious reasons" to limit your family size. But is student loan debt so terrible that it outweighs the value of bringing a new life into the world?

I've made it clear what I think, but that's just my $0.02. There's no right or wrong answer to this one. What is your personal opinion on the issue?

Friday Favorites for July 20

What great stuff! Twelve of the best things I read this week:

1. 101 Quick Meals: If I had created my own list of super simple recipes for last-minute meals, it would have been like, "Open box of Cheerios. Stick hand in. Stuff Cheerios into mouth." Luckily, nobody asked me to do that, and instead the NY Times has come up with 101 great ideas to share with readers. Most of the "recipes" are less than 30 words long.
   
   
2. A convert's thoughts on papal infallibility: Aimee Milburn offers some thoughts on papal infallibility from a convert's perspective. Great stuff. (via Chez Ouiz)
   
   
3. Resources for difficult prenatal diagnosis: I discovered BeNotAfraid.net (via Mary Meets Dolly) and was immediately impressed with the wealth of resources it offers for parents facing a troubling prenatal diagnosis. Also, the tons of stories from parents who defied the culture of death and carried their children to term are so inspiring. I've bookmarked it to have handy in case I or a loved-one is ever in that situation.
   
   
4. He has borne our griefs: Jessica had one of those moments we've all had, where you read something in the news that leaves you feeling horrified and depressed. She shares some beautiful thoughts on what to do when you feel overwhelmed by all the suffering and the sadness in the world.
   
   
5. A pro-choice couple keeps their baby: Ronda Kaysen and her husband have been on my mind ever since I read this article. Kaysen offers a candid account of her very unexpected pregnancy and how close she came to having an abortion. Her baby is due any day now, and I often wonder if meeting her new son or daughter will change her heart on abortion. I also wonder if her child will ever read this, and what he or she will think. (via one of my favorite new blogs, The Deacon's Bench)
   
   
6. Two weeks at a contemplative abbey: Edith has some fascinating thoughts on what it's like to live in a monastic community. She points out that seemingly simple gestures like observing silence, chanting, bowing, serving one another, etc. "are not empty practices, but ways of forming different habits in our hearts and minds."
   
   
7. My five year plan: I loved Karen Edmisten's thoughts on balancing planning with being open to God's will. I must have had this in the back of my mind when I wrote that post on worry.
   
   
8. What happens when you separate marriage and procreation: Hope points out that contraception has separated the connection of marriage to procreation, and lists some of the crazy things this has led to, including the fact that "even faithful Catholics seem to think that married couples who are having babies are simply making a lifestyle choice." Read the whole thing, it's great.
   
   
9. Saved, by the gentleman in the back: I laughed out loud at this story...and can I hire this man to come with my family every place we go to distract attention from my children's behavior?
   
   
10. A sobering look at the real failure rates of the Pill: When you take middle-aged, middle-class married couples out of the picture, the failure rates skyrocket. Looking at the failure rates among the young and the unmarried, it's hard to believe that there are people who are actually opposed to abstinence education. (via #!/usr/bin/mom)
    
    
11. "American culture has mostly become one vast infomercial": A thought-provoking commencement speech by NEA chairman Dana Gioia, where he discusses how real culture has been replaced by vapid entertainment. (via Burke to Kirk)
    
    
12. Making the Welcome Bag: I feel a little bit closer to Christ every time I read a post from the blog Steppin' Heavenward, and this post is no exception. Here Renee recounts putting together a "Welcome Bag" for the six- and eight-year-old boys they're adopting from Ghana (more on that here and here). They already have nine children (six biological, three also adopted from Africa), and are looking forward to having eleven. What an awesome family.
    

Have a great weekend!

On worry

Some of the best advice I've heard in recent years came from a homily our priest gave last December. He was talking about worry, and threw out some amazing statistics about what people worry about: I don't recall the exact numbers, but the majority of things that people worry about are future events -- and at least half of those never even happen.

This is even more true with me. As he spoke, I did a breakdown of what I tend to worry about, and at least 75% of it involves future events (hello, my name is Jennifer, and I am a control freak). And, thinking through the things that had been on my mind for the past few months, I realized how many of those worries never even came to pass!...Combine that with the time I spent dwelling on things that had already happened and were no longer within my control, and it was a pretty startling picture.

So I resolved to stop worrying about the future so much, and the results have been really interesting. I never cease to be amazed at how often things that I was just sure were going to happen ended up playing out entirely differently than I'd expected, weren't as bad as I thought, or never even happened at all. At least a few times a month I find myself thinking, "Wow, I'm glad I didn't waste time worrying about that, since it's all moot now." (Which is not to say, of course, that I don't have any problems! Just that things often happen differently than I would have expected.)

And lately I've had to remind myself of this more than ever. Baby #3 is set to arrive at the end of next month, and I feel completely unprepared. My toddler has zero interest in potty training and the baby isn't walking, so it looks like I'll have three children in diapers and two that don't walk (in a two story house)...and don't even get me started on the money issues. I often feel like I'm barely getting through the days as it is, that I'm really not cut out for this, and just cannot imagine how this is going to work when I have a newborn.

Yet if I were to indulge in this worry I would probably find that the time I spend thinking about how challenging it's going to be would outweigh the time I spend in actual challenging situations. The key, I think, is to simply live in the moment. Seek God at all times, and humbly go about my days, not agonizing about what tomorrow might bring or fixating on what happened yesterday. The bad moments full of frustration or fatigue or exasperation will come...but don't allot them any more time than they need by pouring mental energy into them before and after the fact.

I was reminded of all this when I came across a wonderful excerpt from The Secret of a Happy Life by Fr. Lasance over at one of my favorite blogs, Starry Sky Ranch. It's so beautiful...and so true...and so something I really need to remember in the coming months:

One secret of a sweet and happy Christian life is learning to live by the day...Life does not come to us all at one time; it comes only a day at a time. Even tomorrow is never ours until it becomes today, and we have nothing whatever to do with it but to pass down to it a fair and good inheritance in today's work well done, and today's life well lived.

It is a blessed secret this, of living by the day. Any one can carry his burden, however heavy, till nightfall. Anyone can do his work, however heavy, till nightfall. Anyone can do his work, however hard, for one day. Anyone can live sweetly, patiently, lovingly, purely, until the sun goes down. And this is all life ever means to us - just one little day. "Do today's duty; fight today's temptations, and do not weaken or distract yourself by looking forward to things you cannot see and could not understand if you saw them." God gives us nights to shut down upon our little days. We cannot see beyond. Short horizons make life easier and give us one of the blessed secrets of brave, true, holy living.

From the "be careful what you ask for in prayer" files...

Starting a couple months ago I started regularly praying that God would show me all that I take for granted, to see my life more through his eyes and appreciate all the abundance that surrounds me.

Meanwhile, we bought a minivan since we're about to have three kids in car seats. Perhaps because of the fruits of prayer, or maybe just because I had been reading too many Dave Ramsey books lately, we bought a very cheap, used minivan.

When I initially set out on the car search I had a list of just a few little things that I "needed" in a car. I was open to making sacrifices but, hey, this is not the third world. There were certain things, I decided, that are just too crucial to live without, and at the top of that list was an automatic passenger door (for the minivan illiterate, some models now allow you to open that side sliding door by remote control). Every one of the mothers I talked to about the minivan purchase spoke of the automatic door as if it's something mentioned by name in Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, so I decided that I too must have one.

After a lot of searching we found a deal on a minivan in Houston that was too good to pass up. It had a lot of great features, except no automatic door. My husband offered to keep searching since he knew how much I wanted that feature, but I told him that I could do without. Through my deep spirituality I would find a way to make this sacrifice. (Some people wash the sores of lepers in Calcutta, others drive minivans without automatic doors. Every saint has his or her own path to holiness.)

When my mother-in-law first drove the car up from Houston (we had her handle the deal since she lives there), the first thing I thought of was the door, and my great sacrifice. I walked up to the car and pulled on the handle to magnanimously open it the old fashioned way...and the stupid thing came off in my hand.

"Oh, yeah," my mother-in-law said. "The seller mentioned that that passenger handle is broken, just a total mess. It really takes some work to operate it. I didn't think that would bother y'all so I forgot to mention it."

So, after nearly breaking my arm patting myself on the back about my great willingness to use one hand to open my car door, I now own a minivan whose door requires not just the use of both hands, but the dexterity of a ninja, the strength of a weightlifter, and the focus of a Zen master (anecdotal evidence indicates that loud profanity is helpful as well).

It's about a nine step process, involving pulling hard on one side of the handle while carefully balancing the other side so that it doesn't come off, in which case you have to start all over. Every time I'm in the middle of this endeavor and it's about a thousand degrees outside and I have groceries sitting on the ground and a toddler who's imminent to bolting out into the parking lot, the thought pops into my head, "Still think that having a minivan with a regular door is such a sacrifice?" It's probably my subconscious, but sometimes I can't help but wonder if it's not the very voice of God.

I am not a big fan of stating definitively what is and is not the hand of God directly acting in my life to teach me lessons. It's impossible to ever know for sure. However, I cannot help but think that this situation is far too humorous to be coincidence, as well as the perfect answer to my recent prayers -- a much-needed slap upside the head to remind me that I'm not a living St. Clare for making changes in my life that only the richest of the rich would consider a "sacrifice". Touché, God, touché.

The Catholic Guy - Wednesday at 4:40pm EST

(UPDATED - NEW TIME)

I'll be joining Lino Rulli on his show The Catholic Guy on Sirius Channel 159 on Wednesday at 5:00pm EST. If you don't already have a subscription, it's easy to listen free for a trial period.

Settling the faith vs. reason debate, once and for all

Throughout the ages, scholars and theologians have debated the place of faith in the rational man's mind. Why, some say, would one ever put faith before reason? Can reason alone not provide us with everything we need to make informed decisions about our actions and the world around us?

Well, I hereby announce that after hundreds (perhaps thousands) of years of debate, the question can finally be put to rest. Should the intelligent man set silly concepts like faith aside and rely on sound reason alone to guide his life? No. Not unless he wants to look like a total fool, anyway. And here is my witness to this profound truth:


The Vigil Mass this weekend was absolutely beautiful. It was one of those days where you could just feel the Holy Spirit all throughout the service. I actually did a fair job of keeping my mind from wandering (no small feat!), and remained prayerful for the majority of the time. Afterwards I felt particularly peaceful and in tune with God.

Out in the narthex I ran into a man who's very involved in the parish whose dedication to doing God's work I've always admired. I'll call him "Paul" (not his real name -- you'll see why I'm not using his real name later, when this nice story derails into a train wreck of a "Jen moment"). Anyway, he's one of those people who just radiates the love and peace of Christ. As we chit-chatted it came out that another lady whom I've often admired, a nun who visits our parish occasionally, is actually his sister. And he has a brother who's a much-admired priest. When Paul told me all this I joked, "I don't want to talk to you anymore! The person I need to be talking to is your mother -- I want to know her secret!"

With a warm smile and a laugh he motioned to a group of ladies by the exit, saying that his mother is actually here today. She was seated on a little bench, smiling at someone's baby, and had a lovely, peaceful beauty about her.

After we were done chatting my husband and I headed out to the car. The exit we were planning to use would take us right past the group of women. Feeling all warm and fuzzy from such a nice day at Mass, I decided that I should stop and tell his mother how much I admired her.

Yet, something seemed to be holding me back -- and not just my introverted nature. Something else seemed to be guiding me away from talking to her. It really felt like the Holy Spirit...but yet, that wouldn't make any sense. What reason could there possibly be for not spreading good cheer? My intellect told me that everyone likes to receive a compliment, and nothing bad could possibly come of brightening a nice old lady's day by telling her how much I admired her son Paul and his siblings. I must set any erroneous perceptions of "guidance" from the "Holy Spirit" aside and do as my good reason dictates!

But, alas, I was feeling all prayerful and decided to just go straight to my car, on the off chance that that's what the Holy Spirit was leading me to do. I was grumbling to myself that I was probably just being unreasonable and superstitious as I walked past the ladies. My thoughts were sharply interrupted, however, when I took a closer look and heard some snippets of conversation that indicated that the woman whom I had identified as Paul's mother was not actually his mother. She was his wife.


And there you have it. I believe that the whole faith vs. reason debate is now settled once and for all.

Get out of my way, idiot! I'm trying to get to church!

My husband and I went to Vigil Mass yesterday, and we were going to be on time. We always seem to slide into the pew a matter of seconds before the entrance hymn beings. This time was going to be different: we would arrive a full ten minutes early for peaceful, prayerful reflection to make sure we were properly disposed for the Mass.

And we almost made it. We had exited the highway and were almost in sight of the church when we heard the ominous ding!ding!ding! of the railroad gates. The speed limit on this particular track is evidently something like two miles per hour, so when you hear that noise you can pretty much forget about being wherever you were going on time.

But then we realized we were in luck! The train was actually on the tracks across the street, and we just needed to turn right. We were in a right turn only lane so this should be no problem.

It was to our great frustration that we realized that the car in front was intending to go straight (illegally) and therefore had to wait for the train to pass, even though he was in the right turn only lane.

I was just about to start having some really sinful thoughts when something distracted me.

HOOOOONK! HONK! HONK-HONK-HONK! HOOOOOOOOOOOONK!

The guy in the silver BMW M3 behind him was just laying on the horn. It was almost constant. I'm surprised he didn't wear his horn out. And he didn't stop. As the long train creeped by (it took at least a full five minutes, probably more), and the cars piled up behind us to wait to turn right, the honking continued. It got to the point that a couple people stepped out of there cars to see what was going on. The lady driving the car next to us looked over at us with an uncomfortable shrug.

Somewhere into the fourth straight minute of honking my husband and I joked, "Maybe he's really in a hurry to get to Mass!" and had a good laugh at our sparkling wit.

Finally, a couple minutes later, the train passed and the gates lifted. The car in front went on its way, and the BMW whisked quickly to the right...towards our church.

"Surely not..." we said.

Then another right. The building was now in sight. And, sure enough, the BMW hooked a left and squealed into the church parking lot. Being the nosy, gossipy people we are, my husband and I were determined to follow the car to see who the driver was and almost did some rude honking of our own when people got in our way. ("Get out of the way, fool! We're trying to see who the guy was who was honking on his way to Mass so that we can feel smugly superior to him! MOVE!")

He parked his car in the last row out, with a grass curb on one side and plenty of empty parking spaces on the other, undoubtedly to ensure that nobody come within 20 feet of the flawless paint job. Despite his hurry he did take the time to re-park it a few times to make sure it was as close to the grass as possible. (It is only through the power of the Holy Spirit that we resisted parking our car right next his, way over on his side of the lane).

Throughout the entire Mass I had to refrain from erupting into giggles at the whole thing. I kept thinking of the various things he might have been saying as he wore out the horn in his car: "Get out of my way, idiot, I'm trying to get to church!", or "If you don't move so I can go receive the Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ I'm going to kick your a--!"

I get to have a great chuckle at this fellow parishioner's expense only because I am so much like him. Though I can honestly say I would never do what he did, it's not because I'm so much holier -- it's only because I'm a non-confrontational wussy. But believe me, if the din of the constant honking had distracted me, I would not exactly have remembered to see Christ in the person who was in the right turn only lane and not turning right.

The whole thing was a good reminder for me. Actually hearing the disconcerting ugliness of the blaring horn was so unpleasant...yet not all that different from what goes on in my head when I'm on my way to church. In our quest to be early (or at least on time) for Mass lately, I often find myself snapping at the kids or my husband, thinking nasty thoughts about other slowpoke drivers who only go ten miles over the speed limit, and blaming lights and stop signs and traffic when I don't arrive exactly when I wanted to. I often walk into the house of God grousing, rushing, and generally feeling sorry for myself. And even if I refrain from communicating with my car's horn, how many times have I thought something like, "Get out of my way, idiot! I'm trying to get to Mass!" -- my way may not be as noisy, but it's horribly unpleasant nonetheless.

As I thought about how rude and un-Christian my fellow parishioner in the BMW was, I realized that I'm no better. Sometimes we all let our desire to control everything, to have things play out exactly according to our plans, allow us to completely forget what it's all about.

Friday Favorites for July 13

Here are 12 of my favorite posts I came across this week:

1. People who touched our lives: If you want a nice little read to brighten your day, scan through the comments to this post, in which Heather invited her readers to share stories of the people who touched their lives the most. Keep the Kleenex handy.
   
   
2. Meeting Mary at the cross: Adoro te Devote has a moving post about her struggle of facing losing a beloved pet to a painful disease, just after she reluctantly decided to quit her job with no backup lined up. She has some beautiful insights about what we can learn from situations like this.
   
   
3. Receiving communion on the hand: Seminarian Matthew has a post packed with interesting quotes and references to the question of whether or not to receive communion on the tongue or the hand. This is probably all old hat to cradle Catholics, but as a new convert I wasn't aware that there were such strong feelings on the subject.
   
   
4. The best invention EVER?: Did I put a question mark behind that statement? I didn't mean to. This is the best invention, ever. Behold: TV-B-Gone.
   
   
5. Purity and sex education: Very interesting reflection from Elena Maria Vidal about how "sex education" should be approached with young people. Her ideas are really good old fashioned common sense, yet sound somehow revolutionary in our crazy society.
   
   
6. Indoor children: OK, so not everyone agreed with my theory that modern social isolation has led to some very unnatural living conditions. But I think we can all agree that something is seriously messed up when we need $20 million initiatives to try to get kids to go outside.
   
   
7. How many pigs is your daughter worth?: Kristine Franklin never fails to tell it like it is, and this post is no exception. Let's face it: not all cultural traditions speak the truth about humans and the world.
   
   
8. "At least you have a healthy baby": Bekah has some very interesting thoughts about what this commonly-used phrase indicates about how our society sees babies, women, and the process of giving birth.
   
   
9. Grateful while striving for better: Kristin, who I picture as having an actual, visible halo floating above her head, has yet another beautiful post that leaves me feeling inspired yet somehow inept. I actually laughed out loud when I compared the description of her Tuesday morning to how things went down over here at my house that day. Maybe one of these days I'll get there. Anyway, her post is lovely and definitely worth reading.
   
   
10. Professional eater retires due to injury: I was going to suggest this as a career path for my children, but I didn't realize how dangerous it was! Don't miss the in-depth analysis of the secrets to this gentleman's "hotdog eating prowess". (via Slashfood)
    
    
11. Known unto God: I'm not very familiar with the battle the writer of New House New Job discusses here, but I loved the post, particularly the last paragraph. It's so comforting to know that even those who die seemingly anonymously are not lost and forgotten, but "known unto God".
    
    
12. Mary Meets Dolly is back!: One of my favorite blogs, Mary Meets Dolly, is back from hiatus. Rebecca, a molecular biologist, covers subjects like genetic engineering and bioethics from a Catholic perspective in layman's terms that even people like me can understand. Welcome back!
    

And here's a bonus link about somebody finally finding a good use for scorpions (thanks, Sarah L.) Actually...I wonder if this guy was the previous owner of our house?

Hope everyone has a great weekend.

Building a house of cards

For whatever reason, I keep stumbling across blogs by mothers who are battling cancer lately. One of the things that's most striking about every one of them is how much looking through their posts highlights how fragile life is, and how little control we really have over our destinies. The post at the bottom of the page, from last Wednesday, might be titled something like "Feeling great!" and recount high hopes and improving health. And then the latest post, from today, might be titled "Bad news" and tell of dire test results and the choking realization that the author will probably not live to see her children grow up.

Just now I was doing my usual blog reading during the kids' naptime, and I came across yet another blogger who just received a grave cancer diagnosis. She's a mother, she's not even 30 yet, and there's a good chance that she doesn't have a lot more time.

Oddly, I was able to keep a stiff upper lip through most of the post, until she got to the part about all the plans she had: how she had her life neatly in place, her plans for the next few years all settled, and this diagnosis completely derailed everything. Nothing seems within her control any longer, and that's one of the things she's struggling with the most.

It hit me so hard to read that because I'm so much like that. Especially coming from a background of atheism, where there's no higher power to guide decisions, it is my habit to take comfort in planning and control. I have multiple documents sitting here on my computer that detail my goals for the next six months, year, five years, etc. What I am going to accomplish over the next decade is all scheduled out (until recently, that even included the number of children I would have and when I would have them).

Yet all my life there has been the looming "What if?" Only when I took a moment to think about the possibility of a serious health issue, disability, death of a loved one, etc. did I realize just how much my comfort and happiness were derived from the predictability of my daily life and sense of control over my future.

This is something I've been working on a lot as I try to grow in my newfound faith: to not let the luxury that envelopes my middle-class American lifestyle blind me to the fact that my life is not mine to control; that my fortunes could change 180 degrees at any moment; that building my life around my own surface-level satisfaction and comfort is like building a house of cards.

I often remind myself of yet another bit of wisdom I got from Fr. Walter Ciszek's book He Leadeth Me:

How easy it is, in times of ease, for us to become dependent on our routines, on the established order of our day-to-day existence, to carry us along. We begin to take things for granted, to rely on ourselves and our own resources, to "settle in" to this world and to look to it for support. We all too easily come to equate being comfortable with a sense of well-being.

Friends and possessions surround us, one day is followed by the next, good health and happiness for the most part are ours. We don't have to desire much of the things of the world -- to be enamored of riches, for example or greedy or avaricious -- in order to have gained this sense of comfort and of well-being, to trust in them as our support...It is the status quo that we rely on, that carries us from day to day, and somehow we begin to lose sight of the fact that under all these things and behind all these things it is God who supports and sustains us. [...]

Then it is, perhaps, that God must allow our whole world to be turned upside down in order to remind us it is not our permanent abode or final destiny.

Taking things for granted and relying on yourself and your own resources: if I were to write an autobiography at this point, that would have to be the subtitle (the title perhaps being Seeking God From the Couch, or Who Needs to Trust in God When You Have It All Figured Out Yourself?) When I honestly look at how much I rely on myself and my own resources compared to how much I really rely on God and place my trust in him, it ain't pretty.

And yet, to be totally honest, I'm afraid to pray about this. I actually have not prayed that God help me let go of the comforts around me and not depend too much on the predictability of my daily life...because I'm afraid he might actually answer that prayer.

The one thing I have done is to allow daily frustrations to remind me that my purpose in life is not to seek comfort in this world. That maybe the watermelon ground into the white carpet and the abysmal afternoon of simultaneous temper tantrums that ruined my plans for the day are just the smack upside the head I needed to remind me that my plans are always, always more tenuous than they seem.

Motherhood: God doesn't call the equipped, he equips the called

I've come across a series of posts and comments lately related to the topic of determining God's will for how many children you should have. I'll pick on Sarah (of the very cleverly-named blog Sarahndipity) only because she offered a clear articulation of the point of view I've been puzzling over. In response to my interview with Hope, she wrote, "I would like maybe four kids total...I cannot imagine having 7, 8 or more. My husband and I are just not cut out for that."

My initial reaction to statements like that is always, "Whoa! Does that mean there are people who actually think they are cut out for that?" In my life I've known one or two couples who, early in marriage, thought that they had what it takes to have five or six kids...and then had a drastic change of mind, usually around the time when the second baby started teething.

It seems to me that if God called only natural "supermoms" to have large families, there would be like five women in America with more than three kids. Maybe I'm doing some projecting here since I lack pretty much every skill one would want to be a mother to anything other than a Chia Pet, but I've come to believe that when it comes to having kids, nothing is more true than the old saying that "God doesn't call the equipped, he equips the called."

And this is good news for people like me. Because I am "equipped" to do very little, least of all be a mother. When I try to come up with a list of things at which I naturally excel, that are easy for me because of some innate skillset, the train of thought goes something like, "I like to drink wine...and eat stuff. Umm...I'm good at reading blogs..."

As a person who is still getting used to difficult concepts like cleaning up after myself and doing my own laundry, motherhood is, not surprisingly, a big challenge. My loving parents wanted to give me the "perfect childhood", which meant having to do almost nothing for myself. I was expected to get good grades, but didn't have to lift a finger around the house. My home environment was quiet and orderly, kept in tip-top shape by my mother alone while most of my time was spent relaxing. I had no experience with young children until I had one -- I'd never even known people who had little kids except for one aunt who lived out of state. I never babysat because that sounded too much like "work". I'm naturally introverted, impatient, disorganized, self-centered, irritable, and have an extremely low tolerance for noise and chaos. The closest I get to being a supermom is when I make sure that whatever the baby is eating off the kitchen floor is actually food (and the closest I get to being neat is when I think, "Cool, I don't have to sweep now.")

It is from this background that I can proclaim with great joy that God does indeed equip the called. If three years ago I had had all the facts about what motherhood really entails and sat down to carefully analyze whether or not this is an endeavor I should undertake, the overwhelming verdict would have been to get a goldfish and call it a day.

What I couldn't have known in my pre-kid days, though, is how much God was planning to use motherhood to transform me. I would never have guessed that the experience of holding my first newborn baby would be one of the final blows to my life of atheism; I could not have known that the difficulty of managing a strong-willed toddler and a very loud redheaded baby with a redheaded temperament would push me to a level of depending on God that I would have never sought on my own; never in my dreams would I have thought that an unexpected, untimely, potentially financially ruinous pregnancy would bring with it a series of experiences and answered prayers so profound that I'd never be the same again. And, of course, I cannot imagine what God is planning for these three little souls I've helped bring into the world. I can be certain, however, that the world is a better place for them being here.

When I th