Wordless Wednesday
posted by Jennifer F. at 4:55 PM
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Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Unapproachable light
I had a little experience this weekend that was what my aunt would call a "Godincidence", and what I would call "an event that seems like it might have been a direct answer to a prayer but could have just been a coincidence and since I try not to state definitively what is and is not a direct act of God in my life I'll leave it to you to decide". (My aunt's term is better). Anyway, since I know everyone likes to hear little stories like this I thought I'd share:
As I mentioned in my last post, I'm reading Brian Greene's The Elegant Universe. When I got to the part about the fascinating behavior of light I was reminded that, for a long time, it's seemed to me that light might be very closely associated with God. Even when I was still basically an atheist but considering exploring religion, when I read about light and its behavior I thought, very un-eloquently, "that seems kind of God-ish". I would read about things like the fact that time slows down as you approach light speed; or that light exists in an "immortal" timeless/ageless state (as one physicist put it: "the universe ages, light does not"); that the combined speed of any object's motion through space and its motion though time is always exactly equal to the speed of light, etc.; then I would recall that those Christians were always associating God with light, and I'd think...hmmm...is there anything to that?
Anyway, all these thoughts were rekindled Saturday night as I read about light and relativity. The last sentence I read said:
Wow! I put the book down after I read that to think about it. I find the concept so fascinating, especially the potential relation to God, that I cost myself some much-needed sleep lying awake to ponder it. I eventually said a heart-felt prayer asking God to let me know if there was anything to this, and finally drifted off to sleep.
The next day my mother-in-law was feeling down, so I Googled around for some inspirational Bible verses to cheer her up, and I came across the "fight the good fight" line in Chapter 6 of Paul's First Letter to Timothy. In true procrastinator fashion, decided to skim the rest of the chapter. The first thing I saw was verse 16, which refers to God as he "who lives in unapproachable light".
I thought that was interesting.
As I mentioned in my last post, I'm reading Brian Greene's The Elegant Universe. When I got to the part about the fascinating behavior of light I was reminded that, for a long time, it's seemed to me that light might be very closely associated with God. Even when I was still basically an atheist but considering exploring religion, when I read about light and its behavior I thought, very un-eloquently, "that seems kind of God-ish". I would read about things like the fact that time slows down as you approach light speed; or that light exists in an "immortal" timeless/ageless state (as one physicist put it: "the universe ages, light does not"); that the combined speed of any object's motion through space and its motion though time is always exactly equal to the speed of light, etc.; then I would recall that those Christians were always associating God with light, and I'd think...hmmm...is there anything to that?
Anyway, all these thoughts were rekindled Saturday night as I read about light and relativity. The last sentence I read said:
No matter how hard you chase after a beam of light, it still retreats from you at light speed.
Wow! I put the book down after I read that to think about it. I find the concept so fascinating, especially the potential relation to God, that I cost myself some much-needed sleep lying awake to ponder it. I eventually said a heart-felt prayer asking God to let me know if there was anything to this, and finally drifted off to sleep.
The next day my mother-in-law was feeling down, so I Googled around for some inspirational Bible verses to cheer her up, and I came across the "fight the good fight" line in Chapter 6 of Paul's First Letter to Timothy. In true procrastinator fashion, decided to skim the rest of the chapter. The first thing I saw was verse 16, which refers to God as he "who lives in unapproachable light".
I thought that was interesting.
posted by Jennifer F. at 4:31 PM
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Monday, October 29, 2007
Science and religion
I've been on a physics kick lately*, and my current nighttime reading is Brian Greene's The Elegant Universe. I've been eager to read up on string theory for a long time, and am really enjoying the book. One thing I'm reminded of as I go through it, however, is just how much science and religion overlap.
The way I think of it, they're two sides of the same coin. Both tackle different questions about the human experience: science defines that which is measurable and seeks to understand how the world and universe around us work, as seen from our limited perspective as animals with five senses who inhabit a little planet in a big spiral galaxy; religion attempts to explain why it's all here in the first place, and to make sense of the part of human experience that is not measurable -- love, beauty, hate, evil, etc.
The more I get into both religion and science the more I see how very complementary they are -- one inspires me to learn more about the other. Yet it seems like the prevailing attitude these days in the scientific community is that science, by being able to measure stuff and see how it works, somehow rules out the possibility of God (or any sort of "power" or "realm" outside of the material world). This mentality made sense to me back when I thought that all religious people used their holy books as science and history books, but now that I understand the questions religion attempts to answer, which are not the same questions that science attempts to answer, I don't see where we get this idea that science disproves (or proves) God's existence either way. Science can offer us data to complement our understanding of the world that we gain through religion, and religion can offer us ideas to complement our understanding of the world that we gain through science.
For example, as I was reading Greene's chapter where he talks about how string theory may perhaps be the unifying "theory of everything" that explains all the particles and forces in the universe, I felt so inspired. I'd read about this before, but now that I believed in God it was all the more powerful to learn about it. The fact that this theory of vibrating strings may lay the foundation of our understanding of the universe from which everything else flows, to me, spoke of the sleekness and beauty of a designed universe.
So I was caught off guard when Greene explained that many others have a totally different take on the implications of string theory. He writes:
He goes on to quote Nobel laureate Steven Weinberg, who writes of people who are "appalled by what they feel to be the bleakness of modern science":
I don't get it. Why does string theory suddenly make everything so bleak? Before we came up with strings we knew that all the wonders of the universe and human experience were caused by the interactions of electrons, protons and neutrons. Why are strings more repugnant than atoms? There is no denying that tiny physical particles are involved in everything from sensations of happiness to supernovae. It seems to me that whether science reveals their fundamental building blocks to be atoms or quarks or strings or this, it's irrelevant to the questions of religion.
Greene writes that "a staunch reductionist would claim that...in principle absolutely everything, from the big bang to daydreams, can be described in terms of underlying microscopic physical processes involving the fundamental constituents of matter. If you understand everything about the ingredients, the reductionist argues, you understand everything." I think the problem lies in that last sentence. That does seem to be the prevailing attitude in science today -- yet it just doesn't sound right.
Even if you could have a perfect understanding of the ingredients, you're a long way away from understanding everything. You might be close to understanding how it all works, but the lines between science and religion start to get blurred when your quest to understand takes you to those final questions, "Why is this here at all? For that matter, why is anything in the universe here? Why does something exist instead of nothing?" It's when we ponder those questions that we can set our telescopes and microscopes and calculators aside, and seek answers in the disciplines that speak to those and all the other mysterious questions that science could never answer, and, in this life, we could never fully understand.
* I was actually going to be on an "Ignatian spirituality" kick but when I settled in to read The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, the introduction basically said "these exercises must be done with a skilled spiritual director, and if you do it on your own you'll get crappy results" (my words). Uhhh...glad I spent that $9.50. Could we maybe get a "There's No Point in Buying This" warning label on future copies? :)
The way I think of it, they're two sides of the same coin. Both tackle different questions about the human experience: science defines that which is measurable and seeks to understand how the world and universe around us work, as seen from our limited perspective as animals with five senses who inhabit a little planet in a big spiral galaxy; religion attempts to explain why it's all here in the first place, and to make sense of the part of human experience that is not measurable -- love, beauty, hate, evil, etc.
The more I get into both religion and science the more I see how very complementary they are -- one inspires me to learn more about the other. Yet it seems like the prevailing attitude these days in the scientific community is that science, by being able to measure stuff and see how it works, somehow rules out the possibility of God (or any sort of "power" or "realm" outside of the material world). This mentality made sense to me back when I thought that all religious people used their holy books as science and history books, but now that I understand the questions religion attempts to answer, which are not the same questions that science attempts to answer, I don't see where we get this idea that science disproves (or proves) God's existence either way. Science can offer us data to complement our understanding of the world that we gain through religion, and religion can offer us ideas to complement our understanding of the world that we gain through science.
For example, as I was reading Greene's chapter where he talks about how string theory may perhaps be the unifying "theory of everything" that explains all the particles and forces in the universe, I felt so inspired. I'd read about this before, but now that I believed in God it was all the more powerful to learn about it. The fact that this theory of vibrating strings may lay the foundation of our understanding of the universe from which everything else flows, to me, spoke of the sleekness and beauty of a designed universe.
So I was caught off guard when Greene explained that many others have a totally different take on the implications of string theory. He writes:
Many find it fatuous and downright repugnant to claim that the wonders of life and the universe are mere reflections of microscopic particles engaged in a pointless dance fully choreographed by the laws of physics. Is it really the case that feelings of joy, sorrow, or boredom are nothing but chemical reactions in the brain -- reactions between molecules and atoms that, even more microscopically, are reactions between some of the fundamental particles, which are really just vibrating strings?
He goes on to quote Nobel laureate Steven Weinberg, who writes of people who are "appalled by what they feel to be the bleakness of modern science":
I would not try to answer these critics with a pep talk about the beauties of modern science. The reductionist worldview is chilling and impersonal. It has to be accepted as it is, not because we like it, but because that is the way the world works.
I don't get it. Why does string theory suddenly make everything so bleak? Before we came up with strings we knew that all the wonders of the universe and human experience were caused by the interactions of electrons, protons and neutrons. Why are strings more repugnant than atoms? There is no denying that tiny physical particles are involved in everything from sensations of happiness to supernovae. It seems to me that whether science reveals their fundamental building blocks to be atoms or quarks or strings or this, it's irrelevant to the questions of religion.
Greene writes that "a staunch reductionist would claim that...in principle absolutely everything, from the big bang to daydreams, can be described in terms of underlying microscopic physical processes involving the fundamental constituents of matter. If you understand everything about the ingredients, the reductionist argues, you understand everything." I think the problem lies in that last sentence. That does seem to be the prevailing attitude in science today -- yet it just doesn't sound right.
Even if you could have a perfect understanding of the ingredients, you're a long way away from understanding everything. You might be close to understanding how it all works, but the lines between science and religion start to get blurred when your quest to understand takes you to those final questions, "Why is this here at all? For that matter, why is anything in the universe here? Why does something exist instead of nothing?" It's when we ponder those questions that we can set our telescopes and microscopes and calculators aside, and seek answers in the disciplines that speak to those and all the other mysterious questions that science could never answer, and, in this life, we could never fully understand.
* I was actually going to be on an "Ignatian spirituality" kick but when I settled in to read The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, the introduction basically said "these exercises must be done with a skilled spiritual director, and if you do it on your own you'll get crappy results" (my words). Uhhh...glad I spent that $9.50. Could we maybe get a "There's No Point in Buying This" warning label on future copies? :)
Labels: Belief, Tough Questions
posted by Jennifer F. at 4:38 PM
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Thursday, October 25, 2007
Confessing my sins to a priest
Terri left a nice comment to my last post in which she asked, among other things, why Catholics confess their sins to priests when we can go directly to Christ. Here's an explanation, as well as some other good info here and here. Those links provide enough info that I don't think I need to get into the details myself. What I can offer, as usual, is my experience:
The concept of confession was not something I struggled with in the conversion process. When I read up on the reasoning behind it it sounded right, so I moved on to focus on the issues that I did have trouble with. But in the long road to becoming Catholic, more than a year between the time that I thought I was "probably" going to enter the Church to when I finally did, I thought a lot about my sins. The more I prayed and attempted to grow closer to God, the more my sinful past (and present) bothered me.
Not yet having the option of confession, I went directly to Christ.
In my prayers, though they were often scattered and interrupted by my notorious inability to focus, I asked Jesus to forgive me for all that I had done. I thought over my past and present sins in as much detail as I could recall, and expressed sincere regret. I also prayed that God would lead me to better understanding of the weight of what I'd done. I'd read the work of some great saints who talked about how attempting to understand God goes hand in hand with attempting to understand just what a tragedy our sins -- our stunning rejections of God's pure, self-giving love -- really are. So I prayed to know God better, and asked him to let me see my life through his eyes, sins and all.
When the time finally came for my first confession, I thought it would be redundant. Having gone so long without the sacrament available to me, I'd pretty much straightened everything out with God myself -- I'd offered a full and honest account of my sins asked sincerely for forgiveness.
So, that cold April night, as I stood in the dim light of our church and listened to ethereal chant music waft through the building, I wasn't anxious. I was in the middle of moving to a new house and had a million things on my plate and just needed to get this checked off my to-do list.
Then, when I finally sat down in front of our priest, everything changed.
I'd thought about all these sins a million times within the safe confines of my head, but now I had to speak of them. I had to put them into words. I had to hear it, and so did someone else. Though I fully believed the Catholic teaching that I was confessing my sins to God, that the priest was only a conduit, there was still the fact that another person would hear my words. I started shaking. Then I started crying.
Something about saying these things for another person to hear made it real, so much more real than when I'd thought about it in prayer. Not wanting to hold up the line, I wiped the tears from my eyes and tried to get through it as efficiently as possible. And then I got to the part where I needed to confess the fact that, on countless occasions, I'd made fun of Jesus Christ himself. I started the sentence, but was stopped by a lump in my throat. I'd already prayed about this so many times, I didn't think it would be so difficult. Our kind priest waited patiently. I tried again, but stammered after the first couple of words. How do you say something like that? I thought of the crucifix at the front of our church, depicting the Man who volunteered to undergo a long death of unthinkable torture for people like me. And I had to say, out loud, that I had flippantly ridiculed him -- on many occasions. I was sobbing. I was a mess.
When I finally stammered out my full confession, I listened eagerly for the priest to tell me that my sins had been forgiven. I also eagerly awaited receiving my penance. When the priest told me to recite one of the Psalms a certain number of times as penance, I was so grateful. I wanted so much to do something to show God how sorry I was -- not for his sake, since he already knew my heart, but for me. I knelt in front of the crucifix and recited the Psalm with all the love I could muster. Being able to demonstrate my regret and contrition in a physical way was so healing, so cathartic.
So many things became clear to me that night, some of which I wrote about here and here. By allowing me to put my sins into words for someone else to hear, God answered my prayer that I might better understand the weight of what I'd done. Yet, in a turn I didn't expect, by allowing me to hear someone else say words that I'd been forgiven, God also allowed me to better understand the immensity of his mercy, and his love.
I know that God doesn't need us to participate in the sacrament of confession. He knows our hearts, and doesn't need any kind of formality in order to grant us forgiveness. But, from my experience, I think I know why he has given us this beautiful ritual: for us. It's a gift. It's a way for him to allow us humans to have something tangible to cling to in our fallen world, to better feel the tragedy of sin, and the glory of his perfect love.
RELATED POSTS: A first confession, Part I; A first confession, Part II
The concept of confession was not something I struggled with in the conversion process. When I read up on the reasoning behind it it sounded right, so I moved on to focus on the issues that I did have trouble with. But in the long road to becoming Catholic, more than a year between the time that I thought I was "probably" going to enter the Church to when I finally did, I thought a lot about my sins. The more I prayed and attempted to grow closer to God, the more my sinful past (and present) bothered me.
Not yet having the option of confession, I went directly to Christ.
In my prayers, though they were often scattered and interrupted by my notorious inability to focus, I asked Jesus to forgive me for all that I had done. I thought over my past and present sins in as much detail as I could recall, and expressed sincere regret. I also prayed that God would lead me to better understanding of the weight of what I'd done. I'd read the work of some great saints who talked about how attempting to understand God goes hand in hand with attempting to understand just what a tragedy our sins -- our stunning rejections of God's pure, self-giving love -- really are. So I prayed to know God better, and asked him to let me see my life through his eyes, sins and all.
When the time finally came for my first confession, I thought it would be redundant. Having gone so long without the sacrament available to me, I'd pretty much straightened everything out with God myself -- I'd offered a full and honest account of my sins asked sincerely for forgiveness.
So, that cold April night, as I stood in the dim light of our church and listened to ethereal chant music waft through the building, I wasn't anxious. I was in the middle of moving to a new house and had a million things on my plate and just needed to get this checked off my to-do list.
Then, when I finally sat down in front of our priest, everything changed.
I'd thought about all these sins a million times within the safe confines of my head, but now I had to speak of them. I had to put them into words. I had to hear it, and so did someone else. Though I fully believed the Catholic teaching that I was confessing my sins to God, that the priest was only a conduit, there was still the fact that another person would hear my words. I started shaking. Then I started crying.
Something about saying these things for another person to hear made it real, so much more real than when I'd thought about it in prayer. Not wanting to hold up the line, I wiped the tears from my eyes and tried to get through it as efficiently as possible. And then I got to the part where I needed to confess the fact that, on countless occasions, I'd made fun of Jesus Christ himself. I started the sentence, but was stopped by a lump in my throat. I'd already prayed about this so many times, I didn't think it would be so difficult. Our kind priest waited patiently. I tried again, but stammered after the first couple of words. How do you say something like that? I thought of the crucifix at the front of our church, depicting the Man who volunteered to undergo a long death of unthinkable torture for people like me. And I had to say, out loud, that I had flippantly ridiculed him -- on many occasions. I was sobbing. I was a mess.
When I finally stammered out my full confession, I listened eagerly for the priest to tell me that my sins had been forgiven. I also eagerly awaited receiving my penance. When the priest told me to recite one of the Psalms a certain number of times as penance, I was so grateful. I wanted so much to do something to show God how sorry I was -- not for his sake, since he already knew my heart, but for me. I knelt in front of the crucifix and recited the Psalm with all the love I could muster. Being able to demonstrate my regret and contrition in a physical way was so healing, so cathartic.
So many things became clear to me that night, some of which I wrote about here and here. By allowing me to put my sins into words for someone else to hear, God answered my prayer that I might better understand the weight of what I'd done. Yet, in a turn I didn't expect, by allowing me to hear someone else say words that I'd been forgiven, God also allowed me to better understand the immensity of his mercy, and his love.
I know that God doesn't need us to participate in the sacrament of confession. He knows our hearts, and doesn't need any kind of formality in order to grant us forgiveness. But, from my experience, I think I know why he has given us this beautiful ritual: for us. It's a gift. It's a way for him to allow us humans to have something tangible to cling to in our fallen world, to better feel the tragedy of sin, and the glory of his perfect love.
RELATED POSTS: A first confession, Part I; A first confession, Part II
Labels: Background, Catholicism 101, Church and Priesthood, Conversion, Prayer
posted by Jennifer F. at 11:02 PM
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Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Why I'm Catholic
I am asked with increasing frequency why I converted to Catholicism as opposed to one of the other Christian denominations. Though this blog is sort of one long conversion story, I've never put together a post summarizing that part of my journey because that subject matter can be a hot (and divisive) topic.
Also, these types of posts are often interpreted to have an implication that people who have had different experiences and have come to different conclusions about religion and God are wrong and therefore not going to be saved. I want to make it really clear that that is not what I believe (nor what the Church believes -- in fact, one of the many things that resonated as true about Catholic teaching is the belief that non-Catholics and non-Christians could also go to heaven).
Anyway, I've decided to go ahead and write about that part of the conversion process, but I want to add a big disclaimer that I'm sharing this in the spirit of telling my story. I am far too concerned about what I see happening in the world today to have any interest in causing division among Christians. We're in this together.
As always, please take this for what it is: the ramblings of some fool with an internet connection. :) Take it (and everything else I write) with a grain of salt.
My search for God really began in earnest when I started reading up on Christianity. For a couple years I'd been making half-hearted attempts to open my mind to the possibility of God's existence but it never really went anywhere. And then I stumbled across some reasonable Christian writers who laid out a logical case for Jesus having actually existed, the events as described in the New Testament having actually happened, and for Jesus being who he said he was (former atheist Lee Strobel's Case for Christ has a nice, quick summary). Not that these authors "proved" their case irrefutably or that no arguments could be made against them, but they had a much more compelling, evidence-based case than I'd thought they had. I was intrigued.
I decided to see what it meant to be a Christian. Some bad childhood experiences had left me with a bad taste in my mouth about the religion, but I decided to give it my best effort to start fresh, exploring this belief system with an open mind. I bought a copy of the Bible.
Before I even opened the cover, we had a problem.
I wanted to know if the people who did the English translation of this version were said to have been inspired by God as the writers of the original texts were. When I found out the answer was no, I was concerned. Translators have a lot of leeway and can really impact a text. If this book could potentially be the key to people knowing or not knowing God, I was uneasy about reading a 21st century English version of texts that were written in far different cultures thousands of years ago, translated by average people. Could God not have inspired all translators? Though I was concerned, I decided to set the issue aside for the time being and move on.
Somewhere around page two, we had another problem.
I found the creation story fit surprisingly well with what we know of the origin of the universe through science, albeit in symbolic form. I could definitely believe that this was true. I could not, however, believe that it was a journalistic style account of events, like something you'd read in the newspaper. So I immediately needed to know: is it required of Christians to believe that Genesis is to be taken literally? I asked people and looked around online, and quickly found that there was not unanimous agreement on this. I found people who laid out a pretty good case that, yes, it is required of Christians to believe that Genesis is a literal, blow-by-blow description of events that happened about 6,000 years ago; yet others made a good case that Christians should believe that it is truth conveyed through symbolism. I really couldn't tell who I should believe.
I decided to move on and get to what I really wanted to know about: the Christian moral code. One of the things that had originally piqued my interest in religion in the first place was the fact that humans throughout history have all had this same sense that objective truth exists, what is "right" and "wrong" is not subjective. Also, I had begun to feel confused and lost when I looked at the world around me. This was around the time of the Terri Schiavo controversy, and when I tried to weigh issues like that, as well as the other big ethical dilemmas like human cloning, research on embryos, etc. I just felt sad and adrift. I really didn't know what was right or wrong, yet I had this vague sense that a true "right" answer must be out there somewhere. If there was a God, surely he had opinions about these things. And surely he could guide me to find them.
So I picked the Bible back up and continued reading.
One example of the type of answers I was searching for was what Christianity had to say about abortion. At the time I considered myself staunchly "pro-choice", yet something had started to nag at me about that position. I felt uneasy about the whole thing, and wanted to know if Christianity said that God is OK with abortion or not. I read through the New Testament (eventually reading it cover to cover), and couldn't find much. I kept instinctively flipping to the last page for some sort of answer key. How was I supposed to find the part where God tells us what he thinks about terminating pregnancies? Someone recommended that I get a concordance. I was happy to do that, but it felt strange: in order to know how to live as a Christian you need a Bible and a concordance? And were the writers of the concordance inspired? What if they missed something big or made a mistake?
I wasn't coming up with much so I Googled around to see what Christians had to say about it. And I found as many different opinions as I found people, everyone offering Bible verses to back up their claims. Each person stated their interpretation confidently as a fact -- yet they contradicted one another. When I looked up the verses they cited in my own Bible, sometimes I felt they were right-on, other times I felt they were taken out of context, and other times I didn't even know what the context was (e.g. some Old Testament verses where I just had no idea what was going on).
What frequently happened when I was looking for Biblical answers to my ethical dilemmas was that I'd read two contradictory opinions from two different Christians. I'd decide that Christian #1 made the best case based on Scripture, so I had my answer. But then Christian #2 would come back with a new verse that I'd never seen before that shed new light on it, and then I'd think his case must be the right one. And then Christian #1 would come up with yet another verse and I'd think he had the right answer. And then...well, you get the idea. It seemed that in order to form my own opinion about any of these issues I'd have to have an encyclopedic knowledge of the Bible to make sure I didn't miss anything.
So I started reading. I decided to skip ahead to the New Testament since that's where Jesus comes in. And, as with the Old Testament, we quickly had a problem. Here is a sort of sample discussion I'd have with whatever Christian I could find to pester with questions:
This usually ended with my Christian acquaintances telling me to let the Holy Spirit guide me (and probably making a mental note to find less annoying friends). Even though I wasn't sure I believed in God, I had been praying through this whole process. So I prayed for guidance. I asked God to lead me to the right conclusion about all these questions, to speak to me through Scripture about everything from abortion and experimentation on human embryos to whether or not I needed to give away all my stuff.
After a while of praying, reading the Bible, and visiting some churches, I felt like I had some conclusions. I decided that a good Biblical case could be made for "a woman's right to choose" (as I thought of it then), that I didn't need to give away all my stuff, that it was probably OK to experiment on embryos if it was for curing diseases, etc. I'd felt led to these conclusions, presumably by God, and had found some scriptures that would seem to support them.
But something didn't feel right.
As I continued thinking and praying about whether or not I'd come to the right conclusions about what God wants for us, I realized what the problem was, the reason I couldn't relax: I couldn't trust myself. You have to understand, I am a seriously sinful, selfish person. I realized that my self-serving nature severely clouded my ability to be confident in my interpretation Scripture. I had some pretty passionate opinions about all of these issues, and it was so hard to tell what was leading me to my conclusions. Was my decision that the Bible would be OK with me continuing in my comfy American lifestyle led by the "Holy Spirit" or "Jen's seriously deep desire not to give away all her stuff"? I couldn't tell.
My confusion about all of this made me wonder how people who are severely unintelligent could use the Bible as their guide. I'm probably in the middle of the Bell curve on intelligence, and I was really struggling. For that matter, what about the illiterate? Widespread literacy is a relatively recent phenomenon, yet people who couldn't read couldn't use the Bible as their guide. They'd have to go through another, fallible person, which seemed dangerous.
Taking all of this as a whole, the writing was on the wall, so to speak. Christianity did not seem to be the path to God, if he even did exist. At least not for me. I just couldn't trust myself to to get it right. I felt as adrift as ever in terms of the big ethical questions of our day. Though I thought I might have "experienced" God or the Holy Spirit or something from outside the material world a few times in my exploration, using the Christian holy book to find out how God would want me to live was just not working. I was leaning towards moving on to the next religion, seeking God through some other belief system. I prayed for guidance.
Around this time someone told me that one of the Christian denominations claimed that God did leave us this "answer key" I'd been yearning for. I found out that the Catholic Church claimed to be a sort of divinely-guided Supreme Court, that God guided this Church to be inerrant in its official proclamations about what is right and wrong, how to interpret the Bible, how to know Jesus Christ, and all other questions of God and what he wants us to do. I heard that it claims that God speaks to us through sacred Scripture and through the sacred Tradition of his living Church.
That got my attention.
Clearly there was a need for this. Surely I was not the only person to ever feel lost in the world, unable to trust myself to objectively interpret the Bible to discern what God wants from us, unable to clearly tell which of my conclusions about right and wrong were guided by the Holy Spirit and which were guided by deeply-rooted selfishness (or perhaps something worse).
Now, obviously I wasn't going to become Catholic. I mean, the Catholic Church is weird and antiquated and sometimes the people in it do seriously bad stuff. But I was interested to at least explore this line of thinking and see what I found.
I could have never, ever imagined what I'd find. Reading the Catechism of the Catholic Church was like nothing I'd ever experienced. This was truth. I knew it. I'd finally found it. It described God, our relationship to him, the Bible, Jesus, moral truths -- the entire human experience -- in a way that resonated on a deep level.
When I started living my life according to Catholic teaching the proof was, as they say, in the pudding. It worked. It worked better than I could have ever guessed it would. And since I've been able to receive what they say is really the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, my soul, my entire life, has changed profoundly. But that is whole separate story (and, really, the main subject of this blog). To summarize my experience, I leave you with a quote from G.K. Chesterton, writing about why he converted to orthodox Catholicism:
My thoughts exactly.
Again, I share this not to cause division, but for the same reason anyone talks about anything they love -- that mysterious desire we all have to shout from the rooftops about the things that we find to be profound, beautiful, and true.
RELATED POSTS: On having proof; Love and conversion
Also, these types of posts are often interpreted to have an implication that people who have had different experiences and have come to different conclusions about religion and God are wrong and therefore not going to be saved. I want to make it really clear that that is not what I believe (nor what the Church believes -- in fact, one of the many things that resonated as true about Catholic teaching is the belief that non-Catholics and non-Christians could also go to heaven).
Anyway, I've decided to go ahead and write about that part of the conversion process, but I want to add a big disclaimer that I'm sharing this in the spirit of telling my story. I am far too concerned about what I see happening in the world today to have any interest in causing division among Christians. We're in this together.
As always, please take this for what it is: the ramblings of some fool with an internet connection. :) Take it (and everything else I write) with a grain of salt.
-------------------
My search for God really began in earnest when I started reading up on Christianity. For a couple years I'd been making half-hearted attempts to open my mind to the possibility of God's existence but it never really went anywhere. And then I stumbled across some reasonable Christian writers who laid out a logical case for Jesus having actually existed, the events as described in the New Testament having actually happened, and for Jesus being who he said he was (former atheist Lee Strobel's Case for Christ has a nice, quick summary). Not that these authors "proved" their case irrefutably or that no arguments could be made against them, but they had a much more compelling, evidence-based case than I'd thought they had. I was intrigued.
I decided to see what it meant to be a Christian. Some bad childhood experiences had left me with a bad taste in my mouth about the religion, but I decided to give it my best effort to start fresh, exploring this belief system with an open mind. I bought a copy of the Bible.
Before I even opened the cover, we had a problem.
I wanted to know if the people who did the English translation of this version were said to have been inspired by God as the writers of the original texts were. When I found out the answer was no, I was concerned. Translators have a lot of leeway and can really impact a text. If this book could potentially be the key to people knowing or not knowing God, I was uneasy about reading a 21st century English version of texts that were written in far different cultures thousands of years ago, translated by average people. Could God not have inspired all translators? Though I was concerned, I decided to set the issue aside for the time being and move on.
Somewhere around page two, we had another problem.
I found the creation story fit surprisingly well with what we know of the origin of the universe through science, albeit in symbolic form. I could definitely believe that this was true. I could not, however, believe that it was a journalistic style account of events, like something you'd read in the newspaper. So I immediately needed to know: is it required of Christians to believe that Genesis is to be taken literally? I asked people and looked around online, and quickly found that there was not unanimous agreement on this. I found people who laid out a pretty good case that, yes, it is required of Christians to believe that Genesis is a literal, blow-by-blow description of events that happened about 6,000 years ago; yet others made a good case that Christians should believe that it is truth conveyed through symbolism. I really couldn't tell who I should believe.
I decided to move on and get to what I really wanted to know about: the Christian moral code. One of the things that had originally piqued my interest in religion in the first place was the fact that humans throughout history have all had this same sense that objective truth exists, what is "right" and "wrong" is not subjective. Also, I had begun to feel confused and lost when I looked at the world around me. This was around the time of the Terri Schiavo controversy, and when I tried to weigh issues like that, as well as the other big ethical dilemmas like human cloning, research on embryos, etc. I just felt sad and adrift. I really didn't know what was right or wrong, yet I had this vague sense that a true "right" answer must be out there somewhere. If there was a God, surely he had opinions about these things. And surely he could guide me to find them.
So I picked the Bible back up and continued reading.
One example of the type of answers I was searching for was what Christianity had to say about abortion. At the time I considered myself staunchly "pro-choice", yet something had started to nag at me about that position. I felt uneasy about the whole thing, and wanted to know if Christianity said that God is OK with abortion or not. I read through the New Testament (eventually reading it cover to cover), and couldn't find much. I kept instinctively flipping to the last page for some sort of answer key. How was I supposed to find the part where God tells us what he thinks about terminating pregnancies? Someone recommended that I get a concordance. I was happy to do that, but it felt strange: in order to know how to live as a Christian you need a Bible and a concordance? And were the writers of the concordance inspired? What if they missed something big or made a mistake?
I wasn't coming up with much so I Googled around to see what Christians had to say about it. And I found as many different opinions as I found people, everyone offering Bible verses to back up their claims. Each person stated their interpretation confidently as a fact -- yet they contradicted one another. When I looked up the verses they cited in my own Bible, sometimes I felt they were right-on, other times I felt they were taken out of context, and other times I didn't even know what the context was (e.g. some Old Testament verses where I just had no idea what was going on).
What frequently happened when I was looking for Biblical answers to my ethical dilemmas was that I'd read two contradictory opinions from two different Christians. I'd decide that Christian #1 made the best case based on Scripture, so I had my answer. But then Christian #2 would come back with a new verse that I'd never seen before that shed new light on it, and then I'd think his case must be the right one. And then Christian #1 would come up with yet another verse and I'd think he had the right answer. And then...well, you get the idea. It seemed that in order to form my own opinion about any of these issues I'd have to have an encyclopedic knowledge of the Bible to make sure I didn't miss anything.
So I started reading. I decided to skip ahead to the New Testament since that's where Jesus comes in. And, as with the Old Testament, we quickly had a problem. Here is a sort of sample discussion I'd have with whatever Christian I could find to pester with questions:
ME: Ack! I just read this part in the New Testament where Jesus tells some rich dude he has to give away all his stuff! If I decide this Christianity thing is true am I going to have to give away all my stuff?! [Worried glace at brand new Dell Inspiron laptop.]
FRIEND: Hah! No, don't worry, Jesus was just talking to that one guy.
ME: Where does it say that? Does he later clarify that that instruction was only for that one guy?
FRIEND: No, but that's clearly how he meant it.
ME: That's not clear to me. Anyway, there's this part where he tells this woman Martha that her sister Mary did the right thing by putting Jesus before trivial stuff. Was that only a lesson for her?
CHRISTIAN: No, that's a lesson for all of us.
ME: [Flipping to last page to look for answer key.] Where is that clarified?
This usually ended with my Christian acquaintances telling me to let the Holy Spirit guide me (and probably making a mental note to find less annoying friends). Even though I wasn't sure I believed in God, I had been praying through this whole process. So I prayed for guidance. I asked God to lead me to the right conclusion about all these questions, to speak to me through Scripture about everything from abortion and experimentation on human embryos to whether or not I needed to give away all my stuff.
After a while of praying, reading the Bible, and visiting some churches, I felt like I had some conclusions. I decided that a good Biblical case could be made for "a woman's right to choose" (as I thought of it then), that I didn't need to give away all my stuff, that it was probably OK to experiment on embryos if it was for curing diseases, etc. I'd felt led to these conclusions, presumably by God, and had found some scriptures that would seem to support them.
But something didn't feel right.
As I continued thinking and praying about whether or not I'd come to the right conclusions about what God wants for us, I realized what the problem was, the reason I couldn't relax: I couldn't trust myself. You have to understand, I am a seriously sinful, selfish person. I realized that my self-serving nature severely clouded my ability to be confident in my interpretation Scripture. I had some pretty passionate opinions about all of these issues, and it was so hard to tell what was leading me to my conclusions. Was my decision that the Bible would be OK with me continuing in my comfy American lifestyle led by the "Holy Spirit" or "Jen's seriously deep desire not to give away all her stuff"? I couldn't tell.
My confusion about all of this made me wonder how people who are severely unintelligent could use the Bible as their guide. I'm probably in the middle of the Bell curve on intelligence, and I was really struggling. For that matter, what about the illiterate? Widespread literacy is a relatively recent phenomenon, yet people who couldn't read couldn't use the Bible as their guide. They'd have to go through another, fallible person, which seemed dangerous.
Taking all of this as a whole, the writing was on the wall, so to speak. Christianity did not seem to be the path to God, if he even did exist. At least not for me. I just couldn't trust myself to to get it right. I felt as adrift as ever in terms of the big ethical questions of our day. Though I thought I might have "experienced" God or the Holy Spirit or something from outside the material world a few times in my exploration, using the Christian holy book to find out how God would want me to live was just not working. I was leaning towards moving on to the next religion, seeking God through some other belief system. I prayed for guidance.
Around this time someone told me that one of the Christian denominations claimed that God did leave us this "answer key" I'd been yearning for. I found out that the Catholic Church claimed to be a sort of divinely-guided Supreme Court, that God guided this Church to be inerrant in its official proclamations about what is right and wrong, how to interpret the Bible, how to know Jesus Christ, and all other questions of God and what he wants us to do. I heard that it claims that God speaks to us through sacred Scripture and through the sacred Tradition of his living Church.
That got my attention.
Clearly there was a need for this. Surely I was not the only person to ever feel lost in the world, unable to trust myself to objectively interpret the Bible to discern what God wants from us, unable to clearly tell which of my conclusions about right and wrong were guided by the Holy Spirit and which were guided by deeply-rooted selfishness (or perhaps something worse).
Now, obviously I wasn't going to become Catholic. I mean, the Catholic Church is weird and antiquated and sometimes the people in it do seriously bad stuff. But I was interested to at least explore this line of thinking and see what I found.
I could have never, ever imagined what I'd find. Reading the Catechism of the Catholic Church was like nothing I'd ever experienced. This was truth. I knew it. I'd finally found it. It described God, our relationship to him, the Bible, Jesus, moral truths -- the entire human experience -- in a way that resonated on a deep level.
When I started living my life according to Catholic teaching the proof was, as they say, in the pudding. It worked. It worked better than I could have ever guessed it would. And since I've been able to receive what they say is really the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, my soul, my entire life, has changed profoundly. But that is whole separate story (and, really, the main subject of this blog). To summarize my experience, I leave you with a quote from G.K. Chesterton, writing about why he converted to orthodox Catholicism:
I do it because the [Catholic Church] has not merely told this truth or that truth, but has revealed itself as a truth-telling thing. All other philosophies say the things that plainly seem to be true; only this philosophy has again and again said the thing that does not seem to be true, but is true. Alone of all creeds it is convincing where it is not attractive; it turns out to be right, like my father in the garden.
My thoughts exactly.
Again, I share this not to cause division, but for the same reason anyone talks about anything they love -- that mysterious desire we all have to shout from the rooftops about the things that we find to be profound, beautiful, and true.
RELATED POSTS: On having proof; Love and conversion
Labels: At Church, Catholicism 101, Conversion, Prayer, Selfishness, Turning Points
posted by Jennifer F. at 10:51 PM
62 comments
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Monday, October 22, 2007
The beauty of a store list
I had a lovely little answered prayer today.
I'd been up with the newborn since 3:30am, and was finally drifting off to get a little catnap around 7:00. For the first time in hours I was comfortably nestled under the soft sheets, had a pillow flopped over my head, and was looking forward to a little bit of desperately needed sleep before I had to get up for the day...and then I heard my one-year-old start crying to get up. I don't know about you, but I find that being unexpectedly woken up just as I'm starting to drift off to sleep, especially when I'm severely sleep deprived, is one of the worst feelings ever. I was so tired I felt physically sick. So as I trudged downstairs with my screaming one-year-old, I was in an extremely bad mood.
It occurred to me that perhaps this would be a good time to pray. As I prepared the morning bottle of apple juice (making sure to slam the refrigerator door shut and bang the apple juice container down on the counter because, you know, that's just so effective and helpful -- not to mention mature), the only "prayer" I could muster was something like this:
It was dry, it was said through gritted teeth, but it was sincere. And the act of simply pausing to say the prayer seemed to help. I got some coffee, turned on an interesting History Channel show to keep myself awake, and managed to improve my mood from "horrible" to "vaguely grouchy".
Then, later in the morning, I got out a pen to add some things to the store list. I do this about five times every day. But this time, as I wrote "bread" and "black beans" on my little pad of paper, it hit me: I am doing something really, really amazing here. Out of the blue, I suddenly saw writing items on my grocery list in a completely different light: I realized what an incredibly -- almost unimaginable -- luxury it is to be able to simply write down what I want to feed my children, and be able to go get it. Quickly. Easily. Cheaply.
Can you imagine my great-great grandmother watching me do this? Or anyone who lives in a poverty-stricken part of the world today, or who lived more than 70 years ago? Imagine what their reaction would be to the concept that you can create your dream list of the food you'd like to put on your table, and have it there within the hour if necessary. I imagined such a person standing there, watching me write "swiss cheese," "cheddar cheese," "olives," and "milk" in disbelief, perhaps asking, "You can really just go get that?! Are you royalty?", and probably not being able to fully comprehend how much abundance there really is at my local grocery store, asking, "What about butter? They don't have that ready for you, do they? Surely they don't also have things like fish, or juices, or candy?" To most people who have ever lived, the concept of regularly having enough food to feed themselves and their children would seem like a fantasy come true -- but to always have more than enough of whatever you want would be just unimaginable.
Today, as I gazed in amazement upon my store list, seeing it as if for the first time, fully appreciating how amazing it is that I can write down a wish list of things I'd like to feed my children and presumptuously assume that they will be readily available to me, I realized that this is what God's grace feels like. In my life I've occasionally been able to muster up some appreciation for my cushy American lifestyle, but to be caught off guard and just thunderstruck at the beauty of such a simple, mundane daily task...that didn't come from within me.
I realize that to some I might seem like a bit of a lunatic for writing 700 words about a store list. And I can't prove scientifically that my moment of awe this morning was anything other than the coffee finally kicking in. But I wanted to share my experience because I am certain that it was a direct answer to my prayer, and an example of how even the littlest things are beautiful when seen through the eyes of God.
I'd been up with the newborn since 3:30am, and was finally drifting off to get a little catnap around 7:00. For the first time in hours I was comfortably nestled under the soft sheets, had a pillow flopped over my head, and was looking forward to a little bit of desperately needed sleep before I had to get up for the day...and then I heard my one-year-old start crying to get up. I don't know about you, but I find that being unexpectedly woken up just as I'm starting to drift off to sleep, especially when I'm severely sleep deprived, is one of the worst feelings ever. I was so tired I felt physically sick. So as I trudged downstairs with my screaming one-year-old, I was in an extremely bad mood.
It occurred to me that perhaps this would be a good time to pray. As I prepared the morning bottle of apple juice (making sure to slam the refrigerator door shut and bang the apple juice container down on the counter because, you know, that's just so effective and helpful -- not to mention mature), the only "prayer" I could muster was something like this:
Hi, God, it's me. I want to go back to sleep. I hate this. On a logical level, however, I am aware that I have a really good life and have much to be joyful about. I'm just NOT FEELING IT right now. But I apologize for being ungrateful. Please help me see how utterly ridiculous it is for someone with my life to be upset about something as trivial as missing sleep. Amen.
It was dry, it was said through gritted teeth, but it was sincere. And the act of simply pausing to say the prayer seemed to help. I got some coffee, turned on an interesting History Channel show to keep myself awake, and managed to improve my mood from "horrible" to "vaguely grouchy".
Then, later in the morning, I got out a pen to add some things to the store list. I do this about five times every day. But this time, as I wrote "bread" and "black beans" on my little pad of paper, it hit me: I am doing something really, really amazing here. Out of the blue, I suddenly saw writing items on my grocery list in a completely different light: I realized what an incredibly -- almost unimaginable -- luxury it is to be able to simply write down what I want to feed my children, and be able to go get it. Quickly. Easily. Cheaply.Can you imagine my great-great grandmother watching me do this? Or anyone who lives in a poverty-stricken part of the world today, or who lived more than 70 years ago? Imagine what their reaction would be to the concept that you can create your dream list of the food you'd like to put on your table, and have it there within the hour if necessary. I imagined such a person standing there, watching me write "swiss cheese," "cheddar cheese," "olives," and "milk" in disbelief, perhaps asking, "You can really just go get that?! Are you royalty?", and probably not being able to fully comprehend how much abundance there really is at my local grocery store, asking, "What about butter? They don't have that ready for you, do they? Surely they don't also have things like fish, or juices, or candy?" To most people who have ever lived, the concept of regularly having enough food to feed themselves and their children would seem like a fantasy come true -- but to always have more than enough of whatever you want would be just unimaginable.
Today, as I gazed in amazement upon my store list, seeing it as if for the first time, fully appreciating how amazing it is that I can write down a wish list of things I'd like to feed my children and presumptuously assume that they will be readily available to me, I realized that this is what God's grace feels like. In my life I've occasionally been able to muster up some appreciation for my cushy American lifestyle, but to be caught off guard and just thunderstruck at the beauty of such a simple, mundane daily task...that didn't come from within me.
I realize that to some I might seem like a bit of a lunatic for writing 700 words about a store list. And I can't prove scientifically that my moment of awe this morning was anything other than the coffee finally kicking in. But I wanted to share my experience because I am certain that it was a direct answer to my prayer, and an example of how even the littlest things are beautiful when seen through the eyes of God.
Labels: Bad Days, Daily Spirituality, Good Days
posted by Jennifer F. at 5:12 PM
22 comments
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Saturday, October 20, 2007
Is it possible to raise your kids to be open-minded about religion?
In my part of the country it's very common to plan to raise your kids to be "open-minded about religion". I know quite a few parents who are taking this route, and it seems to be becoming more and more popular. I respect the sentiment that drives this choice, but lately I've been wondering: is such a thing even possible?
If being in a state of open-mindedness means that you're asking questions, seeking knowledge, and attempting to fairly evaluate data without bias, it seems that that should be a transitory state -- at some point, you find the answers. And once you've found the answers to your questions, you're no longer open to the alternatives (unless you get some new data) because you've already evaluated them and rejected them as untrue.
Yet I rarely hear open-mindedness about religion described this way. It's usually described as a long-term plan, a way of life, e.g. "It's important to us to raise our children to be open-minded about religion." It seems to me that if you intentionally plan to stay in that state indefinitely, then what you're really saying is that you believe that objective truth about spiritual matters cannot be known. And if that's the case, then you're taking an active stance against the three major monotheistic belief systems (Judaism, Christianity, Islam) that teach that objective truth does exist and can be known. And if you've closed your mind to that, the religions to which a large majority of believers in the world belong, then you're not very open-minded. (Which is fine -- I don't mean that as a derogatory statement.)
I think that, in practice, being "open-minded about religion" means that you're only open to different points of view within a small slice of what is traditionally considered "religion" -- some of the Eastern belief systems or perhaps New Age spirituality. But you're flatly, boldly rejecting Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.
I've found this interesting to think about as I hear this phrase more and more lately. It's definitely not a mindset I know much about -- my old plan was to raise my kids (if I ever had any, which I didn't plan to) to be atheists, and now I'm Catholic. :) Yet this philosophy seems to work for a lot of families, which makes me think that maybe I'm missing something. What do you think? Is it possible to raise your kids to be open-minded about religion?
If being in a state of open-mindedness means that you're asking questions, seeking knowledge, and attempting to fairly evaluate data without bias, it seems that that should be a transitory state -- at some point, you find the answers. And once you've found the answers to your questions, you're no longer open to the alternatives (unless you get some new data) because you've already evaluated them and rejected them as untrue.
Yet I rarely hear open-mindedness about religion described this way. It's usually described as a long-term plan, a way of life, e.g. "It's important to us to raise our children to be open-minded about religion." It seems to me that if you intentionally plan to stay in that state indefinitely, then what you're really saying is that you believe that objective truth about spiritual matters cannot be known. And if that's the case, then you're taking an active stance against the three major monotheistic belief systems (Judaism, Christianity, Islam) that teach that objective truth does exist and can be known. And if you've closed your mind to that, the religions to which a large majority of believers in the world belong, then you're not very open-minded. (Which is fine -- I don't mean that as a derogatory statement.)
I think that, in practice, being "open-minded about religion" means that you're only open to different points of view within a small slice of what is traditionally considered "religion" -- some of the Eastern belief systems or perhaps New Age spirituality. But you're flatly, boldly rejecting Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.
I've found this interesting to think about as I hear this phrase more and more lately. It's definitely not a mindset I know much about -- my old plan was to raise my kids (if I ever had any, which I didn't plan to) to be atheists, and now I'm Catholic. :) Yet this philosophy seems to work for a lot of families, which makes me think that maybe I'm missing something. What do you think? Is it possible to raise your kids to be open-minded about religion?
Labels: Belief, Motherhood
posted by Jennifer F. at 11:44 PM
33 comments
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Friday, October 19, 2007
Weekly favorites
Here are three of my favorite links from my links blog from the past week:
These are just three of the many great links I found. Go check out the rest!
- Chick flicks vs. macho movies
- A standing ovation for a phone salesman
- Halloween: "I may be acting like a jerk, but at least it's not blasphemy"
These are just three of the many great links I found. Go check out the rest!
posted by Jennifer F. at 1:14 PM
1 comments
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Thursday, October 18, 2007
God and suffering
I heard yet another horrible story on the news recently. I won't burden you with the details, but it was one of those cases where I wanted to pack up my house and move to a cave just so I never have to be exposed to anything like that again. Whenever I hear things like this I'm reminded of the age-old question, one of the ultimate tough questions to ask of Christianity, "How could a loving God allow us to suffer?" Though I had come to some small understanding of this great mystery to enough of an extent that it wasn't a roadblock to belief, I found myself thinking as I read that latest news story, "My God, how could you allow this to happen?"
As I sat back in a prayerful silence (not because I'm just a naturally prayerful person, but because I felt too depressed to do anything else), a thought popped into my mind seemingly out of nowhere: "Where would you have God draw the line?" Meaning, what types of suffering should he allow, and what should he not allow? I've been asking myself that question over and over again since then, and it's led to some interesting thoughts about suffering.
I recoil in horror at stories of great suffering like I heard on the news the other day, and angrily tell God that I want him to stop this. Yet "suffering" encompasses a broad spectrum of experiences. Where would I have him draw the line? Nobody wants him to allow the horrific events that make the news. But what about the suffering that comes with broken bones? What about migraine headaches? What about sleep deprivation? What about humidity, paper cuts and ingrown toenails? What about sticky keyboards and uncomfortable desk chairs? Should a loving God allow us to have itches we can't scratch? For that matter, should we be asking God why he doesn't make the earth's gravitational field a little weaker to lessen the suffering (albeit minuscule) that currently comes with walking, moving, lifting, etc.? I'm not being sarcastic or in any way trying to minimize the great suffering that's at the far end of the spectrum. Obviously, something like being tortured involves exponentially more suffering than something like having to strain to pick up a heavy object -- but they are both forms of suffering nonetheless.
As I thought about everything in life that is technically suffering, the examples were countless -- so countless, in fact, that I realized that suffering is the defining characteristic of our experience here on earth. At every single moment we suffer. Some it's so slight that we hardly notice it, sometimes it's so great that it consumes us, but we always suffer.
How odd, then, that we yearn for something different. Why would the human animals that inhabit planet earth, where to live is to suffer, be consumed with feelings that it shouldn't be this way?
Boothe Farley, writing about the recent death of her daughter, says it far better than I ever could:
So how could a loving God allow suffering? As Boothe points out, perhaps a better question would be, "Why would God, who gave free will to the creatures he created in his image only to have them use it to scorn and reject him, even allow these recalcitrant creatures to have glimpses of heaven in their fallen world? Why would he bother to let them know something of the peace and joy of his realm, where there is no suffering?" Because he's loving.
As I sat back in a prayerful silence (not because I'm just a naturally prayerful person, but because I felt too depressed to do anything else), a thought popped into my mind seemingly out of nowhere: "Where would you have God draw the line?" Meaning, what types of suffering should he allow, and what should he not allow? I've been asking myself that question over and over again since then, and it's led to some interesting thoughts about suffering.
I recoil in horror at stories of great suffering like I heard on the news the other day, and angrily tell God that I want him to stop this. Yet "suffering" encompasses a broad spectrum of experiences. Where would I have him draw the line? Nobody wants him to allow the horrific events that make the news. But what about the suffering that comes with broken bones? What about migraine headaches? What about sleep deprivation? What about humidity, paper cuts and ingrown toenails? What about sticky keyboards and uncomfortable desk chairs? Should a loving God allow us to have itches we can't scratch? For that matter, should we be asking God why he doesn't make the earth's gravitational field a little weaker to lessen the suffering (albeit minuscule) that currently comes with walking, moving, lifting, etc.? I'm not being sarcastic or in any way trying to minimize the great suffering that's at the far end of the spectrum. Obviously, something like being tortured involves exponentially more suffering than something like having to strain to pick up a heavy object -- but they are both forms of suffering nonetheless.
As I thought about everything in life that is technically suffering, the examples were countless -- so countless, in fact, that I realized that suffering is the defining characteristic of our experience here on earth. At every single moment we suffer. Some it's so slight that we hardly notice it, sometimes it's so great that it consumes us, but we always suffer.
How odd, then, that we yearn for something different. Why would the human animals that inhabit planet earth, where to live is to suffer, be consumed with feelings that it shouldn't be this way?
Boothe Farley, writing about the recent death of her daughter, says it far better than I ever could:
If God didn't ordain Copeland's sickness, if it wasn't His design, why in the world did she have it? Because I live here. It's like asking why I have a Southern accent. It comes free, courtesy of my locale. She wasn't sick because I needed to learn a lesson. She wasn't sick because I didn't do enough things right - or too many things wrong. She was sick because we live in a broken, fallen world and until Jesus comes back, things are just going to keep going wrong. Not all the time - that's when the glimpses of Heaven come in. But quite frequently. Life is truly one long dysfunction. Only by God's grace - getting what we don't deserve - do we ever see any good at all.
So how could a loving God allow suffering? As Boothe points out, perhaps a better question would be, "Why would God, who gave free will to the creatures he created in his image only to have them use it to scorn and reject him, even allow these recalcitrant creatures to have glimpses of heaven in their fallen world? Why would he bother to let them know something of the peace and joy of his realm, where there is no suffering?" Because he's loving.
Labels: Belief, Evil, Suffering, Tough Questions
posted by Jennifer F. at 2:04 PM
13 comments
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Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Be not afraid
Yesterday I talked to yet another mom whose child went off to college and decided that he's an atheist. I don't know if this is an epidemic or if I just hear about a lot because people know about my conversion, but it seems that not a month goes by that I don't hear about some child of a friend or family member giving up their faith after they leave the house.
Probably the most disturbing aspect of this trend that I've noticed is that, quite often, the parents I talk to seem hesitant to say anything about it. Not that I think they should be starting dinner-table arguments or badgering their children -- since, as I wrote about here and here, I finally clued in to the fact that prayer and simply living our Christian faith are by far the most important tools for evangelization -- but a surprising number of the parents I've talked to have not said anything at all to their children.
The mom I talked to yesterday took this route (I'll call her "Liz"), telling me that she hasn't said much to her son about his departure from the church. When I asked her why, she danced around the issue for a while but finally admitted that her son's loss of faith has made her worry about her own faith. "Honestly," she said, "I don't want to have a conversation with him about it. The atheists have some good arguments these days, and I just don't want to 'go there'. My faith means a lot to me and I'm happy to keep it that way." When she said that, I remembered that some of my other friends, acquaintances and family members have hinted that this is also the reason why they've shied away from discussing the topic with their own children.
When I told Liz that I'd gone the other way, finding God after a life of atheism, her eyes lit up and she immediately wanted to know more about that. I recommended some good books to read and gave a quick (OK, rambling) summary of my conversion story, and strongly encouraged her to, as she put it, "go there". I told her that, from my experience as a person who asked all the tough questions simply because I was too ornery to accept Christianity on faith alone, she should absolutely be asking the tough questions and scratching the surface on her beliefs. She smiled for the first time in the conversation when I said, "Don't worry. It's all true."
To the fact that other intelligent people have come to different conclusions, I don't know what to say. As we know from looking at the world around us, smart people can be found in pretty much every belief (or nonbelief) system. All I can offer is my own experience, which is this: I lived my whole life as an atheist. My godless worldview, which relied on science and observation of the material world alone to explain everything, conveyed accurate information. But when I paused to give the benefit of the doubt to the idea that perhaps my information was incomplete, when I took a hesitant peek at what some of humanity's great thinkers have had to say about that entire realm of human experience that cannot be measured in a laboratory, I found myself -- at first unwillingly -- on the fast track to Christianity.
Not wanting to be "one of them," those religious people who I spent so many years disliking, I asked every tough question I could think of. I read book after book after book, waiting to find at least one question for which atheism had a better answer. The problem is, I found none. In fact, I found that Christianity, the Catholic Church in particular, took what I already knew about the world as an atheist and added to it abundantly. The more questions I asked, the more my faith grew. The more I dug deep to really ponder the hard questions, the better I understood myself and the world around me, and the closer I got to God. An analogy I often think of is that atheism gave me a photograph of a chocolate cake, and Christianity has given me the actual icing-smothered item to taste and savor.
I share my experience in case it's helpful to parents like Liz or to any other Christians who might be hesitant to scratch the surface on their faith for fear of what they might find. In the opinion of this former atheist, by asking questions and seeking answers you have absolutely nothing to fear, and everything to gain.
------------------
UPDATE: Here is a Part II to this post with some recommended reading.
Probably the most disturbing aspect of this trend that I've noticed is that, quite often, the parents I talk to seem hesitant to say anything about it. Not that I think they should be starting dinner-table arguments or badgering their children -- since, as I wrote about here and here, I finally clued in to the fact that prayer and simply living our Christian faith are by far the most important tools for evangelization -- but a surprising number of the parents I've talked to have not said anything at all to their children.
The mom I talked to yesterday took this route (I'll call her "Liz"), telling me that she hasn't said much to her son about his departure from the church. When I asked her why, she danced around the issue for a while but finally admitted that her son's loss of faith has made her worry about her own faith. "Honestly," she said, "I don't want to have a conversation with him about it. The atheists have some good arguments these days, and I just don't want to 'go there'. My faith means a lot to me and I'm happy to keep it that way." When she said that, I remembered that some of my other friends, acquaintances and family members have hinted that this is also the reason why they've shied away from discussing the topic with their own children.
When I told Liz that I'd gone the other way, finding God after a life of atheism, her eyes lit up and she immediately wanted to know more about that. I recommended some good books to read and gave a quick (OK, rambling) summary of my conversion story, and strongly encouraged her to, as she put it, "go there". I told her that, from my experience as a person who asked all the tough questions simply because I was too ornery to accept Christianity on faith alone, she should absolutely be asking the tough questions and scratching the surface on her beliefs. She smiled for the first time in the conversation when I said, "Don't worry. It's all true."
To the fact that other intelligent people have come to different conclusions, I don't know what to say. As we know from looking at the world around us, smart people can be found in pretty much every belief (or nonbelief) system. All I can offer is my own experience, which is this: I lived my whole life as an atheist. My godless worldview, which relied on science and observation of the material world alone to explain everything, conveyed accurate information. But when I paused to give the benefit of the doubt to the idea that perhaps my information was incomplete, when I took a hesitant peek at what some of humanity's great thinkers have had to say about that entire realm of human experience that cannot be measured in a laboratory, I found myself -- at first unwillingly -- on the fast track to Christianity.
Not wanting to be "one of them," those religious people who I spent so many years disliking, I asked every tough question I could think of. I read book after book after book, waiting to find at least one question for which atheism had a better answer. The problem is, I found none. In fact, I found that Christianity, the Catholic Church in particular, took what I already knew about the world as an atheist and added to it abundantly. The more questions I asked, the more my faith grew. The more I dug deep to really ponder the hard questions, the better I understood myself and the world around me, and the closer I got to God. An analogy I often think of is that atheism gave me a photograph of a chocolate cake, and Christianity has given me the actual icing-smothered item to taste and savor.
I share my experience in case it's helpful to parents like Liz or to any other Christians who might be hesitant to scratch the surface on their faith for fear of what they might find. In the opinion of this former atheist, by asking questions and seeking answers you have absolutely nothing to fear, and everything to gain.
------------------
UPDATE: Here is a Part II to this post with some recommended reading.
Labels: Belief, Doubts, Tough Questions
posted by Jennifer F. at 4:53 PM
22 comments
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Saturday, October 13, 2007
A place of hope
Something about going to church on Sundays has changed for me recently. I'm not sure when it started, but around a couple months ago I began to feel overwhelmed with emotion almost every time I go to Mass. Lately I feel so incredibly grateful to be in such a place, so touched by the beauty of what is happening before me, that I not infrequently find myself wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. Unlike other times that I've been moved to tears at the beauty of the Mass, these days I feel joy at every part of it -- from the moment we walk into the parking lot until well after we drive out. It's not just the consecration or being able to receive communion (though that is part of it) -- but the very concept of being here in this place, with these other people, seems beautiful.
This is a strange development since, as longtime readers know, my path to conversion has been largely a dry experience, based more on what I believed intellectually than what I felt emotionally. And for quite a few weeks I could not figure out why I was suddenly so on fire about being at church. I was thinking about this last Sunday, even as I wrestled to keep my one-year-old from toppling chairs in the cry room, and I think I finally figured out what it is that so overwhelms me about what I'm seeing. As I watched and listened to the now-familiar rituals of the Mass, I noticed the the serious, loving intensity with which our priest does his job; I saw people cross themselves in prayer every now and then, even when it wasn't part of the ritual; I heard the deacon speak of people in great need, and every voice in the building echo his words, "the Lord hear our prayers"; I saw hundreds of people, almost everyone in the building, stand up out of respect for hearing the words of the Gospel; on the way out I walked past people who remained kneeling at their pews, whispering quietly to God.
It was all so amazing to me. Now that I've grown in my faith enough to really understand what's going on at Mass on Sundays -- not just what happens at the consecration but what is happening with the people in attendance -- I realize what an utterly unlikely event this is. A huge room full of hundreds of people, all of whom checked cynicism at the door when they walked in. Every person in this place, by simply being here, was exposing themselves to the vulnerability of having hope. I realize that, in my life in the secular world, I'd never seen anything like it. Sometimes I can hardly believe the beauty of what I'm seeing. "Look at ALL THESE people!" I'll think as I walk up the sidewalk to the building. "Nobody is making them be here! It's early! And yet, here they are. Hundreds of people coming to this place, and this is only one service at one church."
I can count on my hands the number of times I went to church with friends as a child (even then I completely ignored anything that happened), and I certainly never went as an adult. So, in many ways, attending Sunday services is still a very new experience for me. And I'm just so struck, so touched and overwhelmed, to look around and realize that every single person here is here because they have hope. I'm not sure that I ever realized that gathering so many humans together in that state of mind was even possible. Sure, some may have difficulty with their beleifs; some may occasionally be rude or act in un-Christian ways (ahem, me); some may just be there out of habit, mostly going through the motions; some may even feel like they've lost faith; yet every single person there has within them at least some small spark of hope, otherwise they wouldn't be there.
Realizing that, it wasn't so surprising that I so frequently get choked up. Because that is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
This is a strange development since, as longtime readers know, my path to conversion has been largely a dry experience, based more on what I believed intellectually than what I felt emotionally. And for quite a few weeks I could not figure out why I was suddenly so on fire about being at church. I was thinking about this last Sunday, even as I wrestled to keep my one-year-old from toppling chairs in the cry room, and I think I finally figured out what it is that so overwhelms me about what I'm seeing. As I watched and listened to the now-familiar rituals of the Mass, I noticed the the serious, loving intensity with which our priest does his job; I saw people cross themselves in prayer every now and then, even when it wasn't part of the ritual; I heard the deacon speak of people in great need, and every voice in the building echo his words, "the Lord hear our prayers"; I saw hundreds of people, almost everyone in the building, stand up out of respect for hearing the words of the Gospel; on the way out I walked past people who remained kneeling at their pews, whispering quietly to God.
It was all so amazing to me. Now that I've grown in my faith enough to really understand what's going on at Mass on Sundays -- not just what happens at the consecration but what is happening with the people in attendance -- I realize what an utterly unlikely event this is. A huge room full of hundreds of people, all of whom checked cynicism at the door when they walked in. Every person in this place, by simply being here, was exposing themselves to the vulnerability of having hope. I realize that, in my life in the secular world, I'd never seen anything like it. Sometimes I can hardly believe the beauty of what I'm seeing. "Look at ALL THESE people!" I'll think as I walk up the sidewalk to the building. "Nobody is making them be here! It's early! And yet, here they are. Hundreds of people coming to this place, and this is only one service at one church."
I can count on my hands the number of times I went to church with friends as a child (even then I completely ignored anything that happened), and I certainly never went as an adult. So, in many ways, attending Sunday services is still a very new experience for me. And I'm just so struck, so touched and overwhelmed, to look around and realize that every single person here is here because they have hope. I'm not sure that I ever realized that gathering so many humans together in that state of mind was even possible. Sure, some may have difficulty with their beleifs; some may occasionally be rude or act in un-Christian ways (ahem, me); some may just be there out of habit, mostly going through the motions; some may even feel like they've lost faith; yet every single person there has within them at least some small spark of hope, otherwise they wouldn't be there.
Realizing that, it wasn't so surprising that I so frequently get choked up. Because that is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
posted by Jennifer F. at 5:47 PM
8 comments
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Friday, October 12, 2007
Group Writing Project Final List: "Three things my parents did right"
Here is the final list of all 36 entries to the group writing project. Honestly, every single one of them was so beautiful. Thank you so much to everyone who participated. I hope everyone enjoyed it, and I know that I discovered some great new blogs through this project, as I hope others did as well!
Answering the question: "What are three things your parents did right?"
You're welcome to post this list of links on your own site, just please include a link back here. To get the HTML code, just view the source on this page and look out for the "start copying here" and "stop copying here" comments I included. Copy everything in between those comments.
And now for the winner, chosen at random (drumroll, please)...el-e-e at hello, self! Just email me to arrange getting your copy of my favorite CD ever, The Rosary is a Place.
This was so much fun that I'm definitely going to host one again soon. I even have a topic in mind that I'm really excited about (there are going to be some awesome posts written on this topic, I guarantee it!). So look out for the next Group Writing Project, probably one or two months from now.
And, finally, thank you to MamaBlogga and ProBlogger, where I first discovered the idea of group writing projects. Both are excellent blogs that are definitely worth checking out.
Answering the question: "What are three things your parents did right?"
- What my parents did right by Tertium Quid
- Three things my parents did right by :o)
- Three Things My Mom Did Right by Anna Sparkman
- Three Things My Parents Got Right by Will Duquette
- An Offering of Love by Jenny
- Three things
- 3 Things My Parents Did Right by Joshie
- Three things my parents did right by Steve G.
- Three Things My Parents Got Right by Michelle
- What My Parents God Right by Entropy
- Three (of the many) Things My Parents Did Right by Kate
- Three Things My Parents Did Right by LilyBug
- The Faithfulness of My Parents by TwoSquareMeals
- Three Things My Parents Did Right by Heidi Hess Saxton
- 3 Things My Parents Did Right by Radical Catholic Mom
- What my parents did right by Rosebud
- My Dad, the Hero by Arkanabar T'verrick Ilarsadin
- Three Things My Parents Did Right by Abigail
- Three Things by Carrie
- Treasures From My Folks by Christine
- Three things my parents did right by Laura
- Three things my Parents did right by Elena
- Three things my parents did right by Denise
- Three things my parents did right by Myth
- Three Things My Parents Did Right by Saila
- 3 Things My Parents Did Right by Tienne
- Three Things My Parents Did Right by Laurel
- Three things my parents did right by el-e-e
- Three Things My Parents Did Right by Michelle
- What my parents did right by Jeannine
- Three things my parents did right by Jennifer F.
- Three things my parents did right by William Eunice
- My Loving Parents by Kristen Laurence
- Thanks Mom and Dad by Karen
- Three Things My Parents Did Right by Jill
- A Little Late: Three Things My Parents Did Right by Colleen
You're welcome to post this list of links on your own site, just please include a link back here. To get the HTML code, just view the source on this page and look out for the "start copying here" and "stop copying here" comments I included. Copy everything in between those comments.
And now for the winner, chosen at random (drumroll, please)...el-e-e at hello, self! Just email me to arrange getting your copy of my favorite CD ever, The Rosary is a Place.
This was so much fun that I'm definitely going to host one again soon. I even have a topic in mind that I'm really excited about (there are going to be some awesome posts written on this topic, I guarantee it!). So look out for the next Group Writing Project, probably one or two months from now.
And, finally, thank you to MamaBlogga and ProBlogger, where I first discovered the idea of group writing projects. Both are excellent blogs that are definitely worth checking out.
posted by Jennifer F. at 3:19 PM
6 comments
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Group Writing Project Last-Minute Entries: "Three things my parents did right"
A few more last minute submissions that are not to be missed! :)
Answering the question: "What are three things your parents did right?":
OK, this is it! The final list and the winner will be published shortly.
Answering the question: "What are three things your parents did right?":
- Three things my parents did right by William Eunice at Full Circle
- My Loving Parents by Kristen Laurence at Small Treasures
- Thanks Mom and Dad by Karen at Growing Up
- Three Things My Parents Did Right by Jill at kindred spirits
OK, this is it! The final list and the winner will be published shortly.
posted by Jennifer F. at 3:17 PM
0 comments
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Thursday, October 11, 2007
Group Writing Project Day 7: "Three things my parents did right"
Here are more fantastic entries to the group writing project. Unfortunately I am running out the door to go to a dinner (thanks so much for the good tips!) so I have not read every one of them yet, but I will read them all tonight or tomorrow.
These are new ones since the last update, in the order I received them. I'll post the final list of all the entries tomorrow.
Answering the question, "What are three things your parents did right?":
There's still a few hours left if anyone wants to throw in a last-minute entry. Here's the scoop.
These are new ones since the last update, in the order I received them. I'll post the final list of all the entries tomorrow.
Answering the question, "What are three things your parents did right?":
- Treasures From My Folks by Christine at Good Company
- Three things my parents did right by Laura at lines...in pleasant places
- Three things my Parents did right by Elena at My Domestic Church
- Three things my parents did right by Denise at ordinary grace
- Three things my parents did right by Myth at It's All A Myth
- Three Things My Parents Did Right by Saila at considering the lilies
- 3 Things My Parents Did Right by Tienne at Take the Poor With You
- Three Things My Parents Did Right by Laurel at Plodding Toward Holiness
- Three things my parents did right by el-e-e at hello, self
- Three Things My Parents Did Right by Michelle at Pass the Flu Bug Please
- What my parents did right by Jeannine
- Three things my parents did right by me
There's still a few hours left if anyone wants to throw in a last-minute entry. Here's the scoop.
posted by Jennifer F. at 4:21 PM
1 comments
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Guest post: Three things my parents did right
A reader who does not have a blog emailed me a lovely entry for the group writing project. She writes:
Thank you, Jeannine, for such a nice reflection!
What my parents did right
by Jeannine
1. My mother supported me when I was bullied.
I had a great deal of trouble with bullies when I was in grade school during the 60's. I can still remember the dread that I felt at the thought of going to school and the relief at the thought of going home. I was the youngest child in my class most of the time, and I was always on the small side.Most of the bullying that I experienced was taunting and teasing, though sometimes there was a physical side as well. I was very sensitive and didn't have much ability to defend myself. My mother listened to my woes and offered commonsense advice, but most of all, she always helped me to see that I was not worthless or helpless. She also showed me that after feeling so bad because of what some kids said or did to me, I should always be kind and sympathetic to other people who might need my help. I knew that I could always count on Mom to support me and make me secure. She had a college degree and had had a career before she had children, but luckily for me and for my brother and sister, she was a stay-at-home mom and was always there for us at the end of the day. When I went away to college and learned about some of my friends' families that weren't so nurturing, I realized how fortunate I was to have a mother who was simply there, utterly dependable and full of commonsense wisdom.
2. My father shared his love of literature and reading with me.
My dad had a double major in college: biology and English. He thought for a while of being a teacher, but in the end he went to work for a company which also employed his older brother. His love of reading, however, was always with him. When I was a little girl, he would read to me from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, Shakespeare's Sonnets, or Paine's Crisis. He had--and still has--a deep, sonorous voice. "These are the times that try men's souls"--what a thrilling passage that was! When I was old enough to read by myself, my dad and I had a weekly ritual of going to the library together. He read all of my books as well as his own, and we shared an enjoyment of science fiction and mystery novels. Now I am a college teacher, and I try to share my love of reading with my students. And like my dad, I also like to talk to my own children about what we are reading.
3. My parents passed on the Faith to me.
When my parents had their 50th wedding anniversary a few years ago, one of the things I said in tribute to them was that they had passed on the Catholic faith to us, their children. When I was growing up, going to church was not negotiable. (In fact, it was always 8:30 mass, no matter how late a child had stayed out the night before!) My sister said when she was in college that Mom didn't have to worry that she'd do something "stupid," since Mom had instilled sufficient guilt in us to make that impossible! But it wasn't just guilt at all. I can remember when I was a teenager and wondering whether God really existed that my dad would stay up late and talk to me about any and all questions and doubts that I had. None of my questions seemed to bother him, and his knowledge of theology and philosophy was so valuable to me in that era of truly abysmal religious education. He was taught by the Benedictines of St. Vincent (in Latrobe, PA), and I learned more from him that I did from my teachers in Catholic schools in the sixties and seventies. In fact, sometimes he helped me to undo the results of the worst teaching, like that of the priest who told us (in high school) that Jesus wasn't really God. I am so grateful to my parents for sharing their faith with us.
Thank you, Jeannine, for such a nice reflection!
posted by Jennifer F. at 4:04 PM
1 comments
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Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Three things my parents did right
Just in time, here is my entry for the group writing project!
Three things my parents did right:
1. The gave me life
My parents never intended to have children. They both decided after they got married that that wasn't something they wanted or needed to be fulfilled. For the first 10 years of their marriage they had an exciting life of spontaneous travel to cool places, socializing with friends, and interesting careers. They'd settled happily into their child-free life and had no room for kids with all that they had going on. Needless to say, I was a big surprise. The pregnancy wasn't their "fault" since they'd been using a reliable form of contraception, and they weren't opposed to the concept of abortion. Yet they chose to have me. Even though it meant turning their lives upside down, they decided to open their hearts to this new little life.
2. My mom never complained about motherhood
Before my surprise arrival, my mom had an interesting career and the sky was the limit in terms of where should could have gone. She has a degree in math and is brilliant with numbers, having jobs like working with classified information as a mathematician for the Naval Research Laboratory. Yet when I was born, she left her career to stay home with me. Even when she returned to work when I was older, she chose jobs that weren't too demanding and left her plenty of time to be available for me. And I've never once heard her complain about it. I've never seen her roll her eyes at memories of my toddlerhood, make "jokes" about how I drove her crazy, or say a word about what she gave up when she became a full-time mom. It would be understandable if she had -- after all, being a mom is hard work, and she never exactly signed up for it. But, as far as I know, she loved (and still loves) every part of her life as my mother.
3. They instilled in me a sense of wonder
I think my dad could gaze at the stars for hours and hours on end and never tire of it. He's like a kid when he talks about astronomy and the grandeur of the universe. When I was a child my bedtime reading was books like Carl Sagan's Cosmos. My dad would show me the pictures and read some passages, then pause to explain what it meant. He'd get my mind going by talking things like how a black h
Three things my parents did right:
1. The gave me life
My parents never intended to have children. They both decided after they got married that that wasn't something they wanted or needed to be fulfilled. For the first 10 years of their marriage they had an exciting life of spontaneous travel to cool places, socializing with friends, and interesting careers. They'd settled happily into their child-free life and had no room for kids with all that they had going on. Needless to say, I was a big surprise. The pregnancy wasn't their "fault" since they'd been using a reliable form of contraception, and they weren't opposed to the concept of abortion. Yet they chose to have me. Even though it meant turning their lives upside down, they decided to open their hearts to this new little life.
2. My mom never complained about motherhood
Before my surprise arrival, my mom had an interesting career and the sky was the limit in terms of where should could have gone. She has a degree in math and is brilliant with numbers, having jobs like working with classified information as a mathematician for the Naval Research Laboratory. Yet when I was born, she left her career to stay home with me. Even when she returned to work when I was older, she chose jobs that weren't too demanding and left her plenty of time to be available for me. And I've never once heard her complain about it. I've never seen her roll her eyes at memories of my toddlerhood, make "jokes" about how I drove her crazy, or say a word about what she gave up when she became a full-time mom. It would be understandable if she had -- after all, being a mom is hard work, and she never exactly signed up for it. But, as far as I know, she loved (and still loves) every part of her life as my mother.
3. They instilled in me a sense of wonder
I think my dad could gaze at the stars for hours and hours on end and never tire of it. He's like a kid when he talks about astronomy and the grandeur of the universe. When I was a child my bedtime reading was books like Carl Sagan's Cosmos. My dad would show me the pictures and read some passages, then pause to explain what it meant. He'd get my mind going by talking things like how a black h