Steven Riddle over at Flos Carmeli writes better than I ever could about The Intellect and the Church. And his thoughts lead me to write out my own.
For me, the Catholic Church's attraction was always as an avenue to communion of all kinds. Historically, as a Roman Catholic, you were connected in a very real way to a world far beyond that of the senses. I loved being able to choose a patron saint to whom I could pray in the conviction that she is alive and able to hear my prayers, guide my thought spiritually as well as through her writings, and able to stand before God on my behalf. The saint didn't replace Jesus any more than one's older sister replaced one's parents. One's sister could provide guidance and shelter in addition to the parents, and was present in one's life because of the parents. It's called "family"... The Rosary wasn't some dry exercise; even in moments when it's hard to pray, it's like going through the photo album of my adoptive Holy Family. And Communion-! Of course, when the tabernacle is hidden, the liturgy is unrecognizable, and the words of the Mass are twisted and altered on the fly by some dude in a tacky looking robe, I pray He's not where the catechism says He is, for the sake of those schooled in indifference, even sacrilege. (I refuse to get into particulars, but, as with obscenity, I know it when I see it.)
"The Spirit of Vatican II" outlawed all of what brought me into the church. Saints became mere "models," the Rosary was pooh-poohed as "pietistic," and we all know what Cardinal Mahony thinks about kneeling during the holiest moment in a human being's life. I believe in God, not in the Church, which I now regard with deep suspicion. I am a recovering child of an alcoholic and I know the signs of toxic dysfunction, and am not going to be sucked into that morass again. I have done with the church as I did in my human family situation: I have detached in love.
In attempting to deconstruct the faith and isolate the "faith impulse" from the warp and woof of the compleat human being, the hijackers of Vatican II controverted the natural, overflowing emotion which was Catholicism's strength. To say that Catholics never questioned whether or not they should attend Mass because they accepted everything the hierarchy told them is grossly insulting and shows a lack of understanding. Lots of Catholics went to church because there was something there which they could not get anywhere else... to be specific, some One.
To explain, I will start by agreeing with Steven that "The reason is a good and powerful gatekeeper. It is necessary, right, just, and required that we cultivate it to the best of our ability." I have no doubt there's a lot of overlap between the folks who brought us "the Song of Songs is only an allegory" and those who recoiled at the overflowing emotions some people, who were convinced that what Jesus said in John 6 is what He meant, displayed in the presence of Jesus in the Eucharist. Certain clear abuses aside, most of the objections were simply that it wasn't "seemly." One is reminded of Michal sneering at David in 2 Samuel 6 for emotionally dancing before the ark of the Lord. But here's the thing: if Jesus' words in John 6 are true, and, by reasoning and logic you accept them as such, to behave uncaringly or unemotionally in the presence of that mystery is as unnatural as a mother saying, "I love my child" as an intellectual statement, while carefully refusing to be moved by its cries and smiles.
If Jesus was speaking allegorically, the traditional Latin Mass is weird idolatry. If Jesus meant what He said, then the "highest" Mass, with ranks of choirs and the best incense and the finest gold on the altar in the most exquisitely beautiful church is but a shabby attempt to show what we feel for Him in His sacramental presence. It is the "worship experience" approach, focused on our feelings rather than on God, which ends up in sterile, concrete churches and sloppy guitar "messes," with the wafer treated with no more dignity and reverence than a saltine.
The "Spirit of Vatican II" is so often cited as the reason for downplaying the deep wordless emotional impact of religious art, denying meaning to soaring naves and staggeringly beautiful reredos. All that kind of thing is taught to be pious emotional treacle which is dangerous to the faith. Then, having deconstructed it all down to verbal concepts, it builds back the superficial emotionalism of "celebration," which is about "community" and "relationship" instead of: that's Jesus on the altar.
When we lose our sense of emotion in connection with our faith, it loses any personal value beyond intellectual assent. When we deny that the Song of Songs can describe the beauty of love between a man and a woman, and that the rapture of adult discovery and union is intended to point directly to the love of God for His Church, a type of His pursuit of her and delight in her and desire to give her all she needs to abundantly reproduce communities which show at once the effects of the loving union between God and His image - the indelible, ineffable mystery of that - we are simply closing the door on Him and what He offers to make us truly human. When the soul glimpses Jesus as John did, it is no leap to breathe the prayer, "Let my beloved come to his garden, and eat its choicest fruits." Jesus made the garden of the soul, and made it to bear fruit through His love and leading and tender care. He has every right to delight in the good results of His work. However, when we share ourselves with Him, we always end up fed. He gives us His own self via what happened in John 6 and the sacrifice at Calvary. That meditation has nourished and ravished many a soul. St. Teresa of Avila - a doctor of the Church, and one of three women to be given that extremely significant title - experienced something like this, and Bernini faithfully interpreted it in ways which made the "it's only an allegory" crowd very uncomfortable (and likely still do).
I'm no prophet, and most definitely no saint, but I just have this feeling that He wishes we'd quit trying to explain staggering mysteries with mealy-mouthed pronouncements and instead fall to our knees in silent contemplation. God is such an ardent lover, yet, these days, we act as prudish towards love as we used to towards sex. Don't you think He wishes we'd quit playing with the equipment and start thinking about what it all means?
Update: I have pruned this considerably, and here link a Very Good explanation of the Mass, written by Teresa. H/T the Anchoress.
29 October 2005
The gift of change
My life might be about to change.
I am tempted to do nothing in anticipation, in case it does not happen.
Am I being called to show some faith, instead?
There is prudence, which is necessary, and cowardice, which is not.
Most of all, there has to be the willingness to accept joy when it is given... after so many attempts by God to give the gift, finally just - letting Him. Not fighting it any more, or explaining it away, or reasoning why it shouldn't happen, or making long lists of all that could go wrong, or dreaming up ways in which to have it but not really.
Pray for me that I will accept God's gift in the way and the time of His will.
I am tempted to do nothing in anticipation, in case it does not happen.
Am I being called to show some faith, instead?
Faith that God wants me to be happy and whole.I had some very good advice about this prospect last week. Some of it is very good. Some of it, I must ignore. Life is too short.
Faith in the one whose own changes will cause mine.
Faith in myself, that I can cope with a new life.
There is prudence, which is necessary, and cowardice, which is not.
Most of all, there has to be the willingness to accept joy when it is given... after so many attempts by God to give the gift, finally just - letting Him. Not fighting it any more, or explaining it away, or reasoning why it shouldn't happen, or making long lists of all that could go wrong, or dreaming up ways in which to have it but not really.
Pray for me that I will accept God's gift in the way and the time of His will.
A useful thought
Be who you are and say what you feel, because people who mind don't matter, and people who matter, don't mind.
Good morning!
I have waked up this morning - a Saturday - without a trace of a migraine. This is the first Saturday in a month that I can say that. I feel like one of the Lord's little birds, chirping and hopping from branch to branch.
It is a gift to be able to do the ordinary things without thinking about it: unload the dishwasher, load the washing machine, feel hungry and enjoy a good breakfast. For the last two Saturdays, any of the foregoing were out of the question.
Even for my moments of indisposition, I am grateful; they help me know when to give thanks for ordinary, undeserved blessings.
It is a gift to be able to do the ordinary things without thinking about it: unload the dishwasher, load the washing machine, feel hungry and enjoy a good breakfast. For the last two Saturdays, any of the foregoing were out of the question.
Even for my moments of indisposition, I am grateful; they help me know when to give thanks for ordinary, undeserved blessings.
23 October 2005
My dear Bear is found!
I put his dish out on the porch with water in it and sadly went to bed. And as I walked into the bedroom - I stopped cold.
The door to the bathroom was shut.
I never shut that door.
My first thought was - who's been in the house?!
But, as I opened the door, there he was: Bear shut himself in accidentally, presumably while trying to get comfy for a nap.
SIGH. OF. RELIEF.
Even though I'd called him in the house earlier, I didn't hear anything ... and he's such a zen dog, he didn't bark.
I gave him a good dinner, then we went for a walk through the quiet, mostly tucked-in neighborhood. And I shall take that as a reprieve and a signal and everything else, and get that fence repaired a.s.a.p.
PHEW!
I feel rather silly ("you didn't remember you let him back in?") but I don't care. I have my dear companion and watchdog back, shedding all over the house - and I wouldn't have it any other way.
My prayers for those who are searching for their lost companion animals.
The door to the bathroom was shut.
I never shut that door.
My first thought was - who's been in the house?!
But, as I opened the door, there he was: Bear shut himself in accidentally, presumably while trying to get comfy for a nap.
SIGH. OF. RELIEF.
Even though I'd called him in the house earlier, I didn't hear anything ... and he's such a zen dog, he didn't bark.
I gave him a good dinner, then we went for a walk through the quiet, mostly tucked-in neighborhood. And I shall take that as a reprieve and a signal and everything else, and get that fence repaired a.s.a.p.
PHEW!
I feel rather silly ("you didn't remember you let him back in?") but I don't care. I have my dear companion and watchdog back, shedding all over the house - and I wouldn't have it any other way.
My prayers for those who are searching for their lost companion animals.
My dear Bear is missing
Recriminations and remorse: the fence is low on one side of the house since I had the bougainvillea assassinated. Bear discovered that he could get out of the yard. He did it again this morning. I brought him back, and we stayed together all day. Then, this afternoon, he wanted to go out, and I - not thinking - let him. When I came to some hours later - huh? where's - oh no!
I've been out driving around, but no sign of him. We're near the foothills; he could be anywhere, and miles away by now.
He is reasonably street smart, and he's familiar with the area. I hope he stays off the roads. He is in God's sight and care. Your prayers would be appreciated.
I've been out driving around, but no sign of him. We're near the foothills; he could be anywhere, and miles away by now.
He is reasonably street smart, and he's familiar with the area. I hope he stays off the roads. He is in God's sight and care. Your prayers would be appreciated.
Wise words for husbands
Adrian Warnock quoted and excerpted some of an article by John Piper, which Curt then linked to over at the Happy Husband, and now it's here:
I was going to write something snarky and smart, but I can't joke about it. Not yet. Fortunately, there is someone who always listens, who gives his own self as food for the soul, and who specializes in opening doors.
Here I am speaking directly to men who are husbands and leaders. Paul said in Ephesians 5:25, "Husbands, love your wives!" Love her! Love her! What does it profit a man if he gains a great following and lose his wife? What have we led people to if they see that it leads us to divorce? What we need today are leaders who are great lovers. Husbands who write poems for their wives and sing songs to their wives and buy flowers for their wives for no reason at all except that they love them. We need leaders who know that they should take a day alone with their wives every now and then; leaders who do not fall into the habit of deriding and putting their wives down, especially with careless little asides in public; leaders who speak well of their wives in public and complement them spontaneously when they are alone; leaders who touch her tenderly at other times besides when they are in bed. One of the greatest temptations of a busy leader is to begin to treat his wife as a kind of sex object. It starts to manifest itself when the only time he ever kisses her passionately or touches her tenderly is when he's trying to allure her into bed. It is a tragic thing when a wife becomes a mannequin for masturbation. Learn what her delights are and bring her to the fullest experience of sexual climax. Talk with her and study her desires. Look her in the eye when you talk to her. Put down the paper and turn off the television. Open the door for her. Help her with the dishes. Throw her a party. LOVE HER! LOVE HER! If you don't, all your success as a leader will very likely explode in failure at home.
I was going to write something snarky and smart, but I can't joke about it. Not yet. Fortunately, there is someone who always listens, who gives his own self as food for the soul, and who specializes in opening doors.
For your Maker is your husband,-Isaiah 54:5-8
the Lord of hosts is his name;
and the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer,
the God of the whole earth he is called.
For the Lord has called you
like a wife forsaken and grieved in spirit,
like a wife of youth when she is cast off,
says your God.
For a brief moment I forsook you,
but with great compassion I will gather you,
In overflowing wrath for a moment
I hid my face from you,
but with everlasting love I will have
compassion on you,
says the Lord, your Redeemer.
Which chord are you?
MAJOR THIRD. You fill in the hollowness...you are
the emotion in the chord. You want life to be
rich and full for yourself and everyone around
you. Beloved by Classical and Romantic
composers alike, you just want peace and
tranquility for all mankind. Unfortunately,
most of the post-World-War II composers hate
you, but you tend to think that most music
since 1945 is crap, anyways.
What musical interval are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
(found at This is Life)
the emotion in the chord. You want life to be
rich and full for yourself and everyone around
you. Beloved by Classical and Romantic
composers alike, you just want peace and
tranquility for all mankind. Unfortunately,
most of the post-World-War II composers hate
you, but you tend to think that most music
since 1945 is crap, anyways.
What musical interval are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
(found at This is Life)
I can be happy
Back in late 1991, a dear friend of mine told me about his odyssey out of a nightmarish situation, and what an epiphany it was to realize that, indeed, he could be happy. I was so stuck in my own tough place at that time that I couldn't even fully appreciate what he was saying. I'm beginning to, now.
I have always read that passage as meaning that my life doesn't count before God unless I am around people who make it hard for me to love them by speaking hatefully and abusing me. I felt it was lazy and cowardly to want to be with anyone who loves me and does good to me. Today, I realized that is not what it means, at all. Enemies and people who hate should be rare in one's life; but, if they turn up, Jesus is saying that one should care for them as He does.
I saw it that way because it was juxtaposed with another reading, from Matthew 9:9-13. It's the one where Matthew was called. He was despised by the Jews because he was a tax collector, seen as working against his fellow citizens by implementing the horrible tax laws of the Romans; but Jesus said to him, "Follow me."
The Pharisees came by and sneered at Jesus for eating with the tax collectors and sinners. Jesus said, "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, 'I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.' For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners."
"I desire mercy and not sacrifice" is from Hosea 6:6. I didn't get it, myself, but this morning the light broke through. God wants us to give from our storehouse of good, whatever that 'good' might be; He does not want us to sacrifice the good He has given us for our own. By staying with people who were deliberately cruel and mean to me, I was sacrificing the possibility of good in my life. God was not asking me to give up my happiness to their mean-spirited behaviour. He just wants me to be ready to show mercy from my happiness, to share peace and joy.
It has always been difficult for me to trust that God wants me to be happy. I've always felt that happiness or joy were very dangerous, worthless emotions, lulling one into forgetting the "realities," which would happen at any time to rob one of all joy and freedom and send one's spirits crashing down. It's always seemed wiser to stay anxious and on the lookout for disaster than to allow oneself to relax and so be caught unprepared.
The trouble with that outlook is, without joy and peace in one's heart, one will certainly be unprepared to handle the inevitable shocks and distress of life.
The same kind of thought seemed to be present when the disciples complained as a woman poured very expensive ointment on Jesus' head during a visit. "Why this waste? This ointment might have been sold for a large sum, and given to the poor." But Jesus said to them, "Why do you trouble the woman? For she has done a beautiful thing to me. For you always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me." The disciples were saying what I lived by for so many years: never indulge oneself in any way; it's wrong. People are depending upon you not to waste a thing and never to be happy, because to be happy when others are suffering is selfish and cruel. Well, of course, you can't keep that up without becoming terribly depressed. And, there again, God isn't asking for us to do without the comforts and joys He provides, but to enjoy them like children who are given good things by their Father. We are allowed to be happy. When we hurt ourselves ostensibly to prevent the deprivation of others, we are showing a lack of faith. God is able to care for all His creation. He does not depend on us for anything. Our giving and sympathy are to be undertaken as being good for us, as well as for the poor and suffering.
Trying to out-do others by suffering more is just a way to fall into the trap of pride, anyway. I do much better spiritually when my body gives out and I must stay warm and eat right and rest for hours at a time. It's very humbling.
I've had a lot of humility lately, as stress at work has triggered the ol' migraine monster, and I've spent one day of each of the last three weekends mostly sleeping. But, there again, the stress is because I'm allowing myself to be put into a bad spot by someone whose priorities and work habits are completely different from mine. As my sister reminded me today, there are no awards for letting your life be ruined by somebody else's bad behavior.
Throughout my 20s and 30s I mainlined stress. I had almost no coping skills, a chaotic home life, and married someone I felt comfortable with because life with him was similar to what I'd grown up with around my mother. Add in a very difficult job and some health issues, and I was pretty well done. In many ways, I'm now in the best time of my life: It has taken me a couple of years to let go of my chronic anxiety and begin to lighten up a little, realizing that I can, indeed, enjoy life just a bit.
The FlyLady system has really helped me. FLY can be thought of as standing for Finally Loving Yourself. It's true. Having an orderly, tidy, clean house, a comfortable place to sleep, and my clothes all ready each day still feels like an extravagant luxury to me, but I have to do it. I have to train myself to live a normal life, with a normal amount of joy and happiness. God did not give me this life to spend my days cringing in fear and dread and anxiety.
"Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you,... pray for those who abuse you... if you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same... but love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return; and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High. For he is kind to the ungrateful and the selfish. Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful." - Luke 27ff
I have always read that passage as meaning that my life doesn't count before God unless I am around people who make it hard for me to love them by speaking hatefully and abusing me. I felt it was lazy and cowardly to want to be with anyone who loves me and does good to me. Today, I realized that is not what it means, at all. Enemies and people who hate should be rare in one's life; but, if they turn up, Jesus is saying that one should care for them as He does.
I saw it that way because it was juxtaposed with another reading, from Matthew 9:9-13. It's the one where Matthew was called. He was despised by the Jews because he was a tax collector, seen as working against his fellow citizens by implementing the horrible tax laws of the Romans; but Jesus said to him, "Follow me."
The Pharisees came by and sneered at Jesus for eating with the tax collectors and sinners. Jesus said, "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, 'I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.' For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners."
"I desire mercy and not sacrifice" is from Hosea 6:6. I didn't get it, myself, but this morning the light broke through. God wants us to give from our storehouse of good, whatever that 'good' might be; He does not want us to sacrifice the good He has given us for our own. By staying with people who were deliberately cruel and mean to me, I was sacrificing the possibility of good in my life. God was not asking me to give up my happiness to their mean-spirited behaviour. He just wants me to be ready to show mercy from my happiness, to share peace and joy.
It has always been difficult for me to trust that God wants me to be happy. I've always felt that happiness or joy were very dangerous, worthless emotions, lulling one into forgetting the "realities," which would happen at any time to rob one of all joy and freedom and send one's spirits crashing down. It's always seemed wiser to stay anxious and on the lookout for disaster than to allow oneself to relax and so be caught unprepared.
The trouble with that outlook is, without joy and peace in one's heart, one will certainly be unprepared to handle the inevitable shocks and distress of life.
The same kind of thought seemed to be present when the disciples complained as a woman poured very expensive ointment on Jesus' head during a visit. "Why this waste? This ointment might have been sold for a large sum, and given to the poor." But Jesus said to them, "Why do you trouble the woman? For she has done a beautiful thing to me. For you always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me." The disciples were saying what I lived by for so many years: never indulge oneself in any way; it's wrong. People are depending upon you not to waste a thing and never to be happy, because to be happy when others are suffering is selfish and cruel. Well, of course, you can't keep that up without becoming terribly depressed. And, there again, God isn't asking for us to do without the comforts and joys He provides, but to enjoy them like children who are given good things by their Father. We are allowed to be happy. When we hurt ourselves ostensibly to prevent the deprivation of others, we are showing a lack of faith. God is able to care for all His creation. He does not depend on us for anything. Our giving and sympathy are to be undertaken as being good for us, as well as for the poor and suffering.
Trying to out-do others by suffering more is just a way to fall into the trap of pride, anyway. I do much better spiritually when my body gives out and I must stay warm and eat right and rest for hours at a time. It's very humbling.
I've had a lot of humility lately, as stress at work has triggered the ol' migraine monster, and I've spent one day of each of the last three weekends mostly sleeping. But, there again, the stress is because I'm allowing myself to be put into a bad spot by someone whose priorities and work habits are completely different from mine. As my sister reminded me today, there are no awards for letting your life be ruined by somebody else's bad behavior.
Throughout my 20s and 30s I mainlined stress. I had almost no coping skills, a chaotic home life, and married someone I felt comfortable with because life with him was similar to what I'd grown up with around my mother. Add in a very difficult job and some health issues, and I was pretty well done. In many ways, I'm now in the best time of my life: It has taken me a couple of years to let go of my chronic anxiety and begin to lighten up a little, realizing that I can, indeed, enjoy life just a bit.
The FlyLady system has really helped me. FLY can be thought of as standing for Finally Loving Yourself. It's true. Having an orderly, tidy, clean house, a comfortable place to sleep, and my clothes all ready each day still feels like an extravagant luxury to me, but I have to do it. I have to train myself to live a normal life, with a normal amount of joy and happiness. God did not give me this life to spend my days cringing in fear and dread and anxiety.
02 October 2005
The fear of being touched
Jules over at Faith or Fiction related her discomfort with the idea of going up for prayer at church.
My heart goes out to her. It sounds so familiar - the "freezing." The fear. The tears. As I read it, I recalled my struggles with something similar.
I've never had a massage. I don't like to be touched by people I don't know. I can endure doctor visits only because they are short. I dislike even having my hair washed at the salon.
The closest I've come to it was to actually step inside the spa, pay for a session, and look around. I felt quite pleased with myself that I got that far. I dreaded the whole experience for three days beforehand. The morning I went in I was so upset I was shaking.
After some thought and discussion with the one who helps me sort through these things, I've realized it's not the process of touch itself that bothers me. There is a long story behind it, quite sad, which I cannot share in this forum. What I can share is that I've figured it out. I at last know why I "freeze" in fear and and flatly refuse to undergo what, for most people, is a heavenly relaxing experience.
I think we need to honor our feelings and trust in God. Someday I might be ready to do what I fear ... or I might not. It doesn't matter. Nobody cares. God knows the truth about our reluctance better than we do. He surely does not mind that Jules cannot ask for prayer, any more than He minds that I cannot submit to a healing massage. He knows that sometimes our hurts leave us unable to accept good things.
I am healing from whatever is blocking me from accepting such service, because I can see that something is good, even though, in my fear and confusion, I will not partake. Wounded people like me can take a long time to get to the point where we will allow someone who's safe to help them in an intimate way, whether by prayer or healing touch or whatever it is. God will provide the giver when we are ready. It must not be forced. I know for a fact that, when it is time, He will provide one whom you can trust and lean on. It happened for me, in the most unexpected and profoundly healing way. Until then, we can lean on Him. He's strong enough to hold us all close in His heart.
...at the end of the service, I always freeze as the person doing the closing remarks mentions that the staff will be up front if anybody needs to stop for a prayer because of illness or struggles in their life. I have never been able to figure out why this is so hard for me to hear and even harder for me to respond to...
[ ... ]
I feel close to tears for many reasons - mostly because of how blessed I am - but also because of how fearful I am. I can push it off for just so long before it all comes creeping back again like a wave from Rita washing over the damage left by Katrina. Wave after endless wave as I sit in retrospect ... Does He sense my pain and anguish? Does He understand why I can't go up front at church and ask Him for my life back?
My heart goes out to her. It sounds so familiar - the "freezing." The fear. The tears. As I read it, I recalled my struggles with something similar.
I've never had a massage. I don't like to be touched by people I don't know. I can endure doctor visits only because they are short. I dislike even having my hair washed at the salon.
The closest I've come to it was to actually step inside the spa, pay for a session, and look around. I felt quite pleased with myself that I got that far. I dreaded the whole experience for three days beforehand. The morning I went in I was so upset I was shaking.
After some thought and discussion with the one who helps me sort through these things, I've realized it's not the process of touch itself that bothers me. There is a long story behind it, quite sad, which I cannot share in this forum. What I can share is that I've figured it out. I at last know why I "freeze" in fear and and flatly refuse to undergo what, for most people, is a heavenly relaxing experience.
I think we need to honor our feelings and trust in God. Someday I might be ready to do what I fear ... or I might not. It doesn't matter. Nobody cares. God knows the truth about our reluctance better than we do. He surely does not mind that Jules cannot ask for prayer, any more than He minds that I cannot submit to a healing massage. He knows that sometimes our hurts leave us unable to accept good things.
I am healing from whatever is blocking me from accepting such service, because I can see that something is good, even though, in my fear and confusion, I will not partake. Wounded people like me can take a long time to get to the point where we will allow someone who's safe to help them in an intimate way, whether by prayer or healing touch or whatever it is. God will provide the giver when we are ready. It must not be forced. I know for a fact that, when it is time, He will provide one whom you can trust and lean on. It happened for me, in the most unexpected and profoundly healing way. Until then, we can lean on Him. He's strong enough to hold us all close in His heart.
01 October 2005
God is quick with correction
My previous post was about paying a bill. Then I found this.
The entire post is a sobering reminder of living for 8 years in a house with no heat except for an electric oil heater and not enough money to take advantage of sales or use coupons. I remember feeling so resentful of a wonderful, but clueless, boss who complained during a relentless heat wave that the air conditioning wasn't working in his house - upstairs. I had never lived with air conditioning before, and was into my second week without real sleep.
To this day I am careful with money. I always will be. I don't think I could ever have enough money not to worry any more.
I will not feel guilty about posting about my success in paying off my debt. I didn't do it with a windfall. I did it by taking my lunch every day to work, and not buying new clothes, and doing without new [fill in the blank]. I reused and scrimped and made do, and I shall continue to do so, until the other debts are paid... and then I'll start saving.
I think we who are comfortable forget what makes poverty "grinding": the utter inability to save any money. Capital is what makes capitalism work; once you've got a bit of it, it begins to get some momentum, and you can make some progress. But how hopeless it can seem to ever get ahead. God bless those who are frightened tonight for money reasons. May they make good choices and have the strength they need to keep going.
Being poor is knowing exactly how much everything costs.
Being poor is a heater in only one room of the house.
Being poor is having to live with choices you didn't know you made when you were 14 years old.
The entire post is a sobering reminder of living for 8 years in a house with no heat except for an electric oil heater and not enough money to take advantage of sales or use coupons. I remember feeling so resentful of a wonderful, but clueless, boss who complained during a relentless heat wave that the air conditioning wasn't working in his house - upstairs. I had never lived with air conditioning before, and was into my second week without real sleep.
To this day I am careful with money. I always will be. I don't think I could ever have enough money not to worry any more.
I will not feel guilty about posting about my success in paying off my debt. I didn't do it with a windfall. I did it by taking my lunch every day to work, and not buying new clothes, and doing without new [fill in the blank]. I reused and scrimped and made do, and I shall continue to do so, until the other debts are paid... and then I'll start saving.
I think we who are comfortable forget what makes poverty "grinding": the utter inability to save any money. Capital is what makes capitalism work; once you've got a bit of it, it begins to get some momentum, and you can make some progress. But how hopeless it can seem to ever get ahead. God bless those who are frightened tonight for money reasons. May they make good choices and have the strength they need to keep going.
What's your blogging personality?
These things are the potato chips of the blog world ...
Saw this over at Carolyn's.
| Your Blogging Type is Pensive and Philosophical |
 You blog like no one else is reading... You tend to use your blog to explore ideas - often in long winded prose. Easy going and flexible, you tend to befriend other bloggers easily. But if they disagree with once too much, you'll pull them from your blogroll! |
Saw this over at Carolyn's.
"Has anything ever happened to you...
... when after it was all said and done you knew it was God?" Gina Burgess posted her response to this question which she found over at Joe B's. What a great question. I am down-on-my-knees grateful that I have lots of possible responses, but I'll choose just one, for now.
Many years ago, I was in Minneapolis for a seminar for my work. The weather was nice, and I was getting stir crazy, so I asked the concierge at the hotel if it was safe to walk nearby. He gave a sort of guarded response, the tone of which I should have listened to, but I was young and needed a walk, so out I went.
It was fairly early in the morning, bright sunshine. I walked just a couple blocks south of the hotel, and turned left down a long block with the notion of going back up at the next light. Midway down the block was a bar - the kind with no windows. The door opened up and three large, seriously inebriated Native American males lurched out onto the sidewalk right in front of me. Now, at the time, I was in my 20s and reasonably fetching-looking in a sleeveless summer frock and sandals, and I had their immediate and full attention.
I really had nowhere to go but past them, so I moved to the outside of the sidewalk (thinking I'd step into the somewhat busy traffic if I had to) and proceeded to walk briskly by. No such luck. They started making encouraging noises in my direction. Since there were three of them, they were egging each other on a bit. I was beginning to feel considerable alarm, though I tried not to show it. I didn't want to try to run, because I felt instinctively they'd chase me, so I just walked fast. They walked behind me, calling to me. I started eyeing the traffic for a break.
Just then, a tall, handsome older gentleman with a full head of white hair fell into step beside me. I had no idea where he'd come from. He greeted me as though we were already acquainted, and walked quite close, though not touching. We chatted about the weather and I don't know what else. Behind us, my followers, muttering, gave up the chase.
That man and I walked for a block. He had a serene smile the whole time and never made reference to my entourage. The hotel was in sight at the next intersection. He said "Good-bye" just as the light changed. I turned to thank him, but he had vanished.
There wasn't a side street or a working door anywhere in the vicinity. The building beside us was boarded up.
It was my first conscious encounter with an angel.
Many years ago, I was in Minneapolis for a seminar for my work. The weather was nice, and I was getting stir crazy, so I asked the concierge at the hotel if it was safe to walk nearby. He gave a sort of guarded response, the tone of which I should have listened to, but I was young and needed a walk, so out I went.
It was fairly early in the morning, bright sunshine. I walked just a couple blocks south of the hotel, and turned left down a long block with the notion of going back up at the next light. Midway down the block was a bar - the kind with no windows. The door opened up and three large, seriously inebriated Native American males lurched out onto the sidewalk right in front of me. Now, at the time, I was in my 20s and reasonably fetching-looking in a sleeveless summer frock and sandals, and I had their immediate and full attention.
I really had nowhere to go but past them, so I moved to the outside of the sidewalk (thinking I'd step into the somewhat busy traffic if I had to) and proceeded to walk briskly by. No such luck. They started making encouraging noises in my direction. Since there were three of them, they were egging each other on a bit. I was beginning to feel considerable alarm, though I tried not to show it. I didn't want to try to run, because I felt instinctively they'd chase me, so I just walked fast. They walked behind me, calling to me. I started eyeing the traffic for a break.
Just then, a tall, handsome older gentleman with a full head of white hair fell into step beside me. I had no idea where he'd come from. He greeted me as though we were already acquainted, and walked quite close, though not touching. We chatted about the weather and I don't know what else. Behind us, my followers, muttering, gave up the chase.
That man and I walked for a block. He had a serene smile the whole time and never made reference to my entourage. The hotel was in sight at the next intersection. He said "Good-bye" just as the light changed. I turned to thank him, but he had vanished.
There wasn't a side street or a working door anywhere in the vicinity. The building beside us was boarded up.
It was my first conscious encounter with an angel.
Rejoice with me
I am thinking of the story Jesus told, about the woman who lost a coin and swept her whole house, then called her friends to rejoice with her when it was found. I didn't lose anything, but feel much the same, because I paid off a bill today.
Almost two years ago, the timing belt broke on my Volvo. I was decelerating into a stop sign when it happened. I felt the engine let go and heard one of the most horrible sounds a car owner can hear: the six-cylinder equivalent of a spoon in a garbage disposal.
I was not upset. The circumstances were such that it had "God's Will" stamped all over it in inch-high letters. I was on my way to have a conversation which was inappropriate for me to have, and, although I was determined to do it, I'd prayed to God and asked Him to allow or prevent it. (Me sitting in car at intersection right after it happened: "All righty, then, I guess that would be a 'No.'") I felt protected, in spite of the circumstances: it happened on a Sunday afternoon in a quiet, safe residential area. My passenger was one of those calm, resourceful souls who dispensed a comforting hug at the right moment, then easily and quickly arranged to borrow a car. It could have been a miserable experience; he made it almost pleasant, if not for the mortal injury to my beloved Volvo. (We Volvo owners can get a bit dotty over our "bricks.")
The decision to repair vs. replace was a serious one. I went on-line and looked at cars, but the more I looked, the more I found myself gravitating to the same make, same model. I looked at used Volvos of the same vintage (one of the last rear-wheel drive models) and discovered their price range was exactly what it would cost to rebuild the engine. Rather than buy another car which I didn't know, I decided to repair my old friend.
For two years I have thrown every extra bit at that debt. This month I broke the magic number that allowed me to transfer some savings and pay off the remaining balance.
Along the way, I've not gone without a thing I truly needed. I've had enough extra for a few little treats now and then. God is kind. I just hope I've learned to cultivate a quiet and teachable spirit, so that He doesn't have to take such drastic measures in future to keep me from doing something stupid!
Almost two years ago, the timing belt broke on my Volvo. I was decelerating into a stop sign when it happened. I felt the engine let go and heard one of the most horrible sounds a car owner can hear: the six-cylinder equivalent of a spoon in a garbage disposal.
I was not upset. The circumstances were such that it had "God's Will" stamped all over it in inch-high letters. I was on my way to have a conversation which was inappropriate for me to have, and, although I was determined to do it, I'd prayed to God and asked Him to allow or prevent it. (Me sitting in car at intersection right after it happened: "All righty, then, I guess that would be a 'No.'") I felt protected, in spite of the circumstances: it happened on a Sunday afternoon in a quiet, safe residential area. My passenger was one of those calm, resourceful souls who dispensed a comforting hug at the right moment, then easily and quickly arranged to borrow a car. It could have been a miserable experience; he made it almost pleasant, if not for the mortal injury to my beloved Volvo. (We Volvo owners can get a bit dotty over our "bricks.")
The decision to repair vs. replace was a serious one. I went on-line and looked at cars, but the more I looked, the more I found myself gravitating to the same make, same model. I looked at used Volvos of the same vintage (one of the last rear-wheel drive models) and discovered their price range was exactly what it would cost to rebuild the engine. Rather than buy another car which I didn't know, I decided to repair my old friend.
For two years I have thrown every extra bit at that debt. This month I broke the magic number that allowed me to transfer some savings and pay off the remaining balance.
Along the way, I've not gone without a thing I truly needed. I've had enough extra for a few little treats now and then. God is kind. I just hope I've learned to cultivate a quiet and teachable spirit, so that He doesn't have to take such drastic measures in future to keep me from doing something stupid!
What color should your blog or journal be?
| Your Blog Should Be Green |
 |
Found at Fructus Ventris, who found it at Happy Catholic.
25 September 2005
The Heinlein meme
Can't resist this one (found at The Bookish Gardener):
It was inspired by this list from "The Notebooks of Lazarus Long" in Robert A. Heinlein's Time Enough for Love:
Change a diaper (My sister's; I was ten years old the week after she was born. I try not to remind her of it too often.)
Plan an invasion (At least in my imagination.)
Butcher a hog (Not something I'd like to be present for, after hearing my grandmother's stories. I have been present at the deconstruction of a buffalo, though.)
Conn a ship (does a sabot count?)
Design a building
Write a sonnet (Love 'em.)
Balance accounts (College accounting class.)
Build a wall
Set a bone
Comfort the dying
Take orders (Not military, just corporate hierarchy).
Give orders (Ditto.)
Cooperate
Act alone
Solve equations (only if I can get help from my mathematician buddy.)
Analyze a new problem (I work in IT).
Pitch manure
Program a computer (only at the simplest levels)
Cook a tasty meal
Fight efficiently
Die gallantly (I hope so, but time will tell.)
It was inspired by this list from "The Notebooks of Lazarus Long" in Robert A. Heinlein's Time Enough for Love:
A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.Instructions: take the list and bold the items you have actually done (with explanatory notes in most cases).
Change a diaper (My sister's; I was ten years old the week after she was born. I try not to remind her of it too often
Plan an invasion (At least in my imagination.)
Butcher a hog (Not something I'd like to be present for, after hearing my grandmother's stories. I have been present at the deconstruction of a buffalo, though.)
Conn a ship (does a sabot count?)
Design a building
Write a sonnet (Love 'em.)
Balance accounts (College accounting class.)
Build a wall
Set a bone
Comfort the dying
Take orders (Not military, just corporate hierarchy).
Give orders (Ditto.)
Cooperate
Act alone
Solve equations (only if I can get help from my mathematician buddy.)
Analyze a new problem (I work in IT).
Pitch manure
Program a computer (only at the simplest levels)
Cook a tasty meal
Fight efficiently
Die gallantly (I hope so, but time will tell.
Reality, reconsidered
Jules has posted a marvelous quote from Thomas Merton, along with her usual muscular thinking. (Quite a few bloggers who struggle with physical issues end up able to do some heavy lifting at the keyboard. I wonder if it's anything like those who lose one sense, only to have the others become more acute...?)
Here's the quote, from The Seeds of Contemplation:
I agree with Jules ... I could think and write about that for a long, long while.
Here's the quote, from The Seeds of Contemplation:
We make ourselves real by telling the truth.Jules writes:
Think for a moment of all the times in your life where you have felt like a phony. Times when you were trying to be something you were not or trying to live up to someone else's expectations of who you really were. It's a pretty sick feeling, isn't it? You're always on the edge of things wondering when you will be found out. Wondering when the truth will surface.That really hits home.
Over time, the ache to be free takes over. Free from the restrictions, free from the demands, free from the standards set by someone we've never even met. We long to say what we feel, regardless if it is considered primitive, uneducated or benign. We long to do what means most, regardless if we can make a large salary, bring home benefits, or stash cash in a 401K. We long to be seen...not for what we "do" or for who we raised or even for where we live. We want more. We need more. We begin to need..."...free from the standards set by someone we've never even met." About three years ago, I had to go through a grieving process. It was awful, but necessary, and God stayed with me right through. One of the things I grieved for was the loss of the chance for a certain kind of life because I was following rules laid down by "dead people," as I've come to call them. Why did I worry so about transgressing their little customs and preferences? I am not talking here about Scriptural truth, but about such things as "it isn't wise to let a boy know how you feel about him." But then again, I was only 17, and my life was chaotic, and there were lots of good reasons I couldn't trust, and... and...
And one day, we turn around and realize that all those years of armor and masks were the worst years of our lives; not the best.A-men, sister.
It is in the nakedness of truth that we finally become what God originally intended us to be...and, I believe, it's where we see Him - at last - in all his glory and all His love and all his grace - waving us in, calling us home. And it is here we realize that we could never expect to spend a single moment in His presence as anything less than truly what we are.So often aspirants to the contemplative life come into the monastery thinking that it's all about learning to pray, acquiring good habits ... only to find that success lies in letting go of everything: physical comforts, natural ties to family and friends, and, finally, oneself; giving up the right to oneself completely. Oswald Chambers teaches me this over and over again. I never fail to be gratefully amazed at the continuing fountain of insight in My Utmost for His Highest.
We make ourselves real by telling the truth.Read her whole post.
I agree with Jules ... I could think and write about that for a long, long while.
23:5 Meme
Rules:
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to it).
3. Find the 5th sentence (or closest to it).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
My grandmother had three huge avocado trees in her front yard, ringed by gardenia bushes.
H/T Kate at Heart Speaks to Heart
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to it).
3. Find the 5th sentence (or closest to it).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
My grandmother had three huge avocado trees in her front yard, ringed by gardenia bushes.
H/T Kate at Heart Speaks to Heart
Reflecting on roles
Mary of the blogs I read are by mothers, and a lot of those are homeschooling their kids. That means that they are doing the yeoman's (-woman's!) work of being at home, caring for the house as well as training up their children in the way they should go.
It is so demanding. I pray for them, Father.
I am quite sure that they and I could cheerfully trade circumstances, for a little while...
but just for a little while.
They will miss their little ones, sooner rather than later. And I shall long for the quiet, my chorus of crickets, the occasional bark of a dog.
We are, in this moment, exactly where we should be. It is hard for mothers to know that, sometimes, when demands and fatigue impinge on one's peace. It is hard for me to know it, sometimes, when I ache with longing for my dear one and his children who will never be mine.
Mothers know how to manage a family, with all its myriad and swiftly-changing priorities, emergencies imagined and real, the daily round of laundry and meals, the endless cleaning, the schooling and counseling and listening to the papa when he comes in from work. I know how to detach in love from an alcoholic, work full-time and still be at the hospital every night for five months in a row, live in recovery from codependence, and survive a difficult marriage.
For some people, to live without family would be a blank.
For me, to live without family is a profound relief.
We are each exactly where we need to be, right this moment.
Someday, I might be in a family again. I might hold children, cook dinners, decorate, and hold a dear one. I cherish it as a sweet dream, a little something to enjoy in my soul once in a while, between meetings and phone calls. In the same way, a mother might cherish the dream of a day alone, kids safely cared for, time enough to read and nap and bathe and just be in the quiet house. Neither of us hold out much hope of it actually happening any time soon; but it might, someday; you never know. So we must respect each other's role in the world, and love each other, and pray for one another; for we do not know what the other feels.
God is good.
It is so demanding. I pray for them, Father.
I am quite sure that they and I could cheerfully trade circumstances, for a little while...
but just for a little while.
They will miss their little ones, sooner rather than later. And I shall long for the quiet, my chorus of crickets, the occasional bark of a dog.
We are, in this moment, exactly where we should be. It is hard for mothers to know that, sometimes, when demands and fatigue impinge on one's peace. It is hard for me to know it, sometimes, when I ache with longing for my dear one and his children who will never be mine.
Mothers know how to manage a family, with all its myriad and swiftly-changing priorities, emergencies imagined and real, the daily round of laundry and meals, the endless cleaning, the schooling and counseling and listening to the papa when he comes in from work. I know how to detach in love from an alcoholic, work full-time and still be at the hospital every night for five months in a row, live in recovery from codependence, and survive a difficult marriage.
For some people, to live without family would be a blank.
For me, to live without family is a profound relief.
We are each exactly where we need to be, right this moment.
Someday, I might be in a family again. I might hold children, cook dinners, decorate, and hold a dear one. I cherish it as a sweet dream, a little something to enjoy in my soul once in a while, between meetings and phone calls. In the same way, a mother might cherish the dream of a day alone, kids safely cared for, time enough to read and nap and bathe and just be in the quiet house. Neither of us hold out much hope of it actually happening any time soon; but it might, someday; you never know. So we must respect each other's role in the world, and love each other, and pray for one another; for we do not know what the other feels.
God is good.
Miscellaneous advice from one now alone
From both experience and observation:
Just sayin'.
1. When your spouse mentions that the old boy/girlfriend they once told you about looked them up out of the blue, the "Check Engine" light might have just come on in your marriage. Take them out to dinner and pleasantly ask lots of open-ended questions. If you don't have a weekly "date night," now's a really, really good time to start.
2. Old flame or no, consider building a bit more quality time into your marriage - your spouse's idea of quality time. If you don't know what that is, ask.
3. If their idea of q.t. involves physical affection, don't roll your eyes or express exasperation or disgust. Do not announce that it's not important. If you don't enjoy it any more, confide that to your doctor first. In particular, avoid disclosing to your spouse that you never really did like it, even if that was the case. Oh, and don't use the word "addict," even in fun.
4. If your spouse has always been the quiet, patient, long-suffering type, but begins to appropriately and courteously verbally convey his or her wants and needs, especially in connection with 3., above, that would be what's commonly known as "a clue."
5. If your spouse requests you both go to counseling, the list of recommended responses does not include refusal, especially if 4., above, has already occurred.
6. If, after several unsuccessful attempts to discuss it with you, your spouse drops the topic completely - especially if they finally "see it your way" and quit making overtures - any feelings of relief you feel might be short-lived. In reality, you may have only weeks - maybe months, if they love you - before they decide it's easier to live alone than to endure constant rejection.
Just sayin'.
23 September 2005
What a surprise. (Not.)
You speak eloquently and have seemingly read every
book ever published. You are a fountain of
endless (sometimes useless) knowledge, and
never fail to impress at a party.
What people love: You can answer almost any
question people ask, and have thus been
nicknamed Jeeves.
What people hate: You constantly correct their
grammar and insult their paperbacks.
What Kind of Elitist Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
(via Happy Catholic.)
Apparently, the cafeteria wasn't merely closed
It seems the cardinals emptied the pantry, first. Just saw this on MSNBC about the "runner-up" for pope. It seems Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio of Argentina is a man with a deep concern for the poor, a man who lives simply and frugally and calls his brother bishops to do the same in this report.
22 September 2005
Women, education, and vocation
Earlier this week the Anchoress had a post on women who are getting good educations "yet" making no secret of their plans to quit the workforce to raise families when the time comes. She quotes The New York Times article which explores the fact that:
My late grandmother went to college sometime around 1911. She and I used to talk about her experiences, especially when I started to feel the stirrings of a writerly vocation and shamelessly started interviewing her for ideas and history.
Her mother and father moved out to Oklahoma and had many children. They used orange crates for furniture at first. It was a hard, tough life. Still, education was a given. At night, the lamps were lit, and out came the Bible or the Shakespeare, and the family read to one another. All the kids went to college... even the daughters.
The women in my family believe it is imperative for women to get as much education as possible because motherhood is a vocation. It is hard work, demanding the best of women at every level of their being, intellectual, emotional and physical. Any man who thinks motherhood is an easy ride is hereby recommended to spend ONE MONTH in a house with three kids under the age of 10. Magnanimously, I will exempt the poor sod from the requirement to have a major hormonal event somewhere in there - because I'm female, and therefore compassionate. (wink)
Mothers are not just watching children. They are guiding people who will one day vote in elections, borrow money, buy houses, and, in their turn, beget, raise and educate more children. It's called civilization, don'tcha know.
These days we have unparalleled luxury compared to what my grandmother knew a century ago. Indoor plumbing, electricity, modern appliances, safe automobiles on good roads - please let us remember that it was a scant 100 years ago that we began to have all those things. Radio, air travel, and antibiotics were all in the future when my grandmother was a girl. The equipment you are using to read these words was not even dreamed of.
An educated woman is more likely to enjoy the best things of life - the great books, art, and music - and will seek out the company of those who share her tastes and ideals. If she marries an intelligent, well-educated man, she has a much better chance of happiness. If together they can make a stable family, their children will not be distracted from their work of learning.
Just because you are a mother does not mean you are sentenced to change diapers forever, any more than getting an education condemns you to working in an office all your life. It doesn't matter what you do, education helps you make the best and most of it.
Many women at the nation's most elite colleges say they have already decided that they will put aside their careers in favor of raising children. Though some of these students are not planning to have children and some hope to have a family and work full time, many others ... say they will happily play a traditional female role, with motherhood their main commitment.
My late grandmother went to college sometime around 1911. She and I used to talk about her experiences, especially when I started to feel the stirrings of a writerly vocation and shamelessly started interviewing her for ideas and history.
Her mother and father moved out to Oklahoma and had many children. They used orange crates for furniture at first. It was a hard, tough life. Still, education was a given. At night, the lamps were lit, and out came the Bible or the Shakespeare, and the family read to one another. All the kids went to college... even the daughters.
The women in my family believe it is imperative for women to get as much education as possible because motherhood is a vocation. It is hard work, demanding the best of women at every level of their being, intellectual, emotional and physical. Any man who thinks motherhood is an easy ride is hereby recommended to spend ONE MONTH in a house with three kids under the age of 10. Magnanimously, I will exempt the poor sod from the requirement to have a major hormonal event somewhere in there - because I'm female, and therefore compassionate. (wink)
Mothers are not just watching children. They are guiding people who will one day vote in elections, borrow money, buy houses, and, in their turn, beget, raise and educate more children. It's called civilization, don'tcha know.
These days we have unparalleled luxury compared to what my grandmother knew a century ago. Indoor plumbing, electricity, modern appliances, safe automobiles on good roads - please let us remember that it was a scant 100 years ago that we began to have all those things. Radio, air travel, and antibiotics were all in the future when my grandmother was a girl. The equipment you are using to read these words was not even dreamed of.
An educated woman is more likely to enjoy the best things of life - the great books, art, and music - and will seek out the company of those who share her tastes and ideals. If she marries an intelligent, well-educated man, she has a much better chance of happiness. If together they can make a stable family, their children will not be distracted from their work of learning.
Just because you are a mother does not mean you are sentenced to change diapers forever, any more than getting an education condemns you to working in an office all your life. It doesn't matter what you do, education helps you make the best and most of it.
18 September 2005
A word of appreciation to about a dozen of you
Thank you for writing those posts ... the ones where you wrote about feeling grief picking you up in its jaws and shaking you like a terrier shakes a rat; how, with your last breath, you breathed a prayer and were strengthened. In your own unique way, you used words in which you conveyed the awful loneliness you felt, the sense of loss and dread combining into a kind of stunned feeling when contemplating the future, too frightened and tired to even be able to assemble your feelings. But you prayed, and typed out enough words about your situation, and why you needed to pray, to be able to sleep. I prayed with you, and for myself. And I was comforted, because I no longer felt so alone. Thank you for your honesty, and for sharing.
17 September 2005
Yep - that's me, all right
| Your Element is Water |
 Your power colors: blue and aqua Your energy: deep Your season: winter Like the ocean, you evoke deep feelings and passion. You have an emotional, sensitive, and spiritual soul. A bit mysterious, you tend to be quiet when you are working out a problem. You need your alone time, so that you can think and dream. |
H/T Faith or Fiction.
16 September 2005
A birthday prayer
Found this prayer/poem at Maggi Dawn's:
I recently celebrated one of Those birthdays... the kind one notices in the way one notices when the car odometer suddenly is all zeroes after the first number. When one is a child, birthdays are (usually, one hopes) unalloyed joy and excitement. Somewhere down the road, resignation begins to creep in. At some point, there might even be a temptation to despair. At the very least, the mirror enforces the need for conscious acceptance of the truth that our bodies wear out. But, with God's grace, we can pray with St. Anselm: I have not yet done that for which I was made. I agree with Maggie; that line is my favorite.
It is the fulcrum on which sadness and regret (I have not done...) can, with God's grace, be balanced by hope and trust (yet!).
O Lord my God
teach my heart
where and how to seek you,
where and how to find you.
O Lord you are my God
and you are my Lord
and I have never seen you.
You have made me and remade me,
and you have bestowed on me all the good things I possess
and still I do not know you.
I have not yet done that for which I was made.
Teach me to seek you
for I cannot seek you unless you teach me
or find you unless you show yourself to me.
Let me seek you in my desire,
let me desire you in my seeking.
Let me find you by loving you,
let me love you when I find you.
-St. Anselm
I recently celebrated one of Those birthdays... the kind one notices in the way one notices when the car odometer suddenly is all zeroes after the first number. When one is a child, birthdays are (usually, one hopes) unalloyed joy and excitement. Somewhere down the road, resignation begins to creep in. At some point, there might even be a temptation to despair. At the very least, the mirror enforces the need for conscious acceptance of the truth that our bodies wear out. But, with God's grace, we can pray with St. Anselm: I have not yet done that for which I was made. I agree with Maggie; that line is my favorite.
It is the fulcrum on which sadness and regret (I have not done...) can, with God's grace, be balanced by hope and trust (yet!).
11 September 2005
Church Rides at Disneyland
From John Mark Reynolds' blog:
Church Rides at Disneyland
Ha!
Read the whole thing - it's cute.
Church Rides at Disneyland
Catholic Ride:
It's a Small World
People from all nations gather together. The guest travels in one very stable boat, carried along by very pure Water, but the music in the ride is very annoying.
Vatican II Catholic Secondary Ride:
All of Disney's California Adventure
See it is like this: the old Park is just not cool anymore. It is hard to get teen agers to go. If we build a new park and leave out all the old characters, then we will be cool. Kids will love us. The fact that no one comes at the moment to the new park is not the fault of the new park but of the old park. Maybe we should close the old park?
Ha!
Read the whole thing - it's cute.
Restoration
In my journey of faith, I met God first, fortunately, before getting involved in a church. The Church I loved was the one I found in my mother's 1926 hand missal, the eternal church of Rome, solidly unified across time and geography and culture, with her own language and clear rules. Vatican II was to that church as Katrina was to New Orleans; she survived the first go-round pretty much intact; it was the second wave, the breaking of the levees which had previously held back destruction, which washed away all that was left, dispersing even the holdouts like me. For our spiritual health, we had to get away from the disgusting, toxic morass our spiritual neighborhood had become.
In the years since I joined the church in 1971, my experiences with it have been consistent in their type and effect. After multiple tries to rejoin, I've had to accept that I need to detach from that institution in the same way I had to consciously detach from my mother due to her behavior. In doing so, I rely on the words of St. Augustine - "Love God and do as you please," - and Jesus, Who said, "I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture." That word, found in John 10:9, is the real meaning of the title of this blog.
He's led me to investigate several churches over the years. The latest is one I've grazed in before. It's an evangelical church whose teaching hews closely to the Bible, and yet it's enfolded a significant number of the hurting, ignored, directionless, and spiritually hungry sheep from Mahony's flock, as well as others from the opposite side of the spectrum.
In the past, I moved on from this community because of the relentless pressure to Get Involved. For many soul-wrenching reasons, it was completely out of the question at that time in my life, and I was not about to explain to perfect strangers why I just wanted to show up on Sunday and be fed in the word, without having to sign away hours of my life I could not spare at that time. Now, besides my life being more open, I discovered via their website that there has been a change in the pastorship. The discomfort I felt may have well "come from the top," so to speak; due to my life experience, I am inordinately sensitive to those issues, even when I can't quite identify nor articulate them. I find myself looking forward to going back.
While the previous shepherd had a strong personality and a "bias for action," he also showed his stripes as a true intellectual liberal - not in the sense of political left-leaning, but in the sense of accepting and investigating before coming to a conclusion. The depth of wisdom and intellectual rigor he brought to his teaching was obvious in every word he wrote. He understood the touchpoints for all types of Christians. He showed more respect to my Catholic faith than the post-Vatican II church ever did.
Spiritually, a vast number of Catholics were treated after Vatican II like the pathetic crowds at the Superdome. The ones in charge had the power and resources to save us from those who abandoned us, hoping for us to die or leave so they could build a new church on the ruins of our faith. Those of us in the resulting diaspora are enriching and teaching those in "other folds," gently leading them to open their hearts and minds to the truth of John 6 and other things. In the meantime, among the brave, strong souls who stayed behind to fight, there is a move afoot to bring back thoughtful Scripture study and reestablish the practical, daily practices which spiritually nurture the soul. Jesus is drawing together those who hear His voice into one flock with one shepherd. (John 10:16)
No church is perfect. Only Jesus is perfect. He is my shepherd. I know His voice. No sheep can graze forever in the same place. He leads me to lie down in green pastures, and lets me know when it's time to graze elsewhere. I survive, and thrive, under His leadership. By His grace, I trust Him.
In the years since I joined the church in 1971, my experiences with it have been consistent in their type and effect. After multiple tries to rejoin, I've had to accept that I need to detach from that institution in the same way I had to consciously detach from my mother due to her behavior. In doing so, I rely on the words of St. Augustine - "Love God and do as you please," - and Jesus, Who said, "I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture." That word, found in John 10:9, is the real meaning of the title of this blog.
He's led me to investigate several churches over the years. The latest is one I've grazed in before. It's an evangelical church whose teaching hews closely to the Bible, and yet it's enfolded a significant number of the hurting, ignored, directionless, and spiritually hungry sheep from Mahony's flock, as well as others from the opposite side of the spectrum.
In the past, I moved on from this community because of the relentless pressure to Get Involved. For many soul-wrenching reasons, it was completely out of the question at that time in my life, and I was not about to explain to perfect strangers why I just wanted to show up on Sunday and be fed in the word, without having to sign away hours of my life I could not spare at that time. Now, besides my life being more open, I discovered via their website that there has been a change in the pastorship. The discomfort I felt may have well "come from the top," so to speak; due to my life experience, I am inordinately sensitive to those issues, even when I can't quite identify nor articulate them. I find myself looking forward to going back.
While the previous shepherd had a strong personality and a "bias for action," he also showed his stripes as a true intellectual liberal - not in the sense of political left-leaning, but in the sense of accepting and investigating before coming to a conclusion. The depth of wisdom and intellectual rigor he brought to his teaching was obvious in every word he wrote. He understood the touchpoints for all types of Christians. He showed more respect to my Catholic faith than the post-Vatican II church ever did.
Spiritually, a vast number of Catholics were treated after Vatican II like the pathetic crowds at the Superdome. The ones in charge had the power and resources to save us from those who abandoned us, hoping for us to die or leave so they could build a new church on the ruins of our faith. Those of us in the resulting diaspora are enriching and teaching those in "other folds," gently leading them to open their hearts and minds to the truth of John 6 and other things. In the meantime, among the brave, strong souls who stayed behind to fight, there is a move afoot to bring back thoughtful Scripture study and reestablish the practical, daily practices which spiritually nurture the soul. Jesus is drawing together those who hear His voice into one flock with one shepherd. (John 10:16)
No church is perfect. Only Jesus is perfect. He is my shepherd. I know His voice. No sheep can graze forever in the same place. He leads me to lie down in green pastures, and lets me know when it's time to graze elsewhere. I survive, and thrive, under His leadership. By His grace, I trust Him.
Behind the scenes in New Orleans
There's a lot of fulminating over FEMA's mishandling of the catastrophe in the Gulf Coast. I don't excuse it - didn't Michael Roberts say over that horrible weekend following the storm that they didn't know how bad things were until Thursday - excuse me?? - but I don't want to lose sight of Mayor Nagin's inexcusable stalling before issuing evacuation orders, leaving fleets of buses unused, then his and the Governor's inexplicable refusal to give the orders and permissions necessary to allow both public and private agencies into New Orleans afterwards.
When I read Christopher Cooper's front-page article in last Thursday's Wall Street Journal entitled "Old Line Families Escape Worse of Flood and Plot Future," I had a strong feeling that Cooper was putting down some very clear dots for his readers to connect.
Cooper set the stage by describing how the extremely rich had recourse to private helicopters, both for evacuation and for the delivery of supplies and small armies of private security guards. He painted the picture of people completely detached from the realities of the misery rampant after the storm. Then he got down to the interesting stuff about these privileged few:
Oh, really? How nice for him.
The article included quotes from James Reiss, who "became wealthy as a supplier of electronic systems to shipbuilders, and [he] serves in Mayor Nagin's administration as chairman of the city's Regional Transit Authority."
Hmm. Regional Transit Authority. Gee ... wonder if that includes, you know, buses?
Mr. Reiss and a number of the other "power elite" are already planning the rebuilding of NO, according to the article.
Leading Democrats fear that the demographics of the city will change. Even though the city's government has been controlled by black politicians since the 70s, "(w)hite voters often act as a swing bloc, propelling blacks or Creoles into the city's top political jobs. That was the case with Mr. Nagin, who defeated another African American to win the mayoral election in 2002."
Christopher Cooper draws no conclusions from all this in his article, and neither will I, beyond noting that it seems inevitable New Orleans will be very different after it's rebuilt, not only because of all the new buildings and infrastructure. The article's on WSJ.com for another 85 days or so; I don't know if you need a subscription to access it, but it is fascinating, and worth a read.
When I read Christopher Cooper's front-page article in last Thursday's Wall Street Journal entitled "Old Line Families Escape Worse of Flood and Plot Future," I had a strong feeling that Cooper was putting down some very clear dots for his readers to connect.
Cooper set the stage by describing how the extremely rich had recourse to private helicopters, both for evacuation and for the delivery of supplies and small armies of private security guards. He painted the picture of people completely detached from the realities of the misery rampant after the storm. Then he got down to the interesting stuff about these privileged few:
Their social pecking order is dictated by the mysterious hierarchy of "krewes," groups with hereditary membership that participate in the annual carnival leading up to Mardi Gras. In recent years, the city's most powerful business circles have expanded to include some newcomers and non-whites, such as Mayor Ray Nagin, the former Cox Communications executive elected in 2002.
Oh, really? How nice for him.
The article included quotes from James Reiss, who "became wealthy as a supplier of electronic systems to shipbuilders, and [he] serves in Mayor Nagin's administration as chairman of the city's Regional Transit Authority."
Hmm. Regional Transit Authority. Gee ... wonder if that includes, you know, buses?
Mr. Reiss and a number of the other "power elite" are already planning the rebuilding of NO, according to the article.
The new city must be something very different, Mr. Reiss says, with better services and fewer poor people. "Those who want to see this city rebuilt want to see it done in a completely different way: demographically, geographically and politically," he says. "I'm not just speaking for myself here. The way we've been living is not going to happen again, or we're out."
Not every white business leader or prominent family supports that view. Some black leaders and their allies in New Orleans fear that it boils down to preventing large numbers of blacks from returning to the city and eliminating the African-American voting majority.
Leading Democrats fear that the demographics of the city will change. Even though the city's government has been controlled by black politicians since the 70s, "(w)hite voters often act as a swing bloc, propelling blacks or Creoles into the city's top political jobs. That was the case with Mr. Nagin, who defeated another African American to win the mayoral election in 2002."
Christopher Cooper draws no conclusions from all this in his article, and neither will I, beyond noting that it seems inevitable New Orleans will be very different after it's rebuilt, not only because of all the new buildings and infrastructure. The article's on WSJ.com for another 85 days or so; I don't know if you need a subscription to access it, but it is fascinating, and worth a read.
30 August 2005
In awe of the way blogs work
One of the bloggers I follow lives in the south, and hadn't updated her blog for a few days, and I was worried. I don't know her personally, but I was concerned. So I looked around for other bloggers who might know her. At one's blog, I found a comment from the one I was worried about. The comment was dated today. Relief.
Oh, Katrina
Like so many, I'm praying and grieving for the dear people who have lost so much. Besides all the others to pray for, I'm interceding for those who've succumbed to the temptation to loot, and for those who would judge them. If you are someplace where you have the electricity you need to find out about the looting, if the air is cool and you have a working toilet and within your vicinity there's a refrigerator containing anything appealing to eat, you might want to take a moment to be grateful, and pray for the looters' souls. If you do that first, then be righteously indignant. Just a thought.
27 August 2005
Keeping busy
I work full-time outside my home. Over the years I've often heard women of a certain age say, "I like to keep busy." When I was much younger and foolish (as opposed to now, when I am at that age myself, and no less foolish), I used to look down on them a bit and feel sorry for them. I thought they must have had unexamined grief in their lives, or something like that, which made it uncomfortable for them to sit quietly or read or meditate or whatever - all of which I would, and do, indulge in to excess.
Today I'm in the middle of a few days of vacation. These few days have been a profound blessing to me. The purpose of the time off was to make some progress on some tasks which have been hanging over my head for years - and I have done so. All kinds of things - housecleaning, financial stuff, paperwork of various kinds. Nowhere near done, but just wading in a bit on each project, as opposed to cowering on the shore. It feels good. My mood has been better than it's been in months.
Chicken or egg? Not sure, but the Getting Up and Doing definitely helps keep the momentum of progress towards wholeness going. So much so, that I realise I have now joined the ranks of those who "like to keep busy."
Part of my problem with it before was my perception that "keeping busy" was mindless activity, compulsive cleaning, or self-exhaustion. Thanks to FlyLady, I've learned how to keep busy in a helpful, healthy way which avoids the traps of perfectionism, anger, and despair which beset me in previous attempts to live a "normal" life. I used to feel very self-conscious, sometimes despairing, about my inability to manage my surroundings. Thanks that dear woman and her team, I have slowly come to understand that I'm not alone, nor is there something "wrong" with me. It's not the only way to learn how to take care of one's life, but it worked for me where other methods had not.
Although I've not (I hope) expressed my former condescending thoughts to anyone who said that to me, I repent of entertaining them at all. There is a wound in my own life which will not heal, which God has used over and over again to protect, guide, encourage and enlighten me. Until three years ago, I steadfastly refused to admit the depth of the injury. I could not even bear to consider it. Now that I've faced up to it, healing can begin. I shall never be the same as I was before the dreadful things happened, but the secret to life is not to pretend the hurt away or stifle it with food or dreaming. It is to face it, with the support of God and those who love you.
Instead of hiding the hurt from the Physician, I finally let Him do what he needed to do: reopen, then clean the wound. Now, after so much pain, rehabilitation can begin. My life can be rebuilt, but only by me, and only in small increments of purposeful activity. Before, I could not bear the thought of a routine, organised, well-paced approach to work and life. Now, I know better. I sleep eight or nine hours a night. I exercise and eat right. I know how to work hard for fifteen minutes, then rest for a while. I'm learning how to map out my days, and keep to a schedule. For so many, this can be done without thinking. For me, it is stunning revelation. I don't know why it didn't make sense to me before. I'm just glad that it finally does.
So, I like to keep busy. I like to make progress against clutter and dust and weeds. It makes me feel good to take control of my possessions. Absurdly small stuff compared to the crying needs of the world, but it's my field of endeavour, just for now. I must build the foundation to support a greater work later on. For many reasons I could not live that sort of life before; now is the time. God is good - and patient with me.
If you are the type who lives a normal life with schedules and routines most of the time, you can be grateful for it. If your life is chaotic and stress-filled, know that, when you're ready, you can slow down and learn a different way.
Today I'm in the middle of a few days of vacation. These few days have been a profound blessing to me. The purpose of the time off was to make some progress on some tasks which have been hanging over my head for years - and I have done so. All kinds of things - housecleaning, financial stuff, paperwork of various kinds. Nowhere near done, but just wading in a bit on each project, as opposed to cowering on the shore. It feels good. My mood has been better than it's been in months.
Chicken or egg? Not sure, but the Getting Up and Doing definitely helps keep the momentum of progress towards wholeness going. So much so, that I realise I have now joined the ranks of those who "like to keep busy."
Part of my problem with it before was my perception that "keeping busy" was mindless activity, compulsive cleaning, or self-exhaustion. Thanks to FlyLady, I've learned how to keep busy in a helpful, healthy way which avoids the traps of perfectionism, anger, and despair which beset me in previous attempts to live a "normal" life. I used to feel very self-conscious, sometimes despairing, about my inability to manage my surroundings. Thanks that dear woman and her team, I have slowly come to understand that I'm not alone, nor is there something "wrong" with me. It's not the only way to learn how to take care of one's life, but it worked for me where other methods had not.
Although I've not (I hope) expressed my former condescending thoughts to anyone who said that to me, I repent of entertaining them at all. There is a wound in my own life which will not heal, which God has used over and over again to protect, guide, encourage and enlighten me. Until three years ago, I steadfastly refused to admit the depth of the injury. I could not even bear to consider it. Now that I've faced up to it, healing can begin. I shall never be the same as I was before the dreadful things happened, but the secret to life is not to pretend the hurt away or stifle it with food or dreaming. It is to face it, with the support of God and those who love you.
Instead of hiding the hurt from the Physician, I finally let Him do what he needed to do: reopen, then clean the wound. Now, after so much pain, rehabilitation can begin. My life can be rebuilt, but only by me, and only in small increments of purposeful activity. Before, I could not bear the thought of a routine, organised, well-paced approach to work and life. Now, I know better. I sleep eight or nine hours a night. I exercise and eat right. I know how to work hard for fifteen minutes, then rest for a while. I'm learning how to map out my days, and keep to a schedule. For so many, this can be done without thinking. For me, it is stunning revelation. I don't know why it didn't make sense to me before. I'm just glad that it finally does.
So, I like to keep busy. I like to make progress against clutter and dust and weeds. It makes me feel good to take control of my possessions. Absurdly small stuff compared to the crying needs of the world, but it's my field of endeavour, just for now. I must build the foundation to support a greater work later on. For many reasons I could not live that sort of life before; now is the time. God is good - and patient with me.
If you are the type who lives a normal life with schedules and routines most of the time, you can be grateful for it. If your life is chaotic and stress-filled, know that, when you're ready, you can slow down and learn a different way.
26 August 2005
Why Starbucks wins
I enjoyed this blog post from Metrocurean (H/T Dappled Things for the link).
The sense of community is what I like it for - well, the coffee, pastries, and now lunch, of course - but I like being able to hang out with my notebook and a book, sipping coffee, and just being with others in a very comfortable setting - meaning that what we have in common is the location, and we're all there for the same thing.
It's very uniting, actually. People gather to sip coffee. There may be discussions, but the real issues center around whether or not to have a maple oat-nut scone, and is there a couch available. It is a comfortable place, no matter what one's mental furniture.
Key moments of my life have taken place in Starbucks. I have done some of my absolute best writing in one of their more atmospheric shops close by. Many years ago, a dear one's new job overseas was discussed at some length. When my best female friend was leaving to live in another state, the last evening we spent together in this state ended up at Starbucks. Treasured memories. There are few commercial venues which leave one with that kind of feeling, it seems.
However, as pleasant as the ambience is, I would not go if it weren't for their excellent coffee and tea, and the delicious little noshes one can buy, and the music.
I can do so much of that for myself at home - coffee, tea, scrumptious snacks, music, reading, writing, all of it - yet I continue to go out of my way to visit Starbucks at intervals. That is the incontrovertible proof that their formula is successful. I don't know how they express it within their corporate culture, but whatever it is, it's the "recipe for Coke" for their business. So long as I, a frugal, home-loving hobbity sort, will freely and willingly and gladly plunk down some dollars to go sit in their store and sip coffee when I could brew it myself at home, that company will thrive.
The sense of community is what I like it for - well, the coffee, pastries, and now lunch, of course - but I like being able to hang out with my notebook and a book, sipping coffee, and just being with others in a very comfortable setting - meaning that what we have in common is the location, and we're all there for the same thing.
It's very uniting, actually. People gather to sip coffee. There may be discussions, but the real issues center around whether or not to have a maple oat-nut scone, and is there a couch available. It is a comfortable place, no matter what one's mental furniture.
Key moments of my life have taken place in Starbucks. I have done some of my absolute best writing in one of their more atmospheric shops close by. Many years ago, a dear one's new job overseas was discussed at some length. When my best female friend was leaving to live in another state, the last evening we spent together in this state ended up at Starbucks. Treasured memories. There are few commercial venues which leave one with that kind of feeling, it seems.
However, as pleasant as the ambience is, I would not go if it weren't for their excellent coffee and tea, and the delicious little noshes one can buy, and the music.
I can do so much of that for myself at home - coffee, tea, scrumptious snacks, music, reading, writing, all of it - yet I continue to go out of my way to visit Starbucks at intervals. That is the incontrovertible proof that their formula is successful. I don't know how they express it within their corporate culture, but whatever it is, it's the "recipe for Coke" for their business. So long as I, a frugal, home-loving hobbity sort, will freely and willingly and gladly plunk down some dollars to go sit in their store and sip coffee when I could brew it myself at home, that company will thrive.
20 August 2005
Another blog find
So I Go, a wandering and perpetual novel.
Beautifully written. Gripping and thoughtful. Check it out.
Beautifully written. Gripping and thoughtful. Check it out.
Ooo... tea.
Thanks to Glad Gastronome, I found this site, Nice Cup of Tea and a Sit Down. Now, as you may have guessed, I really do like tea, and am fond of the little goodies that go with it. Trouble is, just reading this site makes me want to head back to England... sigh...
Parenting - intentionally
I confess I haven't read Salon.com's article yet, but enjoyed this riposte.
14 August 2005
For pleasure? or... ?
The Curt Jester had a great post, "Contraception as Bulimia." "Dr. Phillip Blosser from Musings of a Pertinacious Papist writes a must-read essay on contraception..."
I agree. It is must-read, and the link to Janet E. Smith's talk is definitely worth following. The quotes below are from her talk.
Young people today deserve to have a choice. Not just between pregnancy and abortion, but between truly living a full life, or following the pressure of the media to use their bodies in ways which are called "wrong" not because some stuffy somebody wants them to not have a good life, but because behaving that way can seriously impact their chances of a good life.
I know what it's like to have this kind of relationship (though, unfortunately, not in marriage), and I can testify to its worth and staying power.
Boys and girls both deserve to know their options. They are wise enough to choose - and they have been lied to in the most despicable ways. Dawn Eden has taken up one aspect of this institutionalized misleading in her relentless exposure of Planned Parenthood's tactics.
I know from experience what can happen when young men don't have enough information. I also know what it's like to go through this:
God offers forgiveness, not do-overs.
I agree. It is must-read, and the link to Janet E. Smith's talk is definitely worth following. The quotes below are from her talk.
Young people today deserve to have a choice. Not just between pregnancy and abortion, but between truly living a full life, or following the pressure of the media to use their bodies in ways which are called "wrong" not because some stuffy somebody wants them to not have a good life, but because behaving that way can seriously impact their chances of a good life.
Couples who've abstained before marriage, have little or no problem with Natural Family Planning.... In fact, they think that abstinence is a way of expressing love. It's not this huge deprivation. The reason that they abstained before marriage was not because they weren't attracted to each other, not because the hormones weren't raging, but because they loved each other. They said, "I'm not going to have sex with you before marriage because I love you. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to have a stronger commitment than I've made here. I don't want to put us in danger of having a baby when we haven't really prepared for that baby. Marriage is preparation for those bonds and marriage is preparation for that baby. And I love you and I can wait. That's how much I love you." Within marriage, abstinence has that same aspect. "It's not a good idea for us to show our affection at this time. We know how to be loving to each other at this time because we've done it before." And they can do it.
I know what it's like to have this kind of relationship (though, unfortunately, not in marriage), and I can testify to its worth and staying power.
Women who use Natural Family Planning have an amazing sense of self-respect and well being. They think that their fertility is revered by their husbands, and they think that they've got themselves particularly good husbands. "I've got my husband who's particularly good. He's a wonderful man. He's got high moral standards. He doesn't treat me like a sex object. I can trust him. He likes me even when we're not having sex together. He's a great guy. I got myself a good one." And males have a great reverence for their wives, for their fertility. They don't want to damage her body. They don't want her to take all these pills and use these devices. They say, "No. I love her. I wouldn't put her through those risks. And this willingness to have a baby for me, that's a wonderful thing. What a woman puts herself through! And I am going to respect that." So, there is this deep bond between the two of them.
Boys and girls both deserve to know their options. They are wise enough to choose - and they have been lied to in the most despicable ways. Dawn Eden has taken up one aspect of this institutionalized misleading in her relentless exposure of Planned Parenthood's tactics.
I know from experience what can happen when young men don't have enough information. I also know what it's like to go through this:
I've seen lots of people actually just slide into marriage. This whole notion that by having sex before marriage you could make a better choice of a spouse — I think is absolutely erroneous. It seems to me that the sexual passion can obscure things rather than clarify things. You get used to the sexual relationship and it makes you ignore whether this person is selfish, or lazy, or egotistical — things that, another two years from now, might really bother you. Right now, because of the sexual relationship, you overlook these things.
God offers forgiveness, not do-overs.
Thinking about choice
The blog feminine-genius is one of my occasional stops. I appreciate the time and research that goes into that blog. As I grow older, I'm finding I have less and less patience with those who would co-opt the thought of young women, to the point where the freedom of information is completely restricted.
It is simply criminal to raise young girls without a real choice: the information they need to decide how they want to live their lives.
Girls' choices are many, and complex, and a significant number of them have lifelong consequences. The easy way out is not always the best way.
In my visit today, I came across a link to this article, with this arresting quote:
The whole article is worth a read. And a discussion with the young women in your life.
It is simply criminal to raise young girls without a real choice: the information they need to decide how they want to live their lives.
Girls' choices are many, and complex, and a significant number of them have lifelong consequences. The easy way out is not always the best way.
In my visit today, I came across a link to this article, with this arresting quote:
A woman, with her cycle of fertility, is not a forest to be cleared or a mountain to be strip-mined. Instead, she’s like a garden, yielding her fruits to the patience and care of the loving husbandman. Neither are children pests to be warded off with chemicals. Instead, they’re a crowning gift of marriage, the visible fruits of a love too strong to be contained in just two bodies.
The whole article is worth a read. And a discussion with the young women in your life.
Contentment
My previous post had been marinating in the drafts for a month. I was moved to post it today, because I just found something again on Ann V.'s blog I wanted to remember and (if you're visiting) share. It has a very special meaning to me - one which she, of course, could not know.
(Read the whole thing.)
What caught my eye is "curl myself up in such a shell that contentment will swaddle me." My dear friend once said that, after our traumatic parting, he "curled up inside himself." Part of what we've done for each other is coax and persuade one another to emerge from our respective safe, but lonely, havens. His progress has reminded me at times of watching a crustacean begin to emerge from a borrowed shell, only to snap back inside at the first hint of trouble.
As for me, the one to watch out for is the fear of failure - driving myself so hard. As I have encouraged my friend to trust, so has he has led me to moderate my efforts and live more mindfully.
If you're going to fear something, fear the One who made you and knows you and loves you like no other. Bill Cosby had a great line, characterizing an exasperated father, something like: "I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it!" He was, of course, joking; but, when raising children, especially boys, sometimes dads need to do the alpha male thing. There is no doubt in the kids' minds that Dad loves them with every breath he takes; but it is true that a father, secure in his role, commands a great deal of respect. Over many long years of pondering and prayer, I've finally figured out that's what the Scriptures mean by "the fear of the Lord." He loves us; we know it. But, in truth, He is in complete charge of us and all that is around us.
That's why I posted earlier about how I'd rather be God's child than His pal. As I grow older, my childish fear becomes profound respect and love; but you gotta start someplace, and very early on in our faith-walk, and sometimes in lapses after that, we shrink back from his majesty and cower in fear.
How that must hurt him. We've allowed the chatterers among us and the Deceiver himself to persuade us that God doesn't love us any more. What a crock. We have to keep watch that we're not turned away from the One who can really help and guide us. He wants us to part from our childish attachments to pleasure and possessions and pride, and that proves a stumbling block for many of us, me included.
The Deceiver is like the stranger who lures the child from his Father's side - come here, you pretty thing, look what I've got for you. Contentment lies in turning away in fear from him and running to Papa, trusting the One who caused you to live to provide all you could ever need. Maybe that's why sometimes men need to be fathers themselves before they can know God properly. Would any of you offer his son a stone when he asks for bread, or a snake when he asks for a fish? If you, bad as you are, know how to give good things to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask him! - Matthew 7:11.
When my friend was a worldly-wise teenager, he was cynical. Now he's more open, and he says he yearns sometimes for the kind of settled faith he perceives me to have. I don't want to laugh in front of him, so I don't, but me? settled faith?? When it's not amusing, it's scary to think I'm seen as knowing something like that, when I don't.
In my poverty of trust, I recognize my kinship with those who are desperately poor in the material sense. I've often been touched by the selfless generosity of those who have next to nothing; they often will share from their little as the widow did with her two mites for the temple. (Luke 21:1-4) So, if Papa gives me two pieces of candy, I shall offer one to my friend. If my friend thinks I have faith, then I won't deny it. I can only pray to the Father to help me fear the right things, and not try to do any of it alone.
“The fear of the Lord leads to life: Then one rests content.” ~Proverbs 19:23
One can’t fiddle around with the Truth of His Word.
But I often do.
Substitutions like this:
If I live in fear of the future, I will cling to this moment with such passion that I will stumble into contentment.
If I live in fear of failure, I will drive myself so hard that I will seize contentment.
If I live in fear of rejection, I will curl myself up in such a shell that contentment will swaddle me.
And you know what?
My version of the Truth is a Lie...
(Read the whole thing.)
What caught my eye is "curl myself up in such a shell that contentment will swaddle me." My dear friend once said that, after our traumatic parting, he "curled up inside himself." Part of what we've done for each other is coax and persuade one another to emerge from our respective safe, but lonely, havens. His progress has reminded me at times of watching a crustacean begin to emerge from a borrowed shell, only to snap back inside at the first hint of trouble.
As for me, the one to watch out for is the fear of failure - driving myself so hard. As I have encouraged my friend to trust, so has he has led me to moderate my efforts and live more mindfully.
If you're going to fear something, fear the One who made you and knows you and loves you like no other. Bill Cosby had a great line, characterizing an exasperated father, something like: "I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it!" He was, of course, joking; but, when raising children, especially boys, sometimes dads need to do the alpha male thing. There is no doubt in the kids' minds that Dad loves them with every breath he takes; but it is true that a father, secure in his role, commands a great deal of respect. Over many long years of pondering and prayer, I've finally figured out that's what the Scriptures mean by "the fear of the Lord." He loves us; we know it. But, in truth, He is in complete charge of us and all that is around us.
That's why I posted earlier about how I'd rather be God's child than His pal. As I grow older, my childish fear becomes profound respect and love; but you gotta start someplace, and very early on in our faith-walk, and sometimes in lapses after that, we shrink back from his majesty and cower in fear.
How that must hurt him. We've allowed the chatterers among us and the Deceiver himself to persuade us that God doesn't love us any more. What a crock. We have to keep watch that we're not turned away from the One who can really help and guide us. He wants us to part from our childish attachments to pleasure and possessions and pride, and that proves a stumbling block for many of us, me included.
The Deceiver is like the stranger who lures the child from his Father's side - come here, you pretty thing, look what I've got for you. Contentment lies in turning away in fear from him and running to Papa, trusting the One who caused you to live to provide all you could ever need. Maybe that's why sometimes men need to be fathers themselves before they can know God properly. Would any of you offer his son a stone when he asks for bread, or a snake when he asks for a fish? If you, bad as you are, know how to give good things to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask him! - Matthew 7:11.
When my friend was a worldly-wise teenager, he was cynical. Now he's more open, and he says he yearns sometimes for the kind of settled faith he perceives me to have. I don't want to laugh in front of him, so I don't, but me? settled faith?? When it's not amusing, it's scary to think I'm seen as knowing something like that, when I don't.
In my poverty of trust, I recognize my kinship with those who are desperately poor in the material sense. I've often been touched by the selfless generosity of those who have next to nothing; they often will share from their little as the widow did with her two mites for the temple. (Luke 21:1-4) So, if Papa gives me two pieces of candy, I shall offer one to my friend. If my friend thinks I have faith, then I won't deny it. I can only pray to the Father to help me fear the right things, and not try to do any of it alone.
A place to learn how to find peace
I found my way to the blog, Holy Experience, and it is now a place of spiritual refreshment for me. The woman who writes it is remarkable in so many ways. Her spirituality is expressed in ways most familiar to me from reading the saints. She is living out her vocation, and doing it with grace. Not just her own gracious ways, but by accepting, depending on, and working with God's grace, at every turn. Her spirituality reminds me of my patron saint's, whose Carmelite sisters wondered if there would be anything to even say about her after her untimely death. St. Thérèse of Lisieux' life within the convent walls was that quiet and unnoticeable. What they did not realize is what was subsequently revealed to the world: that the quiet, ordinary sister's spine was made of stainless steel, and, unbenownst to them, she had met her challenges with profound courage. And, sometimes, that courage meant giving up and letting go, letting God live through her in spite of her strong will.
One weekend I sat and read the archives. There were tears in my eyes the whole time. Later, I realized why. This young mother, many years my junior, is mothering me, too, by sharing her reflections and prayers.
The day of reading and mopping my eyes did more than just comfort me. I felt healed. For a few years now I've been grieving the choices I made which led to losses which were calamitous for my life as a woman. There is so much I just don't know... or I've had just enough exposure to it to know how much I missed, which is a special kind of pain.
By reading Ann's blog, I know now that I'd never have survived family life. My issues of trust would have doomed any relationship I attempted (and, in fact, did). God protected me. When other women my age were marrying and raising families, I needed to be where I was.
My lack of trust must be healed before I can move ahead to know anything like a normal life. So, as I put my life back together again, I go back to God, and hang my head, and confess my sin of pride - because thinking you can take care of yourself better than God can is pride, pure and simple. My entire adult life was organized around avoiding any more emotional pain of a certain type. I succeeded. What I could not fathom was how much - how much - I missed in my blind search for security.
Ann's reflections help me to see that, but in a loving, mindful way which, for some reason, doesn't wound me. I am more at peace about what happened in my life than I've been in years. She has helped me find peace... from the heart of her busy, growing family.
One weekend I sat and read the archives. There were tears in my eyes the whole time. Later, I realized why. This young mother, many years my junior, is mothering me, too, by sharing her reflections and prayers.
The day of reading and mopping my eyes did more than just comfort me. I felt healed. For a few years now I've been grieving the choices I made which led to losses which were calamitous for my life as a woman. There is so much I just don't know... or I've had just enough exposure to it to know how much I missed, which is a special kind of pain.
By reading Ann's blog, I know now that I'd never have survived family life. My issues of trust would have doomed any relationship I attempted (and, in fact, did). God protected me. When other women my age were marrying and raising families, I needed to be where I was.
My lack of trust must be healed before I can move ahead to know anything like a normal life. So, as I put my life back together again, I go back to God, and hang my head, and confess my sin of pride - because thinking you can take care of yourself better than God can is pride, pure and simple. My entire adult life was organized around avoiding any more emotional pain of a certain type. I succeeded. What I could not fathom was how much - how much - I missed in my blind search for security.
Ann's reflections help me to see that, but in a loving, mindful way which, for some reason, doesn't wound me. I am more at peace about what happened in my life than I've been in years. She has helped me find peace... from the heart of her busy, growing family.
Corners
My dog likes corners to sleep in.
Some dogs stretch out on the floor in the middle of the room. Not my guy - I'll call him The Bear. He tucks himself away and hides in a quiet place. It's the last vestige of the way he coped with life when I adopted him five years ago.
He'd been in a noisy, crowded animal shelter, reprieved twice from the gas chamber because the people there liked him and thought he was worth saving. I was looking for a shepherd dog to walk with at night - a dog to be a companion and guard. He was looking for Anywhere But Here, Please.
He was terrified of his own shadow at first. It wasn't like he'd been abused, so much as he was just frightened. As it turned out, it was mostly inexperience. However he'd been brought up, it wasn't in thoughtful family surroundings. He displayed extreme terror of garage doors, SUVs with open doors, other dogs, young men in baseball caps, young men on skateboards, and male Asians. By extreme, I mean I'd be playing him at the end of the leash like a fighting fish.
The extent of his deprivation was made clear the first time he accompanied me through a drive-through for cheeseburgers one evening. He was in the back of the Volvo wagon, looking around, alert and a little nervous. I was explaining the whole way that it was about good things to eat, and just trust me, you'll see. He held it together until the kid at the window leaned over and reached out to take my money. The Bear feels strongly about the car, and even more strongly about me, and let it be known that he, The Bear, would take that kid's arm off at the elbow if he didn't back off right now. The kid visibly jumped. Bear's bark is magnificent and loud. The manager out in the store even looked over with a "is my kid all right?" look.
I happen to subscribe to the belief that dogs do that out of standard beta-pack instinct: their job is to watch the alpha's back as well as the den, and the Volvo is clearly a good den in Bear's mind. So I wasn't going to scold the dog, because he was behaving correctly in the situation as he perceived it. Instead, I thanked him. "Thank you, Bear - I know what this is. It's OK." He quieted down pretty much then, though still grumbling under his breath at the nerve of the kid.
I wish I had a videotape of what I saw in the rear-view mirror as I drove away. Bear sat up with a busy nose. The aroma of cheeseburgers filled the car as I made my way back to the house. He was, eventually, allowed a taste. Since that day he is an old pro at drive-throughs, and has extended his nonchalance to all the old phobias, with the singular exception of a couple of elderly Daschunds down the street. If they're out when we walk by, they scurry across the street and fearlessly set upon poor Bear. He gets truly scared, for he doesn't know what he's done to arouse their ire (nor do I), and he knows I won't let him retaliate and extinguish the little twits. So he cowers while I dance between him and the dogs until the owner comes to retrieve them. The predatory Daschunds. Heh.
However, to this day, my big strong dog still likes to sleep in corners. He has several around the house which are his favorites. All are readily identified by the smudges on the walls. One is an unused shower. One is by the front door. It makes him feel safe. One of the things I've noticed about him is his evident and obvious gratitude for quiet, peaceful surroundings. He's just like me, in that regard.
He and I both like our versions of corners, places where we can feel safe and be quiet and rest and sleep and recharge. My dog will never be a social diva, nor will I. But we have each other, and we understand one another, and feel a certain camaraderie in our taste for solitude and retirement.
In the cage where I found him huddled against the wall, silent and enduring amid the horrible noise of the enclosed kennels, I wonder if he was hoping for such a life, or if he even knew there might be a reprieve. I remember how it was for me at a similar time in my life, not of literal noise but internal torments of a similar, unrelenting nature. That Bear and I found each other gave me hope that one day I, too, could be free. With him at my side, I've found the courage to do more than ever before, watching him take on new challenges and suppress his fears out of a desire to please me. Corners are good for resting, but only in between forays. Some adventures are great (cheeseburgers). Some are not favorites (the doctor; the groomer). Bear and I know. We're figuring it out, together.
(In case you're curious, Bear is a mix, but he's mostly Belgian Tervuren - a breed I never knew existed until I found a picture on a website after his adoption.)
Some dogs stretch out on the floor in the middle of the room. Not my guy - I'll call him The Bear. He tucks himself away and hides in a quiet place. It's the last vestige of the way he coped with life when I adopted him five years ago.
He'd been in a noisy, crowded animal shelter, reprieved twice from the gas chamber because the people there liked him and thought he was worth saving. I was looking for a shepherd dog to walk with at night - a dog to be a companion and guard. He was looking for Anywhere But Here, Please.
He was terrified of his own shadow at first. It wasn't like he'd been abused, so much as he was just frightened. As it turned out, it was mostly inexperience. However he'd been brought up, it wasn't in thoughtful family surroundings. He displayed extreme terror of garage doors, SUVs with open doors, other dogs, young men in baseball caps, young men on skateboards, and male Asians. By extreme, I mean I'd be playing him at the end of the leash like a fighting fish.
The extent of his deprivation was made clear the first time he accompanied me through a drive-through for cheeseburgers one evening. He was in the back of the Volvo wagon, looking around, alert and a little nervous. I was explaining the whole way that it was about good things to eat, and just trust me, you'll see. He held it together until the kid at the window leaned over and reached out to take my money. The Bear feels strongly about the car, and even more strongly about me, and let it be known that he, The Bear, would take that kid's arm off at the elbow if he didn't back off right now. The kid visibly jumped. Bear's bark is magnificent and loud. The manager out in the store even looked over with a "is my kid all right?" look.
I happen to subscribe to the belief that dogs do that out of standard beta-pack instinct: their job is to watch the alpha's back as well as the den, and the Volvo is clearly a good den in Bear's mind. So I wasn't going to scold the dog, because he was behaving correctly in the situation as he perceived it. Instead, I thanked him. "Thank you, Bear - I know what this is. It's OK." He quieted down pretty much then, though still grumbling under his breath at the nerve of the kid.
I wish I had a videotape of what I saw in the rear-view mirror as I drove away. Bear sat up with a busy nose. The aroma of cheeseburgers filled the car as I made my way back to the house. He was, eventually, allowed a taste. Since that day he is an old pro at drive-throughs, and has extended his nonchalance to all the old phobias, with the singular exception of a couple of elderly Daschunds down the street. If they're out when we walk by, they scurry across the street and fearlessly set upon poor Bear. He gets truly scared, for he doesn't know what he's done to arouse their ire (nor do I), and he knows I won't let him retaliate and extinguish the little twits. So he cowers while I dance between him and the dogs until the owner comes to retrieve them. The predatory Daschunds. Heh.
However, to this day, my big strong dog still likes to sleep in corners. He has several around the house which are his favorites. All are readily identified by the smudges on the walls. One is an unused shower. One is by the front door. It makes him feel safe. One of the things I've noticed about him is his evident and obvious gratitude for quiet, peaceful surroundings. He's just like me, in that regard.
He and I both like our versions of corners, places where we can feel safe and be quiet and rest and sleep and recharge. My dog will never be a social diva, nor will I. But we have each other, and we understand one another, and feel a certain camaraderie in our taste for solitude and retirement.
In the cage where I found him huddled against the wall, silent and enduring amid the horrible noise of the enclosed kennels, I wonder if he was hoping for such a life, or if he even knew there might be a reprieve. I remember how it was for me at a similar time in my life, not of literal noise but internal torments of a similar, unrelenting nature. That Bear and I found each other gave me hope that one day I, too, could be free. With him at my side, I've found the courage to do more than ever before, watching him take on new challenges and suppress his fears out of a desire to please me. Corners are good for resting, but only in between forays. Some adventures are great (cheeseburgers). Some are not favorites (the doctor; the groomer). Bear and I know. We're figuring it out, together.
(In case you're curious, Bear is a mix, but he's mostly Belgian Tervuren - a breed I never knew existed until I found a picture on a website after his adoption.)
Friendship
Clayton has a series going which, although I haven't read it in too much depth, I find very interesting and helpful.
For a very long time in my life, I had no friends. It happened after I was married; the kind of people I liked would have been highly uncomfortable with my husband. (Okay, so that would've been a clue...) The isolation from friends lasted so long because I'm not the type to give up easily, and also because I was suffering from that lonely sin, pride. I learned the hard way that when you're lonely, pride, or one of its endlessly morphing manifestations might be lurking around somewhere in the ol' psyche.
The newly humiliated me (I shall not yet claim to be humble - I'm blogging, aren't I?) has learned to reach out and offer friendship to those around me. I was an only child for ten years, and a solitary soul by nature; my mother's alcoholism just isolated me further. I'm not at all comfortable with "joining" anything. (Over at Amy's she asked people to describe what they liked about their parishes; every time I read "people are so friendly!", I cringe. I don't know how to express it properly to people, but to do the friendly thing with me at church is to frighten me off for months at a time. Just give me a cordial nod and a smile, then leave me alone to look around and take it all in. I'll get back to you when I'm ready ... really I will.)
I've been reflecting on friendship, because I have two very stalwart friends now, and their encouragement and sharing have transformed my life. I am at a loss how to repay the favor, except by being as good a friend as I can in return, and by allowing their encouragement to be reflected in my life.
As I try to understand the choices I made at certain points in my life... figuring out why I chose the way I did... my relationships with friends, and my attitude towards friendship, are what I think about now. For so many years I would snort in derision to hear a husband or wife prattling on about how they'd married their best friend, blah blah blah. I see now that the derision came from deep hurt and confusion. Reading what Clayton has posted about friendship is like repair work on my understanding. Sometimes it helps to go over the ground and, while one cannot start fresh, at least work to fill in the thin spots with truth.
I came this close to marrying my best friend. Circling back to talk about it with him was the blessing of a lifetime. Neither of us really knew what we had in one another. Or, if we did, we felt sure the other was only pretending to like us, or that such bliss could never be ours. Somehow, kids have to be enabled to think they are worthy of friendship. In our extreme self-doubt, my friend and I were suffering from the worst kind of pride, the kind that believes we are so insignificant - so somehow extra-achievingly unworthy - that no one in their right mind would ever take us seriously. And, for that reason, we didn't take ourselves seriously. The love and respect and awe we felt in one another's presence, we experienced in solitude, even as we embraced one another.
For me, humility means learning that I'm not so clumsy or despicable as I think I am. I'm not extraordinarily sinful, nor am I particularly virtuous. My talents are good in some areas, but mostly I'm just typical. I am muddling thru, by the grace of God, like everyone else. And, if I will quit focusing on myself, for God's sake, maybe He'll be able to act in my life without having to shove me out of the way to do it - which He very rarely will.
At the Dominican Nuns' blog, on June 25, they had a quote posted which, alas, I cannot find there now. I'm glad I printed it when I saw it; I have it on the refrigerator and it has inspired me ever since. It's a quote from Fr. Walter Farrell, O.P.:
For a very long time, I was unable to do just that. I spent untold hours of misery, castigating myself because I could not work harder and Do Everything - with the predictable result that I got nothing done! I was constantly discouraged. Now, I'm learning to do just a little bit - give thanks - do a bit more - rest. God has blessed me in this season of my life by letting me finally see that it's not all about me, and it all doesn't have to be done today. Just because I cannot see the end of the work, or understand why it's not getting done, doesn't matter. I'm to do what I can do, today. Tomorrow, I will do some more. And I will do all of it better if I'm well-rested, well-fed, and in the proper frame of mind.
The most humiliating thing is to realize that it took me so very many years to figure all this out. There is no pride left. :) And, with pride slinking away, at last - in come friends. Deo gratias.
For a very long time in my life, I had no friends. It happened after I was married; the kind of people I liked would have been highly uncomfortable with my husband. (Okay, so that would've been a clue...) The isolation from friends lasted so long because I'm not the type to give up easily, and also because I was suffering from that lonely sin, pride. I learned the hard way that when you're lonely, pride, or one of its endlessly morphing manifestations might be lurking around somewhere in the ol' psyche.
The newly humiliated me (I shall not yet claim to be humble - I'm blogging, aren't I?
I've been reflecting on friendship, because I have two very stalwart friends now, and their encouragement and sharing have transformed my life. I am at a loss how to repay the favor, except by being as good a friend as I can in return, and by allowing their encouragement to be reflected in my life.
As I try to understand the choices I made at certain points in my life... figuring out why I chose the way I did... my relationships with friends, and my attitude towards friendship, are what I think about now. For so many years I would snort in derision to hear a husband or wife prattling on about how they'd married their best friend, blah blah blah. I see now that the derision came from deep hurt and confusion. Reading what Clayton has posted about friendship is like repair work on my understanding. Sometimes it helps to go over the ground and, while one cannot start fresh, at least work to fill in the thin spots with truth.
I came this close to marrying my best friend. Circling back to talk about it with him was the blessing of a lifetime. Neither of us really knew what we had in one another. Or, if we did, we felt sure the other was only pretending to like us, or that such bliss could never be ours. Somehow, kids have to be enabled to think they are worthy of friendship. In our extreme self-doubt, my friend and I were suffering from the worst kind of pride, the kind that believes we are so insignificant - so somehow extra-achievingly unworthy - that no one in their right mind would ever take us seriously. And, for that reason, we didn't take ourselves seriously. The love and respect and awe we felt in one another's presence, we experienced in solitude, even as we embraced one another.
For me, humility means learning that I'm not so clumsy or despicable as I think I am. I'm not extraordinarily sinful, nor am I particularly virtuous. My talents are good in some areas, but mostly I'm just typical. I am muddling thru, by the grace of God, like everyone else. And, if I will quit focusing on myself, for God's sake, maybe He'll be able to act in my life without having to shove me out of the way to do it - which He very rarely will.
At the Dominican Nuns' blog, on June 25, they had a quote posted which, alas, I cannot find there now. I'm glad I printed it when I saw it; I have it on the refrigerator and it has inspired me ever since. It's a quote from Fr. Walter Farrell, O.P.:
"Let God tend to the hopeless-looking things ... It seems to me quite entrancing to be able to pile into bed realizing there is someone as big as God to do all the worrying that has to be done. Worry, you know, is a kind of reverence given to a situation because of its magnitude; how small it must be through God's eyes... You can't get everything done in a day, nor can you get any part of it done as well as it could be, or even as well as you'd like it; so, like the rest of us, you putter at your job with a normal amount of energy, for a reasonable length of time, and go to bed with the humiliating yet exhilarating knowledge that you are only a child of God and not God Himself."
For a very long time, I was unable to do just that. I spent untold hours of misery, castigating myself because I could not work harder and Do Everything - with the predictable result that I got nothing done! I was constantly discouraged. Now, I'm learning to do just a little bit - give thanks - do a bit more - rest. God has blessed me in this season of my life by letting me finally see that it's not all about me, and it all doesn't have to be done today. Just because I cannot see the end of the work, or understand why it's not getting done, doesn't matter. I'm to do what I can do, today. Tomorrow, I will do some more. And I will do all of it better if I'm well-rested, well-fed, and in the proper frame of mind.
The most humiliating thing is to realize that it took me so very many years to figure all this out. There is no pride left. :) And, with pride slinking away, at last - in come friends. Deo gratias.
Frugality
I'm pretty good at it, in some ways, though not in others. My grandmother taught me a lot about how to get along on very, very little, yet still enjoy life. After my grandfather died, she didn't have much income. She did house-sitting and watched children now and then. I remember how surprised I was when I asked her innocently how it came about that she did it, and she said simply that she needed the money.
By the time I knew her, those days were past. Her savings, stock dividends, and social security - which my grandfather, all agreed, determinedly lived just long enough to qualify for - provided what she needed, and enough extra for occasional treats like nice presents for me, her only grandchild at the time. Grandmother had the gift of giving incredibly practical presents that were still full of charm and value. (Where IS that gene when I need it??)
But, all her life, she was careful with her money. I learned from her to walk right by the temptations hung on the end of grocery aisles, and to this day hear her "You don't need that" as I walk through stores or shop on line. Now, if you read that and heard a scolding voice in your head, it wasn't like that at all. Grandmother's "You don't need that!" wasn't a reproach. She said it cheerfully, affirmingly. It was a "Aren't you lucky? You don't need that gazingus thing!" Although, in truth, she never used the word gazingus. I ascribe it to her, though, because if she'd known that word, she would've loved it - and the book where I learned it, Your Money or Your Life. That's a great book. It's one of the few which Changed My Life, Permanently.
There is something of an art to frugality - the joyful variety, that is - and I think a lot of it has to do with merely waiting. The time goes by so quickly; will you really miss that thing, that object, that must-have item in two weeks? That's my way of managing those impulse buys: I simply wait. When I do, finally, purchase something, it's because I want and/or need it. I've thought it over, done my research, and made my plan to pay for it.
These days, I'm fortunate to have enough money for good food (meaning, lots of fresh fruit and vegetables), a decent if neglected house, and a trusty old Volvo. Due to a change in my family situation, I'm having to be extra careful for a while. Due to a change in the engine of the aforementioned vehicle - a total rebuild due to a timing chain failure - "careful" has meant No Discretionary Spending Except for Orchids. Trader Joe's has beautiful orchid plants for exceptionally reasonable prices. I award myself one about every month or so, Just Because.
The rest of the time, I'm just - careful. Sometimes, though, I have to just bite the bullet and take care of myself. Shoes: I waited a long time to buy new shoes; now I still only have a few pair, but at least they're not completely falling off my feet. And today - what brought on this whole meditation - I must - simply must - order some new clothes. One particular necessary item in my wardrobe has, through attrition, dwindled to the point where I cannot make it through a week without washing. So - I shall buy something today - a rare enough occasion that it gets mention in my blog.
It would be great to have more money to throw around. I hope someday I will. And, when I do, I'll spend and donate more. One just does. But I'm grateful that I somehow managed to learn that there are a lot of things I don't need to have Right This Minute. That, in its own way, is as much of a gift as the thing itself and the means to obtain it.
By the time I knew her, those days were past. Her savings, stock dividends, and social security - which my grandfather, all agreed, determinedly lived just long enough to qualify for - provided what she needed, and enough extra for occasional treats like nice presents for me, her only grandchild at the time. Grandmother had the gift of giving incredibly practical presents that were still full of charm and value. (Where IS that gene when I need it??)
But, all her life, she was careful with her money. I learned from her to walk right by the temptations hung on the end of grocery aisles, and to this day hear her "You don't need that" as I walk through stores or shop on line. Now, if you read that and heard a scolding voice in your head, it wasn't like that at all. Grandmother's "You don't need that!" wasn't a reproach. She said it cheerfully, affirmingly. It was a "Aren't you lucky? You don't need that gazingus thing!" Although, in truth, she never used the word gazingus. I ascribe it to her, though, because if she'd known that word, she would've loved it - and the book where I learned it, Your Money or Your Life. That's a great book. It's one of the few which Changed My Life, Permanently.
There is something of an art to frugality - the joyful variety, that is - and I think a lot of it has to do with merely waiting. The time goes by so quickly; will you really miss that thing, that object, that must-have item in two weeks? That's my way of managing those impulse buys: I simply wait. When I do, finally, purchase something, it's because I want and/or need it. I've thought it over, done my research, and made my plan to pay for it.
These days, I'm fortunate to have enough money for good food (meaning, lots of fresh fruit and vegetables), a decent if neglected house, and a trusty old Volvo. Due to a change in my family situation, I'm having to be extra careful for a while. Due to a change in the engine of the aforementioned vehicle - a total rebuild due to a timing chain failure - "careful" has meant No Discretionary Spending Except for Orchids. Trader Joe's has beautiful orchid plants for exceptionally reasonable prices. I award myself one about every month or so, Just Because.
The rest of the time, I'm just - careful. Sometimes, though, I have to just bite the bullet and take care of myself. Shoes: I waited a long time to buy new shoes; now I still only have a few pair, but at least they're not completely falling off my feet. And today - what brought on this whole meditation - I must - simply must - order some new clothes. One particular necessary item in my wardrobe has, through attrition, dwindled to the point where I cannot make it through a week without washing. So - I shall buy something today - a rare enough occasion that it gets mention in my blog.
It would be great to have more money to throw around. I hope someday I will. And, when I do, I'll spend and donate more. One just does. But I'm grateful that I somehow managed to learn that there are a lot of things I don't need to have Right This Minute. That, in its own way, is as much of a gift as the thing itself and the means to obtain it.
07 August 2005
Showing true colors
I ran across something this morning which seems to hint at Cardinal Mahony's intentions in performing the liturgy the way he does.
He gave a talk in Bellevue, Washington, in late May. The Archbishop of Seattle, Alex Brunett, wrote an article about it in "The Catholic Northwest Progress" on June 2. The tone of the article can only be described by invoking an extremely vulgar phrase which I shall not use. However, along the way, the Archbishop managed to convey a distinct lack of familiarity with aspects of Eucharistic devotion:
Without questioning that, for some souls, any such concept can get over-emphasized at certain stages, the Archbishop might want to proceed with caution before using a word like "misconceptions," especially when that exact idea led to the development of the spirituality of one Thérèse Martin. At this website, we read:
Since St. Thérèse is a Doctor of the Church, and the Archbishop is not, yet, and since St. Julian Eymard and others have expressed this same idea, and there are religious orders whose devotional charism includes this concept of our Lord's voluntary and extreme humility in putting Himself entirely at our disposal (which, unfortunately, is what happens to Him all too often), the Archbishop might want to temper his tone.
But then, you have to believe it's Jesus. Apparently, those of us who've become afflicted with that conviction since reading John 6 are out of step with The Spirit of Vatican Two. As the Archbishop reminds us:
With all due respect to the Archbishop, it's easy to find a couple of contrary texts:
(Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph #470)
He gave a talk in Bellevue, Washington, in late May. The Archbishop of Seattle, Alex Brunett, wrote an article about it in "The Catholic Northwest Progress" on June 2. The tone of the article can only be described by invoking an extremely vulgar phrase which I shall not use. However, along the way, the Archbishop managed to convey a distinct lack of familiarity with aspects of Eucharistic devotion:
"Too often in the past, we Catholics have thought about the Eucharistic presence as simply a static reality or human body. This has led to some notable misconceptions about Jesus’ Eucharistic presence. For instance some Catholics in their devotions have considered Jesus a prisoner in the tabernacle who is lonely and waits for us to visit Him."
Without questioning that, for some souls, any such concept can get over-emphasized at certain stages, the Archbishop might want to proceed with caution before using a word like "misconceptions," especially when that exact idea led to the development of the spirituality of one Thérèse Martin. At this website, we read:
"Moreover it was a prayer card of Jesus, the Divine Prisoner in the tabernacle, that inspired Therese to be His Little flower of love. Painted on the card, which was given to Therese by her sister Pauline, was a little flower growing towards Jesus in the tabernacle. It was on its stem that Pauline wrote her name. Wishing to emulate this, St. Therese wrote, “The little flower of the Divine Prisoner told me so many things that I was immersed in them. Seeing Pauline’s name written at the bottom of the little flower, I wished Therese’s name could be there too and so I offered myself to Jesus to be His little flower.”
Since St. Thérèse is a Doctor of the Church, and the Archbishop is not, yet, and since St. Julian Eymard and others have expressed this same idea, and there are religious orders whose devotional charism includes this concept of our Lord's voluntary and extreme humility in putting Himself entirely at our disposal (which, unfortunately, is what happens to Him all too often), the Archbishop might want to temper his tone.
But then, you have to believe it's Jesus. Apparently, those of us who've become afflicted with that conviction since reading John 6 are out of step with The Spirit of Vatican Two. As the Archbishop reminds us:
"As Cardinal Mahony’s comments and my pastoral letter on the Eucharist, Sign of Unity, Bond of Love, make clear the Year of the Eucharist is an opportunity to think about our Eucharistic devotions in a new way, but first we must learn to see the Eucharist not as a human body but as an event happening in our lives."
With all due respect to the Archbishop, it's easy to find a couple of contrary texts:
"I am the living bread that has come down from heaven; if anyone eats this bread, he will live for ever. The bread which I shall give is my own flesh, given for the life of the world... my flesh is real food; my blood is real drink." John 6:51,55
Because "human nature was assumed, not absorbed", in the mysterious union of the Incarnation, the Church was led over the course of centuries to confess the full reality of Christ's human soul, with its operations of intellect and will, and of his human body. In parallel fashion, she had to recall on each occasion that Christ's human nature belongs, as his own, to the divine person of the Son of God, who assumed it. Everything that Christ is and does in this nature derives from "one of the Trinity". The Son of God therefore communicates to his humanity his own personal mode of existence in the Trinity. In his soul as in his body, Christ thus expresses humanly the divine ways of the Trinity:
The Son of God. . . worked with human hands; he thought with a human mind. He acted with a human will, and with a human heart he loved. Born of the Virgin Mary, he has truly been made one of us, like to us in all things except sin...
(Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph #470)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)