I started this project last week because I want to become more diligent in my reading habit, which tends to center around helping whatever child is reading something I like or plunging through whatever we've assigned to the students at the high school where I teach. Recognizing I won't grow intellectually feasting on what can be mental fast food, I'm making myself take on more solid mental food. As soon as I hit on this project, two books presented themselves to me. Ergo, I reviewed Dawn Eden Goldstein's book last week, and this week, I'm taking on Kevin Well's, The Priest We Need to Save the Church.
The book holds a personal connection for three reasons: 1) the author is the brother of my current pastor, 2) the priest he describes in the first part of the book, I remember the story of his murder in Germantown and 3) a favorite priest of mine, gave me the book.
Kevin weaves his memory with reflections in a compelling way. His faith and his encounter with the Divine, and his understanding of what priests must arm themselves to be Christ's disciples and the church's servants here on Earth shines through. I particularly loved the sections discussing the nature of prayer and what it means to priests. Gems like a little note from his uncle (the deceased priest) to a woman discussing the dryness of prayer, "The fruit of prayer is virtue --becoming more like Christ, not feeling good." and when he talks about how our Blessed Mother expects heroism are lovely moments to hold in the heart. It took me a while to read because such moments made me pause and reflect on how often I run through prayer, or seek solace in the sacraments and interpret feeling as grace.
This is not a book to devour, but to allow yourself to read through, as if you were sitting with a favorite uncle or teacher, listening to the spiritual memoir not merely of one man, but of multiple individuals living out the faith, being called to a deeper vocation than they knew. Even more startling is the underlying theme that such is the call for each of us, priest and laity alike, and that we can never cease going deeper and deeper into Christ's service.
He admonishes priests who somehow apologize for their vocation or their relationship with Christ, or who neglect the need to stay close to Mary, and under the gaze of the Eucharist. He stresses over and over again, how the world is starving for authentic witness, for prayerful priests who labor to grow ever deeper in humility and holiness, and let their connection to Christ be the means by which they connect with all others.
Well's book also remains a love letter to his uncle in addition to a guide book for priests on how to imitate the saints who came before them, who spent hours in adoration, who poured over scripture, who loved the Eucharist, and who poured out their lives in the sacraments and service to their sheep. It's a welcome reminder of the reality we hope for in all our priests, in contrast to the unfortunate and sad reality we've read about in the news as of late.
Saints and sacraments and vocations, these are the means by which God reveals to us how we are to relate to the world, to Him, and we need reminders most especially when life seems at its darkest. We need good married couples that are luminous in their love for each other and their children, we need priests who devote themselves to their flock out of love of Christ, and we need single people striving to go through the narrow gate, to reveal all the ways in which one can love the Lord and be in but not of this world. Kevin Well's book is a good reflection of this better reality, of the more real reality we're called to, than the one we see lived out day to day.
Showing posts with label book review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label book review. Show all posts
Saturday, November 30, 2019
Monday, November 18, 2019
Book Review Monday
Okay, I've received two books to review and I've read one and loaned it to my son, and read 90% of the other. As such, both merit reviews and as a writer, there's an obligation to do for others what I ask of them. The problem remains, I'm a poky reader. I start. I stop. I put down the books and forget where I started so I start again or I lose the book and that's the end of it for weeks on end.
It's why I'm often reluctant to do book reviews, because I know me. However, Sunday Will Never Be the Same reminded me of a younger me, in that much of it takes place in New York City, right near where my husband and I lived our first year of marriage. I kept stopping as I read and thinking, "I know that spot." It isn't there anymore, but I remember it. The book recalled some of the joy of living in New York City as it crackled with that urban energy and insanity of the early 90's.
Dawn Eden Goldstein's book journals her gradual conversion from Judaism to Music (rock and roll) to Catholicism, via beauty, via poetry, via exposure to the beauty and frailty of others souls in their music and in their lives. It's a good thing to give to someone who is in the process of growing up, and trying to see how God fits into life or rather, how life fits into knowing God. It's earnest and I enjoyed the book but I admit, I wanted more of the conversion, more of the moments when her heart felt pierced, more of the interior but it's her story, and this is how it happened.
She does bring us along with her. My teenage son is reading her book. The artists she covered when they were young and new, he loves now. So I'm hoping the journey he takes while reading her book, in between skateboarding and high school and listening to Green Day and Weezer, brings him to the same point, the point where he understands what Dawn discovered amidst the music and the lives of those artists she covered, that God is there in the beauty, and expressed in the longing of every heart, most especially the heart that knows it aches, but does not know what that ache is.
I'll finish up the other book for next Monday...
It's why I'm often reluctant to do book reviews, because I know me. However, Sunday Will Never Be the Same reminded me of a younger me, in that much of it takes place in New York City, right near where my husband and I lived our first year of marriage. I kept stopping as I read and thinking, "I know that spot." It isn't there anymore, but I remember it. The book recalled some of the joy of living in New York City as it crackled with that urban energy and insanity of the early 90's.
Dawn Eden Goldstein's book journals her gradual conversion from Judaism to Music (rock and roll) to Catholicism, via beauty, via poetry, via exposure to the beauty and frailty of others souls in their music and in their lives. It's a good thing to give to someone who is in the process of growing up, and trying to see how God fits into life or rather, how life fits into knowing God. It's earnest and I enjoyed the book but I admit, I wanted more of the conversion, more of the moments when her heart felt pierced, more of the interior but it's her story, and this is how it happened.
She does bring us along with her. My teenage son is reading her book. The artists she covered when they were young and new, he loves now. So I'm hoping the journey he takes while reading her book, in between skateboarding and high school and listening to Green Day and Weezer, brings him to the same point, the point where he understands what Dawn discovered amidst the music and the lives of those artists she covered, that God is there in the beauty, and expressed in the longing of every heart, most especially the heart that knows it aches, but does not know what that ache is.
I'll finish up the other book for next Monday...
Tuesday, July 31, 2018
Have a piece over at the Register Today
I know blogging has been light, however, I do have a piece over at the National Catholic Register.
Please share this book review so that more people discover this saint's wonderful writings as translated by Victoria Schneider. I have a link to Scepter Press if you'd like to purchase the book, The Bishop of the Abandoned Tabernacle, Saint Manuel Gonzalez Garcia. I highly recommend it.
Please share this book review so that more people discover this saint's wonderful writings as translated by Victoria Schneider. I have a link to Scepter Press if you'd like to purchase the book, The Bishop of the Abandoned Tabernacle, Saint Manuel Gonzalez Garcia. I highly recommend it.
Monday, July 20, 2015
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Interviewing a Villian
The hard part of writing a book after you've written it, is getting people to know about it, and making the story fresh for new audiences.
My friend Suzanne de Montigny hit upon doing interviews with characters, specifically, the antagonists of our respective books.
Antagonists are necessary otherwise the story goes like this:
Once upon a time, there was a princess.
She grew up, got married, and everyone was happy.
The End.
Pretty dull. Stories are driven by the poor choices and the bad acts of shallow characters, weak people, stubborn people, greedy creatures darker or sharper than we'd hope to know in our own circle of friends. Thus, the villain becomes critical to the story, driving the action. So who are these difficult people that make everything follow? We decided to do a villain (excuse me) antagonist exchange.
With this as a prelude, I give you an interview from my encounter with The Shadow of the Unicorn: The Legacy.
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My friend Suzanne de Montigny hit upon doing interviews with characters, specifically, the antagonists of our respective books.
Antagonists are necessary otherwise the story goes like this:
Once upon a time, there was a princess.
She grew up, got married, and everyone was happy.
The End.
Pretty dull. Stories are driven by the poor choices and the bad acts of shallow characters, weak people, stubborn people, greedy creatures darker or sharper than we'd hope to know in our own circle of friends. Thus, the villain becomes critical to the story, driving the action. So who are these difficult people that make everything follow? We decided to do a villain (excuse me) antagonist exchange.
With this as a prelude, I give you an interview from my encounter with The Shadow of the Unicorn: The Legacy.
Today
I’m interviewing a most curious man. He’s dressed in long, hand-woven gowns,
has a long beard and hair. What did you say your name was?
It’s Ishmael. What’s happened? Where am I?
Well,
I opened up Suzanne de Montigny’s The
Shadow of the Unicorn: The Legacy and out you popped.
But where’s the town? Where are the people?
I have to prove to them the unicorns are real flesh.
Pardon?
Okay, okay, let me start from the
beginning. My wife, Adiva, and our little girl, Ali, were happy living in
another land when a giant fireball swept through the sky one night changing our
world into a barren desert. We gathered up what we could salvage and journeyed
to a beautiful valley that was lush and green, and there, with the help of the
other survivors, began building a new life.
Then
what happened?
There were these creatures there – most
beautiful creatures. Unicorns. They’re like horses only more delicate and they
have this horn.
Yes,
I’ve heard they existed long ago.
Well I’m a merchant, and I saw potential to
become rich if only I could train them. But they were so stupid I couldn’t even
lead them around on a halter.
You
beat them?
Of course. They’re just animals. They don’t know any better. I nearly
gave up except that the plague hit our town. My own daughter Ali was dying and
I was worried I’d catch the disease. Then Adiva carried her to the holding pen
where one of the mares touched her with her horn. And that’s when I realized
the unicorns had healing powers in their horns.
Did
you say you were worried you’d catch the disease?
Of course. Who wouldn’t be?
But
she was your daughter.
Doesn’t matter. She survived. And so did a
lot of other people because of that mare. I figured out the reason I couldn’t
train the unicorns was because whenever I beat them, they’d heal each other
just as soon as I’d turn around. So I separated her and beat her into
submission.
After
she saved your daughter’s life?
Hey, it’s just a dumb animal. Gotta show
them who’s boss, right? Then I led her into town where I cured dozens of people.
The town was so happy they made a statue of me.
And
what happened to the mare?
She died. But it was okay because I had
lots more to choose from.
And
what happened to them?
They all died too. After a while I realized
it would just be a lot easier to saw off their horns.
Like
what they do in Africa to rhinos and elephants?
Umm, where? It doesn’t matter. Like I say, they’re
just animals.
But
they’re not just animals. They were unique and so far as I know, there aren’t
any left in the world?
There aren’t?
No.
It’s the same with rhinos and elephants. They’re nearly extinct because, like
you, all poachers care about money.
Money? What’s that?
Gold?
But…
No
buts. I’m closing the book and hoping you’ll meet your fate.
No, wait…
The Shadow of the Unicorn: The Legacy, top ratings and the Kindle Book of the Week. It’s also a finalist in
the Orangeberry Hall of Fame Awards. Leave a comment for a chance to win an
e-book copy. Here are the links:
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Don't Put Headphones on the Cat (and other Life Lessons)
It had been a hard week. I was irritated.
I was irritated because some of my children adjust to summer more easily than others about how this is a slow time and don't get up until after 10. I was irritated because some of my children get up asking to paint, go to a park, play the computer, invite friends over and have a cook out, making me tired before I've served breakfast. Further, I was irritated by one child in particular who is struggling with the hardness of being an adolescent, being out of school, and with having a large family that is often disorganized and cluttered and seems unable to do anything swiftly. He and I had sparred a few times ultimately culminating in a chilly peace being carved out by him riding his bike for an hour and me calling my mom.
Mom is very sympathetic and she listened as I cried and complained and groused, "There isn't a manual for raising ten children!" I later growled at God during my Rosary, why isn't there one?
That day the book Don't Put Headphones on the Cat arrived.
Rose and I are Erma Bombeck writing group buddies. She'd signed it and sent it for me to read and review. I'd dutifully put it by my nightstand for "later."
This weekend, half my family made a trek up to Connecticut for a family picnic while I worked here to prepare us for a trip we're making to be at my brother's wedding. So far, the weekend had not been especially productive. While I'd folded a bazillion clothes, the washer had decided, it would not spin. I'd sensed on Friday that something was wrong but stubbornly kept using it Saturday in hopes it would change its mind and start working again.
Late Saturday, I'd gone to the basement to get a hole puncher from the second study and remembered why I'd considered purchasing a new hole puncher rather than go down those stairs. I never go to the basement, as the cumulative mess threatens to put me into either a wrathful cleaning frenzy or a self pitying despair. I told myself it could wait because it had waited this long and wilfully marched myself upstairs.
To keep myself from fuming about it, I threw myself into Rose Godfrey's book. There wasn't a book on how to raise 10, but there was one by a mother raising 11. God had heard my prayers and said, "I'll do you one better." God is like that.
I hadn't planned on reading until 1 a.m. but I was waiting for my oldest son to return from being at a friend's. I fell asleep with the book. When I woke up, I realized I hadn't seen my son. Neurotic me wanted to panic but the Sensible me said, "There will be a tell that he is home, even before you walk up the stairs."
I got up and opened the door of my room and there it was; a empty can of root beer placed on the table in the dining room. He made it home. No worries.
Free from that stress and feeling the singular quiet of a home in the morning with all guns out, I decided to take a bath and bring Rose's book with me. I finished it, towled off and opened the door of my bathroom to find my bedroom had been unlocked and two of my daughters were sitting on my bed talking to my baby girl in her crib.
Normally, I would be annoyed if someone has picked the lock to my room. But they immediately started moving for the door.
"I made your bed for you." my six year old offered as she ducked out, heading straight for the unclaimed computer. My five year old looked at me in my towel.
"What?" I asked.
"You look nice that way Mom." she said with a smile and shut the door.
It's that kind of slice of life story that Rose excels in, and that kind of slice of life story that I loved. Those sorts of stories had been happening but I had been sort of missing them, being caught up in the struggles of trying to do the impossible, to maintain Homeostasis in a family that was growing and changing and needing me to be a leader rather than a triage parent.
Sunday morning still loomed as the washing machine remained staunchly still. We were mostly caught up so I filed the stress of the machine under a "To be done Monday" list and set about making breakfast. I still feel woefully inadequate to the task of raising these kiddos, like I do with respect to cleaning the basement and getting the laundry under control and preparing for the looming trip and a hard group to take to mass. But then I realized how the Holy Spirit understood and even wanted me to know this reality. I was woefully inadequate.
This past week, the Holy Spirit's has been thrown at me multiple times. The past week, the phrase "You cannot do this alone." has quietly screamed at me from unexpected sources; a friend on the phone, in the film Brave as the firey heroine brings about peace by appealing to the reality that the four clans worked together, and Rose's book when she and her daughters work to help a goat give birth. The message over and over again, "All of this was possible if it wasn't all me." It could have been a smaller hammer hitting me on the head than the mess of the basement perhaps, but then if it had been, I might have just ignored the pain and simply resolved never to go down there.
Rose's book came into play. She ended each chapter with a question. At first, this annoyed me. But as I allowed myself to go deeper into her chapters, the stories became more poignant, touched deeper to the bone, and revealed the prayerful component of a Martha life that is sacred. I undertand this element, it's just I often forget to give it its great due, that this life, this pouring out of one's life, if done out of love, does bring us closer to God's vision of us. But only if we cooperate. We cannot do it alone.
Part of why Rose sent me the book was to give it a review and encourage others to buy it and read it. This I heartily do. It is funny and wise and an easy read.
But God always uses all of our experiences to beguile us into following Him. So I remain humbled and as always, startled by the alarmingly immediate way the Holy Spirit responds to prayers. Here was a book sent the day I lamented, tailored for refreshing me for the ongoing struggle, a bit of lambas bread for the journey if you will. I'd needed a mentor and was even asking for it. Here was someone going through this same experience, and I thought of the immediacy of God's answer of my prayers.
Finally, a bit of resolution for you on all my irritation. There were two chapters in Rose's book where she talked about how sons show their love. Sometimes, it was through digging holes, and other times, an odd sort of protection of their family. My son was protecting his family from himself by taking long bike rides to Giant to buy chocolate milk. He was also trying to protect me in a odd way by talking about my need to lose some weight and the need to reduce the clutter in our home. He wanted his family to thrive too, he just saw them not thriving and me not doing enough about it.
Starting that Tuesday when the book arrived before I'd read it, he and I have taken to taking walks in the cool of the evening and praying the Divine Mercy Chaplet. It is his concession to me, and mine to him. His to pray, mine to exercise. We are both works in progress, protecting each other. I hadn't realized that was what we were doing for each other until I read her stories.
So I am grateful to Rose and her book. It was a fun read and a good for summer at the beach or in your room at 1 in the morning waiting up for a teen. While it isn't a manual for How to Raise 10 children, it is rather excellent at showing the why of all this regardless of how many one might be trying to love into adulthood.
To buy her book you can go here. It is also available on Kindle.
I was irritated because some of my children adjust to summer more easily than others about how this is a slow time and don't get up until after 10. I was irritated because some of my children get up asking to paint, go to a park, play the computer, invite friends over and have a cook out, making me tired before I've served breakfast. Further, I was irritated by one child in particular who is struggling with the hardness of being an adolescent, being out of school, and with having a large family that is often disorganized and cluttered and seems unable to do anything swiftly. He and I had sparred a few times ultimately culminating in a chilly peace being carved out by him riding his bike for an hour and me calling my mom.
Mom is very sympathetic and she listened as I cried and complained and groused, "There isn't a manual for raising ten children!" I later growled at God during my Rosary, why isn't there one?
That day the book Don't Put Headphones on the Cat arrived.
Rose and I are Erma Bombeck writing group buddies. She'd signed it and sent it for me to read and review. I'd dutifully put it by my nightstand for "later."
This weekend, half my family made a trek up to Connecticut for a family picnic while I worked here to prepare us for a trip we're making to be at my brother's wedding. So far, the weekend had not been especially productive. While I'd folded a bazillion clothes, the washer had decided, it would not spin. I'd sensed on Friday that something was wrong but stubbornly kept using it Saturday in hopes it would change its mind and start working again.
Late Saturday, I'd gone to the basement to get a hole puncher from the second study and remembered why I'd considered purchasing a new hole puncher rather than go down those stairs. I never go to the basement, as the cumulative mess threatens to put me into either a wrathful cleaning frenzy or a self pitying despair. I told myself it could wait because it had waited this long and wilfully marched myself upstairs.
To keep myself from fuming about it, I threw myself into Rose Godfrey's book. There wasn't a book on how to raise 10, but there was one by a mother raising 11. God had heard my prayers and said, "I'll do you one better." God is like that.
I hadn't planned on reading until 1 a.m. but I was waiting for my oldest son to return from being at a friend's. I fell asleep with the book. When I woke up, I realized I hadn't seen my son. Neurotic me wanted to panic but the Sensible me said, "There will be a tell that he is home, even before you walk up the stairs."
I got up and opened the door of my room and there it was; a empty can of root beer placed on the table in the dining room. He made it home. No worries.
Free from that stress and feeling the singular quiet of a home in the morning with all guns out, I decided to take a bath and bring Rose's book with me. I finished it, towled off and opened the door of my bathroom to find my bedroom had been unlocked and two of my daughters were sitting on my bed talking to my baby girl in her crib.
Normally, I would be annoyed if someone has picked the lock to my room. But they immediately started moving for the door.
"I made your bed for you." my six year old offered as she ducked out, heading straight for the unclaimed computer. My five year old looked at me in my towel.
"What?" I asked.
"You look nice that way Mom." she said with a smile and shut the door.
It's that kind of slice of life story that Rose excels in, and that kind of slice of life story that I loved. Those sorts of stories had been happening but I had been sort of missing them, being caught up in the struggles of trying to do the impossible, to maintain Homeostasis in a family that was growing and changing and needing me to be a leader rather than a triage parent.
Sunday morning still loomed as the washing machine remained staunchly still. We were mostly caught up so I filed the stress of the machine under a "To be done Monday" list and set about making breakfast. I still feel woefully inadequate to the task of raising these kiddos, like I do with respect to cleaning the basement and getting the laundry under control and preparing for the looming trip and a hard group to take to mass. But then I realized how the Holy Spirit understood and even wanted me to know this reality. I was woefully inadequate.
This past week, the Holy Spirit's has been thrown at me multiple times. The past week, the phrase "You cannot do this alone." has quietly screamed at me from unexpected sources; a friend on the phone, in the film Brave as the firey heroine brings about peace by appealing to the reality that the four clans worked together, and Rose's book when she and her daughters work to help a goat give birth. The message over and over again, "All of this was possible if it wasn't all me." It could have been a smaller hammer hitting me on the head than the mess of the basement perhaps, but then if it had been, I might have just ignored the pain and simply resolved never to go down there.
Rose's book came into play. She ended each chapter with a question. At first, this annoyed me. But as I allowed myself to go deeper into her chapters, the stories became more poignant, touched deeper to the bone, and revealed the prayerful component of a Martha life that is sacred. I undertand this element, it's just I often forget to give it its great due, that this life, this pouring out of one's life, if done out of love, does bring us closer to God's vision of us. But only if we cooperate. We cannot do it alone.
Part of why Rose sent me the book was to give it a review and encourage others to buy it and read it. This I heartily do. It is funny and wise and an easy read.
But God always uses all of our experiences to beguile us into following Him. So I remain humbled and as always, startled by the alarmingly immediate way the Holy Spirit responds to prayers. Here was a book sent the day I lamented, tailored for refreshing me for the ongoing struggle, a bit of lambas bread for the journey if you will. I'd needed a mentor and was even asking for it. Here was someone going through this same experience, and I thought of the immediacy of God's answer of my prayers.
Finally, a bit of resolution for you on all my irritation. There were two chapters in Rose's book where she talked about how sons show their love. Sometimes, it was through digging holes, and other times, an odd sort of protection of their family. My son was protecting his family from himself by taking long bike rides to Giant to buy chocolate milk. He was also trying to protect me in a odd way by talking about my need to lose some weight and the need to reduce the clutter in our home. He wanted his family to thrive too, he just saw them not thriving and me not doing enough about it.
Starting that Tuesday when the book arrived before I'd read it, he and I have taken to taking walks in the cool of the evening and praying the Divine Mercy Chaplet. It is his concession to me, and mine to him. His to pray, mine to exercise. We are both works in progress, protecting each other. I hadn't realized that was what we were doing for each other until I read her stories.
So I am grateful to Rose and her book. It was a fun read and a good for summer at the beach or in your room at 1 in the morning waiting up for a teen. While it isn't a manual for How to Raise 10 children, it is rather excellent at showing the why of all this regardless of how many one might be trying to love into adulthood.
To buy her book you can go here. It is also available on Kindle.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Catholic Family Fun: A Review
** If you are here for Small Success Thursday, scroll down one post. --Thanks!
The book came while I was on vacation. Sarah Reinhart and I have been "virtual" friends for several years and I love her deep spiritual serenity laced with dry humor about how her children disrupt that deep spiritual reserve on a regular basis with melt downs, demands for snacks and general silliness. She has a deep love of the Blessed Mother and writes from the heart about her life as a wife, mother, Catholic and studious woman of the faith living on a farm. I like her and hope one day, to show up with my unruly mob at her home and play like crazy. (That's not a threat, it's a hope and a vision).
So when she was lecturing at the Catholic Writer's Online Conference, I jumped into the chat room to listen. I'm one of those kids like Hermione of Harry Potter, always raising her hand, (except unlike Hermione, I don't know the answers, I just like to participate). Her book Catholic Family Fun was coming out and she was hosting a round robin blog chain event to promote it. I eagerly volunteered.
Then life happened. Illness and vacation and illness again jammed up the schedule. Three poster projects and five separate "samples" of ethnic food from one's heritage had to be delivered to the school. One kid had to go to the doctors. Another was staying late each day for drama club. There was band and a husband who needed to work late and homework and the list of things that never ended and I thought, "AHHHHHH I'm never going to get to read this book!"
What I didn't know was that I needed to read this book.
But the Holy Spirit did...and prepared me by making it a desperate goal. My life as the organizer/chauffeur/cook/laundry mistress/butler/homework nag/maid/queen of all you have to do often threatens to make me a joyless Martha. The next task is always around the corner. And as such, I can miss out on the sticky sweet colored crazy silly mess that is the glue of creating happy holy souls in a family by being anxious about many things....all the wrong things...or at least, anxious in all the wrong ways. I could feel it happening.
So with one day until the day I'd promised to review it, I read it. I read it fast, not because it was a cram session (although it was), but because it was so very readable. Sarah's humor peppers each page, as does her understanding that this is call to infuse life with the seasons and flavorings and colors and tastes and whimsy the same why God does when He creates duck billed platypus, tadpoles and ocean diving pelicans or inspires things like gelato, barbecue and bubbles.
We need play. We need to become like little children. The fallen world absent play, is hard and unpleasant. Even family can become a dull caste system if there aren't the moments of stolen joy. So I needed this book as a reminder. I saw how there were moments today that could have been painted purple or glittered. There were things I could have done to make today luminous. And it wasn't a guilt thing, it was the Holy Spirit addressing my other concerns which were making me anxious, it was a wake up call to my heart to be more fully Martha, as she is when she meets Jesus the second time.
Lately, my children had seemed listless, easily led to fighting. My own patience had been poor. I told myself it was getting back into the fray of raising these people after a 4 1/2 day break but that wasn't the core of it. I'd been short in my heart and mind, because I'd been all about getting things done rather than doing things well. Even prayer wasn't really getting me anywhere because I'd snap in the middle of a prayer at whatever it was that was being reported that merited a snappy "Stop that" report. Never mind that God could have said "Stop that" to me for the same reason. It was flail, fail and flail again. Not fun.
I'd even asked my husband before reading the book, "How do I fatten my patience?" Wise man that he is, he said, "Feed it." It turned out, Catholic Family Fun was just the good food I needed.
So I'm putting the link to Pauline's book site for Sarah's book and I do recommend it both for the ideas which are easily graftable to a family of three or a family of 12, and for the spiritual reminder that comes through on every page, that we are to be salt to the earth and light to the world. Salt tastes good, and light makes everything brighter. Neither one of these are possible if all we want is to be done.
Go. Get it. Read it. And start adding salt and life and light to your family's world. It will fatten your patience and increase your joy. It will be messy. It won't be perfect. But in that process, your family's health and holiness will be more perfected by the willingness to infuse your lives with life and light.
Catholic Family Fun by Sarah A. Reinhard
and here's her blog for you to visit too. Go say "Hi!" Tell her I'm getting in the van and bringing my 10 children and we're going to have a huge water fight.
It will be fun. Heh. Just Another Catholic Pondering
The book came while I was on vacation. Sarah Reinhart and I have been "virtual" friends for several years and I love her deep spiritual serenity laced with dry humor about how her children disrupt that deep spiritual reserve on a regular basis with melt downs, demands for snacks and general silliness. She has a deep love of the Blessed Mother and writes from the heart about her life as a wife, mother, Catholic and studious woman of the faith living on a farm. I like her and hope one day, to show up with my unruly mob at her home and play like crazy. (That's not a threat, it's a hope and a vision).
So when she was lecturing at the Catholic Writer's Online Conference, I jumped into the chat room to listen. I'm one of those kids like Hermione of Harry Potter, always raising her hand, (except unlike Hermione, I don't know the answers, I just like to participate). Her book Catholic Family Fun was coming out and she was hosting a round robin blog chain event to promote it. I eagerly volunteered.
Then life happened. Illness and vacation and illness again jammed up the schedule. Three poster projects and five separate "samples" of ethnic food from one's heritage had to be delivered to the school. One kid had to go to the doctors. Another was staying late each day for drama club. There was band and a husband who needed to work late and homework and the list of things that never ended and I thought, "AHHHHHH I'm never going to get to read this book!"
What I didn't know was that I needed to read this book.
But the Holy Spirit did...and prepared me by making it a desperate goal. My life as the organizer/chauffeur/cook/laundry mistress/butler/homework nag/maid/queen of all you have to do often threatens to make me a joyless Martha. The next task is always around the corner. And as such, I can miss out on the sticky sweet colored crazy silly mess that is the glue of creating happy holy souls in a family by being anxious about many things....all the wrong things...or at least, anxious in all the wrong ways. I could feel it happening.
So with one day until the day I'd promised to review it, I read it. I read it fast, not because it was a cram session (although it was), but because it was so very readable. Sarah's humor peppers each page, as does her understanding that this is call to infuse life with the seasons and flavorings and colors and tastes and whimsy the same why God does when He creates duck billed platypus, tadpoles and ocean diving pelicans or inspires things like gelato, barbecue and bubbles.
We need play. We need to become like little children. The fallen world absent play, is hard and unpleasant. Even family can become a dull caste system if there aren't the moments of stolen joy. So I needed this book as a reminder. I saw how there were moments today that could have been painted purple or glittered. There were things I could have done to make today luminous. And it wasn't a guilt thing, it was the Holy Spirit addressing my other concerns which were making me anxious, it was a wake up call to my heart to be more fully Martha, as she is when she meets Jesus the second time.
Lately, my children had seemed listless, easily led to fighting. My own patience had been poor. I told myself it was getting back into the fray of raising these people after a 4 1/2 day break but that wasn't the core of it. I'd been short in my heart and mind, because I'd been all about getting things done rather than doing things well. Even prayer wasn't really getting me anywhere because I'd snap in the middle of a prayer at whatever it was that was being reported that merited a snappy "Stop that" report. Never mind that God could have said "Stop that" to me for the same reason. It was flail, fail and flail again. Not fun.
I'd even asked my husband before reading the book, "How do I fatten my patience?" Wise man that he is, he said, "Feed it." It turned out, Catholic Family Fun was just the good food I needed.
So I'm putting the link to Pauline's book site for Sarah's book and I do recommend it both for the ideas which are easily graftable to a family of three or a family of 12, and for the spiritual reminder that comes through on every page, that we are to be salt to the earth and light to the world. Salt tastes good, and light makes everything brighter. Neither one of these are possible if all we want is to be done.
Go. Get it. Read it. And start adding salt and life and light to your family's world. It will fatten your patience and increase your joy. It will be messy. It won't be perfect. But in that process, your family's health and holiness will be more perfected by the willingness to infuse your lives with life and light.
Catholic Family Fun by Sarah A. Reinhard
and here's her blog for you to visit too. Go say "Hi!" Tell her I'm getting in the van and bringing my 10 children and we're going to have a huge water fight.
It will be fun. Heh. Just Another Catholic Pondering
Sunday, November 27, 2011
If A Saint Blogged: Book Review of Duty of Delight
Before I read Duty of Delight, the diaries of Dorthy Day, I confess my knowledge of her was extremely limited. I'd seen her book "The Long Loneliness" in our library, but I had not read it. I knew tangentially of her writings and the Catholic Worker in the way that theoretically "everyone" knows about Dorthy Day. I knew she was steeped in a love of the poor, and thirsty for social justice, had been a pacifist and that was the limit of my understanding. (Blogger note: I cribbed the picture from the Amazon page. If you want to order it, go here).
Given current events with the economy, the jobless rate and recent protests, Dorthy Day's words and thoughts would seem most appropriate. Indeed, one of the chants/slogans: "To Comfort the Afflicted and Afflict the Comfortable." come from her words. (Wish I'd dogeared the page). I later learned it's part of Dorthy Day's Chaplet, part of the Mysteries of Mercy.
Reading her thoughts as they traced the history of five decades, while the problems and issues of the day changed from the 30's depression to the 40's war to the 50's and the civil rights issues, the drugs of the sixties and wars and drugs and promiscuity of the 70's, Dorthy Day's response remained remarkably consistently the same. She embraced prayer and service with tremendous zeal. While she lived out the beatitudes in her life and work and she loved and revered the Eucharist and the liturgy, her diary reveals how this was a difficult and ongoing battle within her to stay true.
At one point, she grouses that while Christ did feed the 5000, he didn't do it every day. But recognizing one cannot out do God in generosity or charity, she does not spend much time dwelling on her struggle. The diary reveals simply that she has accepted this yoke. She gets up, and she does it again; another day, every day. This fortitude is part of what earned her the title, "Servant of God" by Pope John Paul II in 2000. The case for her candidacy as a saint within the Catholic Church was opened in 1983.
This is a discomfiting read, challenging in real time the reader to recognize that here is someone who is earnestly striving for holiness. It's also a difficult book because it isn't a narrative, it's a person's daily thoughts which sometimes are a list of things to do, and other times are a report of what happened, and still others, a notion of what she will write, not yet teased into full form. Consider this tome a window into a holy woman's mind. She claims she's a Martha, but I see Mary in someone who receives the Eucharist almost daily, who prays constantly for strength and charity and who is not reasonable or limited in her demand of herself to love and witness publicly for peace and justice.
Her thoughts echo in some of the most thoughtful discontent expressed today. Ignoring the reality of suffering is the societal version of complicit moral sloth. Our society today suffers from the same ills she protested against over the course of fifty years. We do need a society that makes it easier for men to be good. We do need a society that promotes and allows for charity towards those who fail themselves. We do need to not turn a blind eye to the poor. We need to recognize inequities and see Christ in the distressing disguise of the poor. (I would submit we fail to see Christ in anyone we do not know, wish to know, or anyone we've decided we don't like). We also need to call people to charity, to urge through witness, through simplicity, through self denial, rather than engage in antagonism for anarchy's sake; heated argument fails where quiet witness compels. "Where there is no love put love and you will find love." Dorthy Day's life speaks of that active quiet witness of putting love where there is none.
On a personal note, I was struck by how disciplined a mind Dorthy held, even in her private writings. When she would make reference to another's issues, (say drunkenness or promiscuity), she would immediate rebuke herself for lacking in charity, for not loving the sinner despite the sin with sufficient enthusiasm. She would remind herself of her own faults, her own failings, and the reasons people chose sex or drugs or alcohol. To keep a journal over decades and not stray into allowing one's mind to gossip or slander or insult, shows a tremendous depth of forbearance that is no accident. It is deliberate obedience to showing charity of thought. There are only glimpses of deep hurt or deep joy, when she references Forester (as his then common law wife lay dying), or in old age, as friends sought her out daily and provided little comforts in the form of beauty (music), thought (books), and daily joys (foods and company).
My only problem may perhaps be personal. Dorthy's impressive intellect dazzles, but her fascination and admiration for communism (given its track record even then) in general, puzzles me. Likewise, her then progression to view herself as an anarchist distresses. Part of my brain understands, she was Catholic, and therefore seeking citizenship in Heaven, rather than holding any attachment to the world, but it put distance between Dorthy and me as a reader. God's law; which is both radical in its call to love, and demanding in its call to obedience led me to conclude Dorthy Day was an obedient anarchist for Christ if such a term can be said to exist.
Dorthy's love of books, of good company, of quiet, of the water, of beauty, of her daughter and her "family" all mirror her devotion to Christ She is flesh and bone and thought, a real woman who lived out some part of Christ's mission, who did what we're supposed to do, to commit all to living out that sliver of understanding that grace, that God has bequeathed us, and to live it all our lives, with our whole hearts, even when it's hard. It is a day by day, year by year, winter, summer, sickness and health, poor and rich, 'till death when we unite struggle that must be embraced and sought and performed. We get a privileged glimpse into the heart of someone who did it.
It might be the modern equivalent of "If a Saint Blogged."and it's a good primer for all of us who live comfortably as a rule and need to integrate the beatitudes into our daily breathing lives. We've been given much. Much will be expected. All in all, a good book to challenge the mind, the heart and the soul to greater love, greater devotion, greater prayer and a daily embracing of what Christ calls us to be. Dorthy would like that, for that is also what she sought from the books that she read.
P.S. For those more tech savy than me, Duty of Delight is available on Kindle.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Why God Matters: A Review
With the Fall Festival finishing up and having let go of a professional obligation that I felt I could no longer manage, I said to God, "What now?" and that day, there was an email asking if I was interested in reviewing a book, "Why God Matters." I'd tried reviewing books one other time and found the experience a bit problematic. Materials written about faith and devotionals sometimes got so dreamy or overly sweet or sentimental that I felt pushed back and the snark in me would emerge. I felt nervous. What if I didn't like the book? But after all, I'd asked "What now?" and was presented with this opportunity, so with equal impulsiveness, I said "Yes."
Two weeks passed and I hadn't glanced at it. I forgot about the date. It just slipped out of my brain entirely as I messed with helping my son fill out college applications, organized the schedule for the week and ran the household while my husband was abroad. Saturday, the day I was scheduled to put up a blog entry on this book, I collapsed in exhaustion on the couch and only got up for meals. It wasn't pretty and I sure wasn't up to reading much less thinking about anything.
Yesterday I got an email asking if I had trouble with the materials and I recognized I had let this project slip through my fingers. I kept telling myself "You need to get to this." and then doing other things. Today, I sat down to be dutiful and a thousand excuses presented themselves, "You need to clean the basement, fold the laundry, read a book to your children, bake a cake, exercise, write...." but I read it. At only 114 pages, it is a beautiful arcing and blessedly short read that acts as an appetizer to deepening one's faith. I had to stop at several points to attend to my daughters who enjoyed the time using water colors while I read, but picking the book back up was seamless and breathlessly easy; perfect for a person like me who lives a life permanently and perpetually interrupted by life.
The faith stories of Karina Lumbert Fabian and her father, Deacon Stephen Lumbert serve as scaffolding for the deeper mysteries they seek to articulate. The stories and their spiritual ramifications are further buttressed with the corresponding catechism from the Catholic Church; catechism that absent the story, absent the personal context, we might gloss over and miss for it's elegant beauty and truth. We understand the last will be first so much better in the context of the parable of the workers in the vineyard; just so we comprehend the words and mysteries and callings of God to be ever present in our lives much clearer through story than through simple dogma. My one lament was that the sketches of their lives were brief, as I wanted more detail, more story; but that would have made the book a singularly personal reflection and not a series of examinations of the truth of Catholic teaching as revealed in the moments and details of two people's faith lives. I told my mom I felt as if I'd eaten an appetizer that could have been a whole meal, if only the portions had been larger.
So I would recommend this read as a bedside companion or as a tome to put in one's bag of stuff for when waiting for someone, (and we all have those moments of sitting in the car on someone else's time), as a means of both refreshing the spirit and moving one's mind to consider the faith stories in one's own life and how they reveal as all faith stories must, God's generosity, beauty, truth and lavish fidelity. Seeing for a moment the single thread of our lives in the grand tapestry of God's vision is humbling and awe inspiring, being willing and able to share that with others is a true gift.
To Order it for yourself, click on the title here: Why God Matters: How to Recognize Him in Daily Life
Two weeks passed and I hadn't glanced at it. I forgot about the date. It just slipped out of my brain entirely as I messed with helping my son fill out college applications, organized the schedule for the week and ran the household while my husband was abroad. Saturday, the day I was scheduled to put up a blog entry on this book, I collapsed in exhaustion on the couch and only got up for meals. It wasn't pretty and I sure wasn't up to reading much less thinking about anything.
Yesterday I got an email asking if I had trouble with the materials and I recognized I had let this project slip through my fingers. I kept telling myself "You need to get to this." and then doing other things. Today, I sat down to be dutiful and a thousand excuses presented themselves, "You need to clean the basement, fold the laundry, read a book to your children, bake a cake, exercise, write...." but I read it. At only 114 pages, it is a beautiful arcing and blessedly short read that acts as an appetizer to deepening one's faith. I had to stop at several points to attend to my daughters who enjoyed the time using water colors while I read, but picking the book back up was seamless and breathlessly easy; perfect for a person like me who lives a life permanently and perpetually interrupted by life.
The faith stories of Karina Lumbert Fabian and her father, Deacon Stephen Lumbert serve as scaffolding for the deeper mysteries they seek to articulate. The stories and their spiritual ramifications are further buttressed with the corresponding catechism from the Catholic Church; catechism that absent the story, absent the personal context, we might gloss over and miss for it's elegant beauty and truth. We understand the last will be first so much better in the context of the parable of the workers in the vineyard; just so we comprehend the words and mysteries and callings of God to be ever present in our lives much clearer through story than through simple dogma. My one lament was that the sketches of their lives were brief, as I wanted more detail, more story; but that would have made the book a singularly personal reflection and not a series of examinations of the truth of Catholic teaching as revealed in the moments and details of two people's faith lives. I told my mom I felt as if I'd eaten an appetizer that could have been a whole meal, if only the portions had been larger.
So I would recommend this read as a bedside companion or as a tome to put in one's bag of stuff for when waiting for someone, (and we all have those moments of sitting in the car on someone else's time), as a means of both refreshing the spirit and moving one's mind to consider the faith stories in one's own life and how they reveal as all faith stories must, God's generosity, beauty, truth and lavish fidelity. Seeing for a moment the single thread of our lives in the grand tapestry of God's vision is humbling and awe inspiring, being willing and able to share that with others is a true gift.
To Order it for yourself, click on the title here: Why God Matters: How to Recognize Him in Daily Life
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