A Good Discourse in the Nation, How we Begin Again

 The first requirement in healing our nation, is to stop labeling ourselves as us and them, because we are one people, even if divided by politics, by religion, by income, by education, by race, by values, by experience and by background.  We are still, a people, and the first thing we must see, is that what we want from this country, is for everyone to hear and for everyone to feel they've been heard.  When people don't feel like they matter, or like their lives matter, they stop listening.  When people don't feel important, they stop caring.  When they don't think anyone will hear them, they get angry.  

Dismissal of anyone, is just that, a dismissal, and it's something that builds walls, something we don't want, that makes more discontent more likely.  It makes reactionary policy also more likely, which is the least likely to satisfy for anyone.  We need to find a way to reconnect across the digital, intellectual, political, economic and personal divide that's been expanding as a result of the nationalizing of every race, the politicizing of every issue, that precludes ever granting the presumption of good faith to anyone who doesn't already agree with whatever outcome we desire.   

A house divided does not stand, and I would say, as a country, at this point, we're on our knees.   

It will take statesmanship, it will take courage, and it will take humility and it will take work, to begin the process of restoration in our national dialogue.  Rather than having individual channels that cater to what we prefer, we need to find the people who are working on the problem, and willing to discuss what they hope, what they know, and where they agree, and be committed to working to find as much as possible that can be done.  There is a lot of work to be done, and less of it completed when everyone is competing to show how whoever isn't doing what we're doing, is failing at humanity.  Whenever we see someone else as less than, we are failing at humanity.  We need to be aspiring to something better, and somehow putting love where little or none is.   

A good discourse allows for listening as much as talking, for giving and forgiving, as much as asking and receiving.  We need to pray for all of us, to have receptive hearts for each other, even those with whom we disagree...and whoever we can think of that we would ask the question, "Even them?" "Even these?" the answer is...and it's hard to recognize, because it would be oh  so much easier if it weren't, "Yes, even these."  

"But they are lepers.  They are sinners.  They are tax collectors."  my brain says in some format, and I'm sure everyone's does..."They did X" and "X" is horrible, and was horrible, and will always be horrible.  However Christ forgave the most horrible of acts from the most horrible of places, and we cannot be more merciful than Christ.  

So if we want a better discourse, a better reality than the one we can all point to, from the beginning of fallen and ordinary time, then we must ask for the peace the world cannot give, and give it to the world.  It will fall on those who hear it, it will return to us on those who do not.   Be the words "Peace be with you," and peace will be with your spirit, even in the hardest of times and you will have "a good discourse," if not with those around you, always with God and that will be sufficient.  

Let us go and make our visit.  

Over at the Register Today

I know, it's been a while.  Writing time these days comes at the cost of sleep, and I'm honestly frustrated with my lack of production.  However, here's a piece I wrote two weeks ago, in thinking about the upcoming summit of the Bishops to discuss policy going forth for the Church as a whole, when dealing with sexual abuse/misconduct by her princes and administrators. 

To me, the reality is simple.  People who profess something, must live it.  People in positions of authority must live it all the more, because they've chosen this life.  The pains of not living out a vow are self evident. The reality for all of us as we wrestle with this hurt, is what we must do.  Hence:  As we Forgive Those who Trespass Against Us.

The Fruit We Should Be Serving...

Early in his papacy, Pope Francis proclaimed the Year of Mercy from December 8^th, 2015 to November 16,2016.  I’m wondering if he’d consider a Year of Mercy Part Two, because I’m not sure the first one took.

First, a confession.  I am a terrible sport in games.  I struggle with getting irritated when I play poorly, which makes me play even more poorly.  I get rattled, and I forget in those moments, I'm playing to play, not to win.  It is a source of constant frustration to me even if I'm swallowing it, because it robs me of the pleasure I sought from spending time with my family playing. I've prayed, confessed, wrestled with this most of my adult life.  I've read articles, I've tried to remain detached, and I've considered simply not playing to avoid temptation.  Instead, I've opted to have my family remind me over and over again when that particular demon flares up, "You're playing to play."  in one way or another.  Sometimes it involves stepping on my foot under the table.  I consider such steps, a good corrective mercy by them, which I deserve. 

So back to the issue that's bugging me today. 

Why hasn’t the New Evangelization worked?  

There’s loads of energy being spent on radio, online, newspapers, television, on evangelization and what isn’t being seen, is the building of community.  There are lots (Thank God) of individual conversions taking place, giving witness, but there isn’t a sense of a community being formed by all this work.  Our nation feels fractured and broken as never before, both inside and outside of the Church, which left me with a nagging question.

Why hasn’t the New Evangelization worked?  

People are writing. People are reading. People are praying. There are email chains of novenas and podcasts on scripture, blogs, videos, great lectures on the catechism, all at our fingertips. Where is the fruit? 

People are doing all these things and while there are moments, there is not a collective weight, a visible sign to the outside world of this internal reality of being the Body of Christ. In the same way, we all know there’s all this energy directed at serving the poor, providing for material needs in countless places, through soup kitchens and pantry programs, through shelters and job training and all the very good good things provided through the Church and her charities because people believe in the teachings of the Church, however, there is not a joy manifested to the world, only more need.   

In the same way, there are thousands of Catholic schools that provide education in both the academic and spiritual realm.  The community, on both a macro and micro level which should be the Body of Christ however, remains somehow, not fully engaged. 

Online, it's easy to stumble into places where people fight over what the Pope says, what the Pope means, and whether to follow him or fight him is the correct manifestation of living the faith.  Those same people cry out for the excommunication of those who disagree. 

There are fiefdoms within parishes, cliques, serious schisms between those who favor one ministry over another, and out and out hostility over issues both discreet (what type of music is played) and profound, (actual arguments about doctrine) which keep all of us from being Brothers and Sisters in Christ.  The fights in the parishes, online, and throughout the nation seem to go on without end, and with all the time, a dark joy from their perpetual spitting and spinning. The spirit of the age is distrust, deny, dismiss, and destroy, the very opposite of what Christ calls all of us to as individuals and as His body.  

My thoughts I thought perhaps too dark, so I turned to the scripture for the mass of the day.  On July 23, 2018 and the readings involved Micah, Chapter 6, Psalm 50 and from the Gospel, Matthew Chapter 12, versus 38-42 where Jesus says to the scribes and Pharisees, “An evil and unfaithful generation seeks a sign, but no sign will be given it except the sign of Jonah the Prophet….”  

That didn’t help.

We know what doesn’t work; excessive focus on doctrine, excessive focus on service, excessive focus on art work, group projects, group prayer, individual prayer, one way, a thousand ways, ground up, top down, systemic scaffolding of instruction, everything we’ve tried. Despite all wanting theoretically to achieve the same thing through different means, we keep stepping on each other's toes. 

The only answer to the angry spirit of the age, is to be asking each other, to please step on our toes when we take too much of a lead.  The answer to my problem, humility. The answer to the bigger problem, is the same thing.  Offer Mercy.  Ask Forgiveness.  No quid pro quo.   Offer mercy everywhere there is anger.  Ask for forgiveness whether it is given or not.  These are the salves that will lead us to salvation.  They are the fruit we should be offering if we want the coming age to be one of something other than a nation of angry islands, all screaming for someone else to be punished.   

Elizabeth Scalia wrote at Word on Fire about The Anti-Christ Arriving in a World Without Mercy," and showed a picture of a wolf.  If we want a world not peopled by wolves, we must fight the Anti-Christ with the one thing the Devil cannot abide, love; love manifested in acts of mercy, and sublimation of ourselves.  

The early prophets all preached essentially the same thing, (however unwillingly at times), as the early apostles.  “Repent and believe.”   We must do the same thing.   It’s both a universal and individual call. 

Christ tells us, over and over again He is the way, the truth and the light. Come to Him ourselves, and invite others.

The question I think for many, is how do we do this?  How do we know we are doing it?  How do we know if we are engaged in true acts of service, true acts of generosity, truly doing little things with great love? 

Answer: If we stop trying to win.  If we stop trying to take credit.  If we stop trying to prove we’re right, or better, or more worthy or smarter or more informed or more whatever, and simply serve. Or, as I told my children to remind me, play to play. 

Put God first, trust God.  Put Christ first.  Trust Christ. Spend time with Christ, and Christ will order each of our souls so that eventually willingly, we will put ourselves last, so more people can encounter Christ.

I'm going to go ask my kids if they want to play a game with me.      

Grace Can Pierce Stone

Driving my daughters to an appointment, we began a discussion about an article I read about a course where the students studied hate crimes, and in the process, encountered someone who had begun to repent, and who had from some, received the gift of forgiveness.  As my friend who sent me the article said, "No matter what we think about other people, change is amazingly possible."

The thoughts, "Grace can pierce stone. Grace can pierce the emptiness of years.  Grace, like water can seep through the tiniest cracks in the armor of the soul. Grace, like air, comes unseen, and we discover how necessary it is for life." kept running through my mind as I drove, and I repeated the thoughts as images in my head so I wouldn't forget.

The girls sat discussing how they'd write to someone who was incarcerated for hate crimes, and what they would say.   They weren't sure it would be just to be generous or forgiving to people who committed such grave offense, when those who were injured by the offenses still might bear scars from the events.  But God gives mercy to Cain, marking Him with a sign to all the world, this son I love, this son I will protect.  Despite Cain's sin against his brother and God, God offers him not merely mercy, but ongoing mercy for his life.  Grace is in essence, God's limitless love, manifested as mercy, upon us, His limited creatures.

Mercy remains, as Pope Francis constantly reminds us, amazingly possible for all who seek for it.  This does not mean the grace is won in an instant, for always, God wants us to go deeper and deeper into relationship with Him.  For that to happen, sometimes, we need the cross of time, so as to lean more solidly on God than ourselves.  We do not receive mercy via anything but God's generosity.  It reflects both God's heart, and the extent to which the soul of the person extending forgiveness or forbearance, is molded by God's heart.

Mercy manifested in this world by one person to another, remains to those who lack faith, hope and/or mercy, a mystery that amounts to foolishness.  Mercy manifested in this world from one person to another, viewed by the outsider who knows love, hope, and/or faith, remains a mystery, but a celebrated luminous joyful wondrous one,  It makes more sense than the sensible response the world would "understand," and thus is both impossible to explain, and more normal, more natural, more magnificent than what might be deemed just, fair or appropriate.

So today, as it is August 11th, the day I asked Catholic bloggers to offer penance and prayer for peace, both in their homes and hearts, and in the world both online and out there, I am praying for peace, for the whole world to be bathed in mercy, so that it might become more real and more natural, more what it was always intended to be.   Such a reality would be amazing, all the more so, because it is possible.

In this Year of Mercy...

we need to be wronged. Find out why over at Aleteia.

(I have a piece up over there, read, like and if you really like, share).

The Problem with I-dentity Thinking

Unless you've lived sans the internet the past week, you've heard something of the unrest taking place at the University of Missouri, where the President resigned in an attempt to address or redress the complaints of student activists about his handling of several incidents of racism.   Some feel, it was the hijacking of free speech for group think, others feel it is an indication of how difficult it is to get administrations and institutions to address the very real problem of racism, and still others, felt this to be a victory.  

Reality is never neat, and I suspect, the resignation of the President and any others as  a result of student protests and raised awareness, football team boycotts and classes being cancelled, won't bring about the brave new world where no one ever hears a discouraging word. Whatever it is to live and work at a place where all thought, written word and speech are hermetically sealed and approved for public consumption, it isn't reality.

The problem seems intractable because there seems to be no means of redress or deescalating the situation. If one is in a position of privilege or power, and one errs in word, speech or deed, or fails to act perfectly, the presumption is malice.  The decision by the grad student to go on a hunger strike until the president of the university lost his job, gave the parameters for the fight. There was no opportunity for dissent, or discussion, if the rules are capitulate or lose your job.   As a rule, people being threatened, are unlikely to have a genuine conversion or conversation, and as such, no one will feel satisfied if they give an inch.  The President didn't, and so things grew worse until he surrendered.

Victory!  Not so fast.

Likewise, throwing up one's hands and surrendering (stepping down), means no discussion has been advanced.  If the person in a position of authority, had been blind to injustice as a result of privilege, might having him stay now that he'd been chastened, make him wiser and more responsive to students experiencing racial bias?   The next person will be at least wary, but that doesn't mean anything has been done to grow trust across the student body, or between the students and faculty or administration.  It means, the activists got rid of someone; they have emotional power and political heft.  It doesn't mean, the problem was solved.

Getting rid of people with whom we disagree, doesn't create the harmony people want, or the fair treatment people claim they hope to see as a result.   People aren't problems to be solved or eliminated, but to be loved and served.   That can't happen if we must live in a bubble without anyone's thoughts or feelings ever differing from our own.  Why can't it?  Because in a world where everyone says the same thing no matter what, everyone is lying.  No community can be built on lies.

What is needed in our society, as a nation, is a means of redress, and a means of seeking, and receiving forgiveness, but that involves surrendering the privilege of being hurt, not because one wasn't hurt, or there haven't been systemic hurts throughout all of history, but because to have true peace between people, people must forgive. People must forebear.  People must show mercy.  There is no greater mercy than forgiveness, for it abandons the claim for justice or revenge, it surrenders the club of "You owe me, or you deserve this," in favor of forging a deeper new relationship.  "Begin again."  "Try again."  "Trust again."

Some would argue, those who need forgiveness, do not feel sorry or in some cases, aren't even aware of how they offend.  That is often the case, it is why forgiveness is so difficult and so sorely lacking in the pubic square of discussion, whether about politics, history, religion, or any other subject you'd care to bring up around the dinner table.  Offering forgiveness reveals the soul of the forgiver, not the forgiven.


Forgiveness and mercy, they do more than offer a new chance to those who cause the injury, they allow the injured to not stay wounded as well.  There has been a recent demand on the part of students for "safe zones" to ensure they never have their hearts or minds or preconceptions troubled by the differing opinion of another.  Sadly, the universities have begun creating these walled off areas, that keep all others out.

 Perhaps universities would do better if instead of "Safe Spaces," they created "Forgiveness zones." where people could stop to reflect on who they need to forgive, whether or not the person or persons are present, and drop that emotional baggage as the great weight it is, and get on with the business of learning how to open doors between people, rather than shut out all those who disagree.

Repeating My Call to Others

There's a new Planned Parenthood video, even more telling than the last.  But I posted my piece on Saturday (a low traffic day normally) and in light of this new expose, it's even more important that these people receive our earnest prayers.

Dr. Mary Gatter, Planned Parenthood Federation of America's Medical Directors' Council President wants a Lamborghini.  All I can think is, "But for Wales."   So I'm relinking to my Saturday piece, Prayers and Fasting in hopes of getting more people to publicly adopt a specific abortionist they will pray and fast for over the course of the next year.

It is not shocking that people sell other people for money, or parts for money.  We do this as a culture without thinking about it.  We sell human eggs, we sell sperm.  We sell wombs.  We sell porn (selling the outside while destroying the inside).  What we don't do is sell pieces...of people.  Except here, we do.  Why?  Because they've convinced themselves, these children are not people.

Once we stop seeing people as people (unborn), they become property, which can be bought and sold for lucre, and the more, the better.

Someone adopt this woman in their prayers, because a flashy car won't fill her anymore than the fine meal filled Dr. Deborah Nucatola in the prior video.

Don't think it can happen?  Check out Abby Johnson's And Then There Were None.  Abortion preys on the weakest, it enslaves those who perform it, to a constant need to bring others to the same dark place.  It's a hope we have to hold, if we would call ourselves Christians, that mercy and forgiveness are available for the asking.

It's easy to hold her in contempt. It's easy to rage at the evil.  But there is nothing more human than knowing the reality, "We are broken." and nothing closer to the divine, than to either ask for mercy, or give it.  We cannot absolve her of her sins, but we must pray she seeks forgiveness.  That is the only charitable response to what we now know, and we have an obligation now to this woman in particular, and those like her, because now, we know.  She is a lost sheep, a lost sister of Christ.  We want all of our brothers and sisters at the table.

Pray hard.

Have Mercy on Us and the Whole World

I have read as much as I could stomach of the Gosnell trial, and what I read fills me with both sorrow and revulsion.  The temptation to go all James and John, "Lord, let us reign fire down..." is strong, because the evil is so obvious.  However, James and John are rebuked by the Lord, it is not good for their spirits, and it is not good for mine either.  

While in Texas visiting my parents, I had a momentary glimpse into how grace works, a vision of sorts, while waking, brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed.  I saw a woman, not myself, standing at the edge of a cliff.  Below her were rocks and a fierce ocean. The wind was swift, the sky clear and immense, filled with stars and overwhelming in its emptiness.  The woman was suffering, pain of the heart, worry, every sort of care. 

A cross, a luminous cross came down to her and she threw her arms around it like a lover.  It floated up into the air, over the ocean, away from the cliff and the cares.  Then, it turned so the woman could rest on the cross, holding onto it still in a huge embrace.   The cross flew past the ocean and the stars and all of time with the no longer troubled soul resting as she saw everything fall away.  Grace works that way for all of us no matter what we've done. 

Reading the news, the very sure temptation to say, "Lord, I am grateful I'm not like that sinful man." is fairly obvious.  It is a grave danger to anyone who calls themselves pro-life to presume to know the state of another's soul, or to wish hell, death, pain and damnation upon anyone. Righteous wrath turns quickly to a lust for vengeance, and we do not manage our souls well when tempted with the opportunity to presumably end evil with an evil.  We cannot bring a good out of evil, only God can do this, and it is a great temptation when presented with grave evil, great injustice, and cruel indifference toward the innocent.

The saints did not curse their persecutors, they sang praise while going to their deaths, they focused on their own unworthiness to be martyrs or witnesses to Christ, they comforted others, they prayed.  I am no saint. I will not allow myself to entertain the thoughts I had about this man and what he deserves, because they hurt me.  I cannot call the cross to me, it comes unsummoned, I cannot make the cross fly across the heavens past time, I can only embrace or not.  The cross is a gift.  The grace is a gift, mercy a gift, forgiveness a gift, all of it, unearned by us, merely sought.  

So I focus instead on the reality, that this man, Dr. Kermit Gosnell, is beloved of Christ. 

Boy let that sink in for a minute.  This man is beloved of Christ, ergo, Christ loved him  so deeply, He would and did take the wounds and scourge and pain of death for this man, just as singularly as He did for Hitler or Margaret Sanger or Adam Lanza or Kim Jong Il or me.  

I'll just sit here and sting Ow...for a minute. 

We just know these people's public sins.  We should remember to God, all our sins are public.  All of them count.  All of them wound Christ's heart. Christ wants each and every soul.  We cannot love as Christ loves, so we cannot comprehend this deep ocean of mercy, except to know that the same ocean of mercy is available to us if we are willing to plunge into it, to accept that this ocean is His to give, not ours to dole out.

But...but...but...this is really bad. Really bad. Evil sick twisted wrong bad my soul sputters.

It is a great mystery that Christ can forgive evil, notice I did not say excuse or explain, but forgive. We have to trust, God's justice and mercy are never at odds, it is only our fractured fallen souls that cannot reconcile the two. Which would we want for ourselves, for our children, for our friends?  Justice or Mercy?  Then that is what we must pray for, for our enemies.   (Darn).

If we need convincing, we need only look at the cross.  It is God's answer to our sin, to our evil.  My mercy is the limit of sin's reach.   My mercy is here for you.  My mercy is all if you accept it.  My mercy is yours if you seek it.   My mercy, my mercy, my mercy.  

So I'll be asking all of you to consider praying the Divine Mercy Chaplet for Dr. Gosnell, today and every day as long as he lives, because the souls we save, may be our own.  

Limping into Easter

This is the high season for Catholics, especially those church going rosary saying apologetics reading catholic blog groupies like me.  

Except I am completely spent.  Emotionally, spiritually, personally, I am tired.

I have had a crummy Lent.  The irony stings. I wrote a column on Lent. I've tried adding things and taking away and I’ve forgotten and started again and forgotten and started again and deliberately ignored my resolutions and confessed and confessed and failed yet again. .

Trying to right the ship, I tried to lead a family rosary and we did it, if you don’t count the silent cold war between one child who refused to come in, and another who refused to come up from the basement after they’d screamed at each other.   I felt defeated.  How can I raise these people to be holy when I am not?  How can I be responsible for these souls when I am flunking with my own?

It occurred to me that I don’t envy the Pope trying to be responsible for the souls of the whole Church, trying to lead all of us to the heart of Christ.   We are an unruly lot of surliness...like my children on occasion.
Yet all of it can turn in an instant, from the clamor of a fight to the grace of unexpected extraordinary generosity.  We keep trying and sometimes, we can approximate the love we are called to give.

We have to lay hold of, the heart of Christ, and it is freely offered at every mass in the Eucharist.  That is the great miracle of His love, that is Heart is ours for the taking, it is offered like a lover, for He is love.   Take and eat.  Be at peace. Be not afraid.  Christ will fix everything we’ve broken if we let him.

We needed the Crucifixion, each of us needed Our God to suffer that that much …just for us because we are so messed up.  We are so angry. We are so injured, we hold onto our wounds fearful of the Divine Physician’s healing touch.  We want to hold onto our pain in our pride, and let it define us.  We cannot give a perfect Lent, we cannot save ourselves.  It is only in surrendering to God’s grace that we allow his Heart which as always beat for us, to enter.  

Easter happened.  Easter is happening.  This is the great reality, that a great or crummy Lent, Christ accepts all our offerings, the crumpled resolutions that got forgotten and abandoned and the ones well kept, it is the hearts He desires.   So to all who come to crowd the Easter mass, offer your heart, He will give you His, and all the weariness and wounds of this world will be washed away.  He will heal all of our lameness, world and self inflicted.

Have a blessed Easter.

It Beats Purgatory

It began with going to my friend's funeral service.  During one of her jaunts to the Mayo clinic, she'd planned her inter-faith memorial to the Nth detail.  I went to be with her family, to miss her, to weep, to remember and to pray.  But while we sang, wept and prayed, I kept getting pulled out of the experience because it was in a Catholic church but every once in a while, it would gong non Catholic. 

I fretted that it was my small minded heart.  We'd sing and I'd be there, and then there would be things which simply weren't Catholic, which within the church with a priest officiating, left me flat.  This was like my friend though, exactly like my friend, for she had fallen away from her faith, choosing the seasoning of the Church over the whole meal.  I worried that my soul was somehow shrivelled because the disconnect kept bapping me in the head. Part of my grief was steeped in that knowledge, part of my hope was she now was fully whole, fully healed, and that this hard life that she had lived with deep desire and deep love had opened her to a greater life with Christ. 

I loved my friend, and I promised her I would go to mass for her because part of my grief observed for her required that I go. 

I'd picked today.  Monday would be ideal, as my son did not have school, so I would not be hamstrung by a schedule about where I needed to be.  We'd go to Saint John's which had a cry room so I could be there with all three of my littles, Gina (4), Paul (3) and Anna Maria (1).  Because I'd be safe in the sound proof room with the speaker, I hadn't packed my stroller.  This was an easy walk from the parking lot to the church to the back room for an unobstructed view where the kids could look at their books or play quietly.  Such was my plan.  I briefly toyed in my head with also receiving reconciliation, yes this would work.  Perhaps I could even finish the rosary and go to adoration to receive an indulgence for my friend.  A gift from her uber Catholic friend, what I could give back. 

We made it on time with time to spare only to find once I'd unloaded that Mondays are the only days that this church does not hold a 9 o'clock.  At this moment, turning back might have been wiser, but I had mass tunnel vision.  I wanted to go, for my friend, for me. Alright, more for me.  So reloaded in the van, I drove to our home parish.  I love our home church but it is not modern.  There is no cry room.  There is a barrier in the back such that sound is sort of muted but if you find the sweet spot, it is amplified.  You peek out towards the altar from the middle and side aisles, but I figured, it's my home, it's the 9, they've eaten, this won't be too hard. 

Stop laughing.  No really. 

On Monday, it is free grocery day so the parking lot was full and the only van sized spot on the opposite end of the parking lot.  Crunching my daughter into my chest with one arm and sporting a death grip on my son with the other, I am verbal chirping at my 4 year old to hold her brother's hand. We braved the seemingly longer than I ever remembered parking lot.  I admit, I kept hoping I'd spy a friend who would take pity on me and help out.  It didn't happen. 

Despite having arrived before mass, we walked in and they were already at the first reading.  Walking to the back with three squirmy littles, I told myself this would still be okay. In the back, the three dispersed instantly, with no one wanting to have exclusive mommy time at the expense of surrendering freedom.  I kept offering to hold them and they kept squirming and making louder noises than I would have thought possible.  Finally getting them shushed, it was time for the Gospel. 

Then the homily came.  My 4 and 3 year old had decided it was laughing time.  They were giggling simply being in each other's company.  I kept shushing but they thought that was hilarious too.  A woman came back to me and gently said, "Some of us want to hear the homily."  Message received. They were getting a bit loud.

I scooped up Paul and Anna and got Gina to follow and we now went into the entrance area, flanked by the doors to the outside and the heavy wooden doors to the inside of the church.  I kept my foot in the door.  Anna and Paul and Gina continued their laughing fest at my feet, rolling on my coat and theirs, pulling up on my pant leg while I strained to muffle their noise and still hear snips of what Fr. was saying.  The reading had been about King David showing forbearance when he was cursed non stop by another, accepting the rebukes of this soul that others wanted to behead, as penance.  Humility.  Humility. Humility.  The gospel was about Christ expelling the demons that were legion into the herd of swine. 

The priest talked about recognizing the nature of how possession takes place, temptation, obsession, possession. He spoke of the soul needing grace, seeking it and how the demons that are seek to distort, destroy, pollute, warp everything, even our best impulses.  I chaffed at being stuck with my foot in the door.  I'd come and I wanted to hear, I wanted more than a sliver of the mass and giggling children were now keeping me stuck.  Honestly, it was a grave pain, I felt stupid and mad and irritated and agitated and wanting to go back in and have my children be awesome or have people recognize that it was okay if they weren't awesome, my brain spun everywhere until it stopped. I wanted pity, I wanted help. I wanted a break.  I wanted to leave.  I wanted to feel free to stay. Here I was at a Catholic mass not being able to be at the Catholic mass because my children were distracting others from prayer, while I was trying to go to mass because I'd been distracted from prayer while seeking to pray for my friend.  The irony was not lost on me.

The theme of this year for me is "Be still and know I am here."  "Why am I here?" my brain kept asking. "Why is it so important for me to be here? It's so hard." My daughter and son had started another game, this time it was knock on the doors and run to the other side, and giggle loud.  It felt so wrong to be telling them "SSSHUSSSHHH" when we were already almost out of the church building itself, with me keeping us in the confines of this little room, inbetween the outside world and the mass itself.  Struggling with all three in the back to hear a sliver of the mass felt like a spiritual battle of the first order...even though they were absolutely happy as I told them to be quiet.  It wasn't like hell, it was ...like purgatory.  Purgatory.

My friend and I were both struggling souls. She'd left the door open for a sliver of the Catholic church to be in her service; I was at the mass, foot in the door, getting a sliver of the mass.  Irony. Irony. Irony.  God's kind of humor.  Hers too.  "If I'm ever a saint, my icon will be me at the back of the church, some of my children acting like barnacles on my ankles, foot in the door."  My brain said and the pain, the ache of it, left.  

I'd been tempted to leave.  I'd been pushed away from prayer.  There it was, my own complaint echoed to me, so I could see something of the shriveled nature of my soul.  I'd even been irritated at the woman for observing that my children were a distraction.  It was nearly the same complaint I'd made about the non-Catholic elements of the memorial service.  Why I'd been kept from my plan is the same reason all of us get to struggle when things run amok, my plan would not have worked, my plan would have allowed me to stay comfortable living  within the confines of my own soul's comfort.

So to sum up, we scrambled up to communion, I did make it to reconciliation, and as soon as I left, a friend (who is the former DRE) spied me and said, "Let me help you to your car." she then added, "Are you nuts? Taking all three of these guys to a daily mass?"

I had to laugh. "It beats purgatory."

Everyone's September 11th

Everyone has a September 11th story, where they were, what the day was like,  with some of the littlest of details etched forever in memory. 

I know I have the silly memory of thanking God for cell phones that day (I'd recently joined the ranks of the cell phone owners), that I could talk to my husband who was trying to get out of DC.  I know I had an obgyn appointment that morning and have a photo of my fifth child, Faith and I was not more than a month pregnant.  "How can you have known you were pregnant? She's just a dot!" the technician asked.  And she was.  The size of a dot, a mustard seed, and so she became known as Faith.

Faith acts as a shield and sword against the sufferings and evils of this world.  My daughter Faith is no different.  She is the first to come to another's aid, the first to get the bandages when someone is hurt, the most sensitive and empathetic of my children.  She's also much stronger and braver than she knows.  Real faith is like that too.  Even then, at the size of a mustard seed, she protected me. 

Though we all howled in pain when the towers fell, I did not get to see the event itself as I was in that little waiting room looking at a screen at her.  When my appointment was over, there was chaos in the doctor's office as all other visits from that point on in the day had been canceled and the receptionist was bringing a TV into the lunch room where the staff had gathered.  There were reports of a plane coming towards the White House here in DC, of fires on the Washington mall, of bombs.  My husband's office is a mere block and a half from the White House, and so he and a friend started the long trek home.  They opted for the Metro, but it was suspended that close to the White House.   So they began walking.  They walked until they got to an open metro station, around Cleveland Park I think.  They left around ten in the morning.  They got home around 4:30. 

After my appointment, I drove to get my son and daughter from their prospective schools, my other two children in tow, all the time glued to the radio.  After realizing I could drive or freak out but not both, I finally opted for classical music.  I figured they'd cut into Bach, Beethoven and Brahms if something new happened.  I know I fixed them lunch but I can't remember what I ate that day.  I just remember, I put Cartoons on for the kids and put the baby down for his nap and went back to my room to watch.  I watched the tower fall again and again and the people fall  and the planes fly into the buildings. 

When you've lived in New York, even if only for a year, you feel like it's your city. You have favorite haunts, little idiosyncratic treats that aren't in the guide book, places that when friends come, you bring them so they can experience your experience.  Zito's for bread, just like Frank Sinatra, Rocco's for eclairs, my favorite to this day, and I loved walking the Brooklyn Bridge.  I loved the wind, I loved the water, I loved the view of the city. I loved the structural beauty of the thing itself, so necessary and yet so elegant as to seem extravagant by today's standards.  Walking the bridge, we'd never go more than half way, because people would want to go to the World Trade Center for a bird's eye view.

We'd go through Wall Street to the top of the World Trade Center and take pictures looking down.  The view from the top doesn't make much sense to our brains because we just aren't used to looking at things from that high, but it's what you do.  Visits to these many places, the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, Little Italy, the Empire State building, these were the points of the city that anchored your understanding of how New York was different from every other place. I shuddered to know where we'd go was gone.  Like every other person who has ever felt like they owned New York as theirs, I shuddered because I knew how many people were normally in that place and how many lives must have been snuffed out in those horrible moments.  Part of the city was simply gone. 

Every year, I watch the footage or look at the commemorative book in our library and review what happened in my mind. I'm always shocked by the raw feelings that return so bluntly.  We will never forget, but thankfully, we have this day to remember, to allow ourselves to return to those memories.  I know time heals all wounds, but when I look at a shot of the Manhattan skyline, it still looks wrong to me to this day.

September 11th, 2011, the gospel talks of forgiving our neighbor 70x7 and we suddenly understand how very much a grace it is to forgive, when we cultivate ire for our fellow citizens simply based on their political standing.  We struggle with civility and forgiveness for people who merely disagree, how much more will we struggle with those who actively have caused us real harm?

That sunny Tuesday that became something else is a reminder that all of us have the capacity to do acts that require real forgiveness, and that all of us need to pray for peace in our hearts and the world.

And Now, Equal Time

Anyone who thinks sexual morals discarded as easily as a wardrobe do not have an effect outside the two people enaged in the throws of whatever, need only look at the most recent example, the South Carolina Governor and his girlfriend in Argentina.

If you read the injured wife's piece as posted on Real Clear Politics, it is a beautiful reflection of what this man has lost, and it isn't his position of power in the world, but the relationship, the communion with a good woman and their four sons. Four young boys who must be heart broken to see suddenly themselves taller than their father at tender ages, and who now must shoulder a burden unasked for, trying to defend their broken family from an unloving prying world while each nursing their own individual highly concentrated pain they do not understand.

As an outsider, we can easily scorn, easily condemn, and easily judge, but this wife still loves this man and as outsiders, we should honor and mirror her behavior. Hers was a holy response to a complete betrayal, without being a doormat or an enabler.

In an age of instant access but no actual intimacy, this is what we as a society have, 24-7 armchair coaching/commentary on anyone and everyone who falls into the public eye. So keeping one's dignity when one is emmeshed in an undignified situation becomes difficult. She has managed it.

He has not.

In an age of blackberries, twitter, facebook, cellphones, Youtube and cameras placed everywhere, no one should consider themselves capable of living an anonymous life. And no one should be certain their worst moments as human beings won't become the subject of fodder for millions; least of all, politicians and people in positions of authority.

Perfection in our public leaders should not be a prerequisite of electability, but honesty and ethics ought to be at least skewed in the right direction. On a tangent, I have to rant, "Where to the Republicans go to find these sorts of people?" There have been moments when I have heard people remark that "This is the best." and then they reveal something, a school, a book, a show, a movie, a politican. And my first thought almost always is after I've read/watched/ listened, tasted, "If this is the best there is, then MAN are we in trouble." But I also know that my heart likes to try and harden, to be clever and cynical and that I have to beat that impulse down with a stick on a daily basis, but the world keeps giving me targets.

And then I remember, this is one family put under a microscope because of one family memebers' supreme stupidity and lack of moral and political judgment. I don't care how respected he was six days ago, he was stupid in his life and careless with those he professed to love. Dumb is the only word that is charitable in this circumstance. It is difficult not to want to unleash a score of seemingly righteous word rage on this person.

Fidelity is the first obligation of a spouse. It ought to be a willingly given given. Mark Sanford may have been a competent governor, but he put a woman before his wife, before his sons and before his God. Fortunately for him, his God and his wife love him enough not to strike him down, but those who do not love him, have struck and will continue to do so. If he had any sense, he'd understand that he is the most fortunate man in the whole world if he only lost the Governorship and the mistress. But if he had that same sense, he probably would have recognized, he had everything and surrendered it willingly for the wrong things.

I'd excoriate the man except I'm tired of all these cads and all these cackling harpies who glory in the destruction of a family as much as they do the emoliation of a career for political reasons, or because it justifies their own behavior, or because they hate the morals professed to be held true by those who have fallen.

So I've made a promise to myself to be restrained the next time and the next and the next and the next and the next and the next, regardless of political affiliation, because stoning the adulterer is not good for any of us, and this world encourages emotional and intellectual stoning. The men who left the adulteress behind had been the recipients of Christ's mercy as much as the woman herself.

I know I shouldn't have enjoyed raging at the Democrats for lining up to defend Bill Clinton, and I shouldn't stand with the firing squad to shoot Mark Sandford, because we aren't called to set fire to people, only to light the world on fire with the purity and holiness of our spirits and our lives.

And I've made myself a promise to give up being a snark about this President. This does not mean I will not disagree or fight to articulate why I disagree with his policies when I disagree with them, only that I don't get to be mean to satisfy my own spleen with ooh...that's a good line, that will get 'em type commentary.

Being funny by being clever and catty and making being funny a goal just to get attention is self serving and soul scorching, and I have to remember that for me, humor is supposed to be merciful, healing. Humor without mercy is satire, and I conceed, I have a natural progression, from quips to bites, from Horace to Juvenal, from Pope to Swift. The humor gets more acerbic and less merciful the longer I focus on a subject. The truth of the matter gets lost in the shuffle of clever phrases for the sake of a few comments and a few extra hits on the blog counter.

So pray for this broken family and all those who do or do not make front page news or go viral, to be healed by the only thing that can, God's love.

Valentine EKG Vital signs

The kids came home from school February 14th.

I thought I was home free.

I had helped make four recycled cereal boxes into Valentine Mail bags.

I had artfully decorated 24 chocolate home made cup cakes.

The day before, I had purchased each child their favorite candy to tuck in their lunch box and assisted with over 120 cards to ensure everyone in every class got one.

Thursday, they would have a special assembly, where the Principal would willingly hug a monkey, as payment for the kids having collected 3,500 cans of food for the food pantry program run by the Church on the same grounds.


They would then have Valentine's parties with cake and goodie bags, cards from all their classmates and a running of the Peanuts special. I figured, all was right with the world.

I mean, nothing says Valentine's day like the Principal of a school hugging a monkey and enough chocolate to coat the entire school, all in one day.

Alas. I knew nothing of how the day should be celebrated. I only knew my kid heart...if I had been at school, would have been satisfied and then some.

Around six, I discovered one unhappy Valentine. My eight year old son sat sulking, unable to voice his great disappointment with the whole holiday. He had eaten his starburst, looked at the cards, completed the puzzle his teacher gave, and done his homework. His face was red and his eyes holding back tears. "I hate Valentine's Day! It's a stupid holiday!"

Utterly bewildered, and at that moment, feeling more pressed for dinner than my son's psychological state, I tried being rational. "But, you saw a monkey..."

"It's stupid." he sulked.

So I tried a different response.
"It's not really a holiday made for kids sweetie. It's really more for couples, like me and your Daddy." I showed him the roses I'd received.

"We didn't do enough." he humphed.

Letting aside the desire to scream about what? which took considerable love on my part, I asked, "What would you have us do?" Visions of the Principal having to walk a tight rope over live lions came to my head.

He wanted a fancy dinner. I happened to have a pot roast which, if sliced properly looked like steak --that's what he called it and that's what I said I was serving.

He wanted us to tell each person why we loved them.
The Mom in me approved. This did not seem impossible, so I pulled out the red tablecloth and the good china and he felt comforted.

So we tried to sit for dinner and each tell what we loved about another. One kid tried to be clever "I love her because she's not stupid." and it got her sister mad. And rightly so. I had a spoon I used as gavel. Judge Mom would solve this.

The toddler spilt her orange juice causing a giant mess and forcing me to call a brief recess, as I sponged up the floor and wiped her down. In the meantime, the other toddler wolfed down his food and ran off to change back into his dinosaur costume.

My oldest two, buzzing from chocolate and other sweets and a semi-non academic day complete with lower primates started fencing with air epees. The dinner had been eaten and the five year old was huffing as they hadn't gotten to her yet.

Reassembling the crowd with the promise of desserts, we tried again. But the karma was off and no one was listening and when one brother refused to say something nice about one of his sisters, the one who ate her valentine candy in front of him and it was his favorite, without sharing despite begging, he got ugly. It got ugly. I got tired. I yelled. I lost it. The Judge Mom had lost her judgement in that moment.

The sentimental one who wanted this whole deal started to cry and I knew I mistrialed in motherhood at that moment.

Now I felt so lost it was hard to speak. Here I had broken a holiday but good. There was a hard silence as all the children looked at their mother who was searching for words and feeling drained and frustrated. But the very same son pointed out this was why we needed Valentine's day --and with a hard hug, he reset the table mentally. He even brought me diet coke.

The older ones heard him and sat down. Even Dino boy came back.

So it wasn't perfect and it wasn't my finest, but it was his. And next year, we'll celebrate his style of Valentine's day.

I'll be funnier later. In the meantime, try http://www.humor-blogs.com/.

Sauce for the Goose...

For all the pieces out there about men being similar to trees when it comes to gift giving, the unspoken super criminal of gift giving is “us.”

Seriously.

We’ve all flunked at least one Christmas where the poor husband got socks. Socks! If we got socks for Christmas, we’d stew for months. It would be the stuff of legend. There would be flaming emails and calls so prolific as to melt the entire eastern seaboard’s communication grid. All males in the family would have to go into witness protection program or engage in a self flogging reeducation camp on proper presents just to insure such an experience would never happen again...ever.

Part of the problem is Men’s stores; you go in there and see what...drab clothing. Golf clubs, the smell of wallets. Fun times. These uninspired shops continue to exist because we’ve allowed it. We've enabled them to continue. We go to the mall with the best of intentions…we know our guy. So we think, we’ve got time and ooh look, there’s a sale on capes. I need a new cloak. Okay, now to business! Look at that, I’ve been needing some new gold hoops and maybe some make up since it’s bonus time. Hey, the salon isn’t crowded. I’ll just squeeze in a haircut.

Oh geez! I haven’t shopped for my love and I’m running out of time, I’ll just duck into the department store and…What did I buy him?

That year, I was in rare form. He got a red sweater, new socks, The A team third year complete season and a gourmet Chocolate bar (and one for me). Not my finest moment as a wife.

It is testimony to his great love that I still get presents.

I wish to sever this disfunctional relationship with the Men's store, to stop being co-dependent with those indifferent purveyors of "Y" chromosone geared presents.

Having racked my brains for an appropriate way to categorize Male gifts that are Gift Worthy, that knock their not so new socks off, I decided to consult an expert.

I ASKED MY HUSBAND…

After he recovered from the shock, here are the secret top ten gift giving ideas with helpful tips on the side for Men.

10) Clothing that looks like what we already wear –We do not accessorize and we hate to shop, so if you get us a nice shirt or a jersey from our favorite team, this is cool. Note: Other than for sporting teams, we don’t wear red. Don’t buy red. Don’t expect us to wear red if you do. It will be regifted to a younger brother as soon as we reach the post office or we’ll mumble gratefully “thanks” and then said sweater will always be at the dry cleaners or in storage somewhere.

9) Electronic gadgets –oddly enough, this is not as big a hit as you might think. Unless it is compatible with what already exists or we’re proficient with technology and some of us aren’t, these gifts are a source of frustration. We don’t want things that require reading directions. We don’t like directions. We don’t ask for them and we don’t like having to use them to operate a television.

On the flip side, brainless technology is also a bad call. Robo dogs that need walking? Talk about fuzzy logic! Look, it’s not real but you still have to devote time and energy to it; no thank you. Stores pimp gadgets with batteries included for men. Real men see through this as a blatant appeal to women, buy this and you’re done! Look Honey, I bought you a laser pointer. Isn’t it neat? Um…I think the robo dog needs to go for a walk.

8) Tickets. Like you, we’re busy. We don’t want to have to plan things. Buy two for a concert or a play or a show you KNOW we’d like or a game and set up the date. It will impress us you gave so much time to our relationship. If it’s a sporting event, make sure you’re mentally psyched for going because having an indulgence for a present isn’t fun. (A fun way for YOU to get us a planner we won’t buy, is to get the tickets and put the date with the tickets in the planner. But let us know to look, because otherwise, getting a planner for us is the equivalent of getting an ironing board. Whee.)

7) If we need a new watch, you can buy this. Otherwise, steer clear of men’s jewelry. We don’t accessorize. Even if we’re vegetarians, we still dress and focus on life in a meat and potatoes kind of way. One watch. Works for Day. Works for Night. Works for Dress and Casual. No rings. No necklaces. Nada. We’re men for crying out loud!

6) On the subject of needs: If our brief case, jacket or wallet looks drab or worn, this is an okay place to splurge and get us an upgrade, just make sure we won’t feel silly with it. As stated above, we don’t like shopping, even for us.

5) Channel your hunter gatherer skills for shopping. Watch and learn, track your subject and then move in for the kill. For example, books: We don’t’ want to know how we communicate. We don’t like having to work at just talking. Humor books also strike a false note, even if written by guys we like, as those get dated fast, one read and they’re done. Magazines? Be careful. Most guys don’t subscribe to GQ or Men’s Day type magazines. We do subscribe to SI and Time and Newsweek and National Geographic. Want us to read more? Go to a book store and watch to see what men pick up, peek at the selections and see if you’ve got a fit, then pounce!

4) No guy says they have a hobby. We have collections and obsessions, not hobbies –stamps, baseball cards, coins, model trains, fantasy football, movies and star trek. If we like golfing, we like golfing, it’s not a hobby. Got that? Good. Now, if we like doing something, get something for us we like doing. Just don’t write “For your hobby, hubby” on the card.

3) Homemade gifts…unless you’re really good at it, and even then it’s dicey. It’s not like we collect or appreciate quilts and as good as your pumpkin bread may be…well, we’ll appreciate the time and effort…but homemade promises…those work better. For example: a scrap book works! A sappy poem does not. We begin to cringe with the opening line, “My heart’s song transcends the stars…” A coupon for a one hour foot rub from you works! From the spa…well, most guys I know aren’t signing up on Saturday for a pedicure.

2) Food. There is no love so sincere. However, chocolate is not our go to of choice, it’s yours. Besides, we KNOW if we get chocolate, we’re going to have to share. Fruit of the month, well, it’s nice and we might be surprised by how much we like it…Wine of the month –better. A smoked turkey. Excellent. Imported stuff, Prime Steaks. Now You’re talking! Dessert of the Month –okay, you got us there. (Gift cards to restaurants however, do NOT work. They feel like a prepaid nag to go out). Take us to a place you discovered you know we’d love, that’s a date!

Food related items should be 1) high quality, 2) functional 3) not require additional high quality functional items. A Barbeque Grill tool set does not work well without the Barbeque grill. It’s like an empty jewelry box.

1) Affection and Attention. We like back rubs and unexpected kisses. We like a peaceful home. We want to come home to a woman that is delighted to see us not because of what we can do as relief pitchers with the kids or the chores, but because we are simply there. Forgive us our foolishness and abandon some of your frustration, we don’t want you to swallow it because then it’s still inside. We want your enthusiastic presence for us more than anything.

Look, we brought flowers, silver and chocolate!

Merry Christmas!