Seven Quick Takes: Volume 28

Dec. 21, Feast of St. Peter Canisius, priest and doctor.  This remarkable Jesuit almost single-handedly re-evangelized Central Europe, founded dozens of colleges, revitalized Catholicism with his prodigious writings, and laid the groundwork for the Catholic Reformation north of the Alps.  Declared a Doctor of the Church in 1925, he is patron of Germany, the Catholic press, and catechism writers.  Also, east of St. Thomas the Apostle in the Extraordinary Form of the Roman Rite.

I've got out of 7 Quick Takes lately, mostly because I'm really bad at them (ask an absentminded bookworm professor type to do anything "quick," I dare you!), but there are some days that I just have a lot of little things to say, and this is one of them.  So, without further ado:

-- 1 --

I waffle between under- and over-exaggerating my struggles.  What one day seems to be a true-to-life, honest examination of what's-happening seems on other days like a drama queen performance; what is judicial silence and determination of irrelevance on good days seems like prideful denial on bad ones.

I hope I didn't upset anyone too much by my "confessions" yesterday.  It's hard to know how to say it.  I've been put into place by dear ones who remind me to be a reverse Pharisee by denying need when need is real is not the Christian way.  Especially if I'm not at the place spiritually where I really don't care about my own suffering (pray that I get better at that, won't you?).  But it's all relative.  When I see what others are going through--a mother of two under two who just found out this Christmastime that she has cancer; a dear friend whose husband is dying; a coworker who admits she has never felt happy in her entire life; a relative who spends Christmas alone because her only son died years ago--I realize my issues are drops in an ocean of suffering.

So somewhere between everything-is-fine and the-world-is-ending, there's me.  I just wanted to share my thoughts as an exercise in reflection, in hopes it could help others the way it helped me.  And you needn't worry: I've come to the conclusion about a year back that I would not be too proud to ask for help--but I would only ask for that help if it's truly needed.

-- 2 --

And how the Lord provides!  I should have mentioned during the mild ranting that at the company Christmas party I got a gift card to Subway and a Christmas bonus; my EBT card was spontaneously renewed when I went to fill out the forms online this week; the Saint Vincent de Paul Society at my parish got wind of things and insisted on sending three bags of groceries home with me last weekend; my grandmother wrote a generous check for my Christmas present; and my folks, though out of work for two years and struggling themselves, are still in a place where they are able to and do provide anything I might need.  The Squirt will have no lack of presents from Grandmama and Grandaddy, that's for sure!

My poverty over this Advent has truly been a spiritual one.  But even in this, there is cause for rejoicing!  For how can we merit God's graces if we don't first find the gaping lack of them?

-- 3 --

I have to say, too, that not having spare money during Advent is liberating, a gift in itself (which follows on the heels of what I concluded yesterday).  Since I don't have the resources, I can't buy gifts.  Since I don't have the time, I can't make them.  Or if I do find myself with a little extra spending money, it's going to get spent on something that really wants to be given, and not just a it's-Christmas-and-it's-what-we-do-so-I-bought-you-something-even-though-I-wasn't-sure-it's-what-you-wanted.  You know?  It's a pure philosophy of gifting, in which gifting is better for the giver than the one who receives.

I might have to write more on that later.

-- 4 --

What I'm crocheting lately:

It's sweet, isn't it?  Eventually--eventually as in when Christmas is over and I'm not rushed for time-and-money economical presents--I'm going to venture into learning how to make garments like baby hats and sweaters.  My true dream, though?  Doilies.  Lace, delicate doilies, with iron hook crochets, like what Sarah makes.  Love it.

-- 5 --

(The one my husband might not want to read!)

(Hi, cariad!)

Speaking of clothing, learning how to sew has been on my radar for a while, at first as just a fun "what-if" hobby, then as a "cool people are doing it" scenario, and finally as a "I really want to make my own clothes someday" resolution.  And I don't mean in the fashion-y sense, though it'd be fun to experiment and make things inspired by otherwise obsolete fashions or considered un-cool by today's standards.  But also because things have been developing over the last two years in a direction of greater self-sufficiency and homemakery--or at least, my attraction to them has.  And certain shifts in income and lifestyle seem to support a change in that direction.

I've always had an inexplicable attraction (one of many) to spinning; and as I've picked up my crochet hook again this past autumn, I've let my mind wander along the story of production.  Even yarn from Walmart can rack up unnecessary expenses, if you're talking about really making things to supplement what you would ordinarily buy from a store.  With the handsome spindle given to me by a friend, I can spin my own yarn.  But I still have to buy the wool, and that's not something that's easily accessible either.  So get a sheep, I say to myself--or at least a cat or a dog or something, and use their fur to make your own thread, to crochet your own things.  But while we're at it, why not keep chickens, so we can have our own eggs, and maybe poultry.  In fact, why not throw in a farm?

-- 6 --

I know it seems incompatible with the prim, preppily dress girl in these photos, but my interest in semi-self-sufficiency--via either farming, urban homesteading, or community gardening--has steadily grown.  It started with an affection for rural life and peaked my interest as distributism when reading Chesterton.  Now I've come to know, on varying degrees of intimacy, families and individuals who are learned in, striving toward, or who actively maintain this alternative lifestyle.  The best part is that it's lock-in-key complimentary to the liturgical lifestyle we're already pursing.

In my internet wanderings, I've come upon a resource called the New Catholic Land Movement.  There is a greater dignity in seeing the product you have created, rather than doing abstract work for a symbol of a symbol of wealth (checks are imaginary money, and money is just made out of paper, and that paper is supposed to symbolize the gold in the national vault--wha??); or earning your daily bread by just spreading around ideas and things, rather than creating them--or worse, using and destroying them.  I see all these exceptional, lovingly and quality made items on Etsy that I actually covet, and I think, 'the only thing that keeps me from making those things myself is that I'm busy blundering doing unrelated things in order to make money so that I can eat and clothe myself and my family.'  But wouldn't it just be simpler and more satisfying to remove that nonsense in the middle and just do something that has an immediate, practical, and good end--like planting seeds for food, or keeping sheep to spin thread, or building the things you need like furniture and shelter?  A life like that wouldn't be devoid of luxury altogether, and I there's no question that there'd be a need for poets and painters, but the two types of vocations are much closer in their purpose than the modern world seems to imagine.

That's sort of the philosophy of distributism.  I know the romance would melt away for me soon enough, with hard winters and dependence on the hand of God, but I've already had to train myself in doing without, especially this past month.

-- 7 --

Last but not least, Soul Gardening is hosting its inaugural incentive offer.  Donate any amount to keep the grassroots ministry going and they will send a free copy of the award-winning "Eastern Bound" CD.  If you haven't yet, sign up to receive this quiet little journal; it is truly a must-have for any mama, stay-at-home papa, homesteader, homeschooler, or person who feels the occasional loneliness of isolation and wants lifting up by the black-and-white printed spiritual communion of the Church on earth, Catholic or no.  And oh my, the illustrations are so humbly breathtaking!

Join Jen at Conversion Diary for 7 Quick Takes Friday!

Advent Unplugged: Not What I Expected

Or, Nobody Likes a Pity Party but Everybody's Still Invited

Dec. 20, Friday of the Third Week of Advent.

. . . and it wasn't even a coach before midnight!

I know Advent's not even over yet, but I'm already feeling Christmas burnout.  And I've stayed well away from the secularism and commercial bustle of the season this year.  I've almost had to, as a matter of working-mom survival.

My early Advent reflections had me on board with Molly and Christy and Masha and Haley about switching off and tuning in for this season of quiet expectation.  If I didn't have the resolve to follow through, daily life has made me follow through, but with its own, twisted sense of humor.  (Hyperbole, but still. . .)

In addition to Ordinary Time liturgical living and feast days, I wanted to be on top of daily Advent meditations, a Christmas novena, giving to those in need, spending more quality time with my son, attending a daily Mass or two, and choosing or making thoughtful, meaningful gifts for those closest to me.  I don't have the finances to provide everyone I would like to with Christmas gifts this year; but I would have liked to be able to give the gift of creative and loving effort, or at least time and friendship, and even that has been lacking.

It's less than a week before Christmas, and I'm not even sure if cards are going to go out this year.  Fortunately for Catholics, Christmas extends well into January, so there's still time for that.  Maybe.

(Oh, and wholesome, home-cooked meals for myself and my son and keeping a tidy house?  Fuhgettaboutit.)

I mean, I wanted to deck the halls to cheerful music, fill our home with good baking smells for the holy days, meticulously practice the beautiful devotions that are so numerous this time of year.  It's not like I've been wasting time internet shopping or attending Christmas parties every weekend.

Yet despite those things--though they are good ways to observe the season and a far cry better than absorbing oneself in commercials of shiny cars with giant bows on them--it occurs to me that I've had a successful Advent after all.

This month has been particularly difficult.  At one point, my debit card was declined, my EBT was maxed out, my water shut off, and I couldn't get my prescription refilled so was dizzy and cloudy-headed and scheduled to close at the deli that evening.  I canceled indefinitely my son's speech therapy because, despite being paid for by Medicaid, I had to drive an hour out of the way once a week and then an hour back to get there.  I've plunked extra money into tests trying to find out what's wrong with me and why I keep getting sick, not to mention the recurring fatigue and body aches unrelated to viruses; so far, the results have been a big FAT NOTHING.  (So I'm imagining it?)  I resent that all these weeks--the four weeks that lasted an eternity when I was young, so that Christmas never seemed to come--have flown by without any sympathy for my convenience.

The latest flu-cold-thingy has forced me to to bed and quarantine in my leisure hours, so I've been able to reflect a little.  There would probably have been a time (like, this summer) that I would have pushed myself to do everything; and if I didn't, I would have moped and felt guilty and disappointed about it.  But I'm not going to do that, and I haven't been.  As for the things that do happen, I'm making an effort to put them in perspective.  Allow me to post this exercise to the internet for everyone to see:

I haven't enjoyed the traditions of the Church's seasons to the fullest like I wanted.
God makes sure that my intentions and offerings are pure by frustrating my plans.

I haven't been able to put together thoughtful little gifts for coworkers, friends, and family.
God graciously makes me aware that my poverty is not only material but spiritual, and that true gifts come through His grace alone, for which I take no credit.

I am sick and poor and weary.
I am whole and well fed, with a roof over my head, clothes on my body, books to read, a healthy son, access to the Sacraments, freedom and talents, and loving friends and family.

I've failed to keep my Advent devotions and novenas.
Prayer does not have to be formal or beautiful but is any sort of communion with God that comes from a deep need in the soul reaching out to Him.

So this Advent hasn't turned out the way I planned or wanted.  It's drained me and hasn't been the restful season it's meant to be.  But in His own mysterious way, God has chastened me.  He's given me a pretty obvious lesson in humility (again).  Instead of feeling sorry for myself because my cell phone's screen goes blank at will and during every phone call; my glasses are old and I haven't updated my prescription in over five years (contacts--I wish!); the underwire of my only bra from Walmart is broken; I haven't got a single thing for the Squirt this Christmas, much less gone Christmas shopping; and my friends must be feeling pretty neglected at the lack of communication, birthday party attendance, and season's greetings . . . I'm gonna let it go.

That's my Advent.  Instead of wallowing in it, I'll lie it all down before the manger.  (Frankincense-and-myrrh are nice, but what do you get the God who has everything?)  Christmas is coming, ready or not.  And thank God for that!  Because if He waited for me to be ready, He'd be waiting a long, long, long, really long time.  Alleluia!

3 Reasons I Love Catholicism, Vol. 5

Linking up (belatedly) with California to Korea.

1.  Suffering

The thing about suffering in the Church is, you never suffer alone.

I don't mean that there is always someone somewhere praying for you, though maybe not by name.  I don't mean that you can go to any Catholic parish and a Saint Vincent de Paul Society will tend your material needs while a priest in a confessional hears out your spiritual ones.  I don't even mean the Eternal Presence of Christ in the sacrament of the Eucharist, though that's hardly a mild comfort.

I mean that God Himself knows what it is to suffer; that, if we believe in the eternal sacrifice and know that all of space and time is present before the Most High, God even now is intimately familiar with (what we might call) despair.  And that when our soul's agony cries out to heaven, He weeps with us, saying, "I too have cried out to God, asking why He has forsaken Me."

If I were not a Catholic, I don't know what I'd do with suffering.  It has been Christ crucified, and His silent company, that I've clung to in times of terrible sorrow.

That, and the knowledge that in Catholicism, suffering is not for nothing; it's never wasted.  Suffering can purify.  Suffering can heal.  Through Christ's sacrifice, it is made fruitful.  We can consecrate our suffering and join it to that of Christ on the cross, who said, "Behold!  I make all things new" (Rev.21:5).

2.  Community

Excepting the Arctic and Antarctic circles, and some remote Pacific islands (Pitcairn), the Catholic Church is literally universal.  It can be found in every country in the world.  The apostolic succession set up by Our Lord and the early Church has successfully withstood heresy, rebellion, war, schism, and modernity to remain One.  That's a pretty incredible feeling.  I can wander into a small Swiss village in the Alps one Sunday morning looking for Mass and find an active Catholic parish.*  I can kneel during the consecration of the Blessed Sacrament and be joined in adoration with all the other Catholics that day all over the world, present at the same exact sacrifice.

3.  Ceremony

Human beings thrive on ceremony.  It quenches an instinct as primal as the sex drive, evident from prehistory; surviving through folklore, myth, and artifacts; buried carefully with the beloved dead.  Even atheists happily practice superstitions, and cherish family customs passed down from generation to generation.  Children revere bedtime routines to the point of insisting the babysitter follow Mommy's nightly ritual: bath, book, lullaby . . . and don't forget to tuck her in, just so!  Ceremony is not meaningless but expresses the inseverable union of material reality and spiritual truth.  Since God became man, all matter is sanctified.

The Church recognizes and celebrates this, and gives us ceremony.  She might've interpreted Jesus's command to do this in memory of Me in the simplest of terms.  Many "Bible churches" do.  But every action blesses and enriches.  So the incense and the chanting in Latin; the kneeling and fabric-draped altar; the lips touching crucifixes and colors of candles are for us as much as they are for Him we worship.  We were created as works of art, and our every act of living should be a sublime performance.

Even the simple act of blessing is a ceremony--not a mere thought of good will or a spoken word but a kind of dance.  The lifting of the hand, the touching of the forehead--down to the chest, across the shoulders--to trace a cross in the air, like a magic spell.

----------

*This really happened to me.

29/52

"A portrait of my child, once a week, every week, in 2013."

Whether we're going up or down the stairs is irrelevant.  It's always an uphill climb.  We like to take our time on the steps: one-two, one-two.  And sometimes we turn around and undo our progress, which Mama does not like if we are in a hurry.  We stop to examine the shoes outside of the neighbors' apartment.  We experiment by dropping our pacifier between the railings.

When I look back on the months, I am astounded.  I have been doing this, and doing it on my own for about seven months, while my husband prepares for our emigration back in Wales.  Doing it through financial hardship, and mental illness, and broken family relationships, and depression.  But also through amazing moments of grace and joys so acute they're almost painful.  I'm kind of breathless.  It's like when you've climbed a mountain, and you don't realize how far you've come until you stop and turn around; see the valleys and the roofs of houses peppered on the green, no bigger than mushrooms.

I remember climbing mountains like that in the heart of German Switzerland.  It was, probably, the most beautiful place I've ever been on earth.  Though I feel similarly about Wales, Ecuador, and Italy, so far, those ice-capped mountains are the most sublime of beauties I've yet encountered.

Thinking back on it, trying to conjure my feelings of the time tends to evade me.  But this afternoon, as I was driving with my son in that deep yellow summer light, the road sped sleek and the green ground to my left fell away from it, tumbling into a small hollow.  I thought, "How beautiful for the homes and people who look out onto this every day!"  Then I looked to my right and felt again what I felt in the Alps, almost a decade ago, that sunny September: my soul was most bright and open when I faced upward.  

No matter how often I turned, panting, to look at the steep and sheer paths I had crossed, I was compelled to turn forward again, to face the upward climb, even when I was too tired to go on.  Somehow, the curve of the unseen, and the height looking like it couldn't possibly go any further--if I could only mount that summit--was my preferred direction.  At the same time, it was the knowing that it could go on and on, right into the firmament, but be more and more of the same, always up and up, that turned me toward it like a daisy with her face to the sun.  And when, at the end of the day, finally exhausted, thirsty, footsore, and hungry for oxygen, it was with disappointment that I turned away from the upward climb and headed down again.

Lewis writes in his final Narnia chronicle of the children running without ever losing breath, up and up and up the mountains, and all creation shouting, "Come further up, come further in!"  After Switzerland, I "got it," in one way.  Maybe now I "get it" in another.

The Week

Not to be read as "the week" but as "The Week."

The Holy Father announced his resignation for the end of the month; we celebrated Fat Tuesday with ice cream and birthday cake; Wednesday brought my little one birthday presents and ashes; on Thursday, Saint Valentine got veiled attention from the rest of the secular world, but we didn't get our box of chocolates because we've joined my friend Masha's family in a Byzantine fast.

And today is Friday.  What wonderful things does the world have in store for us today?

Inconvenience Rightly Considered

At the request of a couple of friends, an update.  2012, in retrospect, has seen me through tremendous change, most of it painful but necessary.  Chesterton says,

"An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered.  An inconvenience is an adventure wrongly considered."  

The same could be said for tragedy.  Suffering is only opportunity wrongly considered.
In that vein, I've had one of the most fulfilling and productive years in my life.

I'm on the second draft of my First Story; learning, and loving what I'm learning, all the time; making new friendships and acquaintances and strengthening old ones; digging and getting a lot of poisonous, self-sabotaging thinking and tendencies out of my system; witnessing the cycle of new life in the world (welcome, Sal!); making my home my own; watching my wonderful son become even more and more wonderful before my very eyes; publishing some poetry, growing as an artist, and nurturing two blogs; and seeing my beautiful and best friend meet the man God's made for her in a whirlwind of answered prayers, abandonment to faith, and a revelation that everyone deserves happiness--ending in an engagement!

What I would like to do in 2013:

Throw myself back into my faith whole-heartedly, by making time for Mass other than on Sundays, praying the Rosary, and going to Adoration; continue to write and edit at a reasonable-ranging-to-impressive pace; tend to my health, continuing in the precedent I set up before Christmas to keep all cane sugar and white starch out of the house, and moving forward with a doctor's appointment to get things checked out once-for-all, even if the out-of-pocket expenses hurt; potty train the little one; learn even more; read more; try to find the rhythm of  my own "domestic monastery" (thanks, Masha); make time for beauty and the present.

Also, a move to Wales is looking more and more like a reality.  We'll see.

When the rain comes . . .

When God Calls Your Bluff

Things are coming along slowly in the apartment.  It's just everything is happening all at once.  Not all of it is good.  A lot of it is bad, actually.

We've been in the valleys for going on two years now, despite our prayers.

When I think about why God may be giving us the cold shoulder (how it appears to poor, fallen me), I find myself saying something like, "I trust in You, God.  We need you to take care of us."

Then I remember my pitiful offering to do whatever He wants and to draw me closer to Him.  Supposing He were to take me up on the offer.  Supposing He is.  What if all this difficulty and suffering is just God trying to draw me closer, to force me to abandon all my control in the intoxication of His infinity?  

Don't I feel silly?  Here God is, calling my bluff.

Lucky for me (and everybody), He's not like that.  He's not just calling my bluff; His goal isn't to say to me, "Nah-nah-nah, you said you wanted to do this, but I knew you didn't really mean it, and now you know it too."

The baby sports his American flag t-shirt.

Instead, He takes my half-acknowledged consent--because all He needs is the slightest spark of desire as an invitation, He's that eager--and shuts things down one by one, until all that is left is me and Him, and we are forced to look at each other.

Abandonment is hard, though, because letting go of control is scary.




Speaking of not surrendering, the American bishops have designated the two weeks leading up to and including Independence Day as  a special time of prayer, study, and public action in order to fight against the prosecution of the Catholic Church inherent in but not limited to the HHS Mandate.

That's right.  We're going to Daddy.

If necessary, we will go down fighting.  Don't believe us?  Google the number of Catholic martyrs.

Won't you join us in this Fortnight for Freedom?

Tuesdays with Mary: Ever-Virgin

You've heard of Tuesdays with Morrie, that self-help, feel-good nonfiction account of a sports reporter's last days with his dying professor (may he, through the mercy of God, rest in peace).  I read it and admit I wasn't too impressed.  It seemed to me that Morrie's trite, New Age views of life and death left a lot to be lacking.

Maybe for the religiously disinclined, Tuesdays offered some spiritual insights and an introduction to contemplative thought.  But for those of us raised on the Living Bread of the Eucharist and the milk of Mother Church, it tastes a tad stale.

I propose instead Tuesdays with Mary.

Our Blessed Mother and Holy Lady, ever eager to point us to Christ, to take us by the hand if necessary, tells us, "Do whatever He tells you."

I don't get some Christians' fervent insistence that she was known by her husband Saint Joseph and went on to bear other children after the birth of Christ.  In one book I have been reading, a character confides that she cannot imagine what a virgin woman would know of life and suffering.

The obvious answer is: she knew a great deal of suffering, for the sword in her heart at baby Jesus's presentation did not let her rest easy in the hope of a long and fulfilling life for her child.  But that is not my point today.

What fascinates me about Mary is that God made her, through His grace, accessible to all women, by allowing her to become and remain both mother and virgin.  These are (generally speaking) the two states of womanhood, and while both are precious and honored, they cannot logically exist together.

Except in Mary.

Mary is, like always, the Great Exception (excepted from sin, excepted from death).  She is the Woman of Revelations in scripture and in that role an archetype and representative of all women, but also our ideal.

So naturally, when people wonder why it is so important that Mary remains a virgin, the first reply my thoughts fly to is 

How could she be otherwise?