For my next Catholic Company review, I chose to read the book about the stories behind the movie Bella.
But, although I know the movie's premise, I have yet to watch it.
Note to self: subject for another post---how to squeeze in watching a feature length film when the oldest kid heads to bed at nine and you can't make it up past 10...
So, to those of you who have seen it...do I pull an all-nighter and try to see the movie first, or should I just go ahead and read the book before the movie?
Showing posts with label what else don't I know. Show all posts
Showing posts with label what else don't I know. Show all posts
Monday, April 06, 2009
Friday, August 08, 2008
And Jesus Wept
There's been no shortage of heated debates found in the blogosphere lately (Remind me to tell you the story of Disco Jesus another day...). The most recent, however, has touched a nerve with women on both sides of the issue--including yours truly.
Now, not that anyone in cyberspace cares one iota about what this mom thinks, but for my own mental health...in the confines of my own corner of the web...I've got something to say.
I had the privilege of hearing Fr. Larry Richards speak at our parish earlier this year. With several non-practicing Catholic Christians and many separated brethren in our extended family, one thing he said firmly implanted itself in my most plebeian mind. He said, "We do better to welcome people into the Church by loving them than by arguing with them." I might add, even if we know they are misguided--or just plain wrong. Another great mom, whose company I miss very much, was fond of saying, "Jesus will reveal that to them Himself." And, as regardless of the issue, she didn't force herself on the person, but continued to love them and pray for them...right where they were and wouldn't you know it if Jesus didn't do just that.
He's like that, isn't He?
And, I think about Him a great deal when we attack and tear down one another all in His name. Oh, the great sorrow Our Lord must feel. But you know who gets the last laugh, don't you? It's not the one with the best documented response or the most cutting retort or even the one who gets the final say. Oh no, for those people have been played by the Lord's most cunning rival.
The Devil.
You don't believe me? Go and read some of the *charitable* comments that were left in response to the multitude of posts linked here. If the Devil wasn't already dancing as Christ's Church splintered off into tens of thousands of different denominations, he's surely looked upon our latest means of self-destruction and began a cha-cha to envy Fred Astaire.
Even the Catholic Church, in all of her wisdom, acknowledges that while the faithful are still called to lovingly evangelize, that God--in ways known only to Him--can lead those ignorant of His message to Him and to "a faith without which it is impossible to please Him." (CCC, 848)
Doesn't this all really come down to a matter of humility?
Try as I might to live in God's friendship and follow Him faithfully--at the end of the day, I am still painfully human--a walking disaster of weakness and flaws. And God is, was and always will be, well, God--full of mercy and forgiveness and an unconditional love so powerful we can't begin to comprehend or interpret it. And we would be arrogant to try. But God knows this and so He doesn't ask this of us. What He does ask is that we share His love with others. And with His help and much grace, He knows we can.
"Love one another as I have loved you." John 13:34
"Love God with all your heart, mind and soul. Love your neighbor as yourself." Matthew 22:37-39
There's been no shortage of heated debates found in the blogosphere lately (Remind me to tell you the story of Disco Jesus another day...). The most recent, however, has touched a nerve with women on both sides of the issue--including yours truly.
Now, not that anyone in cyberspace cares one iota about what this mom thinks, but for my own mental health...in the confines of my own corner of the web...I've got something to say.
I had the privilege of hearing Fr. Larry Richards speak at our parish earlier this year. With several non-practicing Catholic Christians and many separated brethren in our extended family, one thing he said firmly implanted itself in my most plebeian mind. He said, "We do better to welcome people into the Church by loving them than by arguing with them." I might add, even if we know they are misguided--or just plain wrong. Another great mom, whose company I miss very much, was fond of saying, "Jesus will reveal that to them Himself." And, as regardless of the issue, she didn't force herself on the person, but continued to love them and pray for them...right where they were and wouldn't you know it if Jesus didn't do just that.
He's like that, isn't He?
And, I think about Him a great deal when we attack and tear down one another all in His name. Oh, the great sorrow Our Lord must feel. But you know who gets the last laugh, don't you? It's not the one with the best documented response or the most cutting retort or even the one who gets the final say. Oh no, for those people have been played by the Lord's most cunning rival.
The Devil.
You don't believe me? Go and read some of the *charitable* comments that were left in response to the multitude of posts linked here. If the Devil wasn't already dancing as Christ's Church splintered off into tens of thousands of different denominations, he's surely looked upon our latest means of self-destruction and began a cha-cha to envy Fred Astaire.
Even the Catholic Church, in all of her wisdom, acknowledges that while the faithful are still called to lovingly evangelize, that God--in ways known only to Him--can lead those ignorant of His message to Him and to "a faith without which it is impossible to please Him." (CCC, 848)
Doesn't this all really come down to a matter of humility?
If we were humble, nothing would change us--neither praise nor discouragement.
If someone were to criticize us, we would not feel discouraged.
If someone would praise us, we also would not feel proud.
--Blessed Teresa of Calcutta
If someone were to criticize us, we would not feel discouraged.
If someone would praise us, we also would not feel proud.
--Blessed Teresa of Calcutta
Try as I might to live in God's friendship and follow Him faithfully--at the end of the day, I am still painfully human--a walking disaster of weakness and flaws. And God is, was and always will be, well, God--full of mercy and forgiveness and an unconditional love so powerful we can't begin to comprehend or interpret it. And we would be arrogant to try. But God knows this and so He doesn't ask this of us. What He does ask is that we share His love with others. And with His help and much grace, He knows we can.
"Love one another as I have loved you." John 13:34
"Love God with all your heart, mind and soul. Love your neighbor as yourself." Matthew 22:37-39
Monday, May 19, 2008
It's been said that the devil is in the details. And I wouldn't argue with that myself. Having seen and been on the receiving end of too many little things gone awry, I know firsthand how easily the devil meets me in my weakness in those moments. What I hadn't stopped to think about much until now, is that, if I stop for a minute to give the devil his due and not allow myself to become captive to his tactics, I'd remember that God is always there.
Several times over the last week, there has been ample opportunity for me to buy into the lies of the devil over what is, in reality, small stuff.
About 20 minutes from home, my gas-guzzling SUV began to overheat...with all six kids in tow and me alone at the wheel. Watching the needle of the thermostat cross the middle line and head for that tiny red danger zone, my anxiety and frustration mounted. The fact that my husband was an hour away, that a toddler-sized version of WWF was taking place in the back seat or that one of my children kept chiming in with, "Is the car going to blow up?" did not assuage my nerves.
Almost a week to the day later, after dropping The Boy at track practice, the three little ones and I sat enjoying an evening "make-up" soccer game for the big girls. Until my cell phone rang. As the game played on, The Captain informed me that his car had decided it liked first gear so much, that with complete disregard for the posted speed limits, it wasn't going over 20 miles per hour. Did I mention The Boy, located twenty minutes from the soccer game, now needed a ride home? Physically, I felt all the muscles in my neck and shoulders tighten.
You all know the continuing saga of the homestudy. So, I won't even repeat it here. I'll just add that the final adoption-related straw fell sometime during these car crises.
Not to mention work, family, school and the like; each of which has come bearing its own challenges--some minor, some not-so-much.
Muddling through each of these situations (and muddling may be too generous a word for my handling of some of these scenarios) did nothing but leave me feeling, well, alone. Like there was no way anyone else in the world could possibly understand what I was going through.
Peering out my front window, I saw uninvited company--fear, doubt and worry making their way to my door. Hand on the door knob, ready to open it, I felt a dark presence and a cold chill blow through my front hallway. Suddenly, I realized, the devil had me right where he wanted me--believing his lies, feeling alone when nothing was further from the Truth.
The truth was that on each of those separate occasions God was with me:
- My car made it the last few miles to the local garage, which was
coincidentallymiraculously still open, before "blowing up". - My husband's car, which would require a new transmission, had an extended warranty on it that we didn't know about. Total repair cost? One hundred dollars.
- Our homestudy, dare I say, has finally left Catholic Charities for approval.
My grace is sufficient for you: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.
2 Corinthians 12:9
2 Corinthians 12:9
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Caveat Emptor (or more lessons learned from the Brady Bunch)
Just because it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck doesn't mean it's a duck. Sometimes you have to look more closely to make sure it's not a loon.
Last night, after the little ones were in bed, Beulah paged through her bible and suddenly piped up with this "fast fact" from the book of St. James. "James was Jesus' brother?!" she demanded. Surely, I thought, it had gotten too late or her young eyes were failing her. Quickly, I had the book in my hands and seconds later, after having scanned the "fact box" I had shoved the book under the Captain's nose in shock! My family and I have enjoyed many fine Catholic products from the self-proclaimed Catholic store where we purchased not one, but TWO of these bible. Knowing that we were ordering from a company that is faithful to the Church's teaching was and is very important to us. Originally, we purchased two Catholic Youth Bibles, but received a phone call from the company that they were unavailable. However, they offered the only other "kids" bible they had in stock. It was called the Kid's Life Application bible, and in good faith, on the reputation of the company, I accepted the replacement.
I am not certain if you are aware (we certainly weren't), but if you are purchasing bibles for your children, this translation does NOT include all the books of the Catholic bible. It is missing the Deuterocanonical books: Tobias, Judith, the Wisdom of Solomon, Baruch, and Maccabees. In addition, included in one of the "fast facts" boxes in the book of James is information explaining James as Jesus' brother, having the same parents, living in the same house, which would be contrary to the Church's teaching.
This information is not to debate Church teaching about the relationship between James, Joseph and Jesus (but if you are interested in that, you can read about it here), only to make future buyers aware, that even the most reputable of sources can make a mistake now and then. And it's up to us, as buyers, to do our homework.
Just because it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck doesn't mean it's a duck. Sometimes you have to look more closely to make sure it's not a loon.
Last night, after the little ones were in bed, Beulah paged through her bible and suddenly piped up with this "fast fact" from the book of St. James. "James was Jesus' brother?!" she demanded. Surely, I thought, it had gotten too late or her young eyes were failing her. Quickly, I had the book in my hands and seconds later, after having scanned the "fact box" I had shoved the book under the Captain's nose in shock! My family and I have enjoyed many fine Catholic products from the self-proclaimed Catholic store where we purchased not one, but TWO of these bible. Knowing that we were ordering from a company that is faithful to the Church's teaching was and is very important to us. Originally, we purchased two Catholic Youth Bibles, but received a phone call from the company that they were unavailable. However, they offered the only other "kids" bible they had in stock. It was called the Kid's Life Application bible, and in good faith, on the reputation of the company, I accepted the replacement.
I am not certain if you are aware (we certainly weren't), but if you are purchasing bibles for your children, this translation does NOT include all the books of the Catholic bible. It is missing the Deuterocanonical books: Tobias, Judith, the Wisdom of Solomon, Baruch, and Maccabees. In addition, included in one of the "fast facts" boxes in the book of James is information explaining James as Jesus' brother, having the same parents, living in the same house, which would be contrary to the Church's teaching.
This information is not to debate Church teaching about the relationship between James, Joseph and Jesus (but if you are interested in that, you can read about it here), only to make future buyers aware, that even the most reputable of sources can make a mistake now and then. And it's up to us, as buyers, to do our homework.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Birth Order
The last chapter in our couple's bible study was titled the Work of the Spirit.
I have to admit, the third person of the Trinity is kind of like the middle child in the family, in my opinion. Not nearly as strong a presence, nor the obvious a choice for class president as the oldest child. Neither as demanding or persistent or IN YOUR FACE as the baby of the family. Rather, the Spirit's ways are those of the quiet, unassuming (dare I say invisible?) middle child, who when we stop and take the time to listen offers splendid insight into the ordinary that might otherwise go unnoticed.
The last chapter in our couple's bible study was titled the Work of the Spirit.
I have to admit, the third person of the Trinity is kind of like the middle child in the family, in my opinion. Not nearly as strong a presence, nor the obvious a choice for class president as the oldest child. Neither as demanding or persistent or IN YOUR FACE as the baby of the family. Rather, the Spirit's ways are those of the quiet, unassuming (dare I say invisible?) middle child, who when we stop and take the time to listen offers splendid insight into the ordinary that might otherwise go unnoticed.
Prayer to the Holy Spirit
Breathe in me, O Holy Spirit, that my thoughts may all be holy.
Act in me, O Holy Spirit, that my work, too, may be holy.
Draw my heart, O Holy Spirit, that I love but what is holy.
Strengthen me, O Holy Spirit, to defend all that is holy.
Guard me, then, O Holy Spirit, that I always may be holy.
Amen.
-Saint Augustine of Hippo
Breathe in me, O Holy Spirit, that my thoughts may all be holy.
Act in me, O Holy Spirit, that my work, too, may be holy.
Draw my heart, O Holy Spirit, that I love but what is holy.
Strengthen me, O Holy Spirit, to defend all that is holy.
Guard me, then, O Holy Spirit, that I always may be holy.
Amen.
-Saint Augustine of Hippo
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Who's that knocking?
Tap, tap, tap...
In the middle of an overcrowded school gymnasium, with five of my six children nearly indistinguishable from the throngs of like-minded, donut propelled mini-shoppers; a tiny-but powerful-voice beckoned me, "Mommmmm!!!" "Just a minute!" I called over my shoulder, without looking up.
Then, nearly a whole TEN seconds later--
Tap, tap, tap...
"I said, 'Just a minute!'" I called out over the din of the junior high marketplace, which was now in full swing. The room was swimming with crazed children, clutching lengths of tickets as long as themselves, hopeful that there would be one last Popsicle-stick wishing well before inventory ran out. Trying to hear myself think, I took a deep breath, and was aiming to formulate a battle plan when, much to my chagrin, I again felt--
Tap, Tap, Tappity-tap!!!
With eyes blazing and completely devoid of grace, I spun around and barked, "WHAT?" at the face attached to the hand behind me. The face, I suddenly realized, that was not one of my children (who had all scattered like rats at that point), but another mother from the school, who looked at me wide-eyed and said, "Hi. Umm. We met before and I, well, I just wanted to say hi."
Embarrassed beyond all belief, I apologized for my behavior and explained that I don't normally greet people so rudely--even those I don't know. Fortunately for me, she had done that mile in my moccasins before and graciously accepted my apology. As we parted, I scanned the room for my kids. Olive branch in hand, I located them and we kissed and made-up, literally.
Out of my embarrassment, however, came a valuable lesson in humility. Would I have been so quick to ask forgiveness of my children had I not spoken so callously to another adult? The answer is not one I'd like to share, but I bet you can guess. The path to humility, as I am painfully learning, is paved with awkward situations such as these; but, through them, God seeks to awaken my humble spirit asleep inside.
Tap, tap, tap...
In the middle of an overcrowded school gymnasium, with five of my six children nearly indistinguishable from the throngs of like-minded, donut propelled mini-shoppers; a tiny-but powerful-voice beckoned me, "Mommmmm!!!" "Just a minute!" I called over my shoulder, without looking up.
Then, nearly a whole TEN seconds later--
Tap, tap, tap...
"I said, 'Just a minute!'" I called out over the din of the junior high marketplace, which was now in full swing. The room was swimming with crazed children, clutching lengths of tickets as long as themselves, hopeful that there would be one last Popsicle-stick wishing well before inventory ran out. Trying to hear myself think, I took a deep breath, and was aiming to formulate a battle plan when, much to my chagrin, I again felt--
Tap, Tap, Tappity-tap!!!
With eyes blazing and completely devoid of grace, I spun around and barked, "WHAT?" at the face attached to the hand behind me. The face, I suddenly realized, that was not one of my children (who had all scattered like rats at that point), but another mother from the school, who looked at me wide-eyed and said, "Hi. Umm. We met before and I, well, I just wanted to say hi."
Embarrassed beyond all belief, I apologized for my behavior and explained that I don't normally greet people so rudely--even those I don't know. Fortunately for me, she had done that mile in my moccasins before and graciously accepted my apology. As we parted, I scanned the room for my kids. Olive branch in hand, I located them and we kissed and made-up, literally.
Out of my embarrassment, however, came a valuable lesson in humility. Would I have been so quick to ask forgiveness of my children had I not spoken so callously to another adult? The answer is not one I'd like to share, but I bet you can guess. The path to humility, as I am painfully learning, is paved with awkward situations such as these; but, through them, God seeks to awaken my humble spirit asleep inside.
If we were humble, nothing would change us-neither praise nor discouragement.
If someone were to criticize us, we would not feel discouraged.
If someone were to praise us, we would not feel proud.
-Blessed Teresa of Calcutta
If someone were to criticize us, we would not feel discouraged.
If someone were to praise us, we would not feel proud.
-Blessed Teresa of Calcutta
Sunday, December 30, 2007
And the answers are...
1. Oh, member of the round table with missing areas = Oh Holy Night
2. Boulder of the tinkling metal spheres = Jingle Bell Rock
3. Vehicular homicide was committed on Dad's mom by a precipitous darling =
Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer
4. Wanted in December: top forward incisors = All I Want For Christmas Is My
Two Front Teeth
5. The apartment of two psychiatrists = The Nutcracker Suite
6. The lad is a diminutive percussionist = Little Drummer Boy
7. Sir Lancelot with laryngitis = Silent Night
8. Decorate the entryways = Deck the Halls
9. Cup-shaped instruments fashioned of a whitish metallic element = Silver
Bells
10. Oh small Israel urban center = Oh Little Town of Bethlehem
11. Far off in a haybin = Away in a Manger
12. We are Kong, Lear, and Nat Cole = We Three Kings
13. Duodecimal enumeration of the passage of the yuletide season = The Twelve
Days of Christmas
14. Leave and broadcast from an elevation = Go Tell It on the Mountain
15. Our fervent hope is that you thoroughly enjoy your yuletide season =
We Wish You a Merry Christmas
16. Listen, the winged heavenly messengers are proclaiming tunefully = Hark
the Herald Angels Sing
17. As the guardians of the woolly animals protected their charges in the
dark hours = Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night
18. I beheld a trio of nautical vessels moving in this direction = I Saw
Three Ships
19. Jubilation to the entire terrestrial globe = Joy to the World
20. Do you perceive the same vibrations which stimulate my auditory sense
organ? = Do You Hear What I Hear?
21. A joyful song of reverence relative to hollow metallic vessels which
vibrate and bring forth a ringing sound when struck = Carol of the Bells
22. Parent was observed osculating a red-coated unshaven teamster = I Saw
Mommy Kissing Santa Claus
23. May the Deity bestow an absence of fatigue to mild male humans = God Rest
Ye Merry Gentlemen
24. Rose-colored uncouth dolf is aware of the nature of precipitation, darling =
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
So, how'd you do? (I mean BEFORE you googled the quiz) I was only able to identify about half of them. Anybody else?
1. Oh, member of the round table with missing areas = Oh Holy Night
2. Boulder of the tinkling metal spheres = Jingle Bell Rock
3. Vehicular homicide was committed on Dad's mom by a precipitous darling =
Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer
4. Wanted in December: top forward incisors = All I Want For Christmas Is My
Two Front Teeth
5. The apartment of two psychiatrists = The Nutcracker Suite
6. The lad is a diminutive percussionist = Little Drummer Boy
7. Sir Lancelot with laryngitis = Silent Night
8. Decorate the entryways = Deck the Halls
9. Cup-shaped instruments fashioned of a whitish metallic element = Silver
Bells
10. Oh small Israel urban center = Oh Little Town of Bethlehem
11. Far off in a haybin = Away in a Manger
12. We are Kong, Lear, and Nat Cole = We Three Kings
13. Duodecimal enumeration of the passage of the yuletide season = The Twelve
Days of Christmas
14. Leave and broadcast from an elevation = Go Tell It on the Mountain
15. Our fervent hope is that you thoroughly enjoy your yuletide season =
We Wish You a Merry Christmas
16. Listen, the winged heavenly messengers are proclaiming tunefully = Hark
the Herald Angels Sing
17. As the guardians of the woolly animals protected their charges in the
dark hours = Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night
18. I beheld a trio of nautical vessels moving in this direction = I Saw
Three Ships
19. Jubilation to the entire terrestrial globe = Joy to the World
20. Do you perceive the same vibrations which stimulate my auditory sense
organ? = Do You Hear What I Hear?
21. A joyful song of reverence relative to hollow metallic vessels which
vibrate and bring forth a ringing sound when struck = Carol of the Bells
22. Parent was observed osculating a red-coated unshaven teamster = I Saw
Mommy Kissing Santa Claus
23. May the Deity bestow an absence of fatigue to mild male humans = God Rest
Ye Merry Gentlemen
24. Rose-colored uncouth dolf is aware of the nature of precipitation, darling =
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
So, how'd you do? (I mean BEFORE you googled the quiz) I was only able to identify about half of them. Anybody else?
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Jury's still out on this one
The other night The Boy alerted me to a program on TLC featuring a large family. He suggested that I might like it and since he hadn't watched the whole show, he presumed that perhaps some (or all) of the children were adopted.
Well, as the Captain and I (okay, so the main flipper was not so much me) flipped back and forth between sports telecasts (see, I told you I didn't have the remote...) we happened upon the show.
I'd tell you the name, but you'll just have to click on the link-because truth be told, the mother frightens me a little and I'm not sure I want to be one of her google search results.
Needless to say, I only meant to watch for a few minutes to learn more about the family but a combination of disgust, disbelief and the occasional moments of great compassion, I watched the whole entire show. And I'm still not sure what the point of it is.
It is not about an adoptive family.
It is not about the joys and sorrows of fertility drugs and multiple births.
It is also not an ode to the joys and sorrows of life with a large family (or a family of any size for that matter.)
Honestly, I'm not sure what it is about. There were moments when it seemed as though perhaps a demo tape for the Supernanny show had accidentally been aired. There were other moments when I was waiting for the camera to flashback to Oprah or Dr. Phil and their live studio audiences waiting to help this couple work out their issues on national TV. Perhaps it was a contest to see if any person in real life could possibly be more OCD than Adrian Monk (This mother of 8 children 6 and under washes her kitchen floor-on her hands and knees-three times a day.)
Their life is not for my judgement, (although I guess I've already done that, huh?), but it is just one more program under the guise of reality television that allows/requires/eggs on people to act in ways that show them at their worst, while most of the good gets left on the editing room floor. I am fairly certain that raising 8 kids is no walk in the park. I can be 100 percent sure that raising 6 is hard; and that try as we might, the Captain and I and our Ark crew get things wrong just as often as we get them right, which is why you have not and will not see us on the next big reality show. But I can assuredly say that we have more good times than bad, more happiness than sadness, and more love than we deserve on most days. And if I'm not mistaken, and we dug around on the cutting room floor, I bet we'd find that their family does too.
So, what's your take? Has anyone else seen this show? Or am I tuning into something that's now playing in repeats on Nick at Nite...
The other night The Boy alerted me to a program on TLC featuring a large family. He suggested that I might like it and since he hadn't watched the whole show, he presumed that perhaps some (or all) of the children were adopted.
Well, as the Captain and I (okay, so the main flipper was not so much me) flipped back and forth between sports telecasts (see, I told you I didn't have the remote...) we happened upon the show.
I'd tell you the name, but you'll just have to click on the link-because truth be told, the mother frightens me a little and I'm not sure I want to be one of her google search results.
Needless to say, I only meant to watch for a few minutes to learn more about the family but a combination of disgust, disbelief and the occasional moments of great compassion, I watched the whole entire show. And I'm still not sure what the point of it is.
It is not about an adoptive family.
It is not about the joys and sorrows of fertility drugs and multiple births.
It is also not an ode to the joys and sorrows of life with a large family (or a family of any size for that matter.)
Honestly, I'm not sure what it is about. There were moments when it seemed as though perhaps a demo tape for the Supernanny show had accidentally been aired. There were other moments when I was waiting for the camera to flashback to Oprah or Dr. Phil and their live studio audiences waiting to help this couple work out their issues on national TV. Perhaps it was a contest to see if any person in real life could possibly be more OCD than Adrian Monk (This mother of 8 children 6 and under washes her kitchen floor-on her hands and knees-three times a day.)
Their life is not for my judgement, (although I guess I've already done that, huh?), but it is just one more program under the guise of reality television that allows/requires/eggs on people to act in ways that show them at their worst, while most of the good gets left on the editing room floor. I am fairly certain that raising 8 kids is no walk in the park. I can be 100 percent sure that raising 6 is hard; and that try as we might, the Captain and I and our Ark crew get things wrong just as often as we get them right, which is why you have not and will not see us on the next big reality show. But I can assuredly say that we have more good times than bad, more happiness than sadness, and more love than we deserve on most days. And if I'm not mistaken, and we dug around on the cutting room floor, I bet we'd find that their family does too.
So, what's your take? Has anyone else seen this show? Or am I tuning into something that's now playing in repeats on Nick at Nite...
Thursday, September 13, 2007
In order to understand...
Why would I bother to write about the ongoing local struggle to keep PP out of our community? There are many reasons, some very specific to the PP organization while others are more simple and recite a soliloquy about the dignity of all life.
Having a dear friend who recently gave birth to a stillborn baby with Trisomy 18, I can see why someone might decide that termination is less of a "burden" for themselves and their spouse and children. The reality is though, as Christians, if we truly believe that God is the author of life and it is His divine will as to when a life begins and when a life ends, it is not about what we decide is a "burden". To paraphrase speaker and author Christopher West, if Grandma's suffering is a burden, we can wait for her to die a natural death or help the process along. The end result is the same thing-Dead Grandma. The same could be said about saying "goodbye early" to an unborn baby whose future may contain suffering or poor health, except in this country one is legal and one is not.
Many blessings come from the lives of children who have genetic and chromosomal abnormalities. I have another dear friend with a beautiful daughter with Down Syndrome and another a son with Down Syndrome. I don't suppose they would have chosen this "burden" for themselves, but I also can't help but wonder if, looking back now, would say, "Gee, I really wish I'd had that abortion." Another mother wrote about her "Wonderboy" here and the joy his life, while not the *norm*, has brought her and her family.
It is a grace from God for a parent and family to endure a difficult pregnancy, stillbirth or disabled child, but it is also a gift-one that we shouldn't think so flippantly about throwing away.
Just so you know where I'm coming from.
Why would I bother to write about the ongoing local struggle to keep PP out of our community? There are many reasons, some very specific to the PP organization while others are more simple and recite a soliloquy about the dignity of all life.
Having a dear friend who recently gave birth to a stillborn baby with Trisomy 18, I can see why someone might decide that termination is less of a "burden" for themselves and their spouse and children. The reality is though, as Christians, if we truly believe that God is the author of life and it is His divine will as to when a life begins and when a life ends, it is not about what we decide is a "burden". To paraphrase speaker and author Christopher West, if Grandma's suffering is a burden, we can wait for her to die a natural death or help the process along. The end result is the same thing-Dead Grandma. The same could be said about saying "goodbye early" to an unborn baby whose future may contain suffering or poor health, except in this country one is legal and one is not.
Many blessings come from the lives of children who have genetic and chromosomal abnormalities. I have another dear friend with a beautiful daughter with Down Syndrome and another a son with Down Syndrome. I don't suppose they would have chosen this "burden" for themselves, but I also can't help but wonder if, looking back now, would say, "Gee, I really wish I'd had that abortion." Another mother wrote about her "Wonderboy" here and the joy his life, while not the *norm*, has brought her and her family.
It is a grace from God for a parent and family to endure a difficult pregnancy, stillbirth or disabled child, but it is also a gift-one that we shouldn't think so flippantly about throwing away.
Just so you know where I'm coming from.
"When we consider that women are treated as property, it is degrading to women that we should treat our children as property to be disposed of as we see fit."
Elizabeth Cady Stanton, American Feminist, 1873
Source: Feminists for Life
Elizabeth Cady Stanton, American Feminist, 1873
Source: Feminists for Life
Monday, September 10, 2007
Changed
Tomorrow my two youngest daughters begin their first *official* day of preschool. Some of you might think I'm revving up for a big celebration-being left with only ONE child at home tomorrow morning. Those of you who know me better might be thinking that I'm walking around the house a tad melancholy tonight, eyeing baby pictures of my now 3 and 4 year old girls, fingering the material of their tiny first day of school outfits, letting my good night hugs linger just a moment longer than normal as I tuck them in to bed.
Actually, you'd all be a little bit right, but you'd be a little bit wrong, too.
Tomorrow, this special "first" in our world has a dark shadow cast upon it. Tomorrow is September 11th. Not even a decade ago, the mere mention of that date wouldn't cause anyone to raise an eyebrow anymore than if I'd said April 8th. Now, people inquiring about the start of preschool hear the words "September 11th" and simply nod their head in unspoken mourning for all events with the poor misfortune of occurring on that date.
On the first September 11th, I remember precisely where I was, where my husband, children and loved ones were. I can remember the clear, crisp blue sky as I drove up route 52 on my way to Pine Bush Elementary School. In waves, memories of that day cross my mind when the date of September 11th is announced: the intercom calling the first (of many) of my students out of class unexpectedly, the announcement minus any explanation for classrooms to begin lockdown procedures, the face of the assistant principal scrunched up against my classroom window beckoning me toward her, the crackle of the walkie talkie in her hand as she blurted out, "The country is under attack." handing my last student over to his parent and racing out of the building desperate to find my husband and children, the long walk up the sidewalk to my girlfriend's house where the comfort of my husband's arms gathered what little of me was left and held it together, the sounds of the innocent, unknowing footsteps of our children playing two floors above with their friends, the phone call from our principal that night declaring that school would be open the next day-we needed to be there for the children, hanging up wondering who, then, would be there for us, and falling asleep (or at least trying) to the Fox News crew attempting to make sense of the senseless-of that day-September 11th. The normalcy of that date abruptly vanished .
It will be many years before someone hears the date and doesn't stop to remember how their life changed on that day. My prayer is that in their future my youngest daughters will relish a bit of a return to normalcy on this date; that someone will ask them the significance of September 11th and they'll have to delve deep into their memories to respond, "September 11th? Oh yeah, that's the day we started preschool."
Tomorrow my two youngest daughters begin their first *official* day of preschool. Some of you might think I'm revving up for a big celebration-being left with only ONE child at home tomorrow morning. Those of you who know me better might be thinking that I'm walking around the house a tad melancholy tonight, eyeing baby pictures of my now 3 and 4 year old girls, fingering the material of their tiny first day of school outfits, letting my good night hugs linger just a moment longer than normal as I tuck them in to bed.
Actually, you'd all be a little bit right, but you'd be a little bit wrong, too.
Tomorrow, this special "first" in our world has a dark shadow cast upon it. Tomorrow is September 11th. Not even a decade ago, the mere mention of that date wouldn't cause anyone to raise an eyebrow anymore than if I'd said April 8th. Now, people inquiring about the start of preschool hear the words "September 11th" and simply nod their head in unspoken mourning for all events with the poor misfortune of occurring on that date.
On the first September 11th, I remember precisely where I was, where my husband, children and loved ones were. I can remember the clear, crisp blue sky as I drove up route 52 on my way to Pine Bush Elementary School. In waves, memories of that day cross my mind when the date of September 11th is announced: the intercom calling the first (of many) of my students out of class unexpectedly, the announcement minus any explanation for classrooms to begin lockdown procedures, the face of the assistant principal scrunched up against my classroom window beckoning me toward her, the crackle of the walkie talkie in her hand as she blurted out, "The country is under attack." handing my last student over to his parent and racing out of the building desperate to find my husband and children, the long walk up the sidewalk to my girlfriend's house where the comfort of my husband's arms gathered what little of me was left and held it together, the sounds of the innocent, unknowing footsteps of our children playing two floors above with their friends, the phone call from our principal that night declaring that school would be open the next day-we needed to be there for the children, hanging up wondering who, then, would be there for us, and falling asleep (or at least trying) to the Fox News crew attempting to make sense of the senseless-of that day-September 11th. The normalcy of that date abruptly vanished .
It will be many years before someone hears the date and doesn't stop to remember how their life changed on that day. My prayer is that in their future my youngest daughters will relish a bit of a return to normalcy on this date; that someone will ask them the significance of September 11th and they'll have to delve deep into their memories to respond, "September 11th? Oh yeah, that's the day we started preschool."
Friday, July 06, 2007
Sisterly vows
Let me preface this by saying that I may be completely off base here. I mean there was that time in high school when the sister who taught my French class tapped her closely-trimmed, practically designed, nunnly hands on my desk and I caught sight of the single gold band on her left ring finger. I thought I'd uncovered a scandal so big that, well, I couldn't believe that she'd be so bold as to walk around blatantly advertising her illicit marriage. Needless to say, many, many years later some kinder, gentler and much wiser person explained to me the significance of her ring. I was pretty happy that I'd decided to let her secret stay just that.
Now, this is not nearly as scandalous a story, but I think I need to re-examine the vows that our dear sisters take. If I'm not mistaken, theirs are vows of chastity, obedience, and poverty; which would imply to me that a nun's life is simple, lacking in an overabundance of material goods. So this morning, when I volunteered to help my mother-in-law to clean out the kitchen at the school's convent, I mistakenly thought the entire job would be finished in a couple of hours. To say the very least, the job will continue into the next week, probably the next month and quite possibly until the dear sisters have long since settled into their new convent (which shouldn't take long, given the amount of stuff that was left in the old digs).
At present, I am running loads of place mats, potholders and dish towels through my laundry. If cleanliness is next to godliness, then one of the sister's forgot to embroider it on one of their many kitchen wall hangings. In the two hours I had allotted, we managed to NOT wash down the walls, NOT wash down the cabinets, NOT wash the inside of the cabinets (with what we found out today was nearly 50 years worth of accumulated kitchen paraphernalia), NOT sweep the floor, NOT wash the floor, NOT wash down the counter tops or NOT clean out any small appliances. We did, however, get a tremendous head start on sorting and boxing things up for the school's rummage sale this fall. (Ed Note: If you are in need of 30 different types of nutcrackers, spatulas of the wood, plastic, metal persuasion or any combination thereof, or perhaps you're just missing 7 colored wicker paper plate holders-only burned once...then you'll want to mark the rummage sale on your calendar.)
Don't misunderstand this little anecdote, either. I love the sisters who work with our kids. I truly feel that our children are loved by them as if they were their own. And having an opportunity to go "behind the habit" as it were, gives me a little insight into the lives that on the outside seem so perfectly simple. It also sheds a little light on my one extremely right-brained daughter, who leaves "stuff" in her wake as she moves throughout the house during the day, that maybe her considering becoming a nun isn't such a far reach for her after all.
Let me preface this by saying that I may be completely off base here. I mean there was that time in high school when the sister who taught my French class tapped her closely-trimmed, practically designed, nunnly hands on my desk and I caught sight of the single gold band on her left ring finger. I thought I'd uncovered a scandal so big that, well, I couldn't believe that she'd be so bold as to walk around blatantly advertising her illicit marriage. Needless to say, many, many years later some kinder, gentler and much wiser person explained to me the significance of her ring. I was pretty happy that I'd decided to let her secret stay just that.
Now, this is not nearly as scandalous a story, but I think I need to re-examine the vows that our dear sisters take. If I'm not mistaken, theirs are vows of chastity, obedience, and poverty; which would imply to me that a nun's life is simple, lacking in an overabundance of material goods. So this morning, when I volunteered to help my mother-in-law to clean out the kitchen at the school's convent, I mistakenly thought the entire job would be finished in a couple of hours. To say the very least, the job will continue into the next week, probably the next month and quite possibly until the dear sisters have long since settled into their new convent (which shouldn't take long, given the amount of stuff that was left in the old digs).
At present, I am running loads of place mats, potholders and dish towels through my laundry. If cleanliness is next to godliness, then one of the sister's forgot to embroider it on one of their many kitchen wall hangings. In the two hours I had allotted, we managed to NOT wash down the walls, NOT wash down the cabinets, NOT wash the inside of the cabinets (with what we found out today was nearly 50 years worth of accumulated kitchen paraphernalia), NOT sweep the floor, NOT wash the floor, NOT wash down the counter tops or NOT clean out any small appliances. We did, however, get a tremendous head start on sorting and boxing things up for the school's rummage sale this fall. (Ed Note: If you are in need of 30 different types of nutcrackers, spatulas of the wood, plastic, metal persuasion or any combination thereof, or perhaps you're just missing 7 colored wicker paper plate holders-only burned once...then you'll want to mark the rummage sale on your calendar.)
Don't misunderstand this little anecdote, either. I love the sisters who work with our kids. I truly feel that our children are loved by them as if they were their own. And having an opportunity to go "behind the habit" as it were, gives me a little insight into the lives that on the outside seem so perfectly simple. It also sheds a little light on my one extremely right-brained daughter, who leaves "stuff" in her wake as she moves throughout the house during the day, that maybe her considering becoming a nun isn't such a far reach for her after all.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Great cards!
I hadn't realized that Pauline Press, in addition to offering wonderful books and media, also had these very cool (and suprisingly free!) ecards on their website.
I hadn't realized that Pauline Press, in addition to offering wonderful books and media, also had these very cool (and suprisingly free!) ecards on their website.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Couldn't it just be easy?
It would seem like it should, right?
BTW, I'm talking about attachment here...and in particular, between adopted parents and their children.
Before our two Ethiopian children arrived (nearly 7 months ago now!) we read up on attachment and adoption. We dusted off my old grad school course books and even a paper I wrote (that was published way back then) about secure attachment in children. We *thought* we were prepared.
As you may already know, or will learn from reading our story, God and I tend to have an unsigned agreement with each other. I pick a topic, invest loads of time and energy into it, discuss the topic with friends and maybe even share some of my wisdom with a lucky few and then, just when I think I know what I'm talking about---WHAM!!!---God reminds me that I'm really not the one in control and oh, by the way, I don't have all the answers and maybe, (insert big gasp) I don't even know what I'm talking about.
So, as we've been feeling pretty confident on this attachment journey thus far, it should have occured to me that another fairly large (read: God-sized) shoe was about to drop. I should clarify by explaining that Baby T did not decide to run off and join the circus as the bearded woman or some other such nonsense nor did H not take off for parts unknown or lock herself in her bedroom refusing to leave the house or (heaven help me) unbraid all of her newly braided hair in protest. No, this time it was something much more subtle and something which has cropped up several times over the past few weeks, given the time of year. And it was one for which we had not planned.
This time, it was the bad side to the effects of a good attachment. Have you got that now? Because it took me a little while to see the connection. We'd been so happy that our kids seemed to be attaching so well that it hadn't occured to us (okay, with Baby T it did but he's well, a baby, so it didn't feel so strange) that part of opening up your little 9 year old heart to attachment also means opening it up for hurt and sadness---again. If my own mother had died within the past year and the hands of fate dealt me the cards of a new, white, English-speaking, American family, I'd probably be a little slow on the attachment-o-meter. Not H, though. She steadily and solidly began to see herself as our daughter right from the start, which was a beautiful blessing to us. Now, however, that emotion is out there. All the joy, happiness and love shared between parent and child, between siblings, between others significant enough to have impacted her daily life---and with that comes healing as some of those people drift in or out of H's life. This past month, we've said "good-bye" to her first teacher in America, to the school who welcomed her, to friends and classmates we no longer see each day, and to the short-lived (but oh-so-sweet) summer school teacher and students who were a large part of our month of June. And with each of those goodbyes came fresh new tears, not big, loud, gulpy sobs, but head-nodding, sniffly, knowing tears about loss. And all I can do is stand and listen as BAM!!!---there goes that other shoe.
It's true, I can reassure and console. I can hug and distract. I can try to empathize, but the truth is, as God's reminded me again, I've still got a lot to learn.
You can read more stories about attachment in adoption on the June Round-Up at Adventures in Daily Living.
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