"We are a pack of fornicators...."

Anthony Esolen gets jiggy

VOX

Look at our school's high school newspaper!

A Childhood Idyll, Wm. Bouguereau

And along that vein, there are a few things I can't restrain my hysterical sentimentalism about. The best of which is the Class of 1996 ~ feeling thankful that our kids have their own crew scattered around Anchorage and the Valley, growing together in a similarly poignant way.

* GK said it best, just today *

Oldies but Goodies

The photo on the bottom is part of my computer's picture drive that plays a slideshow, and I like seeing it occasionally. A great source of perspective with politicians comes when I hear my kids pray for a few by name. It reminds me that Jesus seeks the heart of the individual, not en masse, as well as the bracing paradoxes that draw us towards his love: surrender to win, least of these, those willing to lose their lives, and so on. Kids tend to see the humanity of a president, rather than the dazzle of an office, more clearly than adults. And I'm going to get some new pearls ASAP.

 

 

from the dedication of the GWB Prezzy Library, April 2013

 

Heavy sigh.

Oh, Alaska.

work hard and be kind: goodbye to the GOP

Remember when Conan O'Brien was ousted from the Tonight Show, in a bizarre move, the fruits of which are still playing out? I do. This is one I ocassionally flash on mentally, even four years later. Beautiful, heartfelt advice, borne of pain and redeemed by kindness. (Plus, it was followed by a gyrating Will Ferrell belting out Freebird, his enormously pregnant wife and a huge American flag! Top notch.)




I find myself resenting the arrogance and the cynicism of the GOP. You know what they are, the lot of my local conservative representatives? They suffer from the very malady they like to toss casually towards constituents who don't feed their narrative. They're entitled.

Please let the record reflect that U.S. Senator Mark Begich and Alaskan Sen. Bill Wielechowski have answered my friend Allison. They both appear to see a moral imperative for healthcare to be provided. Medicine to be dispensed. As for Pruitt, Parnell, Keller, Dunleavy ~ I can only assume it doesn't fit their schedule or their schtick. An Alaskan family with oodles of military service, graduate degrees, professional work, and bootstraps integrity who needs expensive preventative care for a genetic disease? Republicans don't appear to have a pat answer for that --- and what's worse, they're ignoring the question.

Question: How is a college student living at home whose family falls under the eligibility guidelines for Denali Kidcare supposed to buy $12,000 worth of drugs each month?

Question: Can college kids, within certain age, income, and courseload boundaries, remain on Medicaid?

Every tea party tagline I've previously found solace in falls short: work hard, play fair, pay your own way. None of it applies in this case. Unless I come into money on a Romney scale, this is a healthcare expense I couldn't fudge into my budget. You probably couldn't either.

And ~ a disclosure. I truly believe the endgame of Leftist American public policy means my family is rounded up for our indiscriminate breeding habits, our religious gun-clingin', and our allegiance to anything higher than a labor union. The nerve. But are these just fear-mongering tactics, employed by hapless asshats to keep the peasants in line? One wonders. As for this day and this cause, our representatives in the Democratic party are showing professional, warm and courageous behavior. The Republicans have been silent. As if the principles (anti-abortion, small gub'mint, big liberty) of their base voting bloc gives them hostages. I owe you nothing.

Both practically and philosophically, the kicker is that a clear resolution may not come --- there may not be some dramatic shift in the Affordable Care Act, and the tragedies might continue to wander in and out of daily life under the Marketplace. The Republicans weren't expected to have superhuman powers, just humane ones. Do your job. Hardships endured by American families under the top-down insanity of the ACA appear to pad the GOP's ego-boosting ideology, rather than motivate them as problem solvers. Does anyone grasp that a young man could die due to the wild mismanagement of Obamacare --- and judging by the behavior of its leadership, my party would be content to blame the president rather than get on the phone and work for change? Loyalty is earned through risk, not platitudes.

So, I thank the Catholic mothers of these two Democratic senators. Thank you for raising sons with manners. When summarizing Rees' story, I didn't know how to end it except with a plea of sorts. I hoped that someone somewhere would simply be responsive. Maybe even someone powerful enough to effect policy change. Does the cynic in me say it could be "just to get a vote"? Sure. What are politicians, if not vessels for a vote? It's when my vote is taken for granted that I'll shake you off my shoes like so much dust. Goodbye to the Alaska Republican Party, and thank you immensely for all that I learned with you.

Joe Walsh and Monsignor Charles Pope

To my earlier point (every high-minded philosophical discourse that matters can be traced to something I've heard expressed more succinctly in the rooms...) a link is included to a great treatment of the increasing fascination with standardizing marijuana sale and use. My view of the whole thing is admittedly more cynical (what kind of square stands in line to get weed?), so I like to see how others argue the point. "Medical marijuana" has measurable benefits, as I understand it ~ but the mode of delivery could be as boring as ibuprofen, without all this hullabaloo, right? Maybe decriminalization is the first step to that simplification.

So I wish I could print my husband's poetic but crass version of this conversation, the opening paragraph of which he just recently summarized over coffee ... too brash for me to repeat, or admit that I loved. I may have choked on my croissant.



ah, the list of things Simcha and I have in common...

oh well. Troublesome trophy husbands come in all varieties. At least mine is too busy conquering industry to write a blog! There's always that. And as usual, Msgr. Pope's perspective is worth a read. I love his accessible style, pastoral approach, fidelity to the faith and the variety of topics he covers. As for Mr. Fisher, I'm filing him under croissant-choking-awesomeness I'm too scared to endorse.

Six thousand barfing children

...at least that's what it feels like over here! (Okay. It was only one, but it was repeatedly, pink, and all over me.)

We can't say goodbye to winter without some round of sickness making a visit, I guess. Feeling homebound but grateful that my husband took the heavy driving rotation this afternoon. And I will return to the book typing endeavor very soon. Thanks for reading. As a hyper-social hermit, I appreciate road unity very much --- do you know the phenomena? Like I'm really impressed that people are obeying the traffic light system. It seems like a lot to ask, societally, and yet it goes off without a hitch. My first glimpse of severe road unity was a decade ago, on the Grapevine, when I didn't have any comfort level about driving in Los Angeles. It was white-knuckles all the way. My husband and I were caravan-ing for some reason, so two cars meant I had to drive. I was pretty miffed by the task, as I recall. Mostly scared of lanes that travel in the same direction, and being expected to keep a certain pace or an awareness of my surroundings. And then I remembered that life is about doing stuff that terrifies me, to some degree, so why not just ride it out? Anyway, a UHaul van was on fire on the side of the road, pulled over, in a sheen of flames and fog. The traffic was so heavy, we were making the ascent into Santa Clarita, and there they were, with likely their most treasured possessions burning into the hills along the 5 freeway. If aliens looked down it'd look like nobody cared, because nobody was pulled over to help. But we cared, it was palpable, this unity, we're travelling and your life is exploding, and our outreach is so limited, but WE ARE WITH YOU BUDDY.



vintage Caltrans, you mock me still

The great thing is my husband doesn't recall this happening at all. And he was totally there, weaving slowly ahead of me in the golden darkness. When I try to explain road unity, and how momentous and beautiful this thing was that we shared, he shrugs. Me? Psychologically scarred, changed, a permanent reference point of humanity buoying each other along. Those Angelenos are hard. (actually, he's from Orange County and they're all pretty soft...)

Anyway, blogging is often like that. I dig the unity, stolen in early morning solitude, not so much intersecting as parallel travels, but an illusion of intellect tossed around together --- and I miss it when it goes away.

Ed and Dorothy

A few years ago, for a few years, I kept a regular holy hour. I had just two children and it was in the middle of the night, a straight shot up a long road dotted with intersections every few blocks in a quiet Anchorage parish. We subsequently moved much closer to that parish, but I floundered at the habit which had previously become a life preserver. I often remarked that I'd barely get into the chapel each week, but had such a sense of spiritual rejuvenation that I knew it was a great aid at keeping me afloat during the week. The Coordinator of Perpetual Eucharistic Adoration at the time was such a gentle prophet --- raising the standard of what I expected of myself and my children without a whiff of patronization that we weren't already there. Do you know what I mean? The kind of teacher whose heart welcomes your heart, and everything else is superfluous. She taught me to use alarm clocks, sure, but suggested above all else asking my guardian angel to prick my brain for the 2 a.m. wakeup call. It really works!

I still long for that hour and that practice --- the solitude, the intimacy with Jesus, and much about the routine. I now understand that it's controversial (or at least debatable) to have a reading library in an adoration chapel, but I'm so glad "mine" did! I discovered a treasure in there and I want to share it with you.

(an aside: I can't overstate my amusement/God's providence/the heart of Catholicism when a book written by friends of Peter Maurin converges with SSPX books on Amazon's "People Who Purchased this book Also Purchased" list. Humanity is a circus. There's something fantastic about what that represents. I want everyone to have this little jewel and be able to discuss it! It's available on Kindle ... and in my opinion, the blue version titled 'Motherhood...' was a memorable read, but doesn't pack the same punch as the red book.)

So. Background --- Ed Willock was born in 1916 to a large, working class Irish American family. He became enamored of the early Catholic Worker movement and went on to publish Integrity magazine for ten years with his wife Dorothy. The couple and their hep cat friends were the main contributors, many writing under pen names. Rather than attempt to summarize the individual essays, I'm going to transcribe them into pages on this blog --- found along the right sidebar and beginning here. The main themes are social action which in turn forms familial vitality (rather than the other way around) being the aim of men, and the father's role at work and home. Attention is also given to the economic philosophy of distributism. The magazine refused any commercial ads, which, along with competition from larger publishers, finally proved unsustainable and the magazine ceased printing in 1956. (Much of their desire to stir lay Catholics found a voice in the intent of the Second Vatican Council.) Peak circulation was around 150,000 copies and a few of the principals went on to work in the Catholic press with some renown. A dozen of Willock & others' essays were compiled for the little burgundy book I found.

One more thing: naturally, it turns out that this effort has Dominican roots, with Father Wendell, O.P. being the first to introduce Carol Jackson and Ed Willock, who went on to become co-publishers of Integrity magazine for its ten-year run.

Get Back in the Closet, Christians

Like every self-aware mother of my generation, I'm prone to announce unprompted that our family doesn't subscribe to cable television. For years, my pop culture and current events were filtered through the custom aggregation of Facebook's news feed. There were all-caps screech posts about Duck Dynasty shared by my friends; I thought it must be a cartoon and snubbed it accordingly.

Then I saw the boxed DVDs for sale in our local gas station, displayed at eye level in a slick A&E cardboard diorama. Grizzled men, posing in front of some kind of towering manse, with a chick in a red evening gown? $12.99? Sold. To its target demographic, no less.

Reality television disclosure: Three years ago, I had a regrettable winter courtship with Real Housewives of New Jersey. Parked on the couch with a nursing newborn, I tried my hand at scheduled television devotions. I really loved that show. The husbands were these sort of bruiser man-child amalgams of Elmer Fudd and Keanu Reeves surfer characters, paired with wives depicted as glossy, treacherous overgrown girls. It was like all of my fantasies of adult life from tenth grade had come to fruition onscreen, and the results were horrific. Exercise clothing mixed with gaudy jewelry (worn by both sexes), in-home music studios, drunken brawling at baptisms, weekend retreats with a batch of lifelong friends, catty revelations in the kitchen about suffering souls in the next room --- it was all there. My husband would stroll past me and mumble things about my moral integrity becoming more fragile by the moment. In his tones it was more like, "You are so much better than this. Watching this is beneath you. You're not even embarrassed? I feel embarrassed enough for both of us." He sounded a lot like my mom during the decade she endured my teenage fixation with General Hospital ~ although she usually ended her clucking with approval of the Tracy Quartermaine's wardrobe. In a sense, me and soap operas go way back.

I delivered the DVDs to our nine-year-old daughter and hoped for the best. Our loyalty has been incrementally won over, and I've grown content to hear episodes of Duck Dynasty playing from the TV in the family room. Season Three will be under our Christmas tree. We muse about the appeal ~ has family life become so exotic?

This clan, from whom I expected the behavior of backwater clowns, now seems charming and relevant. The Uncle Si 'character' in particular made me realize that these people are very real, as well as coy enough to play to type without losing grit in pursuit of irony. Their story is sincere. Mrs. Robertson is everything I aspire to as a wife and mother: gracious & maternal, with enough sassy loyalty to keep her afloat as she serves God through her family. I may have chosen Anne Romney's cookbook over Miss Kay's for Christmas this year, but it's only because Cajun treatments of seafood run against my grain. The regal feeling of gathering my family around the dinner table each night for a meal is unmatched in this world. I trust women who make it their lifeblood.

Enter the crudeness of the comments highlighted in the GQ interview --- at their core, it was a heterosexual man expressing his preference for heterosexual sex.

If queried, I imagine all of his sons believe precisely as he does. We've entered a realm where a man asked to define sin gives a rough sketch of the Ten Commandments, and quasi-hysteria ensues. Even if clarity abounds in real life, it's obvious that idiocy too often reigns.

Loyalty to masculine men disclosure: I've got it. I see a double standard. Would Mister Duggar, the men of Real Housewives fame, or even the younger Robertson men be ushered off Stage Left, for ascribing publicly to this doctrine? I guess not. They're allowed to exist as a bucolic source of de-fanged entertainment. But one watches Phil Robertson and gets the sense that he means this shit. There's nothing he'd rather go down swinging for than God's laws. He wasn't goaded into saying it by a sly reporter, and it wasn't staged to spike ratings or allow him an exciting exit from the series (both scenarios I've seen offered by fans...) He accepts the grace of Christian redemption and won't parse the terms. I commend his sense of scale.

Like it or not, this is the Cosby family for a generation of Americans --- and the idea of a disposable father figure is absurd. The Powers That Be of A&E might be embarrassed by what Phil said, but without him there's likely no Duck Dynasty. As our six-year-old said when I broke the news in vague terms, "But he leads the prayer every single time. He can't be fired from his own family."

Before we begin crowning martyrs for the faith (I told my girls I'd buy a tabletop model of Mt. Rushmore with the Duck Dynasty guys' faces on it, at this point), it should be acknowledged that in practical terms this is almost entirely American theater. We can safely feign horror at a description of gay sex, because everyone is free to have it. I'd like to say the same for Christian faith. Actual Christian oppression and slaughter exists, committed largely by men whose faith calls for dealing with dissenters by violence and subjugation. We should try to follow that plot, with or without well-packaged gas station DVD display towers.

In the end, it's not so much noteworthy that Mr. Robertson was fired by A&E, but that he was ever hired at all.

pencil portrait of Phil Robertson by Rick Kills. "...he's not grouchy, he's just strong." Says Vivian, age 9.

there is no war on drugs

Peter Hitchens breaks it down. (this links to an argument which is long, but unique. After watching Mr. Hitchens go toe-to-toe with Dan Savage, I'm quite taken --- as the Brits would say --- by his brain and his verve).

I've been looking for this quote for five years

Alleluia! Do you know how you read something once but can't find it again on command, feeling almost physical anguish as you vividly recall the placement on its original page, knowing a second glance may slip through your mental fingers forever? For those who have moments with the written word that rival (surpass) human interactions, I'm hoping my hysterics will not be wasted. Too much hype? I don't think so!

This I adore, this I strive to answer with full assent, and this opens my heart. Precisely this is my sense of Pope Francis' clarion call, his urgency and clarity of mission. He knows who we are, and his own holiness feels intertwined with -- at the service of, even -- our messiness.

Tolkien said in his collected letters:
“I can recommend this as an exercise: make your Communion in circumstances that affront your taste. Choose a snuffling or gabbling priest or a proud and vulgar friar; and a church full of the usual bourgeois crowd, ill-behaved children — from those who yell to those products of Catholic schools who the moment the tabernacle is opened sit back and yawn — open necked and dirty youths, women in trousers and often with hair both unkempt and uncovered. Go to Communion with them (and pray for them). It will be just the same as a Mass said beautifully by a visibly holy man, and shared by a few devout and decorous people. (It could not be worse than the mess of the feeding of the Five Thousand — after which our Lord propounded the feeding that was to come.”)

A Life Without Sin

When I met my husband, he posed this question very early: "What is Satan's greatest lie?" (To certain girls, it doesn't get much more romantic than that. I know. I was eighteen. You hush.)  That the answer --- "Satan's greatest lie is that he doesn't exist" --- came from Anthony, not French poetry or even a Kevin Spacey movie, was the beginning of my fascination with and attraction to him. My husband seems like a bombastic personality to many people, but how quickly he deflects my swooning over these moments now. ("Honey, I probably got it from a movie. I was just trying to sound deep.")

We were married one year later. We lived together for the entirety of our engagement. The doors of Christ were thrown widely open for us, sinners seeking an anchor without much knowing we were drowning. We've needed a life raft more than once in our travels together, including being civilly divorced and remarried, and relapsing on a host of favorite vices, all the while clinging to the virtue of Love itself and our unquenchable thirst. That 'God-shaped hole' I first heard about as a teenager, and visited in adulthood by finding the heartfelt vocabulary of Saint Augustine, has never left us. We are grateful.

And yes, we immediately began having sex when we met ---- that's how people express an interest in getting to know each other, in the world we came from. I don't make these admissions out of pride or even shame --- just an attempt to be clear about my moral formation. I also mean to draw a larger conclusion about the arrogance of chronic sin, and how it blinds us to our own brokenness. This is well-illustrated by a Western priest's report on the number of people standing in line for confession vs. those in line for communion on Sunday, comparing the ratio now to that of forty years ago. Hint: one is shrinking while the other is growing. I described this to my husband and he replied sardonically, "See, it's working, Father! People are living lives without sin." Our sadness isn't smugness.


If you didn't know grandstanding has found new heights
via cartoon imagery, you should check out social media!

No Guts, No Glory
In the wearying discussions about same-sex 'marriage', both online and offline, the conclusion is clear. Either align yourself publicly with the crushing tide of nihilism, or prepare to opt out of cultured society. The prevailing argument ("Don't H8! ForniK8!") has revealed a dirth of contemporary authority so vast, I find myself shocked.

I don't hold a shred of ill will towards people who have gay sex, but I'm also not that impressed by it. Christians know the ground to be level at the foot of the Cross. Letting sexual sin be defined as sexual sin is enough for us --- please work it out privately. For reaching this unglamorous conclusion, we're termed "nothing but hateful, ignorant bigots". Ignoring the effects of overturning the expressed will of voters, or the implications of further eroding states' rights, these simplistic dismissals are met by applause in the name of tolerance. Short-sighted, heartless and frankly moronic comparisons to interracial marriage are made.

Dialogue either stops or turns lukewarm when a person announces they have a gay relative. I remember when my affection for the gay people in our life was enough to satisfy my hope that I was making the right decision by saying nothing on this subject. I considered hearing no resistance as evidence that I was on the winning 'side'. Is there a notion that our individual lives and peers are sufficient for the wisdom we need? Must I seek a deposit of faith and wisdom from anywhere broader than my family reunion or the university? What a plebeian bore I am, then. I'm watching a parade of souls begging to be redeemed by United States Supreme Court Justices. When we refuse to conform our hearts to the authority of Christ, isn't it curious that we'll force conformity on the people around us? We long so deeply for approval, all the while yelling about rebelling against the patriarchy.

I know some really nice drug dealers --- hardworking men who donate to charities and support their families. Should that remove any objections I have to the trade? Moreover, does it free me from the responsibility to think? God's greatest earthly gift is our sense of reason --- we must employ it fearlessly if we believe the state of our souls depends on accepting His ultimate gift of salvation.

So why can't I just 'shut up'?
My duty to my Creator includes sharing what He has done for me. God's truth sets us free from a host of suicidal tendencies, most of which fall under the umbrella of selfishness dressed up as license. (My rights!) My friends have written more personally. In the short time I've been maintaining this glorified Pinterest page I call a blog, I've felt called to write on topics outside of polite conversation, mostly because those are the topics I think about and find most relevant.

It's not about me, or some climactic reveal when it comes to my views. Nobody cares or is surprised, on the whole. I'm sad to be called a bigot, but eager to form my witness in a way that welcomes private dialogue with my "Questioning" friends. (Let's use the word for questioning politically correct trends, not methods of getting off sexually. Only one of these requires secrecy in our society.)

My alternative is silence, or a sort of counterfeit truce. Notice this truce requires silence only from those who uphold a heterosexual ideal for marriage. I'd rather have honest and respectful conversations than pretend. 

The Catholic Church is the sole purveyor of a consistent pro-life ethic, and her teachings on abortion, the death penalty, euthanasia, birth control, and sexuality don't deviate a whit. Yet our silence, confusion and disobedience has contributed massively to the desecration of marriage. Possessing the truth isn't enough, we have to share in an honest and love-affirming way. We can ask those whose faith we admire to help us in discussing this freely. If it's all so noble, why the insistence on euphemisms?

We rightly want to be affiliated with noble causes, and when a Facebook friend tosses out a vague cliché about injustice or civil rights, the temptation to join in can be strong. This is where silence is better than a forgery. Not everyone is an activist. Ask questions in real time and in real life of people whose spirituality you admire. Listen for authentic love. Be careful of who you consult. Nothing sends me running in the opposite direction faster than attempts at faux sisterhood, and life is filled with sources of bad theology dispensed by people with Good Hair. I'll take my moral waxing from someone who wouldn't think of waxing anywhere else, if you don't mind. I'm not making attention to fashion trends a litmus test which must be failed in order to have intellectual credibility, but --- oh wait, yes I am. Great thinkers necessarily seem to opt out of the parade of vanity. People who neglect hygiene in order to socialize (or not) are often fantastic. The day my eyebrows are finally just growing in concentric circles, you'll know I've reached scholastic nirvana.

The bare truth is, marriage was redefined fifty years ago with the introduction of no-fault divorce and artificial contraception. This is detail. Gird your loins: if sex is merely the joining of two people (without the possibility of creating a third), then so is marriage. The unexamined life Socrates warned against has won. Ironically, it can't stop preening in front of the mirror.

If Ever You've Lived On An Island

My friend Tonya's parents had this poem framed near their dining table, as I recall. Next to sliding glass doors that practically touched the beach ...

If ever you’ve lived on an island
 if ever you’ve lived by the sea;
 You’ll never return to the mainland
 once your spirit has been set free.

If ever you’ve smelled the ocean
 or tasted the salt in the air;
 You’ll know you’ve discovered a hatch
 that is uncommon, precious and rare.

If you’ve ever seen the whales play
 or watched the eagles in flight;
 You’ll remember, again, why you live here
 and why it feels so right.

If you’ve ever seen the sun set
 as the ferry passed the shore;
 You’ve seen the beauty of the island
 that will be with you forever more.

If you’ve heard the seagulls
 the waves, a foghorn, the winds;
 Then you’ve heard the song of the island
 and the peaceful message it sends.

Indeed, if you live on an island
 if you’re lucky to live by the sea;
 You’ll never return to the mainland
 as your spirit has been set free.

-J. Earnhart © ’92

To Capture Humility --- or How Pope Francis reminds me of my high school biology teacher

Happy Pi Day! Habeus Papam!

As I strained to make out the themes of our good Pope Francis' first homily this morning, seated at my computer, I sensed an authentic quality that proves elusive and inspiring. It wasn't on the chorus of traits we'd been hearing as necessary for "the" papal elect. And we didn't get our bombastic American. Neither the exotic African or the pedigreed doctrinaire. God has given us a Tango-dancing soccer fan who cooks for himself and insists that while catechetical standards not be lowered, access to the Sacraments will heal us. Even ... sinners.
That trait is humility.

(That any of this is revelatory must serve as a chastisement to our current cultural state. We are too affluent, too comforted by material vanities and our own big fat opinions. By all accounts, Pope Francis has a curious mix of humility and joie de vivre. Add to that, that we seem shocked to find the purported runner-up of the last conclave elected this time and it might point to our short memory! Or.)

The humble teacher can be beyond reproach. Think of Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta. Such clarity! A tone is set by their example that makes chafing against it almost moot.

I had a teacher like this, and his name was Mr. Eddy.

At times I had to strain to hear Mr. Eddy teach. He spoke unhurriedly and from a vast deposit of knowledge honed in the sciences. He regularly filled two mammoth whiteboards with detailed vocabulary and life science data in his meticulous, curvish handwriting --- which we were required to copy verbatim on note-taking days at least two or three days per week.

To say that he required it seems incorrect, for I never witnessed him exert force. Somehow, his unspoken power stirred our own desire to achieve, and I've thought of him fondly and often because of it. We all know the varying styles of a teacher, and their various results --- the sad sack who is too eager to be liked, the rigid authoritarian, the burnout who phones in their duties. From these human flaws come chaos, fear and rebellion, and surely some arc of learning, however flaccid. Our note-taking duties in biology class were required only if we desired to learn, or score decently on his exams. He signed our yearbooks "Your friend, Jack" in the same penmanship with which he had moved us to fill our notebooks.

When our daily schedules were up for renewal each year, I sought a position as his aide. I contentedly made photocopies, organized files and ran little errands during one daily class period each year of school. He taught lots of high level classes I never participated in, but I reveled in the solitude and absorption of his expertise, by proxy of sorts. I got to touch all the papers in his world. And his world was orderly --- coming to us after a career in U.S. Border Patrol and a stint as our local magistrate. He was no one's fool in the classroom (he has since retired), and he's not a simple man. We too often mistake humility for weakness or simplicity of psyche --- when rather it is cultivated of great discipline, and devotion to Christ's Gospel.

I was often suspended from high school --- for things I said, wrote, drank and smoked. It happened predictably, and I wasn't proud of it, no matter what kind of braggadocio I displayed to my cohorts. I dreaded telling my parents and I dismissed the authority of the principal who dismissed me. But I always trudged a curious, heavy-footed path up the stairs to Mr. Eddy's second-story classroom to tell him I'd be gone for a few days, and the reason why. I treated no other teacher with this courtesy, and it's a testament to his gifts -- surely not mine.

Mr. Eddy was accessible, even in my brokenness. I wasn't repentant. I didn't want change (yet), but his acceptance of such facts made me willing to approach him. I wanted him to know me. I think Jesus would treat us the same. We are better than our best efforts, and often worse than our worst thoughts. It's okay. We have gifts, and when humility isn't among them, we won't gain much by trying to catch it. The examples of humility that have pierced me most are of people who simply do their job. Mr. Eddy had no trace of grandiosity, yet his dry wit existed in harmony with his love for us. To quiet a chatterbox he'd sometimes say, "(Student name), I apologize for trying to teach while you're busy interrupting." My ego slammed shut, followed by my mouth. He managed to offer this in such good humor, we were allowed to save face and receive the lesson. He allowed for the reality that we were squirmy kids --- but he knew we were plenty capable. It brings to mind what George W. Bush called "the soft bigotry of low expectations". Our world is rife with the discarded -- the troublemakers. Mr. Eddy knew how to quiet their external chatter, a silence which seemed to precede an interior calm.

Humility has nothing to do with money or prestige. It's recognized that pursuit of these stations in life can be a passion-filled distraction, rendering our lives complicated and filled with disordered tension. Early in my spiritual journey I learned one tenet of Buddhism, which I taught our then three-year-old daughter to recite: "To want is to suffer."

From "Dr. Bob", co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, I offer the best concrete description I've read of humility:

"Perpetual quietness of heart. It is to have no trouble.
It is never to be fretted or vexed, irritable or sore;
to wonder at nothing that is done to me, to feel nothing
done against me. It is to be at rest when nobody praises
me, and when I am blamed or despised, it is to have a
blessed home in myself where I can go in and shut the
door and kneel to my Father in secret and be at peace,
as in a deep sea of calmness, when all around and about
is seeming trouble."

And from the riches of the Catholic faith, the Litany of Humility:

O Jesus! meek and humble of heart, Hear me.
From the desire of being esteemed,
Deliver me, Jesus.
From the desire of being loved...
From the desire of being extolled ...
From the desire of being honored ...
From the desire of being praised ...
From the desire of being preferred to others...
From the desire of being consulted ...
From the desire of being approved ...
From the fear of being humiliated ...
From the fear of being despised...
From the fear of suffering rebukes ...
From the fear of being calumniated ...
From the fear of being forgotten ...
From the fear of being ridiculed ...
From the fear of being wronged ...
From the fear of being suspected ...
That others may be loved more than I,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.

That others may be esteemed more than I ...
That, in the opinion of the world,
others may increase and I may decrease ...
That others may be chosen and I set aside ...
That others may be praised and I unnoticed ...
That others may be preferred to me in everything...
That others may become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should…

May God abundantly bless Pope Francis, and may we seek to transmit love rather than contain it. The true gifts of this life are so fleeting. Share them!

Red Meat by Tiffy

Here is the text of the speech I gave with my rosary-swinging infant on my hip. Perhaps he'll grow up to preach and battle prayerfully as a Dominican friar? (Moms will dream.) I thank the organizers for asking me to participate, and will add a link to both Bob Flint and Catherine Neumayr's speeches from the rally. *update: found here. It was a treat to see friendly faces in the assembled protesters, and to chat with students and countrymen afterwards. I am proud of my city, state and grateful for our participation.

(March 23 -- Anchorage, Alaska) Anchorage has answered, today. This is a call which has its place in history --- and now, so do you. Just beneath the surface of the government healthcare mandate are three driving forces. They are separate but equal. Equally insidious.

First is social engineering, dressed up as humanitarianism. To declare that a certain class of people -- the unborn, in this case -- must meet some pedigree requirement before being granted continued life is eugenics by definition. The gentle cruelty of slogans like, "Every Child A Wanted Child" really display the arrogance and spiritual confusion of those who promote them. Wanted? By whom? Certainly by God, who imparts unique talents into each eternal soul at the moment of conception. The Catholic faith is the sole body with a consistent teaching, in the fullness of truth and love, on the dignity of human life. Which describes why we are the target of the Health and Human Services Department's contraception mandate. Breaching the separation of church and state in this way has created a very false parallel and shown our President's hubris in sharp focus. The Catholic Church is not an arm of the state, subject to its demands. We will not comply, in the words of Archbishop Dolan, is our response to such bureaucrats. Mother Teresa's Sisters don't answer to Washington, D.C.

The second point of attack being that Christians are now made enemies of the state simply by being Christian.

Picture Lady Justice. She is blindfolded to ensure no preference is given to either party beyond what the law requires for both. In the United States of America, we do not ask what your religion is before we will fight in the streets to defend your right to cling to it. We have a President who wants to be a king. This unconstitutional mandate would be a jewel in his crown. We who have gathered here are one day further away from being his subjects.

This encroachment by the federal government leads into the third angle, and perhaps here lies the more general danger. We have these two bodies facing off, which have altogether different goals. The Church has a mission of evangelization and salvation, but never coercion to Her creeds. If we're paying attention, we must be in fervent and constant prayer for the conversion of souls. But each "Yes" for Christ is meaningful because it is the product of free will.

The federal government, however, has an approach and a mission its own. Devoid of any goods or services, it feasts on the fruits of American enterprise, just hoping to bloat itself into continued existence and stay afloat. Who are its prospects? The fabricated demand, in this case for free birth control, is dictating a supply problem. This is a mirage --- it doesn't exist.

The potential recipients of these abortifacent drugs are presented as victims of unyielding dogma.

In truth, outright strong arm tactics belong to our President and his advisors. No one is forced into a Catholic employer, but these private agencies would be forced to violate their foundational teachings, should this mandate pass.

Can't we see the writing on the wall, for the entire government takeover of healthcare, is this its debut? Mitigating human fertility? Our teachings as Christians represent the largest opposition to Obama's agenda. He is threatened by the existence of Catholic healthcare, education and charity. Why?

We must prick up our ears to the terms being used in this debate, without being distracted by the debate itself. Here I think of Sandra Fluke, the almost idyllic Girl Scout figure, whose testimony on Capitol Hill about the expense of hormonal birth control became its own sideshow. Civilian testimony is as routine as sunrise and bean soup in the Senate, rarely thrust into public eye. So again ~ why?

Our president needs villains in order to cast his victim class, whose dependence on entitlements reduces their existence to loyalty through votes. He wants to be their hero.

Now, the villains chosen by this administration are never our actual sworn enemies. That would be too unifying --- this man's very currency is division.

A term we need to reject on its face is "freedom of worship". First, because it's a concession of sorts, and we don't have license to concede the founding principles of our nation. The freedom to worship confines us to the pulpit, the pew and the prayer rug. It says we have access to our special place, and permission to think our special thoughts. But it seeks to remove us from the marketplace, political life and the public sphere if we dissent from the tenets of the Extreme Left Wing in America. This administration is not content to marginalize Christianity and its adherents. They will criminalize it, if mandates like this one are codified into law.

Those who observe Lent and its culmination at Easter are necessarily bound to a Tomb. Not symbolic in the least, we take actual faith in Death itself failing to contain our Lord. Its emptiness reveals His power, glory and love. Eternally.

The tomb of the unknown soldier, in one sense symbolic -- entirely mortal, entirely final lost in the earthly sense -- it reveals our duty as Americans to reflect on this sacrifice. We are the benefactors of their work, which has as its focus liberty and justice. What is our responsibility to them, to God, to the cause of freedom?

Not everyone is an activist, even fewer are soldiers, but the threat to all of us requires action.

Pray. Organize. Pray. Organize.

Check-in at Karluk Manor

This is Anchorage's newest community effort to help the folks who live, and often die, outside in our city. It's controversial on many fronts. I understand Seattle has a similar project which has a lot of success. Since I recently wrote about the struggle of urban Natives, it might be of interest to others who follow the topic. As Blessed Kateri is being formally canonized this year, and we can join our prayers with hers for real and lasting change in the lives of Alaskans.

Shooting Ourselves With Blanks: The Lost Ammunition of Hormonal and Surgical Sterilization

American Catholics long ago lost their rhetorical firepower regarding the sanctity of marriage, an online friend posited recently. It's easy to nod in agreement on this, for both opponents and proponents of gay "marriage". I sense a more superficial assent to pithy, insipid e-posters than a sense of conviction or duty to truth gone wrong. We can all shrug at the mess of this once-esteemed institution, thereby nullifying deeper reflection.

But let's not let ourselves off the hook too easily.

And the woman saw that the tree was good to eat, and fair to the eyes, and delightful to behold:
and she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave to her husband who did eat.   Genesis 3:6, Douay Rheims

Five decades ago, with the wholesale removal of the life-giving power of straight sex, we neutered our own voices against the clamoring din of voices defining gay sex as equal. How can the collective call for honoring marriage vows as unique among all other agreements be audible or even credible, compared to those who insist on a legal mandate to follow their particular emotional star?

Political games abound in recent domestic events, and they serve as a robust distraction. Our President was compelled to announce his fairly dithering support of same-sex "marriage" hours after North Carolina became the 31st state to confidently come out otherwise. This came on the heels of Vice President Joe Biden's more passioned assertion against the teachings of his professed faith, and in favor of follow-your-star morality. Cynical reasoning offered synchronization with a Hollywood fundraiser, flat reports from the labor market, and the Democratic tradition of reliable voter blocs secured according to 'gimmes' from DC as the impetus for his flash of clarity. All are plausible, but the background is more compelling and has little to do with Barack Obama himself. Should he retire today, or perhaps on November 7, the matter of sterility as a sexual freedom remains.

It's an open-ended post, as much for your voice as mine. I'm in full agreement with Catholics who allege that our masses led the way, and that these events are both the culmination and a symptom of our long-wounded culture. I'm eager for practical and evangelical solutions for Christians of all vocations. Not everyone is called to marriage or parenthood, but I know there are endless sources of inspiration for restoring the dignified treatment of life in its inception. Share yours in the comments, if you're so inclined. How can we illustrate the true beauty of marriage in a way that re-shapes the social ideal?

Most Annoying Wife Auditions, Take One

My husband couldn't be expected to keep sleeping, in the wee hours of last night, when I happened upon this one. I elbowed him awake to share, courtesy of Edith Wharton by lamplight :

"There once was a man who had seen the Parthenon, and he wished to build his god a temple like it. But he was not a skillful man, and, try as he would, he could produce only a mud hut thatched with straw; and he sat down and wept because he could not build a temple for his god. But one who passed by said to him:  "There are two worse plights than yours. One is to have no god; the other is to build a mud hut and mistake it for the Parthenon." "

"Funny How, Like A Clown? Do I Amuse You?"

Michael Carey on Outside entertainment ...

We believe.

Isn't Joe talented? I hope you enjoy his beautiful video.