two links ~ no, three!

Obamacare credited with complete feeling after sex change operation (ahem -- gender re-assignment)

The rising, dangerous influence of transgender ideology

fleshing out any conversation on sexuality, with the fearlessness of Simcha's Brother

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.

What a skank!

I tried to think of some Christian nomenclature with which to describe Mz Davis, but time is tight and I'm all out of charity for this plot.

Those Dominican men

 

 

(No, not those ones....)

On Finances, Facebook and Pornography as major contributors to divorce: "...But perhaps this trilogy is no great surprise after all. Finances, Facebook, and pornography reduce to man’s three great disordered values: money, power, and sex; and these three in turn are merely the failed versions of the three true values that guide human life: faith, hope, and love."

I particularly like the way Br. Gabriel expresses the necessity of hope.

You should read the rest. It's quick.

I Have Too Many Kids

I have too many kids to buy perky cylinders of just about anything. If our family goes on a jag of enjoying certain treats, it's time to consult kitchen-savvy friends, drag out the five-gallon buckets, and start hustling ingredients. Once in awhile I get rebellious, standing bleary-eyed in the grocery near midnight, and just toss that slim dose of French jam into my basket with optimism. "Maybe I'll hide it," I think to myself. This time will be different. More refined.

A week goes by and I'm shaking my head at my silly use of seven dollars. Not because the blueberry preserves were practically chugged straight from the jar by nude, bellowing toddlers --- but because of my own short-sightedness. My fixation on this image of a delicacy, and its prudent dispensation, having some power over my mood. Ain't nobody got time for that. As R.R. Reno observes, "we must be careful of living our theories rather than our lives", a line from this bright yellow volume that recently had me fist-pumping in the midnight sun.

I find myself conditioned to desire the fruits of shiny marketing in place of substance. And I just turned 35, so I'm supposed to know better. Be seasoned and practical in my decision-making, no? Plus I dread passing on such a superficial angst to my daughters. "Enjoy Your Toast. Don't Overthink The Jam." --- maybe put that on my grave.

This revelation goes for so many other jumbo-sized tub o' products, from the hair salon to the car dealers' lot itself. We who claim the quiver's arrow more than twice are banished from the line of polite cars with a simple front seat and back seat. Not for us! The motorcar's features turn from gleaming lifestyle imprimaturs like Bluetooth or sunroofs to purely utilitarian gain: "Washable floor mats? Pish posh. How about a 100% rubber floor in your fifteen-passenger van? Get a power washer and hose this bad boy down." Our cars are so big they have aisles. More to the point, I contend there's nothing quite as cool as barreling down the highway in a motorcade rivaling a presidential lineup, with m'bes'grlfrenz at the helm of every rig. We will mess you up.

I suddenly have too many kids to last very long in public playgrounds, where parents micro-organize every tot within striking distance. Let them play. Visit with your adult friends.

I have too many kids to hitch my calendar to most of the lovely organizations that I'm drawn to. Whether it's ballet for one or a concert for many of us, I'm still learning to consider the "rest of the family" and their limitations when discerning our schedule. For real.

I finally have too many kids to move around spontaneously or hang out at the bus station in Mexico City in lieu of pre-natal care. "...Bloom where you're planted" is the most wretched, promising and elusive of clichés for someone like me. We soldier on.

Perhaps a more astute soul can figure this stuff out with the prescribed 1.7 American children in their midst, but I've always been a late bloomer. As the story often goes, there was more to be revealed.

We have too many children to view our parenting impact as sacrosanct. God imbues each person with a dignity their own. By His grace, our children may live to see decades of opportunity. They could spend much of their adult lives around people we'll never meet. Our time with them is truly just a season, and they are not ours to contain.

We have too many children to believe we can craft them in our image. Should their character be revealed in ways that stir our tears, whether of pride or despair, we know it's their character being forged. Not ours. The journey is theirs. We can shepherd them, and their formation is our duty --- but having 4 or 5 different personalities blossoming together goes a long way to expose the futility of control over another's destiny.

We have too many children to spend time driving all over tarnation for things we can reasonably (re)produce at home. This applies to meals, much of modern entertainment, and certain forms of fellowship. Heroic exceptions are made for exposure to arts and letters, tacky parades, and church stuff.

We have too many children to revel much in professional goals, whether realized or still being pursued. Kids want to feed the ducks and ride bikes and chase pigs. They want to go swimming and pick up hitchhikers and count the stars. They want truth. My husband will never ask for his (numerous) (just bragging) service plaques and production awards at his deathbed. We hope only to join their struggles and achievements in a sane and sober way --- not eclipse their young lives with misplaced ambition and easy accolades. Kids know.

We have too many children to believe in fake activism. Seriously. Let's take a risk and love someone. May God pierce our crazy, selfish egos with His peace.

We have too many children to believe that "born healthy" is the ultimate gift. Life hurts. We cry out loud and drive in circles with death metal blaring, yelling at God. And He's there.

We have too many children to labor under the illusion that sex is meaningless. It makes new people, and those people deserve a family. The heaving, aching, fussing mound of issues and persnicketies that all families are, at times, but a family. With seven years of infertility at the front half of our marriage, Anthony and I are acutely aware of the life-giving power of sex, gone inexplicably dormant. Babies aren't merely a milestone, or a delay of real milestones, they're whole new people. Life is never diminished by the addition of a baby.

We have too many children to be scared (for long) by the notion of another pregnancy. They're our only lasting gift to each other and to their siblings.

Eminent Domain

How vividly I recall the moment I realized that the 'most paranoid' people I know are, in fact, right about everything.

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.

I tried to call my senator, but I guess she was in the cafeteria...

Well, true colors don't fade for long. Lisa Murkowski, one of Alaska's two senators, seemed capable of grasping the implications of the Blunt Admendment five days ago when she enjoyed local press coverage of her vote in support of it. One call from the intrepid Julia O'Malley, and the good Senator is now rife with regret.

Her explanation is best summarized with a direct quote.

      " I don't adhere to all of the tenets of my faith. I'm a Republican, I don't adhere to all of the principles that  come out of my party.  I'm also not hesitant to question when I think that my church, my religion, is not current. "
 

Such dismissive pride shows her fidelity for what it is: nonexistent. Three sentences, wherein she uses "I" and "my" nine times, as if these entities actually exist in relation to her ego. That she would draw a parallel between her sacred faith and a political party is evidence of a confused mind. Additionally, she seems to view both as inconvenient behemoths concerned with bossing her around.

To question a teaching or a party platform is often the beginning of deeper knowledge, but Lisa Murkowski makes it clear that she doesn't approach her faith this way. Her (in)consistent actions aren't questioning, but flatly rejecting these tenets, and far more grave --- offering public scandal by driving policy in opposition to it. She's instructing us, the wayward dullards who cling to Rome, Peter, and the Cross, or anyone who might be led astray by such teachings. To whom does Lisa Murkowski finally defer, the comment section of the Huffington Post?

This is not to claim superiority for Catholics in public life. In fact, a secular government leaves no need to dissect or even highlight a politican's religion. But it's in the personal connections that votes are largely won, and our Senator is abandoning ship left and right, in hope of a better gig somewhere on the horizon. That should would betray her own vote doesn't surprise me anymore, but the glib and shallow nature she's displaying disappoints me. To struggle, to question, these are often laudable paths to wisdom. What a voice she could have, if only she had the attention span and courage to find and use it.

Knowing she considers herself a Catholic, it'd be interesting to hear how she defines that since freeing herself of the Catechism and scripture. (As I said, I left her an inquiring message this morning. So far, crickets.) We strive for holiness, and we do so with obedience to the Church's loving authority. It's quite a trip. We insist on pursuing goodness, and we examine vice and virtue with humility and reason as our guides. We love life. We are colossally flawed, but called to mirror the Saints who brushed back fear and claimed victory in their lot. Where we see Goliath, David saw God.

Murkowski, however, has a job to protect. And an East Coast home to preserve (word is that she had begun a remodel of her DC digs before being tossed from the Republican ballot on 2010, only to bump Joe Miller with her write-in campaign. A campaign she mounted after giving her word not to challenge the expressed will of the primary voters).

Catholics have a term to capture this mindset: Cafeteria Catholicism, where one slides their tray along the happy road of human existence, scrunching their nose and waving off troublesome beets or dry mashed potatoes --- any fare which doesn't tickle the trendy palate. I've shared mass with Senator Murkowski, and my frustration with her arrogance and willful disobedience has been replaced by a desire to pray for her. I confront myself too, in prayer, that I will not mirror such a terrible example.

And if urban dictionary is your thing --- Alaskans are increasingly using one word which fits Frank's belle like a glove: Murky.

Language @lert

The Hermit, Gerrit Dou

Norman worried me. He seemed seven feet tall, constantly fingering a hand-rolled cigarette and yelling about systematic incompetence in one place or another, though he was more likely to describe it as "corrupt bastards, every last one of 'em". Blustery on most topics -- downright wild-eyed on the right ones -- I grew a tolerance to his opinions that rivaled my tolerance to whiskey itself. Just like a proper drinking career, sobriety comes with a certain social price. The difference is that one destroys personal dignity, and the other helps to restore it by first leveling our false pride.

God sent Norman into our life by way of the hardest knocks. My husband Anthony arrived in Southeast Alaska with the interruption of his journey to Somewhere Else, Alaska. The 747 had a mechanical failure on the November day he fled Orange County for good. Anthony found himself deposited on a marshy isle called Wrangell, where the one-room airport's phone rang and he was summoned to the call by a desk agent. On the other end of the phone was Norman, a stranger to him. He was, however, known to the Episcopal priest who was known to the fish mogul/street preacher who had years before burned a path between Southern California and Southcentral Alaska, goading all around him to do the same. Uncle Mike wasn't around this time, but his people were. And so the world shrinks when you need it to. The interrogation was brief, jarring and provided passage to Petersburg. Norman's voice boomed through the phone with gruff extroversion.

"You drink?"

"No, Sir." 

"If you're lying to me I'll rip your (expletive) eyeballs out."

That my husband boarded the ferry boat to such an invitation says enough about his mental health and hunger for adventure at the time.

Within this spiritual and physical journey there was to be a blooming courtship between Anthony and me. Norman would later become a chaperone of sorts, spending hours offering us the simple gift of self which unlocks the mystery of recovery from chronic addiction: we hang out together and don't get high. He'd drive us to deserted logging roads, park his two-tone Chevy pickup and assemble the accessories of an Alaskan hike: guns, dog, smokes. Our walks ended when Norman said it had been three miles, which was clearly random from one day to the next, but we didn't care. Not drinking is a full-time pursuit in the very beginning, and any diversion of this focus is gratefully welcomed. 



The Dutch Housewife, G. Dou

We spent a lot of time with Norman and his wife Merry in the coming weeks and years, their tireless devotion to suffering souls being without parallel. We cooked together, celebrated holidays, passed the time with card games and stories. Their modest home was usually bursting with guests, from the scrappy newcomers like us to the local doctor or recently transplanted state trooper. Their open door signified everything that was behind it: hospitality for anyone, warmly offered regardless of status. Elegant-souled Merry has many one-liners that ring in my heart to this day, a favorite being "Take your time in leaving (her house), but hurry back."

She also demures when complimented for her generosity, answering simply, "You can't outgive God." As an art school dropout who now drinks in good philosophy wherever it's served, I continue to hear strains of Merry's folksy wisdom from the most rareified minds I can plop myself down in front of. She knows the human condition intimately, after four decades of ministering to addicts. I'd contend there's literally nothing someone could confess that would shock her.

While making enchiladas, I once said something about "a good person" and Norman went mildly ballistic at my term. "She's not a person, she's a woman. These women's libbers have made knowing what we are into a problem we're supposed to fix, now? Buncha hogwash."

I dismissed him as crazy and kept chopping onions.

It is nearly twenty years later, and the crazed refrain that our language has been hijacked no longer displaces my sensibilities. The obvious offenders are notable but tired, and the effects are intentional and insidious.

In terms of personal pronouns, we slowly strip away everything that makes a person unique, with this insistence that equality means feigning utter homogeny. What a bore.

Indoctrination is most effective when the subjects perform it on themselves, and we see this in the hunger to be hip and relevant with the trendy rejection of reality. Often coined 'privilege awareness', it addresses a narrow spectrum of personal traits which none of us had a hand in choosing, and paints a hierarchy we must name, claim and reject in order to relate to anyone else. White European Guilt pales in comparison to Privilege Awareness, and comparison is the name of the game. Rather than welcoming a new friend or associate, we're called to flatly survey the balance sheet of their experience on this planet, and reduce our expectations (of ourselves and others) according to the prevailing prejudice. Content of character is now secondary to this frenetic labeling.

Privilege Awareness is different than useful thought exercises because it's based in gibberish and ends in policy. As an elementary school student, I remember a simple and powerful classroom activity about discrimination, probably in tandem with learning about Rosa Parks. Many readers of my generation will be familiar with it too, and I've used it in discussion of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to our young daughters. Our teacher separated our desks acoording to eye color, granting "good seats" to only the blue-eyed children for a whole day. (No doubt this would be hatcheted into unnecessary complexity today, or railed against by parents who don't grasp the specific and gentle nature of the lesson.) 

My ears are now pricked up for the codification of left-wing preference as the default setting of common sense. I'm encouraged by the beauty of actual intelligence which is capable of examining cause and effect, and unimpressed by the poorly thought out offerings of those who are really impressed with themselves.

Lots of tributes lately at the Lox. I'm thankful for people who are at least willing to shout rather than fiddle while Rome is burning. Especially if they value truth above their own reputation. People like Norman are right about everything, even if our first urge is to dismiss them to preserve our own comfort.

Pimp My (Free) Ride

Secular shoulders are being shrugged around America just as rapidly as documents of resistance are being penned by our bishops and congressional leaders. The suggestion that contraception coverage will be mandated to include Catholic institutions has put a finer point on the paradigm, but the American taxpayer has long subsidized many unhealthy rites of passage that are now commonplace.

Sacred, life-giving milestones in the Catholic faith are called Sacraments, outward signs instituted by Christ which point to inward reception of God's grace. Reciprocally, secular society has milestones to which many people feel great loyalty and expect unfettered access. Certain restrictions exist to protect public money from funding violations of human dignity still viewed as illicit, but many of them are practically de riguer in adult life.

Let's be intellectually honest and recognize the tenets of the American Left as the framework of a nihilistic faith tradition. Through this lens it becomes clear that our federal government, which must remain secular in order for our republic to survive, has its disciples well-trained by age eighteen and expecting no less than utter redemption through good service.

It's worth mentioning that many Christians suffer the delusion that elements of their lifestyle should be on the dole, and plenty of hardcore liberals live self-sufficiently off the grid. American people are not a one-size fits all populace, which is precisely why we must unite to confront this overreach --- to restore personal liberty. The MTV generation occupies the vast middle, and we risk too much by continuing to feed their superficial accessories and unexamined pursuits with the hard-earned income of good men like my husband.

Pastimes, medical care and education are personal decisions with complex factors, and criticism of neither is my goal. Clarity is my goal. Catholics have been carrying on for milennia without need or desire of our sacramental lives being funded by anyone but ourselves; we wouldn't consider it. And we give.

Nanny-state tyranny, however, demands ever-increasing public dollars for the narrow agenda of its lobbyists and death merchants. Here are the broad strokes of such an egregious presumption, contrasted against the Sacraments of Initiation, Healing and Communion.





Lox Pop 2.0

Instead of tracking my family's progress following Dave Ramsey's plan, I've rediscovered a book whose message I need more. First, if you'll permit me a few words about Total Money Makeover. Ramsey is convicting and compelling, but not inspiring. At the core of his program is the goal of affluence. I have no general contention with that, in the sense he delivers it --- true affluence, not borrowed bling or living in debt. He frequently emphasizes charitable giving.  

There is nothing objectionable in his program. It's a mathematical solution which begs people to confront their financial dysfunction and assess their long-term goals. He writes about sacrificing now to insure stability later. It's all admirable and we've appreciated the discipline of his steps. I will still be using them and including that information as it seems relevant here.

Most people, if they commit to his program, are able to make phenomenal gains in as short as twenty months, even on a modest income. I just can't find the parts of the Bible or Catechism that say buying four duplexes is actually going to help me do anything except have four duplexes. (again ~ not a bad goal. Anthony and I see the true wealth in our family and friends for those who buy and hold real estate.)

However, without veering off into "I'm so unique" territory (because I'm not) ... I just need to make clear that math and plans and charts are stimulating but not sanctifying. Our income has been boom, bust and in between. Our needs have been met, we've enjoyed excesses and I have learned plenty.

But.

I am a dirty sinner in need of conversion.

Let's read this one instead.

From Amazon reviews:   

"To the modern mind, the concept of poverty is often confused with destitution. But destitution emphatically is not the Gospel ideal. A love-filled sharing frugality is the message, and Happy Are You Poor explains the meaning of this beatitude lived and taught by Jesus himself. But isn't simplicity in lifestyle meant only for nuns and priests?

Are not all of us to enjoy the goodness and beauties of our magnificent creation? Are parents to be frugal with the children they love so much? The renowned spiritual writer Dubay gives surprising replies to these questions. He explains how material things are like extensions of our persons and thus of our love. If everyone lived this love there would be no destitution.

After presenting the richness of the Gospel message, more beautiful than any other world view, he explains how Gospel frugality is lived in each state of life."

This also ties into my more political interests, since human greed and corruption perpetuate so much innocent suffering. I cannot transmit radical stewardship and sacrificial generosity to my children unless I undertake the lifestyle myself. What's the 12-Step aphorism? "You can't think yourself into a new way of living, but you can live yourself into a new way of thinking."

I think Mindy at the Devout Life will join in posting with occasional reflections about family economics, and maybe Allison at Northern CF Family? (No pressure, Bellisima!) Other blogs are welcome too. I hope you'll join us. I'm thankful to a friend for initially introducing me to Dubay, and Jen for mentioning it again yesterday over coffee after Mass.  Friends who recommend good books are not to be trifled with.

My second note, more of the housekeeping variety -- is that I have deactivated the comments feature on this blog. There's a note with an explanation on the right top sidebar under "Pages". It's essentially a time management thing, and I trust you will understand. Isn't Facebook just a huge combox, anyway? Chatter away about anything you read here. You just need to find a human to say it to, first.

The Pill: No Big Whoop?

Your moon cycle is your friend.

Confronting a lie is tough, but confronting the behemoth pharmaceutical industry begins with squeaky, questioning wheels. I invite you to become one of them.

President Obama is currently at the helm of an unprecedented assault on religious freedom, fundamental liberty and conscientious objection. I will leave the legal and historical arguments to minds better trained than mine. Barack Obama and his cohorts are but a symptom of what ails us. I want to talk about The Pill.

Hormonal contraception is the cultural norm for American women and teens, with 2010 marking fifty years of rapidly increasing use. We have been fed a host of well-crafted lies about our bodies, our destinies, and the role we should expect to play in controlling both. Creepy scientific findings are rejected without much logic, as if platitudes about liberation are as far as our reasoning abilities have been extended. 

Catholics have embraced the pill at a rate equal to everyone else, so the tentacles of this artificial intrusion aren't unique to any group. Entrenched mass acceptance doesn't make it the best choice for women. Liberation from fear is simpler, healthier and enhances a relationship.

As a married woman who happily fumbles her way through NFP, my own point of view may seem overly pristine. Let me assure you that I couldn't have treated sex more cavalierly for a portion of my life, and we endured infertility for the first half of our marriage. The former is just biography, and making bad decisions doesn't increase my credibility. The latter gave a piercing clarity to our grasp of the full purpose of sex itself. When a trusted process doesn't work to our demands, its function often takes on a heightened importance.

Not to trivialize the subject at hand, but is this ever more stark than with computers? If I there's an infinitessimal delay in retrieving data, I'm peeved. If something actually breaks, I experience an interior defrag process, the depth of which is embarrassing to admit. I like to read. But back to my womb, your womb, and the wombs you love...

To suggest that women reconsider use of artificial birth control is a strike at the heart of postmodern feminism, to which I owe a certain gratitude. So be it. Hear me roar, suffragettes.

Or rather, hear the Boston Women's Health Collective do their own roaring. Compared to their magnum opus, Our Bodies, Ourselves (1970), Pope Paul VI's landmark Encyclical, Humane Vitae (1968) is a breeze. Let's examine both. The italicized passages are the words of the Catholic Church, followed by a corresponding section from Our Bodies, Ourselves unless otherwise noted.

First, on the origins of life:

"The question of human procreation, like every other question which touches human life,
involves more than the limited aspects specific to such disciplines as biology, psychology, demography or sociology. It is the whole man and the whole mission to which he is called that must be considered: both its natural, earthly aspects and its supernatural, eternal aspects." 

"By the end of the second month the growing embryo, by this time called a fetus, is a very fragile one-inch long mass of differentiated tissue acting as a parasite within the mother's body."

+++

On the holistic ingredients of Natural Family Planning:

"The right and lawful ordering of birth demands, first of all, that spouses fully recognize and value the true blessings of family life and that they acquire complete mastery over themselves and their emotions.

Self-discipline of this kind is a shining witness to the chastity of husband and wife and, far from being a hindrance to their love of one another, transforms it by giving it a more truly human character."

  

"The method requires a lot of self-control

and cooperation between partners."

+++

On contraception effectively
reducing women to  sexual objects:

"Another effect that gives cause for alarm is that a man who grows accustomed to the use of contraceptive methods may forget the reverence due to a woman, and, disregarding her physical and emotional equilibrium, reduce her to being a mere instrument for the satisfaction of his own desires, no longer considering her as his partner whom he should surround with care and affection." 

  

"The pill can bring increased pressure on a woman to have intercourse with any man who wants it, or to do it with her husband or long-term lover any time he wants to whether she wants to or not."

+++

On Discerning Family Size: 

"With regard to physical, economic, psychological and social conditions, responsible parenthood is exercised by those who prudently and generously decide to have more children, and by those who, for serious reasons and with due respect to moral precepts, decide not to have additional children for either a certain or an indefinite period of time."

"Lots of experts have lots of expert opinions on the number of children in the "ideal" family and the spacing of those children, but it is up to each of us to make our own decision about how many children to have and when to have them." Ourselves and Our Children, 1978

+++

Women's Roles:

"Also noteworthy is a new understanding of the dignity of woman and her place in society, of the value of conjugal love in marriage and the relationship of conjugal acts to this love." 

"We and what we did were as valuable as men and what they did. ...It still surprises me that I can create something other than a child." 

+++

On the necessity and value of chaste periods:

"With regard to man's innate drives and emotions, responsible parenthood means that man's reason and will must exert control over them." 

"Anxiety diminishes because being alone is a very positive experience. It has given us back our integrity, our privacy, our pride." (on celibacy)

++++

It appears we have some points to agree on, such as the general aim of human dignity. There are sympathetic themes, but we know the documents to be diametrically opposed. Our Bodies Ourselves was a manifesto against reproductive enslavement, filled with more militant emotion than science or direction. Humanae Vitae, in its compactness, addresses so much of life's difficulty and beauty. It opens with the strength of the arguments of the day for using scientific gains to rationally space births. The reader is then swept into a broader realm, away from temptation and self-centeredness.  Especially when contrasted to the cynicism of OBOS, the good Pope is a romantic poet.

"It is sad not to see the good in goodness."
Russian novelist Nikolai Gogol



To describe their work as cynical is not discounting their passion or humanity. Firstwave feminists are real women, who poured their lives into this work --- often neglecting their own children to champion the power of another mother (or not). But they were pioneers, not settlers. I have inherited the dystopian realm they envisioned, and it's gross.

It is immoral men who benefit most from artificial birth control, giving them dominion over women in a way so delicate and difficult to explain after it has been granted for decades. This is no accident, if some study is given to the forces behind this movement. (Hint: It didn't start in 1970) So much sexual mystery is destroyed when men and women's complementary desires are fragmented into opposing forces. Men are harmed, too.

A girl who has never been wholly accepted barely counts it as a loss. To young men, specifically, I would ask: How dare you look into the eyes of a girl you profess to love, while hiding from her life-giving force that you can't possess or understand? Fear of this power tells you to treat her like a pretty vending machine, perhaps extracting offspring at some later date. As humans, we are much more than machines. 

I contain multitudes, as the poet implores.

So do you.

I parcel myself out for no man.

Oh, that just figures.

First, thank you to the forty-six voters in my navel-gazing poll asking for a 'subplot'. You have boldly chosen to join me the quest for freedom from our debt-insistent surroundings. Are you stoked? The tally is still visible on the right sidebar, and you're clearly geniuses for sparing yourselves my rather pedestrian goal of dropping the last (thirty!) pounds of the baby basket. The only thing more boring than gym exercise is reading about someone's gym exercise.

This, however, is going to be a great challenge. I'm intrigued by the idea of having no mortgage, buying a home outright and having our income available as we please. Travel. Helping with our childrens' college tuition, enabling them to begin adult life without debt. Giving to the causes and people we love.

I'll explain pieces of our financial history as we go along. Or no, I'll just summarize --- sketchy. Since leaving the workforce eight years ago to raise a family, I've watched my husband meet our every economic need. He's amazing. He left a career field he was passionate about for one that was much more lucrative. Then that effectively tanked, so he was brave and took a lateral kind of mumbo-jumbo which has kept us afloat.

We've learned good stuff along the way, not the least of which is reliance on God's providence. Simplicity. Unity. Most tender and elusive: humility. I have no original tools to offer you, but I have discovered this dude and will craft a program around that, and share our progress with you each Monday. As for today, homeschooling and the elliptical machine call.

Being Smart Is Not A Virtue

My favorite radio guru (yes, I'm this juvenile) and Jewish thinker Dennis Prager gives an enlightened diatribe against "My Child Is An Honor Student..." bumper stickers. Of all things! Being raised in the feelings-laden 1980s, I was at first puzzled why something so fluffy and happy woud grate on his nerves. Then I listened and found his logic worthwhile.

His argument is threefold: first, bragging is in poor form. Next, to emphasize academic accomplishments so exclusively is to elevate certain children over their peers, and even their own siblings. This creates resentment and sadness more than incentive. Third, Prager bluntly summarizes, "I don't care if your kid makes a 4.0 in school. I care if he's nice to the fat kid." I would add that much academic boasting has more to do with parents displaying their own achievements --- and schools promoting their name, or as a friend once put it, "kids as pets".

By this power of the Spirit,

God's children can bear much fruit.

He who has grafted us onto the true vine will make us bear

"the fruit of the Spirit: . . . love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control."

"We live by the Spirit"; the more we renounce ourselves,

the more we "walk by the Spirit."

(Catechism of the Catholic Church, 736)

I'm no anti-intellectual, but I can't manage the full Tiger Mother, either. This isn't to promote a bunch of mental slouching. It promotes an ideal moral standard which every child can meet. Let's be real: as Catholics, we rely on the intercession of too many illiterate Saints to pretend otherwise. God meets His aims through our willing hearts, and Jesus never wrote a single line (at least that we can cite).

If you are a parent, think of the kids with whom you prefer your child(ren) to spend time. Do you most look forward to gatherings with the very smart or the very kind? We cultivate what we value, and while God's gift of human intelligence is unique and vital --- it's unevenly distributed.

Today my gratitude is for a Faith which challenges me by being unafraid to list exact virtues as well as sins, compared to a culture which treats both as punchlines.

Oh Very Young, what will you leave us this time?

Among The Reasons I Love NPR: 'ephemeral' is their word for flaky.



Wilhelmina "Billie" McCandless at the bus in Denali State Park
where her only son starved to death in 1992. 

After hearing a story about a story (no links, bear with me) about a girl who flees college to hop trains and see concerts, citing her affinity for Woody Guthrie as chief among her motivators, I was admittedly peeved. But not at her.

The young lady, Marissa, whose mother is a journalist, strikes all the right notes in hindsight about her own arrogance and recklessness.
Her mother, however, remains enchanted by her daughter's travels, enough so that she wrote a story for a Boston paper about the phenomenon of  like-minded "travellers". They visited the site of a fatal New Orleans warehouse fire where eight homeless kids were killed in December 2010. Marissa's parents likely offered this child everything, in the temporal sense  ---- but the mother has no discernible wisdom. Lest I sound uncharitable, let me try to understand.

It's more than simple privilege, found empty by mounting teen angst. Or maybe it's not. Too many adults build lifestyles of material accumulation that most teenagers (the healthier ones, in my opinion) come to revile. They have urges, if not insight, that direct them towards something more raw. Marissa's friends often re-connected with former classmates on their treks. They described wanting bonds based in something more than casual interactions at school. Adolescence and its surging hormones mean that we're drawn towards intensity. Our nameless urges will find a home somewhere.

While cleaning up breakfast dishes, I thought of Christopher McCandless. His tragic Alaskan odyssey is seen in Sean Penn's artful movie, based on Jon Krakauer's book Into The Wild. Christopher's story was different in the sense of personal isolation, but he was rejecting similar expectations. I've never left a movie more angry and achingly sympathetic with the same character than I did with Marcia Gay Harden's portrayal of his mother. By accepting the holy vocation of motherhood, we're each susceptible to sharing her fate.

Young Christopher was something of a blooming mystic, acutely tuned to darkness and suffering. Positions have been cast about regarding his mental health. We don't know what ailed him, but it's clear that he found his sensibilities unwelcome in his parents' world, so he left. We risk alienating our kids when we force our ideas of success and progress into their lives. Here's the bigger risk: we aren't giving them enough to hold onto, to survive against, to stake their identity and loyalty to. Decades of sociological research have clearly defined the stages of development: parents lose their appeal around age fifteen.

Catholic culture has the answer. (surprise!) Both the Roman and Eastern traditions reveal our individual dignity through accepting our roles in the Body of Christ. As an aside, I'd argue that teens may seek group association, but largely as a means to defining themselves. "I know I am a (fill in the blank) because I'm with these (blankety blanks)."  For better or worse.

Lame Sunday School is not enough.

I'm aware of what I ultimately ask of my children by inviting them into Mother Church. Our oldest daughter is preparing for her First Communion in May, which is her first decisive reach for the sacraments and her salvation, without her parents. May she be a prayerfully hard-headed woman in all of her travels.

We have a dream.

Here are two somewhat competing visions of protest against being failed by institutions. Both make plentiful points which are worth thinking and talking about, and both are stylistically attractive. I look forward to seeing more work from each of the producers. Personally, this called to mind a moment in 2009 when our leader, a Dominican friar, bravely proposed that "YouTube is catechizing your children. It's your responsibility as laity to offer their Faith in a way that will draw them to the Lord."

His invitation to package our timeless faith in a contemporary way caught me off guard. I confess a certain reverse snobbery, even a preference for dusty "ditto sheets", but Father Francis was speaking truth. (And he was addressing us as youth catechists; the role of parents arguably includes protecting our children --- and ourselves -- from crude and objectifying images on every level.)

As a fairly recent convert to Catholicism, I'm still unwrapping the scope and diversity of the church. I can say with confidence that participation in the sacraments is the answer to the second video's complaints, and turning off the screen solves the first's. Fox News and the U.S. Senate are not the source and summit of human existence. While Ms. Newsom's video has content that I enjoy pondering, it's a superficial take on women's potential.