Randomness

Thanks to all of you who continue to follow my blog, in spite of such sporadic and non-specific posts.

Let me give you a little humor.

Today, Tim the Director of Custodial Services, visited my realm. I heard him come in and as I was heading out on another errand met him in our "foyer"

Tim said to me, "I'm looking for a missing broom, wondering if you have it here somewhere."

I told him, "Oh, I took it and rode off on it last night."

He turned to walk away, tossing over his shoulder, "Well, ya shoulda rode it back!"

Hypoxic

This evening my brother called; he saw Mom this weekend and said she is falling to "suggestion". Because other people thinks she has to look a certain way, she now looks "ashen".

I rolled my eyes thankful we were on the phone, even though his description kicked my worry up a notch or so.

He explained then that Mom did NOT receive the Sacrament of the Sick (Anointing) at her parish, citing the fact that apparently, Father didn't have the oils on him. He was going to call her so I asked him to find out for certain, because if she was truly denied the Sacrament, I was going to call the hospital so that a priest could be there tomorrow.

Monday is the ONLY day there is no priest available at the hospital.

After some conversation, I gave my brother some facts about coronary heart disease, how the heart works, and what happens to a brain that is not receiving enough oxygen. This took place after he told me Mom had dropped the F-bomber.

That's right. Mom brought the F-word into everyday conversation. We have NEVER heard her utter that word. Ever.

Ergo: she's either had a stroke or she's hypoxic. Given her current diagnosis, I'm guessing the latter.
As I had to explain to my brother, welcome Hypoxia, the guest of Coronary Heart Blockage. Who is being evicted tomorrow. We hope. And disconnected.

Then Mom called, and I spoke with Her Hypoxicness directly. 

It took some creative lines of questioning, but I learned that yes, Mom DID receive the Sacrament of the Sick (Anointing). She had gone to Confession, and Father didn't have the oils on him and expressed that he didn't feel the Sacrament of the Sick was proper in her case. Clearly he had no idea what he was talking about, or Mom wasn't clear, etc.

As it turned out, though, after Confessions he DID Anoint her as she requested, regardless of his own "feelings" on the subject.

So thank God for that!

Then, once I had that information, Her Hypoxicness began crabbing at me about being tired, traffic, driving, and not knowing where to park tomorrow which was all making her even MORE tired, and she was also apparently angry that I was keeping her awake since she forgot that in fact, she called ME!

I explained to her that she was taking med transport to the hospital and didn't need to worry about parking - they would know where to drop her off. (I, on the other hand, do need to worry about parking and which limb will be severed to pay for it.).

Based on my brother's physical description of Mom today, her liberal use of profanity that has NEVER been part of her vocabulary, and her confused conversation with me this evening, I am even more worried than I was.

It is clear that the blockage in her coronary is affecting her more acutely than we'd realized. She's been short of breath for a long time, but also suffers from COPD from her years of smoking.

I pray that she makes it to the hospital tomorrow and hope they have O2 readily available.

Please pray for the surgeons who will be operating, the surgical techs and nurses, the anesthesiologist (I know there is at least one really good Catholic among them..hoping she's on the team), and all who are there to care for my mother and other patients at the hospital tomorrow.

Tomorrow, because it is a Monday, is the only day during the week that the hospital does not have a Catholic priest available. I am praying that because it is a Solemnity (Assumption of Mary), there will be a Mass I can attend and perhaps, if needed, a priest available, especially if it turns out he is needed.

Mom received the Sacraments (Thank God!) but you know what? I need them, too and it seems I will be deprived of Mass on the day I may need it the most.

What Do Sin and Belly-Button Lint Have In Common?

Observation 1:

Yesterday I was watching, via Netflix DVD, the 1980's show "Perfect Strangers". 

This probably has to be one of the best comedies ever, and it's so refreshing to actually LAUGH at things that are funny but not in a squirmy "I shouldn't be laughing at this" kind of way.

In any case, Balki, from the mediterranian country of Mypos, was working on a lint painting. He explained to cousin Larry that the legend of its origin had to do with their spiritual leader. The man apparently made a trip to the top of a mountain where he sat staring at his navel for sixty days and sixty nights, and returned to his people with a lint painting.

Seriously, doesn't that make you giggle?

Then I reflected a bit on navel-gazing. Are you ready for my observation?  Here it is:

If you don't navel-gaze on occasion, you'll never find the lint you missed.

Ponder that one for a bit...

Observation 2:

This morning's Divine Office, first reading, was taken from the book of Hosea.

The book itself is startling, expressive, and ultimately redemptive in character, but I always cringe at the names.

The prophet Hosea, at God's direction, took a harlet named Gomer as his wife, and she gave birth to a son. Then the Lord said to him,

Give him the name Jezreel

for in a little while

I will punish the house of Jehu

for the bloodshed at Jezreel

And bring to an end the kingdom

of the house of Israel;

Ugh. Brutal name for the poor infant son!

But wait! There's more!

Gomer gave birth to a daughter, and the Lord ordered Hosea,

"Give her the name Lo-ruhama;

I no longer feel pity for the house of Israel;

rather, I abhor them utterly.

And it even gets worse when Gomer gave birth to another son:

Give him the name of Lo-ammi,

for you are not my people,

and I will not be your God

That's just from today's reading! There's even more!

Although I do love the book of Hosea, which is an allegory expressing the spousal love of God for His Bride, the Church (and what a fallen Bride she is), the names given here cause me to ponder concupiscence, for truly, it is not God who rejects us, but we reject Him. We are the ones telling Him, "We will not be your people and You will not be our God."

That's what sin does.

Sometimes I am very saddened upon the necessary navel-gazing, looking for that lint I missed the last time I went to Confession. But when I really think about it, I am overwhelmed with gratitude that I am not named Gomer, Jezreel, Lo-ruhama or Lo-ammi, or for that matter, Mahershalalhashbaz.

That is all.

** ** **

P.S. You checked your belly-button for lint, didn't you? ;-)

Forebearing

Yesterday I finally took care of the inevitable: I called my mortgage company to advise I would not be able to make my next payment. Or maybe the one after.

I explained the situation to the first customer representative, and he paused while looking up my account. When he came back he said, "But your payments are up to date."

"Yes, they are."

*silence*

*shuffle* "I was hoping not to make this call but I won't be able to make my next payment. What are my options? I can pay some, but not all."

"Well your payments are up to date. I'll transfer you to collections and they'll see what you qualify for since you're not behind. Here's the number." 

Then he transferred me, and I spoke to the person in collections. As HE looked up my account, we had a repeat of my first conversation, with the same odd tone. "Well....your account is up to date."

"Yes. But I won't be able to make this next payment as I've had a reduction in hours at work."

This went on for a bit and I admit I was puzzled; both the rep and the collections agent seemed a bit put out that I would dare to be calling them while still current on my mortgage.

Um...was I SUPPOSED to be $10,000 in the hole before calling for assistance, and already in foreclosure? [rhetorically sarcastic question]

Thankfully he processed a 3 month forbearance which also allows me to make partial payments through September. The down side is that after 3 months, I WILL be behind by at least one full payment, if not a little more, and THEN there will be a big black mark on my credit. But...it also sounds like they anticipate that with this type of forebearance and then roll something else out to help homeowners become current again.

I decided not to ask too many questions, though, because even the simplest ones regarding the situation at hand seemed really confusing to the collections rep. He's sending some preliminary paperwork; we'll see if perhaps that answers my questions, but I am guessing I already HAVE the paperwork he's citing and could probably explain it to HIM more effectively than he was able to explain my basic options to me.

*sigh*

Does anyone want to pay my mortgage for a month or so?

No?

OK.

The Daze of the Life of Adoro

Where to even start this post?

Perhaps it's best to begin with Mom, who sent me an early birthday gift with the explicit instructions to go shopping for new summer clothing. No, Mom can't afford to send me money, but she did and wouldn't take "no" for an answer, therefore I set out to do as she asked.

First, on Saturday, I went to get a haircut because my mane is way overgrown and resembles something like a worn out mop with weirdly cut bangs. (Hey, I got sick of them and chopped them!)  At best, I get my hair cut only once or twice per year, and because of that I used to "splurge" at a real salon and pay $35-40 plus tip. I figured, hey, for as little as I get it done, why not? That way I knew I had a good cut, they'd style it and I'd look awesome and my hair smelled great all day!

Well, given my financial situation, I gave up my salon "splurges" in favor of the cheap places. Fantastic Sam's did an OK job and I thought to go back to them. But while running errands on Saturday I happened to be directly across from Great Clips. Even though I swore I'd never go back there again, I decided to suck it up and go inside. Once there, I had to pay extra for the hair wash (ok fine), and decided on a whim to take off even MORE hair than I had planned initially. You see where this impulsiveness is going, don't you?

Yup.

I hate it. I don't mind the length, but I've discovered my hair is now curly and it's terrible because I broke a rule a friend in my past laid down for me. I used to go to her for my cuts when she was at an Aveda Salon where she was trained. She told me to never let anyone, and she meant ANYONE touch my hair with those nasty layering shears (whatever they're called). She said my hair had to be layered with a scissors and the tool would wreck it.

She was right. It looks awful, won't do what I want and now I just look like a worn out mop with the frizzled edges cut off with a dagger of some sort. Although my bangs look better now.

Well, that's what you get for $20.00, I guess. (Interestingly enough I got a better cut for less at Fantastic Sam's, although it wasn't anywhere near salon quality).  *sigh*

Oh vanity, my vanity!

Background info on what is to come....

A few weeks ago I went to the eye doctor for the first time in about 4 years because I received the notice to renew my driver's license. I have terrible vision and live in holy terror that I won't be able to pass the vision test, so I thought it best to stop in at the doc and pay for new glasses or contacts if needed. Coupled with eye strain of late, I was sure I was due for a new prescription. Over $100 later and no real update. Great. And I'm paying most of it, maybe all, out of pocket entirely without hope of reimbursement.

The good news is that instead of getting those nasty dilator drops on a really bright impossibly sunny day, I decided to go for the retinal scan, and that was the COOLEST thing ever! And the doc can see more, and now if I and murdered and disposed of in a weird way my remains can be identified by my retinal scan if my eyeballs are still intact. How awesome is that!?

But I digress....

One of the reasons for my slum-salon visit on Saturday, of course, was this big buildup for my visit to the DMV to renew my driver's license. I figured that if my photo is going to look horrible anyway, I really didn't have to have bad hair, too.

Joke's on me, I guess. Bad pic and worse hair than if I'd just gone in with my self-cut bangs and frizzed out barn mop.

Although I passed the eye test, no problem. *whew* !

Today, and Today Alone

My first stop today was the DMV to fulfill that dreaded task, then on to the rest of my list.

I'm not like other women: I hate shopping with a passion, but I knew I must obey my Mom especially given her sacrifice, so took myself to Kohl's with sincere hope of finding something.

Please allow me to be clear:  I hate hate hate summer-wear shopping with a greater passion than at any other time of the year because the stuff on the racks is tiny, even the things with sleeves are not really sleeves, and, well, let's face it: clothing doesn't look good on me at all. I'm no fashion bug and if I were rich I'd hire a personal shopper/ private investigator  because I'm sure even the highest end stores on the planet wouldn't have anything I could actually wear. In fact, I'm certain they'd forbid me to wear their for fear I might tell someone the name of the store and they'd lose all their business. Designers would flee from me in utter horror.

The only reason I wear clothes is that I'd look even worse without them and more than Designers would flee in terror. They might run then come back with harpoons and throw nets at me while calling me "Moby".

Meanwhile, back at the chain store....grabbing a few items of interest, certain they wouldn't fit but bound and determined to give my shopping experience the good ol' college try, I headed for the fitting room to try them on. Somewhere in the middle of my rejected and soon-to-be-rejected pile, a woman and her daughter came in and entered the stall next to mine.

I heard the daughter say, "Mom, you know that door has a handle."

The Mom: "And how many grimy dirty hands have touched that handle today alone?"

Daughter (pause) "Ew."

The Mom: "Yeah. Exactly."

In my growing irritation and crabbiness I had to bite down hard on my tongue to keep from saying aloud, "Gee, I wonder how many people have tried on these clothing items before we did? I sure hope everyone who comes here showers before trying on clothing, and hope they don't have mites or scabies or lice or syphilis..."

But I remained silent and rolled my eyes at the germophobe instead.

Dang it! Why do I feel so itchy all of a sudden?

So, having no luck at Kohl's, I was cranky and crabby and sad and wanted only to be home reading a book and avoiding people. So I went to Goodwill. It couldn't possibly be a worse experience, right? I had to find SOMETHING, and with my go-to place a bust I needed a shot in the dark.

Well, I did find a couple things at Goodwill and bought them, but they weren't the kind of things Mom had in mind, although they will be useful to me this summer and will probably impress my co-worker with my fashion prowess resulting from her artistic influence. That has limited scope, though, and is not going to pass the Mom-test.

(As an aside: Goodwill is the only place I've ever been where my charm doesn't earn me eye contact and a return in charm from the cashiers. They all behave as though they are working in a naughty store and are ashamed of themselves for working there and for the shoppers who come there. Having been in a naughty store, I can tell you those employees were much more "customer friendly" when they should have been avoiding  eye contact at LEAST as enthusiastically as the people of Goodwill try to do. Just sayin'.)

So after failing once again to charm the mysteriously ashamed employees of Goodwill, [and seriously, even the DMV employees were more joyful and personable - isn't that an oxymoron?] I headed to the Library and nearly tripped on a boy heading back in from the bathroom, carrying a huge key and walking along in shoes at least two sizes too large for him. He scuttled (or galumphed?) past me through the door and I couldn't help but watch his gait in those big athletic shoes, wondering what his mother was thinking by providing shoes like that. He was going to wreck his knees!

Then I just shrugged. Hey! Who am I to judge? I just came from Goodwill with my own version of poorly-fitted clothing!

My last stop was the grocery store. For at least two weeks I've been craving a root beer float but without the ingredients, my hands were tied. I didn't feel like dealing with Dairy Queen, so I looked for a small container of vanilla ice cream. Nuthin'. Seriously the only vanilla I could find was in half-gallon and above! With a sigh I bought the cheap stuff and a small bottle of A&W and paid for that and the other items on my list.

Now I'm back at home, staring at a livingroom covered with cotton from the latest toy to have its innards removed by Apollo the foster dog. I'm looking at stacks of junk mail that needs to go away and old things that need to be shredded. I have a sink full of dirty dishes from the last thing I cooked yesterday morning before I rushed off to Mass and work.

Today, in spite of the fact it's my day off, thanks to my failed and hated shopping expedition, from which I have emerged only to have to explain to Mom that no amount of money in the world will provide a good photo of me well dressed for her, I'm crabby and sad and bitter and angry. Maybe now she'll take back the amount I didn't spend between Saturday and today, and give this up as a lost cause.

I think maybe it's time to put on my worn-out cross-trainers, put new batteries in my CD player, grab some tunes, and go for a long walk while daydreaming all sorts of adventures and impossibilities.

*sigh* 

Sometimes the life we live in our imagination is the only cure for the hardness and bitterness of life under our feet. 

Thought for the Day with GK Chesterton

It's been a crazy week in real life and I haven't been able to write. At all. Even a simple article due on Thursday to my boss didn't get turned in to her until this afternoon and in my opinion, it was dismal at best. Then last night I DID manage to write something up, an answer to a reader's question and you know what happened? Blogger was down for maintenance, and was STILL down this morning so I couldn't even post what I put in a Word document last night!

That was just as well as it does need some editing - whenever I actually manage to get to it. So, my apologies to Jose, I will get the answer to your question posted as soon as time and blogger maintenance issues allow.

In the meantime, here's a thought for you to ponder:

On the subject of Princess Beatrice's wedding hat:

I was wondering what G.K. Chesterton would say about it, and I think the words that would be emitted from his pen would be these:

"It's one thing to create a piece of dubious abstract "art" and display it in a museum where paying customers can come to observe it. It is another thing entirely to inflict it upon the world by bearing it upon one's or another's  head."

Synergy

This afternoon I was in the Adoration chapel at my parish, spending a wee bit o' time in prayer, when some movement on the floor caught my attention. I peered at it for awhile, trying to determine what it was - an elderly box elder bug? No; as it got closer, I saw that it was a spider exploring the area under the pews.

Uh oh. I looked up at Jesus, then back at the floor. Where was it going? I didn't want it crawling on me...or anyone else, either. The chapel was beginning to fill, slowly, as people arrived for Confessions and Mass.

I looked back at the floor and saw that the creepy creature had moved into the aisle. It was close enough to me..I could stand up and step on it, but I wondered if that would be right. Even though I'm terrified of spiders and knew I'd continue to be distracted as long as I saw the thing, I didn't know if I could kill in cold blood right there before Our Lord's True Presence.

So it was, as I had my interior debate, that I was watching the spider as it wandered the aisle, and I glanced periodically up towards the altar, wondering about the morality of murdering a spider in the chapel - a spider which had not yet actively threatened my personal space.

Then a man left the confessional and as he passed before the Blessed Sacrament, he paused and turned to bow, and in so doing, unknowingly stepped on and squished the spider.

Thank you, Jesus!

How Long, O Lord...

How long, O Lord? Wilt thou forget us for ever?
How long wilt thou hide thy grass and flowers from us?
How long must we bear the ice and snow,
and shiver down to the bone in frigid cold all the day?
How long shall winter be exalted over us?


Consider and answer us, O Lord, our God;
lighten our skies lest we sleep the sleep of hypothermia
lest the winter say; "I have prevailed over global warming."
lest the snows rejoice because we are buried beneath.

~ Psalm 13

Yesterday while sliding on ice while walking my dog, shivering in the negative temperatures, I heard the song of a spring bird. Crazy, stupid, lying bird. No visible presence, just the lie of that song, trying to lull me into believing winter will end. At the same time I heard the call of the late winter birds, calling back and forth, probably laughing as I trundled along in hopes of remaining upright.

Don't listen to the birds; they lie.

This long winter has no intention of ending any time soon.

The groundhog lied, too.

Stupid, lying, groundhog.

Epiphany

For months now, I haven't been posting very often. Sometimes I struggle to come up with one post per week. It amazes me that I continue to have followers. Please forgive me, but at times I think I only have followers because my blog is like a train wreck- once you look you just can't look away!

I've been considering putting this blog out of its misery, but truly, it has been an outlet for me and I am reminded I'm not being paid for my work; it carries with it no regular obligation. You, dear readers, apparently continue to follow because on occasion, you find that I have something to say, something that resonates with your own spiritual life, lived experience, questions about theology...or something. For that, I thank you. When it comes down to it, whenever I consider sticking a fork in this mess, I realize ultimately that it isn't really about me. None of us live lives that are all about us; we are living for God, for His people. Or at least we're trying in our own fallen way.

Granted, I love to write, but it is often a laborious task.When I post, I want to do so by way of adding something to the blogosphere, something different, something, well, hopefully holy. (Oh, you know how often I fail at that...!)  So it is that when I stop to consider this labor, I am forced to realize that perhaps not only is this something that I occasionally love, but it is also a sacrifice. It is one of the ways I can offer to lay my life down for God, for others, even though the disconnect that is the internet means I will never see "the faces" of those who linger but do not comment. I will never truly know the impact, for good or evil, of my words, of my life - and that's as it should be. The former would tempt pride, the latter, despair.

So it is that I will continue this blog as before, although I do not know what direction it will take, or how often I will write. I don't know if the words will appear I'm squeezing blood out of a rock, or whether they will flow freely. I only know that I must continue, for even if I say nothing new, even if my words don't matter, I am a single Christian doing my best to follow my Savior, and often failures in holiness speak more clearly to the Glory and Mercy of God than do the greatest successes.

Thank you all, dear readers, for continuing to follow this little work of mine. Thank you for your support and prayers over the years, for walking with me through the light and shadows that encompass this earthly pilgrimage. Thank you, both original readers who have been there from the beginning (are any of you still there or have I chased you away?) and thank you to my newer followers. I value you all and keep you also in my prayers.

God bless you as we continue through the Christmas season and celebrate a new start in 2011! 

(and remember...Christmas doesn't end until the Baptism of Our Lord!)

The Humor of Flannery O'Connor

Finally, I've had the time and found Flannery O'Connor's "Habit of Being" on the shelf of my local library. My only regret is that I don't own this book. I've half a mind to mark it up just so I can bring it back to the library and explain I've "defaced" it therefore need to purchase it.

It is truly difficult not to get out a highlighter as I go through it, and mark the pages with little stickers. Certainly the stickers can be removed, but really...once placed, why would one EVER remove them? Really?

Alas, this is something I must offer up, as we were taught by our mothers, and alas, I will have to bring this delightful tome back to the library and there relinquish it, unmarked.

Such a tragedy!

I have a sense that dear Flannery would understand.  For a glimpse into her mind and her humor, I will present a snapshot below. Know that she suffered not only from lupus, but other conditions and happened, in this particular time, to be on crutches because of a deterioration of her hip (not related to lupus). Her life still demanded that she travel to some degree and so she worked within her disability and as you can see, found the humor available to her through her very own suffering, but never without her sharp wit and take on the humanity around her:

I have decided I must be a pretty pathetic sight with these crutches. I was in Atlanta the other day in Davison's. An old lady got on the elevator behind me and as soon as I turned around she fixed me with a moist gleaming eye and said in a loud voice, "Bless you, darling!" I felt exactly like the Misfit and I gave her a weakly lethal look, whereupon greatly encouraged, she grabbed my arm and whispered (very loud) in my ear. "Remember what they said to John at the gate, darling!" It was not my floor but I got off and I suppose the old lady was astounded at how quick I could get away on crutches. I have a one-legged friend and I asked her what they said to John at the gate. She said she reckoned they said, "The lame shall enter first." This may be because the lame will be able to knock everybody else aside with their crutches.

Ha!

I think that old lady attends my parish. Or maybe her grand-daughter  might be the same one who, mistaking me for the mother of several active children, directed me to "have lots more!".

In any case, I love Flannery's take. A woman after my own heart!

;-) 

*    *   *   

On Blogging and Criticism

Famous quotes about writing paraphrased (and bastardized) for your enjoyment and edification:

Where do I find the time for not reading so many blogs?  

~ Karl Kraus (1874-1936)

Your blog is both good and original, but the part that is good is not original and the part that is original is not good. 

~ Samuel Johnson (1709-1784)

The reason why so few good blogs (and newspaper stories) are written is that so few people who can write know anything...including how to write. 

~ Bastardized by Adoro, original quote by Walter Bagehot (1826-1877) 

Blogs are an unrivaled vehicle for telling the truth about other people. 

~ Philip Guedalla (1889-1944)

Blog:  Something published in haste and regretted at leisure. 

~ Oliver Herford (1863-1935)

The newspaper is the natural enemy of the blog, as the whore is of the decent woman. 

~ The Goncourt Brothers, 1858

A well-written blog is almost as rare as a well-spent life. 

~ Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881) (This one is so bastardized it might be my own creation)  

A person who publishes a blog appears willfully in public with his pants down. 

~ Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)

The man who reads blogs is better educated than the man who reads nothing but newspapers. 

~ (Bastardized by Adoro, original quote by Thomas Jefferson, i.e. "the man who reads nothing at all"....et al)

A blogger is a lucky person who has found a way to discourse without being interrupted. 

~ Charles Poore

Journalism largely consists in saying "The Blogger is dead" to people who never knew bloggers even existed.

~  Adoro, orig. G.K. Chesterton 1(1874-1936)

Bloggers have two main problems. One is blogger's block, when the words won't come at all, and the other is logorrhea, when the words come so fast that they should be deleted before they are typed. 

~ Bastardized by Adoro, albeit true, inspired by original quote by Cecilia Bartholomew 

Blogging is turning one's worst moments into a warning for others. 

~ Adoro, inspired by J.P. Donleavy

If you can't annoy somebody, there is little point in blogging. 

~ Kingsley Amis

Unprovided with original learning, unformed in the habits of thinking, unskilled in the arts of composition, some resolved to write a blog. 

~ Edward Gibbon (1737-1794)

Asking a blogger what he thinks about critics is like asking a lamp-post how it feels about dogs. 

~ Christopher Hampton

When a blog and head collide and there is a hollow sound, is it always from the blog?  

~ Georg Christoph Lichtenberg (1742-1799)

This one is too good to be misquoted or bastardized:  

Everywhere I go I'm asked if I think the university stifles writers. my opinion is that they don't stifle enough of them. There's many a bestseller that could have been prevented by a good teacher.  

~ Flannery O'Connor

*** The foundation of all quotes was taken from the anthology 1,911 Best things Anybody Ever Said compiled by Robert Byrne. *****

Yeah, so...

I had to go to a meeting today. In fact, I've been to a LOT of meetings in the last couple weeks, and am not quite sure I can take it anymore.



I'm just sayin'.

It is Finished

Professors, into thy hands I commit my final papers. 

What I have written, I have written. 

Let the MTS be granted to me according to thy word.

NOW what?

Gravitational Pull: Straddling Two Worlds

So often, I feel like I'm trying to straddle two worlds.  

There is so much I love about my life, and those same things I love I also sometimes hate.

Then there are those things that I find are most important to me. For example:  I love guys!

I don't mean in the flirtatious over-sexed significance of the "When-Harry-Met-Sally-Is-My-Bible" crowd, but naturally, without any weird pheremonal currents.  I honestly enjoy the company and friendship of men and, dare I admit it...I often prefer their company to that of women.

There. I said it: I like to hang out with guys.

Mind you, the guys I like to hang out with are respectful, know their boundaries, are maybe married, or priests, or, well...not someone likely to hit on me. (And if they did I wouldn't hang out with them any more.)  Single guys are just fine, too, but I don't look at single men as an opportunity to flirt. I put them on the same level as the others, simply enjoy their company and find that I can often better relate to them (guys in general) better than I can other women.

(As an aside: even though I do not believe I am called to marriage I am open to it and I would NEVER consider courting a man with whom I could not be good friends.)

That's not to say I don't love to hang out with my girlfriends. There is NOTHING like a good "Girl's Night"!  But of course, the girls I like to hang out with are less into fashion and more into fun things like movies, dinner, humor....and nothing froofy.

I don't like "crafts" or "projects" or knitting or sewing, and demure games of cards tend to bore me to tears. Unless, of course, I'm playing Blackjack with my guyfriends and one of them keeps up a hilarious dealer-prattle that keeps us all in stitches and leads to the scandalous-sounding name of our favorite college game, "Asshole".  (Sorry, but that's the name of it and I have very fond memories of  holding that particular Title in two countries!)

You see? We're back to guys.

As I ponder my Vocation, I wonder about this.  Fr. Loyola, in speaking about Theology of the Body on Relevant Radio, once commented that if one goes to any given event, one finds the men standing around the grill talking sports, and the women in the kitchen chatting about, well...woman things.

*yawn*

I'm sorry. I've had about all I can take of discussing potty training, home school curriculum, dress sizes, celebrities, and hair salons. In fact, I have NOTHING to say about ANY of that, nor can I relate to it.  After all, I'm already potty-trained, at work I often deal with home-schoolers and discuss curriculum as it relates to my job, I hate talking about clothing sizes because shopping is the bane of my existence, and I only darken the door of a hair salon once per year, if that.  What's more, the only people I respect less than politicians are "Celebrities". God save us from Celebrities and their devotees, especially if the devotees are mindless politicians!

To be fair, though, my married female friends actually are very good about saving those "marriage and family"  conversations for when I'm not around, they're not into celebs, are too busy with real life to worry about fashion and, well, have better hair than mine but probably have other friends who are hair artists and do their hair while talking about potty training.

So you see, it all works out.

My single female friends, though...oy...come to think of it, I don't have a lot of them anymore. Those who are, are discerning Vocations to religious life, and they like crafts and cards and all sorts of things that make me go cross-eyed.  (Wait...that's a genetic condition I've had since birth.)  But you know what I mean.

It's such a struggle.

On one hand, I love what I have experienced of the religious life. I love the hours of prayer, I love the silence, the solitude, and the everyday work that keeps the "household" running. Although my first experience felt almost "industrial" to me in those big ol' kitchens, I'm sure over time it would feel more like a family event. After all, I'm from a very small family and we could have cooked on a hotplate.

Hmm....I think we did a couple times.

On the other hand, I think about the restrictions; my entire life would be with...other women. ONLY other women. Women who probably never had an interest in shooting, hand-to-hand-combat, Blackjack, Tequila shots, games called "Asshole", hanging out with guys at the grill talking about the Kentucky Derby instead of hanging with the ladies in the kitchen wearing checkered tableclothes as aprons, can't tell the difference between a leafspring and a modified McPhearson, ground effects from a spinner kit....etc.

Yes, yes, I know there are a myriad of personalities and experiences. I just wonder how the tomboys manage to become "one of the girls" and go from backyard campfires with the guys to knitting rosaries and crocheting veils while discussing the latest demure topic in the convent.

Believe me...my own bawdy humor does not go over well in the convent, even my most innocent of bawdiness.

In all seriousness, though, how can a woman who thinks "Fight Club" is a great movie, and jams to the opening tune of "Gone in 60 Seconds" enter into the utter and complete estrogen of the monastery?

This question, this ENTIRE POST, in fact, is rhetorical. Please don't try to answer it.

I assure you...you don't have the answers, and I haven't stated anything here that needs "fixing".  Rather, I'm just offering, in complete honesty, a portion of the discernment process. And it's something a LOT of discerning women don't want to talk about. I'm sure to some, what I've said seems outright scandalous.  To others, what I've said is EXACTLY what they're experiencing, too.

In the end, discernment isn't about our preferences; every Vocation requires a sacrifice. I don't feel called to marriage and seemed to be outright "released" from it a couple years ago at a friend's wedding. Perhaps part of my sacrifice is my relationship with men (chaste!), my backyard barbecues, talking shop with them about things most women can't discuss and don't want to (like guns and hunting and car theft...oh my!).

God calls whom He calls, He knows our true happiness, and as Psalm 139 reminds us, He "discerns our purpose from afar."  

But knowing all these things, recognizing them as part of my discernment, doesn't change that sense of being a part of two worlds, sensing a draw to one world, while still holding onto the one I'm in.

The Latest Buzz...

Today I finally sent my response to the Passionists in St. Louis.

Yeah, I know I'd said I'm closing the door, but in talking it over with my Spiritual Director during Lent, he was pretty clear in that he wanted me to respond and take them up on their invitation.

The one thing I know about God:  He takes obedience very seriously. And the one thing I learned from St. Francis de Sales and St. Catherine of Siena:  obedience to the Spiritual Director is obedience to God Himself (unless one is being asked to commit a mortal sin), and the virtue of obedience is the key that opens Heaven.

So I have finally completed the letter and today, sent it out, accepting their invitation...should God will that it be so.

I know that as I get closer and closer to resolution, this sense of being torn apart is going to get more and more intense. I will have to make a decision, but until I can resolve a few things, a decision cannot be made.  If I were to decide right now, at this moment, I would say "NO!", and that decision would be purely emotional. Why?  Because discernment is hard and I'm sick to death of it and want nothing more than for it to be over. Instead, I'm looking deeper, knowing that the Truth has not yet been mined, and it won't be so without application of reason. Reason requires research and in this case, personal experience.

It is a classic case of Faith and Reason.

Oy...I'm Dominican, aren't I?

*sigh*

Stop laughing!

What Why How

Last spring, or summer or fall...whatever it was...I had to attend a training through work. I didn't want to go but to my surprise, something I learned that day was actually useful, and didn't involve the motivational speaker telling me that I'd be living in a van down by the RIVER! (As I had feared, even though I MIGHT end up living in a VAN down by the RIVER eventually.)

So often, (please forgive me) I have been frustrated by the commenters who take my posts out of context, pulling out this or that sentence or point and trying, it seems to make my post about something it is not.  Much of this failure is mine;  often I am not clear, often it is a difficult thing, and sometimes it is something that can only be understood by someone who is going through the same thing I am while I write about it.

Sometimes I try to address within the post what I know will become a stumbling block for this or that type of reader, but it seems, always, that my most introspective posts manage to invite comments by those who simply cannot grasp where I am coming from or where I am going. It's impossible and unwieldy to even TRY to make ever commenter happy in catering to their needs. Thus, in the end, the frustration is with myself, in my inability to be all things to all people.

Truly, I don't expect people to understand me,and yet, idiotically, I somehow expect people to understand me. 

(Do you see me rolling my eyes at myself yet?)  

Some time ago, while trying to keep my frustration under wraps, I found a way to express it by writing a humorous post about what would happen if St. Augustine had blogged "Confessions."  I didn't pick on any commenters in particular, but admittedly went for reality to include the rational and annoying both.  You can find that post here. Any blogger could relate and add to the commentary.

This is where I circle around to bring in my actual subject matter for this post:  I have come to realize the speaker I was forced to listen to that day had a point, and truly, there are three types of people in the world, and all of them have commented at my blog at one time or another.

Understanding the types of people (therefore readers/commenters) can go a very long way towards responding to them according to who they are, and this leads to blog success.  More specifically, it leads to success in evangelization THROUGH the blog - or any other medium, for that matter.

(Yes, I'm shameless. Why are you shocked?)

Without further ado, I introduce you to the three types of people found everywhere in the world through every single medium, including blog com boxes:

The "What" People:

These are the people who just want to know WHAT the problem is if there is one, or if not, WHAT the subject is about and therefore, WHAT they should do.  These are the same people who want short blog posts and who are looking for the fine points in any given published article or online post.  They favor bullet points over paragraphs and wouldn't be able to survive without printers and highlighters

In some sense, I think that they might be the most likely to take longer posts out of context, just because of their inherent nature to ask "What the hell are you talking about so I can respond and get it over with?"  These are the people who look to the Passion of Christ as a necessary business, but would prefer not to emote too much over it.

The "What" people are pragmatic, practical, to-the-point, realistic, logical, and want to prioritize. They don't have time for trivialities and quickly tap their feet when confronted by both the "Why" people and the "How" people, whom they see as being extremists and polar opposites.

To evangelize them one must focus mainly on who Jesus is and the fittingness arguments as to the Incarnation, Passion, and Resurrection.  The challenge in formation for the "What" people is often to bring in both doctrinal and mystical theology to make sure they do not focus only on outcome, i.e., "getting the job done."

Many "What" people are most probably Thomists or Scholastics.

The "Why" People:

These are the people who are the most empathetic among us. They tend to be the most optimistic, the ones who most desperately flee any semblance of suffering in favor of "looking to the good things", often to the degree of outright denial of the necessity of obstacles.  In their empathy they are looking for the same empathy they offer out of their own inherent virtue, and are often bitterly disappointed, but to be fair, are honestly confused when others aren't as "Resurrection-oriented" as they are. They suffer greatly in this area and struggle to maintain their optimism.

The "Why" people tend to be the ones who are most offended and have the thinnest skin when it comes to the reality of sin in the world, wanting both to deny it in general and for themselves, focusing so desperately on the "positive" that they willfully deny the very important positive point of redemptive suffering.

This group is the most difficult to evangelize; they are emotionally driven to the deprivation of the intellectual. It is therefore important, when evangelizing a "Why" person, to find points of identification, such as that provided  by the Saints.  Find a Saint that most resembles the individual, build the points while you build the relationship of friendship and support with that individual.

Keep in mind that with a "Why" it isn't about facts or history or doctrine...it is all about whether they like you or not, and whether you can transfer their affection for you to affection for Christ so that He reigns.  It's a long-term project, and it means that you're going to become family members and best friends long before the "Why" finally accepts the teaching of Christ.  Why?  Because it's all about emotion and trust. It's entirely possible for a Why to adapt to a more realistic approach, but it takes time and patience. When it happens, though, get out of the way for the Why can easily become a How when they recognize the importance of their mission, and NOTHING stops them!

You'll find a lot of "Why" people focusing on Catholic Social Teaching, but the challenge in forming them tends towards the emphasis of  the doctrinal teachings and why they are important. They are excellent in the field of encouragement and intercessory prayer (you'll never find someone more dedicated to intercession!), make great motivational speakers, and are often found peddling politics and special causes.

These are the "doers" of society who keep things running.

The "Why" people are the ones most likely to find a philosophical basis in conceptualism and/or relativism. They can be guided towards Scholasticism and may adopt other philosophies according to their formation and emotional approach to spirituality.

The "How" People:

Oh, this is probably the most complicated of all.  They are perhaps the bane of my existence.

The "Hows" are the concrete-numbers-only-literalists among us.  They tend to be engineers and mathmeticians, or even worse, actuaries.  They might even be librarians (although most librarians are more flexible and personable.)  Most likely, they work for the IRS, the KGB, or the CIA.  Or maybe the DMV.

These are the people who, upon being notified of a meeting, demand to know the topic, the content, what they should bring, and then prepare spreadsheets with all sorts of complicated figures so that they will be certain to know each and every detail and be able to contribute to influencing it.

You'll never find a politician among this group. The "How" people are far too intelligent to ever condescend to mere politics. They make up the backbone of any organization, the unsung heroes in the dingy basement office of the highest skyscraper, spending their days with numbers, printouts and ever-changing computer code.

Evangelizing a "How" is quite difficult. If they are not already faithful, they tend towards the atheistic spectrum, although do have a special love of logic. The only people who can really evangelize a "How" have a deep grasp of philosophy, a love of concrete facts, and only bring in the mystical when it is absolutely necessary AND when the How is ready to go to the next level.  It's a very tricky task, but once a How has converted...get out of the way!

"Hows" make the best Scripture Scholars and Systematic Theologians.

The challenge in the formation of a How is in the realm of true pastoral relations and divine pedagogy;  making sure that the person receiving the message is actually prepared to receive it.

Philosophically speaking, the "How" people tend to cross the spectrum; but once converted, tend towards Thomism, Scholasticism, Moral Ethics, and Natural Law.

Conclusion

I have detailed above the three types of people, and having had a year or so to consider it, have come to the conclusion that the speaker was correct. I work with all three types of people and their combinations.

Most people belong to a combination of categories. For myself, I am a What-Why, only rarely tapping into How.

It is no surprise that I sometimes become frustrated when I am not understood through this medium, and probably, my readers likewise are not understood.

Although I've taken a (dry) humorous approach on this, I invite my readers to look at the categories (What, Why, How), suggest your own take on philosophy, evangelization, and characteristics, and post them in the com box.

Keep it light, keep it fun, and keep it real.

:-)

It might be Lent, but that doesn't mean we have to give up being geeks!

Mantilla Twitch to Newsbobber...And A Few Friends

I don't often reference the News or News Organizations as, for the most part, there are so many other bloggers who do so that I figure my random two cents becomes part of a mindless echo chamber.  Granted, there are stories that NEED to be put out there, and I am not adverse to doing so. But this is different and I think maybe I owe some publicity towards an organization that seems to deserve it! (It helps that I'm trying to study theology for my final and find this as a necessary diversion from that task.)

By accident, one day some time ago while randomly checking out my "Feedjit" widget on the side, I saw a reference to "Newsbobber". I'd never heard of them, so figured maybe I should check out this source apparently referring to me.

As it seems, they are an independent internet news service, collecting Minnesota-based news, and it seems they have a special love for Minnesota bloggers.  (That alone makes me a fan;  seriously, a news service that isn't disdainful or condescending of bloggers, but rather, HIGHLIGHTS us? Wow!)  I'm especially impressed because of the fact they have determined a way to rank the top 100 Minnesota blogs (hottest blogs) , regardless of the subject matter. It's purely mathematical.

I can't pretend to understand it of course, as several blogs have the same score, but I think the difference comes from the way they measure the RSS feeds, subscribers, google page rank, etc.  You can read their directory and ranking faq yourself for more information. Just don't come back and try to explain it to me. I really don't care at all and only provide the link for the mathematical geeks among you.

In any case, a couple months ago I sent this info to my friend Ray at Stella Borealis Catholic Roundtable, and he has apparently kept up his own analysis of the situation.  I've kept my own tabs on the status my friends, such as Cathy of Alex  at Recovering Dissident Catholic and Terry Nelson from Abbey-Roads but can't figure out why Swissmiss doesn't make the rankings, and I  haven't seen my dear friends, the Hadleys & Company at Our Word at all. That's an absolute CRIME! (FYI....Our Word isn't specifically a religion blog, but discusses art, music, news, and contemporary culture. If they're NOT on your blog list then you CLEARLY haven't any culture at all!)

Based on Newsbobber's faq page, someone actually spends time with each blog in order to write a brief review, and based on the blurb about mine, they did their homework in that they are hitting the big points.  I do have a quibble with what they said about mine as it seems to take three months of my life as a police officer and makes it sound like it was a bigger career. It wasn't. It was three months. An important three months of my life, to be sure, especially considering that I didn't get killed and no one died BECAUSE of me, but I can't deny that the experience lives on in me even now, so many years later.  I don't fault the reviewer for this; clearly they were skimming and trying to get a feel for my main topics and who I am especially considering I continue to write under a pseudonym.  All in all, I think their short commentary on my blog is fair and does tell the reader what they're up for if they click on my link.  Kudos for that!

Anyway, that is my PSA for the month.  If you are a citizen of Minnesota, someone from another state or country wanting to know what's going on in Minnesota, or a Minnesota blogger, this is a site you want to know about.  Go ahead and suggest blogs, go ahead and patronize those you like:  it will help their rankings.

******************
Disclaimer:  I did not receive any blegging emails asking me to blog this PSA. I received no payment or kickbacks and I receive no benefit for linking to Newsbobber.  I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart for an endeavor I feel deserves attention, and for the benefit of my friends who deserve MORE attention.  


With regard to the question on my heart: yes, I have one, albeit a bit cold or fickle at times. 


Stop laughing.
*

Calling all Mothers..and those who Aren't.

Recently after Mass, I was chatting with some friends of mine who happen to be parents of a few children, who naturally exhibit their childishness in very dramatic ways characteristic of their littleness.

There was a woman nearby who was somehow engaged by one of the children, exclaimed over them, and then, from where she stood, was clearly speaking to the parents of the children, admonishing them with great joy to "Have more!"

Certainly I agree with the sentiment, especially given our culture, wherein the default condition is to kill the child and lament later,  but I have to admit, a directive to "Have more!" actually rubs me in much the same way as the admonishment to "Stop having kids!" does from the polar opposite side of that spectrum.  Truth be told, I was a little offended on behalf of my friends who ARE having children and don't find it necessary to consult anyone other than God as to how many they should produce.

So I chose to just ignore the woman who clearly wasn't speaking to me, anyway, considering that I don't HAVE any children and I'm just the local spinster-in-waiting who happens to have a lot of friends with big families.

Oh, but wait....

As I was standing next to the father, I didn't initially realize that the woman in question was actually speaking to ME, and so I didn't understand why she continued speaking as the mother stepped away either in order to chase one of them down or to speak to someone else. In any case, I suddenly became aware that Ms. Admonishment was looking at ME and telling me to "Have Faith!" from what I could ascertain (from what I could hear), and to "Trust in God and His timing!" and all that.

I seriously could not figure out why she was looking at ME while saying all these things, considering that I clearly was not a mother, nor married, nor a parent of any kind. I couldn't figure out why she was continuing to lecture even as the father of the children wandered away looking for one of them.

It was the ongoing lecturing that got my attention as she raised her fist in the air in some form of encouragement to have more children and trust in God and have faith.  I was trying to figure out exactly WHO she was talking to considering that the children who had enamored her were all over the place, their parents were chasing them, and I was standing in one place just waiting for it all to come back to center again.

After a minute or so of me looking at her strangely, wondering if she was somehow trying to communicate with someone, I finally realized that she thought I was the mother and she was TRYING to talk to ME!

Oh, dear, and, well...Uh...um....NO.

While I thought it flattering that she assumed the adorable children at hand were MINE, when I finally realized she was directing her commentary towards me, and, in response to my very strange looks in her direction, was interpreting said confused countenance as a return expression of hopelessness and denial, I realized I had to set the record straight.

I sincerely had no idea what she had been saying before that but for those few quoted phrases, for she was standing too far away, speaking in a low tone, and since I wasn't the mother, I honestly hadn't paid much attention to her since obviously she could NOT have been speaking to me.

As it was, I did finally explain to her that I was just PRESENT in that particular space and had NOTHING to do with the presence of the children themselves. It was my great honor to point out their true parents.

This woman apparently was on a "CHILDREN!" kick, though, and apologized for her mistake as she patted me on the shoulder and repeated some of her previous litany of  "God is faithful!" and "Trust in Him!" but to this she added, "Maybe soon!"

"Um...NO. I don't think so."

She interrupted to encourage me further in what she assumed to be my future Vocation, that being to get married and have as many children as she deemed appropriate.

I thanked her but said calmly that no, I am not called to marriage.

She seemed to be completely SHOCKED by that statement. I actually reached out to hold her up because I thought she was going to fall over.

Quickly, though, she recovered herself and I held my breath, waiting for her to switch to the other extreme of exclaiming over the idea that I'm going to be a nun, and how wonderful is THAT!?

Thankfully, she made no further assumptions, apologized profusely (which was totally unnecessary given our low-key exchange) and in fact, I patted her own shoulder as I dismissed her apology as unnecessary. I was actually quite amused, and even flattered that she thought such beautiful children could have come from me.  It was very sweet.  :-)

I am who I am, though.

Simply put, I am a woman trying to find my way in the world, neither chosen nor having been chosen, only in waiting, in preparation, knowing there is more....but not knowing what that means yet.

It is a grace simply to know what it ISN'T.

We all have a calling. While I love children and of course, the ones in question are very dear to me, as are their parents, that love doesn't change the sense of knowing it isn't my Vocation.

Whether male or female, those who are not called to marriage often have assumptions made about them. On the extreme end, many assume that we hate children, hate families, etc.  Nothing could be further from the truth!

I have to admit, though, that before the recent exchange, I hadn't ever considered how certain people, in wanting to encourage life, really come across to mothers as, in their zealous love for the pro-life cause, almost DEMAND more children in exactly the same way the culture of death people try to DEMEAN the idea of more children as abhorrent and detrimental to society.

It has given me even MORE respect for larger families, and perhaps any mother, for the demand made upon them comes from all sides. Not just from the pro-death side that thinks children should be omitted in any way possible, but from those who are over-zealous and also forget that children come from God and that parents who are happily having children don't actually need pressure to have more. Aren't they already doing everything right?

Isn't GOD really in charge of life?

I have to admit I had a mad desire to compliment the woman on her interest in my reproductive system, but managed, for once. to hold my tongue. Of course she meant well, and of course she was paying me a compliment in what she thought was my motherhood...which it wasn't.

This very short, innocent exchange, though, revealed a few things to me that maybe I hadn't previously understood:

1. Firstly, that people often cross the line in their interest in very personal matters that belong only to a married couple and God.  Seriously...to tell people to have MORE children or LESS belongs to the same category of rude presumption. One never knows what people are suffering or have suffered.

(Lest someone come along and suggest otherwise, I am not speaking here of dissent against Catholic teaching on contraception and the horror of abortion. I am speaking here of someone personally ordering another person to stop having children or to start having more when that couple is clearly living in such a way as to seek God's will in their marriage, and happen to be blessed with a few children!)

 2. Secondly, that single women are STILL looked upon merely as future heifers and the very statement that we are not called to marriage is sufficient to cause a heart attack, or at the very least, a syncopal episode.

3.  Even those who are zealous for married life and children don't actually consider religious life to be the obvious alternative (WHEW! I'm SO glad I wasn't going to be the cause of TWO syncopal episodes in 30 seconds!)

4. Some people don't know how to handle the fact that you might actually KNOW you are ore AREN'T called to something, and so the calm revelation that their pet project isn't in your discernment process is sufficient to stop the spiritual assault.
*
Now, lest some of my commenters get huffy and think I am not being charitable, realize that I DO think the best of this dear lady who clearly was very interested in the number of children she assumed my reproductive system could handle. I further recognize her concern with regard to wanting to encourage me in finding my alleged future husband, even though he does not exist. These are laudable things. They are false, but the intent is laudable. I was not offended and she was not offended. Therefore, none of you should be offended, either.

I do find it humorous even as I see the serious points, and realize that we have a LOT of work to do to educate even the best Catholics about the reality of Vocation.

Yes, I continue to seek mine. I know I am not called to marriage. That isn't a bad thing, as some want to assume. It doesn't mean I'm about to don a habit. It doesn't mean anything right now. It means only that I am seeking God's Will, His timing, and coming to know myself through knowing Him.

And dammit, it's a painful process, at least for some of us.

I'm seeing more and more, though, that it's hard even after the reality is discerned...because those who are married and do all they are supposed to are STILL subjected to random public opinion.

You know...the Church would be GREAT and we could all be so Holy...if it weren't for all the people around us......(1 Corinthians 12: 7-10) 

...Just making an observation..... ;-)

Memory

Just an observation:

Matching socks is like a never-ending game of "Memory", wherein one tries to figure out where in that pile the other sock was once sighted. You just KNOW there's a match, and you can't figure out why the pack of new socks you bought is suddenly down to half what it was. And so you lay the "singles" aside thinking perhaps their matches are still in the laundry basket. And then the pile of singles grows, and there is much rejoicing in the land when finally, a match, at long last is found. While going about this menial task, you find yourself pondering fairy tales and dreaming of princes and princesses, until you realize that you're wearing a pair of mismatched socks with holes in them, and the idea of an actual match was just a fairy tale after all.

For Fun - A Dark and Stormy Night

I had meant to post this yesterday, or rather, re-post. Back in 2007 I wrote about a creepy night, a storm, and horror movie rules. What I learned that night is that maybe the actions taken by horror movie characters are far more real than any of us can ever really understand, and when you're in the moment, the "rules" are the LAST thing to come to mind...

Are you interested? Then read on....

It Was a Dark And Stormy Night....

This is my obligatory Halloween post.

Today, I saw a post at Happy Catholic, giving the rules of lessons learned from horror movies.

These are especially pertinent:

* Do not search the basement, especially if the power has just gone out.

* When you have the benefit of a group of people, NEVER pair off and go it alone.

Now, while these rules are great, they are very general: for you see, the basement may also mean "upstairs", and "pair off" can also mean "solo".

So, with that prelude, let us begin the entrance music, and the narrative laughter of Vincent Price....

(cue evil chuckle...)

**********************

Several years ago, I lived in an old house in Minneapolis; an old two-story house that favored darkly stained woodwork, soft pine flooring, and high ceilings. The upper story sported a couple dormer windows that faced toward the street, had window seats to go with the dormers, etc. You are likely familiar with such architecture.

One summer night, my roommate, the homeowner, was at work. A male friend of mine and I had gone out earlier and returned to my house, planning to spend the rest of the evening watching TV. Our show, "Mad TV" was interrupted by the local weatherman tracking a massive severe storm. Predictably, the storm arrived with a huge gust of wind and rain, and of course, knocked the power out. Realizing it was a lost cause, we moved from the couches to a mostly unfurnished area of the room and made ourselves comfortable on the wood floor as we watched the storm rage outside, continuing our commentary on life and technology in the face of nature.

I had already lit one candle and perched it on the top of the piano before seating myself next to my friend. The flame cast small and rapid shadows across the room, shrinking and elongating our own profiles against the walls and the cold fireplace situated on the northern wall, interrupted only by ultra-bright flashes of lightening.

Then we felt a drip from above. Mind you, we were on the first floor and there was a second floor that contained the bedrooms. I raised my hand, seeking the falling fluid, trying to pinpoint from whence it came. I did not seek in vain.

Although I could not see the fluid, logically I realized that a window must be open. Or maybe the roof was gone, taken away by the intense winds. Perhaps the hail had broken a window.

Or...(cue evil laughter....)

...given the red flags above...maybe it was blood. It wasn't as though we could see what was coming through the ceiling. It wasn't as though the foundation for a good horror flick wasn't present in palpable form.

Either way, as we both looked upward, my hand out, catching the drips, I told my friend (a guy, but just a friend) to light the rest of the candles downstairs. I took the first candle and headed for the stairway.

Alone.

When I reached the bottom step, I stopped, realizing that what I was doing was against "the rules".

"Hey...if I don't come back down...GET OUT!" I yelled as I began to mount the creaky old wooden stairs.

My friend chuckled and continued lighting and placing candles around the room. (That's in the generic script, too.)

Slowly I climbed the stairs into the darkness of the stormy night, holding my single candle, waiting for the draft that would put it out and leave me in pitch blackness, the complete absence of light, with whatever had caused that awful dripping. The palm that had touched the unverified fluid felt tacky; was the roommate really home, after all?

Slowly, with an outward courage I did not feel, I crept into my roommate's bedroom and found my way, via the candle flame and flashing lightning, to the dormer window. Her gym bag was on the window seat, and in order for me to reach the handle, I had to move it. I took care to be sure the light curtains, although soaked with rainwater, did not touch my candle.

Upon grasping the strap, I recognized immediately the sensation of the driving rain, which had, in fact, caused a puddle to form on top of the waterproof bag. Clearly, as we'd surmised, the window was open. I began to relax.

Carefully, I set my roommate's gym bag on the floor and knelt on the window seat so I could reach out and reel the window closed. Mentally I noted that I'd have to return later with towels to soak up the water on the floor.

On my way back downstairs, having so far been unmolested by the creature that lured me to the darkest place of the house via the open window, I watched the closet...ready to fight or flee. But it remained closed. I listened for creaks...but the floorboards never creaked. I felt for the slain body of my roommate...but never tripped in the darkness.

And all the while the storm raged around the house. I sensed that something was laughing at me.

I reached the stairs, waiting for the scythe to whir through the air towards my throat...but it never happened.

Step by step...each terrible, creaking step, I found my way back to the main floor....and there was my friend.....


...In a well-lighted room, all the candles aflame, as he watched the storm outside, resigned to the hail damage to his vehicle.

I joined him, setting my candle on the pinewood floor, and together, we waited for the lights to come back on. When the storm ended, he left and drove back home.

Update:

We're still friends. My guy friend, Dennis, is alive and well. He finished his aerospace engineering program and found a job with a major company.

My roommate came home the next morning, exhausted from work, and by then, her room was dry and the power was on, and no one was dead.

The vehicles parked outside the house that night had lots of hail damage. As I had a Saturn, my damage total was limited so the insurance paid me a little over $1,000 which I used to purchase equipment I needed that winter for Ski Patrol, and pay a few other bills. I never fixed my car.

The electricity was restored the next day.

***

I never said it was an interesting story.

Here We Go Again...

I've decided to reiterate my previous point and strip all the theatrics so that you can clearly see the actual point being made. Sometimes theatrics are entertaining, but if it's overdone, it obscures the importance of the real message.  

So:  

If you are invited to someone's home and you're told that you'll be eating steak, you expect a nice steak with all the trimmings.  Even if the trimmings aren't perfect, you expect them.  What you get is pureed steak in a plastic cup. It tastes like steak, and you partake in it, but when you leave, you say to yourself or others with you, "Well, it was still steak, right?  What's the difference how it's served?"   

Same thing: 

When you go to Mass, you expect a proper Mass, celebrated according to the GIRM, with all the proper elements, nothing added, nothing removed. A proper Mass.  Because that's your RIGHT as a Catholic, is to experience the Sacraments with the proper and reverent preparation.  

But if you're leaving Mass and you're saying to people, "But, Christ was still present, right?  The Sacrament was valid, right?  It's still Jesus...", well, then something is wrong.  

As our professor pointed out, NEVER in the 2,000+ year history of the Catholic Church have statements like that EVER been made.  That should make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.  

If you're making those comments either after your own experience or in a response to a legitimate complaint of someone else who maybe realized the music had heretical lyrics, well...then what you've just had is the spiritual equivalent of a pureed porterhouse steak.  

In making those comments, you're recognizing a deprivation.  Something was supposed to be there...but isn't. 

Is the essence there?  Sure.  But...in the case of the dinner, did you really get the entire experience of the steak and what it's really about?  No. 

In the Mass that you leave trying to justify whether Christ was really present or not...what you're saying is that somehow, you've been deprived of what the Mass is and you didn't get to experience the entire reality of the Paschal Mystery. Even if what you did receive was truly the Body, Blood, Soul, Divinity of Christ.   Somehow, you were deprived of some of the grace that SHOULD have been available to you because someone didn't do their job to properly dispose you and everyone else there to be sure you all really understood what this great Mystery is all about.  

Was it valid?  Sure. But were you able to fully experience all the available graces, or was a GIRM-breaking Mass celebrated that deprived you of the full experience?  Pureed steak. 

Don't settle for pureed steak.  

That's all I'm sayin'.  

Oh, and if you're a priest..the Mass doesn't belong to you. It belongs to the Church. Don't serve your children pureed steak when you can provide them with a perfectly grilled porterhouse and all the things that make that porterhouse stand out that much more.  

And everyone...pray for priests, especially those who might not have been properly formed.  Be reverent towards them remembering who they represent, but remember you have the right in charity to make your needs known.  Just don't be a jerk about it. 

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