Poverty, chastity, and... what?

During one of those endless tedious chores that occupies a minimal part of the active brain, I found myself thinking about those three virtues espoused, to a greater or lesser degree, by vowed religious. I'm trying to work out a Rule of Life for myself; yeah, I know, there's the one by a more famous Catholic homeschooling moms but... I'm not there. I heard her speak at a conference and I don't recall her having much more advice for those with littles than "Try to teach while they're napping." The reviews for her book weren't inspiring enough for me to actually purchase it, so I'm working it out on my own.

Back when we started homeschooling, I went with "Reading, Writing, 'Rithmetic, and Religion." That was our framework as we tried it on. Pretty basic and it worked for kindergarten. It's expanded since then, but on a gradual basis that I could follow.

So, I'm going pretty basic on my Rule: Poverty, Chastity, and Obedience. Okay, then. That's the easy part. What do each of these mean in my vocation?

Poverty I think I get. For me, it doesn't mean starve yourself and let your clothes have holes until you may as well be wrapped in newspaper. I have children to consider, one of whom is an 11-year-old daughter who would be mortified if I wore ill-fitting or obviously well-worn items in public with her. So it means keep costs and value in perspective, and remember what's truly valuable. Don't purchase Every New Novel Item advertised for homeschooling; consider whether you'll actually use the item (do I really need more math manipulatives for the little ones to scatter on the floor and feel like LEGOs when stepped on? Can't I use the Little People animals in discussing classifying instead of ordering fancy-schmancy photo cards, guaranteed to get destroyed by the toddler before the second use?). I have tried to spend my life in that mindset, so it's not difficult.

Chastity. It's not the same thing as abstinence, people. I'm a happily married woman and I aim to stay that way. I did my share of romance-novel (and worse) reading long ago, and frankly, I'd rather live the tale than read it. That's all I'm going to discuss the topic outside of a Tim Horton's after 11 PM, and if you don't get that reference I'm not explaining it.

Obedience is the hardest one I've got. Whom do I obey? I'm the mother, the matriarch of my household, queen of the castle. I don't have a "mother superior" to obey; I didn't say "obey" in my wedding vows. If I start "obeying" my children, we'll eat nothing more than macaroni and cheese or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on a table littered with Play-doh and paper towels, left behind after yet another milk spill with a medley of Spongebob, Phineas & Ferb, and Dora the Explorer blaring in the background. Down that road lay madness.

If I just follow chores and do what needs doing from minute to minute, I'll run from one metaphorical fire to the next, washing dishes minutes before I need to start dinner and hoping everyone will be able to find clean underwear in the morning. Exactly the opposite of what I'm hoping a Rule will bring about, which is order from chaos.

Not the kids and not the chores, then. My husband isn't one of those knuckle-dragging types I hear so much about; many's the time I bring an idea to him about the kids, the home, or the like and I get a "That sounds good. Okay, go for it." He'd probably say something about a dog needing to be obedient, not his wife. Not exactly a big help.

 If Poverty is a correct ordering of material goods, and Chastity is a correct ordering of *myself* (ahem), it follows that Obedience is a correct ordering of Time and Effort. More reflection on this next time I'm pairing socks, washing dishes, scrubbing floors...

So now I have a patron saint?

     I've written about this before--the insignificance I feel sometimes when I compare myself to certain others. Those who get mentioned in my alumni bulletin, for example. There are kids younger than I gallivanting around the globe bringing potable water to obscure villages in developing nations, or making huge scientific breakthroughs related to various plagues. (I'm not exaggerating. One of my former students is currently in the Peace Corps working with his wife in South Africa.) Or they're making these thoughtful and generous philanthropic donations or improving literacy rates in Appalachia.
     Whatever. I'm just trying to keep my baby happy, my school-age trio on-task, and preschooler and toddler alive. Monumental global accomplishments and curing cancer will have to wait.
     Will the small acts of kindness I do ever amount to much? Will my kids even remember? Will she remember how I tried every week to make sure she had tights for ballet, or he how I made sure his uniform was clean? How I would try to serve one of her favorite dinners the same week I made her least favorite to please her brother?
     In the one episode of Leverage I've watched, one of the characters said something like, "One child is a human interest story; a thousand is a statistic." All of those tiny acts are statistics that get lost.
     I was thinking about this some weeks ago. We'd arrived early for Mass and the ambulatory kids were walking around looking at the church--something they still do even though we've been there many times now. I contemplated the painting above the altar of the church's patroness, St. Veronica. I think she's one of those early saints that got "grandfathered" in before the Church started getting official about who was or wasn't and thoroughly examining miracles, kind of like St. Philomena or St. Christopher. Did you know the saint referred to most certainly wasn't named "Veronica"? She's called that from the translation of true image--I'm not up on my Greek, but I think it's vera ikon. According to Catholic Tradition, she wiped the face of Jesus as He carried His cross. An image of His face remained on her veil. Her act of kindness isn't even mentioned in Scripture, but is part of the Stations of the Cross. What else she did in her lifetime, whether she had children, even her real name is lost.
    That kind of humility, to be remembered two millenia later for one simple act, is a saint that understands motherhood.

My solution suggestion

By now, everyone reading this has heard of the murder of George Tiller. Like every pro-life blog, newspaper, website, or person I know, I do not condone the actions of his killer and will not make excuse or pardon. I pray for the repose of his soul as well as justice for the shooter.

Considerable and understandable concern has been expressed over how this cold-blooded killing will affect the pro-life movement. Worries that it has been hobbled, set back decades, will now be under increasing scrutiny, etc. have been stated. We will face broad-brushing by the media as murderous nutjobs, armed with sniper rifles, intent on sending barefoot women back to the kitchen or worse. I personally don't think these fears are unfounded.

However, I have a solution to this. What we pro-lifers do is get out and make our presence felt. Instead of hiding and cowering, we need to go demonstrate that we are NOT nutjobs, we are NOT murderous, we are NOT women-hating. We need to show that real pro-lifers are not murderers. We are not out to kill abortionists; while we would rather they find another line of work due to absence of demand, we are not going to kill them if they don't.

I saw two abortion clinics last Saturday while plant shopping with Rachel. They each had maybe five people walking in front of them; at both there was an umbrella stroller with pictures. I noticed rosaries in the hands of some of those people.

This Saturday, I intend to join them. With a rosary, not a gun.

Coupla links for ya

On why I've discovered an affection for country music, here's this one from Catholic Exchange. Toby Keith's Unleashed was the first album I got--because of Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue.

And this one on the alleged Missing Link. This is going to get lots of folks I know all atwitter; some will be, "Wonderful! Now will you stop your meaningless weekly rituals to your imaginary sky god?" At least one, though, will surely be tactful enough to refrain from saying something like that. Others I know will be saying, "Fraud! It was coated in resin! Carbon dating is inaccurate! It's all a fake!"

I've been mulling this topic for a while and this announcement is as good a reason as any to post about it. My thoughts? To start: there is nothing inherent in Catholicism that conflicts with evolution. Godless evolution, sure; but evolution per se not so much. You see, if God sees fit that wolves can be selectively bred by humans over thousands (millions? I don't know how long amateur AKC folks have been working on this) of years to create this kind of creature, who's to say that He in His infinite abilities couldn't do the same on a larger scale? As Mark Shea is wont to say, "God in a scientifically controlled environment will do whatever He pleases."
I haven't gotten into a discussion of evolution with anyone ever, but one question plagues me on it. Scientists have proven the idea of spontaneous generation false, right? We know flies lay eggs on rotting meat, it doesn't just sprout maggots on its own. We buy vacuum-packed food because it's not going to spoil; all the germs are either absent or dead. They won't just grow out of the strawberry seeds in the jelly. Life does not arise from non-life, even on a microbial level.

So...
When Earth came into being six billion years ago or so, there was no life on it. Now, there is. I don't think anyone disputes either of those premises. But... At some point in the past six billion years, there had to be one moment where life didn't exist and the next it did. So we have one occasion where we have life springing from non-life. On the microbial level.

Now I'm going to braid a seven-year-old's hair and then coax a 17-month-old into taking a nap. Back to the grind.

Guess what! A book review!

Yeah, and since for reasons I'll choose not to reveal, I'm pretty sure it's going to be a traffic-generator. Not like combining some celebrity with a synonym for "unclad," but still.

I received last Tuesday Mark Shea's new trilogy Mary, Mother of the Son. I finished the first volume yesterday, which gives you some idea of how difficult a slog it wasn't. Mark's new books are well-footnoted and researched but not a laborious read thanks to his engaging and witty style.

He debunks the notion that the Marian dogmas are adopted from paganism quite adeptly. He just points out, with orthodox Catholic sources from the first two centuries of Christianity, just how little the original Christians cared about what was going on in the pagan world. To compare, it's like modern Presbyterians giving one whit about theological development in Sikhism. He shows how the likes of Polycarp and Irenaeus respected the Virgin Mary, and quotes their writings about her perpetual virginity. It wasn't something the Roman Catholic Church just made up a few decades ago; that belief has been around a while. Like a couple millenia, almost.

He puts down (as in "puts to sleep," not "insults") the theory of a parallel church. What's that? The idea that a parallel Christian church, an "underground" church, has existed since the death of the apostle John, but was just biding its time until the Reformation to come out so it wouldn't get crushed by Catholicism.
The Vatican keeps records. Copious, detailed records of what was going on when. Pope Pius XII read some aloud to von Ribbentrop in perfect German when the latter was trying to intimidate the Holy Father into keeping quiet about what was going on in Nazi Germany. Further back, there are records of how the Church tried (with varying degrees of success) to theologically combat the Albigensians, Arians, Marcionites, gnosticism, Henry VIII, Marxism, socialism, and Sunday blue laws. Okay, maybe not that last.
There are no records of this "parallel church," either within the Vatican or by the mythical organization itself. It's even more fictitious than the Protocols of the Elders of Zion.

This book is like a bowl of chicken noodle soup. Not the condensed kind from a can, but homemade with big chunks of white meat, whole wheat noodles, and a pound of vegetables in two quarts of soup. It fills you up, the chicken melts in your mouth, and Mom adds just enough garlic and spices for zest. When you're done, you can feel the love from your mother warming you from the inside.
Or maybe it's the love from your Mother.

Every now and again, I glimpse it.

I have a friend who has recently re-started attending Mass. I'm pretty sure he grew up Catholic but because of circumstances about marriage he and his wife went and were wed elsewhere. Now his kids are old enough to start asking questions and he doesn't have answers. Being the kind of person I am, I invited him to our parish and he's started coming--three or four weeks running now. He'd looked closer to home but the times didn't work out, they didn't have anything for the kids, such as that.

So it's occurred to me to look at Mass, the Catholic faith, faith in God in general through the eyes of his children. And it's bizarre to think about, not to put too fine a point on it. It is fantastic and incredible, and I don't mean those as superlatives for "good." It is like a dream, impossible to believe.

The idea that a benevolent, omniscient, omnipotent Being should put on flesh to bring me closer to Him. To decide to endure birth (which I've read isn't any more pleasant for the baby than the mother--think about it), hunger, thirst, cold, heat, uncomfortable shoes, and itchy clothes just as a start. Then to choose to go through the Passion--the scourging, crowning with thorns, the ridicule, carrying the cross, the very crucifixion itself. He left Heaven to do all that for... me.
And He still comes to me, to all of us, to nourish us every time we attend Mass. Not just our hearts and minds with His Word, but physically and tangibly as Food.

My husband asked me why I was a little wet-eyed at Mass this week. It's a wonder I wasn't sobbing in the pew.

Real Presence vs. Literal Presence

Our homeschooling group has a Moms' Night Out (MNO). There are usually a dozen regulars or so and we dish pretty explicitly. Some months ago, there were even pregnancy tests taken (one was positive). Really.

So it's no surprise that talk turns to religion. Don't get nervous; there is very rarely any raised voices or harsh words; it's almost always in the vein of clarifying one's own beliefs and educating others--not necessarily to convert anyone.

It seems a few folks had seen the video Common Ground and there were some questions about the Real Presence. I'd talked about it with one person before but... I'll be honest. My 1970's Glitterchesis was thirty years ago, and while Madeleine made her First Communion last year, Daddy did the teaching. I needed to knock some rust off.

See, in the video, Father Riccardo (whose orthodoxy I have no reason to question--quite the contrary) said something very like if not exactly, "It's not literally the Body of Christ." (I haven't seen the video--yet.) This gave me the screaming willies. I need to see this, and quickly, to put it in context.
I lead a busy life, so renting and watching videos is one of those things that gets done rarely. Instead, I mulled it. I thought about it. And I realized that "literally" has a very narrow meaning. It appeared I had two options.

Did I believe that Jesus' Body is literally made of unleavened bread and, were He to cut Himself shaving, would bleed wine? Hmm. That sounds vaguely familiar...

In a word--no.

The other apparent option if we're talking literally is that, upon consecration, the bread and wine undergo some kind of chemical change that turns them into Glorified Human Flesh and Blood-down to their molecular makeup.

That one is just as silly and even scientifically disprovable. Is there a third option?

I decided to consult the Catechism to see what actual Church teaching is. Paragraph 1374, in its entirety, says: The mode of Christ's presense under the Eucahristic species is unique. It raises the Eucharist above all the sacraments as "the perfection of the spiritual life and the end to which all the sacraments tend." In the most blessed sacrament of the Eucharist "the body and blood, together with the soul and divinity, of our Lord Jesus Christ and, therefore the whole Christ is truly, really, and substantially contained." "This presence is called 'real'--by which is not intended to exclude the other types of presence as if they could not be 'real' too, but because it is presence in the fullest sense: that is to say, it is a substantial presence by which Christ, God and man, makes himself wholly and entirely present."

Whoa. There's no talk of "literally." We look through the eyes of faith and see Jesus present sacramentally--really, truly present, but not literally. I mean, the Blessed Sacrament to my knowledge has not cured a woman's issue of blood by simple contact, restored sight, or healed a withered hand. While It may float on water, I don't think It will walk.

I'm not trying to be disrespectful. I'm trying to get a grip on the doctrine of the Real Presence and how to explain it. I read John 6 and it's like algebra--makes sense while I'm reading it but ten minutes later, it's gone. When I watch Common Ground, I'll bet Father Riccardo's explanation will help.

I think, though, that it's called a Sacred Mystery for a reason. Better minds than mine have thought about it for longer than I have time to do, and haven't been able to explain it fully. For those non-Catholics, "Sacred Mystery" is Catholic-speak for "let it go."

As always, timing is everything.

My husband and I recently discussed the idea of having another child. Louie had turned a year old, if memory serves. It wasn't an "if," it was "when." That much helps when you can agree on that, let me tell you.
I had joked before that when we had a fourth, I'd want to have another rather quickly so that child would have someone to play with. I was half-kidding; I didn't know how I'd deal with four, so it was all theoretical.
Well, I opened the discussion. I didn't expect him to have immediate answers and he didn't. I basically wanted to make sure we had all of the pertinent information. Like that I'm 38 this year and he's 40. The clock is ticking and the risks go up perceptibly with each year. However, we live in an already crowded house and have extremely poor prospects for selling it. We have no control over the real estate market and less of an idea on when it might shift; under what circumstances did we just damn the torpedoes and go for it anyway?
He didn't have an answer. Neither did I, but I put it out there. "I just want the discussion to be open," I said.

We forgot something, though. We have a third Person in our marriage, a "silent Partner" as it were. He had an answer.

The answer is... October.

Varied questions

1. How long does it take to thaw a 17.46-pound turkey? Not roast; I'll read the directions for that. I just don't want to be digging the giblet bag out of ice on Christmas Eve.

2. How does one explain "Fear of the Lord" as one of the seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit to a seven-year-old?

3. What can a fourth child get for his first birthday that the others haven't gotten?

4. Is it worth it to go to dance class in potentially icy conditions the last time before two weeks off? I'm thinking "no," but will adapt if the ice doesn't materialize.

Thanks, all!

This financial crisis

has me all atwitter. I'm using a British-level understatement; I never have studied economics so this whole thing goes mostly over my head. I just see the effects of surviving the Depression on my mother (she's Silent Generation, not Boomer like most folks my age) and part of me curls up in darkness. My grandmother was worse, I'm told, so I was spared that.
I suppose I should be grateful. My husband has about as secure a job as can be imagined, and it has benefits. My children are healthy for the most part--and what would fall under "unhealthy" can be managed. We have a home with all the modern amenities--electricity, running water, a working furnace. Among my family, that hasn't always been the case. My kids even have dance and swim classes. We have food in the fridge and two working vehicles (knock wood).
While love doesn't fill the stomach, it does fill the heart in ways I can't quantify. Love we have in abundance.

I think of those who don't have all of these advantages--a secure job, health, a home, plus the fringe benefits. We all need prayers.

There's a first time for everything.

I saw something for the first time yesterday. One of the moms watching her son in dance class was holding and feeding her youngest son, who has a cleft lip and palate.
I've never seen one in real life before, just pictures. My knowledge of the condition is summed up thusly: There are degrees of it, it's tough or impossible to breastfeed directly, prosthetic nipples are expensive, and it's correctable with surgery.
This mother and I struck up a conversation. The little guy is four months old and it's been tough for her, having to pump every three hours for him (I had suspected it wasn't formula in the bottle). I imagined how expensive it would be if she were buying formula too, and that little guy could probably use every health advantage he could get.
He smiled at me from his stroller, and Madeleine whispered to me, "That baby is cute." She did repeat that to his mother.

This was in contrast to the chilling conversation I had this weekend. It was a political discussion and I admitted there was just no way I could vote for Obama. The fact that he voted against the Born Alive Infant Protection Act sickens me, regardless of any other stance he takes on any issue. (I'm pretty much a single-issue voter. So sue me.) After I explained the BAIPA, he shook his head. His stance boiled down to this: Those children of botched abortions probably have other medical issues because of that and would be better off dying. Better to die than to "drag all of us down."
I couldn't believe what I heard. I was horrified. I've known this person his whole life--or so I thought. I would have thought with his knowledge of Nazism he could recognize the similarity. No, he's not a child of a Holocaust survivor, but World War II was a not-uncommon topic of conversation at the dinner table. He repeated "diminished mental capacity" like that's all it should take. Someone with "diminished mental capacity" would "drag all of us down," and thus we should spare ourselves from that person seeing the light of day. Eugenics, anyone? I couldn't believe the outright evil I was looking in the eye. I thought of Trig Palin in this, though neither of us mentioned him.
I pointed out as gently as I could what he sounded like and that it's a very slippery slope from "optional" to "recommended" to "obligatory." I don't know if that sunk in.

Please pray for this individual. He is near and dear to me so please don't call him names, but help him to find God's mercy.

Don't try this with dialup.

It's a whole Catholic TV station on the internet. It's the station I tried out for in July and now they're on. There's news, Saint of the Day, etc.

Go. Check it out. It's based in fashionable Ferndale, so in my book these are local boys. Yay!

Advice I've been given

If I could keep these concise statements in mind, my world would be a whole lot better. Not to mention if I'd known the truth of them when I first heard them, I might not have needed them...

When my dad proposed to my mom, he said, "It won't be easy, but it'll never be boring."

My sister, with whom I have very little in common, said, "You don't get to choose what your kid needs therapy for."

St. Teresa of Avila said,

"Let nothing disturb you;

Nothing frighten you.

All things are passing.

God never changes.

Patience obtains all things.

Nothing is wanting to whim who possesses God.

God alone suffices."

How much is your next child worth?

Danielle Bean's coffee talk this week took a decidedly unChristian turn. I admit I only read through the comments after she'd posted about closing them and I turned to my beloved with my thoughts.

Very, very, very few of us reading blogs as a pastime have to worry about where our next meal is coming from. We live in the richest country in the world with one of the best safety nets for families. I know there are those on third-generation cradle-to-grave welfare; they probably aren't reading this. And you know what? If they weren't taking a handout from the government (and yes, taking something that you haven't earned is stealing), they'd find another way, I'm sure.
But those aren't the folks I'm thinking of. I'm thinking of those who limit their children so they can provide luxuries for the ones they already have. To have only a certain number because of things (and lessons are things) puts a dollar value on the child you don't have.
"We wouldn't be able to afford [insert modern "necessity"] for more than the two we've got!" Congratulations. You have just put a dollar value on human life. What is it? The cost of those ballet, horseback riding, soccer, watercolor, swim, fencing, or karate lessons.

I know someone who manages to feed her family of seven on less than $80 a week. SEVEN. Yes, and that less than $80 includes baby food, formula, and diapers. They have gotten help from the government and she hated it, every second. But they remain open to life. To tell them that any one of their children is a burden to society, or they should trade so they can afford more stuff, reduces the value of that child to a dollar value.

Which is about as unChristian as it gets.

UPDATE 8/7/08: Since I've gotten the okay, this is the brave, creative, imaginative woman from that last paragraph. She's "the other Heather" of note around here. And, while two of her children are babies and don't eat much, her budget does include diapers. Their fourth child was born at roughly 26 weeks gestation; their fifth was conceived less than four months later.
A mutual friend has said, "When I grow up, I want to be her."

Good news on the celebrity front.

It seems I made a good impression last Saturday. So did Heather. We got invited back.

We also got a list of topics we should be prepared to discuss, some of which I know more about than others. It's kind of reassuring that I'm not completely in the dark on any of them.
Last Saturday, they broke us into four or five person groups to see how we'd do. They gave us a topic and each group was different. One panel had, "The rift in Anglicanism on female bishops and homosexuality."
Crickets. If blinks were audible, there would have been a lot of Morse code going on.
I was thinking, "Well, Rowan Williams is going to have to make some decisions at this Lambeth conference..." Most of my information comes from this guy, so it has a fair share of inside baseball and a definite rightward slant, but it's more than nothing. I say that because I don't think anyone on the panel had a clue what the topic was about, not to impugn the work of Chris Johnson (the author of the Midwest Conservative Journal). Sometimes, his blog is as happy as Robert Spencer's pair.
Then again, this was a group of Catholic women. The loopiness that can be the Anglican Communion is pretty alien to us.

Anyway. Come this Saturday afternoon, I've got plans. Kind thoughts and prayers welcome.

Whew! That week was a doozy.

Do you want to hear about it? Nothing traumatic happened, it just was really busy.

It started somewhere around July 17, actually. The dog was having digestive troubles. I thought it was the treats but it didn't resolve itself. Friday night, the 18, she didn't finish all of her food--very unlike her.
Saturday, July 19--Daddy and Dale take the dog to the vet's while I take Madeleine, Rachel, and Louie out to the dance studio. Madeleine's routine had been selected to perform in a local festival and the rehearsal was the day before.
That afternoon, we went to Mass because we had plans for Sunday.

Sunday, July 20--We all went to see Kitt Kittredge for the matinee, where we all got in for $4. Had lunch and home and then took off to the aforementioned festival for Madeleine's dance.

Monday, July 21--I got to load up the troops and take Lucy the Wonderdumb for a recheck at the vet's. Whatever oddity she had eaten had been blown out by the high-fiber dog food, as we saw in the second set of X-rays.
I was going to take them all grocery shopping (yes, I've done it before) but before I had completely summoned the energy, my mother landed on the doorstep by surprise. She watched the troops while I made a strafing run to the grocery store alone.
At bedtime, Madeleine complained of an earache. Ibuprofen and a mental note to call the doc's in the morning.

Tuesday, July 22--Playdate for (mostly) Madeleine. First time at the other house, so we all stuck around. The other mom and I are friends, too, so hanging out chatting with her wasn't a bad thing at all.
That afternoon, it's to the doc for an amoxycillin prescription.

Wednesday, July 23--Our first orthodontist appointment! Seems Madeleine has some crowding that our regular dentist recommended a specialist check out. We're taking a wait-and-see approach until more of her adult teeth come in. He doesn't charge anything until treatment actually starts, which is nice to the checkbook.
Then, crazy woman that I am, we went to Park Day.

Thursday July 24--Finally, nothing during the day. The chair of our parish moms' group called that evening, though, to see if I was going to make the meeting. Since Daddy heard the message, he did what all loving husbands do when their wife has been running like a rat in a trap all week: he threw me out, tossed the car keys through a window, and told me, "Don't come back before ten."
Okay, it wasn't quite that obvious, but it's close.

Friday, July 25--We attended Daddy's work picnic at a metro park. There was a lake and waterpark so bathing suits were involved. At least there was plenty of food there so I got out of fixing dinner.
Oh, and we cleaned out our "corral." It's part of our yard completely surrounded by privacy fence. Without a garage, that's where our bikes, snowblower, and other stuff are kept. We're going to ask the guys who are repairing the sidewalks around here to pour in there as well.

Saturday, July 26--This was exciting. A local Catholic media station was having open auditions for a new show, called The Other View. Yes, it's what it sounds like--an answer to Barbara et al. I was one of 22 trying out for five spots; we'll find out on Tuesday about callbacks. Heather was trying out too, so keep us in your prayers.
Former neighbor Joe came over while I was gone and he and Dale put in the forms to finish the job for the concrete. All of the kids were home--I'd managed to put enough milk in the freezer that Daddy even kept Lou while I was at the audition.

Today, July 27, Daddy let me sleep in. We met a friend of his over in Ontario (with the kids) for a debate and lunch, then went to Mass after dinner.

Are you exhausted? I'm tired just typing it. I have nothing planned this week. Zip, zilch, nada. Finally.

Well, tomorrow I'll go grocery shopping with four children under seven. But now, it's old hat.

A moment of clarity.

I"ve tried to come up with how to explain the idea of Mary and her sinlessness. I've tried the manhole analogy, which didn't click. [Two men walking down the street. One falls into a manhole; you get a rope and help him out. The other is on the same trajectory, but you holler "Look out!" and he avoids falling in it. Which did you save? Both.]
So I thought of another one.

Say there's this doctor. A pediatrician. He sees this patient in his office, where he recognizes the potentially fatal early signs of... diptheria, say. He immediately treats the symptoms, tells the parents to get the child to the hospital, calls an ambulance to get the child there, and is in touch with the staff at the hospital regularly. Now, the parents had just though the child mildly sick and were there for amoxicillin, but the doc knew how serious it could be and by acting saved the child's life.
The next patient is in for a well-baby check and gets the DTaP shot, thus eliminating the chance of the child getting diptheria.

Which child did the doctor save? Both, right? But they both needed the doctor, they didn't do it on their own.

That's how it is with Mary. She received the wholeness of God's grace at conception--she isn't sinless because of anything she did but what God did. She still needed God's grace; she just got it before she sinned.

"Mom, I want a hundred brothers."

Me, sarcastically: "Join an order."

You know what? I think we found one (or rather, one found us). The booklet we got in the mail has a photo of one driving a backhoe. He still has the construction thing going, so it got his attention.

And this just appealed to the Star Wars fan we've recently cultivated. He thinks they look like Jawas. But he knows they're not.

Just wait until he sees them tossing the pigskin around. It will really be over.

Seriously, I think we've found our new coffee supplier.

This is the Faith, in two minutes.

Heather insisted that I embed this here, and she was right to do so.

My mother...again

I've described my mother as "an intelligent person with a mind uncorrupted by higher education." Meaning, she hasn't been educated out of her common sense. When I told her about spaghetti-strap (here's another) or strapless First Communion gowns, she made a familiar face.
"I'd rather she wore a dish towel."

And you thought his Hallowe'en posts were bad. Okay, they're worse, but you get the gist.