 Vince at 32 weeks I just finished yet another article that underhandedly trashes pregnancy (under the guise of science, of course!). This is my problem. The Media is constantly pushing an agenda onto folks who simply don't realize this indoctrination is taking place!
This article is supposed to delve into how pregnancy in humans evolved to encompass 9 months as opposed to others in the animal kingdom (some gestate for as little as 2 weeks). While sprinkling theoretical speak into the article, Schaffer (the author) seems more amused by taking pot shots at human pregnancy than explaining the biology behind the theory. Some examples of her negative imagery: - Placenta "invades" the uterine wall - The changes in our bodies during pregnancy is a "sustained, physiological upheaval" - The inevitable "sore boobs / swollen ankles" example - "Modern pregnancy is a complex beast" - The baby (fetus) is referred to as "that thing inside the uterus" Now I realize some of you are probably rolling your eyes, thinking I'm looking into this way too much. That might be true if it weren't for the countless other examples of the Media actively attempting to thwart public opinion of pregnancy (and children in general). Another example - John and I were watching the TV show BONES the other day. The three leading female characters are all very strong, wonderful, independent women. Only one of them is in a committed relationship (at this point). Angela, the most beautiful of the bunch, is talking to her fiance about having children. She excitedly bubbles on about wanting "a million babies" to which EVERYONE in the office balks. She's then made fun of and questioned repeatedly by the other cast members for her "crazy" desire to "mess up her body, career and life" by having children. One of the women, the lead (Dr. Temperance) is disgusted by the very idea of children. She fears them because of her inability to control and properly analyze them. The entire episode was set up as an attack on Angela's desire to have children, especially when faced with the "reality" of what children do to a woman. It made me FURIOUS. Poor Angela ended up relenting at the end, obviously a little taken by what they said (specifically about her tiny figure). *GRUMBLE* Then you've got shows like How I Met Your Mother where random episodes portray Lily and Marshall petrified of having children because of the ruckus they'll cause; Teen Mom which shows completely inept youngsters TRULY ruining their lives not because of parenting, but because of their previous bad decisions to have sex without contemplating responsibility; 16 and Pregnant which, like Teen Mom, should be more focused on the bad decisions of sex before marriage than dealing with the child that was created by the bad decisions. Oh, and Mad Men... let's not even get me started on THAT one. Loved the show until they went and ruined it by lambasting pregnancy and children in lieu of personal gain and fleeting success. Alright, I need to stop. This entire article set off a chain reaction of angry that I'm gonna just let go for tonight. Our social fabric is no longer the strong, resistant denim of 100 years ago. Even of 50 years ago. We must look like that netting in swimsuits - the holes caused by moral decay must be INCREDIBLE at this point. What are we to do? What are we ever to do?
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 Anyone else remember this game?
Back when I was in elementary school, my Mom would take my younger sisters and I to the mall to hang out with our wonderful family friend, a priest we'd known since his deaconate. When we'd go to the various malls, I'd always scan the "map" for the WHYY store. They always had the BEST selection of toys. Father and I would love playing this one, especially. I'd always attempt to outwit him. We usually ended up dropping the ball into the same place, but that didn't stop me from claiming victory just the same. The point of the game, for those unfamiliar, is to gradually separate the two rods, allowing the ball to roll down the "track." You've got to be REALLY careful, though, because if you move the rods too quickly, the ball will fall through and land short of its target. If you move them to slowly, the ball won't budge. I think in all of the times we've played that game, neither of us made it to the final target. We had such fun trying, though, cheering each other on while attempting to out-do one another at the same time. I loved that game. I wonder if he even remembers it! Ha ha ha. Anyway, the reason I bring this memory up is a call I got from Father the other morning. He'd called to find out how Vincent's surgery turned out, and to assure me of his continued prayers for him and my family. My mom had told me he had offered Mass for Vince the morning of his surgery, and he confirmed that as well. I repeatedly thanked him and just about cried from his generosity. He then put his mom on the line so she could let me know she was praying for him, too. How blessed are we to have him in our lives? Twice, now, my intentions were blessed by God. Two separate Masses were offered for these intentions, completely unsolicited, by two wonderful priests who simply wanted to utilize their calling to benefit God's people. Thank You, dear Lord, for such beautiful signs that You are keeping an eye on my family. Thank You, especially, for the gift of Tio. Thank You for the gift of all your priests. May they all be so holy and generous. You certainly know how to pick 'em. :) Thanks for your prayers and e-mails, everyone!
I am running on fumes. I haven't slept more than an hour here or there since Sunday night before Vince's surgery. He's been sick with a high fever (nearing 105) since Tuesday. The doc on call recommended we take him to the ER, so we did. We spent five hours only to be told it was a viral infection and there was nothing more that we could do aside from what we'd already been doing. *Grumble* $100, 5 hours, and poor Vince getting poked and prodded in vain just to be told we're already doing all we can? Argh. At least Vince is drinking again today! He even had the energy to get up and dance to a couple songs with Mommy after his nap. So yeah... I'll be back to my regularly scheduled blogging soon. For now, though, I'm beyond bushed. Keep your prayers going for Vince that he sees the end of this fever soon! Thanks! {{{HUGS}}}  I have a question box for my CCD kids. Each week, I'll pull some questions from the box and answer them. This week's questions had me laughing, so I wanted to share them with you.
Q: How many saints are there? A: Well over 10,000 named (saints and beati) but technically any soul in Heaven is considered a saint, so it's doubtful we could ever really number them all. Q: What is Communion made out of and who makes it (this question was accompanied by a little drawing of the Host)? A: Wheat flour and water. That's it. Typically, the Hosts are created by cloistered nuns who support their order through this ministry. Q: How come we never run out of the Body of Christ? A: The hosts are continuously made by those who dedicated their lives to this ministry, but the hosts don't become Hosts (or, the Body of Christ) until consecration. Thus, the priest continually creates new Hosts each time Mass is said. Q: In what year did God die (accompanied by a picture of Jesus on the Cross)? A: Though Jesus was 33 at His Death, due to miscalculations during the codification of the modern calendar, scholars believe that the actual year in which Christ suffered His Passion was 32 CE. Q: Why is Latin the main language of the Church? A: Since Rome had conquered most of the known world, everyone spoke the language of the Romans (which was Latin). As a result, it became tradition that Church fathers who passed along teachings would write them (or at least have them translated) to Latin so that the general population had access to them.  Pope Benedict XVI I didn't even realize that popes COULD resign. I thought the chair of Peter was one of those things that, once given, could not be "given back" until death.
Apparently I was mistaken. Popes can, in fact, resign, and apparently plenty have made arrangements (resignation letters, discussions with confessors, etc) in the event that such a step would become necessary as a result of illness or political strife. When I read this article, I have to admit feeling like a jerk. Why? Well, our current Pope tends to rekindle my shameful reaction to his election as the successor to Pope John Paul II. He assumed the Papacy in April of 2005. I was 22, then, and was still in my "Eh... I know better than the Church" mode. I adored Pope John Paul II, and truly believed him to be a saint on earth. However, I didn't really follow Vatican news, and I certainly didn't care much to learn about the potential replacements for JPII. I mean, Pope John Paul II was the only pope I'd ever known (having been born in 83, JPII had been in office for about 5 years already). Consenting to accept Benedict as his replacement felt like a betrayal. I don't know if I assumed JPII would live forever or what, but the thought of anyone even attempting to fill a saint's shoes was ridiculous to me. And this guy (who in my opinion looked grumpy and slightly evil) was the guy they chose to replace him? C'mon now. For years I held onto my stupid "opinion" of the new pontiff. I understood my stance to be mean and foolish, but I didn't care. I arrogantly grumbled about Pope Benedict XVI, never once looking into his background to find justification for my grumblings. I think I knew I wouldn't find much to justify my stupidity, so why ruin a good thing, right? *Shakes head* Hence the source of my embarrassment. To think I was so mean about Pope Benedict XVI makes my heart hurt. After all, the Holy Spirit chose him for a reason, right? I hadn't come across Mutter Vogl's revelations regarding how we should never bad-mouth priests, so I didn't have the same twinge of "Oh my gosh, that's really, REALLY awful" when verbal ill-treatment of our new pontiff was waged, but I understood that my stance was completely (and willingly) unfounded, so when I had my "reversion" and was forced to learn more about Pope Benedict XVI and his work, I quickly realized my grievous error and now have a soft spot for him. He had such a love for Pope John Paul II, and Pope Benedict XVI's teachings truly reflect a brilliant, loving mind that is dedicated to upholding the values of our faith. I have come to admire him and even respect and love him for his courage and unrelenting support of the Truth. So when I read today that there was a possibility of him resigning, I felt a little stab in my heart. Almost a "No, no, no, Father! Not when I just started warming up to you! Not when I finally realize everything you are and everything you have the potential to become!" Granted, a selfish stab in my heart, but a stab nonetheless. Then I felt a secondary stab that reflected my compassion for him. That decision would have to be extremely difficult on him as well, and no doubt he'd make it with a fully sober and prayerful mind. If he ever reaches the point where he feels incapable of leading the Church, no doubt he'd relinquish his position with a heavy heart... possibly feeling somewhat dejected for his fear that he had disappointed his Lord. Oh, Pope Benedict... know that you are held in a perpetual hug by those of the faithful. May you find the will necessary to forge forward in your earthly pilgrimage. May you feel the Divine Strength of the Holy Spirit guiding every step you take. May you hear the Heartbeat of Jesus as He hugs you close to Himself to comfort you. And finally, may you see the maternal protection of Our Lady surround all you do. She is your greatest advocate, dear Father. May we, the faithful, be blessed to have you reign for many, many years. My current love for him shames my previous arrogance towards him and I almost want to cry for such ignorance. I truly pray that I someday atone for such arrogant behavior. And just because it's fitting, here's a link that might be viewed as hilarious if it weren't so true...  Vince had surgery on his ears this morning. Simple procedure, done daily by thousands of pediatric ENTs every day.
I'd actually been pushing for this surgery for the last year. I'd noticed Vince's speech and hearing were delayed, and repeatedly requested a specialist's attention. My pediatrician kept pushing it off, thinking Vince would grow out of it and assuring me my expectations were simply "too high." Little did she know I wasn't "expecting" him to be rambling off the Declaration of Independence at the 18 months. I simply expected him to be on - or about - the level of his peers. Vince was far from it, and after scheduling his hearing tests myself, I got the independent validation I was looking for. Vince had incredible amounts of fluid behind his ear drum which was blocking any real sound waves to reverberate properly for hearing. As a result, Vince was running around half deaf for about a year. I knew he needed tubes (something my younger sister had gotten as a kid), and pushed aggressively for them to accept him as a candidate. They refused, wanting to do "more tests" to confirm that which I had already known. So I pushed to have the tests done as soon as possible (since every week he spent half deaf was another week he spent widening the verbal gap he experienced with the rest of his peers). Finally, I got into the office of an ENT who requested the surgery immediately upon seeing the results of his previous tests. FINALLY - to have that validation from a professional ENT... I wanted to wave that paperwork in the face of the pediatricians who kept pushing me off as an overly paranoid / expectant mother. Grrrrr... Anyway, today was the day of the surgery. Thankfully, it went very well and extremely fast (thank you, all, for your prayers. I have no doubt the Lord guided the doctor's hands well), and with the exception of Vince coming out of the anesthesia, everything went incredibly smooth. So moral of the story - never stop fighting for your kids. As parents, you do know best, even when facing an uphill battle against the "professionals." I have no doubt that once Vince heals from this surgery, he'll be picking up speech in no-time. Thank you, God, for finally opening the door for us. Also, thank you for being with me every step of the way, forging a strength in me I never thought possible. Hey all,
Please keep my son in your prayers today. He's going in for minor surgery, and it'll be his first experience with anesthesia. Also keep his doctors/nurses in your prayers as well. As always, I appreciate your generosity of spirit. May God bless you a thousand-fold for your kindness.  Vince's birthday was full of highly disturbing conversations. The day started off with the one in the doctor's office that I describe below, but that one had nothing on the scenario we found ourselves in as we waited for his birthday photos to be printed.
John was at work, so he didn't get the full cringe-inducing effects of being caught in the middle of it, but may it suffice to say that I wanted nothing more than to run out of there screaming. Two very young mothers were sitting on either side of a young man as the photographer showed them the slides of their session. The moms had taken in their 1 year old children (a boy and a girl) for portraits. The photos were adorable (I couldn't help be see them... the massive TV in the waiting area blasted them for all to see), however I noticed a trend of how they were splitting up images. The mother of the little boy wanted photos for her parents, and the mother of the little girl wanted photos for her parents. So they were kinda chopping the photos so that each parent had photos of their individual child as well as the children together. I suddenly realized, however, that the young man in the middle was trying to make sure he had photos of BOTH children for HIS parents because they were "his babies, too." .... Go ahead. Let that sink in a little bit. 'Cause at first, I thought I was mistaken. Apparently, the photographer did, too, because he then asked, "They're both yours?" Proudly he affirmed the guesswork, even though both mothers shot the poor photographer daggers as if it was his fault they found themselves in that predicament. The entire time the women are bickering over who should get what, the children are casually ignored as they sat in their respective strollers together. One of the mothers did end up feeding the little boy some applesauce, but the little girl wasn't even looked at for the half hour they were arguing about vignettes and captions. I felt awful for those kids. I can't even imagine how confusing that's gonna be growing up. I kept asking the girl at the desk when my photographer would be out with Vince's portraits, because I really was getting upset. I wanted to be anywhere else. Vince was blissfully unaware as he munched on his snack, but ugh. Their innocent, befuddled photographer and I could've hopped a train to ANYWHERE that wasn't that waiting lobby.  This old photo was taken a good... I dunno... 23-24 years ago? It's a photo of my siblings and I. The photo actually captures pretty well our inability to focus on one thing at a time.
I'm in the blue off to the right looking at the camera. My brother, Ray, has his eyes closed and is probably in the middle of saying something ridiculous. My younger sister, Maria, is in the pinkish/red dress up front, grabbing at God-only-knows-what in her mouth. My older sister, Evelyn, is holding onto my youngest sister, Shannon, who is happily playing with penguins. Yup... this same scene could likely be played out in a similar fashion at our next holiday dinner. Anyway, the reason you've got this concoction of sibling commotion sullying your screen is a conversation I overheard in the pediatric office yesterday as John, myself and Vince were waiting to be called back. A young mother sat against the wall facing two other mothers, each with a toddler in tow. The young mother had a 7 month old on her lap, calmly sucking his thumb and watching the toddlers cycle around him. Within minutes, the mothers of the toddlers cooed over the 7 month old and commented on how cute he looked sucking his thumb. Inevitably, one of them had to ask "Did you ever try to get him to stop?" to which his mother replied, "He's so calm and content this way, I figured I shouldn't bother." The other two mothers nod in agreement and then say, "Yeah. If he's so good like that, just let him go. Take it while you can get it." This coaxes Infant Mom to shyly laugh. Apparently not content to leave well enough alone, the toddler parents begin with stories of how their toddlers, while infants, were calm and content the same as her son. They wistfully spoke of the days when their children weren't tearing apart magazines, throwing blocks against the wall or calling "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy" every two seconds. Considering the behavior of their children in the waiting room, I could see why those musing were wistful. So of course, as seems to be conclusion of these ridiculous "modern mom" discourses, they confidently affirm to one another that they'd never "do this to themselves again" and suggested to the new mother that she, too, steer clear of future children, especially since her first was so calm. 2nd children are apparently all the spawn of satan. One of the women repeatedly spoke of this "friend" of hers with two children who had absolutely lost any semblance of her former self. She'd "lost herself" to the "rugrats." Seriously??? Rugrats? LOST herself? I dunno about other mothers out there, but if anything, I've FOUND myself in my son. I've found my calling as a mother, and found my fulfillment as a woman in bearing him into the world. Just because these women were so turned off by the idea of motherhood doesn't mean there are those of us out there (her "friend" included) who can't find joy, happiness and fulfillment in being "just a mom." Now, I was in the corner of the room playing with Vincent as he opened and closed a toy mailbox. I was cringing the entire time, 'cause I just knew where this conversation was leading. I kept tossing glances over at John, praying he wasn't paying attention as these women openly discussed - with horror and disdain - the idea of multiple children. Considering he's already gun-shy regarding more children, this sort of talk is NOT something that'd alleviate his fears. Plus, it made me angry that they were trying to convince this new mother that it was all downhill from where she was currently at. Luckily, we were called back before I was forced to endure more of that wretched conversation. As I passed the young mother, I said, "He's adorable... I have no doubt you'll be blessed with others who are just as beautiful and content. It's all in how you parent, and considering his disposition, you've got quite the knack." Ugh - again... what is wrong with our culture that we openly despise the gift of children? That's it considered humorous or "in vogue" to look upon children as horrid little monsters who suck away independence and vitality? We are, indeed, a selfish, selfish culture. Our poor children.  Sharing isn't just caring, it's Divine Providence! Okay, so I lied. I'm a day late because when I wrote the "Do Animals Have Souls" entry, I'd forgotten that I'd be out and about for Vince's birthday.
Ah well. I apologize. Hope I didn't leave you too uncomfortably on the edge of your seats! I've already gotten a couple e-mails asking me about this. One, in particular, was slightly angry, accusing me of not understanding Catholic teaching because there is no such thing as "Purgatory on Earth." Well, of COURSE you're not going to find that in the catechism. I sorta-kinda-most-probably made that up. However, the theology is all there in black and white. This structured mercy is all explained through the Catholic understanding of Divine Providence (which I break down into cookie form here). So just to quickly recap, Divine Providence is God's way of providing us with all the tools, equipment and practice necessary to make it through the jungle of life and into Heaven. Humanity is able to dole out these gifts from God through the Golden Rule (loving others as Christ loves, thus always being willing to share everything with others). However, since humanity is unable/unwilling to properly follow the Golden Rule at all times, we fall off the path towards Heaven and Purgatory is God's last-ditch effort to toss a life-line our way and pull us back on track. Purgatory on earth is a gentle precursor to Purgatory of the Holy Souls. An analogy is in order here... One of my employees borrows $100 from me. When it comes time to pay up, he's unable to pay save for a little at a time. I accept his apology and promise to pay me back. After a couple weeks of paying $10 at a time for odd jobs he'd been working, he gets thrown into jail for stealing. He still owes me about $80, but now that he's in jail, he's got no way of paying me that $80 back. He must rely on family and friends for the remaining $80. That's kinda the difference between Purgatory on Earth and Purgatory in, well, Purgatory. While on earth, we're given the opportunity to pay back or "atone" for our misdeeds a little at a time through sacrifice, prayer and charitable acts of mercy. Once we die (still having debts to pay) we go to Purgatory where we must rely on those we've left behind to fulfill our obligations to Divine Justice. This again highlights why human euthanasia is a no-no. Euthanasia cuts short our ablity to atone for our transgressions. It also has the ability to cut short the blessings that suffering can, in fact, bestow upon those around us. For example (true story alert), there was a wonderful woman who lived into her late 80s. She suffered for three years with a terribly debilitating disease. Her three sons, Ron, Eric and Joe, weren't really sure how to handle the prognosis... or how to handle each other. The boys had been somewhat distant, content to live their own lives separate from one another save for the ocassional holiday dinner. In fact, they didn't even like each other very much. Their mother's illness, though, effected them all in a very profound way. While their mother was quite possibly suffering physically to atone for past transgressions, her condition was not given solely for her benefit. Through her suffering, her sons came together and got to know one another again. They were forced to communicate regulalry, to console one another, to provide food, housing, even transportation for one another as they rotated shifts. Ron and Eric, (and Joe and Eric) eventually reconciled their differences and became friends - true brothers. I wish I could say the same for Ron and Joe, but not everyone takes advantage of the blessings granted through Divine Providence. In other words, even suffering is a blessing. Even suffering is an opportunity to take part in the grace of love and reconciliation. I, myself, have been trying to practice this mindset more often... especially in traffic. I'm a horrible road-rager. I cannot stand when someone is driving 10 miles below the speed limit, yet instead of cutting them off and angrily waving some not-nice-things their way, I now chalk it up to Divine Providence. I simply wonder why God chose to put that little inconvenience before me. Was He forcing me to be three seconds too late to the scene of a horrific accident that I would have been a part of otherwise? Was He giving me an opportunity to practice my least-utilized (almost non-existent) virtue, Patience? Maybe He just wanted to back up traffic juuuuust enough so that an old lady way up the road could make it safely across the street. Who knows? My point is - GOD knows. Catholics trust in Divine Providence as the driving force in every single thing that comes up throughout our lives. We believe that God is not only interested, but active in our lives - fully vested in the creation He saw fit to bless into being. Suffering, too, is part of that Divine Providence. As a result, any attempt at shortening the timeframe God, Himself, has acknowledged as necessary for salvation translates to a sure ticket to Purgatory (at the very least... I shudder to think of what the alternative is!).  Taking a quick break from my theological blogging to wish my beautiful, wonderful and energetic blessing a happy 2nd birthday.
It is absolutely incredible to me that he's grown and changed in so many ways. That first night with him in the hospital, I held him against my side in bed. I measured his length from the crook of my arm to comfortably curled against just above my hip. No inches, no awkward stretching to get it exact... just a natural measurement that I wanted to brand into my mind for each subsequent birthday. It'd be my own, personal test of growth. As I put Vince to bed, I held him against me again and tallied the differences in my mind, mentally "notching" his progression for subsequent years. His head lay comfortably against my shoulder, but his feet- no longer content to brush my hip- dangled sleepily over my torso and down across the arm of the chair. I whispered in his ear, "I thought I was gonna get to hold you like this forever, but you're growing so fast. Why are you growing so fast? Mommy wants you to stay here, small and comfy, in her arms forever." Ugh - I can't believe how quickly time flies. I cherish our nightly bedtime routine because I get to appreciate his size and willing snuggles while I can. I can't help but wonder, though, if instead of holding him like I did last night, I'll be measuring him against my body as we snuggle on a bed instead of in our rocker next year. Considering we've pretty much outgrown the rocker already, this was likely the last birthday I could compare measurements while holding him in my arms like that. My little boy... may you continue to grow and mature and learn new and wonderful things. But may you never grow so big that Mommy can't hold you in her arms. :) I love you, little munch. And I thank God every single day for you. You are Mommy's most special blessing.  On the heels of this post, I thought it best to reaffirm something that might have become a little confused due to my handling of Midnight's euthanasia.
I must point out that I (as a Catholic) do not, under any circumstances, believe in the practice of human euthanasia. As a testament to my reverence for human life in all its forms (conception through natural death), I trust in Divine Providence that all stages of life (including bodily decay through age, illness, etc) are meant for a higher purpose. Animal euthanasia, however, is an entirely different ballgame. Mary, concerned that Midnight might be trapped inside some sort of "kitty-Purgatory" asked me why it was OK to euthanize animals but not humans, especially when it's considered "humane" to end the suffering of a terminally ill pet. This is an extremely valid question, and one that shows logic and compassion. I've been posed this question in the past, but never really took the time to explain as I did to Mary yesterday. I'm posting an edited version of my response here in the hopes that it answers that question for others who are grappling with the same fear, worry or confusion. The short answer to the question, "Do all dogs (or animals in general) REALLY go to Heaven?" is YES. No collecting of $200 as you pass Go, and no jail-time through Purgatory. Animals do have souls, and they do go straight to Heaven. Now for the more involved answer... In Judiac tradition (keeping in mind that Catholicism is the fulfillment - the full expression - of the promises made by God to the Jewish people), there are a few words to describe the life and soul of both people and animals. The same words are used in an effort to paint an increasingly detailed description of how the physical world becomes animated through the invisible (or Divine) world. For example, in Genesis, the word "neshama" means "breath" or "wind." It translations roughly into "breath like my own" In other words, when God animated Adam and Eve, He very concretely breathed Life into them, in His own Image. This breath of life... this "neshama" is the soul... the immortal animation of our mortal bodies. In Leviticus 17:11, the word "nefesh" is utilized in stating that "the life [nefesh] of the flesh is in the blood." As a result of the close connection between blood as life-sustaining and God's breath as a fluid, living function, Judaic tradition revered blood and soul to be inseparable. In other words, blood was the physical manifestation of the soul, which is why it wasn't considered impure until it left the body (thus no longer serving a life-sustaining purpose). It is also why blood was used in worship. Blood, being so closely united to the spirit- to the breath of God- was revered and precious. Finally, we have "ruah" in Ecclesiastes. Much like "neshama" from Genesis, "ruah," too, means "breath of God." The beautiful sentiment found in Ecclesiastes 12:7 states that a person dies when "the dust returns to the ground where it had been and the [ruah]returns to the God who had given it." In other words, death happens when our bodies exhale that final life-sustaining breath which returns upwards to the God who originally deigned to forge that breath in a mother's womb at conception. The physical body, now separated from the soul, decays rapidly into the dust it was created from. To break it down: Ruah is the invisible breath of God that animates physical bodies Nefesh is the result of this ruah (the physical motion of the invisible animation) Neshama, to cycle back to the story of Genesis, is specifically granted to man through Adam because this breath of God was "like unto Ours." In other words, Neshama is the unique part of God's Ruah that enlightens humanity and gives us the capability for free will. So yes, God gave the gift of Life to all His creation, but He reserved a special, more enlightened life for Man. That is "neshama" and it is because of this "neshama" that Purgatory exists for humanity, but not for our beloved pets. Since animals have no free will (or neshama) to utilize, they can never really "sin." Sure, they can pee on the carpet, chew your favorite boots or claw apart your newly upholstered sofa, but sin? Not so much. As a result, once their mortal life ends, their life force is returned to God, free of the stain of sin, and thus not in need of the cleansing of Purgatory. Humans, on the other hand, who have been given the grace of Free Will, also have the responsibility of using that gift wisely. Since humanity is pretty much incapable of always utilizing Free Will to do good, Purgatory was created as a mercy to help us one day unite ourselves back to the God who first gave us life. It is important to note, at this point, that while we are still alive, God offers us, through Divine Providence, countless opportunities to rectify the wrongs we created by misusing the gift of Free Will. This counts as a "Purgatory on Earth." I'll be dedicating tomorrow's blog to this. Stay tuned!  Clincial... as if the child feels nothing When you're able to pull a child who is fully formed and likely viable from the womb of a woman, stabbing scissors through his skull and suctioning out his brain, you've not only started to slide down a slippery slope - you've grabbed your granddad's favorite wooden sled, greased the skates and bet your friend $20 that you could make it to the bottom of the hill faster than he could.
I have no idea how we've gotten to this point, but we've successfully dehumanized infants. No longer are children safe within the wombs of their mothers, and no longer are they safe once they make it out of that jungle alive. Katrina Effert, a 19 year old woman at the time, gave birth to a little boy and subsequently strangled him, tossing his body into a neighbor's yard. Twice a jury convicted her of murder, and twice the ruling was overturned by a judge who felt jailtime wasn't really necessary because, well... "infanticide" isn't really as serious as murder. So exactly how is the killing of a child any different from the killing of an adult? Unless, of course, we don't view children as "fully human." Considering an infant isn't legally "human" before, during, or even 99.9% out of the birth canal, how far is the jump to decide that the infant isn't human for a minute, hour, or a month after birth? Seems the Netherlands already is well on its way to answering that. Then again, with articles like this, it seems like the US is attempting to grab a sled and hitch a ride down south as well. Catholic Fire, a blog I've been following, posted a great video that dissects everything that is wrong with the NY Time's article. And God bless Father Barron for his gentle chide. He was much more charitable in his approach than I was when I first read the article. But I digress... The point of this post is to highlight, as so many others have done (and better, might I add, especially the blog I just linked you to... I stalk her daily), the magnitude of moral decay being experienced by humanity. Never have we been so inundated with such treachery against children. We allow the likes of Casey Anthony to walk free, and now Katrina Effert... and the countless other criminals who somehow bend the system to excuse their treachery. What have we become? How have we allowed the most innocent among us to become the biggest target? One that we neglect to even admit as even BEING a target! Oh - my heart, my heart. This is why I took so long to write this blog. It's so painful. It is mind-bogglingly painful to acknowledge that humanity has tumbled so far down the spiral of sin that there is no hope of climbing out save the Illumination. Dear God, grant us this mercy quickly. That mercy will save untold numbers of souls. The Illumination, for those unaware, has been promised by God through several visionaries (Garabandal, Medjugorie, various saints, etc). It is a brief span of time in which every single soul on Earth (from the age of reason, about 7 and up) will see themselves as God sees them. In other words, every sin, every good deed, every opportunity taken or missed for grace will be laid out before us in the light of the Eternal Truth. This supernatural event is meant to be an undeniable sign that God not only exists, but is calling each of us into Union with Him. It is a Mercy beyond all Mercies because we will experience 1st-hand what "judgement" is like. Yet instead of being judged, we will have the opportunity to amend our ways. So yes... I await the Illumination with absolute joy and anticipation. In my mind, that is the only way humanity will ever remove itself from the clutches of such intense, unbearable evil.  Midnight - stylin' It's taken me a couple days to get the stomach to write this. I realize that for many regular bloggers, this sort of fodder doesn't come up super often, so when it does, you gotta drop everything and blog your little heart out.
I simply couldn't do it. In fact, I kinda "signed off" for a few days just to keep myself away from it all. It's too upsetting... too heartbreaking. Yet here I am, dedicating a post to it. Why? Well, this'll sound kinda strange (in the "how the heck did you connect THIS to THAT sorta way), but my best friend, Mary, had to put her cat down Friday evening. Midnight, her trusty companion for the last 18 years, had finally succumbed to her age and a mass in her little tummy. Mary - completely torn up, guilt-stricken, and heartbroken - took her to a vet and stood by her side until the very end, gently offering this one, last gesture of love to her confidante, consoler and friend. Knowing this kind of loss first-hand, I knew that nothing I did was gonna remove the knife now lodged squarely in her heart. At most, I could listen to her pour out her anguish. So I did. And in the midst of that soliloquy, she explained everything that had happened, her conflicting thoughts, her guilt, her love of Midnight, and her tremendous sense of loss. She then asked a question that struck me deeply - it made me rethink my decision to steer clear of this infanticide tragedy. She asked "Why did I need to see her put down like that? I could've just let them take her, but I needed to see it myself. Is that morbid?" I didn't answer, partly because she was already running another three sentences together, and partly because my mind was snapped back to just about a year ago. Mary, my friend Hugh, and I were driving over to a party. As I turned onto a large highway, I came upon a badly injured goose in the middle of the road. He was obviously still alive, but very badly wounded. So I pulled off to the side and hurried back to move the poor goose out of the road so he wouldn't be injured again, and no one would cause an accident attempting to avoid him. Upon moving this large, wild goose out of the street, I realized just how bad his injuries were. So I ran back to the car and pulled it into a parking lot, then ran back up the road to where Mary and Hugh both stood, huddled around the goose keeping watch, not sure what else to do. I sent out calls to the Humane Societies, but it was a weekend, and no one would be coming. I knew that, and the dispatchers who lied to me about their prompt response knew it, too. So I crouched down with the goose and spoke to him. I prayed to God that He swiftly take this little creature so his pain would cease. I pet his feathers and remained with him as the tears burned my eyes. Hugh, suggested that I look away... that I not watch because it was too upsetting. I knew he was being mindful of the tender heart I carry towards animals. But I answered saying, "No. Me looking away isn't going to stop his death. It won't make it easier on the goose. But at least being here, keeping watch... at least we can share the burden of sadness so he's a little less scared." Upon completion of that thought, I knew that was why Mary needed to be there... why she needed to see Midnight off. Of course watching life seep away is difficult (and truth be told, I have a lump the size of Texas in my throat right now as I think of Mary watching the "green drain away from Midnight's eyes"), but turning away is selfish. Opening your eyes to the reality of that passing is opening your heart to help "shoulder" the burden of that passing. That was why Mary's brother, sister, and father went, too. They went to help Mary shoulder the terrible burden of losing a friend who had been so constant a source of love and joy for the majority of her life. They each took part in Midnight's death, just as they took part in her life. And I have no doubt that Midnight's final moments were full of consolation at that realization. Family surrounded her. Gentle hands and tears of love were what lulled her into Heaven. May we all be so blessed to have such tenderness at our own passing. May we all have family and friends strong enough and generous enough to help us shoulder those final moments. And may each of us be strong enough, generous enough, and loving enough to help others shoulder that burden as well. So now I hope you understand why I'm willing to post about the infanticide case that's been rippling through the blogosphere. For me to look away... to ignore the horror... it is selfish and does nothing to help anyone. As one who can witness to the moral and psychological degradation of our society, it is my duty - my privilege - to speak out as a voice for this little one. It is my obligation to speak out in the hopes that my words, coupled with the collective outcry of others who have taken this road, effect the change that saves the lives of others in similar circumstances. And with this realization... I'm off to pen my thoughts.  On the heels of yesterday's post, I wanted to also blog about another analogy that sprang to mind.
A man asked me what the difference was between Catholicism and any other random brand of religion. Even Atheism, for that matter. To answer him, I told him a story. I'm going to edit it a bit for you guys. A man is in the middle of a giant city. All he wants is to find a pizza parlor because he's both hungry and thirsty. He bumps into an Atheist who basically tells him there aren't any pizza parlors in the city... at least none worth going to. Disheartened, but not hopeless, the man then sees a Muslim who is kind enough to stop and give directions. He says, "Go up ten blocks, turn left, go three lights until you hit the park, circle it, and you'll find a parlor at the end of an alley to your immediate right." Gratiously, though slightly overwhelmed, the man thanks the Muslim and is just about to follow the directions when he spots a Jew. The Jew, too, stops and kindly gives directions, but in giving the directions left out which street the pizza parlor was on because he didn't quite remember. Finally, a little frustrated and still super hungry, the man is about to cross the street when he is approached by a Catholic. The Catholic just says, "Hey, I heard you were looking for a pizza parlor for some grub. There's actually a place right up the street. I'm going that way. Wanna tag along?" And within five minutes, the two of them were at a booth eating pizza. The difference between all of these religions is that, sure, all of them have the potential to get you pizza and a coke, but Catholicism offers you the most direct route because (as Catholics) we believe that Jesus Christ, God Himself, gave us this religion in order to lead us back to Himself. And since this route was paved by God, it is the most direct. Typically I use a "Mountain" or "Desert" analogy with this question, but this story came to mind when he asked and I think it made more sense - I found out later he's a city dweller and actually gets asked the pizza parlor question a lot. Ha ha. Go figure.  While putting together another outline of material for my kids, I came across the realization that some kids think the Church began the second Jesus was born.
In fact, the Church began at Pentecost, when Christ's words were fulfilled in baptizing the Apostle's (and Blessed Mother) with the Holy Spirit. Catholics recognize Pentecost Sunday as the true "birthday" of our faith. In my attempt to explain that, the analogy of Bride and Bridegroom popped up in my mind again (considering that's the most widely used analogy in the Bible of God and His Church). I realized that much like any relationship, God's to the Church also developed and gave birth to what we now recognize as our faith. Just a quick outline of my ideas: If Pentecost is the birth of the Catholic Church, what was the conception? In my mind, that'd be Holy Thursday... the institution of the Holy Eucharist. After all, that act was Jesus handing Himself over totally (Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity) to His People (the future Church). So if Pentecost was the birth and Holy Eucharist was conception, what was His Passion and Resurrection? It hit me - labor. Christ very concretely LABORED intensely in order to bring about total salvation. Now my mind started working backwards... if Christ conceived, labored and bore forth the Church through Pentecost, He had to have been given over in 'marriage' at some point. It hit me again... Palm Sunday. Jesus was presented to the city of Jerusalem with the pomp of a wedding procession. The people welcomed Him as their hero... their protector. Still working backwards, I wondered what His introduction to the future "Church" would be when "Baptism" came to mind. When John the Baptist saw Jesus coming, he announced to the people "Here is the Lamb of God!" John the Baptist introduced Jesus to the people (the future Church). That means that the entire courtship was Jesus' public ministry. So wow. I picked up a pen and jotted down the following: Jesus' introduction to the future Mrs. Jesus (Church): Baptism by John the Baptist Jesus and future Church (the people) getting to know one another: Proclamation of the Kingdom, 3 years of ministry Jesus' betrothal to future Church: Palm Sunday Jesus' consummating fidelity to future Church: Institution of the Eucharist by literally giving ALL of Himself to the Church Jesus laboring to bear forth the Church and ratifying the Will of God - Passion and Resurrection. The Church, finally born in the fires of Pentecost, is made new. Just as the Bride takes the name of her Bridegroom, the Church - once just followers of a preacher named Jesus - take the name "Christians" unwittingly by consenting to follow Christ's message of love, sacrifice and hope. K, so I realize this is all over the place, but I wanted to get it all out there so I could delve into this more when I got a chance. Also, feel free to leave feedback. I've already left this with my wonderful SD, so hopefully she'll have more to say on this as well.  I came across a private letter to Jesus in my Livejournal courtesy of last night's entry. At the time, I had been way too embarrassed and ashamed to post something like this. Firstly, it was emotional. Secondly, it was written to God, something that my friends would no doubt have ridiculed me to no end for.
As I've stated before, though, this letter is proof that though I walked away from the Church for a long time, I never, EVER walked away from my faith. Even as I was running at break-neck speeds away from God, I always understood that He was two steps behind me, allowing me my freedom but always calling me to turn back. I always understood that I craved His Love above everything else, and though that Love was always mine, I continuously turned away from it. Thank You, God, for not giving up on me. Though I'm far from perfect in walking with You, my heart is once more happy because I know that at least I'm WITH You. At least I'm walking in the right direction again. So again, thank You. You really are so good to me. 4/17/2006 Here I am, home after Denny's on Easter Monday. I feel depressed... a sadness... an emptiness that words just can't express. I've been walking around with a hole inside myself for what seems like eternity. I've been missing the Lord, I think. I haven't been to Mass in the longest time. I haven't been a practicing Catholic in forever. I want to cry I miss that part of myself so much, and I hate myself that it's so easy to reclaim it but I refuse to. I've become so lazy... so selfish... so horrible. I'm not even a shell of what I used to be. I'm nothing. I'm everything I disrespected, hated, and said I'd never become. God... I'm horrible, and I apologize so much for it. I want to change, Lord, I do... I need help. I want my former self back. I want to be that girl, singing Church songs as she waited for the bus. I want to be the truly happy, content, and confident girl who KNEW I was good and happy. I feel so lost, so down, so empty. I feel I've lost a part of myself I can never get back and I truly cry inside... EVERY DAY I cry inside just to fill up that empty place I've created. It's so deep, though, that the tears fall endlessly. Darkness. Complete darkness. I'm typing this whole passage with my eyes closed, just feeling the emotions wash over me, but not completely making it through... they just get swallowed by the black hole inside of my heart... inside of my soul. I miss You... I want You back... I want to know that everything will be OK. I want to fix all the problems I've caused. I want to be happy again... I was so happy with You. I truly knew HAPPINESS when I was with You. Ever since I lost my way from You, I've hurt... I've cried... I've missed You. I'm sorry... it keeps getting worse... like a friend who has gone too long without writing. It becomes embarrassing. It becomes feeble. I want to come back. I want to be whole again. I want to be with You. I want to be with You. Even now I'm crying... and I know You can see me. I know You know I'm crying and I know You want to make me feel better. Just typing to You makes me feel a little less broken. I still know You are there. I know You love me, but I'm having such trouble loving myself. I miss you. I wish I weren't so broken. I want to go back to loving You better. I want to go back to loving You how I used to... but better. I was a good person when I was with You. I want to be that good person again. I want to be that happy person again. I love You... thanks for listening. In lieu of my 9/11 commentary, I'm posting the remarks of a friend. She had this set as her Facebook status, and I really loved it. Thus, I am sharing it with all of you. I will, however, link you to a blog entry I made 5 years ago regarding 9/11. Anywhere, here's my friend's post:
My prayers today aren't only for Americans, but for the Iraqi and Afghan people, whose lives were changed in the years since. I pray for people of 46 other countries like the UK, Italy, Poland, Turkey, and Australia, who have sent their sons and daughters to fight with our own. Ten years later, we should all ask ourselves what we've personally done to try and bring about peace and resolution to our collective hurt. What can we still do? Jesus graciously gave us the Divine Mercy chaplet through St. Faustina. I can think of no better time to utilize such a gift than in remembrance of those we lost on 9/11. Though tempting to think of them all in Heaven with their Creator, it is unlikely that all our fellow Americans made it through the gates without first tasting the baths of Purgatory. Offer your prayers for these souls, and also for those they left behind.  May I trouble you all with a prayer request? It's a personal one, and I'd appreciate a quick word to your Guardian Angel. Entrust your words to them, and ask that they fly to Heaven to place those petitions before St. Anne, St. Gianna, St. Monica and the Blessed Mother. I'd appreciate it more than you know. Thanks in advance for your kindness. May God bless you a thousand-fold for your generosity of spirit.  After a very trying period for priests everywhere (ESPECIALLY our Irish-Catholic fathers!), the Irish government announced that it'd be leaving the Confessional alone.
For those who haven't been keeping track of the story, some in the Republic of Ireland (a largely Catholic population, mind you) wanted to pass a law that made it criminal to withold information pertaining to child-abuse. Now while I'm 100% supportive of prosecuting folks who knowingly allow child-abuse to occur, I am NOT 100% supportive of using the Confessional to acheive those ends. First of all, Confession is a sacrament that aims at directing one to atone for sins. Secondly, what's to say that folks don't go into a Confessional with the intent to destroy a priest's credibility utilizing this potential law? Say Fr. Jack is my pastor and called me out on wearing short shorts and a tank-top to Mass on Sunday. I'm angry and ashamed that he called me out on it, so I "go to Confession" and then report back to the authorities that I'd confessed child-abuse and Fr. Jack didn't report it to the authorities. What happens, then? Fr. Jack gets carted off the jail, completely unable to defend himself due to the seal of Confession (he wouldn't be able to relay ANYTHING that was said there, thus incriminating himself through silence) and my smug little self goes about my life, blissfully unaware of the damage I caused because I only cared about revenge. True, that's an extreme example, but when you consider how many people absolutely loathe the Catholic Church and would get kicks just by starting trouble for a priest, it's not like that scenario is totally far-fetched. Thankfully, however, this foolishness is off the table now. Priests can confidently deliver the Sacrament of Reconciliation to their parishioners without having yet another fear gnawing the backs of their minds. Thank you, God, for answering the prayers of your faithful. May You continue to bless and protect our confessors. They are our life-line to You! There simply aren't words to describe just how awesome this is!
The artist's name is David Garibaldi. He doesn't only do religious art, mind you. But this particular performance happened to be what drew me to him in the first place. If you find this interesting, you should check out sand-artist Joe Castillo. I was so impressed with a video of his that I sought him out this past summer in Ocean City, NJ to see a live performance of most of his works. AMAZING. Even my husband, the agnostic, enjoyed it. The Blessed Virgin is the spoiled child of the Blessed Trinity. She knows no law. Everything yields to her in heaven and on earth. The whole of heaven gazes on her with delight. She plays before the ravished eyes of God himself. ~Raissa Maritain  The detail to your left is taken from a painting titled La Nascita della Vergine by Guido Reni. It depicts the joyous celebration of the birth of the Blessed Mother. All the women bubbling about in the picture are overjoyed for Sts. Joachim and Anne. Why? They had passed their childbearing years. They were considered to be infertile and cursed, and they pleaded with God to bless them with a child. After years of petitioning God through prayer and sacrifice, God blessed them with a child.
Boy did they not realize just what God had in store for them!!! In their years pleading for God's aid, they were being prepared for a blessing incomprehensible! They were tasked (unwittingly) with bringing the Ark of the New Covenant into the world. Theirs was the responsibility of raising up the Mother of God... the Queen of Heaven... the Woman Clothed with the Sun! While they understood this child was, indeed, uniquely blessed, I wonder how aware they were of just how perfect and special she really was... Can you imagine, though, what that day must have been like? Since God wanted to keep this most perfect gift a secret from even the angels themselves, I wonder how they reacted when St. Michael the Archangel was tasked with protecting this little one ('cause in my mind, St. Michael was always the Guardian of the Blessed Mother). Did St. Michael understand who it was that He protected? Did any of the Guardian angels that were present at her birth understand? Did they understand that this babe was their Queen? That she would bear forth God as Man? Incredible. But all those present were probably blissfully unaware of the amazement of the angelic choirs surrounding them. None were aware of how God's own Heart must have rejoiced in this, His Most Perfect Creation... the creature called upon from all eternity to be His Mother, the bridge between human and divine. Happy Feast Day, Blessed Mother. May the world rejoice in the promise of Life that you bring!  I have to keep reminding myself that spiritual growth is a marathon, not a sprint.
I had recently come across a pilgrimage that I wanted to attend. It's relatively close to home, and I really felt like it'd be a huge spiritual bonus for me. Unfortunately, God let me know (repeatedly) that I simply am not ready to take that step just yet. That wasn't an easy thing for me to accept. Still kinda bugs me (I'm being honest). Truth be told, however, I trust that God knows best and I accept His decision that I'm simply not "up-to-snuff" enough to take part in so great a gift. Upon further reflection, I know He's right. I'm not ready. For as much as I'd like to claim I'm ready... for as much as I'd like to believe I'm "spiritually grown," I'm not. I realize this. It's a humbling realization, too... especially with God putting road-block after road-block up for me, each time patiently saying, "Nope. You're headed in the right direction, but can ya slow down a bit so you can actually take in what I'm trying to teach you?" So bah. Even though I'm really bummed that I can't go this month, I know that He's trying to make me ready to accept that gift whenever I'm lucky enough to be blessed with it.  Aside from the horrible grammar, the magnet to the left correctly defines someone who is commonly referred to as a "Cafeteria Catholic."
In a cafeteria's buffet line, you're able to walk by and pick up an apple, leave the spinach, take some pasta, and ignore the porkchops. No one will think twice about your decisions, because as an adult individual, no one can really tell you what you can and can't eat. This is why I think the term "Cafeteria Catholic" is a bit of a misnomer. These folks who pick and choose which doctrines of the faith they'll abide by and which are too "ridiculous" are not Catholics at all, especially when they choose to blatantly defy dogma as if these irrefutable teachings are suppositional and subject to societal pressures (proponents of abortion or homosexual marriage within the Church, I'm talking to you!). In effect, they are Protestant (considering that the definition of Protestant is someone who disagrees / protests Catholic Church teaching). The best article I've seen explaining this phenomenon is linked here for your benefit. To summarize the article, a Catholic is expected to accept all teachings defined by both the extraordinary Mageisterium and the ordinary magisterium. You don't have to like it, or even understand it fully (though it's encouraged to try!). Trusting God's motion through His Church is our greatest act of faith, humilty and love. Now, I am not suggesting that all Catholics must blindly accept doctrine and ignorantly spout Catholic "facts" without a basis of meaning and context. On the contrary, I encourage ALL Catholics (and non-Catholics if so inclined) to learn more about our rich history and nuance. If you find yourself disagreeing with the big issues (like Jesus being fully God and fully Man, the Blessed Mother's Immaculate Conception, the teaching of Transubstantiation, etc), and you can't reconcile the teachings with what your research has uncovered for you, then you are simply not Catholic. Since Catholicism cannot bend to accomodate your interpretation, it's simply time to find a religion that does. Don't remain within a religious institution that you follow only for convenience or laziness. If you're going to be a Catholic, be a true Catholic. If not, find a religion that better suits your theology (there are plenty to choose from!) Don't be a cafeteria Catholic who will only further divide and confuse those Catholics who remain.  One of my favorites It's true, it's true. I married myself a non-Catholic. Sure, he was born and raised in the Church. And sure, his mom has pictures of him dressed up in a chasuble pretending to be a priest. The truth, however, is that my husband is agnostic.
I was well aware of his agnosticism when we first dated. I respected his beliefs, and he respected mine. Sure, he'd tease me now and again, but back in those early days, I didn't really feel as though he looked down on my devotions. He just accepted them as a quirky part of who I was. I had been surrounded by enough atheism and agnosticism that his lack of belief structure wasn't a big deal. Nor did I think it would pose much of a problem for our married life, either. After all, my parents were similar. My mom is Catholic and my dad is... well... nothing. My dad never cared that my mom took us to Mass and raised us with the faith, and I assumed the same would be true of John. After all, he had always said, "Sure, teach 'em whatever you want, but I plan to teach them about other religions and stuff, too." I was agreeable to that. I appreciate other cultures and think it's important to be aware of the various belief systems out there. I had made it clear, however, that I'd be raising them as Catholics (the sacraments, Catholic schooling, Sunday Masses, etc), and that I wouldn't tolerate his eye-rolling or subtle snark directed towards my chosen set of beliefs. John agreed that was fair, especially when I granted the compromise of consent. When our children are ready to be confirmed, it will be their choice to move forward or not. At that point, they should be able to make the choice for themselves (and if I teach them properly, that decision, I'm hoping, will be the right one!). So the years went by and religion didn't really come up between us. John balked a bit when I baptized Vincent, but as soon as I reminded him of the promise he made to allow me to raise our children Catholic until they were able to decide (properly) for themselves, he stopped. Now that I've had a resurgence of faith, however, he's getting extremely antsy about my beliefs. He confronted me about my threads (again, readers not connected with me on Facebook, commentary abounds there), and said, "It's like I don't even know you anymore." He accused me of going insane, and very plainly worried about how my religion would affect our son. I guess he was marginally OK with my tepid religious beliefs before... but now that I actually voice those beliefs, it's an entirely different ballgame. He's struggling with this. It's just as difficult for him as it is for me. He's afraid I'm being brainwashed by religion, and that I'll spread the "infection" onto Vincent. He's also embarrassed because my religious beliefs conflict very much with the anti-religious stance of our mutual friends. Even those friends of ours who ARE religious are very much gun-shy when it comes to talking about their faith. So for me to be so vocal about so taboo a topic as religion is scandalous, apparently. I'm trying to be patient. I'm trying very hard to see this from his perspective as well. I understand that I really have "changed" in his eyes, but at the heart of it, I'm still the exact same person. I just happen to be more secure in my faith and much more willing to teach others about it. My faith has done nothing to change my political views, to alter how I treat others (except for an attempt to be more gentle and loving), or to disrupt my daily obligations. But all these exterior forces are weighing heavily on him. The most I can do is pray to St. Monica. May her intercession melt his heart. |
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