It's good to be home.
When I was a kid, my father was in the Air Force so we moved a lot. I never had a hard time with moving. I always found the idea of a fresh start every few months or years very comforting. Apparently, I enjoyed it so much, I've continued the pace into my adulthood without being affiliated with the military.
At one point, we lived in Germany, but closer to an Army installation than the three Air Force bases nearby. The three Air Force chapels formed one HUGE parish. The little Army chapel had it's own separate parish. Now, I'm not saying there was anything wrong with the mega parish, but that tiny Army parish was really special. They had one mass each weekend. Everybody knew everybody. It was the kind of parish where a mom with young kids could still show up, even if her husband was unable to attend. If the two year old got wiggly, no problem. He could go sit with his babysitter (me) in the pew behind. Had a baby that was not sleeping through the night? Just pass to the left. Everybody just pitched in and it was instant family. I've missed that parish dynamic over the years.
We moved the last two summers. This last move brought us to a small county in Northern Florida. There is only one small parish for this county. One mass each weekend.
This time, I'm the mom with the young kids. Last night, I took my kids to Mass/Soup/Stations. E was feeling sick so I was flying solo. Another solo-flying mom and I teamed up to flank our kids in the pew and help navigate dinner. And M, now 4 months old, was passed around and around. And when I had to bring V to Jesus for shucking shoes and socks and running around the altar, I had no problem passing M off, tackling my almost 3 year-old and swatting her rear end right there in the church- in front of God and everybody as the saying goes. (My crew and I left before stations was over.)
I love this parish. This is home. My children are known and loved. They are home here. I am blessed beyond measure to be here.
And I'm very happy and content to not move again. Maybe forever.
You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.St. Augustine of HIppo
Let me begin by pointing out, I'm not a big reader. Well, I read a lot, but it tends to be the same books and stories to the kids. I don't tend to do a lot of personal reading. It is quite likely that this blog entry would give you a completely different impression than what is my reality, so I thought I'd put this disclaimer in here now.
It amazes me how often there are themes in my life. So many different areas all seem to converge and all I hear is that gentle, nagging voice whispering, "It's ME. I AM
what you need."
And then I'm amazed at how DENSE I must be that the poor Almighty has to make this point to me over and over again.
A few months ago, a really good friend introduced me to a website, FLYLady.net
, when I was telling her I just wanted to create an annual schedule to keep track of what household chores I needed to do, when, and how often. Wow did my friend save me from having to reinvent the wheel! It has been a wonderful tool in helping to organize my home and make things less stressful. My home is cleaner, I'm finishing more of my projects, and the kids are definitely benefiting from having more routines. (P and C make their beds every morning!) It was all the stuff I wanted to accomplish, except she had already done the planning and legwork to lay it all out! IT HAS BEEN SUPER SWEET!
But less stress doesn't equal peace.
E just got a pay-cut. It wasn't a drastic one, but it was enough to make things just a little more frustrating. Now, up until recently, E has "managed" our money. We talk about it, but he's the one who pays the bills and tells me what's leftover. And I just don't like a "paycheck-to-paycheck" mentality. And if we approached our money differently, i.e. a more macro perspective, then we wouldn't need to fall into the paycheck-to-paycheck mindset. So I downloaded a book onto my phone and started reading it. Then, I nagged and begged (again) to let me be the one to pay the bills. My logic is that I would have a more global understanding of how our needs are as a family and then WE could make better decisions. So we have some new plans in place and a real, attainable goal for saving money. This should be good. I felt less stress seeing a more complete picture (even if it wasn't as pretty as I had hoped) and enjoyed talking things over with my husband.
But less stress doesn't equal peace.
The book I downloaded is How to Manage Your Money When You Don't Have Any by Erik Wecks.
I really like Wecks' perspective. He talks about humility and grace being necessary components to analyze your financial decision making. And he really helps to draw a real distinction between wants and needs. And boy did I need that reminder because I was sadly starting to confuse the two! My list of "needs" was getting longer and more expensive. And boy is it a relief to realize how much shorter that list actually is. (He writes like a Catholic, maybe that's why I like him so much!) So between Wecks and FLYLady, I'm living a less cluttered life and I feel more satisfied with what I have. This is great.
But where is the peace?
Years ago, I joined a mom's group that studied Holly Pierlot's A Mother's Rule of Life
. This book took a hard look at how moms, and really all people, need to prioritize their relationships. It emphasized prayer needing to be the foundation; the biggest rock in the jar so it must be given first priority.
And there is that gentle, nagging voice again. A clean house and ordered finances don't make peace. Peace comes only through Christ. "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid." (John 14:27) It's never going to be peace until I turn to God...
Deliver us, Lord, we pray, from every evil,
graciously grant peace in our days,
that, by the help of your mercy,
we may be always free from sin
and safe from all distress,
as we await the blessed hope
and the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ.
There is a reason for this picture, but it comes at the end. :)
The last 6 months have been a real struggle for me. I have found myself struggling spiritually, physically, emotionally... Ok, let's be real, the struggle has been going on for much longer than 6 months. But I will say that it has picked up speed.
In the last 6 months, I've had to come to terms with both of my daughters being gluten intolerant, V having food allergies, me developing new food allergies, me spraining a knee and, subsequently, having and recovering from knee surgery, a car accident and the ongoing resolution of that, and just all of the usual having a very young family and a household to tend. And how about them "terrible twos!"
I know there have been tremendous opportunities for grace in all of this, but I can't say I've taken advantage of these opportunities. My prayer life is dismal, ambitions I have had for my home and family are gone and I feel like I've been in some sort of "crisis-management" or "survival" mode for a really, really long time. I'd gladly accept a lot of this as my "new normal" except that as soon as I get to that point, a new wrench gets thrown in the works. Most especially, this is the food stuff. You see, I have struggled with anorexia and bulimia in my late adolescence and early adulthood. I can accept that I have a warped body image sense. But I do have a tendency to avoid eating when I am stressed and to be a bit compulsive with weighing myself and focusing on the numbers when life gets stressful. So as my dietary world gets more and more restrictive, and expensive, I'm having a hard time not just restricting food completely. I joked with my allergist that I was going to just give up food for the new year. (With my mom, we change the joke to "for advent" or "for ordinary time" because we like that kind of Catholic humor.)
It isn't that I am stuck in an impossible situation. There is always hope, if we place it in the Lord. But that is an easy thing to say, and at least for me lately, very difficult to put into practice. I can't receive Communion because of V's gluten intolerance (she is still breastfed) and pursuing gluten-free Communion options are not terribly practical for me at this time. This could be a great spiritual opportunity for me to experience spiritual communion, but I'm not really focusing on that. I could rely on God to protect my mind from my eating disorders as I try to protect my family and myself, but I'm not.
The kids were horrible at mass this morning, but the Deacon said something in the only half-sentence of the homily that I caught; something to the effect that the part of the Gospel reading that ultimately stood out to him was "trust". Well of course I thought "how pithy." And yet, my mind keeps returning to this word since I heard it at mass.
Am I trusting God?
I say I do. I'm not distrusting God. More or less, I'm ignoring Him beyond prayers at meals and occasionally saying that a certain task is being offered for a friend. I have not focused on any aspect of our relationship and pretty much relegated the Almighty to the Short-order Cook of Miracles. And when I haven't gotten my way, I have pretty much mentally shrugged it off. "Figures."
I don't want a pithy, lip-service relationship. But what would it mean if I did trust God? I would have to give up wallowing in the dietary stress and general "woe is me" events. I would have to choose to embrace His peace. And I would have to actually engage my Lord beyond routine prayers recited from memory. In short, I'd have to give up my pride, my love of attention, and my desire to appear as if I have it "all together." I have to choose to be vulnerable and open- not so much with God, because let's face it, He's omniscient. I have to be self-scrutinizing. Yes, it's dreadfully uncomfortable. I'm feeling shamefully hedonist right now. The reality is that I'm caught in a spiritual sense of Chinese finger cuffs. My whole self is desperate for peace and grace and yet I am resisting the very Source. I am choosing not to turn to God, ergo I am choosing sin.
I think this is what it means to "die to self." It isn't just about denying yourself creature comforts. I have to put to death the things of the flesh; my pride, my self-centeredness, my ego. These not-so-good traits are part of me and I have to pluck them out. And, ironically, I can't do that without God either.
I am dust, and to dust I will return.
Perhaps a little early for Lent, but I think this works for Advent too. To be perfectly honest, it's not like I've prepared much of a way, straight or otherwise, for Christ during this season. So, I'm at the fork in the spiritual road. Do I give up my resistance or stay the course, knowing it leads nowhere good? I wish I could saying I'm ready to surrender now and begin again and all that jazz. I think to say it is a process for me is a bit of a cop-out because I know I can choose to let go of this. I'm stubborn and mentally numb. And I don't really want to work right now.
But by the time I go to bed tonight, I will get off my spiritual duff. I really do need my Savior.
I needed some time off. But now, I need to add some order and accountability to my life.
Honestly, I'm drowning in life right now. I can't seem to juggle it all. My bedroom is a wreck and my closet is horrific. The kids' toys are everywhere. After they pull out every single toy they own, then they pull out the DVDs and spread them all over the living room. My daughter has lent her artistic touches to the walls (crayons and chalk) and so far that seems to be the only thing I can keep up with cleaning. I have an insurmountable amount of laundry. My bathrooms haven't been thoroughly cleaned in, well, I'm not sure. My dear Lord, that is disgusting. E is job hunting (thankfully while still employed), C is getting ready for an endoscopy to see if she really has Celiac Disease, P and C love V so much that I'm afraid to give V appropriate amounts of tummy-time and thus she didn't do so hot on a developmental assessment today, and I'm just kind of stuck on a plateau in my postpartum depression. I'm not being frugal enough, but at the same time, I'm frustrated with how frugal I need to be when I know I could go back to work and meet a fairly decent earning potential. But I REALLY don't want to put my kids in day care. I'm also not even sure I'm giving them the best experiences at home. I'm too tired to take them to the park often enough. We live on a street where our neighbors zip down the road and we can't afford to put a fence up in the backyard (yet). So we have this nice backyard just laughing at us when my preschooler and toddler should be happily deve
So I need a plan, but I feel like I can't stop treading water long enough to put my thoughts together. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. I'm just not sure where to start chewing.
So this blog is going to get really boring. I need it to be my accountability of what I'm doing. Tonight, I'm going to finish the laundry in the machines right now and probably start 1 or 2 more loads. I need to finish cleaning the kitchen up from dinner. My daughter needs sheets on her bed. The toys have to get cleaned up. And, because I need a clean space, I'm boxing up all of the stuff in my room that isn't EXACTLY where it should be right now. If it's still before midnight, I'll vacuum my room. But I have to start somewhere.
go! (God help me!)
Writing is not as easy with a newborn...
That being said, I've been working on collecting my thoughts on a variety of issues. And in the spirit of all things Trinitarian, I have 3 areas that are coming together for me.
1. As it turns out, I'm a terrible gossip. I don't mean to be. It starts off as venting and then before I know it, I'm just being mean and trashing people. It's the danger of the slow fade into sin and the reason I know I need to "avoid the near occasion of sin." I really started realizing how most of my conversations with a close friend of mine were always turning toward our now-difficult relationship with a mutual friend. I knew I was not being loving to either of my friends by continuing in this line of discussion. All we were doing was licking our proverbial wounds and nobody was actually getting past the injuries and forgiving our friend. It seems to me this is not what Christ asks of His followers. (Thankfully, my co-gossiper was feeling equally convicted on the need to stop this so we have been working together to do better.)
2. About this same time, I read a blog where the blogger posted an email written in by one of his readers where she implores people not to bring their young, noisy children to mass on account of the fact that she has an illness that makes her very sensitive to certain noises. She further made her point by suggesting children can't understand what's going on anyway. Shockingly (not!), the comm-box became flooded with arguments from both sides. People on both sides were angry. They were hurt by the other commentors' lack of selfless thinking. (Regardless of the side they took on the issue, most of the comments seem to boil down to "the rest of y'all aren't thinking about what's in my/my family's best interest, therefore y'all are being seflish!" Amazing.) But I couldn't tell anybody was suddenly having an epiphany and changing views. It just seemed more like a heated, pointless debate.
3. Then, as kind of a backdrop to all of this, there are the endless updates from anti-abortion/pro-life news outlets and blogs about Gosnell, all that he is about and the apparent lack of "MSM coverage." I'm not seeing much news lately, I don't have cable, but I will concede this issue hasn't exactly cropped up on the Yahoo! ticker. That being said, the coverage of this guy on less-mainstream circuits and, from what I've been told, on social media seems to amount to a lot of really gruesome pictures and rightful disgust over what this guy has done. But what seems to be lost in all of it is anything beyond finger-pointing and "you horrible, bad man!" The slaughter of children is appalling. The maiming of women is despicable. The fact that a person can reconcile it within themselves that these actions are ok is quite tragic in and of itself! But I don't think anybody is exactly adding Gosnell's name to prayer chains for his repentance conversion, and salvation.
So, I'm seriously wondering, are we adding to the hate? I took the first issue to confession. I was sorry for what I had done when I walked in, but boy did the priest let me have it! And rightly so. I needed to be reminded of the gravity of what I had been doing. He made it perfectly clear to me that my gossip was driving people from Christ and that I was not behaving as an ambassador for Christ should. I have heard it said that gossipers spend their time in purgatory being hung by the tongue. I wonder if that punishment is extended to all of us who tear down people with our words.
I confess to almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters,
that I have greatly sinned in my thoughts and in my words,
in what I have done and in what I have failed to do,
through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault;
therefore I ask blessed Mary ever-Virgin, all the Angels and Saints,
and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord our God. Amrn
Happy Feast of St. Joseph!
These nights, I'm up pretty much most of the time, nursing V. (Yes, she's here at last!)
So early this morning, I pulled up the Papal Installation Mass. WOW! I'm a liturgy junkie and the more languages and elements from Eastern Rites that can be incorporated, the better! The coverage started at 3:30, so I admit I dozed off a little as PBS worked out their technical stuff. But I woke up just in time to see this:
I cried. I love that he blessed the babies. But even more, I love that he went down to this man and (presumably) his family.
Way to go, Holy Spirit! You picked a really awesome pope!
This lent, I decided that I was going to make it to Stations of the Cross on Fridays (V's arrival permitting!) and I really wanted to make this a family event.
The first Friday came, E and I loaded the kids into the car and hauled them off for 7:00 Stations- which was sure to be a penitential experience since they usually go to bed around 7:30. C was perfect. And then the Stations started and she started screaming at the top of her lungs. So E spent the rest of the Stations pacing with her outside. (I need an old priest and a young priest much?)
P and I remained in the sanctuary. He was very enthusiastic about saying the Our Father, Hail Mary and Glory Be after each station, although he was confused about the lack of hand holding during the Our Father. His enthusiasm was apparently contagious as he began soliciting high-fives from the neighbors after he had successfully finished the 3 prayers. When this parish does Stations, they use projectors to display images for each of the stations. Pros and cons, on one hand, you don't have to move around from station to station. On the other hand, you don't move around from station to station. When the first slide popped up, P started pointing in front of us and exclaimed, "I see Mary! I see Mary!" Truth be told, the image projected was of a slightly feminine looking Jesus. I tried to whisper to P that it was Jesus on the screen. "No, I see Mary." it was at that point that I noticed the angle of his arm, still extended and pointing, was not quite high enough to be pointing to the slides. So I asked, "What color is Mary wearing?" "Blue. I see two Marys." Sitting about 3 rows ahead of us were the two nuns, dressed in blue habits. That was a facepalm moment...
Well, the second Friday came. C was fighting off another stomach bug so E opted to stay at home with her while I took P to Stations. This time, the Our Father, Hail Mary and Glory Be were not the least bit novel. He had no compelling interest to be there. However, we definitely got more fodder for the ever-growing file of "Things I never thought I'd have to say as a parent." "Son, don't lick the pew." "I see you're pretending to be snake. Can you please be a snake that stands up?" I was trying my best to keep him focused on the Stations. I was quietly whispering to him what the different stations were about. So we had gotten through the 3 falls and we were up to Jesus being nailed to the cross. I wasn't convinced that P had been actually listening to my brief explanations of the pictures... until now.
(This isn't quite the image in the booklet, but close enough.)
P took a look at the picture and, because whispering is impossible, cried out, "Oh no! Jesus fell off the cross again!" Sigh...
C was still under the weather on Saturday morning, and since she had been dealing with that bug since Monday, E and I decided we'd plan to keep her home from Mass this past weekend. I took P to the Saturday 4pm vigil. Now, having only one kid in tow, I thought for sure we could handle sitting in the main sanctuary. Wrong, wrong, so wrong. We picked some seats much closer to the front than we normally sit. I was hoping for that mythical experience I hear other parents speak of- you know how it goes, "Sit near the front so the little ones can see what is happening and then they will behave." Good or bad, it's all behavior and boy did he behave! There was the drama over which side of me he could sit- not that I cared, I just wanted him to plant his rear. He was obsessed over my purse (I had left the diaper bag at home with E and C) and wanted to explore the contents. No thank you! The lady sitting next to us wore a sleeveless sweater and P thought her upper arms looked particularly inviting. So he starts stroking the upper arm of this TOTAL STRANGER. I'm raising a creep. Of course I tried to stop him and tried to move him to the other side of me while apologizing profusely, but that resulted in all sorts of vile things being uttered at me from the mouth of my 3 year old and a couple of attempts to hit me. We were somehow surviving the Liturgy of the Word when my son, the fruit of my womb, managed to derail the pastor in the middle of his Homily. Mid-sentence. After all of our fighting over which seat he should use and threats to be taken out and spanked on account of his disrespectful behavior, he finally realized that somebody (the Priest) was talking and he was expected to pay attention. He suddenly stood up on the kneeler, looked intently at the priest, and started waving and yelled out a single "Hi!" The pastor paused, waved back and said "Hi." Well, of course everybody turned around to see who the kid was, the old people were giving P that "Aw, aren't you cute!" look, and P was just eating it up. I, on the other hand, was somewhere between ticked off that these people were inadvertently encouraging my son to misbehave and hoping for a shovel so I could start tunneling my way to China. Just as the consecration was starting, P decided he needed to go to the bathroom. This required parading through much of the Church since we are not sitting on the side with the bathrooms. I'll be honest, in my embarrassment from his Homily disruption, I opted to walk with just a little extra 3rd trimester waddle. Maybe all of these people would be more sympathetic to my plight if I looked like the overwhelmed pregnant mother of a rambunctious pre-schooler. (I know, not the holiest way to approach being a disruption to others' during Mass, but that's why God gives us confession!) We returned to the pews just before that Doxology and Great Amen. Since it was still a kneeling time, I pulled P and I over to stand alongside the wall to wait until after the Our Father so we could be a little less disruptive by returning to our seats during the Sign of Peace. I stood there holding P when the organ swells started and the priest was singing the Doxology. The music was getting appropriately climactic leading to the Amen, and P was picking up on the emotion. He looked over at the altar, held up is arms and yelled, "IT'S THE CIRCLE OF JESUS!!!!!!!" I suppose the silver lining here is that he's on the right track theologically... We went up to communion, and of course he was not happy when his requests of "I want some circles." were denied. Little fit, right there in front of the pastor and the entire assembly...
For all of his misbehavior, at least nobody has to wonder if he's being educated and catechized.
My parents are hilarious! For a little bit of background, my mother has an awesome sense of humor, and it just so happens she has Parkinson's Disease. For the past year or so, she has also worked as a parish secretary, though not at the parish where my parents are parishioners. My father is one of the most gentle and patient people I have ever known. He is retired from the Air Force, although he still works for the government, and he's a deacon.
So last night, after dinner, I was taking out the baby bottles my parents had gotten for Veronica so I could wash and sterilize them and put them back up in the pantry.
So as I was looking at the packaging, I noticed where it says "Classic" and advertises its status of not having BPA. In an attempt to be bilingual, Evenflo opted to write "without" over the word "sin." (For those of you who no hablo espanol, sin is Spanish for... without. I love Chris Farley!) But darn it, it sure looks like it's saying "without sin." So I called my diaconal father and parish-secretary mother to thank them for getting their granddaughter "sinless" baby bottles.
Well, we ended up chatting for a while because, well, we miss each other!
My father and I discussed an email he had received at work, warning military personnel not to buy or consume a certain product called "Purgatory Vodka." Now, us being Catholics, it would be rather tempting (punny!) to buy a product with "purgatory" in the name. As it turns out, this product is being sold on-base. The problem is that it is made with hemp seed oil, which can cause somebody to test positive for THC. And the Uniform Code of Military Justice expressly forbids the consumption of such products. So we were having a quite the time shaking out heads over that situation.
Then my mom got on the phone and we chatted for a bit too. Big news being what it is, we started discussing the pope's resignation and the reactions we had seen. What she told me next had me in stitches!
As it turns out, there is an elderly lady, 85 years old- the same age as Benny himself, named Argentina. (Ironically, she's from Panama, but I digress!) My mom has gotten to know her a bit over the last year and a half or so as she often comes in to the office just to chat. So, Monday, after hearing of Benny-boy's resignation, Argentina came into the parish office- distraught. She cried to my mother how sad she was that the pope was resigning. She could understand that he was tired, she offered that sometimes she just wants to take a nap, too. But oh how she was weeping! And of course, my mother did her best to comfort this poor woman and reassure her that the Holy Spirit is guiding our Church and that we just have to trust in God's will. Argentina continued in her sobbing and told my mother how she cried for John Paul II.
My mother: Yes, we all cried for Pope John Paul when he passed away.
Argentina: No, No! I cried for him while he was still alive! He had Parkinson's, you know. It's such a terrible thing, Parkinson's. I cry for everyone who have Parkinson's.
It was apparently in that moment, that my mother was given a flash of wisdom from the Holy Spirit. Instantly, she knew she could not tell Argentina that she had Parkinson's Disease. Because if she did, she would have to say "DON"T CRY FOR ME, ARGENTINA."
I thought I was going to die laughing so hard! So there you go- the punchline that wasn't!
I've been digesting- specifically over the news of Pope Benedict's resignation.
I've read a few blogs, listened to a few news reports, and read a lot of commboxes. A few things stood out to me. While obviously there is a lot of speculation about what is really going on behind the scenes, I saw a few posts in commboxes from non-Catholics that were remarkable. They were offers
of prayers and good wishes for easy transitions and for God to provide us with the right leader. How magnanimous! How charitable! These comments were really emotional for me. They are fruits of Christ's prayer for "all to be one.
" And this was a bit inspiring for me too. I pray for the leaders of my government and Church. I honestly hadn't really thought about praying for the leadership of other faiths, beyond praying for them as general human beings. So, to those non-Catholics who are offering prayers for our Church, thank you for your
The other thing that stood out were the number of posts, blogs and comments alike, coming from Catholics who had converted, or in some cases reverted, during Pope Benedict's pontificate. I am a cradle Catholic, so I haven't walked a mile in these shoes. But the overwhelming theme of these posts was feeling saddened, abandoned, and even "fatherless." If I could, I'd love to give these people a big hug and tell them it's going to be ok!
I can see how this feels like having the rug pulled out from underneath us, especially for people who have been greatly influenced by Pope Benedict. There was no warning- I mean c'mon- there wasn't even any leaking of this from the Pope's butler several months back! And for people who have already experienced destabilizing events surrounding father-figures, I can see how this is all the more emotionally traumatic. I'm sure these people intellectually know our Holy Father isn't abandoning us, even if their hearts are breaking.
We are promised the Paraclete to guide our Church. I am very impressed by how Pope Benedict has handled this. He's been quick (some irony for folks who say the Church moves too slowly!) and he's been completely resolved about this whole thing. His reasons were straightforward and honest, and humble. For such a remarkably intelligent man, to have to acknowledge mental frailty, it must be a terribly painful thing to accept. Shoot! When I was in labor with my son and opted for the narcotic pain relief
, I remember being absolutely livid that I felt like I was thinking through Jell-o. I wasn't so upset that it did NOTHING to relieve my pain, I was ticked off that I knew I could think faster and yet I felt like I was mentally trudging through quicksand. I can only imagine how troubling and difficult this must for somebody who doesn't see an end in sight for feeling of diminished mental capacities- let alone seeing that it could still get worse. I think this shows a huge amount of love and trust; love for the people of God and trust in God's will. I say love for the people of God because no doubt he wants the best for us, including the best leadership. And how tempting it must be to feel a sense of personal failure to realize one is no longer up to the task so vividly entrusted to him by God. And yet, Pope Benedict has apparently spent a lot of time praying and discerning about God's will for him and the Church.
And how interesting that this announcement comes on the Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes, patron saint of bodily ills. I can only imagine there is an element of offering up this suffering. The thing about his quick exit is that it gives practically no chance for him or anybody else to try to have an inappropriate say in who the next
Pope will be. It really is almost as suddenly as if he had passed away or had been given a very short time to live. This is real humility and trust in God's divine plan. I really believe that he is praying very fervently for the right leadership for our Church and for all of us to be at peace.And I tell you, ask and you will receive; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives; and the one who seeks, finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. What father among you would hand his son a snake when he asks for a fish? Or hand him a scorpion when he asks for an egg? If you then, who are wicked, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the Father in heaven give the holy Spirit to those who ask him? (Luke 11:9-13)
We are going to be ok.
In the history of this blog, I have received 1 comment and it happened a few days ago. I was thanked for a donation I had made to Michael Voris of ChurchMilitantTV.
I've never made a donation...
But, ironically, this was on the heels of a recent comment I left on a blog post of somebody else, who was discussing Michael Voris. And in all honesty, my comment, while not meant to stir the pot, was simply a suggestion to take what Mr. Voris says with a grain of salt.
Ok, I think I more accurately called him "nuts."
I've never met Michael Voris. Based on what I've read, and the very brief amount of video I have seen on his YouTube channel, I'm not a fan of his delivery. And I'm not so sure I agree
with his take on Catholicism, either, but I'm not very well versed in his ideas.
So it was a bit surprising to see his name crop up. I have no idea if the two events- the comment I made and the comment I received- are related, but I can't help but think about scripture lines about turning the other cheek
and doing good to those who persecute you
. Have I been the recipient of such love of one's enemy?
I never set out to persecute anybody. But my words were careless. Furthermore, I forgot something important- Michael Voris is also one of God's beloved children. I forgot that he is a real person, with real feelings, real beliefs, a real soul. I'm sorry.
you for the comment, ChurchMilitantTV. Thank you for helping me learn this lesson a little.