my terrible parents

When I was a kid, I sometimes thought I had terrible parents. We kids walked to school, most days carrying sandwiches we'd made earlier that morning. (Mom didn't make our lunch. She also never bought us Lunchables. And we could only get hot lunch twice a week.) We had to come home right after school, unless we had basketball practice, and we weren't allowed to stop and play in the park. My mom taught us piano lessons and made us practice, and we had to dress up for Mass every Sunday. We didn't play on soccer teams, didn't watch much TV, didn't swear, and didn't buy the cool toys the other kids had.

It got so bad that one day I told my mom she was a terrible mom, because she had ugly toenails. (My friends' moms painted theirs.)

Now I am an adult (of sorts), graduated from college, having held a real adult job for a year, and married. I'm looking out into the world and realizing that few kids were as lucky as I was. I'm reading about people running into all sorts of trouble because their parents didn't do something I took for granted. I'm angry at the parents for not caring more about their kids, saddened by the thought that these parents may not have had the best parents themselves, may not have known what my parents knew, and may not have had the same resources.

Overwhelmingly, though, I'm grateful for the family I grew up in.

My parents stayed married, and happily married. They had their moments of tension, but those didn't last long. I remember two big moments of tension; I also remember apologies and forgiveness in front of us kids immediately after. When my mom's aunt, who she was very close to, died, she cried - and my dad held her, all day it seemed. My parents loved each other, and we knew it like we knew that gravity pulls down - it's so obvious you forget to notice.

It was all terrible - can't you tell?

I grew up thinking that's what marriage is. Arguments happen, but they aren't normal and they're always resolved. Vows are lifetime commitments, period. Love requires work, and it's rewarding. So when I started to think about getting married, I knew to look for a man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, a man who understood that marriage was a lifetime commitment, a man I would trust with any children I (we) might have, a man who had the maturity and responsibility required to live up to that. And so, knowing what to look for, I found a good man.

My mom cooked dinner nearly every night, and we ate together as a family. Going out somewhere nice, grabbing McDonald's, and ordering pizza all happened, but that was the exception. I learned that a real dinner includes a balance of protein, carbs, a vegetable, and a glass of milk, and I grew up healthy. I learned table etiquette. I helped my mom cook sometimes, and I learned the basics of cooking - how to boil pasta, how to cook chicken and hamburger, how to tell when the meat's thoroughly cooked (and why that's important).

Yeah, that was terrible, too.

When I lived on my own for a year, I tried to cook dinner, too. Eventually I resorted to scrambled eggs, Hot Pockets, and grilled cheese for most meals, but I knew they weren't real dinners, that they weren't healthy, and that they wouldn't be my long-term dinner routine. I looked forward to the day when I had time to prepare and eat a real dinner with my future family - protein, carbs, vegetables, and a glass of milk. It costs less and is healthier, even if it requires more work and more time. And now, my husband and I share cooking responsibilities. We make good dinners (most of the time) and save a lot of money we aren't spending on more expensive prepared food.

You know what else I learned from my parents? Comprehensive sex education, and it didn't cost a penny from the federal government. It took 20 minutes, or a lifetime. My mom sat me down one afternoon and told me how it all worked. It was a lesson in biology, psychology, morality, everything all rolled into one. After that 20 minutes, if you'd told me about homosexuality, fornication, contraception, divorce, abortion, adultery, or anything else contrary to Christian marriage, it would have been easy for me to see that it was wrong. Of course abstinence-till-marriage made sense. Of course fidelity-within-marriage made sense. Of course contraception didn't make sense. Of course all of it. And dressing modestly, too.

That was the 20 minutes. The other part of the lesson was in how my parents lived their lives. They were faithful to each other and happy with each other. Their friends were the same way. They sent us to Catholic schools, where we had a better chance of meeting friends from similar families. They didn't allow co-ed overnights - that is, until we got older and the visiting boyfriend slept in the guest room downstairs and the daughter slept in her bedroom upstairs. When we were out late in high school, they stayed up (or got up) when we were expected home. They knew our friends' parents and chatted with them. They were careful about what we saw on TV. When we were little, my mom frequently sent us outside to play, so when we were teenagers, we weren't accustomed to watching much TV anyway.  We talked about things over family dinners. I knew I could always come to my mom with questions, and I did, often - oh, especially in the teary-eyed years of adolescent worry.

You know what they did? They believed something, and believed it like they believed that gravity pulls down - so obvious they forgot to notice. And they lived their lives that way. They raised their kids that way, and we understood.

I'm married, and, consequently, I'm thinking about parenting. Often I worry that I won't have what it takes, or that I'll be a terrible mom. But I hope that, if I am a terrible mom, I'll be just as terrible as my mom.

how a woman can win

This was originally posted at Ignitum Today. Pingbacks include Pillar of Fire and Big Pulpit.

“New research shows that The Pill reduces lubrication, arousal, and a woman’s ability to orgasm, thus lending credence to my theory that a lot of hormonal birth control “controls” whether or not you give “birth” by making you never want to have sex. We just can’t win with our ladyparts, can we?” –Jezebel

We women can’t win because we’re playing the wrong game. The Jezebel article sounds like a team of short people complaining that they just can’t win against the team of tall people in basketball. If you want to win, don’t play a game where the deck is stacked against you.

It’s so easy, comparatively, for men to enjoy sexual encounters without consequences. They can’t get pregnant and can easily walk away from the responsibilities of parenting, remembering to take the Pill, dealing with the side effects of the Pill, deciding whether to abort, and balancing all of this with the rest of life – careers, college, work. Oh, and men are less susceptible to STDs.

The deck is stacked against women in the game of increasing sexual pleasure while decreasing consequences. We aren’t going to win. As if it weren’t already obvious that we’re submitting to men and agreeing to their rules, My Daily Moment published a list of pros and cons of one-night stands which encourages women to enjoy sex like a man.

But why? Why should women do that? What’s wrong with enjoying sex like a woman? What’s wrong with being a woman?

Many women enjoy hooking up without commitments and obligations; I won’t pretend otherwise. But hookups are not risk-free, especially for women, and we bear the brunt of the consequences. It isn’t fair.

So let’s play a game that is fair – a game where women aren’t shortchanged, where we’re free to enjoy sex like women. Where we’re free to be women, and where it’s okay to have bodies like ours – bodies that, naturally, get pregnant from sex. Where pregnancy doesn’t ruin our plans, reputations, friendships, or financial stability. Where our sexual partners don’t get angry over our pregnancies but love us all the more – and stick around and help with all the challenges that come along.

The true liberator of women, I think, is Catholic marriage and motherhood.

Objection 1: Catholic marriage is designed to keep women barefoot, pregnant, and overwhelmed with screaming children and poopy diapers. It is also designed to keep them in the house not doing anything worthwhile while men are out doing Important Things.

I reply that: we’re playing the wrong game again. The short guys would have an advantage if they figured out what they were good at (debate? rock climbing? dance?) and challenged the tall guys to a game of that. Basketball isn’t the be-all and end-all of life. Neither are hookups. Neither are careers.

So what are women good at?

Motherhood. It’s something men cannot do. The Catholic Church says motherhood is awesome. And Catholics who are faithful to the Church (the ones who are against contraception) really believe that.

Exhibit A, a quote from a Catholic priest (Joseph Cardinal Mindszenty):

The most important person on earth is a mother. She cannot claim the honor of having built Notre Dame Cathedral. She need not. She has built something more magnificent than any cathedral: a dwelling for an immortal soul, the tiny perfection of her baby’s body. The angels have not been blessed with such a grace. They cannot share in God’s creative miracle to bring new saints to heaven. Only a human mother can. Mothers are closer to God the Creator than any other creature. God joins forces with mothers in performing this act of creation. What on God’s good earth is more glorious than this: to be a mother?

Motherhood is difficult, yes. But joining forces with God and bringing new life into the world? Lovingly caring for the tiniest, weakest, most vulnerable people? Forming and shaping the next generation, raising them to be responsible adults capable of making the world a better place?

Find me something more noble and more important than that.

Of course, Dad has an indispensable role to play, too, and if he is a good dad, he sticks around and contributes toward it. Motherhood is particularly glorious in that Mom gets to be the vessel in which God creates a new life.

So, let’s look at men’s role in all this – the second objection to my premise.

Objection 2: Catholics don’t believe in divorce. Women are expected to be chained to husbands who are probably abusive, or are otherwise worthless slobs.

I reply that: The Catholic Church expects more out of men than the modern feminist does. And men can live up to that.

The Catholic Church expects fidelity out of men, and men can be faithful. The Catholic Church expects maturity out of men, and men can be mature. The Catholic Church expects self-sacrificing, spouse-serving love out of men, and men can do this, too.

St. John Chrysostom recommends that husbands say this to their wives (and mean it):

“I have taken you in my arms, and I love you, and I prefer you to my life itself. For the present life is nothing, and my most ardent dream is to spend it with you in such a way that we may be assured of not being separated in the life reserved for us … I place your love above all things, and nothing would be more bitter or painful to me than to be of a different mind than you.”

The Catholic Church teaches that any kind of abuse is sinful, and as husbands have a particular duty to their wives and children, abuse of wives and children is even more sinful. The Church also teaches that it’s sinful to seek sexual pleasure from anyone or anything except your spouse – which means no affairs, no masturbation, no porn (which, incidentally, makes it harder for men to appreciate real women). Women who marry Good Catholic Men are pretty well-off – loved and appreciated for who they are, not for how well they do in bed. Those men are not leaving you to change diapers and manage your crazy hormones all alone.
Incidentally, Catholic wedding vows bind husbands just as much as they bind wives. While it is not possible to break the bonds of marriage except by death, the Church permits separation in the case of abuse, for the protection of the children and the abused spouse.

So what?

So we can relax. The Catholic Church provides a safe haven for women; we aren’t under attack here. Motherhood is seen as an incredible gift, and men rise to a higher standard of maturity and love their wives. Getting a lifetime commitment from someone who thinks you’re awesome and will give his life for you, and to play a game we’re naturals at – what could more liberating than that?

And that’s how we win.

on condoms and confession

a version of this was posted on Ignitum Today. It also appeared on Inspired.

Many of the pro-abstinence, anti-contraception types (mostly Catholics) will say that the “Don’t have sex, but if you do, use contraception” approach to reducing teen pregnancy is inherently flawed. They’ll say that the approach sets expectations low, and that it effectively says “Don’t have sex – but if you do, it’s okay.”

Of course, many of those same people march right into the confessional once a month or so. They’ll tell the priest about their spousal spats, their laziness, pride, envy, and lust.  “Don’t sin,” they say, and then they’ll add that “The Church, in her wisdom, knew we were going to sin anyway, so she gave us the sacrament of reconciliation.”

That translates: “Don’t sin, but if you do, go to confession” – so, realistically, confession isn’t all that different from condoms.

If that’s how we’re treating confession, we’re doing it wrong. The purpose of condoms is to reduce the risk of consequences; the purpose of confession is to change behavior and reform hearts. They’re different.

Note: Like anything sacramental, or anything Catholic, the reality of it is incredibly deep and rich, so to all you protesters out there – yes, there is more to it than that. But let’s stick with that much for now.

If we’re not truly willing to change our behavior and allow our hearts to be reformed, we are missing out on what God offers us through the sacrament. Condoms give in to the belief that teenagers won’t be responsible. Confession is a refusal to give up on greatness. And the world needs greatness, needs saints, needs to see holy lives. And why not our lives?

“The ways of the Lord are not comfortable. But we were not created for comfort, but for greatness.” – Pope Benedict XVI

How to Live a Good Confession
Before confessing, make a good examination of conscience. After examining, think seriously about your situation. Are you really sorry for what you did? Consider how your life would be different now if you had done the right thing then. Do you really wish you’d acted differently? Or are you just intellectually aware that it was sinful?

Then, do you want to stop doing this? Are you willing to work at it? To stay on alert for temptation, and when it comes, to look it straight in the eye and say No, I will not! And I don’t mean just now, but next week, too. Thursday. And again on Sunday.

Ultimately, Catholicism is not about correct answers to “What did you say?” or “What did you do?” but rather about “Where is your heart, really?” Your words, actions, and attitudes reveal where your heart is; a willful change in words, actions, and attitudes can move your heart.

Like any sacrament, confession takes place at a particular moment in time but carries forward; it’s a line in the sand after which things are different. The important thing is the “after which” part, not the line. Apologizing to your coach for skipping practice is a start, but getting back on track, or back on the court, will actually make you a better player.

In the words of Bl. John XXIII…

“This must stop, once and for all … from now onwards, I will really be good!” (Journal of a Soul, 28 March 1898 entry.)

That’s the spirit! Don’t assume you’ll do the same thing again, commit the same sins again. Raise the bar, and set your expectations high. The line has been drawn. Things are different now. Confession is not a condom; it is a refusal to give up. I will not be a slave of sin!

At the same time, be realistic. You know your weaknesses, so make a plan. Sometimes priests give penances that directly combat the weaknesses you’ve revealed to them. A priest I know told me he once confessed impatience, and his confessor instructed him to find the longest line at the grocery store, and when he got to the front, to get out of line and find the next longest line – then he could pay for his groceries. For a month. He hated it at first, but after a while learned patience and actually enjoyed chatting with the people in line.

If you aren’t this lucky, make your own plan. Learning patience at the grocery store will make you more patient with your family; learning discipline with your stomach’s appetite will make you more disciplined with your other appetites.

St. Francis de Sales recommends nipping temptation in the bud during morning prayer. Think ahead to your plans for the day. What temptations are you likely to face? How can you prepare yourself ahead of time to be ready to face them? I have a meeting with so-and-so today, and we disagree about something, and I’m probably going to get angry over it. Before the meeting, I will think of five things I honestly respect about her, and consider how much God loves her.

And, of course, constantly pray for God’s grace. Never stop. When we empty ourselves of sin, we must fill up with His grace until we overflow onto the world.

on weddings and elopements

This was originally posted at Inspired, August 20, 2012.
 

Luke and I considered eloping.

Planning a wedding is hard work, we found. Our decorations were relatively simple; my mom planned the reception almost entirely; I gave the green light to my bridesmaids’ dresses and let them decide on their own jewelry, shoes, and hair. Even so, Luke and I were fighting for time to just hang out and be friends together, like we used to when we were dating. What do we want for music? Readings? Have we sufficiently included family members? Where can I find shoes?

On top of the work and stress, I became increasingly frustrated with the wedding culture. I didn’t know why I was supposed to be the star and center of attention that day. I didn’t think everything needed to be perfect. I didn’t see why it was important to register for four different types of wineglasses. I couldn’t figure out what was up with this constant word “bliss” – wedded bliss, marital bliss, happily ever after bliss. In most marriages I’ve seen, the living room is sometimes messy, dinner requires work, lightbulbs burn out, cars need maintenance, and children are born without great control over their own bodily fluids. I wouldn’t attach the word “bliss” to any part of earthly reality, and marriage is part of earthly reality. Wedding culture didn’t seem to have a great handle on reality.

Eloping was a way to escape all that, maybe start our marriage off a little closer to reality. But I’m glad we didn’t.

First, I am not advocating large, grand celebrations that break the bank and leave young couples with first-year salaries and student loans in ridiculous amounts of debt. We were fortunate to have parents who were able and happy to fund the ceremony and celebration, and we let them. For those who have tighter budgets or unhappy family members, it’s possible to work something else out. I’ve heard of couples marrying during a regular Saturday vigil Mass, the way you might see a baptism at a Sunday Mass. I’ve heard of couples skipping the reception entirely, or having a small cake reception in the parish hall. I am all for people spending within their means and having a celebration that is reasonable, given what they have available.

Second, I am not advocating unnecessary worry about silly details. I was fortunate enough to have a mother, sister, and cousins who delighted in making things look nice, so I mostly let them. Shortly after Luke proposed, however, someone told me of a bride who was in tears over what kind of plates would be used at her reception. Some things just don’t matter very much, and I think a bride in tears over plates probably did not have the right focus.

The wedding, my dad told me, is a prelude to the marriage. It should be beautiful and joyful and holy, but grounded in reality. In real life, not everything is perfect and not everything runs smoothly, and we’ll be much happier if we can accept that. The wedding should be that way, too.

And we’re glad we chose to invite a crowd to the church.

Wedding planning provided a helpful transition from dating to marriage. I noticed this first when we tried to register for kitchen knives. Kitchen knives may not seem like a big deal, but our moms had different kitchen knife practices (drawer vs block, differing acceptable levels of sharpness, etc.) and we had to decide how we would do things in our kitchen. The same was true through much of the wedding planning – we can only pick one entrance hymn, one gospel reading, one way of processing down the aisle.

When we were dating, we made a point of not making any decisions of consequence together (“Should I take this job or that job?” Or even, “Should I put the couch against this wall or that wall in my apartment?”) because our lives were separate and it wasn’t healthy to think of them as together. Now that we’re married, we barge into each other’s lives and make almost all our decisions together.  (“That coffee table is free and exactly the right height for my art projects.” “But our living room feels crammed already, and we don’t have room for a coffee table.”)  Planning the wedding helped us figure out how to make those decisions together before they really mattered.

Also, my mom wanted to celebrate. I complained frequently during our preparation that “this isn’t that big of a deal; I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” My poor mother. Her daughter was reaching a milestone in growing up. She was welcoming a wonderful man into the family as her new son. We were opening for her another avenue toward grandchildren. She wanted to tell all her friends, and all my dad’s friends, and everyone she knew. I remember, when my second brother married, my mom (who has two daughters besides me) looked at me and said “I have five daughters.” She was thrilled. “Weddings are the easiest way to get new daughters,” she said.

And it’s only natural to gather family to celebrate such an occasion.

Most importantly, however, marriage isn’t just for us. It isn’t even just for us and our children, if God so blesses us. It’s also for the world. At our wedding, we stood in front of about 150 people, many of whom I didn’t know, and vowed to love and honor each other all the days of our lives.

If I pack up and leave, I’m breaking a promise not just to Luke and to God, but to the rest of the world. I’m failing in my life’s mission and harming society.

If I neglect our kids and do a terrible job raising them through my own fault, it’s not just bad for the kids – it’s bad for the rest of society. If my kids become thieves, they might steal your GPS. Or, worse, they might hang out with your kids and encourage them in bad behavior.

If I stay married to Luke but treat him poorly and refuse to honor him, our children will grow up in a terrible household. They will have a hard time learning what love is. Our sons won’t see a need to treat women with respect, and our daughters won’t see a need to hold out for good men.

If family is the fundamental building block of society, our wedding vows are a promise to that society that by the grace of God we’ll hold up what we’re building; that we’ll keep this building block strong and not let it collapse.

Making our vows publicly reminded us that our marriage isn’t just a life together, but a mission.

mission: perspective

A version of this article was published at Ignitum Today. It was also posted on Inspired, Monday, August 13, 2012.

It’s interesting how different reality looks when it’s on paper, in neat paragraphs, all in the right order. There, I am a powerhouse. I am strong; I am adventurous; I am embarking on a mission with eternal consequences and not looking back.

But for all my talk of heroism and mission, I’m often tempted to throw in the towel, despair, and give up.

I wrote earlier about how marriage is a mission, and how Christian married couples, if they shine as beacons of virtue, can take the world by storm and save the world from its sexual dysfunction.

But right now I don’t feel like taking the world by storm, or shining as a beacon of virtue. I feel kind of sullen and selfish. I’m mad at my husband (of just over a month) for asking me to leave the dishes for him when he gets home from work. I’m mad at him for buying a stick shift (the former bachelor thought it was manly) instead of an automatic. I’m mad at him for owning four coffee makers when I don’t drink coffee and our counter and cupboard space is cramped.

And, after spending much of our engagement preaching loudly about how stupid it is to expect a flawless wedding day, I’m still trying to compose the perfect toast for the occasion, and trying to make myself have given it.

When I start writing, I start trying to take the world by storm again. I start thinking I’m better than everyone else, as if putting heroism and virtue into paragraphs was the same as living it. (I am virtuous. You can tell because I’m happy. Admit it – I’m just oozing with irresistible joy, and you’re about to convert because of it.)

It isn’t enough to say these things. We must live them. And yes, marriage is a mission, and it requires hard work and discipline, just like marathons and Amazon explorations. But I’m on duty even when I’m not feeling strong and adventurous.

Some days I’m ready for a fistfight or wrestling match with whatever power of evil would tempt me to love my dear husband less. Some days I’m ready to climb mountains and soar. But some days I’m just tired.

Some days I have a bad cold, or a stressful afternoon, or not enough sleep last night. I’m a woman, and some days my hormones do weird things. Some days I don’t feel like cooking, and some days we don’t have leftovers. Sometimes my sense of adventure just has to wait.

But I have to love anyway. My mission doesn’t change, even on days when I’m just not feeling it. I don’t have to feel strong and powerful in order to love deeply and steadily.

Maybe instead of wielding a sword and forcing myself to be happy, darnit, about the coffee makers, the stick shift, the offer to wash dishes, I should just shrug and look the other way. I’m annoyed about some petty things. Okay. I know that, in the past, I’ve laughed about the coffee makers, felt proud at how far my stick-shift driving has come, and been grateful for his offers to help with housework. Those were emotions, too, and they’ll come back.

I never promised to be passionate; I didn’t vow inexhaustible energy or permanent cheer. When I’m not in the mood to deliver a powerful blow to the enemy’s face, when all I can do is sigh and return to my work – that’s what I must do. That’s my fidelity and commitment. That’s the love and honor I did vow.

And, for the days I don’t feel like doing anything heroic – that’s my job. And I can do that.

virtue is...

This originally appeared on Inspired, Tuesday, July 31, 2012.

Ah, beauty. We’re tempted to pluck a couple more eyebrow hairs, worry about the color of our shirts, look in the mirror one more time. Or, under the guise of being modest and counter-cultural, we don shapeless denim jumpers, long skirts and tennis shoes, thwarting any glance that might come our way.

Either way, every other woman we see is more beautiful than we are. Oh, I want to be like her, we feel. We pretend we don’t care – beauty is vain and frivolous, and we are mature women, not vain and frivolous women. Our own beauty doesn’t matter, we tell ourselves. We’re above that.

Oh, but it does matter. And it’s impossible to shake this desire because God gave us our beauty to cultivate, not to worry about or smother. The world needs beauty, especially feminine beauty. As women, we have not just permission but a mission to fill the world with beauty.

Beauty invites. Just try to walk past a sunset without noticing, through a forest trail without wondering, into an art gallery without pausing. Beauty beckons: “Come and see, and be at peace.” It lifts our minds and hearts. It humbles us and takes us outside of ourselves.

Doesn’t the world need this? Couldn’t the average American stand to have his mind and heart lifted, to be humbled and taken outside of himself?

A beautiful, virtuous woman unwittingly proclaims “virtue is beautiful.” Her visible beauty attracts beholders to the invisible beauty of virtue. It’s not a matter of “I look great, and you’ll look like me if you do these certain things,” the empty promise of many clothing and jewelry advertisements. It’s not about looking better than other women or about the woman's body but rather Christ. A woman’s beauty invites, and if she is virtuous, her life points to Christ. Sunsets and forest glades, while good, can only vaguely point up. A life lived virtuously points squarely at God. Beauty draws others into that life in Christ.

Not one of us has a perfect body, and not one of us is exempt from the belief that a different color here or different shape there would improve things tremendously. But we have all been endowed undeservedly with feminine beauty. Let’s accept this gift the way we want our own gifts accepted by others – enjoyed and cultivated, not worried over or neglected. Let’s stop fretting about our looks, an attitude that proclaims “virtue is uncertain,” and instead gratefully accept the beauty God has given us. Let’s find clothes that complement our bodies without overemphasizing our sexuality. Let’s get cute haircuts, for pete’s sake. And let’s throw out the shapeless jumpers, the thoughtless clothes that smother this gift of beauty and proclaim that virtue is frumpy.

Then let’s live in such a way that everything we do points to Christ and magnifies him. Let our every action say “He that is mighty has done great things for me, and holy is his name.”

All you who seek to honor these doors,
Marvel not at the gold and expense but at the
Craftsmanship of the work.
The noble work is bright, but, being nobly bright, the work
Should brighten the minds, allowing them to travel through the lights
To the true light, where Christ is the true door.
The golden door defines how it is imminent in these things.
The dull mind rises to the truth through material things,
And is resurrected from its former submersion when the light is seen.

-from the door of the abbey of Saint-Denis