I’m one of those people that loves history and the biggest reason why is because I love story-telling. History weaves a story and I love to understand and learn from those that came before us.

Here in the United States, most of our history was influenced by English Protestants, which consequently means that a lot of Catholic history gets left out. It is what it is and I’m not here to complain, just stating a fact. If the French had won the French and Indian War, our history would be influenced differently. Upon becoming Catholic, I realized that much of US history regarding the influence of the Spanish and French was widely left out. I wanted to know that history and it has been like an exciting treasure hunt to find the lesser known historical locations.

I had grown up hearing about the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock and the colonists at Jamestown, which led me to believe these were the oldest cities in what would be the United States. Until recently, I didn’t know that St. Augustine was actually the oldest city in the United States.

So, I knew I needed to make a trip to see it and I was not disappointed. St. Augustine is right up there as one of my favorite US cities. It’s so central to our American Catholic History that I knew I needed to write about it.

For this blog, I will give you two Catholic places to visit and one secular location. The city has so much to see and do that I could go on and on, but for the sake of brevity, I’ll limit myself.

The Cathedral Basilica of St. Augustine

Though St. Augustine is the oldest US city, it does not have the oldest Catholic Church. Why? Well, pirates, of course…and the English. The original church in St. Augustine was made of wood and was constantly being burnt to the ground by enemies. So, the Queen of Spain had had enough and ordered the church to be built with something basically fireproof. The answer–coquina (koh-kee-nah). The Castille de San Marcos located in St. Augustine was built with coquina which is basically a material made out of sand and crushed up shells held together by calcium carbonate. In the water it is spongy, but if you take it out, cut it into bricks, and let it set in the sun, it then becomes impenetrable and it doesn’t catch on fire.

The Cathedral is colored with Spanish red and has a very special Blessed Sacrament Space with a relic of St. Augustine.

Mission Nombre de Dios

There is a lot of speculation about where the first Mass said by the Spanish was held in what would become the United States. Some say in Pensacola, some say up in the Carolinas, but we know that Mass was said here by the Spanish on September 8th, 1565 by Father Francisco Lopez. We know, because he wrote about it in his diary.

But, how did St. Augustine get named after a Saint? Well, General Pedro Menendez had been traveling from Spain and he and his fellow sailors were sick and tired of being at sea, but, finally, on August 28th, 1565, they saw land. August 28th happens to be the Feast Day of St. Augustine.

The mission grounds, also, hold the Shrine of Our Lady of La Leche, which is a quaint, holy little chapel within the mission. You don’t want to miss it. I highly recommend allowing at least two hours at the mission. You’ll want to visit the small museum, walk the grounds, sit in the chapel, and maybe even attend Mass.

If you’d like to watch my video on it, you can go here: https://youtu.be/sq05QNt3nm8?si=MtDgPCndsDwU4dMW

Castille de San Marcos

If you look closely at this picture, you can see the coquina and how it’s just a bunch of crushed shells and sand. San Marcos is a National Monument and the “oldest masonry fort in the US.” Kids will love roaming around the place and there’s even a live cannon demonstration.

This fort or “castle” is 333 years old, which makes it even younger than the town of St. Augustine itself. Though it’s called a castle, it never housed a king or queen. It was built to defend and protect “La Florida,” specifically St. Augustine.

Walk the Town

I always encourage people to walk any town that they visit, if possible. You get a real feel for the city and it allows you to explore with full freedom. My family did take the sight-seeing trolley tour, which I recommend. Taking that gave us a good overview of the city and its history; walking helped us to know it more intimately.

There is so much to see and you’ll love the Spanish flavor of the architecture around town. Be sure to walk St. George Street, as it offers excellent food choices, shopping, and opportunities for people watching.

I absolutely loved St. Augustine. It’s just small enough to not overwhelm, but it’s packed full with things to do. There is something for everyone. It has a very unique vibe which I love and you can tell that that the folks of St. Augustine are proud of their city.

This is a very important city for our Catholic Faith, my fellow pilgrims. You’ll see evidence of our Faith all over our nation’s oldest city.

Live the Faith boldly and travel well.

…

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This is a blog written by a Gen-Xer, which means it’s sure to irritate many in the Boomer generation and, subsequently, in the generations below me in equal parts which is always a good time.

Though I come from a generation that gets mostly ignored, I do have a unique perspective as I’m caught in the in-between: The in-between being the revolt of the Boomer generation and the counter-revolt of some in the Millennial and Gen-Zer generations with regards to women.

You see, back in the bygone days of the 80s, I was immersed in a culture that was really flexing its second-generation feminist muscles. I grew up in a time when most kids came home to an empty house because their mom worked. My mom was a working mom and she balanced work and home life with monumental strength and I’ve always admired her.

I knew very few moms that didn’t work and those that didn’t seemed, well…weird to me. You see, in my day the messaging was, “Girls can do anything. Get out in the man’s world! Show what we can do! Free yourself from the shackles of staying at home! GIRL POWER! YOU ARE SHE-RA–Princess of Power!”

And I was like, “Darn, right, I am.”

However, amidst all this second-wave feminism, I was, and still remain, a tradition-loving, conservative gal. The 1940s are my favorite era. I love chivalry and the complementary nature of the sexes. I don’t want to be a girl-boss. I know there are differences between the sexes and that’s okay. I like my man to be confident and strong–a protector and provider through-and-through.

Because of my beliefs, I was, as you can imagine, a “joy” to have in my Women’s Studies classes in college. While I wasn’t exactly given the Teacher’s Pet Award, I feel confident in saying that my professors thought about me a lot. While I fought against the rabid abortion-loving liberal professors and I questioned literally everything they said–which I know they appreciated for debate’s sake–I still picked up some residual feminist beliefs during my time in college.

The main belief was this: My life would only matter if I got out there and got a career and made it in a man’s world. So, you can imagine my dilemma, when I got pregnant with my oldest at 21 and hadn’t even graduated college yet. “No matter,” I thought. “I will be Super Mom! I will work AND I will be there for my daughter all the time.” I mean, after all, I had a great example in my mother.

To make a long story short, I spent years of my life fretting over feeling the obligation to work so as not to let all women down and feeling the desire to stay home with my children. I couldn’t shake the imbedded idea that my life would amount to nothing if I just (whispers) stayed at home…shhhhhh.

But, then, in a moment of clarity and a pinch of maturity, I realized that feminism had boxed me in. For modern-day feminists, there is only one avenue a woman can take and that’s to “make it” in the working world.

They yelled in my face, “Don’t you dare desire to stay home with those snotty-nosed kids clinging to your prairie skirt all day while you churn butter and feed the chickens. If you do this, you will end up having 20 children and you will DIE of boredom. Look at me, look at me, girl, I’m in my tight pants and high heels smashing glass ceilings. I answer to no one, except my boss and five other managers, but NO ONE ELSE and…I drink my $15 mocha-choca latte frappe Americano…in peace.”

Enticing as it was, I said, “I’m out,” and went on to live the life that was best for me and my family. I’ve stayed home for 14 years now, homeschooling, volunteering and enjoying the freedom I provide for my family by giving us time that I could not provide when I was working.

But now, a new wind blows through them thar sails and it brings the smell of counter-revolt which is always inevitable when people push too far and go too extreme.

The counter-revolt is the radical tradwife movement. Just as I can get on board with the first-wave of feminism with its push for voting rights and property rights for women, I can get on board with much of the tradwife movement. I’m for the nuclear-family unit, I’m for Biblical principles when it comes to marriage: You know, “the submit to your husbands” part and all the pearl-clutching supposed “patriarchal controversies” the Bible can dish out. I’m for valuing the work of the stay-at-home mom and for acknowledging that she gives her family a great gift.

Lately, though, some in the tradwife movement are tipping towards the extreme. Recently, I was told that women shouldn’t vote because women vote wrongly sometimes and they are too emotional. As if no man on planet earth has never errored in his decision-making. It was a majority group of Supreme Court men, after all, that handed us Roe vs. Wade. It was then explained to me that only men should vote and a woman should submit her vote to her husband or her father because laws directly impact men more–meaning war and such. This is to ignore the countless wives and mothers that have sent their husbands and sons off to war, helpless to watch them go. Last time I checked, I am subjected to the laws of the land just like any man and I would like a say. Ultimately, though, this thinking says that women are not equal to men in dignity, worth, and intelligence because we can’t be trusted to vote and vote well.

Not long ago, I was forwarded a post detailing a vent by a man that was upset that his stay-at-home wife refused to get a job. Apparently, they are a family that lives paycheck-to-paycheck and …

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The other day I was perusing Instagram and a video of a man came up that stopped me in my tracks. So drastic were the alterations he’d done to himself, that I couldn’t see him anymore. My eyes could physically look at him, but I couldn’t see him and, by that I mean, he had stripped away so much of his humanity that I couldn’t see the man he is under all the disfiguration. It truly is sad.

He had more piercings than I could count all over his face. His hair looked like a weed-whacker had attacked it. He wore oversized glasses that took up his whole face and distorted his eyes. He was trying to be half-female/half-male by wearing girly things but maintaining his mustache. He is not the only one that has embraced our culture’s rejection of beauty.

Most buildings are ugly in the modern age. Much of today’s music is mass-produced and has become ugly. Movies have lost the ability to tell a genuinely good story; so many of them are bad remakes or are just the regurgitation of franchise films. Probably most tragic of all is that many in our modern age attempt to make themselves look as ugly as possible.

I know that sounds harsh to say and it’s something that we are told that we shouldn’t say out loud for fear of being the “judgy” person, but many of us think it and it’s something that we need to discuss. The truth is beauty isn’t strictly subjective.

Nobody looks at a cardboard box and thinks that it is more beautiful than the Sistine Chapel. Why? Because the box is just a box and the Sistine Chapel was built and designed to give glory to God.

Nobody looks at a trash pile festering in the sun and thinks that it is more beautiful than a well-tended botanical garden.

Nobody looks at the streets of our major cities filled with homeless encampments littered with human waste and drug paraphernalia and thinks those streets look more beautiful than the cobbled-stone lanes of a picturesque English village in autumn.

Nobody looks at the scores of drug addicts limping around like zombies on our city streets and thinks that is more beautiful than watching a mother caress the face of her newborn baby or seeing a picture of Mother Teresa tend to the sick.

We were made to seek out beauty and pursue it because beauty comes from God.

Awhile back, one of my siblings sent me a video of a pianist at a concert. He strutted out on stage, sat down on the piano bench, and made ready to break into a beautiful piece of music. Instead, he just sat there in silence for a very, very long time–so long that it made me cringe. When he was done sitting there subjecting his audience to this nonsense, he got up and the crowd clapped. “Oh, Bravo! Bravo for doing nothing!” This is what is considered art nowadays–something that anyone could do.

It’s not art, it’s just stupid and everyone in the crowd knew it was stupid. But, because we are all perpetually living out the theme of the “Emperor’s New Clothes,” we pretend like a grand piano and a pianist are better left silent at a concert and we fake being “wowed” by the nothingness. It’s a rejection of beauty. Why have we rejected beauty? The answer is simple–we’ve rejected God.

God creates beautiful things and, as humans, we used to value imitating Him. If God can create a breathtaking sunset, can I create a beautiful picture of what I see? If God can design the wonder and beauty of the human body, can I sculpt it from marble? If God can create the magnificent heavens that make us feel small and, yet, leaves us in awe of His power, can I build a beautiful church within which to worship Him?

As we’ve rejected God, we’ve rejected the source of beauty and with that rejection comes ugliness.

The interesting thing about beauty is it has to lean heavy on order, but it can still captivate us with just a dash of chaos. Too much order and you get the strictness and blandness of Nazi Germany with its rigidity and bleakness, which ultimate leads to utter chaos like destroying millions of lives. Too much chaos and you get a number of our big cities which are crime-riddled, decaying, and shells of their once shining selves. To fix too much chaos you have to inflict harsh order if you ever hope to turn the tide, which is painful. 

Now think of an old European village. The buildings are old and showing signs of decay (the chaos) but the climbing vines, soft lit street-lamps, the well-tended flower boxes, all make for a charming scene. It’s ordered to appeal to the senses and makes us feel warm, nostalgic, and content. 

Beauty is mostly order; ugliness is destruction.

Beauty is purpose; ugliness is chaos run amuck.

Beauty has dignity; ugliness is indecency.

Beauty has worth; ugliness is cheap.

Look around at our towns and cities. So many of our buildings lack character; they are put up in the most boring way possible, all to save money and just be functional. Why are strip malls so boring? Because they lack beauty. It’s the same thing in every town: Subway, CVS, Dollar Tree, Vape Shop, Party Supply. The American look has just become square, bland, familiar, and uninspiring–everything blends in and nothing feels special.

Today, it is more common than not to see people in their pajamas at the grocery store, school, Walmart, and the airport. Everyone looks perpetually like they’ve just rolled out of bed. They look like they don’t care. The look communicates, “I don’t care. I don’t try. Nothing matters.” Now, you may argue that poor people of old couldn’t dress to the nines and so I’m just idealizing the past. But, there is a difference between being poor and not being …

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Recently, I wrote about stores or businesses that I refuse to shop from and many of my followers asked for a list of the places I avoid. Before we begin, though, let’s establish a few things.

1. I know that boycotting all stores is not possible.

2. I know that trying to buy from perfectly pure places is not possible.

3. Perfection with regards to this is not possible.

4. I know there are other stores that should be on the list. Please share in the comment’s section if you have a great alternative.

Just because you can’t do something perfectly, doesn’t mean you don’t try.

There is very little I can control in this world, but where I choose to give my money is one thing I can control–and so I will to the best of my ability.

1. Target: Every June we have to go through the whole Pride month thing. The glorification of sexual preferences is boggling and the fact that whole months are dedicated to homosexual bedroom activities is troubling, to say the least. Now, we have “tucking” female swimsuits and chest binding clothing shoved in our faces and, really, I’m just done with it all. ALTERNATIVE: Get your food and necessities at the grocery store and shop elsewhere for clothes and home decorations.
2. Ulta and Sephora: More often the not, these makeup companies have men advertising the makeup which is meant for women. I can only see a bearded man with red lipstick on so many times before I’m done with dudes modeling makeup for me. Alternative: I really like Rejuva Minerals. It’s an American company with good ingredients. I’ve been using them for about a year now.
3. Nike: Too many of Nike’s products are made in the abysmal conditions of the Chinese Uyghur slave camps. Also, they just flaunt Pride stuff to the hilt. ALTERNATIVE: Xeroshoes.
4. Adidas: They just came out with a swimming suit for women with room for a bulge in the front. Ya know, if you happen to be a “woman” with a penis and testicles. Their commercial features a man in the suit pretending to be some gender fluid person and it’s just gross. Women don’t have penises or testicles, so we don’t need that space, thanks. ALTERNATIVE FOR SWIMSUITS: Jessica Rey. Ethically made, made in the USA, modest and cute.
5. Anything Made in China: China is at war with us, not a battle with modern military weapons–yet–but, the government is not friendly to us and, so, I’m not inclined to give them my money. This is not to say that the Chinese people are bad–I take beef with the Communist government. Also, they force the Uyghurs to work in subhuman conditions because of their religious beliefs. It’s a lot to go into, but I’m not interested in “feeding the dragon,” as my husband likes to say. They thrive off our economy and our money and use it against us. Why would I give my money to a country that hates us and commits modern-day slavery and genocide? This one is especially hard because EVERYTHING is made in China. It takes diligence and sacrifice to not buy from China. Look at labels and start shopping for alternatives. I can’t recommend lists of places, but I’ll mention two. ALTERNATIVES: Red Land Cotton. American-made linen company. Show Allegiance Flag Store. American-made, hand-sewn flags.
6. Disney: I know this is hard for people because of the nostalgia of Disney, but they are intent on sexualizing our children. They have a political agenda and they are more than willing to feed it to us. Our children’s innocence is more important than clinging to a company that once gave us the warm fuzzies when we were kids. The path Disney is on now is not one I’m down for or interested in allowing my young child to view. Long ago, I bought all the old Disney movies and so I let him watch the old ones, but we don’t go to new Disney movies and I won’t go to the theme parks again if they keep on the path they are on. My son doesn’t need to learn about preferred pronouns, be told that he is bad because he is white, and sexualized through the infiltration of gay lifestyles in movies and shows. ALTERNATIVE: Put your kids outside to play.

Consumers have a lot of power, as we are seeing with the BudLight boycott. We have to be willing to make sacrifices and pay a little more money to not buy from slaves or businesses that hate our Catholic Faith or Christianity, in general. You don’t have to join in, but for those that do, be diligent.

Live the Faith boldly and travel well.

…

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You all know that I love going on pilgrimage. I could hardly call myself the Catholic Pilgrim if I didn’t, right? Recently, I came in contact with Christian Clifford, a Catholic who walked the 800 miles of the El Camino Real in California. Along this journey, he visited all 21 missions, a feat that I have desired to do for awhile now. Christian wrote a book about his journey and I was intrigued by his story. The Knights of Columbus made of a video about his pilgrimage and in it, Christian said, “To go on pilgrimage is to step out of the mundane and do something beautiful for God.” What a perfect way to sum up the joy of going on pilgrimage.

Please talk a few minutes to read this interview with Christian. I’d encourage you to follow the various links below to check out his book, the video, and pictures of his incredible journey.

Tell me a bit about your Catholic background and what initially sparked this idea in you?

My decision to walk the 800-mile California Missions Trail was pretty spontaneous. I have been a practicing Catholic my whole life. I became a Knight of Columbus in 2009 (in 2022, they produced a wonderful video about my pilgrimage). I read a good article in St. Anthony Messenger in 2016 about pilgrimages and their uniqueness (compared to like travel, walking, and hiking). I am a high school theology teacher and end the year with a pilgrim’s prayer. We are a pilgrim people. Also, I would love to go to a Catholic Youth Day with my son. I usually speak about it with my students. I remember watching a video of a pilgrimage to the WYD in Poland. It was inspiring. So, I guess these were the seeds that were planted that helped me to finally decide to make a pilgrimage myself. When my father-in-law passed away, I thought it would be a good time to hit the trail and pray for him and reflect on my life.

What was the biggest hurdle you had to overcome?

The physical part was challenging. I was a scout and am a Navy veteran, so I never thought walking would be so tough. I ran out of water and phone charge a few times, walked in 100+ temperatures, had a scary encounter with a bull and a surreal experience with a goat, got blisters, and lost a few toenails. Advil, moleskin, dry socks, battery pack/power bank, and sunscreen helped a lot. I met members of a group dedicated to walking routes along the historic El Camino Real–the California Mission Walkers–who were very supportive in helping me overcome many hurdles.

Which mission was your favorite to visit and why?

It is hard to choose. The 21 California missions, founded by Saint Junípero Serra, OFM (1713-1784), have unique histories and each is special in its own way. The Faith is alive and well in California, not only at the Shrine of Saint Junípero Serra at Carmel Mission Basilica, but at eighteen of the missions. Though not a parish, a priest from the local Catholic parish, Our Lady of Solitude, celebrates Mass at Mission Nuestra Señora de la Soledad once a month. Mission La Purísima Concepción (at Lompoc) and Mission San Francisco Solano (at Sonoma) are state parks. If I had to choose, I would probably say the Shrine of Saint Junípero Serra at Carmel Mission Basilica is my favorite. My family visits there annually. My wife and I are both teachers, so we pray for our students and a school year filled with many blessings, especially for our son who is currently a freshman. A close second is the remotest, and many say most authentic, Mission San Antonio de Padua, the third California mission founded. If readers want to see images from my pilgrimage and the missions, they can visit my FLICKR page.

What’s something about St. Junipero Serra that you wish people knew and understood?

There are so many things I love about him and why I have a special devotion to him. He is possibly one of the most studied people in United States history, yet he is still misunderstood. There is not one thing in particular that I wish people knew, but I propose an invitation: Get to know him and one will not be let down. His writings are available online for free. What one will discover is a man, in many ways, similar to you and me, but who was so dependent on God’s grace that he provides a great role model of faith and will inspire one to evangelize. 

What was your feeling when you completed the pilgrimage?

Grateful.

I, also, celebrated! I always enjoyed a local libation at the end of each segment between missions. So, of course, I ended my pilgrimage at Mission Sonoma with a glass of wine from the famous Sonoma Valley wine region. I end each chapter of my book — Pilgrimage: In Search of the REAL California Missions — with a celebratory drink. 

Do you have another pilgrimage in mind for the future?

I hope so. The CMT (California Mission Trail) is the only one I’ve done, so far. After seeing The Way, when it came out in 2010, I was fired up to do the Camino de Santiago. My goal was to complete it in 2021 due to it being a jubilee year and arrive on the Feast Day of St. James (July 25). In May 2018, after being made aware of the CMT, I thought why not do that as preparation for the Camino in Spain since it is in my own backyard. Then, of course, the COVID-19 pandemic struck, so I had no choice. I look forward to the day that I can walk the Camino de Santiago, God willing. Another pilgrimage route on my wish list is closer to home, the Camino de Sonoma.

Why is pilgrimage so important for us as Catholics?

In my experience …

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The other day, I saw a meme created by Young America’s Foundation that quoted Ben Shapiro. It said, “Men cannot become women. Women cannot become men. Men who believe they are women are not real women.” I commented, “Still baffling that this has to be underscored.”

Cue the dissenter.

A man showed up that was going to set me straight on language and definitions. I want to walk you all through our conversation so that you can see the thoughts thrown out by Progressives. I want to show what I did right in the argument and what I didn’t do right. So, let’s jump in.

My interlocutor said, “That’s because you’re taking a broad category as self-evident when in reality, it’s not. Language is incredibly complicated, for instance, when you think of the category of a table. Can you define table in a way that excludes everything strictly not a table while simultaneously including everything that is a table? Does a table have to be a certain height? Must it have four legs or can it have three? Is it just something to lay things on? Do tables exist in nature? If I sit on a table does it become a chair?”

Boy, this guy really has thought a lot about tables. The “broad” category he is referring to is the “broad” category of sex, though I wager he’d say “gender.” Biological sex is not a broad category, but we’ll shelf that for a moment. At first, when he started talking about all this table business my first reaction was, “Wow, this is bizarre.” Then, as I thought about it, I saw what he was trying to do. He was trying to trap me into giving a definition of a table which he therefore would find an exception to that definition.

My first wrong move was that I fell for the trap and the reason I fell for it is because what a table is, is obvious. The only way he was able to ask me all those questions is because he and I have an understanding of what a table is and isn’t. Language is only complicated when you don’t understand it. He understands English quite well, as do I, and therefore we both have an understanding of what a table is. But, let’s continue.

I replied back, “When I say, ‘Let’s eat at the table,’ do you have any confusion and wonder what I’m talking about? No, you don’t. You don’t ask for clarification or wonder at what I mean. You might ask, ‘Which one?’ if there is more than one around, but you don’t need me to clarify more than that because we all know exactly what a table is. It’s not a chair. It’s not a couch. Tables may come in different sizes and shapes but the purpose and general build is the same–flat top structure with legs meant generally to eat or work at.”

And boom. Right there, I gave him a definition for him to play around with, which he did. It wasn’t necessarily bad for me to give a definition because words have meanings. Dictionaries are useful for a reason. But, his goal was to get me to give a definition so that he could find an example of something that’s not a table, but could sort of fit the definition. He wanted to find an exception to the rule, thus apparently proving me wrong.

His counter: “We, as humans, falsely assume that categories are far more rigidly defined than they actually are. You basically just admitted yourself when you said tables come in different shapes and sizes. What shape constitutes a table? When does a table stop being a table and become a chair? If it’s generally meant to eat or work at, does that mean anything that I eat or work at is a table?”

He then went on to tell me that tables in Japan are different than here in America (well, duh) and that Amazon tribesmen may not even have a concept of a table, so how would it be defined to them? What he was trying to get at is that tables can’t really be defined as structures with a flat top and legs that we gather around because what about beds? What about piano benches? What about bookcases? What about tv stands?

In his mind, since all those things have flat tops and legs and we could gather around them, they must also be tables. In essence, his argument says either 1. tables don’t exist because they can’t be defined or 2. basically anything can be a table, which, also, means tables don’t exist. A dog with a flat back and legs is a table. You see where this is going. What he is trying to prove is that anyone can be a woman because women come in all shapes and sizes and looks. Because they do, how can you ever really pin down a definition for one?

However, the word “woman,” can be rigidly defined; even more so than a table. A woman is an adult human with XX chromosomes and a body ordered towards pregnancy. Yes, women come in many shapes, sizes, races, looks, and they come with different personalities, but they all share XX chromosomes and they have bodies ordered towards pregnancy. This does not mean they will all get pregnant, but their bodies are ordered that way. Women do not have penises. I feel like such an idiot saying that, but to assert that they can means that women don’t actually exist because anyone can be one if they feel that way. This is absurd.

I then asked my new found friend if he had any children. He replied that he didn’t. I explained to him that I did and that in teaching my children to speak English, I didn’t get out a dictionary and read to them the definitions of things. To teach them what a table was, I showed them a …

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When I was a kid, October was one of my favorite times of year. My dad incorporated all kinds of fun traditions for me and my siblings. He would hand-draw a Halloween calendar for me to mark off each day. Together, we scoured the Sunday newspaper TV guide looking for Halloween shows to watch like “Garfield’s Halloween” and “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.” When I got a little older, he introduced me to “The Ghost and Mr. Chicken” starring Don Knotts. My mom would attend my Halloween elementary school parties which were always so much fun. We knew how to do Halloween in the 80’s.

Come Halloween night, I was so excited to set out on my candy quest that I could barely eat supper. I loved roaming the streets and staying out in the crisp night air until all the front porch lights went out. Then, I would go home, dump out all my candy on the floor and lean down to smell all that yummy goodness blended together. There is a distinct Halloween candy pile smell that can bring back my youth in a second.

Once I had kids of my own, I knew I wanted to introduce them to all the traditions of my youth. We watch the movies, pick out excellent costumes, do a Halloween puzzle, make Halloween treats, and carve pumpkins. My top three favorite costumes for my oldest have been: Dorothy of “The Wizard of Oz,” a mime, and a 50’s girl. My favorites for my middle daughter have been: Mary Poppins, a pirate princess (her idea), and a gypsy. So far, for my son, my favorite has been when he was Indiana Jones. I’ve never allowed my kids to be anything grotesque. Their father and I have always encouraged creativity and what they’ve come up with over the years has made for great memories.

But, something started to change about ten years back. I started to notice lots of moms decrying the dangers of Halloween, e.g. poisoned candy, razor blades embedded in candy bars, strangers lurking to snatch children, and “scary” decorations. Soon, “trunk or treats” were all the rage as a safer alternative and streets lost the magic of having costumed kids running from door-to-door. Then, some in the Protestant community attempted to show that Halloween has evil origins and it wasn’t long after that that many Catholics were heralding the same message. I went to Hobby Lobby last year to get some Halloween decorations and there were none. They don’t sell Halloween decorations anymore because of its “pagan” origins.

So, the other day, a request came in to write on the topic of whether we can celebrate Halloween as Catholics. At first, I was loathe to write this because, inevitably, I’m going to get link after link from people trying to prove to me that we shouldn’t and should, alternatively, board up our houses and hide out while the demons lurk in the streets on the 31st. I’ll also get people questioning if I’m truly Catholic because I have some pumpkins and friendly ghosts up around my house.

Look, when it comes to these kinds of things, I think the answer often lies in the middle. Firstly, the Church doesn’t tell us that we can’t celebrate Halloween, so it is wrong to condemn something if the Church allows for it. I’d be surprised to see the Church outright condemn Halloween as its origins come from the Catholic Feast of “All Hallow’s Eve.” Secondly, is the issue of the corruption of the holiday by the secular culture. I’ll be the first to raise my hand and acknowledge that there has been definite corruption. As with most American holidays, commercialization has cloaked it in material and monetary greed. In addition, aspects of Halloween culture are legitimately evil and demonic. There’s also the issue I take with making EVERY. SINGLE. FEMALE. costume looking like a Las Vegas burlesque outfit. Sexy CandyCorn Girl? Come on.

Thirdly, I would say that we have to weigh whether Halloween is truly evil in and of itself. Is it? Obviously, the completely innocent version of running around getting candy is not evil. Most importantly, the Catholic practice of honoring those that came before us is not evil. Consider this, music has raunchy, deplorable songs out there. Does this mean because some people have corrupted music that we can’t listen to it at all? Well, no. As with anything that isn’t inherently evil, we engage in things with dignity and integrity becoming of our Catholic Faith. My Protestant upbringing meant that Halloween was purely secular, however, all the practices we engaged in were innocent and fun. It wasn’t until I became Catholic that I even keyed in on the origins of the holiday. It’s wonderful to celebrate Halloween with the full, original purposes in mind. Last year, my family attended a special All Hallow’s Eve event at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton’s Shrine.

If you don’t want to celebrate Halloween and you are uncomfortable with it, then don’t celebrate it. No harm, no foul. If, as a family, you enjoy the simply fun of the season, go for it. Don’t glorify evil. Don’t engage in the occult. Be sure to tell your kids about the significance of the night and why it started in the first place. The answer is, in my opinion, not to shun it entirely like it’s devoid of anything positive, but, also, not to indulge in everything Halloween offers up. The middle ground is probably a little bit of both/and, religious and secular. The secular being only those things which are positive and innocently fun.

With regards to this topic, my husband said, “The answer is not to toss Halloween away and run off in a Puritanical manner. The answer is to take it back and make it right.” Though I’m biased, I’d have to agree.

Live the Faith boldly, Catholic Pilgrims, and travel well. …

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“How do you have a good prayer life?”

I’ve been asked this question numerous times over the years. To be clear, I’m not a perfect prayer life guru. I’ve had moments in my life where I never prayed, moments where I’ve been hitting on all cylinders, and everywhere in between. I know I’m not alone.

Two questions need to be asked before even beginning the discussion of how to have a good prayer life.

What is holding you back?

I think it is important to be brutally honest with yourself on this point. Why don’t you have a good prayer life? What is your road block? To explore this, here are some additional questions to consider:

Do you find it boring?

Is temptation to do something else a problem?

Do you not “feel” anything and therefore think you are doing it wrong?

Do you not have the time? And if so, why not?

Are there too many distractions?

When you pray are you too tired?

Do you not know how?

I think it is imperative that you find what your road block is because, otherwise, you can’t fix anything. It’s okay to be honest about this; God wants you to be honest about this. Explore these questions and find what your trigger point is, realizing that it may be multiple things.

What are your expectations?

What do you think a good prayer life looks like? Many people think they don’t have a good prayer life if they aren’t steeped in ecstatic prayer for a good hour. I used to think that only giving five minutes of time was a waste and, frankly, demeaning to God.

“Better to wait,” I thought, “until I can give some quantity time.” Notice I said quantity, not quality. I was under the belief that I had to reach an arbitrary maximum number of minutes in order to for my prayer to be worthwhile. This simply isn’t true.

I, also, used to think that prayer only included me sitting there in silence while listing off a litany of wants and needs.

Here are a few things to consider:

1. There are many ways to pray. Turn on music and sing a song to God. Pick a book of the Bible and spend ten minutes each day to reflect on a few verses. Offer up quick prayers throughout your day for yourself and others.
2. Everybody gets distracted. When you find yourself distracted, just get back on track.
3. Most people do not have hours to spend in prayer. That’s okay. We have kids, spouses, jobs, errands, and other demands that fill up a day. If you can give a devoted five minutes of your day to God that is an excellent start.
4. Your prayer life will look different in different seasons of your life. It’s okay to adjust. I’m not a sleep-deprived mother anymore; I have more time to give in the mornings because my children are not little bitties. God understands that different seasons and circumstances will make your prayer life look different. He desires something over nothing.

A good number of people feel they are failing at prayer because they can’t/don’t have a power hour each morning. We read stories of saints that were able to do that and we think that we must imitate them exactly. Would it be great to get an hour in like St. John Paul II or Venerable Fulton Sheen? Oh, absolutely! Maybe some day you can get there. But, assess where you are right now and see what works. It’s, also, unreasonable to think that you can go from 0 to 60 right out of the gate. Start with something that is manageable and sustainable.

Everybody’s prayer life looks different. I get up around 6 a.m. and read my Magnificat. I’ve been doing this for years. My prayer time often consists of me sitting and pondering what I’ve read. I mentally talk with God about a saint I’ve read about or the Gospel reading. Sometimes, I just talk about what is going on in my life: What I’m worried about, excited for, or I’ll count my blessings.

To be sure, though, my way won’t work for everybody. You have to find what most connects you to God. The best way to do that is to explore the two main questions I laid out above. Honestly reflect on those and after you do, I think you’ll be a on a good path to having a fruitful prayer life.

Live the Faith boldly, Catholic Pilgrims, and travel well.

…

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I was asked a few weeks ago to blog on the topic of having a good relationship with your teenager. I’m certainly no expert, but I’ve given this topic a lot of brain activity over the past few weeks. I currently have a 21-year old, a 17-year old and an eight-year old. I would say–and I think they would, too–that their father and I have maintained a good relationship with them.

Initially, when I started to think about this, I thought of very practical things to foster a good relationship, like no phone until a certain age, meal times together as a family, etc. Yet, none of these things quite hit the mark for me. There was something about the practical things that had a hint of the answer, but I wasn’t fully satisfied. I even tried to parse it out with my husband and we were left searching for words.

And then…like a lightbulb…it hit me. The answer is sacrifice. If you want to have a good relationship with your kids, at any age really, you must sacrifice. In fact, if you want to have a good relationship with anyone–God, your spouse, kids, your parents, friends–you must be willing to sacrifice.

When kids are little, sacrifice is forced upon us as parents. We lose sleep to get up with a crying baby. We miss out on nice things to provide for their welfare. As mothers, we can sit for hours a day feeding a nursing child. We can barely take a moment for ourselves because we have to be constantly vigilant for their safety. We do these things because we love them and it’s worth it.

As kids move into the teen years, there is a tendency for parents to kick up their heels and shift into cruise control. Teens are more self-sufficient than a toddler, more independent than a one-year old, and less needy with regards to time and attention. But….and it’s a big but…parents can’t check out. A parent’s role in the teen years is one of guidance and, to be honest, a lot of teaching. Teens still have much to learn. As parents, though, we must continue to find ways to sacrifice for our teens. If you check out, they will see that and, even though they may not express it verbally, they will be hurt by it. Checking out equals not caring in their eyes and if the only time you do care is when they mess up, well, that doesn’t foster closeness.

When my husband commissioned in the Air Force, I knew that I was going to sacrifice my career for the sake of him and our family. To a certain extent, the sacrifice is for my country, as well. I knew, without a doubt, he would get all the awards, respect, and monetary rewards that are elusive to a stay-at-home mom. Some have scoffed at my sacrifice saying that it has inhibited my success, but they are wrong. My sacrifice has enabled our family to stay together through every move. There is no job I cling to over my husband. My sacrifice allowed us to move for one year to Turkey where we created memories that will last forever. I sacrifice for my husband for love of him. He sacrifices for me in his own way, as well.

My mom was a working mother. Some may argue that working moms don’t have as many opportunities to sacrifice, especially if they don’t need to work. However, this isn’t true. I saw my mom sacrifice for me and my siblings all the time. After a hard day at work, she came home and always prepared a delicious home-cooked meal. Family meals were important to her and so, tired as she was, she mustered up the energy to provide for our family. She, also, took time off for class parties and she came to many sporting events. I’d always known that she wanted to get her degree, but she held off until all three of her kids were not in need of her constant attention anymore. She sacrificed for us and though I didn’t fully appreciate it at the time, I do now. We had a tense patch in my teen years because of my poor choices in boys. Deep down, though, I knew her constant lectures were because she loved me and I’m glad she cared enough to speak up. Turns out she was right on everything she lectured me on.

I’m not a perfect parent. I can be a bit of a hot head, I’m impatient, and I’m not always the most empathetic mother. For all my faults, I have always desired to sacrifice for my family. I have not desired this in order to win a martyr’s badge, but because it seems like the best way to show love to my family. It’s the way Christ showed us His immeasurable love. Trust me when I say that I do this most imperfectly, but I hope my family sees my effort. My sacrifice for my children, like my husband, has been to forgo a career. In place of a career, I have instead homeschooled my kids for going-on thirteen years. I’m not saying you can’t work or that you need to quit your job in order to have a good relationship with your teens. You will, however, have to find some other way to sacrifice for them.

Sacrificing may mean fixing meals so that the family can eat together. It may require setting boundaries on phones, dating, and clothing that potentially could make your teen hate your guts. It may mean setting aside scrolling through social media in order to play a game. It may mean taking an interest in your teens hobbies even if they aren’t really something you’re keen on. It may mean having uncomfortable conversations with them in order to give them the truth about pornography, sex, and drugs. It may, also, mean sacrificing your pride by sharing with them stories …

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When Mother Teresa died, I was not Catholic. In fact, I was a Protestant on life-support, meaning that I was barely, and I mean barely, eeking out a faith life. I remember, though, exactly where I was the day she died. I was in my college dorm room just starting out on my freshman year. As if compelled, I sat in my concrete living cell and watched constant news footage of her life. There was something about Mother Teresa that captivated. Sure, I knew that she was some kind of “do-gooder” in the world, but beyond that knowledge, I was woefully ignorant. I remember thinking to myself, “I could never be like her.”

Thankfully, I didn’t say that in a criticizing way towards her. There was something about her smile, her eyes, her simple goodness that shined with a light that I didn’t fully understand. Limping along in my own spiritual journey, I couldn’t put a name to her light but I know now that it is holiness. For years, I secretly sneered at holiness as something limited to “holy-rollers” and “lame” people. How could you have an interesting life while standing around with hands folded constantly in prayer? No “saint” had a cool story to tell in my estimation. I didn’t even really understand what a saint was but I was sure they must be unbearable boring people.

Once I became Catholic, I learned about Mother Teresa and my eyes opened to her life story. I am ashamed to admit that I had ever written her off as boring, lame, or a holy-roller. As she is ever present in Catholic circles, I frequently read about her and I am continually inspired by her willingness to “go the distance” for Christ and love of neighbor.

Each time I read about her, I wonder if I could be like her. I don’t mean necessarily in the exact way that she impacted the world, but like her in holiness. Each time, I know deep down I still lack what she had–obedience and submission to the Will of God. I am still stubbornly vain, prideful, and propelled by my own self-will. Yet, I know for certain, that I have it in me to be holy as she was here on earth. My certainty comes from realizing that God made us all for holiness. It requires, though, that we muster the courage to let go of our self-will and bravely follow God into the the adventure He planned for us.

An atheist once asked me why God allows so much suffering in the world. I replied back, “Do you realize that most of the suffering in the world is caused by human hands? We should blame ourselves, not God. Take away God you still have all that suffering. Add God in and you get people like Mother Teresa who seek to heal suffering in the least of us because of love of God.”

The reason we aren’t all like Mother Teresa isn’t because we lack the capacity; it’s because we lack the desire to hand over our lives the way she did. She was a wonderful imitator of Christ and, because of that, love and goodness were spread in the darkest of places.

I pray God gives us that desire and that we, in turn, respond to the graces He gives to us.

St. Mother Teresa, pray for us. …

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This is a guest post from a friend of mine who is a lawyer and a devout Catholic. He wrote this awhile back with the hopes of helping Catholics explain why abortion should be prohibited. He mentioned to me that the key to ultimately winning the culture over with regards to abortion is to first get away from the issue as a matter of religious compliance. People who do not believe in God will not give any weight to appeals to God or religious doctrines. You have to initially speak a language they understand. I hope you find this article helpful for future conversations.

Legalized abortion has returned to the national spotlight. The Catholic Church is, once again, a target for those who support abortion rights. It is worth considering why the Catholic Church concludes that legalized abortion is wrongheaded and whether its alternative approach might offer a basis for better overall governing. 

At the outset, abortion should not be proscribed under law simply because it is an article of the Catholic Faith that life begins at conception. No religious belief system should impose its matters of faith on a pluralistic society. A religious article of faith that a dog possesses a human soul, for example, or that a human possesses the soul of a dog, should not drive public policy. 

When it comes to abortion, the status of a pre-born human life is not apparent to the naked eye. Ultimately, the Catholic Church must look outside itself to discern when human life begins. It must and does defer to science. Here, we distinguish between the findings of science itself and then the opinions or interpretations of individual scientists. Just as it is a common Catholic understanding that grace follows nature in our world, so there must flow rational implications for public policy based on what the physical science tells us about the continuum of life.  

It is commonly believed, and also discussed in the Supreme Court’s Roe v. Wade decision legalizing abortion, that religions have historically held to varying positions about the start of human life. In the case of the Catholic Church, that was largely because there was no reliable science on conception and fetal development until the arrival of modern medicine. Thomas Aquinas, for example, believed a fetus passed from a vegetable soul, to an animal soul and finally to a human soul as it developed in the womb. Knowledge from genetics and embryology were not available to him.  

Using modern science, we understand, from the moment of conception, there exists a genetically complete and distinct human life. If it is still living, then it is still growing. In a most basic sense, this describes all of us. And the same is true of an animal. A dog embryo is accurately described as canine life and this can be established through genetic testing. Science, not faith, affirms that life begins at conception.  

When it comes to public policymaking, however, these factors alone will not resolve the question. Human beings are not solely oriented by the objective; we are also inherently subjective. Our physiology, experiences and circumstances are highly individualized. These form a significant part of who we are and how we make decisions. And this is a good thing. We can’t all choose exactly the same spouse, like the same foods or possess the same sense of humor. What a boring world that would be. 

As a result, subjective factors will play an important role in the decision-making process on abortion. These subjective factors can present deeply conflicting and often heartrending situations. Some circumstances may feel so overwhelming, it helps illustrate why the Church believes it is outside human competence for any person to judge the state of another’s soul before God. 

There are many honest pro-choice advocates who would agree up to this point in the argument. So, what’s the next step?  

Catholic thought is known for developing approaches that balance objective and subjective factors. And this is consistent with democratic governance where policymakers must weigh a variety of competing rights, principles and interests. This leads to the fundamental reason to oppose legalized abortion as a matter of public policy.   

When it comes to defining human life for the purpose of offering it the protection of the law against its intentional destruction, the balance weighs heavily in favor of using any available objective criteria. For human life, only the physical sciences offer this objective perspective.  

In a world with a lengthy history of mistreating the weakest and least desirable in society, using subjective factors to define what human life is not afforded legal protections against its intentional destruction presents a threat to all of us. Failure of the law to protect one category of human life from death is one step away from failing to protect one or more other categories of human life. And what can be killed can also be denied any number of less significant but still critical personal liberties. 

Many would argue that the balance of interests involved in the abortion decision should favor those of a rational and self-aware mother over those of a fetus who appears to be neither. From a public policy perspective, however, this fundamentally eviscerates the objective factors in favor of the subjective when it comes to defining the legal protection of human life. As stated, the resulting principle is absurdly dangerous. Are young children, those in a coma and the elderly suffering dementia no longer worthy of legal protection against threats to their lives because they are deemed neither rational nor self-aware? If these can be killed, why stop there? 
 
Interestingly, this balancing approach also illustrates why so-called fetal “personhood” laws are unnecessary and often counterproductive as a matter of public policy. Assigning a fetus all the same legal protections as a “person” under the U.S. or a State Constitution for funerals, inheritance, or investigating miscarriages as homicides is a red herring. For these matters, subjective and more practical considerations can and should take precedence. Drawing reasonable distinctions for a …

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Yesterday, I went to the post office to mail a few packages. My local post office is tiny and always blazing hot, so if there is a line most people wait outside. When I walked up, an older man was standing there waiting his turn. After waiting for awhile, he turned to me and said, “Man, all I need is one stamp.”

I quickly said, “Well, I’ve got a stamp for you.”

He wanted to pay me for it. I had no clue what a single stamp cost but we made a deal, laughing as we joked about me being the outdoor postal lady. He said, “Thank you! You saved me from waiting in this long line.”

“Of course!” I hollered back as he walked away.

As of late, I’ve been sensitive to human interactions. Maybe it’s because we’ve spent two years isolated from each other and it feels good to have these simple human interactions again. But, there’s another reason for my sensitivity–we were two different races having a brief, yet positive interaction. Something the media tells us rarely happens, if at all.

Media and politicians have done a fantastic job of pitting races against each other over the last few years. Now, I’m not naive enough to deny that racism exists, in fact, I have witnessed it. But, looking over my life, I am struck by how many positive and beautiful relationships I’ve had with people of different races. True, I’m just one person and I don’t represent everyone, but I can’t possibly be an anomaly. It makes me wonder if we, as Americans, are being spoon-fed a narrative in order to create division which weakens us.

In high school, I was a 400-meter runner. The main guy 400-meter runner was a black guy named Steven. He was a few years older than me but he took me under his wing. He always had a smile on his face and we enjoyed cheering each other on.

When I was working at the Salvation Army Domestic Violence and Rape Crisis Center there was an older black woman who worked there named Nanee. We always had lunch together and she’d tell me about her life. I loved listening to her stories and she’d always give me good advice about God, raising children and cooking. Her peach cobbler was the stuff of Heaven. I’ll never forget how she answered me when I asked her how she made her collared greens so good. She said in her slow, southern way, “Child, you gotta use back fat.” I laughed so hard I about cried. I was not expecting that answer!

I, also, had at that same place two beautiful mentors–Shawn and Alma. One day, I was struggling with my parent’s divorce and Ms. Alma could see that I was barely holding it together. She sat with me and we had a good heart-to-heart. After our talk she came over and said, “Can I pray over you?” I nodded my agreement. She placed her hand on my heart and her other one on my head and prayed like I’ve never heard before in my life. A warmth spread over me and I started sobbing, releasing all my hurt. When she was done, I knew God was going to help me through that difficult time. Ms. Alma’s touch and genuine love for me was truly healing.

And Shawn. I can’t express how much I look up to Shawn. She’s been through some hell in her life but she is a strong, loving woman–one of the best I know. She taught me so much about strength, hard-work, and a positive attitude.

In our time in the military, our family has been blessed to know many wonderful people of all different races. Recently, in Turkey, we were stationed with people from all walks of life and I love so many of them because they are just wonderful people. Sure, their skin color was different than mine but I didn’t care. And I don’t think they cared about mine or my family’s. What mattered was that we shared life together, took care of each other, laughed with each other, and cried, too. Mostly, we cried because of the pain of separation when it was time to move.

One of my favorite people we were stationed with overseas was a guy named Mario. My son thought he was just the coolest. They had this secret “hand-shake.” Whenever Mario would see my son, he would say, “‘Bows for bros!” Then they would bump elbows. I tried one time to do “‘bows for bros” with Mario and he shook his head and said, “Miss Amy, come on now. This is not for you.” It still makes me smile thinking about his sense of humor and his goodness.

Bishop Fulton Sheen once said that “the good has but few publicists.” And it’s true. You never hear about the positive relationships between the races–only the negative news stories. Now, I’m not saying that the news should never cover bad things that happen but when that’s all you show, people start to wonder if this is really how things are all over the country. When all you sample is the bad, the bad is all people see and believe in.

And “if we start with the assumption that all people are dishonest, are we not constantly bumping up against crooks?”

If the media and politicians get minorities to believe that all white people are racist and if white people believe that all minorities believe them to be racist at their core, well, we will cease to trust each other. Which, I believe, is the goal of nefarious people. When we are divided and distrustful, we are easily manipulated. When we are united and strong, we are not so easily swayed by those that wish to have power over us.

“On the contrary, if we believe people to be kind and good-hearted, these are about the only kinds of souls we ever meet.”…

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I was married at twenty-two which for many, in this day and age, seems wildly young. Not only did I marry young, but when my husband and I married, we were already parents. It basically went something like this: I graduated from college, took off my cap and gown, got into a hospital gown to give birth, and then turned around and slipped into a beautiful wedding gown–gown, to gown, to gown. Obviously, I’m not here to condone getting pregnant out of wedlock, but such was the reality of my life. 

Anyway, I was married very young and while I had graduated, my husband still had one more year to go until he graduated and was commissioned in the Air Force. As you can imagine, we had little money. We seriously lived off Dustin’s student loan and the $400 a month that ROTC gave us. We lived off of very little and, yet, not for one second were we unhappy.

I love our beginning. There we were just young newlyweds trying to navigate our way. Everything in our house was mismatched. We had particle board everything–and it all was leaning and on the verge of collapse. We had no curtains, no pictures on the wall. Every single thing we owned was a hand-me-down. There was no nursery to decorate because we didn’t have the money. Not to mention, our daughter’s room was also her dad’s “office.” Thankfully, family members pitched in and we were gifted with everything we needed for our daughter. To say the least, they were humble beginnings, but they were good beginnings.

We didn’t have the money to spend on elaborate entertainment back then. Our entertainment consisted of long, evening walks, visits to parks, and going to the free zoo in town. We rarely had a date. We rarely ate out for dinner. I laugh now when I think back to our grocery bill at the time. It was somewhere along the lines of maybe $40.00. We ate well, but not extravagantly; our meals were very simple. Our Friday and Saturday nights consisted of taking our daughter on a walk and then coming home to watch TV. One day, it was blazing hot outside and we couldn’t afford admission into the city pool. The apartment complex across the street had a pool, so we snuck across and pretended that we were residents. We must have played it off well because nobody said anything.

I was very content at that time in my life. Granted, I did want to improve our situation but I was quite happy even with fewer things. During all that time, God provided and we were never want for any necessity. 

Bishop Sheen once wrote:

“Contentment is based on the idea that ‘our sufficiency is not from ourselves but from God.’ The soul does not desire or lack more than what God has supplied him.” 

At the dawn of our marriage, we were stripped of most things and we, as a couple, had to fight to improve our situation. We had to make goals, we had to learn how to be frugal, we had to plan, budget, save, and sacrifice. We are better for it and we did it together. We worked as a team to build a life. Starting out this way, I think, sets the stage for a greater appreciation when you do get to have nicer things. You have the contrasting lifestyles. You’ve gone without and you know what that feels like.

“Contentment is not inconsistent with our endeavor to have our condition improved. We do everything we can, as if all depended on us, but we trust in God as if everything depended on Him.”

When you do work your way to something better, you really appreciate it. We love to reminisce about our early years together because they are so different from where we are now. We can see the growth in our relationship. We can see the progress we have made and I think that it has made us closer and stronger.

I don’t pretend that we were dirt poor. I know that there are others with much less. I am grateful that every night we had food in our bellies, a roof over our head, and our needs were met. We didn’t have much of what we wanted, but we had everything we needed. What I think is important is that at nearly every stage of our marriage we have been happy. (Moving to Las Vegas threw us for a loop as a family, but that’s another story.) It’s never been about the stuff: The car, the big house, the brand name this-or-that, the fancy vacations. It’s always been about us–our family.

I often think back on those early years of our marriage and smile. I smile because we thought a Dairy Queen treat was a big deal. I smile because we had a 1985 powder blue Buick Century that was anything but cool. I smile because our idea of a good time was going to a park with a camera and taking goofy pictures of each other. I smile because I had to work three nights a week as a waitress at a smokey steakhouse. Some nights, Dustin and Rhianna would come down to see me and I loved the visits. I smile because I remember how Rhianna and I would meet her dad on campus to have lunch with him. We were the only people with a kid and a stroller. But, mostly I smile, because it was a young us, trying to find our way. We didn’t have all the answers, but we loved each other enough to trust that we could build a good life together.

I love our humble beginnings. It’s our story. It’s a good story. I love our now and all the in-between, because, no matter poor or well-off, this family growing in faith together is all the matters.

To listen to this week’s podcast where Bishop Sheen talks about …

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For anything to be truly healthy, it must be “checked” over from time-to-time. As we learn from science, “things tend towards disorder” and, therefore, need constant maintenance and evaluation.

For our souls to be healthy, we need to examine our consciences in order to confess our sins and be forgiven of them.

For our bodies to be healthy, we need to have health examinations to locate any potential problems. We need to take stock of our eating habits and make sure we are properly nourishing our bodies.

For our marriages to be healthy, we have to examine where there is room for improvement so that we can better love our spouse.

It is no different with a country. We must take honest stock of things in order to see where we may be teetering on the edge of destruction.

We cannot, on the one hand, never allow any criticism of our country. To accept faults and failings is not only honest, it’s grounded in reality. No country is perfect as they are all man-made. The most patriotic thing you can do for your country–aside from justly fighting for her–is to keep a constant watch on the state of things in order to make morally good improvements when needed.

But, and this is a big but. We cannot, on the other hand, have utter disdain for our country to the point that we want to literally light it on fire and cause chaos and destruction all in the name of “change.” If you hate your country, you are no longer helpful to it. You can have regret over past behaviors and acknowledge them, but to desire its fundamental destruction is dangerous. To constantly see the worst in something will never lead to willing its good–you will simply just want to annihilate it. Of course, we should try to annihilate evil but very few things in this world are utterly evil. Redemption should be a constant hope.

In America, we have a Democratic Republic form of government. We are not a pure democracy like the ancient Greeks set up. We don’t have most of the people gathering together to vote on all decisions. That would be impossible in a country as large as ours and, not to mention, widely ineffective. Instead, we gather as a group to vote on elected representatives (republic) in order to make decisions on our behalf.

It’s a decent system as far as governments go. All governments are man-made and therefore subject to flaws, some more than others. The idea of the Founding Fathers was to give power to the people. When elected leaders know that they can lose their power by being voted out by the people, well, it provides a check on their power. Hopefully.

However, there is a glaring flaw in all this and I’ll let Bishop Fulton Sheen explain:

“The growth of democracy has done much to do away with a false social snobbishness and to keep men humble in their external relations. But it has also, from another point of view, weakened the respect for Goodness and Truth, inasmuch as the masses of people are generally inclined to equate morality with the general level of society at any given moment.”

The flaw is that there is an emphasis on the people’s will and not God’s will.

Sheen continues:

“Numbers become the measure of goodness. If a sufficient number can be counted who violate a certain Commandment of God, then it is argued: ‘Fifty million adulterers cannot be wrong. We have to change the Commandments.'”

We must remember that “the people” can be wrong, often times wildly wrong. Slavery, abortion, so-called same-sex marriage, and segregation are all evidence of “the people” being wrong. Representatives can be wrong. They are, after all, only humans. Their quest to maintain power will often leave them following their own selfish wills or succumbing to the masses even if what the masses want is morally bad.

What is never wrong is following God’s Will. While I realize that we have a secular government that doesn’t adhere to any one faith, much of God’s Laws are understood through Natural Laws. We don’t always need Divine Revelation to guide us in simple matters of right and wrong. It’s not hard to understand that killing innocent people is wrong–we should innately know this. It’s not hard to understand that stealing what isn’t yours is wrong–none of want our own things stolen from us. And, yet, when selfishness overtakes the Natural Law, the peoples’ will can go off the rails. Couple that with a denial of reality and you are headed for disaster.

So, what can we do, Catholic Pilgrims? We can recognize the weakness of a democracy and help to keep it in check. Understand that we are never to conform to the modern, “conventional standard” if it is contrary to God’s Will. As Catholics, our allegiance is to God above all: Not to popular opinion, not to politicians or political parties. We must be willing to examine ourselves and make sure our wills are in line with God’s Will even if that makes us unpopular and uncomfortable.

Or as Bishop Sheen says, Have “an inward disposition under the control of a recognized principle to which we submit whether we agree with it or not.” That recognized principle is God’s Will.

Be willing to live the faith boldly and travel well, Catholic Pilgrims.

To listen to this week’s podcast that covers this top, click here.

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Years ago, an atheist friend of mine was arguing with me over the existence of God. Our discussion covered many branches of the topic. At one point, she stated that human beings are nothing more than a collection of cells and chemical reactions.

“We love only because of dopamine hormones.”

“We do things only to ensure our survival.”

Now, it is factually true that humans are made up of collections of cells and we are influenced by chemical reactions. However, this limits humans to mere material matter. I doubt she would deny that each of her children are different and unique in their own way. She’d argue the nature vs. nurture debate, but I’d even go so far as to wager that she could tell differences in her children even when they were in the womb before the influence of external surroundings. I know I could and most mothers would agree. The difference is the soul of each child, a spiritual reality for every one of us.

In essence, she denies that we are creatures of God made in His image and likeness. To her, we are nothing more than material beasts.

Bishop Fulton Sheen once wrote:

“It makes little difference in the moral character of a person whether we believe golf is better exercise than tennis, but it makes all the difference in the world whether we believe that a human being is a creature of God or a beast.”

My friend’s denial of God and her belief that human beings are just collections of cells, left us, in her mind, as nothing more than instinctual beasts. We are just merely animals that eat, drink, mate, and sleep all because chemical reactions in our body work to ensure our survival.

The danger with this thinking is that “it may take a few years for this wrong philosophy to work itself out in action, but eventually it does.”

If we are reduced down to nothing more than masses of cells, at some point we will be denied our dignity and worth. How does this wrong philosophy work itself out in action?

EUTHANASIA: Are you suffering in anyway? We can put you down like a dog.

ABORTION: If you aren’t wanted by your mother while you are in the womb, you can be killed. If you are deemed a burden or a potential burden, you have no right to life while residing in the womb. As pro-abortionists are found of saying of the unborn baby: “It’s just a clump of cells.”

GENOCIDE: If someone doesn’t like your beliefs, religion, race, or sex and perceive you as a threat, they can feel justified in ridding the planet of your kind.

SLAVERY: If someone deems themselves as a more superior clump of cells to another clump of cells than they will subjugate them. The inferior group can be used and oppressed for what can be wrenched out of them. Once they are of no use anymore, they are discarded and left to pick up the pieces of a broken life.

But, if we recognize the truth of God and our relationship to Him as His beloved creatures, well…that changes everything. Our likeness to God gives us dignity; our lives have worth. We were made for a reason and we were loved into existence. We are imbued with a unique soul that animates our cells and brain chemicals.

Deep down, we recognize that we can love even when it doesn’t feel good or it’s hard. That is contrary to my friend’s depressing notion that we only love because of chemicals. A mother never says, “Mommy only loves you, Honey, because of chemical reactions in my brain.” No, there is definitely something deeper going on.

We recognize that, as humans, we have the ability to deny our own wants and needs for the good of others. We are not compelled to act a certain way like the animals, but instead have the free will to choose a more sacrificial option even if it means denying the self. We can override our senses and our chemicals in acts of discipline and heroism.

And the beauty of accepting the truth of God is that we recognize:

“That being a creature of the Power that made us, we will seek with the help of that Power to be all that we can be–a human being worthy of the name–aye, more than a human being, a child of God!”

And if we recognize that within ourselves, we will see this dignity and worth in others thereby desiring what is right, just, and good for them. This grows our moral character, Catholic Pilgrims, and sets us down paths not of destruction but goodness.

So, live the faith boldly and travel well.

Listen to this week’s podcast where I read from Bishop Sheen’s Book Way to Inner Peace.

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Within the past 10 years, I’ve heard a lot of people comment, “How did we get to this point?” We all look around and things look…well…bleak. Nothing seems healthy or thriving–not people, not families, not institutions, not countries.

To be fair, we all can have a bit of a romantic view of the past seeing it as seemingly idyllic and problem free. That isn’t true. Each time period has its major challenges, sufferings, and tragedies. However, the current state of things do seem crazy chaotic. Sure, there have obviously been chaotic times before; history is ripe with wars and rebellion. Our current state, though, is laser-beamed focused on the utter destruction of everything that is good and right. Relativism is wildly popular. Immorality is promoted. Vices are deemed the new “virtues.” Nothing makes sense and that’s the point. It is difficult to argue with people that deny any absolute truths and condemn moral virtues.

And because of all this, everything seems sick. To add to that, this is how civilizations crumble. There’s a reason why we study history. The idea is to learn from it, but it seems we, as a species, struggle with this concept.

Venerable Bishop Fulton Sheen wrote in his book Way to Inner Peace: Infidelity in little things deteriorates the moral sense; it makes a person untrustworthy; it loosens the ties that bind society together, and it is a counteracting agency of that Divine Love which ought to be the cement of good human relationships.

That’s how we got to where we are: Little by little people practiced infidelity in little things. Mostly on purpose in order to activate the change they wanted to see; sometimes not completely on purpose. This made us untrustworthy to each other and it has eroded our faith in our fellow man. When I don’t trust you, I can’t have a good relationship with you.

Many of us sit around and wonder how do we take back society and our culture? Wrongly, we think that we need to do something big or we think that if we just elect the right leaders we’ll get back on track. But no one human has the ability to right so many wrongs. They do not have the power to heal the deep-seated cancer that pervades countries around the world. We forget that politicians are not Jesus.

We need to let go of the idea that we need to do something “earth shattering” to set things right. The answer lies in doing the exact same thing that got us into this mess–change things little by little. We need to be committed for the long-haul and realize we may not see full change in our lifetime. But, we need to do the right thing in the moment whether we see the full fruits of it or not.

“The conflicts which we have to endure either against evil in our own soul or in the moral circle where our influence would seem to be trivial are in reality the struggle of the battle for life and decency.”

We deem doing the little things as insignificant but how many Saints have shown us that this is exactly the way?

St. Thérèse of Lisieux talked about the “little way.”

St. Mother Teresa of Calcutta told us to do “small things with great love.”

Venerable Bishop Sheen tells us:

“In like manner, humans will find little to do if they save their energy for great occasions.

In every direction the great is reached through the little.“

We take things back little by little, focusing on our own lives and our own families. Collectively, if all Catholics did this, the impact would be enormous. Definitely more impactful than waiting around for the right time to do a seemingly great thing.

Examples of little things: Eat together as a family, go to Mass, go to Confession, be present, reach out to a friend, speak truth, watch morally upright things, find time for prayer, etc.

“To live by the day and to watch each step is the true pilgrimage method, for their is nothing little if God requires it.”

Live the faith boldly, Catholic Pilgrims, and travel well.

Listen to this week’s podcast where I read from Bishop Sheen’s Book Way to Inner Peace. …

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If you live in a first-world country, chances are that your life is significantly more comfortable, more pleasurable, and easier than a majority of people in the world. In general, your external woes are nothing compared to someone living in a third-world country. That isn’t to say that people in first-world countries don’t have burdens, struggles, or sufferings. They do. But, there is a difference even from say…300 years ago. Then, most people had to live hand-to-mouth. Death was extremely common. Most natural disasters were utterly unexpected. Technology was slowly advancing but many luxuries were still only that–luxuries.

As we’ve advanced, though, we’ve discarded God in favor of worship of the self. Consequently, this has caused a loss of purpose in countless lives. For many, all you have is this one life, so better do whatever gets you noticed or brings you maximum pleasure. In addition, suffering removed from Christ leaves people just trying to get through dumb suffering. That usually doesn’t work out very well and so many fall into despair and depression. Reality becomes too hard and many don’t want to face it anymore.

Enter the fantasy world.

There has been a movement to conjure up different false beliefs that allow people to reinvent themselves and the world around them. Initially, people balked at this movement because we all knew the fantasy world wasn’t true, but over time, those of us that have tried to maintain truth have been cut to the quick. It was not enough for people to just live in their fantasy world; now, the requirement is full embracement.

There’s the fantasy that life doesn’t begin at conception.

There’s the fantasy that you can pick your gender.

There’s the fantasy that pornography is actually freeing for women.

There’s the fantasy that millions of people are suffering from multi-personality disorder.

There’s the addiction of living in the fantasy world of video games.

There’s the fantasy that you can actually be groped in the Metaverse. A make-believe land where people walk around as avatars.

Venerable Fulton Sheen called all of these things “manufactured woes.” Why are they manufactured? Because they create actual problems in our lives when they don’t need to. They do simply because we refuse to acknowledge reality and face it like courageous people.

You cannot have inner peace when you fight against reality. True, facing reality can be difficult, exhausting, and even deeply sad. Acknowledging it, though, allows you to face it with courage and work to bring about a better day. When I was counseling, I had to tell my clients over and over that they must face the reality of their lives so that they can then actively work to fix that which is broken. Many couldn’t bear to do it and, consequently, their lives never improved. They could not find any peace.

But why would living in relative comfort and pleasure cause us to create manufactured woes for ourselves when we don’t need to? The answer is complicated.

We, as humans, were made for work and challenge. We weren’t created to pamper ourselves continuously in an endless stream of pleasures. There is something very satisfying in hard work and accomplishment of difficult tasks or challenges. But, when we focus on pleasure and comfort too much, we come to focus only on ourself. This is a shallow existence and one that leads down dark paths. But, the ego must constantly be fed and so we work up ways to get ourselves noticed or pitied. To get noticed in a day and age when everyone has a platform, you have to create more and more absurd ideas or ways of living. Most difficult to understand of all is that many see a simple, uncomplicated life as not worth much and so chaos is created in order to “feel alive.”

To find true inner peace, Catholic Pilgrims, we must face reality, speak truth, give of ourselves to others, bear suffering by uniting it to Christ’s suffering, remember our dignity, and seek God’s assistance in our daily lives.

May you live the faith boldly and a travel well.

Here is this week’s reading on my podcast from Venerable Fulton’s Sheen’s book, “Way to Inner Peace.”

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In the not too distant past, a growing trend started. It was the seed of a belief that we as humans were outgrowing God. In the Age of Enlightenment, there were advances in science, math, the arts, literature, and industry, so much so, that humans began to smugly pat themselves on the back. “Look at us. Our abilities are godlike. Our capabilities are limitless!” And so, with our newfound egoism and pride, God was placed in the back corner left for the “brainwashed” and “uneducated superstitious rabble.”

In our faulty assurance of our godlike abilities, we, as a race, set out to do literally whatever we could. It didn’t matter if we should or not. The mere fact that we could was deemed reason enough to give it a go. Morals be damned.

In a world where humans inflate themselves to the level of God, surely negative consequences will follow. We forget that all of this exists–that WE exist–because God holds us in existence. No human on earth has or ever will have such power. Sadly, we think that by removing God, we will rid ourselves of all that “superstitious nonsense” designed to hold humans in perceived bondage. Yet, we fail to see that all we’ve done is set ourselves and science up as our new idols. The worship of self and the worship of science are the lords of our lives. Science is not bad in and of itself, however it is just a tool given to us by God to understand His created world. Yet, for many, it has become a religion.

Venerable Fulton Sheen once wrote, “Humility which gives preference to others is not very popular today, principally because men have forgotten the Greatness of God. By expanding our puny little self to the infinite, we have made the true Infinity of God seem trivial.”

If removing God was the right thing to do because humans can do well without Him, one would expect to find thriving, generous, moral, virtuous societies all around. However, that is not what we find. In order to feed the ego, we continually press to elevate ourselves above others thereby refusing to see their humanity and their worth. Our pride says, “I am all that matters.”

On the flip side, when we realize our littleness and dependency on God, we are moved to humility. Humility allows us to stand in awe of God’s greatness and be thankful for all the gifts and blessings He bestows on us. Humility puts us in right order with others seeing them as imperfect, faulty beings like ourselves that should “invoke God’s guidance and blessing on all” we do.

May we never see ourselves as outgrowing God, Catholic Pilgrims.

Live the faith boldly and travel well.

*Quotes from “Way to Inner Peace” by Venerable Fulton Sheen…

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As per usual, after an election and an inauguration take place, one side of the political aisle is rapturous and the other side is licking its wounds in the corner. Right now, we are hearing all the talk about how Biden is going to unite us, and right wrongs, and blah, blah, blah. Four years ago, we were hearing how Trump was going to make us great again, and right wrongs, and blah, blah, blah.

I am not and will never be convinced that one person can fix a country. It’s pretty easy to destroy one, but totally healing it and fixing it is another story. Unless we are talking about Jesus, and neither Biden nor Trump is He, obviously.

But, long before Biden and long before Trump, our country has been morally sick and it’s nobody’s fault but our own, my fellow Christians. Why us? Well, for one reason–we always give up the moral high ground in the name of niceness. We don’t want to be called big-meaner names and we don’t want to be rejected by people. What this has led to is morally bankrupt people coming up to Christians and saying, “Look, all we want is this teensy little thing and once you give us that, we’ll walk away and leave you alone.”

Christians have caved every time. And every time, we find that the morally compromised want more, and more, and more until they have sunk the soul of our country into decay.

Then we whine and bemoan all the corruption, lies, murder, violence, sexual impurities, etc. It happened on our watch, though. We were too concerned with playing nice and not getting labeled a ______ist or a ____________phobe. (You fill in the blank.)

And I’ll tell you, it is going to be a hard-fought battle to win the culture for Christ. There are some that are put on this earth to be our gentle souls. And then there are some that are meant to go into the fray and be a wall that blocks evil. We need both.

So, last week, I was scrolling through social media and a friend had posted a meme that said, “The Bible–The Original Bulls$*t.” Can you imagine for one second anybody posting anything like this about another religious book? No. No, you can’t because you would be attacked viciously by people telling you that you are the world’s worst. Facebook would probably take it down. But, Christianity’s book? Feel free to offend away.

This meme, of course, was posted by a person who continually claims to be tolerant and open-minded and yada, yada, yada.

I’ve learned to just glaze my eyes over when I see Christian-bashing, but this one caused something in me to snap. I felt righteous anger. Insult me all you want, but the Bible is the Word of God and putting it on the level of bowel movements was more than I could stand.

However, I wasn’t rude, spiteful, or ugly when I responded to it, but respond I did. And…to my surprise that person removed it. I couldn’t believe it. But, I was thankful that I spoke up so that it wasn’t out there on Facebook anymore…at least coming from her.

That got me thinking about the tactics that the non-believing/leftist crowd uses when trying to shut down Christians. I have a lot of experience with this now having been a blogger and a social media presence for eight years. So, I talked with my husband about it and I asked him how do we as Catholics combat the tidal wave of the non-believing/leftist crowd?

So, we brainstormed. We talked over all that I’ve experienced and we discovered that there are four definite tactics used to put Christians in their place.

1. Show Christianity to be stupid.
2. Show it to be evil.
3. Show it to be outdated and not progressive.
4. Attack and play any victim card you can.

Now, the strategy is to diminish Christ’s authority and put doubt into people’s minds thereby getting people to drop Christianity. Usually, but not always, they will not attack specific points of argument. The goal is to be the loudest voice, the most humorous (read snarky), and to appeal to some other authority, like science in an effort to appear super intelligent. They accomplish this strategy by using the above mentioned tactics.

Now, I’m not writing this because I want us, as Catholics, to play the victim. Nope, I am not about that. It is our duty as confirmed Catholics to fight these spiritual battles–we know this is part of the calling of a Christian. I’m writing this for the purposes of educating and showing how to counter these tactics in order to start being that wall I mentioned earlier. This is going to be a series of blogs and I will take each one of these tactics in its own separate blog and show how to respond to them whether in-person or online.

But, before I end this blog post there are three things I want to say:

1. Don’t waste too much of your time on social media trying to win back the culture. It can be a fruitless wasteland which I’ll touch on in my upcoming blogs.
2. Above all, if you do engage, remain charitable. That does not necessarily mean you need to be Mr./Mrs. Nicey-Nice Magee. There is a way to stand up to evil in a charitable way without being a limp noodle. But, more on that later.
3. This is not about scoring points. This is not about one-uping people. Our responses must be coupled with prayer. If you ever feel you’re going to answer in the same vein as they would, walk away until you can compose yourself.

All I’ve done in this post is laid out my case, but I needed to air out my thoughts and the context behind them before diving in to the meat of what want to say. We all want to know what we can do to …

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When I was preparing to start my new podcast, “Journeying With the Saints,” where I spent one year going through St. Faustina’s Diary, I came across this quote from her at the very start of her notebook recordings.

“It is no longer in my power to change, correct or add to the past; For neither the sages nor prophets could do that. And so, what the past has embraced, I must entrust to God.”

There was a time in my life where I was obsessed–OBSESSED–with finding a way to alter my past. I fantasized about it; daydreamed up a whole new fictional life for myself. At the end of the day, I was always faced with the grim reality that I could not change the past and I hated that fact.

I’m one of those people who harken back to the past quite a bit, for good and bad reasons. Part of me loves to reminisce and share memories. I will often ask my husband to tell me one of his favorite memories of us when we were first starting out. Whenever he shares a memory with me it makes me smile but at the same time, it makes me sad. He and I will never be those young, crazy college kids ever again. “Time marches on,” as they say.

Like I said in the beginning, for years of my life I obsessed over desiring to change my past. The reason was that my past was full of shame. Shame over my impure actions; shame over being raped; shame over how I dealt with being raped. The biggest source of my shame, though, was how I treated God through all my hurt. Sure, people will tell me it’s understandable, but that has never really comforted me in any way. All my shame was such a heavy, heavy burden. I liken it to a weighted blanket that just keeps getting heavier every year until you feel like you can’t breathe and you’ll smother to death.

I thought if I could just change the past–change the outcomes–then I could free myself of the shame and be happy with myself again. It was a fruitless effort and, deep down, I knew it. That didn’t prevent me, though, from imagining that I had made better choices by picking better boyfriends. “If only…” became a constant mantra in my head.

The thing was, was that I wanted a different story to tell my kids about my high school days. I wanted to tell them that their mom was good and someone to look up to. I wanted them to be proud of my actions, but I didn’t have that kind of story. I was everything I would never want for them in my high school days and that caused me a lot of grief. Some of the bad things that happened to me in high school were because of the poor choices of others; but, a lot of the bad things that happened to me were because of my poor choices. I didn’t want my shameful actions to make them ashamed of me.

To add to that, when I first started dating my would-be husband, I struggled with my shame. I was madly in love with him, but I doubted if I was worthy of him being madly in love with me. He deserved a woman that was clean, and pure, and not tainted with darkness. Initially, the shame that I felt made it nearly impossible for me to believe his compliments and adoration. I felt utterly unworthy and I didn’t want him to love someone so broken. In an effort to push him away, I spilled out my dark secrets thinking that he’d run before things got too serious. But, he didn’t run. He stayed and his love is a big reason why I was finally able to heal.

As many of you know, when we got married, he was Catholic and I was Protestant. Pretty much every Sunday early on, we met on the battlefield to square off about Catholicism. We always fought after going to church. Nice, huh? But, through a lot of patience and solid arguments on my husband’s part, I eventually realized that I needed, more than anything, to become Catholic. One thing, though, scared the living daylights out of me…my first Confession.

I sat across from Father Chuck that day with a beating heart and tears threatening to pour forth. Before we started, I said to Father Chuck, “Father, I have a huge sin to confess. It’s horrible.”

He smiled the most calm, reassuring smile and said, “Just start talking to Jesus. It will be okay.”

That was the day that the dam broke in my soul. All the weight of the shame I had been carrying busted forth like a pent-up river. Tears streamed down my face and I choked through sobs. A human soul can only carry so much shame around before it threatens to overtake. Through that entire confession, I felt Christ saying to me, “Just give it to me, Amy. Let me take this bad and make it good.” Thankfully, I did.

As Father Chuck said the words of absolution over me, I felt a lightness that is impossible to describe. From that day forward, I have never been the same. I gave all my sin, shame, and hurt of the past to Christ and decided to trust Him with my full healing. My husband could take me so far, I needed Christ for the rest.

My past is my story. I cannot change it and at this point in my life, it’s no longer a desire. Obviously, I will always wish that I wasn’t abused but there is nothing that can be done about that. It shaped my life for better or worse. What Christ did was help me see that the dark things in our past can be turned around to be used for good. That’s where the victory comes in.

Shame is …

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So, after my blog last week, I had a few people ask me what they can do to help make a change in our country. I sat for many days thinking and praying on this question. I came up with all things that you would think to say: We need to go to Mass, we need to pray more, we need to be good Christians, etc. While these are all good, they weren’t satisfying me. So, I asked my husband.

I asked, “What suggestions would you give regarding practical things people can do in order to bring about positive change in our culture?”

“Well, I don’t think people are going to really want to hear what I have to say.”

“Well, what is it?”

“People need to ask themselves how uncomfortable they are willing to get to turn the tide. Are they really and truly ready to give up numerous comforts? Are they really ready to sacrifice? I think a lot of people say they are, but we have become slaves to our comfort and I’m not sure we are fully ready to do what is required.”

He continued, “You know, the early Americans were so eager to fight for their freedom over things that don’t seem that big of a deal to us today, but they also didn’t lead, for the most part, lives of comfort. They were willing to deal with pain and loss in order to secure God-given rights.”

My husband is so right. I’m currently reading a book on Paul Revere, you know, the midnight rider from Boston. As I’m reading about the things that England was imposing on them, I keep thinking, “My goodness, these things are so minor to what we put up with nowadays.” The early Americans had a different spirit about them. They did not think that what England was forcing upon them was right or just and they were willing to get out of their comfort zones to battle it head on.

Now, I’m not saying we need to go to war–physical war–with anyone in our country. But, spiritual war is upon us and has been for quite some time. Are we willing, like my husband said, to get uncomfortable to fight for the soul of our country?

It means that we going to have to be brave to speak truth. As Christians, we are told we are anti-science by a bunch of people pushing some of the most anti-science positions in the world, such as fetuses are parasites and boys can be girls. These are serious detachments from biology and anatomy. We will be called haters, bigots, intolerant, and worse. It’s going to make us uncomfortable. We have to be brave and speak truth anyway.

It means we may lose our jobs, friends, or status. That can be scary. The comfort of money and the illusion of our freedoms are dear to us. But, be sure of this, we are losing our freedoms day-by-day because we don’t want to get uncomfortable.

It may mean that it is time to scale back and move to a one income family so that one parent can homeschool. That means that we will have to do without some material items or big houses.

It may mean that we have to say no to sports teams that want to practice during church time.

It means that we have to be willing to have family talks about uncomfortable things such as abortion, socialism, and pornography. It’s time to turn off the tv and start talking as a family. Many children go off to college never having been educated on the truths about abortion or socialism. They get into higher education and are spoon-fed progressive agendas and they receive no counterarguments. Believe me, I know. I was forced to stand my ground in college and, oftentimes, I did it alone.

It may mean that we need to get more involved in politics and start making our voices heard.

It may mean that we need to make it a priority to eat dinner as a family together nearly every night.

It may mean that we set a limit on social media for one hour a day. There are other things we can be doing with our lives and we need the break in order to pray and think without being bombarded.

It may mean that we need to really research something before we post about it and spread erroneous content everywhere.

It may mean that we have to walk away from social media fights realizing that they are often not very productive.

It may mean that we have to stop giving money to places that figuratively slap Christians across the face but then take our money as we hand it to them anyway.

It means we are going to have to pray for our enemies.

It may mean setting the alarm to get up early in order to pray. Yes, you may lose sleep.

It means looking at yourself and working to eradicate the sin you struggle with, whether that be pride, greed, lust, envy, anger, gluttony, or sloth.

Each and every Christian needs to look at their lives and evaluate where they can get uncomfortable.

But, you may ask, “Is there something I can do that’s comfortably safe?”

No, nothing.

We are way past that point. Now is not the time for alarmism or fear. It is a time, though, to get uncomfortable in order to bring about lasting and positive change. We must do it with charity, truth, and goodness.

But, honestly, if you say to yourself, “Well, I would get uncomfortable, but I don’t want to lose this or that; I want to maintain this or that; I’m not ready to give up this or that” then nothing will change in our country. No matter who is in the Oval Office, our country is still sick and will remain that way unless and until we all start making a change. Laws and politicians aren’t going …

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Walk with me for a second through history. I know, I know, some of you hate history but quit your eye-rolling and walk with me. 😉

The Roman Empire. At its peak, it was unstoppable. While no civilization is perfect, the Roman Empire had a lot going its way: It was wealthy, it was strong militarily, it was advanced, they had a somewhat balanced form of government, and they valued a lot of virtues that we, as Christians, value, such as courage and honor.

We all know the story, though. The Roman Empire is gone; we visit its ruins. As the all too familiar story of human beings will go, Rome fell into corruption and misery. There were some decent leaders, but for the most part, Rome was more often than not ruled by power-hungry, wildly flawed men. Even the so-called “Good Emperors” enacted widespread persecutions of Christians and entertained the masses with the bloody gladiator games. But, make no mistake, it was the people that went to be entertained by the “games.”

Once Rome started its downward fall, each new emperor thought that he could be the one to right the ship. None were able to do so and eventually, the Roman Empire became just something that we read about in history books.

There is so much to be learned from this time.

The Romans believed their Caesars to be gods and they worshipped them. I’ve seen the temples and altars to Trajan and Domitian here in Turkey. The Caesars were expected to bring about a healthy and robust Empire, but the problem was, was that moral decay had entered the Roman Empire and it needed more than a mere man to eradicate the disease.

Now that we’ve walked back in history, walk forward with me, will you?

We just went through a brutal election. One side is cheering, one side is still trying to find a way to win.

No matter the results, I’m uneasy either way.

America is not God’s Chosen Nation. It’s founding principles and documents are good, right, and noble, but Christ came for all people and all nations. He does not appoint kings to rule His Chosen People anymore. That is not to say that God doesn’t allow those that are in authority to be there, but there is too much talk about the president being “anointed” or the “messiah.” I’ve heard plenty of people talk about how Trump is “anointed” by God. I heard plenty of people talk about Barack Obama as the “messiah.”

Now, God can work with any president we elect and make him worthy of the office, but that is only if that person cooperates with God’s grace. He has to want to be a better person for his country and for God. God does not force Himself on anyone.

However…

There is no president that is going to save us. Biden is not going to right our ship. A man that supports and believes in the murdering of unborn babies is NOT going to raise our country to new moral heights. I think it is important to note that every great empire or country that has ever been, has declined with the blood of innocents on their hands. You cannot be great when you devalue a certain group of humans. Rome looked down upon Christians and slaughtered them by the thousands. They, also, forced slaves and captives to fight to the death for entertainment. The disease of human sacrifice–whether that be for convenience, fear, entertainment, or punishment–will wrap its tentacles around the heart of any country and eventually destroy it.

But, Trump was not going to right our ship either. Trump is not capable of stopping the cancer of our country all on his own. He’s had four years and we are still very, very sick. The best he can do is staunch the bleeding, but it’s a dirty rag full of bacteria and dirt. It won’t hold for long, nor will it make us healthy. While Trump has done some good things for the pro-life movement, his character lacks integrity and a level of humility that is needed to be a truly great man or a great president. I know that some people like his non-political schtick but there is a way to do it without coming off like a pompous jerk 95% of the time. I wish that all the Trump supporters would have offered Trump constructive criticism instead of defending all his bad behavior. If you truly care about someone you want them to get better, not just settle for the status quo. I wish we could have set a higher bar for the man and helped him to reach it rather than setting a low bar because people liked how he “gave it to the other side” or because there was a fear that criticism looked like the the Right was siding with the liberal media.

No matter who is in the White House, though, the disease affecting our country is not going away. The disease is our fault. It is all our fault. You can blame the government for this law and for Roe Vs. Wade and whatnot, but the truth is, is that we, the people, went out and took Roe up on what it had to offer. Collectively, we could have rejected it and it could just be some forgotten law that collects dust. The fact that so many have embraced it shows the state of our hearts and moral health.

As a conservative Independent, I have been listening to Christians on the Right complain about how God has been taken out of everything. There is much whining and moaning about this and, yet, these same Christians do not make time for church or Mass on Sundays. Sports are more important than The Lord’s Day. All forms of sin are tolerated because there is a fear of being called big meaner names by the Left. If God is not a priority in …

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This past Friday, my family went through a pretty intense 7.0 earthquake. My kids and I were sitting on the 15th floor of our high-rise apartment here in Izmir, Turkey and we started to feel the building move. At first, my brain couldn’t process what was going on, but within a few seconds, I realized that, yes, we were in a serious earthquake–high up in a big building. In a state of panic, I quickly put me and my kids in a doorway and we started saying an “Our Father.” The building was swaying back and forth for 35 seconds and it is no exaggeration to say that I was terrified. Thirty-five seconds is a long, long time in earthquake lengths. After our prayer, I wanted to just get us out of the building and so I told my kids to run for the emergency stairwell. I dashed back to grab my phone so I could call my husband and then I ran. We flew down the stairs and once on ground-level, we hustled outside with all the rest of the people.

Shaking like a leaf, I quickly scanned the area, looking to see if my husband was coming from some direction. The chaplain for my husband’s squadron found me and my kids and we all said a prayer together. In our hurry to get out of our building, we neglected to grab masks or shoes. So, the chaplain lent his tennis shoes to my daughter and then carried my son on his back to a safer place as we walked to get away from tall buildings–a good chaplain shepherding the flock entrusted to his care.

Finally, we gathered up with my husband’s squadron and waited for instructions on what to do next. Reports were coming in that there was a possibility for a tsunami as Izmir sits right on the water. To be cautious, we all decided to head for higher ground. So, off the squadron marched. I was walking on dirty, city streets with just socks, my daughter had on the chaplain’s oversized shoes, and my son was being carried piggyback.

Once we got to the rendezvous point, we all just waited to see what would happen next. We gathered in a park where there were many other families gathered for fear of going into their homes. Located in a poorer area of town, we were surrounded by Turkish locals and Syrian refugees. As a group of Americans, we looked wildly out of place and it wasn’t long before kids were coming up to us out of curiosity. The one thing they were most curious about, though, was why my daughter, my son, and I didn’t have shoes.

Unable to fully speak their language, I used my hands to try and show that our building had been swaying and we ran out because we were scared. They seemed to understand me and I could see them thinking and then they left.

It wasn’t long before a crowd of kids and teens returned with shoes for my son and daughter. These were their own shoes and here they were giving them to us. I tried numerous times to refuse but they continued to insist. One mother of the children sort of got after me for trying to refuse and I didn’t want to offend them, so I graciously accepted them. An older gentleman went and found some shoes for me.

They were all so happy and the smiles on their faces reached from ear-to-ear. At one point, a teenage girl reached down to help my daughter strap on her shoes and I began to cry. “This is the way we should always treat each other,” I thought to myself.

Those children saw a problem and it brought them so much joy to solve it. It brought me equal parts of joy to accept their humble gifts. In the best way I could, I thanked them over and over and blew them kisses.

Cleared to go home, we all gathered up our things and left the park. As we walked away, the chaplain was walking behind my family and said, “Wow.”

“Yes, wow,” was my response back to him.

For months and months now, especially in our country, tearing each other down has become a national pastime. We fight over everything–literally everything. We bicker and squabble. We try to one up each other with our smart-aleck comments and do our best to leave our enemies lying in the dust of our personal attacks. It’s a shame how we treat each other.

And we wonder so often why God allows natural disasters to happen. Maybe, it’s because it’s the only way to wake us up and remind us that we are supposed to love each other and love each other well. While natural disasters are terrible and tragic, they, also, are when we lay aside our differences and just try to help a brother or sister out. Those kids in the park were a different nationality than me, a different religion, different everything. We literally couldn’t be more different. And, yet, because we were bonded over a tragedy, they wanted to help me and my kids. That is not to say that they wouldn’t normally be giving or helpful, I have a feeling their big hearts are always on display. But, it is to say, that in times of crisis, we feel the call to serve and love. It always brings out the best in us.

It’s sad that it takes tragedies to wake us up and help us to see Christ in others. The truth is, is that when things are going good and we are enjoying pleasures, comfort, and stability, we tend to become very self-centered. In times of crisis, we are forced out of our own bubble and our eyes are opened to the needs of those around us.

One of my followers over on Instagram said something that really gave me pause. She said:

“I’ve realized that …

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All throughout my 20s and some of my 30s, there was a great war being fought within my mind. It was an unnecessary battle but one that had been waging since my college days. The war was between two Amys: Amy 1 felt it was her moral duty to get out in the workforce and “make something of herself.” Amy 2 longed to stay home with her daughter. It was made clear in college to Amy 1 and 2 that to not get out in the “man’s world” would make her….well…an embarrassment to the female population. Staying home and raising children or “keeping house” was not to be desired in the slightest.

So, for a long time, Amy 1 ruled the roost. I worked at different jobs because I had degrees and, Lord knows, I would waste them if I didn’t do something super duper monumental with them immediately. So, as soon as I graduated with a BS in sociology, I naturally got a “well-paying” job as a waitress. Then I worked in the mall at New York and Company. Then I worked for a bunch of hot-headed, self-absorbed defense attorneys who basically paid me in bread crumbs. From there, I worked at base legal at Wright–Patterson Air Force Base where I, still to this day, have no idea why they created the position I held. There was so little for me to do, I had to get ultra-creative just to fill my time.

Every day, I would drop my daughter off at daycare and wish with all my heart that I could stay home with her. But it was wrong, you see, to think such things. Women had fought hard so that we no longer had to be stuck at home raising “rug rats” and cooking meals for our unappreciative husbands. We had been liberated! We were free to go into the workplace and push elbows around with the big boys. Staying home was relegating women back into the Dark Ages and that was a bad place where the patriarchy ruled the universe. No self-respecting woman would EVER desire to stay home EVER again. If you did, well, it was clear and obvious that you were a weak, brainwashed woman that was a slave to your husband. Shame on you.

So, Amy 1 decided to go back to school and get a Masters in criminology. I thoroughly enjoyed my time back in school and I learned a lot. I interned at a juvenile detention facility which I found rewarding. I decided to specialize in sexual violence crimes and I wrote my whole thesis on the subject. When we moved to Florida, I got an important job as the program director for the rape crisis program at the Salvation Army Domestic Violence and Rape Crisis Program. Not only was I a director, but I was also a counselor and an advocate for victims of sexual violence. In addition, I traveled all over a six-county region teaching and educating police, judges, nurses, and high school students about sexual violence. I loved my work and I found it very fulfilling. But…I still ached to be home with my two daughters.

During this period of my life, everything felt rushed. We rushed out to work and school in the mornings. We rushed home to dinner. We rushed to gymnastics practice. We rushed to get the girls to bed on time so that we could rush out the door in the morning. On the weekends, we rushed around trying to prepare for the coming week. While I loved my job, I felt that our family life had taken a back seat. My girls were so little, yet they were growing so fast and I felt I was missing out. Amy 2 kept banging on my heart, but I had to ignore her. Modern feminism told me that my life would amount to nothing if I stayed home. People would think I was boring. People would think that I was lame. I’d have nothing exciting to share about my life at high school reunions. But…still…the ache continued.

Through all this, my husband was extremely supportive. He patiently listened to me battle through this war over and over again. Each time, he’d say, “Amy, if you want to work, I completely support you in that. But, if you want to stay home, I completely support that, too. We’ll adjust our lifestyle and live with less money if we need to.” I told him that I worried that he would find me boring if I was nothing more than a “stay-at-home” mom. He just laughed at my tendency for dramatic notions. “I didn’t marry you because you were a working woman, I married you because I love you.”

Here was my husband, who was leaving the decision of whether to work or stay home up to me. I felt no pressure from him to conform to any particular path. He knew I needed to make this decision on my own and he supported me either way.

Where I felt pressure from was the modern-day feminist movement. I felt under the thumb and critical eye of liberal feminists that told me in college that the “traditional” ways were/are horrible, terrible, bad. I was told that the patriarchy ruled my life and I had to escape its grasp. In all honesty, though, the only grasp I felt squeezed in was the one from the group that supposedly was supposed to set me free. The mental anguish was torture and I hated feeling so trapped.

I am grateful for the courageous women in the past who fought to create equality in the workplace and in our society for women. I’m grateful I can vote. I’m grateful I can take out my own bank account. I’m grateful I can own my own property if I so choose and I’m grateful I can go to just about any college I want. Because of the efforts of numerous women, I can explore pretty …

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Strange title?

Yeah, I know.

So, a Catholic I know was having a conversation with a Protestant. This particular Protestant has come a long way and says that she actually believes that Christ is truly present in the Eucharist. However…

She feels the Catholic Church would be more effective if the Church presented the Eucharist everywhere–parks, university campuses, prisons, and, yes, street corners. This way, she feels, the Church could offer a way for people to accept and remember and partake in what Jesus did for them. People could more directly participate and have Christ with them. She wonders if this wouldn’t be a more effective way to evangelize and engage the world than keeping it a part of one exclusive club that has a lot of prerequisites to get in.

While I can appreciate the desire to evangelize and bring Christ to as many people as possible, I’m not sure this person is really thinking through the ramifications.

So, there is a lot to unpack here. Tons. Let’s start with the easiest.

First, the Catholic Church does present the Eucharist in prisons, at churches and chapels on university campuses, and, sometimes, Mass is even said in parks. In fact, somewhere in the world at all times, Mass is being said and the Eucharist is being offered to the faithful. But, I don’t think that’s what she meant. I think what she’s meaning is that she would like to see some person stand with a bowl of consecrated Eucharists and just pass out hosts to people as they move about a park, a college campus, or even on a city street.

I shudder at the thought. We’ll get to why in a moment.

Secondly, the Catholic Church welcomes everyone to join–literally everyone. In fact, there’s a reason that the Catholic Church is the largest “club” in the world–“Catholic” literally means universal and there are over one billion members in this so-called exclusive club. Now, you can’t just saunter into a Catholic Church and just decide–yep!–that you’re Catholic. Why? Well, because there are some foundational doctrines that need to be accepted before one can just slap on the label of a practicing Catholic. Is this unreasonable? No. Why would it be? The Catholic Church has to have standards, beliefs, and practices that define it. It can’t just be a loosey-goosey entity that doesn’t really specify its purpose. To clear up any confusion, the purpose of the Catholic Church is to lead souls to Heaven and the primary way it does this is through the worthy reception of the Eucharist.

To get into high school, there are prerequisites; certain classes you have to complete. There’s a reason we don’t allow kindergarteners into high school; they haven’t done the prerequisites that prepare them.

To get into college, there are prerequisites that are required before entry. You need a diploma, an SAT or ACT test score, and such. This seems reasonable.

To enter into the military, there are prerequisites. You need to be an adult, you need to be a citizen of the country you want to serve, you need to pass a physical test, etc. This is reasonable.

To drive, you have to do certain things. Practice, learn, take tests, and understand the ins and outs of driving. Reasonable, yes?

But, for some reason, there are those that don’t want any type of prerequisites for becoming Catholic in order to receive Christ in the Eucharist. For one, many people think our faith should be simple and unfettered by any rules, doctrines, or laws. But, if you don’t have standards and boundaries that contain the whole of your belief system, you essentially have nothing at all. The Catholic Church does ask that people take time to learn about the Church’s doctrines and, also, participate in their first confession before receiving the Eucharist. It wants you to fully understand what you are committing to and that seems like a reasonable request.

The Eucharist is Christ; it is His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. Communion is not symbolic for Catholics. When we receive Christ, we are communing with Him in the most intimate way possible here on Earth.

Christ said, “For my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him. Just as the living Father sent me and I have life because of the Father, so also the one who feeds on me will have life because of me.” John 6:55-57

Jesus wasn’t playing around with His words. How do we know this? Because “many of his disciples who were listening said, ‘This saying is hard; who can accept it?'”

Christ asks them, “Does this shock you?” Soon after Christ’s teaching, many left Him because it was too much to accept. And Christ doesn’t say, “Wait! Wait! Come back! I meant figuratively. I meant I’m symbolically like food and drink.” Nope. He lets them go.

The Eucharist is Christ fully present. Once consecrated, the bread and wine retain their appearances but the substance of them has changed into Christ. Powerful, powerful stuff. We cannot take this lightly. We are consuming God.

Can you see why the Church needs to walk you through classes to make sure you get this central doctrine of Christ fully present in the Eucharist? We aren’t playing with symbology here; the Eucharist is really God.

Which brings me to my third point: If the Eucharist is God, can you see why we can’t just pass Him out like candy on the streets?

“Come and get your Eucharist!”

There needs to be a reverence maintained when receiving Christ that can’t be preserved on a busy street corner. We can’t just casually hand out Christ in people’s hands and hope they get the magnanimity of what they are holding. Too many things could go wrong, which is why I shudder.

1. It could fall into the hands of someone who could just dismiss the Eucharist and throw Christ

…

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Enough is enough.

When I was a kid and was driving my dad crazy, he would say to me, “Amy, you are driving me to the hilt of Gannilt.” It was his way of saying that I’d pushed him to the limits of his sanity. Lol.

And now, I say it to my children.

Well, the virtue-signaling in the US has driven me to the hilt of Gannilt.

Every bloody day, I settle in and watch the virtue wars unfold. No topic is off-limits.

“Well, I looooove to wear my mask. I’m saving lives. I’m so pro-life. Anyone who doesn’t squeal with joy at wearing a mask is NOT PRO-LIFE and wants EVERYONE TO DIE!!!!!!”

“Well, I will NEVER wear a mask because I’m not a brainwashed, unpatritoic idiot! GIVE ME FREEDOM!”

“Vaccines are going to save us all! Everyone should love vaccines! I inject my kids because I love them more than you love yours.”

“Vaccines are the debil! Everyone should hate vaccines! I don’t inject my kids because I love them more than you love yours.”

“I’m a better Catholic because I would rather miss Communion than receive Christ in my hand.”

“I’m a better Catholic because I’d rather die of COVID than not go.”

I simply can’t take it anymore. The virtue-signaling wars have left me utterly exhausted and irritated. I feel like I’m dragging myself across the floor, uttering, “Please, no more.”

Social media has allowed this virtue-signaling beast to rise up in all of us–yes, even me. I’m guilty of it, too. We sit behind our screens and judge everyone under the sun based on memes or a 280-word comment. In an effort to make ourselves feel superior, we compare our thoughts and beliefs against every single thing written on social media.

Here’s the thing, if you have to announce your virtue with a sarcastic remark or an insult, well, whatever virtue you had just went out the door. For any virtue–prudence, temperance, fortitude, piety, courage–to really be a virtue, it must be coupled with love and humility. We simply aren’t humble and loving people when we have to showcase our virtue or throw it up in people’s faces.

If we think any of this pleases Christ, we’d be wrong. People are complex creatures and we all have different backgrounds and experiences. We all have unique thoughts about things–some are grounded in truth, others aren’t, but it’s still important to realize that someone’s past has shaped their thinking today. To add to that, we all have different circumstances going on in our lives at the present moment.

I get why some people want to wear a mask and some don’t. I get it. There are valid reasons for both.

I get why some people are down with getting vaccines and I get why some people want to steer clear. There are valid reasons for both.

I get why people shudder at receiving Communion in the hand, but some of us, myself included, can feel the lack of the Eucharist in our lives when we don’t receive it for weeks on end. The Church allows for in-the-hand Communion. While on the tongue is best, it’s important not to tell people they are sinning when the Church allows for reception in the hand. I’d much rather receive on the tongue, but I’m simply not strong enough to go months and months without Christ. Spiritual Communion is nice, but my soul gets desperate.

This race to virtue-signal at every possible instance is not actually making us more virtuous people. Sure, we put up the lawn signs declaring our stance on this or that and we can put up social media banners that let the world know how virtuous we are, but all this does is feed our egos.

I’m not saying it’s wrong to let people know how you feel about an issue or situation going on in our country. I think, though, it’s important to check our motives. Are we doing it so that we feel like we are social justice warriors and we want people to be impressed with us? Are we doing it as a warning to those that oppose us that we will not tolerate any kind of disagreement on the subject? Are we doing it to follow the crowd so we can avoid attack and ridicule?

When the George Floyd incident went down, my daughter had an acquaintance ask her through a private message on Instagram why she hadn’t posted anything showing her solidarity with BLM. My daughter uses her social media for enjoyment and connection and never posts anything remotely controversial. She doesn’t want to use it for that. Yet, here she was being pressured to post something so that people would know that she was being virtuous according to their standards. For the girl questioning my daughter, all that mattered was that she hadn’t seen my daughter’s virtue signal. It made her uncomfortable and so she felt she had the right to inquire about my daughter’s supposed lack of concern.

The truth is, my daughter doesn’t have to announce her non-racist beliefs by posting a meme or a profile picture banner. The way she conducts herself and lives her life is enough. She has been raised to treat people of all races with dignity and respect and she does. That is what matters.

Our virtues should be lived and not promoted. Sadly, because of our human weaknesses, we are inclined to promote our virtues in order to get pats on the back and props from others. However, it is good to remember that the ability to live out a virtue well comes from God. The graces He bestows on us help us to be virtuous people. Any virtue we possess should give witness to Christ and encourage others, by our actions, to strive for that virtue, as well. If we gloat about any supposed virtue we have; if we use it to smack another person down; if we advertise it so …

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Before my husband told me about the job in Turkey that he was trying for, I knew literally nothing about Turkey. Okay, I knew that Istanbul was once Constantinople, but that’s it. You all can now freely sing the song, “Istanbul (Not Constantinople).” You’ll get it stuck in your head and that’s a promise.

When my husband got the job, I threw myself into learning about Turkey. I wanted to understand its history, culture, and language. I know about as many Turkish words as a toddler now and, hopefully, by the time we leave, I’ll be at the level of a 5-year old. Lol!

I came to realize that Turkey was Asia Minor in ancient times and that it was the stomping grounds of St. John and St. Paul. Mary lived out her days in Turkey. Several of the Church Fathers came from Asia Minor–St. Ignatius of Antioch, St. Polycarp, and St. Irenaeus. Turkey was pivotal in the spreading of Christianity. To my delight, I learned that Izmir (where we would be living for a year) was only about an hour from Ephesus and the Virgin Mary’s House.

It is not often that people mention going on pilgrimage to Turkey, but in reality, it should be considered a huge pilgrimage destination. Just Ephesus and the Virgin Mary’s home alone make it well worth the trip. In this blog, I’ll talk about visiting the Virgin Mary’s home and give you some sights from around Ephesus along with some historical information.

HOUSE OF THE VIRGIN MARY

This house is not to be confused with the home Mary lived in, in Nazareth. This is the home where Mary lived later in life after Christ ascended. On the Cross, Christ entrusted St. John with the care of His mother and we know that St. John was in Ephesus. Because of the persecutions of the early Christians, John placed Mary away from the big city of Ephesus to keep her protected. Her home, where she most likely lived with other women, is at the top of a mountain that overlooks Ephesus. It is a serene place hidden away from the hustle and bustle of life.

Centuries after Mary’s Assumption, Ephesus was abandoned and people moved on. Without the city nearby, the knowledge of Mary’s house fell out of popular memory, though it was still held in oral tradition by the faithful in the area. Many, many years later, a German nun, named Catherine Emmerich (1774-1824) had visions about the house of Mary. She was an invalid who never left Germany. “In her visions, she described with amazing accuracy the hills of Ephesus and the House where she saw the Blessed Virgin spending her last years. Accordingly, two scientific expeditions were organized in 1891 and they found this place in perfect and identical correspondent with the indications of Catherine Emmerich.”

Pretty amazing, isn’t it?

If you visit the mountain, be sure to take your time. Normally, there are many pilgrims and there are long lines to get into the house. When I went, there was hardly anyone so I was able to go through the house twice. There is a nice gift shop there and a place to buy drinks and snacks.

EPHESUS

This once-booming city of the ancient world is where we get the Letter to the Ephesians written by St. Paul. Only about 20% of Ephesus is uncovered but there is still so much to see: City hall, an ancient hospital, bathhouses, the famous Celsus Library, and the theater.

Ephesus is, also, one of the seven churches mentioned in Revelations, which was written by St. John on the island of Patmos.

“To the angel of the church in Ephesus, write this: ‘The one who holds the seven stars in his right hand and walks in the midst of the seven gold lampstands…'” Revelations 2:1

When St. John and St. Paul were here, Ephesus was part of the Roman Empire and the 4th largest city in the empire. Because it was Roman, that meant it was, also, pagan. The main goddess worshipped here was the goddess Artemis and the Temple of Artemis is one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. All that is left of the Temple at Ephesus is some rubble, but a lot of the remains are in the British Museum in London. As you walk through the city, though, you can see depictions of many different Roman gods and goddesses.

Eventually, in time and after hard work, the city was converted to Christianity and you can find crosses throughout the city, as well.

The biggest thrill was to see the enormous open-air theater where St. Paul went to preach the Good News to the Ephesians but was run out after the blacksmith, Demetrius, riled up the crowd. The crowd went on to shout with fury, “Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!” You can read about this in Acts 19.

There is so much history here and so much to see and discover. I will definitely be going back so I can glean even more the next time. If you have children, I invite you to show them these pictures so that they can see that, yes, the places they read about in the Bible are still accessible today. It helps connect us with our past Catholic brethren and remember that they weren’t just characters in a story, they were real people that made a huge difference in the world. Their bravery spread the Good News of Christ and, because of them, we carry on the Traditions and messages that they did so long ago.

Until next time, Catholic Pilgrims, live the Faith boldly and travel well!

…

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Have you ever read the book Animal Farm by George Orwell? Well, if you haven’t, I’ll give you a very quick run-down.

At the start of the book, there is a farm–Manor Farm. The animals on the farm are dissatisfied with their lives because living under the farmer–Mr. Jones–is laborious and meager. They are not fed well, they work all the time and feel oppressed having no control over their lives. Riled to rebellion by an old pig, Major, the farm animals throw out their wicked farmer and his wife and take over Manor Farm. They rename it “Animal Farm.” They decide that all animals are equal. They will share everything equally and work only as much as they have to in order to feed themselves and keep up the farm. They want nothing to do with humans or their ways–humans are to be hated.

But, very quickly, the pigs set themselves up as leaders and see themselves as smarter and better than the other animals. One pig, Napoleon, emerges as the head leader. He sneaks extra food for himself, doesn’t really work, and justifies this by saying he’s the brains behind the operation, and, in time, becomes a tyrannical, oppressive leader. In fact, under the pigs, the animals are actually worse off, because if they dare question Napoleon, they will be executed.

At the very end of the book, the pigs walk on two legs, live in the farmer’s old house, drink beer, and collaborate with humans; all things that were not allowed immediately after the rebellion. At the end of the book, the pigs are having a party with some humans in the farmhouse. The other farm animals sneak up to the window to see all that is going on. The very last sentence of the book says, “The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.”

The pigs had turned into the very thing that they started out saying they hated.

Lately, in our country, we’ve had groups of people screaming about all the injustice in our nation. And, yet, many of these same people are going around unjustly looting, burning homes and businesses, and harassing people. Or, there are people supporting those that are doing unjust things. You are not justified in being unjust over here just because you don’t like an injustice over there. You become exactly what you say you hate.

(And, yes, I know and am aware that there are people talking about injustice who are not engaging in criminal activity. I am not referring to those people.)

Lately, we’ve had people tell us that this country is awful and horrible for all its racist ways. For months now, we’ve heard people telling their stories of segregation and not being treated equally because of their race. “We shouldn’t be divided,” they say. Yet, all over the country, we are seeing universities, sports teams, and organizations implementing programs that segregate by race. They are doing exactly what they said they hated.

Seattle, in early summer, saw blocks of its city streets taken over by rioters claiming to have set up their own country, Chaz (Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone). The inhabitants were against everything this country stands for and see America as being oppressive and encouraging inequality. They hate the police and all their “oppressive ways.” Curiously enough, though, the rioters took over the area and basically terrorized business owners and customers there. All this, while many were wielding guns and there were even a few murders. In essence, they became oppressive, terrorizing “law-keepers,” the very thing they said they hated.

Recently, I have seen many Christians joyous over the death of Ruth Bader Ginsburg. While I vehemently disagree with Justice Ginsburg’s pro-choice beliefs and legislative practices, we should not relish in the death of another soul. In fact, I hope she had a major conversion before her death and realized the wrongness of abortion and her role in legislating it from the bench. If we say we don’t like her because she wasn’t pro-life but then are delighted when she dies, we become exactly what we say we hate.

Mainstream feminism has told us that masculinity is toxic. Then they turn to women and say, “Everything that is ‘traditionally’ feminine is bad. It oppresses you and leaves you trapped in the patriarchy. To make it in this world, we have to throw off the shackles of femininity and be more like men.” But, wait? Isn’t masculinity toxic? To really be a woman you have to be more like a man? Aren’t you trying to mimic the thing you said you hated?

If you hate injustice, don’t do unjust things. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” is a good maxim to live by.

If you hate unjustified violence, don’t perpetrate unjustified violence on others.

If you hate our culture of death, don’t applaud the death of someone, especially if they have mortal sin on their soul.

If you don’t like guns or police officers carrying them around, don’t carry them around yourself and use them on people.

If you don’t like segregation, don’t call for segregational policies.

If you don’t like racism, don’t treat ANY race with contempt or hatred.

If you don’t like being lied to, don’t lie yourself to press an agenda. The end doesn’t justify the means.

If you don’t like people ignoring science, then don’t ignore science yourself when it doesn’t fit your narrative.

We have to be consistent in our thoughts and actions. We must strive to be people of integrity. If we try to change injustices that we see but our lives are riddled with corruption and deception, we do more damage than good.

Christ teaches us that we cannot really affect change if we are joyless, hateful people. To change the world in a positive, fruitful way, we must be people of integrity, …

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Awhile back, I was doing some fact-checking and I came across a Catholic group that gets a lot of followers. I’m not going to name them because I don’t want to draw too much attention to them, but a lot of you will probably figure it out.

Anyway, I was watching a video by them and they were viciously “calling” out loads of notable Catholics for not “telling it like it is” and “being too soft.” As I watched, I’m pretty sure that venom leaked out of my computer screen. Their message was so hateful, so full of vitriol that I could barely stand to watch them. I’m a people watcher, so I stopped listening to their vile rhetoric and just started looking at their faces and I noticed that they were devoid of joy. In fact, if I just stumbled across the video and the sound was muted, I would think that these were the grumpiest, most sour-apple people on earth.

Nothing about their words, their actions, or their message made me think that they were in love with Christ or their faith. Maybe they are, I can’t judge their hearts, but they’d be hard-pressed to convince me. They are what I call kill-joy Catholics. To be sure, every faith, institution, and organization has some form of the kill-joy crowd.

I know that there are many people out there who make it their mission to rid the faith of laxity or wishy-washiness. They want hard-core believers that follow EVERY. TEENSY. TINY. LITTLE. RULE. like disciplined soldiers. They lurk around every corner waiting for you to trip up and when you do, they jump out with their rule book and declare, “YOU ARE NOT TRULY CATHOLIC! AS YOU WALKED IN HERE, I MEASURED YOUR SKIRT AND IT IS ONLY 4 AND A HALF INCHES OFF THE GROUND, INSTEAD OF 4 INCHES OFF THE GROUND!”

If you dare to try to find common ground with a non-believer, they will verbally slay you as a far-leaning liberal basically sent by Satan himself to lead people off the cliff of sin. Their theory is that you either beat people over the head with Scriptural truth or you are WORTHLESS and SAAAAATANNNNIC!

And don’t you dare crack a smile or enjoy your time. No, no, no! With these people, Catholics can only be SERIOUS! STALWART! and…and…SERIOUS!

You know, I’m all for being obedient to the Church. I like reverence and respect in Catholic Churches. I want the Ten Commandments to be followed. I believe we should not compromise our morals and values for the sake of the culture. I am not opposed to telling someone that they are speaking heresy or condoning sin. In fact, we are called to admonish the sinner, though we are to do with hearts that truly want to help that person’s soul. I, also, believe that we can’t play patty-cake with sin and debauchery. I whole-heartedly believe that, as Catholics, our lives have to look and be different than the secular culture.

My point in all this, though, is that you are never going to draw in outsiders if you are as pleasant as a viper. You will only preach to people just like you, at best. You will turn others away from the faith, at worst. Rules are important, but sometimes you have to gently lead someone to why the rules are important and why it behooves them to follow them.

Our faith and relationship with Christ can’t just be built off of following the rules and being a no-nonsense militant trooper. I know this because Christ condemned many a Pharisee for just being a rule follower. They did all the right things but their hearts lacked compassion, flexibility, and genuine love. As St. Paul told us, you can do and say all the right things but if you have no love in your heart, it really means nothing.

If we want to draw people to the faith, we have to show that it is something that adds joy to our lives. The thing is, is that we don’t have to pretend; following Christ and living out His Will is a great joy. It’s hard, but there is joy found in following Christ. We have His love, His mercy, His compassion, and His generosity all to delight in. We have His wonders to be in awe of, His creation to explore and His goodness to emulate.

When people ask me about any of my passions–my faith, family, K-State, history, friends, or traveling–I get animated and excited. My face lights up and I get very dramatic about it all. It is my hope that you can tell how much joy and pleasure these things give me. My guess is that people wouldn’t believe me at all, if I said with a frown through clenched teeth, “Yeah, I love Jesus so much.” You’d question my sincerity and rightly so.

Sometimes, we have to lay the truth out straight and it can seem harsh to people who aren’t interested in hearing it. Sometimes, we have to stand our ground and defend the sanctity of our churches and our faith. Pretty much all the time we have to fight against sin like soldiers, but it must be balanced with a heart like Christ’s.

St. John Paul II was fantastic at being holy while enjoying the Catholic Faith to the fullest. He relished in living. He relished in loving Christ. He drew people in with his holiness and the joy that radiated off of him. Mother Teresa was the same. Even before I became Catholic, there was something in St. Mother Teresa’s smile and eyes that was captivating. Even though she struggled internally, her closeness to Christ still caused her to shine with joy.

So, remember that when we are engaging people online, don’t be a viper. Remember, also, that not every Catholic approaches life in the exact same way as you do. Some people are gentle; some are more direct. Some people …

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On the Feast of the Assumption of Mary, I posted one of my all time favorite religious pictures. It’s a stunning depiction of Mary being carried into Heaven by four angels. It’s one of those paintings that’s too beautiful for words.

But, you always gotta have the Negative Nancys and Nates come along and spoil the moment with outlandish comments. Even for a former Protestant’s ears, one poster’s comment was too much for me to stomach and so I must respond. You’re not going to diss on our beautiful Mother Mary and walk away without a response.

Since I think the poster deleted his comment, I can’t quote it verbatim, so I’ll paraphrase.

“What happened to the donkey that carried Jesus on Palm Sunday? Who knows? That was the end of his story and we never hear another thing about him. Mary is no different. She gave birth to Jesus and then her story, in effect, ends. She was just a vessel, nothing more. Just like the donkey, she wasn’t that important, so you Catholics should stop worshipping her.”

Ouch.

Does this guy put his own mother on par with a dirty beast of burden? I sure hope not.

(Mother’s Day Card): Hi Mom, You’re basically just like a donkey and your story ended after you gave birth to me, so thanks. Bye.

Now, if I give this man the benefit of the doubt and try to really see his logic, I think he was trying to say this: The donkey carried Christ and Mary carried Christ. We don’t revere the donkey, why revere the woman?

First off, no human should be put on the same level as a donkey. I shouldn’t need to explain this, but apparently I have to. See, back in the story of Genesis, God gave Adam and Eve dominion over the animals. There is a hierarchy in the created world and it goes something like this: Inmaterial items, plants, animals, humans, angels. So, to say that any human is basically no different than an animal is utterly wrong. But, to say that the woman who bore the Son of God in her womb is no different than a donkey is…well…horrifically calloused and heretical. There was no angel coming to the donkey before his Palm Sunday ride saying, “Hail, Donkey, full of grace.” It’s not too hard to see that Mary’s significance is far greater than a donkey’s.

Second, you don’t love Jesus more than Catholics just because you ignore His mother. In fact, as Christians we are to celebrate and honor God’s created world–Mary is a created being of God set apart to have the special privilege of being Christ’s mother. This notion that to love Mary even a smidge takes away from Christ is bizarre. Does loving your own mother take away from Christ? Does loving your children or your spouse take away from the love you have for Christ? No, of course not. In fact, the closer we are to Christ, we become more capable to love others even more than before. The love compounds. It’s always remarkable to me how quick some people are to dismiss Mary, as if they think God in Heaven is pleased with their dismissal and proud of their willingness to cut Mary out of their spiritual life.

Thirdly, Catholics get accused all the time of worshipping Mary. I used to think the same ignorant thing before I became Catholic. I was ignorant because I just listened to what non-Catholics told me and I never once looked into the issue. Had I researched even a tiny bit, I would have discovered that a.) The Catholic Church does not believe Mary is equal to God and b.) We are taught not to worship her but to honor her as the Mother of Our Lord. There is a difference. You can honor a person and not believe they are God at the same time. It is possible. Now, have some people wrongly worshipped Mary? Sure. Have they set her up as an idol? Sure. But, people have set numerous things up as idols: Money, sports, famous people, success, power, marriage, etc. None of these things are bad in-and-of-themselves, but, as humans, we can always fall into the trap of putting things above God. That doesn’t mean we need to wipe them from our lives forever. It means we need to prioritize and put things in their proper place. Mary does not come before God and the Catholic Church has never taught the faithful to do so. If someone idolizes her, they aren’t following Catholic teaching.

Lastly, Mary wasn’t “just a vessel”; she is a beloved child of God with a special divine purpose. Mary’s story didn’t just end at the birth of Jesus. A quick glance through the Gospels shows us that Mary was present in Jesus’ youth, she interceded for a couple at the Wedding of Cana, she was with Christ at different points in His ministry, and she was at the foot of the Cross. It was at the foot of the Cross that Christ entrusted the care of His mother to St. John and, at the same time, gave her to all of us as our Blessed Mother. But, the thing that is so striking about this man’s crude comments is his lack of understanding that Mary’s story obviously continues on in Heaven. Does he think that Mary just ceased to exist after she gave birth to Christ? I bet not. If he is any type of believer, then he must at least acknowledge that it only makes sense that the woman who born God in her womb would now reside in Heaven. However, I think he knows that. His comment wasn’t coming from a place of true ignorance, but rather a place of pride.

His comment was a jab at Catholics for daring to honor and revere the most important woman to ever have existed. By denying the importance of Mary, he thinks he is somehow …

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When I was sixteen, I had a tumultuous relationship with my first boyfriend. I’ve written about our relationship in other blogs, but to sum it up, it was toxic. I was always desperately trying to find ways to make him love me and he was always trying to find ways to destroy my self-esteem.

Even after we broke up, we would find some way to drift together. Scott would throw a few compliments my way; I would eat them up like a hungry person feasting on crumbs. I’d get my hopes up that maybe he had finally come around but our brief encounters always ended like a train wreck. In no short time, my heart would be crushed, his sick need to torture me would be fed, and this cycle carried on for months.

One day, though, was the absolute worst. He had called my house and invited me to come over. I hooked on the bait, jumped in my car, and headed to his house. When I knocked on the door, he opened it, didn’t say a word and just walked away. This was completely in keeping with his character, so I didn’t think too much about it. After letting myself in, I found him sitting at a computer playing a game. I tried to talk to him and he completely ignored me. I tried sitting next to him, but still, he continued to ignore me. I went and set on the couch behind him and still…nothing. Finally in my frustration, I got up to leave and said, “I really don’t know why you called me over here if you are going to ignore me the whole time.” He didn’t take his eyes off the screen and so I walked out the door.

But when I got to my car, my low self-esteem gripped my heart like a vice. In my weakness, I felt like I needed to go back in and beg for his love. So, I walked back up to the door, opened it (his parents weren’t home), walked over to him and dropped to my knees at his side. I apologized for not being the girl he wanted, I apologized for not being exciting enough for him, I apologized for things that I didn’t even do, and I begged him to want me and love me. It was not my finest moment. In fact, the thought of it today causes me to cringe with deep regret.

When he finally turned to look at me and acknowledged my existence, his eyes told me that any respect he had left for me was gone. I knew in an instant that this desperation and weakness I was displaying did nothing but lower my worth in his eyes. I slowly got up and walked out once I realized that I was basically dead to him.

Oh, how I wish my older self could have been there that day. I would have stepped in and said, “Girl, get up off your knees. Never apologize for things you have not done, never apologize for things that do need apologizing for, and never beg for another to see worth in you.”

When I reflect back over the course of my life there are many times I’ve gotten on my knees.

I’ve knelt in front of my kids when I’m trying to convey something important to them and I want to look them right in the eyes at their level.

I have knelt on a sidewalk with a rape victim outside a courthouse. She had fallen to her knees and started crying after learning that her case had been dropped after seven years of waiting. She didn’t want me to touch her, so I just knelt beside her while she cried to let her know that I cared.

I have gotten on my knees for different sports and games that I’ve played.

When tending to my garden or weeding, I’ve knelt down.

But that day at my boyfriend’s house was completely different. It was so degrading and humiliating to kneel in front of another person to apologize for things I could not control and beg for love he was unwilling to give.

I contrast the feeling of that day with the first time I knelt in church. Growing up Protestant, I never kneeled in church. Even while attending Mass at a Catholic Church with my husband before I converted, I wouldn’t kneel. I’m not really sure why, I just wouldn’t. Probably it was because I was a stubborn fool. Or…maybe it was because I was worried I would feel like I did all those years ago kneeling in front of my boyfriend. Maybe I was worried I would feel worthless and ashamed.

The thing was, was that I didn’t. When I finally became Catholic and started kneeling at Mass something changed in me. Instead of feeling unloved and pathetic, I felt overwhelmed with reverence and love for God. Each time I kneel at Mass or in prayer, a sense of awe sweeps over me and I am reminded that I worship and love a most generous, merciful, gracious God.

When I was about ten and was watching the movie “To Kill a Mockingbird” for the first time, I distinctly remember the courtroom scene. The judge comes out and the bailiff calls out, “All rise!”

When I saw this, I turned to my dad and said, “Why do we stand for judges, Dad? It’s not like he’s God.”

My dad said back to me, “Hon, if he was God, we’d be on our knees. We stand for those people we honor. We kneel for God.” His comment made a huge impression on me.

Lately, there has been a lot of kneeling in our country and it’s bothered me. For one, no one should ever kneel in front of someone and apologize for things they can’t apologize for or for things they did not do. It is a degrading action and fosters an unhealthy inequality that …

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Travel with me, if you will, back in the near distant past to that time when no one was allowed to judge. Do you remember those not-so-distant times? Boy, I do. Ah, those were the days, weren’t they? When if you tried to point out a bad action, immediately you were shamed into silence with a quoting of Scripture: “Judge not or you shall be judged!”

For years, the secular crowd tirelessly worked to squelch all judgment of any kind in an effort to ram questionable behaviors down our throats. “Stop using your religion against me!” Even with little understanding of Scripture, and having no qualms about cherry-picking verses, the non-religious crowd felt they had the right to lecture the traditional, more conservative religious crowd about the “horrible, horrible practice of judging.” And never mind the irony of a group of people judging other people for judging. I know, it gets confusing.

And yet…

Here we are in 2020 and the “woke” crowd seems, I dare say, to be laying–HEAPING–on the judgment.

Now, before I really get into this blog, let’s flesh-out three big truths.

1. We all judge, all the time and to say you don’t is nonsense. As humans, we make judgment calls about people non-stop. We have to in order to function in the world and if we lived in a world where no bad action could be judged wrongly, well….welcome to chaos. Though, I’m not so sure we aren’t already there.
2. We are allowed to judge actions, as long as we don’t forget to accept criticism ourselves and self-reflect on our behaviors. “Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness.” Galatians 6:1. The Bible does not say, “Never judge any action.” It does warn, many times over, not to judge wrongly, but instead to “judge with right judgment.” John 7:24. Scripture, also, warns the judger to realize that with “the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you.” Matthew 7:1. It is stressed that you should “first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye.” Matthew 7:5. Basically, God warns us to judge actions and behaviors prudently, mercifully, and humbly. In other words, pay a lot of attention to your own actions rather than obsessing about another’s and be darn sure you aren’t engaging in the thing you say is wrong.
3. What we aren’t allowed to do is judge another’s soul or condemn it to Hell. The judgment of souls is not our realm, that is God’s alone. Not a one of us is privy to all the interior motivations or thoughts of another human being. God, however, is privy to everything and gets to make the final judgment call on where a person spends eternity. We, also, have to be very careful in claiming to know the true motives behind a behavior. Many times, we don’t have all the information about a certain situation and, therefore, we don’t always know with certainty the motivations of another individual.

Now, most rational people realize that we have to judge certain behaviors as bad and certain behaviors as good. It is ridiculous to tell people that they are never allowed to judge. The old “live and let live” motto sounds nice on the surface, but people don’t really mean it when you get down to the brass tacks of things. Are you willing to just let a convicted rapist go because we should just “live and let live”? No, I bet not. Are you willing to stand by and let a bully mentally torture someone because “who am I to judge”? I sure hope not.

The interesting thing is, is that for years now, we’ve been told by the Progressive Left that nobody is allowed to judge another. This is usually brought up when talking about sexual behaviors, but I’ve seen the “Don’t Judge!” slogan thrown around for lots of things. And what has happened is that many of us with a moral standard have shrunk back into the shadows afraid to be labeled a “phobe” of some kind. We lost the moral high ground in our silence. The radical Leftist agenda steam-rolled down the tracks and we, the silent majority, just sat by at the station with gaping eyes and mouths hung open in shock as it zoomed past us.

But, all the tables turned very recently. It appears that the “Don’t Judge!” crowd is suddenly very fond, very fond indeed, of judging. Their judgment of things knows no bounds. The “woke” crowd is able to judge motives, souls, and any and all actions even if they happened forever ago. There they sit on their Thrones of Judginess parading every American in front of them as their interior thoughts and motives are apparently revealed to the all-seeing eyes of the “woke” judges.

Now, historically, much of the world has based a lot of their judgment of bad behavior off of the Ten Commandments. Not that long ago it was common for us to recognize the Ten Commandments as good to follow, though many times falling short because sin is tempting. In recent years, though, we’ve been told to “shut up” with our religious judgment of behaviors that fall under the Ten Commandments.

Truth be told, though, the “judges of wokeness” have established their own Ten Commandments and they are:

1. There is no God. Science is all that matters, unless, of course, it goes against how you feel. Above all, worship self. It is, also, fine to destroy houses of God and anything that belongs to them.

2. Pretend to try not to offend people with your words, except it is fine to use Christ’s name in vain. Who cares if it offends the Christians.

3. Do whatever you want on Sundays. Religious services are patriarchy nonsense full of misogynistic …

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As many of you know, my professional background is working in the area of sexual violence. When I got my Master’s in Applied Behavioral Science, I chose to specialize in sex crimes. Not the most uplifting topic, but one that I feel is extremely important to shine a light on. As one who has dealt with this topic extensively, I know that it touches many lives and many times it is not taken very seriously.

Let’s imagine that one day, I come across an up-and-coming organization called “END SEXUAL VIOLENCE FOR ALL” and, agreeing with the name, I decide to look into becoming a supporting member of the organization.

But, upon my study of their website, I find that they have a few other things they are looking to promote. Those are:

1. Work to remove the game of football from our culture. Football produces potential rapists.
2. Insist that all firefighters be female. It’s time to allow females to be the heroes.
3. Ban all religious institutions. It is common knowledge that all religions are misogynistic and therefore need to go.

None of these things have much or anything to do with ending sexual violence. So, I call up one of the leaders in the organization and say, “Hi, I’m a little concerned about the things you promote on your website. I was looking at becoming a member but I can’t agree with these other things.”

The lady says, “Oh, so then you are for sexual violence?”

“Well, no, of course not, but I thought you were for ending sexual violence for all and some of these things don’t have anything to do with ending sexual violence. In fact, I find some of these things to be really bad things to support. Why isn’t your focus fully on sexual violence as your title states?”

“Oh, it is our focus, but only for ending sexual violence for women over the age of 90.”

“Well, it’s important to protect those women, too, but that’s such a small demographic, why not actually work to help end sexual violence for ALL victims like your title says?

“That’s not what we do here. Look, you are free to start your own organization that focuses on protecting all women and men from sexual violence, but our focus here is women over 90.”

AND THE PHONE CLICKS OFF

When George Floyd’s life was taken from him on May 25th, 2020, nearly the whole nation was rightly outraged by the show of police brutality at the hands of Derek Chauvin. The vast, vast majority of Americans were united in condemning what happened; even other police officers were appalled at Chauvin’s callous and fatal actions.

The organization BLM rallied the nation into protests. Millions of people donated their money and lent their support to BLM and all was heated frenzy for weeks. Emotions ran high and they are still running high. But, then things shifted very rapidly and the narrative went too far. In the time since George Floyd’s death, we have been told that America is inherently racist, the police need to go or at least be severely defunded, and it’s time to “tear down all American systems.”

When this all happened, I refused to rush to an opinion on the matter, other than to say that police brutality is bad. I have a few boundaries I set for myself and one of those is to give at least two days before drawing a conclusion on an issue or recent event. I need time to gather information and think. I do not like being forced to go along with what everyone is saying just because everyone else is saying it. I need to think for myself. I was ridiculed for questioning the narrative that the media and the BLM organization were presenting to us.

As Catholics, we know that all people are created in the image and likeness of God. We know that God loves all people and wants people to be treated with dignity no matter their sex, race, age, or nationality. So, naturally, as Christians, we affirm that Black people matter; of course, they do and no true Christian would ever say that they don’t.

While it is right and good to affirm that black people matter, it is dangerous to support the Black Lives Matter organization. At the height of the frenzy over George Floyd, our family sat down at the kitchen table to read about the Black Lives Matter organization. My husband brought up their website and read it out loud to me and our two teenage daughters. What they support and stand for is troubling, to say the least.

In a very clever move, the three co-founders picked a name that no decent person would argue with–Black Lives Matter. They draw a line in the sand and say either you support Black Lives Matter or you are a racist. Nobody wants to be called a racist and so, therefore, the organization is given little resistance. But, I wonder how many Americans took the time to look into the Black Lives Matter organization?

The first thing of note is that there is an interview with Patrisse Cullors, one of the founders, from 2015 where she describes herself and another founder as “trained Marxists.” This is highly troubling.

When you look at their website, there are some of their “collected efforts” that seem positive, such as:

“We work vigorously for freedom and justice for Black people and, by extension, all people.” AND

“We are guided by the fact that all Black lives matter, regardless of actual or perceived sexual identity, gender identity, gender expression, economic status, ability, disability, religious beliefs or disbeliefs, immigration status, or location.”

All seems good there and if that was it, there would be no cause for concern. However, there are a few problems.

One problem is that their platform seems more concerned with LGBTQ issues than true concern over the loss of actual black lives. Two of the founders identify as …

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My maternal grandfather was a carpenter. Mostly he built houses, but he could pretty much make anything out of wood. One day, when I was in my early 20s, he took me down to his workshop because he had a piece of furniture he wanted to give me. It was a beautiful antique vanity that he had picked up from an auction. I instantly loved it and he said to me with a smile, “I thought you might like it.” Although he didn’t make it, it still meant a lot to me coming from him. Looking at it always made me think of his workshop which smelled like sawdust and lacquer; two smells I associate with him.

He passed away in January of 2015 and when he did that vanity went from being important to priceless in my eyes. At the end of 2015, our family moved across the country to Las Vegas and when we received all our household goods, that vanity was gone. When we reported it lost to the military, they asked for an estimated price. How could I give them one? To me, it was priceless because it was a gift from my beloved grandfather. Having it sit in my dining room often stirred wonderful memories of him. Now, it’s gone. I think they gave us like 60 dollars for it. Bleh.

Thankfully, my cousin took my grandpa’s old shirts and made them into pillows for people in the family. Since my favorite color is purple, she used one of his purple button-down shirts for mine. I’m so thankful that I have it.

After the death of my loved ones, I’ve always sought to have something important that belonged to them. I have my paternal grandfather’s family pocket watch. I have a special bracelet that belonged to my great aunt. This past April my maternal grandmother passed away. She collected teapots and pitchers, so I picked out one of those that was meaningful to me.

The reason I am telling you all this is because I want to talk about relics. But, before we move on, let’s define what a relic is.

“A relic is a part of a deceased holy person’s body or belongings kept as an object of reverence.“

There are three types of relics:

First-class relics are usually a tiny piece of bone from a canonized saint. It can, also, be a drop of blood or a piece of hair. They can, also, be an object that Christ touched, i.e. the Cross.

Second-class relics are “objects worn or used by saints, such as a rosary or prayer book.”

Third-class relics are “some object that has been touched to a first or second class relic.”

The Catholic Church gets a lot of grief over relics. Many people see the practice of keeping and venerating (to regard with great respect) relics as a little weird if not down-right idolatry.

Here’s the thing, though, outside of the Catholic Church most people participate in keeping “relics” of loved ones. When someone we love dies, we want something of theirs to remember them by. It helps us still feel connected in some tangible way. Nobody sees this as weird or idolatrous. When I see my grandpa’s shirt pillow, I am reminded of his big bear hugs and how he smelled of ivory soap. When I see the picture of my paternal grandfather hanging in my office, I think of him. I remember sitting on his lap when I was a kid while he played the drums at the city band concerts. When I wear the ring that my great-aunt gave me, I am instantly reminded of the feel of her hands when she clasped mine. The decorative pitcher from my maternal grandmother reminds me of her home and how I always felt loved there. All these things help lift my mind and heart to the person with whom they are connected.

Relics in the Catholic Church are not different. They are not meant to be worshipped, but, instead, are meant to draw our hearts and minds to a particular saint. “We might think of relics as reminders of our ancestors in our faith, of holy people who followed God’s will during their lives and after whom we might model our lives.”

As humans, we have a very real desire to touch and see the things of past ancestors or key figures in history. When we were stationed in Charlottesville, Virginia, I lived very close to Thomas Jefferson’s house, Monticello. I know, I know, everyone is spitting on him these days, but I refuse to participate in the two-dimensional view we’ve decided to have of people from the past. People are complex and it would serve us well to be more nuanced in our discussion of their lives. Anyway, when I went on a tour of his house, it was almost surreal to be standing in the office that he once sat in to write letters and work on his scientific experiments. I could let my mind imagine him in that space and it helped to make him more real because there were his boots, and there was his bed, and there was his collection of books.

The same thing happened when I went to Ford’s Theater in DC. I stood right in the balcony area where Lincoln was shot. From there, I moved across the street and stood in the room that he died in. All of a sudden, he wasn’t just some guy in a history book; he was a very real person who had once taken his last breath in that room.

Recently, my family visited the Maria Stein Shrine in Maria Stein, Ohio. It houses the second largest collection of relics in the United States. I got to see relics of my patron saint, Maria Goretti. There are relics from St. Mother Teresa, Blessed Giorgio Frassati, St. Maximillian Kolbe and so many more. As I moved around the shrine, what stood out to …

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This has been a year, hasn’t it? If we’ve learned anything from the past few months, it’s that the ground is crumbling out from under our feet. One tragedy after another seems to be hitting and it’s now become the joke to say that the end of the world is upon us. But, whenever it’s said, it’s always with a nervous laugh because in many ways it definitely feels like things are tenuous.

As I’ve watched this year unfold with the pandemic, and then the terrible incident of police brutality, then the destructive riots, and all the while being kept from Mass for a long time, I’ve come to realize that we have little control over matters.

And, yet, I’ve watched as so many of us have run around desperately trying to find the “fix.”

We’ve looked to our leaders to save us.

We’ve looked to the government.

We’ve looked to doctors and experts.

We’ve looked to laws.

We’ve looked to shaming people to get them to comply with our demands.

Some are clamoring for the tearing down of important institutions.

Some think socialism with fix all our ills.

And here’s the thing, none of these things will fix what is broken, because the problem is sin.

Leaders can’t save us from our sin.

Governments can’t save us from sin. They can outlaw it but people will still gravitate in its direction.

Doctors can possibly cure a physical ailment, but they can’t heal a sick soul.

Laws merely keep some sins in check…for a bit.

Getting rid of the police will not save us from our sins.

Socialism most certainly won’t fix our sins. But, make no mistake, unchecked capitalism breeds sin, too. And, no, I’m not saying we need to ditch capitalism, it’s just that it only works well when we are a moral people.

What this country needs is Christ and for Catholics to get with the program. For far too long, we have allowed the secular culture to dictate the path for our country. As Catholics, we’ve sat by like frogs in a warm pot of water. The heat has continually been turned up and we’ve just backstroked around the pot content to boil to death.

Well, our country is sick. It’s limping along…no, it’s crawling along and it’s about to crawl right off a cliff. If there is any hope to stop this cliff-dive then we, as Catholics, have to show up to the party. What is the point in claiming to be religious or even spiritual if it’s not going to be a transformative force in your life? What is the point of a lackluster, mediocre, bland faith life? Who are you inspiring? Nobody, not even yourself.

We need courage. We need courage to speak truth. We need courage to say “no” to forms of entertainment that glorify sin and keep us distracted. We need courage to take the mockery that comes our way. We need courage to live out our faith lives with no apologies.

We need to have passion. We need to live our faith like we mean it. There is no reason to hide our faith in a closet and scuttle around like we are embarrassed by it. Too often we equate passionate religious people with goofy, dewby patty-cakers that come off all wrong. We don’t need maniacs or goobers. We need intelligent, confident, welcoming Catholics. We don’t need to be ashamed of our identity in Christ.

We need to get a little tougher and more disciplined. The people of our country have gotten soft. Everyone is offended by something; everyone wants a hand-out. Seeking comfort, pleasure, the easy way, and idle forms of entertainment are top priorities for a huge swathe of people. As Catholics, we know that if we are to grow and live out our callings, we must sacrifice, put in the hard work, and be disciplined. This requires strength: Strength of mind; strength of body; strength of character.

We have the answer, Catholic Pilgrims, and it’s Christ. Christ heals our sin. He teaches us how to love well. Too many Catholics lead lives that look too much like the secular crowd. We can’t show them the light of Christ that way. And I’m telling you, with everything crumbling down around us, we need to lead lives that witness to the true answer of Christ. Yes, of course, laws are important and so is reform, but the root of all our problems is sin. As our country has sought to remove God, we have lost our ability to right the ship.

We do not want to be a people that blames everyone for our problems. We want to be a people that looks within ourselves and sees what we can fix to be better. We do not want to be a people that loses our minds to irrational thought and nonsensical ideas. We want to be a people that are ruled by logic, reason, and intelligent thought. We do not want to be a people that gives in to everything. We want to be people that stands with courage for the true, good, and beautiful. We don’t want to be a people that asks for a watered-down, easy Christianity that makes us comfortable and liked. We want to be a people that embraces the crosses of Christianity and accepts that we may not always be liked.

For the love, we are Catholics! We have all the helps necessary to show the world what it is missing. We aren’t doing anybody any favors by trying to hide in the corner and play invisible. It’s time to get to Mass and hold Sunday up for the holy day that it is. It’s time to gather our families and get on with the business of fighting the culture. It’s time to get off our phones and get our Bibles or rosaries out. It’s time to read and educate our minds with books on the faith. It’s time to get to confession and …

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Yes, I am aware that I am a white woman giving my opinion on a touchy, heated subject. Yes, I understand that a lot of people don’t want to hear that opinion because of the color of my skin which is highly ironic. Yes, I understand that many will see my opinion as coming from a “privileged white woman.” So, if you don’t want to hear the opinion of a “privileged white woman” then please feel free to pass on by. If you are open to thoughtful discussion and want to have serious talks about racism, please afford me the opportunity to say what is on my heart and mind. I’ll afford you the same courtesy as long as you remain respectful.

To begin with, it is important to note that the title of this piece should not be translated to mean: THERE IS NO RACISM HERE IN AMERICA! When I wrote a micro-blog on this subject last week on social media there were numerous people that interpreted my words to mean that I believe nothing racist ever happens in this country. I have never said that, nor would I ever say that because I don’t believe it. However, if you are going to read this blog with that kind of mindset about me, I suggest moving on. Nothing fruitful can come of such assumptions.

On May 29, 2020, I wrote a post on my social media accounts talking about the George Floyd case. It was a pretty benign post but it drew some ire. That’s fine, I should always anticipate some backlash with anything I write as all my writing is completely open for public consumption. I realize that not everyone is going to agree with me.

At first, I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around why a lot of people were so upset with me. In that post, I completely condemned the cop’s actions, encouraged prayers for George Floyd and his family, and cautioned against the division the media is trying to create between us all. But, as the day wore on, it started to dawn on me why people were so mad. It was because I said this:

“Let’s, also, not buy into this propaganda being pushed that America is inherently racist.”

Another point of contention was the fact that I didn’t come out and say that I was 100% convinced that this particular instance of police brutality was purely racially motivated. Even though, I conceded that it most certainly could be. I have learned with hot button topics to just wait a moment and let information and evidence come in. I hate being forced to jump to hasty conclusions without being allowed the time to look and examine all sides. Unfortunately, our political system and media try to force everyone to make a decision immediately. Heightened emotions are what fuel our decisions and conclusions. If something happens, we are all supposed to instantly take a side–NOW! DO IT NOW! And when you don’t, people label you as neutral or indifferent or “siding with the oppressors.”

But, let’s just say for argument’s sake that we know for a fact that the George Floyd killing was driven 100% by racial motives. This still does not prove that America is inherently racist.

See, if we say the word inherent, we mean, by definition, that racism is a permanent and inseparable element of our country. That’s what inherent means. It means it can’t change because it just is and there’s nothing you can do about it. I am inherently a human being. I could never change into a tree, or a cat, or a dolphin. My “humanness” is inherent to who I am. It’s coded in my DNA that I will be a human being and even if I worked as hard as I could to try to turn myself into a cat, it would be impossible.

Words matter and how we use them is vitally important. I had several people argue with me that, yes, America is inherently racist. If that is what you believe then there is no point in protests or laws against racism because racism is a permanent, inseparable attribute of America and it will never change.

But, how can that be true? Our country has permanently outlawed slavery. Where once we had it as a horrific practice, today we no longer do. That’s a change that would never be allowed if America is inherently racist. Our country has gotten rid of the degrading and despicable Jim Crow Laws. That’s a change that that would never be allowed if America is inherently racist. Our country has affirmative action laws that were put in place to give minorities the opportunities to succeed. It has voted in a black man in the highest level of office not only in our country but in the world.

While I say all this, it is true that racist attitudes still thread throughout some people in our country. I am not denying that African Americans have dealt with racist jerks. In fact, there have been occasions in my life where I have witnessed it. When our family was stationed in the panhandle of Florida, we came upon a sign one day while out driving that said, “No Blacks Allowed!” My husband and I were appalled because neither of us had ever seen anything like that before. Another example is when my husband had to attend Squadron Officer School in Montgomery, Alabama for the Air Force. His teacher, who happened to be a black woman, told the class how she and her husband had moved into a predominately white community and had been harassed right out of that community because of the color of their skin. When my husband told me this, I was again shocked. “Who are these people?” I thought to myself in disgust.

And, yes, I know this is just a few small examples. I know there are more. Again, I’m not denying that racist attitudes and behaviors exist.

One …

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If you’ve followed me for any length of time, you know that the start of my blog was in response to an old friend of mine becoming an atheist. We had met in college and were instantly friends. She had this smile, this electricity about her that attracted you like bees to honey. We had so much in common and we could sit for hours talking about boys, religion, classes, our families, our dreams, and our fears. At that point in time, she was a Christian, though, she admitted that she had an unhealthy Pentecostal upbringing.

During college, she married an Army guy and they went off to start their life together. I married an Air Force guy and our paths went in another direction. Social media allowed us to remain friends and see each other’s lives through pictures in our feed. I was quite shocked the day she announced that she was an atheist and it broke my heart.

Everything about her changed and I found that her social media feed was full of opinions and beliefs that were directly in contrast with everything I believe in. She attacked Christianity constantly, conservative thought, and supported things that I find morally wrong. Many times, when I would try to refute one of her attacks on Christianity, I would be pounced upon by her new-found atheist liberal friends. I was called the worst things imaginable and became an online punching bag. At one point, I’d had enough and I decided to delete her as a friend on Facebook. I just couldn’t do it anymore.

Then one day, I got a private message from her. She asked me why I had deleted her and that it really hurt her that I would do such a thing. She still considered me a dear friend. To be honest, I was kind of surprised because I couldn’t imagine why she would still want to be friends with me. Where once we had agreed on nearly everything, now there was barely anything that we could see eye-to-eye on.

I sat and thought for a very long time about how I should approach the situation. I missed the old her but that girl was long gone. Yet, we had a history together. She was one of the first friends I made at college and we had shared tons of heartfelt conversations over the years. I realized, though, that I would have to learn to love the new her. So, I decided that I would unfollow her feed but remain friends. This would allow me to not be bombarded with constant posts that contained things that I couldn’t agree with her on. From time-to-time, I go to her page and see what she’s up to. I like to see pictures of her kids and updates on her life. I have promised myself that I will glaze my eyes over and not look at any political or anti-religious posts or memes. Thankfully, this has worked for me.

My ultimate conclusion was that she was too good of a friend to just delete from my life. Even though we basically agreed on nothing now, I still needed to love her for her. I, also, realized that you are never going to fully agree with people on every single issue under the sun…and that’s okay.

What’s crazy is that when I look back over my life there have been so many times I have gotten rid of people because I found I disagreed with them on one point. I have deleted Facebook friends numerous times because one day, I got on and they said something I didn’t quite like. There have been a few times I’ve ditched certain podcasters I liked because one day, they weren’t completely in line with MY thinking.

What I’ve come to realize is that I allow no room for a high majority of people to think even slightly different than me. Apparently, I want this echo chamber of my own voice pinging back to me. Really what I want is no friction. By my standard, I should get rid of everyone on Facebook because there isn’t a soul on there that thinks just…like….me.

Recently, I’ve been reading a book that our tour guide recommended to us when I was on pilgrimage in the Holy Land. It’s called “Blood Brothers” by Elias Chacour. It is a fascinating book and I’ll be reviewing it for you all once I’m finished reading it. However, as I’ve read it, it’s made me squirm a few times. As an American, I have my own ideas and thoughts about Israel. When you read, though, the first-hand account of a person from Israel, you get a very different viewpoint than what we are told through our media here in America. It’s good for me to read this man’s words to gain an understanding of what life is for someone who actually lived in Israel. It’s been a lesson in sitting with my own preconceived notions and thinking things through.

I find that most of us want the echo chamber. Recently, I’ve been writing about controversial issues on my social media pages and I’ve gotten a number of people saying, “Well, you just lost me.”

“Guess I’ll be unfollowing now.”

I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t sting at all. It does because as a blogger, I feel like I have to appeal to every single side. If I don’t I’ll lose people right and left. I can’t do that, though, and stay true to what I believe. People are free to leave if they want and, by all means, should if they feel moved to do so. What I’ve experienced through blogging, though, is that very few people give you the benefit of the doubt. If you mess up one time, they trash you. If you don’t come down on the right side of an issue perfectly, you have become a waste of time to them. They will not hear you out …

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Last week, I set aside a day of prayer to pray for the intentions of my followers on my social media accounts. I thought that I would be offering a lot of prayers for relief from Covid-19 but, instead, I got numerous–mostly private–messages from mothers asking me to pray for their child that has strayed from the Faith.

These kinds of prayers always break my heart because I know that there is so much anguish and heartache that goes along with them. I know that parents feel guilty and question what they could have done better. I know that it creates a tinge of sorrow that clouds even the happiest of times. I know it causes constant worry because a soul is at stake.

I know all these things because I affected my own mother in this way. At 17, I walked away from God and decided I’d handle everything my way. I still believed in God but I did not want Him included in my life. I stopped going to church, my Bible’s only companions were dust bunnies, and I gave no thought to my sinful lifestyle.

For me, I was so angry with God for certain events that He had allowed to happen that I didn’t feel He deserved my worship. I didn’t go full-blown atheist but instead tried to punish God by denying Him my time, attention, and love. I felt completely justified in feeling this way and for a time, my anger sustained me. Then, it began to crush me. I remember one day my freshman year of college feeling so overwhelmingly suffocated by my anger that I was literally paralyzed on the floor outside my dorm room. The anger had turned to bitterness and it had a vice-grip on my heart. I sat on the floor for a good hour and a half, maybe?

I knew I needed help but I was too stubborn to ask for it. Plus, I was ashamed. I was so ashamed of all my sins that I felt incredibly unworthy. I couldn’t even consider that God loved me or would even want to. I remember very distinctly thinking to myself, “I am damaged goods” and it was a phrase I repeated to myself over and over again.

By the grace of God, though, I found my way back to Him. The foundation in Christ that my parents had set at an early age had never fully left me. The grace I received from my baptism truly did its job. The prayers of my mother did not go unheard. Upon entering the Catholic Church in 2009, I received absolution for my sins as tears flooded down my cheeks. Oh, how glorious it was to feel whole again.

I wanted to write today about this topic not to shame but to give hope to parents who have seen their children stray away from God. I don’t want people to feel that they are bad parents if they have a child that has walked away. There are so many reasons that older children leave the Faith. For some, the world gets to them. Atheists can sound very clever and smart. Other people leave because they want to live a certain lifestyle that they know God would not approve of and so it’s easy for them to deny God or drop their faith than change their ways. Many see belief in Jesus as uncool, dorky, or outdated. Like me, some leave because they are angry at God and believe He has let them down; or they are so ashamed of their sins that they attempt to hide from Him. And we’ve all heard of the people who just don’t see the point; they feel no deep connection with Christ.

So, what can you do as a parent? Hopefully, I can give you some encouragement.

Never Give Up Praying

Back when I was a young teenager, I came upstairs early one morning from my room in the basement. By the glow of a small lamp, I saw my mother in prayer and it is one of the most comforting images I can think of from my whole life. I was unaware that she got up early to pray. Seeing her there with her head bowed in silence gave me a sense of security and peace. Let your kids see you pray. It leaves a lasting mark.

It took 11-years of praying from my mom for me to really come back to Christ. I know that had to be a long time of agony for her, but she was rewarded for her perseverance. Don’t be afraid to call on the saints to aid you in your prayers. Pray to your child’s guardian angel. Every day in my morning prayers, I ask God to always keep my children’s guardian angels close to them.

As you know, it is vitally important to pray as a family. Start when your kids are young and make it a part of your daily lives together. You don’t need lengthy, profound prayers for it to make a difference.

Educate Yourself On the Faith

When I was teaching Confirmation classes for teens in Vegas, one of the things that struck me was how many times the teens said that when they asked their parents or a religious teacher a question about Catholicism, they couldn’t answer or just brushed them off.

When your kids get out into the world, they will meet atheists. Those atheists will ask all kinds of questions to make them doubt. I’ve seen them in action and they are like piranhas. In reality, there is no need to fear their questions as the Catholic Church has been providing solid answers for a very long time. It’s important that, as parents, we equip ourselves with knowledge so that we can defend the Faith with confidence. Obviously, one will never know all the answers, so it is important that we tell our kids, “You know, that’s a good question. I don’t know …

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For my 40th birthday, my husband surprised me with a night away to Cincinnati an hour from our home. When he told me, I panicked. The reason I did was that I was scared to leave our kids home alone. Mind you, one of my kids was seventeen at the time and is fully capable and responsible. My mom-brain, though, told me that I couldn’t take the risk of leaving them. My husband was clearly disappointed and asked me to trust him that everything would be okay. It still felt risky. Our two oldest looked at me and said, “Mom, we promise, everything will be okay. It’s okay. Trust us.”

Hesitatingly, I decided to go. I was nervous but eventually relaxed and had a great evening with my husband. The next day when we arrived back at our house, I noticed two cars parked in front. One of them was the van of my best friend, the other I didn’t recognize. Immediately, I knew something was up. I figured that my best friend and her family were probably there to surprise me. As I entered the house, it was completely quiet. Guessing that everyone was hiding in the kitchen, I crept up the stairs and jumped around the corner and yelled, “Found you!” The surprise was still on me because there with my best friend and her family were my sister, her kids, and my dad. They had made the 10-hour trip over from Kansas to surprise me. I was so shocked and elated.

What I hadn’t known the day before when I was panicking was that my dad and sister were coming into town to stay with my kids. My husband had to get me out of the house so that they could arrive. If I hadn’t taken the risk to leave, I would have missed out on one of the biggest, most wonderful surprises of my life. I felt so loved that they had driven all that way for only the weekend.

I’ve never been a huge risk-taker. However, I married one. There have been so many times in our marriage when my husband has reached out his hand to me and asked me to trust him. Early in our marriage, his requests nearly paralyzed me and I found it darn-near impossible to allow him to open doors for me. With each “yes” I said to him, I learned that Dustin would never lead me into danger–adventure, yes, but never serious danger. Over the years, I have learned to loosen up and take healthy risks. I still have to contend with the old me from time-to-time but I have definitely changed through the years.

My husband, though, has not been the only one to call me out of my shell. Once I became Catholic, I felt God calling me down a path that I could never have predicted. It was risky to me and I knew that I could fall flat on my face. I knew I was meant to take all the pain of my past and write about it. For me, the writing I did had to be brutally honest, totally open, and extremely reflective. If I was going to blog, I was going to have to bare my soul and show the world all my flaws and failings. It has been a little scary to lay out my life like an open book. Believe me, people have questioned my soul-sharing and asked if it is a bit much. I’ve also had to contend with haters and dissenters which wears on you. Overall, though, the risk has been worth it.

The thing with Christ is, is that He will ask much of us. He will call us out of our comfortable, safe place. God has been doing this since the beginning. Think of all the people that He’s called through the ages to go out and do things they probably wouldn’t have done without God’s push: Abraham, Moses, David, Daniel, all the Apostles, Mary, Paul, the saints, and so many more. He has asked them to take a risk and trust in Him. The thing is that He asks this of all of us because He has such wonderful things planned. Yes, sometimes those plans will be scary, risky, uncomfortable, and unpredictable but it will be worth it. He would never lead us where His graces could not cover us.

My fear is that so many of us have lost our courage and zeal as Christians. So often, people are wanting a faith that asks nothing of them. We only want to participate in Christianity if there is a good sermon, great music, in- house coffee shops, and pep talks about how we can get healthy and wealthy if just “name it and claim!”

Too many don’t want to be led into the wild, but this is not our foundation. The Apostles and first disciples were pioneers: Fearless, courageous, determined, persevering risk-takers. Up and down the ages, the saints have gone into the fray and taken on the battle. They didn’t back down from heretics, skeptics, and evil. Instead, they took it all on and I find their lives so incredibly inspiring. How many of us have asked ourselves, “Could I do what they did?” I want their energy, their tenacity, their fire. True Christianity is marked by a fire: A steeling against the hollow ways of the world and a realization that we can take a risk because earth is not our final destination.

To be sure, we should never do stupid, reckless risky things that have no purpose or point. God would never ask us to do that. Our lives, though, should be open to where God leads us, and often times we will be led out of our comfort zone. If our lives are marked by nothing but comfortable Christianity, we will get to the end and realize that our days are marked by shallow, hollow years. What a shame that would be. …

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Growing up, I always thought I would meet a Kansas man at college, get married, and settle down in my home state. Never once did I contemplate the idea that I would leave its borders and live elsewhere. I was born in Kansas and I thought I’d live out my days in Kansas. Seems God had other plans.

My junior year of college, I decided to join Air Force ROTC. My ultimate goal was to make it to the FBI. I was told by an FBI recruiter that if I wanted to get noticed, I should either join the military or become a lawyer. I had no interest in being a lawyer, so that left only one option–the Air Force.

On my first day of ROTC, I walked in and saw Dustin. From the moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he was my better half. He felt like home. I know, I know that’s crazy irrational and romantically sappy but it’s true. I happened to be engaged to another man at the time but I knew at that moment, I could never marry the other guy. I eventually broke it off with him and, as you know, Dustin and I got married in 2001. For certain reasons, I was unable to continue on in ROTC so I never fully joined the military.

In May of 2002, Dustin pinned on 2nd Lieutenant, and my life as a military spouse took off. I had no idea what was in store for me. For much of Dustin’s life, he was an Army brat so he was used to moving around. I, on the other hand, had lived mostly in the same area my whole life. It was jarring to say the least.

I asked my followers online what they would like me to write about this week and someone asked me to reflect on my life as a Catholic military spouse. Those are two topics I love to talk about–Catholicism and our military life. The reason I love talking about both topics is that they both have challenged me in ways I could never have dreamed. Both the military and Catholicism have forced me to discover what I’m made of, grow, and sacrifice.

For most military families, when we move to a new place we quickly dive right in. We immerse ourselves where we are currently planted and we wanna experience all there is to see and do in the short amount of time we are stationed somewhere. Military families do not have time to slowly feel our way into a place. “Ain’t nobody got time for that.” I wish that everyone could see where they live through the eyes of a military family. To us, each place is new, fresh, and exciting. We have an incredible ability to find the hidden gems and even share new insights with the locals.

What I’ve found as a spouse, is that each place has important things to teach me: culturally, spiritually, and mentally. So, I’ll share with you what each place has taught me and I’ll show you how I grew in my Catholic Faith.

OHIO

Dayton, Ohio was our first duty station. Initially, this move was rough for me because I felt like an uprooted tree. Everything I had ever known was back in Kansas and now I was living away from family and friends. It taught me, though, that I can move out of my comfort zone and survive.

I was not Catholic when we arrived in Dayton and it was a source of contention between me and my cradle Catholic husband. My husband and I did a lot of church shopping during this time. It got old really quick and we both grew weary of the fights that ensued after church on Sunday. Amazingly, I agreed to just stick with going to a Catholic Church so that we could have some peace in our lives. This was where the seeds were planted.

FLORIDA

Panama City, Florida was a total culture shock for me. Ohio’s culture had been similar enough to Kansas’ so it was somewhat familiar to me. Florida was different. There I was introduced to southern life, sandy white beaches, collard greens, and sweet tea. Our home sat near a bay and we lived right next to a fish market. Each day, I would see the fishing ships come in and it was here that I learned to cook and enjoy seafood. More importantly, I learned to enjoy another culture.

Eight years into our marriage, I realized that the Catholic Church was where I needed to be. In September 2009, in my own special ceremony, I was welcomed into the Catholic Church. In Panama City, I found my way across the Tiber and the flame was lit.

CALIFORNIA

Cross country moves are never easy. I know, I’ve done it four times now. Lol. Florida to California took us across the bottom half of the country into the barren Mojave Desert. Edwards AFB is literally out in the middle of nowhere. Because of that, though, there is a great sense of community. Living 45 minutes from civilization means you learn to appreciate the simple things and the people you have around you. My life was scaled back in California and I learned to find the beauty in simplicity.

When you go to church on base everybody has a role to play. In order for the church to function, you need the participation of all members. Turnover is high as people move in and move out; continuity is almost non-existent as no one lives on base for very long. At Edwards AFB, I got my feet wet with teaching the faith as a religious education teacher. This forced me to start really learning the Catholic Faith well.

It was, also, in California that I was introduced to the Missions. The Missions endeared themselves to me and it is my goal to see them all one day. So far, I have seen …

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As I was coming into the Catholic Church, one of the hardest things for me to fully wrap my mind around was the issue of Mary. For nearly thirty years, I hardly spoke or thought about her. She was mentioned at Christmas time but that was about it. I didn’t contemplate that she might love me, I didn’t reflect on the magnitude of her participation in our salvation, and I sure didn’t pray to her. Mary was nothing but a background figure to me.

But, when you enter the Catholic Church, you can’t help but be inundated by her. At first, when I converted, I thought to myself, “I’ll just set all this Mary stuff to the side.” It felt so unnatural to include her in my spiritual life. To be honest, it felt unnatural to include any of the saints or angels.

For most Protestants, all that matters is your personal relationship with Jesus. It’s just you and God. The consequence of this belief is that numerous spiritual practices get pushed to the side or dropped completely. For example, some believe they don’t need to go to church because they can just be with Jesus out in nature. “Jesus is always with me in my heart.” Many reject the idea of having relationships with the saints, angels, and Mary because they don’t see a need for them. Then, God forbid, there’s the fear that saints, angels, or Mary will get held up as an idol.

But, should we have a relationship with Mary?

Yes, we should and here’s why.

Jesus could have come into the world in any way He wanted but He chose to come through a woman. Why? Well, if you want to show that you are truly human, you come into the world just like the rest of us. You grow in a mother’s womb, are birthed into the world, nurse at her chest, snuggle in her arms, let her dry your tears, hear her comforting voice, and let her love you. As the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity, Christ had always had God the Father and the love they shared. Maybe in His Divine Plan, God wanted to come in a way that we all understand and experience–through a mother.

On the Cross, Jesus told the Apostle John, “Behold, your mother.” What was Jesus doing? Practically speaking, Jesus is handing on the care of His mother to John. In ancient times, a woman needed a man to take care of her, especially as she got on in years. That responsibility often fell to the woman’s sons if her husband was dead. Some Protestants will argue that Jesus had actual biological brothers, but if that is true why did Jesus not place Mary in the care of her other sons? If there were biological brothers, the logical thing to do would be to pass the care of Mary on to them. He didn’t, though, because we know that Mary lived with St. John until the end of her earthly life. “And from that hour the disciple took her into his home.” John 19:27

Let’s not be too quick to see this as simply some last-minute logistical issue that Jesus was clearing up on the Cross. We must look deeper at what Christ was doing. John was the only Apostle there at the Cross. All the others had run away in fear. In a way, John was the representative for all Christians that would come to be: He followed Jesus to the Cross, did not abandon Him in His suffering, and ignored his own security to be with Jesus. Jesus says to Mary, “Woman, behold your son” and to John, he says, “Behold, your mother.” John 19:26-27. In effect, what Christ did by giving His mother to John is to give her to us all.

But why did He give her to us? Who better to help you understand someone than a mother? A good mother always wants to talk about her children, show others how wonderful they are and they give that unique motherly perspective. Mary wants nothing more than to show us her Son. God shares every good thing with us and from the Cross, Jesus is sharing His Blessed Mother with us all. Christ gave her to us and she, in turn, wants to lead us to Him.

Our faith journey is not meant to be walked alone. We need the support and assurance of our earthly Christian brothers and sisters. Why wouldn’t we need that from Mary and the other saints in Heaven? If you are a true Christian and believe that those in Heaven are alive in Christ then that means they are available to us. The Body of Christ is made up of ALL faithful believers to include those in Heaven. Their prayers for us are even more efficacious in Heaven as they are in full communion with God and in complete alliance with His Will.

God gives us many gifts and graces to help us on our pilgrim journey and sometimes, along that path, you just need a mother’s love and guidance. As a Protestant, it was easy for me to ignore Mary because she was hardly ever discussed. The Catholic Church presented me with something I had never considered before–a relationship with Mary. Suddenly, I was faced with a choice: Do I continue to pay scant attention to her or welcome her into my spiritual life? I asked myself, “Would Jesus want me to ignore His own mother?” The conclusion I came to was that I knew He wouldn’t. What sense would that make? Christ loves and honors His mother and it is only fitting and right that we do the same. Obviously, we must never place her higher than God and the Catholic Church has never taught that Mary is like a god.

The truth is, is that any person can become an idol for us. I know plenty of people who idolize their children and place …

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Well, here we are in the 500th week of enduring the Coronavirus outbreak. You know, when this all first started, it seemed sort of unreal like we were being punked. “Pshhhh,” I thought to myself, “this all will be over here pretty quickly.” That’s what wishful thinking can do for you.

As it became apparent that things were getting more and more serious, I optimistically thought we would all band together as the country did during WW2. Our hearts would swell with compassion, our love of country would bind us to our fellow man, and our resolve would stoically shine through. (Insert proudly puffed out chest here.) That lasted for approximately two days and now we are at war with each other…six feet apart, of course.

I think one of the things we were supposed to learn through this mess is that humans are not perfect, governments are not gods, and we need to bring Christ back into our lives. For far too long, we’ve made our political parties our idols and it’s causing us to implode. I was seriously hoping that we’d come to see how much we worship at the altars of our given political parties, but, nope, we’ve only dug in deeper.

Quite predictably, most have drawn the sword for “our” side and we will defend “our” side with feverish passion. I can’t even hardly handle social media right now because of all the “one-uping” people are trying to do.

“My guy’s right! Yours is power hungry!”

“No, my guy is! Yours is a moron!”

What has emerged through all this is the morality game. Each side is trying to “out moral” the other. I’ll give you an example from both sides of the political spectrum.

Those on the far left play the game this way:

“You! You just want people to die! All you care about is money and your big businesses. I’m interested in saving lives over here and you want to open everything up and just watch people die so you can make money. Lives are precious–PRECIOUS–(except babies in the womb, they don’t count)! Your heart is black as coal, you have no compassion for people’s lives. I’m so disgusted.”

Those on the far right play the game this way:

“You! You just want people to suffer from a lack of jobs! You don’t care about the working man. How are parents supposed to feed their kids with no money? Because you are such a socialist, you think we can just print money and add to our already toppling national debt while the government takes care of us. You don’t want freedom! You live in fear and are controlled by it! I’m so disgusted!”

To play the morality game, you have to present a false dichotomy. The dichotomy on the left is: You either want to keep things locked down for 12-18 months or you want people to die. The dichotomy on the right is: You either want to open things back up or you want people to financially suffer. And there is no in-between. If you are a person who wants to ask a question to try to talk about things, you will be shut down immediately.

“What do you think you’re doing?! No one’s allowed to ask questions in this fun-old fashioned national pandemic! Oh, no! We’re going to press on…”

“Are you asking questions?! There’s no question asking during pandemics!”

See, what the false dichotomy does? It shuts down any conversation because the person or side offering it wants to score points. It doesn’t allow for any nuance or exploration of thought. They shame you by feigning moral disgust. The goal is to try to win the moral debate and this accomplishes nothing but political wars and disunity.

I believe, though, that most people sit in the middle of all this. They have broader thoughts and deeper questions. It’s not so black-and-white. I believe that most people in this country are very concerned about protecting our fellow citizens from death but at the same time are worried about the lack of jobs and money. You can be equally concerned about both. I think a lot of people want to explore how to protect the vulnerable while slowly and smartly opening things back up to get people back to work. They know that our economy can’t go on like this forever. That doesn’t mean they are greedy money-grabbers; it means they are practical people that realize money buys things that are needed. It’s not sustainable for the government to keep giving us money that it doesn’t really have to begin with.

I think a lot of people see practical ways of protecting the vulnerable. We are capable of locking down nursing homes and assisted living facilities. For those that are at risk because of compromised immune systems, everyone understands if you continue to stay home. For most people, I believe this is a both/and issue, not an either/or as so many in the media are trying to make it.

What often happens, though, in these situations is the far extremes are the loudest and are the only ones heard. They try to get their way by clutching their pearls and declaring their moral disgust at the other side. They think their snarky memes and blasting social media posts will silence people into submission. When all it does is divide us more and more.

So, how do you handle this? For one, don’t respond to snarky false dichotomy memes. Just keep on scrolling. You will not change anyone’s mind by trying to argue over a meme. Memes should only be used to make us laugh, they are not meant to inspire thoughtful, meaningful discussions. Too often, though, they are used to make the other side feel like stupid morons. This is the equivelent of putting your fingers in your ears and chanting like Tom Hanks in The Burbs, “I’m not going to listen to this. I’m not going to listen to this.” …

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During my junior year of college, a few of my girlfriends and I decided to make the trip to Padre Island for Spring Break. We were so excited to go and it was a topic of conversation weeks before we left. Around Spring Break that year, I also had entered into a pretty serious relationship with my would-be husband. Since we both had made separate Spring Break plans before we got together, we were apart during that week. Dustin went off to the East Coast to be with his best friend while I headed south for Padre.

In my mind, our time in Padre was going to be filled with snorkeling, parasailing, jet-skiing, tanning on the beach, and dancing at night. This was not the case. The weather was too cold to do anything in the water, the sun didn’t shine much, and the only thing anyone wanted to do was party around the clock.

The first few days were sort of fun. The condo that my girlfriends and I were staying in was extremely nice and we felt super cool staying there. We went out dancing the first night and it was okay, but very quickly I started feeling uncomfortable in my surroundings. Back home at college, every Thursday, my friends and I would go out dancing and it was always a blast. Padre felt different. I felt very unsafe and “hunted,” if I can use that term. To top it off, I was missing Dustin.

As the week progressed, things started to unravel. One of my girlfriends found out there was going to be a wet t-shirt contest at a club and she wanted to enter. I was completely against it but she insisted. When we showed up at the club, I instantly sensed the danger there for the girls “competing” in the contest. There was a mob of drunk guys waiting ravenously for the show and there was zero security around to protect the girls. I went into protective mode. I tried to talk my friend out of it but to no avail. So, if I couldn’t talk her out of it, I decided I would stand guard and protect her. The club staff ushered all the participating girls back into this little room and started offering them shots right and left. They wanted to get them good and tipsy to relax their inhibitions. After the girls quickly downed several shots, the staff told them to take off their shirts and put on the little white t-shirts they handed them.

At one point, as I was standing guard, a guy who worked at the club came over to me and offered me a shot. I refused. He tried to coax me into joining the competition but I crossed my arms defiantly and said, “The only reason I’m standing here is to watch over my friend and make sure she doesn’t get hurt. I want no part of this.” He sneered at me and told me I was nothing but a stick-in-the-mud, however, he used more colorful language.

Soon the girls were paraded out on stage and were encouraged to seductively dance for the guys. I was a nervous wreck the whole time anticipating my friend getting dragged into the mob. Finally, it ended and I breathed a sigh of relief. Except something happened between me and my friend–it put us on edge with each other.

The next night, we ended up going to a restaurant for dinner and as we were entering the building there was a guy there passing out t-shirts. The price of the t-shirt was a kiss. You had to kiss the guy to get a t-shirt. Even though my friend had a boyfriend waiting back home, without hesitation, she walked right up to him and kissed him. Then she laughed, turned to me, and told me to do it. I didn’t want to.

Immediately, she got upset with me.

“It’s just a stupid kiss, Amy. Why not?”

“I don’t want to. Out of respect for Dustin and I just don’t feel like freely giving away kisses to a complete stranger for a t-shirt.”

Those words caused an eruption. A huge fight ensued between us that carried on from the parking lot all the way back to our condo. Part of her main contention with me was that I wasn’t going along with all the “fun” of the trip. To be clear, I was no saint on that trip but there was so much of it that made me wildly uncomfortable. So, yes, I was not jumping head-long into every activity she had planned because some things were just too much for me. Sadly, that fight basically ended our friendship. The ride home from Padre was awkward and stilted. She and I were never able to recover the closeness that we had before we left.

I have tossed that trip over in my head a thousand times wondering if there was anything I could have done differently. In my naiveté, I was unprepared for the things that go on at Spring Break. She and I had dramatically different views on how that week would play out and it caused us to clash. Once I became uncomfortable with it all, I know I wasn’t enjoyable to be around. I became like Mama Bear and my staunch opposition to all the immorality going on made her feel guilty. I was friction and she didn’t want any.

However, my new found attitude was all terribly unfair to her. Before the trip, I had given no indication that I was going to turn into the morality judge while on vacation. I had gone along with her numerous times before Spring Break in questionable behavior. The fact that at Spring Break I decided to ride in on my high horse was, I’m sure, confusing at best and downright hypocritical at the worst. What I failed to do was tell her why I was concerned about her behavior. Down there …

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I know I should probably give you all some thoughts about Easter or COVID-19, but my grandmother died this past week and she’s on my heart. I, also, know that writing a personal blog about someone you all don’t know will probably not be very popular. But, I’m a writer and I’m always compelled to write about what’s sitting front-and-certain in my mind. Maybe, I can write this well enough to help you think of your own grandmother with lots of love.

Many years ago, I was in New York City touring around with my husband’s family. We hit the city hard and saw many of the must-see sights. It was a blast of a trip and so many good memories were made. One night, though, I was looking out the tiny window of our tiny hotel room and, all of a sudden, I had this overwhelming desire to be in my grandparent’s town. It was almost a craving and I sat and wondered why in the world I was thinking of that tiny town in Southeast Kansas.

New York is high-paced and noisy. Lights are everywhere; taxis are zooming here and there. There is a pulse to the city but in the midst of it all, you can feel very small. You can almost feel unknown and unimportant. Colony, Kansas is everything that New York City is not: It’s tiny, quiet, simple, and barely populated. It is a place, though, that I have always felt known, loved, and important. A huge reason for that was my grandmother.

When I’d visit her in the summertime, I’d wake up in the morning to the smell of coffee and bacon. The cool morning breeze would be blowing through the open windows and the only sounds you’d hear were birds in the yard. When I’d make my way downstairs into the kitchen, there was my grandma all ready for the day. She’d serve you up anything you wanted. As a little girl, I’d tell her about all my friends at school. As a teenager, I’d tell her my dating woes and frustrations with life. As an adult, I talked to her about being a mother and wife. She listened to every word and always made me feel like I was heard.

Perhaps one of the things I like to brag on her about the most is her cooking abilities. The woman could cook. To top it all off, it was her delight to prepare a feast and gather her family around to enjoy it. Sure, she’d fuss about how she “just didn’t feel it was very good” but we’d all gluttonously reassure her in our food coma that it was “out of this world.” Her specialty was fried chicken. I don’t know if it was grandma love that made it so good or just a God-given talent but it wins the grand champion ribbon in my book. You may call me biased but she once owned a restaurant for 14 years and people would drive over many counties’ lines just to enjoy her food.

Spending time with her was so simple yet so fun. She loved to play cards and every single one of her grandkids was schooled in the ways of Hearts or Rummy. She loved late night snack time where she’d often treat us to ice cream or a bowl of sugary cereal that was forbidden by our parents. She’d always swear us to secrecy with a wink and a smile.

My grandmother lived to be 91 years old. She was equal parts tough-old gal and ever a lady. Growing up, she worked out on her parent’s farm which was part of what caught my grandfather’s eye. He was impressed by her strong nature and the fact that she was a beauty didn’t hurt either. She owned her own business for 14 years, coached my mom’s softball team for a few years, and she was known to speak her mind. God have mercy on the soul that dared sass her. I know exactly where I get my fiery spirit from. My kids like to tease me about how I get “riled up” sometimes. Well, I saw my grandmother get “riled up” a few times and it showed me that a woman does not have to sit back and be a doormat.

For all her toughness, though, she was equally a lady. Never one to go out without “putting her face” on, my grandma always looked put together. She took pride in keeping a clean, welcoming home. Often she would tell her granddaughters, “Now girls, when you get married someday, don’t let yourself go. A woman needs to look like a lady and your husband will appreciate it. It makes a man feel good to know his wife still likes to look good for him.” Unpopular words in our day, but truth none the less.

I couldn’t physically attend my grandma’s funeral because my family felt it was safer for me not to travel during this pandemic. It was pure torture not being there. My brother and two cousins couldn’t attend either and so we Zoomed in online for the small service, as only 10 people were allowed. During the service, my sister got up to say some words about our grandma. She said that a strong woman is the glue that holds a family together. How right she is. My grandmother was the glue of our family. She was a strong, loving matriarch. She gathered her family members for dinners around my grandparent’s dining room table. We laughed, told stories, and even cried a few times. We were all gathered because my grandmother lovingly prepared a delicious meal to share with us. Our stomachs were satisfied, but so were our souls with love and togetherness. I know that it must have made her heart feel complete to have us all there under her roof. She wanted to draw us all to her because of her love and that makes a person …

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I think it’s safe to say that most of us started Lent 2020 off with good intentions and zeal. I always look forward to Lent as it is a time that really feeds my soul. However, around mid-March the proverbial dog-doo hit the fan. Hard.

All of a sudden we were plunged into a seriously legit Lent: No school, no get-togethers, no sports, lost jobs, lost lives, stay-at-home orders, and no Mass. Lest we thought we were all big and bad with our personal sacrifices started on Ash Wednesday, COVID-19 came along and said, “I think I’ll take your Lent and raise it up a notch.” Boy, did it.

Now, we are standing at the front of Holy Week and most of us feel a little lost. There will be no Masses for us to attend in person this week which, in a way, feels like punishment. The fact that we can’t attend Easter services in person hurts immensely. But, through all this, I have been reminded of all those Christians who throughout time have found a way to persevere when the Mass wasn’t readily available to attend in person.

Think of the Polish living under Communist Russia.

Think of the Catholics who pioneered across the United States, many times going months and months without a priest to offer them the Sacraments.

Think of the Christians today living in parts of the world where Mass is not only not available but it is a crime to even hold it.

Think of the Christians living under the persecutions of the Roman Empire.

In each of these instances, the faith of Catholics was/is tested and strengthened. They found/find creative ways to celebrate the Mass and show Christ that they long to be with Him. In ancient Roman times, Mass was conducted secretly in catacombs. Today, we are watching from home while streaming Mass online. All to be close to Him.

This is the point of Lent though, isn’t it? We are to go into the desert with Christ and join our suffering to His suffering. Up and down the ages, the saints have rejoiced when allowed the chance to suffer for Christ. It took a long time for me to understand how you could be joyful in suffering. I have read the words of numerous saints who have said, “Thank you, Lord, for allowing me the opportunity to suffer and unite this suffering to Yours.” It seems so paradoxical that great joy can come of suffering, but it’s only true when done right.

This is our chance, Catholic Pilgrims, to show up in our Faith. This is a chance to say, “You may take away my church building but I will only create it in my home. Evil may think its tamped down our flame but its only made it burn stronger.”

My daughter’s priest gave an excellent homily yesterday on Palm Sunday. He talked about how we all have passions: some are passionate about the sports we play or watch, some for their jobs, some for school and learning, and some for entertainment. Much of all these passions have been stripped from us during this time of social distancing and quarantine. Some of us don’t know what to do with ourselves when our passions have been taken from us. Who are we when we don’t have school to attend? Who are we when we don’t have sports to participate in or look forward to watching? Who are we when we can’t work or are required to work very differently than what we are used to? Who are we when we can’t operate our daily lives in our normal way?

The thing is, Christ’s Passion is all about us. He came to earth, suffered, was tortured, and ultimately crucified for every single person that has lived, is living, or will ever live. He restored us as sons and daughters of God again through His Death and Resurrection. Our passion should be to live as faithful Christians through good times and bad, through better or worse, through sickness and in health. Sound familiar? It is through our Baptism that we have been united to Christ and it is through our Confirmation that we are given the strength to live our Christian identity through trials and fire. It doesn’t matter what comes our way, we know who we are–Christians.

For all the naysayers out there that are looking for our faith to crumble, we must show them what we do when times get hard. We dig in deeper. For all those that sneer at us and say, “Oh, where is your God now?” We show them by the witness of our lives that He lives in us.

So, how do we approach this Holy Week? First, I think it is important to remember that you don’t have to do *all* the things to try to prove you are really into it. Sometimes less is more. Quality over quantity is usually a recipe for meaningful experiences. I would suggest praying the Sorrowful Mysteries on your rosary every day this week. Starting Monday, I will post each day at least one picture from the Holy Land on my social media accounts that correspond with Christ’s Passion. By Friday, you will have several pictures to meditate on. If you need help with praying the Rosary, the app Hallow is a great resource. You can try it free for several months.

I would, also, suggest watching daily Mass this week if you can. If you can’t commit to a whole week of Daily Mass, at least try for two days. Our lives have been reduced to simplicity these past weeks, maybe that is for a reason. It is in this simplicity that we can draw closer to Christ and maybe really hear what He has to tell us.

This is a Holy Week we will never forget and I assure you that in time, we will look back on it fondly. We are all saddened by not getting …

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When the news first really started to break about the Coronavirus, I was less than mildly interested. I’ve never been one to freak out (and I’m not saying it’s bad if you do) over germs. Some people just happen to be more concerned about it than others. But, as time went on, things got weird.

Right before everything hit lockdown mode, I took my kids to a trampoline park. My oldest was home from college and I thought it would be a fun way to get some exercise. We were literally the only people in the building save four other people. It was fantastic. We didn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone, we could jump with freedom and I could try all my stupid tricks without being self-conscience. Yet, it was odd being the only people around and it felt a little end-of-the-worldish.

Then the next day, my husband took off work to spend time with the whole family and we decided to go to the movies. Again, save three other people, we were the only ones there to see “Call of the Wild.” Good movie, btw. But, once the movie was over, we all looked at our phones and realized that the world had full-up tilted while we were kicked back watching our movie. Disneyland had closed. You know when Disneyland closes things are dead serious. The NBA was done for the year. My best friend had texted me pictures of shelves at the grocery store that were bare bones. Also, my daughter’s college had sent out an email saying that school was closed and everything was moving to online courses.

It was a lot to process. As things started to progress, I began to feel a little overwhelmed and anxious. I stressed about how much tp we had and in a moment of panic I ordered a case of Japanese toilet paper. I found it way at the bottom of the Amazon listings of toilet paper. It was way too much and it doesn’t work on our toilet paper holders, but, hey, we don’t have to resort to socks and shredded t-shirts…yet.

Then, I worried about food. I googled the trees in our yard to see if the leaves are edible. We got our spring veggies planted and I was a little relieved. “Whew,’ I thought, “at least we will have some food coming in from the garden.” The next day, the plants were all dug up and destroyed by squirrels. They didn’t even eat the pants but instead just tore them out of the ground like a bunch of brats! My grandpa told me he ate squirrels during the depression. Hmm….

Then, my oldest got an email from her college telling her she had to come get her stuff out of her all-girls’ house stat or they would throw it all away. Since my husband can’t leave the local area (military), it was left to me to drive her there and help. It was like a covert mission: Get across state lines without being detected, grab the goods in an hour, make it out of the state without catching the ‘rona. That’s what the young people call it–the ‘rona.

So, we high-tailed it from Ohio to Kansas. We ate our packed lunch in a gas station parking lot. If we had to use the bathroom, we slathered ourselves with sanitizer once back in the car. Our behinds hurt from not being able to really take a break on the 10-hour drive. Once we got to her college house, we had exactly one hour to clear out her room before her roommate showed up. Roommates weren’t allowed to clear out rooms at the same time. We basically had to enter the house looking like the hazmat team in the movie “E.T.” My mom was there to help and we quickly chucked things into boxes so we could make the time limit. As we were leaving, my daughter’s roommate showed up for her turn and the two air hugged their goodbyes. It was terribly sad.

On our way back to Ohio, we listened to Mass in the car. That was most unusual and my heart hurt but we made it back safely. As the Little Einsteins would say, “Mission Completion!”

In the days that have followed, time has become elusive. It seems like 900 years ago that talk of the virus started when in reality it’s been not that long. I feel we’ve been in lockdown for years of my life and I begin to imagine this is how it will always be. I think it’s safe to say we will never experience another Lent like this one. From Ash Wednesday to now, our lives have been turned upside down.

To add to all this, everything is so confusing. Some people say it’s good to let your kids be feral now that their lives are in turmoil and other people say to schedule things down to the nth degree. Some people are taking a full-blown ride on the conspiracy train. Some people are wildly fanatically about locking down the world for like a year and if you even try to mention that we may need to get people back to work at some point, they will virtually slay you and filet you. Pro-abortionist politicians are preaching to us that “all human life is precious.” What the what? I mean, yes, all life is precious, but I wonder if they can see how the words coming out of their mouths don’t jive with their support of abortion. Some people are telling us in snippy little memes that “our grandparents were called to war, all you’re being asked to do is sit on the couch and watch Netflix.” But, that’s not true. Some parents are now having to homeschool their kids with no time for preparation. It’s easy for me, I’ve been doing it for years. However, I remember how crazy it was when I first started and how unnerving …

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Back when I was a counselor for victims of domestic and sexual violence, part of my job entailed going to court with victims. One woman I encountered had been using our services for years even before I got there. To save her privacy, I can’t go into details but it involved a bad rape case with lots of evidence. At every corner, she had been let down by our justice system and her life had turned upside down. She clung to a microscopic piece of thread that the State Attorney’s Office would show up and put her abusers behind bars.

If you are unfamiliar with how the State Attorney’s Office works, I’ll give you a quick overview. They do not represent the victim in the case; they represent the State. Many times, the victim is left out of so much of the process of trying the case and they feel helpless. My particular client was rarely if ever given any information. The only reason she ever knew that a court hearing was coming up is because she kept on top of things, not because anyone at the State Attorney’s Office notified her. One particular day, she saw that a hearing was coming up and she called me to see if I would come with her to the courthouse. Of course, I said I would.

We got there that day and she was extremely nervous. It was a packed courthouse and we seemed like just a few among the rest of the cattle. When her case was called, my client straightened up and I could see that she was holding her breath. The state attorney got up and very nonchalantly told the judge that they were dropping the case. The judge concurred and that was that. My client gasped and then ran out of the courtroom. I followed quickly after her. She ran out to the sidewalk and screamed a primal scream of pain and then dropped to her knees. I was unsure of what to do but I dropped to my knees and tried to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. She told me not to touch her, so I just sat there with her. There was nothing for me to say. She cried in silence and then finally said, “Just like that it’s over and they never even called to tell me they were dropping the case.”

Justice was most definitely not served that day. Inside, I was irate but I held it together for her. I knew all the ends and outs of her case. I knew that her rape kit had never been tested. I knew that her abusers had been accused of a similar crime in the past. I knew that she had never had a voice with the State Attorney’s Office. I knew that the men would go on to hurt someone else if they hadn’t already. Rape is a serious crime and we all know it. If a case had been dropped where my client’s bike had been stolen, neither one of us would have been so devastated. It’s because rape is such a grave crime that we were so upset over the lack of justice.

Intuitively, we all know that some crimes are worse than others and we typically punish them accordingly. We recognize that stealing a candy bar is not nearly as terrible as murder. One is the taking of an inexpensive item; the other is the taking of life. For the most part, we try to run our justice system based on the idea that not all crimes are equal in the seriousness of the harm done. And when someone has done grave harm and justice isn’t served, we have righteous anger.

Now, there is a common thread of thought within some Christian communities that all sins are equal in God’s eyes. But, this begs the question: Is this just? Are we, as mere humans, more just than God? One of God’s attributes is that He is all-just and so it doesn’t make sense that God would see a white lie the same as premeditated murder. As a parent, I don’t operate as if all bad actions by my kids are worthy of the harshest of punishments OR no real punishment at all.

To say that God sees all sin as equal is to claim that either God punishes all sin with Hell or He rewards all sinners with Heaven. Neither one of these options makes any sense because it isn’t just. We all are sinners to be sure and we all offend God with our sin, but let’s for a second, imagine two people. The first one is a person who strives to live a Christ-like life. They go to Mass, ask for forgiveness when they do sin, find time for prayer, and try hard to live by Christ’s commandments. The other person is a murderer in prison who continually denies God. They show no remorse and want nothing to do with God. Do we really think that God sees the minor sins of the first person the same as the sins of the second person? Will both be treated equally when they meet their Maker?

In the Catholic Church, it is recognized that there are venial (lesser) sins and mortal (deadly) sins. While venial sins aren’t good, they don’t cause death to the soul–grace can still live there. Mortal sins are those sins that are so grave and terrible that they leave the soul dead. God’s Divine Life cannot dwell in a soul that is dead to sin. How could it? The only way to restore grace to the soul is to confess your sins to a priest and have them absolved in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. If you die with mortal sin on your soul, your just punishment is Hell. You willingly chose to turn your back on God in this earthly life and so God gives you what is …

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Last week, I received a comment on my blog that was totally unrelated to the topic. A man commented: “Sorry, jeans are not modest clothing for women. Viewing your photo is a near occasion of sin for men and some women. That picture does not look like a Catholic woman. To truly live out your faith, I suggest that you wear modest clothing.” He was referring to the picture at the end of the blog where I’m wearing jeans while on pilgrimage in the Holy Land.

Instantly, my heart started beating fast and, man, did I want to lay into the guy. I think I wrote like ten comebacks but each one I erased. I finally settled on referring him to a paragraph in my blog where I talked about how people get overly nit-picking about certain practices and try to impose practices on people as if they are dogma.

For the rest of the day, I fumed. The nerve of this guy. However, I know a pride fit when I see one. I’m prone to them. At some point in the day, my pendulum of emotions swung over to his side and I decided to gather up all my jeans, slacks, and shorts and burn them in my yard. I researched prairie women dresses and told myself it would be fine mowing the lawn and lifting weights in the gym in my pioneer skirt. I believe in modesty and I certainly didn’t want to come across as immodest. Right before I struck the match and threw it on my clothes, I stopped for a second and said, “Wait. Where is this guy getting this from? I need to research things before I light up my wardrobe.” So, I put the match away and dove into research.

Sure enough, there’s a major verse that is cited by proponents of long-skirt wearing.

A woman shall not wear a man’s garment, nor shall a man put on a woman’s clothing; for anyone who does such things is an abomination to the Lord, your God.” Deuteronomy 22:5

After reading this, I just sat with it for a while and prayed for guidance. The first thought that came into my head was, “During the time that this was written, everyone wore a form of robe or tunic. Pants weren’t really a thing.” I mean, in reality, the men in Moses’ time wore clothing sort of like a big, long dress. Men wore tunics and women wore something similar but they usually tied a “belt” around their waist and bloused out their top.

As I continued to think, I realized that many of the laws in Deuteronomy were written for the Jews. The Jews were a people set apart and God gave them laws that were just for them. They had to look different than the Gentiles. A lot of the laws for the Jews are not things we would know by the natural law. For instance, what would ever make us think that shrimp is not to be eaten? Or pigs? However, the Ten Commandments are things that we can know naturally even without God spelling it out for us. We know it’s wrong to kill innocent people, it’s wrong to cheat on your spouse, it’s wrong to lie and steal, etc. Because these are natural law issues, they continue to be things that bind all people.

Ceremonial and civil laws that are just for the Jews are not binding on Christians anymore. There’s a law in Leviticus that says, “Do not cut the hair at the sides of your head or clip off the edges of your beard.” Now, I could be wrong, but I suspect there aren’t a whole lot of Christian men who follow this law. I mean, does my husband sin because he has to shave for the military? No, of course not. I have yet to see a Christian man with curly long hair strands like the Orthodox Jews had in the Holy Land when I was there. If you are going to adhere to the we-must-follow-this-garment law in Deuteronomy because it’s in the Bible, then you must, also, adhere to all the binding laws for the Jews. Or, you can realize that what was specifically meant for the Jewish people is not binding on Christians. If you are confused about which ones to correctly follow, the Catholic Church can help you out on that.

So, we have the one extreme. There are some in the Catholic Church that almost demand that women wear long skirts or dresses always and show very little skin. No pants can be worn. To wear pants is to cause occasions of sin for men. According to the commenter guy, I can’t even truly live out my faith unless I stop wearing jeans.

Then, there is the other side, that thinks women should be able to freely walk around in the nude or suggestive clothing and no man should notice. He should only see her as a shapeless human and nothing more. And while I agree that a woman should be able to wear whatever she wants and no one should feel justified in raping her because she supposedly “asked for it,” it is ridiculous to request men to completely shut their brains off.

Part of the reason that women like to dress “sexy” or “seductively” is because we like to draw men’s eyes. Ladies, please save your feigned outrage at me for saying this. The ability of a woman to turn a man’s head is one of those ways where we know we have power over men. Women like to be noticed and seen. We like to be desired. A great fear for many women is that one day our youthful beauty will leave us and we won’t be desirable to men anymore. In our fallen human nature, we seek to boost our self-esteem by getting men to look our way. Women work hard to be the prettiest woman in the room at …

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In my house, the only rule is that there are no rules. You see, my husband and I don’t want to stifle the expressive freedom of our children. We don’t want them to feel bound or tied up by anything their dad and I see as important, because what if our kids have a different view of how things should be done? In our home, everyone is allowed to live how they choose and it gets a bit hairy at times, but we don’t want to oppress. It’s live and let live in our domain!

Just kidding. I know you weren’t buying a word of what I wrote. You weren’t buying it because you know that no sane and reasonable person would operate their home in such a way. It’s probably a good idea that churches not operate that way either.

All across the vast expanse of the world, people bemoan the seemingly restrictive rules laid down by the Catholic Church. This includes those within and those outside the Catholic Church.

“All those man-made laws!”

“Nobody’s gonna tell me how to do religion.”

“Your relationship with Jesus should never be hampered by rules. We can’t complicate things with rules.”

“Basically just a bunch of Pharisees.”

I’m not sure when this idea of a rules-free religion began but began it did. For quite a few people, there is instant recoil at the thought of the Catholic Church binding anyone to laws that weren’t explicitly laid out by Jesus.

“If it didn’t come out of Jesus’ mouth then we must toss it in the trash!”

What I find fascinating is that we understand that we need rules in our homes, our schools, on the road, at work, and even within our country. But, if the Catholic Church tries to lay down some rules, people act like they are tying a rope around our necks to cut off our life.

And who gets to decide what is too many rules? Can the Catholic Church have any rules at all? If they can, what is too many? Why do you get to decide that? Are the rules out-of-line? Is it unreasonable for the Catholic Church to set some standards so that it looks different than other religions or the secular world?

Did you know that there are really only six precepts/rules that the Catholic Church instituted for Catholics to adhere to?

1. Attend Mass on Sundays and Holy Days of Obligation. (So, give to God what is due to Him–worship in church)
2. Attend Confession once a year. (Get your soul clean)
3. Receive the sacrament of the Eucharist at least once during the Easter season. (Come be filled with Christ)
4. Observe the days of fasting and abstinence established by the Church. (Sacrifice a little and deny yourself for love of God)
5. Help provide for the needs of the Church. This can mean your time, talent, and treasure. (Almsgiving)
6. Observe the Church’s marriage laws. (Marriage is a sacrament, it makes sense that we need to follow God’s Will with regards to it and not our wills.)

Every single one of these precepts of the Church is meant to draw us closer to Christ and protect our souls. Along with these rules, there are many, many practices that the Church encourages us to partake in to strengthen our faith and grow us in holiness. For those things, the Church lets us decide what works best in our lives and what is most meaningful.

Now, there are certainly other laws that govern the Catholic Church on a larger scale and you can find them in the Code of Canon Law. But, for most laypeople, we aren’t going to deal with them on a day-to-day basis. There are also dogmas/doctrines that one needs to believe in to be Catholic. You can find most of those in the Nicene Creed.

It always surprises me that people get worked up over six rules that are all in place for a good reason. They aren’t arbitrarily commanded on high by maniacal bishops that get their thrills off of binding Catholics up with pointless rules. For goodness sake, I have waaaaayyyy more rules in my home. The rules that my husband and I put in place for ourselves and our children are all there to guide, instruct, and help us become good people.

Now, on the other hand, I will say that there are people who get nit-picky about certain practices. Matt Fradd, popular Catholic speaker and podcaster, says, “In order to be a faithful Catholic one must not only submit to the teachings of the Church, but also, not demand uniformity where the Church allows diversity of opinion or custom. To put it another way, one must not seek to make a dogma out of what isn’t.”

For example, it is not a dogma or law of the Church that you must pray the Rosary. It is a beautiful practice which the Church encourages, but it is not necessary to pray it in order to be a good Catholic. Likewise, it is not a dogma of the Church that all music at Mass must be played on an organ. Organs are not divine instruments and the only ones capable of bringing about worshipful music. To be sure, Mass should not be a rock concert as reverence needs to be maintained in God’s house.

I’m as guilty as the next person when it comes to this. I give some perceived less-than-pious person the ole’ side-eye glance when I think they aren’t living up to all MY rules of the Faith. Of course, all this is done out of pride. It’s, once again, a result of me wanting to think that I am more righteous and holy than the next person. Trust me when I say, this is NOT just a problem in the Catholic Church. We ALL do this to some degree because it is human nature. The person who tries to say, “Well, my church doesn’t need all these rules, we …

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(This blog contains a very sensitive, controversial topic. I will not tolerate any name-calling, blatantly rude, or hateful comments from anybody. I will delete anything I deem out-of-line. You can disagree with me, but be a mature adult about it.)

When I was seventeen, I started dating a guy named Gary. Not long into our relationship, I challenged him to a race down at the high school track. I was feeling cocky, as I was a trained sprinter, an athlete, and a pretty healthy person. Gary, on the other hand, was a big strong guy, but he was not an athlete, he smoked, drank, and had a horrible diet. I was confident that I would beat him with ease in a 100-meter dash. He tried to talk me out of it but I just took that as him not wanting to get beat by a girl. Finally, after tons of nagging on my part, he reluctantly agreed to race me.

We headed down to the track. I was decked out in running gear complete with running shoes. Gary was in jeans, work boots, and a t-shirt. I strutted around like a vain peacock and felt pretty confident that this would be a blow-out. Blow-out it was. Gary beat me and it wasn’t even close. My pride was so wounded I could barely look at him. He didn’t gloat or anything; just quietly grabbed his keys and we walked to his truck.

He dropped me off at my house and then headed back to his home. I walked in the door like a whipped puppy. My dad saw me and asked what was wrong.

I took my chance to vent. “Dad, I took Gary down to the track to race him and he beat me! He’s not a trained sprinter, he’s not an athlete, and he was in workboots and jeans!”

My dad kinda half-smiled and said, “Well, Hon, there are just some physical advantages that guys have starting at this age that girls aren’t going to be able to overcome. It’s not because you are a bad sprinter; it’s that he’s a muscular man with testosterone.”

Sullenly, I replied, “It’s not fair, he was in workboots.”

My dad said, “It’s not about what’s fair, it’s just the way things are.”

I had grown up knowing that, obviously, there are differences between boys and girls. That night was truly the first time I was smacked in the face with it.

Within the past several years, there has been much confusion surrounding the issues of gender and sex. On the one hand, we have people telling us that gender is all a social construct and it isn’t real. Others tell us that there can be more than two genders. We are told gender can be fluid. There are voices shouting from their bullhorns that there are no differences between women and men.

Then, on the other hand, you have people deciding that they “feel like” or “know” that they are a different gender than their biologically assigned one. But, if there is no difference between genders then how can you feel like one or the other? If gender is all a social construct then why do transgender people try to imitate how they believe their new gender looks and acts? Why do they play right into the social constructs? If there is no real difference between the sexes, why do men who think they are women really need to change anything at all? What does it really mean to “feel” like a man or a woman?

I sat down with my husband recently and tried to explain to him what it feels like to be a woman. I really, really struggled which I found odd, at first.

Then, I told him, “Well, I can tell you what a woman is. A woman has XX chromosomes. She has ovaries, a uterus, a vagina, and breasts that are designed to feed babies. Their bodies are specially designed to bear babies. I realize that some women are born with certain parts underdeveloped or that never developed properly, but that’s the exception, not the rule.”

I tried again to tell him what it “feels like” to be a woman and I still struggled. But, then I said, “It’s hard to explain because a woman is just what I am. I don’t really think much about it. But, what makes me “Amy” is who I am. And for that, I can tell you exactly how that feels.”

There is a part of me that is very feminine. I like doing the stereotypical female things: Cooking, decorating, wearing make-up, getting dressed up in a pretty dress, listening to love songs, and watching love stories. I like nurturing and taking care of others. Yet, I also like a ton of stereotypical masculine things: I like lifting weights, I enjoy watching football, playing catch, playing loud, hard-rocking music, and using power tools when I work out in the yard. I prefer listening to podcasts hosted by men, mostly because they tend to talk about subject matter that’s more complex.

The thing is, is that when I’m mowing the lawn in my torn jeans, dirty t-shirt, and a ball cap, I’m just as much of a woman as when I’m dolled up in high heels and a dress with my red lipstick. What I like and what makes me tick are all just me–Amy. I’m a woman because my biology says that I am. To be sure, though, I am a unique person with interests that run the gamut. A lot of that is shaped by the fact that I am a woman, but even if everything I liked or wanted to do was typically masculine, I would still be a woman.

A follower of mine on Facebook said it so succinctly:

Anybody that IS a woman knows what it feels like to be a woman, which can be a billion different feelings. We are ALL different, which is why it …

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(I know I’m late to the game with this blog, but I had to wait until my anger subsided to write on it. While the rest of the world has moved on from this issue, I feel I have a unique perspective on it given my background. So, now that the dust has settled and the Holy Spirit has reigned me in, let’s talk about…The Superbowl halftime show.)

I’m gonna throw it out there and say I wasn’t a fan of the halftime show.

“PRUDE!”

It really bothers me that I can’t watch it with my family or even at all.

“Oh my word, so scandalized. Tell you what, next year we’ll have an Amish choir come in and sing so you can stop clutching your pearls already.”

Because I want it to be family-friendly that immediately equates Amish choir music to you? There’s no in-between? Either we have to have scantily clad pole dancers or it’s Amish women? Those are our two choices?

“Did you even see Jennifer Lopez? She’s a freaking 50-year old woman and she looked sexy and hot. We should celebrate the fact that she’s not afraid to show off her confidence and sexuality!”

Oh yes, I did see Jennifer Lopez. I saw more than I cared to see. I had to turn off the TV after she bent over and displayed her butt cheeks to the camera with nothing but a thin piece of leather covering her lady parts.

RACIST! YOU ARE SO RACIST!

Why?

“Those were Latina women up there showing off the Latino heritage and you’re criticizing them because they’re not like you!”

Since when did racy pole dancing become exclusively connected to Latino culture? Seems to me it’s more a part of the stripper culture.

“You really must hate women. You’re so scandalized by a little bit of skin that you’d be happy if women were covered head-to-toe. Such a holy roller. Oh, and btw, pole dancing is a difficult workout. Ms. Lopez did it with such grace and style. We should celebrate that 50-year old women don’t have to be like the Golden Girls anymore. We can embrace our sexuality!”

I’m sure it is a workout. Personally, I like pushing weight around in the gym and, hey, if you want to take those pole-dancing classes, go for it. I just don’t understand why it has to be part of primetime television where millions of families are tuning in. Am I allowed to have any standards? Is there anything that would be too much for you? Do you have a line that could be crossed at all?

Let’s step away from the conversation for a moment. What is my real driving force behind disliking the halftime show? Well, let’s talk about three women I once knew.

My bachelor’s degree is in criminology and my master’s degree is in applied behavioral science where I specialized in sex crimes. These degrees landed me a job as a counselor, advocate, and coordinator for the rape crisis program where I worked in Panama City. Two things shocked me when I started working there: One was all the incest cases I had to deal with and, two was the number of women who came to me from the sex industry, specifically strip clubs.

A high majority of women I saw for counseling were dancers. The first one I ever met was forced into it by her husband because he was unwilling to get a job. He was more interested in doing drugs in the motel room that they lived in. We’ll call her Jessica. Jessica was young and definitely from a rough background. She’d been abused as a child in every way you can imagine. She told me, “That first day when I started dancing on stage, I hated every second of it. I tried to imagine nobody in the room but that was so hard. The other dancers told me that it helps to drink to get through it, so I’m pretty much drinking the whole time I’m at work. Guys’ hands are all over me and I hate it. I hate my husband for forcing me to do this. You know what’s crazy? He forces me to do this, but then he gets mad at me for having guys stare at me.”

I tried as hard as I could to encourage her to get a job that she could feel good about but with no diploma and little experience, it was hard to find anything that paid her enough to support her family. The cash from dancing barely kept them afloat.

Then there was the trafficked Russian woman that I tried to help. She had been sex trafficked here to the States. Once here illegally, she was forced to be a dancer–pole twirling and all. I met her at the hospital where I found her covered with bruises. I tried to get her to come with me to our safe house but she was so terrified of her pimp that I couldn’t convince her. Through broken English, she told me that he threatened her all the time. He told her that if she ever tried to leave he’d report her to the authorities and she’d end up in prison forever for being here illegally. I tried to explain to her that those were all lies, but I couldn’t make her believe. She left the hospital that day with tears streaming down her cheeks and I never saw her again.

The last girl, though, was the hardest for me. I had been asked by a judge to visit with her as he suspected she needed counseling. At that time, she was currently living in a drug rehab house and that’s where I met her. The day I got there, I walked into a big room with lots of tables and she was already sitting in a chair waiting for me. When I sat down across from her, I knew instantly that this girl was beyond my …

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As most of you know, when my husband and I got married, I was Protestant and he was a cradle Catholic. Initially, I thought I could be okay with agreeing to raise our kids Catholic, but after our marriage, I wasn’t so sure. My husband was eager to baptize our firstborn but I was less than keen on the idea. In fact, I loathed the idea. Every time my husband would try to discuss her baptism with me, I would pick a fight.

“It’s something that she has to chose to do, Dustin! She has to decide for herself!”

Each time we argued about it, our words sailed over the other’s head–nothing was sinking in. What we didn’t understand is that each of us had very different views of what baptism is and does. It was a good lesson in defining your terms.

For me, a Protestant back then, baptism was a profession of faith. It was when I decided that I believed Jesus was my Lord and Savior. It was the moment when I chose to take on my Christian identity. I was baptized when I was eleven by full immersion baptism with the proper form (right words) and matter (water).

For Dustin, though, it meant something entirely different. For Catholics, they understand that a valid baptism does numerous things: 1. It cleanses us of Original Sin inherited from Adam and Eve. It also cleanses us of any actual sins if we are old enough to have committed any. 2. Our spiritual life is born and we become members of the Body of Christ. 3. It fills our souls with sanctifying grace, which ultimately means we have a share in the divine life. 4. It allows us to receive all the other sacraments. 5. It gives us the theological and moral virtues. 6. We gain the gifts of the Holy Spirit. 7. It leaves an indelible mark on our souls, marking us forever as Christ’s. 8. It makes us adopted sons and daughters of God and makes us heirs of the Kingdom of God.

As you can see, it’s a bit deeper than I understood at the time. That’s not to say that most Protestants believe it to be unimportant, as most do think it’s necessary. Sadly, though, the understanding of baptism throughout Protestant denominations runs the gamut with some even believing it’s not necessary for salvation.

(What is most interesting is that those denominations which were the first to break off from the Catholic Church in the 1500s during the Protestant Reformation still hold to infant baptism: Lutherans, Anglicans, Calvinists (Presbyterians), and Methodists. As time goes on and more and more denominations spring up, that’s when we notice a disagreement in infant baptism. So, either the Catholic Church had it right from the get-go or some people got it right some 1600+ years later.)

In my Protestant mind, our daughter needed to have the opportunity to “profess Jesus as her Lord and Savior.” My husband, on the other hand, wanted to cleanse her of Original Sin, bring her into the Body of Christ, and fill her with the divine life and all its virtues and gifts. What finally got to me was when he told me that baptism left a special character on her soul that marked her as Christ’s. That hit home and I agreed to baptize our children from then on. Our oldest was five when she finally received the sacrament. Thank God I was given the grace to acquiesce to my husband’s pleas.

Our oldest, who is now in college, has recently been having deep discussions with a Protestant girl that lives in her house. One of the topics of discussion has been infant baptism. My daughter’s friend is a strict adherer to Sola Scriptura, which is the belief that the Bible is the sole authority on matters related to God. For her, if it’s not in the Bible then it shouldn’t be done with regards to religious matters. As Catholics, we have three authorities: The Bible (of course), Tradition, and the Magisterium, which is the teaching authority of the Catholic Church given to her by Christ. Why do we have three and not just the Bible? Well, for one reason, the fully compiled Bible wasn’t around for over 350 years after Christ. What did the Apostles and the first Christians use to guide them? They used Apostolic Tradition and the teaching authority of the Church (Magisterium) guided by the Holy Spirit as Christ promised.

My daughter’s friend has argued that it is wrong to baptize infants because nowhere in the Bible does it specifically say to baptize them. She’d be right in saying that. However, it also doesn’t say not to. In fact, if we look at the bigger picture, there’s a substantial case for infant baptism.

1. For the Jewish people, baby boys were circumcised in order to bring them into the Covenant with God. Now all of a sudden with Jesus and His New Covenant, He wants to leave babies out? We know that everything in the OT is a foreshadowing of what is to come and nothing will be less in the NT. It makes no sense that babies would be excluded once Jesus establishes His New Covenant.
2. Jesus said in Matthew 19:14, “Let the children come to me and do not prevent them; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” Do we really think that Jesus is upset with us for baptizing babies? When we get to Heaven is He going to say, “I really wish you all would have left the babies alone.”
3. We see in Acts 16:33 that Paul and Silas baptize an entire household. Now, it doesn’t specifically say babies were among the group, but it doesn’t say they weren’t either. We can assume that all the Apostles baptized entire households at some point. But, they left out the babies? If it was terribly wrong to baptize babies, you would

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Let me just start by saying that there is no way a blog can do the Holy Land justice. I’m not a good enough writer to fully capture the emotions, feels, and overall experience into words. Traveling to the Holy Land is the cream of the crop of all pilgrimages because it’s where Our Lord lived His earthly life. Nothing can compare to laying eyes on the places He walked upon. It overwhelms. It brings you to tears. It’s hard to wrap your mind around.

My first piece of advice for traveling to the Holy Land is to do it with a pilgrimage group–at least for the first time. Israel needs a guide and, I think, for you to fully enjoy the experience you need someone who knows the lay of the land. You could go it on your own, but I wouldn’t recommend it. The amount of research that would need to go into planning would be daunting. Plus, I think a guide really brings the Bible to life. Our guide, George, was amazing. He is from Israel and his knowledge of the country was incredibly beneficial and efficient. He knows where to go and where not to, he knows the languages of the area, and he’s an expert. The biblical and historical knowledge he fed us daily was like taking a crash college course. To put it mildly, most days our minds were blown with all the information he gave us.

With all that being said, I’m going to have to try to scale this blog back somewhat. There is so much to see in the Holy Land that a blog on everything we saw would leave you reading for days. So, I’m going to organize this blog by region. I’ll give you three things in each region that are a must-see. In my mind, everything is a must-see, but I gotta limit myself. The three regions are: The Sea of Galilee, Bethlehem/Jericho area, and Jerusalem.

The Sea of Galilee Region

Sea of Galilee Boat Tour

We first stayed in Tiberias which is right on the Sea of Galilee. It was all more beautiful than I imagined it could be. The sunrises in the morning were breathtaking as they broke over the Golen Heights on the eastern side. One of the things to do in this area is to take a boat cruise out on the Sea of Galilee. Our guide was able to totally open up the Bible for us as we looked at the geography from out on the water.

Mount of Beatitudes

This is the place of the Sermon on the Mount. The church and grounds up there are maintained by Franciscan Missionary Sisters and it is gorgeous. The day we were there it was sunny, the sea was in our view, the flowers were in full color, and the aired smelled sweet. We had Mass upon the mount at an outdoor chapel. It is the perfect place to sit, be still, and just meditate on Christ being there.

Capernaum

Jesus did a lot of teaching in this town and lived here for a while. Peter’s house is here. The greatest part of this area is seeing the ruins of the synagogue where Christ would teach. I strolled around Capernaum (it’s not big) and tried to imagine Jesus there with Peter and the other Apostles.

Bethlehem/Jericho Region

Church of the Nativity

To get into this church you must bend low and go through the Door of Humility. Then you enter into a large open church that is full of Orthodox decorations. There is so much to see and take in. To get to the exact spot of Christ’s birth, you must descend some steps down into a cave. We often depict Christ born in a wooden stable, but he was actually born in a cave. Right at the place of His birth, there is a star on the ground. On the star, in Latin, it says, “Here Jesus Christ was born to the Virgin Mary.” My husband and I got to touch and kiss it together. I was so overwhelmed with wonderful emotions. I don’t have a picture of the star as I wanted to just be present at that moment, but here is part of the inside of the church.

Jordan River

This is where Christ was baptized by St. John the Baptist. It was so special to be by those waters and renew our baptismal promises. Our priest sprinkled each of us with the waters and then we were free to get in if we wanted. It was a chilly, wet day so I settled for just getting my feet in. However, my husband and his cousin-in-law braved the cold waters and went for full immersion.

The Dead Sea

The Dead Sea is the lowest place on earth. The area has a very other-worldly feel. No plants grow around it as they can’t soak up the incredibly salty water, so it feels very lonely and stark. It’s so salty that you don’t need to try to float–you have no choice in the matter. It was too cold for my blood to get all the way in, but I did get my feet in. My husband and his cousin-in-law again were the brave adventures and went out for a relaxing float.

Jerusalem Region

Dominus Flevit Church

This is the best view of Jerusalem. You can see it all laid out in front of you and it’s a great way to get your bearings. This is also the location where Jesus wept over the city. The church here is tiny, but it’s got a spectacular view. The newer church is built upon the ruins of an old Byzantine church and you can still see the mosaic flooring and a stone slab in the floor with the Helena Cross on it. What is also interesting is that you can see the type of trees that were used to make Christ’s crown of thorns near the …

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Blaise Pascal said that there are four groups of people: Those who have found God, those that are seeking God, those that are seeking God to eradicate Him, and those that don’t even care.

Last week, we covered King Herod. He was a seeker who sought to destroy God by trying to murder Him as a baby. Christ was a threat, a potential usurper. Today, we are going to focus on the chief priests and scribes.

We are so comfortable nowadays, especially here in the States. In fact, we are so comfortable that we are bored out of our minds. Consequently, we fill our lives with video games, Netflix, porn, Snapchat, and any form of entertainment that we can find. We will seriously grapple at anything at this point. One of the only things that will snap us out of our entertainment stupor is someone encouraging us to maybe think about doing something more productive or purposeful.

“Don’t challenge my entertainment, Pal.” (Pokes finger in your chest.)

We are, also, so comfortable that, for the most part, we’ve left reality behind and now embrace any kind of absurdity we can dream up. All that matters is how we feel about something. Feelings and desires trump everything in our current culture. In fact, feelings and desires are considered even more real than reality itself.

To add to all of this, we think science can answer all of life’s questions. Except, there are certain groups who claim to looooovvveeee science yet curiously disregard it when it doesn’t quite conform to their ideology. We live in strange times, my friends.

So, on the one hand, we have a very secular crowd that encourages indulgence, comfort, scientism (when fitting), and the constant quest for the next thrilling thing to keep one occupied. Try to mention God to them and they have about as must interest in Him as they do in studying the composition of rocks. “God? Ugh, that’s so ancient times. We gotta be a progressive people!”

But, what about believers? Ever had this conversation or one like it?

“Please come to church, it’s so important to give that time to God.”

“Yeah, I’m good. Ya know, I’m just gonna go find Jesus out on the trails of this mountain.”

“Sure, you can definitely find God out in nature, but He’s actually physically present in the Church. You can receive Him in the Eucharist–Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity!”

“Honestly, I don’t think God even really requires me to go to church. I’m good with what I’ve got going right now in my life. I’m super spiritual. I don’t need all that man-made religion.”

Soooooo….apathetic. Even for a large number of believers, including quite a few Catholics, there is a real indifference to Christ. For so many, Jesus has become this teddy bear guy that just wants you to be “so happy and so rich.” He asks nothing of you. He doesn’t even really ask you to come to be with Him at church. In fact, some have decided that Jesus left it up to us how we do religion. He doesn’t want to impose, you see.

Now, let’s talk about the chief priests in the story of the Magi from the book of Matthew.

Assembling all the chief priests and the scribes of the people, he inquired (Herod) of them where the Messiah was to be born. Matthew 2:4

And that’s it. Here’s what’s amazing. The chief priests, the very people who know scripture and are the leaders of the Jews, do nothing. Here are these people who have been waiting around for a very long time for the Messiah to come and they don’t even go to see what all the fuss is about. They know the prophecies. They know the Messiah will be born in the city of David. They know that a star is to appear at His coming. Now that some dignified foreigners have shown up (the Magi) following a star to ask about the King of the Jews, they show zero interest. It’s just…eh.

They even tell Herod where to find the Messiah.

They (the chief priests) said to him, “In Bethlehem of Judea, for thus it has been written through the prophet: ‘And you, Bethlehem, land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; since from you shall come a ruler, who is to shepherd my people Israel.’” Matthew 2:5-6

After that, though, the chief priests and scribes check out. There is no record of them heading out to investigate the news; no mention of them showing up out of curiosity at the manger. Here are the supposedly most spiritual people in the land and they can’t even muster some interest for the very thing they are waiting on–the Messiah.

Were they too comfortable? Had they become apathetic? Too worldly? Could they not find the time for God? Oh, I get it. There was some other more important pressing matter.

Hey, I can relate. There was a time when I was just too comfortable to even get out of bed in the morning to attend church. I know what an apathetic faith life looks like–it looks like one focused solely on me. Oh, and trust me, I get being too worldly. All those times when I chose my sins over what is best, right, or good. I’ve made every excuse in the books to not find time for God: I’ve got chores, I need to wash my hair, check my social media again, binge-watch that show just…one…more…time. I know well the sin of indifference.

Christ should be the single most important thing in our life but, sadly, large numbers of people have grown indifferent to Him. It seems there are so many other shiny things to focus our attention on that Jesus gets put in the closet behind the clothes we don’t wear anymore. I’ve heard from people that have lived in countries where Christians are persecuted that it is actually …

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As a writer, I’m always very keenly aware of people’s stories and I am always on the lookout for blogging material. This past Friday, my best friend invited me to an Advent Tea which was a much-needed time of reflection. A priest, Fr. Bullock, gave a wonderful reflection and as I soaked up his words, I knew I wanted to expand on them and bring them to my readers. When his talk was over, I turned to my friend and giddily clapped my hands and said, “That was great! I’ve got some good blog fodder.”

She laughed and replied, “I thought you might write about this for your blog.”

For the Advent reflections, we focused on four different people: Herod, the chief priests, the magi, and Mary. My next few blogs will be covering each of these people. The credit for what I’m about to write goes to Blaise Pascal and Father Bullock.

Pascal once said, “There are three kinds of people in the world: Those who seek God and have found Him, those who are seeking Him, and those that neither seek Him or find Him.”

Father Bullock went on to say, “I would expand this to four groups of people: Those that have found God, those that are seeking God, those that are seeking for negative reasons, and those that don’t care to seek.”

Herod.

A wicked, power-hungry man who sought God not because he wanted a relationship, but, instead, for selfish, violent reasons. He wanted to destroy him. In Matthew Chapter 2, the magi are seeking to find the “newborn king of the Jews.” They appear before Herod to ask him where the child might be located. Remember, the magi were not Jewish and would not have known the prophecies surrounding the Messiah’s birthplace. So, they head to Herod and inquire about where the location might be.

We see very easily the internal thoughts of Herod.

“When King Herod heard this, he was greatly troubled.” Matthew 2:3 Uh oh. Someone’s threatening his earthly power. It doesn’t matter that it’s a newborn baby. It’s a threat and threats must be dealt with swiftly.

But, his external actions and words are a contradiction to his internal thoughts. Even though Herod was king over the Jews, he had no clue where the Messiah was to be born, so he summons the chief priests to ask. They tell him that Bethlehem is the location. He calls back the magi and tries to act all nicey-nice. “Go and search diligently for the child. When you have found him, bring me word, that I too may go and do him homage.” Matthew 2:8

Oh yes, Mr. Herod was just *dying* inside to pay homage to a potential usurper. Actually, he was dying for one of his thugs to stick a sword through the baby.

Herod sought God not because he wanted to worship Him, but because he wanted to root Him out and destroy Him. This is what happens when you set yourself up as your own personal god. Herod, though, is not an anomaly. We can find many like him throughout history.

How many world leaders have been threatened by religion, specifically Christianity? Numerous. How many people have been killed because they are religious? Too many to count.

Look at our own country. Christianity is consistently targeted by the media and non-believing crowds. If you disagree with Christianity or make fun of it…well, job well done and here’s a cookie. I’ve read several things now over the course of the years by militant atheists and while they will argue against other religions, the bulk of their writing is focused on dismantling one thing–Christianity.

Christ is a threat to many people. His teachings conflict with their way of life. Just like Herod, some people want to root out Christianity and dismantle it until it is no more. In all honesty, they’ve done a pretty good job. They’ve managed to remove God from a lot of things in our country. Their basic underlying reason: Christianity is a threat. It threatens the kind of life some people wish to live out.

Usually, in our country, you won’t lose your life because you are Christian, but you will suffer persecution if you try to live out Christ’s teachings. People online have encouraged me to kill myself because I’m Catholic. I’ve been told that my Christian beliefs make me “the worst mother in the world.” People have told me that they “hate me” because I am a Christian and that I’m nothing but a “brainwashed bigot.” All of this is said in an effort to silence me and try to scare me away. Where Herod had his goons use swords to actually cut down the Holy Innocents in search of Christ, those threatened by Christ today use their words like swords. They attempt to use words and laws to cut you down until you just stop talking about Jesus.

When you set yourself up as your own god, you become paranoid that another will come along and take your place. Herod was terrified of losing his way of life. He loved the prestige, the power, the money, the women, the material goods, and the freedom to determine his own moral compass. The Christ-child caused great fear in him. Isn’t that interesting? Herod really lived in complete and utter fear that someone would snatch away what he had built up for himself. He had no peace whatsoever.

It’s not different today. Up and down the ages, there have been those that actively work to remove Christ. They are terrified of losing their way of life. For bad leaders, it’s the knowledge that people oftentimes worship a higher power and not them. When people believe in a higher power than the government, it makes them harder to control. That’s why Communism always tries to purge religion. For regular people, it’s the knowledge that Christ is the moral compass and that makes sin uncomfortable. In their minds, it’s better to …

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My husband was talking with a guy the other day who happens to be a Baptist. The guy had just finished praying with my husband over some work-related issues which was a very kind gesture. As they were talking, the other guy said, “I’ve come to respect a number of Catholics but there are quite a few things I don’t agree with you on. For one, you make what’s supposed to be a simple faith too complicated.”

Because of a time constraint, my husband could only reply with, “Well, you know, I’d be happy to talk about this later with you.”

My husband told me about this conversation when he got home and it hasn’t left me. Today, at Mass I was praying about what to write about and this conversation came to the front of the mind.

Christianity is supposed to be a simple faith? Says who?

Usually, when someone says the Catholic Church makes things too complicated, they are referring to all the rules they perceive the Church imposes on its followers. I know this because when I was Protestant, I used to think the same thing. In my mind, there was a scroll that stretched a mile long that contained all the “man-made” rules that Catholics had to adhere to.

“All you need is a personal relationship with Jesus,” was my common throw-back to my husband, a cradle Catholic.

But, is it really that simple?

There is so little in this world that is simple. All relationships are complicated to some degree. Finding your way in this world is, oftentimes, difficult. The universe is vast and elaborate. Nature is intricate and marvelous. The Bible is no simple read. Understanding God and all that surrounds Him is anything but simple. If theology were simple, we’d have no need for scholars and theologians. There’s a reason that there are no scholars of basic math–it’s just too simple. The struggle with sin is not simple in the slightest. Ask anyone who has tried to cast off a deeply entrenched sin and they will tell you that it’s not simple or easy.

But, what about all the rules of the Catholic Church? Who gets to decide what is too many or too few? Is the Catholic Church not allowed to have any rules for its followers?

There are actually only six precepts that apply to lay Catholics throughout the year. They are:

1. To attend Mass on Sunday and Holy Days of Obligation.
2. To confess your sins at least once a year.
3. To receive the Sacrament of the Eucharist at least during the Easter season.
4. Observe the days of fasting and abstinence (from meat) established by the Church.
5. To help provide for the needs of the Church, each according to his own ability.
6. Observe the Church’s rules regarding the Sacrament of Marriage.

Now, there are many other practices that Catholics can engage in to help them along their earthly pilgrimage. We all know that it’s not simple and easy to live our faith in a culture that can be quite hostile to Christianity. There are numerous practices that strengthen us and guide us on our journey, such as praying the Rosary, visiting an Adoration Chapel, praying Novenas, and blessing ourselves with Holy Water. Not a single one of these things is required of a Catholic, but they are helpful and fruitful practices that provide lots of grace. We all need as much grace as we can get and whenever we do something that draws us closer to Christ, we are showered with graces.

To an outsider, it may seem that the Catholic Church is complicating the faith, but it’s not, it’s just drawing out the richness and fullness. I don’t know about you, but I need all the help I can get. I can’t do every practice that the Church offers, but I can find those things that work for me and my life. There truly is something for everyone.

Our faith in Christ is not just about a simple personal faith with Jesus. That’s highly unbiblical. St. Paul talks about the Body of Christ in numerous places. As baptized Christians, we know that we make up Christ’s Body in a mystical way. We are meant to work together to help bring about His Kingdom here on earth. We know that the Apostles and their disciples did not have a private faith. At Christ’s command, they went out “into all the world” to “preach the Gospel to all creation.” Mark 16:15

We are charged with the same thing; we are meant to let people know about Christ. If you have ever tried to evangelize you know that it’s not simple. It’s darn hard, in fact. It’s part of our calling as Christians, though.

In 2013, I visited the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington DC. The upper church is magnificent and grand. Your mouth hangs open in awe. However, downstairs, there is a crypt church that captured my soul even more. It is dark, rich, and dimly lit. Incense fills the air and deep organ music resounds in your chest. I had never been to such a place in my life and the feeling it gave me was an ancient one. It’s hard to explain but I felt immensely connected to all Catholics throughout time.

As I sat and prayed in the crypt church, I realized that our faith is profound, challenging, and mysterious. I wouldn’t want it any other way. It is simple and easy to follow the world and live for yourself. We are naturally inclined that way. It’s easy to just believe in the natural world and ignore or dismiss the supernatural. There is nothing hard about following the ways of the world. In fact, you will be applauded by a great multitude of people.

To follow Christ, though, isn’t simple. There are simple things about it, sure. But, who hasn’t wrestled with doubts? Who hasn’t struggled to pray? Who hasn’t battled to forgive …

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Fulton Sheen once wrote, “If you are ever to have a good time, you cannot plan your life to include nothing but good times.”

Not in the too distant past, life was physically more demanding. You had to grow your own food, spend every waking minute preparing to survive the winter, and build or make nearly everything you needed. There was little time for play but when holidays or celebrations came around, it was the highlight of everyone’s year. The celebration was a big moment and a break from the monotony of life. Nobody took it for granted. And while those from the past may not have had the means to make the party over-the-top Pinterest worthy, they put a lot of time and effort into it.

Today, though, most of us are surrounded by technology that allows us to live in relative comfort a lot of the time. What has stepped in to replace the physical labor of yesteryear is entertainment. We have machines that do our work for us, grocery stores that are open 24/7, and central heat. I realize that this is not the case for every human being on earth, but the vast majority of us here in America are pretty well off.

As I said, entertainment has filled the void. We binge-watch TV shows, social media allows us to enter into swirly-eyed stupors, video games are readily available for you to get lost in, and we can get sweets, special drinks, and yummy food pretty much whenever we want. We can figuratively and literally eat chocolate cake any day.

However, on the flip side, we all talk about how busy we are. Oh, we are busy, busy, busy–busy with work, busy with school, busy with kids and their activities. Though, I wonder if a lot of our busyness isn’t just self-inflicted fluff that isn’t necessary. We have forgotten how to just be still and breathe. I’m as guilty as the next person.

So, we are all running around in our busy states and we are all grappling at any form of entertainment to keep us occupied, yet we always hear people say that they need a moment.

Enter Advent.

I had heard of Advent growing up, but I really had no idea about its meaning. Once I entered the Catholic Church, I started learning about this special time of preparation for Christmas. The more I learned, the more I realized how beautiful and necessary this time is. Fasting and feasting. The Church is always teaching us to do this but we struggle to understand why.

All around us, Christmas songs are playing by November 1st, Thanksgiving is but an afterthought, Christmas movies run on a continual loop, and stores have all the Christmas stuff up around August.

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STUFF! STUFF! STUFF!

GOODIES! GOODIES! GOODIES!

And the Church is saying, “Come with me into a period of fasting and preparation for the birth of Our Lord. Christmas is not yet here. Be still.”

And we are over here going, “Yeah, that’s a nice thought, but the rest of the world is in full-blown Christmas mode.”

As I’ve gotten older, I crave Advent and Lent. I need the deeper meaning behind Christmas and Easter and these preparation times help me find that. Does that mean I walk around and sneer at all the beforehand celebration? No. What it does mean is that I have to be very intentional. I have three choices: 1. Just ride the tide of the culture. 2. Hunker down and refuse to do anything remotely “Christmasy” during Advent. 3. Find an intentional in-between. Number three is the balance I need.

Because the rest of our culture has been celebrating Christmas since pretty much the middle of November, by December 26th everyone is sick of it all. I’ve even heard people say, “I’m so ready for Christmas to be over.” This being said before Christmas has even arrived. We’ve all been drunk on goodies, money, gifts, and commercialism for so long that we are bored of it all and ready to move on. Very little of this has anything to do with Christ. Come December 25th, though, the Catholic Church is ready to celebrate one of our most special holidays. The fast has ended, the feasting begins.

So, what does Advent want with us? It wants us to intentionally work to focus on Christ and prepare for the celebration of His birth. There are nine million Advent things out there for us to do, but we can’t and shouldn’t do them all. Yes, we are all busy with different things but if our lives are so busy that we can’t even find 15-minutes to draw our mind to Christ then we need to reevaluate our lives. Here are a few suggestions for fasting during this Advent.

1. Don’t have Christmas movies playing on the TV around the clock. They aren’t even special anymore when they are constantly playing. Be intentional about it. Plan for maybe two nights a week to sit down as a family and watch a Christmas show together. Pick meaningful ones, such as A Christmas Carol, It’s a Wonderful Life, White Christmas, and the like. I would recommend saving the very special ones for Christmas and the days after.
2. Get an Advent wreath with candles and light the candle every Sunday at family dinner. There are wonderful prayers online to say each week as you light the candle.
3. Fast from most of the sweets. I’m not saying to go monk style with just bread and water. Just be mindful. I try to steer clear of them until Christmas Eve and then, oh, how wonderful it all tastes.
4. If you can, do a Jesse Tree. Trying to do Advent in quiet meditation is often not reasonable or possible with families. So, do things that include the whole family. Children will enjoy lighting the Advent candle and a Jesse Tree is a fun

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Let’s set the scene. Imagine that you have invited over a new friend for dinner. You prepare your house, working to make it welcoming and warm. You fix one of your most special meals. You hope that they find your home inviting.

The doorbell rings and there is your new friend. You open the door, invite them in and politely ask that they remove their shoes. It’s one of your house rules. Your friend says back to you, “Nah, I’m not gonna do that. It’s not a rule at my house.”

You’re a little taken aback, but you try not to make things too awkward so you decide to drop it. You welcome them into the kitchen and start to set the table. Once the food is all laid out, you invite your friend to sit down at the table with you and your family. Just as you are about to engage in conversation, your friend pulls out their phone and proceeds to scroll through their social media feed. They start laughing to themselves over some stupid meme and they turn around their phone to show you. You half-heartedly laugh. You ask them to put the phone down and explain that you have a rule of no electronics at the table but they say to you, “I always get my phone out when I eat. I don’t have that rule at my house. I don’t see electronics at the table as a big problem.”

Now you just want them to leave. The night has gone all wrong. You invited this person over to your home, but all they’ve done is disrespected your home and your rules.

You may be thinking to yourself right now, “What a scenario! But, it’s pretty unrealistic. Nobody is that rude.”

Oh really? I beg to differ.

When my husband and I were first married the number one thing we fought about was what religion to be–I was Protestant, he was Catholic. We came up with this compromise where we would go to a Protestant church one week and a Catholic church another week. That got old really quick and it always ended with us fighting as soon as the service was over. Though I was very against the Catholic Faith, I finally told my husband that we could just stick with the Catholic Church. I could get what I wanted from it which was music and a good homily. Since he was so dead set on staying Catholic, I figured it was the best setup we could arrange to keep the peace.

As we started going to Mass, I became more and more annoyed that I couldn’t go up and receive Communion. My husband told me that I couldn’t because I wasn’t Catholic. I was appalled by this.

“Christ is for EVERYBODY! All are welcome at His table!” I yelled at my husband.

“That’s true, but you aren’t Catholic and you don’t believe what we believe.”

Deep in my heart, I was furious. How dare they. How dare the Catholic Church tell me, a baptized Christian, I couldn’t receive Communion. Who cared about their stupid rules? I’d show them.

The next Sunday, when it came time to go up for Holy Communion, I left the pew and got in line. My husband firmly said to me, “Amy, you cannot go up there.”

I hotly responded back, “They can’t tell me I can’t receive Communion.” I smugly walked right up to the priest, held out my hand, received the wafer, and stuck it in my mouth. Instantly, I regretted what I had done. I didn’t fully get why, but I did. Instead of feeling triumphant, I felt terrible. I tried hard not to let it show. The next week, though, I didn’t go up to receive.

I sat there in the pew and watched each person go up. I watched them bow and cross themselves. I wondered about it all. There was definitely a difference to me in how Catholics received Communion as compared to all the different Protestant churches I’d been in in my life. There was a reverence that I had never seen before. I started listening to the words that the priest said before Communion and I started watching him. It was curious to me that he bowed before a piece of flat bread. Why were we all on our knees when he held up the chalice and the bread? When he was done and he put the extras in the little box behind the altar, why did he and everyone else up there with him bow down?

I asked my husband. He told me that the priest turned the bread and wine into Christ’s Body and Blood and so since it is Christ up there on the altar, we bow in worship and reverence.

Say what?

This was news to me and something I couldn’t fully understand. Communion was purely symbolic, right? Where were these Catholics coming up with this belief?

Week after week, I sat in the pew and as I sat there pride started to melt away. The call of the Eucharist started to pull on me so heavily that I could no longer resist it.

Believe me, I had a lot to confess at my First Confession but it felt tremendously good. I will never forget the feeling of receiving my First Communion after I was Confirmed. It was so radically different from that time I had taken it before. This time, I felt peace, I felt warmth, I felt complete.

Since that time, I’ve grown even more in my understanding of the Eucharist and how it is the actual Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of Our Savior. It is not symbolic. It means everything. I hate–absolutely hate–that I was ever so prideful to think that I could disregard the Catholic Church’s rules about Holy Communion. I mean, who the heck am I? It was not my place to go into a Catholic Church and apply my rules to …

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I think I was around 11 when I first watched the movie “Anne of Green Gables.” From the first few scenes, I was hooked and have been a fan of the movie ever since. Not only did I identify with Anne Shirley’s dramatic and passionate ways, but I longed to go to Prince Edward Island. Everything about the island seemed like a dream. Well, in 2011, I got my chance to visit Prince Edward Island. When my husband and I got married we couldn’t go on a honeymoon so we promised ourselves that on our 10-year anniversary we would make that happen.

Prince Edward Island is very small and there is really only one “biggish” town–Charlottetown. We didn’t get to explore the entire island, so I can’t comment on all of it, but we did stay in Charlottetown and up on the North Shore. For this blog, I will give you a place to stay, two places to eat, and two things to do in each location. I will, also, give you a Catholic place to worship.

Charlottetown

PLACE TO STAY: SHIPWRIGHT INN

We got in sort of late on our first night and everyone was asleep at the inn, but they left us a way in and a personal note. When we got to our room we found a cozy, quaint room all ready for us, complete with homemade cheddar cheese, chocolate covered strawberries, and a bottle of wine. The personal touches at this inn made all the difference to me. In the morning, we came downstairs to a chef-made breakfast that was wonderful. The owners stopped and chatted with us for awhile and gave us all kinds of recommendations for our day. You will feel right at home at the Shipwright Inn.

PLACES TO EAT: WATER PRINCE CORNER AND THE GAHAN HOUSE

The Water Prince Corner Shop was actually one of the places recommended to us by the owner of the Shipwright. She said, “By day, it’s a small market, but at dinner, they turn it into a seafood restaurant. Get the lobster.” Of course, when you describe something like that, I have to go. Sure enough, it’s a grocery market by day, seafood restaurant by night. I’m not wild about seafood, but the lobster and the mussels there were right on point. We stuffed ourselves. The atmosphere in this tiny place is very laid-back.

The Gahan House is a brewery in a historic, old brick-building. You know how I love historic things. The place oozed with the coolness factor. My husband and I sampled the beer and learned about how the building had once been a convent for the Sisters of the Precious Blood from 1922 until the 1960s.

TWO THINGS TO DO: RENT BIKES AND VISIT THE LIGHTHOUSES

Charlottetown is not very big, so riding bikes all over it is very doable. My husband and I really enjoyed riding all over town. I think you really get a feel for a town when you walk it or ride bikes around it. It’s so easy to hop off your bike and explore. We saw so much: Old stately homes, the shores, the pier, and the university.

I love lighthouses. Each one tells a story and has such a neat history. PEI has lighthouses all over it, so you definitely need to make time to see a few. You can even take a lighthouse tour if you want.

North Shore

PLACE TO STAY: BARACHOIS INN HISTORIC BED AND BREAKFAST

This place is unreal. I’m not even kidding. You will write me letters thanking me for suggesting this place. Set on a country road in North Rustico, you cannot dream up a more perfect bed and breakfast. In the morning, you eat around a big table and the owners ask you what you want. They literally will make you anything. Then, the sweet older woman will pack you a homemade basket lunch to send you off with for the day if you so desire. There is tea time and peace and quiet all around you. This place is what you dream of when you go on vacation. The Barachois is rated 5 stars for a reason.

TWO PLACES TO EAT: THE MILL IN NEW GLASGOW AND THE PEARL EATERY

At The Mill in New Glasgow, I tasted the most amazing dessert of my life–the sticky date cake. There are no words. Eating that was other worldly and that’s about all I can say. The restaurant is situated right near a river and you can sit by big windows and watch the river while looking for bald eagles. PEI is very unique in that there aren’t many towns. It’s more like little settlements here and there. You just drive along and then right in front of you are a few homes, one restaurant and maybe a little shop. It’s very endearing. Dinner here was awesome, but the dessert…my goodness.

The Peal Eatery was one of those places we just stumbled upon. At first we thought it was just someone’s house, but, nope, it was a tiny little restaurant in a home. There are only like ten tables in the whole place, so it’s very intimate. Here’s what’s amazing about this place: The chef goes out into the garden out back and picks your food straight out of the ground before preparing it for you. Talk about fresh and so very delicious. All the food on the island was fantastic.

TO THINGS TO DO: GO ON AN CARRIAGE RIDE NEAR THE LAKE OF SHINING WATERS AND TAKE WALKS ALONG THE NORTH SHORE

If you are any kind of an Anne of Green Gables fan then you know that in the book and movie Anne talks about the “Lake of Shining Waters.” Well, you can take a carriage ride by the very lake that inspired L.M. Montgomery, the author of the book. The countryside is breath-taking and incredibly peaceful and calming. …

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When I worked as a counselor for victims of domestic and sexual violence, I heard some of the most horrific stories you can imagine. The ones that were the hardest for me to deal with were the ones where people had been physically, emotionally, and sexually abused by their parents. There’s just no excuse for it–none. Period.

I had to hear more stories about incest than I care to mention. Even though I specialized in sexual crimes, I was not prepared for the number of people traumatized by this heinous crime. It’s a level of evil that you can’t wrap your mind around.

Time and time again, I had to sit and listen to people tell me that their mothers knew that they were being abused and did nothing. This is not an uncommon response but, for many victims, it’s almost worse than the abuse itself. A mother who refused to stop abuse was deemed almost worse than the abuser.

I remember one girl in particular that I saw only a handful of times. She was an adult who had been sexually abused by her father since she was a little girl. Her mother was completely aware and did nothing. As she sat in front of me, it was like I was staring at a shell of a body. There was no life in her. She could barely make eye contact with me and there was no emotion in anything she said. She was just hollow. Even as an adult, her father continued to abuse her and I encouraged her to get as far away from him as possible. When I mentioned this to her, it was like she’d never considered that that was an option. It was like I had given her permission to move on. The last time I saw her, she was moving to another state and there was a trace of a smile on her face.

I still wonder about her. I wonder if she ever made a clean break. Did she find a way to forgive? I hope she found happiness and freedom. I hope she is on a path to becoming who God created her to be.

(Just as a side note: If you ever catch yourself judging the people who are homeless on the streets, just know that there are many that have a story just like the one above. Drugs sometimes are the only way they know to escape the torment in their heads.)

The Fourth Commandment is: Honor your mother and father.

How can you possibly ever tell someone like the girl above that she has to honor her father or her mother?

There is a key component to this commandment that often times parents forget, which is: Be worthy of honor. That’s right. As parents, we don’t get to just sit back on our thrones and demand our kids kiss the ring no matter what we do to them.

With regards to the 4th Commandment, the Catechism states: Parents must regard their children as children of God and respect them as human persons. (2222) Also, they (parents) must create a home where tenderness, forgiveness, respect, fidelity, and disinterested service are the rule. (2223) (Disinterested service means without looking out for your own interests.)

Now, on the flip side of this, I’ve seen many adult children diss on their parents just because they don’t have the same political or religious beliefs. I’ve seen numerous people who think their parents are only worthy of honor if they never made one mistake as a parent. News flash: All parents make mistakes and fail at one point or another.

I don’t agree with my parents on every single thing. I have my own mind. To be sure, I have a lot of the same core beliefs as my parents but I’m not a walking clone copy of them. I still to this day value their opinion and advice. I may not always take it but I still value what they have to say. In many ways, I want to show them honor by living a good life–one that makes them proud. I don’t want to embarrass them, disgrace them or ruin their reputation in anyway. My parents are good parents. They have their flaws and faults as every parent does, but I know they love me with everything in them. But, what about children who don’t have parents like this?

To the girl that I counseled long ago, I would tell her this today:

Your parents certainly aren’t worthy of honor. They haven’t done one single thing to earn your respect or admiration. What they did to you was unspeakably horrendous and unthinkable. However, you can’t let the evil that they did to you continue to rob you even after you leave them behind. You are not obligated to stay near anyone who treats you in such a way. Though it will be hard and you will struggle to do it, seek forgiveness. This is only possible with God. It takes supernatural graces to forgive such evil. Forgiving them does not mean you condone what they did, nor does it mean you have to have a relationship with them. Let God deal justly with them. Now, go and live your life in such a way that it brings them honor even though they don’t deserve it. For people that don’t know you very well, live your life in such a way that they would naturally assume that you came from parents that were good, not from ones that disregarded all your dignity. You grew up in ugliness, evil, and lies. Go now and seek the good, the beautiful, and the true. Don’t keep your story locked up inside you. Let it out little-by-little and every time you do the grip of it will lessen and lessen. Seek help through all this and never try to go it alone. Honor your parents by not turning into them and by becoming who they were supposed to …

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Out the gate, let’s be perfectly clear: I do not hate men. This is not an anti-male blog. But, to get the point across in this blog, I’m going to have to lay down some truths about men that may leave them a little uncomfortable. Maybe not.

Men, for the most part, possess a sort of callousness, a hardness about them. On the one hand, this is necessary, because quite often men are called upon to do the things that are unpleasant, dangerous, and, frankly, scary. I think they have these characteristics because it allows them the ability to just suck it up and do it. It’s how men are wired.  Men, also, have testosterone, which I don’t think needs any explanation. The downfall with this is that I think there is a tendency to seek power, leadership, command, and conquest. If left unchecked, this leads to some very bad things. Since the beginning of time, the world over, it has been men, in large part, that have wreaked havoc through violence and destruction. (Just keep reminding yourself that I don’t hate men.) Certainly, not all men are bad and I don’t mean to imply that at all. Most men use their strength for protection and to provide and, for that, I am extremely grateful.

So where do women fit into this? I believe that women have the beautiful ability to temper men. In a lot of instances throughout history, it has often been women that set the moral authority of a group. We are the calm to the storm, the soft to the hard, the peace to the unsettled. My husband once said, “Can you imagine a world if it was filled with just men? We’d all be fighting each other to the death constantly or trying to compete for something incessantly. Women make our world a place where you actually want to live.” I had to chuckle at that, because, well, it’s probably very true.

I cherish these things about being a woman. I love that we make a house, a home. I love that we add spice, color, and decorative pillows to the bed.  Though men can be handsome, it is women that surround us with beauty and life. We literally do surround us all with life, as the givers of life through our wombs. We care about emotions. We care about scars and stories and romance. Where men can often take us to the brink of devastation, it is women that draw us back and remind us all that life is more than just conquest and competition: It is about beauty, relationships, and always love.

Throughout my growing up years, I was told and often heard, that girls need to be more like men. We need to get out there and conquer the male world. We need to shed all that makes us inherently “woman” and step up to the plate and wrestle our way in there with the guys. I agree, to a point. We are capable of many things, but I reject being told I need to be more like a man. I reject the thought process that to be a woman and embrace all the things that make us such spectacular beings, is somehow wrong. We don’t need more men. We don’t need women to become more “manish.”  We need to learn to love and hold up all that makes women so special–not better–but special. This certainly doesn’t mean that we can’t be doctors, scientists, or, even racecar drivers. It doesn’t mean I believe we need to go back to when women couldn’t vote. But, something has happened along this road…women are losing that temper to man’s callousness and hardness. We are taking it on ourselves and it isn’t pretty.

Women have always been the champion for the vulnerable. I think this is partly because, we, ourselves have historically been vulnerable. We care for the sick, the dying, the hurt, the outcast, the forgotten. We want everyone included. We hate seeing tears and we want to heal your heart if we can. Which is why for the life of me, I can’t understand how women can side with abortion. I mean, for the love of God, what are we doing? This isn’t us? This kind of death and destruction is what men notoriously are known for, but we have joined their ranks and made our wombs a place of death. All in the name of choice. Yet, it is our nature to choose beauty, love, and life. I fear that we have forgotten who we are. We are the ones that would give our very last breath for our children. We are the ones that proudly bear the many scars and stripes of childbirth and would do it all over again just to bring our children into the world. We would take our children’s pain, in any form, if it meant freeing them from it, and, yet, we sit here and watch as our national total for dead, aborted babies ticks up to over 50 million.

I want the kind of women that fight for the weakest. I want the kind of women that fight for those that can’t fight for themselves. I want the kind of women who look at an unwanted pregnancy, not as a choice, but as a life. I want the kind of women who see the beauty in all people, no matter how small. I want the kind of women that welcome life, not seek to destroy it, just because everything wasn’t planned out perfectly. I want women who own up to their responsibilities because we do have strength and fortitude. I want women who will rally around the scared, new pregnant mother and say, “This baby is a blessing. I know you are scared, but we are here. We won’t leave you.  How can we help?” This is where we are best. This is why we are here–to be the counter to violence and destruction. We are …

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On the last day of December in 2015, our family crested the hill to overlook the lights of the city we would be living in–Las Vegas. We had spent three amazing, wonderful years nestled close to the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia and now we were to call Sin City our home. It was the hardest military move we’ve had to date. Our entire family fell in love with Virginia. We had great friends, a great house, beautiful scenery, the quaintness of the East Coast, and historical attractions everywhere. Vegas was the polar opposite and it never quite fit our family.

Our oldest was a competitive gymnast and, in Virginia, she had found her gym home. She loved her coaches, her teammates, and even the gym itself. It fit her like a glove. It was such a fantastic experience for her and I knew that she would never be able to top it. However, we had high hopes for Vegas. Sadly, though, on her first day at her new Vegas gym, she came out crying. She desperately missed her gym in Virginia.

This isn’t uncommon for military families. A new move is always hard and a growing process. You miss the duty station you had before, you have to make new friends all over again, and you feel like a fish out of water for a good long while. “You just need time,” we told our daughter.

As time marched on, things really didn’t get better. She had a vengeful, spiteful coach, her teammates were cliquey and cold, and fear started to set into my daughter’s head because she was losing confidence in her abilities. In Virginia, she had been the All-Around State Champion for Levels 4 and 5 but her new coach was casting doubt in her mind. To top it all off, she got a bad injury that set her back and forced her to lay off for a very, very long time.

Her father and I saw her love of gymnastics slipping away. It was heart-breaking because it is such a love of hers. Many times, we asked her if she wanted to be done and maybe try another sport. Each time, she answered, “No.” With such an awful coach and a bad injury, I struggled deep inside as a parent, wondering if I was doing the right thing by allowing her to continue on. She was being berated by her coach and she could barely practice her skills but I had to trust that she knew her limit. She wasn’t a little girl anymore and I didn’t want to strip something away from her until she was ready. Somewhere, in all my prayers over this situation, I knew good would come.

Every day, our daughter went to practice. Her injury limited her greatly, but my sister-in-law, who is a physical trainer, came up with creative workouts to keep her in shape. I saw this child of mine fight like you wouldn’t believe. I knew she was suffering inside but she carried her head high and fought on.

In time, her injury healed, the bad coach got fired, and Rhianna was ready to compete. She went through a whole season and qualified for the Western Regionals Championships. She and I made the drive together from Vegas to Reno for the big day. She competed very well. I’m not one to look at the scores because I like to be surprised at awards time, so I had no idea where she stood in the rankings.

To my great joy, she won her level and was the All Around Western Regional Champ. As she looked at me from the podium, so much was said between us. Her smile said a thousand things. This was her victory and she had earned it through sacrifice, hard work, and tenacity. She had overcome great adversity only to fight through it and come out on top. I realized that through this struggle, she learned more than her dad and I could ever have taught her. So many times, my love for her wanted to take all the pain of it away. But, I also know that great character and strength are forged in the flames of trials and suffering. It’s a hard line to balance as a parent.

After that day, she decided to retire from gymnastics. I was a little shocked at first but now when I think back on the look she gave me from the podium, I realize that part of her was saying to me, “I did it. I overcame the challenge. It’s time for me to find new ones.” And she did. Her senior year, she decided to take up Cross Country and helped lead her team to win the Greater Catholic League Championships.

My middle daughter is running Cross Country right now as a freshman. She’s been battling a leg injury that has stumped all the doctors. Like with my oldest, I have been tempted to just remove her from the sport, yet I know better. Here again, I am watching one of my children press through pain and struggle mightily. She is fighting and all the while learning what she is made of. But, here’s the thing, she’s not doing it alone. Her father and I are behind her 1000% and so is her sister who cheers her on from college. For an outsider, it may look like I’m just allowing my children to suffer needlessly. As their parent, though, I know them better than anyone else. I would never allow them to take on more than they can handle but I, also, know you can’t grow without pushing through suffering.

Why do I tell you this story? Because the subject of suffering is a huge stumbling block when talking about God. There are many, many people out there that can’t wrap their minds around suffering and why a “loving” God would ever allow it. In fact, I think even for most Christians, the subject of …

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This will be my most humbling and embarrassing blog to date. I’m a story-teller, it’s what I do, so sometimes my stories definitely don’t shed me in the best light. Much of what I write is for me; reminders on what to do or what not to do. If someone else can benefit from my stories, I’m glad to tell them.

In 2011, our family was stationed in the middle of nowhere in California. Edwards AFB was our home out amongst the sagebrush, tumbleweeds, Joshua trees and nothingness of the Mojave Desert. One day, my husband came home and told me that he had to drive over to Nellis AFB in Las Vegas for work. He asked if I wanted to join him for a short getaway. We found friends to watch our kids for two days and off we set on the three and half hour drive across the barren wasteland.

We arrived midday and decided that it would be fun to see a show that evening since we were without kiddos. We’d always heard that Cirque du Soleil shows are worthwhile and so we called up the ticket office to see about prices and showtimes.

Since it was a Wednesday, not much was showing. The operator told us that we could watch Ka, O, or Zumanity. We didn’t know much about any of them, so we inquired about the general gist of each show. The lady said, “Well, Ka is about martial arts, O is about water, and Zumanity is about animals. Since I’m not super big on martial arts and O was too expensive, I told my husband to get tickets to Zumanity. “I like animals,” I thought. I imagined it was along the lines of a Lion King theme. Boy, was I wrong.

When we showed up, alarm bells started going off in my head. As we were waiting in line to get in, I started to notice that everything around us was well….very sensual. I wasn’t completely surprised, I mean, it is Vegas. However, I wasn’t getting much of an “animal” vibe. I leaned over to my husband and whispered, “I’m not so sure this is about animals.” We proceeded to enter the theater with caution.

The second I entered the theater, I wanted to leave. I knew immediately that this was no Lion King type production. For some pathetic reason, we didn’t leave. I don’t know if it’s because we paid for tickets or if we had just never been in this type of situation before where we needed to walk out. Mostly, I was just a coward, I guess. I didn’t want people thinking I was some prudish religious nut. So, we found our seats and settled in for the show.

Porn on stage is about the nicest description I can come up with for Zumanity. Every second of this show made me and my husband uncomfortable. I saw waaaaaayyyyy more body parts than I cared to see. I was embarrassed for the women and men on stage who were parading around as spectacles and being objectified for an hour and a half. For most of it, I held my eyes downcast. It was as close to being an orgy as you can get without actual sexual intercourse being performed on stage. I hated every moment of it.

I was so thankful when it was over. My husband and I walked in silence to our car and the only thing that was said between us was, “I feel like I need to go to confession.” As I said before, we shouldn’t have been surprised, but the lady was OBVIOUSLY promoting false advertisement when she claimed the show was about animals. Give me a break.

Nowadays, if I find out someone is going to Vegas, I immediately pipe up and tell them NOT to see Zumanity. I don’t care who they are–religious or not. Most people nervously laugh at me, but I’m dead serious. I hate that people are objectified (and I’m not a feminist activist) and are thrown up on stage for people to lust over. I hate that the sexual act, which is a beautiful sacred thing between a married couple, is degraded. I hate that the whole point of the stupid show is to make people covet the actors on stage.

The 9th Commandment is “Thou shall not covet your neighbor’s spouse.”

What does my story then have to do with coveting your neighbor’s spouse? Zumanity is a stage show, a raunchy stage show at best, but still a show. I have no idea if some of the actors are married or not, however, they are still considered my neighbor by Biblical standards.

I’m sure someone will read this and think, “My word, this is exactly why I don’t want to be religious. This woman is a no-fun, stick in the mud.”

Others will say, “My spouse and I have no problem with either one of us looking at other people. It’s healthy and natural.”

There will be people who believe pornographic things are healthy and harmless. (It’s not, but people believe that.) And you know what, I don’t really care what they think. As Matt Fradd says, “Use things, not people.” But, I digress.

Christ takes this commandment and pushes it even further when He says, “But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” Matthew 5:28

I mean, my goodness, are we not even supposed to be attracted to people?

What is the point of all this talk about coveting and lusting? The point is to look at what makes us better people and what helps us love people well. Does it make us better to covet what we can’t have, like someone else’s spouse? Absolutely not. In fact, all this does is cause bitterness, jealousy, and selfishness to grow within us. It may even lead us to act upon …

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I warned you. When all the haters spewed forth several weeks ago, I promised I’d tucked away their comments as blog fodder. They may have, for a moment, overwhelmed my page but like I have told my kids when they are misbehaving, “I will outlast you.”

They may have rapid-fire comments that pour forth from their fingertips, but I have prayer and contemplation on my side. Oh, I’ll take your comments, Haters, and let them soak in my mind for awhile and formulate lots of thoughts on them. And then…I’ll write a blog about it.

When I said a few weeks ago that children are a blessing, I didn’t expect the conversation to turn into a climate change argument. I mean, the conversation could go in a lot of ways, but the demise of the Earth wasn’t on my radar. But, leave it to the Negative Nancies of the world to turn it into a virtual screaming match about how the “end is near and we are all going to burn up.”

Let’s set a few things straight before we get started on this blog.

Number 1: I think the Earth is wonderful and I’m all in favor of being responsible caretakers. Often times, the “burning Earth” crowd sets up a false dichotomy: You either completely agree that the Earth is headed towards utter annihilation because of pollution/climate change OR you are a stupid, uneducated idiot who hopes for its destruction. There is no middle ground with these people.

Number 2: I do think that in many ways we have abused the Earth and not been good stewards of the gift that it is. I do agree that there are areas of our world that are in serious danger and need immediate help. Most rational people agree with this.

Number 3: This blog is not a discussion about whether climate change is really a thing or not. I have read both sides of the issue and I have my opinion about what I believe. I make no claims that this is an exhaustive scientific peer-reviewed academic paper. I’m not a scientist and neither are most of us. I don’t need stats and figures thrown out to me in the comments. This blog is not about climate change but more about the doomsday obsession over the Earth. It’s bizarre and downright depressing. There is almost a sick worship of the Earth which in turn has caused people to hate the human race. My goal here is to look at this as a Catholic and talk about how a Catholic should respond to this doomsday rhetoric.

Let’s begin with a few comments from the “burning Earth” crowd that were recently posted on my Facebook page.

Allanis: “Having kids has a negative effect on the planet because of how much waste comes from them.”

Lylah: “Actually, life will carry on just fine without humans. At the rate people are still having babies, soon enough there won’t be enough food or shelter for everyone.”

Amanda: “The world is literally burning, climate change means we have measurable years left with no planet B.”

Jacob: “The earth is dying and we’re living in a dystopian dumpster fire of a country.”

Melissa: “Our planet is dying and future generations will undoubtedly have to endure war over resources, famine and disease.”

Again, these were the comments that I could allow to stay. Most comments were so crude, horrendous, and purposefully offensive that I couldn’t allow them to stay on my Facebook page. But, you see here this extreme over-exaggeration about the state of our home planet. These people see themselves as the “responsible” ones for NOT having kids because all we do as humans is suck up resources and destroy. They view things in such perilous ways that for many of them, there is no hope of turning anything around. “We are doomed. Live it up while you can. May the Earth have mercy on your non-existent soul when you burn up in a fiery tsunami of destruction.”

There was no reasoning with them. If I tried to explain that things aren’t quite as bleak as they are making them out to be, I was ruthlessly attacked for being an idiotic non-scientific Christian.

So, what is the Catholic response to all this? Balance. Balance and good stewardship. There is one camp that ignores all environmental warnings and laughs everything off as absolute nonsense. Then there is the other side which sees only the Earth, plants, and animals as good; humans are nothing but a scourge upon the Earth. They believe the Earth is “literally burning” and we are passed the point of being able to do anything about it. Game over.

With either one of these sides, there can be no fruitful discussion. When I tried to tell the lady that thinks the Earth is “literally burning” that it would be more beneficial for her to use realistic and factual language, she became enraged. I tried to tell her that I could actually agree with her that there are parts of the world that are in danger and in threat of ruin, but it’s important to use language that speaks actual truth when talking about these hot button issues. She heard none of it.

I spoke in my blog “Let’s Just Hate All the Good Things, Shall We?” about the depressing and dangerous view that some younger people are taking, which is that humans are the absolute worst. All that matters is the environment–Earth good, humans bad. There’s serious cult worship of the environment and a move to degrade anything associated with humans. Many of these worshippers would be happy to see the human race just disappear. Consequently, many of them don’t want children. This, sadly, is a product of self-loathing and a loss of purpose in people’s lives. They believe the environment is just an innocent bystander that has been bullied by resource-sucking humans.

(As a side note, I went and looked at many of these people’s …

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I have been married to my best friend for 18 years. Eighteen beautiful years.

The first time I saw my husband, I knew he was the one. It was like, “Yep, there’s the rest of my heart sitting there across the room.” Dustin and I both had significant others when we met, but…well, you see where we are today.

I truly believe we came together because of my mom’s persistent prayers. Never underestimate a momma’s prayers; they’ve got God’s ear, for sure.

I don’t know if 18 years qualifies me to talk about marriage. I don’t know if there is a magical anniversary number that makes you legit enough to say anything about marriage. Ah, but, you know, I like talking (or writing) so I’m gonna say the things on my mind.

I’d marry this man a thousand times over. My soul is stitched to him with an unbreakable thread. There are so many things in my life that I thank God for, but the gift of my husband sits at the top of the list.

With that said, I’m going to jump right in and say some things in this blog that may make a lot of people recoil–especially women. Let’s dive in…

After a couple gets married and then children come, it is often the case, that the spouse gets put to the side. I’ve heard women tell me, “Right now, it’s all about our kids, my husband is just going to have to learn to take a back seat.” This always makes me cringe a little.

I’ve heard husbands say, “It’s all about the kids right now, when they move out, maybe then we will have some time to reconnect.” There is always sadness behind these words. I’ve never seen anyone say it with a twinkle in their eye and a genuine smile on their face.

Our marriages, outside of our relationship with God, has to sit at the top of the priority list. Marriage does not take a back burner. Your spouse is not to be placed on the sideline. There are two things that you can do that will make you amazing parents:

1.  Take care of the souls that are entrusted to you by giving them a foundation in Christ and loving them.

2.  Have a solid marriage. I’ll say it again. Have a solid marriage.

This does not mean love your kids less and nobody is advocating for that. It does mean, however, do not love your spouse less. Do not set them aside and then pretend that in twenty-some-odd-years that you are going to magically fall back together and all will be bliss after the kids leave. You simply cannot neglect a spouse for a quarter of a century and then pretend that it will all fall into place.

“We grew apart.” Ever heard that line before from divorced people? I have on numerous occasions and it makes me sad because it doesn’t have to be that way. On our wedding day, none of us thinks to ourselves about putting our spouse on the back burner when the kids come–not a single one of us. Yet, for many, once the kids do come, this becomes our attitude. I get it, things get busy, exhausting, mundane, and crazy. Nobody has time to gaze longingly into each other’s eyes. But, there are other ways to connect that are simple, mindful, and easy. We, oftentimes, have an either/or attitude about our spouse. Either we can gush over each other while going out on long, romantic dates OR we can just wait until all our kids are grown and then try to find the romance again. We can’t draw these hard lines and refuse to be flexible. Connecting with your spouse during the child-rearing years is going to look different than when you were first dating. It’s going to look different than a retired couple. You gotta have a realistic game-plan to stay connected and that only happens through good communication.

Your kids are the gift of your love with your spouse. Your kids need mom and dad to be unbreakable. You are their foundation and they need that foundation to maintain throughout their life. Yes, even as adults, they need that foundation.  I know this to be true because my parents divorced when I was in my thirties. The pain is just as great no matter your age.

You are being a good mother when you love your children’s father. You are being a fantastic dad when you love your wife. Kids need to see you loving each other, fighting for each other, depending on each other. They need to see you kiss, hug, hold hands, and snuggle. They need to see you argue (without cussing and name-calling) and then make up without breaking up. You teach them that you can have disagreements with people, but not fall apart and hate each other. Want your children to have a beautiful, peaceful, secure childhood? Then love your spouse with all your being. As children, there is no substitute for falling asleep at night content in the knowledge that mom and dad are one.

Of course, this doesn’t mean don’t take care of your children. It doesn’t mean don’t love them with all your heart. It’s not like, we as humans, have a limited amount of love. In fact, when we love and love well, it gives us more energy and more joy. Understand this, one day your kids are going to move out and start their own families. Their priority should then be their spouse–not mom and dad. You are hopefully going to be with your spouse longer than any other human being on earth: Longer than with your own parents, longer than with your kids. The relationship you have with your spouse is of utmost importance. Your kids want a place to come home to, to see mom and dad–together. They want to know that when they leave the house one day, the two of …

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When my Facebook page blew up a few weeks ago with all the “child-free” advocates of the world, I was bombarded with some of the most heinous comments imaginable. I read them, not because I enjoyed it, but because I’m prone to studying people and they laid in my lap a morbid, yet fascinating case study. I deleted most of the comments because I didn’t want my followers’ eyes to bleed, but I noted the themes of what they were spewing and I tucked them away for blog fodder.

Over and over again in the comments, I noticed that people were talking about how horrible human beings are. Here are a few of the less vile examples:

“Human beings are nothing but a scourge on the planet. It’d be better if we were gone and the planet and animals were left alone to carry on without us.”

“I’m nothing but a burden to the planet. I’ve felt like a burden my whole life. Human beings need to just get out of the way.”

“We don’t need any more human beings. All we do is suck up resources, pollute, and wreck the planet. It’d be wrong to add more human beings by having kids.”

I think you get the point. All this hate for humankind really made me pause. Where the heck is this coming from? You’ll notice that each one is very similar to the other comments, almost like out of a playbook. As I was musing over all this, I began to realize that there are a lot of things–good things–that have become objects of hate.

There’s hate towards men. There are those that suggest men should just hate themselves already because nothing they do is worth a darn.

There’s hate for children. Trust me, when people are calling them “vagina vermin, bloodsuckers, and crotch goblins” there’s not a lot of love there. I can’t tell you how many times I read that children are “annoying, disgusting, filthy, and not worth it.”

There’s hate towards religion.

There’s even a growing trend of Americans who hate America. It’s what the cool kids do these days.

But, where did all this start? I thought long and hard about this. When did people really start hating things that are good? These are just my thoughts and mostly I’m just typing out loud. I know that people have been hating things since the beginning but I’m looking at the here and now and trying to understand where this trend is coming from, especially within my own country.

My thoughts took me back to when women really started rejecting staying at home and having kids. There was this whisper in the ear that expressed the idea that staying at home was actually lower than “man’s work.” It said, “It’s unworthy, meaningless, and undesirable.” I’m all for women working outside the home if that’s what their family needs and if they are called to it. I have worked outside the home during my marriage. It’s not wrong and I’m not advocating that all women give up their jobs and stay at home, so before you write me, hear me out.

As a woman, I know the argument. The argument was pounded into my head in college and it tore me up inside the first years of my marriage. I didn’t know if I could amount to anything if I desired to stay home with my babies. In college, all typical “women’s work” (read housework) was looked down upon. Staying at home to raise children was about the worst thing you could do. You were letting all women down if you stayed home. You’d never make a difference, you’d be dependent on your spouse, and you’d waste away into nothingness never having done a thing with your life.

There are women who enjoy working while being mothers and wives. I’m not speaking of those women. There is nothing wrong with being a working mom–nothing in the world. My mom was a working mom and she handled it all like a champ. I worked for a time. However, there is a growing number of women that hate anything that is deemed “womanly.” Interestingly enough, at the same time, these are the same women who consistently rant and rave about men and how horrible they are. It’s almost a jealous hate. The thought goes something like this: “Womanly” things are bad and so we must strive to be more like men. Yet, men are horrible and they should just realize it already. It’s a bizarre illogical thought process.

So, we have women who hate anything that is seen as traditionally female. This has lead to a rejection of the beauty of motherhood. If you think I’m joking, please feel free to peruse the child-free Facebook pages. It’s not that these people just don’t feel like they are cut out for motherhood; it’s that they hate it: Hate babies. Hate children. Hate the thought of motherhood. It’s all awful beyond words to them.

But, the hate hasn’t stopped there. Once you unleash hate, it only seeks to hate more in order to be fed.

What has happened over time is that people have started looking at anything from the past and scanning it over with a laser beam. If these people find one thing–ONE THING–wrong from the past, it needs to be hated and discarded. Historical context means nothing. The complexity of human beings and their nature is ignored. There is zero mercy to be found with these people. If you messed up in the past, you should be hated. Consequently, men, white men specifically, are to be loathed because some were slave owners in the past. America is worthy of hate because, as a country, we have mess-ups, failures, and even outright horrible practices as part of our history. Religion, Christianity specifically, is worthy of hate because it’s a patriarchal, antiquated, brainwashing bunch of nonsense that has to go, don’t you see?

Now, sadly, the hatred has moved …

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So, last Thursday, I wrote a post commenting on the recent poll from the Wall Street Journal and NBC News. The poll showed that only 30% of Millennials and Gen Zers believe having children is important. That means 70% don’t which is a startling number. In my post, I gave my opinion on why I think this is so. Mostly, I believe that it is a product of the devaluation of life through abortion and the growing acceptance of euthanasia. I, also, believe that we’ve lost the purpose of marriage. To be fair, many Millennials and Gen Zers are legitimately worried about the planet and its resources and feel adding more children is harmful. Others have legitimate reasons for not having children in their marriage at the present time because of job situations and financial concerns. All of which I get and understand.

However, I have a sneaking suspicion that a big reason for these percentages is selfish motivations. I’ve dealt with the “child-free” crowd before and let’s just say that selfLESSness isn’t their strong suit. This isn’t my opinion. They will happily tell you that they have zero problem being selfish. They like their “freedom, their money, and their sex without babies.” True to form, hundreds of “child-free” people found their way to my Facebook post and commenced in verbal battle. At first, some of them were trying to propose legitimate reasons for not having children in marriage. Some were fairly cordial. However, I posed one of two questions to them: “What is the definition of marriage or what is its purpose?”

For this blog, I am going to take their attempted definitions of marriage and show why they don’t work.

Ashley: “The purpose of a marriage is for those who are considering entering into the marriage to decide.”

My Response: This “purpose” is bereft of any meaning. It certainly doesn’t answer the question. If a child asked you what the purpose of marriage was and you gave this response, they’d leave more confused than when they started.

Nikki: “I have only one person who I have chosen to live with and support for our lives.”

My Response: All this is, is a description of life circumstances. It doesn’t define what marriage is or give its purpose. You could have two friends that live together and support each other for life, never getting married. You could choose to live with a parent for the rest of your life and support them. A special needs child often lives with their parents for the rest of their lives.

Danielle: Marriage’s purpose is to tie two CONSENTING ADULTS into a union, which could be emotional, financial or political in nature depending on circumstances.

My Response: A business meager could tie two consenting adults into a financial relationship, too. Definitions that are so general in nature and could describe many different things are not good definitions.

Melissa: Marriage is a partnership between two people.

My response: You can have partnerships with co-workers, business owners, friends, contractors, and many other types of relationships. This, in no way, shows how marriage is unique from other relationships.

Melissa: Marriage itself is a civil contract wherein you pledge to share half of everything. That’s all it is.

My Response: If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was describing a business partnership.

One lady gave me the Oxford Dictionary definition which is: The legally or formally recognized union of two people as partners in a personal relationship.

(As a side note: I went and looked in my actual dictionary from 1996 and the definition was: The legal union of a man and woman as husband and wife. It’s not completely satisfying but at least it isn’t completely vague and ambiguous.)

My Response: The recent definition is the vaguest definition I can ever imagine. If I was an alien and came to earth and asked what marriage was and this definition was given to me, I’d really have no clue as to what it truly meant. This is what happens when marriage gets watered-down into meaning anything people want it to mean. It loses purpose and explanation. If any relationship can be a marriage because you say so, then no relationship is a marriage. Notice how it says “two people.” It doesn’t even say “adults.” When I pressed the lady who offered this definition on if she would be okay with an adult marrying a child, she decided to make an adjustment to the dictionary definition.

“I’d add that it should say “two consenting adults.”

Yeah, but it doesn’t and now the definition that she offered up doesn’t agree with what she wants it to say. This definition from the dictionary is about as explanatory as saying an apple is a fruit that comes from a tree. It begs the question: Which fruit from which tree? If I pick a fruit from a tree how do I know it’s an apple or not?

I had a few others tell me that marriage is whatever a couple defines it to be, but that’s nonsensical. Words have meanings. We can’t go around just defining things however we want. That causes chaos and makes our language meaningless.

What surprised me most was that nobody added in the sexual aspect to the definition. As Catholics, we are accused all the time of being anti-sex, yet the Catechism explicitly talks about the sexual union between the married couple and the importance of it.

Finally, someone asked me for my definition and here is my answer paraphrased from the Catechism:

Marriage is a covenant in which a man and woman freely and fully bind themselves for life for the building up of the family. It is a sexual, lifelong commitment that should be faithful and a total gift of self. Marriage not only binds the married couple but brings together two families and builds foundations for society to be built off of. The couple is ordered toward the procreation of children and is …

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My name is Amy and I have rights.

Look, I have so many rights, you betta just settle on back whilst I get started decreeing them to you. (Proceeds to role out a scroll with said rights)

I’ve got rights you don’t even know about and everything you think isn’t a right of mine, well, yeah it is. So there.

Quite honestly, I don’t want to hear about your rights. What is more important are MY RIGHTS AND WE AREN’T LEAVING UNTIL YOU RECOGNIZE EVERY SINGLE ONE! I’ll only be happy when you enshrine them into law and make everyone bow before me and my rights.

Can we get someone in here that can make a t-shirt with all my rights listed on it so that everyone is aware, please? In fact, I think it is my right to have someone make me a shirt–FOR FREE.

I don’t really care if you don’t think my rights aren’t in the Bill of Rights because it’s basically out-of-date and we need to bring it up to speed. 21st century, man. Get with the times.

Every week, it seems, we are forced to endure a new group of people hollering about their rights: Women have a “right” to free birth control. Men, who believe they are women, have a “right” to compete in female sports. People have a “right” to divorce and dissolve their families. Women have a “right” to get rid of the baby growing inside them. People have a “right” to not pay their college debt. People have a “right” to force others against their consciences to do a number of things they don’t want to do. Even when said thing could be easily done somewhere else. I could go on and on.

Now, before people start writing to tell me all about how important our rights are, let me say, yes, I know. I know rights are important–certain ones. I’m not suggesting or even advocating scrapping all rights. I’m fully aware that the Civil Rights Movement was necessary and good. I’m grateful for the women who worked so hard during the Suffrage Movement. I’m a fan of the Bill of Rights.

Lately, though, it seems we have developed an obsession with rights. I believe our understanding of our rights has to be tempered with an understanding of our responsibilities. As of late, rights tend to be very focused on self.

Not enough of us are asking, “What are my responsibilities?” Why? Because responsibilities are focused outwardly and we have a tendency to think inwardly. What if we think of responsibilities in a different way? What if we think of them as gifts?

In the Bible, there are negative commandments. Negative meaning things we aren’t supposed to do because if we do them the consequences are negative. Here’s a shortlist to give you an idea.

“Don’t set up false idols.”

“Thou shall not kill.”

“Thou shall not commit adultery.”

Thou shall not steal, lie and covet.”

God tells us these things because they guard us against bad things happening to ourselves and others. In our culture, we like to say that a thing is only really bad if it hurts someone else, but that’s not true. It’s bad if it hurts you, too. My dad always told me when I was growing up, “Be prepared to deal with the consequences of the choices you make.” Breaking one of the “negative” commandments has serious consequences. When we strive to not break them, though, we become disciplined and we grow in strength.

The positive commandments are different. When you look at them throughout the Bible, you actually see that they are responsibilities. Just as God gives us painful trials to build discipline within us, He also gives us responsibilities to help us see our purpose.

“Love God with all your heart, soul, and strength.”

“Honor your mother and father.

“Be fruitful and multiply.”

“Pick up your cross and follow Me.”

“Love your neighbor.”

“Take care of the least of these.”

“Keep holy the Sabbath.”

“Spread the Gospel.”

Do you see how each one of these is a responsibility for us? Each one helps us to focus outwardly by taking care of children, neighbors, parents, and those in need. These commandments help order our lives by aligning our priorities for us: God, family, neighbor. They give us purpose and help us to see how important our lives are because they are meant to do important things: Raise families, lead souls to Heaven, help those in need. They, also, show us that being responsible won’t always be fun or comfortable. We will have to pick up our crosses and deal with a lot of burdens.

To be sure, bad consequences still follow shirking our responsibilities. The consequences are just less obvious. But, I ask you to note how we become selfish and lazy. We demand others to fix our problems. We blame others for our mistakes and failures. Whining about life and seeking comfort and pleasure becomes common. Worst of all, we lose our purpose. Our life becomes a never-ending quest to just get what we want and demand others be forced to do our bidding. Not all rights are like this, however. A true and good right should always make sure a person is free to find their God-given purpose. As Pope John Paul II said, “Freedom consists not in doing what we want, but in doing what we ought.” A good and true right makes sure that a person has that ability.

Certain rights are important and necessary. I would be silly to suggest otherwise. Good rights, Catholic Pilgrims, will always open the door for us to fully embrace our responsibilities to God, family, country, and neighbor. A good right will never help us to live more selfishly and it should never encourage us to abandon our responsibilites.

…

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I ain’t gonna lie, vanity is something I struggle with–mightily.

Lest we think that vanity only has to do with looks, let’s look at the definition.

Vanity: Excessive pride in one’s appearance, qualities, abilities, achievements, etc. For this blog, though, I’m going to focus on the looks aspect.

Lest we think this is only something that women struggle with, let us think again. Sin typically does not differentiate between the sexes. It can manifest itself in different ways between the sexes, but both can struggle with vanity.

Recently, I had a follower ask me about vanity. She wanted to know if coloring her hair and watching her weight were manifestations of her vanity. I told her that I’d think about it and put my thoughts in a blog.

I’m the type of person who gets up early in the morning to shower, put on make-up and get fully ready for the day. Even though for most of the day, I’m home teaching my kids, I still like to get up and get ready. I hate going to the airport looking like I just rolled out of bed. I rarely if ever go anywhere with just sweats and a t-shirt on. I’m not usually one to wear a messy bun or go without my eyeliner. There are days when I won’t fix myself up but those days don’t happen very often.

I catch a lot of flack for this. I think a lot of people assume it’s vanity that makes me this way. For the most part, it’s not vanity. It’s just how I’m wired. Getting ready for the day makes me feel awake and energized. I feel ready to accomplish things. I know there are people that don’t operate this way and that’s okay, not everyone has to live exactly like me. I grew up watching my working mom get ready every morning and I think it just became something I adopted myself. There is absolutely nothing wrong with liking to look nice and presentable. Also, there is nothing wrong with liking to look attractive for your spouse or for the person you are dating.

There are times, though, when my vanity does get the better of me.

Sometimes, I catch myself wanting to be the prettiest gal in the room.

Sometimes, I fret and worry too much over the way I’m aging. I mostly make jokes about my gray hairs, laugh lines, and stray facial hairs, but sometimes I obsess over it too much.

Sometimes, I will take a ridiculous amount of pictures of myself just to get the “perfect” one. Even then, half the time, I’m not pleased with it.

When it comes down to it, vanity is very much connected to pride. Pride is one of my greatest struggles. I confess it all the time. At least I am aware of it, whereas I use to ignore my prideful jerk attitude in an effort to…stroke my ego, of course. So, how do we combat this?

I was asked if coloring hair and worrying about weight were signs of vanity. Here are my thoughts. There is nothing inherently wrong with wanting to look presentable, color your hair, keep a healthy weight, build muscle, wear nice clothes, etc. None of those things are bad in and of themselves. With any of these things, though, they can be taken too far. For example, you could want to watch your weight so that you can be healthy and physically capable to live life well. That’s totally fine. However, if you want to watch your weight so that you can wear a Speedo and strut on the beach while everyone notices you, you’ll need to check yourself on that.

Another example: You could be one of those people that loves to experiment with their hair color and style. Some people love to play around with their hair and there is nothing wrong with doing that. I like to color my hair because I like my brown color. I’m not particularly fond of my grays, but I can live with them if I don’t color. There are times, though, when I worry that my grays will make me look older than I am or that I won’t be as “cool” anymore. That’s when I’m teetering on the edge of vanity. Some people fully embrace their grays and that’s great. Heck, some people even color their hair gray on purpose. But, really, if you like your hair red, color it red. If you like it black, color it black. If you like it pink, whatever. If you find yourself unable to be happy if you don’t color your hair, well, then I think it’s time examine what is going on.

Last example: I like to workout in the gym. I lift weights to keep my muscles strong and maintain good posture. Lifting helps me to feel confident, strong and energized. These are all good things. However, I have seen many a peacock strutting around in the gym looking to just show off and that is obviously vanity.

If you feel you are struggling with vanity, here are some good questions to ask. Are you looking to make others jealous or envious? Are you looking to draw all eyes to yourself in order to make you feel good? Do you crave attention over the way you look? Do you feel threatened when you perceive someone else looks prettier, more handsome, stronger, thinner, or more fashionable? Are you obsessing about some particular feature of yourself? Do you spend exorbitant amounts of money to look a certain way? Do you spend extreme amounts of time fussing over your looks?

You have to be really honest with yourself when it comes to vanity. Everybody struggles with in some capacity. Here’s the thing, if your conscience is seriously nudging you about something, it might be good to have a heart-to-heart with God about it.

Discerning whether an action is vain or not has to do with intentions and motivations. It is difficult for those on the outside …

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Very soon, our family will embark on our 11th year of homeschooling. We recently just graduated our oldest and she leaves for college in one week. I started teaching her when she was in 3rd grade and now my time as her school teacher is through. It’s hard to believe that I will no longer sit down to read or study with her anymore. My middle child has been with me since the beginning of her school career and this year she’ll be in 9th grade. This year, my little man will start kindergarten. He’s so excited. He watches over his school supplies with great affinity. So, how did we get here?

I never planned on homeschooling. I always had my sights set on being a working woman. However, in 2009, we were stationed in the middle of the Mojave Desert at Edwards AFB. Previously, my oldest had attended a private school in Florida while I worked. Upon moving to the desert, my husband and I discovered very quickly that our daughter was struggling with the public school on base. They didn’t teach science, social studies, or anything outside of math, reading, and writing. She had pounds–POUNDS–of monotonous homework every night, which was excessive for a 3rd grader. Scratch that. It was excessive for any grade level. To add to that, my daughter does not do well with busy work or repetition. She grasps things very quickly and then it’s time to move on. If she is forced to do repetitive work, her focus wanes. So, because she looked like a zombie after every school day and she was forced to complete page after page of tedious, unnecessary work, we pulled her out. I wasn’t keen on working while we lived there, seeing as we lived 45 minutes from civilization. I wasn’t interested in the long commute. I figured I’d teach my kids for the three years we were there and then put them back in school once we moved.

And, yet, here we are. Eleven years later and I’d consider homeschooling one of the greatest blessings for our family. I could never have anticipated all the goodness that would flow from it, but I’m so grateful that it has worked for us.

When we first started, I had no idea what I was doing. I had no curriculum, it was half-way through the school year, and I had no idea about the laws and rules. I didn’t know if I was equipped. I was scared. Thankfully, I connected up with a leader of a homeschooling co-op at Edwards AFB and I was able to talk to her on the phone. I told her how scared I was and uncertain that I’d do a good job. She said, “Honey, you just gotta jump in feet first. Just jump in. You will make mistakes, but you love your kids, so you will do fine. You will never be perfectly ready to homeschool and that’s why you just gotta jump in.” And so, I did.

I write this because I’ve got a few years under my belt now and I want to encourage any parent out there that may be considering homeschooling. I’ll offer a few pieces of advice if you are toying with the idea.

YOU ARE EQUIPPED

I have a master’s degree and, yet, I still felt ill-equipped to teach my kids. Look, you will never know all the things, but nobody does and that’s okay. There have been numerous times when I’ve gone to teach my kids something and I don’t know the information or what the heck the book is talking about. So, we learn together. There is nothing wrong with learning together. It is a valuable lesson. Nobody goes through life with a professor or a teacher right by their side imparting all knowledge in the known universe. If you want to truly learn and learn something well, teach yourself. There have been times when I’ve said to my kids, “Okay, this is the first time I’ve ever seen this, but let’s work it out. What do we know? Let’s learn this together.” Thomas Jefferson taught himself everything under the sun: architecture, seven languages, meteorology, gardening, etc. If he can do it, so can you and your kids. Part of learning is working it out, re-reading, discussing, writing it down, debating it, and then getting it. So, if you don’t have a Ph.D., that’s okay. Learn with your kids. It’s perfectly fine as a teacher to say, “I don’t know, but let’s figure it out.” That’s learning.

IT WILL TAKE TIME TO FIND YOUR GROOVE

It took some time for my kids to see me as a teacher and not just Mom. It will take you some time to learn how your kids learn best. My oldest gets concepts very quickly, so I know that busy work and repetition are a waste of time for her. Rhianna learns like her father: Get it, got it, move on. My middle daughter needs to see how things apply to her and the world. She’s a very sensitive, aware and connected child and you can’t just throw a concept at her. She needs to see how it applies to life. Basically, she needs to see the social connection. She learns more like me, though I used to get very frustrated with her when she didn’t pick things up as quickly as my oldest, over time, I have learned to adjust to her needs. She’s just as smart, she just learns differently.

SET BOUNDARIES 

When I first started homeschooling, other women started calling me asking me if I wanted to go to coffee or lunch. As my oldest got into her teen years, people would call me asking if Rhianna could babysit during school …

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You’ve all heard that if a woman asks if she looks fat in a dress, a man must never tell her the truth even if she does.

The impression you get is that women liked to be lied to. Here’s the thing, deep down, we really don’t. Nobody really likes to have someone lie to them. In fact, it’s a universally held belief that lying is bad. When you lie, you can’t be trusted, you betray love and friendship, and your word means nothing. As we all know, it can take forever to build trust, but one lie can send it crashing down in an instant.

We all lie to some degree. We lie about having plans when we don’t want to do something. We lie about our weight. People tell white lies in order to get off the hook in some way. There are lies put forth as to why we are late for work or school. If our kids are home alone and someone comes to the door, we tell them to lie and say, “Our parents can’t come to the door right now.” Millions of lies are said every day and nobody seems to bat an eye.

Some lies we completely justify and deem honorable. Like the “What if a Nazi soldier is at your door asking for Jews” question. Are you gonna lie? Probably. Lies that seem like they’ll keep people safe are seen as a good thing. We see it as good because the end (saving someone) justifies the means (lying).

St. Thomas Aquinas has a boatload to say on lying, which I can’t fully go into in a short blog. I’ll try to lay out a few of his basic points.

1. Lying to man is bad. Lying to God is the worst.
2. Whenever we don’t tell the truth, it’s lying, no matter what.
3. The gravity of the sin of lying is diminished based on the good you are intending. If you wish to lie to save someone’s life, it’s less grave than if you wish to lie to hurt someone.
4. Some people lie because they have a “lust for lying.” It’s become such a habit that they find it difficult to be truthful most of the time. This would be the habitual liar.
5. It is lawful to hide the truth prudently, by keeping it back, if the person asking does not have a right to know. For example, the Nazi soldier at your door.

I’ll stop there for now, but at least you have some idea of what St. Thomas Aquinas has to say on the topic. The 7th Commandment tells us, “Thou shall not lie.” As I’ve shown above there is a myriad of reasons that people lie and sometimes it’s even done with a good intention in mind. We all to some extent wish to justify our reasonings for lying in certain circumstances. That’s what we do with sin, though, we seek to justify it.

Most of the time, we ourselves make the decision to lie. We think it over and use our free will to engage in a lie. As of late, though, governments around the world and our culture are demanding that people lie so that others may live as they want without friction.

We are told to lie about biology.

We are told to lie about anatomy.

We are told to lie about the true definition of words.

Even if you, in good conscience, decide that you can’t lie, we are being told that we must or suffer serious consequences. It matters not if you speak up and say that you can’t lie about a certain situation. Feelings trump truth in our day and age.

Truth many times is like a great big mirror that many don’t want to gaze upon. There are a million ways that we lie to ourselves and to others all in an effort to feed our ego and our desired way of life. Many times the way we present our lives on social media is not the true picture. If someone tries to call us out when we are doing something wrong, we’d rather that they keep quiet or lie and tell us we are doing everything perfectly. We don’t want people to question our lifestyle choices. We’d rather they just lie and say everything and anything is totally fine.

Deep down, though, we know the lie we are asking for is wrong. By asking people to lie to us, we are, in essence, asking people not to love us. We all want to be loved. On the surface, we think that the lie we are forcing them to tell us will make us happy. But, how could it really make us happy? When you force someone to do something, you know it is never done genuinely and sincerely.

The words that we speak must be words of truth, Catholic Pilgrims. Truth must always be delivered in a charitable way. I heard someone once say, “Let the truth offend the person, not the way you deliver it.” If they choose not to listen there is nothing we can do. Sometimes–many times–it takes courage to speak the truth clearly and charitably.

Let us, also, not demand or require people to lie to us just to spare our feelings. We do not have the right to ask for that. Sometimes–many times–it takes courage to hear the truth about ourselves or our choices. It takes courage to listen and let it wash over us. It takes courage to do the hard work of changing our lives so that we don’t continue to lie to ourselves about who we are and who we have become.

God will never lie to us. God is Truth and therefore it is impossible for Him to lie. Be sure, though, that every truth He presents to us is meant to make us better and draw us closer to Him.

So, ladies, if you ask your man a question about how you …

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Thirteen years ago, the military planted us at Tyndall AFB. Little did I know that while there, I would meet one of my best friends ever. In fact, her whole family became family. Over these past 13 years, we’ve been stationed together four times and made countless memories together. We’ve done so much stuff together as families, we literally could write a military book about all our adventures. I simply can’t imagine life without her or her family. They are just a part of us now and the love goes deep.

When we first met them, Dawn and Shawn told us all about their lake house in Michigan. They wanted to take our family to experience lake life there. I’ve been hearing about it so much that before I went, I felt I knew the place already. However, the timing was never right, until recently.

We are all in Ohio together now and the stars aligned perfectly for us to visit over the 4th of July. Our family was so excited to see all the places that we’d heard so much about. I know for our friends, too, it was exciting because everyone loves to show off their “place.” Our friends did a great job of playing host family for the week and all the sights did not disappoint.

This will be a bit of a different blog. We stayed with our friends at their lake house, so I won’t be offering a place to stay. They aren’t Airbnb ready. HA! I understand that most people aren’t often traveling to the upper northeastern part of The Mitten. But, I want to show you the beauty and the Catholicity that can be found there. And, if you ever find yourself there…well, I’ve got good suggestions.

Mackinac Island

The day after the 4th of July, my friend and I took our big girls out for a tour of Mackinac Island. Mackinac sits within Lake Huron straight north of The Mitten. I had never heard of Mackinac Island until my friend was telling me all about it when we first met at Tyndall. It sounded neat. Neat, however, is an underwhelming word to describe it. It’s wonderful in a thousand ways.

You have to reach the island by ferry which takes about 15 minutes. When you pull in, you feel as if you’ve left the modern era completely behind. There are no cars; everyone bikes, walks, or takes horse-drawn carriages. It’s almost magical like Disneyland except for no rides. The flowers are gorgeous, the houses are quaint and whimsical, and the shopping area is cobbled-stone happiness. The crowning jewel of the island is the Grand Hotel which can be seen as you ferry in. Be sure to check out this magnificent hotel if you can.

Where To Eat

If you can, get a reservation for the buffet lunch at the Grand Hotel. This will allow you access to the hotel and the food is very good. Come hungry because you will want to try all the things. However, if you can’t get into the Grand Hotel, there are plenty of places to eat at on the island.

Must dos

Spend time enjoying the sights. The island is beautiful. A mission was founded there in the 1600s by Jesuits to help the local Native Americans, so the Catholic roots run deep. If you can, rent a bike and tour the island. We didn’t have time on our trip, but I would love to return and hop on a bike to see the sights. Also, be sure to get some fudge. Oh, yes, the fudge is a must.

Northeastern Michigan

Obviously, I haven’t visited the whole area, but there are a few things I’d like to mention for travelers to see. If you are from Michigan, please feel free to share your ideas in the comments.

Lake Huron

Can you say “huge?” This lake is huge. So much so, that I forgot it was a lake and thought it was the ocean. It lacked the salty sea air smell, though, so that kept bringing me back to the whole lake thing. Lake Huron is big and beautiful, but she’s a northern lake which means she can get wickedly cold and dangerous. She gets all my respect.

Old Presque Isle Township

As you check out Lake Huron in northeastern Michigan, stop in at The Portage Store and Deli for some ice cream. Our friends treated us to this gem on a sunny day and everyone had a good ice cream mustache.

Old Presque Isle Lighthouse

I’m a fan of lighthouses. Like a big, big fan. They are hugely symbolic to me with regards to Christ and our faith. If there is a lighthouse near me, I’m there. Michigan has oodles and oodles of lighthouses. I got to visit two while sightseeing around The Great Lake State. The first was a lighthouse built in 1840 and it was completely charming, though it is said to haunted. Ooooooo…

New Presque Isle Lighthouse

By new, they mean built 30 years after the older one. So, in 1870. This lighthouse is literally about a mile away from the other one. I climbed to the tippy-top of this one and the views are awesome. The light keeper’s house is right next door and you can tour it for free. Kids will like getting a glimpse of how people used to live back in the early 1900s. This house was so nice that I could even take up residence there. Bonus: It ain’t haunted.

Catholic Must See

After we left Mackinac Island, my friend wanted to show us a place called “The Cross in the Woods” located in Indian River, Michigan. She said it was a little out of our way but totally worth it. She assured me that “I would love it.” She knows me pretty darn well because I did love it.

Before we …

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When I was sixteen, I had a no-good-dirty-rotten boyfriend. True story.

My mother could tell that he was a no-good-dirty-rotten boyfriend. After we broke up the first time, she stepped in and told me that I wasn’t to see him anymore. He was bad for me. He didn’t respect me. She didn’t like the way he treated me.

She was right, but I was sixteen.

I was forbidden from seeing him but….you know how that goes. I disobeyed my mom and snuck around trying to see him all the time. The thing was, was that for a few precious minutes, I would feel good in his presence. If it was a good day with him, he’d flip me a few compliments and show me affection. The affection was never because he cared, it was always selfish and had strings attached. Every time I would sneak away to try and beg love from him, I would always end up feeling worthless. Incredibly, I would put myself through torture just for a few moments of the temporary pleasure I got when he would–maybe–act as if he cared. It never lasted and I would grovel at his feet time and again, hoping for crumbs.

During this time, he was the number one thing my mother and I fought over. She would always say, “Amy, when you get a man one day that treats you with respect, you will understand why I’m trying to keep you away from him.”

I would always yell at her, saying things like, “You don’t know how much I love him! You don’t want me to be truly happy, that’s why you don’t want me to be with him!” Gawwwww…stupid.

One day, I snuck away and lied to my mom telling her I was going to my best friend’s house. I got in my car and off I went in search of the forbidden guy in my life. I found him at his friend’s house far from my home. For a few minutes he acted like he was glad to see me, but then he quickly ignored me and proceeded to just focus on his buddy. I was miserable.

Suddenly, my pager (yes, pager) started going off. It was my best friend trying to get ahold of me because my mom had called her house looking for me. My work had called my house to ask if I’d fill in for a sick person. My mom told them that she would get ahold of me at my friend’s and have me call them back. Well, when my mom called my best friend, she quickly came to the realization that I had lied to her and she was furious. My best friend was trying to warn me and my mom was blowing up my pager because she wanted me home and she wanted me home immediately. It was bad news all around.

To make a long story short, when I got home my mom was angry and hurt. She just couldn’t understand why I would continue to disobey her to be with a jerk.

“If you loved me, you’d let me be with him!”

“You just don’t get our relationship!”

Then I said the worst, “If you don’t let me do what I want, I’ll resent you for the rest of my life!” That’s when my dad completely stepped in and by the tone of his voice, I knew it was time to shut up.

Here’s the thing, I knew my mom was right. My “boyfriend” made me feel horrible. I wasn’t really happy. Sure, I had moments of fleeting happiness with him, but it came at a cost. Lots of sin. However, I was willing to accept the sin for the fleeting moments of happiness. I think a part of me enjoyed the weird, sick “love” mess I was in and I didn’t want to let go of it.

See, most sin brings some sort of temporary pleasure. We enjoy a lot of the sins we engage in because for a brief moment they make us feel good. Gossiping makes us feel better than others. Sex outside of marriage can still feel good. Buying lots of things fills a hollow void. Greed can buy us fun toys and pleasurable experiences. Gluttony allows us to overindulge on our favorite things. Rage allows us to put people in their place and feel superior. Disobedience makes us feel like we are in charge. Drugs and alcohol can take away pain and make us feel good for awhile. You get my point.

When someone tries to call us out of our sins, we flip out. How dare they! We try to shut them down with manipulative sayings like, “If you truly loved me you let me live how I want to live! Stop judging me! You do you and I’ll do me! To each his own, eh?” As soon as someone moves to help us become better, our hearts start to beat faster and we take a defensive stance. Our next step is to make sure we shut them up and shut them up as fast as possible.

That’s what I did with my mom. I pulled out the big guns, so to speak, and used words that I knew would stop her in her tracks. I saw in her reaction how much I had stung her. She immediately stopped talking and walked away. My dad intervened and forced me to take back what I had said, but the damage had been done. I’d hurt my mom deeply because I didn’t trust that what she wanted for me could be better than what I currently had.

It’s that way with God, too. We are fearful that if we give up the sins we enjoy, we will be left with a boring, lackluster, lame-o life. We don’t trust that God will give us something greater than the current pleasure. Our thinking is so small compared to God’s, but we believe we know better. Worst …

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Everybody knows that stealing stuff is wrong–even thieves. So, in this blog, I’m not going to cover the 7th Commandment–“Thou shall not steal”–talking about the typical “don’t steal” stuff. This year, I was asked to go deeper into the Ten Commandments and deeper I shall go.

My degrees lie in the realm of sociology. My undergrad is a BS in sociology with an emphasis in criminology. My Masters is in Applied Behavioral Science. Basically, I was taught to study criminal behavior. My junior year of college was when I really started digging into studying people, cultures, economic systems, and criminal behavior. One of my classes was a full up study of Karl Marx, Max Weber, Émile Durkheim and the like. It was Karl Marx that fascinated me the most, though not in a good way. After reading the “Communist Manifesto,” I was stunned that anybody–anywhere–could think socialism and communism were a good idea. It was the first time I had really be introduced to the thought processes behind these ideas and I knew immediately they were bad, bad, bad news.

I had read “Animal Farm” in high school, but I didn’t quite get the gist of it because I didn’t have a full understanding of socialism. I had a vague idea of the Cold War and that we were fighting Communist Russia, but I didn’t totally get it. I had read all about Joseph McCarthy and his fight to rid America of Communists, but none of it sunk in. Then when I took my class at Kansas State and started studying Karl Marx the light bulb clicked on and everything fell into place.

In college, we were given scenario-after-scenario of countries that had tried or were practicing socialism/communism. There isn’t a single one I’d want to ever live in. The Pilgrims even tried a form of socialism when they first came over and it failed miserably. William Bradford wrote in his “Of Plymouth Plantation” about how a “share the wealth, spread it all around evenly” economic system was set up and it was leading the Pilgrims down the path of starvation. The Pilgrims thankfully came to their senses and dropped the practice and their situation improved greatly.

Initially, the Pilgrims decided that everybody in the colony would get the exact same amount of all the goods that were grown or hunted, no matter what. If Pilgrim Bob barely tended his garden yet Pilgrim John next door cultivated his with pride, Pilgrim Bob would get a share of Pilgrim John’s hard work. As would be expected, people stopped working as hard. If you don’t get to keep what you have worked hard for, you stop being motivated. If you know that you are going to get a share even if you sit on your butt, you aren’t motivated to do anything. Thankfully, the Pilgrims switched to each person keeping what they worked for and once this happened, everything righted itself.

With all this evidence that socialism and communism never work, it’s stunning to me that there is a growing number of people in our country that embrace the socialist mindset. I mean, I sorta get it. Proponents of socialism wrap it in a pretty box with a big shiny bow on top. You can almost hear the movie announcer guy say, “In a world where everyone is given everything for free and all is fair.” It sure sounds nice…until you really check into it.

I will say that capitalism, if left unchecked, can be damaging, to be sure. The Industrial Age was ripe with greed and different popes have spoken out about how capitalism can lead to materialism and greed. Capitalism is not perfect and it’s not unAmerican to say so. We have to be able to evaluate ourselves so that we can make sure we are staying on a just and right path. All economic systems are man-made and therefore they are not perfect. However, there are some that are better–much better–than others.

“…on the level of individual nations and of international relations, the free market is the most efficient instrument for utilizing resources and effectively responding to needs.“ Pope John Paul II

Pope Leo XIII in Rerum Novarum spoke out against socialism and its denial of private property.

“To remedy these wrongs the socialists, working on the poor man’s envy of the rich, are striving to do away with private property, and contend that individual possessions should become the common property of all, to be administered by the State or by municipal bodies.”

I don’t think I need to go into all that Pope John Paul II had to say about communism. The man lived under it in Communist-occupied Poland. Let’s just say, he wasn’t a fan by any stretch of the imagination. The Catholic Church has flat-out condemned socialism and communism. The Church does not condemn capitalism but warns that it must be practiced with Christian principles at the forefront.

We are in an age where people are screaming for free college tuition, free health care, free birth control, free everything. But, no good is ever truly free. That’s easy to understand. The money to pay for these things has to come from somewhere. It’s always in the form of taxes.

“Just take it from the rich!” people argue. While I agree that those that are wealthy should be generous with their abundance, I do not go so far to say that it is the State’s right to see them as a cash cow that can be bled dry for government programs. I, also, agree that some taxes are necessary but governments can take it too far. Our government has ballooned into a cumbersome, bureaucratic, inefficient mess that is trillions of dollars in debt.

With socialism, the government moves to deny private property and looks to redistribute wealth around so that all is “fair.” It is a transitional state into communism where the government controls everything and people are just a cog in the system. It is …

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When I was a little girl, around four and five, I had a best friend named Jessica. The day I had to move away, we vowed that we would always be best friends. My family moved about two hours from her and, as is normal, our friendship faded away like the Beatles on “Hey, Jude.”

Flash forward to my first day of college. I was back in the town I had left so many years before and I wondered about Jessica. Was she still around? She was one year older than me, so I figured if she was at college, I could look her up. I did and…I found her. I was so excited to meet her and rekindle our old friendship. She invited me to coffee and I happily accepted.

Coffee was nice, but the spark of our childhood days was not there. I told myself that we just had to get to know one another again. After coffee, she invited me to a girls’ Bible study at her house and I agreed to join. Deep down I was really hoping we could be good friends like the days of yesteryear.

To cut a long story short, Jessica and I were never able to recapture what we had as little girls. It’s strange how people change. I’ve thought a lot about why we couldn’t connect and it came down to one thing for me: She was fully living her faith and I was not. She made me uncomfortable. Jessica was happy, good, positive, sweet, caring and fully on fire for her faith. I, on the other hand, was angry, steeped in sinful living, bitter and not living my faith at all. At one point, she gently tried to ask me about my relationship with my then boyfriend. She encouraged me to live chastely. She wasn’t cheesy about it or anything, yet, I did not want to hear her. So, I dropped her like a hot rock and removed her from my life. I could not handle her piety because it was making me look bad. She was shining a light on troubled areas of my life and that made me very, very uncomfortable. At the time, I wished she would just knock it off with all the Jesus stuff and just be more normal. Translation: I wished she would be more like the world.

I was having a conversation the other day with someone about living our faith. This person has a family member that thinks they should calm down with all the religious stuff. The person I was talking with asked me, “Can you live your faith too much?”

I fully recognize that some people are dripping with gooberyness and the cheese factor is high with regards to their piety. I know that we all live our faith differently, but some people seem to be putting on a show of piety. You just get a sense that maybe they aren’t all that sincere about it. I know I can’t judge their hearts but I’m sure I’m not alone in my feelings about this. Hey, I’m sure there is someone out there that thinks I’m a dorky religious holy roller. I’m okay with that.

However, I’ll be clear: We should never lord our piety over others. We should never try to make a show of it. You can never have a holy-than-thou attitude about it. The virtue of piety must flow naturally and genuinely in our lives guided by the Holy Spirit. It’s important that piety not turn into a stifling burden on people’s lives. Don’t become a kill-joy all in the name of piety. It’s perfectly okay to be a pious person and have fun at the same time. It’s just our fun needs to be ordered towards our good.

But, can you live it too much? I guess you could if, say, your devotions made you neglect your children or if you were so steeped in prayer that you forgot to acknowledge your spouse. I’ve never heard of anyone like this, but maybe there’s someone out there. God would never ask us to pray so much that we neglect our family members or other responsiblities in our life.

I suspect, though, that when people say this, it’s because deep down they feel uncomfortable. A pious person can shine a light on dark things and sometimes that makes those in the dark scuttle away from the light. We have this misguided notion that a pious person is prudish, joyless, and stern; someone who likes to stand around wagging their finger at people. Church Lady from SNL comes to mind.

However, piety is a gift of the Holy Spirit. If it’s a gift of the Holy Spirit, it must be a good thing. It’s pretty typical that our culture has tried to paint it as something terrible. Piety simply means “the quality of being religious or reverent.” Basically, trying to live your faith and live it well.

Every single time I look at Christ on the Cross, I am reminded of what He did for me. He gave His life for me and you. God the Son endured the worst to save us. We owe Him everything–every day, every hour, every minute. How could we ever live our faith too much when God gave everything?

“God has loved me too well for me to spare myself henceforth in his service: the mere thought of doing so horrifies me.” St. Claude La Colombiére

But what does it mean to fully live our faith every day? Here’s a little riddle. What do you get when you give your life to God and try to live out His Will? What do we call a radical Catholic? A saint. How did they live their lives? In a thousand different ways, they used their gifts to glorify God. They sinned, sure, but they got back up and kept trying. They sought truth, beauty, and goodness. They decreased so that God might increase …

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My family and I recently grabbed our passports and headed off to check things out in the land of our northern neighbor–Canada. My oldest recently graduated and we wanted a fun way to celebrate as a family. We love to travel and explore, so we thought Montreal would be an interesting place to check out. Montreal is oozing with Catholic history and you’ll notice it at ever turn.

Montreal lies in the province of Quebec and it’s situated on an island in a river. It’s a big island. The first language is French, though most people are comfortable with English. The first time I was in Canada, I visited Prince Edward Island which is charming, tranquil, and romantic. Montreal has a very different feel. It’s a big city with a lot going on and we had numerous places on our list that we wanted to see. For this blog, I will give you an itinerary for three days if you ever travel there. You can mix it up or do them in the order we did them. Mostly the days are organized by the different areas of the city.

I won’t give you a place to stay, as we stayed in an Airbnb which may not suit everyone. We, also, used the Metro and public buses to get around. We found it easy to use and efficient. I think the best way to get to know a city is to walk it and use their public transportation. It gets you out with the locals and forces you to get a little out of your comfort zone.

Day 1

This day is for hiking up Mont Royal and touring St. Joseph’s Oratory.

Mont Royal

Mont-Royal is the highest point on the island and no buildings are allowed to be higher than it. It is like a smallish Central Park composed of a smallish mountain. Be sure to hike all the way to the lodge at the top so that you can see the view. You’ll get a great panoramic view of the city and the St. Lawrence River in the background. The lodge at the top has a coffee and gift shop. If the weather is nice, pack a lunch as there are lots of picnic tables around. Spend some time hiking over the mountain and enjoying nature and all the views.

St. Joseph’s Oratory

St. Joseph’s Oratory lies on the southern part of the Mont-Royal park. The largest church in Canada once started out as a small oratory (chapel) founded by Saint Brother Andrè Bessette. Now, it is this massively impressive shrine dedicated to St. Joseph. You can do a self-guided tour which is what my family did. There is so much to see: The Crypt Church, the Votive Room, the main upper church, the Adoration Chapel, and more. Allow yourself a good amount of time here. While the upper main church does not suit my taste for churches, it is still extraordinary and worth a visit.

Day 2

This day is for the Botanical Gardens and Old Port with a stop at the oldest church in Montreal.

Botanical Gardens

I’m a huge fan of botanical gardens. They are peaceful, beautiful, and often times filled with hidden gems that everyone in the family can enjoy. Montreal’s botanical gardens did not disappoint. There are Chinese Gardens, Japanese Gardens, Lilac fields, wooded trails, and rose gardens. The park sits up in the northeastern part of the city near the old 1976 Olympic Stadium. I’d allow for several hours to really enjoy it.

Old Port

From the botanical gardens, make your way to the Old Port area. The St. Lawrence River is a huge part of Catholic history. Many a Catholic missionary sailed down its waters to bring the Gospel and set up missions. Walking down around the Old Port area will land you right near the water. There is a lot of family activities down there, as well. My family just enjoyed walking around and checking out the river.

Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours Chapel

This is the oldest church in Montreal. The original was built in the 1650s but was unfortunately destroyed by a fire. This church was built over the ruins of the old one in 1771. It’s a very special church with a calm and peaceful atmosphere. The history is almost palpable. There is a museum attached to the church that you can tour with lots of archeological points of interest. There are always guides within the church to answer questions about its history and artwork. While it doesn’t have the fame of the basilica, it is a note-worthy church that should be on any pilgrim’s list.

Day 3

This day is for seeing Notre-Dame Basilica of Montreal and walking around Old Montreal.

Notre-Dame Basilica

There are no pictures that do this church justice. I will never forget my reaction of walking from the sunlight outside into the darkness of this church. It was truly breathtaking. Unreal beauty surrounds you and all you want to do is sit and absorb it all. There is a tour, but I found it disappointing. Instead of walking you around and talking about the artwork and how the church lifts your mind and heart to God, they just sit you in the pews and talk to you for 20 minutes. I was a little uncomfortable with all the tourists around because it causes reverence to be lost. I know people want to see this place, but I worry it ends up making God’s house a tourist trap instead of a place of worship. Our family did attend Mass here which helped it not feel so touristy. There is also an Adoration Chapel behind the altar that doesn’t allow pictures or talking which is nice. This is a must-see for any Catholic.

Old Montreal

If you love cobbled streets, old historical buildings, and French architecture, you’ll love touring Old Montreal. There are plenty of restaurants to choose from, stores to shop in, and several …

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This post may be TMI. I have toyed with this blog in my head for years. YEARS! Each time, I talk myself out of writing about it because I worry it’s going to be more than people want to hear. I’m gonna try not to be too in the weeds with the details. What I have to say, though, relates directly to one of the Ten Commandments.

(I’m changing a name for the sake of privacy)

Jessie Gray. In middle school, she was one year older than me and I had her in gym class. Middle school is hard enough, but when you are a late bloomer like I was, it can be a serious struggle. Jessie Gray had a beautiful, curvy body. I, on the other hand, resembled a twig. She had long, gorgeous flowing dark-brown hair. I had crunchy home-permed hair. I would stare at her in gym class and wish I could be her. I wished I could have a “womanly” body like her and hair to die for. She had confidence and I basically slunked around the locker room shrouded in a towel.

I love body type definitions. (Sarcasm alert) For swimsuits, I’m referred to as an “athletic build.” Read: No curves. For dresses, I’m called “rectangle shaped.” Read: Plank board. Nearly every time I try to shop anywhere, the workers’ faces show signs of pity and they try to direct me to the JCPenny pre-teen section. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a tad, but not really.

Once I got into high school, Jessie Gray was there with her pin-up girl body and I envied her. We were cheerleaders together my junior year and there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t wish God had given me a body like hers. I tried in vain to do everything I could to be more like her. The more I tried, the unhappier I became.

After having my first two children, I became obsessed with not having a curvy body. I would tell myself that if I could just hold up a swimsuit or a strapless dress, I’d be happy. If I could just get my body to look like Jessie’s, all my problems would be solved. I seriously contemplated plastic surgery.

I would watch those plastic surgery reality TV shows and cry. I’d become depressed when I realized the price was out of reach. Then, some weeks I’d be okay and think about my non-curves less and less. However, once I went clothes shopping and couldn’t find anything to fit my plank board frame, I’d spiral into depression and covet the “goods” other women had been blessed with.

For years, I went through this yo-yo cycle. Sometimes I’d be up and okay about my body, but then a lot of times I would plummet. My poor husband had to deal with me agonizing about it all the time. I would lament and whine to him about how “NOTHING FITS!” and “I LOOK LIKE A PRE-PUBESCENT BOY!” Each and every time he would tell me that I was beautiful and he loved me just the way I was, but…I couldn’t hear him because I was convinced if I had a body like Jessie’s, I’d be better.

Then one day, I was thinking about my girls and it hit me that all these years they had seen their mother cry and whine about not having a Marilyn Monroe body. In a moment of clarity, I realized that I would never be able to tell them to be thankful for their lives and the body God has given them if I’m dissing mine all the time. For the first time, I stopped and thanked God for my body. I thanked Him that it was healthy and strong. I thanked Him for my life. I thanked Him for a husband that had dealt with my belly-aching for so many years. I decided to let go of coveting what I couldn’t have and it has, in effect, made me happier.

The last commandment of the Ten Commandments is: You shall not covet your neighbor’s goods.

I struggled for a long time thinking about what to write on this because I don’t covet people’s homes or cars. I’m not that into clothes or brand names. Standing at the sink one night doing dishes, it dawned on me what I should write about. A little personal, I’ll grant you that, but I hope you can see what I’m trying to get across. Coveting never makes us happy. It makes us envious and jealous. It steals joy and keeps us from being grateful.

I want to be clear that I am in no way telling people that they are wrong if they have gotten plastic surgery. The church has no definitive teaching on the matter and as long as we aren’t doing it because we are completely vain (like me) or trying to garner lots of attention, it is not wrong in and of itself. It was not good for me because it was coming from a place of ingratitude and vanity. I completely understand why women would choose to go down that path and there are even good legitimate reasons for doing it such as restoring things after cancer or injury. My issue stemmed from a problem of coveting what another had and I was convinced it would make me happier. My view was skewed.

I still joke around with my sister about being a stick, but the seriousness that was once there is mostly gone now. I still hate swimsuit shopping (thank God for Jessica Rey’s swimsuits). There are moments when I slip back into old ways of thinking but I work hard to quickly change my outlook. Mostly I do that by being grateful and thankful. Counting your blessings is a wonderful cure for coveting.

I know that many of you won’t relate to my specific struggle with coveting another’s “goods,” but I hope you get the deeper point …

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Back in December of last year, I asked my followers what they would like to see me write about. Someone asked me to touch on Confession. It’s taken me a long time to collect my thoughts on what I wanted to say. So much has been written about the Sacrament of Confession that I didn’t really know what the heck I could bring to the table, but I think I’m ready to offer my thoughts now.

When I was Protestant, I thought Confession was the stupidest practice of Catholics. I deemed it totally unnecessary. Why? Well, as I would tell my husband back then, “There is absolutely no reason to go to a priest! I can just confess my sins anywhere! I can just talk to God in my bedroom and confess my sins to Him! So stupid!”

I, also, didn’t think it was biblical. Mind you, I had barely read anything of the Bible and had done zero studying on the matter, but my pride told me that I knew it all. I basically thought it was just nosey priests trying to be all up in everyone’s business. How wrong I was.

Once I decided to become Catholic, I knew I was going to have to do my first Confession. Let me tell you, I was so uncomfortable the day before. I went through all my sins in my mind and tried to justify why I shouldn’t tell certain ones. As I was agonizing over my sins, I realized that what I didn’t want to do was say them out loud. I didn’t want to give voice to the things that I had done. It was soooooo much easier to “hide” them in my head and say, “I’m sorry, God, for my sins.” I wasn’t defining my sins, though. I was just vaguely identifying them as sins, but I wasn’t naming them. That was what I was stressing over.

The day of my first Confession, I sat down across from the priest and I said, “Father, I have a very big sin to confess and I don’t know how to say it.”

He gently smiled at me and said back, “It’s okay, just start talking to Jesus.”

With that, I started in and as I confessed my big sin, tears streamed down my face. I had kept that sin inside for so, so long and once I started telling Christ how sorry I was, I felt the weight of the world lift off my shoulders. After I was done telling my sins, the priest laid his hand on my head and said the words of absolution. “May God give you pardon and peace and I absolve you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Go in peace, Child, your sins are forgiven.”

I will never forget how I felt after the priest said the words of absolution. It was like feeling the warmth of Christ envelope me. I truly knew that my sins were gone. In my mind, I see our souls like Link’s heart in Zelda. Each time we sin, the level of grace in our souls dwindles down. It’s not long before there is hardly any left and we, like Link, are barely alive–we are barely spiritually alive. Before going into my first Confession, I didn’t realize how low I was on grace. I had gotten used to what life felt like without it. However, after my confession, grace poured back into my soul because my soul was cleansed of sin. I felt so alive and renewed. It was such a great feeling.

Today, I hear many people argue against Confession just like I did many years ago. I was naive and ignorant about the whole thing back in the day. I had no idea what was going on in the confessional. I just thought I knew. I see now why Christ wanted us to confess our sins to priests. It makes our sins all the more real. We have to confront them and face them. Only when we truly face our sins can we work to change them. It is so easy for us when we “confess” our sins in our head to God to just give ourselves a pass. Not everyone gives themselves a pass, but the majority do. We use vague language and tend to gloss over the gravity of them. But, in front of a priest, we can’t do that. We have to call them out by name and that’s tough stuff. It’s like a mirror is held up in front of our face and we have to deal with them. It’s much harder but so very necessary.

To be sure, the Church teaches us that we can confess our sins at any time and any place. If you commit a sin, you can say an Act of Contrition in your head right away. However, if you’ve had the misfortune to commit a mortal sin, you do need to get to confession right away. Why? Because a mortal sin brings death to the soul and you don’t want to die with a mortal sin on your soul.

Here are a couple of things about Confession that I think are important to note:

1. Confession is Biblical. Christ said to the Apostles after His Resurrection, “As the Father has sent me, even so I send you…Receive the Holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained.” John 20:21-23 In order for the priests to forgive sins, we have to speak them out loud to them so that they can hear them. In 1 John 1:9 we read, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just, and will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
2. You are required to confess all mortal sins in confession. Venial (minor) sins can be confessed directly to God, but it is encouraged to confess venial sins in the Sacrament of Confession

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Many years ago, my father told me a story about an experience he had one day while grocery shopping. It had a profound effect on me and I think it’s a story we can all relate to in one way or another. It’s also a great segway into my monthly blog on finding joy.

“I was grocery shopping one day, back when you kids were little. There I was filling up my cart when I noticed this older man walking up and down the aisle. His clothes were tattered and in the place of a belt, he had a frayed, old thin rope holding up his pants. I watched as he put a few canned items into his cart. He was barely taking anything off the shelves, except for the cheapest things. Anyway, as I pulled into the lane to check out, he was in front of me. I looked at my cart full of food and I looked at his cart, basically empty.  I thought to myself, ‘David, you have cash in your wallet. onTell this man to go fill up his cart and that you’ll pay for it.’ But, for some reason, I didn’t and he has haunted me ever since. I have always wondered if that was a test for me. I’ve wondered if that was Jesus in disguise and I failed to help Him.”

I have never forgotten this lesson my dad taught me. We’ve all been there.  We’ve all had an opportunity presented in front of us where we could have offered Christ-like love and haven’t for one reason or another.

I hear a lot of people say, “Why does God allow all this suffering in the world? If He really loved us wouldn’t He just take all the pain away?”  Granted, I’ve been stumped on this, too. It’s a hard question to answer. It’s a question that I think we have all wrestled with and it’s understandable that we do. I read something once that really related to my father’s lesson and I really helped me to understand. Many people lose faith in God because they can’t find an answer to this question. But, even if you remove God, the suffering still exists… and then who is left to blame? 

If you look around, we, as humans, create most of the suffering in this world. Sure, much pain is caused by accidents and natural disasters, but the mass majority of suffering is from one human causing another human pain.  And we blame God? Why not turn that finger around to ourselves?

Suffering in this world is an opportunity to love. See, humans are kinda predictable. If things are going hunky-dory, we get lazy with our outpouring of love–in fact, we don’t even pour it. Sure, we love our family, we love our friends, but if all is going good, we tend to slip into our own bubble. Whenever we slip into our bubble of me, myself, and I, we become unhappy. We become sensitive to every irritation, every annoyance. We become self-focused and start to demand that others make us happy. Joy slips from our fingertips.

When we witness suffering, however, we feel moved to love, to give, to share what we have…and it’s really a beautiful thing. Not the tragedy, but the way in which we respond. Look at the response after any natural disaster. While the disaster is devastating, heart-breaking, and maddening, you can see immense amounts of love pouring into the impacted area. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want tragedies to occur just so we can find ways to show more love. I wish they didn’t happen, but each time it does, we, as humans, are presented with the beautiful opportunity to overwhelm with love. We become more Christ-like in those moments and we show those in hard-times that they are cared for, not forgotten, and loved. It’s one of the attributes that sets us apart from other animals–our desire to reach out in times of pain and sadness.

My dad felt tested that day in the grocery store, but I don’t believe it was a test. I think everyday the Holy Spirit calls all of us to action by communicating to our souls, saying, “I need you to help this person. I call you to extend my love. I deem you fit to fix this problem.”

Jesus told us that we would “do greater works” than Him. There was a time when I didn’t fully understand what He was really saying. I mean, who does greater things than the Son of God? But, Jesus said that He was the head and we are His body. Doesn’t it make sense? He is not physically here, so we are His hands to heal the hurt, His lips to give consoling words, and His heart to love. We are the physical form of Christ present in the world to do His work.

We all ask who is to bring an end to suffering? We call out to God, shaking our fists, screaming, “Why aren’t you fixing this?” But, WHY aren’t we? We are to be the extensions of Christ. We are His answer to so many problems.  He gave us the Holy Spirit so that we might be millions of Christ-like imitators walking around, healing pain, serving the poor, forgiving wrong-doers, mending brokenness, and, above all, loving. We may not be able to stop tornadoes, hurricanes, or other natural disasters, but we can sure be there to help rebuild the lives of those that have lost everything. We can be the arms that hold a grieving person who has lost a family member. It won’t take away the pain completely, but nobody wants to go through tragedy alone. We have the opportunity to carry them when their grief is too much to bear and be their strength when they feel they have none left. God has given us an answer and it is us.

You might be wondering what I read that …

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Several years ago, I was out to lunch with a friend who also happens to be an atheist. As we were talking, she’d pretty consistently take the Lord’s name in vain. Each time she did it, I felt a twinge in my stomach. I can’t stand it when people disrespect God’s name, but I lacked any moral courage to say something, probably because I didn’t want to come across as “that kind of Christian.”

At one point in our meal, she realized that she was profanely using God’s name and she kinda half-heartedly said, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

I replied back, “Oh, it’s okay.”

There you have it folks–me and all my courage. (eye roll) It’s okay? I seriously said, “It’s okay,” as if she’d just mispronounced my kid’s name or something.

I’ve relived that conversation a few times in my head and in each daydream, I muster up the courage to say, “Yeah, it does bother me when you take God’s name in vain.”

Do you ever find it interesting that we don’t take any other deity’s name in vain? Nobody is cursing people in the name of Zeus. In movies, Buddha’s name isn’t profanely used in every other sentence. But, Jesus’? It’s like people can’t get enough. I think it actually speaks to the reality of the One True God; Satan doesn’t waste time encouraging us to dishonor other names.

I’ve wondered many, many times how we got to where we nonchalantly take God’s name in vain without even a second thought. Even professed Christians do it all the time without batting an eye; I know, I used to do it myself. It’s curious to me that we grumble, gripe, and throw up arms when people won’t say “Merry Christmas” yet we are as silent as church mice when we hear anybody using Christ’s name irreverently. In fact, I don’t even think most of us notice. It’s so much a part of our lexicon that it barely fazes anybody.

And see, I know what would probably happen if I tried to ask someone not to use the Lord’s name in vain. I’d either get laughed out the building or told that I need to lighten up. Mostly, I’d make them defensive. I’d be seen as some hokey-pokey holy roller. I’m sure the words “holier than thou” would be thrown up in my face and I’d end up slinking away.

The Second Commandment is: “You shall not take the Lord’s name in vain.”

It seems this is a terribly difficult commandment for us to follow. It should bother us that God’s holy name is used so irreverently. Why? Because if we claim that we love God, it should pain us when people misuse, mistreat and dishonor His name. I tell you, there was a time when I would get more upset if someone got my favorite sports team’s name wrong than I would if someone used Christ’s name as a cuss word.

So, what do we do? Do we weep and wail and bemoan the fact that 99% of people in our country choose to categorize God’s name in with swear words? Do we scream and yell at anyone who does? Do we jump in their face and tell them to “knock it off!” Nah, that would never work. It’d actually probably encourage more of the same.

The first thing we should do is check ourselves. Once I realized that I was part of the problem, I curbed my language. I made a pretty poor example by saying I was a Christian, but then dropping a GD every now in then. Not a soul took my love for God seriously and why would they?

My husband is in the Air Force and it’s completely and totally common for bad language to be used. No one is shocked by this. Years ago, when my husband and I got serious about our faith, he stopped cussing altogether. He didn’t tell anyone else it was wrong, he just chose not to do it himself. Around this time, he also made it clear that he was Catholic. He wasn’t weird about it, he just didn’t hide it. The interesting thing was, was that when he started changing, his work buddies stopped using God’s name in vain around him. They’d even apologize and correct themselves. They still cussed and carried on like always, but they did watch how they used God’s name. The best part, my husband never had to say one word. He led by his example.

I think this is the biggest thing we can do–be an example. Along with that, we need to throw in some courage, as well. I wish when my friend had apologized to me at lunch, that I’d said, “Thank you for apologizing. It really does hurt my heart when people take God’s name in vain. I appreciate that you caught yourself.” Next time, I’ll do better. Before, I’d never had anyone apologize to me about it and so I wasn’t prepared with a response. It completely caught me off guard.

We worship a Holy God. Scripture tells us that Christ’s name is “above all names.” It’s such a beautiful name. The Creator of the Universe says your name with love, Catholic Pilgrim, be sure to always speak His name with love, as well.

I was asked by a follower to go deeper into the Ten Commandments. So, this year, each month, I’ve been writing about one of them. Be sure to check out my others.

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Cool name, huh? There’s a good chance that you’ve never heard of Chincoteague Island. I’d never heard of it before living in Virginia, but, man, what a place to visit. If you are an outdoorsy person, you are going to want to go here.

Chincoteague is a very small island off the mainland of Virginia. On the island is a quaint little town that is known for its famed Chincoteague ponies. Legend has it that back in 1750, a Spanish ship sank off the coast of Virginia. On board were horses that ended up surviving and making it to the island. They took up residence there and the ponies there today are descendants from those first shipwreck survivors. That’s the legend, anyway. 😉

The ponies actually live on the island of Assateague which is just a bridge ride over from Chincoteague. Assateague Island is a national park and so nobody lives on it. There are a few roads for Forest Rangers and visitors to get to the Visitor’s Center, but that’s about it. You get around it by walking or riding a bike. It’s a pristine piece of land that is fun to explore.

Since Chincoteague is very small, this will be a smaller blog. I will give you a place to stay, what to do, a food place, and where to worship. Our family went to Chincoteague in 2015 for our 14th wedding anniversary and we still talk about how great it was to find this little-known gem.

WHERE TO STAY

I would suggest staying at the Refuge Inn. It’s very close to the National Park and once you rent your bikes, you can hop on over to see the ponies. The Inn has ponies for your kids to feed. You can’t get near the ones on Assateague Island as they are wild, but the Inn has a few for petting.

WHAT TO DO

Explore, explore, explore Assateague Island. Rent bikes and plan to spend the day riding around the island. I’m crazy about lighthouses and there is one there to see. Stop in at the Visitor’s Center because they have lots of interesting information there about the island and activity booklets for kids.

As you ride around, you’ll see lots of wildlife and, hopefully, you’ll see the ponies. Traveling around, you’ll go through all different kinds of terrain. You can play at the beach or cruise through a marshy area. There are even shady “forests” that offer some relief from the sun. Because there are no cars and hardly any man-made structures, you really feel like you’ve left civilization behind. Be sure to bring snacks, water, bug spray and sunscreen.

WHERE TO EAT

There are a lot of local restaurants to choose from and we had some great seafood. I wanted to talk about the old fashioned soda fountain that we found there, but, alas, it’s permanently closed. That makes me very sad because we went there not once, but twice. Soooo…I’ll have to recommend a place to eat for dinner. We ate our anniversary dinner at Etta’s Channel Side Restaurant. The views of the water are great and the inside is charming and has a very local vibe to it. We all really enjoyed our seafood dinners. I wish I had a picture of it, but, sadly, I don’t.

PLACE TO WORSHIP

When we visited, the Catholic Church was under construction so we had Mass in a lunchroom type place. Not super exciting, but whatcha gonna do? Because the church was under construction, I don’t have any pictures. It’s a small little church with what feels like a very tight-knit community. The local parishioners at St. Andrew’s are used to tourists and they are very welcoming and friendly.

What I really loved about Chincoteague is the simplicity of it. There were other tourists, but it wasn’t over the top. It was a great place to connect as a family and enjoy nature and each other. I love the fact that the town is small enough to just walk around and see it all. You get a feel for the heart of it. I like that you ride your bike everywhere on Assateague. It gives you a freedom that you don’t have in a car. Want to see something? Just pull off, jump off your bike and go check it out. The beach wasn’t crowded at all and we had so much fun playing in the breaking waves. Seeing the wild ponies was a real treat. They look so free, wild, and happy.

Chincoteague is not a place people usually put on their bucket lists, though I think it’s a treasure spot. If you ever get the chance, you should go. You’ll love it, I promise.

Until next time, travel well, Catholic Pilgrims!

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Do you like my Wayne’s World reference in the title? I’m one of those people that takes any opportunity to quote movies and I do not apologize for it.

What comes to mind when you hear the word “contempt?” Do you picture a seething, hateful person? Maybe you picture someone who sneers the smile of one who is devoid of happiness?

Do you ever picture a joyful person? No, of course not. That’s kind of a stupid question, isn’t it?

I’m willing to bet that most people would say that they hold no hatred in their hearts towards anyone. When I lived in Vegas, I only gambled one time, but right now I’d lay down money that people would say they have never had contempt for anyone or anything. Contempt is a strong negative word and most of us don’t want to be associated with it.

Even though most people would say that they hold no contempt for anyone, we are surrounded in our country with lots of contemptuous tension. I feel it and I know I can’t be the only one. It’s sort of a standing joke nowadays to advise people not to read the comments section of anything online. Why? Well, all the contempt, of course! Reading the comments section drags you down into a pit of despair and makes you wonder how we continue to survive as humans.

What exactly does contempt mean? It means to regard someone or something as worthless and vile. It means to have an attitude of complete disdain. So, before I wrote this blog, I had to ask myself, “Have I ever had contempt for anyone or anything?” But, before we get to my answer, I need to clarify something.

It is okay to have contempt for dangerous ideas, toxic belief systems, or outright evil practices. Abortion is an evil practice and we should have contempt for it because it is the killing of innocent life. There is no worth or value to the practice of abortion. We should have contempt for moral relativism because it is a toxic belief system. We can’t just believe whatever we want about morals and deny truth. We should have contempt for dangerous ideas that say some people are not as important as others. Those ideas lead to slavery, abortion, racism, and Nazism. All these things are evil in and of themselves which means it is impossible for them to have any value whatsoever.

But, contempt for other people? Well, that’s where the line is drawn. As Christians, we can’t have contempt for any human being. Why? Because all humans, whether acting badly or not, have worth. We may struggle to see it, but God doesn’t. He loves even the worst of us. It’s difficult to understand that, but God willed that soul into being, therefore, that person has dignity, purpose, and worth. We don’t get to decide who has worth, only God does and He says we all do.

Here’s the trouble, though. As our society has moved further and further away from God, more contempt has crept in. Following Christ reminds us that He died for all of us and that means He loves all of us. When we are in touch with the Creator, we remember that all have worth in His eyes. However, as we’ve abandoned God to follow our own wills, we’ve stopped seeing the worth in others. We’ve taken the contempt we have for certain ideas and extrapolated our hate onto the people who believe in those ideas. Before we know, we stop having contempt for the idea and, instead, simply hate the person or group associated with it. Don’t believe me? Ever heard these comments?

I hate liberals.

I hate conservatives.

I hate Christians.

I hate atheists.

I hate drug-users.

I hate my ex.

So, have I ever had contempt for someone? Yes, I have. My two past abusive boyfriends were held in great contempt by me. It’s understandable, but, in truth, it turned me into a bitter, angry person. I, also, had contempt for the Catholic Church and Catholics back in the day. There was no real basis for this contempt because I had never studied Catholicism or tried to truly understand it. I simply took what other Protestants said about Catholics and Catholicism and adopted their beliefs as my own.

What’s so odd is that my best friend growing up was Catholic. Obviously, I didn’t hate her. My husband is a cradle Catholic and when we met, it didn’t cause me to hate him. I somehow compartmentalized their religious beliefs from who they were otherwise. I did pick a lot of fights with my husband early on in our marriage about Catholicism. Over time, my husband got me to actually listen to him and when I did, I started to see how wrong I was about Catholics and Catholicism. Now, here I am, a Catholic blogger. God’s ways are not our ways and He finds incredible ways to humble us.

The point is, when I held certain people in contempt, I was not a happy person. That contempt started to seep into every area of my life. When I look back on when I was filled with contempt, I cringe. I was not a joyful person to be around. You simply cannot be a joyful person and hold contempt for people. It’s impossible. There are a lot of people out there who seem deserving of contempt. There are some very evil people out there who have done some pretty heinous things. I’m not saying that we must ignore or gloss over what they’ve done. It is okay to hold their actions in contempt, but we can’t hate the person. I hate abortion, but the contempt I have for it has never sucked joy from my life. Abortion is evil and not of God in any way, therefore, I’m not hating something that God created. People, though, are different. Their unique souls are of God and even …

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When my oldest daughter was in my womb, she was an active little thing. I was pregnant with her my senior year of college and during my afternoon classes, she would have exercise time in my belly. It sure kept me awake with all her jabs and kicks. She was also very responsive to touch and her daddy’s voice. I thought to myself then, “Wow, this one is gonna be an active kid.” And, she was. From the moment she was born, she hasn’t stopped moving. Not one for naps or “quiet” time, she has been one active, energetic person her whole life.

My second daughter was completely different in my womb. She’d move around, but it was never with the intensity of her big sister. She was calmer and I thought to myself, “Wow, maybe I’ll have a snuggly baby.” And I did get a snuggly baby. She has always been my sensitive, calm child. Still to this day at fourteen, she loves to snuggle next to me and be close.

My son was about as active as his big sister in my womb, so I was totally prepared for another child like her. He’s just as active, but it’s different. Whereas my oldest likes being fully active, my son needs it. NEEDS IT. Everything is a weapon, everything is something to be climbed, everything is a test of strength for him. I realize that not all boys are like this and that’s okay. I, also, realize that some girls are tomboys. Cool. I was a bit of a tomboy myself. My girls loved wrestling on the floor with their dad when they were little. I used to love wrestling with my dad, too. It’s different, though, with my son–he needs it. He craves it. He won’t wrestle with me mostly because his dad has taught him that “we always protect and take care of Momma.” He sees wrestling with me as “not protecting” me, because to him wrestling is play fighting. I can see that he is trying to measure up to his dad and he’s only four, yet his dad is teaching him to be disciplined with his strength. It’s a very interesting dynamic to watch.

Recently, I was asked to review a book from Our Sunday Visitor called “Leaving Boyhood Behind” by Jason M. Craig. It was incredibly eye-opening as a woman and a mother. For women, there is a very defining moment that ushers us into womanhood–the start of our menstrual cycle. Then, there is a very painful ushering in for motherhood–pregnancy and childbirth. We women love to tell our birthing tales because it is a kind of initiation into motherhood. Obviously, you don’t have to give birth to be a true mother. Adoptive moms are every bit a mother to their children. Religious sisters are mothers to many who are lost and are in need of motherly love. With guys, though, it’s a little less clear-cut.

For millennia, civilizations across the globe had initiation ceremonies for boys. Men would take boys away from their mothers and take them out into nature to be initiated into manhood. It usually involved some pain and sacrifice. Boyhood was shed and upon return to the tribe, the boy was considered a man. This was acknowledged by all the men in the tribe and the boy felt apart of this new brotherhood of men, which made him feel like he belonged and had a purpose. He was now expected to protect, provide, and do the hard things. Sadly, we don’t have anything like this anymore for our boys.

I’m not suggesting a return to primitive tribal initiation ceremonies, however, there is a reason that most civilizations had some form of it. There must be something to a boy leaving behind boyhood and being initiated into manhood. I look around and I see a lot of adult men still living as boys. They are content to live at home indefinitely, many don’t want physical challenges or any risk. When I was a teen, boys couldn’t wait to drive, but nowadays numerous parents report their teenage boys lack interest. One time, my family went on a hike with another family that had a teen boy and a younger teen daughter. The boy literally whined and cried the entire hike. He griped about how he would rather be home playing video games than “hiking up this stupid trail.” He stopped at one point and all the rest of us continued on. In my day, it would have been inconceivable for a teenage guy to sit and whine about how hard it was to go on an easy hike while girls were around.

I see that part of the problem is that moms have taken over the reins of all the parenting. We’ve told men that they aren’t needed, that women can raise kids fine without them, that what they bring to the table doesn’t matter and consequently boys are being raised in environments where dad isn’t around or isn’t allowed to usher his son into manhood. To be sure, there are plenty of wonderful single mothers out there who are doing their best. My husband for a very long time was raised by his single mother. However, it is important that we, as women, realize that we can’t teach a boy how to be a man. I’m capable of telling him what I think a good man should be like, but showing him is another matter. I can’t model that for him. It’s my job to model what a good woman looks like to our girls, but I must trust my husband to teach our son about manhood. I don’t know what it’s like to be a man. Even if I ask all kinds of questions of my husband, I still don’t fully understand just like he can’t fully understand what it means to be a woman.

This book really gave me some good insight into my role as a mother …

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I’ve decided on a new way I’m going to live out my marriage. Here are my thoughts. My husband knows that I love him. I mean, I tell him pretty frequently, so he should have no doubt. However, I’m gonna propose that I move to a different house. I’m an independent woman and I need my space. I’ll be sure to call my husband every night and connect. When we are apart I promise that I will think of him wherever I go–out in nature, in a bookstore, anywhere, really. Then, on Sundays, I’ll come over to his house and maybe spend an hour or two. If I’ve got other plans, though, I may not be able to come over, but he has no reason to worry, I can love him anywhere. I mean, our love is not confined to a house; what was once our home together isn’t what defines our love.

I’m sure he will be totally fine with this situation, don’t you?

That about made me sick to write what I said above. Even though I’m not being serious, it still made me ill to write it because there is no way–NO WAY–I could ever live my marriage that way. I imagine it made you sort of squeamish inside just thinking of me saying those things. For those that know me personally, I know they were uncomfortable reading it. I said it to make a point. Let’s change a few words in the paragraph I wrote above and see how we feel.

I’ve decided on a new way I’m going to live out my faith. Here are my thoughts. God knows that I love Him. I mean, I tell Him pretty frequently, so He should have no doubt. However, I’m gonna propose to Him that I stop going to church. My faith isn’t confined to church on Sundays and it’s just a building anyway. I’ll be sure to pray as much as I can so that I can talk to God. I promise that I’ll think of Him everywhere I go–out in nature, in a bookstore, anywhere, really. Maybe, if I can, I’ll go to church, but I may not always be able to make it. God understands, though, He knows how much I love Him. I mean, I can love Him anywhere! My love is not confined to a church; my attendance at church doesn’t define my love for God.

Would you take me seriously as a married woman if I told you that I was rarely going to visit my husband? No, of course not, and you shouldn’t. Even if I professed my love for my husband over and over to you, you’d still give me the side-eye and doubt my love. Why? Because my actions tell a different tale. Why would I purposely choose to not be in the place where my husband is if I really love him? Barring absolute necessity, it doesn’t make sense, does it?

You know, I used to half-heartedly go to church, if at all. Here’s a laundry list of my thoughts during those years.

“I don’t want to go right now.”

“God actually wants me to sleep.”

“I can worship God anywhere.”

“Jesus knows I love Him. Going to church doesn’t prove that.”

“Church is boring.”

There are other justifications I made, but for the sake of time, I’ve limited myself. I didn’t quite see the point of church. Sure, it was a place to go and sing and listen to a sermon, but, if God can be reached by prayer anywhere, why do I need to rouse myself out of bed and go to church?

The Third Commandment is “Remember to keep holy the Sabbath.”

What did God mean by this? Did He mean that we should go on a hike and spend time out in nature? Did He mean we should sleep in? Did He mean that we should turn on our favorite Christian music and get lost in it? Did He mean that we should watch football games? What in the world could He have meant?!?!

In my thirties, I had to really stop and think about why God would want us to come to church. It was about this time, too, that I converted to Catholicism. Ultimately, it was the pull of the Eucharist that drew me to the Catholic Church. I grew up drinking grape juice out of a tiny cup and eating a teensy tiny rectangle shaped piece of hard bread for communion. It was purely symbolic. When I started going to Mass with my husband, I was appalled that I, a baptized Christian, couldn’t partake in communion. How dare they deny me! My husband had to push past my stupid, stubborn pride and explain to me why I couldn’t. To be sure, I fought him on it for a long time. “Christ really and truly present? Give me a break!”

But then I read. And then I listened. And I went into the Bible and read John 6. And then I thought, “What if?” And then I learned what the early Church Fathers thought about Holy Communion. Finally, God got through and my stubbornness and pride melted away and I began to understand what was going on in the Mass. When I got it, I knew I had to convert and I finally saw why Mass is so important. Christ is physically present in the Holy Eucharist. He’s right there, Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. He’s there to commune with me and that is profound and mysterious and awe-inspiring and supernatural. He wants to unite with me–WITH ME–in Holy Communion. Once, I got that, how could I ever miss Mass?

To be perfectly honest, I fell in love with going to church. I came to understand that in genuine love, each person must give of themselves. Christ has given everything to us. I realize that when I’m giving my time and attention by going to church, I’m showing my love. …

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In 2016, my family went to Catalina Island to celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary. On a clear day, you can see Catalina from the beaches in the Los Angeles area and ever since I saw the island out on the horizon I had wanted to go. We left port from Long Beach early one morning and took the hour-long ride over to the island. Pulling into the port at Catalina felt like we had left the world behind us.

The real name of the island is Santa Catalina Island, named after St. Catherine. It was discovered by Spanish explorers in the 1500s and it was named by Sebastian Viscaino who landed there in 1602. There is only one small town on the island and it sits on the Eastern side. The rest is pretty much all wild and undeveloped. For this blog, I will give you a place to stay, three things to do, how to go about eating there, and where to worship. Visiting Catalina Island has been one of my family’s favorite vacation spots and I think through the pictures, you’ll see why.

PLACE TO STAY

There are places to stay on the island in the form of hotels, but nothing is a chain there, which I love. The hotels are all located right in the heart of the town and many of them look very unique and special. However, what I would recommend is getting a condo through Hamilton Cove Vacation Rentals. We stayed in a fantastic condo that had a priceless view. There is a pool that vacationers can use and other amenities. We stayed for a week and it was so nice to have a comfy, two-bedroom condo to come back to after a day out exploring.

An added bonus to staying here is that most condos have a golf-cart for your use. Golf-carts are how you get around the island. There are very few cars, so most people just walk or cruise in their golf-carts. It’s a fun way to get around and if you bring your kids they will love it the open air ride.

THINGS TO DO

GO HIKING

At the back of the town is the Wrigley Botanical Gardens. That’s right, Wrigley, like Wrigley gum and Wrigley Field. Mr. Wrigley used to own the island back in the day. He built a huge monument that is in the garden and it provides for great views when you explore around on it. The plants in the garden are not your typical botanical fare. There more of the desert variety, but still pretty just the same. In the gardens, you can also gain access to some good hiking trails. The trails take you up on the ridgeline of the island. At the top of the trail, you can see the west and the east side. On the west side, is the vastness of the Pacific Ocean. On the east side, you can see California in the far distance. The hikes are a great way to get acquainted with the island.

Island Scavenger Hunt

In my tourism magazine, there was a list of things to do while visiting and a scavenger hunt was mentioned. We’d never done anything like it before and it was a ton of fun for us all. My kids loved it. Basically, you use your smartphone and find certain hidden things or landmarks on the island. You try to beat other people’s times. We zoomed around in our golf cart trying to beat the winning time. All the things to find are very unique. One thing we had to find was a pet cemetery, which was a little bizarre, but it gave us tons to talk about. If you have very little kids they won’t find this much fun, but four and up will love it.

Hang at the beach

There are several beaches to chill at on Catalina. Pacific Ocean water is always just a tad too freezing for me, but I do love relaxing on the beach and looking for shells. My kids and husband braved the water, though, and our two older kids had fun snorkeling. None of the beaches are huge, so be prepared to not have a ton of space.

WHERE TO EAT

So, remember how I told you to stay in the condos? A big benefit is that you have a nice kitchen and can make a lot of meals there. It was so nice to get up at our pace in the morning and make an easy breakfast in our condo. We didn’t have to get dressed and rush off anywhere. Most nights we cooked dinner at the condo. We grilled out and enjoyed simple, delicious meals out on our balcony. We got to watch all the boats streaming by and it was magical to watch the sunset. Where to get your food? Well, there is a teeny, tiny grocery store in town. It’s a bit pricey, but that’s because they have to ship everything in from California. However, we did find it cheaper than eating out for every meal for a straight week.

There are some good restaurants in town to try. Remember, nothing is a chain. There is an ice cream shop that you’ll want to stop by at some point for a yummy treat. For our actual anniversary date, my husband and I got sushi to go and had a picnic up on a high hill that overlooked the sea. It was perfect. Our kids stayed back at the condo and watched a movie while we went out. Another bonus to the condo.

WHERE TO WORSHIP

As you might have guessed the only Catholic Church in town is called St. Catherine’s. We weren’t there for a Sunday Mass, but we …

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Growing up, I was always a good student. From the time that I was five-years-old, I had been making plans to attend Kansas State University. You may think I was a tad young to really have a dream like that, but it’s true. My dad attended Kansas State when I was a little girl and often times he brought me with him on campus. He was just a young dad with his 5-year old daughter tagging along beside him. Goodness, those were some wonderful memories. I loved being on campus with him and I distinctly remember the exact place where I promised myself that one day I would become a Kansas State student just like him.

Flash forward to my high school days and that dream was ever on my mind. I knew that college was expensive, which meant that I needed to work hard to keep my grades up so that, hopefully, I could get scholarships. I liked school, too, so it wasn’t that difficult for me to keep my mind focused on homework, sports, and my dream. My parents never pressured me to get certain grades, but they did always ask me to give my best and I tried very hard.

Well, all that hard work paid off. I graduated valedictorian and I anxiously awaited for applied-for scholarships to come in that would help me get to K-State. As it would turn out, I was awarded only two scholarships: A 500 dollar one from the local Kiwanis Club and the other was a full scholarship to Kansas City Kansas Community College. To say I was devastated would be an understatement. My parents had always told me that paying for college was my responsibility, which I completely understood as right and fair. I had worked since I was fifteen and had put money away in savings with the hopes that it would be my spending money at college. One 500 dollar scholarship was not enough to help me pay for college and it looked like I was going to have to accept the community college offer. There is nothing wrong with community college and I see all the benefits of it, but for a girl that had worked every day to make a dream come true, only to see it disappear before her eyes, it was a less than desirable choice. My heartbreak was very real and painful.

That summer before college started, I was just going through the motions. I felt like someone had sucked the life right out of me. Yet, I still enrolled for my community college courses and I went and got all my books. I tried hard to make myself excited.

When my dad saw that there weren’t many scholarships coming in and that my heart was broken, he secretly sat down at a computer and composed the most important letter of my life. As an alumnus of Kansas State, he wrote to the president of his alma mater and explained my story. He mostly just shared how much I had worked and struggled to make it into Kansas State Unversity but that my dream would not be a reality. He closed the letter very respectfully and set it off without my knowledge.

Weeks later, I was at home and, to my complete surprise, I received a call from the Dean of Student Life at Kansas State. As my hand gripped the phone, he shared with me that the president and he had reviewed my dad’s letter and they had a scholarship to offer me. I was speechless. He invited my dad and me to drive over to Kansas State and meet with them so that I could get caught up on enrollment and all the other ends and outs. When I hung up the phone, my heart felt like it was going to burst, but at the same time, as light as a feather.

My dad and I drove over and when we meet the president of Kansas State, he warmly gave us both a big bear hug and shared with us the good news of the financial aid I was going to receive. It didn’t cover everything, but it was enough to significantly help. The Dean of Student Life was supremely helpful and got me all squared away. He asked if I needed a tour of campus to learn where things were, but I politely declined. No, I knew this campus in and out–I’d walked it as a kid with my dad and many, many times after that. A week later, I received my welcome letter from the marching band and not long after that, my dream that I had worked so hard for came true.

I still have that letter that my dad wrote to our alma mater. Each time I read it my heart swells with gratitude for what my dad did. He saw that I had done everything in my power to make my dream come alive but some things were just out of my control. So, like a good father, he stepped in and gave me a boost. He advocated for me and gave me the support I needed.

As most of you all have heard by now, the College Admission Scandal has shocked many around the nation. If you are unaware, I’ll try to quickly summarize. Basically, a significant amount of wealthy parents were caught and arrested for buying their kids’ ways into prestigious colleges. They paid off coaches, proctors, and administrators to make their kids look more accomplished than they really were so that they looked good on entrance packages. They paid off proctors of SAT and ACT tests. The proctors allowed other people to come in and take the test for the rich parent’s kid and get a high score or they paid for scores to be fixed to reflect a high score.

When I learned about this scam with all its lies and deceit, I was righteously angry. Some poor teen out there was …

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When I first started dating, I had romantic notions in my 16-year old head. My first boyfriend had pursued me for years and when I finally relented to him and opened up my heart, I was sure that he would guard it.

That didn’t happen.

Our relationship was a tortured, twisted one. I was constantly trying to find ways to win his love and he was constantly trying to find ways to break me down into a weeping puddle. I thought if I could just be flirty enough, pretty enough, or cool enough that it would win his affection back. All those years when he had pursued me, he had showered me with attention and affection. Once he could call me his girlfriend, all that stopped. It was so confusing to my young mind. I could not fathom what I had done to lose his adoration. I bent over backwards determined to become what I thought he wanted, yet nothing ever worked.

At his hands, I suffered physical and emotional abuse. The pain of the emotional abuse has stuck with me the longest–I still feel the ramifications of it to this day. I doubt my worth and my lovability. I sometimes struggle to believe my husband could really possibly want or desire me. He always assures me he does but the wounds of a past boyfriend treating me like I was nothing still run deep.

After my first boyfriend and I ended our relationship, the second boyfriend came along and he was worse. With my self-esteem tanked, I was incapable of making wise decisions about boys. I didn’t choose the second boyfriend because I liked him, but more because he showed me attention and I felt that was a sign that I was worth something. Yet, he sunk me even lower than the first boyfriend. At his hands, on a dark fall night near a railroad track, I was sexually assaulted by three guys, one of them being my boyfriend.

I hated all of them. Hated them with every fiber of my being. I struggled to like myself, as well, because I blamed myself for everything. I stupidly stayed with my first boyfriend too long and I knew the second one was not a good person at all. If only I had done things differently. My rage-filled mind wished to see them suffer and I wanted revenge, but my brokenness left me lost and hurting. I managed to put on a good face to the world, but I was at a loss on how to heal all the pain I was stuffing down.

During this time, my anger at God for allowing all these bad things to happen caused me to turn away from Him. I vowed to figure everything out all on my own and there was one thing I knew I would never do: Forgive my past boyfriends. They did not deserve it and I would never give it.

As years went on and I clung to my hatred of them, bitterness clamped over my heart. I was easily angered, I snapped at people constantly, and I didn’t feel any joy. Sure, I felt moments of happiness, but it wouldn’t be long before tortured memories of them would surface in my mind and I would seethe with hatred.

At the beginning of this year, one of my followers asked me to write about how to find joy and for the past several months, I’ve been writing one blog a month on the topic. I’ve written on being grateful and learning to not be offended by every little thing. This month is about forgiveness.

Once I met the man who was to become my husband, I knew that I had to deal with all my anger and pain. I wanted to be better for him. I realized that withholding forgiveness from my past boyfriends was eating me up, but I didn’t know how to forgive them. I was mistaken in thinking that forgiveness would come when I could forget what they had done, but that’s a silly notion. I will never forget and that’s not a pre-requisite to forgiveness. How could you possibly forgive something that you’ve forgotten ever happened? God can forget our forgiven sins, but, as humans, that’s not possible for us. You can’t and you won’t forget major hurts. I realized that I needed help.

You cannot be truly joyful if you refuse to forgive. I know and it’s impossible. There have been several people in my life who, for years, I denied forgiveness and it never made me a better person. In fact, it brought out the worst in me.

Though I had turned my back on God, I knew I needed to turn back because forgiving them was going to require more strength than I felt I had in me. So, I took all the trash bags full of rage, anger, and unforgiveness and I laid them at Christ’s feet and I told Him, “I cannot deal with this anymore. I’m bringing it to you because I don’t know what to do.”

In the deepest parts of my soul, I felt Christ say, “Let me take this from you and I will show you how to forgive.” I still cry when I think about this time. Miraculously, I said back to Christ, “Okay.”

I still remember the feeling of relief when I gave all the pain to God. It was like the iron clamp around my chest was removed and I could breathe again. I didn’t learn to forgive overnight, but step-by-step Christ showed me the way. With His help, I forgave my two boyfriends and I have the ability to pray for them. Back as my 17-year old self, I would never have thought it possible, but with God, all things are possible.

Through lots of prayers, I finally came to understand a few things about forgiveness. One is that forgiving doesn’t mean condoning the hurtful actions. Christ, when He offers us forgiveness, …

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Years ago, back when I was a young college student, I was sitting one day in a lounge chair reading the student newspaper in the library on campus. During breaks between classes, I always went to the library and read the newspaper front to back and then I would tackle the crossword puzzle found on one of the back pages. One day, I was reading an opinion article by one of the student journalist. I always disagreed with nearly everything he wrote and this day was no different. He had written about how wrong it was for the Boy Scouts to deny homosexual men to be troop leaders. Every word of his article raised my blood pressure more and more. By the time I was done reading it, I was ready for a fight.

I hopped onto the nearest computer (there were few laptops at that time, so I date myself) and I fired off a reply to him in no less than 10 minutes. I listed off all the reasonings why I disagreed with the author of the opinion piece. I was pleased as punch with myself. I was standing up for sexual purity! I was fighting the good fight! I was backing up the Bible and defending its teachings!

The only problem was that I didn’t live up to the teachings of the Bible when it came to sex. I was in a relationship where my boyfriend and I had been engaged in pre-marital sex for years. Never once, in writing that rebuttal, did I think to look over my own life and see if I had fallen into sexual sin. Not to mention, I was utterly and completely uncharitable. I was blinded by the beam in my eye–that big, big beam.

My rebuttal got published the next day and I was completely satisfied with myself. In fact, I didn’t really give it a second thought after that day until years and years later when I started looking over the landscape of our broken culture. I was thinking about all the sexual sins that go on in our country and how no one seems to bat an eye. Sure, some people try to talk about purity and chastity, but they are laughed out of the building. I wondered how we got to the point of this “whatever, Man, do what makes you feel good” attitude. How have we gotten to the point where fornication, homosexual acts, and pornography are not only commonplace but defended and completely accepted by most in society? How have we lost the moral high ground? Then, like being hit with a 2×4 (that beam I’d been lugging around), I realized that I had contributed to the problem.

Sure, sexual sins have been going on since the most ancient of days. Read the Bible and it’s pretty apparent that people were engaging in some pretty heinous stuff in the sexual department. What we are dealing with is nothing new. There was a time in pagan cultures when it was pretty much anything goes. Incest was no biggy. Fornication was fine. Orgies were a thing. Child sexual abuse was not seen as bad. Homosexual acts were normal. Spouses cheated on each other, but so what?

We can see in the Old Testament many stories of people engaged in sexual sins and God is not pleased and most of the time bad things happen to them. Then Christ comes along and He takes it to a whole other level. He tells us in Matthew 5:28, “But I say to you, everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”

“Whoa, Jesus, even lust is bad? Are you sure you’re not just being a kill-joy? I mean, come on, lust?”

St. Paul, writing with the inspiration of the Holy Spirit talks about sexual sins in nearly every letter he wrote. In 1 Corinthians 6:9 he says, “Do you not know that the unjust will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived; neither fornicators nor idolaters nor adulterers nor boy prostitutes nor sodomites.” Seriously, read just about any letter written by St. Paul and he covers sexual sin and talks about how wrong it is. Yet, here we are in 2024 and nearly all sexual sins are encouraged, if not celebrated.

But, how did we get here? I have a theory. Most of us, not all, but most of us have engaged in at least one kind of sexual sin, if not multiple. I’m gonna have to raise my hand for the “multiple” category. However, most of us never want to look at what we ourselves are doing wrong, but are more interested in what others are doing wrong. We lack self-examination. We are quick to point out other people’s sexual faults and live in a state of denial about our own. Yet, over time, as it’s become less and less taboo to talk about sex, people have been more open about what they have been doing behind closed doors. As we expose ourselves, we realize that we want to keep doing our sexual sins and so, who are we really to call anyone else out on theirs? We subconsciously think, “I don’t want them telling me what I’m doing is wrong, so I really can’t tell them what they are doing is wrong. I want to keep doing _____________ (fill in the blank), so I really should be fine with Mr. So and So doing ______________ (fill in the blank).

I realize that this won’t make a lick of difference to the non-believing crowd, in fact, it will probably enrage them. They lack a belief in God and, therefore, don’t feel obligated to adhere to what the Bible teaches or commands. They will just see this as a bunch of puritanical, sex-hating nonsense. To add to that, they view us as mostly a bunch of hypocrites. They are right in saying that Christians seem to focus …

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I will never forget the feeling I had when I first visited Santa Barbara. My husband surprised me for my 31st birthday with a trip there and I thought to myself, “This is paradise!” Granted, we were stationed in the barren Mojave desert at Edwards AFB in California, so I was slightly starved of vegetation and gorgeous sceneries. Yet, pretty much anyone who goes here is taken by the beauty of it. Santa Barbara isn’t huge and it’s hugged by a ring of mountains. It feels fresh, relaxed and inviting. Whenever I am trapped in the doldrums of cold winter months, my mind drifts to Santa Barbara and all the sunshine, color, and warm air. It’s definitely one of my favorite cities in the U.S.

I’ve been to Santa Barbara many times since that first trip and I’ve loved every adventure there. I never want to leave when it’s time to go home. For this blog, I will recommend two places to stay. One of them is hands-down the best bed and breakfast ever! I will give you four things to do when you visit. The restaurant scene changes frequently, so I’ll give you only one place to eat, but there are plenty of unique, local restaurants to try. Lastly, I’ll give you a Catholic must-see.

PLACES TO STAY

Cheshire Cat Inn

I’m a hotel snob. I once had to stay in the worst motel in the United States and it was a traumatic experience for me. Ever since then, my tastes will only accept hotels in the 5-star range. 😉 I found my dream bed and breakfast in the Cheshire Cat Inn. We had a family trip with my sister, brother and his wife, their kids and our parents to Santa Barbara and we all stayed at the Inn. Each room is themed after an Alice in Wonderland character. Don’t think Disney theme-park. Think elegance, beauty, creativity, and charm.

They have tea, wine, and hors’deouvres each day for guests. The breakfast is scrumptious. There is a garden out back to relax in while enjoying your wine. I loved strolling the grounds and admiring all the brilliant flowers. Trust me when I say, this is a place you want to stay. It’s not super close to the beach, but you won’t care–it’s close enough. My sister and I will, every now and then, just text each other and say, “Cheshire Cat.” We stayed there in 2011 and after all these years, we still pine away for it. If you do have a larger family, they have little cozy cottages across the street to stay in.

Hotel Milo

If you are wanting to stay right across from the beach, I would recommend Hotel Milo. It was called something different when I stayed there, but it’s mostly the same. The location is ideal and the rooms are clean, coastal, and bright. This is where we stayed for my birthday. It’s a luxurious place with all the amenities–pool, fitness room, bike rentals, and free parking.

WHAT TO DO

Hiking

Remember how I said that Santa Barbara is hugged by mountains? Well, one thing I would recommend is getting out on them for a hike. You will have some awesome views, I assure you. There are all levels of hikes, too, so no fear if you are a beginner. My dad, brother, and husband hiked a trail and ended up in the clouds. They also did some wade pool hopping of which there are some good videos.

Botanical Gardens

The whole city of Santa Barbara is like one huge botanical garden. Everywhere you turn are lush, vibrant flowers. My family spent a few hours in the actual botanical gardens and there is so much to see. Your kids will love exploring the grounds.

The Beach

Need I say more? There is no hustle and bustle in Santa Barbara and relaxing on the beach is a great way to spend a whole day. Grab a blanket, book, water toys, and enjoy!

Rent a Surrey or Bikes

Santa Barbara is a place where you want to spend all your time outside. The last time we were there, we rented a surrey that fit our whole family and cruised up and down the paths that run along the coast. It was so much fun and a great way to exercise. There are plenty of places to rent bikes and surreys.

PLACE TO EAT

Lilac Patisserie

State Street in Santa Barbara is the main road with tons of shops and restaurants. Any type of cuisine you wish you try is available. My favorite place is Lilac Patisserie. It’s a dedicated gluten-free restaurant but don’t be scared off if you aren’t gluten-intolerant. You’ll never know you aren’t eating gluten. I stood and drooled in front of their bakery display for 30 minutes trying to decide what to pick. Their sandwiches and soups are delicious, but the desserts are what will blow your mind. Go hungry because you will want to try all the things.

CATHOLIC MUST SEE

Mission Santa Barbara

This was the first mission I ever visited and ever since then, I’ve been hooked on missions. There are 21 and I’ve been to nine of them. Mission Santa Barbara is considered the most beautiful and it’s hard to argue with that. The mission sits high up on a hill and overlooks the town of Santa Barbara and the coast below. Looking out to the water, you can just imagine Old World Spanish ships out on the ocean.

I recommend taking a picnic and eating it on the expansive lawn in front of the mission. There is a rose garden to enjoy and kids will love running around on the lawn. The views are wonderful and the air smells sweet of rose blossoms. Be sure to take …

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If you’ve followed me for any length of time, you know that my first two boyfriends treated me horribly. Both of them were cruel in their own way and I suffered much at their hands. I need to talk about them in order to get to the point of this blog, so bear with me. This is in no way intended to be a pity party.

My first boyfriend had an old Monte Carlo as his first car. It really was a beautiful car and he loved it. What he didn’t love was me. One day, after we left school together in his car, he started driving the opposite way from my house and headed out to the hilly country roads near my hometown. Once we got out on the country roads, he decided to increase his speed and drive down the middle of the narrow country street. I quickly became petrified because I knew at any moment a car could come over the hill and smash into us head-on. I screamed at him to slow down, but he wouldn’t. He only laughed and drove faster. Every time we sped up a hill, I braced myself for impact. My heart was banging and I was scared out of my wits, but no amount of fear on my face could make him stop. He was intent on playing chicken with his car and he cared nothing for how it made me feel. He did stuff like this to me all the time to mess with my head. The sheer delight on his face as he watched me beg him to stop with tears in my eyes is still something I struggle to understand.

I vividly remember sitting in that car with no seatbelt on (he had removed them somehow) and feeling like my life was going to end at any moment. He was probably driving 55mph out on a road that was posted at 30mph. I felt so completely out of control and panicky. It was a terrible awful feeling. When he finally came to a stop at the stop sign, I quietly asked him to take me home. Thankfully, he obliged and I held my shaking hands all the way back to my house.

My second boyfriend was even worse. The reason we were together is a long, complicated story, but we were together nonetheless. Something he liked to do was tell me that if I ever left him, he would kill my new boyfriend and me. He was just the type of unstable person that I could believe he would be willing to at least hurt me if I tried to walk away.

After months of enduring him, I could take it no more and I broke up with him. One night, as I was sitting in my basement bedroom, I heard movement outside my door. My room was a mother-in-law’s quarters, so it had a door to the outside. For some reason, which I don’t remember, my parents were not at home and my ex-boyfriend knew this. Anyway, I heard movement outside and then a knock came to my door. I asked who it was and he said his name. Stupidly, I opened the door to see what he wanted and when I did, I found the barrel of a gun pointed right at me. Within a split second, I slammed the door shut, locked it, and ran and hid. I don’t know why I didn’t call the cops. It was a confusing, messed up time for me. I do remember sitting in my hiding place and once the adrenaline dump hit me, I was a shaky mess. It took a long time for me to calm down.

Why do I share these stories? Well, a follower of mine asked me if I have any experience dealing with anxiety. I told her that I did and she asked me if I would be willing to write my thoughts about it. The two stories I mentioned above have caused great anxiety in me over the years. When I am in the car and my husband is driving, if he goes over the speed of 55mph, my anxiety goes through the roof. My heart starts to race and my hands sweat. My body gets very tense and I constantly glance at the speedometer to keep watch of the speed. My husband, God love him, has been so patient with me and understanding. Every time I ask him to slow down, he does until I feel comfortable. I know where this stems from–that car ride on the hilly country roads many years ago. That feeling of being out of control has never left me. It is something I’m working on and I work very hard to be realistic about the situation.

When we moved into our new house a few months back, there were a few car break-ins one night when my husband was gone for work. Some drug users were looking for money. Nothing was taken from my car, but I became very nervous. Then a few weeks after the first incident, my neighbor had her generator stolen from her property and her Ring system caught the criminals on camera. They had guns. I live in a nice neighborhood and it is very uncharacteristic, so in the grand scheme of things, I’m pretty safe. However, my mind went straight back to that night when I had the gun pulled on me by my ex and I became very anxious. I wanted new locks on all doors. We got Ring installed. My husband did all he could to ease my nerves, but I still felt very vulnerable and not in control. I’ve been getting better about it, but all these years later the memory of that night still effect me.

I want to be clear that I’m no doctor. I used to be a counselor, but I am not an expert on anxiety. This blog is just me talking about my …

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Imagine a world full of offended people. What might such a world look like? No need to imagine, folks, we’re living in that world.

Offended people to my left.

Offended people to my right.

Do you feel as though you must watch your every word, every action, every interest, thought, feeling, desire, need, want, or goal for fear of offending some person? Within the past year, I’ve probably seen 20 blog/articles with a title that looks something like this: “What Not To Say To Someone Who ________________.” You fill in the blank with anything–seriously, anything. Open the article and there is a long, laundry list of things you can’t say or do with regards to a certain group. I’m all for being mindful of people’s feelings, but it seems things have gone too far. It’s gotten to the point where pretty soon we will just grunt and make caveman hand motions to each other because words are too offensive. However, I’m sure someone will find a way to be offended by that.

The Super Bowl happened recently and the funniest commercial was, according to the news media, the most offensive commercial ever. Most of the commercials during the Super Bowl were nauseatingly not-funny, yet the Hyundai commercial in the elevator actually made me and the rest of my family laugh out loud. The crime they committed? They made fun of having to go to a vegan dinner where “beetloaf” was being served. Apparently, Vegans were super offended and demanded an apology. I’m sorry, but the play on words and the fact that nobody seriously wants to eat “beetloaf” is funny. If you can’t find a smidge of humor in that then you need to loosen up the undergarments a tad. I’m no stranger to being made fun of when it comes to my diet. I have to eat gluten-free and I get all the eye rolls, criticism, and unwanted advice I could ever want. It’s really no big deal, though. It’s not worth my time to get offended and I don’t really care that people make jokes about gluten-intolerance. Heck, I make fun of it myself.

So, what gives? Why are we all running around throwing out our “I’m offended” card at every turn? Well, as you might have guessed, I have a few thoughts.

“To offend” originally meant “to sin against someone, to fall into sinful ways, to commit a fault, to strike against, or to violate moral or criminal law.” Around the late 14th century, it began to mean “to wound the feelings” and I think this is the definition our culture is clinging to for dear life. But, why?

The moral law can be found in the Ten Commandments. In fact, a lot of our criminal laws are rooted in the Ten Commandments. However, as our country has increasingly removed God from our lives, I think, we have installed a different set of ten commandments. Let me show you:

FIRST COMMANDMENT: THOU ARE THE LORD OF YOUR OWN LIFE.

I am the ruler of my own life, don’t tell me I’m wrong about anything or I’ll be offended. (Example: Don’t judge!!!!! Stop judging me!!!!!! I am so offended that you would even suggest that what I’m doing is wrong. My motto is “You do you!”)

SECOND COMMANDMENT: OFFEND GOD AS OFTEN OR AS MUCH AS THOU LIKEST

It is fine to offend God and anyone who worships Him. (Example: “I would rather eat dog sh*$ than worship god.” These are actually words said to me by an atheist. This person also used God’s name in vain constantly in my presence. However, I’m not allowed to get upset by this.)

THIRD COMMANDMENT: MY PERSONAL PREFERENCES REIGN SUPREME

If you disagree with any of my personal preferences, I’ll be offended. How dare you. (Example: People getting upset by the Super Bowl commercial, or if someone doesn’t share their affinity for a particular TV show or movie.)

FOURTH COMMANDMENT: THOU ARE ALLOWED TO DISHONOR YOUR PARENTS, ESPECIALLY YOUR FATHER

The Patriarchy is oppressing us all, therefore you are encouraged to ridicule men whenever you want and they are not allowed to be offended. (Example: Men are told to shut up and to stop “mansplaining” pretty consistantly nowadays. They are not allowed to be upset by this. In fact, people will get offended if men get offended over you telling them to shut up.)

FIFTH COMMANDMENT: THOU SHALT BE ALLOWED TO KILL THE UNBORN IF IT SUITS THEE

Killing is wrong unless it’s the killing of the unborn. In that case, no one has the right to be offended by the taking of a life.

SIXTH COMMANDMENT: THOU ARE ALLOWED TO ENGAGE IN ANY KIND OF SEXUAL BEHAVIOR IF GIVEN CONSENT

All sexual behavior is fine and acceptable as long as consent is obtained. I’m allowed to be offended if anyone disagrees with this. They don’t have to do anything to prevent me from doing what I want; just the fact that they disagree is offensive enough. (Example: Does this really need explaining in our cultural climate?)

SEVENTH COMMANDMENT: THE ENDS JUSTIFY THE MEANS.

Period. I’ll be offended if anyone tells me otherwise.

EIGHTH COMMANDMENT: THOU MAYEST LIE TO PUSH YOUR CAUSE

No one is allowed to question anything I say or I’ll be deeply offended. Even if people know that I’m lying, they are required to believe me anyway. (Example: Just spend half a day perusing news media outlets or watching the actions of those in government.)

NINTH COMMANDMENT: YOUR TRUTH IS WHAT THOU WANTS IT TO BE

I’m allowed to think anything I want, even if means trampling on another. The other is not allowed to be offended in the slightest. (Example: I have my truth and you have your truth. It’s offensive to me if someone even tries to question “my truth.”)

TENTH COMMANDMENT: THOU ARE THE OWNER OF YOUR OWN RACIAL CULTURE

Racism is bad, but so is one race trying to enjoy or honor another culture in any way. (Example: It’s now considered offensive if people want to dress up as a race other than their own for plays or Halloween. Intent means nothing. If people are doing it to show how much they like a certain culture or if they want to honor the culture, it doesn’t matter.)

I hope you can see …

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Years ago, my husband and I were members of a forum for fans of our favorite sports team–Kansas State University. It’s a forum where fans can go to ask questions, speculate about recruits, reminisce about memorable games, and…rant. Ranting is a favorite pastime on there. If we won a game, numerous fans would be griping about how we didn’t win by enough or we weren’t creative enough with plays. If we lost, well, it would become a rantfest free-for-all. Players were ridiculed to the nth degree and the heads of coaches were requested on medieval pikes. If you even tried to say, “Come on, guys, simmer down a tad,” you’d be slayed with word weapons until you were reduced to a pile of rubble. “Real fans,” you see, criticize everything because they care so much. okay.

I found myself wrapped up in this world. I noticed that I started looking at players, not as humans, but as a means to an end. I wanted wins! I wanted a National Championship and if a certain player couldn’t get the job done, good riddance! If a coach didn’t coach a perfect game, see ya! My happiness was dependent on whether my team won on Saturday. If we didn’t, I was glum and miserable for days. If we won, I was on cloud nine and all was right in the world. However, I found that the winning wasn’t ever enough; I wanted more. I wanted bigger wins! Bigger plays! Bigger bowl games! My ability to be content with getting a W was fleeting. As I immersed myself in this clamor for win after win, I found that I wasn’t even really enjoying the wins. I was always fearful of the next game. I was always worried that our rival team would get more glory. I was holding up football as an idol and it was sucking my joy.

One day, I woke up. I was reading the online forum and tons of fans were ripping apart our team as if they were the enemy. I sat there and thought, “What are we doing? This is just a game and we treat it as if it’s life or death.” For the next few days, I thought about my alma mater and my love of K-State football and I was saddened to realize that I wasn’t enjoying it as I should. Instead of a fun sport to watch, it had become the determiner of my happiness, yet I was increasingly becoming more and more unhappy. I was treating the players and coaches like commodities instead of humans. In my eyes, they weren’t allowed to make a single mistake or they were worthless. Perfection was the only thing that was allowed. I was ashamed that I felt this way and so I vowed to change my attitude. We canceled our subscription to the online forum and started to decompress.

The First Commandment is: I am the Lord your God, you shall not have strange gods before me.

Have a held up strange gods higher the One True God? Yes, yes I have. In the example above, I held up football as an idol. I missed church for games. I read forums waaaaayyyy more than I ever read the Bible. I looked for fulfillment in football wins. I showed an extreme passion for football whereas my passion for God was a backburner issue. It ruled my life instead of God and it showed in my thoughts, words and actions.

Yet, this isn’t the only “god” I’ve had in my time. I’ve had boyfriends as idols. I’ve worshipped at the altar of my own pride and vanity. If I’m being completely honest, I’ve held my marriage up as an idol. What I noticed is that whenever I’ve done this, my happiness tanks and I’m restless and not at peace. I struggle to find the joy in those things that I claim to love so much.

We all have idols. The admitting it is close to impossible. Have you tried to call someone out on the idols they have in the entertainment realm? Nothing draws the claws and fangs out like telling someone that they may be giving too much time to entertainment or that certain forms of entertainment are bad. People will defend it to the death and justify their every choice until you are smothered under a layer of justifications. Try asking a die-hard football fan who also calls themselves a Christian sometime to maybe miss watching their favorite NFL team on Sunday and instead go to church. They will look at you as if you have a foot coming out of your forehead.

What’s amazing is that when I noticed the idol of football in my life and I decided to change, I started enjoying football so much more. This isn’t a blog to discourage ever watching sports again. It’s not a blog that is saying to not love your team and cheer for them. It is a blog saying that it’s important to put things in their proper place. I still love to cheer for my team and I will always want them to win, but it’s not the ruler of my life as it once was. I look at the players and coaches as people and I find I have more tolerance for their mistakes. I still enjoy beating our rival team, but I don’t obsess over it anymore. In that area, I learned to order my life better.

The good news is, is that God always gives us the grace to make changes. He will forgive us when we’ve held up other idols over Him. We just need to be honest with ourselves and with Him. Look at the things that you spend time doing or thinking about. Are they good or bad? If it’s something that is inherently bad then you need to work to get rid of it, like pornography. If it’s not inherently bad like football, work to put …

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Well, here I am standing at the threshold of 40-years old. Da, da, daaaaaa! When I was a kid, forty seemed super old. But, now that I am here, I feel this is when you just start warming up. I don’t feel “old.” I feel, actually, younger than I did when I was in my 20s. I feel more with it, more grounded in who I am, and more confident.

When I look back over my life, I am amazed at the journey. I started out as a Kansas kid where I secured my roots. I met a military man at my beloved alma mater–Kansas State–and we’ve lived in six different states. I attained my Bachelor’s while pregnant with my first daughter. Got my Master’s while pregnant with my second daughter. My miracle-baby son came along nine years after his sister. I’ve got 10 saints in Heaven who watch over their momma. I survived my husband’s deployment. I converted to Catholicism ten years ago and it ranks as one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I’ve met incredible people and visited memorable places. I’ve loved, lost, and struggled through some very difficult times, but all these things have taught me so much.

So, since it’s my birthday week (my birthday is Thursday), I thought it would be fun to share with you some of the things I’ve learned in my 40 years. Here are 20 things that I think are noteworthy, in no particular order. Maybe you can relate or have your own things to add.

1.Your younger years are not your best years. We shouldn’t pine away for the past of our “glory days.” The best year can be every year of your life. It’s all about how you view it.

2. If you want a strong family, eat dinner together and pray together every night.

3. Never cease to try new things. Being a military spouse has introduced me to things I never thought I’d try or do. It has taught me the importance of branching out. I hear people say all the time that they are “too old” for something. Half the time I hear this from people younger than me. If you think you can’t, you won’t.

4. Exercise your body. When my dad turned 60, he hiked with my husband and brother up a mountain in Colorado. I love the fact that he can do those things. There are so many exciting activities to do in this life, but you need a healthy body. As my brother says, “As much as you can effect, work to take care of your body so that you can enjoy what this world has to offer.”

5. Tell people you love them–frequently. They may know you love them, but they need to hear it.

6. People have asked me what three things I would bring on a deserted island, not including family. I’d bring a Bible, matches, and….tweezers. Yes, tweezers. If I didn’t, by the time I was rescued, I’d look like Tom Hanks with his full beard in Castaway. Ladies, there are some things about growing older that are not so awesome. Whiskers on your neck and chin is one of them. Keep your tweezers handy and teach your husband to use them in case someday you aren’t able. I have instructed my husband that if I’m unable someday to tweeze my beard, he is to carry on the work of managing it for me. I’m just keeping it real, people. Vanity dies hard.

7. You will only have a small handful of true-blue friends in this life. The goal in life when it comes to friends is not to collect the most; it’s to find those that would walk through fire with you and love you till the end.

8. Hand-written letters are invaluable. Everyone loves getting mail that isn’t a bill. My grandmother and great-aunt instilled this practice into me and I know why. My great-aunt is no longer with me, but I still have her hand-written letters. Seeing her handwriting helps me feel a little more connected to her.

9. Each new stage of your kids’ lives brings new worries, but, also, new joys. I love having teenagers in my house. They are witty, funny, and engaging. I, also love having a four-year-old. He keeps me on my toes. I know for certain that there will never come a point whe you won’t worry about your kids. That’s where praying for them comes in.

10. For the most part, TV is a waste of time. Sure, I watch the occasional movie and I’m a college football fan, so I do watch some TV. We’ve been pretty much TV-less for seven years now and I’m grateful. I know I will never get to the end of my life and regret not having watched more TV. There are so many more interesting things to do: Reading, cooking, writing, playing with your kids, exercising, and other hobbies.

11. Your faith must be lived every single day. It’s not just for Sundays. When you live your faith every single day you are better equipped to handle storms and trials. There was a time in my life when I was Christian only in name, which basically meant nothing.

12. No matter what line you pick, it will always go the slowest. If you pick the line at the supermarket with the least amount of people, beware. You’ll be there forever because the customer in front of you will be paying with a check. If you are at the bank and pick the shortest line, beware. The person in front of you will be attempting to take out a home loan at the drive-thru. If you queue up in the shortest line at a fast-food restaurant or coffee shop, beware. The person in front of you will be ordering for all the staff at the local hospital.

13. Having a good relationship with your siblings is so …

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Years ago, when I was a counselor for victims of domestic and sexual violence, I encountered many different kinds of people. My eyes were open to the difficulties that some people go through in this life that make my worst days seem like a picnic in the park. There is one girl who remains ever on my mind. I’ll call her Lindsay.

Lindsay was the same age as me when she first came to see me. I can’t begin to describe her tortured life. Lindsay had been sexually abused as a young girl and because of it, she would never be able to have children. Her father blamed her for what she endured and her mother stood by and did nothing to protect her. Even after the abuse was brought to light, the parents still invited the perpetrator over to babysit. Her father was a cold and calculated man. He brought Lindsay to her session one time and it took all my strength not to go off on him. I knew how he had tormented his daughter and it was beyond disgusting. She was never allowed to date, never allowed to do anything remotely normal. Her dad believed that women shouldn’t be educated because it might make men look silly. He was, in a word, evil, though his appearance screamed milquetoast wimp worm.

Lindsay ended up at my counseling door, because of a sexual assault by a co-worker. The judge thought she could use some counseling and so referred her my way. I quickly assessed that Lindsay was beyond my capabilities or really any counselor. Some souls have been trampled so much that it can be near impossible for mere humans to heal them. The saddest thing to me was that Lindsay had never once in her life experienced love. Never once. Her father was an awful excuse for a dad. Her mother was a withered doormat and her brothers were too traumatized themselves to be able to love their sister. She’d been sheltered her whole life from teachers, coaches, or anyone who could possibly show her love. She’d never known the honest love of a man. Every time I saw her, it broke my heart. Through everything she’d been through, she was a sweet, gentle soul.

At first, I tried to counsel Lindsay and take her through different exercises, but she struggled mightily to even talk about all her pain. A lot of times, she just colored on the couch in my office and I soon recognized that this was a time of peace for her. So, I would take care of other work at my desk, while she sat and colored or drew. I’d tell her interesting stories about my life. She always wanted to know what it was like to have a first kiss, to travel, or to have children. Whenever I would tell her, she’d smile and wrap her arms around her long legs like a little girl listening to someone tell her a bedtime story. I learned that Lindsay just needed me to love her.

I thankfully realized that this was a beautiful chance to shower someone with love. She was so grateful for my time and attention. She’d thank me profusely for allowing her to come sit in my office. She’d thank me for talking to her about things other than the ugliness of her life. In order to show the gratitude she felt, she’d draw me pictures. She always wanted a hug before she left and I’d always tell her that she was special. I wanted her to hear that much from me. Lindsay soaked up my love like a sponge. She had always been without love, so she was beyond grateful for the little bit that I could offer in my office for one hour a week.

The military took me away from that job and I had to leave Lindsay behind. I hated knowing that she would be forever trapped in her parent’s home. It truly was a living hell on earth. One day, I got a package from her at our new duty station. It had a drawing of a baby bird and some homemade bracelets. Sadly, days after, I got word that Lindsay purposefully stepped in front of a car and died. It still makes me cry to think about her and her pain. Trusting in God’s love, I pray she is at peace in Heaven.

Why do I write such a sad story? Well, one of my followers asked me to write about how to find joy. I’m going to write a few of these blogs on finding joy, but one of the things I’ve pinpointed as a hindrance to joy is ingratitude. In this country, especially, we are surrounded with everything we could possibly need or want: Homes, sweets, five-dollar coffees, technology, transportation, medical care, entertainment, clothes, clean water, education, etc. We are constantly immersed in pleasure and luxuries. Not everyone, but a good majority of us. We gripe about our spouses and ridicule our neighbors. We are impatient when the car in front of us doesn’t move the second the light turns green. We get bent out of shape when someone at the supermarket gets in our way. We moan and groan about the service at a particular restaurant not being up to snuff. We grumble if our internet is running a little slow. We demand and expect this, that, and everything. I’m guilty of doing all these things. We can be an ungrateful people. Where there is ingratitude, joy cannot flourish. You can’t be a joyful person while sneering about every little slight you perceive. More often than not we walk around with attitudes that growl, “From the bottom of my thankless heart…..”

I’ve heard that Haitians are some of the most grateful people on Earth. Haiti also happens to be THE poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. Missionaries go there and speak of the overwhelming gratitude from the people. The locals smile and thank …

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Welcome to my town. I was born and raised in Kansas. For most of my life, up until the age of 22, I lived right outside of the Kansas City area. Kansas City is interesting, because, well, there are two: Kansas City, Kansas and Kansas City, Missouri. What divides them is a river. Kansas City, Kansas is not what most people think about when they think of the city, it’s the Missouri side. To me, they just kinda bleed together. Both of them feel like home and are just extensions of each other.

This Christmas, I was back home and asked my budding photographer of a sister to travel all over town to snap pictures of me at some of my favorite places. She agreed. She and I, along with our kids, my husband, and my mom hit up some highlight places. It was freezing, but I’m so glad we braved the cold because I’ve been wanting to introduce you to my hometown for quite some time. I’m going to focus on Kansas City, Missouri in this blog and I’m going to cover three different areas of the town that I think are noteworthy: The Rivermarket, The Crossroads, and The Plaza. At each place, I will give you a place to eat, something to do, and a place to stay. In the end, I’ll give you a place to worship. It may be a tad lengthy, but, it will be fun. These are my stomping grounds and I have a lot to show you.

The Rivermarket

I used to come to this part of town a lot when I was a teenager. I came with one of my best friends and her family to the City Market that is located in the area.

HOTEL: THE SAVOY

In 2012, my husband deployed and I went home to live in KC. A family friend gifted us with a night at The Savoy to have one last evening together before he headed out. This hotel has been around since the late 1800s and it’s got the old-time vibe going on. They just recently did a $50 million dollar renovation and it looks really good. I like unique and The Savoy is unique. Though now it is called 21C Museum Hotel. But, The Savoy is what it was when I stayed there, so I’m sticking with that for now.

PLACE TO EAT: THE SAVOY

I know, same place, right? There is the coolest, old-school gangster, gunslinging restaurant connected to the hotel. It’s dark, rich with polished wood, and the mirror behind the bar has real bullet holes in it from days gone by. For breakfast, eat at the hotel, too. It’s in a different room, but the coffee is….auhmazing.

THING TO DO: STEAMBOAT ARABIA MUSEUM

The steamboat is a huge part of American history. On September 5, 1856, the Steamboat Arabia sank in the area and was lost for 132 years. Then, in 1988, a farmer noticed something in his field and what he found was the lost ship with much of its cargo preserved. You can tour the museum and see what was found and learn all about this important part of our history. Kids will love it.

The Plaza

The Plaza is a high-class shopping and dining location. It’s located in one of the more wealthy parts of town. The Plaza is a neat place to see at Christmas time with all the white lights making the buildings glow. There are fountains and statues galore. We didn’t get a ton of pictures down here, because the kids were just about done for the day. Lol!

HOTEL: THE RAPHAEL

My husband and I stayed here for our 8th anniversary which seems like a lifetime ago, but then…it doesn’t. The hotel is beautiful and lush. You’ll feel very special staying here. There’s a downstairs bar I recommend that sometimes has jazz or other local musicians.

PLACE TO EAT: ANYWHERE. JUST PICK A PLACE.

I’m sorry I can’t recommend a place, but you’ll be okay. Just pick a place. I’ve eaten at nearly all the restaurants down on The Plaza and you won’t go wrong unless you pick some lame chain whatever place. There are some chains down there, but don’t choose those. Pick Gram and Dun, The Capital Grille, The Classic Cup Cafe, Jack Stack BBQ, Chaz on the Plaza, Grand Street Cafe, to name a few. Go! Enjoy!

THING TO DO: WINTER–CARRIAGE RIDES, SUMMER–WALK DOWN BY BRUSH CREEK

If you are there in the winter grab some hot chocolate and take a horse-drawn carriage ride. They are a great thing to do when all the holiday lights are up. If you are there in the other seasons take a walk down by Brush Creek and enjoy the architecture and people-watching. Brush Creek isn’t a muddy forest creek. It has nice paved sidewalks along it and it’s well maintained.

The Crossroads

The Crossroads is a unique part of town. It’s between The RiverMarket and The Plaza. It’s got old buildings that are being remodeled and there are loads of cool places to eat. What I like about these downtown areas is that they have character. The buildings are interesting and seem to tell a story. There is always something to look at and discover.

HOTEL: HOTEL INDIGO

The building that this hotel now resides in was once home to the KC Costume Company. It’s a historically certified hotel and they have done a great job of bringing the building into the 21st century, but still keeping that downtown feel. It’s right in the heart of The Crossroads, so it’s ideally located for dining, shows, and shopping at Crown Center.

PLACE TO EAT: CHEZ ELLE

My college roommate introduced me to Chez Elle several years ago. It’s a crepe place with savory and sweet ones on the menu. I recommend getting a savory crepe for yourself and a dessert one to …

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When I was in middle school, there was a classmate of mine that lived at the end of my street. I’ll call her Stacy. Stacy was awkward, shy, and one of those girls that blended into the background. The houses at the end of my street were the “not-so-nice” ones. She lived in a worn-down, ugly brown duplex. I knew she didn’t have much. If my memory serves me right, she didn’t have her father living with her. In school, she had few friends and I rarely, if ever, talked to her. Looking back through adult eyes, I can see that her life was probably very difficult.

One day, I got the bright idea to go down to her house and torture her. I have no idea why I thought of doing this, but I talked a friend into accompanying me in my base behavior. I had nothing really against her and she had never done anything to warrant my behavior. No, it was all my sick idea for no good reason whatsoever.

We went to her house and banged on her windows and called her names. We rang her doorbell and harassed her incessantly. I dialed her phone number over and over again and each time I bullied her. I brought her to tears and even that wasn’t enough to stop me. I’m pretty sure, at one point, I laughed the laugh of one who is sunk into darkness. This was not a shining moment for me. I think it was her threatening to call the cops that put the breaks on.

Stacy moved away sometime during our school years. I really don’t know when exactly. As I have thought over my life, I often think back to her and that day when I was so cruel. It is my hope that what I did to her didn’t leave a lasting scar. I wish I could say I was sorry. I pray that she is healthy and happy and that life has been good to her. I completely regret how I treated her and it is my fear that in some way I caused damage to her soul. I don’t think I was the only person who was ever cruel to her and people can only take so much.

We are all pretty familiar with the Ten Commandments. If you are anything like me, whenever you hear number five–Thou shall not kill–you brush it off. Why? Because you’re not a killer, that’s why. Number five is for the bad people–the very bad people. I simply am not one of those and therefore number five–the don’t murder commandment–doesn’t really apply to me. Or does it?

Everyone always thinks of bodily murder when they read this commandment. Since so few of us, thankfully, commit murder, we tend to not really ponder on this commandment. However, there are different facets to it. What about trying to kill a person’s self-esteem? Dignity? What if we try to wound their heart on purpose which causes detrimental pain? What if we wound someone so bad that they sort of “die” inside and find functioning in this world nearly impossible? Unless you live in a hidden cave, you are aware that in recent years bullying has lead many young people to take their lives. The deplorable treatment of POWs during war by some countries has left many men and women as shells of themselves. Some can’t even go on living. When I worked as a counselor to victims of sexual abuse, I saw how the perpetrators “murdered” the hearts and souls of their victims. They stripped them of innocence, dignity, confidence, and, for many, hope. The abusers had “murdered” who they once were and in the aftermath was just a ghost that felt dead inside.

You might be saying at this point, “Geez Louise, Lady, don’t read so much into it. You’re taking it a tad too far. You’re gonna make us all question our every move. The commandment simply says, ‘Thou shall not kill.’ Don’t complicate it.”

I answer that by asking, “Wouldn’t it be better if we did think about our actions and the consequences it can have on our fellow humans?” Wouldn’t it be better if we stopped to think about how we treat people? Are we treating them with dignity? Are we treating them as a special unique individual? Don’t you think that if we did, many of our problems in this world would vanish? What if the teen actually thought about the harm that bullying can do? What if all countries treated POWs as humans instead of like dogs they hate? What if sexual predators thought about the harm they can inflict on someone when they forcefully take what isn’t theirs? Would things not be better if we actually took it a step further? Look around us, everywhere you turn people are trying to “slay” others through words and actions.

The truth is, there can be a smug satisfaction when thinking about the 5th Commandment. Most of us don’t physically kill and in our minds that makes us “good people.” Yet, in all of us, there is the ability to harm in other ways through anger, hatred, and vengeance. There isn’t a single one of us that is safe from traveling down paths that make us the enemy of one another. Christ said in Matthew 5:21, “You have heard that is was said to your ancestors ‘You shall not kill; and whoever kills will be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you, whoever is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment.” Christ isn’t taking away from the 5th Commandment, He’s extending it.

Christ told us, “Blessed are the peacemakers.” If only I had sought peace instead of war with Stacy. If only I had sought to befriend her instead of bully her. She didn’t fight me back but instead trembled and cried. What I did was horribly ugly and I don’t know if it had lasting negative …

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Can you believe we’ve gone through a whole year of the “Why I Love Being Catholic” series? The time has flown. My last interview is with one of my favorite bloggers out there. Anni from A Beautiful Camouflaged Mess rounds out the year for us. I’m so excited to feature her! Anni is a military spouse like me and I relate to so many of her posts. She is one of those ladies where when I see she has a new post or blog out, I have to read it. She always gives me something to think about. I highly encourage you to follow her, I’ve included all her handles at the bottom. I think you’ll really love her answers, especially her favorite Catholic place that she’s visited. For the last interview, I’m happy to welcome Anni.

1. Are you a cradle Catholic or a convert? If a convert, where did you convert from?

I am a cradle Catholic. I did leave the Catholic Church for a while to worship in non-denominational churches, and was a “Catholic in name only” for several years. After the birth of my oldest, I realized if I was going to call myself Catholic, I should probably know why and what that entailed. For the past five years, I have been living and breathing “all things Catholic,” as I have devoted time to learning more about my Catholic Faith, and figuring out how to best share said faith with my children.

2. Who is your favorite saint and why?

I have a lot of front runners – I love the message of Divine Mercy, so I consider St. Faustina near and dear to my heart. But, as I look at all of the saints, I would have to say I am most deeply drawn to St. Peter. A couple years ago, I read Brant Pitre’s book, “Jesus and the Jewish Roots of the Eucharist.” I realized as I read that book that Peter, flawed and sinner as he was, was still handed the Keys to Heaven. I loved how Brant Pitre explained on page 107, “Essentially, Peter was saying, ‘Lord, I don’t fully grasp what you just said, but I do know who you are.'” If Peter couldn’t fully grasp things, and he was right there in the thick of things, but he kept trying and he believed in Christ, then there is hope for me, too! 

3. What has been your favorite Catholic place you’ve visited? Where do you hope to visit?

The most peaceful place on earth I have ever visited was Moloka’i, Hawai’i. On the island of Moloka’i, separated from other islands by the ocean, and separated by the rest of the population by cliffs, was the site of the leper colony run by now-Saints Damien of Moloka’i and Marianne Cope. I was blessed to tour the pilgrimage sites with an Army chaplain, a motivational Catholic speaker, evangelist, and writer (Meg Hunter-Kilmer), and a dear Army veteran and wife who (most likely unknowingly) provided me with inspiration in deepening my practice of the Catholic Faith in my daily life. 

4. What’s a misconception about the Catholic Church that you often hear? What’s the truth of it?

I think the misconception which rankles me most is, “Catholics pray to saints.” It’s one which I also fight internally, and have decided wording is essential. Much like I ask another (living) person to pray for me, so too do I ask the souls of the faithful departed to pray for me. Those souls – especially the saints the Church recognizes as being in Heaven – are closer to God than I am in the current state of the Church (being fully alive). So, I often think long and hard about the wording when I pray… specifically when I ask a saint to intercede on my behalf. 

5. Besides the Eucharist, what’s your favorite part of the Mass?

I love Jesus! But, since you said “besides the Eucharist,” I will have to say since I began blogging a couple years ago, I have fallen in love with the homily. Even if I don’t get an opportunity to listen fully because of the kids – or, because of my mind wandering – I have learned that period of the Mass helps me set the stage for receiving the message God wants me to hear. It might be a message delivered through the priest’s homily, or it could be a message delivered as a whisper into my heart. Either way, I have found the period of the homily helps center me to reflect fuller on God.

6. Why do you love being Catholic?

I love being Catholic because it is where I have found myself drawn the closest to Christ. I have been blessed to know some very God-fearing, holy priests – either as active duty Army chaplains or as civilian priests working within our military chapels – who have helped me learn the Faith deeper on a more nitty-gritty intellectual level. But, ultimately, I have found myself closest to Christ in devotions like Adoration, sitting with Him, staring at Him in the Monstrance or sitting by the Tabernacle in the Blessed Sacrament chapels. Being Catholic has led me to a deeply intense passion for our Lord, and allows me to receive His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity every single time I go to Mass. And, I am awed, amazed, and humbled by that gift – of receiving Him, but knowing and believing it is Him! 

7. Where can readers find you online?

I currently blog haphazardly at www.beautifulcamouflage.com, but I also write for Catholicmom.comand catholicsistas.com. I also help coordinate projects for Everyday Ediths, which is currently predominantly an active Facebook group, rather than a blogging cohort – we have some collaborative write-ups being planned. I do more consistent microblogs these days than full blog posts, on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/beautifulcamouflagedmess/ or Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/Beautifulcamouflage. Sometimes, I tackle Twitter with little humorous parenting thoughts at http://www.twitter.com/BeautifulCamoMe. Finally, I

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Back when I was a Protestant, one of the many things I believed about Catholics was that they didn’t read the Bible. I believed that the Catholic Church didn’t even want Catholics to read it. I heard that Catholics chained Bibles down in their “Dark Age” churches. I’d heard that the Bible just wasn’t that important to Catholics. Turns out, I was wrong. Not only that, I was extremely prideful, because as a Protestant, I rarely, if ever, read my Bible. 

Recently, I was listening to Ben Shapiro interview John MacArthur. John MacArthur is a Five-Point Calvinist pastor. Ben was asking him about Christianity and Mr. MacArthur started in with a diatribe about the Catholic Faith and the history of the Church. At one point, he commented on the Bible and said this in reference to the “Dark Ages”: “The faith was dead, cold and the Gospel was lost and truth was lost. But, it had massive power over people, but what kept that power [away] was [the Church’s practice of] don’t put the Bible in their language, don’t let them read it. The [Catholic} Church is the only interpreter of the Bible. They [the people] can’t interpret Scripture.” Brackets are my add-ins so that the sentence is given context for those who didn’t listen to the whole show. 

My husband shared this with our two teens and they easily refuted Mr. MacArthur’s arguments. It’s not that hard to do when you have a basic understanding of history. Because there are so many untruths circulating about Catholics and the Bible, I’d like to take this time to clear up some issues. I’ll state a common untruth that non-Catholics believe or that I used to believe and then I’ll refute it. 

“Catholic leaders chained down their Bibles in their churches and wouldn’t make them accessible to the people.”

It’s true that Bibles were chained down in many churches during the early years of the church. But why? Was it to keep it from the everyday layperson? Well, I think a little historical context is needed here. First off, once we got the completed Bible, which by the way, was given to us by the Catholic Church, there weren’t Bibles just lying around everywhere. There were no bookstores with loads of Bibles on hand. You didn’t stay at the local inn and find a Bible near your cot. Bibles were extremely rare. Why? Because there was no printing press before the 1500s. Every Bible was a labor of love by some monk. He had to hand write the entire thing which often times took a whole year. Because it was his life’s work, the monk would usually ornately decorate parts of the pages. The Bible was usually bound in beautiful gold covers decorated with gems and stones. This was the Word of God and so it was treated as a rare, precious item. If you lost a Bible or it was destroyed, you couldn’t just get a new one within a day or even a week. During these early years, there were tons of church pillages by many barbarians: Danes, Normans, Saracens, Viking raiders, etc. It was very common for the looters to steal the Bibles for the worth of the gold and gems that were gilded on the front. So, churches chained them down hoping this would save them from losing such a sacred item. Not only did they have to worry about barbarians taking the Bibles, but they also had to worry about just regular people living in the village, yes, even professing Catholics. A desperate person could easily see the Bible as a way to get money. We, also, know that Catholic Churches had to protect their Bibles from looting Protestants, such as Henry VIII, who raided the Catholic Churches in England, burning Bibles and stealing the precious stones and metals to help him with his debt. So, as we can see, the chaining of the Bible was not done to keep it from the people, it was done to protect it from those who would take it from the people.  

A few other things to keep in mind about the accessibility of Bibles. 1. Fires were a huge problem during the early years of Christianity. Many historical documents are lost to fire. 2. What they wrote on did not keep well. We take great care today to make sure things are cataloged and protected from the elements. They didn’t have this luxury. 

“Only the Church was allowed to read the Bible. It wouldn’t let the regular people read it.” 

It’s important that we not extrapolate our way of life back onto the past. Very few of us, in the US, know people that can’t read, unless they are very small children–most everyone can read. This was not the case in ancient times or even in the early and middle parts of the ADs. There weren’t public schools where all good kids went to learn their 123s and ABCs. Most people were just trying to survive life. Not to mention, books were exceedingly rare. People just didn’t have them, because they weren’t around to be had. Books that did exist were very expensive, because of the enormous amounts of time it took to make one and so common people couldn’t afford them. Even if they could have, they wouldn’t have been able to read them. So, when Catholics went to church, the priest would read to them from the Bible. It’s no different than the priests reading to the Jews in the Temple.

Reading the Bible has always been very important to Catholics. St. Jerome, Doctor and Father of the Church, was born in 342. He is the man that translated the Bible into the Latin Vulgate thus making it readable in the common vernacular throughout the Roman Empire. He said:

“Christ is the power of God and the wisdom of God, and if the man who does not know Scripture does not know the power and wisdom of God, then

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When I was a kid, Christmas Eve was a magical night. Some of my dearest memories are from those special evenings with my family. Everyone would show up at my grandparent’s house before dinner was ready. The house always smelled like heaven–baking food, pine, and candles. My grandmother always had the house beautifully decorated and there was a warmth about the home that wasn’t just related to the heater pumping out hot air. Grandma would be in the kitchen fussing about; worrying that dinner wouldn’t be perfect. Trust me when I say it never disappointed. We always feasted like kings and queens. A grandmother has an incredible ability to make ordinary food turn into the most wonderful tasting spread one can ever imagine. I am positive that the secret ingredient is grandma love.

There is one Christmas that stands out in my memory above all the others: It was the year I saw Santa. On Christmas Eve, after dinner was over, the talent show was performed and a few presents were opened, the kids all went upstairs to sleep. There were five of us, but only one bed. We slept in a huge, drafty room that at one time had been my uncle’s. Since there was only one bed, some of us had to sleep in chairs with our feet propped up on TV trays. It was such uncomfortable sleeping, but none of us really slept anyway. Before we would all attempt sleep, my uncle would come upstairs and recite the annual reading of the poem “Old Man Winter.” He read it in a deep almost mysterious tone, which completely set the mood of the short poem. I can still remember the opening line: “Nothing pleased Old Man Winter. The birds with their chirping were most annoying.” I cherish the memory of him reading it to us. After the poem, he would leave us and go downstairs to play Trivia Pursuit with the grown-ups. We could always faintly hear their laughing and shouting. The sounds of a family enjoying each others’ company is incredibly comforting.

Upstairs, we would all try to sing every Christmas song we could think of, which was just a distraction from sleep. We’d laugh and laugh when we couldn’t remember verses. At some point in the night, we’d all fall silent but sleep was restless. On this one particular Christmas, I had dozed off but was roused from my light sleep by the sound of sleigh bells. It took me a moment to realize what I was hearing, but when I did, I jumped out of bed and scurried to the window. I could hear the bells coming from outside. I pushed back the curtain and there, much to my amazement, standing on the lawn was Santa Claus! He waved at me and my heart started racing. I quickly called out to my cousins to hurry to the window. They sprang out of bed and we gathered around, our breath creating a fog on the chilled glass. We stared in absolute wonder at Santa down on the lawn. It was incredible. He shouted out in a muffled voice, “Ho, Ho, Ho! Merry Christmas!” It was almost more than my heart could stand. Someone–I don’t remember who–suggested we get in bed fast so that he could come inside and deliver our gifts. It was difficult to tear my eyes away from Santa, but we had to be in bed or he wouldn’t come inside the house. I mean, every kid knows the Santa rules. I crawled back under the covers and my mind thrilled at the thought of Santa down in my grandparents living room. I don’t think I slept another minute that night and the hours painfully ticked away. The next morning, like a herd of elephants, we kids thundered down the stairs to see what Santa had left us.

That night will forever be one of my favorites.

You know, I can remember a few special presents I got from my childhood days. I remember my Carebears, my K-state beanbag chair, my middle school letter jacket, and a few other things, but that’s about it. Funny, isn’t’ it? We spend so much time running around attempting to get the most perfect presents, but, yet, gifts fade from our memories. What hasn’t faded is the smells: Fresh pine, warm homemade rolls, pie, turkey and stuffing, and candles. I can still remember the sights of all the things I loved: Seeing how big of a tree my grandparents had gotten. Some years it seemed to spill out of the music room. The table beautifully set for all my loved ones. The special decorations my grandmother put out. I can still hear the noises: The sound of my great-aunt saying, “Yoohoooo!” as she came in the door. Kids laughing. Mannheim Steamroller on the stereo. The tastes are seared in my mind. It’s the feelings, though, that grip me the most. The feeling of love spilling throughout the home. All the people there were/are people that loved and cared for me. I used to squeeze under the Christmas tree with my cousins and look up into the tree at the lights. Why is that such a magical thing to do? I can’t explain it, but it is. It always made me feel safe, secure, and special. Whenever I think back on those times, I never think of the gifts I got, but all the rest.

As Catholics, we are entering into Advent. It’s a meaningful time that can truly draw us closer to Christ. Enjoy this time. Nothing has to be over the top or too extravagant. What matters most during this time is Christ and family. Part of the reason my Christmases were so special is that my grandmas took such care in making us all feel loved. It’s okay to slow down. It’s okay to not get it perfect. It’s okay to not find the most perfect presents. I think what matters is being present in the …

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