You talk a lot about how you and Damien have grown and overcome a lot of the struggles you had early on in your marriage. Was here a specific turning point for you? A moment where you said, “Aha! So this is what God wants me to do/say/understand!” If so, when was that moment, and what precipitated it?
No one specific moment, no. There were several “believe so that you may understand” moments, though — when we just decided we were going to grit our teeth and do our best to live with impossible situations . . . and then they cleared up in unexpected ways. It was a lot easier to see God’s gentleness and mercy after we had decided to bow to His law.
We also constantly work on making the shift from “my needs vs. your needs” to “what’s best for our marriage and family?”
I think that even when people do have startling, revolutionary epiphanies in their lives, they usually still have to follow up with a long, gradual process of putting that epiphany into practice.
I was seeing confusion and varying interpretations about what this letter actually signifies or implies. Scott P.Richert of About.com’s Catholicism page gave me this background explanation:
[A] bishop (singular) initially thought that there was something to the apparitions, but as he investigated it more deeply, he came to see otherwise. Since then, the bishops with the authority to investigate and determine the validity of the apparitions have all said, as the letter itself states, that “On the basis of the research that has been done, it is not possible to state that there were apparitions or supernatural revelations.” As a consequence, those bishops have forbidden pilgrimages, etc., to the site of the alleged apparitions.
Yes, the letter is a specific warning addressed to the bishops of the United States. But the substance of the warning is that clerics and faithful should not participate in these events in the United States for the same reason that they should not participate in them in Medjugorje.
Scott has written this article to clarify what the bishops have said in the past, and how the process of evaluating a purported vision actually proceeds: An Exorcist Looks at Medjugorje.
This is why I consider commercial boycotts to be largely a spiritual and symbolic exercise, at least at the personal level. I refuse to buy anything with “Nestle” written on it, for instance, because of their repulsive treatment of third world babies; but I know the only difference it will make is if I consciously offer up the (miniscule) sacrifice that involves.
Anyway, I usually buy store brands of food — but aren’t those often made by the same corporations, and just packaged more cheaply? Blah. Education is a good thing; but I think we are fooling ourselves if we think we can keep our shopping baskets ritually pure. If we avoid all taint as consumers, we will quickly starve. When large groups of people band together and exert pressure on corporations, they can affect real change. But it does not follow that a single, harried shopper who grabs a bag of Laffy Taffy is committing a sin against third world babies.
What makes sense to me is this: pick a few causes that you feel really strongly about. Make a firm decision to make the sacrifice so you can avoid supporting those particular evils. Stick to it. And then just chill about the rest.
What do you think? How do you handle being a principled consumer when your choices are not real choices?
I recently ran into this myself, when I was recording my audiobook last weekend. It seems that I use kind of a lot of words that I am not 100% sure how to pronounce. (John Herried called this “Homeschooler’s Syndrome.” Oh lawsy, there she goes again, attacking homeschoolers!!!1!) It happened a few times, but the one I really struggled with was “minutiae.” I asked the producer, and he didn’t know, either. I think I ended up saying “my-NOO-shee-aye.” I did my best to make it sound authoritative.
My kids all learned to read pretty early, and although I flogged them with phonics, they definitely got in some skimming habits. One child who shall remain nameless was recently heard to make reference to “filling a lamp with kernose.” My grandmother told me she once met a guy who thought “fatigued” was pronounced “fatty-gayed.” He’d surely heard the word pronounced, but I guess he just somehow assumed all his life that there were two separate words, which both meant “tired.”
I just love it when little fissures of naivete are introduced into the professional world like this. We’re all faking it, at one level or another.
Very interesting stuff from Tammy Ruiz, who has worked in perinatal NICU and hospice centers for most of her career, and who recently and unexpectedly lost her husband. She has witnessed many crises, much grief, and many people behaving with compassion and selflessness She says it’s not only theoloically inaccurate to call someone an “angel” when they demonstrate what seems like heroic virtue, but it can provide us with an excuse to avoid even trying to do the right thing. Calling someone an “angel” implies that they have superhuman abilities — that they are a different type of being altogether — and we can’t even hope to imitate them. Instead, here is what she has seen:
When I worked for a hospice, one of the most amazing parts of the job was watching the evolution of the caregivers who often went from “I could never ever _____ even if my parent needed me to” to “this is really hard but I’m sort of doing it” finally to “it was really hard to care for my dying parent but I did it and I am proud of myself.” Properly caring for the dying takes everybody working together, not just waiting for the “angel” hospice nurse to arrive.
A great reminder, which draws out a useful distinction: It’s very common, lately, for people to urge each other to just take small steps, and to be content with trying. But this misses the mark. We take small steps because we’re weak and limited — but the small steps will make us stronger, so that we eventually can achieve more. We’re not creatures of superhuman virtue; but neither should we be content with our limitations. Read the rest here.
Betcha wish you were me, don’t you? Nine kids, fifteen years of parenting under my belt, confident, levelheaded, never get rattled, never overreact, that’s me.
And that, my friends, is why my husband and I spent three hours in the emergency room with the baby last night, to come home with this official diagnosis:
My brother-in-law’s brother Benjamin Herried (yes, the same family who produced John Herreid, who did my book cover! Ridiculously talented bunch of people) has been selling fabulous handmade pasta products at their local farmer’s market, using local sustainable produce. Delicacies like Caramelized Fall Pear and Gorgonzola Ravioli and Sweet Potato and Roasted Garlic Gnocchi.
Pardon me, I need to mop the drool off my keyboard.
So, it’s been very popular, and they could be doing so much more, but the only have use of a commercial kitchen once a week. If they could find their own kitchen and get some equipment, they could really take off. But starting a business in Washington State is an expensive and cumbersome process, I hear. Lots of fees from state and local goverments, lots of hoops to jump through.
So they’re launching a Kickstarter Campain to raise some funds for Arista Pasta. Check out this video, that begins with a still of one of their five lovely kids enjoying her daddy’s pasta, with the lovely jumble of family life behind her, with the lovely rosary draped down the side. (If the video isn’t showing up, you can see it here. It’s short and sweet!)
I only made pasta once in my life, with the Junior Catholic Daughters of the Americas, and it was not an elevating experience. Ben Herreid, though, is all about detail, all about doing it right. For instance, he’s using these gorgeous bronze pasta dies for the best texture:
Sorry, I’m immoderately fascinated by the bronze pasta dies. I want some.
Benjamin’s wife Anne Marie told me,
I want people to know that if they contribute even five bucks they’ve made our day, we aren’t looking for massive bank breaking support. We’re hoping for a bunch of little support and of course prayers. I really loved the recent reading about the guy who goes and bugs his neighbor for a loaf of bread in the middle of the night to feed a visitor, and how he relents cause it’s just so annoying. That’s us.
One, I just got through doing a live hour with the guys at Archangel Radio.
Honestly, I was a little nervous about doing an entire hour about my book, but it was actually wonderful to relax and have some space to really talk about things — about, for instance, how lucky I am to have a big family, but how foolish it is to think you know the state of someone’s soul based on their family size. These guys are a hoot,
Two, the intrepid Jennifer Fitz of Riparians at the Gate is giving away a copy of my book, which you obviously already own, but, as Jennifer says, “You’re allowed to enter and win for a friend instead. See? Thanksgiving present. Perfect.”
4. Here’s the scoop on the book, and why you need to reform your ways if you didn’t answer #2, 3, 3.5, or 3.75 correctly:
(A) You know how you hate NFP? You use it and all, or you would, but it’s maybe not the rapturous experience that you always dreamt of, when you first read the words “cervical mucus”? This book is about that. NFP Frustration.
(B) The book doesn’t talk about cervical mucus. It doesn’t have 10 Ways to Get a Better Temp Rise, Faster! Now! A Full 4/10ths of a Degree or Your Money Back!!
Most books are better if they don’t include that. –> Except if you’re trying to learn NFP. In which case the amusing way in which this contest is being run will help you with that.
(C) Every stupid thing about NFP ever. said. by some idiot who clearly has a Josephite marriage and prefers it that way (did Joseph? I’m skeptical.), REFUTED! Blammo! In YOUR PLACE crazy people. Done.
(D) Except charitably.
(E) Downright Theology of the Body, if you must know. Only, it’s not, “I drank the TOTB water, and now I drool unicorns and rainbows.” It’s more like: “Hey! TOTB Water! You can brew beer with that!”
(F) It’s a short book.
(G) There were points where I did not laugh out loud. I laughed so hard sound would not come out of my body. I would have rolled on the floor laughing, except that I was laughing too hard to fall out of my chair. I’m sure it was weird looking. There are certain chapters you might not want to read in public.
(H) We aren’t doing the whole alphabet.
(I) But I thought up another thing: This book is the perfect marriage book. So if you know somebody who’s married, or who is thinking of getting married, this would be a great gift. I’ve been married 47.5% of my life. I know what it takes. Simcha’s nailed it. On the head.
(J) It’s pronounced “Sim-ka”. Like the “ch” sound in “School”. Because Simka’s so chool.
(K) Yeah, I was saying it wrong too.
(L) I didn’t ask how to pronounce “Fisher”. We’re all just winging it on that one.
(It won’t let me load up the image for some reason.)
This week has been an experiment to see whether two rather sedentary adults can accomplish the work of five strong men, sleeping an average of four non-consecutive hours per night, and sustained by little more than beer, deli ham, and Laffy Taffy:
(Oh, so the answer is: “Yes, but unnnnnghhhhhhhh.”)
So here are seven things I never got around to blogging about:
–1–
Maybe someday, if we need a house, we will just print one up. I was going to say something about how such houses would be lacking in the charm that only traditional stick-built homes can afford, but then I looked around and, yeah. Charm. We once hired a guy to replace our front door, because whoever designed our house graduated Magna Cum Stupido from the Dr. Suess Academy of Ridiculous Architecture. After watching him struggle with the angles for over an hour, I apologized to him for how crookedy it all was. “Aw, that’s okay,” he said. “Anyone can work on a straighthouse!” So, that’s why we live here. W. H. Auden would approve.
–2–
Probably everybody’s seen this already, but my kids got a kick out of this Star Wars bloopers reel:
–3–
Here’s a thought-provoking post that uses that odious “What’s Your Excuse?” meme as a springboard for some even more interesting ideas about the “self-improvement culture” and what health really means. Long but fascinating.
I suppose you’ve already met the worst person in the world. I’m happy to report that, when we went trick-or-treating last night, there was no visible judgment from anyone, even though we had three teenaged trick-or-treaters and one baby trick-or-treater. (And yes, the candy really was for her. Although she shared it with the dog, who has a special weakness for lollipops.)
We also saw zero (0) sexy costumes. Probably because it was cold and rainy, but really! Three cheers for the backlash!
Of our own costumes, we took very few non-terrible pictures, but here are a few of my kids:
Ash from Army of Darkness:
The kid who went from door to door saying “Alms for the bodiless” instead of “trick or treat”:
A puppy, who wore this beloved costume for four months nonstop last year, even through the sweltering heat, because of reasons very much like this:
Here is our weeping angel getting ready:
Her finished costume got mixed reviews, mainly because (a) it turns out it’s hard to spraypaint feathers, maybe because they are, oh yeah, designed to be moisture repellent; and (b) we spent six weeks planning and about twelve minutes actually executing.
We also had a cat fairy, River Song, and 2D from Gorillaz (because we are the family your mother warned you about). The baby was “Baffled Two-Year Old Who Fell Asleep in the Car on the Way Home from School and Continued Sleeping Until It Was Time to Go Trick-or-treating, So We Just Put a Fluffy Scarf on Her and It Was Cute” girl. Oh, and a princess:
Sorry the pics are so dark. We’re getting thunderstorms here, and if I delay posting this any longer (to lighten up the pics), I’m going to lose my internet. You get the general idea. Lotsa candy, happy night. We’re going to watch The Birds andSigns with the older kids, as part of our prolonged weekend of spookiness.
There were shouts of “Kill the Nazi” and the man began to run – but he was knocked to the ground. A group surrounded him, kicking him and hitting him with the wooden sticks of their placards.
Mob mentality had taken over. “It became barbaric,” says Thomas.
“When people are in a crowd they are more likely to do things they would never do as an individual. Someone had to step out of the pack and say, ‘This isn’t right.’”
So the teenager, then still at high school, threw herself on top of a man she did not know and shielded him from the blows.
“When they dropped him to the ground, it felt like two angels had lifted my body up and laid me down.”
