Joy and Sorrow (La Joie et la Tristesse)

Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

-Khalil Gibran

------------------

Une femme dit alors:
"Parle-nous de la Joie et de la Tristesse."
Il répondit:
Votre joie est votre tristesse sans masque.
Et le même puits d'où jaillit votre rire a souvent été rempli de vos larmes.
Comment en serait-il autrement ?
Plus profonde est l'entaille découpée en vous par votre tristesse, plus grande est la joie que vous pouvez abriter.
La coupe qui contient votre vin n'est-elle pas celle que le potier flambait dans son four ?
Le luth qui console votre esprit n'est-il pas du même bois que celui creuse par les couteaux ?
Lorsque vous êtes joyeux, sondez votre coeur, et vous découvrirez que ce qui vous donne de la joie n'est autre que ce qui causait votre tristesse.
Lorsque vous êtes triste, examinez de nouveau votre coeur. Vous verrez qu'en vérité vous pleurez sur ce qui fit vos délices.

Certains parmi vous disent: "La joie est plus grande que la tristesse", et d'autres disent: "Non, c'est la tristesse qui est la plus grande."
Moi je vous dit qu'elles sont inséparables.
Elles viennent ensemble, et si l'une est assise avec vous, a votre table, rappelez-vous que l'autre est endormie sur votre lit.

En vérité, vous êtes suspendus, telle une balance, entre votre tristesse et votre joie.
Il vous faut être vides pour rester immobiles et en équilibre.
Lorsque le gardien du trésor vous soulève pour peser son or et son argent dans les plateaux, votre joie et votre tristesse s'élèvent ou retombent.
-- Khalil Gibran

The glory of virtuous womanhood, found in unlikely places.

When my husband and I were first married, he often tried to read to me the story of the Brave 300 at Thermopolae. I would listen half-heartedly for a few minutes and then roll over and go to sleep. It was a story I'd heard before, and not one in which I found anything particularly moving or interesting for my feminine nature to dwell on.
One day, we got a phone call from my brother, asking if my husband was excited to go see the movie "300" and whether we wanted to go with him.
"I don't know. What is that?" we asked.
We pulled up a preview online and my jaw dropped-- a movie about one of his favorite stories? He would be ecstatic. And I would be bored. :) However, there was something slightly intreguing that struck me. In watching the preview, I saw something that will forever illustrate for me what the experience getting to know of the inside of my man's mind looks like. I recognized him and the way he thinks in it.
Madness? This. is. Sparta.
On the surface, it's a now-famous movie scene that most people think is awesome. But imagine living the mental equivalent of those actions on a daily basis. Nowadays, we don't think a guy who acts like King Leonidas is "good." We call him a jerk. And yet to the ancients he was a noble king! It gave me pause.

I sent them off together to watch it and settled into the couch with the baby and a chick-flick.
A short while later, I got a phone call.
It was my husband, calling from the lobby of the theater in the middle of the movie. He was calling to tell me he would watch the baby so that I could go and see the movie myself, and that it was important to him.
"That good, huh?" I said, yawning.
His response was wounding:
"You need to see this movie so you can learn how to be a wife."

At the time, I'm not gonna lie, I thought: "Why the hell did I marry this creep?"
Here I was, busting my butt to be the perfect wife, doing everything I could to make sure the miserable, tiny studio apartment we lived in was clean, the cookies were fresh-baked, the baby was happy, he was happy... and here he was, watching some movie and getting inspired by some dumb character. To hell with him.

But I grimaced and set my face into a smile: "OK, babe." I said.
I walked into that movie ready to hate Queen Gorgo's guts and plotting ways to let him have it and/or make my escape from our marriage.
I walked out shamed, humbled, and a better wife.

You see, my husband is a FANATIC of all things classically manly, from Braveheart and Rob Roy to Appaloosa and Last of the Mohicans, and especially when it comes to the Classical world.
In my house, we alternate read-alouds of all the epic tales with viewings of Alexander, Troy, Rome, Clash of the Titans, and The Odyssey.

In the beginning, I used to grumble. These stories seemed to have nothing to offer me- they were all about men who lived long ago in settings I couldn't relate to and stories of battles and war. But once I quit complaining and started listening, I have come to learn that in the quiet, hidden lives of the wives of these men, the great heros of civilization, I have learned almost everything I need to know to be a wife.

In the case of the film version of the story of Queen Gorgo and King Leonidas, for example, there is much to learn. Sure, on the surface, it's a hollywoodized cheesy love story, a background to the story of an epic battle thrown in to keep the guys' attention. But the story of the Brave 300 is a true one, and was taught to all the ancients.

Imagine BEING Gorgo. Imagine being married to a man who has weighty responsibilities outside the home and who was raised and leads in a culture where women play second fiddle to the men because there is so much need for heavy military action. Being married to a man who simply doesn't have time for our crap.

Whenever  I reflect on how women's roles have changed, I am disheartened, for though it was hard to be a women in any age of history when men "held the power positions" and women were at their mercy, it is possibly just as challenging to us to live in a culture where women have been raised to "equality" at things which they are not equal in, and further difficult to live in a culture where women are expected to be both men and women.

Throughout history, good wifehood has been "not optional." There have been times and places where if women were NOT "wives of valor," they were killed, abused, or left to fend for themselves and die. In some situations, even when they were.

Now I'm not saying that we should go back to these times, for obviously we have become "civilized" by our understanding that women and children come first, (the Titanic taught us that, right? :D)

But as a woman who is married to a man which I call "savagely civilized," by virtue of his upbringing in which there was no female influence and in which he was taught that military prowess, survival ability, and furthering the cause of civilization while protecting his land were the ONLY worthy pursuits, I can tell you that the "wildness" of man, which was wholly unknown to me before I married one, serves a needed purpose in society.

And in my marriage! In being married to a man who is uncompromisingly Spartan and ""manly" I have learned many things. It has been like a boot camp, in which every shred of  physical, mental, or emotional weakness has been stripped from me. At the same time...

I have developed courage for situations I would never have imagined facing.
I have learned that respect is earned and not given. And that we must give it to earn it.
I have learned that good communication does not need words.
I have learned that there simply are. no. excuses.
I have learned that pain is weakness leaving the body.
I have learned that nothing is easy, but we have to do it anyways.
I have learned that pain is temporary, and pride is forever.
I have learned that a good soldier obeys orders, even when they don't make sense.
I have learned that there simply is no room for petty foolishness in progress.
I have learned that I'll sleep when I'm dead... and that's ok.
I have learned that I'll be doing it "right" the day I do it all.
I have learned that there is truth to the message that there is glory in the Cross and in suffering well.
I have learned to care for myself without requiring others to do it for me.

and many, many other lessons along the way.

Whenever my marriage gets tough, I will often say to myself: "I'm upset now. And rightly so! This is unjust. But how would my sisters who have gone before me, married to the most difficult of men, have reacted? What did  the ancient mothers do? What have the saints done?"
Penelope endured years of faithfulness and courage in the face of single motherhood, war and disappearance and was rewarded for it. Queen Gorgo endured the challenges of motherhood to a man whose difficult respect she had earned by the sweat of her brow. There are more than 25 patron saints of difficult marriages, among them Monica and St Rita of Cascia, who were married to men who were both difficult, unbelieving, and abusive. And yet they THRIVED in these environments, not only becoming saints themselves but raising saints and helping all people to survive with grace the most challenging aspects of life.

Queen Gorgo had unfaltering respect for her man, even when he doubted himself or she doubted him.
She had courage and an uncomplaining spirit. She had physical and mental agility to complete the tasks required of her position as Wife, Mother and Queen. She knew well the expectations of her role and did what she had to in order to earn not only the king's RESPECT, but his love and devotion. She was able to know him well enough to think like him to lead in his place. When she finally broke down and wept, it was in dignity and honor, not in a loss of control. She earned the love and respect of her husband, not by manipulating him with her emotions or demanding communication and "fairness" but rather by using her womanly strengths: tenderness and the touch of beauty, combined with her inner belief in the importance of what they were both doing... building a strong, honorably, and worthy society.
Queen Gorgo was the daughter of a King of Sparta, the wife of a second king of Sparta, and the mother of a third king of Sparta. What an honor was given to this woman, and how much we can all learn in our marriages from studying the story of her life and the lives of all the "hidden" wives behind the great heros of mythology and history.

There were other city-states, and ancient men of different breeds reigned in them, providing a much needed venue for learning philosophy and the arts. There were wives of different sorts there... and if your husband is more like the athenians, you wives who would do well to study the lives of the ancients there to learn what skills were needed to help them do what they did best. Athens was the cradle of civilization.
Sparta was different. Sparta was savage, and it was thanks to Sparta that Athens was free to grow and thrive.   In our modern world, we need both.

As we homeschool our children, teaching them the Classical liberal arts that derived from the wisdom of ancient greece, they are lucky enough to grow up in the home of a "savage" Spartan, getting the best of both worlds. It is fitting, then, that over time I've come to learn to love the wisdom left me by the ancient mothers of Greece, mothers like Penelope who, in a speech that stirs when she describes how the poor choices of other wives and women (in this case, Helen of Troy) have affected her, laid it all out for us to witness:

My dears, heaven has been pleased to try me with more
affliction than any other woman of my age and country. First I
lost my brave and lion-hearted husband, who had every good
quality under heaven, and whose name was great over all Hellas and middle Argos, and now my darling son is at the mercy of the winds and waves, without my having heard one word about his leaving home."

That very difficulty is the one that gave her glory that has lasted throughout all the ages... Glory which inspires and helps us women who know her story to live by the values which form lasting virtue to inspire our daughters in the future and help them to build up a society that changes the face of the world.

So the next time your husband kicks back to watch a "man" movie, quit whining and take a seat next to him. Or, after a fight, when you're tempted to wallow in the bittersweet loveliness of watching your favorite chick flick with a tub of ice cream, try throwing in a "man" movie instead and laying off the ice cream. You might come out a better wife.

After all... if you're like me and This. Is. Sparta.... there's no room for weakness here.
;)

Mémoires d'un temps passé

Some days, music says it better than my words ever could.
Other days... more than just a song, a music video embodies an experience or emotion I've had... and it moves me.
Like this one.
Enjoy. (You probably already do, I'm always the last to know when it comes to new music, it seems.)

other people's ideas...

They sit, lined up like little soldiers neatly against my bathroom wall, braving the humidity of so many hot showers and children's little hands.

They are strewn haphazardly around my nightstand, filled with prayers and personality.

They line the shelves, organized by theme, title and size.

They accompany me in the kitchen while I wait for breakfast to cook, during the kids' bathtime while I wait for ducks to fish and tugboats to kiss trains, and on cold winter days spent snuggling sick children on the couch.

I've spent hours immersed in their slightly acid scent, their crinkly pages, and their sharp black lines, rubbing their smooth covers between my hands.

I've taught from them, comforted by the thickness of their pages neatly tucked under one arm so as to allow both my hands to talk.  (...) 

Read the rest of my post on Catholic Daily.

A find.

Jun 6, 2009

identification (June 6, 2009)
I found this blog on my old myspace blog.... it's several years old, and ironically something I'm deeply dealing with right now. Apparently, old issues never go away. I don't necessarily agree with the conclusions I came to in this blog, but a lot of it really hit home. Now, since this issue is years old... I am going to pray about how to resolve it... once and for all.

I'm having a really hard time dealing with the question of identity.

Who am I? Obvious answers pop out: I'm a Christian, a wife, and a mother. I'm a carmelite. I'm a friend. I'm a sister and a daughter. Then there are the occupational ones.... I'm a published writer. I'm a housekeeper. I'm a cook. I'm a minister of the gospel. I'm a teacher. I'm a nurse. I'm a doula. I'm a yogi. I'm a knitter.

All of these things are pieces of my identity that I'd like to keep. There are other things I'd like to add but haven't yet... like university graduate, or world traveller.

There come certain times in my life when I have to make decisions about piecing together that identity. I decide what shows to watch on TV and that forms me, or what books to read. I have to give up certain habits or ideas, and that also forms me. Or rather, in doing so, Christ forms His character in me.
One of the hardest things for me is letting go of those things which I WANTED to have in the first place.

Being French used to be something that mattered a great deal to me and at which I actively worked. It wasn't enough to be born and raised there--- once I came to the US I had to make French friends (the French Connection!) and cook french foods and find people to speak French with so that I didn't lose that. We watched French movies and dressed like french people, and read french books. We concerned ourselves with French issues. Every nationality represented in the US has this type of method of preservation of identity available to them. When I hung out with Swedish girls all the time, it was the identical process, we just at kottbollar and glogg instead of crepes and coffee.

Nowadays, I have virtually lost that French identity. I wear hand-me-downs that were given to me for the most part so I have completely lost my own sense of style and basically dress like an American. I have no one to speak French WITH, so I don't do that anymore. There is no cultural source of French food or entertainment or company, so I've pretty much forgotten-- or at least put out of my mind-- those things which made me "French." In fact, most people in this part of the country have a strong distaste for France and the French, so I can't even really discuss it with the locals. All I have left is a birth certificate and a funny name. And even, that, somehow, I have lost.

As my kids grow, they don't like to speak French because I'm the only one who does it with them. I wonder sometimes if it's even WORTH teaching them-- who will THEY use it with other than the once-a-month phone calls with distant relatives?

At the same time, I'm reluctant to lose it. I want to maintain this identity for no other reason than it is IMPORTANT to me, and its been with me all my life. In cleaving to my husband, I am asked to relinquish this part of me (by nature of things like his distaste for classically French cuisine or traditions which I would have, if I lived alone, implemented in my home) It is very hard to balance who I am with who HE is, because by the nature of his role and position, he does not appreciate those things "around him."

Now before you go off thinking that's unfair, consider that there are MANY things he holds dear which I am put off by and which I hope HE would lose. Should he cleave to MY culinary tastes, I would be asking him to LOSE those things which he grew up on and which create HIS identity--- like Carolina BBQ.

Marriage is a give and take, and the issue of our identity is paramount. As a couple, we have to have unity of purpose-- we have to follow those things which God has called us to. And in this life, and in our family, for right now, God has called us to Fayetteville, North Carolina, a wart on the face of America. God has called us to have more children than we can "afford" by the world's standards, to be in relationships which are less than effortless, and NOT to know with any certainty that we will ever see/experience those things of which we dream.

I may cry every year cutting my grandmother's Foie Gras at Christmas and setting up the Creche, but the fact is that the only place I know for SURE that I will see my grandmother or aunts and cousins again is in the Eucharist. To pine and dream that somehow, some way I will get back there and to look for any opportunity that "might" arise is not only wasteful but sinful. In doing so, I'm doing exactly what Jesus admonished us NOT to do--- I'm fretting about tomorrow.

It seems that my whole life has been about learning to do what's in front of me, to be present in every moment, to be content with what I have. To abandon myself completely to God's care and relinquish all sense of control.

And yet I sit here thinking about WHY and how we raise our children and I think about how sad it is that I have been fed for years that I am raising "champions and worldchangers." Are my kids going to make a difference? Maybe. But in the end, my kids are going to be just like me: a face in an ocean of humanity, a speck in time. A piece of dust.

Cleaving to my husband and to the "thing" which God is forming us, united, to be, is the most difficult task in front of me, because it means letting go of everything that "feels" good---- it means accepting that in this life, I will have trouble.

Because of the Gospel, I may never walk the streets of Marseille again. Because of the gospel, I may never arise to the stillness and quiet of my alpine home and let my children have the privilege of experience the sights and sounds which shaped me. Because of the gospel, my children may NEVER know the beautiful things I've seen and tasted and heard and carry in my heart.

The reason for that is that those things which "tie" me there are the very things I must walk away from, and often the very people from whom I must detach in order to walk into what God has willed for me. I am truly so selfish that I'm often willing to IGNORE a relational issue which must be addressed just so that I can have the peace of being connected to those things which my senses require for joy.

As a Christian, as a wife, as a Mother, as a Carmelite, I must make decisions which sometimes leave behind those people who connect me to that identity and which sometimes are my only link to that distant past for which my heart and senses long.

So now the task is to find solace-- to find in Christ that consolation which I know He, my Creator, is capable of giving me.



I have told you this so that through me you may have peace. In the world you will have trouble, but be courageous-I have overcome the world!--John 16:33

Swan Song

Swans have been popping up everywhere I look for the last week... been thinking about them and about how a few old poems and songs with titles about swans seem to evoke something in me right now that I can't really describe but that seems to be moving me in a particular direction. Two of them below, in French and English... one an old Ani Di Franco song that profoundly affected me as a teenager and that revists me from time to time, and second an old poem I once studied in school in France that has the same effect on me. Enjoy!




Le Cygne

À Victor Hugo

I

Andromaque, je pense à vous! Ce petit fleuve,
Pauvre et triste miroir où jadis resplendit
L'immense majesté de vos douleurs de veuve,
Ce Simoïs menteur qui par vos pleurs grandit,

A fécondé soudain ma mémoire fertile,
Comme je traversais le nouveau Carrousel.
Le vieux Paris n'est plus (la forme d'une ville
Change plus vite, hélas! que le coeur d'un mortel);

Je ne vois qu'en esprit tout ce camp de baraques,
Ces tas de chapiteaux ébauchés et de fûts,
Les herbes, les gros blocs verdis par l'eau des flaques,
Et, brillant aux carreaux, le bric-à-brac confus.

Là s'étalait jadis une ménagerie;
Là je vis, un matin, à l'heure où sous les cieux
Froids et clairs le Travail s'éveille, où la voirie
Pousse un sombre ouragan dans l'air silencieux,

Un cygne qui s'était évadé de sa cage,
Et, de ses pieds palmés frottant le pavé sec,
Sur le sol raboteux traînait son blanc plumage.
Près d'un ruisseau sans eau la bête ouvrant le bec

Baignait nerveusement ses ailes dans la poudre,
Et disait, le coeur plein de son beau lac natal:
«Eau, quand donc pleuvras-tu? quand tonneras-tu, foudre?»
Je vois ce malheureux, mythe étrange et fatal,

Vers le ciel quelquefois, comme l'homme d'Ovide,
Vers le ciel ironique et cruellement bleu,
Sur son cou convulsif tendant sa tête avide
Comme s'il adressait des reproches à Dieu!

II

Paris change! mais rien dans ma mélancolie
N'a bougé! palais neufs, échafaudages, blocs,
Vieux faubourgs, tout pour moi devient allégorie
Et mes chers souvenirs sont plus lourds que des rocs.

Aussi devant ce Louvre une image m'opprime:
Je pense à mon grand cygne, avec ses gestes fous,
Comme les exilés, ridicule et sublime
Et rongé d'un désir sans trêve! et puis à vous,

Andromaque, des bras d'un grand époux tombée,
Vil bétail, sous la main du superbe Pyrrhus,
Auprès d'un tombeau vide en extase courbée
Veuve d'Hector, hélas! et femme d'Hélénus!

Je pense à la négresse, amaigrie et phtisique
Piétinant dans la boue, et cherchant, l'oeil hagard,
Les cocotiers absents de la superbe Afrique
Derrière la muraille immense du brouillard;

À quiconque a perdu ce qui ne se retrouve
Jamais, jamais! à ceux qui s'abreuvent de pleurs
Et tètent la Douleur comme une bonne louve!
Aux maigres orphelins séchant comme des fleurs!

Ainsi dans la forêt où mon esprit s'exile
Un vieux Souvenir sonne à plein souffle du cor!
Je pense aux matelots oubliés dans une île,
Aux captifs, aux vaincus!... à bien d'autres encor!

— Charles Baudelaire

THE SWAN
by: Charles Baudelaire

NDROMACHE, I think of you! The stream,

The poor, sad mirror where in bygone days

Shone all the majesty of your widowed grief,

The lying Simoïs flooded by your tears,

Made all my fertile memory blossom forth

As I passed by the new-built Carrousel.

Old Paris is no more (a town, alas,

Changes more quickly than man's heart may change);

Yet in my mind I still can see the booths;

The heaps of brick and rough-hewn capitals;

The grass; the stones all over-green with moss;

The débris, and the square-set heaps of tiles.

 

There a menagerie was once outspread;

And there I saw, one morning at the hour

When toil awakes beneath the cold, clear sky,

And the road roars upon the silent air,

A swan who had escaped his cage, and walked

On the dry pavement with his webby feet,

And trailed his spotless plumage on the ground.

And near a waterless stream the piteous swan

Opened his beak, and bathing in the dust

His nervous wings, he cried (his heart the while

Filled with a vision of his own fair lake):

"O water, when then wilt thou come in rain?

Lightning, when wilt thou glitter?"

 

Sometimes yet

I see the hapless bird -- strange, fatal myth--

Like him that Ovid writes of, lifting up

Unto the cruelly blue, ironic heavens,

With stretched, convulsive neck a thirsty face,

As though he sent reproaches up to God!

 

II.

 

Paris may change; my melancholy is fixed.

New palaces, and scaffoldings, and blocks,

And suburbs old, are symbols all to me

Whose memories are as heavy as a stone.

And so, before the Louvre, to vex my soul,

The image came of my majestic swan

With his mad gestures, foolish and sublime,

As of an exile whom one great desire

Gnaws with no truce. And then I thought of you,

Andromache! torn from your hero's arms;

Beneath the hand of Pyrrhus in his pride;

Bent o'er an empty tomb in ecstasy;

Widow of Hector -- wife of Helenus!

And of the negress, wan and phthisical,

Tramping the mud, and with her haggard eyes

Seeking beyond the mighty walls of fog

The absent palm-trees of proud Africa;

Of all who lose that which they never find;

Of all who drink of tears; all whom grey grief

Gives suck to as the kindly wolf gave suck;

Of meagre orphans who like blossoms fade.

And one old Memory like a crying horn

Sounds through the forest where my soul is lost . . .

I think of sailors on some isle forgotten;

Of captives; vanquished . . . and of many more.




and another.... "Swandive" by Ani DiFranco

cradling the softest, warmest part of you in my hand
feels like a little baby bird fallen from the nest
i think that your body is something i understand
i think that i'm happy, i think that i'm blessed

i've got a lack of inhibition
i've got a loss of perspective
i've had a little bit to drink
and it's making me think
that i can jump ship and swim
that the ocean will hold me
that there's got to be more
than this boat i'm in

'cuz they can call me crazy if i fail
all the chance that i need
is one-in-a-million
and they can call me brilliant
if i succeed
gravity is nothing to me, moving at the speed of sound
i'm just going to get my feet wet
until i drown

and i teeter between tired
and really, really tired
im wiped and im wired but i guess its just as well
because i built my own empire
out of car tires and chicken wire
and i'm queen of my own compost heap
and i'm getting used to the smell

and i've got a lack of information
but i got a little revelation
and i'm climbing up on the railing
trying not to look down
i'm going to do my best swan dive
in the shark-infested waters
i'm gonna pull out my tampon
and start splashing around

'cuz i don't care if they eat me alive
i've got better thing to do than survive
i've got a memory of your warm skin in my hand
and i've got a vision of blue sky and dry land

i'm cradling the hardest, heaviest part of me in my hand
the ship is pitching and heaving, my limbs are bobbing and weaving
and i think this is what i understand
i just need a little vaccination for my far-away vacation
i'm going to go ahead boldly because a little bird told me
that jumping is easy, that falling is fun
up until you hit the sidewalk, shivering, stunned

and they can call me crazy if i fail
all the chance that i need
is one-in-a-million
and they can call me brilliant
if i succeed
gravity is nothing to me
moving at the speed of sound
i'm just gonna get my feet wet
until i drown... 

A little update, it's been a while

Hello Friends!

Sorry it has been so long since you have had any new entries to read, I have unfortunately been without a computer which makes blogging, uploading pics, facebook, etc. very challenging. I am hoping and praying to be able to find a used computer or by some miracle to get mine fixed over the summer, because we are "officially" starting school in the fall and the kids and I will both need easy access to a computer and working printer. I would also like to get to work on my book.

I just received the new Catholic Scripture Study International Bible, which I will be reviewing here in the first week of August (I like to take a month to read and get a feel for the book I'm reviewing) so I am looking forward to that since I have seen very few reviews on this particular Catholic Study Bible among Catholic Bible bloggers. My first impression is: YEAH! It's awesome.

I lost most of my book in the great computer fiasco of 2011 so I will be starting over, this time with a clearer picture of where I am headed. The kids and I leave for France in three days, unfortunately we had to leave my husband at home. I am both nervous and excited, please keep us in your prayers. When I return I will have fodder for a million new blogs on Catholicity and pilgrimage, as I intend to do everything in my power to spend Mary Magdalen's feast day at La Ste Baume (where she died), journey to Lourdes, adoration with the Little Sisters of Jesus, and most of the Carmelite feast days in Carmelite convents, to include the Carmel of Pau where resides Blessed Mariam's incorruptible heart.

Our whole family was able to attend the Mass for St Josemaria Escriva in Raleigh yesterday with the Vicar General of Opus Dei, it was a HUGE blessing for me and so amazing. I am convinced, now more than ever, that his spirituality and way of holiness is for me, but that does not exclude the possibility of returning to Carmelite Formation, which, to be honest, is all I can think about. I miss it very much, and I find that Opus Dei is really just Carmelite living in the world. The emphasis on SCRIPTURAL knowledge, Marian spirituality, prophetic responsibility, daily duty and sacrifice-- it's all there. Neverthless, there's something particular about my garden of Carmel which I miss and may never find anywhere else-- a love of mental prayer. It's present many places, but in Carmel in a special way. At this point I remain totally open to what God will do in me. He may just want me to remain completely "universal."

I hope and pray that you all are doing well. Looking forward to updating next month upon returning from France. This trip is going to be very emotional for me as it may well be the last time I see any of my family members there. Fortunately, we, as a family, are taking advantage of the trip and seeing cousins and relatives from all over the world (Singapore, England, Australia, etc) while there.

Tornado

Yesterday, we had a tornado come through here. A few of them, actually. And many, many people all around us are facing total devastation.
In the morning, we got a report that there would be big thunderstorms with lots of flash flooding. We secured the house and went about our business. Early afternoon, I received a notice that there was a tornado watch in effect. Tornado Watch means that there is a high possibility of a Tornado forming, a Tornado Warning means "take cover!" because a tornado has been reported on the ground. We see tornado watches all the time and they've never amounted to anything. Once or twice a tiny twister has set down and wrecked a roof or something, but never anything major, so no one was worried about it.

The day progressed and got darker and darker, and little by little the wind started to pick up. The clouds formed. They began to swirl and sway all around us. In some places, we saw a straight line of perfect light surrounded by dark storm clouds. I could tell the storm was coming, that the sky was trying to rain, but it seemed like it was going to be one of those wierd southern moments we have so much in the summer-- lots of buildup, ten minutes of storming, and then nothing.

It was in the early afternoon that I began to feel a stirring in my spirit, that something was wrong, that I needed to pray. I gathered my children around and prayed the traditional Catholic blessing against storms, and noticed a notification in my facebook that I had an email. Another friend a county away was feeling moved to pray as well. She was asking for confirmation-- "is the wind making you uneasy?" she asked.

 I typed out a quick response affirming her and headed to the bedroom to spend some time in prayer. It happened quick. Before long, we started to hear the low, deep roar of continuous thunder. I went up to get my husband and we all stood out on the porch, observing for a while. The wind was strong. the clouds began to swirl in a continuous pattern around our sky turned a deep, oceany greenish grey. Then the rain came. We saw it start down the street like someone was dumping buckets from above us. Inch by inch it raced towards us, making us feel trapped, as if it was literally gaining on us.
It came in sheets, pounding the pavement, and quickly turned to large  pieces of hail. We literally RAN through the front door, scooping up the children and their blankets. Once inside, we posted by the window watching the trees bend and swing dangerously low to the ground. Then, a few minutes later we saw debris begin floating through the air in front of us. Pieces of roof tiles. Wood. What looked like a bird (and was probably an article of clothing.) At that point we thought.... something major was going on. My husband abruptly shooed us all towards the couch in the center of the room and away from the window. Despite the kids' complaints that they couldn't see, a hush came over us as we hunkered down. It didn't look like it was getting better, but it sure didn't look like it was getting worse, either, so after a half hour or so we turned on a movie, "O Brother, where art thou," and settled down to ride out the storm, praying the power would stay on.
At one point, my Mother in law called from Sanford, a little town not too far from here where she said a tornado had touched down right near them and destroyed a Lowe's. Having been there a few years back when a tornado took out a "books a million" bookstore, I imagined the scene as it had been then: a little whirlwind, a broken sign, a few dozen shingles flying off the roof. I told her to stay safe and hung up the phone.
Several times, I glanced out the window and was overcome with a sense of impending doom, and I'd pace back and forth trying to get everyone ready to settle into the bathroom in the center of the house. Then my husband would calm me down, explaining how it was getting lighter and that the storm was passing. He was convinced we "wouldn't get much more of a show." And he was right... shortly thereafter the sun pierced through and an eerie calm came over the neighborhood.
Outside the air smelled like fresh dirt and fresh rain and the water was already evaporating off of the garden soil. A couple large trees and branches had been ripped out and blown over, and we set to work re-adjusting everything outside. My Father in law broke out the Husqvarna and set to work helping a little old lady and two female mormon missionaries cut through a tree that was blocking their driveway. Wheelbarrows full of wood were rolled in, split,  and put away in our pile for next winter. And then it hit me.... sirens. I was hearing sirens. A strange feeling came over me and I began to pray, as a knot formed in the pit of my stomach. I still felt something was wrong.
I went inside to check twitter, where I knew I'd be able to find up to the minute pictures and news. And find it I did: this was the Lowe's my mother in law had been talking about.

Needless to say, I was shocked. I began frantically tweeting and facebooking with friends trying to figure out how extensive the Sanford damage was and heard horrific stories from people on the scene. One report said they had 70 missing. Another said there were people (presumably alive and dead) just strewn everywhere. My heart sank... what a terrible ordeal!!

A few moments later it occurred to me to check for damage here in Fayetteville. After all, that had been a truly serious storm, and I was sure at least a tree or two had fallen. Nothing could have prepared me for what we found, just outside our little community:

Photo from the Fayetteville Observer, April 17, 2011

TOTAL carnage. My side of town and another part of town opposite us was hit worst. It's surreal driving around, because most of Fayetteville looks completely fine and normal, and then you hit certain districts or neighborhoods and they are just gone-- it's reminiscent of a warzone, which I'm sure is not so easy on our returning soldiers, so frequently assaulted by PTSD. There is so much work to do and so much help needed.

I've heard many miraculous stories of people saved within minutes or an inch of their lives for various reasons and also of heroic actions taken to save children or older persons who couldn't move as fast as they needed. I've been impressed with how quickly our city pulled together emergency services to help situate people. We are a city with no homeless shelter, so we had to make something from nothing and there are sooo many displaced families. Those of you looking for ways to help can check this article for info.

Life is so crazy... so uncontrollable when it comes down to it. One minute, you're taking a family trip to Lowe's on a Saturday to get some stuff for around the house. The next; you have no house and your family is gone. And nothing could have prepared you, or prevented it. Amazing. Humbling.

Turns out tornados took out much of North Carolina, some of Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania. Please keep all of those affected by these terrible storms in your prayers. 

May the God of peace and consolation assist us here in Fayetteville and in all places affected by natural disasters, which seem to have increased in scope and nature in these last days. Amen.

If you're local and were affected by the tornado, have encouragement,  need prayer, or help, feel free to comment!

Random Rant:- What to do, what to do?

Each of us faces an important decision at least once every day. Aside from cultivating good habits, we must concern ourselves with sticking to these habits, and picking and choosing which habits are good and which habits are bad. We live in the information age, in which almost anything is accessible to us and in which it is possible to immerse ourselves in "virtually" anything we choose.

This, however, seems to only confuse us further. The majority of women used to know what to do with our little lambs because we saw the successes and failures of our parents. Now we read forty books on the subject and debate with other moms on the internet instead of watching our own mother do it.
We used to treat our husbands a certain way because we "were taught" that this way was the right way, now we decide for ourselves whether to accept or reject what we were taught, how to incorporate what we learn in school and in church and on the internet.
We used to know how to run a household, now we spend hours reading about different ways other women run households and plotting and planning online while our house falls to pieces.

This confusion can be helpful if we work through it to sort out what we really believe and stick to it! But more often than not I find myself "solving" a problem and then revisiting it again and again to see where I stand, as if I need some sort of re-enforcement or re-convincing. I am often overwhelmed with all the choices and ideas out there, because though I know the answer, I get sidetracked by the questions and the judgements of the women who disagree with my solution for whatever reason. I find myself wanting to answer to them instead of remembering that I will answer to God for how I have lived.

When it comes to marriage, parenting, family life, liturgical questions, work problems, new technologies, and scientific "advancements" of a questionable nature...."Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today, and forever. "Do not be swept off your course by all sorts of outlandish teachings; it is good that our souls should gain their strength from the grace of God." (Heb 13:8,9 NEB).
I am confident that the old ways still work! Love God and love people, obey God and serve people-- And all will be well for you!

I realized yesterday during our meeting of the St Gianna Vocation to Motherhood group that we women are always asking ourselves questions upon questions about how to run our homes. Even when we find a method that seems to be working quite well, we re-examine it and spend some time questioning ourselves. I will probably do this long after my little ones have left home... but the more I thought about it, the more I realized than in this tumultous world which is so uncertain and in some ways so frightening, one thing always stays the same: Christ.

Love God, serve people. Jesus says this is the whole of the law.
If you are contemplating a new parenting method...
If you are debating about stopping contraception...
If you are wondering about taking on a new job even though you have children at home.
If you are struggling with your choice of infertility methods...
If you are wondering about homeschooling...
If you are choosing an educational style and philosophy for your little ones...
If you are wondering whether to shop at a certain place or support a certain business...
If you are wondering how much or how little to take on in your week...

Does the choice I'm deciding on demonstrate love for God and His law? Does the choice I'm deciding on serve others, especially those under my care, instead of myself?
Does your question get answered in this way?

Random Rant- Motherhood is bad for you. Really.

The Duggar Family

Motherhood is bad for you.
That's the message so many of my triumphant progressive acquaintances have gleaned and celebrated from a new study which recently surfaced in the New England Journal of Medicine.


A new study financed by the pro-abortion Susan Thompson Buffett Foundation, might I add.
*false autism / vax connection crisis anyone?*
But I digress....


This article has been gleefully reposted on facebook over and over by the progressive crowds, pro-aborts, and feminists as being somehow proof that all mothers who persist in having legions of kids must, in some sense, be slightly ... "off." That those sneaking suspicions these people had that Michelle Duggar, for example, couldn't possibly be as sane and happy as she claims to be were now "proven accurate." On my own facebook page, I've had it posted and emailed to me at least seven times in the last week as a sort of "aha!" towards me, proof positive that all my pro-motherhood and pro-life posting is obsolete and possibly even.... dangerous.

To which I say:

And who wouldn't find childbirth and motherhood traumatic instead of glorious in this sick society?? We are weak, and the message being spread is so strong!
This society values women who kill their children and choose careers over parenthood. The persistent message is that children are an unnecessary, and even an unnatural burden.

I use public health. In order to recieve medical care for my pregnancy, I must first see a doctor who will give me a pink slip that says I am pregnant, which I can then bring to social services. I go to the public health department, stand in line with all the teenage girls, pee in a cup and hand it over. The way it looks is like this:

When it is announced to me that I am to bring a child in the world, I am put in a room with a nurse on one side and a social worker on the other. They introduce themselves. Then, the nurse, on my right, announces the pregnancy by saying: "Your test is positive."
They pause to allow me to respond however I am going to respond.
The Social Worker then asks me: "Are you going to terminate?" If I respond in the negative (in my case, emphatically in the negative!) they tell me that there is a program available for those who decide to keep the baby which supports the woman through the pregnancy. (Having been through this program during my second pregnancy, I will say here that this "support" includes bi-monthly visits from a social worker who assesses your situation by making judgements about your income, ability to cope, parenting skills with any other child you might have, and asking at almost every encounter which birth control method you will use once you are no longer pregnant.) They also give you a brochure that helps you to procure an abortion should you change your mind.
 Next, they begin their line of questioning:
"Were you planning this pregnancy?"
"No."
"So you are surprised."
"Not entirely. I understand that a by-product of having sex is that I might get pregnant."
"What type of birth control were you using?"
"I do not use birth control."
"Oh, well then you can't be surprised that you are pregnant!"
"I practice NFP."
"What's that?"
"It's a method of determining when ovulation occurs and abstaining from sex during the fertile periods."
"Oh, rhythm."
"no, it's not the rhythm method. It is far more scientific."
"OK. What type of birth control methods will you use when this pregnancy is over?"
(note how they never say things like... "after the Baby is born?" Rather, they constantly refer to the condition as "the pregnancy" so that the patient won't feel traumatized about ending it should she decide to.)
"None. I don't believe in using contraceptives."
"You realize that you may get pregnant again if you choose not to use birth control."
"I realize that."

And just like that, it begins. This is how I begin to be conditioned to believe that by saying "yes" to motherhood, I'm somehow saying "no" to normal life.

The message of our society is that new life is a burden. Unbelievably, pregnancy and parenting magazines are FILLED to the brim with this message.... going on and on and on about how much pampering we should be getting and how difficult it is. They always finish with "but it's all worth it." And it is!
But why the negative attention pregnancy receives? Satan is smart, and he knows what the result of all the focus on the challenges of pregnancy will do:
It dcreates momzillas in those who actually choose to embrace the child growing inside of them-- the pregnant version of the bridezilla-- selfish, obnoxious, and difficult. Clammoring for a comfortable chair, a favorite restaurant, an open window.
Everything about our society is backwards. The men are encouraged to lay everything side to wait hand and foot on the women, who literally are encouraged to do nothing but get backrubs and eat ice cream while getting their toes painted and think about "me, me, ME!"
No wonder the transition into motherhood is so hard for women today--- once the baby is born and the mother begins having to be self-less, the difficulties arise. Why do so many women experience postpartum depression, even REJECTING their newborn child?? Could it be that the transition from self-focus to focus on another is almost impossible to overcome without help these days?

You see, in this society, we tell women all the time that while dedication to motherhood is important, CHOOSING motherhood over other pursuits is equivalent to mental suicide. If we can't convince women NOT to have kids (and more and more of them are "childfree by choice,")  then we convince them to kill the children when they are conceived. If we can't convince them to kill the children, we convince them to become so utterly selfish and self-centered that when the baby is born, they hate it... utterly rejecting it as a source of joy and growth. Nevertheless, truth prevails, and the message-- which is that giving is more important than receiving and that openness to life is the ultimate measure of personal growth-- comes through because somewhere inside each woman we instinctively understand these things... that we are better people for the children we are raising.

Because of the state of society, most women take an entire lifetime with only one or two children to actually grasp the fullness of this lesson... that they are not in control of  their own lives, that giving is more blessed than receiving, that the very purpose of marriage is co-operation with the Creator God and nothing less than union, with one another, with Our Lord. They fight this knowledge every step of the way, even though I suspect that many of them know it somewhere inside of them and struggle with it.

Other women realize the great gift they have been given and welcome life. They yearn for it! These women have many children , as many as they are given and prayerfully, responsibly, able to care for, and they lose themselves in their families, building up a culture of life. And oh, how they suffer for it at the hands of the world!
They are hidden, when the world demands that to find happiness, you be "known."
They are contemplative, prayerful, and self-controlled, when the world demands that to have worth you be loud, reactive, and heard.
These women are busy, when the world says the value of your life is determined by your ability to be entertained and enjoy the experience of liesure.
They are living saints walking among us, for they know the key to happiness and fulfillment is to lose oneself in whatever God puts in your life to care for and give to.

So let's examine some of the messages that women with more than two children receive on a regular basis when out in public. (And this, daily.)
"Are those ALL yours?"
"I remember those days, bless your heart. You couldn't pay me to do that again."
"Do you run a daycare?"
"When do you have time for you?"
"You poor thing."
"You'll be in my prayers."
"How do you keep track of them all?"
"Aren't you tired?"
"What are you going to do once they grow up?"
"I'm glad I'm not you!"
and on and on it goes.

Then there are the whispers people think we don't hear, completely unfounded fears that people eat up and spit out at mothers of more than two children as if the mothers were inhumane:

"That's so irresponsible."
"Don't they care about the planet?"
"How can they take care of the needs of each those kids?? It's selfish."
"She's like a zombie."
"She's like a slave."
"She's a baby machine."

Even worse, in today's society, a mother who actually cares for her children enough to discipline them and train them up is looked at as archaic and "off." I can rattle off COUNTLESS  personal experiences when I have been scorned for actually saying "no," to my children or refusing to indulge them in some terribly selfish pursuit. So once again... if the woman actually makes it to the place where she accepts parenthood, she is then vilified not only for bearing children but for actually raising them instead of letting them run wild. It's amazing how crafty the devil is.

Michelle Duggar, one of the few "famous" American women to have had 18 children (so far) has been vilified constantly in the public eye. I once heard an entire group chant over and over about her:

"A Vagina is not a clown car."

How could a mother, especially a devoted mother who welcomes life as it comes, recognizing what a blessing she has been given, NOT have a difficult time coping in the world she sees outside the happy walls of her home? If we let even one whisper, one magazine headline, one disapproving glance get to us, we allow doubt to seep in because the flesh is weak.

The flesh is weak, but the Spirit is willing, and by the Spirit of God, motherhood has been deemed noble. It is our society, our culture of death, which aims to destroy the spirit of motherhood, the spirit of self-sacrifice, the spirit of giving and the spirit of joy that comes from these things, all the while using the same language to lie, lie, lie. Satan the liar. Satan the deceiver. The prince of this world.

It takes a strong spirit to overcome the lies we are fed. It takes grace, for we cannot do it alone.
 This article is the result of a study funded by a pro- abortionist group. This group wants to fund studies like this so that abortion will continue and life will cease. And meanwhile, those of us who see past the lies and deceit will continue to pray:


"Lord, you are God. I submit my LIFE to you and pray that you would use me to transmit your life to the world. Be thou king, O God, over all the world, including my reproductive system and my desires. Make me to know your will and to say YES to life, as Mary did, for through her came the savior of the World. Amen."