Re-Lent-less

It's coming.

Creeping up on me.

And so, my past Lenten series -- "A Meaningful Lent" -- is here. You'll find everything there from the Lamb of God calendar for young children to my crown of thorns, to confessing the messes, to thoughts about why we give up the things we do and whether or not we should talk about them.

The title of the series comes from then-six-year-old Ramona's protest that she did not plan to give up something trivial, such as talking back to her sisters, but rather she planned to give up something meaningful.

That's what I'm going for, too. Still discerning what "meaningful" means for this year. Jesus usually plops something horrible in front of me (such as the idea of giving up coffee.) Then He exasperates me by teaching me something through my sacrifices.

Who does He think He is? Does He always have to be so right?

My Chapter in Suzie Andres' New Book on Catholic Homeschooling ...

... was so much fun to write. And don't you love that picture of St. Therese on the cover? 

It's a privilege to be a part of Suzie's new book.  A Little Way of Homeschooling: Thirteen Families Discover Catholic Unschooling is a collection of essays from families who employ unconventional techniques and non-traditional approaches as they live this bountiful life called home education.

Suzie Andres' first book was Homeschooling With Gentleness: A Catholic Discovers Unschooling. You can read more about that one in this interview with Lisa Hendey at CatholicMom.com.

And you can find out more about A Little Way of Homeschooling (which includes a foreword from Mike Aquilina) and pre-order it here, at Hillside Education.

Recent Moments with Ramona

The other day, from Ramona:

"Mommy, as I'm looking at that powdery snow on our front porch, it makes me think of Alton Brown's powdered sugar. And when I think of Alton Brown's powdered sugar, it makes me want to watch 'Let Them Eat Foam.'"

Me: "Okay, that's fine. You can watch that."

Ramona: "No -- here's my crisis! I also want to read Because of Winn-Dixie!"

It's torture to be an eight-year-old.

~~~~~

If you read my blog on a feed reader, and don't follow me on Twitter or Facebook, here are some of the latest Ramona Moments (which seem to always end up as Tweets these days):

She's the Clean Queen: Ramona played restaurant. Taped to the bathroom mirror I found this note: "All Employees MUST WASH THEIR HANDS."
22 Feb

from Ramona: "Can we buy some red fruit punch? It's rather toxic, but it's really yummy."
12 Feb

Ramona, reading "The Enormous Egg": "I hate to not suspend my disbelief, Mommy, but this book is wrong. A hen can NOT lay a dinosaur egg."
2 Feb

Cabin fever, anyone? Ramona was moping. "What's the matter?" I asked. "The usual," she said. "Winter Upset-ment."
2 Feb

Was going to catch up on Tweets but Ramona just summoned me: "Accio Mommy!"
27 Jan

Ramona's woeful life: "My sisters won't let me sing perky commercial jingles!"
23 Jan

from Ramona: "Mommy, I apologize for thinking Springsteen was dead."
5 Dec

Poetry Friday: The Speaker

In general, I don't have much of a grasp of anything.

I do know my husband's shoe size. I know that his eyes are a deep chocolate brown, but that's a woman-thing. I know the name of my district representative, but I don't like to think about it. I do forget where I parked. And where I left my glasses (and I'm so blind without them that looking for glasses while not wearing glasses is its own comedy of errors.) I can't remember most of my childhood. I always forget that I'm stranded at home when one of our vehicles is in the shop. And although I am firmly Catholic, and deeply in love with God, I am often confused.

What I do know is this: I love poets. I love their words and the way their brains work. I savor the way they make me nod and sigh and then, at the end, laugh because, yes, that's me they've just conjured, and how did they know? 


The Speaker
by Louis Jenkins

The speaker points out that we don't really have
much of a grasp of things, not only the big things,
the important questions, but the small everyday
things. "How many steps up to your back yard? What
is the name of your district representative? What
did you have for breakfast? What is your wife's
shoe size? Can you tell me the color of your
sweetheart's eyes? Do you remember where you
parked the car?" The evidence is overwhelming.


(Read the rest of the poem here, at The Writer's Almanac.)

~~~~~

Sara Lewis Holmes has the round up today at Read, Write, Believe.

A Lovely Review of Through the Year With Mary

from Donna-Marie Cooper O'Boyle at View From the Domestic Church.

Thank you, Donna!

I Was GOING to post something today ...

... but I got lost in paperwork and  taxes. 

I'll resurface soon. 

(Photo thanks to Stock.xchng)

Visit Me Today at Faith and Family Live

... where I'm talking about the finer things in life.

Poetry Friday: Ramona, Haiku, and the Dog

Mary Ann, at Great Kid Books, is hosting the round up today. She's highlighting a poetry collection called A Dazzling Display of Dogs, which reminded me of Ramona's latest offering about our dog, Sydney:

Sydney
by Ramona

Sydney is so good.
She does not play fetch, but I
Love her just the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unconditional love.

I hope you feel some today.

Hope For Mothers Everywhere!

Today, during a major excavation of my daughters' room, Anne-with-an-e, age 17, said, "I really like a good declutter now and then."

Mothers and declutterers of the world, take heart and rejoice! Your children will not hoard forever! They will not save candy wrappers until they die! They will not insist on enshrining plastic keepsakes and cootie catchers for all eternity!

I am here to proclaim to you a great truth: They outgrow it!

Hang in there.

(This message brought to you by a mom whose kids are growing up all too fast.)

Things of Late That Have Made Us Happy

(Photo courtesy of Stock.xchng.)

• Walking the dog on a half-thawed wetlands spillway -- Ramona delighting in feathery, frosty  patterns, in kicking up crunched, jeweled bits of crystal with every sloshy step, in seeing bubbles under the surface.  

• Temperatures in the 50s. Climbing into our van, on a bright February Sunday and actually feeling interior heat from the sun. 

• Watching Downton Abbey (which we recorded) in two sittings with Atticus.

• Reading The Winged Watchman to Ramona, with my older girls happy to listen in on an old favorite. All of us laughing over our reminiscence of "Bum-poofle-dee-dee."

• The works of Brian Jacques -- may he rest in peace.

• Feeling so grateful for our pastor -- for the depth of his spirituality and faith, for his kind, loving leadership. And, yesterday -- for the smile at hearing him talk about our imaginings of heaven, of the ways in which we transfer what we know -- earthly pleasures -- to what we cannot yet know, and hearing him describe the embodiment of God's goodness as a cup of freshly brewed coffee, eternally hot, eternally ready for that next splendid sip. 

• Watching Inception with Anne and Betsy. Having dreams within dreams and then trying to explain them to each other the next day.

• An afternoon of lunch, laughter and no interruptions (from the total of our fourteen children) with two other homeschooling moms. The fact that two of the three of us have children old enough to babysit all the others. 

• Our extremely sweet: 

and patient: 

dog.

• Twenty-seven years of marriage to my best friend. I'm not sure I can top last year's tribute to Atticus, so you can find it here. 

Oops

If you read my blog on a feed reader, ignore the incomplete "Poetry Friday" post that just went and just as quickly went away. :)

Poetry Friday: "Who Told You About Porter?"

Sometimes, Atticus and I talk in movie lines. You know what I mean -- the stuff that becomes part of your family lexicon.

One of our lines is from All the President's Men. Bernstein goes to see Jane Alexander (I can't remember her character's name) to pry some information out of her. She won't talk, but he leads her to confirm things they already know, such as some initials (but not full names).  The thing is, they don't actually know all of the names on that first visit, but she did confirm that one of the names starts with a P.  Later, they go back and because Porter was on their list of suspects, when one of them says, "Who is P?" the other says, "P we know is Porter," and then when she admits Porter received money, they've got what they want. The scene ends with Jane Alexander saying, "Who told you about Porter?"

None of that has anything to do with today's post, other than the fact that I like to imitate Jane Alexander and when I want to sound confused, I say, "Who told you about Porter?"

There is one thing that the story has in common with today's post, and it's the "P" connection. Today it's not about political crimes but about poetry. And Anne Porter.

The other day, I heard from Jennifer Fulwiler's husband.  You know the wonderful Jennifer of Conversion Diary, don't you? I feel a kinship with her because we both know what it's like to be an atheist who gets gobsmacked by Catholicism. But that's probably where the comparisons end because, of course, Jennifer is much taller, hipper, smarter and funnier than I am. Anyway, "F" wrote to me (F we know is Fulwiler) because Blogger was not allowing him to leave a comment on my last Anne Porter post (and if it does that to you, will you let me know? I may compile a list of grievances) and he wanted to share this link:


A 95-Year-Old Poet Finds Her Muse and Literary Praise


He rightly clued me in to the fact that no list of Anne Porter links is complete without this article, and I now agree with him. Visit the link to see the article that initially spread the news about the amazing Anne, and read more snippets of her poetry there.

So, the answer to, "Who told you about Porter?" is:

Atticus
and
The Writer's Almanac
and
Janice Harayda
and
The Poetry Foundation
and
Archives of American Art 
and
Amazon
and
The Gracious Mr. Fulwiler

Thanks to all of the above, and -- sorry, Woodstein ... you got scooped on this one.

The Poetry Friday round up is at Rasco from RIF.

One of the Things I Love About Having Kids

They brought the glitter back into my life.

When I Was a Pro-Choice Atheist, Part 5

I keep thinking that I've finished this series, and yet I know that this subject is never neatly wrapped up with a bow or a snappy ending. Just a few more thoughts.

Part 1 is here
Part 2 is here 
Part 3 is here
Part 4 is here 

Yesterday, when I talked with Sean Herriott on Relevant Radio, we spent some time on the idea that it's so hard to get past labels: pro-life, pro-choice, anti-abortion, pro-abortion, pro-death, pro-child, pro-woman, anti-woman, and on and on.

As Sean noted, we all tend to label ourselves according to our own understanding of our positions. And, we tend to label the other side according to our understanding of their position in relation to ours, rather than as a position or worldview in itself.

(And then we get mad, call each other names and go home and blog about it.)

I'm reminded of one of the best quotes I've ever encountered about disagreements. In Madeleine L'Engle's autobiographical book, A Circle of Quiet, she recounts an argument about baseball between her husband and ten-year-old son.

Bion said, "But, Daddy, you just don't understand!"

Hugh replied in his reasonable way, "It's not that I don't understand. I just don't agree with you."

To which our son returned, "If you don't agree with me, you don't understand."

That seems to be the way most of us communicate.

Instead of philosophies and worldviews being volleyed back and forth, instead of saying, "I know you don't agree with me, but have you considered this?" and reasonably presenting a position, we say, "You don't get it," and we walk away. And, on the receiving end (and I mean this whether one is on the pro-life or the pro-choice receiving end of such arguments) all too often, rather than logically considering another's position and continuing the conversation, we cut it off, as if hearts are changed over one cup of coffee.

Conversions happen slowly for most of us. They are a process, not a moment. So, keep talking.

On the other hand, sometimes everything we say seems to fall on deaf ears. We've tried to talk calmly, lovingly, we've tried to make it a two-way conversation, but we throw our hands up and are stuck feeling in Bion's place: "If you don't agree with me, you don't understand." As I mentioned to Sean at the end of yesterday's conversation, some conversations come to a standstill. We decide, or we are told, "We have to agree to disagree."

It's hard to hear that (and to say that) because most of us, deep down, genuinely think that if others really understood what we said,  they'd agree with us. But, sometimes, they really do understand and they really do still disagree.

That's called free will. 

There's still the responsibility for each of us on our respective sides to do what we believe is right, but there will always be clashes. We are a fallen race. Still, there is prayer and love and a relationship.  There's still the chance for me to try to be the kind of friend that my Catholic friend was to me all those years ago. He (and C.S. Lewis) helped me to see that God can "hate the sin but not the sinner."

Can't I try to do the same? Isn't that what the Gospel commands us to do?

If Thy law had not been my delight,

I should have perished in my affliction.

I will never forget Thy precepts

for by them, Thou has given me Life.

~~ Psalm 119:92

On the Radio Tuesday Morning

I'll be on Relevant Radio's Morning Air show Tuesday morning (tomorrow), February 8, at 8 a.m. central time.

We'll be addressing a subject still very much on my mind, since I just blogged about it -- how to talk with pro-choice friends and family.

You can listen online here (or visit that same page to find a station in your area.) 

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

I saw a piece in the newspaper yesterday about decorating one's home with books. This is nothing new here -- I have no real decorating scheme and no money with which to decorate, but since we do love to read, our scheme, by default, is "Early Literate." 

But the article -- oh, the article! I thought I was deep in The Onion territory when I read about a decorator's clients, all of whom seem to have built enormous homes with formal libraries and yet they "have no books" to line the shelves. Her job, therefore, is to find the right color and type of binding to create the look they desire.

I guess the alternative would be to buy some books in which one is interested, read them, and then store them on one's bookshelves. But that would definitely take more time and drag out the whole decorating project.

Oh. My.

~~~~~

Also in literary news, I saw in the March issue of The Writer that The Paris Review now has all of their author interviews online, dating back to the '50s.

Oh, my, again. How am I going to get anything else done this week?

And also? This isn't really literary news. We'll call it decorating news, just like Item #1 in this post, as I intend to paper my walls with pages from The Writer, thus creating the look of one who actually writes. Or reads about writing. Or thinks about reading. Or likes the color of the pages. Or something.

~~~~~

I realized the other day that I hadn't read The Weight of a Mass with Ramona for the longest time.  We snuggled up, read, and she adored it. Again. We also love Josephine Nobisso's Take It to the Queen.  I even included a couple of quotes from that one in my Through the Year With Mary book (which Josephine was kind enough to endorse.)

If you haven't read Josephine's books, check them all out at Gingerbread House Publishing.

~~~~~

Speaking of books, I wrote a chapter for a new book that Servant will publish next month. Atheist to Catholic: 11 Stories of Conversion, edited by Rebecca Vitz Cherico, should be available around mid-March. More on that coming soon. 

Poetry Friday: Anne Porter

A spare and beautiful poem from Anne Porter. (Read more about her here, and here.)

A Short Testament
by Anne Porter

Whatever harm I may have done
In all my life in all your wide creation
If I cannot repair it
I beg you to repair it,

And then there are all the wounded
The poor the deaf the lonely and the old
Whom I have roughly dismissed
As if I were not one of them.

(Read the rest of the poem here, at The Writer's Almanac.)


The round up today is at Dori Reads.

Battling Winter Upset-Ment

Last night's Tweet:

Cabin fever, anyone? Ramona was moping. "What's the matter?" I asked. "The usual," she said. "Winter Upset-ment." 

To fight it off, she snuggled in with her daddy to watch Bobby Flay prepare something delicious while I made her a chocolate milkshake. Then, she decorated an old t-shirt with fabric paint and, to top off her evening, drew a bird:

We are ready for spring.

A hush is over everything,
Silent as women wait for love;
The world is waiting for the spring.

~~ Sara Teasdale

When I Was a Pro-Choice Atheist ... Part 4

Opening with the same old thing ... Because I know that some of my friends' kids sometimes read my blog, I'll start with the same caveat I used in the last post: If you're young enough that your mother ever says, "That topic is a little too mature for you," please click away now or go ask your mom or dad to preview this post for you.

Part 1 of this series is here
Part 2 is here 
Part 3 is here

As I mentioned last time, Christian arguments against abortion didn't work on me when I was not a Christian. I wish I could say that unadulterated science is what did the trick in an unadulterated way. Not exactly, but the science did play a part.

Initially, part of my pro-choice position was based on the idea that a first-trimester pregnancy was nothing more than "a blob of tissue." It was a common phrase, commonly believed (and, unbelievably, still commonly used today.)  It was easy for me to justify a simple medical procedure that cleaned up a blob of tissue and solved a woman's problem.

Then I saw Lennart Nilsson's photography.  I was honestly stunned. I'd had no idea what a baby in the womb looked like at six weeks ... eight ... ten. The tissue looked like a baby. I was horribly shaken.

I'd like to say my position changed overnight. It did not. There were still a lot of "Yes, but," discussions with my prolife friend, and still a lot of prioritizing of rights:

"Yes, but, if the fetus can't feel pain, shouldn't the mother's rights trump the baby's?"
"Yes, but, what about cases of rape and incest?"
"Yes, but, even I become pro-life myself, do I have a right to tell other women what to do?"

Because my friend and I sat and talked over coffee, because we were respectful of one another with a sincere desire on both our sides to reach the truth, we were able to talk through the intricacies of these issues. For example, I remember arguing once that the baby was not a sentient being. He countered that logically my argument should then extend to all who are not sentient. Was sentience the definition of humanity? Of a right to life? What about a two-year-old in a coma? "That's different!" I protested. "Why?" he asked, "Because given your position, the logical conclusion is ...." At that point I'd say something like, "Shut up and let's order some cheesecake." But, I'd head home and think through the things we'd discussed. 

What I am very grateful for is a friend who did not shout me down, cut me off, or dismiss me. He, a fellow imperfect human being, a fellow sinner, held me accountable for what I said I believed. He walked through the logic (or sometimes, the lack of it) in my positions. When I posited arguments, he kindly challenged me to consider their validity, to examine whether or not I was creating straw men. He was not only performing a spiritual work of mercy, he was challenging me to brush up on my grasp of a logical fallacies.

My conversion to a pro-life position was, in the end, a combination of many things: my conversion to Christianity, my understanding that God can separate love for the sinner from hate for the sin, the scientific evidence of the baby as a separate human being, my emotional reaction to learning about the various methods used in abortions, my acceptance of the fact that a child's complete dependence does not grant a mother or father absolute rights (and, if anything, places the child firmly in the camp of the defenseless and voiceless), and my realization that an authentic feminism is one that doesn't harm women or embrace the flawed philosophy of sexually irresponsible men.  Along the way, I witnessed some beautiful things: a woman I worked with who got pregnant, selflessly carried the baby, and then gave it up for adoption; a young woman I know who was pregnant as the result of a rape -- she carried the child to term and found the perfect couple to adopt him. The self-sacrifice of these women was an inspiration to all who knew them. 

I feel the need to offer a disclaimer: I have no idea what the answer is to the question of finally ending abortion. It's not purely a scientific argument, or we'd be there. It's also tied up with moral and spiritual problems, and our sexuality (which humanity is known for messing up royally on a regular basis.) I know only what changed my mind, and I know that it took a long time, and required overcoming a huge amount of denial and personal experience and feeling. I know that it took having someone in my life who cared to talk to me about it.

I know that my personal experience is not universal; I don't pretend that it is. I cannot offer final, concrete answers to the question, "What do we do?" I don't know what we do. But I can offer this -- When you are talking with someone who is pro-choice, don't forget that she quite likely has personal experience with abortion. When you talk about "those pro-aborts" (and I still remember, after several years as a prolifer, hearing that phrase from a priest and shuddering, because I knew that not all who called themselves pro-choice were as hard-hearted as he assumed they were) you are talking about her sister, her best friend, her mother, her daughter, herself. 

I often wonder if we can turn this tide only one heart, one friend, one co-worker, one relative, one post-abortive woman, one person who loves another person, at a time. Speaking the truth in love (Ephesians, 4:15).

I wish I had a simpler answer.

(Part 5 of this series is here.)