My son was feeling under the weather on Tuesday night, and then woke up with a cold yesterday morning. Now the girls seem to be following suit. No one seemed alert and focused enough to get much done for school, so I gave in and gave them some time off. Within minutes, they were all passed out, and now here I am, the only one up. Sleepy, but up, and sipping some Yerba mate. Sitting at the computer on a quiet afternoon, has inevitably led to some reflection.
I tend to be emotionally reserved in public, and I’m not the sort to go on about how awesome my kids are (at least not regularly), or how much I love them, but there’s just something about these quiet moments that get me all sentimental and gushy. I cannot claim to even fathom why God chose to bless us with such great kids, except that maybe He wanted to teach me a lesson. I never considered myself particularly maternal. I liked kids in general, and of course I loved my niece and nephews, but I was worried that wasn't enough to qualify myself as maternal. When I got pregnant with E, I immediately worried that my “lukewarmness” would make me poorly suited to parent. Could I even love my child enough? Seriously, these were the sorts of things I worried about. Shortly after E’s birth, I soon found that despite what I regarded as “lukewarmness,” I surely did manage to love her, albeit in almost a suffocating way. My love for her was all jumbled up with fear and paranoia should anything ever happen to her. It never occurred to me that that would happen. Never in my wildest dreams did I sit and reflect on how worry would consume my life, as it did just moments after her birth. I had always been a “live and let live” sort of person, feeling that people had a right to their own decisions, and I was comfortable with that. Yet there I was, having to make huge decisions for someone else, and without her consent. At times I felt crippled by doubt. Would she come to hate me for the choices I made on her behalf? After a while, we fell into a routine, and she gradually taught me to parent. And just when we had gotten into a groove, her sister came along. And she was and continues to be a whole new ball of wax. What was right for E, was seldom right for S. And so I continued to learn, taking a few missteps here and there. Then came F, my only son. Another learning curve.
It’s been a few years, and I still worry sometimes whether I’m a good enough Mom. But despite my misgivings, the lesson I have learned is this: I didn’t have to be a perfect parent to produce great kids. What a relief to know that good, no great, can come out of even what’s flawed! And permit me to gush here. I have GREAT kids. They’re kind, polite, thoughtful, curious, talented, empathetic, loving, funny, and always interesting. They greet me every morning with a warm smile and a hug, and nearly every night they gather around me to just “chat some more” before bed. Things could be not so rosy sometimes, but one hug from them makes all of the ugly stuff disappear. Yes, really. And no, of course they’re not immune to having bad days, but thankfully these are fleeting. I’m very grateful, and very blessed.
I may not say it often enough for all to hear, but I love you, E, S, and F! To the moon and back, and then some.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
Allowing Kids to Struggle
Recently, a quote attributed to Robert Heinlein has been making the rounds on Facebook.
“Do not handicap your children by making their lives easy.” ~Robert A. Heinlein
I immediately agreed with the sentiment, and passed it along, sharing it with my friends. Unsurprisingly, several moms seemed to appreciate those words as well.
When I read the quote, I took it as meaning that it is okay to step back—in fact, that we should step back, and allow our children to struggle through things. That such a thing would help them develop feelings of self-worth and would make them better equipped to handle the struggles they would likely encounter in “real life.” I believed that it meant that by doing so, children would become more resilient and capable adults. When I considered “struggles,” I thought more about life skills, like the ability to keep house, make a meal, do laundry, handle interpersonal conflicts, tie their own shoes, and sort out their own problems (within reason).
It hadn’t occurred to me that others would use this quote to justify spanking, or as proof positive that children today have an elevated sense of entitlement. I noticed how some discussions sparked by this quote would degenerate into children bash fests, claiming that kids today don’t know how easy they have it. That kids today feel they are entitled to things like designer clothes and the latest greatest technology. I admit to being shocked by this interpretation because come on, really? Am I to believe that living without a cell phone or a Juicy Couture shirt is a struggle, or a sacrifice? If a child feels that such a thing is a necessity, it’s because, and I’m going out on a limb here, the parents have probably given in to their every whim before, and hence they’ve gotten used to getting all they’ve ever wanted from the get go.
But please, living without material things is hardly a struggle, or a sacrifice. One can argue that living without such things can be inconvenient, but it is not an inconvenience of monumental proportions. What is a struggle is learning right from wrong, making mistakes and learning to deal with the consequences, going without not just what you desire, but at times even what you need. Struggling is not knowing what to do, but having the wherewithal to persist, amidst repeated failures and even the fear of embarrassment.
It always bothers me when children are viewed as entitled brats. If they are, it is seldom their fault. But to judge them across the board bugs me in a huge way. Children are some of the most empathetic, unselfish people I know. They are also among the least jaded and the most humble. They are capable of identifying injustice better than many adults out there, and often have a wonderful positive outlook as to how these injustices can be remedied.
Stepping off my soapbox now.
“Do not handicap your children by making their lives easy.” ~Robert A. Heinlein
I immediately agreed with the sentiment, and passed it along, sharing it with my friends. Unsurprisingly, several moms seemed to appreciate those words as well.
When I read the quote, I took it as meaning that it is okay to step back—in fact, that we should step back, and allow our children to struggle through things. That such a thing would help them develop feelings of self-worth and would make them better equipped to handle the struggles they would likely encounter in “real life.” I believed that it meant that by doing so, children would become more resilient and capable adults. When I considered “struggles,” I thought more about life skills, like the ability to keep house, make a meal, do laundry, handle interpersonal conflicts, tie their own shoes, and sort out their own problems (within reason).
It hadn’t occurred to me that others would use this quote to justify spanking, or as proof positive that children today have an elevated sense of entitlement. I noticed how some discussions sparked by this quote would degenerate into children bash fests, claiming that kids today don’t know how easy they have it. That kids today feel they are entitled to things like designer clothes and the latest greatest technology. I admit to being shocked by this interpretation because come on, really? Am I to believe that living without a cell phone or a Juicy Couture shirt is a struggle, or a sacrifice? If a child feels that such a thing is a necessity, it’s because, and I’m going out on a limb here, the parents have probably given in to their every whim before, and hence they’ve gotten used to getting all they’ve ever wanted from the get go.
But please, living without material things is hardly a struggle, or a sacrifice. One can argue that living without such things can be inconvenient, but it is not an inconvenience of monumental proportions. What is a struggle is learning right from wrong, making mistakes and learning to deal with the consequences, going without not just what you desire, but at times even what you need. Struggling is not knowing what to do, but having the wherewithal to persist, amidst repeated failures and even the fear of embarrassment.
It always bothers me when children are viewed as entitled brats. If they are, it is seldom their fault. But to judge them across the board bugs me in a huge way. Children are some of the most empathetic, unselfish people I know. They are also among the least jaded and the most humble. They are capable of identifying injustice better than many adults out there, and often have a wonderful positive outlook as to how these injustices can be remedied.
Stepping off my soapbox now.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
The Wannabe Shaolin Family
It’s not unlike me to get all carried away with making big plans. Often the instigating factor is a cool news article, a message board discussion, or a Youtube video. One time I saw something about making your own soap. That’s not a huge deal, right? But within minutes, it wasn’t just a bar of soap I was envisioning. I was envisioning my own line of soaps. Then there was the time I wanted to be a polyglot after watching videos of Tim Ferriss speaking about a half dozen languages. This is me we’re talking about here, so of course I zeroed in on the most difficult language ever. I watched one video lesson for Mandarin, and got so anxious over the enormity of learning such a difficult language, that I abandoned the idea. I’d still love to learn Mandarin, just not right now. We are already learning Greek, Latin, and Korean in our homeschool, but those don’t inspire nearly as much anxiety in me as Mandarin does. At least they’re all phonetic. And then there was that time when I joined Flylady’s housekeeping email list, only to burn out by day two. I haven’t entirely abandoned Flylady though. I just found her book much less anxiety inducing than all of those emails I was receiving.
Now lest it be assumed that I have absolutely no stick-to-it-tiveness, that’s not the case either. I do stick with things that matter…like the homeschooling, which I’ve been committed to for eleven years. For a lot of other things however, I think I’m part magpie, getting perpetually distracted by anything shiny. Whether this new plan we’re envisioning really matters enough to me, and to us as a family, or whether it is just another shiny thing to distract us, is still to be determined. That said, it’s something the kids say they want to do as well (read: it’s not just my idea), and I feel good about it. And that’s not exactly the feeling I had with all of the soapmaking- polyglot-Flylady stuff.
It all started as a discussion with the kids over working on improving ourselves, stemming from an earlier discussion we had had on Lent. We talked about leading a lifestyle that would focus on improving our bodies, our minds, and our spirits. The more we thought about it, the more our ideas started to resemble a simplified, hybrid form of Benedictine monasticism replete with Shaolin conditioning. It’s so funny that my kids are sometimes so much like me; it’s crazy. We all seem to be attracted to the idea of asceticism. We find the idea incredibly romantic. Now of course, I don’t mention asceticism here to suggest that that is our intention. That would be a way bigger plan than the one we had envisioned. In reality, our plan is simply to find our balance—a healthy balance. One that would help keep us focused on things that already matter to us. The key here is simplicity.
We figured that we already had the “mind” aspect covered, what with homeschooling already being such a large part of our days. Granted, there is always room for improvement. Autonomy on all things school related continues to be an issue. While I can trust my teen to work well independently most of the time, the younger two still need a bit of prodding along. My presence has an almost magical effect on their output. If I’m as far away as the next room, they’re less productive. The plan is to schedule well-organized time blocks, and set clear initiatives and goals to meet each day.
The “spiritual” aspect has had a bit of a spike in recent weeks, thanks to it being Lent. There has been more stuff going on at church, and more related discussions about relevant spiritual issues at home. But as with the “mind” stuff above, there is still ample room for improvement here as well. I’m thinking more time spent on meditation and reflection on the rosary, the stations of the cross, the Divine Mercy chaplet, etc. More silence would definitely be welcome as well. I figure that at the very least it would be an exercise in self-control, for all of us! Our plan here is to start the day simply, with a Morning Offering, and then move on from there.
The “body” aspect of this glorious plan of ours is quite possibly the part that needs the greatest overhaul. We’ve already been striving to eat healthy, cut our sugar intake, and avoid overly processed foods while out of the house. Our fitness levels, while better than they were once upon a time, are still lacking. On our Kung Fu nights, we do okay, but our days off are primarily spent on sedentary activities. The plan here is to incorporate more Kung Fu. We would want to include daily conditioning (my son is petitioning hard for iron body training), as well as stretching, stance drills, and forms. Tai chi and Qi Gong would work best in the morning, while the other higher intensity work would fit best in the early afternoon.
The kids and I brainstormed ways on how to fit it all in, and while we have a rudimentary idea as to how our schedule would look, it hasn’t been put into practice yet. It doesn’t look crazy or outlandish, or even all that difficult to follow (I think). I’m sure that many families do a lot of the same, with some subtle differences. I’m envisioning a Catholic family that sends their children to school, where they also partake in sports as an extra-curricular activity. Their children would already be getting a lot of what I describe above, so in that sense, this is not a novel idea at all.
I’m thinking that after a bit of tweaking, next week will be our first full week trying this out. We’ll either feel healthier and stronger in body, mind, and spirit, or we’ll burn out. I’m hoping for the former. If not, it’s back to the drawing board. This is not an idea I’d want to just abandon.
Now lest it be assumed that I have absolutely no stick-to-it-tiveness, that’s not the case either. I do stick with things that matter…like the homeschooling, which I’ve been committed to for eleven years. For a lot of other things however, I think I’m part magpie, getting perpetually distracted by anything shiny. Whether this new plan we’re envisioning really matters enough to me, and to us as a family, or whether it is just another shiny thing to distract us, is still to be determined. That said, it’s something the kids say they want to do as well (read: it’s not just my idea), and I feel good about it. And that’s not exactly the feeling I had with all of the soapmaking- polyglot-Flylady stuff.
It all started as a discussion with the kids over working on improving ourselves, stemming from an earlier discussion we had had on Lent. We talked about leading a lifestyle that would focus on improving our bodies, our minds, and our spirits. The more we thought about it, the more our ideas started to resemble a simplified, hybrid form of Benedictine monasticism replete with Shaolin conditioning. It’s so funny that my kids are sometimes so much like me; it’s crazy. We all seem to be attracted to the idea of asceticism. We find the idea incredibly romantic. Now of course, I don’t mention asceticism here to suggest that that is our intention. That would be a way bigger plan than the one we had envisioned. In reality, our plan is simply to find our balance—a healthy balance. One that would help keep us focused on things that already matter to us. The key here is simplicity.
We figured that we already had the “mind” aspect covered, what with homeschooling already being such a large part of our days. Granted, there is always room for improvement. Autonomy on all things school related continues to be an issue. While I can trust my teen to work well independently most of the time, the younger two still need a bit of prodding along. My presence has an almost magical effect on their output. If I’m as far away as the next room, they’re less productive. The plan is to schedule well-organized time blocks, and set clear initiatives and goals to meet each day.
The “spiritual” aspect has had a bit of a spike in recent weeks, thanks to it being Lent. There has been more stuff going on at church, and more related discussions about relevant spiritual issues at home. But as with the “mind” stuff above, there is still ample room for improvement here as well. I’m thinking more time spent on meditation and reflection on the rosary, the stations of the cross, the Divine Mercy chaplet, etc. More silence would definitely be welcome as well. I figure that at the very least it would be an exercise in self-control, for all of us! Our plan here is to start the day simply, with a Morning Offering, and then move on from there.
The “body” aspect of this glorious plan of ours is quite possibly the part that needs the greatest overhaul. We’ve already been striving to eat healthy, cut our sugar intake, and avoid overly processed foods while out of the house. Our fitness levels, while better than they were once upon a time, are still lacking. On our Kung Fu nights, we do okay, but our days off are primarily spent on sedentary activities. The plan here is to incorporate more Kung Fu. We would want to include daily conditioning (my son is petitioning hard for iron body training), as well as stretching, stance drills, and forms. Tai chi and Qi Gong would work best in the morning, while the other higher intensity work would fit best in the early afternoon.
The kids and I brainstormed ways on how to fit it all in, and while we have a rudimentary idea as to how our schedule would look, it hasn’t been put into practice yet. It doesn’t look crazy or outlandish, or even all that difficult to follow (I think). I’m sure that many families do a lot of the same, with some subtle differences. I’m envisioning a Catholic family that sends their children to school, where they also partake in sports as an extra-curricular activity. Their children would already be getting a lot of what I describe above, so in that sense, this is not a novel idea at all.
I’m thinking that after a bit of tweaking, next week will be our first full week trying this out. We’ll either feel healthier and stronger in body, mind, and spirit, or we’ll burn out. I’m hoping for the former. If not, it’s back to the drawing board. This is not an idea I’d want to just abandon.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
“Ethical Nudity,” or Good Old Catholic Therapy
So I had a couple of bad days having to deal with a difficult person. Surprise, surprise! Obviously, that’s what led to my last blog post. And yes, that was a facetious list on how NOT to deal with such people. I was attempting to cheer myself up by making light of the situation, and it helped, for a little while at least. Consider that my blog therapy. For anyone curious as to what I really did to deal with the situation, it was fairly simple, albeit somewhat misguided. I went into major avoidance mode, at least until things blew over. It wasn’t incredibly difficult at all. I observe a certain level of avoidance anyway with this particular person, so keeping my distance just comes naturally. The avoidance was and continues to be a good thing. Healthy even. What wasn’t healthy however, was feeling all angry and bristly inside. While I managed to bite my tongue and take the “high road” in this person’s presence, I went the other route in the privacy of my own home, in my head, and in my heart. I complained to my husband, I made snarky remarks (some were made on here for all to see), and I sighed deeply and loudly at the mere mention of said person’s name. I just wasn’t myself, and I was starting to feel rotten. I don’t like holding grudges. It’s completely counter to my nature, and it serves no purpose. And while I believed that I had already forgiven this person in my heart, I didn’t really have that sense of closure yet. And no amount of making light of it was going to end it either, despite the laughs.
It was immediately obvious that I’d benefit from going to confession. I like to refer to it as Catholic therapy. You walk in all broken, bearing the burden of your faults, and come out brand new. I love that. The line to confess was long, so I had plenty of time to go over my examination of conscience, and reflect on my sins. While I was on line, I became distracted by the sound of a woman's voice at the front of the church. I had seen her before at least a dozen times. She’s a fixture at our church. Her life has been hard, plagued by addiction and mental illness. People kept kindly urging her to keep her voice down, and she would try her hardest to remember, and then her voice would just gradually get louder again. Then she decided to walk over to our line (it was a large penance service, so there were four lines to choose from), and she zeroed in on me immediately, asking if she could cut in before me. I was about sixth in the queue, and of all of those present, she chose me to approach. I told her that of course she could cut in, and made room for her. In between showering me with praises, frequent hugs, “I love you’s”, and kisses for allowing her to cut in line, she proceeded to detail random little vignettes about the horrors of her life. Immediately, I felt guilty over, quite frankly, the insignificance of my own problems, and particularly for having allowed them to consume me the way they had. So what if I had a less than ideal encounter (or series of encounters) with someone. It was apparent that this woman’s every waking moment was a torment. Her "difficult person" is more than just one entity. I could see in her eyes that she was getting overwhelmed with sadness over the stories she was relating. And when she was most upset, she proceeded to tell me how she wasn’t worth Christ’s sacrifice or forgiveness. Those words just shot straight into my heart. Who could be more worthy? Here she was humbling herself, acknowledging the faults that had in one way or another contributed to her monumental problems, while others so easily turn and blame God for much less. She was taking the responsibility, even though from her story, it was apparent that there were other contributors. I found myself telling her, over and over again, that of course she was worthy of forgiveness. Me! The very person who had felt so rotten and unworthy just earlier. On a good day, it's easy to know we all matter and that we are worthy of forgiveness, but a bad day clouds everything. It was serendipitous to have had that encounter with her. It softened me. I had still been holding a bit of a grudge; I just hadn’t realized it before. There’s nothing more humbling than coming face to face with someone whose problems dwarf your owm. What a weird, roundabout way to feel grateful for the cards you’ve been dealt.
After her confession, she was beaming. Were all her problems fixed? Of course not, but I believe she was given the grace and the hope to endure a bit longer. I don't know how much longer. A lot of it depends on her. Addiction is huge, and awful, and insidious, so she has a very hard road ahead of her. She will need spiritual maintenance. We all do.
And then it was my turn to bear it all. My turn to say, "Hey, I've been a real jerk, and I'm really sorry for it." As I think about it now, it was probably one of my best confessions ever, thanks in large part to the humbling encounter I had with that woman. The priest was very kind and responsive, and he even chuckled a bit at something I said (a relief to me as I took it as a sign that he's heard much worse). He offered me the best advice, and helped me to put things in perspective. And then I was absolved, and the weight was lifted. I found myself, as I often do after confession, feeling deeply relieved and settled for the first time in weeks. There is no downgrading the effect bitter feelings have on a person, and nothing beats the peace of finally letting them go, and in this case, really knowing you’ve been forgiven for them. And so I was repaired, for a little while at least, until I find myself stumbling again.
This story reminded me of a talk we recently listened to by Archbishop Fulton Sheen on how the repression of sin affects our minds and bodies. And that made me think of the many people out there who don't take part in frequent confession. I'd be a mess, obviously. Allowing my anger to fester was a form of repression, because it meant I was hyper-focused on someone else's guilt whilst downplaying the role I was playing in not just letting it all go. The longer I held onto it, the more bitter I felt, and the snarkier I became. Others repress guilt by over-scheduling, keeping themselves busy to the point that they haven't a moment to spare to think of where they've gone wrong. Things just keep getting swept under the rug, with the hope that they'll disappear. But they don't. They just build up. And still others repress their sins by pointing fingers, placing the blame elsewhere.
Today it seems that no one really wants to discuss sin, as if it doesn’t even exist. It may seem unpopular, or medieval to many. Often it’s an issue of semantics. It’s okay to say you’ve got “issues” or "problems" but not okay to say you’re a sinner. Archbishop Sheen, in his talk (see below), suggests that sin is at the core of most of our unhappiness…that our unhappiness can be tied to our incapacity to bear responsibility for our thoughts, actions, or inactions, and that the build-up of guilt can manifest itself in a number of ways, physically and emotionally, at any time throughout the course of our lives. I believe he’s right. We allow our guilt and righteous anger to fester, and then unable to contain it, we act out by continuing to make poor choices. Guilt has sort of gotten a bad rap, and that's unfortunate. Guilt has a very humane purpose, particularly when acknowledged, addressed, and ultimately let go. It is the sign that someone has a working conscience. There’s nothing scarier than someone without a conscience. Pinocchio, as cute as he was, would have been the stuff of nightmares for me if Jiminy Cricket weren’t around to help keep him on the straight and narrow. (Okay, maybe I just think marionettes are creepy, but that’s beside the point). And I’m sure all of us, at one time or another, have questioned the perceived lack of conscience in others, particularly when it leads to horrible acts of violence. The recent news story of the young boy being set on fire on his way home from school is one such example. Thankfully for us, conscience can (and often does) kick in after the fact, and I hope that this is the case with the perpetrators of that particular crime. It’s sad enough to think of the victim in this story, without adding the brokenness of the perpetrators into the mix.
Now about that “Catholic guilt…”
There have been times in my life when upon learning that I’m a practicing Catholic, people have commented on the so-called issue of “Catholic guilt,” as if guilt is something unique to Catholicism. Obviously, it’s not. There’s even a Wiki article about it, and apparently it’s an idea still so current, that it even warranted an entry in Urban Dictionary. It’s my guilt that invariably leads me to returning my shopping cart to its designated area, especially on a rainy or blustery day when I’d much rather just shelter myself in the car. Identifying as Catholic has little to do with it. It does have to do with good old common courtesy and a smattering of guilt at the thought of some teenage employee catching a cold because he's spent an hour returning dozens of carts, including the one I had used.
I'm not addressing Catholic guilt in the form of scrupulosity here. That's a whole other ball of wax, deserving of its own post, better left for another time. Besides, if you're scrupulous, you don't need to be sold on the idea of confession. You're already going. Often.
Anyway, I’ve digressed enough for one day. I’ve added Archbishop Sheen’s talk below for those willing to give it a listen. It’s a good one, although I must say, I’ve never heard a bad or even mediocre talk of his. I doubt one even exists. And boy was he funny, too, and I do appreciate a bit of levity.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
*Edited to change a word or two (or three).
It was immediately obvious that I’d benefit from going to confession. I like to refer to it as Catholic therapy. You walk in all broken, bearing the burden of your faults, and come out brand new. I love that. The line to confess was long, so I had plenty of time to go over my examination of conscience, and reflect on my sins. While I was on line, I became distracted by the sound of a woman's voice at the front of the church. I had seen her before at least a dozen times. She’s a fixture at our church. Her life has been hard, plagued by addiction and mental illness. People kept kindly urging her to keep her voice down, and she would try her hardest to remember, and then her voice would just gradually get louder again. Then she decided to walk over to our line (it was a large penance service, so there were four lines to choose from), and she zeroed in on me immediately, asking if she could cut in before me. I was about sixth in the queue, and of all of those present, she chose me to approach. I told her that of course she could cut in, and made room for her. In between showering me with praises, frequent hugs, “I love you’s”, and kisses for allowing her to cut in line, she proceeded to detail random little vignettes about the horrors of her life. Immediately, I felt guilty over, quite frankly, the insignificance of my own problems, and particularly for having allowed them to consume me the way they had. So what if I had a less than ideal encounter (or series of encounters) with someone. It was apparent that this woman’s every waking moment was a torment. Her "difficult person" is more than just one entity. I could see in her eyes that she was getting overwhelmed with sadness over the stories she was relating. And when she was most upset, she proceeded to tell me how she wasn’t worth Christ’s sacrifice or forgiveness. Those words just shot straight into my heart. Who could be more worthy? Here she was humbling herself, acknowledging the faults that had in one way or another contributed to her monumental problems, while others so easily turn and blame God for much less. She was taking the responsibility, even though from her story, it was apparent that there were other contributors. I found myself telling her, over and over again, that of course she was worthy of forgiveness. Me! The very person who had felt so rotten and unworthy just earlier. On a good day, it's easy to know we all matter and that we are worthy of forgiveness, but a bad day clouds everything. It was serendipitous to have had that encounter with her. It softened me. I had still been holding a bit of a grudge; I just hadn’t realized it before. There’s nothing more humbling than coming face to face with someone whose problems dwarf your owm. What a weird, roundabout way to feel grateful for the cards you’ve been dealt.
After her confession, she was beaming. Were all her problems fixed? Of course not, but I believe she was given the grace and the hope to endure a bit longer. I don't know how much longer. A lot of it depends on her. Addiction is huge, and awful, and insidious, so she has a very hard road ahead of her. She will need spiritual maintenance. We all do.
And then it was my turn to bear it all. My turn to say, "Hey, I've been a real jerk, and I'm really sorry for it." As I think about it now, it was probably one of my best confessions ever, thanks in large part to the humbling encounter I had with that woman. The priest was very kind and responsive, and he even chuckled a bit at something I said (a relief to me as I took it as a sign that he's heard much worse). He offered me the best advice, and helped me to put things in perspective. And then I was absolved, and the weight was lifted. I found myself, as I often do after confession, feeling deeply relieved and settled for the first time in weeks. There is no downgrading the effect bitter feelings have on a person, and nothing beats the peace of finally letting them go, and in this case, really knowing you’ve been forgiven for them. And so I was repaired, for a little while at least, until I find myself stumbling again.
This story reminded me of a talk we recently listened to by Archbishop Fulton Sheen on how the repression of sin affects our minds and bodies. And that made me think of the many people out there who don't take part in frequent confession. I'd be a mess, obviously. Allowing my anger to fester was a form of repression, because it meant I was hyper-focused on someone else's guilt whilst downplaying the role I was playing in not just letting it all go. The longer I held onto it, the more bitter I felt, and the snarkier I became. Others repress guilt by over-scheduling, keeping themselves busy to the point that they haven't a moment to spare to think of where they've gone wrong. Things just keep getting swept under the rug, with the hope that they'll disappear. But they don't. They just build up. And still others repress their sins by pointing fingers, placing the blame elsewhere.
Today it seems that no one really wants to discuss sin, as if it doesn’t even exist. It may seem unpopular, or medieval to many. Often it’s an issue of semantics. It’s okay to say you’ve got “issues” or "problems" but not okay to say you’re a sinner. Archbishop Sheen, in his talk (see below), suggests that sin is at the core of most of our unhappiness…that our unhappiness can be tied to our incapacity to bear responsibility for our thoughts, actions, or inactions, and that the build-up of guilt can manifest itself in a number of ways, physically and emotionally, at any time throughout the course of our lives. I believe he’s right. We allow our guilt and righteous anger to fester, and then unable to contain it, we act out by continuing to make poor choices. Guilt has sort of gotten a bad rap, and that's unfortunate. Guilt has a very humane purpose, particularly when acknowledged, addressed, and ultimately let go. It is the sign that someone has a working conscience. There’s nothing scarier than someone without a conscience. Pinocchio, as cute as he was, would have been the stuff of nightmares for me if Jiminy Cricket weren’t around to help keep him on the straight and narrow. (Okay, maybe I just think marionettes are creepy, but that’s beside the point). And I’m sure all of us, at one time or another, have questioned the perceived lack of conscience in others, particularly when it leads to horrible acts of violence. The recent news story of the young boy being set on fire on his way home from school is one such example. Thankfully for us, conscience can (and often does) kick in after the fact, and I hope that this is the case with the perpetrators of that particular crime. It’s sad enough to think of the victim in this story, without adding the brokenness of the perpetrators into the mix.
Now about that “Catholic guilt…”
There have been times in my life when upon learning that I’m a practicing Catholic, people have commented on the so-called issue of “Catholic guilt,” as if guilt is something unique to Catholicism. Obviously, it’s not. There’s even a Wiki article about it, and apparently it’s an idea still so current, that it even warranted an entry in Urban Dictionary. It’s my guilt that invariably leads me to returning my shopping cart to its designated area, especially on a rainy or blustery day when I’d much rather just shelter myself in the car. Identifying as Catholic has little to do with it. It does have to do with good old common courtesy and a smattering of guilt at the thought of some teenage employee catching a cold because he's spent an hour returning dozens of carts, including the one I had used.
I'm not addressing Catholic guilt in the form of scrupulosity here. That's a whole other ball of wax, deserving of its own post, better left for another time. Besides, if you're scrupulous, you don't need to be sold on the idea of confession. You're already going. Often.
Anyway, I’ve digressed enough for one day. I’ve added Archbishop Sheen’s talk below for those willing to give it a listen. It’s a good one, although I must say, I’ve never heard a bad or even mediocre talk of his. I doubt one even exists. And boy was he funny, too, and I do appreciate a bit of levity.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
*Edited to change a word or two (or three).
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
How NOT to Deal with Difficult People
1. Let them get to you, allowing them to wield psychological power over you to the point that they are all you can think about or talk about (um, or write about).
2. Allow your experiences with said difficult person to lead you into making broad generalizations regarding their culture or creed (or gene pool).
3. Refer to difficult people as Satan spawn or Nazis.
4. Rehash every negative experience had with said difficult person and conclude that they are in fact the antichrist.
5. Psychoanalyze their motives until you succeed at making your head explode, as you come to the realization that they are actually not even fully human, but 90% cybernetic, and therefore incapable of human emotion.
6. Spend inordinate amounts of time plotting revenge, involving the staging of an alien encounter just to freak said difficult person out (unless they are cyborgs—see number 5 above, in which case you're plum outta luck 'cause they are probably fearless).
7. Continue to put time and attention into the gifts you give said person (applicable only for difficult people to which you're related, through marriage or otherwise, because really, what other reason would induce you to give such an ornery person a gift in the first place)...gifts and thoughts that are seldom appreciated, and quite often vociferously criticized.
8. Continue to fruitlessly look for common ground in an effort to win said difficult person over, thinking naively that you're Pollyanna-esque and quite possibly the only person on earth able to tame them with your goodness and sincerity, only to find out later that your every effort is summarily shot down.
9. Engage said difficult person in conversation, in an effort to take the higher road, whilst feigning interest in all of said difficult person's favorite activities (e.g. being evil). This seldom has the intended effect.
10. Subject your children to said difficult person and call it diversity training.
11. Snort loudly, or stand in bewildered silence when a mutual acquaintance inquires about said person, especially when the acquaintance only knows the difficult person's good side and their inquiry and subsequent comments come off even a slight bit adulatory.
12. And related to number 11... Give in to temptation and tell sincere inquirer person all that you know about how said difficult person hates puppies and all else that is good in the world. That'll show 'em.
2. Allow your experiences with said difficult person to lead you into making broad generalizations regarding their culture or creed (or gene pool).
3. Refer to difficult people as Satan spawn or Nazis.
4. Rehash every negative experience had with said difficult person and conclude that they are in fact the antichrist.
5. Psychoanalyze their motives until you succeed at making your head explode, as you come to the realization that they are actually not even fully human, but 90% cybernetic, and therefore incapable of human emotion.
6. Spend inordinate amounts of time plotting revenge, involving the staging of an alien encounter just to freak said difficult person out (unless they are cyborgs—see number 5 above, in which case you're plum outta luck 'cause they are probably fearless).
7. Continue to put time and attention into the gifts you give said person (applicable only for difficult people to which you're related, through marriage or otherwise, because really, what other reason would induce you to give such an ornery person a gift in the first place)...gifts and thoughts that are seldom appreciated, and quite often vociferously criticized.
8. Continue to fruitlessly look for common ground in an effort to win said difficult person over, thinking naively that you're Pollyanna-esque and quite possibly the only person on earth able to tame them with your goodness and sincerity, only to find out later that your every effort is summarily shot down.
9. Engage said difficult person in conversation, in an effort to take the higher road, whilst feigning interest in all of said difficult person's favorite activities (e.g. being evil). This seldom has the intended effect.
10. Subject your children to said difficult person and call it diversity training.
11. Snort loudly, or stand in bewildered silence when a mutual acquaintance inquires about said person, especially when the acquaintance only knows the difficult person's good side and their inquiry and subsequent comments come off even a slight bit adulatory.
12. And related to number 11... Give in to temptation and tell sincere inquirer person all that you know about how said difficult person hates puppies and all else that is good in the world. That'll show 'em.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Day Two of Lent and Not Up to Scratch? Add Something In!
Every year I have all of these great ideas on all of the changes I need to make in order to have a spiritually edifying Lenten experience. This in and of itself is not a problem. The problem is that I want to go whole hog, and end up overwhelming myself with self-prescribed regulations, much like I do on most years when coming up with a laundry list of New Year’s resolutions. It’s like setting myself up for failure, demanding not just one thing of myself, but several, as if I can go from being undisciplined to being an ascetic in forty days' time. And please note here that I’m not really talking about “giving stuff up for Lent.” In reality, that sort of stuff doesn’t work as well for me. Giving stuff up, like actual "stuff," is easy. I have incredible will power when it comes to this sort of thing, and after a while, avoiding specific things becomes less and less difficult and just becomes the new normal (like the time I gave up sugar in my tea, and then midway through Lent didn’t even mind as I couldn’t stand the thought of sweetened tea ever again). It’s the “adding stuff in” that I find most difficult, and therefore more worthy of my time, from a spiritual standpoint. And as to my criteria, the kind of stuff I’d be adding in, in my opinion, shouldn’t be dually purposed, because the ulterior purpose can eventually take precedent over the other spiritual one, until it becomes the greater of the two. For example, I can determine that I want to add in more exercise in acknowledgement that my body is a temple of God, and feel that I’ve addressed my spiritual criteria in settling with that change in behavior. Yet somewhere in my psyche, there will be the niggling feeling that an ulterior purpose (i.e. losing weight, feeling more attractive/giving in to vanity, etc.) would eventually become par with or even surpass the spiritual reasons I previously had in settling with the change in the first place. Honestly, the truth is that I should be exercising more anyway, and not use Lent as an excuse to do so. Of course, one can argue that there are many other benefits to exercising that are not those parenthetically noted, and as Catholics, we should strive to keep our bodies fit, healthy, and strong, but I struggle with those being my real reasons. Often I just want to look good in my jeans. Yeah, vanity. I guess it comes down to knowing yourself, and I have myself pretty much pegged.
And so I tend to struggle with determining what to do differently every year during Lent. I’m sure I can be rightly accused of over-thinking this, but what else is new? It would be out of character for me to not over-think. But what if you’re married to the idea of giving something up, rather than adding something in? If so, here are some pretty neat suggestions. The list is geared toward teens, but seeing as I still feel like a fourteen year old on most days, I still think several of them apply to even a thirty-something like me. Besides, I found several of the ideas unique. Never thought of giving up my pillow!
Ultimately, I’m still firmly in the “add stuff in” camp, because if there’s something that I really value, it’s my time. The more I add in, particularly the addition of time spent serving others (in this case, even my own family qualifies), the less time I have to enjoy other more selfish pursuits. In consideration of this, I’ll be adding stuff in as I go along, whatever those things may be and as situations arise, making sure that I remain consistent. And what better way of keeping track of every time I give up my time (you see, "adding in" can mean "giving up" as well, but it sounds more positive...to me anyway!) than to use St. Therese's sacrifice beads? Just move a bead over every time you sacrifice a bit of your time.
With that said, I have to add in some more school time with the kids, even if I’m technically still on my lunch break.
Wishing you all a very blessed Lenten season!
And so I tend to struggle with determining what to do differently every year during Lent. I’m sure I can be rightly accused of over-thinking this, but what else is new? It would be out of character for me to not over-think. But what if you’re married to the idea of giving something up, rather than adding something in? If so, here are some pretty neat suggestions. The list is geared toward teens, but seeing as I still feel like a fourteen year old on most days, I still think several of them apply to even a thirty-something like me. Besides, I found several of the ideas unique. Never thought of giving up my pillow!
Ultimately, I’m still firmly in the “add stuff in” camp, because if there’s something that I really value, it’s my time. The more I add in, particularly the addition of time spent serving others (in this case, even my own family qualifies), the less time I have to enjoy other more selfish pursuits. In consideration of this, I’ll be adding stuff in as I go along, whatever those things may be and as situations arise, making sure that I remain consistent. And what better way of keeping track of every time I give up my time (you see, "adding in" can mean "giving up" as well, but it sounds more positive...to me anyway!) than to use St. Therese's sacrifice beads? Just move a bead over every time you sacrifice a bit of your time.
With that said, I have to add in some more school time with the kids, even if I’m technically still on my lunch break.
Wishing you all a very blessed Lenten season!
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
A Series of Awkward Events
Hello. My name is Patty, and I am no stranger to awkward situations. I’m sure that I contribute to the awkwardness at least half of the time, but the incidents over the past few weeks however, were totally not my fault. I think.
Scenario number 1: Running into someone you know outside of the environment in which you’re accustomed to seeing them
If you’re like me, and you associate people with specific places, then it’s always weird to run into them elsewhere. This is kind of like seeing your high school French teacher shopping at Victoria’s Secret. But even running into someone you know from church at the grocery store can be awkward, particularly if you know them well enough to greet them, but know little else about them. Worse still is when you exchange pleasantries and say your good-byes in aisle 11, only to run into them a few minutes later in aisle 13. Awkward.
In any case, we had a similarly awkward experience while on line in the grocery store a few weeks ago. One of my kids spotted an acquaintance of ours standing in the next line. Once spotted, and eye contact was made, my family politely greeted them. Their reaction was priceless.
Here’s the play-by-play:
My family: Oh, hi guys! {Big smiles}
The others: Oh, hi. {Then they proceeded to turn away, facing forward, and completely ignored us the whole time they were on line).
And it was a longish line, and there we were, standing fairly close to each other in silence as we each waited for our turns at our respective registers. Awkward.
The thing about these awkward encounters is that you always end up wondering if you ever did or said something off-putting in your whole history of knowing the person or people involved. I don’t think we did, but I don’t have a crystal ball either.
Frank, my husband, is the best at coming up with possible scenarios, all in an effort to place the blame squarely on the other party, thereby making me feel better and assuring me that I’m not repugnant after all. Here were some of his explanations:
1 – They were caught red-handed, buying equipment for a homemade bomb.
2 – One or more of them suffer from halitosis.
3 – A combination of numbers one and two.
And yes, these explanations actually did make me feel better.
Scenario number 2: Seeing someone you know since childhood and having an awkward exchange, as if you don’t even know each other at all
So the other day, upon leaving Target, I thought I spotted an old school acquaintance. My eyesight has been so poor lately (am overdue for an upgrade on my glasses), that I refrained from shouting my hello from several feet away. When close enough to be certain that it was who I thought it was, I enthusiastically shouted out my greeting. Yes, shouted.
Play-by-play:
Me: Hey, how ya doin’?!?!?
Childhood friend: {With odd sort of smile/smirk on face} Hey…
And he proceeded to walk briskly past me.
Seeing as my voice volume was already at eleven, my response of “That was weird,” rang out for all to hear. Awkward.
My husband’s explanations:
1 – The guy very obviously had just sharted (classy, I know), and was making his way to the Target bathroom asap. (Have I mentioned that my husband and I have an eight-year-old's sense of humor)?
2 – He had just had an argument with his wife over his frequent salutation of uber hot women in Target parking lots, and then I come along and add extra fuel to the fire. (Um, I really loved this one, as I get to pretend I’m hot).
3 – A combination of numbers one and two. Obviously.
Scenario number 3: Talking to, or touching a complete stranger, thinking that he or she is your spouse, sibling, or child. Okay, this one is totally my fault, and as flighty as I am, it’s happened to me several times.
So we were at a close-out sale, and this guy, who I thought was my husband, was flipping through the posters on that flipper poster thingie that’s usually attached to a wall. I proceeded to comment on the posters he was going through.
Play-by-play, although I can’t vouch for the exact wording:
{Approaching poster area…}
Me: Oh brother, what is it about men and squat posters? {This was actually just a joke meant towards my husband, as there were no such posters there. Then I proceeded to step in front of the guy and flip posters, without any regard to him and his poster needs.}
Perplexed stranger guy: What?
Me: {Feeling of dread overcomes me as the unfamiliar voice registers and I turn to face a total stranger…} Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. {Quickly depart. And I do mean quickly.}
Now that was awkward. And embarrassing.
So for all of you lamenting your or others' awkwardness, you are not alone. Feel free to share your stories, and make me feel better. Think of it as therapy.
Scenario number 1: Running into someone you know outside of the environment in which you’re accustomed to seeing them
If you’re like me, and you associate people with specific places, then it’s always weird to run into them elsewhere. This is kind of like seeing your high school French teacher shopping at Victoria’s Secret. But even running into someone you know from church at the grocery store can be awkward, particularly if you know them well enough to greet them, but know little else about them. Worse still is when you exchange pleasantries and say your good-byes in aisle 11, only to run into them a few minutes later in aisle 13. Awkward.
In any case, we had a similarly awkward experience while on line in the grocery store a few weeks ago. One of my kids spotted an acquaintance of ours standing in the next line. Once spotted, and eye contact was made, my family politely greeted them. Their reaction was priceless.
Here’s the play-by-play:
My family: Oh, hi guys! {Big smiles}
The others: Oh, hi. {Then they proceeded to turn away, facing forward, and completely ignored us the whole time they were on line).
And it was a longish line, and there we were, standing fairly close to each other in silence as we each waited for our turns at our respective registers. Awkward.
The thing about these awkward encounters is that you always end up wondering if you ever did or said something off-putting in your whole history of knowing the person or people involved. I don’t think we did, but I don’t have a crystal ball either.
Frank, my husband, is the best at coming up with possible scenarios, all in an effort to place the blame squarely on the other party, thereby making me feel better and assuring me that I’m not repugnant after all. Here were some of his explanations:
1 – They were caught red-handed, buying equipment for a homemade bomb.
2 – One or more of them suffer from halitosis.
3 – A combination of numbers one and two.
And yes, these explanations actually did make me feel better.
Scenario number 2: Seeing someone you know since childhood and having an awkward exchange, as if you don’t even know each other at all
So the other day, upon leaving Target, I thought I spotted an old school acquaintance. My eyesight has been so poor lately (am overdue for an upgrade on my glasses), that I refrained from shouting my hello from several feet away. When close enough to be certain that it was who I thought it was, I enthusiastically shouted out my greeting. Yes, shouted.
Play-by-play:
Me: Hey, how ya doin’?!?!?
Childhood friend: {With odd sort of smile/smirk on face} Hey…
And he proceeded to walk briskly past me.
Seeing as my voice volume was already at eleven, my response of “That was weird,” rang out for all to hear. Awkward.
My husband’s explanations:
1 – The guy very obviously had just sharted (classy, I know), and was making his way to the Target bathroom asap. (Have I mentioned that my husband and I have an eight-year-old's sense of humor)?
2 – He had just had an argument with his wife over his frequent salutation of uber hot women in Target parking lots, and then I come along and add extra fuel to the fire. (Um, I really loved this one, as I get to pretend I’m hot).
3 – A combination of numbers one and two. Obviously.
Scenario number 3: Talking to, or touching a complete stranger, thinking that he or she is your spouse, sibling, or child. Okay, this one is totally my fault, and as flighty as I am, it’s happened to me several times.
So we were at a close-out sale, and this guy, who I thought was my husband, was flipping through the posters on that flipper poster thingie that’s usually attached to a wall. I proceeded to comment on the posters he was going through.
Play-by-play, although I can’t vouch for the exact wording:
{Approaching poster area…}
Me: Oh brother, what is it about men and squat posters? {This was actually just a joke meant towards my husband, as there were no such posters there. Then I proceeded to step in front of the guy and flip posters, without any regard to him and his poster needs.}
Perplexed stranger guy: What?
Me: {Feeling of dread overcomes me as the unfamiliar voice registers and I turn to face a total stranger…} Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. {Quickly depart. And I do mean quickly.}
Now that was awkward. And embarrassing.
So for all of you lamenting your or others' awkwardness, you are not alone. Feel free to share your stories, and make me feel better. Think of it as therapy.
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