it just comes in flashes.
Posted By Christina M on March 21, 2006
Update:
Christina here. Still here. Another false alarm. Grrrrr.
Joel here. Christina’s likely to be heading off to the hospital any time now, and I’ll be going with her if my TV show is over by then. (Yes, I’m kidding, ladies. Put down the sharp objects.) By tomorrow morning, she’ll have to replace that chick countdown thingy with something else. Pray hard!
Posted By Christina M on March 15, 2006
For those of you loyal enough to keep stopping by even with a distinct shortage of postings, you may be wondering where I’ve been. Well, as you know, I’m in the last few weeks of my pregnancy, and slowing down. I won’t go into the details of lack of sleep, because nobody likes other people’s whines, but suffice it to say I’m not operating on full steam these days. God bless my Charming and Patient Husband, who has been knocking himself out to pick up the slack at home.
Just to give you an update, it definitely looks like Peanut will be making her appearance this month; the doctor is talking induction if she doesn’t arrive in the next two weeks, because she appears to be pretty big, and I have a history of delivering big ones. I don’t think for a moment that we’re going to make it to that time, though. If I were a betting woman, I’d put my money on this week.
So please forgive me for being less than fully communicative lately. The nest has been beckoning.
Posted By Christina M on March 8, 2006
I got a new logo to put in my sidebar. Yes, that’s right, I’m a delighted member of the B Team, the Amateur Catholics! I have to hush now, or I may wax Sally Fieldish.
I’m just so doggone thrilled!
Posted By Christina M on March 7, 2006
… we can’t really be surprised when something like this happens.
It seems that the number of teenage assaults on homeless people is growing.
“It’s the perception that it’s someone insignificant that doesn’t matter,” said Emmanuel Smith, a counselor at the Pine Street Inn, a Boston homeless shelter.
In the overwhelming number of cases, the attackers are teenagers, according to the national report.
How can we really be surprised, when our society has spent a generation and a half working hard at ensuring that children never doubt the privilege of the strong over the rights of the weak? They learn that babies are disposable, and we can’t really give any better reason than the intuitive understanding that they can’t speak for themselves. Same with Terri Schiavo. Those who can’t speak for themselves, our children are being taught, don’t deserve any rights. They are non-people.
Even those who don’t agree with this thought about the weak are generally told to shut up and keep their opinions to themselves. “Don’t be intolerant of those who disagree with you,” we teach them. Yet few are teaching the same message to those who approve of abortion and euthanasia. The homes, the parents, the churches, who continue to teach compassion for the weak, and genuine equality of all people regardless of ability, age, or health, are marginalized and treated by media and courts alike as extremists.
Since when is it extremist to believe that all sorts of people have an equal right to exist?
This is a subject that has been on my mind much lately, when I hear phrases like “advanced maternal age” thrown around as though a 1% increase in the possibility of giving birth to a child with disabilities constitutes a medical condition or a disease. The implication is that older mothers should have high-intervention pregnancies so that they have the opportunity to destroy any offspring who turn out to be “imperfect.” At least, the subtle message tells us, we should be less inclined to make babies when we know that some of them may be disabled.
If questioned, those who laud the destruction of “damaged” babies will often give very lofty sounding arguments about not wanting a child to suffer. But I ask you, whom have you ever known who did not suffer? Have you yourself led a pain free existence? Has your mother? Your next door neighbor?
If your ten year old got injured in an accident and would suffer headaches for the rest of his life, would you suggest that he should be killed? Replaced? Can you even imagine anyone saying “It’s ok, you can always have another one”? So why is society so ready to write off unborn people who will suffer?
I don’t really believe that abortion is meant to alleviate the suffering of a child. I think it’s just easier to believe that than it is to admit that we don’t really feel as bad treating an unseen, unspeaking person as a non entity, as we would if this person were bright, visible, and well-spoken.
And when we teach kids this way of looking at it, they show that they are smarter than the grownups who teach them. They understand that the message isn’t really one of compassion, but of the worthlessness of those who don’t have the power to speak up.
No, we can’t be surprised if we teach children to kill unborn babies, and they set homeless people on fire.
Posted By Christina M on February 21, 2006
God asked Moses to lead his people out of slavery. Elijah was to live on Mt. Carmel for a time, relying on birds to bring him food. Teresa of Avila had the honor of founding a new Carmelite order, and Therese of Lisieux was called to join it and attain great humility and holiness at a very youthful age.
In my moments of enthusiasm, it is easy to want to mirror these great people who spent their lives honoring God. It is easy to think I love God greatly, and I want my life to reflect the greatness of His love. Then God hears “great,” and evidently the words “great with child” come to His mind. And sometimes I am tempted to wonder, “is this all there is, Lord? Is this all You had in mind for me?”
My Charming and Patient Husband has a quote on his blog, “I’ve got the will, Lord, if you’ve got the toe.” It’s a line from a country western song about faith, and it in fact reminds me a bit of St. Therese, when she said she yearned to be the Lord’s ball, His play thing.
But when it comes right down to it, it’s a difficult attitude to follow through with. It seems easy, when full of joy in God’s love, to offer Him everything. “Take me, use me as You see fit. You tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.” We envision, when we say this, that He will want to make of us great apologists, social reformers, or hermits. We anticipate big sacrifices that demonstrate the size of our love, our faith, and our importance to the God we are sure needs us as much as we need Him.
It isn’t so easy, though, when His answer doesn’t reflect our self-importance. “Oh, my child, I am so happy to hear you say that,” He answers. “Here, sit down.”
Ooh, He’s listening, I think. I sit down. “Yes, Lord? I’m ready.” I hear nothing else. And I sit there, waiting, for a long time — all the while thinking that He hasn’t finished His instructions, or that for some reason I’ve stopped being able to hear Him.
Until finally I realize that maybe I just don’t understand His ways.
This pregnancy has been like that. In a literal sense. I’ve had to slow way down, because every time I try to maintain even a normal level of activity, the contractions start. Then, Monday came. I had done nothing but sit for two days, and heavy contractions began. The were somewhat regular at times, and they were painful. All the others had felt like pressure, maybe discomfort, but these contractions hurt. So I called the doctor, who instructed me to go to the hospital and get checked. The end result was that I was a little bit dehydrated, and with a lot of fluid and rest, the contractions waned back to the normal sporadic Braxton Hicks (practice) contractions. My parting instruction was to take it easier.
Easier than doing nothing but sitting around all day?
Lie down more, they said. Drink more water, and do nothing. Let Hubbie make the dinner. (He already does.) Yesterday, at my regular appointment, the doctor said much the same. Slow down even more, and do a lot of lying around.
And as I was coming home from this appointment, something occurred to me. I’ve spent my life feeling guilty for being a Mary instead of a Martha. Martha’s the one accomplishing things. Martha’s the one serving Jesus dinner. And when I’ve felt guilty enough, in the past, I’ve hastened into a whirlwind of activity, usually accompanied by the same sort of griping that Martha engaged in.
I’ve wanted to do God’s will, but first I’ve wanted to be able to instruct Him in what it is; or at least to be ensured of understanding it before having to follow through. But it seems that He wants me to cool my heels and change my priorities. It seems that He wants me to bustle less and listen more. It seems that He wants me to be still.
At some point, when I say “I will do what you tell me, Lord,” I guess it comes time to acknowledge that I have to mean it unconditionally, even when I don’t understand.
Posted By Christina M on February 13, 2006
We all remember the line from “When Harry Met Sally,” when Meg Ryan is giving a demonstration (in a public eating establishment) of how easily a woman can… uh… fool a man with a convincing fakery.
In real life, fakery rarely fools anyone. I’m not talking here about sex, mind you. I’m talking about most things. At least most important things. When we are trying to convince people of who we are, what we stand for, and what really guides our lives, we will rarely convince anyone of our sincerity unless we really are sincere. Which brings me to the point I really wanted to discuss: evangelization.
I got started thinking about it when I was reading the foreword and introduction to Surprised by Truth
Yet even as I was admiring the book, and not for the first time, it also occurred to me that more is needed. The book is a first rate book for apologetics, a valuable study and a valuable skill. So valuable and in fact necessary do I consider apologetics that it was the first subject my high school daughter and I began when we decided to homeschool. The Bible tells us to be ready to explain why we believe. That’s a big reason apologetics is so important; and it’s also a big reason that apologetics is not enough.
I spent several years volunteering for RCIA, and have been involved with online ministries for many more years. One thing I’ve learned through these experiences is that the Church has a lot of doors. There is no one single way that people are brought to the Church, even one as important as apologetics. People come to faith, come to Christ, and come to the Church for many reasons and after being called in many ways. When we limit our efforts to apologetics alone, we may as well be locking most of those other doors.
I know one woman who came to the Church because Jesus said “This is my body,” and she believed that He meant it. She couldn’t put her trust in a Church that didn’t take Him literally. My Charming and Patient Husband joined, in part, because with confession and absolution, you know when you’re forgiven. I know people who have either joined, or at least begun to investigate, because they felt God calling them to formal worship, and the other Churches seemed too informal, and people who joined because they discovered that the liturgy is almost entirely Biblical. I even know someone who joined because the Catholic liturgy so closely resembles the Jewish liturgy.
And then there was the lady who was raised with no faith, and few preconceived notions about faith. She felt that there must be a deeper truth than the day-to-day wading through life, and she saw her next door neighbors. They had faith. They shone with it. She could see that their faith was changing their lives. With little knowledge at all, she came to the Church for instruction, because she had seen that they had something she wanted. They were the kind of people she wanted to be, and she decided, in essence, “I’ll have what they’re having.” She never even compared denominations before making her decision.
When we make a decision that we want to be witnesses for Christ, we should learn apologetics. We should read books by people like Patrick Madrid
If, when others look at us, they can say “I’ll have what she’s having,” then we can be assured that we have evangelized more people than we will even be aware of in this life.
Posted By Christina M on February 7, 2006
I’ve never cared for philosophy, as a general discipline. When I’ve taken philosophy in school, I sneeringly thought to myself that a philosopher is merely an opinionated person who forgets to put “I think…” in front of his opinions. Often it’s true. Occasionally, it isn’t, and we find a nugget of gold in the writings of an Aquinas or a John Paul II.
And every once in a while, we find a nugget of platinum in someone who doesn’t call himself a philosopher. Sometimes, some of the best theology comes from the ordinary guy who happens to keep his eyes open and his mind and heart working in sync. Waiter Rant offers more than its share of nuggets, and today’s serves as a good reminder that the Beatitudes and Works of Mercy can happen everywhere. I’ve never seen him call his observations “theology,” but the person who aspires to theology could learn a lot from this waiter with his eyes open.
Posted By Christina M on February 3, 2006
From Housewife in Flip Flops:
My good quirks:
I love French music.
I’m a compulsive organizer.
I go barefoot around the house and wear flip flops except in the coldest weather.
I like to decorate boxes.
I like reading and writing satirical poetry.
My bad quirks:
I’m very impatient.
I take things too personally.
I’m competitive with my husband.
I brood.
My food quirks:
I inherited the peanut butter and pickle sandwich from my dad.
Did you know leftover spinach salad with cheese nukes into a dandy hot lunch?
Onions. Especially when I’m pregnant.
Sometimes, instead of cooking with garlic, I plant it.
Wasabi peas and cocoa-dusted chocolate truffles. Gee, I miss Trader Joe’s. (No, I don’t eat them together! I’m not that quirky!)
My sleep quirks:
Oh, the usual pregnancy quirks.
I wake up 4 times a night for bathroom or milk.
Everything’s congested. I snore more and more.
Three pillows: tiny smashed one on the bottom, normal old one in the middle, down pillow on top.
Quirky people I tag (who haven’t already been tagged:
Joel, because I love his quirks. (I refuse to consider his favorite TV shows qirks; they are mere cries for help.)
Posted By Christina M on February 3, 2006
Four Jobs I’ve Had
Four Movies I Watch Over and Over Again
Voluntarily, or under duress?
Four Places I’ve Lived
Four TV Shows I Watch
Four Places I’ve Vacationed
Let’s face it, once kids start coming, vacations are a fond memory. Sometimes I do get to sleep in on a Saturday, though.
Four Websites I visit daily (My daily list really is short; most of my favorite sites I visit on a more or less rotating basis)
Four of My Favorite Foods
Four Places I’d like to be right now
Now I Tag With This Meme:
Posted By Christina M on February 2, 2006
Last night our twice-monthly Women’s Bible Study met, and once again it was time well spent. Due to winter illnesses and unavoidable appointments, my attendance hasn’t been stellar; but this Bible Study continues to enlighten, inspire, amuse, and educate. Once we finish the course, I plan to keep the notebook to share with my kids in family Bible study.
Last night we did part two of Exodus, the time spent at the foot of Mt. Sinai. This is where Moses received the Ten Commandments, and a large number of the Israelites who, just a short time before, had sworn allegiance to God Almighty, made and worshipped a golden calf.
The thought that kept occurring to me throughout the reading and listening was that the Israelites, who really could represent all people of faith, are like toddlers. They love their Daddy, and want to win His approval… until they think He isn’t watching. “Oh, He’s busy with Moses up on the mountain. I bet we could get away with…”
I’ve never actually heard my almost two year old say it, but I know darn well he’s thinking it.
As a parent, I’ve learned to fear going to the bathroom. Those of you who read Joel’s blog know the Saga of the Habanero. That day, I made the mistake of going to the bathroom twice. Twice. Bad pregnosaur! A couple days later, it was malt powder. A few days more, hot cocoa mix. You get the idea.
As this thought was starting to formulate, the study instructed us to turn to Luke 12:16-31. I flipped pages to where Jesus tells His disciples not to worry about what they should eat, that God provides. A picture flashed through my head of Hypertot sneaking into the kitchen the second the bathroom door closes, opening the fridge, whipping out a cube of butter, and biting into it. Much as the Israelites at the foot of Sinai took their desires into their own hands the moment their leader wasn’t watching, a toddler will take his desires into this own hands when Mommy looks away. Neither one is trusting his needs to be met. And neither one shows particular wisdom in discerning what those needs are or how to meet them. Butter? A golden idol? Yeah, that’ll keep ’em healthy!
One thing that raising small children really does for my faith: it offers me the chance to see a toddler the way I imagine God must see us a lot of the time. Stubborn, lovable, foolish, and sometimes due for a huge lesson. But after the lesson, I always want to hug my son. It’s a good reminder that when I fail to trust God, and as a result smear my self-helpings all over my messy life, His chastisement doesn’t mean He has stopped loving. He isn’t going to say “Ok, you blew it, I’m outta here” any more than I’d say it to my foolish child. It’s a good thing to know.