My Brooke

Today, I challenged my students to write a vignette about someone who influenced them at some point in their childhood.  This is what Willa Cather did in My Antonia, and I wanted them to appreciate the difficulty of writing in this way and keeping it vivid and specific without diluting the story into "he was important" or "she was really great".  It had to be called "My ______" in reference to the person described.


I slapped together a vignette of my own to show them an example, and I thought I'd share it with you.

My Brooke

My memories of my early childhood are often more strong impressions than images.  One of these impressions was of Brooke.  She was beautiful and kind with long hair exactly the color of newly-dried straw in the sun.  Brooke was the oldest of four children in the Smith home where I spent my week days as a young girl while mom was at work.  Mrs. Smith broke horses; I think each of her children had some of her tenacity in them as well.  Annie, who was closer to my age, had the largest dose of her mother’s spirit.

I remember nothing specific that Brooke did or said.  I do remember that she was calm when Annie was wild, and she treated me like a little sister when I had no one else to look up to.

I heard the news when I was about 10 and Brooke was a young teen; it had been a couple years since I had seen them last.  Brooke had been the passenger in a car of teenage friends.  The car had screeched to a sudden stop.  She wasn’t wearing her seatbelt and was tossed through the car window and crushed by passing traffic.  Her death was slow and painful.  Brooke's family was distraught, and Annie was rumored to have fallen in with a bad crowd apart from her sister’s influence.

I was not able to attend Brooke’s funeral, but I felt a more personal contact with her death than any other I had experienced, including the death of a kind aunt not long before.  For me, she was not just a teen driving statistic or even a fond memory with a sad ending.  Brooke was the harbinger of unexpected fate in a fragile world.

Though I was the type of child who thought deeply about faith, I never questioned God’s Providence or determined that individual goodness was futile if it could be rewarded so harshly.  However, I now understood that I and anyone I knew was vulnerable.  I no longer entertained an unfounded confidence in life’s invincibility.  Years later, fellow college students would become surprised by the unexpected vehemence with which I insisted on them securing their seat-belts.  I still pray for Brooke--I pray that her soul is at peace and I attempt to live so that I too will be at peace whenever fate or death or God holds out his hand toward me.

Does This Make Me Look Fat?

I was talking to my husband again last night about how frustrated I get with myself when I start obsessing over what other people think of me.  My mental publicity director starts wondering, "What will my student think of me after seeing me out and about with no make-up in a t-shirt and shorts?"  "What will that friend think of my e-mail I sent?"  "What did that person think of the conversation we just had; did I sound stupid?"  "What did my mom and dad think of my parenting of my son last week?  Did I look like a good mom?"

I'm ok with knowing that I have faults as well as talents and virtues.  [The being ok with having faults piece took quite a few years of prayer . . . ]  Now, I just have to be ok with the idea that other people may think I have faults too.  That's not so easy.  I like to be liked.  I like to be looked up to.  I prefer not to have awkward moments or to be embarrassed by my actions, words, or omissions.

Some of that sensitivity to the thoughts of others is fine--we live in community and should be considerate of those around us.  I should not sing nursery rhymes at the top of my lungs in the grocery aisle in the full confidence that I'm "being true to myself."  Courtesy is itself a virtue.  However, my personal publicity director is not virtuous.  That's one of those curses from the Fall; Eve and her female progeny are never sure that they won't be judged and objectified by others.  They struggle with not defensively judging others in turn.

I must constantly remind myself that I am loved.  God loves me infinitely; my husband loves me much more than I could ever deserve on my own merits.  My family and friends love me despite my faults.  James loves me totally in his own way--though that may also have something to do with milk.  :)

If you too struggle, read this.  Max Lucado's "You Are Special" is of my favorite stories about shedding the worries of self-doubt and relying on God instead.

Image: http://www.harrybliss.com/store/images/me_look_fat.jpg

Happy Birthday Shakespeare!

SONNET 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
   If this be error and upon me proved,
   I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 

I'll never tire of this sonnet.  Beauty harvested by the Time's sickle, the confidence that doesn't tremble amidst the storms of life, and the image of soul-mates united on the brink of a cliff, steps away from the despair that destroys those who do not understand the power of love . . . these images inspire me and beautifully illustrate the truths I too have discovered in true friendship and love.

John Donne: Good Friday

GOOD-FRIDAY, 1613, RIDING WESTWARD
by John Donne

LET man's soul be a sphere, and then, in this,
Th' intelligence that moves, devotion is ;
And as the other spheres, by being grown
Subject to foreign motion, lose their own,
And being by others hurried every day,
Scarce in a year their natural form obey ;
Pleasure or business, so, our souls admit
For their first mover, and are whirl'd by it.
Hence is't, that I am carried towards the west,
This day, when my soul's form bends to the East.
There I should see a Sun by rising set,
And by that setting endless day beget.
But that Christ on His cross did rise and fall,
Sin had eternally benighted all.
Yet dare I almost be glad, I do not see
That spectacle of too much weight for me.
Who sees Gods face, that is self-life, must die ;
What a death were it then to see God die ?
It made His own lieutenant, Nature, shrink,
It made His footstool crack, and the sun wink.
Could I behold those hands, which span the poles
And tune all spheres at once, pierced with those holes ?
Could I behold that endless height, which is
Zenith to us and our antipodes,
Humbled below us ? or that blood, which is
The seat of all our soul's, if not of His,
Made dirt of dust, or that flesh which was worn
By God for His apparel, ragg'd and torn ?
If on these things I durst not look, durst I
On His distressed Mother cast mine eye,
Who was God's partner here, and furnish'd thus
Half of that sacrifice which ransom'd us ?
Though these things as I ride be from mine eye,
They're present yet unto my memory,
For that looks towards them ; and Thou look'st towards me,
O Saviour, as Thou hang'st upon the tree.
I turn my back to thee but to receive
Corrections till Thy mercies bid Thee leave.
O think me worth Thine anger, punish me,
Burn off my rust, and my deformity ;
Restore Thine image, so much, by Thy grace,
That Thou mayst know me, and I'll turn my face.



I used to swear that I would never enjoy the "intellectually and spiritually arrogant" Metaphysical Poets. Thanks to a class with Dr. Rice, I learned to see the beauty of metaphorical language and metaphysical conceits woven into each of these poems.

Each poem, like the one above, uses the complex imagery to draw the reader deeper into meditation. One cannot skim read a metaphysical poem and understand it well. For someone as easily distracted in prayer as I am, this form of verse helps me to apply my intellect and imagination to my reflection.

One of my favorite parts:
"Or that blood, which is / The seat of all our soul's, if not of His,/ Made dirt of dust" . . . what poignant imagery! Donne links the metaphysical reality of Christ's blood which is life-giving to us with the literal action of those precious drops falling and mixing with the dirt below to create mud. The image also reminds me of Christ's profound humility in stooping from His heavenly throne to mingle divinity with human nature (which is "dust").

May you have a holy and fruitful Triduum!

George Herbert & the Felix Culpa

Easter Wings

Lord, Who createdst man in wealth and store,

Though foolishly he lost the same,

Decaying more and more,

Till he became

Most poore:

With Thee

O let me rise,

As larks, harmoniously,

And sing this day Thy victories:

Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

My tender age in sorrow did beginne;

And still with sicknesses and shame

Thou didst so punish sinne,

That I became

Most thinne.

With Thee

Let me combine,

And feel this day Thy victorie;

For, if I imp my wing on Thine,

Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

I love this poem by Herbert.  He reflects on the original sin that caused us to be separated from the life that God intended man to have in the Garden of Eden. However, he, like St. Augustine, views this as a "felix culpa," a fortunate fall. Because of man's fall from grace, Christ came to earth to redeem us. It is in His Resurrection that we are offered eternal life with the Father. Herbert sees us as being bolstered in our flight to heaven by Christ and the grace He has won for us, His creation.

HPK #2

Do all the good to others that circumstances allow.  If you concentrate on yourself too often, your life will be flat and empty.  Lively interest in others makes you rise above the pettiness of self-love.  Self-love is to be dissolved in the crucible of a common interest in people.  Self-effacement in order that others may be made happy is a lifework that will be most richly rewarded by God.  It is Christlike to give generously of your kind thoughts, your heartening words, and your kind deeds.

This quotation beautifully reveals that "all the good" we should do encompasses more than just actions.  I often am tempted to think that I don't have TIME to be as kind as I would like.  However, as mentioned above, kind thoughts and encouragement do not take any extra time.  Rather than adding kindness into my life like an item on a "spiritual to-do list", I must allow Christ to convert my current thoughts and words to ones that imitate His.  My heart must be pure, gentle, and receptive so that my judgments are charitable and forgiving and my words are sensitive and uplifting.  The reward is a more fulfilling life, made rich by the authentic relationships that you have cultivated and tended with love.

"Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make my heart like unto Thine."

The Hidden Power of Kindness #1

So . . . There's a wonderful book by Lawrence G. Lovasik called The Hidden Power of Kindness.  It falls under the "don't judge a book by its cover" category because the cover pictures offend any person with aesthetical sensibilities [sorry Sophia Press, but it's true].  However, the pages within contain some of the best simple and practical guidelines towards living out the virtue of charity that I have ever read.  I began re-reading it for Lent, and despite my best efforts, I'm barely done with chapter two.  Each paragraph causes me to stop and reflect (and repent for my failings), and I think more of the book is underlined than not.

That being said, I wanted to begin an online conversation with any of you who have read/are reading it.  AND if you just want to jump in and comment on our comments, I'd love to hear from you as well.  My goal is to post some quotations that struck me particularly and to offer some brief thoughts.  God willing, something posted will be what you needed to hear too, or else I'll just profit from the organization of and commitment to my own thoughts on the matter.

Basta.

A Timely Resolution [HPK #1.5]

I gave up being late for Lent.  Once upon a Wednesday, I was going to give up other things . . . easier things, and then God told me I was a coward.

I was re-reading The Hidden Power of Kindness, that lovely 200 page examination of conscience, and was struck (hard) by a statement that not having the charity towards others ALWAYS to be dependable and punctual was a sign of weakness of character.  Gosh, did I ever bristle!  The little, whimpering voices in my head said, "But that's not talking about me!  I'm on time more often than I'm late (51% counts as more often).  I want to be on time.  I have a 4 1/2 month old baby--God only knows (seriously) what could happen in the two minutes before we head out the door . . . "

And then I remembered another Lent, several years ago.  I had asked my roommate for a Lenten sacrifice suggestion.  She mentioned an idea and I instantly had a host of reasons why that was a bad idea.  She looked at me and said.  Listen to how much you are trying to find excuses not to do that.  Point taken.  I adopted her idea for that Lent.

Here I was, objecting again to something that I was "not guilty" of in the realm of imperfection.  I tried to picture myself adjusting everything in my pace of life so that I had plenty of room for the unexpected to happen.  I needed to create the space in my life to be on time.

And thus, my Lenten journey began.  I have only been late once (by two minutes), and I have experienced more peace in my relationships and commute.  Most importantly, this discipline makes me prioritize my activities.  Do I really need to check my e-mail right now?  Do I really need to spend this much time on my make-up?  Do I really need to prolong this shower?  Do I really need to brew coffee to go with breakfast today?

Matthew Kelly is fond of saying that in order to say "no" to anything appealing, we must have a deeper thing to which we say "yes."  My "yes!" this Lent is to peace, charity, and the important people in my life.  With that on the table, it makes my trivial amusements and delays and laziness seem like a very little thing to say "no" to.

What are heroes made of?

Recently, I decided that I really needed a good "brain candy" book to read. [Brain candy = easy, quick read with just enough substance to keep you interested but not enough to make your brain tired by following intriguing pathways of thought for hours afterward.] I choose to re-read Ender's Game, a story about a downtrodden young boy of extraordinary intelligence who goes to space-battle school and saves the world [like Harry Potter minus the hokus-pokus and mythological cliches]. Ender's teachers must accomplish an usual task--train a hero. Training a future hero and training a commander are two distinct tasks. The former is a matter of character and virtue; the later a combination of technical and leadership skills. So what makes a hero?

A hero is a servant leader who believes that personal sacrifice, independent thought, and consistent dedication to a cause are necessary elements of life.

First, he (or she) leads through service. Gratification of the ego is neither the goal nor the springboard for social networking and personal action. It is only by reaching outside of himself that he affirms and encourages others to achieve personal excellence. He knows his own abilities and his own weaknesses (the proper definition of humility according to C.S. Lewis in his The Four Loves); this honest self-knowledge helps him to know others.

Following upon that relationship with those whom he serves (and leads), a hero's life is never comfortable. You don't see Mother Teresa sipping martinis in a posh armchair as she regales others with tales of the squalor of the Indian ghettos. The best leaders, like David's general Uriah, refuse special treatment. Uriah, in 2 Sam 11:11 declares, "The servants of my lord are camping in the open field; shall I then go to my house, to eat and to drink, and to lie with my wife? As you live, and as your soul lives, I will not do this thing." A hero sleeps less, eats less, dresses less richly, and sacrifices other comforts for the sake of others. Like Shakespeare's Henry V, the good leader goes over and beyond what is required to care for others, to grant them "a touch of Harry in the night."

A leader must also be an independent and innovative thinker. Thinking with the crowd has never enabled someone to rise above the common man and become a hero. Solving disputes with justice rather than emotion, planning for success when failure looms at the door, creatively using resources to make the best of a bad situation, committing to a course of action or ideal when others want to temporize . . . these are the mental qualities of a leader. I've heard of notable cynics, but never a famous, lukewarm relativist. (Even the well-known cynics committed to an ideal and thought uniquely; it was just through a negation rather than an affirmation of a world view.) Heroes are the lights in dark times who inspire men to think and act beyond the limited sphere of their daily lives.

Finally, an unflagging dedication to a worthy cause marks a man with heroism. So many people in our world limit their fidelity to a cause to a few bucks in the missionary's offering basket, to a "fan" page link on Facebook, or to a membership to a "members only" coupon list. I can only be so harsh, because too often I find myself falling into that trap of surface support. If one is truly dedicated to a truth, a way of life, a culture, a religion, an avocation or a vocation, then one should pursue it ardently and perseveringly. Half-hearted attempts are rarely the "stuff" of epics, or heroes. Odysseus doesn't just "kinda try" to get home [though my students may argue this point], and Saint George doesn't just put the dragon in time out. A hero completes his quest and defeats all that oppose and harm the good.

True heroism is rare. Ender was isolated from true bonds of friendship in order to keep him independent from their negative influence and from the lazy habits of non-innovative group think. He was systematically deprived of sleep and a regular routine to strengthen his resilience to comfort. Ender also was psychologically manipulated into defending a cause (a world, really), while he often was more concerned with his personal thoughts, goals, and survival. He was generally good, but I'm not sure he was a true hero. However, I think that each of us can choose to pursue heroism, and I think we have a trainer that is far superior to Ender's.

[See next post, since this one has already advanced you toward heroism just by reading it . . . way too long. Sorry.]

Their Eyes Were Watching God

by Zora Neal Hurston

I had enjoyed a short story or two of Hurston's and decided to tackle her most famous novel . . . interesting, but lacking.

The main character, Janie, goes through 3 husbands through the course of the story. Feminists love this book because they see this mixed-raced woman as an independent heroine who escapes her 1st controlling husband, asserts her dignity verbally and suffers the consequences with her 2nd husband, and loves the rakish ways of her last (and much younger) husband. I suppose that she is a pretty complete and developed character, if you consider unfailing independence and a good-looking figure to be the only necessary characteristics of your heroine.

Do I think that her first two husbands put her in a pitiable position?--sure. Do I admire the fact that she kept on going despite it all?--ok. Am I impressed by the person that she has become?--not really. For all her independance, she doesn't stand up for her innocence when her life is on the line in court towards the end, and her "strength" comes across more as cockiness and the ability to distance herself from others, rather than quiet strength reflecting the redemptive potential of suffering.

If you've read the book and can help me to see it's finer qualities--go for it and comment. Meanwhile, despite some good description and local color, it's not great enough to be going on my re-read list.

The Chronicals of Narnia

Yes, I just reread all of them again. I love these books. They inspire me to view every day as an adventure, to be wise, and to be firm in the truth, even in the face of a misunderstanding and blind society. Despite being tales for children, I think these stories touch the "child" in each of us--that innocent part of our soul that longs to depend on God and doesn't really feel equal to any of the tasks that have been laid on our shoulders, despite our best efforts to "put a good face on it."

A favorite quotation (among many!):
Suppose... suppose we have only dreamed and made up these things like sun, sky, stars, and moon, and Aslan himself. In that case, it seems to me that the made-up things are a good deal better than the real ones. And if this black pits of a kingdom is the best you can make, then it's a poor world. And we four can make a dream world to lick your real one hollow. . . . That's why I'm going to stand by the play world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if ther isn't any Narnia. ...We'll be leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for the Overland. Not that out lives will be very long, I should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say." [from The Silver Chair]

Death Comes to the Archbishop

A BEAUTIFUL book by Willa Cather.

I read My Antonia in high school, again in college, and again recently. Each time deeper layers of truth and poignant beauty were revealed to me. Thus, at my husband's recommendation, I read this renown novel, also by Cather. I'm sure that I will return to this book over and over again, as well.

Death Comes to the Archbishop is the story of two determined young priests, sent to the mission fields (or rather deserts) of the Western US, barely preceding the time of the gold rush and further westward expansion by the Americans. Cather communicates through her vivid characters that saintliness is often found in the smallest "fiats" to divine promptings. She shows that simple joys can be the most profound and profundity can be found in the stripped-down life of the poor. Cather also succeeds in presenting the harsh realism of wayward priests, suspicious natives, and fickle nature that can both be friend and foe in a day's time.

I closed the final chapter with a refreshed outlook on the mild discomforts of my life and a re-sworn resolution to pursue sainthood in the daily routines of my vocation. I recommend this book unreservedly for all sane and normal people who are imperfect and in need of inspiration.

BOOK REVIEW: Calvary and the Mass

It has been quite some time since I enjoyed a book so much that I read it cover to cover in one sitting. However, this morning I completed Calvary and the Mass by Fulton J. Sheen in a couple hours.

This beautiful reflection on Christ's sacrifice at Calvary emphasizes the reciprocal nature of love. Sheen, in his signature juxtaposed phrases, poignantly reminds the reader to contrast the completeness of God's love for us and the imperfections of our loving response to His initiative. He challenges and exhorts us to greater fidelity to Christian life. "What was done on Calvary avails for us only in the degree that we repeat t in our own lives." Sheen delights in paradox and describes the Divine irony and mercy entwined in the mystery that the Crucifixion, the result of our sin, has become the sole antidote to our imperfect love and lives.

While delving into the intricacies of our relationship with God, Sheen also communicates these truths with an attractive simplicity and honesty. He structures his reflections around the 7 last Words of Christ and parallels them with the various parts of the Mass. He employs clear analogies that are easy to remember. For example, Sheen compares our participation during the Mass to a radio. He notes that we can only tap into the mystery of what is going on if we are tuned to the right station, if we strive to listen to the whispered desires of Our Lord for communion with our hearts. Through his straightforward examples and anecdotes, Sheen's own ardent, trusting love of Our Lord and His Mother quickly stokes the fire in the heart of his readers.

I'll close with part of a prayer Sheen includes in his reflection on the Consecration:

Consecrate these trials of my life which would go unrewarded unless united with Thee; transubstatiate me so that like bread which is now Thy Body, and wine which is now Thy Blood, I too my be wholly Thine.

I care not if the species remain, or that, like the bread and the wine I seem to all earthly eyes the same as before My station in life, my routine duties, my work, my family--all these are but the species of my life which may remain unchanged; but the substance of my life, my soul, my mind, my will, my heart--transubstantiate them, transform them wholly into Thy service, so that through me all my know how sweet is the love of Christ. Amen.