Good Humored, Spiritual and Packed with Common Sense

Mom to Mom, Day to Day by Danielle Bean

The subtitle of this book is "Advice & Support for Catholic Living" but I think that I'd call it "Down to Earth Advice for Mothers." This is a collection of short essays grouped under such subjects as How Can I Survive the Preschool Years Without Losing My Mind?, How Can I Fill My Marriage with More of "The Better" and Less of "The Worse?", and How Can I Get on Top of the Housework When It Feels Like I'm Smothering Under It?

I am long past the point of having little ones around the house but this is the sort of book that I certainly could have used back in those days. Bean combines practical advice with humorous anecdotes so that we know she's been there (in fact is there as her family is still young) with us on those days when just one more little detail is going to send a usually rational and loving mother screaming out into the yard. (Yes, I've been there too.)

She also puts the spiritual aspect into her advice so that a mother can remember the higher purpose behind the chaos of everyday life with small children. This is a book that not only a Catholic mother can use but one that any mother will find useful. True, in my days with toddlers, I was agnostic, but Bean's deft touch with proffering advice on any subject is that which most young mothers these days can use ... and I would have been no exception to that. In fact, as I was searching for the Truth, it might have made me think twice about Christianity in general.

Regardless, this is an excellent book. I am going to give my copy to a good friend and am planning on buying another for another young mother I know. It would make a wonderful gift for a baby shower if it comes to that. Bean's reassuring advice is just what any young wife and mother can use to make their life a little lighter, easier, and more loving on the days when nothing seems to go right.

Rosetta Stone's review is one that prospective buyers may find more informative than mine. Check it out.

The Weekend

I MISS HANNAH
Spring break is over.

ST. PATRICK'S DAY
In honor of the day, Rose mentioned that she had learned in U.S. History that the Irish were dreaded as immigrants because of the quantity of their drinking. "Oh, dear God, not more Irish!" is how she reported the town fathers reacting when the boats would come in. The only immigrants worse were the Scots because they enjoyed nothing more than a good fight to go along with their drinking, although they tended to live in the back country so that kept involvement with the towns to a minimum. Did I mention that Tom and I have a lot of Irish ancestry? We are a sad tribute to our hard drinking forebears.

Also, when at the grocery store the next day (note to self, avoid any contact with Greenville avenue for the entire length of St. Patrick's day), a Sudanese checker asked with a wide smile if I had been at "the celebration" yesterday. (The store is on Greenville where the parade goes.) I told him that although we had a lot of Irish in our backgrounds, we tended to avoid the parade. He then said with evident delight, "Oh, I was here at work but I enjoyed so much seeing all the happy people at their celebration. It was so much fun to watch! Why is it for the Irish?" Whereupon I gave him the quick story of St. Patrick and his day. He then said again, "It is a good day. I love to see everyone so happy and cheerful." I liked to get this completely neutral take on the "celebration."

LENTEN WATCHING AND READING
Rose began watching The Lord of the Rings trilogy (extended version, of course!) on Saturday. As soon as I saw it I couldn't pull away. It has been a long time since I've seen it and I had forgotten how much Peter Jackson had retained of the original themes. Good and evil, free will and choices, temptations, what constitutes a heroic effort ... what fantastic contemplation this has provided me for the weekend. We progressed through the second movie yesterday and halfway through the last one. I also began rereading the trilogy and am about halfway through the first book. Again, I am amazed at Tolkien's masterpiece. (Note to self: use this for future Lenten reading and watching. Note to others: see the sidebar for any links.)

HOLY TOAST

A late Christmas gift given to me by one of Hannah's friends ... Holy Toast. We were cracking up.

Owl and Shrew

Today's photos by this talented Estonian are so amazing that I called Hannah to make sure she saw them.

Poetry Thursday

A wonderful bird is the pelican,
His mouth can hold more than his belly can,
He can hold in his beak,
Enough food for a week!
I'm damned if I know how the hell he can!

Dixon Lanier Merritt

I Keep Telling Y'all, Georgette Heyer is the Best!

This is no bodice-ripper, but it is wonderfully romantic in a madcap sort of way. In fact, Heyer wrote it in 1934, and it’s a Georgian, not Regency period, if that matters (I believe it does, to some) but reading this thing was like watching one of my favorite screwball comedies of that era. The heroine is a humorous scamp, the hero - Gad, I fell in love with him! He only shows up in about a third of the book, but he is so well drawn, so clever and funny and wry, that he steals every chapter he’s in. The rest of the book is dominated by secondary characters who kept me in stitches, particularly the overindulging brother, Pel and his drinking/gambling buddy, Pom.

I picked it up yesterday and couldn’t put it down - read it right through the night...

I said, “no, it’s not sexy at all - but it IS romantic, but just tantalizingly so. What it is, is freaking hilarious.”

Now you don't just have to take my word for it (or even Mama T's word), you can see what The Anchoress has to say. And then get thee to a library or bookstore and pick up a Georgette Heyer book!

Conversion Stories Alert

HISTORICAL CHRISTIAN

At the end of the second day, in a Protestant store, I came across a book written by a Protestant pastor on the Holy Spirit, and how the Holy Spirit had worked in his life. As I read it, I got this eerie feeling. I recognized what he was saying, because I had already experienced it. What he was describing was the same thing that I had been experiencing all those years, beginning with my experience of the moon, which had led me on this journey to the very point where I was right then, reading that book.

My mind was in a jumble. He was talking about the Holy Spirit. The HOLY SPIRIT. Of GOD. Of the TRINITY, that thing I had heard about as a child in the Episcopalian church, the BIG Holy Spirit that was one of the three Persons of God, Father, Son, and HOLY SPIRIT.

Wait a minute. You mean, that thing, that “interior guidance system,” that little “spirit” that had been guiding me all those years, was no less than the real HOLY SPIRIT OF GOD, of which Jesus was also a part, that distant figure from my childhood that had meant so little to me before that I had abandoned and rejected it?

I felt like I was being electrified. I looked at my arm, and the hairs were standing straight out.

I bought the book, took it home, and read the whole thing cover-to-cover that night, my mind reeling the whole time: could it be true? Is this the real Holy Spirit that’s been guiding me all this time? Is Jesus the one I’ve been looking for all these years?

The short version of why Aimee became Catholic is good but for the really indepth stuff follow the links contained in that post, as I did, and read her dual series of "how I first came to encounter Christ" (where the excerpt above is found) and "how my experience of Christ has changed during my journey from Evangelicalism to Catholicism." Very good testimony and it personally touched me ... I wasn't exactly electrified as she describes but it definitely was being used by Jesus to get a specific point across to me.

JOHN C. WRIGHT
One of my favorite bloggers, whose books I am just beginning to explore, John C. Wright was interviewed by SCI FI Weekly. As fascinating as his thoughts from an author's perspective are, I was much more taken with his conversion story which is contained about halfway through the interview. For those who don't want to have to hunt down the story, I have taken the liberty of excerpting it in entirety below, although I encourage any sci-fi fans to read the whole interview. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

At some point after your first three epics were completed, you converted to Christianity, having been a resolute humanist before. How did this come about?

Wright: Now, this is a difficult question to answer, because to talk of these deep matters automatically provokes half the audience, and bores the other half. I will try to be as brief and delicate as I can.

Humanist is too weak a word. I was an atheist, zealous and absolute, one who held that the nonexistence of God was a fact as easily proved as the inequality of five and twice two.

However, my disbelief began to erode as fatherhood and war pressed upon me the realities of the world. I was a Stoic, a disciple of Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius, Cicero and Seneca, who say the ground of morality is duty; but I was also a liberal of the classical Enlightenment, which says toleration is the ground of morals. Both these strands in my philosophy were naïve: Humans cannot live by the strictness of the Stoics; humans ought not live by the laxness of the liberals, libertarians or libertines. The two strands did not match. Modern philosophy, which is based on self-interest or utilitarianism, is unsuited both for war and for fatherhood. Growing aware of the defects in my system, I sought something with more experience and wisdom.

Where is wisdom found? I read the deep thoughts of the most highly regarded thinkers of the modern age, and found them vain and shallow. The insights of Nietzsche, Freud, Sartre, Marx, Wittgenstein and other luminaries of the modern world contained simple errors in logic a schoolboy can dismiss with a laugh. Each in his own way asserted that man was irrational, and the truth unknowable: But if so, how did they prove this unreason? Using reason, or otherwise? And how exactly did they come to know the truth that truth was unknowable?

In popular culture, the books influencing the morals and values of the current age, such as Stranger in a Strange Land or Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, read like they were written by a Man from Mars, or a mental patient. They know nothing of real life.

The salient characteristic of modern philosophy is a speculative disconnection from reality. Michael the Martian and Karl Marx expect the super-humans to live together without jealousy or scarcity of resources. Money will simply overflow the collection plate, and anyone can take as much or as little as he likes. But what if someone is dishonest or selfish, comrade? Ah, but the theory does not allow for that.

In contrast, the writings of C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, G.K. Chesterton, Evelyn Waugh, all read like things written by mature men. The ancients, Aristotle, Plato, Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, Seneca, Cicero, Aquinas and even Augustine, solidly prepared the ground from which a sane, mighty and just civilization could be grown.

I reached a point in my life where on all divisive questions of morals and manners, I agreed with no one other than my hated enemies, the Christians. I knew in my cool atheist heart they must be wrong in theory; I could not explain how they were correct in practice.

I began to read history. The modernists are right to fear it. Once a man knows the context and origins of the ideas of modern times, it becomes increasingly difficult to maintain faith in them. It becomes impossible to condemn Western civilization for shortcomings that fall short only of ideals unique to Western civilization. It becomes impossible not to notice Western civilization is nothing other than Christendom.

The conclusion pressed on me was that modern thought is a parasite on Christianity, and has no intellectual life outside her. The basic motif of the modern intellectual, one endlessly repeated, is of a man sawing off the branch on which he sits. The moderns delight in assertions that, if taken seriously, would disprove the axiom used to make the assertion.

The profoundly unserious nature of modern thought astonished me, and still does. I stump my secular friends by asking them to explain to me why cannibalism is wrong. Their humanist doctrines are insufficient to give a reason for humane humanity.

History told me that everything I admired about the noble and great-souled pagans still survived in Christianity: Aristotle was still alive in Aquinas, and nowhere else. The cool rationality of Athens had been preserved by Rome. Everything in paganism from which the civilized mind recoils, as slavery, infanticide, polygamy, sodomy, had been defeated by Christianity, and made a recurrence only when and where Christianity retreats.

I reached a point in my studies of history where I was forced to grit my teeth and conclude that the progress and enlightenment of Europe was due to Christianity, not despite it; and that when Europe departed from Christian roots, barbarism and darkness unique to the ideologies of the modern age descended. The crowning achievement of the rejection of Christian norms in modern times was communism: Its crowning achievement was death in such large numbers that only astronomers can grasp them.

I knew the Christians were evil in theory; I could not explain how so much unique good came from them.

Greatly daring, I attempted an experiment in prayer, addressing a Supreme Being I knew with deep certainty did not and could not exist. My prayer was quickly and awfully answered.

A miracle occurred. I suffered a supernatural experience and found all the foundations of my carefully examined and rigidly logical philosophy swept away as if by a tidal wave of blazing and supernal light. A great and powerful spirit visited me.

The whole thing was as simple and astonishing, as easy to explain and as hard to explain, as falling in love.

I am one of those rare creatures whose belief in the supernatural is due to empirical considerations. My mysticism is entirely scientific. Alas, the second step in the experiment, when the miracle occurs, cannot be reproduced before the eyes of skeptics.

Worse yet, the experiment was like toying with radium: I was mutated and changed by the exposure.

Being still a creature of pure logic, logic requires me to conclude either that I am mad as a March Hare or that my memory and perceptions were veridical.

There is insufficient evidence for the first theory, and Occam's razor cuts against it: Assuming everything was actually coincidence or an act of the subconscious mind, would be merely to assume that these things, coincidences and the subconscious, act with more power and foresight than empiricism can confirm. It is what Karl Popper called a non-disprovable assumption. Not science: an article of faith.

I am left with the second explanation, a simpler one, postulating fewer entities: I saw whom I saw and He is that He is. My integrity as a philosopher, not to mention my pride as a man, will not allow me the evasion of a return to my former beliefs, much as I might respect them. The world is far odder than I would have believed. The oddest thing of all is joy.

Sharing the Mirth

Too, too funny. Find more at Inherit the Mirth.

Trinitarian Beauty

In the Trinity God loves himself without any shadow of egotism and admires himself without any shadow of narcissism.

Trinitarian beauty is a wide area to explore. It is, like the Persons themselves, a beauty of relationship. It consists in beautiful relationships; it is the synthesis between unity and diversity. The least inadequate images of this beauty are from music and dance. In musical harmony, every note derives from its beauty from its relationship to the other notes. When a man and woman dance together, every movement derives its beauty through each partner's coordination with the movement of the other. Beauty is the three divine Persons facing each other from the beginning with a joyful and silent gaze.

Contemplating the Trinity: The Path to Abundant Christian Life by Fr. Raniero Cantalamessa

Something for us to meditate upon.

A Blogger a Day, Makes The Catholic Guy Happy

I'm going to be interviewed on "The Catholic Guy," hosted by Lino Rulli, to discuss Happy Catholic live around 4:40 ET (which is 3:40 to me). It airs on The Catholic Channel on Sirius Satellite Radio, 159. They have a blogger a day on there ... now if only I had it so I could hear what some of my favorite bloggers sound like!

He's gotten rid of the Fu Manchu (good move!). Looks as if his Lenten penances are giving up pizza and rooting for the Yankees. Poor guy, no wonder he looks so sad!

What Great Writers Those Guys Are!

There are two great posts up at Sigmund, Carl and Alfred (and you thought they could only shrink your head!).

Of Burning Bushes, Places, and Time looks at suffering. I know he isn't Catholic but (and, of course, this is a compliment) he could be with this meditation on what we learn from suffering.

First, we learn the easy lessons. To find God in nature, and beauty and music requires only minimal insight. As we progress through life, we learn to see God in the challenges and heartbreak that we all experience. That requires a more sophisticated set of skills. Finally, we learn to see God through loss and pain and suffering. That requires yet another set of skills- and that also requires the kind of humility learned from lessons of life.

In our times of pain, suffering and loss, God is not abandoning us. In fact, He is closer to us than ever, because pain and loss are the other side of the Creation coin. In the same way God oversaw Creation, He oversees loss.

We cannot claim to know God until we have experienced real fear, pain, loss and suffering. We cannot claim to be secure in our faith until the strength of that faith is tested and reaffirmed. We cannot claim to know God until we are comfortable in knowing that we are not all knowing.

The Milkman shows us the life of a good man and loving father whose impact goes far beyond what some would call his humble place in life. Which Siggy shows us is not humble at all.

Mr. Smith dutifully completed his rounds, everyday, delivering milk and eggs, cheese and butter, to those who felt sorry enough for him to pay the extra few cents so he could make a living and raise his daughters. My parents were among the clients who got to know him and appreciate his ever happy disposition.

The milkman would regale his clients with his weather predictions, warnings of traffic safety and stories of his growing daughters. He would beam with pride as he recounted every prize and spelling bee won, every report card and every milestone passed. I thought that kind of pride was silly and believed my mother or father only feigned interest in Mr Smith's stories, because they felt sorry for him.

When I became an uncle and then a parent and began to watch the children of my closest friends take their first tentative steps in life, I understood that my parents weren't feigning interest at all in the well being of Mr Smith's daughters...

Do yourself a favor and go read both stories in their entirety.

The Great Global Warming Swindle

Wow.

Want to know who some of the people are who don't agree that global warming is caused by human activity? Scientists go on the record in this documentary. Go watch.

Note that we're not saying that we shouldn't still be conservationists ... just that we need to take a closer look at this issue, who is pushing it, and why. And, in those immortal words, follow the money. Via Wittingshire.

Orson Scott Card also has a column on this.

What can I say? Beware the hockey stick chart, my child ...

Quick Reviews

Wrong About Japan by Peter Carey
Peter Carey tells the story of how he and his twelve-year-old son become fascinated by manga and anime. In an attempt to see how these reveal the Japanese psyche they go to Japan to meet some of the creators of various famous works. In the process, they discover that it is practically impossible to really discover the REAL Japan (or the real Japanese psyche). However, this is a completely charming and light read, fascinating for anyone who is interested in either anime or manga, even fairly peripherally as I am. The most interesting part of the book for me was when Carey and a Japanese friend begin watching My Neighbor Totoro. The friend's conversation showed in a fascinating way just how many unspoken Japanese cultural markers are in even the beginning of that seemingly open children's tale. Recommended.

Little Miss Sunshine
I was completely disinterested in this tale of beauty pageants for children until Hannah, a friend, and my mother all recommended it. As all three appreciate very different styles of movies, I was intrigued. No one told me that this actually was an indie movie (with a Hollywood advertising budget) about a road trip taken by a dysfunctional family to get the youngest (and most normal) family member to a beauty pageant that she has qualified for by a fluke. Not as complete as it could be (as is the case with many indie movies) this is still a charming movie with many funny moments that become even funnier when discussed later (much the same as The Castle in my experience). Recommended.

The Devil in a Forest by Gene Wolfe
I have been defeated several times trying to read Gene Wolfe books. His style is not easy, as you can hear in a recent Starship Sofa discussion. However, so very many St. Blog's Parish readers have recommended him that I keep trying, feeling that it is my problem. Finally, victory! This is a deceptively simple tale of a simple village long ago that has a peaceful life torn apart by a ruthless bandit and a band of king's men. The reader is kept wondering who the "good guys" really are. This is a story whose focus spins into a completely different viewpoint with the last line of the story.

I realize that this is one of Wolfe's older works and that is probably the answer to my problem ... to go back and start towards the beginning, working my way forward. This may also be the answer to my Tim Powers problem, which is similar, although it is not that I don't get Powers books. It is that I lose interest about halfway through them. Enough with the teasing, let's get to the meat of the story. Based on Amazon comments about "simpler than usual" stories, I am going try earlier Powers' works also to see if that helps.

Talk Tax Code to Me, Baby

STRANGER THAN FICTION
Most people have heard of the interesting premise of this movie. Harold Crick (Will Ferrell) is an IRS auditor with an incredibly dull life. One day he begins hearing a woman's voice narrating his every action. Unbeknownst to Crick, he actually is the protagonist in author Karen Effiel's (Emma Thompson) latest novel. We are shown dual realities as Ferrell tries to discover why he is hearing the voice and Effiel investigates method after method of killing off her character. When Ferrell hears the voice mention his impending death the search takes on a new urgency. He then enlists the aid of a literary professor (Dustin Hoffman) and Crick's life takes new turns as he begins to incorporate the professor's advice into his life. I am loathe to say more about the plot as this is about as much as I knew when watching the movie and I don't want to ruin it for anyone. (I will discuss some of my other thoughts in the spoilers below.)

What I can say is that this movie is an unexpected delight, as unique and original in its own way as About a Boy was, and that is high praise indeed. One of the charms is that although it was loaded with big talent no particular actor took precedence over another.

The biggest unexpected delight were the last few minutes of the movie which suddenly refocused our eyes on life in an entirely different way. It then becomes redemptive and life affirming in a way that not only affects every character in the movie but allows us to see the world in a new way as well. Intrigued? Good. Go see this movie.

(HC rating: Nine thumbs up!

SPOILER ALERT!

• I found the little counting/measuring device that overlay many of the scenes to be distracting and of no value whatsoever. It was clever but we got the point without it.
• I was really bothered by the way that practically every living space was sterile and sparsely furnished, with no decorations. The only exceptions were the baker's home and bakery, and the professor's office which all had a warm, homey feel. These characters are the only ones with fairly fulfilled lives and this shows in their environments as well.
  
• I really enjoyed the way that we were shown the author's imagined methods of death by using the little boy on a bike and the job seeker every time. I also enjoyed the fact that, as time went on, the job seeker's life obviously did also as she became employed.
• I liked seeing the author's agony as she realized that if Harold was real then there was the possibility that she had killed eight other "real" people. This was not just in the service of her art. There were real lives who had been ruined.
  
• As we got closer to the end of the movie and it became increasingly clear that Harold's death was inevitable, accepted even by him, I became angrier and angrier. Also fairly obvious was the idea that he'd have to save someone's life to make his own death necessary. However, that didn't help much, considering that the main proponent for his death was the professor who claimed it would be necessary for a great piece of literature. Is this the cost of art? No, indeed. So I just got angrier. Then when I saw the death scene ... what a cliche! This, to me was one of the weakest points. If this book was a great piece of art, then the death scene should have been a tad more original, n'est ce pas?
• Of course, the brilliant, final author's narration pulls the entire story together and spins the focus around in such a way that you see that self-sacrifice, freely offered, is an action that cannot be denied and that changes everyone who sees it. Not only is Harold redeemed but the professor stops just lifeguarding and enters the water himself. The writer also is transformed. She looks terrible throughout the movie, as if she's about to die herself, chain smoking, red eyed, hasn't published a novel in ten years, and is suffering from writer's block so severe that the publisher sends her an "assistant" to push progress along on time. When we see her at the end of the movie, she looks healthy and peaceful, even when contemplating rewriting the rest of the book, and thereby undertaking a complete departure from her usual methodology. Harold's willing sacrifice shook her our of her rut and made her see that there could be a better story, a more worthy story, to tell. That the little things like a warm cookie, the touch of a hand, a hug, a little act of kindness are truly the things that can transform our lives and make them worth living. It is also part of the genius of this movie, that such hackneyed phrases can take on a new and redemptive life when the viewer is seeing them ... and that is because they are true.
  

The Reason Jesus Told the Parable of the Prodigal Son

The parable of the prodigal son is my very favorite parable. It is one of those with so many layers of meaning and also one to which we all can relate, whether it is with the prodigal or elder son.

It is easy to understand the prodigal son's story. Sadly, it took me a very long time to even understand what the problem was with the elder son's complaints. They seemed pretty reasonable to me. Which says a lot about my basic personality. However, be that as it may, it wasn't until I was reading it in one of the Mass readings last week that I suddenly saw that this parable is not really equally about the two sons. Although the struggles of both are important, Jesus is telling this parable to the Pharisees in response to their complaints about the time he spends with sinners. The whole point of this parable is the complaints of the elder son and the father's pleading with him. That may not be news to anyone else but it sure hit me like a ton of bricks.

Often I will hear complaints about the way that Scripture is edited to fit into the Mass readings. I must admit that I also often wish we could have the whole passage. However, this is one case where I am grateful for the editing because otherwise, I would have missed this point. What is cut out is several other parables that Jesus tells first to make His point. All this time, those other parables, good as they also are, have distracted me from really getting the point.

The tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to listen to him, but the Pharisees and scribes began to complain, saying, "This man welcomes sinners and eats with them."

So to them he addressed this parable.

Then he said, "A man had two sons, and the younger son said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of your estate that should come to me.' So the father divided the property between them.

After a few days, the younger son collected all his belongings and set off to a distant country where he squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation.

When he had freely spent everything, a severe famine struck that country, and he found himself in dire need. So he hired himself out to one of the local citizens who sent him to his farm to tend the swine. And he longed to eat his fill of the pods on which the swine fed, but nobody gave him any.

Coming to his senses he thought, 'How many of my father's hired workers have more than enough food to eat, but here am I, dying from hunger. I shall get up and go to my father and I shall say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as you would treat one of your hired workers."'

So he got up and went back to his father. While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him.

His son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son.'

But his father ordered his servants, 'Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Take the fattened calf and slaughter it. Then let us celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.' Then the celebration began.

Now the older son had been out in the field and, on his way back, as he neared the house, he heard the sound of music and dancing. He called one of the servants and asked what this might mean. The servant said to him, 'Your brother has returned and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.'

He became angry, and when he refused to enter the house, his father came out and pleaded with him. He said to his father in reply, 'Look, all these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders; yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends. But when your son returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf.'

He said to him, 'My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours. But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.'"

Luke 15: 1-3; 11-32

We Have a Word For It ... And Here's Why

Parasite

In the first use of this word in its original form in Greek -- parasitos -- it referred to someone who was given a free room or meal in return for flattery. It comes form the Greek prefix para-, meaning "beside" and sitos, meaning "food." It was used with the same meaning in English until the 1700s, when the meaning shifted to refer to plant and animal life forms that live off of other life forms.

The Word Origin Day Calendar

"And yes, the Spartans were creatures of honor, willing to fight and die to the last. By God, sir, they were almost man enough to be Virginians."

John C. Wright.

Making me want to see 300 ... thanks to this and this.

Hearing the Truth

Or maybe it was not his [Judas'] own safety that motivated him. Maybe he just fell out of love with Jesus. That happens sometimes. One day you think someone is wonderful and the next day he says or does something that makes you think twice. He reminds you of the difference between the two of you and you start hating him for that -- for the difference -- enough to being thinking of some way to hurt him back.

I remember being at a retreat once where the leader asked us to think of someone who represented Christ in our lives. When it came time to share our answers, one woman stood up and said, "I had to think hard about that one. I kept thinking, 'Who is it who told me the truth about myself so clearly that I wanted to kill him for it?'" According to John, Jesus died because he told the truth to everyone he met. He was the truth, a perfect mirror in which people saw themselves in God's own light.

Bread and Wine: Readings For Lent And Easter

Now that is truly a different way to think about Jesus and how he shows the truth. Although I knew that he was killed by people who didn't want to know what Jesus was saying, I really never thought about applying it to my own life. Of course, it isn't in the nature of most of us to want to kill someone for telling the unflinching truth. However, I would venture to say that most of us know people (if not ourselves) who avoid God or various aspects of faith because they just can't handle the real, honest-to-goodness truth. Something to ponder over and apply to my own life, I think.

Is That One or Two Degrees of Separation?

A printing rep of ours, who has become a friend over many years of doing business together, has a talented son who has a band in Austin (for those who may not know, Austin is a big music center).

Tom just found out yesterday that the son will have a song in Spiderman 3. We have heard of the many hopes that this band has had during our friendship so I am very pleased for both the proud father and his talented son.

There is a chance that the song will be in one of the trailers. If so, once I know, I'll clue y'all in to which one.

Attachment to Sin

We all have them, however much we may not like to think about it. Recently, having read the first four chapters of St. Teresa of Avila's Interior Castle, my friend Marcia and I have had frequent conversations about Teresa's insistence that our souls are so glorious and immense that if we could see them clearly then we would understand just what damage sin does to us.

Cathy from Recovering Dissident Catholic and I have been having a little chat via comments boxes about the need to be aware of the damage done by venial sin. Indeed, this is often a problem for me. I attribute it to my entirely secular background, perhaps wrongly. I know venial sins are a problem but have trouble getting all worked up over them. When it is time for confession I am usually brought to it by having to ask the Holy Spirit to show me what is a problem. Thankfully (though I always regret it), He always comes through, usually immediately. I then have one problem after another with a hasty temper or some other thing I have managed to forget about. And off I go to the confessional ...

God seems to have been working on me lately through books (no surprise there, right?). Having read Inferno (a Dante-lite of sorts) I was brought to a new awareness of venial sin in my own life. Darwin's Lenten series on Dante's Divine Comedy has also been of immense help in keeping these sins before my eyes. Unlike some friends who have a problem with feeling guilty and letting go of sins, I suffer (and I use "suffer" advisedly) from the opposite problem of feeling as if my sins are so small that they seem as if they don't really matter. I know intellectually that this is not the case, however, knowing is not the same as feeling which is often what sends me to confession. Hence, these constant reminders are very good indeed for me.

This post was prompted by reading Adoro te Devote's recounting of a dream. Reading it from the outside the meaning seemed crystal clear and I again was sent back to considering my own soul. The images are vivid and disturbing (though not gory or unnecessarily disturbing) and just what I need to keep in mind. Her comments about complacency hit home as if she'd been aiming for a target on my forehead.

I woke up then, shuddering, wondering why I had been so complacent in that dream?

I often pray the rosary on my way to work, and that morning, as I prayed, the images from that dream pulverized me...and so I let the images come, praying all the while, asking God what I was supposed to gain from this?

And He answered.

Go read the whole thing at Adoro te Devote. Confession anyone? I'll be in line next Saturday for sure.

Amazing Nature Photography

Y'all have simply got to go check out the photos on pildiblog. I'd feature some here but I'm afraid of his copyright statement. Do go take a look.