The Sign Around My Neck Says Welcome

I realized the other day that it had been five years since I really bought make-up. Y'know, went into a nice store, got a lady to help me, et cetera. Thanks to Tom, I had a gift card burning a hole in my pocket and on Saturday got the chance to head to ye olde Sephora shoppe and see what damage I could do.

(As a side note, man, has that place changed. Granted, I don't think I've been in a Sephora since...2007...but still, wow. Also everyone there was fourteen. How can fourteen-year-olds afford $60 foundation and $45 blush brushes?) 

I had a list of things I was looking for and asked for help. The lady I asked was only a floor manager, who then assigned me a makeup artist - like I said, very different from the last time I was there. The guy who came over to greet me was a very sassy, immaculately-coifed gay man. I explained what I wanted and he was very helpful, showing me a few options, explaining the pros and cons while being conscientious about price points. Suddenly, in the midst of our consult, he stopped me and said "Oh, I love your medal. That's the Blessed Mother, isn't it?" Yes, of course, it was - he recognized Mother Mary on my royal blue medal I bought in Sacré-Coeur, years ago, while on pilgrimage. I explained where I got it, how long ago. He pulled out from his black button down a lovely medal of St. Jude - "he's my guy!" he said emphatically, patting his heart. We went back to the point at hand, connection made.

As I was dallying around the brushes, I was offered a free facial. I agreed, despite not really knowing what a facial was. "Just 30 more minutes, OK?", I fired off to Tom, occupied a few storefronts down at the playground with the kiddos. The lady doing my facial was very kind and we got along great. She was chatting to me about her six children and her grandkids, life, Filipino food, and her boyfriend - who she hates calling her boyfriend because she's a mature lady and it sounded like a teeny-bopper term. Tom walked down as we were finishing up, whereupon Zuzu clambered up into my lap to tell me she was 'a queen!' To which I replied (as is standard in our house), "But who is Queen of Heaven and Earth?" She grinned big and cried "Mother Mary!" My facial lady laughed and said, "hmmm...guess you guys are Catholic!" Turns out she was too, and we chatted about our love for our faith and its firm rules. I had to run, everyone was hungry, so I said goodbye and rushed back.

Back to my real life.

I was struck by the fact that both of these people had a connection to the Church, a connection that was real and living.  I don't know whether they would call themselves Catholic, but I do know that despite both of them having an situation that we would not call 'normal' within the Church (a gay man who had a boyfriend, a mother of six with a live-in boyfriend), they were holding onto their faith in some way. The truth is that when someone has a true experience of Love within the Catholic Church, it stays with them - it stays with them and often they hold onto it, no matter what else changes or sways - and I believe it stays with them because they know the Church is home. The Church is home for everyone - the Church holds herself out to be the place we can all come, every single soul on earth, and find refuge and love and hope. You do not have to know the protocol; you do not have to be perfect; you do not even have to be Catholic. The Church is your mother and she will love you as you are - even when her love looks like rules about not leaving your socks on the floor.

I was so glad to be reminded of these truths by these encounters that were sparked by my medal. The truth is, I don't wear my medal every day like I used to - I like to switch it up, wear different items and oftentimes, no jewelry at all, since lots of little hands do lots of grabbing at me all day long. But I should wear it everyday: wear it as a sign that we, the Catholic Church, are waiting to welcome you, people of the world. Every day, in every country on earth, we are still here and we are waiting, and we always will.

I'm Ignoring All of You

It's official.

I am no longer interested in any type of disagreement on the internet.

At first it was gradual, but then it became a monsoon and now it's official: I am ignoring all of you who are posting about any kind of 'war.' Catholic wars, mommy wars, culture wars, wars on women or drugs or the homeless. Consider this my virtual truce, my declaration of cyber pacifism, my white flag: I am laying down my weapons and checking out.

I have struggled about all that Pope Francis has written along with the rest of you, generally faithful/orthodox/just-want-doctrine-to-be-doctrine Catholics. I resonated a lot with Dr. Popcak's piece and his struggles with our Holy Father's interview. I found Calah's post to be very moving.. But for now, I've decided to just stop listening to the MSM (main stream media) or the CM (Catholic media) or anyone else and just...do what the Holy Spirit and the Pope are asking: get off my ass and live my faith.

And while I am sometimes genuinely interested in how other people parent, mostly I do not care - and the more I read about it, the more I might START caring and that I do not want to do. I get up and try to love my baby, but so far, we haven't hit any issues where I've said "I need help, I don't know what to do." It's not like that's a shocker - she isn't even a year old. She can't talk. We're still working on mobility here, people. I don't need to read everybody else's nasty words about why they potty train at six months/eat only a vegan diet/breastfeed till age ten/spank/ don't spank/ kill people who spank, etc.

I realized lately that I really need to stop seeing people who disagree with me as the enemy. I finally got it into my head that even if someone is a liberal, commie, gay-marriage-loving vegetarian who hates guns, that Christ died for THEM. Them as they are, not perfected and believing all the right things, but His mercy is extended to them as they are. Meditating upon the parable of the prodigal son has been very helpful to me because the father ran to the son before he even apologized or spoke a Word; I have to think that God might be happy that people are coming to Him, even if they are coming to him wounded and messed up. It's kind of sad it took me so long because, really, God came to me as I was - an immodest pro-choice tattooed girl with a potty mouth and more baggage than a Kardashian.

I don't want to stop believing or passing on the Truth. I won't change my mind that abortion is wrong, that gay marriage is bad for society, or that bikinis are immodest. But I want to start focusing on people more than issues, faces more than policy points. I'm tired of having to decide who I can really invest in based on whether or not they agree with what the Church teaches at this exact moment. I need to stop giving myself reasons why I don't have to be kind, or patient, or reach out to that person. Because if my mentors had been the way I am, I never would have become Catholic - it never would have even interested me - it would have passed me by as yet another clique-y group on campus, instead of entrancing me for the saving message that it is.

All that to say - I'm still reading your blogs, honest. But I'm going to stop giving you mental space when you start gearing up for battle because...I'm in the field hospital, along with everybody else.

The Appearance of Jesus

In the accounts of the Resurrection that we have from the Gospels, we see that Christ appeared first to the women, but then over some time, to greater and greater groups of people. From the Apostles in the upper room, to the two men on the road to Emmaus, Christ appeared to each in time, to confirm what they were hearing from Mary Magdalen: He is Risen.

Easter was here a week ago, and will continue through Pentecost, yet I have not been feeling like an "Easter people." It did not seem that Christ had appeared, not to me. I saw and felt him at the Easter Vigil, but once the night was over, doubted my own eyes. Still being mostly without female companionship and tired, I missed my parents as soon as they left on Easter Sunday and although I was glad to get the week with Mr. Oram, I was disappointed that my 12th week of pregnancy was not bringing me instant energy.

And then He appeared to me. He began to whisper to me on Friday, telling me He had need of me, kept gently tugging on my heart on Sunday, but I didn't truly hear Him until today. Today He said to me, I have people who are in need of you and I will give you the strength to minister to them. Today He appeared and said, you must be my mercy to a hurting world. Today, for the first time in three months, I felt someone needed me. Two friends are struggling and asked for help; two teens came to me and sought counsel. I was able to help, I had something to give.

I tried to express to one of the friends today - it is a blessing to be able to help, to be asked. If you are in a situation where you are hurting or need your Christian community, please reach out. You never know who you are blessing by asking them to bless you. Christ appeared to me today, and just like Mary Magdalen, I ran to show others. I was able to go to others and offer them Christ, and that has revived my soul such that I cannot express! I came home tonight and cleaned my house - for the first time in three months! I had the energy, the joy, and the sense of sacrifice to offer my housework for my friends, for my husband, for reparation for my own sins.

This may seem so small, but today, tying on that apron, and scrubbing the sink, I wanted to yell with joy. When Jesus appears to me, it becomes a blessing to serve.

Reality Check

I took Mr. Oram to work this morning at 6:30am, so that I could have the car for the day until I came until work later. Couldn't get back to sleep when I got back, and so for the rest of the day as I've done my work (sung one Mass, worked on next year's youth ministry budget, planning for tonight's youth ministry meeting), I've been thinking "oh I'm so tired, oh I'm so achy, gosh I wish I could go to bed, I hate that my husband has to work weekends" and on and on and on.

Then I got the chance to talk to one of my teens. She's in tears as soon as she sees me and tells me what's going on in her life. It's painful, horrible stuff - soul-forming, gut-wrenching really grown-up type of stuff. It's the same kind of horrible things I had to face at her age, that I swore I would never let my kids face at her age, that I have dedicated a small part of my life to trying prevent youths from experiencing at any age. It broke my heart.

Me in college with two of my best guy friends, pre-Catholic

I'm so proud of her for coming to Mass today, even though what she wants to do is stay home and shut out God forever. I'm so proud of her for talking to me, even though she probably didn't want to hear what I might have to say. I'm so proud that when I said, "this Church is your family, will always be your family," her response was a smile and a nod and "I know."

Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for Divine Mercy Sunday, for bringing that teen here today, for providing that sweet child of yours a chance to hear your message that your Love overcomes all sins, all fears, all obstacles, even death. Thank you that I have left my former life behind, that I'm no longer a lost 19 year old looking for truth amidst lies, that you have brought me to a place of healing, redemption, and peace. Thank you for my husband and the child in my womb, because these were dreams I cherished in my broken heart even at my worst.

My reality is Good. I can only bear witness to what Jesus' saving power and press deeper into the heart of our Wounded Healer.

The (former) Atheist Easter

Growing up, I have vague memories of maybe once or twice getting an Easter basket- my apologies to my mum if it was far more frequent than that! But Easter was never a focus for us, we who didn't believe in God. Unlike Christmas, there hasn't been any grand secularization of Easter, so what was there for us to do? Easter was a blip for us, a non-holiday, something my Christian friends did. I associated it with tacky fake grass, tons of chocolate, and getting dressed up. Why the heck did they call it a religious holiday, anyway??

It was probably even more confusing because most of my friends were Protestants, so it's not like they had been denying themselves candy all Lent! 

Easters even after being Catholic have been fairly anti-climactic! My favorite ones are when my mom or dad came into the Church, and then it was  BLAST! But it still bears little resemblance to what my friends talk about: big dinner with the whole family after everyone goes to Mass together. This year, my parents are coming to our house for Easter and I am beyond excited. I want to start our own family traditions and celebrate it up big style! But I don't know what a traditional Easter meal looks like, I don't know how to dye Easter eggs (or when to do that...), I don't know if there are any movies associated with this holiday...

So tell me, if you would, dear readers: what are your Easter traditions? Help me figure out how to celebrate this holiday with all the splendor it deserves!! 

Misanthrope

The truth is, I am not a people person.


 It was not until I read "A Florence King Reader" that I felt I could truly identify with someone on this issue (which is saying something, considering Florence is the beloved lesbian monarchist and Anglican who maintained weekly column in the National Review for years) Florence is witty, biting, and not just a little bit tired of humanity. I am not sure that this is entirely virtuous, but I feel like I know everything she is saying. The large majority of human talk and squabble I feel I could quite comfortably ignore for the rest of my life. Walk away and live in a log cabin with dogs, occasionally waving at the postman, hammering away on some ancient typewriter and having an evening pipe and whiskey. I could clomp around in waders and wear plaid, say things like "confounded machine!" while whacking my cast iron stove with my walking stick.

One of my favorite magazines and also the way I want to dress. 

But maybe the deeper truth is, 'tis life that's made me this way. In looking for a picture of myself to typify my attitude towards humanity, I couldn't find any of me alone. All were of me in groups, looking relatively happy. I love my friends, so perhaps what's really  happened is - now they all feel so far away, and the nature of friendship has changed. How does one maintain friendships after marriage? When suddenly living 10 minutes apart and having busy schedules feel like insurmountable obstacles - what then? Suddenly, all that fills my personal landscape are short phone calls, short and polite conversations with neighbors, or else dinners wherein we pat each other on the back for believing the same thing. 

What does true community look like, after one is married? This I have not been able to discern, and in my poverty of spirit, have instead started to become a misanthrope, disillusioned and generally isolated. I suppose I will have to learn, but in the limbo between "just" being a wife and being a mother to a baby, it has seemed a bit...difficult. Have I made it so? I do not have children to make mommy-friends with, and my single friends have more freedom than I. To be honest, my heart yearns for them - all the dear girls that made me the best version of myself. 

St. Patty's Day 2009: me, Colly, and Jen (Tom is taking the picture)

Ally, me, and Jen in France, 2007

Law school break - Erin treated me to an Auburn game!

Oldie but goodie - April, me, and Shae for homecoming spirit day in high school. Go Bears!

My Head is Exploding

Whelp, it's Friday morning. Today my in-laws are leaving, after 9 nights and 10 days of staying in our house. Later today, I am driving east (3 hours). That's because I am staying with friends overnight, because I have a huge exam tomorrow (MPRE - ethical portion of the Bar), on that side of the coast. Also! We were invited to a swanky-swanky gala thing tomorrow night, so tomorrow after the MPRE, I will drive 3 hours home, and get ready to go to a black-tie ball.

Did I mention that normally, getting out of bed and making breakfast makes me exhausted??

So, in about lets say 30 hours, I have to do the following things: study for my test (haha right not done doing that yet!), drive 3 hours there, find a floor-length dress that makes me feel attractive and doesn't cost a bajillion dollars (which will be quite a feat when all I feel is bloated and acne-prone), get a hair cut (no really this has to happen), at least get the chipped polish off my nails if not re-painting them let alone get a manicure, make sure the dress I find is either the right length (hahaha) or get it hemmed (I'm 5 feet tall!), get my picture taken at CVS (MPRE requires a passport sized picture), take the damn test, drive back 3 hours, hopefully take a nap, get ready for the gala, and then show up, looking not angry at these people for making me spend time and money just to show up looking half as horrible as I usually do. All of this, and all I'm hoping for is to pass the test and that no one will post pictures of the gala online so I never have to think about how I actually looked (in my head, I can pretend I was strutting it like Angelina Jolie, pre-leg psychotics).

In case you missed it...she did this all.night.long.

And yet despite all this, gentle readers, I have not only taken the time to write to you, but I am also going to direct you this lovely gem of an article I found on the internet. And because you all know that I am so hesitant to say what I think, I might as well come out and say: I disagree.

I grew up with a mom who never fed me fast food and didn't let me watch television. I grew up rarely getting less than an A and not disobeying my parents. Part of it, I'm sure, was my temperament, but part it was also knowing that my mother expected nothing less. For the record, my husband was exactly the same way (maybe that's why we like each other so much)...and so was his sister. I then went on to nanny for a woman who did the same thing with her kids. I have friends who parent this way as well. I wouldn't say I judge people who do differently as in thinking "you're a bad parent" but if I hear people say "I want to do that, but it's just not possible" my first thought is, "oh, you don't want to parent that way, okay."

Now wait! I'm this way with myself too. I completely believe I was lazy in law school and that's why I wasn't in the top 10. No amount of justification on anyone else's part can convince my otherwise. If you really want something, you do it. If I really wanted it, I would have gotten it. I believe I am not in the shape I want to be in because of my laziness and that this same laziness is the source of my less-than-stellar prayer life. I do not blame anything or anyone else; I blame myself.

I feel this should be the same thing with parenting. If you are not parenting the way you want to, then it's your own fault. Granted, some things we need to let go of (no one will be as clean as they think they will be when they're parents - no one), but in general, if not watching TV or no fast food, is really important to you, you would make it happen! This is the way people operate. All of these women lamenting that they can't parent the way they want are the ones that also make time for girls' trips to the beach, to have successful careers, to fit in their pre-pregnancy jeans - goals that are big achievements! These aren't lazy people. They are women who make decisions about what they will always do and what they will let go. They have decided that parenting, because it involves not only disciplining yourself, but also others, is too hard and so they will let go of some of their ideals. They don't want it bad enough.

I think this is acceptable - it's a part of life to realize what we can compromise on and what we can't. But lets not waste time saying that it's just part of parenting that we park our kids in front of TVs or feed them fast food. It's not. It's part of what these people have decided their parenting will be.

Now! Having enraged everyone just enough to ensure rabid anger, I am back to my exploding head! Adios!

Kony 2012

Allow me to pontificate about current events for a while - something I think I woefully regret when it comes to the wider world. Any thoughts of yours would be appreciated.

My wonderful sister-in-law (who should keep a blog cause when she did, it was hilarious) sent me a link to the famous Kony 2012 video. I watched it, and was impressed with the passion of the filmmakers, who have been at this for nine years, and their personal involvement with many of the victims. I love people who see a problem and want to find a solution, instead of just showing people "look how awful this is."

Joseph Kony, leader of the Lord's Resistance Army, a military group operating in central Africa, including Uganda. His most infamous crimes include kidnapping young children to make them sex slaves and soliders in his army; he forces them to work for him by slaughtering their families so that they have nowhere to go. 

Right after Tom and I got married, I woke up one day and realized I knew nothing about the Rwandan genocide. So I went to the library, got tons of books, read all about it online, searched news archives, and only then watched the famed movie "Hotel Rwanda." It blew me away that all this happened during my lifetime and I knew nothing about it. Rwanda's political situation now can barely be called stable, but at least it's not all out genocide. I was struck with sorrow realizing this happened under the watchful eyes of the world and no one did anything to help these people.

This is the Ntrama Catholic Church altar in Rwanda. During the genocide, people came here for sanctuary, only to be cut down and burned alive. Nearly one million people of the ethnic group Tutsi were murdered by the ethnic group the Hutus in 100 days during the summer of 1994. There was no distinction made between man, woman, or child. 

The situation in Uganda (from my 24 hrs worth of research) appears to be different. This is not purely a situation of ethnic cleansing, although there are ethnic tensions involved (Kony is a member of the Acholi ethnic group, which started it's military activities because it felt slighted by the Ugandan government, who they allege favors other southern ethnic groups more). Kony's army appears to be quite small at this point in time, about 250 armed members, and although they are still active, they are mostly on the run and in hiding. They are not active in Uganda at this point in time, but have moved to South Sudan, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and Central African Republic. The video in question calls for international pressure so that Kony will be arrested this year and brought to justice by the ICC (International Criminal Court).

A map of Africa. Uganda is the tiny purple country next to D.R. Congo; directly beneath it is Rwanda. 

There are many who have criticized the group running the publicity, the Invisibile Children Incorporation, claiming they keep too much of their funds. I am fairly dismissive of this. Without going into their finances too much, I think it's admirable what they're doing. Shouldn't there be people, prophets of our age, that stand up and cry: this is wrong! Even if we don't like the company, we can support their message and their point. It is wrong - this man should be brought to justice. They're not calling for him to be killed, they're calling for justice. That is a good thing to do.

And yet a part of me wonders. When the genocide in Rwanda was over, restoring a working peace was nearly impossible. Survivors talked about how the men who had raped them or tried to kill them were walking free, because they had not yet been prosecuted - or when they were, they got off or were only sentenced to a year. The man that took over the government after everything that happened is Paul Kagame, who led the Rwandan Patriotic Army (an army of Tutsis led to beat the Hutus and stop the genocide) and he is still the president - he has been the president (in reality, if not in title) now for 26 years. He alone controls the allegiance of the RPF and so holds all of the power in the country. The government owns all of the industries and major companies; there are rumors that Kagame actively supports discrimination against Hutus, doing nothing to quell the hatred and resentment between the two ethnic groups that started the genocide in the first place.

When we intervene in places where politics are vastly more complicated, in which corrupt government is a way of life, how can we ever be sure that we are doing any good?  I would have thought that the toppling of Saddam Hussein was a magnificent achievement, but you can see that brought us little support - from Iraqis themselves, from our own countrymen, from the world community. Did we do good in Iraq? That question may not be able to be answered yet. Of course I believe that Kony should pay for his crimes; they are ghastly. But I am unsure if we are the ones to make him do it. I have a feeling that if we remove him from power, the LRA will continue, or at the very least, ethnic conflict will not cease. Just as Iraq is not now a sparkling example of democratic government: it is now open to insurgents of all kind, waiting for a new dictator. I would hope that the use of child soldiers would cease with Kony's capture, but this practice is not limited to Uganda - it wasn't started there and it won't end there. Child soldiers are used in Chad, the DRC, Somalia, Haiti, the Phillippines, they were used in Chechnya, Libya, Afghanistan, and Sri Lanka.

Although I want to be swept away with fervor and belief that finding and charging Joseph Kony is a good move, a move for justice, one we can actually say "there we did good," I am caught. I wonder if we should intervene - I wonder if it will do more harm than good, due to forces we cannot now perceive.

Mirror of Justice, pray for us.

Speculum Justitia by Klauber, 1750

The Good, the Bad, and the Pregnant

I have only been pregnant for 7 weeks, but as a chronic over-thinker, I have experienced many emotions and thoughts in these short 7 weeks. To clue you all in on how crazy I am, I decided to write some of them down for you.

5 Serious Pregnancy Thoughts

1. I have been chosen for the holiest vocation on earth. The most perfect human being that ever lived was the Blessed Mother and her vocation was to be a wife and mother. I don't know why this didn't occur to me earlier, like when I got married, but for some reason it's just hitting me now. God is asking me to do what he asked Mary to do (to a smaller degree) - to care for and raise His child, to raise that child to be ready to accept the mission God has for him/her. This is an incredible calling and I often get weepy just thinking about it.

2. Pregnancy is motherhood bootcamp. I have had some morning sickness and food aversions, but definitely not as bad as others I know. Despite this, I have acquired the aura of a martyr for my slight pains - I am frustrated that I get sick easily, that I tire easily, that my body no longer belongs just to me. Nearly immediately, pregnancy forces a woman to sacrifice and suffer for the sake of her child. Although at first I was very frightened and more than slightly annoyed, I now realize that God has designed it this way for a reason. Motherhood, being like all other vocations, is a calling to love - and love is to will the good of the other, to sacrifice for their best good. God calls this to mind immediately by making the first trimester such a trial: I am made to focus, immediately and intensely, on the need to forget myself to care for this child. This has been humbling and very difficult, but incredibly important.

3. Christian community is essential. Tom and I originally wanted to wait to tell everyone we were pregnant - at least until we were out of the first trimester, especially since we had miscarried last time. But I found that not telling people was causing me a great deal of anxiety and fear - I had no one to pray with me, no community to rejoice and care for me, no one to speak to of my little one. I realized that even though we do not know what God has planned for our little one, that not speaking of him/her doesn't mean that they don't exist - and I would need the support of our community especially if God chose them for Heaven sooner than we'd like. So we told our parish this last weekend, and I am so glad we did. People cried, laughed, rejoiced with us - our priest blessed us, our friends blessed us, children came up to "say hi to the baby." As I looked at all the people that crowded around to congratulate us, I thought that how glad that I'm not trying to do this without them. Of course it will be hard if our child does not stay for long, but I need this community - I need their prayers, their blessings and support. I need grandmothers to talk to me about what to eat, friends to tell me my feelings are normal, little children to show me what faith is when they look reverently at my (unchanged!) belly. They are teaching me how to love my child through my fear.

4. I have no clue who I married. Don't get me wrong, I always knew my husband was kind and caring. Yet it hasn't been until now that I have realized the depth of his love and compassion. During my struggles with physical infirmity and emotional instability, Tom has cared for my every need. He went from never doing laundry (literally) and being very frugal about eating out, to doing all the housework and never saying a peep about whatever food request I made, with nary a complaint. On days when I feel I can't get out of bed, he insists I stay in and brings me whatever I can get down straight to my pillow. He asks if I'm staying hydrated, encourages me to take naps, and pooh-poohs my apologies about being abysmal at housework. I realize that I cannot be sure I would have been as patient and loving if he were to be ill, and it amazes me that he understands so thoroughly his vocation to love me through service and self-sacrifice. Pregnancy has brought me to a new appreciation of the gift that is my husband.

5. I am a selfish jerk. I don't think I ever realized this before. Don't laugh - I know that I'm a sinner, but I think I always had a problem thinking "well yea I'm not great, but hey Lord, at least I'm not THAT guy." My mom told me that she and my dad had been concerned about me getting married, because they both know how independent I am. But then they realized that Tom would always let me have my way and they relaxed (I'm not kidding - this is what she said!!). Yet when we started TTC (trying to conceive), my mom said she's had her concerns again. "I don't think you realize how independent you are," she explained to me over the phone. "You always find a way to do what you want - and what you want is usually some sort of adventure." I have never thought about myself that way, but I guess I can see where that comes from: I wanted to study abroad at Oxford, so I did; I wanted to go to Australia, so I did; wanted to leave DC and go to law school, so I did. I have never thought about life as having limits - to be fair, I don't think I was ever taught to (that's all you, Mom).
Now I am faced with this pregnancy and there are things I cannot do. I can't make it through the day without a nap. I can't eat whatever I want, either because of sickness or health concerns. I can't have a few margaritas. I can't run outside (no, really - I tried, and almost passed out). I am faced with physical limitations that I have never experienced before, since I have lived my life as a mostly healthy privileged young woman. It has been incredibly difficult for me - I resent not being able to drink, not being about to get through my day doing whatever I usually do, my need to ask for help. I have realized how selfish I am that I am so used to having my life my way and so begrudging about the slightest accommodation for the this blessing I have been praying for, for quite some time. I am not who I thought I was - because I was giving out of my excess, not out of my poverty. Now I am having to give from what I do not have to give - I do not have stores of patience and peace from which to draw. I am squeezing blood from my stony heart. It is an amazing experience to have during Lent - God is calling me to sacrifice and I am learning what that really means.

I am Waiting for a Child

That's what they call being pregnant in France - waiting for a child. And Tom and I, we are waiting for a child. We'll be waiting for about 33 more weeks. It seems like a long time at this point.

We've had some rough spots already: doctors concerned about my progesterone, etc. The prospect of weekly shots still lingers on the horizon, but for right now, baby seems to be doing just fine. We had the first sonogram on Monday and it showed a wee babe doing exactly what they should be, and a nice strong heartbeat. Tom got very excited, but I just started at the screen thinking "I swear the midwife is just pointing to another shadow...that doesn't look like anything, let alone a baby!!"

My wonderful in-laws come tomorrow, so I'll be excited to have new people around. I have had some "morning" sickness, so I feel like I don't get out as much as I used to - feeling a bit isolated. It'll be nice to have some company!

If you detect a lack of exclamation marks, not quite the jubilant air you'd expect one like me to have, forgive me, dear readers. I am waiting as best I can - through fear, and loneliness, and doubt. The days seem to stretch before me - an eternity until I can hold my child, be assured of his or her safety, really allow myself to believe that I am a mother. I know as time goes by, it'll be easier to be joyful...but right now I'm just waiting, as best I can.

To See Rightly

I wrote previously on trying to define myself via hobbies rather than by my vocation, a mistake that is too easy for me to fall into. This got me thinking about vocation. I was preparing for a talk to give to some high school students on chastity, and had to read up on the concept of "grace." After consulting my handy-dandy Catechism, I read again about how various types of graces helps us in various stages of our lives. Thanks, God! Good ideas in that book...

Sanctifying grace is what we receive before, but especially after, baptism. This is given to all of us, because we are all called to a universal vocation. We are also given sacramental graces, the aid necessary to worthily receive and live out the reception of various sacraments. This is not given to all, but only to those that are receiving that Sacrament: so priests do not receive the graces to be married, but they do receive the graces to take holy orders. We can also receive actual graces, or grace given to a person to deal with a particular situation they're facing.

Baptism of St. Augustine by Louis de Boulogne II

What really struck me is the sanctifying grace. Everyone receives it. Why do we all receive it? Because we all have the same universal vocation: we are all called to eternal life. Of course, we all have individual primary vocations that refer to our state of life: priest, religious, married, consecrated single. But these are the "many mansions" in the Father's house; the path remains the same for all. Each vocation consists in completely giving of ourselves for the other: your spouse, or the Church.

Yet we want to individualize, specialize ourselves: we want to believe that our path to Heaven is much, much harder than the next guy. This segregation of ourselves from our brothers happens especially in Catholic parishes, most of which are quite large. We have the knitting group, the young adults, the youth group, the moms group, etc. etc. And so we explain ourselves via these titles. Catholics in particular love adjectives. Conservative, liberal, orthodox, charismatic, cradle, cafeteria, convert. This is a great tragedy, for we all partake in the same Eucharist and are bound by it to call one another brothers.

The Institution of the Eucharist by Federico Barocci

The problem with segregating ourself by activity or age or state of life is that we do not see God's greater work. We start to focus on this one small portion of the tapestry of humanity, and so we start to see mostly what is wrong with it - we gossip about those in our own group, maybe dismiss those in other groups, or just believe what others say about them because they seem so far removed from us. I had this experience recently when a woman called me; a woman who is the favorite topic of gossip at our parish for her inappropriate dress and sharp temper. I join in just like everyone else, yet I realized when she called...I had never had a real conversation with her. Ever. A few polite hellos and such, but I could barely recognize her voice. I had dehumanized her by distance, made her my ticket to get along with others - oh here's a joke about this woman, this will break the ice because at least we all can't stand her.

What I want is to see my parish as a family: different in so many ways, but united in love. I want my own eyes to perceive her that way, so that I can treat her that way effortlessly. But until I do gain true sight, I will strive to treat her that way anyway. The Church is greater than we realize, there is a "cloud of witnesses" with us constantly - the Church militant forgets the Church triumphant, the saints, our Heavenly siblings that cheer us and intercede for us at the throne of God. I am working alongside future saints now, my siblings now. I must have the courage to see them.

Wee Small Hours of the Morning

I have gotten up at 5am, more or less, consistently, for the past five days. I love the cool morning air, and the utter silence of the world this early in the morning. Since my husband sleeps for another hour or three, I slip quietly out of the bedroom and pad to the back bedroom, dog silently following. There I read, pray, and ponder for about an hour, while the dog stretches, scratches, and lolls about on the floor. I've realize how hard it is for me to pray now, now that my habits have suffered so much. I will sit down to pray and then think, oh I haven't checked Twitter...or sit down to pray and then find myself picking up my phone, for no reason at all. I have already checked everything. I just am not used to sitting without a (usually electronic) distraction.

Early Morning Dew by Alistair MacNeill

My attempts at being consistent in my early morning prayer have brought to light a deep-seated belief I was previously unaware of. That is, I honestly believe that if I prayed as much as I should and was as holy as I should be, that everything else in my life would fall into place. That is, that every problem that I have with myself would be solved by a right ordering of my priorities, with prayer always coming in first. I believe that my house would be neat(er), I would be healthier, I'd manage my money more wisely, my relations with others would be easier. To a degree of course this must be true: the holier we are, the closer we are to union with God, who is perfection Himself.

Old Woman at Prayer by Nicolass Meas

But of course we also know that saints have the greatest trials. Saints lives are not perfect, though they are perfectly ordered. The concept of holiness as a perfect "Martha Stewart" life must be false: holiness is often messy. Shifting my priorities would necessarily mean at some point paying more attention to a person (friend who needs a visit) than to things (areas needing cleaning). Yet holiness should not equal busy-ness either! It does not mean volunteering for every committee at your parish. Holiness consists in doing exactly what God wants of us, in each moment.

Which reminds me that I'm using this blog post to procrastinate from praying...

I Dare to Post

Recently, I went on a facebook purging fest. I deleted over 250 friends and it was very liberating! Back when facebook was a baby, I thought it was a great idea to find every person I'd ever known and friend them. Childhood kids I hadn't met in ages, people from elementary school, all my high school pals, that one person I met at that college party that one time. Now that I've been to several more schools, I realize this was maybe not the best idea...I don't really want to keep in touch with all these people. Many of them are nice, good people, but...we're not actually friends.

So those that are left fall into two categories: actual friends (from all over) and law school peeps. I kept law school friends because it is really useful for networking purposes: if anybody posts about needing something down here, or if I need something where they are; that kind of thing. Despite this...I still find that I am hesitant to share all I want to share on fb. I read an article that I think is worthwhile, but I pause and think "this might offend some people..." I have several friends who are very liberal; I kept them on my fb because I am genuinely interested in their latest triathlon, or how their daughter did on her spelling test. Despite coming from disparate ends of the spectrum, I like them!

I have a lot of friends. At my wedding especially, I made 9 of them wear the same dress and dance to Journey.

But why do I hesitate to show them who I am and what I really think? They certainly don't hesitate to post every Huffpost article or Support PP petition, but here I am, worrying that they'll unfriend me or get in a nasty comment war. Whenever I see them post something to which I am opposed, I do one of two things: ignore it, or write them a personal message asking them several pointed questions. I don't comment, because I know it's usually a pointless waste of energy, and I don't defriend, because as I said, I like them. I think I am afraid that their like of me will not be enough to overcome their dislike of my opinions...in other words, perhaps they really don't like me, and I'm just trying to stave their inevitable discovery of that fact.

But I guess in the long run, it's better to just have them know and get the unfriending over with. It's unfortunate that friendships cannot be sustained with those who disagree...but I wonder also: am I obligated to allow all my friends to see every post? I have no problem hiding future baby posts, but I have also considered hiding some of my more controversial statuses from those who I know will just disagree, usually with unnecessary vulgarity. I worry that I'll be taking away some opportunity to actually communicate with these people about important issues, but I also know that they probably aren't interested in real dialogue either. Just telling me how they disagree and enjoying their superiority.

Maybe facebook is taking up too much space in my brain.

Knitting my Vocation

Maybe you're like me. I don't think I'm particularly crafty. My closets are stuffed with fun crafty projects that I never finished but refuse to get rid of in the futile hopes that I will complete them someday: t-shirt quilts, scrapbooks, anything with ribbon. And yet, I really believe that I will learn how to knit and cross stitch and quilt. And sew. And garden. Plus eventually I want to be the most granola, homeschooling mom ever. You know, all those ambitious dreams little girls have.

"Dreamer" by Куликов И. С. (Unknown) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

These desires form the backbone of my idealized self, the woman I long to be. Sadly, when I think of that vision of myself, I think I see more what I do, than who I want to be. Before my desire to be the consummate crafter, I was the perpetual student. I used higher education like some people use drugs or casual sex:  to "find" myself. Despite being Christian, I still believed my fulfillment would come through my work mostly - my secondary vocation. And since after each degree, I couldn't find a job that really made my heart leap, I thought I needed more preparation, more school. I had forgotten the words of Blessed John Paul II that "man cannot find himself except through a sincere gift of self."

Many couples naturally draw their identity from their children. The formation of children is a sanctifying work, and the more we pour ourselves out for them, the closer we draw to Christ who gave Himself totally for us. Yet because Tom and I have not yet been blessed with children on Earth, we don't have this to draw from. We are working out our salvation as a couple, learning to love one another with no third party to remind us of the sacred and sacrificial nature of that love. It is, I believe, more difficult than one would imagine. It is easy to sacrifice for one's children, or at least, I think it is easier, than to sacrifice for one's spouse. To serve a sweet sleeping baby becomes idealized in my mind, whereas my all-too human husband is constantly challenging me with his humanity and concupiscence.

My identity comes from God, who has given me a husband to form me in the school of love. Becoming a knitter, quilter, or gardener, a lawyer or theologian, will not allow me to avoid my primary vocation as a wife; it will not provide me the depth of satisfaction or joy that I get when I truly give of myself to love my husband.

Pro-Life Sunday

I used to have a blog on tumblr and wrote this post on there some time ago. I thought I would repost since it seems timely...today is the anniversary of Roe v. Wade.  Abortion remains not only the most common surgical procedure in the US, but is also now the leading cause of death in the world. This is a tragedy.


I do not consider myself a prolife activist, although I am prolife. I speak about abortion and the death penalty mostly within my Christian community, where I feel I am on sure footing. In arguing with those who are not Christian or who do not believe in God, I struggle, because I get incredibly upset. 

If a person has little to no belief in God, or it does not affect their lives, their guiding light is usually science and their own feelings (which they might call their ‘heart’). All that is understandable. Some of these people are liberal and some are more conservative; the large majority of them support the concept of marriage equality, that gay persons should be allowed to marry and adopt children. They view this as an equality fight: straight people marry, gay people marry. They call it the new civil rights issue, like equality between blacks and whites back in the 1960s. I can see their logic. 

But I begin to get annoyed when they want to back off of abortion. They will not admit that the “fetus” is in fact a child. They protest that they don’t believe it is a life at that point, despite the fact that science calls it alive, just like scientists would scream about “life on Mars!” if it so much as found algae there. They claim the child not life, although if one of their friends said elatedly “I’m pregnant!” they would immediately begin talking about the baby as a live person. 

But this recognition, protection, and joy is denied to many children. The child is alive, but they do not view it as a person. It’s not a person until the mother decides to recognize it and protect it. In a way, that’s an incredible statement of the meaning of motherhood in America: We, women, decide the fate of our children; we are their only protectors. Society will not care for them, doctors will not fulfill their hippocratic oath towards them, Congressmen and women will not vote to protect them, their communities will not come together to house or feed them, and oftentimes their fathers will not support them. It is the mother alone who bears their weight in her body and in her soul: she is entirely alone. 

With this state of things, it is no wonder that a woman would choose abortion. She has no support to choose anything else. In fact,  Roe v. Wade did not merely create a constitutional right for a mother to end her child’s life; it created a society that puts the blame for illegitimate children, poor children, overburdened mothers, on the shoulders of the mother. The question can always be asked, “why did you choose to have it then?” Pro-choice America created a societal milieu where the only choice that is really acceptable is abortion and/or silence. 

These are children and I don’t believe one person out there doesn’t actually know that. I don’t believe certainly that any of the doctors, let alone nurses, volunteers, and lobbyists, are ignorant of the fact that a child in the womb is a life. But they support it because they think they are helping women. This is the touchstone of any moral code, however: you cannot justify a great ends by a horrible means. Blacks are not sub-human, they are human; homosexuals should not be subjected to cruelty or discrimination, because they are human. Abortion should be illegal because preborn children are still human, and being human matters. 

To the women who are pregnant, you matter because you are human. Your child matters because they are human! We are humanity. We must stand together, or else turn on one another. We can disagree on how to help one another, how to spend our money, how to structure our nation, and what is ultimately True in the world. But we have to begin by recognizing that we are all human, we are all in this together, we are brothers and sisters of this race. 

We are humanity: we are life. 

Headcoverings, Latin Mass, and All that Jazz

Here's my confession: I love headcoverings. Love 'em. It's really what makes Orthodox Judaism tempting to me (and the fact that they speak another language and seem to be secluded from the world), but of course I resist because of that whole Jesus issue. A while ago, I made a friend who makes headcoverings - and I thought, yeah I like those. So I started wearing them. Then I started wearing them more. Then I started not leaving the house without them. Then my neighbors started staring.

To be fair, my neighbors do not include 1950s housewives. 

I liked wearing them. They're comfortable, they protect my hair from dust, dirt, and pollen - which gets all over me when I am working out in the yard and digging through my garage. I have a ton of hair, which takes a lot of time to wash and dry, so I don't like unnecessary hair washing. To Mass, though, I like to wear a chapel veil. 

Something like this, although I think mine is even smaller. 

My friends here in Naples took this all in stride. They know that I am a little peculiar anyway, so a few of them made some polite inquiries when I brought it up and then just went on. I joked about looking Amish, which seemed to break the ice, and everyone moved on. I got a couple of compliments on the snoods from some guys in my parish, including an older gentleman who said "Very granola, I like it!" His sentiments are shared by those at my grocery store. I shop at Whole Foods, so lets be honest, nobody even bats an eye - they're all crazy hippies there who wear long skirts and funky scarves. I haven't really gotten more than a few negative reactions and I know that doing this attracts attention, so I am prepared. Also, to be fair, I wear headcoverings with some rather unusual outfits: with jeans, tank tops, etc. I'm not exactly walking around looking Amish...that only happens on baking days. 

I may look something like this on baking days. 

This all doesn't bother me. And I have met other Catholic women that cover, although most of them don't do it full time. I get excited - I want to chat with them about it. Who do they like the best? A Snood for All Seasons? Liturgical Time? Garlands of Grace?? So many great stores to choose from! What always makes me laugh, though, is that as soon as they know I cover they say something along the lines of, "I've never seen you at Latin Mass!" In our area, there aren't a lot of Latin Masses, so they probably know everyone who goes to them. I smile and share that I sing at the 5pm Mass with my husband. Their brows wrinkle in confusion while they try to smile, and it's understandable: for Catholics, we connect head covering to the Latin Mass, not the Novus Ordo. 

I have no problem with the Latin Mass. I enjoyed a few in Virginia and Alabama, when I lived in those places. I'm all for freedom to worship in whatever tongue you like - Latin, Spanish, English, French! Long live variété, mes amis. Yet I do have a teeney, tiny problem: the idea that Latin Mass is better. I've met a few folks now who say they're reverts or converts, really getting into their faith, talk about going to confession every week, adoration, and...Latin Mass. Like it's a natural progression: the holier you get, the more you want to go to Latin Mass. This really bugs me. If you just prefer it, great! Have at it. But there's no value judgment to be put on it, and to say that there is, is to be borderline schismatic and also theologically incorrect. The Mass is always awe-inspiring, a miracle, the "source and summit of our faith" - always! Whether it's celebrated with guitars or chant, in English or Latin, reverently or irreverently. The Mass remains the same. 

Am I being overly sensitive? I hope not. I know in religious circles, people are especially sensitive about others being "holier than thou," even though it's usually just everyone trying to be the best servant of God they can. I don't think these people are trying to put me down so I don't take it personally. But I take it personally for Jesus, who is truly present at my 5pm praise and worship Mass just like He is at their noon Latin Mass. He would meet them in any Mass, no matter how much they disliked the music or their fellow Catholics manner of comportment and dress. As much as they are free to prefer that Mass, I hope they would also extend respect for those who prefer a different kind of worship. 

Deal? Deal.

Babies as Trophies, Oh My!

In the most interesting misreading of a post I've ever seen, my friend Cam had to defend herself yesterday against an anonymous commenter who claimed Cam wanted to be pregnant just to appear more pious. This person seemed to feel that she was in a position "from a more experienced mom to a younger one" to lecture Cam about being patient while waiting for her next child.

Although her intentions were (hopefully) good, there were in her writings several problems that I often encounter myself. There are some people who think that those of us who want, but do not yet have, big families want them for the wrong reasons. That we want them to appear pious, or that we regard them as trophies or, like sacraments!, outward signs of inward graces. What I think many people forget is that, for women like Cam and I, we genuinely enjoy children. We like them. Well, yes, they can be expensive, noisy, and rather put a damper on our daily schedule, but we like them anyway. We don't like them because the Pope told us to, or because we think that we're going to impress everybody when we have them, because they make us look good - we just like them for who they are.


I was talking to my friend Jenn the other day and we agreed that for as long as we could remember, we wanted to be a mom - preferably one to a big family. Jenn asked if Tom and I would use NFP to space our children. I replied that although we would have to make the decision anew after each blessing, that from where we're standing now, we probably wouldn't. I already know that telling people that could bring a storm of criticism: that I don't know what I'm talking about because I don't have any children yet, that it's irresponsible, that it could be really emotionally and physically exhausting, that it's not a race. But I think what people who can get pregnant very easily forget is that for those of us with special problems (like PCOS), we never know when our fertility is just going to...stop. I would be so sad if Tom and I decided to abstain, and then it was 10 months because I ovulated again! The question Tom and I face everytime we chose the possibility of getting pregnant is, "are we comfortable with the idea of never getting pregnant again?" Once we have children, the question will become "have we discerned that our most recent child should be our last?"

The plain fact is that children are blessings, and being chosen to receive such a beautiful blessing is always an honor. It's natural, and good, for people to desire such blessings. Even if you don't feel that way yourself, it shouldn't surprise you that others feel that way.

The Homemaking Arts

Yesterday after getting a massage (thanks to my great friend Roz at Cleansing Springs!) I headed over to the library since it's right nearby. I had forgotten how much I love going to the library - all those books, and they're FREE. It's like Christmas! I usually get books on a theme, so this time I checked out their local Florida section (replete with gardening guides and cookbooks) and their craft section (how-to books mostly).

The Benedictine Melk Library in Austria, courtesy of Emgonzalez

I successfully navigated my way around the gardening and cooking books. But then I came to the 600s and gaped. There's a difference between knitting and crocheting? Needlepoint and embroidery? Does anybody  hand quilt? I realized in that moment how little I know about homemaking arts, and how their decline is probably the number one reason why people ask me, "what do you do all day if you don't work and don't have kids!?!" Women back in the day were probably quite busy, but now, if you buy everything, what DO you do? My mom has also pointed out that it used to be cheaper to make your own clothes, but that it's not true anymore. You can get kids dresses on clearance at target for $5, but you can't make one for that amount.  Granted, it probably balances out if you're making in bulk and of course the quality is probably better if you make it yourself, but strict financials might go to the side of buying clothes at least.

Girls used to learn these things from their mothers, I suppose. I just never did. Now, my mother was excellent at most of these things: cooking, keeping a beautiful home (decorating AND cleaning), sewing, quilting, and gardening. Kim enjoyed needlepoint, I seem to remember, and I think my mom has a framed sampler of hers. I just never learned anything but cooking and keeping house (although I seem to have really been failing at that last part lately...). And I realize now that I want to. There is little I love more than when I get things done around the house, and I get so excited for Tom to come home and see what I've done. I love having others over and opening our home to them. I don't care if it's dated or that some people think it's silly. 

Can anyone tell me where this picture came from? I found it online only after MUCH searching, since I've seen it in stores before, but couldn't find the title or artist. 

The truth is that I am proud of working in the home, more proud than anything I have ever done as a student or professionally. I receive greater peace working at home, helping others, gardening, cooking, learning to serve, than I have in my studies of history, politics or the law. I cannot express how ashamed I am that it took me 8 years, several degrees, and thousands of dollars to learn this. I wish I had known sooner! But at least I am doing his will now, and if I am called outside the home, I am sure I will follow. But for now, I want to learn more - I want to learn knitting, crocheting, quilting, needlepoint, and sewing...I want to be a woman who can do things with her hands, not just think of great -ologies and -isms. I got a book on knitting at the library, so maybe I'll start there. My neighbor can sew, and Cam can do anything, so I'm sure I can ask for help as I learn...! 

I hope you all are finding some activity that lights up your mind and heart to learn this New Year. Even if you think it's too late to acquire a skill, remember it's never too late to be what you might have been (George Eliot, aka Mary Ann Evans). And on a light-hearted note, remember we women can always find one way to make our husbands happy:

This is Tom's favorite sexist 1950s add. We spent a little bit this morning looking up some of them and dying laughing. This one he seemed to take quite seriously.

Staying Catholic in the Church

It is an easy insult when arguing with a religious person, to say that they are "not being very [insert religious affiliation here]" because they are disagreeing with you vigorously. Among Catholics, we'll change it up a bit and say "you're not being very charitable," which always makes my skin crawl. I agree that sometimes people are uncharitable in arguments, but bringing it up at that time rarely does much to turn it around. (besides, if you can't argue on facts and get your feelings hurt too easily, then don't get into arguments with me people!)

This week, I have witnessed three instances of outright rudeness to church personnel over what amounts to a petty disagreement. Verbal cruelty, cursing, raised voices - like an argument between my parents before they became Catholic! (just kidding, Mom, just kidding) It was something of a shock. I'm a convert; I've never worked in a parish or even belonged to one before  (just Campus Ministries). I had no idea that this sort of thing went on; it took me several months (and many awkward conversations) for me to realize that someone saying they were "Catholic" did  not actually mean we had a whole host of things in common.

I want to dwell on it; more than that, I want to talk about it. I want to talk about what horrible, nasty, rude people they are - how these are the same people who don't kneel at the consecration, won't staff the Adoration chapel, quibble over $5 extra when they own multiple homes, think that the Church is a democratic institution designed to make them happy, etc. I am furious, I am irate - and I am sad.

I love my faith. I love that my Church is big enough for everyone, and that no one has to be perfect although all are called to strive for perfection. "The Catholic Church is for saints and sinners. But for respectable people, the Anglican Church will do," said Oscar Wilde, with a wink no doubt. I don't want to be respectable in the sense of being inline with the status quo - I want to be radically in love with Christ, living a life of heroic virtue. I want to give without measure, even to people who are cruel to me or to my friends or to my Church.

This sort of love is difficult, but the Litany of Humility is making it easier. Tugging on Mary's mantle and asking her to pray for me (aka the Rosary) makes it easier too. I keep repeating to myself  "That others may become holier than I, provided I may become as holy as I should..." to keep my scrupulous tendencies in check. And I keep inviting people over. Hospitality is a wonderful way to love others, and it is a way that I particularly enjoy. Action must be the form of our love as much as prayer, if we are to take Christ as our model. I know that if I keep looking for ways to love, He will show them to me and I will forget about those other people - not in terms of not taking notice of them, but I will forget that their behavior can have any affect on me at all. I will realize that I can love them as much when they are horrid as when they are good, and I will care about their behavior only as it affects their soul and not as it affects my mood. I keep comforting myself with this thought: I will learn to love them if I keep asking Him to show me how.

Essential Catholic Library

Last year, I resolved to start an excellent Catholic library, not only for my own edification, but for that of my future children. I want to be able to say, "ah yes, Chesterton talked about that! It's over here, on the second shelf..." So I started a list of all the books I want in my Catholic library. Then, I came across this thread on CAF. It's as if the devil on my shoulder is saying, here spend a billion dollars you don't have. I mean really! My essential Catholic library already exists - it's located within the walls of the Vatican, along with all the essential art works my home should own (kidding). 

Anyway, if you were looking for any great books to read for the new year, or have any other suggestions for great books to be read (Catholic or not), let me know. I might as well have a complete list, even if I never actually own it in its entirety.