Get Holy or Die Trying

 

“These are the ones who have survived the time of great distress;
they have washed their robes
and made them white in the Blood of the Lamb.”

 

Now go to Mass!

Housewife, Working Woman, or Supermom???

     A lovely lady named Dr. Savage spoke at an event that I recently attended. You can learn more about what she does here. Although I do not wish to plagiarize, I would like to tell you some of the great things she spoke to us about. So, with that preface, these were some of her main points:

     Her own life story illustrated her message. Her peaceful and joyous persona made us want to follow her advice. When she spoke, it was what like an old sage whispering secrets of life, gently correcting mistakes, and confirming previous hunches.
      She was a business woman, who rose quite high in her company. As she began to study church doctrine, she started to implement it into the company, which brought very good results. She got married later in life and then went back to school to get her Master's degree(s?). She currently teaches at the St. Paul seminary. Along the way, she adopted a baby and spent a few years as a stay-at-home Mom. While her life was not perfect(for example, she cried quite often for a few years when she was unable to get pregnant), she had one basic message: women have a place in the world, and it is through their motherhood. She neither wished all women to be unmarried company executives nor banished them all to the kitchen. Instead, she had an uplifting picture of womanhood. She had been happy as a single working lady, a stay-at-home mom, and a professor. Her message included the fact that women cannot "do it all." There is no way that a girl can feasibly raise a family and have a successful career.
     Yet, she did not think that day care was evil or that stay-at-home moms were parasites living off of their husbands (these were two extremes that she brought up). The idea she gave us of the world was more of a concrete and complex world-view. She suggested honestly appraising the situation and placing our role as women of God. For example, this really affects the place of the single woman in the world. While being single is a vocation in the church, it is important to recognize that motherhood is the calling of all women. Of course, this does not mean that every girl needs to have children or even be around children. To truly live our vocations we must examine if they are for ourselves or for caring for others. (This reminds me of the good old Baltimore Catechism which said that no one should be single unless they were caring for an older relative).
    This might seem unresolved, but seriously, its kind of the point of a life to figure out what we should do and how we should do it, right?

Social Networking

Humans are social creatures, and women in particular are fond of conversation and an all-encompassing exchange of information -- who's dating whom, who's broken up with, what they wore and why they did it. We just like to know what's going on in the lives of the people around us. I've just been wondering lately -- when does a normal conversation about what other people are doing and thinking cross the line and become gossip?

There is an obvious divide between talking about the latest social event and a no-holds-barred catfest, but what about the gray areas in between? When do you cross the line between honest discussion and gossiping? It's easy enough to give some universal principle, but the practical application is a far more slippery beast. Thoughts?

The Joys of Confession

(My peeps, I am here to trumpet the virtues of a much-maligned sacrament. Bear with me while I make sweeping generalizations about the human race with little to no apparent scientific backing. Also, my theology is not the most profound.)

Society at large is fond of dissing confession. It tells us that reciting one's personal failings to a man in a dark little room is weird and twisted (then promptly heads off to its therapist's couch). Not so, gentle readers, not so. The human being is wired for guilt when wrong has been done -- it is not the sole province of Catholics. So, after accumulating guilt-burdens in assorted sizes, humans feel the intense need to tell all, whether that be through memoir, drunken family-reunion tirade, or psychologist's probing. Fortunately, we Catholics have a simpler (and cheaper) way out: confession.

It's a basic formula, really. Humans, as the fallen, flawed creatures that we are, screw up. This should not surprise us, sad as it is. We fall, we feel guilty, and, on a purely minimal level, we try to make the guilty feeling go away. Except with confession, it's not just the relief of letting the cat out of the bag, it's also actual, honest-to-goodness forgiveness from someone (i.e. God) who has the power to forgive you. Sure, there are still consequences and penances to be dealt with, but that's as it should be. Warm fuzzy feelings don't fix broken windows.

(No, duh, disclaimer: of course you should regret your wrongdoing because it is a sin against God as well as against your fellow-humans, and if we were all saints, we would all have perfect contrition every time we went to confession [or for that matter, if we were all saints we wouldn't need to go to confession because we wouldn't be sinning. But I digress]. But we're not, and I'd just like to point out the fact that, given that oddly persistent reality that Man is body AND soul, confession works wonders not merely moral [although that in itself is reason enough to go], but mental. This is just the way being human works, people.)

How does this relate to little ol' me and the college life? Because, like I said, confession isn't exactly the most popular sacrament. First Communion cakes, dresses and parties? Check. First Confession cakes, dresses and parties? ::crickets:: Confession naturally precedes Holy Communion. It's like washing your hands before dinner -- elementary and essential. But, because we are human and easily lose track of what is important and what is not, confession quickly falls by the wayside. It can be icky and awkward, although less so than you think. Come on. He's a priest. How many times do you think he's heard the same litany of sins over and over again? Unless you're an exceptionally wicked person, nothing you say will shock or scandalize him. Still squeamish about spilling your less-than-stellar beans? Go read the life of St. John Nepomucene.

Minimal wince factor aside, confession is incredibly liberating. Picture this: you've just made an honest, humble confession, said your penance, and, as you're walking out of church, you get squished by a falling piano. (This could totally happen) What now? Well, unless you committed a sin between penance-saying and piano-squishing, you go to heaven, and, even if no wayward instrument snuffs out your life, you're still on good terms with God and full of grace. This is an incredibly good place to be, and all for the time investment of roughly fifteen minutes. Eternal life for fifteen minutes? I think it's worth it.

only skin-deep

My mother just sent me this beautiful article by Laurel Rae Mathewson:

The year before I was a senior in high school, I went on an exchange to France. I got skinny. When I returned to America, I felt great, looked great, and received high praise. That post-France pinnacle of svelteness is where my troubles with food began in earnest. Any more pounds represented failure, a deviation from "my best self." I began eating emotionally. I gained 10 pounds.

At New Year's I decided to get serious about getting back to the "right" size. In good-student fashion, I read reputable books and magazines and followed all the rules. I was the ideal dieter. I ran and lifted weights. Mathematical tricks of weight-loss became second nature: The calories in an apple (small, medium, or large); which foods satisfy most for the fewest calories (pancakes are great for this). I steadily lost 1.5 pounds a week for eight weeks and was in better shape than ever. My dieting was officially healthy, nutritionally balanced, and utterly obsessive.

During winter quarter I reached the nadir of my journey with food and with God. I felt inadequate and disgusting. I desperately wanted God's help in ending this vicious cycle, but God never seemed to fully deliver. When I was stuffed, bloated, and incapacitated from a binge, I would pray, weeping: Take this from me. Help me. I don't want to be like this. I believed salvation would come from obeying the legalistic idol of strict self-control and self-improvement that I thought God endorsed. As I wrote in my journal:

God did not create me to consume my time worrying about calories. I know how sick it is ... so why don't I stop? Why do I create my own problems? ... Am I afraid of perfect happiness? … Why else would I sabotage all the gifts that I've been given, keep myself from thriving? … My thoughts disturb and distract me in lecture, in church, in conversation. … I count every calorie that goes into my mouth; yet it doesn't stop me from eating an entire package of cookie dough.

Perfect happiness. I thought it was mine for the making—and that God expected nothing less.

Food is a gift from God to be enjoyed, especially with others, creating communion and fellowship. It's not meant to be an idol. Like sex, like work, like material comfort, if we seek to satisfy the hunger of our souls with food alone, we will remain empty. I used food to cope with the spiritual void of an "estrangement" from God, created by my own conviction that I could perfect myself, given enough determination and discipline. Disordered eating was my symptom of accepting neither grace nor my need for it.

Read the rest of the article here. It's so good, I wanted to copy and paste the whole thing, but I felt like that may be slightly unethical (proper internet/blogging citation procedure is still slightly shrouded in mystery to me.) The authoress brings up beautiful points about the struggles of body image, from the unique perspective of a woman of Faith.

One of my favorite lines from her article is: "I was created for a higher purpose than a size 6." It's so true. The flesh is weak-it's easier to become a size 6 than to become a person filled with grace. And in a culture that's obsessed with externals, it's so easy to loose sight of the fact that beauty is not only skin-deep. Beauty is radiated through a smile, through loving eyes, through a kind voice and a listening ear. Not that the happiest girls are the most beautiful girls, but that the most beautiful girls are the happiest girls.

"For beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; for beautiful eyes, look for the good in others. And for poise, walk in the knowledge that you are never alone." --Audrey Hepburn

Shiny

May I have a drumroll and a fanfare, s'il vous plait?

Introducing the new and incredibly improved version of our blog, complete with brand-spanking-new title. Life (and posting) at the blog-formerly-known-as-Garden-of-Violets was lagging just a wee bit, so we decided to spruce it up, and recommit to our goal of examining and discussing the meaning of Catholic womanhood in the twenty-first century. Please bear with us as we continue to tweak and polish during the next week or two. I promise an explanation of the title will be posted shortly. *cough, cough* Desdemona *cough, cough*

Saint of the Day

Here is a charitable saint. His name is St. Thomas of Villanova. He is the saint of the day on AmericanCatholic.org. Sadly, he would be chided or ridiculed in our day as well. However, it is good to see an example of someone who was brave enough to step outside the social norms. On my campus we have started nightly Rosary walks for the conversion of campus. It is an exciting adventure(walking with 20-somethings is also alot faster than a Rosary walk at a church with all ages). Let us pray for the converstion of the world.

Starting Over

The new school year has begun, at least for me, and as we all know, the start of anything is an excuse to wipe the slate clean, conveniently forget any mistakes made last year, and work on implementing the good habits that we somehow never got around to forming the previous semester. Take Daily Mass, for instance. Indisputably a great good for the soul, yes? And yet how often did I excuse myself from that half-hour in the chapel with a list of chores and homework that absolutely-had-to-be-done-right-this-very-instant-and-couldn't-wait-even-two-seconds? The answer: waaaaay too often.

But that's okay because, like I said, it's a new semester, my very first as shiny upperclassman. After two years of college, I've made a fair amount of mistakes and poor choices (nota bene: coffee only takes you so far during finals week), and this semester I'd like to brush up my habits and straighten out my schedule, even if it's only in little ways, like getting to bed before midnight, and not wasting my entire weekend watching movies. I know my Mom's told me this a hundred times, but life, especially college life, really is way easier when you have a plan for balancing classes, exercise, spiritual life, etc., and you stick to it. Eventually, the little and not-so-little choices made every day add up into habits firmly cemented in our lives. A bag of Doritos is not a meal sufficient unto itself, and, yes, you will regret it later. Trust me. Even if it means getting up ten minutes earlier, morning prayer really sets the tone for your day, and maybe with a little heavenly perspective, getting shampoo all over your school books won't seem like quite such a tragedy. You may even recognize that it's sort of funny.

It is what it is.

Here is a video about being human. Enough said.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X4Qm9cGRub0&feature=youtu.be

This came from my past RA, a lovely woman who always strove to be authentic.

Are You Not Entertained?

Last Friday night, some friends and I went to an improv comedy show based on Grimm's fairy tales. Unfortunately, the show itself was a mixed bag. In all fairness, we had been warned. The group's website recommended an audience age of 18+. The warning was all too apt.

The actors were a group of amazingly talented, funny people, who had me shaking with barely controlled laughter for at least half the night. The other half? Spent cringing at raunchy and/or profane humor. Why oh why? These people were genuinely hilarious without falling back on the tired standbys of sex and swearing. The crudity came about equally from audience participation and cast members, and, to be honest, maybe one or two of the off-color jokes were actually funny. But everything else was just the same ol', same ol' -- people trying to shock and giggling at their daring in making naughty jokes. ::eyeroll:: Please. Every sophomore guy in the history of high school has made these kinds of jokes before. You're not actually being that clever by tossing around the f-bomb like confetti. 

There is no imagination in this kind of humor. It has neither the hilarious absurdity of screwball comedies and Jeeves & Wooster nor the sophisticated wit of Jane Austen and Oscar Wilde. It doesn't even aspire to the cleverness of innuendo, which only suggests at something not quite kosher and allows the intellect its own enjoyment at unraveling the veiled hints. 

Ultimately, raunch and swearing are deeply boring and mind-numbing. Let's face it, after the shock of the first few cracks has worn off, there are a very limited number of places you can go before you're merely repeating yourself. I noticed this in the improv performance, and it was only an hour-long show. Compared with the richness of the rest of the English language, curse-words make up an infinitesimal percentage. The same thing goes for sex or potty humor.

Listen to this trash long enough, however, and it has a corrosive effect on your brain. When you only listen to jokes about poop, well, pretty soon that's the only kind of humor you'll find amusing. Like any other attempt to raise your standards above the mediocre (or in this case, the down-right rancid and soul-smothering), it takes an effort to learn to appreciate the higher things, whether they be humor, cooking, painting, literature, science, architecture etc., etc. But do you honestly want to settle for the bare minimum? Even if it takes a heck of a lot more work to improve yourself, physically, mentally and spiritually? This kind of humor is only one of the many ways in which we fail to push ourselves toward something higher and better, looking beyond the comfortable to the truly noble and worthy.

Come on, people, we've all heard these things before. Can't we start acting like adults and stop laughing at fart jokes? Seriously. Why does humor so often descend to the level of the lowest common denominator? Is it because this is the easy humor, the old reliable jokes that have gotten laughs since preschool, or in the case of sex-related humor, junior high? Supposedly, humans ripen mentally as well as physically, reportedly reaching a half-mythic stage of existence called "maturity" where we can have "real" conversations about literature, politics, science, fashion, life after death, and any number of other serious topics that involve some sort of intelligence. Be a lady (or a gentleman) and get your mind out of the gutter and into something worthwhile.