The Road to Hell . . .

 . . .is paved with good intentions. And it has been my intention since I began this blog to not pollute it with too much political ugliness. If one were to care to read my random blathering with even the slightest attention, I'm sure that I haven't exactly hid my political views--but this was never to be a place to rant--at least in that arena.

So rant I won't, and be original, I'm not at all, but I am in this strange place of simultaneous sadness and frustration. So I think it best that rather than take-out my funk on my unsuspecting children, one of  whom, tangentally, made me crack-up today because he told me that I "misunderheard" him, I shall write a bit.

 If anyone were to care to know, I would call myself a solid Democrat. But today I am saddened by the legislation that tramples a bit on the separation of church and state. By this I am referring to the health care reform bill that requires Catholic churches, hospitals, et al to provide within the dictates of their insurance policies, coverage for birth control and abortions, etc. This isn't because I am completely anti-birth control--I have at times in my life, run counter to my Catholicism in this--and I would still advocate for its mindful use in certain ways. And I believe that Catholics have the personal responsibility to decide for themselves which part of their insurance coverage that they are or are not going to use--which is what all of us Catholics who are currently covered by insurance plans that already provide for this kind of coverage must do. Instead, I am saddened that this legislation forces the hand of private instituions to provide something that is against their beliefs. If said institutions are accepting government funding, then yes, I understand they are under the government's hand in regards to such legalities--but if they aren't? Then what?

So, no ranting here--more just some disappointment that my beloved party that is so often accused of over-reaching is actually guilty this time. I don't believe that Obama or his health care team has an agenda against the Catholic Church--as the loaded language surrounding this issue might suggest--but I do think that this decision has larger ramifications than what was originally intended.

This recent development is not enough to make me jump ship--or parties however. I deeply value the sanctity of life--and for me, this also includes being anti-death penalty, involves heavy gun control laws, and thinking deeply and spiritually about the build-up of military power. All-told, this keeps me a Democrat--just a grumpy one right now.

To Be Called

Oh, I so believe in this idea. Being "called" that is. But I find myself back in the familiar place of wondering just what that means for me. I seem to understand, or believe it when others say that they've been tapped on the shoulder by Him--but it never seems quite so clear in my own life. I've been sifting through some recent events (okay, more like observations of other's events) in my own life, and I'm left wondering a couple of things . . .

1. Does a person get more than one major calling?
2. How does a person discern the difference between a personal desire/interest and a calling? Or, are they the same thing?
3. Can a person be unaware of a calling? Or does He, realizing that He is being ignored in favor of some less worthy pursuit, realize that, and reach down and shake one by her collar, waggling finger and all?

I have my version of answers to all of these questions, but they still rise to the surface of my dailiness, asking to be attended to. It is all interesting to me when I have felt more content lately than I have in a long while, but all around me, important women in my life are busy adopting and birthing children, saving the world, changing and advancing in their careers, and I am, well, grading more papers and attending to my little corner of home, and those who need me at school. The big question for me then, is, "Did I miss a memo somewhere?" You know, one that told me that because I don't have a "next" on my horizon that I should be looking to offer my gifts in some new way like so many of the lovely ladies around me are doing? My wise big sis offers that maybe this is my time of rest--and that may be. But why is my time not cycling with my sister-friend's time?

Maybe perhaps, I'm being called to be still. That would be a new "next." For me, anyway.

Mom

Unconditional love. Patience. Knowing. How Awe-some (stealing from my fav. Madeline L'Engle here) it is to be blessed by having a mother who is also a friend. Mine is soo kind, generous (to a fault), flexible, spontaneous, and probably one of, if not THE, strongest woman I know. It is so so hard to watch her struggle with her health right now, but she is even grace under fire. There are days when I don't know what I've done to deserve such a Mother and Mentor. If only I can be this Mom to my kids . . .

Epiphany

Whoa, so it has been a bit since I've last posted. We've all been on Christmas vacation from school--and I daresay from so many other things as well (ahem, eating as well as we should, exercsing a little extra, reading quality text . . . and the list probably goes on). Regardless, here we all are, back from our hiatus, ready for January and all of the quiet that I've come to love about this month.

It began today with some closure that I don't usually remember having for the Christmas season. My "closure" typically consists of putting away the Christmas decorations and cleaning the house. This morning at Mass though, Father reminded us that it was indeed Epiphany, and then continued on to explain how the Christmas season will officially end tomorrow with the Feast of Jesus' baptism. At the end of Mass Father invited the congreation to "adopt" the poinsettas on the altar--so 10-year-old carefully picked a beautiful red monstrosity that now sits on our dining room table.

While gorging ourselves on some Wildcard football this afternoon, I prepared the last of our Christmas goodies--peppermint oreos dipped in white chocolate. We had bought the supplies a day or so before Christmas Eve, but various head colds and flus kept us from both eating and cooking very many delights.

This evening while 9-yr-old was reviewing his lesson for CCD he found a colorful chart that explains the Church Calendar. He exclaimed, "Mom! Tomorrow is Ordianry Time--just like Father Jerry said!" Ah, Ordinary time, indeed little one. We could all use some of that in this time and life that is anything but ordinary.

So, Epiphany indeed--the Magi followed their intuition towards the ultimate Knowing. A good reminder today to follow mine towards remembering the importance of closure, enjoying the final fruits of the season, and looking forward to the clean, sparse, Ordinary time to come.

December 22nd

Sort of a nothing day. And I'm feeling like I belong right squarely in the middle of this "nothingness." Sitting on the couch, nursing a full-blown head/chest cold, aimlessly surfing the net, looking at two baskets of unfolded laundry, and pausing occasionally to referee a disturbance of the brotherly sort, I am feeling very unChristmaslike.

I've been reading Advent materials, seasonal blog entries, even trying the Christmas Carol CDs, but not much is moving me towards "that Christmas feeling." Maybe some snow would help? But for some reason even if we got snow right this minute, it would seem like so much of an afterthought. Hm. I even bought a more-than-usual supply of goods to bake sugar cookies and gingerbread men, but the very much unbaked supplies are still in the cupboard--in part because we still have so many leftover sweets from school, that it seems only right to eat those first. In part, because, well, it seems like a lot of work to mix, roll, cut, and decorate all of those not-at-all helpful-to-my-health treats.

It seems that we have been shopping, wrapping, and decorating for quite some weeks, but those weeks have felt like October outside. Ah, well, maybe some years are just this way? Or maybe it is the cold medicine.

Done

One of my mother's favorite words/phrases, as in, "Well, I got that done." We in the Finch Family like to "get things done," "checked-off our list," "project accomplished." Tonight, however, I'm an entirely different kind of "done." It is the day before final exams begin and I'm exhausted-- mentally, physically, even a bit spiritually tired. It has been a really great teaching semester--although I would guess that my family would argue that it hasn't been the best mommy semester ever.

 I am deeply convicted that I am a better mom because I teach--God called me to this vocation, and I think it important that my kids see me fulfill that gift. I also am deeply thankful everyday that I have the kind of career that places me squarely in the middle of my kid's lives everyday--we have the same schedules, I know their teachers, I understand how their school district "works"--and even one day, we'll all land at the same building together and it will be totally uncool that their mom could be their teacher--or at the very least, their friends' teacher. But. Does all of that make-up for the hours I spend every evening grading and reading and planning--when I could be playing with them? Or, if I am playing with them, my mind is not always in the present . . . I'm ruminating over a new idea for a lesson, or running through how to handle situations within my department, or, or, or. On a good day, or for that matter, almost every day, I know in a very clear, "the-spirit-is-moving-kind-of-way" that this is the life for us. But on December 15th, when I've just poured myself into 5 months of other kids' lives, I am grateful that in three days I will have a few weeks with my boys to become "undone."

The Roman Missal, Third Edition

Sigh. Harumph. Ergh. Argh. Oh dear. Those are the exact emotions I felt during the progress of  Mass this morning. Now, I know that it is the human condition to resist change, and that I'm certainly not exempt from any kind of human condition, but I went from a little dismayed listening to myself and the rest of the congregation stumble over "consubstantial" during the Nicene Creed, to unsettled with the new word, "chalice" in place of "cup" during the Eucharistic Prayer, and then irritated with the word "many" replacing "all" in regards to exactly who Jesus came to save, outright saddened and angry that we no longer elicit God to "protect us from all anxiety" at the end of the most perfect prayer.I had loved the beautiful, thoughtful placement of that plea following our acknowledgement of all that IS through Him. And then, just when I was into a full-on feeling really sorry for myself that my Mass had been so hijacked,we told Jesus that He could make us worthy to "Enter Under Our Roofs." I giggled. Seriously? I mean, were there no linguists working on this new translation that had any sense of the beauty of language? The word "roof" serves only to make me think of 2X4's and men working with power tools.

To be fair, I like the new response, "And with your Spirit." And I love me some King James words like "Behold" and "O"--so I'm good with all of that. But, I'm not sure why we need to say that Jesus "suffered death" instead of "died" during the Nicene Creed, and let's suffice it to say that I was thrilled when Fr. elected to not choose the Penintential Rite option that would have had us all beating our chests and admitting to commiting sin through our most "grievous faults" times three. I might have been looking for the ushers to pass out hairshirts at that point.

Sigh. I admit that I haven't delved into all of the history of this new Missal--I've read the requiste columns in the bulletin, the booklets the boys have brought home from CCD, and a few articles in the Catholic Post--but the only thing I've really been able to garner about WHY this change has come, is because after Vatican II, the translation from Latin into the languages of the people was too rushed. So the big dogs in Rome have decided that we needed to revise the language of the Mass in order to get closer to the original Latin. Now, I adore Latin--love its intonation and formal, repetitive structure--Lent is even my favorite liturgical season because it is one of the few time of the year that we dust off the Kyrire, et al. BUT . . . without even knowing what I'm talking about in any official way, the creeping feeling in my skin at Mass this morning was enough to tell me that this move was definitely a conservative one--and one that seems to hold the people at an arm's length from the Mass.

 Words are powerful--and they can serve to unite ("And with your Spirit") or alientate (i.e. "consubstantial"). Some of these changes are not what I think Jesus had in mind, with his disciples gathered closely around him in intimate quarters, raising common bread and a cup, asking for his friends to do this in memory of Him. Not what he had in mind at all.