The clown heard 'round the world

 

 

Racism and sexism are subjects I do not discuss very often here on my blog. 

It's not that I don't have thoughts on these issues, because I do.  But problems like these, ultimately the fruit of sin, are big and real and ever-looming for many, many people.  So mostly I just feel that I, personally, would not do such topics justice.  I would honestly prefer for people affected by these things to share their own stories and own experiences, people who can speak from first-hand knowledge of discrimination and prejudice, as opposed to an arm-chair blogger.

But every once in awhile I'll read or hear something that serves as an unfortunate reminder that it is still culturally acceptable in some circles to view African Americans and/or women as little more than a punchline to a disturbing joke.

Enter offensive rodeo clown.  (Yes, rodeo clown.  Stay with me.)

I'm writing this today not because making a joke with a reprehensible punchline is particularly noteworthy.  I'm writing because there seem to be a lot of people utterly dumbfounded that anyone could be offended by it, or who think that it is an infringement of a person's free speech for the media to report on it.  So.  I'm going to attempt to explain why the joke (which is old and has been used for years in different ways) is problematic, and why even though the man who made the joke was well within his legal rights to do so, people like me think it was in poor taste and completely inappropriate.  And I'm well within my legal rights to do so.

I come from a very small, little-known rural "town" in California, where I spent the first eighteen years of my life.  It is, in my view, a truly wonderful community that includes all sorts of people with all sorts of backgrounds and viewpoints.  It will always hold a happy, special place in my heart.

So imagine my surprise when my sleepy hometown made national news (!) for a rodeo clown's stupid joke, made at their annual rodeo this past weekend. 

Insert slightly amusing and tangential self-disclosure: When I was seventeen, I was in the running for rodeo queen of this very rodeo.  Which amounted to me attempting to sell raffle tickets by spending time in a smoky VFW hall, dancing with a bunch of old men.  I did not win. 

The joke in question involved references to Michelle Obama and Ann Romney posing in National Geographic and Playboy, respectively.  It was directed in a negative way towards Michelle Obama, but also managed to degrade Ann Romney in the process.  (Unintentionally I am sure--to the clueless clown, the thought of Mrs. Romney being offered money to pose for Playboy was a compliment of the highest kind.)

My first thought upon reading the joke was, did my little ol' town really just make the Huffington Post?

My second thought was, I've always hated clowns of any type.  They scare me.

My third thought was, Oh my goodness, how could ANYONE make this kind of asinine comment?  Especially in public?

But perhaps most of all, I was positively astounded by some of the comments on the article that ran in the county paper--people defending the joke, declaring that no one ought to be offended, justifying the words by claiming that if Bill Maher had said something parallel about a conservative woman, it would have been okay.

Um, no.

He does say horrible things about conservative women (and religious people, and most everyone else he disagrees with), and it's not okay--and I hardly think Bill Maher should be the standard of decency when it comes to making statements about other human beings.  Heaven help us if he is!

So are you ready to hear what the problem with the joke is?

It is inexcusable to joke about upright, decent women posing for pornographic publications.  Period. 

It is even less excusable to, in the same breath, insinuate that the blonde, fair-skinned woman is Playboy material (because Playboy is apparently the epitome of what a woman should be?), and the woman with brown skin and brown hair belongs nude in a feature on African tribes.

It disrespects both women, it disrespects the women found within the pages of National Geographic, and oh my goodness, it is stupid.

Really, really stupid.

I kind of wanted to call this (literal and figurative) clown up on the phone and tell him what this mama-to-girls, including two girls with brown skin, thinks.

And maybe I would, except that he's in the hospital with an injury he sustained at the rodeo.  I hope and pray he makes a quick and full recovery.

So instead I'll direct my indignation at those who are trying to defend the joke itself, and who are attempting to blame the fall-out on "tree-hugging" liberals: I am a registered Republican.  I am a social and fiscal conservative.  I used to own cowboy boots and attend that very rodeo.  I didn't vote for Barack Obama in 2008, and I won't be in 2012.  I live in a city now but I love me the country life.  So anyone trying to say this is about politics or about the liberal thought police, think again.

It is ultimately about the dignity of human beings, about the fact that each and every person on the face of this planet is made in God's image.  It is about the fact that we should not be seeking to deride people on account of their race or gender.  Women are, as both Ann Romney and Michelle Obama fabulously demonstrate through their success and dignified demeanors, designed to be far more than sexual objects abused by men.

I must say that I find it particularly annoying that this festive community event is now associated with this sort of nonsense.  The clown doesn't even live in my hometown.  And I personally know the people who work hard to put this rodeo on each year, and I grew up with the folks who helped the clown to the hospital when he collapsed on the street.  All good people.  Who use the word "folks."

But I also think that for better or worse, this story made national news, and it doesn't do any good to keep saying that it was just a joke.  It was a disgusting thing to say, from both a racial and female perspective, and now that it's out in the open, let's call it as such.  I don't think we need to demand a public execution for the clown (who I'm sure is otherwise a decent human being), but I also don't have to pretend that his "joke" was okay. 

To those who keep saying the clown is not a racist, I would respond that the word "racist" is of no practical use in this conversation.  His words were racially offensive.  Period.  Had our family been there, we very well may have asked for a refund and left.  And then had to debrief our kids and explain why we don't go places where people make those types of comments.

Because my beautiful daughters, all five of them, are fearfully and wondrously made.  Their bodies are meant for the honor and praise of God, and for beauty through chastity and holiness.  Playboy and similar publications are not the crown of female achievement.  On the contrary, they are the low-point, the unwelcomed and crass uncle at the dinner table that refuses to leave--in part because we won't kick him out.

So this is me saying enough is enough.  This is me saying that the female body is worth far too much for public derision.  This is me saying that the brown-skinned body is worth far too much for public derision.  This is me saying that I am doing my very best to raise children of virtue and character, and that I stand against any statement that reduces a person with a soul to the brunt of a sexually and racially degrading joke.  I am not attempting to be the thought police or killer of free speech, and I'm not saying that joke-making--even heinous joke-making--ought to be illegal or that it ought to single-handedly ruin a person's livelihood or reputation.

But I am saying that words have weight, and let's take care to use them well.  And if you honestly still can't fathom why people were upset by the joke, well, I'm sure there's a line one could cross in making a joke about you or your kids or your wife or your husband.  Imagine someone crossing that line in a crowded public venue.  While you sit there humiliated because oh my goodness, that joke was about people who look like you.  (Or your precious children.  I honestly cannot imagine the horror of having my four Ethiopian kids in a venue where racial jokes were being made over the PA system.)  You might not be so thrilled either. 

Racism and misogynism are real, whether people in small towns acknowledge them or not.  As a former resident of this particular small town, and as a mother to four Ethiopian-American children, I have decided to share my perspective.  I am not intending to bring negative publicity to the town or its residents, and I would suggest that the best thing for them to do is admit that the clown's joke was inappropriate.  Going onto Facebook and into comboxes to defend the clown and his words, insult liberals, and further defame these women, is what will ultimately draw negative attention to your wonderful community. 

It really is okay to admit that sometimes, clowns just aren't very funny. 

Introvert on a plane

As most of you know by now, I love to read.  Really, truly, love it.  Most books I pick up are religious in content, although I also enjoy anything with a psychological/sociological aspect, because I'm kind of fascinated by people. 

And as most you also know by now, I am a complete and utter introvert.  (This goes well with the book-loving.)  I tend to remain silent in group settings, it can take me awhile to fully process things, and I prefer a good one-on-one conversation with a close friend to a raucous party.

So anyway, imagine my excitement when I learned that Susan Cain had just written a book about introversion!  And not just a book, but a delightfully insightful exploration of our culture's long history of prizing extroversion, and the resulting consequences in areas like religion, business, and education.  Be still my heart. 

Now I just so happened to get the book from the library the day before I flew to Dallas for the Catholic New Media Conference.  And yes, I see the humor in bringing a book on introversion to a conference all about social media.  I devoured the first few chapters on my flight out (we introverts don't like to talk on airplanes, see, so a book is an excellent diversion--especially a book with a title like Quiet.)  I hoped to do some more reading once I arrived.

But the conference itself was busy and not very quiet, so I looked forward to some precious quality time with my book on the flight home.

Except that, as luck would have it, the woman who wanted nothing more than to read her book about introverts landed a seat next to the loudest, most extroverted man on the plane.

No joke.

He was noisy, opinionated, fond of expletives...and funny.  The first twenty or so minutes of the flight were devoted to his complaining about Dallas, a tirade which I think he could probably use as a stand-up routine in a comedy club.  (Just not a comedy club in Dallas.)

Then he told me about his Jesus-freak of a brother, and about how he hates religion. 

And it was probably around this time when I started wondering if there might be a parachute under my seat.  Because surely jumping from an airplane mid-flight would be less awkward than my having to admit that not only am I a Jesus freak too, I'm Catholic.

Of course before I could divulge any of that, I wound up having to explain my family.  I have been married ten years already, I have a slew of kids, seven to be exact, four of them adopted, two of them were born with Down syndrome, and one baby on the way. 

After helping the man overcome his shock (the official and uncensored Heldt Family Disclosure tends to have that effect on people), I figured nothing I could possibly reveal about my faith would phase him.

And, it didn't.  We actually wound up talking the entire flight (with me gazing longingly at my book every so often, still tucked sadly away in my purse), covering such topics as religion, good deeds, violence, adoption, Hell, parenting (he has two children), and Joel Osteen. 

Yes, Joel Osteen.

Because he had a Joel Osteen book with him, which seemed funny to me since he'd already announced his disdain for any and all religion.  But he said his boss had recommended the book, and he saw it in the airport bookstore, so he bought it.  I told him that with a title like Every Day a Friday, he probably couldn't go wrong, because Friday's are generally pretty awesome.  He agreed.

I have to admit that by the time our plane touched down in Denver, the guy had grown on me.  In spite of the fact that my anxiety was at an unbearably high level, because hello, I am an introvert.  But I rarely have conversations with strangers outside of comboxes, especially strangers who I have very little in common with.  Not because I don't want to, but I'm an at-home mom, and I don't go very many places.

His story was fairly predictable for a forty-something American from Nebraska: he'd been raised Catholic, he walked away from religion at some point and eventually came to hate the hypocrisy he saw in Christianity, but is concerned about the moral decline of our country.  Interestingly, at no point in our conversation was either of us combative.  (Had it gone down that path, I would have jumped for sure, parachute or no parachute.)  He was interested, plain and simple, in my story and in my family, and in what compelled us to choose the life we've carved out for ourselves. 

It was actually a good reminder of the power of story.  People are naturally curious and inquisitive, and I think that in this day and age especially, they want to see life.  Because one need not look far to see where society has taken us--life, dignity, and perserverance in the face of trials are ever so slowly disappearing from the cultural landscape.  Instead, the stories being written today seem to be more about convenience, materialism, and the freedom to destroy masquerading as, well, freedom.

Now don't get me wrong.  I'm sure I had about as much impact on this man as Joel Osteen probably did, sitting (and smiling--I wonder if he ever isn't smiling?) unread in the man's backpack.  I didn't make a convert out of him (I wasn't trying), I didn't convince him that he and his wife ought to adopt a child (I wasn't trying), and I am sure he's long since forgotten about the shy woman on the airplane that he initially thought was a teenager, but who turned out to have a slew of kids and a weird affinity for Jesus.  But that's not really the point.  The point is that I shared a small piece of the story that God has given me, and I'm always saying that God's story ought to be told, and sometimes the opportunity arises to share it in person in a most unexpected way.

Even though I'm much more comfortable doing so in front of a computer screen.  In my pajamas.

It all seemed so ironic to me that a trip dedicated to spreading faith and hope through online communication would ultimately end in the sharing of my faith in person with a stranger, something that is much harder for me to do.  And the man was such a loud talker that I'm sure half the plane could hear his half of the conversation.  ("What kind of crazy lady must he be talking to?", is what they were probably wondering.) 

I'm also sure that any Dallas residents were completely offended by his observations about their beloved Texan city.  If you are one of them, I'm sorry for laughing.  His jokes may have been mean and laced with cusswords, but they were funny, and I was socially anxious.

And yet maybe it's not so ironic afterall, because maybe the point of all of it is to try to live a good story, and to vulnerably share who we are with the world and allow God to do what He will. 

After I'd exited the plane and bid my seatmate farewell, I caught up with my friend and fellow conference attendee (and fellow introvert) and asked how his time on our flight was.

And he smiled.  And said the following:

"It was great!  Nobody talked to me.  Just how I like it!"

Sigh.  That's how I like it too. 

That's why I brought a book along called Quiet.

And that's the story of what happens when an introverted Catholic sits next to an extroverted ex-Catholic on a plane.

Last Ounce of Courage

While in Texas, I had the opportunity to meet with the promoters of a film about religious freedom.  Last Ounce of Courage is produced by an Evangelical film company that hoped to make some inroads in the Catholic market, thus their presence at the Catholic New Media Conference and Catholic Marketing Network Tradeshow.

The movie itself centers around a mayor of a small town who grows concerned about religion being banned from the public square.  So, he makes the decision to decorate his town for Christmas, in spite of threats from a fictionalized version of the ACLU.

Now it can be tempting to think that, what with issues like the HHS mandate having recently gone into effect, and the recent flare-up at Steubenville's Franciscan University over how one of their sociology courses approaches homosexuality, the idea of equating religious freedom with putting up Christmas decorations is somewhat trivial.  And from a Catholic perspective, the film seems to take more care to depict the characters as patriots than as Christians.  But.

The core message of the movie is an important and timely one.  Religious freedom has certainly been on the Catholic radar lately, because it is something we no longer have the luxury to ignore.  The Catholic Church cannot, for example, comply with the HHS mandate, because they are unable to provide employees with coverage of contraception.  It violates some of the Church's oldest and most fundamental religious beliefs.  So once the one-year period is up, Catholic organizations and employers will be left to participate in civil disobedience. 

I'll be honest and say that I used to hear people talking about the loss of freedoms, and I wrote them all off as alarmists.  But now?  Well, I guess I'm one of them, because when the federal government can legislate that faith-based groups are required to cover things like the morning-after pill and sterilization procedures, something seems very wrong.

Interestingly, as time marches onward, and more and more lines are being drawn in the sand, strange bedfellows are beginning to emerge.  Catholics and Southern Baptists, for example, do not have much in common on the surface, and certainly have never been BFFs.  But as the Nashville-based, Baptist movie promoter said to me over lunch in Dallas, "We're on the same side now."  And he's right. 

So while Last Ounce of Courage was made by Evangelicals, we Catholics ought to support this effort and stand with our Protestant brothers and sisters to help spread the message.  The makers of this film took a chance by reaching out to us, and I believe we have the opportunity here to reciprocate and respond that YES, we too are concerned about how things are going, and we of all people care deeply about preserving the freedom to practice religion.

My own favorite part of the film is when the mayor tells a news reporter that Muslims ought to be able to pray in the public square.  It was a powerful moment, and a beautiful image of what America ought to stand for.  There is a lot of American imagery in the movie--flags, for example--but I believe it is used less as a nationalistic tactic and more as a symbol for what our country ought to stand for.

Last Ounce of Courage opens nationwide today.  The promoters were quick to point out that this film is straightforward and simple, and that they are ultimately hoping it can serve as a good catalyst for conversation.  The movie utilizes professional actors, and the production value is good considering that it is a small film company.  So please spread the word, and go see the movie, and if you've not given thought to the concept of religious freedom, now may just be the time. 

In the interest of FCC disclosure, I received a screener's copy of the film, as well as a stipend, to assist with promotion.

I will tell you

A year ago today we arrived in Ethiopia, with the mission of finally bringing our daughters home.  It's so cliche to ask "Where has the time gone?", but really--where has the time gone?  (I so want to tell you some outlandish story of how we went on safari and skinned a zebra.  Which wouldn't be true, but would sound much more interesting than the actual truth, which is that we posed at a touristy shop for this photo.  So that apparently we could look like we bagged a zebra on safari.)

Here are Tigist and Mekdes at the guesthouse, moments after we took them out of the orphanage.  This photo encapsulates their dynamic fairly well, even now.  Silly little sister who loves to pull her older sister's hair and just be all around, well, silly.

Each of our three trips to Ethiopia was deeply meaningful and amazing.  But they were also difficult, especially the two trips where we took custody of our children.  As of a year ago, both of our girls had some profound delays. 

Tigist could not crawl, or walk, or eat or drink, really.  She'd apparently only been spoon-fed mush, and had spent a lot of her time sitting in a Bumbo seat so she more closely resembled a rag doll than an active, inquisitive two year old.  Mealtimes were stressful, messy, and always included at least one meltdown.  And for some reason this is always magnified when you're away from home, in a relatively unfamiliar place.

Mekdes could scarcely walk herself at age four, and had horrible balance issues.  She couldn't run or jump, nor did she know how to play.  She was afraid of dogs, baths, a particular restaurant we unfortunately kept going to, and having her diaper changed.  She hated having her hair combed--and still does actually.  And not only does she have Down syndrome and most likely an uncommon form of Cerebral Palsy, she also appears to be on the autism spectrum--which could be the result of institutionalization, or something she was born with.  We don't know, and most likely never will.  But this explains her fascination with hands, her assorted aversions, and also some of her other behaviors.  

Here the girls are leaving the orphanage after their going away party.  For good.  As in, the last time they were ever at Layla House, which had been their home for years.  While they were completely unphased by the whole matter, it was terribly emotional for us--I really had to work to hold it together at their goodbye party.  Not because they were leaving, but because they had seen so many little friends come and go over the years, while they waited for their turn to be sung to and sent off with prayers and orange soda and bread rolls.  And now, finally, two little ones with Down syndrome were leaving the orphanage because they had a family.

Ready to leave Ethiopia.  And by ready, I mean dying-to-get-on-the-plane-as-soon-as-possible.  I missed my kids at home, one of our daughters had open sores all over her body as the result of scabies, and we'd just found out the other had much more significant heart issues than we'd suspected.  God bless our dear pediatrician who personally squeezed us into his schedule, after I frantically emailed him from Africa begging for an appointment in three days.

Any adoptive parent who's travelled abroad to bring a child home will tell you that there is a certain gravity you feel--a weight of responsibility, really--as you leave your child's culture, birth family, orphanage, language, and life behind.  The above photo is of Mekdes, holding onto Kevin's hand, on the airplane as we prepared for takeoff.  It's hard.  On the one hand you know that there is no future for your children in this place, but on the other?  You know that there is loss, and it all feels very wrong.  Having done this twice now I can tell you that the reason it feels wrong is that it is wrong.  Children are meant to be raised by the man and woman who created them, period.  And while that is not always possible, and I do believe adoption is necessary for many of these children, I also believe it is normal and healthy to acknowledge that this is simply not ideal.  Not in the least.  And once you acknowledge this, you are then free to wholeheartedly embrace God's calling to take these children into your family and start life together.  It is bittersweet and beautiful and, ultimately, reality.

Happy airport greetings from dear friends upon our return to Denver.



Happy sibling + grandma greetings upon our arriving at our house--all seven kids, united for the first time.  Mekdes and Tigist have been desperately and fiercely loved by five young people since the moment they stepped through the door that day.  I am not exaggerating, nor am I generalizing.  It's simply the truth.  Want to fall more deeply in love with your kids?  Watch them eagerly embrace two timid, uneasy children--who will now share their bedrooms and their very lives.  Watch them do it without fear, judgement or expectation.  That afternoon was a tiny glimpse into the heart of God, I think.

I can tell you that this past year has been hard and busy, but it has also been incredibly good and fulfilling, and infused with hope.

I can tell you that through a combined total of three heart surgeries (including Mekdes' open heart surgery--that's her recovering in the cardiac ICU above), my daughters have had their respective congenital heart defects repaired.  They now have the potential for longer life and a greater quality of life too.

I can tell you that Tigist is walking unassisted now.  Walking!  She can eat most anything and even uses a fork or spoon. 

I can tell you that Mekdes has acquired quite a bit of language, can now run (!), jump, and climb, and her balance has improved tremendously.

I can tell you that it is easy, when parenting children with developmental delays, to feel as if time is standing still.  We occasionally ask ourselves why things are taking so very long, or wonder what level of self-sufficiency our children will ever eventually achieve.  The truth is of course that each and every child has his or her own timetable, and sometimes progress happens incrementally, and other times it comes in spurts and then stalls out for awhile.  But when we maintain perspective and actually take the time to reflect on where these girls were a year ago, it is clear that they have come an incredibly long way!

People often ask me what it's like raising two daughters with Down syndrome.  And I can tell you that just as with any child, there have been (and continue to be) challenges, although as far as day-to-day life goes, it is really not as complicated as one might think.  One of the hardest parts is simply remembering that while my daughters' chronological ages are five and three, respectively, they are developmentally more like two and one.  Some of that is due to them having Down syndrome, some to a rough start in life, and some is because of autistic tendencies and CP.  No matter what the cause, it requires patience and a change in focus--both sometimes hard to come by.

But what an incredible way to love unconditionally, and what an amazing glimpse into life otherwise not seen. 

And, at the end of the day, these girls are simply my daughters.  My children.

So I will tell you that Mekdes and Tigist are fearfully and wonderfully made by a God who loves them dearly.  I will tell you that they have been our daughters for a year now, and in that time they have made some amazing progress.  I will also tell you that their value and worth comes not from ticking developmental milestones off a checklist or from how well they navigate social situations, but from God Himself.  I will tell you that we were somehow chosen to be their family, when their own families were unable to continue caring for them..and I will tell you that is humbling.  I will tell you that these girls love to eat, laugh, and cuddle.  I will tell you that they are not defined by their diagnoses but I will also tell you that those diagnoses are also part of who they are.  I will tell you that Down syndrome, whether we're talking about an adopted or biological child, is nothing to fear. 

I will tell you that I love my daughters. 

Belief and understanding

Last week I read something fairly profound and challenging, and have been considering it ever since. 

Pope Benedict XVI delivered an address last Sunday in Rome, and in it proposed that Judas' biggest problem was ultimately falsehood.  He explained that Judas certainly could have walked away from Jesus as many of Jesus' followers did...but instead Judas stuck around, in spite of his unbelief, in order to betray Christ.

The Pope then went on to quote St. Augustine, who once wrote the following:

"He does not say we have understood and believed, but we believed and understood. We have believed in order to be able to understand".

Profound, yes? 

This idea that belief, or faith, comes before understanding seems counter-intuitive and upside-down.  But then, a lot of things about faith probably do.  And the truth is that faith is not always easy.  It's hard to believe in something we can't see, or fully understand.  It must be nurtured and protected.  It involves, on some level, choice.

And it is ultimately challenging, because it forces us to ask the difficult question of, Do I believe?  Do I believe in the creeds, the claims, the historical Jesus?  Do I believe not only in His humanity but in His divinity too? 

I reflected on this at Mass yesterday, during the recitation of the Nicene Creed.  And as I looked upon the large crucifix that hangs above the altar in my parish, and considered the words I was saying, I thought that it really is awfully hard to make sense of the Christian story without simple belief.  This is why many consider faith utter foolishness--it seems that way when you don't believe that Jesus is at once God's Son and also God Himself.  Of course when you do accept those propositions, it's much easier to accept the Church's teachings on original and actual sin, the dignity of all human life from conception until natural death, sexuality, and the like.  Because at the end of the day, belief in the historic Christian God--as revealed in the Bible and the creeds and ultimately apostolic teaching--compels us to follow and trust Him.  In order to do that, we must have some level of understanding, but the paradox is that we really can't understand if we don't believe.

Being in relationship with Jesus requires faith, which is a virtue that must be cultivated and nurtured, protected and bolstered.  It is precious and must not be sacrificed on the altar of doubt or worldly success.  A good reminder for me, I think, to spend my time reading, watching, and thinking on things that promote faith.  A good reminder for me to rest in my faith in God when there are things I don't understand.

If you watched the DNC last week, you may have seen Caroline Kennedy saying it is her Catholic faith that compels her to defend reproductive rights.  Which of course got people talking because, well, the Catholic Church has always considered abortion and contraception to be grave evils.  Later I watched a clip of a priest on a cable TV show discussing the situation.  (This is my own paraphrase because I could not find the actual transcript online.)"I'm sure she's a wonderful person, and loves her Church," he said, "but she is lacking intellectual honesty when she says she opposes state restrictions on abortions because she is Catholic.  She should have said she supports reproductive rights because she is a dissident."  And, he's right.  You can't favor abortion rights because you're Catholic--that defies logic.  You can favor them in spite of being Catholic, or you can say that you depart from what the Church believes on this point.

Caroline's viewpoint is not uncommon however--there are many people (both high-profile and otherwise) like Kennedy who identify as Catholic while openly promoting and embracing things the Church has always denounced.  On the one hand it seems to make little sense, especially for us converts who had to wrestle through countless theological issues ourselves in order to arrive at a place where we believed in the concept of Church authority, as held by the Magisterium, instituted by Jesus Himself.  Why associate yourself with a hierarchical institution that has never, ever, affirmed your beliefs, we wonder?

Of course on the other hand, I do understand having an affinity for culture and family tradition.  And it makes sense to me that it is hard to wholeheartedly embrace a set of teachings.  Traditional, historical Christianity is not always an easy pill to swallow.  It requires something of me.  It tells me I am not enough, on my own.  It defines personhood and life's purpose.  It flies in the face of the culture.  It says that there is a natural order to things, and tells me where I am in that order.  It brings freedom through self-control.

And so yes, sometimes Christianity is very hard to understand, especially without the transformation that humble belief ultimately brings.  And that is why intellectual honesty can be hard to come by, and why there are countless people remaining in hierarchical institutions who've long since (or perhaps always) jettisoned the core of what those institutions stand for.

So Pope Benedict's message was timely, and Augustine's words profound, and I think it is a challenge to us all to ask ourselves what do we believe--and are we truly living that way?

Catholic New Media Conference

I'm back!  This grainy photo I snagged from Jennifer's tweet (where it was not at all grainy) is the only visual proof that I was, indeed, at the CNMC. 

I returned from Dallas last Friday night to a vanload of little people (and one big person) excited to see me, which may just be the best feeling in the.en.ti.re. world.  The kids had even made, with the help of my parents (fearless babysitters for the week), a bunch of sweet decorations and signs welcoming me back.  It's always amazing to step away and return to realize that I am loved so very much by the dear people in my home. 

And, the Catholic New Media Conference was great!  Time with friends, meeting new people, hearing from successful and inspiring speakers, and even a little bit of networking.  One of the best parts was actually that a friend from my parish in Denver was there attending the Catholic Marketing Network tradeshow, so I got the opportunity to spend quite a bit of time with her.  She's in the midst of discerning a vocation as a consecrated laywoman (!), which is pretty amazing.

There were several things I "took away" from the conference--many of them not necessarily what I expected, and I'm sure I'll share more about that soon--and one thing swirling around in my head is that in spite of the pitfalls and issues with online communication, engaging in relational, authentic online community is worth the time and effort.

Tears sprang to my eyes when an audience member stood up during a Q&A session, and told a woman that her blog was instrumental in his coming into the Catholic Church.

An ordained minister in the (Protestant) Nazarene denomination, who has built a great relationship with Father Roderick through podcasting, spoke of the warm welcome he continues to receive at these conferences in spite of the fact that he is of course not Catholic. 

Someone in a panel discussion described a high school student who devotes 45 minutes each day to going online and answering questions about abortion on sites like ask.com, and as a result has deterred countless women from terminating their pregnancies.

Regular people.  Busy people.  Engaging in online interaction and allowing God to use them as He sees fit.

Even (perhaps especially?) amidst our information-rich, technologically-connected age, men and women are craving truth, insight, and genuine relationship.  And in an increasingly post-modern, post-Christian culture, I believe people are hungry for things that resonate on a very deep level.  And they want to see those things lived out.  Not just theological or philosophical or political theories or ideas on a page, but actual in-the-trenches life. 

This is why I believe blogging has found the place it has in society.  This is why we continue day after day, week after week, to follow along with our favorite (and not-so-favorite) bloggers.  This is why we love seeing photos of their homes, hearing about their good and bad days, and learning more about what makes them tick.  This is also why we keep reading, even when they make us insanely furious. 

And, maybe it's just the ever-looming election season that is suddenly upon us, but you don't have to look far to see just how polarized our culture has become.  And I personally would argue that polarization is not in and of itself a bad thing, but that it merely reflects a society which no longer holds many values in common.  And, for some reason, the internet remains one of the few safe places to explore ideas and to see how the other side lives.  I may have been moved when the man told the woman that her blog played a role in his conversion, but I was not surprised.  At all.  Where else would a Protestant have the opportunity to explore the bold and ancient claims of the Roman Catholic Church, without fear of being labeled a papist or idolater?  Where else might a person be able to engage with difficult concepts or explore what it even means to be a Catholic in the present day?

And where else can someone watch a story unfold piece by piece, a story that touches and changes them in some powerful way?

You probably know by now that blogs have played a major role in my own faith journey.  And not because the writers of the 21st century are vastly superior to the writers of old--because it's quite the opposite, actually.  (Doubtful there will ever be another GK Chesterton!)  No, it's not that at all.  Ultimately, I believe it's the relational component, the transparency, the real-life dimension that punctuates each and every blog that stirs hearts and pricks minds.  So-and-so may not be a theological genius, but they make me think.  Or, I love that blogger's perspective.  Or, that writer defines life in such a beautiful way.

Most of all, they have a story.

And it's easy to get hooked on a good one. 

Of course the CNMC was ultimately dedicated to those attempting to tell and reflect Jesus' story, which is for Catholics a story of redemption, mercy, hope, and dignity for all people.  And it is one that must be told in part through new media, because that's where the people are.  I do think it will continue to be a difficult balance, because the computer screen is not where true life is actually lived.  And it will never be a legitimate substitute for true human relationship.  We must be careful not to give undue weight to the present, as if it is more important or relevant than the past.  And I think we also need to remember that it is not the end all, be all and there are certainly large demographics it's NOT reaching. 

Not to mention, I think care needs to be given to the quality of what is being produced.  Just because you can blog/Facebook/tweet something doesn't mean you should, or that you should do so without attention to detail.

But it does serve an important and dare I say integral role in the global conversation on faith, morality, beauty, truth, and life, and that really kind of makes it all worth it.  Relatively few bloggers will ever publish a book or gain a large following for their work, but you can--and must--use whatever platform God has given you to influence the culture for good. 

CNMC

I'm flying to Dallas tomorrow.  Just me.  All by my lonesome.  (Well, besides the itty bitty baby dwelling in my womb.  Apparently I do not take trips without bringing at least one of my kids along!)

I'm kind of nervous but I'm also super excited, because I'm attending the Catholic New Media Conference.  Which is essentially a conference for writers, bloggers, tecchies, and anyone generally interested in using new media to tell the Catholic story. 

As thrilled as I am to be going, I must admit that I debated for a long, long time over whether I should.  Because, um, I am a relative nobody in the Catholic blogging world. (I also don't really know how to use Twitter very well. Shhhh.)  So not only would I be sacrificing money and time away from my family, I'd be "posing" as a "Blogger"--amidst a bunch of people way out of my league.

But the more I thought about it, and the more my sweet husband encouraged me, and the more I considered my goals related to my blog and to writing in general, the more I really wanted to go. 

I've told you before that I've gone back and forth over whether or not this blogging thing is worth my time.  Because, well, it's time-consuming.  And I'm busy.  Remember that I have seven kids, I homeschool, and I have a social life that I rather enjoy.  And yet while I've come close to throwing in the towel too many times to count, I've also discovered along the way that I just plain love to write.  I really, really do.  Processing my life and faith through the written word and engaging with all of you is energizing and life-giving for me, regardless how many hits I get or who links to me that day.  (Not that I mind when my posts appear on New Advent or NCR.  Nope, not at all. :)  ) 

A few months ago I actually came to a crossroads of sorts, and made the decision to get more serious about what I do here.  (This may or may not have come on the heels of having dessert with Jennifer Fulwiler, which may or may not have come on the heels of having dinner with Mark Shea and Kevin Knight.  Yes, it really did happen, and yes, it was that evening that really got me thinking.  Perhaps I'll share the story of how all this came about another time.)  And after an unofficial hiatus this summer due to early pregnancy woes, I'm ready to jump back in.  I'm even in the midst of a blog redesign that'll include a fun new logo and, as you can see, I'm now blogging here at www.briannaheldt.com.  My very own URL!

I really do believe that God has given each of us a story.  In stewarding my story well, I need to share it, and this is the platform God has given me.  So while I have no desire to be an apologist or expert of any sort, I can at least share what God has done with the hope that it might encourage or inform someone else.  I can offer you an explanation for why my relationship with Jesus took me from Evangelical to Mainline Protestant to Catholic Christianity.  I can give you some insight into why my husband and I made the decision to adopt four children in need of a home.  I can tell you what it's like to have two children with Down syndrome and medical needs.  I can tell you why we made the decision years ago to be open to life in our marriage, and how that has actually improved our marriage in countless ways.

So ultimately, this conference will be an amazing opportunity for networking, learning, and for being inspired.  Don't tell, but I've never really done any networking at all.  And I am seriously introverted, which means I am also occasionally socially awkward. 

So maybe instead of shamelessly promoting myself, I'll be lurking awkwardly in the back by the cookies and punch.  Pretending to use Twitter.

Either way it's going to be an amazing week of focusing on writing and blogging, seeing fellow bloggy friends that I never get to see, and meeting bloggers I've only previously known online.  Oh, and having a hotel room all to myself (!)

Funny thing is, I never really envisioned having a pursuit or passion beyond being a wife, raising my kids and being a bookworm. 

But I guess now I'm a "Blogger". 

So Dallas, hotel room, punch, and cookies, here I come!

Adoption culture

Something I write about far less than I imagined I would is adoption--in spite of the fact that I have four adopted children.  There are probably several reasons why I don't gravitate towards this subject, but one of them is that I don't feel particularly connected to the culture of adoption.

This may sound strange coming from me, especially if you know that some of my closest friends in real life are raising adopted children, and that I have countless Facebook friends who are also adoptive parents.  I've attended assorted adoption-related conferences and seminars over the past several years, and was one of the first people blogging about Ethiopian adoption in particular.

But still, I'm a little bit on the outside.  And that is by choice.

The present-day culture of adoption seems to operate on two opposite spectrums: my-healthy-adopted-baby-will-have-no-issues contingent, and the medical/developmental-needs-are-SO-no-big-deal, so adopt a waiting child camp. 

One group thinks adoption is the best ever because oh my goodness, babies are so sweet, and the other believes everyone ought to be adopting waiting children because any and all issues are completely correctable and workable.

Both sides love to emphasize how we are adopted by Christ, and that this supplies the mandate necessary to embark on the process of making an orphan your child.

Both sides miss the mark, in my opinion.

Because the fact of the matter is that adoption is hard.  I repeat, adoption is hard.  And I don't mean the process, I mean the act of taking a traumatized and hurting human being into your home and incorporating him or her into your family.  I mean the transition period as well as the years to follow, the unending attempts to diagnose behavioral issues and foster attachment and correct for learning disabilities.

It is, ultimately, the long and hard work of love.

That is the crux.  That is why adoption is hard.  Because love is a choice, it is taking the long view, it is borne out in actions and also in silence, it is independent of feelings and it does not follow any one timeline.  It demands sacrifice, self-giving, nurture and structure, and daily reliance upon God.

And adoption in particular tests our character because it illuminates the struggle to put another first, above ourselves.  We must stare brokenness and vulnerability square in the face, our child's face.  We must make decisions and rethink any and all conventional parenting strategies, and in the end accept a new definition of success...while still clinging fiercely to hope.

We must become very small.

This is what, I believe, so much of the adoption culture misses.  To claim a child as one's own, we sign up to enter into a world of pain and sorrow and grief--some of which may never fully be healed this side of Heaven.  This world is often filled too with cognitive impairment, impulsivity, developmental delays, congenital heart defects, Asperger's syndrome, and the like.  These things do not fit neatly into the "cute baby" or "it's no big deal" categories.

For they are, truly, a most very big deal.

But this world is also filled with redemption.  We must take care not to miss the work of Jesus, especially in the small things, because otherwise we will only see the big, hard things.  We must continue setting standards for each of our children, and helping them to reach their potential, in spite of their difficult start in life.

It's no secret that I believe adoptive families ought to be open to waiting children.  I confess that my sympathies do indeed lie more closely with that side of the spectrum.  But we must go in with eyes wide open, and reject the idea that any and all effects from institutionalization or Cerebral Palsy or ADHD will be corrected with just a little time and love.  Some will, in fact, not be.  Because when you raise a child, adopted or biological, it is the work of a lifetime, not a list of milestones to be checked off until the age of 18 when the child disappears into the void.  And many (most?) of our adopted children have essentially sustained brain damage--whether due to undernutrition or trauma.

It is the work of love. 

And love is long-suffering, it perseveres, it forgives and it remains.  It is the very essence of God.

So while I count it a great privilege to talk to people about adoption, and wish for families to think long and hard about whether there might be room in their home and hearts for a child without a family, I also know that once the dust settles, adoption simply becomes the toil and joy of parenting.  It is exhausting and exhilarating, all at once, and will call you into a deeper and more difficult love than you have known.  God has called some of us to this journey and most of us regularly wonder why.  We feel woefully inadequate when it comes to such a humbling and beautiful task.

And yet, we know.

We know that our children would quite literally have nobody else were it not for us.

We know that our children faced abuse of all kinds in their respective orphanages.

We know that our daughter with Down syndrome would have lived a much shorter life were it not for receiving open heart surgery in America two months after joining our family.

We know, first-hand, how very important love is.

We know it is life, and we know it is mercy in action.

We know it is good.

And that is the adoption culture that I believe must be cultivated.  This is the paradigm that is sustainable over time.  It breaks through the unrealistic expectations while standing in awe of the miraculous.  It is filled with hope and beauty while acknowledging hardship and yes, occasional suffering.

It is, in many ways, merely representative of life itself.

And maybe that's part of the gift, this being called by God to participate in adoption.  Maybe He is giving us a unique glimpse into life that we would simply not otherwise have.  Not only are we able to see the world through the eyes of a precious child, but we have a front row seat to healing, raw grief, and the importance and value of belonging.

Several years into adoptive parenting, I am more convinced than ever that we parents receive far more than we could ever give. 

And this is perhaps the best-kept secret of adoption culture.

The Assumption

Today is the feast day of the Assumption of Mary. 

For those who don't know the secret handshake, the Assumption refers to when Mary was assumed, body and soul, into Heaven.  This is an important day in the life of the Catholic Church, and a Holy Day of Obligation, meaning that we attend Mass. 

Anytime a Protestant friend asks what my primary obstacles were to becoming Catholic, Mary inevitably comes up.  Some of the Catholic doctrine on this subject is, for someone generally unfamiliar with it (like I was), difficult.

And yet at the same time, I'm also quick to say that in many ways, the Marian beliefs were a joy for me to embrace.  Because for as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated by the Mother of God...and troubled by the lack of respect paid her in non-Catholic circles. 

Even as a Protestant I found it peculiar that her role in salvation--and in the Christian story--was so very diminished, considering what God chose her to do, and how much attention she received in the New Testament.  I of course came to see that the downplaying of Mary was merely a reaction to what was perceived as problematic Catholic teaching on the subject, and that bothered me. 

Was this really a reason to emphasize her youth, her nobody-ness, her naivete--over her faithfulness and obedience?  Over her Fiat and Magnificat?

Was this really a reason to part ways with the Church Fathers and virtually all early Christians by proposing that she was a wretched sinner like the rest of us?  As opposed to having been Immaculately Conceived?

And why the compulsion to buy into what was declared a heresy by Christians in the fourth century, this idea that she had a non-celibate marriage and as a result, several other children?  Especially in spite of the fact that this belief was not held by Christians anywhere until a heretic, bent on denying Jesus' divinity, proposed this alternate reality? 

Didn't the truth--and respecting the woman chosen by God to carry and bear His Son--matter more than distancing yourself from a faith tradition?

It is clear that over the centuries, Protestants have worked long and hard to make sure that Mary appears to be no different than anyone else, and that nobody in their midst spends too much time thinking about the Blessed Mother, period.  Personally, I believe much of their vested interest (or disinterest) lies in the fact that Mary cannot be divorced from the teachings of the early Christian church, which have been handed down throughout the years and which are now collectively known as Roman Catholicism. 

The Catholic view of Mary is of course a much bigger (and older) picture.  We give her honor, because Jesus honored her.  We love her, because Jesus loved her.  We look to her as our Mother, because Jesus is our brother.  The Church is a family, and it makes perfect, beautiful sense that our spiritual mother would hold a special place in our hearts. 

Truth be told, I love knowing that Mary lives in Heaven and prays for us.  I love thinking about how one day we too will be received into Heaven, as she was on the day she was assumed, and that Jesus wants to receive us too. 

The very idea of celebrating feast days and solemnities is vital for me, in spite of my not experiencing this in its fullness until adulthood.  Following the church calendar is a way to orient our lives around that which truly matters, and to honor saints and events which have gone before us.  As a Protestant I of course observed Good Friday, Easter, and Christmas Day, but now as a Catholic I get to celebrate all manner of holy days.  I feel so much more connected to Christianity throughout the ages, and I love it, in part because it helps bring about perspective and puts me in my proper place.  Ultimately though, observing feast days by attending Mass means that I am entering into worship with the Communion of Saints, those in Heaven and those on earth and those in Purgatory, and the angels too.  Beautiful, yes?

So today we celebrate the Assumption of Mary, and look towards the blessed hope of one day joining Jesus in Heaven as well. 

When they have a new sibling

Someone recently asked how and when we tell our children we're having another baby.  We've actually done different things during different pregnancies, and I certainly don't think there's ever a one-size-fits-all approach when it comes to this issue.  We've had pregnancies where we've told our children right away, and a pregnancy where we've waited until the end of the first trimester.  We've had a pregnancy where we had to tell them that their baby brother or sister died.  So I suppose you could say that we've done it all.

And while there is definitely no "right" way to share such momentous news with a child, we have worked hard to cultivate a culture of life in our home, where new babies are cherished and wanted, and where more life equals more love.  I have never once, for example, had a child disappointed about a new sibling joining the family, by either birth or adoption.  Not once.  Each and every homecoming has included lots of little people with big smiles and open arms (and occasional arguing over who gets to hold the new sibling first.)  I love that I can tell each subsequent child that they were so loved by so many people, from the very beginning.  And the same goes for children of friends--if we know you and you're having a baby, you can count on the Heldt kids being over-the-top excited.

Just yesterday in fact we had the privilege of hosting a dear friend's foster daughter for a couple of hours.  Within minutes of this sweet girl being dropped off, my kids had a blanket spread on the floor with lots of age-appropriate toys all around.  They adore this baby.  They love getting to spend time with her.  They take great pride in making her happy and in singing her songs and would keep her, if they could.

This is something that I hope my children never, ever lose, this being in awe of the gift of life, and the joy of loving the littlest and neediest of beings.  They have not yet internalized the culture's disdain of the weak.  Which is pretty great if I do say so myself.

So, how does one go about cultivating these virtuous attitudes in his or her children?  Here are six things we've found to be helpful in this endeavor.

1.)  Couch the announcement in positive language (and avoid the negative.)  When we announced my current pregnancy, we did not for example tell Mary that she wouldn't be the baby anymore.  We did not discuss the immense sacrifices we'll all have to make or the fact that a new baby will mean less of Mommy's attention to go around.  No, instead, we expressed our own excitement--and thus allowed for our children to be excited too.  We always play up the idea that they get to be big brothers and sisters all over again.  We encouraged little Mary Lu to kiss my belly, and told her were so thrilled for her to step into the role of big sister for the first time.  I truly believe children will follow our lead, so we must take care to lead well.

2.)  Instruct your children in the faith.  This may seem unrelated, but it's not.  We personally subscribe to the historic and traditional Christian belief that sexuality is designed by God for marriage, and that sexuality is meant to be open to life.  Our children understand this as well, because we've told them so.  Not in graphic or overly-detailed terms, but they believe that when one chooses the vocation of marriage, they are also choosing to be open to children.  They know that children are the natural fruit of marriage, and a profound gift from God.  So they believe that family life, as designed by God, includes the occasional arrival of a new child.  And that God calls it good.

3.)  Instill a respect for the least of these, the weak, and the vulnerable.  Children have a natural concern for the well-being of others.  True, they are rather self-centered little creatures, but they also have a strong sense of justice.  Anna was too little when we brought our sons home to voice much of an opinion, but when we adopted Mekdes and Tigist last year, oh my goodness, our children were thrilled.  They found something very unsettling about two little girls growing up in an orphanage, and wanted them home.  With us.  We did discuss the idea that it might take the two newest Heldts a little longer to learn to do things (on account of years of institutionalization and Down syndrome), but nobody cared or gave that much thought.  They know Mekdes isn't able yet to get her own cup of water, so they're happy to do it for her.  They know Tigist needs help with getting out to the car, so they carry her.  We try to teach our children not to look down on the helpless, or to ascribe value to people primarily on the basis of what they can do.  Because dignity runs far deeper than that.

4.)  Avoid voicing discontent over a particular life or developmental phase.  My kids have rarely, if ever, heard me say that I can't wait for everyone to be out of diapers.  Ever.  Not because I'm so selfless that I love changing diapers (I'm not, and I don't!), but because that reality is decades into the future for me.  When you know that you have several years of fertility remaining, you also know that diapers are merely a part of life.  Because children are, simply, helpless.  God knows what He's doing, and what better way to cultivate a tender, servant-like heart than to gift His adult children with needy little ones to care for?  Don't believe the ridiculous lie that some people are just made to do things like wipe bottoms and clean spit-up off the carpet.  Aside from that view being incredibly insulting to those of us in the trenches, it is also preposterous.  Because no one likes those jobs.  And maybe those of us who detest them the most, need them the most.  They are merely part of life, and ultimately?  What an honor to be given the responsibility of caring for a child.  So if we don't want our child seeing their younger sibling as a major inconvenience, we must be careful not to act as if that younger sibling is a major inconvenience to us.

5.)  Be realistic--while encouraging virtue.  No matter how much I want my kids to be excited at the news of a new baby, I don't have super specific expectations.  Kids are, after all, kids.  On the one hand I refuse to tell my children how to feel, and on the other I will not tolerate excessive complaining or disrespect.  And I don't have a problem telling my kids how God wants them to see something.  So far they really have been unanimously happy and welcoming towards new siblings, but that may not always be the case for everyone.  And, that's okay.  Our family however is not run like a democracy, and at some point my kids may simply need to learn that obeying and following after God is not necessarily the easy or convenient road, even as it is the right road.  And no matter how many children are in a family, everyone feels a little left out or misunderstood sometimes.  Big families do not have the market on teenage angst or disappointment.  So it's important to remember that people are people, and it's unrealistic to expect perfection all of the time.  But we can certainly strive for virtue and for having a right heart.

6.)  Get the kids involved.  What school-aged child doesn't love holding a squishy baby?  Or who doesn't feel important and valuable when they're responsible for getting a younger sibling ready for bed?  My older children do a lot of work with the younger ones, and it is something that they have actually come to more or less enjoy.  Not all the time, but enough, and most of all they know that it's just part of life.  They help to look after one another, and while they are by no means parenting (and very much do live a carefree childhood), they are participating in family life in a robust and meaningful way.  I have found that this builds incredible self-esteem and family pride, as well as lifeskills that will be useful in the years to come.

Hopefully this gives at least some small insight into how our family brings new members into its midst.  We are certainly far from perfect, but I am forever in awe of the way that God weaves our lives together, and grows love in the hearts of my children.

And I really kind of love how He uses teeny tiny babies to do it. 

Worth it

This pregnancy has been one of my sickest yet, second only to when I was carrying my first child nine years ago.  Think complete exhaustion and around-the-clock nausea, which is only intensified by the intense Denver heat.  I have more or less been hanging around the house for the past several weeks, sitting ever so still, and eating pickles and taking naps.  And when I do leave the house, I find myself contemplating strategies for what to do if my nausea takes a sudden turn for the worse.

I honestly feel a little bit like my summer has vanished into a pathetic, sickly haze.  Weeks have passed with relatively zero productivity on my part, writing plans have been put on the back burner, and any vestiges of a social life are on hold.  Just getting to Mass on Sunday mornings--our one and only have-to-be-there commitment--feels like a huge effort. 

And I'd be lying if I said I don't occasionally feel the slightest twinge of self-pity from time to time.  It is hard mothering seven children when I scarcely feel well  enough to take a shower.  It is hard preparing meals that I know I won't eat.

And yet here I am, nearly at the end of my first trimester, my pregnancy still going strong.  For this I feel unbelievably grateful!  I have lost two babies over the course of my marriage, and so I do not take my fertility or ability to bring forth a child for granted.  I refuse.  It is a gift, and a profound one at that.

So I try to remind myself of this when I feel somewhat defeated, and disappointed in how my summer has materialized.  There is a soul--a soul!--growing in my womb.  No moment--no matter how sedentary--is wasted, because I am somehow caught up with God in this mystery of the creation of life.

And, God loves life.  And souls.  And love. 

Just yesterday I was reminded of this when some friends and I ventured out to IKEA with our children (fifteen total, but who's counting?).  And a woman at the store took us by surprise when she demonstrated that, well, she didn't like our children.  Not because they were misbehaving or yelling or crying, but simply because they existed.  The very idea that these needy creatures lived and breathed was too much for her, so she angrily (and loudly) informed my friend that we were "nuts", amidst much scoffing and indignation--and all  in spite of my friend's big smile and gentle assurance that we were actually having a nice time. 

It is a terrifying thought to me that someone could be so offended by the mere existence of a soul, and yet isn't that where much of society has positioned themselves?  Disdain, disgust, and fear encapsulate a post-modern view on the fruitfulness of marriage, the natural and beautiful end of intimacy between spouses, the generosity that compels a couple to bring forth new life or to raise a child desperately in need of life.  This deeply-held view that souls are worth less than vacations and pensions and, ultimately, autonomy, is diametrically opposed to the life-giving paradigm we find in God's vision and heart for humanity.   

I find it highly ironic that what so many champion and herald and hope for can be found in the very place they despise and cast off: the heart of the family.  Acceptance.  Love.  Authenticity.  Fulfillment. 

But people want these things without the sacrifice, without the ultimate submission to a higher view of life which is sometimes more difficult, but always more real, and more beautiful.  Saying yes to Jesus is humbling and hard, but it is good.

There are some instances where the hatred of immortality and life is on display in clear and obvious ways.  (Abortion, for example, is a distorted and hideous perversion.)  But far more often, a more subtle suppression of life goes unnoticed.  Until a person is confronted with the preciousness of life, and is repulsed, and lashes out in anger at strangers in a store.

So as sick as I am, and as frustrating as it is to spend the end of one's summer sitting very still on the couch, I know that I am doing something worthwhile.  I am nourishing life, simply by existing and by sharing my body with a helpless little one.  In this I am loving my baby, and his or her seven siblings too, and we may not be taking many hikes, but my goodness we're living.  Together.  Saying yes to Jesus and making sacrifices in small and big ways.  We may seem like we're nuts to the rest of the world, but somehow, in a really miraculous and astounding way, we're doing some pretty important things that have eternal significance.     

Not a bad way to spend the summer, actually.

Because life is always worth it.

What you know, and what you're passionate about

Mekdes, right after being baptized.

My drafts folder is filling up.

Half-written, clumsy posts about everything from motherhood to chicken sit unfinished and unrefined, with the word "Draft" next to them in big red letters.

I haven't done much writing lately, at least not as much as I usually do, but even the things I have written remain in obscurity, unpublished.  Some of this is because I'm not feeling well, but mostly it's because I tend to write on topics that I'm thinking about.  And the topics that I'm thinking about are hard, and potentially uncomfortable.

You see, writing is personal.  Or at least it ought to be.  Because a finished piece of work, even a simple blogpost, is a window into the author's mind and heart--an imperfect, two-dimensional window, but a window just the same.  And the difference between a blog and, say, a book, is that the blogosphere tends to be comprised of a far more diverse readership than the subset of folks who buy a book.  And the communication on a blog goes both ways, not just one, which is really kind of amazing, but also intimidating.

So as I mull over things like religious freedom, faith, friendship, marriage, life, motherhood, and yes, chicken, I struggle to express my thoughts and also to pinpoint my purpose in conveying such information.  Contrary to what some may believe, I don't primarily write to change peoples' minds.  I'm kind of under the assumption that the views you hold are held for a reason, and I'm probably the last person in the world positioned to convince you otherwise. 

I do on the other hand write for myself, for those who are attempting to live as faithful Catholics, for those struggling to follow Jesus, for those on the fence, for friends, for disenchanted Protestants, and for casual observers who hold a completely different worldview from me, but who continue to read out of curiosity.  Simply, as an at-home mother, I have found blogging to be an incredible outlet for processing through and sharing my thoughts, and my journey through life.  I have been so inspired and encouraged by the written word myself, and if I can somehow contribute to someone else's well-being through this medium, then it's worth it.

The trouble is, though, that my journey has taken me new places.  I no longer write primarily about adoption or about the cute things my kids say.  (That is so 2006.)  Instead, I write about life.  And faith.  And I've always written about faith, but now my faith has a label--Catholic--and it's not a particularly popular one.  I've always held relatively conservative positions on social and theological issues, but now you know precisely what I think about those things on account of the label.  I've always believed that one should discern what is true, and follow that truth, but now you know I believe in absolute truth.  On account of the label. 

And, I have readers here from all phases and corners of my life.  So as a result, I occasionally make people angry.  Or disappointed in me.  It is the irony of a growing readership--as more people I don't know choose to follow my blog because something resonates with them, more people I do know are frustrated because I say this or that, or don't say this or that, or because I believe such-and-such to be true.

It's a tight-rope act.

But.

I've done a lot of thinking about the whole thing.  About where one ought to draw the line, about whether a writing gig is ever worth alienating or aggravating people, about what should be said in a public forum where I know some people are going to disagree or think less of me.

And at the end of the day, I've decided that you should write what you know and write what you're passionate about, and accept the fact that a blog is very public and, as such, potentially polarizing.  I don't think the goal should ever be to polarize (though I do think there is occasionally a time and place for such rhetoric), but I also don't think it's authentic or genuine to preface every opinion with "This is just my truth, and any other truth claim is equally valid."  Because nobody actually lives that way. 

I think often about an article that ran in a local magazine this past Easter, which included interviews of people from different faith traditions.  As I eagerly began the section on Islam, I was dismayed to see that they had not sought out a practicing, devout Muslim, but instead spoke to a woman who disagreed with pretty much any and all traditional Muslim distinctives.  A university professor, she had parted ways with the traditional expression of Islam and considered herself a progressive, attending a non-traditional Denver mosque. 

I was genuinely disappointed that I did not get to hear from a pious practicer of Islam, and yet felt that the publication's choice in interviewee spoke much louder than the woman herself.  Clearly the magazine was not comfortable showcasing people of faith who believe their religion to be true.  Instead, they only sought out those with worldviews that appeared on the surface to be inclusive and non-threatening.

It should come as no surprise then that in spite of the statistical breakdown of faith practices in the Denver metro area, which include many Catholics, not one Catholic priest was featured.

Of course the irony here is that this open-minded worldview isn't any more inclusive than any other, they just differ in terms of who they include.  The progressive Muslim for example certainly seemed to have a much more relaxed approach to religion, but was incredibly opposed to the traditional expression of her faith.

So what does any of that have to do with blogging?  Well, it has a lot to do with it. 

My Facebook newsfeed has been clogged this past week with peoples' views on marriage and free speech and tolerance.  Surely yours has too.  The particular issue in question is front-and-center and will not be going away--not now, not ever.  It is something that matters deeply to many people--people on both sides of the fence.  And that's why seemingly everyone is talking about it.  Because it matters, and each of us wants a voice, and we care about society as a whole. 

I think this is, generally, healthy.  I appreciate when people can share opinions and articulate why they believe something.  I appreciate knowing where somebody stands, and knowing that they had the courage to share.  Even if we disagree.

What I don't appreciate though is the attitude that this or that person has no right to express their view.  I don't appreciate when someone shares an opinion, and is labeled intolerant or a fundamentalist or a Hitler.  I don't appreciate when someone presents a viewpoint, and is automatically deemed polarizing or divisive.

We.all.have.opinions.  We all are coming from a place of belief.  We all categorize some ideas as wrong, and some as right. 

So when it comes to writing on a public platform like a blog, I believe you can be a kind, gracious, and approachable person while also maintaining a consistent, honest, and unwavering belief system.  I want to be authentic.  I want to be me.  I want to be known.  And so I can't imagine maintaining a blog where I avoid any and all mention of meaningful things that some might disagree with.  Because any and all convictions have that potential.  That's just the way it is.  And the beauty of a blog is that a writer can pen their thoughts to the void, and people can choose whether or not to read, and some will, and some won't.

I'm honestly not sure what will eventually emerge from my drafts folder, and what will remain.  I am sure that my blog will continue to be a place where I explore life from a Catholic, homeschooling, married perspective.  Because that's where I'm coming from.  I am defined by who God made me to be, and that certainly won't sit well with everyone, and that is more than okay.

And in spite of the inherent challenges and awkward situations that will surely arise, there is one overarching reason that I will continue writing what I know and what I'm passionate about. 

God's story is incredibly beautiful. 

The historical Christian faith, what we call Catholicism or Christ's Church, is rich and liberating and full. And, I believe, true.  It is also incredibly misunderstood and has lived in relative obscurity in the United States for a long time now.  And yet as Protestantism continues to shift, and belief in God changes shape in a post-modern era, the Church remains a source of wisdom and constancy.  There are many people, afterall, asking questions and seeking answers--not necessarily about which branch of religion is right, but moreso about what it means to be a woman, what ought marriage look like, how does one find fulfillment in life, and what Christianity even is.

Not all of these seekers will become Catholic, not by a long shot, but that doesn't mean that the beauty of Christianity cannot speak into their lives, or help them recover a holistic and nourishing understanding of motherhood, or bring them to an appreciation of the holiness and grandeur of God.  Some of my most treasured and respected friends who are passionately following Jesus are not, in fact, Catholic.  They are Protestant.  And while we may not agree on things like the Eucharist or the Blessed Mother, we probably do have a great deal in common in terms of the importance of faith and obedience to Jesus.  I do not mean to say that the differences are unimportant, or that both manifestations of Christianity are equally true (since they are, by nature, mutually exclusive).  But it is to say that to be Catholic is to hold to the traditions handed down by the apostles (including the Bible), and much of this is reflected in traditional Protestantism as well.  Thus the Catholic perspective has the potential to enrich and inform people of diverse backgrounds, especially when the voice of Evangelicalism has changed so much over the years.

And so I feel convicted that I must share where God has brought me, how He has done it, and what I am learning.  I am not expressly intending to make converts, but to openly share God's heart for humanity.  He has given each of us a story, and I believe we must take care to steward that story well.

So this is mine.   

I share it here on my blog, and I will humbly do so by writing what I know, and what I'm passionate about.