Families in the Abstract

Human relationships are difficult. Painfully difficult. The only thing that makes them more difficult than the intangibles already present are material things. I think that there are a number of different ways we can attempt to understand these difficulties--one of which is simply "offering them up". . . Except that that's not really simple. I have walked away from a number of friendships in my life, as I've mentioned before. Indeed, my tendency to cut ties or have people drift away was so pervasive, I feared on more than one occasion that the same would happen to my husband and I when we were dating. At any rate, circumstances did not permit me to screw that one up! I can ask of other relationships what I don't ask of my marriage (because I think the answers are both profoundly simple and simply profound)--what causes relationships to continue? Frequently, the answer is need. Perhaps it is a feature of post-lapsarian relationships that we must need each other in order to overcome difference. But material needs, while binding people together, do so in unpleasant ways. People neither like relying on others, not being relied upon, at least when the understanding is incomplete. Bad feelings fester. Breakdowns ensue. And the temptation is to run away. I am tempted to run away. To never have the bad feelings come up again because I am so far removed from the people and situation that I can happily block it from my mind and get on with my life. And never to be confronted with the judgment, scorn, and misunderstanding of those whom I have helped. In short, the temptation is to end the relationship. For those relationships that I have not been able to simply walk away from, I am grateful. For those I have been able to reconcile, if not mend and rebuild, I am also grateful. I hope to be grateful one day for not being able to flee from the relationships I would like to sever. I'm not there yet.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love,
Where there is injury, pardon
Where there is doubt, faith,
Where there is despair, hope,
Where there is darkness, light,
Where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much
seek to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
it is in dying that we awake to eternal life.

~St. Francis of Assisi

Good News for Next Semester! and Thoughts on Answered Prayers...

I found out yesterday that because one of the goals for the department is to lower writing courses (Intro to Lit included) to only 21 students, and because this involves making sure all open sections are as full as possible, my course has been canceled. Instead of teaching, I was offered a position working in an administrative office with revisions to Intro to Lit. Yay!! Not only do I enjoy the course design aspect of teaching, I will be able to do most of my work from home (a mixed blessing, but more good than not), with as little as 2 hours/week in the office.

I'm not very good at waxing poetic about blessings and answered prayers, mainly because I've always kind of felt that it was arrogant to suggest that something happened as a result of prayer. Some people do manage to make it a matter of arrogance; they were just so darned holy that everything they asked for--the promotion, the new car, the great sale on designer shoes--was provided by God specifically for them. I met a lot of these people at various churches I attended when I was young, and it left a bad impression. I developed the idea that humility (though I didn't have a name for it) involved thinking oneself too small to merit such favors. I wasn't thinking about that one lost sheep, I guess. That insecurity of faith (which I guess is the best way to characterize it) is a hard habit to break. I also don't want to fall into what I still see is a kind of arrogance. And yet I can't deny that this is an answer to my prayers of late. I just didn't know how I was going to make it work--the teaching, the family. . . My prayers have been of the "You have given me my family, and allowed me to pursue this career. Show me what you have in store for me--how I am to make this work, or what my alternatives are. . ." variety. Well, this certainly feels like an answer to that. At times, as well, my prayers have focused more specifically on what next semester would hold. This is a subtle reminder for me to trust in God, a topic I have been reading about on Et-Tu, Jen? She speaks directly to my persistent anxiety.

What I wonder is, after being in the habit of relying solely on oneself for so long, how even to contemplate turning it all over to God. Though I called myself a Christian (of sorts) for most of my life, this was a concept that was alien to me. Now I find I am called to that kind of trust. I think this is more characteristically Catholic than Protestant, especially as family is concerned (though not exclusively). I sense a long journey ahead, but lessons like this one certainly ease the way!

Tea and Novenas

Today was the baby shower tea. It was a very small matter, with three graduate student friends, two of whom had to leave early, and my mother and one sister, who left to bring my brother to work and returned afterward. My mother and sister were not originally supposed to be in town. The sister who was to attend had to work. My sister who did attend just returned from Colorado, where she tried to live with some friends--a married couple with a new baby--a situation that just didn't work out. So it was nice to know that that situation was at an end for her! And my mother came up at the beginning of the month with my youngest brother (13 yrs) for a doctor's appointment (since medical care is better--and cheaper--here than in New Orleans), left for a while to help my sister move from Colorado, and returned for a bit more of a visit. She was to have left early today, before the tea, but postponed her trip home and so was able to make it after all. She will be returning tomorrow, but my brother will be staying with my sister for a couple of weeks. If the baby waits a bit, she may be here for the birth! As for my brother, he has been rather depressed in New Orleans--lonely and living without plumbing because of the state of the house. . . My mother returns to find out information about the Road Home program. Hopefully that will go well and they will be able to offer her some hope of repair for her property. She has had a job--working at Starbucks, and is starting to do freelance sewing, alterations, photography, digital imaging, book making, selling her own jewelry designs, painting murals--any number of artistic pursuits, whenever she can find jobs. She much prefers the latter to the former, and the schedule of Starbucks does not easily allow for trips to Texas, so she's not entirely sure what awaits her on her return. . .

So in all, the tea was small & pleasant. And there were lots of little eclairs.

In response to my last post, a blogging friend suggested praying a novena--the two of us together. She says that is something a friend of hers offers when she is worried. We considered St. Gerard, but then decided on Our Lady of Hope. This was not an incarnation of the Blessed Mother that I had every heard of before! But what struck me is that her famous appearance in the French village of Pontmain was on my birthday, 106 years earlier. It strikes me that as Catholics, many of us place importance on things like that (I always have; I suppose it's cultural)--and it's rather hard not to sometimes. After all, hope is something I do need reminders of from time to time. I plan to doing some research and finding an icon or holy card to keep with me. Such apparent coincidences remind one of the Communion of Saints, and remind us of the operation of God's will in the world across time. My son, for example, has a very unusual Irish first name. Imagine our surprise when, on the day of his baptism, the deacon told us of an obscure Irish saint--and abbot--whose feast day was celebrated the day after my son's birthday, whose name was clearly an archaic spelling of my son's name!

So it is nice to have the comfort of prayer, and a communal prayer, and the personal connection as well.

Novena

I am the mother of fair love, and of fear, and of knowledge, and of holy hope. In me is all grace of the way and of the truth; in me is all hope of life and of virtue. Come to me all that desire me and be filled with my fruits (Sirach 24:24-26).
O Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of Grace, Hope of the world.
Hear us, your children, who cry to you

Let Us Pray
O God, who by the marvelous protection of the Blessed Virgin Mary has strengthened us firmly in hope, grant we beseech You, that by persevering in prayer at her admonition, we may obtain the favors we devoutly implore. Through Christ Our Lord. Amen.

Prayer to Our Lady of Hope
O Mary, my Mother, I kneel before you with heavy heart. The burden of my sins oppresses me. The knowledge of my weakness discourages me. I am beset by fears and temptations of every sort. Yet I am so attached to the things of this world that instead of longing for Heaven I am filled with dread at the thought of death.
O Mother of Mercy, have pity on me in my distress. You are all-powerful with your Divine Son. He can refuse no request of your Immaculate Heart. Show yourself a true Mother to me by being my advocate before His throne. O Refuge of Sinners and Hope of the Hopeless, to whom shall I turn if not you?
Obtain for me, then, O Mother of Hope, the grace of true sorrow for my sins, the gift of perfect resignation to God's Holy Will, and the courage to take up my cross and follow Jesus. Beg of His Sacred Heart the special favor that I ask in this novena.

To protect me and my baby from the risks of childbirth,

to help me to endure the pains of labor,

for relief from anxiety for my son and myself,

and for a safe return to my family after delivery.

But above all I pray, O dearest Mother, that through your most powerful intercession my heart may be filled with Holy Hope, so that in life's darkest hour I may never fail to trust in God my Savior, but by walking in the way of His commandments I may merit to be united with Him, and with you in the eternal joys of Heaven. Amen.
Mary, our Hope, have pity on us.
Hope of the Hopeless, pray for us.

Three Hail Marys.

reprinted (with request added) from EWTN.com

Maternal Spirituality, contd.

Okay, so I started to write a really long comment in response to the recent posts from Melanie and Mrs. Darwin, but the more I wrote, the more I began to feel that a new post was in order. The suggestions provided by Melanie and others are great--very solid suggestions, some of which, like praying with the little ones, are things I do. It is nice to hear from Entropy that she, too, feels guilty for getting distracted! And nice to hear about the "selectiveness" of blogs, which I did realize on some level, but there is such a feeling of unmodified reality on some blogs (the ones that I read are like this, but I know more "artificial" blogs exist), that it's easy to get lured in and assume that the serene spirituality of Catholic mommy bloggers is the norm rather than the impression gained from highlights!! C's mention of praying for ourselves instead of others was amusing, especially since there have been real occasions when having someone tell me that they would "pray for me" was rather grating--mostly because of how it was said and my own experiences in Protestant churches when I was younger. My newer religious friends (on and off of blogs) have helped me to see the difference between the judgmental prayer offers and those that proceed from a sincere heart (not that I can tell the difference always, but I do know that having a teacher at a Catholic school say that she will pray for you & your family after a dispute about how she has wrongly insinuated that your child was rude is not appropriate!). I have to admit that Entropy's comment about the VBS teacher raised an eyebrow because I wonder sometimes in what spirit people share their prayer intentions. . . But that comes from a cynical place, and we don't want to go there! I definitely appreciate Melanie's analysis of the Our Father, which draws attention to the neediness of that prayer. While I had certainly thought about the words and heard a wonderful homily once on the meaning behind the imagery in a daily campus mass, I had not really thought about it as asking for things for ourselves. If only these were the main things we asked for! I try to focus on the "Thy will be done" part to the exclusion of the actual things I desire, and it's not always easy. Especially since I doubt my impressions of what I think I "need." This makes me think again of "Et tu, Jen?" who, I believe, has posted on the "need" vs. "want" question, but more in the first fervor of conversion spirit rather than from the place where I now find myself.

But I reintroduced this topic in a new post because I want to come back to the issue that Mrs. Darwin picks up on: just not knowing where to fit everything in a day! It sounds easy--or at least, it sounds like it should be easy--or at least, it sounds like it should be the focus of our daily activities, but really, it's extremely difficult, and difficult to make the time. Like Mrs. D, I do sometimes pray a quick prayer when something strikes me during the day--especially anxiety! I like the praying for the time to pray suggestion, but another issue for me is something I only briefly touch on in the original post--the location. Specifically, I mentioned Mass at the end of my post. Prayer before Mass always seems the most natural and least self-conscious to me. Like I said--it's really the solitude I seem to be missing lately, and without the space and time to think, I just can't feel spiritually satisfied. That's where the question about maternal spirituality comes in--is it necessarily cluttered by things and events and shared with others? What I seem to be hearing in other mothers' experiences is yes. Before my daughter was born, I relished the daily Mass on campus. But all of the times I tried to attend daily Mass when she was younger were abysmal failures. The interesting thing, too, about going to the daily Mass by myself before she was born is that everyone else was safely squared away--my husband was teaching or working (depending on the job), my son was at school. Those were the places where they belonged and I didn't feel the need to be spending time with them--or, more accurately, the want, since I'm with them more because I want to be than because of a sense of obligation!! So I was able to spend this prayerful 25 min. or so twice a week.

Interestingly, what I'm describing is not unlike not being able to find the time to write poetry. The last time I wrote poetry was when I was taking a class, and then I generally wrote the poems the day they were to be workshopped in class. Poetry writing, at least for me, proceeds from the solitude in a given day--the ability to consciously look at the day, it's events, its images, put them together using experiences from the past or present in language that departs from ordinary daily experience and makes us see those experiences differently. I guess something similar is the rationale for this blog, really--to take daily experiences and try to see them differently, to add a little bit of analysis to the events of a given day or week. It somehow requires less solitude to write analytic prose than to write poetry or to pray (and I seem to be seeing those two as somehow analogous). Writing poetry usually made me want to get beyond myself and see things more objectively, which isn't quite the same as what I've been saying about prayer (at least the "objective" part), though getting beyond myself is also a goal for prayer. On the other hand, most of my most successful poems were the deeply self-conscious ones. I think I have exhausted this comparison, however! I can put aside poetry writing indefinitely, even though there is a poem that I began writing shortly after my conversion that I want to finish someday. . . I had a professor who once made the observation that women rarely continue writing poetry after they become mothers because they feel fulfillment and no longer need to write poetry (!). She was a wonderful woman, and this likely says more about her own attitude toward motherhood (she became a mother very late in life) than about female poets!! I think that the reason behind the phenomenon she mentions is simply not being able to find the time for contemplation! (or perhaps not having a suitable space) Which brings me back, in a rather circuitous way, to my subject.

How much of spirituality is determined by the meeting of personal preference (that is, busy-ness vs. quiet contemplation) and opportunity (time and location), and how much is discipline? I could likely ask the same question about dissertation-writing, I guess. (Notice I'm not asking that. . .)

Putting things into perspective. . .

I ran across this post, Some Thoughts on Motherhood, on the Wine-Dark Sea blog, as I followed the Darwins' request for prayers on behalf of Melanie Bettanelli, who faces cancer in the aftermath of a miscarriage. The post fits with an overall theme of mine--the vocation of motherhood, on which I hope one day to have non-reactionary observations to post! It also puts a number of things into perspective, particularly as it deals with the grief of losing a child, which is perhaps something most (?) expectant mothers fear on some level, myself included. I can't summarize my reactions, though the words "shame" and "sympathy" come to mind, and perhaps "humility"--my recognition of another person's humility and the experience of being humbled by another's experience.

I appreciated another post on Wine-Dark Sea titled Lent on God's Terms, which is also relevant to how I've been feeling this Lenten season (she thinks, realizing she has just eaten a Lenten candy bar). It is a feeling many I know have shared; it's as if somehow we were not, collectively, ready for Lent--at least several of the Catholics I have read, spoken to, or emailed. In my case, I have not felt particularly spiritual since well before my Toddler and the Mass post. Perhaps these posts will lead me to a new era of maternal spirituality. Certainly, I have a new incentive to pray.

Yoga & Spirituality

This is a conversion story, of sorts. Or, more accurately, it is part of a conversion story. Sorry about that. Consider yourself warned.

Yoga taught me about prayer. Not about New Age spirituality, but about real, honest, Christian prayer. You see, I didn't really know much about prayer, really. Or spiritual prayer, anyway. I was taught "Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep" as a child, but I was always a little uncomfortable about the whole dying-in-my-sleep-as-a-child connotation. And I knew the Lord's Prayer/Our Father. My sister says she remembers our grandmother teaching her to pray the Rosary. I had no such experience, but I was less taken with shiny things. When I was older, I was always uncomfortable with the praying-in-a-group thing, with one person speaking for everyone. While it removed the responsibility from the individual, it nevertheless puts the individual on the spot in an odd sort of way--perhaps the pressure of conformity, since you couldn't really walk away from those situations. I knew that prayer was personal, individual; I just didn't really know how to do it.

I was plagued with fears as a young child--fourth grade or so. I was too aware of stories of weird deaths, crime, etc., and these fears found their way into nightmares. My most heartfelt prayers as a child--the only kind that went beyond the "bless so-and-so" variety, involved an end to these nightmares. These prayers persisted through many of my younger years--and they worked. I later rationalized away their success. During these same years, when I was attending a Baptist church sporadically, I also would lie on my back sometimes in broad daylight imagining that deceased relatives whom I had never known looked down on me from heaven, and I imagined myself talking to them, expressing my own love and thankfulness for their watchfulness. In my naiveté, I was reaching towards the idea of the Communion of Saints and the practice of meditation. These were not things that came to me from any of the churches I attended--Lutheran, Baptist, First Assembly of God (who did, however, use the Sign of the Cross!). So what does all of this near-prayer-experience have to do with yoga?

As an amateur and occasional yoga practitioner, I like guided practices. The yoga DVD is not my preferred means of acquiring such guidance, but with a toddler, it will do, since I have found some that are not too offensive--you know, not MTV yoga. So as I was entering into final relaxation (Savasana or Corpse Pose), when the yoga instructor tells the viewer/practitioner that this is a time to focus the mind inwards. We spend most of our time focusing our minds outwards, and, seemingly, this is the time to correct that, to restore the balance. However, what struck me is that this is not my experience of yoga, or of the world. Rather, it is my experience that many of us spend time focused rather intensely inwards--on our own hopes, fears, desires, etc. This was clearly one of my obstacles with prayer (the "bless the people I know & take care of me" prayers), and still, admittedly, is. Perhaps this is not the inwards-focusing she meant, but it is internal. When we direct our energies outwards, isn't it to satisfy some inner selfishness--some goal that we have, some desire, something we need to accomplish because of a drive deep within (even a shallow one)? Anyway, in the final relaxation stage, during which the body--exhausted from the effort of the workout--is still and heavy, the person is guided to relax further, both physically and mentally, by consciously relaxing muscles, being conscious of breath, envisioning relaxing spaces.

It must be that with yoga, the mind is caught off-guard, and feels no need to rationalize and reject the spiritual experience. When practicing yoga, I can say, "It's only exercise; I'm only exercising; I'm relaxing; there's nothing spiritual here; I'm not vulnerable to anything outside of myself." At least, that's the only way I can account for my submission to it--that, and it feels really good. (See my earlier post on exercise.) Rereading even my own description here, it sounds very New Age spirituality, but recently I was quite perplexed at finding Catholic sources representing yoga very negatively, albeit the context was in reference to an ex-nun who became an ex-nun to pursue this very New Age spirituality, and in fact teaches yoga.

My experience with "live" yoga was not very spiritual. It was a modestly priced class-by-class fitness option at the rec center of a public university. No one was seeking enlightenment. Most were seeking tighter abs and a Spring Break bikini body, and soon found that they were in the wrong class. Because there is a Christian tinge to this large state school, the yoga instructor sometimes reassured the class that this was not a religious thing. But it could have been, and in those moments of relaxation at the end of the hour, I felt it. It could perhaps have been a bad thing to experience something spiritual in such a secular setting, and I may have been drawn into eastern mysticism or religion-of-self. At the time, however, I was moving hard & fast in the direction of Catholicism. As I lay on the yoga mat, I reached outwards. In an RCIA (the Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults) class session, we were asked to visualize a place where we felt absolutely comfortable and at home. I felt uncomfortable, self-conscious, silly even. My mind was closed. However, when told by the yoga instructor to visualize a place where I felt absolutely at peace, comfortable, relaxed, I tended to have alternate images--neither a real place: the first was what I knew to be a mountain or tall hill with tall, soft, sun-kissed grasses waving against me as I lay looking at the blue sky, hemmed in by taller mountains or hills; the second was an hexagonal-shaped room of a wood-framed house with three wall-sized windows overlooking a pine forest at night in a downpour of rain. Floors were wood, furniture was sparse. It feels odd putting these images into print. I didn't connect--or contrast--the two experiences at the time.

What I noticed more than anything, however, was that after the relaxation, when the instructor would say "Namaste," what I wanted more than anything else was to make the Sign of the Cross--as if a prayer had ended for me. I must have felt that yoga was not an end in itself; looking back, I recognize it as a beginning.

Shopping at a Christian bookstore for a rosary at about this time, I was surprised to have the woman who unlocked the case for me describe Catholicism as intensely spiritual--it caught me offguard and perhaps frightened me a little. . . I was looking for the rational, not the irrational in religion. But gradually, I have come to accept that the two can coexist. And I don't even have to be sweaty to see it.