You Say I am Intolerant

For several reasons a same-sex union contradicts the nature of marriage: It is not based on the natural complementarity of male and female; it cannot cooperate with God to create new life; and the natural purpose of sexual union cannot be achieved by a same-sex union. Persons in same-sex unions cannot enter into a true conjugal union. Therefore, it is wrong to equate their relationship to a marriage. - USCCB, Between Man and Woman: Questions and Answers About Marriage and Same-Sex Unions

Lately I have felt persecuted, not by the usual culprits from afar - you know, the ones you hear on the nightly news or read about online who make snarky comments about your faith or criticize your beliefs - or make fun of the pope. No, lately I've actually felt targeted by a few of my friends and relatives whom I love and admire, and by acquaintances with whom I hold the utmost respect. It makes me very sad and sorry for the rift in our friendships that, at least for now, seems inevitable. Although I sincerely hope not.

It is all because, to me, the redefinition of marriage to include same-sex unions is as absurd as claiming the earth is flat. I really do believe that marriage should be reinforced, not redefined. And they, my dear, beloved persecutors, do not agree. They have as much as said so, on Facebook posts, Twitter tweets and the like.

I know I'm not perfect, but I have prayed often for the grace to love. And I have tried from early on to do just that. From time to time, throughout my life - mostly while young and single, I had friends who were gay. Not just acquaintances, or classmates, or co-workers, but friends. I hold fond memories of one college friend in particular. Ben (not his real name), was a little bit shy but terribly witty, positively attractive and a very, very talented artist. He was one of those sweet, suffering souls who loved deeply, sometimes too deeply it seemed. If he was hurting, I would lend an ear. We dined together in the dining hall, chatted about life, and art and I even trimmed his hair once or twice. I couldn't have loved him more if he had been my own brother. Just because he was gay, I wouldn't have treated him any differently.

But that was then.

And now? What about now with thirty years separating us and a lifetime of experience, of marriage and raising children and of growing closer to God? Has the broadening of my understanding of the Church's teaching on marriage and family made me less loving toward those who do not embrace these same teachings? Has acceptance of these tenets, which my very core knows as truth, rendered me closed-minded, hateful, judgmental, politically incorrect and un-hip? Would I now turn away from my gay college friend, avoid him altogether or sling insults at him? No. I know I would love him still, despite feeling ever so strongly that marriage is a sacred bond between a man and a woman instituted by God, and that no one - not even our government - has the authority to redefine it. And it saddens me that the truths I have come to embrace are in danger of slipping away - not solely due to gay marriage laws, but by the proliferation of divorce, sexual promiscuity, pornography, contraception and abortion. I know all too well that for too long the institution of marriage has been eroding and over the years too few public warriors have been defending it with little or no reinforcements. Their voices often have fallen on deaf ears. Yet, there are many behind the scenes, sweating it out in the trenches, who have heeded the call. By entrusting themselves and their families to the teachings of Christ and His Church and living them, they are fighting the good fight - maybe not perfectly, but with conviction and with love. They are the true warriors along with countless holy parish priests and religious.

The world is cruel to those who it deems different; to those it does not understand. Hatred exists in many degrees; in many fashions. We have seen it, heard it, witnessed it too often - most of us very likely have been subjected to it at one time or another. We have been ridiculed because we are too fat, or too thin. We are poked fun of because we have special needs, we talk funny or we appear odd. Perhaps we do not speak English fluently or at all. Maybe we're too poor, or too smart or too dumb. We may be too old or not old enough or not yet born. We're too conservative or too liberal. Maybe we're gay or maybe we're not. Maybe we're just too religious or not religious enough. But we all bleed when we're cut; we all feel pain - physically and emotionally. We have all suffered at the hands of others and it is wrong. It is cruel; it is sinful. Most of us, I'm sure, have even been the instigators of cruel jokes and name-calling at times, yet, all of us are imbued with the potential to make a difference in someone's life; to love - to be Christ's hands and feet. To lift others up when they are down. To share joy and sorrow. No matter how similar or how different a person is, we are called - commanded by God - to love. Everyone.

And one of them, a doctor of the Law, putting him to the test, asked him, "Master, which is the great commandment in the Law?" Jesus said to him, "'Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with thy whole heart, and with thy whole soul, and with thy whole mind.' This is the greatest and the first commandment. And the second is like it, 'Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.' On these two commandments depend the whole Law and the Prophets." (Matthew 22:35-40)

He never ceases to love any one of us, his children, but that doesn't mean our sinful lifestyles are acceptable to Him. He constantly calls us to repentance. We know from reading the gospels that Jesus hung out with sinners all the time, because they (we) are whom he came to save. He ate with them, conversed with them, taught them, and in His infinite mercy forgave them and told them to go and sin no more. 

Some folks get all uptight about Christians being too judgmental. They don't want to be associated with their overly judgmental brothers and sisters(granted some do fit the bill). "Who are you to judge? You're not God!" Of course, they are right,  we are not God - it is not our place to judge a person's soul ... but what of his actions? Jesus gave us the tools to recognize sin in our lives and in the lives of others, too. We were given guideposts (e.g., the 10 Commandments, the Precepts of the Church, the Beatitudes, Holy Scripture, the Sacraments, teachings of the saints, papal encyclicals, prayer, etc.) to help us recognize when we're on the right path and thankfully, when we're about to veer off. Because He loves us and desires our union with Him in Heaven, He has supplied the tools we need to get back on track. Charity compels us to desire Heaven not only for ourselves, but for others, too, and our Christian duty is to help them get there. Tolerating and approving any sin simply because it makes someone happy is not love.

Ah, but you see, that can't be right. The Catholic Church has it all wrong! We, Catholics, have been duped by over 2000 years of the workings of the Holy Spirit! By accepting and fully believing all that Mother Church teaches - (and I do or else praying the Nicene Creed every week at Mass makes me a liar) - I have closed my mind or lost it. I am naive, intolerant, and, sadly, not progressive. Worst of all, they claim that the Church has made me an irrational, homophobic hate-monger. 

Really? Hmm ...

It is not unjust to deny legal status to same-sex unions because marriage and same-sex unions are essentially different realities. In fact, justice requires society to do so. To uphold God's intent for marriage, in which sexual relations have their proper and exclusive place, is not to offend the dignity of homosexual persons. Christians must give witness to the whole moral truth and oppose as immoral both homosexual acts and unjust discrimination against homosexual persons. The Catechism of the Catholic Church urges that homosexual persons "be accepted with respect, compassion, and sensitivity" (no. 2358). It also encourages chaste friendships. "Chastity is expressed notably in friendship with one's neighbor. Whether it develops between persons of the same or opposite sex, friendship represents a great good for all" (no. 2347). USCCB, Between Man and Woman: Questions and Answers About Marriage and Same-Sex Unions

St. Thomas More, pray for us!

Isaac Welcomes Summer

There shall be eternal summer in the grateful heart.

~ Celia Thaxter

In summer, the song sings itself.

~ William Carlos Williams

Summer afternoon - summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.

~ Henry James

Love is to the heart what the summer is to the farmer's year - it brings to harvest all the loveliest flowers of the soul.

~ Unknown

Then followed that beautiful season ... Summer ...

Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape

Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.

~ Wallace Stevens

In winter I get up at night

And dress by yellow candle-light.

In summer quite the other way

I have to go to bed by day.

~ Robert Louis Stevenson

My Mom and the Lost Art of Letter-Writing

My family treated me to a lovely brunch at Mon Ami Gabi yesterday afternoon. Not only a Mother's Day treat for me, but for Katie, too, who is an incredible, loving mama to her two little ones. I was spoiled with lovely cards - a few sentimental, one tear inducing and one with spot-on humor, and sweet gifts, too. My husband even bought me this. Funny how he seems to be getting more romantic after 27+ years together. But he also bought me this, and then later admitted it was only because I really wanted one to vacuum the dog hair off the sofa. He said it doesn't really count as a Mother's Day gift. He's right, I would have bought it - or one like it - anyway.



My parents on their wedding day,
Oct. 12, 1946



I thought a lot about my own mother yesterday. I love her so much and marvel at what an incredible woman she is and always has been. People can hardly believe she is 88 years old. She lives on her own (I do worry about that sometimes), drives herself around town to shop, to go to doctor's appointments, or to the hair salon, and to church every week. She is stylish, artistic, creative, an awesome cook and has a flair for decorating. She is loquacious and fun. These traits she has passed on, like precious gifts, to her children - my brothers and sisters and me. Between the seven of us, we all share some aspect of our mother's talents, her out-going personality (not me) and most importantly her deep faith in God. She calls me Honey Bunny and reminds me that I live too far away.

I know that, sweet Mama. I know. But you remain in my heart always.



Mom with my brothers, Paul & Jim



I am grateful for the convenience and immediacy that cell phones provide, allowing us to chat often and sometimes for hour long spells in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week. But part of me misses composing lengthy letters to her filled with anecdotal sketches of my days with kids in tow. I miss, too, finding letters from her in my mailbox, those deliciously perfumed infused musings about the latest family news and those darling xoxo's at the end of each note. We do send greeting cards including brief, peronal notes, or copies of recipes, or newspaper clippings to one another, but much too seldom. We have allowed e-mail to rob us of ... well, perhaps of the permanence and purposefulness that letter-writing affords. E-mail tends to be comprised of brief, little snippets here and there (albeit friendly and loving, too). Letter-writing takes time and effort. Our letters, our thoughts and feelings, can be tied up with string and kept in shoe boxes and visited for years to come - even long after we have left this earthly life.



Mom and her kids, June 2010



There's something to be said, too, about a person's penmanship. My mother's is beautiful, careful and belongs to her alone. It is as unique to her as the color and shape of her eyes or the way she laughs. I sometimes run my finger over her carefully inked words sensing her presence in some peculiar way, although we are separated by over 400 miles. You see, it's not just what she writes that stirs me, but how her words look; how they flow across the page in smooth, precise, old-Catholic-school-girl strokes. E-mail, texting and chatting via social media does not and cannot satisfy my need to sense my mother's (or anyone's) presence. Electronic messages can be deleted at the push of a button, a click of the mouse, or the touch of a finger, disappearing forever into the black hole of cyberspace. (If it's true that messages can be retrieved long after hitting the delete forever button, I'm certainly not tech savvy enough to know how to do it.)

As I've been typing this post, I keep thinking about the movie, "You've Got Mail" and how Meg Ryan's character, Kathleen Kelly, describes how electrifying it is to see and hear those titular words pop up on her computer screen announcing that messages have been delivered to her inbox (and now with smartphones and tablets, you don't even need a laptop or desktop  - my how we've evolved in 15 years!). Yet, how exciting is it to walk down the driveway to the mailbox, open it up and see that there is a real, honest-to-goodness letter waiting there? You've got mail! Real mail, to see and to touch and to smell. And to read again and again until you tuck it away in a shoebox for safe-keeping, so that someday your grandchildren will be given a marvelous treasure, a piece of their great-grandmother's heart to see and to feel and to ponder.

My mom and I will continue to communicate via all our sundry electronic devises. I'm not ready to throw them out the window just yet! Admittedly, I would miss our phone conversations and the ability to share photographs instantaneously or to type a quick, "Hello, I miss you." But one of these days I will dig out that lovely stationery from the box I've been storing in my closet, find a pen that feels just right and sit down to write my mother a long, detailed missive about my day or week. And maybe she'll read the words in my not-so-perfect penmanship and sense that a part of me is there with her, sitting comfy-cozy on the sofa next to her. And maybe I'll include a favorite new recipe, or a picture from a magazine of new chair I'd like to buy for my living room , or perhaps even a real photograph of her great-grandchildren.

Great Gramma Bea and baby Isaac, June 2010

The Rabbit Chaser

I knew Rocky long before I met him or knew his name. His owner walks him along the path behind our house about the same time every morning. I pegged Rocky as some sort of hound due to his deep, prolonged baying, almost like a howl. I hear him most every morning as I am pouring my first cup of coffee or sometimes waking my own little, drowsy-headed hound, Holly, whose own bark sounds nothing like her bigger hound cousins. Because she is a dachshund, her bark -- yap-yap-yap -- is characteristic of small breeds and can certainly grate on one's nerves if not controlled.

I was told a few weeks ago that Rocky is a Treeing Walker Coonhound. He looks much like this:



Photo courtesy:  http://www.akc.org/breeds/treeing_walker_coonhound/

 It was evening; my son, Kevin, had just arrived home from his community college classes and was preparing his dinner. I had eaten earlier with my husband who was now helping our daughter and son-in-law with a project in their apartment. I heard Rocky's distinctive barking and didn't pay too much attention to it at first. But it continued, non-stop. I was a little annoyed, wondering why his owner would allow him to stand there and simply bark away like that. In the meantime, Holly, who was going a little nuts, proceeded to yap excitedly. From our deck, the branches of trees partially obstructed my view of where Rocky was standing, but I could tell that the owner was sitting on the ground and that Rocky's much quieter, and much more formidable, 'dog-brother' was accompanying them, as is customary. I learned later that the other dog's name is Ollie and that despite his very calm, quiet demeanor, he isn't very nice to strangers. He looks a bit like a Mastiff - but I'm really not sure of his breed - perhaps he's a mixed breed. Whatever he is - he is big and bulky. From my kitchen window I could plainly see that Rocky was baying at a rabbit in our neighbor's yard. The rabbit sat hunched down, frozen - perhaps pretending to be garden statuary in an attempt to fool the foolhardy hound. Suddenly, the rabbit dashed off lickety-split into the woods with Rocky at her heels. From the open window, I heard wimpers of pain from the owner; the female owner - the wife of the man who normally walks the dogs. I called to Kevin as I rushed by him, "C'mon, we need to help that lady. Her dog is loose and she's hurt!" I hurried over to where the woman was struggling to get up and  asked if she needed help. She was visibly shaken and her hand was bleeding. "He pulled us through the fence when he saw the rabbit and I just couldn't control him!" she cried, almost apologetically. She was attempting to call her husband on her cell phone, but was so rattled that she could hardly remember his number. I spoke to her gently hoping to calm her nerves. As I moved closer to her, she backed away. Puzzled, I wondered if she was frightened of me. Finally, she explained that Ollie - who appreared so well-behaved - was really not very nice. She was just protecting me. She worried, too, that Rocky would not come back, "Once he's gone, he's gone! I'll never get him back now." I told her about Jake, the beloved Foxhound mix we had when our kids were young. He was the same way. It was nearly impossible to call him home once he escaped. I asked her if Rocky would come to me if I offered him a treat. "Oh, yes!" she said, "that might work!" By this time, Kevin had joined us with a small Holly treat in hand. The "dog lady" handed him a large leathery treat she had fished from a small pouch strapped around her waist. Kevin had no trouble apprehending a very friendly and affectionate Rocky, who seemed to care less about the treat offered him. Rocky greeted me, too, tail wagging and head nudging my hand begging for a good scratch behind his ears. By this time the woman had managed to reach her husband by phone, tearfully explaining the ordeal. He, I assumed, was on his way to meet her, so Kevin handed Rocky back over to her. She assured us that she could manage both dogs despite the pain ... and the embarrassment. She thanked us profusely and turned to make her way back home with Rocky, nose to ground sniffing away in grand hound style, and Ollie, who honestly didn't seem to give a damn.

As my daughter, Erin, and I were heading out to do some shopping a few nights ago, the "dog-lady" walked up from behind our house. She handed me a not-too-small, white gift box filled with chocolate chip cookies that she had baked for Kevin and me. She was beaming. She smiled wide and her eyes sparkled. The cookies - that we soon discovered were quite delicious - were her offering of thanks. How sweet and kind of her!

Attached to the box, a note read:

To the Kind Lady and Her Son,

     Thank you so much for rescuing me the other day when my crazy hound decided to chase a rabbit. I don't know what I would have done without your help.

      I keep telling people it must have been quite a sight to see as the three of us went through the fence. People often ask me, "who is walking who" - no question that afternoon Rocky (the Rabbit Chaser) was in total control.

      Anyway you were wonderful to help me. I hope you like chocolate chip cookies. They are my way of saying Thanks!!

                                                You have made a friend for life!

                                                  Debbie and Doug
                                                  (Ollie & Rocky)

This morning, I could hear Rocky along the path behind my house and as I peered out the kitchen window, there hunkered down in the grass of my neighbor's yard, were two rabbits as still as stone. Doug and Ollie gazed at the rabbits as Rocky called out to them - aarooh, aarooh, aarooh. I headed out to the deck and picked up Holly to keep her from yapping at them as they meandered by. A short while later, Holly and I could hear Rocky baying off in the distance at some other family of rabbits or maybe at our neighborhood fox or resident deer. I imagined, Ollie, standing there, fierce and distiguished and bored, patiently waiting to mosey along.




Holly watching for Rocky & Ollie and maybe a rabbit or two.



My sweet Lovies



6 days old





2 years old in 2 days!



Smitten

I swoon at every thought of her

and with each encounter, still so new.

She charms me so, my little Rosebud,

with sweet, elfin lips widening into sleepy smiles.

I draw her in to kiss her tiny, feathered head,

 while whispering a thousand offerings of gratitude.