How Love Will REALLY Win

Hey, Friday morning rejoicers!  By the looks of your Facebook posts, you're having the best.day.ever! I'm guessing that big ol' SCOTUS decision has a little something to do with that...

Just wanted to let you know I see you.  And you know what, I get you, to some degree.  Probably not fully--I can't claim to even understand myself fully--but I want you to know that in some ways, I understand where you're coming from.  I hear your cries for "love" and "equality," and I know this:  You really are coming from a place that really cares about real people with real feelings who, until today, had the real problem of not being able to do something they really want to do in the depths of their hearts.  Even though I (and Pope Francis, and the Catholic Church) totally disagree with you about gay marriage (probably just because we define marriage a bit differently), even though you're shouting with exuberance from the rooftops of the internet while I'm holding back tears, reading and re-reading the Obergefell v. Hodges opinion, I just want you to know today that I DON'T THINK YOU'RE A BAD PERSON.

AND, (BONUS!) I'm not going to attempt to use this platform to try to convince you to abandon your position, either.  A discussion at another time, in another place would probably be more appropriate for that type of a conversation.  (I'd love to have it, for the record!  Please reach out to me if you want to have a thoughtful and respectful discourse.) I just want you to know that I don't think you're a terrible person, or going to hell, or any number of other things that Christians are accused of thinking/saying about you.  

Speaking of Christians, I am one, and I know lots of them.  I even understand why you might feel like we think those terrible things about you.  I'm nowhere near perfect, and neither are my brothers and sisters in Christ.  I admit that I have an incredibly hard time explaining to you why I disagree with you re: gay marriage because the very good, very fundamental values I sincerely hold in my heart--that shape my feelings about this issue and every other issue--are so very different than those of our culture, and probably very different than yours.  

And that's what I want to talk to you about today.  Could I ask you a favor?  Could you extend your tolerance to me too?

I am not an evil person.  I promise.  I readily admit that I am not perfect, but I AM full of love for my family, for my friends, and for you--even though we may disagree.  I am not a bigot (defined by Webster's as a person who is intolerant toward those holding different opinions.)  I am a Catholic, Christian woman of good will.  I'm a simple (well, "complicated" if you ask my husband) wife with a new! blog, and a busy mom to a busy 8-month-old girl, who is sitting in her living room this morning nursing her second cup of coffee, and, in light of this decision, truly, truly agonizing over how I'm going to pass on my beliefs (aka: the Catholic faith) to my daughter in this culture.  And I know I'm not alone in this feeling.

Because the truth of the matter is that in the world today, for many Catholic and Christian parents of good will (like me), teaching our children what we believe when the rest of the world screams out at them "BIGOT!" "INTOLERANT!" "EVIL!" "LOVELESS!" seems like an absolutely impossible task.  I know that it's not, and with God's grace and a lot of intentionality, my husband and I will find a way.  It's going to require creativity, discipline, and most of all, prayer.  And frankly, I don't think God would want it any other way.

Here's the thing, though.  Like you, I can imagine teaching my daughter what we believe in the depths of our hearts as she grows older--something our country gives me the freedom and my faith gives me the admonition to do.  And then I can imagine her being absolutely scorned for it by people who disagree with her.  It will be good for her to endure that persecution.  I won't allow her to shy away from it, but will try to teach her what to do with it.  But it breaks my heart. The intolerance she will undoubtedly encounter is truly the work of the devil.

So, could you help me?  Would you mind taking just a moment to look at this from my perspective, just as I'm doing with you?  Would you be willing to exercise empathy and put yourself in my shoes?  Could you just see me and see my heart and understand my situation in the way that I'm trying to understand yours?  Could you try to disagree with me while still seeing that my heart is full of love, not hatred?  That my position on gay marriage and other issues actually comes from a place of deep love and respect for you and for all human people (regardless of any position on any issue), and not a place of hatred or unfair judgment or backwoods-style-brainwashing?  That I've come to believe this on my own (even though, yes, I was raised Catholic) after much struggling and ruminating and evaluating lots of diverse opinions?  Can we disagree without spewing labels at each other and actually move to a place of attempted understanding?  And could you do the same thing for my daughter as I'm raising her and teaching her our faith?  And for all of the other bumbling-but-genuine Christians, Catholics, and supporters of traditional marriage who, in all their good will, just really don't know how to communicate with you?  

I've been watching the news this morning, and as much as I disagreed with a lot what President Obama said in his remarks regarding today's decision, I thought there was a lot of wisdom in this line:

"I know that Americans of good will continue to hold a wide range of views on this issue.  Opposition, in some cases, has been based on sincere and deeply held beliefs.  All of us who welcome today's news should be mindful of that fact and recognize different viewpoints, revere our deep commitment to religious freedom."  (Transcript:  Obama's remarks on Supreme Court ruling on same-sex marriage. Washington Post.)

If our President's commitment to religious freedom is authentic, and if others in our country really share that commitment, there must be room in the public debate for my faith-based view on this issue. There must be freedom for me to pass it on to future generations. And there must be space in our society for it to be heard and passed on with the understanding that it's coming from a good--not evil--place.  You don't have to agree with me. But could you try to love me?

I beg you today: let's attempt to focus on what we have in common as this issue comes to the forefront, and that is our shared concern for others.  The more we focus on that and avoid assuming bad intentions in one another--the more we STOP calling each other (or even thinking of each other as) intolerant, bigoted, terrible, evil people--the more love really WILL win!

On Mother's Day: An Apology

(Photo Credit: B.Mussack)

Babe,

It's our second year celebrating Mother's Day.  Last year at this time, we didn't even know little Annie was a girl.  And now, can you even imagine life without her?

Last year, it was you, me, and our tiny little baby bump.  That bump got bigger after Mother's Day, and so did our love after she finally made her appearance in October.  What a joyous day!  What a scary day!  Our little peanut changed our lives in big ways.  Mostly good ways, of course.

But there are days, my love, when it's pretty apparent that becoming parents has its struggles too.  For me, it's been an obvious struggle to remember that after my relationship with Jesus Christ, it's my relationship with you--not her--that matters most.  

I spend all of my days with her.  We giggle, play, and cuddle.  I give her baths and change her diapers and attempt to keep the house clean in the midst of caring for her.  (You might not believe me about that last part, but it's true--I really do try!)  I spend all of my nights with her too.  Not you--you've sacrificially taken up what seems to be permanent residence on the couch so she can sleep more comfortably next to her mama.  

Annie and I are inseparable these days.  And being a mom to a little baby comes with all.the.feels.  Oxytocin abounds.  I love to nurse her, tickle her, watch her sleep, watch her discover new things.  My relationship with her is so easy and so natural.

But what of my relationship with you?  Two years + one baby into marriage, that relationship doesn't always seem terribly easy or natural.  On many days, I'm so worried about taking care of the physical needs of the now three people in this house (clothing, food, shelter--and I'm not even great at that) and you're so worried about providing for your TWO girls, that we pass each other by.  We don't waste time together like we used to, because where would we find an extra moment to waste?  

I spend a lot of time marveling at the miracle that our daughter is.  It's a miracle that we got pregnant in the first place.  And I have never been so amazed at anything as watching a baby grow from the size of two cells to a crawling (well, scooting) six-month-old with her daddy's hair and her mommy's eyes.  But maybe the greater miracle is the marriage that brought her into existence in the first place. God taking two people--two wills, two minds, two hearts, two different ways of doing everything from communicating to cleaning toilets--and making them one.  And then giving them the grace to carry on through every single monotonous day.  The grace to live together, to bring forth life together--heck, the grace to agree on which movie to watch.  Sometimes that's a miracle!

There's a whole day for me to celebrate being a mom to our little miracle baby.  But what kind of mom am I if I forget that my role as your wife is more important than being her mom?  Isn't that the greatest gift we can give Annie--and any successive sibs that come along--a strong and united marriage?  An understanding that our relationship comes first?  And in reality, while I know that being a great mother is something that God wants me to prioritize, at the end of my life, it's how I loved YOU that will be the real question.  YOU are my vocation.  YOU are my horse to heaven.  How I loved YOU will be the main topic of conversation when I meet my Maker. And together, our love for Annie can only be real insofar as it's an overflow of our love for one another.  That's what Pope St. John Paul II said, right?  "Children don't want to be loved with a separate love, but rather to be caught up in the love parents have for each other."

This Mother's Day, we'll celebrate my relationship with little Annie.  But I want you to know that in my heart, I'm really going to be celebrating my relationship with you, because the two relationships both flow from the same place.  She didn't make me a mom--YOU did.  We made each other parents by our love for one another, which, in reality, is just an outpouring of God's love for each of us.  

Thank you for loving me unconditionally.  Thanks for being the real miracle around here.  The real miracle of our marriage is that someone could look at this broken, sinful woman--could see all of my flaws and errors--my quick temper, my mean words, my selfishness and pride--and still.just.love.  Somehow, you see goodness in all of it.  Annie can't do that--and she probably never will be able to in the way you do, because I've learned that parents and children tend to see the goodness in each other while pretty much overlooking the bad.  But you?  You love me in the best way, because it's the most like Jesus.  You see it all and somehow find a way to love me through it.  It's not natural for humans to do that--and that's why marriage is the greatest miracle I've seen yet.  Because at the end of these seemingly insignificant days, it really is God's grace binding our hearts together--nurturing and protecting what He created when He made us one.

I love you.  And in these days of optional hubbys and disposable daddies, I want you to know that I need you. We need you. Thank you for making me a mom, but even more, for making me a wife.  YOUR wife.  I couldn't be one without the other.  I'm sorry for the too-many-times I get my priorities mixed up, and I vow to try again tomorrow.  And the next day.  And the next day.  And the next.  Our little girl's purpose in life is to leave us--to go somewhere else and live out her own vocation.  Our job is to prepare her to do that.  But our greater purpose--our sacred duty--our real ticket to Heaven--is to cling tighter to each other and to the Lord with each boring, simple, little day that passes.  What an utterly amazing miracle is the grace that teaches our sinful hearts to do that!  

Love,

Babe

I'm Making My Own Dinner on Mother's Day

And I'm doing laundry too.  I bet I'm not the only Mom out there who isn't getting a big, relaxing break today either. That's the beauty of motherhood--those breaks aren't possible.

I'm making my own dinner on Mother's Day for one simple reason:  I love being a mom.  

I love preparing meals for the people God has put under my care.  I love doing their laundry.  I even love cleaning their house.  I don't do those things very well most of the time, but I love to do them, even when I hate to do them.

I love serving them because that's really the only way I know how to love them.  I love spending my days giving everything I have, everything I am to them.  

Not too long ago, I was a girl that made all my decisions based on what was best for me.  And why not?  The job God had assigned me was to take care of myself--not anyone else.  Sure, I cared about others.  I was a person who could be counted on to help and serve the people around me.  But at the end of the day, I wasn't responsible for the basic needs or the ongoing well-being of anyone except me.  It wasn't bad or sinful--it was just who I was called to be at that point in time.

Marriage, and then parenthood, came later.  There are days when I am sure that I've never done anything harder.  And I only have one little baby.  I'm sure harder days are to come.  

There are days when I am sure that I literally cannot change one more diaper.  But Annie's diaper needs to be changed.  So I change the diaper.  

There are days after a long night with a teething baby when the thought of packing up said baby and myself to go to the grocery store requires more effort than I want to give.  But we need food to put on the table.  So I go to the grocery store.  

There are nights when, at 10 pm, I exhaustedly realize that my husband has no clean work jeans for the morning because I forgot to put them in the washer earlier.  But Matt needs work jeans for tomorrow.  So I start a load of laundry and stay awake long enough to get it to the dryer.

There are days when I long to be footloose and fancy free--to spontaneously pack up my bags to go on an adventure.  But a certain little girl needs me to read to her and play with her and feed her and bathe her and answer her cries.  So I smile and remember that this every-day-simple living is the real adventure.  And I wouldn't trade this adventure for anything.  ANYTHING.

I love this me.  I love the woman I am becoming thanks to motherhood.  The old me didn't really have to do anything I didn't want to do.  Not at this level.  But now, I see a need in my daughter and realize that if I don't act--if I don't love (because love is action, not feeling)--no one else will.  And so I do what needs to be done because, well, love.

I love this me.

I don't do what I do every day perfectly.  In fact, I don't even do it well.  But I trust that God will continue to work the selfishness out of my heart through the adventure of caring for my troops.  He who has begun a good work in me will bring it to fulfillment, as He promised.  It hurts.  Sometimes I don't like it.  Sometimes I even HATE it.  But, I love it.  I ALWAYS love it.

To celebrate Mother's Day, I'm making dinner for my family.  Because serving these people is bringing new life to my selfish, prideful heart, and for that I am so grateful.  I love caring for them them, even when I hate it.  I'm making dinner because I can't think of anything I'd rather do to today thank God for giving me the gift of my family than to do what I love to do every other day--serve them.  Even when I don't want to.  

And, let's be real--if I cook, there just might be wine.  

Yes, Huck

Yes, Huck.  Yes.  You’re a good dog.

I want you to hear me say yes, just once today.  Because a lot of the time in this quiet, no-one-to-talk house, when there ARE words are coming out of my mouth, they’re “No,” they’re angry, and they’re directed at you.  

Lately, I have actually begun to fear that you are going to think your middle name is “you’re-in-the-way.”  And that Baby Annie’s first words will be “Damnit, Huck!”  Or worse yet, “Huck!  No!”  Ya’ know...baby words don’t always sound like adult words.  Worse yet--sometimes baby words DO sound like adult words--not the nice kind, either.  What if she screamed that in church or something?  “Huck! No!”  I can already hear the conversations folks would be having when they reported us to CPS...or just gossiped at the coffee shop.  

We’ve had our ups and downs, big guy.  As in any close relationship, we’ve done things that get under each others’ skin (or, in your case, hair), but we’ve always found a way.  

Remember how you used to bite me in the rump when Matt and I first started dating?  Before I was part of your world, that man took you on a walk every night.  And played with you in the country on the weekends.  Then, all of a sudden, your partner in crime was MIA.  Visiting me instead of playing fetch with you, hanging out with me inside while you were left to your entertain yourself in the back yard.  You had to share your buddy with someone else.  So I get it--you weren’t initially my biggest fan.  (Didn’t appreciate the biting, though.  Glad we got past that.)

But you know what they say--marry the boy, marry the dog.  (Do they say that?  If they don’t, they should.  It’s the honest-to-God truth.)  You and I entered into an “arranged marriage” of our own when Matt and I said our vows.  What was his became mine, and vice versa.  Including you.  

Eventually I won you over.  I scratched your belly for hours on end, let you sleep in the bedroom (total upgrade--you’re welcome), and got you a slick new tag with your name on it.  You learned to love me.  In fact, I maintain that there was a time--early in our marriage--when you may have even liked me more than Matt.  He’ll probably dispute that, but you and I know it’s true.

Yes, you were still pretty ornery.  There was the time you turned on the water outside and it leaked into the basement.  There was the time you chewed up my 3-wood cover while I was cleaning my golf clubs.  There were all of those walks we took--just you and me--and all of those little old ladies sitting on their porches who’d yell at us, “Who’s walking who?!”  (Like we hadn’t heard THAT one before.)

We lived a pretty charmed life. It wasn’t long, though, before that precious baby came.  And because her 8 pounds, 1 ounce of sweetness was no match for your 95+ pounds of lovable, playful, constant energy bursts, you started spending a lot more time outside/in the basement/away from everyone.  No more sleeping on the bed. No more having your run of the place.

Let’s just cut to the heart of the matter.  The reason I’m writing you, if you will.  Since Annie was born, you’ve been driving me (and everyone around here) a little bit more nuts than usual.  It seems like you’re always lying where I want to walk, stand, or sit.  You're barking when that's literally the last.thing.we.need.  You’re all “up in her grill” every chance you get.  You’re up in my--ahem--grill (?) when I’m trying to nurse her.  You don’t do what I say unless I give you a treat.  Matt’s right--I’m just rewarding bad behavior--but I don’t always have the time, patience, or energy for a game of mental tug-of-war with a yellow lab, so you get a helluva lot more treats than you deserve.  If it’s possible to be more stubborn than I am, I think you are.

But don’t worry.  You’re not going anywhere, buddy.  In fact, you getting in my way is probably the best thing you can do for me right now.  You give me the chance to be patient.  That’s a muscle I really need to work.  Your little annoyances are great opportunities for me to grow in virtue.  And growing in virtue helps me grow in love.

You’re doing so good with Annie.  I love how you make her giggle (she has a special smile just for you) and how just seeing her makes your tail wag.  Thanks for letting your heart expand to love our growing family.  You have learned by now that losing one best buddy around here means that you’re just making room for one more.  That when you really, really love someone, there is no loss...just more love.  

I know, I know.  You’re just a dog--moved by instinct, not emotion.  But I still learn a lot from you.  Keeping you around makes me think and teaches me things:  to be more patient, to love more unconditionally, and to stop sweating the small stuff, like having dog hair on my pants.  (I always have dog hair on my pants.)  You’ve shown me how to adapt to change.  Even if you aren’t very graceful about it at first, you somehow find a way come around.  You're always happy to see us.  Doesn't matter the circumstances. And when we get mad at you (sometimes for no reason at all), you turn the other cheek.  That’s a good lesson for me to learn too.

Yesterday on our family walk, three little girls down the block were playing outside when they saw you trotting by.  They came running and squealing and screaming to meet you.  “A PUPPY!  A PUPPY!  CAN WE PET YOUR PUPPY?!”  Maybe you were tired--maybe you were scared (little girls CAN be pretty scary)-- but you were oh-so-gentle with them.  You licked them in the face until they giggled--you didn’t even jump on them!  I was so proud of you.  You’re really growing up.  

And you know what else?  You’re growing old.  The gray hairs around your eyes don’t lie, buddy.  Five more years, seven at most?  The day that I’m not looking forward to will eventually be here.  No, I don’t expect to see you in Heaven--not because you’re bad, just because that’s not why God made you.  I’m glad He made you, by the way.  I hope you know--before you go--that I’m grateful.  Grateful for what you’ve already done for our little family, and for what you continue to do for us every day.  You’ve brought us closer to each other. You’ve brought us closer to the Lord.  You make us laugh.  You keep us on our toes.  You slow us down.  You help us live well.  Not perfect, but well.  What more could you ask for in a friend?

Thanks for being you, Huck.  Smelly, annoying, excitable you.  Keep chasing those bunnies.  You’ll get one someday.

“A dog has no use for fancy cars or big homes or designer clothes. Status symbol means nothing to him. A waterlogged stick will do just fine. A dog judges others not by their color or creed or class but by who they are inside. A dog doesn't care if you are rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his. It was really quite simple, and yet we humans, so much wiser and more sophisticated, have always had trouble figuring out what really counts and what does not.”   --John Grogan (Marley & Me)