What Your Kids Will Remember

Editor’s note: Please join me in praying for Marissa and her family as they welcome a new baby into the world this week! LMH

Don’t worry, this isn’t another guilt-trip-the parents for that one time you Facebooked on your phone while they played at the park kind of post. But it is a reflection on what kids will ultimately remember from their childhoods, just a bit narrower in its reflective scope (that way, we can all skip the part about feeling bad about not being superwoman or superman in every category of parenting all of the time.).

These modifications to the “What will your kids remember?” question may help us more thoughtfully evaluate our parenting:

What will your kids remember… about how present you were when you were with them?

There’s a way of being fully present to your kids even if you are a working parent and there is a way of being completely distracted away from them even if you stay-at-home (see reference to Facebooking at the park above). Ask yourself, when you have the chance to be with to your children, how fully present are you?

Do they get adequate face-time with you or are you always doing something away from them such as house projects, sleeping, working out, hanging out with friends etc. so that most of your time is occupied with your own interests?

I too struggle with this.  Childrearing is hard, tiring, isolating and monotonous. We need to get things done around the house and do things for our mental health. And it’s easy to feel unduly put upon by kids’ simple requests in the midst of the million obligations that come with being a responsible adult.

I take great comfort in knowing that no one is born an expert at balancing their kids’ needs and the needs of the universe with their personal needs.  But if it helps, one rule I set for myself is this: give the kids as much time as it takes to accomplish tasks.  If I clean and email for an hour, I then make sure I give them an hour to do whatever they want.  Also, at all meals I sit down and talk to them and ask questions.  It seems to be working and I hope they remember our time together.  They better.

What will your kids remember…about how you treated others?

Telling the kids to love their neighbor and then talking smack about those noisy, inconsiderate buffoons in front of them is more that a contradiction wouldn’t you say?  Apply this now to family members, cashiers, your fellow parishioners and the other drivers on the road and then ask yourself, what will they remember about how you treated God’s beloved humanity?

What about serving others?  I’m convinced that families a.k.a domestic churches each have a charism for doing a specific type of good work together.   It differs for each family- some are very involved in the pro-life movement, others with the poor, others with helping the sick.  In any case, mission is an indispensable aspect of being Christians.  We would do well to remember that this piece is kind of the essential component for getting into heaven.  If it is missing, it makes our Christian witness a bit incomplete, wouldn’t you say? While we all want our children to be compassionate, teaching them in a practical way how to be Christ-like is still done best by example.  How we’ve given charitably, loved, served and treated others is something our kids will most definitely remember about us.

What will your kids remember…about the importance you placed on material things?

Whether you are blessed with riches or as poor as church mice, there’s a way of placing too much importance on things.  One big mistake we frequently make as parents is equating family happiness with material comfort or financial robustness.  We all do this to a point (I once pined for a stroller I felt was an ‘investment’ for instance) and I am not saying having nice things is bad, but whether you had the latest and greatest or you were a charity case, were you grateful and generous with what you had?

Were you miserable all the while having the nicest and finest things in life? Well, that’s what they will remember.  Were you happy and joyful while driving around in an old jalopy, wearing second hand clothes the same shoes you wore in college?  They might not remember the shoes but it’ll make for a good story later.   Bottom line: how important is your stuff to you and is that what you want them to remember?

What will your kids remember…about your faith?

One of my very first memories is that of a framed picture of Pope John Paul II (now Bl.) in my grandparents’ house.  I grew up during the 1980s feeling like he was one of the family and loved seeing him in the news (in that pre-EWTN world).  Why not?  He was so familiar because his picture, with his serene smile and hands clasped in prayer, always hung on the wall.  It’s one of the earliest examples of the Faith becoming personal for me and it has convinced me that Holy Images have the power to do this for everyone.

Look around your house.  How many images do you have up? Your children will remember them or note their absence as they are growing up.

Outside of displaying holy images do you have a family prayer time?  I’m not referring to anything extravagant, just a time to pray together.  Do you attend mass? Do you sing at mass?  Trust me, the kids are taking notes.

I’m not suggesting we do these things volunteeristically, but out of love for Christ and a personal relationship with God.  By the way, how is that going for you?  And please keep in mind, the answer to that question is what your kids will remember.

People do the best they can with what they know, but what they need to know is that sometimes our image of what the “best” is doesn’t matter at all.  Notice in everything I’ve mentioned, I haven’t placed any importance on worldly notions of success.

For kids, it’s not about how about how many miles we clocked in on the treadmill, or how popular we were at church, or how nice our toys were, and how many vacations we took (wherein we missed mass again). It’s not even very important how many bread loaves I’ve baked, shirts I’ve ironed or organic foods I’ve purchased (record so far: almost none).  These things are all important to us, stupid adults.  I know I often want to go to the gym, have girls’ nights, buy nice things, splurge on healthy food and to ‘get away.’  None of these are bad, but are they what really matter?

What’s truly important to kids is how we’ve loved and lived and were patient and forgiving and fully present to them.  Ultimately, if this post shows nothing else, it is that we would be hypocritical to call ourselves ‘good’ parents if we never really spent time with our children, considered ourselves and family superior to the rest of humanity, were occupied with amassing material things, and ignored God.  Surely no-one wants them to remember that.

My kids will never be able to say I was perfect mom, but I do want them to say they remember me, the real me, as someone who was always trying to do the best by them (though failing often, hopefully improving over time).  I want them to say I was kind to others, that I never sacrificed family harmony for the sake of acquiring fancy things, and that I tried to make the Faith alive for them.   This is what I am trying to do and what I hope that they remember.  They’d better.

Copyright 2013 Marissa Nichols

Why I Don’t Engage in Mommy Wars

We just celebrated Mother’s Day.   Ah, motherhood, that noble vocation.  And yet, let’s face it, we’re human too, we moms.

I say this because the closest I ever came to “locking horns” with another mom in public…excuse, me, the three times that happened all took place at public parks (go figure).

Incident 1: Mom-of-the-year asks nicely if I can remove my child from the play structure shaped like a fire truck… because her kid wanted to play on it.

Incident 2: My kids occasionally bring toys to the park. Once we brought a plastic toy gun – darn that cowboy costume accessory kit!  Cue mom-of-the-year talking loudly to friends about the dangers of playing with toy weapons (to which her much intelligent preschooler rebutted, “But mom, it’s just a toy!”).

Incident 3: My kids sometimes climb on things at parks.  Not anything dangerously high or located next to spikes, or shark infested waters or anything, but you know, things that invite climbing such as benches.

And sometimes, other kids want to imitate them.  Cue mom-of-the-year running exasperatedly toward her perfectly capable, safe distance from the ground toddler grunting, “Don’t look at those kids.”  She meant my kids.

The last incident did cause me to open my mouth and say to her sarcastically, “Well, that wasn’t condescending,” Perhaps my protruding baby bump did intimidate, for she sized me up for a second, picked up her child and walked away.  But something happened in that moment and it’s the reason I dislike and don’t ever engage in mommy wars: you can’t say a thing without coming off as condescending yourself.

Sure, her reaction was over the top, but notice how quick I was to think and say so.  Was that not a bit condescending of me?

Don’t think that I didn’t feel a twinge of the, “How dare you judge my parenting in public,” pang, because I certainly did.  And then my next uncharitable thought, which happened in all three cases, because it was another commonality between the three, was this: “It’s because she only has one kid.”

Ouch.  While it’s true that all three moms-of-the-year only had one child, is it not rather judgmental on my part to chalk that up as the reason they all behaved like insecure dunces (which, again, is own my harsh opinion)?

The irony of mommy wars is just that: no mom wants to feel judged, and no critic is a harsher judge of motherhood and childrearing than a mom.

The very second I feel like some phantom rosette adorns an invisible sash reading, “Infallible Mom,” across my chest, whether I have one child or ten children, is the moment that I have completely lost the battle, so to speak.

Think about it.  Who ultimately wins in the war of the mommas?  Nobody. We like to think the kids are the winners, and that the fruit of our bickering over things like organic vs. processed foods, tv vs. no tv, playing with toy weapons vs. hugging small animals is a society that will eventually raise truly balanced children.

But when does that ever happen? Uh, not that I can see.  And do kids really win when one mom is busy pointing the finger at another mom’s choice of snack food?

This goes both ways I find.  Some moms revel in their kids’ healthy edamame option while other moms rebelliously pack the Cheetos as a sign that they just ain’t apart of that crowd.

Where do I think we Christian moms should fall on the spectrum of overbearing vs. bone-headed motherhood?  Exactly where we should fall in every other aspect of our lives:  try the best we can (even if it means Cheetos and toy guns sometimes) and err on the side of charity, in this case, towards other moms (i.e. don’t go around publicly and loudly condemning her kids’ actions and snack foods as though they’re a microcosm for the whole of her parenting).

In two out of the three park incidences I mentioned above, God’s grace helped me do just that, and to put aside my initial angry feelings.

For the first, I did move my child off the play structure because that mom begged and assured me that they would only be one minute and were leaving anyway. Ten minutes later when they were still playing on it and it was obvious she had lied I then wanted to react to her (but God helped me with that too).

For incident number two, instead of stewing, I struck up a conversation with the mom who was bemoaning the presence of a toy gun at the park.   I asked her how her son’s school was going and we had a really nice conversation about my homeschooling.

To boot, she even let me gift our toy gun to her son (the “Mom, it’s just a toy,” kid) because he was having so much fun with it, and plus my kids have a whole armory of toy guns in our house anyway.   Yeah, go ahead and judge away.

I think the true victors of the ‘mommy wars’ are the moms who don’t engage but step aside to focus on what really matters: on those kids whose upbringings we’re all fighting to prove we know more about, and who have more to gain by our respecting one another’s journeys in our vocations as mothers, instead of pretending like we are the only ones who have it all figured out all of the time.

My advice is this: don’t engage in mommy wars, and may you win laurels of peace by doing so.

Copyright 2013 Marissa Nichols

But it turns out that between the two vocations, religious and holy matrimony, my “problem” in living out the call to both of them, is the same: obedience.  Deep down, I detest being “told” what I should do even when it may benefit me or someone else.  I don’t mean obedient as a wife in the Stepford Wife sense (seriously, if my husband sees me ironing something he knows that it must be either Christmas or Easter).  But I do mean that I’ve located a deeply rooted resistance in myself toward any action/outside force that attempts to tell me what to do, how to dress or which requires that I truly die to myself in some way. I credit being faithful to the Magisterium first to grace, second to its inherent reasonableness and only thirdly to my assent (which is strengthened by a personal relationship with God and Our Lady). All of these factors tend to keep my fallen nature at bay, and I hope, help me to live a charitable life.  But, at times, even as a grown woman, living this way comes with some internal resistance.  That fallen nature I mentioned means that my “obedience problem” or rather, my problem with being obedient occasionally rears its head (and usually when I’m tired, hungry, lonely etc).  Such a problem, of course, is rooted in pride.

I do like to think that I am presently less proud than I once was. I now have children, you see.

Nothing puts you under strict obedience more quickly than having a new little person cradled in the bed next to you completely dependent upon you for each and all of their needs.  In fact, I would even say that pregnancy is where you first experience that sense of total obligation as you take steps to rearrange your life (and your house) around your soon to be arriving, bundled ‘master.’

Now, I’ll be the first one to admit that I didn’t slip into post-partum mode very gracefully.  Even with my husband around at the beginning to help ease the transition when my daughter was born, I still found life with a newborn to be much more demanding than I thought it was going to be.  It was then that, I believe, I received my first ‘instruction’ in obedience – whether I felt like it or not, was enjoying it or not, or believed I was capable or not I still did ‘it.’ I mothered, which was something I had never done before.

They say that if you ever want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.  Well I say that if you ever want to make God chortle, tell him how capable you are.

The truth is, no matter how ‘put together’ you may think you are (and I assumed I had very erudite control over my life, emotions, my beliefs about parenting etc), no matter how prepared you think you are (I had a degree and a career, after all) and no matter how wonderful a person everyone says you are, nothing unearths the rebellion out of you like having to make sleep-deprived decisions all of which entail more and more sacrifice from you in a way you never thought possible before.

But, in way, there’s true beauty in that.

Did Christ know whether or not He could go through suffering and death upon a cross?  I don’t know, but He did it and it’s kind of like that with being ‘obedient to God’s will’ as a parent.  Can I go through with parenting everyday for the rest of my life?  I don’t know, but I’m going to do it with trust that God is forming the image of Christ in me.  And that’s beautiful.

Disobedience, in contrast is ugly. Disobedience is the reason the world is in the state it’s in now.

And here’s the irony.

Now that my children are toddlers, guess who’s expecting obedience from them?  Yup, me.  And guess when things are the most peaceful in our home?  That’s right – when all are obedient to each other, children to mom and dad, mom and dad to their vocation and all are obedient to God. With obedience we become what we are meant to be.  With obedience we become beautiful because obedience is beautiful.

Bl. Mother Theresa of Calcutta, obedient to doing “something beautiful for God,” pray for us!

Artwork Credit: Mt. Angel Abbey

Copyright 2013 Marissa Nichols 

My Kids: The Purest and Most Hectic Love I’ve Ever Known

As I write this, the girl and the boy are both pretending to nap (so am I – myself on the couch and they in their beds).

Most likely they are awake and quietly destroying something, messing up the room or re-arranging some precious paperwork in my bedside cabinet.

I’m tired.  They are too, but they have more energy in their young, supple bodies than I do in my stout, pregnant frame.  Lately, the thought of having a new baby in only a couple of weeks has both excited and terrified me.  I’m not that mom who romances over the infant phase.  I can’t even remember it once it’s gone. It’s just one big, chi-chi, poopey, un-showered blur.

So why am I, to use the culture’s terminology, not “done” with children?  It seems I’d be a prime candidate to enlist in ranks parading to the tubal-ligation center for disease childbirth control.

Quite simply, and not so simply, because at the end of every exhausted, stressful, water-retaining day, I’ve never loved so well, nor so poorly, nor as purely as I have when I had kids.

I’m not perfect at it, by any means, but it compels me to do odd, strange things only someone who loves could do – and it surprises me still that my introverted, melancholy self is frequently able to do it.

For example, when my son, who is obsessed with poop right now, tells me earnestly that we shouldn’t go to the park because the sand is where, “the kitties go poop,” I must, in all seriousness, affirm that he is correct about that, and so we will be sure not to touch the poop when we are there because it has germs.  In that moment, he matures a little more knowing that he made such an intelligent statement.

Or like the times he goes, “Big poop!” in his little toilet, the fruit of weeks of potty training on mine and my husband’s part, and he calls out that he ‘needs’ me to come and clap my hands together life a daft penguin celebrating him becoming a big boy.

And we’ll do this everyday until he finally figures out that bowel movements are those things that everyone eventually manages to do without applause.

But, darn it! I was there and I clapped for him! And I was happy for him for no other reason than I loved him.

I can only credit him with giving me the opportunity to love in that way.   My daughter too, when she did the same thing.  Where else in the world would I have been able to love like that?

I know they may be silly, minor examples of love, but, really I had almost zero experience of doing anything similar before I had the kids.  Nor have I loved anyone or anything for such a prolonged amount time (I looked at my daughter the other day and thought, “Wait, she’s only five?”).

This love that I, and many parents, have for our children is the most hectic and purest love many have ever known.   I feel that I can only, at the end of every tough day, thank God for them.  And one day I hope to thank them for putting up with me as their mother.

Where I am sitting, I can feel the baby in my abdomen kicking so hard that I am breathless.  A little foot drags across the underside of my belly and the muscles harden in anticipation of a future contraction.

Yet another baby is coming into our world.  They will be yet another opportunity to love purely, perhaps poorly at times, and but selflessly and with a lot of grace.

I figure that, with God, I too am like this baby.   How will I get to heaven?  Just like my kids will: kicking and screaming, pooping and clapping.  A strange package that He sees, for all it’s flaws, for all it costs and simply says, “It’s because I love you.”

Copyright 2013 Marissa Nichols

Sacramental Party Faux Pas and Crashers

One thing I’ve always loved about being Catholic is how much the Church likes loves to par-tay!

I think it’s awesome that our Faith has basically earmarked every single day of the calendar year with some feast day or event so that we can both celebrate big holidays and embarrass our peers with cheery greetings such as, “Happy martyrdom of St. Paul! What? You mean you didn’t know? Tisk, tisk, tisk..”

And then there are the sacramental parties, aka. the celebrations where we can really go-to-town and let that frenzied, ‘I-must-have-it-all,’ Catholic gift shop gene loose, right?

I mean, you have a baby and BAM! You, my friend are now obliged to throw the holy-party-three-pack: Baptism, Holy Communion, and the Confirmation, wherein you collect as many religious trinkets as they may need to ward off temptation for the next fifty years! (and if you are Hispanic like myself, it’s required that you to select at least 20 godparents per kid before they’re fully initiated into the Church).

However, at times, one does hesitate, despite their lifetime of prescriptive Catholic partying, to revel publicly in the joys of the Holy Spirit.

Why?

I’ll speak for myself: it is the sudden moment, in the midst of all my planning for the glorious occasion, where I face the realization that I am inviting people to my party.

You know, them.  Members of the clan of humanity, whom, statistically speaking are more likely to camp out overnight to catch the premier of Hangover III than courteously rsvp to my child’s rebirth in the Holy Spirit (unless texting me fifteen minutes before the ceremony starts counts as thoughtful, in which case, yeah, they’ll do that).

Anyone else ever have that realization and almost not send the invitations?

So I made a list.  It’s a small list of the some of the biggest sacramental party faux pas and crashers that have almost caused me to avoid a beautiful, supposed-to-be-Christ centered occasion.

I say, almost, because, of course my better, Catholic partying sense has come to my rescue so-far.  We ain’t a ‘quiet ceremony with two witnesses’ kind of Church.  We are a feast day everyday, every sinner in the house and the kitchen sink is invited Church.  Nothing like making a big deal out of a big deal – and we’re kind of good at that. Just re-watch some of the footage from Pope Francis’ election for proof!

And then these guys show up:

The ‘we aren’t going to the Church, just the reception afterwards’ crowd.

So my child is entering into God’s life of grace? That’s ankle level.  What?! There are margaritas afterwards?! Dude! We will meet you at the restaurant. (um, face palm?).

Never mind the lack of religiosity, how about the lack of class?  Someone went out of their way you think of you, invite you, and yes, pay for your meal and drinks and you show up basically to be fed.  Seems that someone’s life of grace has been pretty neglected lately, wouldn’t you say?  Not mention your treadmill, most likely.

The “Can I invite my single friend, to meet some of the other singles that will be there?” person

Seriously?  My infant, the fruit of my womb, whom I just squeezed out of my battered, still-went-to-mass-on-Sunday-anyway frame a little while ago, who will become an adopted child of God the Almighty Creator of the Universe, will be center stage and you want to play match-maker on the sidelines?

It also shows: your baby? Faith?  God?  Meh. Not so much.  My moping single friend hitting-it-off with someone: them’s the games I want to watch.

No.  Just no.

The “We aren’t going to tell you that we’re bringing strangers to your sacramental celebration because, (insert innane reason here).” 

I still just don’t get this one.

This may be a religious party, pal, but the food and beverages still don’t multiply themselves, you know.  And is it really so hard just to even text me, even fifteen minutes before the event, that you’re brining other people?

That and the uninvited guest that comes always sits silently in a corner with a ‘deer in headlights look’ once they realize how out of place they are.  But by all means, invite your own friends to your own party, because, you know, that’s normal.

The “I’m not Catholic so I’m going say really stupid things all night to make myself feel like I’m the cool one” person 

I don’t even know why I still invite this person. Maybe charity?  Maybe to meet other singles there that might straighten them out? Doh! I committed my own faux pas.

Bonus: Whoever sits next to them gets to hear all about their estranged relationships, dysfunctional family, medical history, career woes and their latest superficial acquisition – usually a boat or jet ski. Because that’s what everyone who celebrates a first Holy Communion or baptism lives to hear about…what your lame life away from the Church consists of.

Is it too much to ask to just not make a sacramental celebration weird?  For this person, yes it is.

Have any crashers or faux pas you want to share? Leave a comment! And by all means, be merciful to these folks, they may need the party more than you do.

Copyright 2013 Marissa Nichols 

I’ve met some awesome Catholic families who don’t.  Mine doesn’t, but I swear, there’s an unmistakable draw about those veils.

I used to think that mass veils were silly and a sign of some sort of spiritual elitism.  But of course, I was just being a ‘un-covered head’ elitist adamant that I didn’t need no veil to be all holy-like and stuff.  It turns out, I was correct: you don’t need a veil to be holy and those who wear them don’t think so either.

Many choose to wear veils simply out of reverence and I have a deep respect for any family who wants to indicate in their dress that mass time is like no other hour in their schedule.  It’s set aside for Him, and veiling their heads is the indication of that.

Secretly, I think I’ve always found mass veils really pretty and attractive.

But, then, it could just be the Spaniard in me wanting to leap out in passionate, mantilla form.

Deep down, I realize that, if I don’t keep the Spanish Dona at bay, I’d probably show up to church looking something like the picture above.

Oh yeah.  Six inch comb and all.

The important thing when deciding whether or not to veil is understanding that if you don’t, you aren’t doing anything wrong.  No matter what some might claim, the requirement for chapel veils was already in decline when the mass rubrics of the 1962 Missal did not mention them. Similarly, and more recently, the 1983 Code for Canon Law is silent about the subject.  So, no, you are not obliged wear one, but at the same time, it’s equally fine to wear one.

We need to avoid the temptation to believe that some invisible veiled/veil-less rivalry exists somewhere six feet above the temporal plane. Although, that would be an, er, interesting ‘battle’ to witness (The Veils unleashing a hail storm of lacy netting and the Bald Caps deflecting with their copies of the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy) the truth is that the efficacious grace of the Eucharist is available to to all properly disposed Catholics regardless of headdress.

The important thing, of course, is what’s in your heart … unless it happens to be a flailing Spanish flamenco dancer.  Whatever you do, don’t let her out.  Appease her with chocolate and Gyspy Kings music, but do not, I repeat, do not flamenco in Church.  That might have been okay in the old translation (no it wasn’t) but the new translation, not so much.

Copyright 2013 Marissa Nichols

You may or may not be familiar with the Woman Priest movement or the Woman’s Ordination Conference.   I still don’t understand the difference between the two.  In any case, the latter can be credited with such fine contributions to salvation history such as this gem (and yes, they are completely serious in this video):

Watch this video on YouTube.

…no doctrinal problems there.

I’ve done my fair share of laughing at them from afar (which just goes to show what a great Catholic I am…not) as well as regarding them with the same degree of seriousness as I would a Mickey Mouse shaped nebula somewhere.

Then I met one.  At the sidewalk.  Here’s how that went.

First, to her credit, she was participating in 40 Days for Life.  How rare or cool is that?  I thought all “women priests” despised Paul the VI’s Humanae Vitae and were all for “choice” (at least, if they were anything like the Leadership Conference for Women Religious’s higher ups whom I’ve often opined to be on the same level.)

At first, unsure why she was wearing a Roman collar, I innocently asked, “Oh, are you a minister somewhere?” expecting a response of the yes, Episcopalian, variety.

“I am a Catholic priest.” She declared.  My response: shock, silence.

When she saw I wasn’t responding, she softened and added, “It’s a long story.”  I have no doubt it is…and I could probably tell most of it to her.

For, not long ago, as a confounded Catholic, growing up in the Bay Area, I was indoctrinated with a pseudo-catechism from those who insisted that contraception, abortion, homosexuality and especially women’s ordination was completely compatible with Church teaching.

Don’t think these priests/nuns/theologians didn’t have volumes of secondary sources to confuse me and every other lay person who innocently came wanting to know more about their Faith (and who only received a weird, up-in-smoke, 1970s version).  Missing in my mis-education, of course, were the primary sources, like say, um, the Catechism and scripture. I am guessing the woman priest I met had a similar education.

Then, I’m sure some spiritual director somewhere confirmed that she did have a vocation to the all-male priesthood (that’s usually all it takes).  Then, she networked with likeminded, identically spiritually counseled women, championing the “reforms of Vatican II,” and the rest is history.

Here’s the cool thing though, and I can’t come back to this enough: she was praying for an end to abortion.  She very kind, though clearly confounded, as I had been.  And she had an obvious zeal for justice and love for Our Lord.

Speaking with her helped me be less condescending to those like her whose hearts are clearly in the right place but whose actions are the fruits of both being misled and, perhaps, influenced by their own personal disdain for Church teaching.

Our conversation together, mostly about the evil of abortion, helped me see that, beneath her Roman collar, was a good woman with a strong, passionate desire to change the world.

Now, you might be wondering, as I still am, why, if she truly wanted to change the world for the better, end abortion, and have a ministry distributing hospital supplies in Peru (which she apparently already has), why not just do the same while living in accordance with the Catechism?

Is there any reason she couldn’t pray and minister to others as a lay woman and not be equally, if not more effective in reaching more hearts and converting all to the Gospel of Christ?

The answer is: yes, of course she could.  But she’s chosen not to.  She’s chosen the path of dissent, and, as a result, ironically, will probably never completely fulfill her own baptismal priestly vocation, to which we are all called.

But isn’t that just like the devil?  He’s very convincing when it comes to persuading some good, intelligent, hardworking woman somewhere that she is called to the Church’s all male priesthood.  He’s created the perfect distraction as she seeks illicit ‘ordination’ all the while not realizing that she’s missed out on the immeasurable potential she had should she have walked the path of fidelity to the Church instead.

Women priests such as the one I met don’t deserve judgment or ridicule, especially from imperfect Catholic women such as myself who purport to be all adhering to our Faith.  They need our love, and especially our witness to the fullness of a woman’s true priestly vocation, which is not present for us in the same way it is for men in the way of ordination to public ministry.

Ours is a different, but just as important “priesthood.” Among other things, for some it means bringing new life into the world and nurturing it in the Faith.  Yeah. How about them, apples?

But it is also to call other women to deeper fidelity to the Church.  I pray the prolife movement continue to be one such catalyst for uniting all those who still live in dissent to many of the Church’s teachings, and that they, like the woman priest I met, come home their Faith fully in a beautiful, wholly assenting and final way.

Copyright 2013 Marissa Nichols

Before I was a Pro-lifer, I was a Judgmental Pro-Choicer

I’m looking forward to upcoming the Lenten 40 days for life campaign.  Just saying so is really a miracle.  I was not always pro-life, you see, and it was not an easy, nor a pretty road that lead to eventually seeing the world with God’s merciful eyes. However it was worth every aching step and in many ways it has saved my life.

My pro-choice stance actually stemmed from a disdain for women. My liberal upbringing was full of examples where women bullied other women.   Indeed, it was dog-eat-dog amongst gals who seemed to be in a perpetual competition with each other, all of them also professed liberals.  I hated it and I disliked other women for it, but I knew no other way.  I fooled myself that pro-lifers were the ones judging others, but really, it was me all along.

It might sound strange to say, but being pro-choice allowed me to adjudicate women from afar.  It meant that I never had to go out of my way to really sympathize with a woman’s situation or get to know her personally. If a she had an abortion, I could just decide that she was just making a benign choice that didn’t affect me.

Plus, to my mind, if I told myself she was to dumb to realize that sex equals a possible child, then I could congratulate myself on being her intellectual superior.

More sinisterly, my liberal beliefs lead me to believe that, practically speaking, the world was a better place because it didn’t have to contend with paying for her ‘mistake.’

Here’s the cold, cruel reality underlying the false compassion that typifies liberals, and especially pro-choicers: despite all their talk of women’s rights, deep down, they’re grateful that they don’t have to go outside their narcissistic comfort zone and actually deal with real problems faced by real people everyday.  They don’t have to bother with whether a woman has low-self esteem, was bullied into her “choice” or whether it’s a true injustice when innocent human life is ended.  Nope, pragmatically speaking, it’s just one less kid to spend our tax money on.

I should know, I was such a liberal.

Then after I became pro-life in college, my judgementalism evolved to condemning not only the act, but the people involved in the sin of abortion.

I didn’t do this consciously.  It’s completely natural to recoil in horror once one comes to understand what abortion actually is.  Nor is it difficult to make the emotional leap from applying the same reaction you have to an abhorrent situation to the people involved in it.

Now, I was never one who felt like people deserved to be stoned to death, or anything, but I was someone who would cast a condescending eye upon others.

I had succumbed to the oldest tricks of the Devil, that of mentally drawing a line between “me” and “them” and how I would never do something as bad as what “they” did and may God have mercy on them (because I sure wasn’t.)

Really, I just didn’t understand God’s mercy and my unforgiving attitude was rooted, ironically enough, in exactly what I most shared in common with post abortive parents and abortion industry workers: my own brokenness and need to discover God’s inexhaustible love and forgiveness.

Long story short, it wasn’t until I sought healing for my own wounds and my own wretched sinfulness that I was able to feel love for my fellow man and, finally and most especially, women.

At long last, I could embrace them as my sisters in Christ and get to work trying to  spare them the pain of abortion as well as find them healing for those wounds they believed were beyond God’s healing power.

I could do this because the pro-life movement forced me to personally encounter that:

Nothing is beyond His mercy, not even my hideous judgementalism. 

Becoming pro-life and really practicing my faith made me get out and love people even more than I believed I could.  It made me seek my own healing for my anger and residue issues from childhood.  It saved my life, and, as result, other lives since.

How could I not bring this powerful message to the women I’ve prayed for at the sidewalk for years now?  It was the entire message of the gospel, and without the pro-life movement, I might have completely missed it for myself and others.

This Lent, please remember to pray for judgmental people like me.   Don’t give up on us.  We can and do change.  We are broken inside on fundamental levels that we may not be even aware of.  Abortion is a horrible sin that requires love and mercy to heal, as does judgementalism.  Pray that more of us seek it in the pro-life movement.  And may God protect us as we once again head to the sidewalk this Lent.

Copyright 2013 Marissa Nichols

Phrases That I Hope Go Unmentioned at My Funeral

No, no, I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.  However, another birthday is just around the corner for me.  So…tick, tick, tick.  We don’t know the day or the hour, just that we’re getting closer with every passing year.

Here’s a list of cheesy funeral phrases I know I’m guilty of using but which I hope won’t feature at all when my time comes.

“I wish I had known her.” I hate this one.  It’s the quintessential, empty regret statement of the universe.  Better not to utter it, ever.

Why?  Because if anyone really wanted to get to know someone, they would have made the effort.  Are we not all online?  Plus if you’re at my funeral and didn’t really know me it suggests that you’re only there for the food.

I also wish people wouldn’t bother fretting about not “knowing” someone.  In my case, chances are, if someone never ‘knew’ me personally, then I probably never got the chance to know them that well either. This ‘life’ thing tends to keep people occupied.   So don’t worry about it.  You didn’t know me and I didn’t know you. You’re off the hook, enjoy the reception.

“She was full of life.” Okay.  And now I’m full of death.  Great, thanks for that.

Seriously, though, I find this an incredibly droll statement.  That, and, as long as I’ve lived, the one thing I’ve learned is that life is full of deaths. That might sound terrible at first, but actually, upon second glance, it can be rather fun.  Let me explain.

Death has saturated my life most especially lately.  Death to self, I mean. Finishing my master’s degree, maintaining a career with a nice retirement plan, a waistline, and even homeownership; at some point I’ve had to bury those ideas I coveted for so long with a heavy heap of fertilizer called ‘reality.’  Interestingly, life still goes on.

In fact it ‘goes on’ in a major way: through my children. They alone are the greatest testaments I have to a life fully lived.  Therefore, if anyone says that I was “full of life,” let it be because my life was full of children, and little else more.  Otherwise, please know that my life is not full of life so much as it is one that is ripe with several very timely and highly entertaining deaths.

“She was a friend to many.” Let’s be honest.    She (me) was mostly too buried under the demands of daily life to befriend and stay in close touch with people.

However, when I am remembered, I hope it is said of me that I did pray, think well of, and wish good things upon others.  I hope this counts for something to someone, but even if it doesn’t, I’ve made my peace with that too.

“She was a friend of God.” Rubbish. If I was truly His friend, then I was a terribly poor friend much of the time.  It is still far more accurate to say that God was a good a friend to me somehow never gave up asking me to be a better friend to Him.

More than a friend, however, God has been a Father to me.

I’ve spent most of my life with Him on an intimate basis, and aside from my husband, I have lived with no other friend.   And so I’d rather people said “’She was a daughter of God,” or, “She was his faithful one,” or even, “She was an idiot who He loved,” before they assumed I was anything close to a true friend to the Almighty.

Then, if there is anything salvageable from my life in the way of true goodness, please give Him the credit and simply say, “God did that.”  Trust me, it’s all to His credit, anyway.

“We know she’s in heaven.” Shoot. Me. Now. Look, man, I appreciate the sentiment.  Truly I do, but admit it.  You have absolutely no idea where my soul is going.  Whenever I’ve heard people say this at funerals, I’ve always felt like it’s more just wishful thinking for where their own soul may one day go.

Chances are, if I’ve been charitable, faithful and pure I will get there…eventually. Hell can’t touch people like that.  It might take a century or two in purgatory, before finally making my way to the Pearly gates, but  c’est la vie! Or C’est la mort, whatever.  But getting to heaven straight away?  Let’s hope and not say we know.

So there you go. Instead of any of the above morose tautologies, at my wake, I’d love if more folks said something to the effect of,   “From her life I’ve learned to be more [insert heroic virtue here],” At least, perhaps they’ll get the full statement out before they chortle and cough up their wine. That is a far more productive statement, and more aligned with my immediate hopes for mine and their eternal salvation anyway.

I don’t mean to be so hard to please when it comes to what is said about me when I’d dead, but I’ve been to enough funerals of lapsed Catholics to not want to get lumped into the flowery-language-to-compensate-for-their-lifetime-of-dissent category.

Seriously, say a rosary for me, think of me, and find out what it is God is calling you to do.  That’s what we’ll all be remembered for anyway.  Not so much what we wanted to do, but what He wanted us to do so that finally, it won’t matter what others say about you, whether you are here or whether you are gone.

Copyright 2013 Marissa Nichols

To all the Gen X’ers and Y’ers out there: didn’t we all read the Diary of Anne Frank, or Night by Elie Wiesel, which detail what happens when a religion is demonized by the government and almost totally annihilated from existence?

If so, then why, when religious persecution begins to crop up in our own backyard, do we not even protest?

And why do I get the un-funny feeling that, not unlike the townspeople of Aushwitz who cheerfully sat sipping lemonade on their porches while the smoke stacks of the death camp daily bellowed black ash above their rooftops, our generation will be characterized as distractedly updating their Facebook statuses while the fate of the First Amendment is similarly and tragically ignored.

It should be a worrying thing to any rational person when those presently in their 20s and 30s, who were the population most indoctrinated with phrases like,  “Bad things happen when good men do nothing,” and  “Become the change you wish to happen,” are also the most ostentatiously mute when their own government tries to force its people violate their religious beliefs.

Hm. Methinks the ‘lessons’ we were taught in school never took – or they just took on the same tone of superficiality and commercialization that characterizes our age.

How else could it happen that an imposed healthcare system arises where every employer of faith must choose between not offering healthcare to their employees or funding abortion inducing drugs – a decision, which historically, has never befallen any freely worshiping individual in our nation?

The most popular argument one hears in favor of the HHS mandate is this: religious employers can’t “force” their beliefs upon their employees. What those who hold to this argument don’t see is that now the government is imposing its beliefs upon privately enterprising employers who wish to operate their businesses (and their whole lives) in accordance with the tenets of their faith.

The government’s message is simple: the religion of the state trumps yours.  Since what the Obama administration dogmatically believes regarding healthcare is more widely held amongst individuals than your religion’s tenets (because popularity has always been religion’s aim) then you must violate your beliefs to publicly uphold the state’s beliefs.

If that isn’t blatant infringement of the practice of religious freedom, I don’t know what is.

It begs the question of why now?  Did the administration know that there are few of us remaining, who would become indignant at their actions?

It used to be that anyone with a backbone could be trusted to call out bullying when they saw it.  Now, it seems, that so long as our medical bills are covered, all is well and good.

To a point, I sympathize with the silence of so many.  There is a feeling of, “What can I do?” in the face of such unprecedented evil.  That and my generation is poor, very poor.  Because most of our parents aren’t going to retire, ever, we don’t want to jeopardize our chance to take the handouts the government is willing to give us, since we don’t have a way of becoming sufficient for ourselves.

Also, why “become the change we want see to happen,” when we can now all run out and get our tubes tied or our urethra severed for free?  Apparently, that’s the pinnacle of everyone’s middle age, as my husband and I are now learning from most of our peers.

We no longer need to become those proverbial “good people” who speak up when bad things happen because the media is not going to report all that dreary bad stuff anyway, and, heck, most of us probably even voted in the guy doing all the persecuting.

So, sorry, persecuted religious people, you’re on your own in this fight.

Along the way, my generation had to pick its battles, and it seems we’ve chosen to save our own necks and stay silent while those who are being unjustly treated are silently lead to martyrdom by the state who is trying to forcibly excise their right to practice their beliefs in the secular sphere.

Instead of reacting, here we sit comfortably, while it all occurs, sipping our Moscato in our apartments, while the ashes of the first amendment rise above our heads.  Just like every other do-nothing-about-it generation of people who allowed evil to rule and themselves to be ruled by evil.

Copyright 2013 Marissa Nichols

To My Daughter, I Hope I Can Still Hold Your Hand at 18

As she grows up, my firstborn is hitting her milestones at lightning speed.

And I don’t like it.

On the one hand, her unfolding maturity and blooming language acquisition is a wonder to witness.  On the other, it’s utterly terrifying and makes me slightly sad.

My baby is growing up, and I can’t stop it. I don’t want to stop it, but I can’t believe it’s here.

She’s almost five and about to enter kindergarten.  In a few months, we will welcome our third child to the family.  Maybe it’s this impending reality that has me reminiscing back to my first pregnancy and thinking of my first most especially.

I can’t help but think of my eldest baby in a special way as the one I’ve lived the longest with.  She’s my proverbial “first pancake” child, the one I’ve made most of most of my mothering mistakes on.  The one whose forgiveness I will probably need more than any of the others.

She’s the one most like me in sheer stubborn will, but most unlike me in her general interests.  She’s a dress and skirt preferring, princess-loving, daddy adoring, lego-building and cake baking little math whiz.  I was none of those.  Not even close.

Yet I know her so intimately, and, if I’m being very honest, she knows me just as thoroughly.  It’s an amazing mystery, the bonding that takes place between mother and daughter.  We know how the other ticks.  And when she does little impressions of me (especially when she’s ‘disciplining’ her little brother, it’s scary just how accurate her imitation actually is).

Where will she and I be in 13 years, when she is 18 years old?  Or what about the next 50 years, when I am 80.  Well, I know where I hope to be, and what I still hope we do.  And if I had to make a list now for her, based on all of our experiences together so far, it would read something like this:

To my four-year-old daughter; when you are eighteen, I still hope you let me hold your hand – yes, in public (and I pray you will continue to hold mine when I am eighty and crippled).

Hopefully we will still bake together for family birthdays and holidays and look at pictures of baked goods in books and on the internet.  Maybe Cake Boss’s grandkids will be running the family business by then.

I hope I can still cook you steak (and that you never stop asking me to make it for you).

I hope you will always adore your father (I know it sure helps me to do so, wink) and are patient with your mother – and visa versa.

I hope you always want to share the big decisions in your life with me.  This week it was deciding to share your dessert with your brother.  Who you will marry, where you wish to travel to, and the projects you love the most – I hope I can be there to witness them all (and there’s an extra ticket for mom if you’re going someplace tropical or ancient).

I hope that one day you too will know what it is like to have a daughter.  To brush her hair while she squirms, to find her raiding your makeup, to walk in just as she’s flushed your pearl necklace down the toilet.  And I hope you know what it is to watch a pint-sized version of yourself scarily remind you of all the ways you struggled as a child.

I hope that, despite all of my mistakes, you still are proud to call me your mother. That you see how hard I tried in between those unfortunate blunders and that you come to love the person who, at the end of the day, was learning just like you were.

I hope you still retain a little of an English accent – for daddy’s sake.

I pray that we will always forgive each other.

Lastly, I hope your gift of Faith grows and cements you more firmly to God’s will for you.  I don’t know what Our Heavenly Father wishes for you yet, but I’d love to be there in some way as often as I can.

And if you are a mommy one day, I hope you remember to call me and invite me to mass with you and the grandkids– that way I can encourage when you have to take your daughter outside a million times, knowing that she does outgrow it.

And really, they all outgrow it far too soon.

Dear baby girl, you are my first and will always know me at my best and worst.  Hopefully, the bests are what you remember most.  That I was there for every ballet class and every math problem, as well as every sign of the cross you made before meals and bed.

I hope I am made worthier of your love with every passing year, and that you can always find a way to love this mama of yours, who will never outgrow her role, ever.

All my love, signed the one making you steak again tonight.

Copyright 2012 Marissa Nichols

Regretting your Marriage Doesn’t Mean it was a Mistake

Right now, like millions of other married couples, you may be suffering in what you consider to be a tough marriage.

First, take heart! There is good news about perseverance through these difficult times.  Featured recently on the National Organization for Marriage’s Facebook page is the following, hopeful quote:

“In studies of 700 miserable, ready-to-split spouses, researchers found that 2/3 of those who stayed married were happy five years later. They toughed out some of the most difficult problems a couple could face… What was their strategy? A mix of stubborn commitment, a willingness to work together on issues, and a healthy lowering of expectations.” -featured in Prevention Magazine (from Marriage Missions International)

I can personally relate to this quote.  In the past, I have regretted my marriage many times (especially during those moments where the bitter cup tasted down right poisonous).  But, even in those dark moments, I’ve come to realize, it didn’t necessarily mean that my marriage was a mistake.  What am I getting at?

First, let me be clear, that God never intends a bad marriage.  We do that ourselves.  Living a good, fruitful marriage is entirely possible and the Church gives the surest way of achieving this such as abstaining from premarital sex and being open to children (neither of which is easy to do, mind you).

Sometimes (most of the time) though, life still happens.  Things still happen. Our fallen nature still happens. But human beings are also capable of redemption and that’s what I’m getting at.

During our first years together, I struggled daily against believing that my marriage was some sort of critical error and that God had duped me into undertaking a path too difficult for any human being.

But this was only a temptation and one that is very prevalent today.  Why so?

Just look around.  Missing from the current media frenzied over-glorification marriage is the unending mileage of forgiveness required for its harmony.   Instead it is depicted as a romantic, cozy adventure for the benefit of the spouses alone.

But, boy, when do people do marry, then what happens?

They quickly encounter the universal difficulties that have always plagued marriages such as breakdowns in communication, conflict, and difficulty raising children.  No wonder so many people call it quits, thinking it was a mistake!  It looks and feels and tastes like nothing they expected!

But again, take heart if you’ve found yourself in the boat of those who have contemplated ‘ending things.’ Yes you may feel regret over you marriage, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it was mistake.  In fact you may discover, as I and so many have, that my perseverance through my marital difficulties has added to me.

For instance, I am far less judgmental of people in general.  I get it now.  I’m not perfect – neither is my spouse.  What was I thinking all those years that I felt “we” could do no wrong together? Our particular rough “patch,” lasted almost two years – and to be honest, we’re still trying to get things right.

Believe it or not, some of the most saintly couples currently walk this earth have been there.  They have endured addiction, adultery, abuse, depression…sometimes all at once.  And many have walked the healing path and come out victorious.

Why mention all of this?  Because I’ve learned that marriage, more than anything else, is a path to sanctification. As a vocation, married life will cleanse your heart and exercise your faith muscles in an almost inhumane regimen of sacrifice and death to self ad-nauseum – and that’s if you’re doing it right!

I used to think of being married as some sort of security blanket.  Now I see it as a journey I travel everyday, arming myself through prayer and the sacraments to face it’s sometimes blistering conditions.  Christ’s own example shows us that the way to Heaven is the cross and marriage is not impervious to this reality.

But what about happiness?

Here God surprised me.  When I finally abandoned the notion that I had made a mistake in marrying my husband, and started to focus on doing God’s will alone, things got better. I was suddenly happy. And I finally came to see that the marriage I so often regretted was not necessarily a mistake. In fact, it really is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t immediate marital bliss or anything, I have grown up from that young college girl clutching on to her, high, unrealistic ideals which in the end, only hurt me and my opinion of my husband.

Certainly the world says suffering within marriage is pointless, and that it’s best to discard it if things aren’t working.  Barring abusive circumstances, we Catholics know better. The saints, who suffered far more than any of us, show us the ultimate reward for undertaking our crosses: peace of heart, and heaven.

God has proven time and again, in even the most broken of circumstances, when His mercy is applied, they become light for the world.    He does have a plan for married people who are hurting and we are capable of being the saints we are all called to be. We need only seek it in all confidence and love.

I’m writing to reassure you that searching for God’s will in the midst of your painful marriage is possible; that perseverance is worth it and that you will be the more peaceful person for doing so.  In the end, you cannot fix another person, you can only change yourself.

(And please, get real marriage help!  Retrouvaille ministries is one such resource. We recommend them.  Also Marriage Ministries.  See link above.)

Copyright 2012 Marissa Nichols

Well, …we made it didn’t we?  Me, my four year old, my two year old, and every other person in this valley who heard that this parish offers confession during all masses.

Although they all probably made it here more quickly than I did, what with my two year old’s bowls becoming vigorously active right before walking out the door, and my four year old’s recalcitrance not to leave the house without her Cat Woman mask.

And let’s not forget the person who thought it would be a good idea to do a three-point turn right at the mouth of the Church’s driveway as slowly as they possibly could (but, hey, if I was at a loss for things to confess, I acquired at least 3 new sins just in trying to park the car).

But here we are, baby, in our favorite confession line!

I know my children always look forward to trying to play ‘piano’ on all of the “button candles” in front of the image of Our Lady of Perpetual help.

Speaking of perpetual help.  Thank goodness for that one sympathetic older lady who only took about 3 minutes for her confession.

It’s only been a seven to ten minute average for everyone else so far.  Don’t we have spiritual direction appointments for that?  (I’m not sure that I packed enough snacks to stand here for an hour).

A line like this one makes that confession app look like a better idea all the time.

But, no, shoo!  Away, negative thoughts! I am happy for those souls coming to confession today!  Really!  No, really.  Even if it means I might not make it into the confession today, or for another month. Perhaps it means that someone needed it more than I did!

And hey, I have three words for you:  confession-of-desire.

Should I tragically kick-the-bucket before the next time I head to confession

I can point to St. Peter’s clipboard and say, “See!  Right there. On Tuesday. Tried!”

This might help explain why I hardly see other moms in the confession line. Ever.

They’ve all either just given up, figured out a way to stop sinning or maybe they have just gotten wise and found someone to watch the kids.

Not I, though Lord.  Horribly sinning, incapable of thinking ahead Catholic mom, I. Am. Still. Standing. Here.

Barely.  Now, I’m more leaning my aching vertebrae against the wall.

If the other people in line only knew, Lord.

But then again, maybe today we aren’t really lined up for a confessional. Maybe on Tuesdays it morphs into a gateway to Narnia and those that enter find themselves in a snowy, dreamlike wood and proceed to have centuries of adventures before emerging after only a few minutes in our world’s time.

By that measure, all those minutes don’t seem very long at all.

Anyway, it’s a more pleasant thought than thinking about all the times my daughter has already asked to go play outside on the kid structure.

Oh that reminds me, add “I’ve tried researching boarding schools for the four year old already,” right after, “I’ve been impatient” to the list.

I get it, Lord. In your Mercy, you have called me here and this is part of the penance.  It must be – this line is punishing.  If nothing else, please help me remember the line because standing here for so long makes acquiring a plenary indulgence look like a cake walk.

Which reminds me, did I shut off the oven before we left?

Lord, in your mercy, hear my prayer.

Copyright 2012 Marissa Nichols 

How to Respond to Mean Moms

The other day, during a catechism evening at the parish where I assist, I met her.

She is a Catholic mom, who obviously cares enough to enroll her kids in catechism, with a baby on the hip and six more beautiful look-a-likes in tow.  Based on appearances only, she struck me as quite a good profile of where I’ll probably find myself in a few years.

One thing I didn’t anticipate though: she was mean.

I’ll spare you all of the gory the details, except to say that she was very put out by having to fill out the paperwork required for the program by all parents for all of their children (tough when you have more than two, granted, but you know, that part is not really our fault or anything) and she practically slammed the binder out of the good nun’s hands as she wrote in it, but you get the picture: she was mean.

She was angry, no, livid, and she was going to let the other adults, know it.  And she was going to do it in front of her kids right after catechism class where they just learned about becoming saints.

I have to confess, the tragic irony of the scene made me chortle as she stomped away closed fisted, with a set of small heads trailing behind her (but the best response award goes to the nun at my side who called after her cheerfully, “God bless you!”).

As is the case with most disturbing scenes that strike someone as just plain wrong, the incident stayed with me and forced me to pray.

Something a priest said from the pulpit has always remained with me: that the moment you dislike something about someone else, it’s because they are showing you something you don’t like about yourself.

Yes, I too have been bitter and resentful and have complained about my crosses.  Yes, I too have critiqued religious education programs and bemoaned certain requirements and hoops I’ve had to jump through.  I too have been overly angry and behaved in a way that has embarrassed my children as well as my spouse.  Yes, I have vented anger and harmed myself and my relationships with others.

I have been that mean mom, maybe not in public, but at different times, in private, in prayer, to my children and those who I should love the most.

Those of us that struggle with anger lack peace in our hearts and we can’t help but sow discord everywhere.  What is inside of us does become manifested whether we try to hide it or not (and most of the time, anger is like a dam we feel we can’t control).  So pray for us.  And check out God’s funny response to mean moms:

I spoke with God all week about the incident: “Lord, what was her problem?  It’s not like anyone is forcing her to be in the program.  It’s not like we’re the ones that made her have that many kids.  Her crosses certainly aren’t heavier than all the other big families I know where the mom is actually kind hearted and nice to people.  What a grouch, what a -. Poor woman, poor Sr. So and So, and those poor kids!”

You get the picture.  I too was venting.

God’s classic response: “What’s your point, Marissa?”

You have to imagine it a bit like an Austin Powers moment, where you’ve just elaborated some important point in detail and were only met with a shallow, “And?”

It was perfect.

It forced me to consider: what was my point anyway?  A mom was mean, so what? The lesson was simple enough: learn from her example, don’t imitate it, and move on.

“People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered. Love them anyway,” Mother Theresa wrote.  It certainly wasn’t the last time I was going to encounter illogical behavior in my life…or even within that week.  So I moved on.  I didn’t have a point – but God did: love those who have no peace, and you will have found your own.

So I prayed for her and for myself and I was able to wish love and peace on that mom, in the end. And yes, in doing so, I was able to find peace myself.

Copyright 2012 Marissa Nichols

It’s crummy to constantly be accused of being hateful and fearful and so filled with animosity that I will be content with nothing else but ruining the lives of a historically oppressed people.

But it’s even more difficult to watch such a large number of folks, many of them Christians, completely misunderstand Church’s position on marriage as bigoted and somehow oppressive of secular society (they miss the whole point of marriage by doing so, I would argue).

Instead of becoming angry at them, however, or retreating to the emotional gush of “Mine is the just cause and everyone who disagrees with me is just a mean-spirited poo-poo head,” I’ve decided that, during this year of faith, I’m going to pray for supporters of same sex marriage in all seriousness and charity.

And I invite you to do the same.

Pray for them, because supporters of same sex “marriage” whether they are gay, straight, Catholic or otherwise are doing more harm than they probably realize.  In fact, they don’t see it this way at all, which is exactly why they need prayer.

Pray for them because not only are they abetting the federal government’s efforts to “redefine” marriage for everyone, they’re enabling it to take it’s sledgehammer to our religious freedom, which will eventually affect them personally.  More on this in a minute.

Pray for them because, while many simply want their same-sex oriented friends and family to be happy, they are actually harming those same loved ones.  Supporters of same sex marriage are essentially handing gays a death sentence by remaining silent on the topics of early death and disease, which come lock, stock and barrel with the practice of homosexuality.  They are therefore, even without wanting to be, actively complicit in the self-destruction of other human beings.

I haven’t even mentioned the spiritual harm being caused.

Pray for supporters of same sex marriage because, whether they want to admit it or not, they are causing our gay brothers and sisters to fall into and remain in a state of mortal sin. By doing so, they are causing scandal to the Body of Christ and their own children (and recalling Christ’s words about one would be better off flung into the ocean than doing so shows just how seriously God takes such an action).

Society’s already gnashing intolerance of the Church has been swelling with confidence due to their dissent from Church teaching.  The world is content to stop at nothing to destroy us on this topic – and all, it seems, with their blessing.

What is going to happen when their side wins, I wonder?

Will they joyously be celebrating each blessing of gay nuptials when their Churches can no longer perform any marriages or hold receptions on their own grounds, which will, of course, impact their children’s ability to marry in the Faith?

Will supporters of SSM’s zeal for equality and compassion extend to those who no longer have the right to express themselves in public because the side of ‘tolerance’ won?  Or will they enjoy watching the Christianity they profess to love maligned to the fringes of society?

Are they going to rejoice when their fellow parishioners are perpetually at risk for losing their careers, their money, their businesses and their ability to adopt children because of their beliefs?  Will they ever be able to truly build any sort of community with them knowing that they are in part responsible for tying up and leveling the heavy burden of oppression on their fellow traditional marriage supporting Christians?

I wonder.

Our opponents are going full gusto, and doing so by support of those in favor of so-called equal marriage rights and their assenting silence to the bullying of all those brave enough to speak out in favor of true marriage.

So pray for them.  Dedicate a family rosary for them once a week.

Do so, because they are inviting more harm than good to come upon our nation, upon their fellow Christians, upon the homosexuals they claim to support, and lastly, upon themselves.

What does it say when you have to look to secular society for consolation, while you fling the tenets of you Faith as far as you can throw them?

Hint: it’s called being led by the Evil One away from the Truth.  Pray for them and everyone in this battle that we may all resist the devil’s snares and enticements to reject the Truth, no matter how delightfully enlightened, progressive and ‘tolerant’ he makes them sound.

Copyright 2012 Marissa Nichols

Catholic Motherhood and Depression

Dear readers,

Thank you so much for your thoughtful responses both on my Catholicmom.com column and in the comment box on my actual blog, The Theology of Laundry.  I know I learned a lot!

Many of you suggested resources that I wish I had known about back when I was battling serious depression.  I thought it might be useful to sumarize what many of you suggested – and may I just say how comforting it was to know that many out there have endured the trial of depression and are willing to reach out so openly.

Here’s a quick list of some websites and blogs that deal with one’s inner peace and mental health:

http://www.peacefulwife.com – A wonderful site, self-deprecating, honest and humble. This one made me pray.

http://respectedhusband.wordpress.com - Literally the ‘husband’ site of the peaceful wife blog.  These spouses have made a momentous journey to peace together.  Worth reading every word.

http://www.retrouvaille.com - Troubled marriages need this program.  Click now.

http://www.johnjanaro.com - The blog is called “Never Give Up”, and can be found at this website.  John also has a book called Never Give Up: My Life and God’s Mercy, available on Amazon.

http://www.depressedandcatholic.com - A website by Kathleen Hockey which raises some interesting discussion. For example, her most recent was on ‘Catholic guilt.’ Her website is full of resources.

Books:

Who will rock the cradle? The battle for control of childcare in America, edited by Phyllis Schlafly.

When Anger Hurts: Quieting The Storm Within, by Matthew McKay, PH.D, Peter D. Rogers, Ph. D., and Judith McKay, R.N.

Please note: I have not scoured every single resource here looking for any potential conflicts with the Magisterium.  Always do your spiritual and mental health reading under the care of a good spiritual director.

And this is my last piece of advice for suffering souls: seek spiritual direction.  It has helped me grow in more ways than one.  May God bless all readers, all those pressed under the weight of depression and may He also help those who love them.

With prayer, Marissa

Copyright 2012 Marissa Nichols

Meet my Catholic Homeschooling Montessori Cooperative

Meet my Catholic Homeschooling Montessori Cooperative

(Say it three times fast if you can!)

When I tell people that my family has joined a Catholic Homeschooling Montessori Cooperative, they say, “That’s cool/nice/neat etc.,” just as their expressions become clouded over trying to comprehend what I’ve just told them.

Catholic. Homeschooling. Montessori. Cooperative.

What on earth did I just say?

Thankfully, I have great friends who haven’t given me the “That’s a mouthful!” line.

No, they’re just awesome enough to boil it down to homeschooling – somewhere – with other people.  Then they smile (what else are they going to do?), congratulate me and go on with their lives.

Little do they realize (and I am only starting to appreciate this myself) that I have just unleashed on them a (very) new paradigm in Catholic education.  It is the marriage of a classical curriculum, rooted in our Faith, and the homeschool in the traditional school setting (with much smaller class sizes – imagine anywhere from two to fifteen kids per grade).  It’s run by a hodgepodge of homeschooling parents, volunteer tutors and, in our lucky case, an amazing religious order.

Phew.  That summary was a mouthful.

Now that I’ve described it, I realize that I’ve probably created more questions than answers.  The best way to meet my kids’ school is to ‘see’ it.  Let’s see if the following snapshot presents a clearer picture.

Catholic.

Run by the Servants of the Lord and the Virgin of Matara, I am beyond thrilled that my kids will have what I lacked during my Catholic education: a habited order of teaching nuns faithful to the magisterium.  Trust me, the sight of their long, royal blue veils flanking a priest clad in his black, traditional cassock at our first morning assembly was enough to make this mom start tearing up in a “It’s like a Bing Crosby movie,” kind of way.

These sisters, some of whom look like they could have been in high school with me, are spearheading the whole operation.  They’ve scrubbed the curriculum to be authentically Catholic in everyway. Even the plus signs must be written as crucifixes.

No, not really.  I made that up.  But you understand right? History and literature and other core subjects are all Catholic in content.  Why not?  Did we not help found like nearly all of modern Western civilization?

Homeschooling.

Okay.  For some moms, it’s so not homeschooling.  We aren’t physically at home ‘schoolhouse instructing’ all grades around one table.  But for my mom friends who send their kids to ‘regular’ school, it’s so homeschooling.  “What? You have to be there when the kids are there…and help out… AND keep track of grades?”

Why yes, yes I do.  How it works is: while my kids are in class I am elsewhere on campus teaching or cleaning or helping in the library.  We then go to daily mass (which is required, by the way), head home, eat and do homework.  When daddy gets home he either finishes homework or quizzes them.

It’s homeschooling, like I said.

Montessori

One of the most undervalued models of education is that of the Montessori method developed by Maria Montessori (whose contemporaries included John Dewey, Jean Piaget and other psychology/education big wigs) back in the early 1900s.  Hey, she was a woman and she was Catholic.  What serious contribution could she ever be expected to make?

Sadly, the Montessori school has been received as a fringe method in education.  But I would call it extraordinarily humane and consistent with all the ‘best practices’ mantra I was force-fed during my credential training.  Students are, after all, self-directed, using their senses and discovering in their natural learning style.  Yes, they write essays and do workbooks too, but true comprehension, as all teachers know, happens with they internalize those lessons and apply them to real life.

Cooperative.

There are, I believe, 24 families at the school.  Most of them have more than three children in attendance.  It’s a small enough but big enough entity where it’ll take you a year to get to know everyone.  At least that’s what I’ve been told.

We all get there early (prayer at 7:40, start time is 7:45), four days a week, leave together for noon mass, and watch our children, from newborns to twelfth grade grow up under a tent of holiness not often found at other school types out there.  In fact our motto is ‘sapientia et pietas’: wisdom and devotion.  And together, through all the toughness, we’re cooperatively working for what will last into all eternity.

What do you think?  Is this something you’d like to bring to your parish or diocese?  Have another, similar model you are familiar with?  Leave a comment below!  Thanks for reading!

Copyright 2012 Marissa Nichols

Catholic Motherhood and Depression

Catholic Motherhood and depression are frequently viewed as mutually exclusive of each other.

After all, isn’t mothering a beautiful vocation as well as a graced state wherein instances of depression aren’t supposed to occur? Aren’t we Catholic wives and moms not living as God intended us to live?

While our vocations are indeed bolstered by grace, and the joys of motherhood in Christ are real, moms out there everywhere, good Catholic one even, sometimes endure serious bouts with depression.

And many suffer silently, alone and in the fear that others will judge them or their faith, or their Catholic Faith (which is already barraged enough these days with accusations of waging a “war” on women, nuns, harp seals, sunshine and prunes) should they speak up and appear to have un-met needs.

For someone like myself, I never believed I could ever become depressed.

I don’t know. I guess I figured that if I followed all of the rules I’d land in some euphoric state here upon God’s high mountain, set apart in my primordial, Catholic, maternal-ness. Or maybe I’d just want to bake all of the time.

Right.

Reality check: genuinely living one’s vocation is hard especially when the pay off is eternal. There’s no way around it.

Becoming a stay at home mom after one has gone to college, established their career and then one day just stopped can be a shock to the system. At least, it was to me. I’ve also had many working mom friends of mine, when they’ve seen me with my kids, admit quite honestly that they returned to their jobs because it was easier than what I’m doing.

If nothing else, their testimony helps me to hear that what I’m doing is universally acknowledged as hard and a genuine sacrifice.

Please don’t misunderstand me. Making the decision to give up my career and raise my children was a good decision. In fact, it’s probably the best one I’ve ever made. But it’s also almost one that literally almost killed me because of how deeply I sank into a mire of depression.

I lived in a rut for a year, and it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. It’s not that my career was superior to staying home, it’s just that nothing prepared me for type of all encompassing toughness, nor the sometimes gaping isolation of motherhood (especially with two kids under two years old).

Eventually though, instead of beating myself up for not savoring the divine glory of every moment, through grace I realized that to ignore one’s genuine suffering, or to try to pretend that grief and chemical imbalances can’t occur even in these circumstances is harmful. It took getting real help – marriage help, personal counseling and a brief stint with medication to finally get better.

My advice to all moms and spouses is this: get help! And don’t wait – a woman can live a long time ignoring her feelings, needs and desires until everything becomes so heavy and lonely and burdensome, she’s done herself a disservice in faking like she’s Wonder Woman’s second cousin.

Women require a community of support. Making a woman feel like she’s weird, proud, ungrateful, or just crazy for having low moments as she is trying to persevere in being a mom is very destructive.

Catholic women especially need to hear from other Catholic women what their struggles have been and how they, and their spouses, have persevered.

Instead of frightening off secular people from marriage (which was always my fear should I dare share about my low moments), we might be surprised to find they too are grateful for that authentic witness to the truths of life. Secular moms, I’ve discovered, feel just as lonely as anyone as they live trying their best to serve their loved ones.

Remember, the enemy hates to see a happy family, and immobilizing the mother, the heart of that home is, I’m convinced, one of his most malicious devices.

So why don’t we talk about it more? Many suffer. To my knowledge, not many people write or blog about this topic. But perhaps a reader may be aware of where I might find more information about this?

I’m all ears. Any seasoned moms out there care to share how they’ve undertaken and perhaps bested their season of trials?

St Monica, pray for us!

Copyright 2012 Marissa Nichols

In comparing one end of the spectrum to the other there is a huge difference between how both groups decide when to start and stop having kids.

No, this post is not a manifesto for having more vs. less children nor is it a diatribe on whether to have kids right away vs. postpone for while.

It’s simply this: between my secular and my religious friends lies a division that can be pretty accurately summed up in two little questions:
“Are you guys ready?” “Are you guys done?” With children, that is.

Interestingly, it’s not the answers to these questions that divides my friends so much as the fact that amongst those who are actively practicing their faith, the queries of being ‘ready’ and ‘done’ with childbearing don’t come up. Oh, they (we) ask things like, “So, when can we expect a little so-and-so?” but always with an underlying assumption that children will inevitably come along. And in regards to ‘done-ness,’ with children, I’ve heard Catholic moms say things like, “Well, I guess no more are coming,” but more as resignation to the fact and not like the shutting off of a perfectly good water faucet forever.

So why does one group of friends pose these questions while the other does not?

I have two ideas about this. The first regards the question of higher authority.

Whether you are religious or not, when your higher authority decrees that you must have a mortgage, new cars, the ability to travel and afford private school (all of which usually requires a double income) then only one, two and maybe three children will ever be permitted in your life. Those who wish to attain to this end measure preparedness for children based on the acquisition of goods and then they must cap the number of kids they have in order retain the lifestyle they are used to.

In contrast, those fully adhering to their faith view money through a different higher authority: God’s will for them their family. So, while money is one influence in their lives, it not the highest and therein lies the difference.

On God’s balance sheet, the numbers may not seem as child-friendly upon first glance, however His form of assets includes various factors that will lead to different type of fiscal security including the ability to discern one’s true needs (which requires wisdom, a gift of the Holy Spirit), persevere in sacrifice (which requires fortitude, a cardinal virtue), and yes, other people’s help given in the way of one’s community or even parish (which is the charity we are all called to).

The only way to trust in God’s Providence for your family, I’ve found, is to just go for it. But for many people, making that act of faith without the back up plan of contraception, in vitro fertilization and abortion is asking too much. Instead, they work for worldly notions of prosperity and ‘plan’ their family size as though it all depended on themselves. What many forget is that while ambition and pragmatism are good things, they cease to be so when it means the exclusion of what is truly important, and that again, is God’s will for you.

I know plenty of families whose homes, salaries, cars, vacations and toys I’d love to have, but not at the “price” of only ever having to limit myself to having two kids (no, I’m not saying two is a bad number, but I’d like to have more). My higher authority requires I think outside my ‘bank account box’ as well as my socially engrained notions of success.

My second idea on this topic is that, as far as practicing Christians never asking each other if we are ‘ready’ or ‘done’ with kids goes, for us, it’s equivalent to being asked if we are ready or done with doing God’s will, to which the answers are always going to be, respectively, “I hope so,” and, “Never.” Knowing the universal responses already, we simply never feel the need ask them.

But it’s different with my secular friends for whom the topics frequently, and I do mean frequently, come up. At times I’ve gotten the feeling that many are searching for validation for their own personal choices. It’s not my place to approve or disapprove someone’s decision, but I do find it a bit tragic that they feel they need the thumb’s-up from other people, or society, or even the Internal Revenue Service, in order to either follow or ignore the desires in their hearts that are written by God.

In radical contrast to them, are those who aren’t asking anyone’s permission to have a big family.

For the latter group, having more children than is considered practical, without the comforts that others find essential, during the times that most would call inconvenient or even unwise, is not only possible but very welcome throughout their lives. Why?

Perhaps it all goes back subordinating their lives to will of God, in which lies the true peace, joy and security that only He can give in the midst of the most unlikely of circumstances and oftentimes in the most unexpected of ways.

Copyright 2012 Marissa Nichols

How Often Do We Say No?

Studying two-year-old behavior grants the most profound insights into humanity.

My son, who is two, has just now fixated on every toddler’s favorite word.  Parents, let’s say it in unison: “no.”  It’s a good thing the word ‘no’ doesn’t have a Facebook page, because with how technologically savvy little kids are, it would probably have a million ‘likes’ or more by now.

And so everyday, I am met with a ringing chorus of  “no” to any and all requests.  “Come here!” No!  “Say sorry!” No!  “Eat a cookie!” No! (really?). Thus, my task of transforming my little guy back into a lovely boy again lies before me.

Interestingly, since I’ve started paying more attention to his shenanigans, I’ve become more observant of grown ups.  What I’ve found is that adults hardly ever say the big n-o.  It seems that our parents did a good job rooting it out of us when we were two!

Here’s the thing though, we still turn each other down frequently.  However, instead of just refusing outright like a toddler would, we utter non-committal phrases such as, “I’ll get back to you on that,”  “Maybe next time,” or “Maybe when I’m not so busy.”

In many ways it’s not surprising that we do this.  As a word, “no” has a feeling of definiteness and finality to it and, for whatever reason, subconscious residual toddler trauma maybe, that makes us uncomfortable. Try to remember last time you turned someone down.  Most likely, you didn’t say flat out ‘no.’ That would sound strange.

“Hi! Do you want to get together for a play date?”

“Um…no.”

It just doesn’t happen.  More than likely, you gave a reason, prefaced by a sentiment of regret.  “Oh, I wish I could, but, you know, (insert reason here).”

Coordinating a play date is a tame example.  What about those times someone asked you to do something in which there was really nothing in it for you (watch the kids, cook a meal, give up a weekend day for an event).  Chances are you had the same reaction – you humbly declined and you told them why.

And it was probably for a good reason, right?

Now, maybe you don’t do this, but I do and I’ve caught myself doing it with God also. I give my watered down negative response to Him and then I give my wonderful reasons why not.

The thing about reasons is that there are always going to be good, no, great reasons for saying no to God (and to each other, for that matter).

When I thought about that, I realized that I’ve never given God or another person a bad reason for being a lame friend.  In fact my reasons are fantastic!

I mean, come on, sometimes it’s really just not good timing and I’m busy.  Or my family is in the midst of a transition or on vacation.  Or maybe what God is asking of me is really just not ‘my thing,’ or maybe I’m under the weather, or I’ve had a rough day, year or life. Maybe I’m too hungry or tired, or to preoccupied with getting ready for the holidays or with a project or schooling my kids.  Or perhaps I’m just not sure if I’m the right person for the job. Or maybe I’ve already done a lot of good in my life and it’s time to give someone else a turn, or maybe I’ve been neglecting my to-do list or my bucket list and want to accomplish a few things first.  Or maybe my spouse won’t support me, or people will judge me or maybe God’s request falls outside of my comfortable cultural sphere.  In retrospect, all of reasons I’ve ever given God for why I’m unable to comply with His will have been good, solid reasons.

And yet, it all amounts to a big, fat ‘no.’

Think about it, when was the last time we told someone or God,  “I want to do this because I simply appreciate the value of living in imitation of Christ!”?  Um, never.  (But if you do this in the next 24 hours and leave a comment, Lisa Hendey will send you a cash prize! …No, not really.  Sigh…Have you learned nothing from this post?)

The truth is, as good as our reasons are for turning down an opportunity to be charitable, I’m willing to bet that they are never going to be as good the Good we forgoing by not saying yes.  And that Good is capitalized because it is God, it is the chance to grow in His friendship that we are letting go of when we place our lazy human will above His.

And then we’re the first ones to wonder why no one does anything extraordinary anymore, aren’t we?  If only someone would say yes to God. Hm… if only we set our hearts on being that person.

Of the two servants Jesus spoke of in the Gospel who were commissioned with a task, one refused at first and the other accepted.  But the one who accepted didn’t follow through, while the servant who said no, thought better of it and did it anyway.  Which one will we be?

Even better, though, is the third option and that is to be like Christ himself; to say yes and to follow through with trying our best to do it.  Try it sometime.  Take note: how many times do you say no…without saying no, outright, really?    And more importantly, how often do you actually say yes?

Copyright 2012 Marissa Nichols