Family

My dreams of flying buttresses, steeples, and stained glass just gave way to something more lovely - my family.

The Interior Castle and the Kingdom

"... there is a self-forgetfulness which is so complete that it really seems as though the soul no longer existed, because it is such that she has neither knowledge nor remembrance that there is either heaven or life or honor for her, so entirely is she employed in seeking the honor of God. It appears that the words which His Majesty addressed to her have produced their effect -- namely, that she must take care of His business and He will take care of hers. And thus, happen what may, she does not mind in the least, but lives in so strange a state of forgetfulness that, as I say, she seems no longer to exist, and has no desire to exist -- no, absolutely none -- save when she realizes that she can do something to advance the glory and honor of God, for which she would gladly lay down her life." St. Teresa of Avila

The Ecstasy of St. Teresa

St. Teresa of Avila, or Teresa of Jesus, was a contemporary of Queen Elizabeth I, who at the age of 17 left home to devote her life to prayer and contemplation. Her experiences in prayer were so intense, her visions so intimate, that she caused quite a stir among her peers.

She found in prayer that as she learned to despise the things that distracted her, she was able to draw closer to the Object of her desire, and that her desire for Him grew to a place where she could no longer be distracted.

I'm struggling with how this fits with the teaching that the Kingdom of God is here, now. That all in the world is created by God, and is being redeemed. That all that God made was good. I believe this. I believe it is scriptural. But, I also believe that Teresa and many others found something else just as scriptural. They found the Kingdom of God within themselves. And, it took shutting out the good things of this world to find it.

It's that little Catholic girl in me again, knowing that there's something to all this. That this devotion to prayer and denial of earthly things isn't simply an austere philosophy imposed upon weak minded plebs to keep us under control. (It can be, of course, for the legalist.) No, there's something about this I'm missing. That I've forgotten, and I'm beginning to remember.

"It is absurd to think that we can enter Heaven without first entering our own souls -- without getting to know ourselves, and reflecting upon the wretchedness of our nature and what we owe to God, and continually imploring His mercy. " St. Teresa of Avila

There's a Little Catholic In All of Us

And in some of us, she's screaming to get out!

I'm back on the church topic again. I've been in several conversations with a couple of friends in various settings this week that have driven me to the next couple of posts, in which I will once again ask myself, "What is the Church?"

There is a little voice within me, a little Catholic girl that knows deep down that there was something to that big, beautiful building. Someone who misses the stations of the cross, even though the story is in my Bible. I miss the sunlight shining on me through beautiful stained glass images of my Saviour. I miss the majesty and hush of the building that reminded me how small I was and, at the same time, how miraculous God's love for someone so small must be.

I don't even know if it's right to miss it so much. What I do know is that the first years of my life were shaped by an environment that taught me reverence of sacred things, of holy rites, and of all people. It wasn't enough at the time to bring me to a saving knowledge of Jesus, but it's the framework from which I found him and continue finding Him today. The older I grow, the richer I find that heritage to be.

I'm not wishing for a big cathedral building. I'm one who believes church buildings should be as multi-functional as possible to accommodate people, not a nice "service." But I'm missing something that I'm not finding in the Protestant world. It's more than the building; it's the ancient history, the communion of saints - living and dead, the holy awe and reverence expressed in the liturgy.

And, yes, even the black and blue plaid jumper with the Saint Francis crest over the breast pocket.

To the Pure

A friend said to me the other day that it took her a long while to realize certain persons sabotage situations, because she doesn't operate that way herself. That we tend to think that all people think and operate the way we do.

I so admire that quality, and at the same time, I so don't know what to do with it in myself. "To the pure, all things are pure," I told her. I feel like I put it in a box and wrapped it up with a bow.

It's not that easy for me. Is it for you?

I work and play and move in a world where I trust others to respond in an honest way. I'm not completely naive; I've been stung a few times. But I tend to expect the best of folks. Is that wise? Where is the line drawn? I'd like to think that if I get screwed, it's not out of stupidity. If people aren't trustworthy, but I have to cooperate with them, how do I maintain my integrity?

The Ginster gave me James 3:16-18 the other day. I had it hanging over my work phone as soon as I could print it off. It's a reminder of the attitude I want to maintain in my dealings with folks who push my buttons. I had an opportunity to loan it to another friend today who needed it worse than I did. The issue in my mind right now is, when we lose a battle to someone who has taken the low road, how do we know it's okay?

My experience has been that when the stakes are high, the answer is sometimes complex. Sometimes we don't get to know if we could have done something better, or not done something; we just have to know that we followed what we thought was best at the moment. But still, I find myself much more concerned over losing good ground for no reason than I am over winning in anything.

Maybe the denial of that concern makes room for the purity that sees others as pure, and the harmlessness that sees others as harmless.

Taffeta Dear

My 1000th visitor? From the IP address, it appears to be either Headless or Human Puzzle.

I decided to take Captain Wow's advice and celebrate the millenium of my blog sitings with taffeta, Madeline Kahn style. Thanks Wow!

The Home Stretch!

According to my site meter, I am 15 visits away from hitting the 1000th visit to my site since it began in April 2004!
Wooo Hooo!!!!
What does one do to commemorate such a momentous event? Should there be cake? Raffle tickets? Good heavens, what should I wear?
If any of you seasoned bloggers have any suggestions, please let me know.
The most creativity I can muster at the moment is, if you are number 1000, then, thank you. Thank you for your support.
Yep, that's about it.

Bad Christian is Going On Election Strike

Yes, it's true. Bad Christian is getting tired and frustrated; tired of all the rhetoric and posturing. Good news! Just this week, the Weekly World News' headliner is "Nov. Election Cancelled!" Most of the nation's machines are made in Florida, and are not expected to work properly. It might be another whole year before the election can take place. John Ashcroft hasn't announced it officially, but the rumors are already flying, and the Democratic response is expected to be ambiguous. A capital hill insider says, "There's not a democrat alive who's going to believe he's calling off the election because of a few thousand voting machines...I don't think they're going to deny that the machines are unreliable - I mean, hey, they were made in Florida, weren't they?" (pg 14)

Whew! What a relief! Now to focus on how to survive an alien abduction...

Mystery Roses??

Hey, I came home from work today and found a crystal vase with miniature roses on my back porch. There was no card, no tire tracks and no DNA samples left behind. I don't know why I have roses.

Oh my gosh, why do I have roses?

Is it because I'm a friend?
Because I'm working hard?
Because I'm hot?
Did someone get the wrong house? (Maybe I should quickly and quietly put them back on the porch...)
Or, maybe they're for Babette. Yeah, maybe the Deppster heard...

Well, someone thought I - or at least my cat, or one of my neighbors - should enjoy roses today, so I am enjoying them.

Thank you, mystery flower bestower person out there!

Maybe it's not so strange...

The Deppster

Well, I haven't been able to find an email address for Johnny. I guess it's not that easy to drop Mr. Depp a line to let him know, "By the way, my cat is your soul mate..."

However, I did find more evidence that Johnny and Babbs are truly matched. Think Babb's, read Johnny:
Johnny Depp Zone: Quote of the Week

My Cat's Celebrity Match

I never would have guessed that Babbs has a soul mate in Hollywood. But today, fortunately for both of us, I thought I'd visit emode.com and see what the new quizzes were. Well, surprise surprise...it ain't emode anymore; it's "Tickle." Tickle! Well whatever. That's when I found the link for "Who is your cat's celebrity match?"

Yeah baby, that's my quiz!

Babette isn't your typical kitty, as I've mentioned in previous posts. She's a blue persian smaller, with blue-gray hair and big orange eyes. She doesn't play much; rarely, actually. She loves whatever you are eating. She won't jump on your lap, but she will sit in your presence, if she trusts you, or if she feels pretty, and she will blink affirmingly. A great cat for cat lovers with allergies, really.

She is very strict regarding her morning feeding schedule. Not even so much the feeding part of it; we simply must get up at the time that it seems right to feed Babbs. Which is anywhere from 4:30 a.m. - 6:00 a.m. (Ginster - can I get a witness?) Sometimes I get down to the kitchen and she could care less about the Fancy Feast. She is a routine, quiet, pretty kitty.

So, imagine my surprise, after watching "Pirates of the Carribean" on Sunday afternoon, to find that Johnny Depp is Babette's celebrity match! Whoa. I didn't see THAT coming. But, now that I think of it, she does sort of resemble the personality of his Dorian Gray role in "A League of Extraordinary Gentlemen." Her female counterpart is Scarlett Johannson. Well, I don't know much about her so let's stick to Johnny.

I told her about this, and she didn't have much to say. She kind of somberly took it in, wiggled her little palsey head wiggle and gave me a big blink. I guess that's a good sign.

I wonder if I should email Johnny and let him know.

I Played the Piano Today

I played the piano today. I played a piece that I learned when I was in the all city girls choir in the sixth grade. Way back then, I felt that the piano accompaniment was more lovely than the vocals, so I learned it. After 30 years, I can still play it from memory.

It's a haunting piece, in minor. I've always favored minor, maybe because I tend to be introspective and dramatic. Yeah, whatever.

I rarely play the piano. On the occasion that I do play, I try this piece. After a couple of tries, I remember. Not just the notes. I remember when it should swell, and when it should hush. When it should be powerful, and when it should be vulnerable.

When I played today, it reminded me of love. I remembered the touches, the responses. The history. The complacent affirmations. The grace.

The memory is painful. But it is also joyful. Somehow finding expression in the small things in life, like a pause at the piano bench.

"This is a recording..." 

Is this the party to whom I am speaking?

I have a part-time job listening to people's voicemail recordings, who don't know I'm on the other side. It's so interesting to me, listening to folks speaking into their receiver, guessing what image is in their heads of what/who is really receiving their call.

Okay, I confess. It's my own private sociology experiment, and it slays me.

They're calling because they received a postcard in the mail inviting them to a free seminar, including a free dinner. Some of them understand the instructions, and some of them don't. So, some of the callers are very short and clippy. They don't like the auto attendant. (Really, I don't blame them one bit.) Some of them think they'll be understood better if they talk robot talk. My. Name. Is. Inez. Jones. My. Address. Is. 1.2.5.8....You get the idea. Hilarious! But, of course, they think Robby the Robot is listening, not a live body. Some of them are nervous, because they don't know what's on the other side of the line really, so they either hang up (sometimes 3 times), or they talk REALLY fast. As if speaking quickly proved that they knew what they were doing after all, thank you very much. And, of course, on my end, trying to transcribe these calls can be challenging. Partly because I don't understand them, and partly because they crack me up.

I love the men from Texas. Slow, deep, loud. Hear them once and I've got their message. Minnesota and Wisconsin folks tend to be slow, but not always loud. Sometimes the women will say at the end, "Jesus loves you," or "God bless you," so I assume they figure a person will get their message, and not BIG BROTHER messaging system. Who knows. Sometimes, people leave their message and...just...sigh.

Anyway, I almost feel like an auditory voyeur. They don't know this chic from Michigan is listening to their stumbling and their swearing, their subtle reminders that they are requesting "FREE" tickets for the dinner. They don't know I'm hearing everything as the wife is nagging her husband to remember to TELL THEM HOW MANY TICKETS DAGNABIT!!

Tonight I swear I got that blonde guy from King Of The Hill that none of us understands yet we do...
"Yeah, I'll take blblblbl at blblblblb Septem blblblll Omaha blblblb free taxpay blblblbl. Four tickets please."