I write to you today, not to ask for money, but merely to ask for your prayers and possibly your time.

Let me begin with a question. Let’s say a young woman you know has an abusive boyfriend. He recently hit her, yet she’s left feeling worthless without him. He’s convinced her that she’s nothing and can do nothing of value without him. She’s about to go back to him, to get abused yet again… do you try to stop her? Even though it’s none of your business? Do you try to convince her that there are alternatives? That there are people who can help her?

Each week I go to 659 W. Washington St. in the West Loop and I do something that is none of my business. I get yelled at. I get mocked. I get cursed at. Because it’s none of my business.

We can go through life seeing God’s other children do horrible things to each other and just continue to walk by and say “it’s not my place to impose my judgment on others.”

I’m here to tell you that it is our calling as Catholics to be a light unto others and share God’s love where you can, even at risk to your own reputation.

When I first heard the term “prayer warrior”, I didn’t get it and didn’t want the moniker. I’m no warrior. We used to be called “sidewalk counselors”, but that’s sadly a joke. There is very little opportunity to counsel a woman in need outside an abortion clinic when well-meaning abortion rights activists crowd around the woman and shout you down.

 

I come before you today because the veil over my eyes has this week been lifted and I wish to do the same for you. I’ve been going to the clinic for well over a year, all the while thinking that we were prevented from counseling these women, because it is their right to peacefully enter that clinic. Like some of you, I was pro choice for years, and still respected the rights of women to be left alone when making this decision.

So each week, I kneel exactly 8 feet from the door to the clinic and pray a rosary and offer support when I can. When the clinic escorts meow at me, I just ignore it. Yes, they often meow like cats when I speak.

I go to pray and let the women know that there are city services available to them, like insurance, job training and day care. That there is support for them and that they are not alone.

This week I found out that a woman I saw removed by ambulance from the clinic was not simply getting a little blood transfusion as I was assured by the escorts. They lied. Maybe the clinic even lied to them. This week it came out in the news that the clinic had even lied to the 911 dispatcher when reporting the horrific botched procedure that led to a hemorrhage and could have led to her death.

I stood out there, was mocked and cursed at while the ambulance took her away, because it was “none of our business”. That she was exercising her “right”.

Those of you in the parish who still think it’s about rights, let me invite you now to come down to 659 W. Washington and see that this has absolutely nothing to do with rights. Regardless of your personal feelings on this issue and which “side” you wish to stand on, I challenge you to choose a “side”, because there are no lukewarm opinions on abortion when you see a young girl, 6 months pregnant, bawling and clutching her stomach while her mother is screaming at her and dragging her into the clinic.

There are no lukewarm opinions when a young woman survives into a car accident in the street right in front of the clinic, gets out of the car, and walks into the clinic to kill her child.

There are no lukewarm opinions when a girl falls over in the street right in front of you, too weak to stand. You offer your help and suggest she might not be able to do this today and she says “I have no choice”.

These girls are desperate. They are almost always minority; almost never well-to-do white women demanding their rights. No, those are the escorts who prevent us from offering help. I’ve questioned the escorts, “why do you prevent us from offering help?” “It’s none of your business”. They have said to my face, if these people can’t afford the kid it’s better off dead.

I come before you today for prayers in this war against evil and possibly to ask for your time. If you can find an hour of your week on a Friday or Saturday morning to come down to the clinic, it would go a long way to show these women support and solidarity. You needn’t say a word, just be there.

Because in my personal experience, it’s tough to know the great joy and love of God without defending him in battle against the work of demons. With his words as your sword, when you offer his love to someone so desperately in need of mercy and compassion, if only for just a moment… while a grown woman nearby cackles and dances from foot to foot… when you see his great love and mercy in the sight of clear evil… well, it’s just harder to feel closer to our Lord than you can at that moment.

Many blessings and I do appreciate your prayers.

God calls us all to forgive. It’s hard enough to forgive someone who apologizes; near impossible to forgive someone who hurt your heart and doesn’t care.

And yet, He forgives us time and again when we forget to keep Him first in our hearts. He forgives us when we shake our fists and blame Him for our troubles. He forgives us when we spit in His face and walk away. He forgives and loves us even when we refuse to apologize. He loves us when we’ve given Him no reason to do so. He comes to our rescue and sacrifices for us when we don’t deserve it.

And he calls on us to do the same for each other.

God, You ask so much. But You give so much. And so I will try.

Tonight I spoke with my amazing Dominican priest, Father Raphael, about a situation in which I want to forgive and love someone who has not apologized, but I do not yet feel love in my heart for them. Here is my attempt at a summary of his advice that turned my heart.

1. Say (in your heart) “I do not hate _______”.
2. Say “They are a child of God, created with love in their hearts. The capacity to love and be loved.”
3. Say “I love _______. While they may not currently be showing their capacity to  love, as a child made in the image of God, they are deserving of my love and compassion.”
4. Say it in your prayers, til you can say it out loud.
5. Say it out loud until you can feel a change in your own heart.
6. When you feel true love, compassion, and forgiveness in your heart, at that point you may be ready to say to them “I love you. I know you have the capacity to love and be loved. I want to let you know that I do love you.”

The objective in all of this is not to change the other person. We cannot change someone else. The objective is to change your own heart. To some how, in some way, share a tiny bit of the love and compassion that our Lord showed to us, regardless of how badly others may hurt us.

He calls on us all to LOVE as He LOVES. To love Him and to love one another. Disorder seems to happen in our world when we try to love one another before loving Him. When we do that, and are the victim of a hurt, we do not have His example to rely on. We refuse His loving arms to carry us when we can no longer stand on our own.

However, when we first love Him with our whole hearts, when He is what motivates us throughout the day, when He guides the words that come out of our mouths, only then can there be a hope of showing true, loving compassion and mercy toward one another.

It was a smug, jerk response. I know now that in my heart.

An atheist, Buddhist-leaning friend bemoaned the fact that after leaving his small child with a sitter, the sitter asked him to tell stories about God. It was obvious that the sitter had indoctrinated his child.

My response: it seems your son has taken Pascal’s wager.

Please let this be my public apology to that parent stripped of his personal religious rights. You are quite right to feel violated.

The sitter clearly did overstep bounds by evangelizing your son with her moral values. As you said, you were not prepared to have that conversation with your son.

I agree. It does feel like a violation to leave your child in the care of someone and have them assume that your moral values are incorrect or that you are some sort of failure as a parent because you do not teach your child what should, in the caregiver’s mind, be culturally accepted norms and moral teachings.

Can we agree then, that no morality should be taught by caregivers at all? No judgement placed on the values taught by parents?

No more caregivers telling kids “it’s ok, let us know if your parents have weapons in the home”. No more “regardless of the teachings of your personal beliefs, this lifestyle is to be accepted and even encouraged.”

Can we all agree then, that caregivers should be restricted to the feeding, safety, and in the case of schools, education of academic subjects?

If it is wrong for a caregiver to impose a teaching of one particular morality, is it not then also wrong for all caregivers to impose a teaching of any morality?

It is time for a frank, public discourse on the topic. A discourse free of judgement of individual beliefs. A discourse merely on the appropriateness of the moral indoctrination of our youth outside the home. I welcome your comments below.

We never discussed it. Never thought about it. I recall one funeral growing up, but other than that, death wasn’t ever discussed.

It wasn’t taboo. It was simply like it didn’t exist.

Raised by two people who were ambivalent about the existence of God, discussion of the afterlife didn’t occur.

Women’s rights, nuclear proliferation, Reagan’s audacity on political issues… these were hotly debated. Actually, not debated. The home was an echo chamber of leftist thought. Most homes are echo chambers of parental views until teens discover their own ability to defend arguments, so it’s not surprising that my communist and socialist parents held court over a leftist regime.

But, as a mom, I now wonder why death wasn’t a topic? You cannot avoid it forever. People do die in unjustifiably awful ways. Or unfair ways. Or too early or too late.

As my mom is now coming to terms with the fact that she will need ongoing treatment for an illness, we had a discussion about the unfair nature of it.

I asked the crass question “Well, we’re all going to die eventually. How exactly did you think it was going to happen? Not saying you’re going to die of this, but you are going to die eventually. What makes this unfair?”

She didn’t have a vision for death. Didn’t think about it. But whatever it was, it didn’t include this. And about it being unfair, it still had nothing to do with death in her mind. It had to do with treatments and incapacity.

Still no conversation about death. She doesn’t want to think about it.

I don’t get it.

Maybe it’s because I’m Catholic. I love the teachings about death and suffering.

I talk about death all the time with my kids. Not talking about death is what causes people to cling to this life in unnatural ways. As if all we have to live for is life itself.

I’ll admit, the Catholic view of suffering was very foreign to me, having been raised as a Jew. Yet, I am goal oriented. I look not on this life as a test; God is not a giant quizmaster. I look on this life as preparation for the next. Catholicism is pretty darn clear on the goals of life and death.

I think George Lucas got it right in Episode IV. Obi Wan was able to do more good and affect more people when he became one with the force. His life continued in a new way – a New Hope.

So, my kids and I do discuss death frequently. They can tell you exactly what I want at my funeral. I want a parade with trombones. I want a party. I want a celebration of my life. I want people to share funny stories. I want laughter. Even if I’m young when I die. Ok, too late for that. Even if I’m middle aged when I die.

And I want hot dogs served.

I got gipped out of hot dogs when my daughter was born. I had bought frozen meals ahead so my husband wouldn’t have to cook after the home birth. After a few hours of labor, I popped out this gorgeous redhead and he made frozen pigs in a blanket for the toddler boys while I was upstairs nursing the baby.

And they ate them all. Every little pig. Gone.

No hot dogs for momma. The momma who had just birthed a 9lb 4oz redhead. No hot dogs for her. This story has lived on in my family for years. So, I want pigs in a blanket served at my funeral.

Death is a celebration of life and continuation of what is to come. We will forever live in the memories of those in the next generation. If we’re lucky, a generation or two after that.

But our thoughts, our lessons, and our deeds will carry on far longer. It isn’t our “legacy”; it is our ever-living essence.

Suffering and death simply help shape who our person, what our essence, is at the time of our death.

My essence will be generations of redheads who love pigs in a blanket.

How do you envision Heaven? Is it a place where you can do whatever you want? When you picture it, what do you do all day? If you’re to be honest with yourself, can you possibly imagine how you wouldn’t be bored???

The whole “harp and sitting on a cloud” image doesn’t sound like a reward for a life well lived.

And there’s the punch line. Heaven isn’t simply a reward for a life well lived, any more than birth is simply a reward for being in your mother’s womb for 9 months.

Heaven is justice. So is Hell.

If your ideal vision of Heaven is being with friends, eating at luxurious banquets, listening to music, not having pressures or dependencies, then God is not going to punish you by sending you someplace that does not meet your vision. To you, the real Heaven might seem like Hell.

Just imagine, what if our earthly visions of Heaven and Hell are wrong? What if Heaven is an eternal drudgery, and Hell is daily pleasures?

Where would you want to go?

What if Heaven is eternal obligations spent with God and Hell is daily pleasures spent with all your friends? Now where do you want to go?

God loves us far too much to eternally send us where we wouldn’t be fulfilled. That is justice.

Our eternal life is not a reward for living life, it is the fulfillment of how we lived life.

Heaven is a place where your kids chew with their mouths closed

Heaven may really be an eternal bond with God, but to those who want to be there, that is exactly how they wish to spend eternity – with God. They want to be with Him, not because He promises them happiness, but because being with Him IS happiness. It defines happiness. More than that, it defines the pure joy and peace for which they spent their lives in pursuit.

Heaven may indeed be a glorious banquet filled with delightful fatty goodies. It may have an exclusive guest list of your favorite authors and celebrities, a dress code of those fancy clothes you’ve been looking for an excuse to wear and certain table manners may indeed be required of those dining on luxurious food. The other guests and host are the very people with whom I wish to spend eternity, in a room filled with peace and joy.

The room is so incredibly peaceful and joyful because everyone there:

• appreciates the exclusivity of the event
• savors the delicious flavor of every bite of the meal
• and is eating in harmony

Indeed, following the “rules” (dress code and table manners) of the banquet has resulted in a meal in which none of my children fight at the table. They all desire to be at the meal on time, dressed in their best suit and tie. Even the itchiest fancy Christmas dress is no longer itchy. They are assured that there will be enough food and seats for all who attend, and wish to please their Host in both their dress and their ability to chew with their mouth closed. Even better, they don’t talk with their mouths full because they want to relish every morsel.

In my vision of Heaven, everyone wishes to follow the rules because they are pleasing both to themselves and their heavenly host. They are then “rewarded” with pleasures even better than we can possibly imagine on Earth.

For people who choose Hell, they would be eternally bored in Heaven. God’s presence is an afterthought while on earth, and would be an eternal annoyance in the afterlife. Why would you want to spend an eternity with someone you ignored during your life?

If justice demands not sending someone to Heaven who would not be fulfilled there, why would someone choose Hell?

Hell is wanting to eat spoiled food with someone else’s bratty kids

On the rare occasions that I get to go out for an indulgent meal, I tend to REALLY  enjoy my food. After a delicious appetizer, I look forward to the next course expecting to wallow in bacon fat of some sort. After the main course, while my tummy may be full, and even hurting a bit, the dessert menu is usually filled with tempting decadent chocolate goodies. I know my lumpy areas don’t need a flourless chocolate torte, and I will regret the indigestion from eating more, I just can’t resist.

At that point, if my husband says “are you really going to eat that???” I will likely shoot him daggers. While his intention is to inspire me to keep to my goals of being healthy and fit, his reminder to lay low on the sweets makes me annoyed by his presence. The last thing I want is to be around someone who reminds me I’m failing at a goal.

Even though I know each delicious bite is causing pain (and a bigger butt), I keep going in for more. That’s my vision of Hell. You push away those you love and cause yourself more pain.

That is the Hell we may choose upon death. It may feel good, while it slowly burns and eternally consumes you. Our very definition of pleasure is pain.

Let’s take a step further. What if your definition of pleasure becomes warped due to your addictions of food? So, while you may have been a foodie at one point, in Hell you now find animal feed and spoiled milk delectable. Or worse, you become so addicted that, while your taste buds and mind may know this Hell-banquet is disgusting, you find yourself not only unable but unwilling to stop eating. Your personal Hell becomes a never ending banquet in which you want to devour endless foul food that makes you sick with each bite.

Everyone around you is yelling with food in their mouths. It sprays on your face and you lick it off. You just can’t get enough of this stuff. Your kids may be in Heaven, peacefully, but you are mad at them, both for not being with you and not understanding that your experience in Hell is the right choice. You convince yourself that you don’t want to be with them for an eternity anyway. They would just spoil all your fun.

If you really dig deep, how do you want to live each day, not just now, but for an eternity? If you consider the joy and harmony that could be brought about by living now the way God suggests, would you be willing to try it for a day? A week?

Heaven may indeed have banquets and friends, but if that’s the only reason you want to go, then it really has nothing to do with God. You’re not fooling Him, although perhaps you’re fooling yourself.

Today there was some grumbling and fighting between my teenage boys and myself about going to church, but not in the way you would expect.

This week, my husband wasn’t with us, so it was me and 7 kids trying to make it out the door for church. I am infamous for being the cause of any late grand entrances to church and the kids were having none of it.

Before you offer any pity for trying to get 7 kids out the door, let me make it clear. I am no supermom. The older 4 help the younger 3, while I take my time. I’ve got it good.

But today things were different. My 7 year old was sick. Ordinarily my husband or I would stay home and the other would bring the kids. But today I was the only driver in the house.

Both boys refused to miss Mass to stay home with her. They wanted to be at church. “Come on, Momma, you can just drive us all there, drive home with her, the demon 3 1/2 year old, and the baby, and then come back to get the rest of us.”

That didn’t sound fun to me. And she didn’t have a fever or things spewing from her body.

So, in the end, we decided to let her lie on a my lap while 2 boys served Mass, the 3 1/2 year old sat on 14 year old’s lap and baby sat on 11 year old’s lap.

Did I cast some magic spell on my children which makes them want to attend Mass more than any other activity? Nope. Are they perfect? Well, they’re about as perfect as I am, so no.

My kids want to attend Mass for one simple reason. They love God and want to be with Him more than anything else. That’s it.

As a parent, my job is pretty straightforward. Help my kids get to Heaven. None of us are sinless; we’re all quite flawed, but as long as our will is aligned with His, it should all work itself out in the end.

If you really, really love God. And I mean LOVE him. More than coffee. More than chocolate. More than your spouse. More than your kids. If you are willing to do anything He asks, not just lay down your life for Him, but lay down your DAILY life for Him, your kids will too.

It’s that simple. We all make bad decisions. But as long as we eventually find our way back to God, He’ll wait for us and love us. Knowing that He’ll always love and forgive me, keeps me running toward Mass and my kids as well.

One of my kids told me this week I could do a much better job as a mother. Hard as that was to hear, he’s right. Luckily I have a great role model in Our Blessed Mother. And hopefully I’ll have many years ahead to get this right.

Last summer, when Father Tom announced a new nursing room during Mass, I thought, “That’s nice. For someone else.”

I was old. I already had 6 kids. They were loud. Deafeningly so. Basically I was comfortable. As comfortable as you can get with ear plugs in your ears.

Then I did something dumb. I prayed for a break. I thought a little rest would be nice. I own a company and work over 40 hours per week. I homeschool the kids. I try not to scream much. That last one takes a lot of energy. So, I thought a little break would be nice.

We don’t take vacations and work/live on a very tight schedule. Yes, God, a break would be nice.

Then Father Tom announced the nursing room. And I gave away my maternity clothes and baby stuff.

Basically, Father Tom jinxed me. And I had a big mouth, by asking God for a break. He gave me one alright. Maternity leave. And I couldn’t be happier.

God does hear us when we ask for things. He likes to know that we depend on Him. His answers are rarely what we expect, but always what we need. I’m taking this time with what may be my last child and loving every minute.

Then again, I have 6 older kids who have been praying to God to make me like Sarah and Elizabeth so we can get to 10 kids. I have my doubts, but God tends to laugh at me. It was never about a number. It has always been about being open to His will and being madly, deeply in love with my husband. The kind of love that is only possible when you both try to help each other get to Heaven. The kind of love I wish for every person I meet. The kind of love that agrees that you will both be open to His will for blessings in your life.

Now, about that nursing room. There must have been something in the air, because at my baby’s baptism, she had 5 other babies with her. And the vestibule was packed this past Sunday with families of young ones; chasing their toddling toes while simultaneously listening to the homily.

Gotta love that nursing room!