La Virgencita

In honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe:

Roses in the Mexican Winter

Illegal Abortion Does Not Lead to Unsafe Abortion

Sorry I don't have a more creative title.  More on that in my next post.

There is a common myth that gets repeated in the dialogue surrounding abortion -- that making abortion illegal will lead to underground abortions, which will be less safe than legal abortions.  A recent study of abortion in Chile calls this premise into question.

Guarding Your Heart

Okay, so I believe I promised to over-analyze this article about “guarding your heart.”  I like it because in some interweb circles, the phrase (and even the concept) of guarding one’s heart is taking a hit, often because people decide it means “be emotionally inaccessible.”

Deborah Fileta writes, “Just like physical intimacy, emotional intimacy is beautiful and binding in the correct context, but can be just as harmful and heartbreaking when it moves too deep, too fast.  Here’s the thing about dating in an emotionally healthy way: It’s important to make sure your emotional relationship is growing proportionally to your level of commitment.”

Dancing, Dating, and Gender Roles

Sometimes, I read articles and think, “Oh, so close!”  Normally, these are blog posts that make really really really good points, but gloss over important nuances or forget something major.  In order to ease myself back in blogging (yes, I know it’s been a while -- I’ve been distracted), I am going to share two of these in a two part series that covers an easy target: dating.

The first is written by a friend, Daniel Paris, who works for FOCUS, a college evangelization program, and is about dating in a more general sense.

Math and Whales

Following an index reference to whales will lead you to this picture, though no discussion of whales:

And following a reference to a large-eared mathematician will lead you to this one:

I never thought of indexes as places to have fun, but this quick read made me think again.

The Things for Which I Thirst

Miss E, who works downstairs in my building, recently forwarded me an email from her department regarding training in "Catholic terminology."  The examples given were along the lines of "What is a diocese?  What is the difference between a bishop and archbishop?"  I jokingly suggested that she add hyperdulia and anamnesis to the list.

Creative Ministry

Sorry I've been gone so long, guys! I promise I am still alive! I've been in a creativity slump, which I need to force myself out of -- and which I will force myself out of with short posts, sharing exciting things with my loyal (and possibly quite bored) 3.14 readers.

Today I came across a story of a basketball ministry in Oklahoma City.  I wish my kids in St. Louis had had something like this.  Reading the story made me want it for those kids, and looking through the photo gallery made me miss them and wonder where they are today.  Every now and then I hear about one of them, since Ana still lives in St. Louis, and the stories are not always happy ones.

If you have a few moments today, please say a prayer for those kids.  They live in the world that produced the blow-up in Ferguson.  It's encouraging to see a ministry like the one in Oklahoma, but heaven only knows how badly we need more ministries like that -- ministries that reach out to kids in the language that they speak.

Image Credit goes to The Oklahoman.  Go read the story and see the other pictures.

I Would Play with This Forever

Seriously, I would.  I kind of want one.


(Courtesy of Futility Closet.)

On Tragedy in the Christian Life

Some time ago, not long after I briefly studied Buddhism in a comparative religion class, I got into an AIM discussion (that should provide some dates) with a Catholic friend about suffering.  He tried to depict suffering as an evil to be avoided at nearly all costs.  Pointing to the cross, I tried to argue that as a Christian, running from suffering makes no sense.

Something Light-Hearted and Holy

For your amusement and my reprieve (that word is surprisingly hard to spell, or I am very tired), here is something light-hearted for today: an article on "The Wit and Humor of the Saints."

It has a good overarching message, but really I recommend it for the one-liners from holy men and women.  For example, my favorite:

When Men Disappear from Fertility

Last week was “NFP Awareness Week,” and, as usual, I am showing up late to the party.  Although my party started actually before said week, when I read this response to a BuzzFeed on contraception.  The actual post is not my cup of tea (I am not so much about slogans and sound-bites), but the comments are, wonder of wonders, well-moderated!  After reading the NFP post, the contraceptives post, and the NFP comments, I found myself thinking, “There’s something missing here.”

On Waffles and Vocations

This post is going to move quickly from pillow talk to saints to vocations. With some breakfast foods thrown in for good measure.

Sunday morning, the Captain and I slept delightfully late.  When we at last committed to getting out of bed soon, he asked me, “What do you want for breakfast?”

Ephesians 5: Not in My Words

Have I mentioned that I want to be Simcha Fisher when I grow up?  (Seriously, a snark, balanced Catholic blogger who publishes awesome books on NFP.)

The Best Hobby Lobby Article That I've Read

A week ago, I followed SCOTUSblog's Twitter eagerly, waiting with bated breath for the Supreme Court's decision in Burwell v. Hobby Lobby Stores.  Someone else in the office was clearly getting his news elsewhere, because I heard his victory cry before the verdict appeared in Twitter.

Mistress of Her Own Soul

When a friend sent me this article to blog, I thought, “What a great title!  Maybe I can just post it without many of my own words, and let my 3.14 readers see that other people have awesome things to say!”  And then I read it.  And then, about ⅓ of the way into reading it, I realized who wrote it.  And then I realized I would have to post it, but with some of my own thoughts too.

Marc of Bad Catholic and I have an interesting relationship.

Return of the Short Stories

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I’m back!  At least one of my 3.14 loyal readers has noticed that I have been MIA lately… I’m touched!  Work and life have been full lately and blogging had to take the back burner.  And look -- I came back on a Friday, so you get seven short stories for the price of one.

The Best Story You'll Ever Read

At the behest of Miss E, a blog update for today.  I stumbled upon a short story that began thus:

In 1987, paleontologist Tom Rich was leading a dig at Dinosaur Cove southwest of Melbourne when student Helen Wilson asked him what reward she’d get if she found a dinosaur jaw. He said he’d give her a kilo (2.2 pounds) of chocolate. She did, and he did.

Beauty and Desirability

As I prepare for a big work meeting, I have less time to ponder the mysteries of life.  Even so, I try to keep up with my regular reading, and so I offer you this article by Leah Libresco on “Making a Home for the Homely in Romance.”

Men Who Get It

In the light of tragedy, a couple of good pieces on privilege have shown up.  These pieces strike me all the more because they are written by males.  The general perspective is that, while most men are not jerks/creepy/violent, violence against women stems from certain manifestations of male privilege, and so to change things, men must change.

Your Duty

It is not your duty to complete the work of repairing the world but neither are you free to desist from it. ~Rabbi Tarfon, Pirke Avot 2:21

Skewing the Data

According to Mark Twain, Benjamin Disraeli once said, “There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics.”  People use statistics all the time to make claims that the stats, in fact, do not support.  Worse than that is the idea that they are just plain false.

For Extra Credit: Go On a Date

For your entertainment, my 3.14 readers, try this story about a professor who gives students extra credit for going on dates.  Actual dates, but ones involving no physical intimacy:*

The date has to be 45 to 90 minutes long with a person of legitimate romantic interest.

Right Now the Most Peaceful Thing Is for Me to Punch You

I know I just posted, but that was before I saw a fantastic nun on Colbert!  He is talking to Nigerian Sister Rosemary Nyirumbe about the kidnapped girls in Africa.  I can’t say it better than the two of them do together, so watch both the clips below.

Mary, Undoer of Knots

I get emails reminding me to pray novenas, from Pray More Novenas.  (They send prayers to your inbox each morning -- helpful, though I still sometimes fail.)  Today is the beginning of the Novena to Mary, Undoer of Knots.

I always have intentions for novenas, but this one asks for a specific type of intention -- knots that need undoing.

The US Military Will Save Us All from Zombies

In case you were wondering, the government does know what it would do in the case of a zombie apocalypse*:

Under "Zombie Threat Summary," the plan highlights the different kinds of zombie adversaries one might find in such an attack.

How Target Targets

In honor of a very slow day at the office: Look!  Two posts in one day!

A few months ago, Percy told me a story about how Target identifies pregnant women by their shopping habits in order to market to them.  I found this tidbit fascinating, but when today I followed a rabbit trail from the Dominicans to a story on the science of this marketing tactic, I found it was even better.

A Tidy Lawn, But No Food

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So many people are away from the office today, that my normally quiet corner is eerily still.  Do you know what this means?  (Hint: you should check back today for another post.)

Cinderella Ate My Daughter

I was going to write an insightful piece on privilege… but it turns out Jezebel already said everything I wanted to say, although I would have done it with considerably more politeness and the presumption of charity to the poor soul who sparked the debate.  It's a shame, because I was going to be insightful and witty, but there is no point to yelling on the interwebz the same things that everyone else is yelling on the interwebz.

So I will channel my pent-up feminist energy into a quick and dirty review of a book

A Calm Feminist Discussion

Once upon a time, there was a feminist movement.  And it was needed because a woman could not buy a house without a man.  She could not get a credit card without a man.  She would make less pay because she was not a man or be refused jobs because she was not a man.  She could be fired if she got pregnant and was refused admittance into many colleges and universities because she was not a man.

Things to Click On

Rather than short stories, you are about to get seven fascinating links:

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I take too many BuzzFeed quizzes, but this one is necessary: which play does the Shakespeare quote come from?

Holy Humor

As I prepare the next round of NFP blogs and feminist rants (both are coming!), I give you this offering in honor of the Church's newest saints.  (If you missed it, Popes John XXIII and John Paul II were canonized yesterday.)

Things I learned: Pope John XXIII was known for his sense of humor:

Flowers and Soda Fountains

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Spring is here at last and to celebrate, I planted green things!  I have been claiming for eight years that I want a house so that I can have a garden.  Well, I have garden boxes now -- I added mint and mixed greens to the sage, rosemary, thyme, oregano, and chives already in our herb box.  I also put a tomato and some basil in a pot on the backporch, so we should have a good summer.  I still need a teeny tiny house plant for a teeny tiny teacup flowerpot that Ana gave me.  Previously, it had dried flowers, but they did not survive the final move.

Things of Value: On the Economics of Sex

I am slightly late to the game on this one, but I'm going for it anyway.  Assume it's because I have been thinking deep thoughts, and not because something in my genes makes me perpetually late.

This video on the “Economics of Sex” has been making its rounds through the various circles of the internet lately.  I like it and I don’t like it.  I like it because it is good -- as craft and as a communicator of truth.  I don’t like it because the solution isn’t quite that easy.

In Which Other People Write Better Than I Do

Simcha Fisher (I kind of want to be her), who blogs over here, posted a lovely story about growing up in a Catholic Jewish household and the way in which it gave a special preeminence to Easter:

All during Holy Week, my father could be heard practicing the Exsultet

Happy Easter!

Happy Easter, friends! In a throwback to childhood, I bought a new Easter dress, ate too many malted milk robin’s eggs, and had a hard time staying awake through the Easter Vigil.  And now I am, as always, enjoying a Church that loves the party more than the penance (though we know we need the penance ever some much) -- we are on Day Two of an eight day Sunday and have barely made a dent into the Easter season!  Having spent all of Lent (and especially Holy Week) pondering my own sinfulness, it is so beautiful to reach the season of “GOD IS BIGGER THAN MY SINS!” Not that He is not bigger than my sins in every season, at every moment, but the extent of His glory shines out in a special way during Eastertide.

Holy Week Hiatus

Good afternoon, friends,

I am going on blogging hiatus for Holy Week.  I will see you again during Easter Week.

Many blessings,

The Girl Who Writes This Blog

Flirting (Or Sleeping) Your Way to Friendship

My poor deluded hubby doesn't think I'm awkward.
Bless his heart.

A while ago, I read a couple articles on flirting and posed a few questions about flirting and relationships.  One of these questions was: For what purpose is flirting acceptable?  Unacceptable?

I have had friends accused of being flirts, accused friends of being flirts, and (consciously and unconciously) flirted with guys in whom I had no romantic interest.  My flirty side tends to come out when I am meeting new people and when I am mingling in a large group.

Geography, Hawks, and Doves

In other news, check out the Washington Post article on the correlation between people’s geographic cluelessness and their war-mongering policies.

Wait, that came out wrong.  And again --

Two for the Price of One

Two rants for the price of one.  Are you ready?

Actually, neither of them are rants --

I came across two articles on two distinct yet related issues recently.  Most things I hear/read on these issues make me want to throw things across the room, possibly at the speaker,

The Universe

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The excitement of my week(end) came mostly in the form of a clogged sink.  Noticing it was draining slowly, the Captain decided to snake our bathroom sink.  This resulted in a sink that refused to drain at all.  So he plunged it.  This resulted a sink filled with black, smelly water.  Apparently, it is called

Carry On

~Pope Francis, April 2, 2014

In Which I Makes Lots of "Coffee"

It took me three attempts this morning to make a cup of coffee.  In the Keurig machine in the office.  Yes.  In a Keurig machine.  In case you are wondering how one might possibly mess up a cup of coffee using a Keurig brewer, I can tell you two ways:

Seven Interactive Short Stories

Well, only four of them are interactive.
But that's still a high percentage.

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I am on a medication that makes me a little groggy when I first take it, so thoughts are not exactly free flowing right now.  Well, actually, they are, but they are way too deep and personal to become seven short stories, and I am having a hard time switching modes.  The Captain called this medication midi-chlorians, which apparently give one The Force.  I loved this idea, but he then ruined it by telling me that Star Wars fans don’t like midi-chlorians.

The Oxford Comma: Old News

This is definitely dated, but I am in the mood for something light.

A defense of the Oxford comma:

Probably the best defense I've seen.

Cultural Diversity and Economic Fairness

There’s this experiment that social scientists do.  It’s a variation of the prisoners’ dilemma.  There are two people involved.  One is given a sum of money.  He then chooses a percentage to share with his partner.  His partner can accept the percentage, and they both go away with money.  Or his partner can reject the split, and they both go home empty handed.

Apparently (all my citations come from the article I am about to link),

Day-Maker #87 and NUNS!

I saw this going around Facebook and didn’t watch it until LB sent it to me, titled, “A Day-Maker for You.” Watching the Sister’s Sisters and the faces of people reacting to nuns did make my day (although I wish I could understand the Italian):


And between that performance and this story here

Belated Pi and Other Short Stories

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I missed my short story session last week and for this I apologize.  I had long stressful days at work due to a series of Very Important Meetings.  Even if I had time to write, I would not have been able to put words together to communicate more complex ideas than the one post I did manage.

Day-Maker #86

Spring weather for the first day of spring!

Also, the Google doodle for the occasion.  (I will update this with a link if I can find it, once you can no longer see the Google doodle from their homepage.)

Update 3/21/2014:

The Guarantees God Gives Us

So this article (this link is to the original, not the more popularly viewed version) crossed my radar a few weeks ago and I decided to let it go, because, well, you just have to let some go. And then it was “re-printed” (link to the one that is more viewed), and now I have an excuse not to let it go.

The author, Emma, writes about two coworkers discussing divorce springing from infidelity.

Day-Maker #85

A young lady sitting behind me on the Metro tapped my shoulder.  "Oh, I was just gonna show you the rainbow," she said as the train passed by concrete sound barriers.  Then the blue and grey sky broke forth and I saw the brilliant rainbow!

And this was right after I had found Noah's ark.

Photoshopping Beauty

This week has been (and will continue to be) very busy; hence the silence.  However, I will give you this video to keep you entertained in my absence.  It is photoshop at its finest.  Ten bucks says you can't guess how it ends:

Short Stories from a Quick Week

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I am slightly amazed by how quickly this week has gone by. Having a snow day helped. I am constitutionally suited for four-day work weeks and six hour work days. The two-hour delay was magnificent. The Captain and I used the extra morning time to hash out all the issues involved in the Boy Scout’s stance on homosexuality and women in combat situation. During these discussions I realized the immense temptation of the ad hominem (quite literally) argument. I kept wanting to protest, “But you don’t get it! Everything about you says PRIVILEGE!”

In Which Lent Might Be Boring

Welcome to Lent, friends.  If you are anything like me (and I pray you are not), Lent still managed to sneak up on you, in spite of its coming so late, and, in spite of all your best intentions, you still feel caught off guard.

If you have a perfect Lenten game plan -- if the Holy Spirit has guided you to the discipline He wants from you -- this post is not for you.  Maybe save it for next year, when Lent comes early and might catch you by surprise.  If you are thinking, "Oh DANGIT" (because you gave up swearing last Lent and it stuck) "it's Lent and I don't know what I'm giving up/taking up/HOWDOIKNOWWHATTODO?!?!?!"...

The Art of Flirtation

Today northern Virginia and DC have shut down again due to snow, and in honor of the snow day, I am going to keep it light.

The Art of Manliness recently posted 19th century acquaintance cards, or, as I call them in my head, "Flirtation Cards."  Look at this example here and then go read the whole thing there.

This is one of the more amusing and less forward of the bunch.

I find these amusing; Emily finds them creepy.  I have to admit, I would find being given one of these a turn-off (although it would have helped with my perpetual inability to recognize male interest in me), but I definitely laughed while reading them.

If you want something less on the light side, you can enter into our deeper debate: Art of Manliness -- decent resource for men or promoter of problematic gender stereotypes?

Quick Takes and Short Stories

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At various times throughout my past of spilling writing on the internet, I have thought to myself, “If I were a good blogger, I would…” One of these “if”s that appeared more frequently is “be on top of things enough to link up with other bloggers at the proper time.” Several blogs I read link up with Jen at Conversion Diary for Friday Quick Takes, and I tend to think on many Saturdays (or Mondays if I ignore the internet all weekend), “Wow, that would have been a good idea.”

Make Over!

Welcome to the new name and the new look!  Everything should be in its proper place at this point, though let me know if it is not.

A little about all the changes, in bullet form:

War Babies

I am on a bioethics listserv that dishes out various interesting topics from across the world -- it is based in Australia, so provides a refreshing break from US bias. This article caught my eye. It raises the question of whether pregnancy tests should be required of women who are deployed. Apparently a few women are sent home from deployment each year due to being pregnant.

My first thought was, “Why not have them take pregnancy tests?” My second was, “Does the US do this?” I asked the Captain, but it turns out that, having never been deployed or a female, he couldn’t answer that.

On Discerning Babies

Okay, friends, welcome to the last of a three-post series in which I respond to Sarah’s musings about NFP.  Two of the categories that she listed as “blackguarding each other” in the NFP subculture struck me.  (Also, the fact that she used “blackguarding” struck me.)  She mentioned “Dire conspiracy theorists sure most people's reasons for postponing pregnancy aren't good enough,” as well as “Harried parents paranoid that they should be pregnant again or that they discerned poorly.”  Although she did not spell out the link between these two groups, I think it should be fairly obvious.  

In this realm of Catholic dialogue there are two interwoven trends that I want to separate out.  First there is the contention that “NFP is just Catholic contraception” or “some/most couples practice NFP with a contraceptive mentality.”  The second, interrelated trend is the “your reasons for postponing a pregnancy aren’t good enough,” which is a veiled way of saying, “Unless having a baby will kill you (and maybe even not then) there really isn’t a good reason for not being pregnant yesterday.”  

A Different Challenge and a Different Witness

A few snow days have absented me from the cyberworld as the Captain and I do things such as unpack boxes that have been sitting in the house for months and clear our guest room so that it *almost* looks like a guest room. And I have been mulling over this next response to Sarah. Because last time I accused myself of trading in the abstract and then continued to do just that.

I have to do this post carefully because I have threatened the Captain on more than one occasion when he joked that posting our charts on Facebook would be a good form of witness. Um, no.

Trading in the Abstract

I've been sitting on this one for a bit as a ponder what, and how much to say.  My friend Sarah blogs at Catholic History Nerd and recently posted this wonderful bit about NFP.  I find myself torn in several directions, so I guess she will be getting more than one post here.

The first rabbit-hole that I will follow addresses a mistake I may have made here when I posted about how women want to know about fertility-awareness based methods (FABMs) of birth control.  I know I tend to wax idealistic about things because inside my head I trade in the abstract, not the concrete.  Sarah brings it down to the real:

Day-Maker #84

Fleece-lined tights.  It's like my legs are wrapped in a cozy blanket all day at work.  Why did these not enter my life sooner?

In Which Cause and Effect Confuse Me

If I am being anywhere close to honest, I have to admit that I use "confusion" disingenuously quite often to call people out in arguments or just in friendly sparring.  Here, however, I am quite serious.

Recent statistics have been floating around about abortion rates -- apparently they are the lowest the US has seen since the time of Roe v. Wade.  So of course all interested parties are asking why.

This little editorial summarizes the dominant theories quite succinctly.  (I enjoy reading BioEdge, as it reports news with very little editorializing outside of the little editorials.)  In general, pro-life people tend to attribute the difference to recent state-level legislation placing various restrictions on abortion -- strict requirements for doctors and facilities, mandatory waiting periods, ultrasounds, parental notification, and so forth.  In general, those in favor of legalized abortion tend to attribute the difference to contraceptive practices.  In general, each side believes that the other is wrong in its attribution.

(I haven't done the research.  I don't know the actual causes.)

Here's the kicker though.  When discussing the legislative restrictions on abortion, many of those in favor of legalized abortion claim that these restrictions will limit women's access to abortions.  If women's access to abortions is restricted, then women won't be able to obtain abortions they should have, or will have to seek back-alley abortions.

I'm confused: is this a desire to keep from admitting any success to the other side, no matter how illogical it makes you seem; or is it a tacit acknowledgment that such arguments were wrong; or am I missing another explanation here?

A New Home

As promised, my dear 3.14 readers, I have a new URL today!  You can now find me at bethzwrites.blogspot.com.

If I did everything correctly, all links from the old should redirect to the new -- please let me know if you notice anything that doesn't seem like it is flowing correctly.  For now, the only difference you should notice is a lack of picture beneath the title.  However, a new name and layout are on the way.  Stay tuned!

Upcoming Changes

Dear and loyal 3.14 Readers,

It's been a good run, hasn't it?

We've been on some lovely adventures -- graduation from undergrad and leaving my College; teaching in an inner city and living with some beautiful ladies; interning with the campus ministry, or "The Year of Adventures with Percy"; the acquisition of a Master's Degree; and now marriage and Being a Grown-Up.

Peter Pan was right -- to live is an awfully big adventure.  I still love that allusion, but the time has come to say good-bye to Peter Pan.  Over the next few days, be prepared for a new URL (I'm learning how to set up re-directs to make that seamless).  Then, over the next few weeks, be prepared for some new formatting and a new name.

On one level, I am going to miss the old title, allusion, and style, but the time has come.  The changes will help me be a bit more focused and intentional with this blog, which is never a bad thing.  In fact, it might be a part of that "Being a Grown-Up" thing.

Sincerely,

Your Loyal Blogger

What Women Want

While we are on the topic of abortion, let's side step to another "women's rights" issue and talk about birth control.  Most of the time you hear a dichotomy in conversations about birth control:

*Contraceptive hormones/devices vs. nothing

*Normal people vs. crazy Catholics

Every now and then there is an admission that such a things as "NFP" exists, although it is generally equated to "nothing," and every now and then there is an admission that some other crazy Christians join the Catholics.

And then I found these articles.   These two infinitely secular sources do not make an apologia for natural methods.  They simply point out that hormone-free methods of avoiding pregnancy might be something that women want.  The first article is less about what is being branded as "Fertility Awareness-Based Methods" (FABM) and more about the rejection of hormonal birth control:

[These women] buy organic kale and all-natural cleaning products, and so can’t quite get down with taking synthetic hormones every day... They’re sick of supposedly egalitarian relationships in which they bear the sole responsibility for staying baby-free.

The author's main point is actually the rise of the "pullout method," if such technique can be deemed a method of birth control, as a direct response to a rejection of the Pill.  The second article, a response to the first, is much more concerned with FAMB as a solution to this rejection:

Synthetic hormones come with side effects, condoms don’t feel great, intrauterine devices are kind of scary....surveys conducted by physicians at the University of Utah show that when natural fertility-awareness methods are described to women, 25 percent say they would strongly consider using one as their means of birth control. But thanks to its glaring image problem and a set of just-as-formidable infrastructural hindrances, ignorance of fertility awareness-based methods is widespread.

 This author goes on to explain that FABM is something that women want and do not have access to.  She blames two factors: 1) a branding image, where FABM is too closely associated with both the rhythm method (which it is not) and the Catholic Church (which has embraced a religious version); and 2) the fact that it does not bring money to the pockets of pharmaceutical companies.

I am always overjoyed to see discussions of this nature in the secular spheres.  One of the greatest harms the sexual revolution has done is kept women distanced from our bodies.  Medicine is learning so much about our bodies -- which are pretty amazing and complex -- but we are taught to reject these inner workings without even knowing what they are.

Regardless of your opinions on birth control, I think it should be fairly obvious that we have a right to know how our bodies work.  We can only make informed decisions on how to live our lives if we actually get information about ourselves.

Reminders

Yesterday marked the 41st annual March for Life.  As usual, the good Lord gave us a chance at redemptive suffering, this year sending ridiculously cold weather.  For a few weeks, I had been promising friends, former classmates, and former colleagues that I would find them in DC.  And I awoke Wednesday morning with day two of a cold -- the stage where standing up made me dizzy.  I took a sick day against the frigid outdoors and curled up with a cup of herbal tea.

The Captain and I had planned on going to the March together but without a group -- a couple of free radicals, wandering in and out of the pro-life masses.  I had just resigned myself to not going and missing all those cool people when the Captain told me that he was planning on heading into work if I was staying in.

With friends as my motivation and the Captain as my excuse, I bundled into a many-layered ball of purple fluff, with a scarf up to the apples of my cheeks and hat and hood pulled over my eyebrows.  As it turned out, almost everyone at the March was bundled up in a similar fashion, or with sunglasses or ski goggles fighting the bright sun.  This, combined with my reluctance to remove my gloves to use my phone, made it difficult to find people.  I tried standing on a bench to peruse the sea of signs... which only made my head spin more.

To make a long story short, we found no one and had as near to a solitary March as two people can in the midst of several hundred thousand fellow protesters.  In the end, I found myself rather disappointed and caught myself wondering, Why did we bother to come?

Thankfully, I recognized and rebuked this attitude.  God was using our solitude as a reminder: the March for Life isn't about friends, or reunions, or who you know.  It isn't about finding former roommates or showing off DC.

It is about the fact that people are dying and our society has given it a legal and cultural stamp of approval.
And until that changes, I need to be my tiny part in letting this nation and this world know that abortion is evil.

And until that changes, I need to be my tiny part of a generation that will not be silent until life triumphs.

And until that changes, I need to offer my tiny bit of redemptive suffering, so that love can win.

The Space I Occupy

When feminism was a fun idea and before I pursued it in a haphazard academic fashion, I learned a fact that surprised me.  Men and women are taught to take up space differently.  Men are taught to sit, stand, move while taking up lots of space.  Women, on the other hand, are taught to be self-contained -- folded hands, legs, tucking in ourselves and our stuff.  If these two Google searches don't sufficiently demonstrate the difference, watch this video without sound, just paying attention to body language and posture.  Or, take a train ride during rush hour. Sit down next to a window and pay attention to how the people next to you sit.

This particular lesson stuck out to me because I remembered learning how to sit as a child.  I would sit in the most comfortable position -- which often involved on foot on the opposite leg's knee (this is a great way as a small child to hold a large book) or my legs spread in some other way.  I had to learn (rather reluctantly) to sit with my legs together, making myself compact.  Now, I am very talented at this.  It amazes me at times the difference in the amount of space the Captain and I take up in a church pew -- despite the fact that we are relatively the same size.  

All these musings are meant to lead up to this Upworthy video that wandered across my Facebook recently.  A young woman recited a bit of slam poetry that addresses how men and women take up space.  She spends much of her time discussing food, but I think it goes deeper than how much pizza we can eat:

Allusion Five: The First Amendment

I offer you the fifth and final installment in my Portugal series:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

~1st Amendment to the United States Constituion 

I suppose it is natural to understand the new by comparison with the familiar. (Hence Portugal story-telling through allusions.)  I recognized there how much I was viewing things as an American.  Our first morning, we grabbed an “ethnocentric breakfast” from Starbucks -- apparently coffee in paper cups is an American thing and not done in Portugal.  And while I came away thinking that coffee in real mugs is a very civilized thing, that was our first day and we slept in and needed coffee and to make our tour on time.  At that point, the idea that I couldn’t walk into a coffee shop and get a cup to carry out was a little bizarre.

Coffee was not the most distinctive way that I was American, though some of the other differences helped me understand “American” a little better.  We learned from Day 1 that Portugal is very in touch with its history… and its history is older than anything we know.  In 1755, an earthquake shook Lisbon and destroyed an ancient city -- at a time when our oldest cities were still rather nascent.

I’m used to playing tourist at monuments, museums, and parks, not churches, palaces, and castles.  But when your history stretches back a thousand years, those are the places to see.  The first stone cathedral we visited was in the Lisbon cathedral, which impressed me with its cavernous interior.  The Captain, having seen (and sung in) European stone churches before, was less easily awed.  And two days later I discovered why.

The monastery of St. Jerome in Lisbon was built by Henry the Navigator as a thank you for the safe return of an expedition.  We came straight from the tiny village houses of Fatima into the stone and gold and marble richness of the Prince’s thank you.  My mind flew in several vaguely formed directions at once:

*The disparity!  The contrast of royalty to peasant, rich to poor.  I understood the Protestant Reformation and other rebellions against the Church so much better.  This point was brought home even more when we visited the Church of São Francisco in Porto, which was covered in 900 pounds of gold leaf.

*Wow -- I wish I could thank God like that.  It’s hard to imagine having the kind of gratitude, let alone the resources, to give a mountain-sized church to God.  I could use a lesson in gratitude.  My thank-you gift to Him tends to be something more akin to a Glory-Be, or a decade of the Rosary, or Mass if I’m really ambitious.

*The First Amendment.  Not only was the church built by a prince, but by-gone royalty lined the transepts, born in marble tombs on the backs of marble elephants.  As I got a clearer picture of the intertwined nature of Church and State, I began to see a tad better what our forefathers did not want -- in terms of both religion and royalty.

The same musings on the foundation of our country struck me when we visited the National Coach Museum.  The Captain had much more enthusiasm about it than I did -- I thought I was going to the medieval equivalent of a car show.  I misunderstood the purpose of the coaches.  Functionally, of course, they took royalty from point A to point B.  But the purpose… to show off.  So the coaches were covered with elaborate woodwork, gold leaf, and detailed paintings and upholstered in velvet.  The purpose was beauty, but obviously more than beauty -- to impress upon the viewer the wealth and status of the owner.

The former stock-exchange, the Stock Exchange Palace, incidentally, was a way for the country to say the same thing.  The whole building was impressive, but one room in particular, the Arabic Room, was created to make sure foreign visitors had a visceral experience of the wealth of the nation.  The brightly-colored room glistens with Moorish-inspired detailed patterns of red and blue, outlined with gold leaf.  

The whole impression of these structures was to overwhelm in a way that none of our stark, Romanesque national monuments possibly could -- we were built on escaping royalty.  A bunch of idealistic, democratic rebels.

I hate to give America the final word in a series about Portugal.  Since a picture is worth a thousand words, here is a photographic offering to end our adventures:

Portugal, the Atlantic Ocean, and a castle, as seen from a palace

Allusion Four: Harry Potter

I refuse to help the craze by linking to anything... if, somehow, you don't know Harry Potter (not sure which among my 3.14 loyal readers would not, but it's possible), a quick Google search will fill you in.  


When we left Lisbon, midway through the trip, we took a bus north to a land called Porto.  When we checked into our hotel in Porto, the receptionist pulled out a map to show us must-sees.  Among them was a cafe which, she told us, was where J.K. Rowling penned Harry Potter’s first chapter.  She was married to a Portuguese man at the time, and Porto claims the inspiration for the novels.

I am willing to give it to them -- though, having never visited London, the verdict might be premature.  The magical Harry-Potter places include:

The Porto train station.  The station itself is a huge white stone building on the outside.  The inside is covered with murals in blue tile -- called azulejos -- depicting historical and religious scenes.  The walls are covered with kings and queens and knights and peasants and farmers and saints and statues and little girls processing.  Through the vast arches waiting the trains, which just burst through the mountainside -- the tracks lead in and out of a stone tunnel.  We took a cruise up the Douro River to visit wine country (and visited some of Europe’s oldest and highest lock systems) and returned on a train to this station.  As we chugged along the dark countryside, I agreed with the assessment that this was the Hogwarts Express.

The Majestic Cafe.  When people state that Rowling started writing Harry Potter on a napkin in a European cafe, I picture a small outdoor patio that blends the historic and hipster into one perfect cappuccino. Instead, the Captain and I found a noble tea-room serving high tea in china pots with scones silver baskets and cloth napkins.  The walls were tall mirrors lined with golden woodwork and topped with cherubs.  The table-conversations rose slightly above a murmur and were accompanied by live music from a grand piano in the back.  I honored the occasion with tea and scones -- accompanied by cream for the scones, something that fascinated the Captain.

The bookstore, Livraria Lello e Irmão.  When we were told to find the bookstore that inspired Harry Potter and saw its icon on our tourist map, I expected a grand library dominating a street corner.  Instead, we walked by the innocuous storefront at least twice before we realized it was the building we sought.  The inside, however, did not disappoint. Books, of course, lined every inch of the store -- and a metal track allowed a cart like a mining train to transport books around the floor.  And in the center -- a sweeping, doubled staircase, painted brilliant red next to rich wood, leading up to the second floor.  The walls hosted paintings and detailed woodwork.  And, of course, the books!  The Captain found it slightly less fascinating than I did -- he is still learning how to drag me out of bookstores.

Allusion Three: The Day the Sun Danced

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for: Fatima!

I’m not sure this counts as an allusion, and, if it does, it is certainly not clever. The Day the Sun Danced is a children’s animated movie about the miracle of Fatima and the apparitions of Our Lady to the three shepherd children. If you don’t know about it, I would suggested more research than this video, but I would also recommend getting in touch with your inner child by starting here.

The Captain and I grabbed a bus from Lisbon to Fatima our second morning in Portugal. We started the morning with breakfast at a local coffee shop, a routine that quickly became one of my favorite things about Portugal. The dreary, drippy day (that got worse, rather than better as we approached Fatima) made me grateful for the water resistant jacket that the Captain had purchased to keep his bride warm. We trudged through the drizzle from the bus stop to the shrine, eager to find the information center, which I hoped was heated.

We found neither information nor heat, but instead a vast, cold basilica with an auditorium feel and an overwhelmingly gold mosaic. We did not linger long. Our next step took us to an underground series of chapels, all of which were closed, except for an Adoration chapel in the same empty, gold style as the basilica. Jesus was there, which made it awesome, but I was struggling with disappointed hopes for Fatima when we left the chapel.

We at last found a map in an otherwise barren building, which pointed us toward “Informacioãos.” That tiny building provided information only in the form of an English version of the map we already held. So we used it to explore.

Probably the greatest surprise I had in all of Portugal were those first couple hours in Fatima. The whole shrine felt… smoothed over. The cold basilica sat at one side of a huge esplanade, a vast stretch of concrete, asphalt, and limestone that stretched to a mountain of stairs, leading up to a covered outdoor altar and an older basilica. We gave ourselves a chilly tour of that basilica, a stone church built in the 1950s, and the resting place of the children who saw Mary.

Next, we set our sights on two meals -- lunch and then Mass. In between the two, we stopped at the Chapel of Apparitions, a three-sided glass and wood structure built to protect the small white house erected not long after the apparitions. We were surrounded by a few other pilgrims -- hearty, desperate, or determined, to be here in the grey. Praying there, so near to Our Lady, her presence so real, my heart broke. I know people come from all over for all reasons, but the ones that were most palpable were those from burdened hearts, overflowing to their mother -- people bringing their deep sorrows from this valley of tears. I was rather depressed as we returned to the old basilica for Mass.

Every Mass we attended in Portugal was, unsurprisingly, in Portuguese. My lack of understanding led to contemplative Masses. I brought before Our Lady all the aching I had felt in the Chapel of Apparitions. She took the aches… and gave me back her love. Her love that had led her aching heart, on behalf of her Son’s aching heart, to these particular people in this particular land, with one particular message -- that stretched across the world to spread her love and her Son’s love to people beyond that land. To touch even my heart in this valley of tears.

After Mass, I was much better disposed to the Shrine. The Captain saw people coming out of a building -- and since we were having trouble determining what was locked and what was open, we swam upstream into the building. There, I negotiated with a nun who spoke four or five languages in the only one we had in common (Spanish) to obtain tickets for a tour of the “exhibition.” I had no idea what to expect -- it turns out there were rooms filled with votive offerings left and sent to Our Lady of Fatima, from popes and pilgrims. I wished I had something to leave her.

By now, it was getting dark and we still needed to find our hotel. So we bought a couple candles and lit them in intercession for all the intentions that had been sent with us to Fatima.

Day Two of Fatima brought us to the countryside, about a mile from the shrine. We took a cab, whose driver was named John Paul -- “John Paul III,” he joked. This day, the sun favored us. The chill of the air and the damp of the dew, under the cloudless sky, made the morning feel new and refreshing. Limestone paths lead us into groves of olive trees, speckled with holmoaks and rock. We found a statue of Our Lady, marking where she appeared once to the children of Fatima, as well as statues of the Angel of Peace and the children, where he taught them a prayer of reparation and gave them communion. Out here, the world was at peace and so quiet that I felt as if I would hear Mary’s voice if I stayed and listen long enough. We had the paths to ourselves, with only orange breasted birds for company.

The paths eventually lead us into the village of Aljustrel, where the children had lived. We found another site of an angelic apparition, where the Angel of Portugal warned the children that they were going to suffer greatly, and the houses where they grew up -- tiny, simple buildings that made them somehow more real as children than anything I had seen or read thus far.

By the time, other pilgrims had started to appear. As the world finished waking up, we reluctantly left the corner of the world where, once, the sun danced.