Traveler’s Fatigue

I came out of Trader Joe’s today with my grocery cart and went to put it away. One of the employees motioned to me where it should go, which is not where I was headed with it.

I said, “I don’t know where anything goes these days.” I had a mask on, though, so no one heard me so I just laughed to myself. That’s when I realized that lately I feel like a foreign traveler visiting a new country. I don’t know where to stand in line, how to enter buildings or where to put my unsanitized cart when I’m done. If I enter the grocery store with a cart that was abandoned in the parking lot will someone chastise me? Do I care? I do and I don’t.

I can ignore the chastisements and move on. I admit I’ll nurse a small grudge toward the cart attendant who felt it necessary to alert me to the recklessness of my behavior–reckless only to myself as far as I can tell. Or sometimes I can avoid going out at all. That doesn’t seem like much fun.

I don’t like playing the mask game or the social distancing game or the “Stay Home Stay Safe” game. Home isn’t safe for everyone, after all. Only naive people think so.

I’m also not always up for the fight for a return to normalcy. This contributes to my traveler’s fatigue. When you’re traveling you’re often seeing new sights, enjoying new food or watching different people. Not so in 2021. I’m in my same neighborhood but the changes in the last nine months have been immense. (Of course, they’re not all bad. I do enjoy every store having a curbside option.) I’m running the same errands but the interactions are different. Some people recoil if you’re too close in line, others get up and change seats in waiting rooms, people glare if your mask isn’t just so. It’s worse than culture shock because I haven’t gone anywhere. I speak the language and I can read the signs–I’m just not sure if I’m always doing things the sanctioned way.

I can see how habits get entrenched. Are we going to have to wear masks a year from now? I wouldn’t be surprised. Will it become, “No shirts, no shoes, no service” of years ago? Will you be considered gross if you’re talking face to face with a friend? What about a hug or a handshake? That’s the kind of normal that I’m willing to fight for. I think it will contribute to the rise or fall of the nation. Will we be thinking about each other as fellow humans or germ vectors? Time will tell.

Very Amateur Naturalist

I think most people are Very Amateur Naturalists. I think this is true even in 2021. As true as the fact that I’m writing this on the Internet, most people have a window or have a reason to go outside every day. Maybe that reason is to walk your own domesticated dog.

This morning while watering plants I was thinking that this must be true. I was thinking of this especially this morning because I skimmed an essay by Richard Smyth called Little Parishes of the Sky (this was shared by Andrew Klavan on twitter.) I was especially delighted by the true admission of naturalist Bruce Cummings that Smyth mentions, “Cummings came to find that he was more enlivened by the birds at his window than by the presence of his infant daughter.” I know this feeling. I enjoy sitting outside and having coffee with my chickens. They cluck and peck and dart and comfort me in a way that my children cannot.

I’m reading a book by Conrad Baars called Doctor of the Heart. It is 1943 and he is about to enter the Nazi prison camp Buchenwald. I imagine even in Buchenwald prisoners had birds to watch. That is the thought that I had while watering my plants. I immediately wondered if that would be a terrible thought to share, “Even in Nazi camps there are birds to watch that can lift one’s spirits!” How naive, right? But I think it helps to prove the idea of Very Amateur Naturalists.

Bruce Cummings was dying of MS in 1917 when the birds enlivened him more than his infant daughter. Where there are crows and sparrows there is something normal. There is the whiff of life carrying on, uninterrupted. There is foraging for sustenance, bathing in puddles, catching insects and preening in the sun; there are small birds chasing grackles from their nests, hummingbirds flying high to drop and make their loud chirp; there are quail running across the yard in a large covey. All this life will carry on amidst human suffering and loss. I imagine watching your infant daughter while you’re dying of MS would bring a heaviness that sparrows quarreling on your windowsill would not. The sparrows will not know you’re gone. You will not orphan the sparrows. And yet, not a sparrow falls to the ground without Our Lord knowing.

Had to Remove My Trump Stickers

After that abhorrent riot at the Capitol in DC, I removed my Trump stickers from my van. I used to scoff at people who wouldn’t put out yard signs or put on bumper stickers due to fear of retribution. I was ready to have my sun-dried and peeling Trump sticker on for the next four year AT LEAST. But the things is, this Capitol riot seems to have made opponents turn a corner.

I drive my kids around in my van. I didn’t want to be shot at (again, I used to think this was an extreme chance) or cursed at while my kids were in the car. Or even without them, to be sure.

I’m not such a stubborn brat that I want to risk my personal safety by self-righteously excusing myself in traffic for the next four years. It’s like those bumper stickers people have on that say, “Don’t blame me–I didn’t vote for him!”

Well, things got complicated and I bowed out. I might still find a way to gloat when things get bad. I suppose I could’ve take Jordan Peterson’s advice and given things two weeks. He says that internet controversies blow over in two weeks.

That’s the current state of affairs. People rioted and people died at the Capitol on January 6th, 2021 and I’m thinking that it could blow over in two weeks.

Constant Conversion

Turning your heart toward God. Again and again. It’s hard to do because of little distractions–wake up, go pee, brush your teeth, make some coffee, get the baby, tell the other kids to eat their breakfast, get dressed–you get the picture. Then there are the big distractions–your friend who’s lost a baby, lost a teenager, lost a young adult, lost a job, has cancer, has an alcoholic parent or spouse, is depressed and doesn’t want help–these are the ones that can really bog us down.

How do we constantly turn toward God amidst life? I can’t speak for others, as I’ve only my own experience, but my own ceaseless prayers are often accompanied by each anxious or unkind thought or every dish placed in the dishwasher. “God, this is for my friend who lost their son, comfort them. Lord, take this nasty thought and help me banish it from existence, bless the person I’m thinking of in an uncharitable light. Thank you, God, for this dish that was dirtied by my child who is healthy, may they have a long life and if not may I still turn toward you in my grief.” Does this sound forced? It is forced. How to I constantly turn toward God? I force myself.

Perhaps it’s because I started going to church and believing in the person of Jesus because my friend died. Perhaps this is why pending catastrophe is never far from my thoughts and prayers. Not in a fearful way, just in a realistic way. In a way that acknowledges that all the obnoxious aspects of my day are preferable than a suffocating grief. We’re not far from such grief. Things happen quickly and permanently.

All it takes is for me to feel unwell for a day for me to wish for the blessed monotony of everyday life. “Lord, if I recover from this cold I will never complain again! (cough, cough).” Yes, I’m that pathetic. I guess I can boast that I’m childlike in my faith? “If you give me this, Lord, I’ll do that.” Maybe that’s not what He meant when He admonished us to have a childlike faith. But at the same time I do call on His name an annoying amount of times a day–just like my kids do to me.

As far as my children are concerned “Mom” is equal parts my name as well as a verbal pause, a noise to make when they’re silent, a little inquiry as to my presence. And I, throughout my day, address the Almighty with little inquiries to His presence and expressions of annoyance, “Lord? Lord, really? Lord, why? Thank you, Lord.” It is constant. As I think it should be.

Something to Chew On: True Devotion to Mary

Before I was married to Jamie–before I even considered being married to him–one of our frequent areas of disagreement was the veneration of the Virgin Mary. I was sure it was misguided and wrong. Jamie was patient and not offended.

My personal devotion to Mary has grown over the years. She is, after all, the creature that God chose to bear His son within her for nine months and to raise him in her home. This is no small feat–especially as a parent myself. When I think about the importance of relationships and influence in the lives of my children I don’t want them spending time with just anyone when they’re young. I want them to be edified in their faith and encouraged to make good decisions in their life. God chose Mary for this very intense formation of His only Son. Surely there’s more to her than surrogate pregnancy.

When St. John Paul II became Pope he chose as his apostolic motto “Totus Tuus.” This Latin phrase meaning “totally yours” was a sign of his utter devotion to Our Blessed Mother. JPII took this from a prayer in the book True Devotion to Mary by Saint Louis de Montfort. I can attest to the meatiness of this book. It must be read and reread before one can even begin to digest the words and ideas. However, as a former evangelical Christian who was suspicious of too much devotion to Mary I most appreciated St. Louis’ insistence that even though Mary is deserving of our total love and devotion she is “in comparison with His Infinite Majesty, less than an atom; or rather she is nothing at all because only He is “He Who Is” (Exod. 3: 14) and thus by consequence the grand Lord…never had…any absolute need of the Holy Virgin for accomplishment of His will” (True Devotion to Mary, Part I, paragraph 14).

I attribute part of my growing devotion to Mary to JPII. He was a man of love and persistent hope–no doubt a result of his devotion to his tender Mother. Since I want to be a mother full of hope amidst the trials, sufferings, joy and accomplishment of raising children, I have found that meditating on her motherhood to our Lord and her example as a disciple is utterly necessary. She did not think twice before she said, “Be it done unto me according to thy will.” She did not beg and plead with Jesus to get down from the cross. She fully participated in His Passion. I want to be hopeful of the value of suffering when I am called to face my worst day and I want my children be hopeful as well.

My Dearest Saint

Thank you, John Paul. Your faithfulness, humility and constant hopefulness quickens my heart. Your life had much heartache and your heroic example of love and forgiveness reminds me to not give up. I might be thought a fool to be hopeful despite circumstances, but I will be able to be a fool knowing that you chose hope as well.
Thank You, God, for this holy man who lived in my time. Thank You that he lived to glorify You. Knowing his story has brought me much comfort.
Pray for us, Pope St. John Paul, that we would always choose hope and not despair.