Tuesday, September 23, 2008

I don't think it was meant as a compliment.

It happened to me twice this week. First I was called a zealot and then a nun. The strange this was that they were not meant as a compliment, but they were not spat out in extreme disgust.

Could it be that all these years i've been a closet Catholic? And I thought that I was pretty clear about my religious tendencies. Yes, I go to Mass every chance I get. Hey, it's the best thing going on in town, any town... as a matter of fact, in all the universe.
I get ashes on Ash Wednesday (I fast, but nobody knows about it. I'm pretty Biblical about that). I write CHRISTmas (with the first six letters all caps) and not Xmas (ouch, that hurt) on everything (in Spanish I say Natividad del SeƱor and not Navidad.) I give of myself and my financial possibilities and I speak out about core beliefs of the Catholic Faith.*
Wait a minute...
Maybe that's it! I've gotten off the Politically Correct Train. Yes! That has to be it. I call a spade a spade and make no apologies for it. Abortion is murder and not "voluntary termination of a pregnancy", Womynpriests (Lord have mercy on them) is just wrong, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. And on and on it goes.

So let's call this spade a spade. Zealot = exhibits not only extreme devotion but vehement activity in support of a cause of goal. Duh! I guess I am a zealot!

Nun? Well, not yet, but when Julian is older and married (to a nice Catholic girl or to Holy, Roman, Catholic and Apostolic Church) I might just give it a try.

Thanks for the compliments PSB and MR!

*not meant to toot my own horn, just trying to make a point.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

What was I doing?

I suppose many people will be asking themselves this question, or sharing the answer with anyone who wants to hear it. Why? I've often asked myself why focus on the past? Perhaps so that we may never forget.

I was holding my fourth month old baby in my arms and giving him his 3 o'clock feeding while watching the midday news cast on the Spanish state channel. The anchorwoman did not begin with the typical preview of the newscast ahead. Instead she announced that a plane had crashed into one of the World Trade towers. A few minutes into her explanation of the "accident" they showed the second "accident" and at that moment I knew that something was terribly wrong. I held my baby in my arms prayed and cried.
The next few hours were a blur. I tended to the miracle of life that the Lord had given me, while watching death and destruction on the television screen and praying for mercy and forgiveness on us all. I prayed for survivors and for the families that I knew were going to be submerged in the deepest sorrow. I also prayed for those who had been responsible for the horrendous act of taking human lives.

Seven years later I am still praying that something like that may not ever happen again. I pray that those directly affected may find solace and will be able to forgive. I pray for those affected by consequences of September 11: the individuals who survived, children in Basra who are dying of cancer, American troops...

And prayer has healed me and given me hope.

To quote a dear blogging friend (who in turn is quoting a classic):

God bless us, everyone.