Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Smile

My daughter wrote this for an assignment she had for school:

“Smile at strangers and you just might change a life”  
-Steve Maraboli-

I always believed that if you smile at a stranger or to anyone, can lift happiness in them. I’m the type of person that loves to smile at someone just because. It feels good because I’m the one who made them smile even if it was just for a few seconds and it’s a really good feeling. This quote explains exactly that and that’s why I chose it. The part where it says “change a life” means to me that when someone is having a bad day just the slightest smile can make their day or even when they are having a good day it can make their day even better. I personally love to smile to random people because it makes my day better. I knew this quote because my grandma said it. She is Catholic so she thinks a smile was God’s gift to humans.
To some people it’s not a big deal but it is to me, it’s like a friendly sign. Some people don’t think that this quote is that good because they don’t think that a smile says a lot of words and they don’t think that it can change a life. It depends on the person, because the person might think the smile is special, nice, and sometimes weird depending on the smile.
My daughter, smiling

About the author is that he is a bestselling Author, and Behavior Scientist. He has travelled to about 30 countries to share his videos and quotes that he has done just to talk about them and say what they mean. He has also written books like the book “life the truth and being free”. That book is about how to save the world without losing ourselves as Steve would say. He inspired millions in the world because of his quotes and books and videos. Steve Maraboli specializes also in Motivational Psychology and Leadership Dynamics.

Monday, March 16, 2015

Against the Unweaving

If you have an e-reader, and enjoy fantasy/sci-fi check this trilogy out. (It's also available in paperback on amazon, but costs a bit more)
It was on a list of deals of the day, in an e-mail I received awhile back, and I'm not sure why, but I looked at it, thought, "Hey... fantasy/sci-fi, $0.99... what do I have to loose?"
I think this is one of those "nothing happens without a reason" moments. If you don't mind some crass details, (like, for instance, when someone sniffs, it's enough to know that they sniffed, I don't need to read the word snot as well... but whatever) once you get over how confusing it is to keep all the different countries straight and the different creatures... once you get into the book, it just takes you along for the ride.
And then you start to notice certain things that sound rather familiar... certain doctrines, certain teachings... talk of redemption... and by the time you hit the third book... you're reading stuff like this:
Gilbrum gestured for them to stop before a knotted wall of mangroves. "My point is that the Liche Lord and the Technocrat were both deceived by the Abyss, one way or the other. Deception is insidious. It takes root where its presence is not suspected. The dwarves of Arx Gravis learnt this to their horror, and this is why they are afraid to act: they lost faith in their scriptures, and now they no longer trust their own judgement."
"So what can be done?" Shader asked. How could the truth in the Liber be separated from the lies? Was the task even possible anymore? How could his own reasoning be trusted, if it was founded upon Nousian morality?
"I cannot say," Gilbrum said. "But if this Nous of yours is anything like the god once worshipped by the dwarves, then you must act as he would act."
"And how is that?" Shader said.
"With love."
and you're starting to wonder if the author isn't Catholic:
Could it be that it was about something else entirely, like good and evil. That's what Shader had always believed: do the former and avoid the latter. Maybe that's what he meant by being harder. Maybe it wasn't just about avoiding evil; maybe it was about rooting it out and excising it wherever he found it. Isn't that what surgeons did to gangrenous limbs? Cut away the bad so that the good might live on?
If only it were that easy. If only he could rip from the Liber all that Blightey had contaminated it with. The problem was, Blightey wasn't that crude. There were no obviously evil passages in the Liber. If there were, they'd have been removed centuries ago. What the Liche Lord had done was much more subtle. He'd woven together strands from various traditions and sown the seeds of confusion. The early Templum fathers had fallen for the wisdom he'd offered: the wisdom of popular appeal.
But when you hit the end of the third book and you are reading stuff like this:
His eyes were sore from poring over the text with only the flickering light of an overhead strip of crystal to read by, but at least he'd found something to go on: Causa Salutis, the inscription on the pendant, appeared in one of the more obscure passages in the Second Book of Unveilings, toward the end of the Liber.
That particular book had always struck him as a confusion of mythological images that had no authoritative interpretation. It was seldom, if ever, read at public worship, and yet Ludo had studied it assiduously, as if that's where he hoped to pick up the first strands of the golden thread. "The cause of our salvation will be," is how the passage translated from the Aeternam, "the Immaculata" - the immaculate one - "who crushes the deceiver beneath her heel.
You know... you just know... the guy HAS to be Catholic...
Turns out, he did a 6 month postulancy with the Carmelite Order in Melbourne, Australia.
What I liked about this book? There was no moralizing, no easy answers, no trite theology. And the story line was GOOD, and well-written. A Catholic author, writing from a Catholic perspective and DOING A GOOD JOB OF IT. There is too much crappy Christian lit out there, we need to be reading and sharing the good stuff...
Available from amazon.com in paperback.
Also available: The Nameless Dwarf

Thursday, May 29, 2014

It is what it is

Something someone said the other day kind of struck me.  My friend's husband left her, and among other nasty things he's said about her, he said this: she was lousy in bed.

I'm sorry, but that's not even possible.  That's a figment of modern society's imagination and too much porn.  It's the idea that sex is a sport, and that people are expected to perform somehow, to keep things interesting and if they don't, then they're lousy in bed.

As if switching it up, or switching partners was what made sex interesting.  As if just being with someone you find genuinely interesting wasn't enough to make sex interesting.  As if you could find sex boring with the one person you think is the most awesome, most interesting person you know.

There is no such thing as being lousy in bed. If you think, (and it IS all in your head) that a person is lousy in bed, it is because YOU are not genuinely interested in them.  The problem, my friend, is with YOU.  YOU are having sex with the wrong person.  YOU are having sex for the wrong reasons, and most importantly, YOU don't even know what sex is really all about.  YOU will never be satisfied, you will always be looking for something different, better, newer, because you think it's about performance, and novelty.  When the novelty wears off, you will be off again, looking for something newer.  The latest girlfriend will be demoted to "lousy in bed" status, along with all the others.  Sex is a competition, a conquest to you, and once you have won, once you have conquered, sex becomes anti-climactic.  The challenge is gone.  You will need to find a new challenge.  See?  You never cared about the person behind the bodies you "made love" to.  You were never genuinely interested in them, you only showed interest as long as it served your own purpose.

I cannot fathom how anyone can be in love with a person, genuinely find them interesting, think that they are the most amazing person on earth, want to know everything about them, discover that the more they get to know them, the better they like them, be physically attracted to them, and then find them lousy in bed.  There is no such thing.  It's impossible.

The real aphrodisiac isn't switching it up or switching partners.  The real aphrodisiac is having an intimate conversation, sharing something that you wouldn't share with just anyone:  Deep and profound moments; baring your naked soul moments; owning up to your faults and past hurts moments; light and breezy inside joke moments; getting into an argument, then talking it over and making up moments; discovering and discussing common interests moments; hurdling the obstacles life throws at you together moments.  Those are the real aphrodisiacs.

Sex is what it is.  It doesn't need to be improved on.  What needs to be improved on is the relationship with the person you having sex with.  There is no such thing as good sex or bad sex.  There are only people having sex for all the right reasons, and people having sex for all the wrong reasons.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Where is Jesus?


At Gabriel's last catechism class, the kids went around to each parent and asked this question:  "Where is Jesus?"

I thought about giving the obvious, (yet, perversely overlooked) answer which I think I gave when it was Maryssa's turn, previously; "In the Eucharist."  I decided against it.

Jesus can be found in many obvious places, such as prayer, meditation, or nature.  Most of the other parents mentioned these.  I thought about mentioning "in other people, when you really need them most." But I ended up going with prayer as well; "in the stillness of an empty chapel", meaning, in front of the tabernacle, in front of the host, the blessed sacrament, in the silence, alone, in the semi-dark. (I was thinking of this moment.)

Thinking about it later, I realized that where I see Jesus the most recently, is with a friend of mine.  I literally see his presence there.  Her husband left her, and their 7 children.  Without going into details, the relationship has never been an easy one, and the husband has been very nasty towards her.  She was the one with a job when he left, and she was also going to school when he left.  He was taking care of the kids, when she was gone/sleeping, but now she has to do everything.

I honestly do not know when she sleeps.  I know she has friends and family closer than I am to help out a bit, but I do not know how she still manages to function or even be alive.  Except I know this:  there is a huge group of people praying constantly for her.  Her family is around her. Her friends are as close as they can be.  I'm thinking it's the prayers keeping her going.  I don't see what else is.  Coffee can only keep you going for so long.  The husband left in late December, we're at the end of May.  I can almost see Jesus beside her, holding her up, keeping her walking straight.  Keeping her mentally stable on very little sleep, somehow, somehow, giving her the strength she needs to carry on.

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Prayer

Was going through my Read the Catechism of the Catholic Church e-mails just now, and I thought I would share a couple of little bits about prayer.  Sometimes, it's good to be reminded of things we already know.

 Why is prayer sometimes a struggle?
The spiritual masters of all times have described growth in faith and in love for God as a spiritual, life-and-death combat. The battlefield is man's interior life. The Christian's weapon is prayer. We can allow ourselves be defeated by our selfishness and lose ourselves over worthless things or we can win God.
Often someone who wants to pray must first conquer his lack of will power. Even the Desert Fathers were acquainted with spiritual sluggishness ("acedia"). Reluctance to seek God is a big problem in the spiritual life. The spirit of the times sees no point in praying, and our full calendars leave no room for it. Then there is the battle against the tempter, who will try anything to keep a person from devoting himself to God. If God did not want us to find our way to him in prayer, we would not win the battle. (YOUCAT question 505)
Is it possible to pray always?
Prayer is always possible. Prayer is vitally necessary. Prayer and life cannot be separated.
You cannot keep God content with a few words in the morning or evening. Our life must become prayer, and our prayers must become life. Every Christian life story is also a story of prayer, one long attempt to achieve ever greater union with God. Because many Christians experience a heartfelt longing to be with God constantly, they turn to the so-called "Jesus prayer", which has been an age-old custom particularly in the Eastern Churches. The person who prays it tries to integrate a simple formula the most well-known formula is "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner" into his daily routine in such a way that it becomes a constant prayer. (YOUCAT question 510)

Thursday, December 12, 2013

So you want to be a saint?

Looking for a path to self-betterment?  Try getting married and having kids.

I can't imagine a better way to make it to sainthood.

Of course, this implies that you are the kind of person who will compromise, be patient and work hard at staying married and raising healthy kids.

Because your marriage and your kids will require constant patience, and compromise.  You will consistently be reminded of all your shortcomings, and you will be required to admit to them and work at overcoming them.  Your faults will consistently be brought up, if not directly, then at least indirectly, by the consequences of things done, left undone or done badly.  Every fail will be revisited.  Every shortcoming will haunt you. You will be forced to learn patience in the dead of night after one more sleepless night in a row of sleepless nights.  You will learn to bite your tongue instead of lashing out.  You will learn humility, you will learn that you are not perfect.  You will learn that you do NOT in fact know how to communicate and that you need to learn again how to communicate. And then just when you think everything is going well, your kids will suddenly turn into their own persons, and have different points of views, and you will have to deal with that as well.  And sometimes you will have to let them make their own mistakes, and you will have to learn to step back and stop trying to control everything, and then you will question everything you do, are you doing too much, are you doing too little?  Should you be be showing anger at the seemingly outrageous thing they just did, or should you be showing understanding, because maybe they're going through something really hard?

It will be one long learning process, one long rearranging of yourself, readjusting of yourself, re-committing to your engagement.  Some days you will want to scream.  Some days you will shake your fist at God and ask Him, could He stop it already with the potter's hand, turning you into the perfect vessel, and doesn't He think you're good enough yet?

Apparently He does not.  Because He will just keep at it, throwing you curve balls, opening trap doors and keeping you on your toes.  Because you haven't learned your lessons well enough yet.  Because you need to pray harder, and you need to let go and let God.  Because even top athletes still go through constant training, in order to achieve near perfect results.  Because if you don't stay on your toes, you lose your edge.

Signs

I came across this on Facebook just now, and... I kind of felt the need to put a little input into it, just from the perspective of a 41 year old woman.

First off, these aren't signs that you are falling in love.  These are signs that you are attracted to him.  Love comes after, and it has nothing to do with these things.  Love is a choice.  You found a guy you were attracted to.  Good.  He turned out to be an awesome guy.  Even better.  You think (mostly) alike on all the important issues, you complement each other, you argue, but you make compromises, and you try to understand where the other is coming from.  You don't need to compromise on the big stuff, because you agree on that.  You can talk to each other about pretty much anything.  You share the important things.  You care about the well-being of each other.  You respect each other.  The more you get to know him, the better you like him.  The more amazing he is.  You like him despite his faults.  He likes you despite yours.  You can easily see yourself living your whole life together.  NOW you're falling in love.  And when he's not the only thing you think about anymore, when just the sound of his voice isn't enough to make you smile, when you no longer re-read his texts over and over, when you aren't constantly smiling every time you think of him, it doesn't matter, because those things weren't love.  Love is a choice.  Love is choosing to stick by someone you really like, and respect and admire for the rest of your life.  Love is a gift.  And it keeps giving and giving and giving, and it doesn't stop; not when you are mad, not when you are upset, or hurt or just not feeling it.  You choose to care about his well-being.  You choose to do special things for him.  You choose to ask him how his day was.  That is love.

Love is caring for the other person, even when you're angry.
It's important to make this kind of distinction, because later on in life, once you're married, you will come across other people you are attracted to.  Attraction is a natural thing, and not bad in itself.  It's what you do with it that is either good or bad. Eventually, the feelings of attraction WILL die out and this is also normal.  On the one hand, it's good to know that this doesn't mean you're not in love with the guy (or girl) you chose to marry anymore.  On the other hand it's also good to know that feeling attracted to someone new will likely only be temporary, and it certainly doesn't mean you are in love with them instead now. You cannot let pure feelings direct your life.  They come and they go, and they can't always be relied upon.

Love ISN'T just a feeling.  You DON'T just fall in and out of it, you grow into it, and it gets stronger and stronger, because you choose to work at it.  Love is a mutual thing.  You both care for each other.  When one person does not care, and desires to harm the other, then love is absent.

Learning to show restraint towards feelings while still single is important.  If you throw yourself into a relationship without restraint, how will you see the warning bells and avoid ending up in a serious relationship, hard to get out of, or married to the wrong person?  Practicing restraint while still single allows you to more easily ignore feelings of attraction to other people once you are married.  And, eventually, the feelings disappear.  Because they are temporary.  You're not in love with that other person who's not your spouse, despite whatever you may be feeling, because you choose to not act on it.  Because you've already chosen to love the one you're with, even when you don't feel it.  THAT is love.  You find someone you like, and you stick by them.  Loyal like a dog.  And you ignore the rest.

And it is this sticking by them, this constant caring for them, that eventually develops a much deeper sentiment than pure attraction ever will.  That genuine affection, that deep knowing exactly how the other is going to react to this or that situation, that depending on each other for this or that thing, the automatic falling into roles, the inside jokes, the gentle teasing, the making up after a fight, the making it work even when it seems it can't work anymore, and making it over the next hill.  Nothing compares to that deep sentiment of sharing a life together and choosing each other over everything else, even when the feelings weren't always there.  THAT is love.  And when you get to that point, that is when you know that you are still only starting to fall in love with this person you've been with for years.

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Crazy white men among the Cree

What do you get when a white family moves north to live among the Cree?

Dad grew up a pioneer in what was still a sparsely-settled province of Alberta. Mom grew up on a farm in New Brunswick that had been in the family for generations. Dad was a Catholic French-Canadian, whose family had been in Québec for centuries. Mom was an English speaking Anglican of Scottish and Loyalist descent who lived in an area where people were suspicious of French-speaking people. Dad liked the outdoors, hunting, snaring, trapping and camping. Mom was afraid of horses, so she rode the bony backs of cows home instead.

Dad (on right), on a hunting trip
What do you get when you put the two of them together? Besides a Dad who knows the name of just about every fruit-bearing tree and potato plant available in North America; a mother able to tell the difference between McIntosh, Empire, Spartan and Cortland apples (as well as a few different breeds of cow); Midnight mass at Christmas complete with Réveillon; Maritime fiddling records steeped in Scottish tradition; reducing, re-using and recycling before it was in style and summer vacations to both ends of the country, you get some interesting memories.

Mom (on left) with her sister, on the family farm
Queenstown, New Brunswick
Somehow, (after a year of theology courses at St Paul’s University in Ottawa) Mom and Dad ended up North with the family in Moose Factory Ontario; neither East nor West exactly, and neither French nor English, but among the Cree people. Because we kids weren't mixed up enough, they had to add another culture to the pot.

Moose Factory is an island, so it goes without saying that in order to get anywhere in summer, you need a boat. To get to the mainland or to Charles Island Provincial Park, you could always get a water taxi. But if you wanted to explore any of the other islands around, it was much more practical to get oneself a boat.

Anyone who had a boat in Moose Factory had a freighter canoe with a 40 hp motor. Those were your real boats. The hunter’s boat, the taxi boat, the man’s boat, the anybody-who-was-somebody’s boat. Dad was a deacon in the Catholic Church with five mouths to feed and not a lot of extra money. A good boat and outboard motor didn't come cheap so he couldn't afford one.

Going over to Moosonee in the mid-70's
Cecil (on Dad's lap) Rose Anne and myself (in front)
Then, one day, he saw it; the inflatable rubber raft in the Sears catalogue. Dad mentally rubbed his hands together. Finally he would be able to take his family on boat excursions to nearby islands and not have to pay a fee or arrange a trip with someone else.

Dad’s boat arrived in due time and, all excited to try it out, we drove over to the back of the island (where the Cree Village Ecolodge now stands) parked, took the trail down past the Maybee’s house to Nurse’s beach. This was going to be amazing.

Once down at the beach, Dad took out his little pump and proceeded to blow up the raft. After about 10 minutes, we got bored and took off to play along the beach. Half an hour later, possibly more, Dad called us back. We proceeded to get into the boat. Now, the sides of the boat were blown up, but the bottom part was barely inflatable and remained flat. Until we got into it. At this point, being rubber and not solid, it sunk under our feet to the bottom of the river.

Some of us managed to get in, despite the tendency of the bottom of the boat to give way as soon as someone new got in. Then my father had to push us off from shore. This was no easy feat, as the boat was now sitting on the sand at the bottom of the river, thanks to the weight of our bodies on it. Dad had to scrape us off from shore, and then try to hop in while spreading out his weight enough so that the whole boat didn’t just collapse inward and send us all to the bottom of the river. It was a very delicate maneuver, but somehow he managed it, and we were off.

The small outboard motor roared to life. Okay, it sputtered to life. No, it murmured to life. I think the mosquitoes buzzing around were louder than the motor.

From Nurse’s Beach to Charles Island, it’s about half a kilometre. In a freighter canoe, with a 40 hp motor, it would have taken us all of 2 minutes to get to the other side, if that.

Dad’s motor couldn't have been more than 2 hp. It was attached with some kind of rubber strap and kept slipping. It took us at least 15 minutes to get to the other side. Your grandmother (or your Kookum) could probably dog-paddle faster than that.

Then he had to turn around and come back for the others. It took a whole hour before everyone was standing on Charles Island.

After that, Dad, being the problem-solver and manually good with his hands, made a few adjustments to the boat. He carved a solid bottom for it out of a piece of plywood. No more danger of sinking the moment you stepped into to it. At the stern, he added a wooden support for the motor. He put together a make-shift trailer for the boat, so it could be inflated and set up ahead of time and then taken to the beach.

Every time we’d go to Charles Island, he’d hitch the boat on its trailer to the back of the van, Mom would pack a lunch and we’d all pile into the van and head off to Nurses Beach. When we got older we’d duck in the back so no one could see us. As if the whole island didn’t recognize the van, the “white man’s boat” and our Dad in the front. As if none of our peers would guess we were there.

One day, when we were still quite young, Dad decided to go camping. Mom wasn’t much of a camper and there were younger kids to take care of, so he took Rose Anne and I, the two oldest.

Dad had previously taken us to Hayes Island, to clear out some of the brush in order to make room to pitch a tent. That Friday afternoon was beautiful, warm and sunny. We took the boat down to the flats and set out a second time, with all the camping supplies, for Hayes Island. Dad pitched the tent and Rose Anne and I swam a bit off the rocky shore. We built a fire, roasted marshmallows and finally called it a night. The evening was fine and we were more than comfortable in our sleeping bags.

I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of my father fighting with the tent in the howling wind, trying to keep it upright. Our sleeping bags were wet and cold with rain. The temperature had dropped 10 degrees.

Poor Dad had to fight with the (white man’s) tent all night. Rose Anne and I huddled together, trying to keep warm. When day broke, the wind settled down, but we were stranded, as the rubber raft had floated away.

Around noon, we were finally rescued. Someone across the river in Moose Factory had seen Dad’s attempts to use clothes as a flag, to try to catch anyone’s attention, and sent people over in a boat to get us. The rubber raft was found and brought back as well.

I don’t know if Dad ever lived that one down.

Family (with a friend) January 1, 1984.
Moose Factory, Ontario
In Moose Factory, people still remember us as "those weird white men", what with our tendency to do things our own way.  Mom the ex-school marm, used to call us home with a bell, the way farm workers in the fields were called for lunch or school kids called in from recess.  This was a novelty in Moose Factory.  We kids still hear about it to this day.

Mom, still being a school mistress at heart, used to come in to the school and sit in on our classes, just to see what and how we were being taught.  She would do this at least once a year.  No other mother, I repeat, NO OTHER MOTHER did this.  She also made a point of inviting all of our teachers over for supper at least once in the school year.

In the early days, I remember my parents providing water for neighbours who came over with pails, because they didn't have any running water.  Not everyone had an indoor toilet either in those days.  Many had just an outhouse.  We were lucky to have one toilet and a chamber pot in the basement.  My parents also often provided a place to spend the night and a few cans of beans and other necessities to people who temporarily needed it.

Moose Factory changed a lot in the years we spent there, by the mid-eighties, most people had modern homes and running water.  Our home had been renovated and we now had two toilets (the chamber pot was never seen again).

My parents left Moose Factory in 1996.  They hadn't returned to visit again until summer 2011, when we kids took them up to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary and Dad's 35th ordination anniversary.

Mom and Dad, July 2011 in what used to be Dad's garden.
Moose Factory, Ontario

Friday, April 12, 2013

Fail

Man butchers new-born babies capable of surviving outside the womb. Makes jokes about it. Also kills woman who went to him for abortion. Mainstream media adamantly refuses to cover story. But those of us who find this despicable are the ones who need to stop "inbreeding"?  Sheesh.  When you have no valid argument, just resort to insults...
Read more here: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/getreligion/2013/04/politico-and-atlantic-coms-turn-to-explain-gosnell-blackout/

(WARNING: graphic imageshttp://www.jillstanek.com/2013/04/four-reasons-why-media-isnt-covering-gosnell-mass-murder-trial/

https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petition/acknowledge-dr-kermit-gosnells-actions-require-immediate-review-abortion-laws-if-it-can-save-one/VW3tHX3j

http://articles.philly.com/2013-03-20/news/37846890_1_adrienne-moton-women-s-medical-society-clinic-kermit-gosnell

Join the tweetfest: https://www.facebook.com/events/440055226080593/