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1) Waiting on a job change

My season of waiting started at the beginning of this year. My company was struggling financially. We started seeing some changes: cuts in benefits, attrition, spending freezes.

I began praying to God asking what I should do. He told me to wait until the fall.

At first, it was easy to wait: I enjoy my job, love my company, and have a fantastic manager. As the year progressed and worse announcements were made, doubt grew and I started looking for new jobs.

Though logically, seeking a new job seemed like the right choice, I felt uneasy. It went beyond dissatisfaction with the available jobs or frustration when I was outright rejected for jobs I was qualified for; something was unsettling me.

After (finally) really listening to God, I realized I just needed to trust Him and wait. I stopped applying for jobs and turned down interviews. The logical part of me was panicking, but I knew this was the right thing to do.

Just a few days after I declined an interview at another company, my company made a huge announcement: almost half the employees at our location would lose their job by the end of 2018.

I sat in my desk in complete shock. Why would God let this happen? Would I lose my job? Would I need to beg for that interview I had just declined? I knew I should pray, but my mind was racing so all I could do was look up at my cubicle wall where I had prayer cards hanging.

The first one I saw was the Divine Mercy. Jesus, I (begrudgingly) trust in you.

During the discussion about my future with the company, I was informed that I’d be getting transferred to another position at the same location. It was an area I had interned in. I had been working on a project there already. The work was interesting, and if I was being totally honest, my skills are probably better aligned with that role. Things were better than fine: I was thrilled about this new opportunity (though I’m sad to leave my team).

I learned that in times of waiting, I need to trust God.

I realized that maybe the most logical answer isn’t the right one.

I realized that maybe the most logical answer isn’t the right one.

And most importantly, I realized that even my impatient waiting and attempts to take my own path aren’t powerful enough to derail God’s plan.

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2) Waiting on morning sickness

It was during my third day of morning sickness that it hit me—I didn’t know when it was going to end. The first few days, I had gotten through the crippling nausea by reminding myself that I’ve had the stomach flu before, and I’ve gotten through that, so I will be able to get through this, too.

But this was different. This could last another week, another month, or even past my first trimester.

I felt helpless and inadequate. Things that I used to do without even thinking—getting dressed, sitting in class, cooking a simple dinner—were now impossible tasks. My sympathetic husband picked up my abandoned responsibilities with love, but I grieved the loss of my identity as capable and confident wife. I was no longer the strong and adept woman I considered myself to be.

I grieved the loss of my identity as capable and confident wife. I was no longer the strong and adept woman I considered myself to be.

So, I tried to fix it. I bought expensive morning sickness tea, I experimented with eating different foods before I went to bed at night, and I read a lot of message boards.

About two weeks in, I realized that this was not something I was going to be able to fix. This was my current state in life. And finally, with that acceptance, I was able to give it over to God. I begged Him for the strength to be able to get out of bed in the morning. And on those mornings when even that was not going to happen, I told the Lord that I trusted Him, and I knew that He would give me the strength to do what He asked of me. I repeated my new mantra—with hope comes endurance—over and over again while curled up in the fetal position.

Rebelling against waiting for an illness (whether pregnancy-induced or otherwise) to pass will only create more anguish.

In the words of Pope Benedict XVI,

For when we rebel against it, this is not only because it is painful or because it is hard to be still and alone: we rebel against it because there are so many important things we ought to be doing and because illness seems meaningless. But it is not in the least meaningless! . . . It can be a moment in our life that belongs to God, a time when we are open to him and thus learn to rediscover our own selves.” (emphasis added).

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3) Waiting on a guy

I am not what anyone would call a patient person. I have a go-getter attitude and I am competent to a fault - I know what I want and I go after it. Done.

That isn’t working so well right now. There is this man (isn’t there always a man?) who makes me smile. In so many ways he is the most incredible person I have ever met, and I can’t help but think that I want to spend the rest of my life getting to know him.

Simple, isn’t it? I see it, I want it, I go after it. Except this isn’t an ‘it’ - this is a ‘him’, and I tried that before and we got hurt by it. By the Grace of God he is back in my life again, but in what capacity remains unclear.

There is a part of me, a very large part, that wants to push. Push him to tell me what our time together means to him. Push him to decide one way or another how he wants me in his life. However, we need time and healing before we can really have those conversations. I feel like I’m waiting for something I’m not sure will happen, which makes me very scared.

I feel like I’m waiting for something I’m not sure will happen, which makes me very scared.

Patience, love, and charity. That’s how I’ve chosen to approach this. That, and an openness about how I’m feeling, and where my head's at. But always communicated with those three things, and simply enjoying my time spent with this wonderful, wonderful man. The rest is trusting in God, and his plan and his timing. Knowing that no matter what happens this mental and emotional exercise will reap rewards beyond my imagination because I am doing my best and trusting in Him to take care of the rest.

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4) Waiting on a Kidney Stone

I always feared this place, unable to help myself, unable to push hard through my day and down my list.

With a 6-millimeter kidney stone unhurriedly crushing its way through my system, life slowed to a helpless waiting game. The toxins that my body couldn’t filter seemed to settle in my head as negative, self-defeating thoughts.

Without health insurance, I couldn’t even get an appointment at the specialty outpatient clinic that regularly blows up kidney stones for people with more generous employer coverage.

And yet, as life involuntarily slowed, I realized I could play catch with my kids while sitting. They couldn’t care less if they ate the same thing for every meal. They loved to be read book after silly book. When we crept along on shorter walks than usual, they could stop to play in the dirt, roll up every poor roly poly on the sidewalk, and pick up every rock different than the last.

As my husband helped me through this, I experienced love in a whole new way. He waited with me for pain to subside, even though he couldn't do anything. After I sent him to bed, he would stay awake and wait with me some more. Not being alone is second only to morphine in pain management.

I experienced love in a whole new way.

It's always been a struggle for me to start each morning with solitude and prayer. I’m easily distracted by breakfasts to prepare, laundry to fold, dishes to put away. But this unmoving kidney stone stalled out my morning routine too, and all I could handle was sitting in my rocking chair reading scripture.

One day on my way home from work -- a paper-shuffling desk job that I could still accomplish with a kidney stone, thankfully -- I stopped by an intimate chapel. I asked Jesus for whatever nugget of wisdom He wanted me to learn from this season of weakness.

Surely, if I can just memorize His lesson, I’ll be healed. Then I can leave this chapel and return to life, full-speed-ahead!

But instead of sudden healing, I felt his words on my heart: "Charlene, I will help you be weak."

I felt his words on my heart: "Charlene, I will help you be weak."

I don't like being weak, or slow, or having a short to-do list. I like being a working woman on the go, my life in my hand, and everything under control.

Somewhere along the way, I had forgotten my littleness. And yet, in this unwanted waiting, I found it again.

For those too tired, too weak, and too little, the arms of Jesus are an elevator to heaven. - St. Therese of Lisieux

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5) Waiting on God

Lately I haven’t been able to feel God.

I actually got very frustrated with that in Adoration a few months ago - I kept angrily telling Him I wasn’t going anywhere until I felt His presence. That led to me spending 4 hours in Adoration with no sense of Him.

Like I said, very frustrating.

I was talking to my Pastoral Associate about this experience the week after and he suggested contemplative prayer. Ten minutes, every day, just sitting with Jesus. It sounded like torture, but I committed to it. He also suggested some reading materials to help me on this journey.

I am creating space for Him.

That was about 2 months ago, and it’s HARD. Its also easy in some ways - soothing and rewarding. I feel centered afterwards. But I still haven’t felt God. The point is, however, that I am creating space for Him. I am setting up a time and a place and I sit there and I wait for Him to come. That’s what one of the books said contemplative prayer was about - it was about waiting for God, and committing to sitting and waiting and being open to God’s timing. How appropriate, for someone who has very little patience in life.

So, I wait, and I clear my mind of all the swirls and knots that make up my thoughts and I focus on Him and I wait for Him. In that waiting, I find quiet and peace and knowledge that He will come eventually. I simply have to keep waiting.

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6) Waiting on healing

Watching a member of my family suffer from and battle addiction, I can only pray and wait.

Pray that she will be delivered from the slavery of addiction.

Pray that, if and when she breaks free, she will have the strength to rebuild her life.

Wait for the day when she is healed.

I am waiting for something that may never come this side of Heaven. Waiting on something that does not depend on me. Waiting for something that I cannot accomplish. Waiting for something that is truly good - a person’s freedom from addiction. Waiting for something I once took for granted.

I am waiting for something that may never come this side of Heaven.

I am also waiting for something that I may not recognize when, and if, it does arrive. It can be exceptionally difficult to know - really know - when someone has overcome an addiction for good.

In this season of waiting, I am reminded of how God’s people waited for the Messiah.

They waited for Him while living in a fallen world. They waited for Someone who is Goodness Himself. The vast majority of His people waited for something not promised to arrive before their time on Earth ended. And for those who were alive when He came, some did not recognize that God had at last brought them what they waited for - His Son, their Savior.

Witnessing my family member live as a slave to addiction, and waiting for her healing, I have learned in an all-too-real way that this world is not our final home. I have seen the effect of our fallen world, and only a minute portion at that. In my heart of hearts, I know that we are meant for more, that we were created for union with God, and that all else will fall infinitely short. And I know these things in a way that I would not, be it not for this particular kind of waiting I find myself in.

I have learned in an all-too-real way that this world is not our final home.

Waiting for her healing, salvation history reminds me that God is always working for the good of those who love Him. I am reminded of the covenants God made with His people, of everything He set in motion (even as His people showed their fallen natures) that lead up to His Son’s entrance into the world. Is not the Old Testament the most beautiful account iof Providence at work?

I often fail to understand why I must wait for something so good to arrive. As I wait, however, I remember that I am in good company and that, by the grace of God, our waiting does not go to waste. He uses it to expand our hearts, purify our desires, increase our gratitude, and remind us of our longing for Him.

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Waiting on a job change - Kate Hendrick is a FemCatholic Contributor. She lives in Wisconsin with her husband and works full-time as a process engineer. Though Kate is a “cradle Catholic” she didn’t fully embrace the Catholic faith until mid-college. She discusses the challenges she and other young adults face as they try to live authentically Catholic lives on her blog Stumbling Toward Sainthood. You can also find her on Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest.

Waiting on morning sickness - Maria Lyon is a FemCatholic Contributor. She is wife to Will and in her final year of law school at the University of Wisconsin. She enjoys struggling through contemplative prayer, eating apples, and watching Netflix.

Waiting on a guy - this author would like to remain anonymous.

Waiting on a Kidney Stone - Charlene Bader is a FemCatholic Contributor. She writes about family life, current events, Catholicism, and social justice at Sunrise Breaking. She’s worked in the arts, administration, and education, as a full-time working mom, part-time working mom, work-from-home mom, and homeschooling mom. She’s currently a full-time stay-at-home-mom of five kids in Conroe, TX. She is changing the world one diaper at a time.

Waiting on God - this author would like to remain anonymous.

Waiting on healing - this author would like to remain anonymous.

This is a post about Advent, about Mary, and about how the beauty of language can change what we think we know.

But before I get into it, there are few things you need to know about me:

1) I'm an English professor, and for most of my college and professional life, I kept that pretty separate from my faith life. It’s not that I thought my career and my faith were inconsistent with each other – just that there didn’t seem to be much overlap. I remember a conversation I had with a friend who is a theology professor in which I expressed jealousy that his work with students could potentially aid in their salvation. I feared that there was a lack of significance in my own work.

As I grew more in both my faith and my career, however, I started to see overlap. I began to notice how great literature, even literature that is not explicitly religious, almost always contains aspects of truth, beauty, and goodness, and I started to notice the prevalence of stories of redemption and grace, even in the work of authors who seemed anti-religious in their work. I started to think about how the beauty of art can’t help but lead us to God.

the beauty of art can’t help but lead us to God.

I've had a less-than-enthusiastic relationship with Mary for most of my faith life. For a long, long time, I just couldn’t get into the passive, meek, mild woman I understood her to be. I couldn’t get excited about the rosary and couldn’t get past my sense that only old, conservative, traditional Catholics could connect with her.

3) I'm kind of an Advent junkie. Whenever people ask me what my favorite season or holiday is, I say something nice and expected, like Autumn or Easter or Thanksgiving. But, secretly, it’s Advent all the way. I love the quiet expectation, the stepping back, the way the dimmer lights and quieter music reflect the shorter days and hibernation of winter. I love the wreath and the candles and “O come, O come, Emmanuel.”

These three parts all came together for me when I first read a poem by American poet Denise Levertov called “Annunciation,” which reimagines and reflects on the moment when the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary and explained that she would be the mother of Jesus. “Annunciation” beautifully and powerfully unites the beauty of language, the power of free will and consent, and the mystery of Advent. I hope that you will read “Annunciation” yourself; although I’ve tried to describe the imagery of it here,  it’s a poem that needs to seen, heard, and read. Truly beautiful works are like that - they need to be encountered.  

Levertov’s poem starts with a scene that we all know. Here’s how the Gospel of Luke describes the annunciation:

And the angel said to her in reply, “The holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God.  And behold, Elizabeth, your relative, has also conceived a son in her old age, and this is the sixth month for her who was called barren; for nothing will be impossible for God.” Mary said, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her. (Luke 1:35-38)

For most Christians, this excerpt from Luke is so familiar that it’s almost invisible, and part of the brilliance of Levertov’s poem is how she takes a familiar story and forces the reader to look at it in a new way. She begins by highlighting the familiar scene of the angel’s visit, but she acknowledges the extra-biblical nature of how most people imagine the scene by describing the details that we all accept as part of the scene, despite the fact that they’re not mentioned in Luke’s Gospel: the lectern, the lily, even the angel, who, while obviously in Luke’s narrative, is not physically described. Levertov’s point seems to be that our perspective of Mary is worth reconsidering because of the extent to which it has been created by non-biblical factors. When Levertov introduces the idea that Mary’s free will, courage, and consent should be central to how we understand this event, then, she’s already established that what we thought was true might be worth rethinking.

In fact, the entirety of Levertov’s reflection concerns the space between the angel’s “question” and Mary’s answer. Notably, Levertov’s poem resists the tendency to call the angel’s words an “announcement.” Despite the name of both the poem and the holy day, in Levertov’s reading of the scene, the angel does not announce Mary’s fate. Rather, “This was the moment no one speaks of,  / when she could still refuse.” It is Mary’s free will, her “consent, / courage unparalleled, / [that] opened her utterly.”

Levertov’s re-visioning of this scene which is so central to Catholic theology changed my relationship with Mary. Suddenly, I could see agency in Mary’s “yes.” She was not a meek and mild woman to whom this happened; she was strong and courageous, and she accepted God’s will, despite the pain and hardship and burden that came with it. She chose her life.

I don’t know why Levertov’s emphasis on Mary’s free will surprised me. After all, free will is not a concept she invented. The Catechism is clear that “God created man [and woman] a rational being, conferring on him [and her] the dignity of a person who can initiate and control his [or her] own actions…. Freedom is the power, rooted in reason and will, to act or not to act, to do this or that, and so to perform deliberate actions on one’s own responsibility. By free will one shapes one’s own life. Human freedom is a force for growth and maturity in truth and goodness; it attains its perfection when directed toward God, our beatitude.” (CCC 1730-1731).

Why, then, did I assume Mary lacked free will? Why did I assume that her life was dropped on her without choice? By illustrating Mary’s free will, Levertov emphasizes the power and beauty of her gift to us.

By illustrating Mary’s free will, Levertov emphasizes the power and beauty of her gift to us.

It’s not only free will that Levertov emphasizes in this poem though; she also emphasizes waiting, and waiting is, of course, central to the theology of Advent. By focusing on the space before Mary’s consent, Levertov invites us to pause: “A breath unbreathed, / Spirit, suspended, / waiting.” That we know going into the poem what her answer will be doesn’t change the intensity of the suspense; and isn’t this what Advent is? We know Christmas is coming. We know Christ will be born. (Catechism 524 calls this the “ancient expectancy of the Messiah.”) Yet we take four weeks to live in suspense, to wait, and to prepare our hearts. We “renew our ardent desire for his second coming.” (CCC 524)

Levertov’s illustration of Mary’s free will and consent, then, adds an extra layer to the intensity of Advent. When we recognize the pause before Mary’s acceptance, we recognize Mary’s great role in our own Advent. Spiritually and liturgically, Advent is our time to focus on our desire for Christ’s coming, but the desire only works in the knowledge of prior absence. We need to consider the time before Jesus was with us on Earth to fully understand the magnitude of Jesus with us now. Our preparations for Jesus’s birth, which we know, after all, both already happened and will happen again on Christmas, make no sense without our knowledge and spiritual memory of the time before. Advent doesn’t make sense unless we consider that future fulfillment implies a previous absence.

We could have no Christmas – and thus no Advent – if we didn’t first have Mary, bravely, courageously, strongly, willingly, consenting to the great challenge that God placed before her.

Warning: Some Wonder Woman movie spoilers below.

I know I’m a bit late to the game. A lot of the hype around Wonder Woman seems to have died down. But the mark of a good story is that it endures. It’s not just fun and new, but it’s also compelling because it speaks truths to us. It draws you back again and again, and it’s always relevant.

Just a little background and recap before I dive right in: Diana, princess and warrior of the Amazon women, has been training (and dreaming) for the day when she would fight Ares, the god of war. Ares has made it his mission to corrupt mankind, sowing discord and hatred. One day, an American soldier named Steve Trevor essentially crashlands off the coast of her home, bringing news of the Great War (World War I) that has been raging for the past several years. Diana realizes that this Great War must be the work of Ares, and she sets off with Steve, intent on defeating Ares once and for all.

Now, Diana has been raised by women her whole life. Not only that, she had never even met a man until Steve shows up. So when he brings her to London, to the war, it’s quite a culture shock for her – and not just because the clothing is different, or because she’s never tried ice cream before, or because people don’t carry swords. She is thrown into a society that is dominated by men. Dominated politically, yes, but in so many other subtle ways that even the most self-aware feminists are still trying to discern.

This is an ongoing struggle, especially for Catholic feminists. As women, we are constantly being told who we are. We are constantly hearing (from both men and women) what it means to be a woman – and what it should mean.

An empowered woman does _____.

A Catholic woman looks like _________.

Women who don’t respect themselves act like _________.

The list goes on. (And the judgments with it.)

But if you’re like me, a lot of times you sit back and wonder... How much of this is true, and how much of this picture has been warped by the damaging and sinful effects of “the patriarchy”, for lack of a better word? So much of our culture, and therefore so much of our identity, is built on a foundation riddled with sexism – a foundation that takes broken, unredeemed masculinity as its ideal. How can we possibly know how much of our assumptions about femininity has been warped and poisoned by a systemically unhealthy understanding of true and virtuous manhood and womanhood?

So much of our culture, and therefore so much of our identity, is built on a foundation riddled with sexism – a foundation that takes broken, unredeemed masculinity as its ideal.

Diana is, in a way, a really intriguing example of the pure, unadulterated feminine genius. Granted, she is the creative vision of one director, one cast, one crew. But it’s an interesting exercise nonetheless. What would a woman with no masculine influence in her life be? Diana has had no male role models or figures of any kind in her life. So what we see of her femininity has not been influenced in any way – good or bad – by men. She’s never had to think about whether her ideas about strength, virtue, sacrifice, honor, and love have been affected – or infected – by a fallen and sinful perspective of masculinity.

Diana has none of this baggage to carry with her. Sure, not very realistic, and I would never argue that women should shun the society of men in order to truly live out their feminine genius. No, of course not. The feminine genius is beautiful, but it’s not the whole story. In the same way that the corresponding masculine genius is incomplete by itself. We see this played out in the film. Diana’s new friends (most of whom are men) need her, and as much as it might sound less-than-feminist to say so, Diana needs them. She could not have accomplished what she does without those men.

The feminine genius is beautiful, but it’s not the whole story. In the same way that the corresponding masculine genius is incomplete by itself.

At the same time, the whole story of Wonder Woman (as told by this film) is so organic. None of it is forced - there’s no agenda. It wasn’t written to showcase how a woman would act in these situations. But in telling this story, which is not about women’s empowerment, per se, we get a really beautiful and honest portrayal of how one woman sees the world.

Diana is a fierce, fierce warrior, but she is motivated by true and genuine love for each person she meets. She arrives in our world intent on ending World War I, which is in full swing. Unlike every soldier, every general she meets, however, her approach to the war is profoundly personal. She is not there to win the war. She is there to end the horrific suffering it is causing. She is there, not because war is a tragedy, but because the dehumanization of each person affected is a tragedy.

Time after time, Diana is moved with pity at the suffering she sees all around her. Every time she comes across a sobbing mother, a wounded soldier, a decimated village, she tries to do something. Again and again, she is told, “There’s no time.” “We have to go.” “There is nothing you can do about it.” And my personal favorite: “We have to stay on mission.”

I get it. I do. In fighting a war, you have to be able to look at the big picture. You have to be able to strategize and to make “smart”, even if very difficult, decisions in order to win. Diana’s friends know this, and, in different ways, it does haunt them.

Enter Diana. She is no stranger to battle. She knows that war requires terrible sacrifice, but she never ceases to reckon the real cost of war – human beings. Human beings whose lives and dignity are being trampled upon. Her friends have trouble keeping this in mind. I think, deep down, they know – why else would they be fighting this seemingly endless war? But I really believe that it is Diana’s feminine perspective that allows her to see each person with such particular compassion. Even when Diana fights, she never forgets that the real enemy is not the person in front of her. The real enemy is Satan (I mean, in the movie, it’s Ares, the god of war, but he’s a dead ringer for Satan if I ever saw one).

I’m not suggesting that Diana’s friends are wrong in how they approach war. I do think they don’t have the whole picture. As St. John Paul II said,

Perhaps more than men, women acknowledge the person, because they see persons with their hearts. They see them independently of various ideological or political systems. They see others in their greatness and limitations; they try to go out to them and help them. In this way the basic plan of the Creator takes flesh in the history of humanity and there is constantly revealed, in the variety of vocations, that beauty-not merely physical, but above all spiritual-which God bestowed from the very beginning on all, and in a particular way on women.”

In every single area of life, we as a society – as a human race – need to acknowledge both masculine and feminine perspectives and find a way to integrate them. There is no arena (politics, war, education, business, etc. etc.) that does not touch the lives of human beings; therefore, there is no arena in which women do not have a unique and vital part to play.

So, let out your inner Amazon. And yes, by Amazon, I mean feminine genius. Not because #girlpower, not because “whatever men can do, we can do”, not even because you’re a legendary warrior (I mean, maybe you are, that would be pretty cool). But because you are a force of powerful love in a world that so desperately needs you. Because you are a force to be reckoned with. And because you are able – you are called, in a terribly undervalued way – to be “the bridge to a greater understanding between all men”. And if you end up defeating the god of war while doing it, more power to you.

Confession time: Marian devotion has never come especially easy for me. I fall asleep during the Rosary and get the feast days mixed up.  It’s not that I don’t love our sweet Mama. I just find it hard to relate to her. None of the women in my family really reflect the meek and mild Marian ideal of popular devotions, hymns and literature. Instead, I come from a long line of farmers and teachers: Holy women, no doubt, but less “gentle Mother, peaceful dove” and more “mother butchering chickens in the yard.” We drive tractors, play softball, drink beer, read books, and rule over countless classrooms and tiny houses full of wild children. Of one of my pioneer ancestors, it was said: “She rode a horse well, could yoke and handle a double team of oxen … and could swing a two-bitted axe with telling effect … she is said to have helped her dogs drag down a deer.”

Even so, this past October, the Month of the Holy Rosary, I resolved to pray the Rosary more often. Daily, if I could manage it. I wasn’t even looking forward to it. It’s just something I was convicted to do for my own good, like eating more vegetables or going to bed at a decent time. But it took only three days of reciting Mysteries before I was smacked over the head with a whopping dose of grace and an important spiritual insight.

The Blessed Mother was tough.

Meek, but mighty.

Feminine and formidable.

In short, a badass.

“Be it done to me according to Thy will,” is a chill-inducing phrase when the possible outcomes include getting stoned for being pregnant.

Far from being a hothouse flower, Mary was in fact a strong, intelligent mother full of all the graces that God can provide to us as women. Her courage was unparalleled. She had the nerve to talk nitty gritty details with an ANGEL, a heavenly messenger, about exactly how this whole “getting pregnant without a man” business was going to work. Then she accepted God’s invitation to be the mother of his Son without knowing how His plan for her pregnancy would play—would she break her gentlemanly fiancé’s heart? Would she have to raise a baby on her own in the ancient world? “Be it done to me according to Thy will,” is a chill-inducing phrase when the possible outcomes include getting stoned for being pregnant.*

Mary’s physical strength was also remarkable. Not perhaps for her own time, but certainly in light of the fact that many generations of women have been encouraged not to be too athletic or cross over too far into the realm of physical achievement. Our Blessed Mother could walk for days while pregnant. She was a carpenter’s wife in a time when that likely meant she was expected to help with the business, as well as do much of the family’s cooking, cleaning and laundry from scratch and by hand. She traveled by donkey in her third trimester, and she gave birth unassisted in an unheated stable in the middle of winter.

She held on to faith and persevered through trial after relentless trial.

Even greater, though, was Mary’s emotional strength. From the day her infant Son was presented in the Temple, she had an indication that His life (and hers) was going to be incredibly sad. But she held on to faith and persevered through trial after relentless trial. She became a single mom after the death of Joseph. She let go of her only baby so He could go out and do His work in the world. She watched Him clash with the Pharisees, mocked by the people, abandoned by His friends, and finally, condemned, tortured and crucified.

She buried her child, something no mother should ever have to do.

Then, on the third day, she began to exercise a new type of strength and courage:  proclaiming to the world that her son, a lowly carpenter’s son from Nazareth, of all people, had risen from the dead and was in fact the son of the Most High God. Amid the continual martyrdom of her boy’s remaining friends, Mary stood as a steadfast mother and leader in the Christian community until her son called her to cross over into eternal life with Him, a journey which in itself requires no small amount of bravery and faith.

All this, and she still enjoyed a wedding and a glass of wine.

Ave Maria.

*This post was edited to clarify that Mary was not actually an un-wed mother.

It’s a cold, gray morning and I’ve just put the baby down for his nap. I’m sitting in my favorite chair in the sunroom watching the rain fall and sipping the cup of coffee I’ve been thinking about since I woke up two hours ago. It’s quiet and peaceful, and I think for a moment about opening up my bible and praying. But before I know it, I’ve got my phone in hand as I scroll through my Instagram feed, curious about what I’ve missed since last night. This is the story of so many mornings, and although I hate to admit it, I’ve wasted far too many nap times in the last 7 months.

I am a 25 year-old stay-at-home mom living on a quiet 2 acre lot in the suburbs. Our sweet son arrived less than a year into our marriage and turned our world upside down (as new babies have a way of doing).  Most of my close friends are unmarried and without kids, working normal 9-to-5 jobs and going out on the weekends; and although I graduated from college with them just two years ago, I feel more like a decade removed. I can’t remember the last time I went out to dinner with my girlfriends, or spent the afternoon in a cozy coffee shop with a good book. Despite that, however, I am living the life I always wanted as a young wife and mother, blazing a new trail that I am learning to navigate day by day. I chose a clear path right out of college that is transforming my heart as I am constantly refined by love. But, though I love my particular vocation, my life at 25 is not “the norm.”

For me, feeling connected to the “outside world” and staying in the know is important. I want to keep up with my friends who are living entirely different lifestyles than me. I want to be engaged in social discussions and aware of cultural trends and patterns. I want to feel connected to my peers who are living different vocations just as I want to feel connected to my few friends who are also young mothers.

In my experience, social media can often be that bridge. It feels relevant, current, new. It can make me feel less isolated and provides a level of interaction with other people that I can appreciate as someone who is chained to her house most of the day for consistent nap times—which, by the way, often means 5+ hours of alone time each day (a gift and a cross).

Like most things that we use and enjoy, though, social media demands that we practice moderation and detachment. This is where I often struggle. I find it difficult to strike a healthy balance between genuinely connecting and engaging and oversharing, consuming, or comparing. Sure, I can look at another woman’s Instagram page and appreciate the beauty and order that seems to radiate from her home and family. But very quickly it can become a source of comparison, competition, self-loathing, doubt, or anxiety about my own home or family. So many times I have fallen prey to believing that my life must look exactly like another person’s; or that I need what someone else has; or even that I am severely lacking simply because what I lack belongs to someone else—whether it be a pristine kitchen, a beautiful outfit, or a seemingly perfect marriage and family life. So many times I have found myself grasping for what other women have and abandoning any feeling of gratitude for my own life and beauty.

So many times I have found myself grasping for what other women have and abandoning any feeling of gratitude for my own life and beauty.

You are not enough, I hear in my head as I scroll. You are not smart enough, successful enough, thin enough, ambitious enough. As I catch glimpses of other people’s lives, anxiety begins to creep into my mind about who I am as a woman. I begin to believe the lies in front of me telling me I need to be more popular, more busy, more career-oriented. Is it really enough to be just a mom?

Of course I know that it is. I know in my heart that it is more than enough, that it is the most important work I will ever do. I am raising a person to be a saint. I am helping a man get to heaven. There is no one in the world who could give my family exactly what I give to them or could love my son and husband exactly as I love them. But still, the images at my fingertips tell me I am not enough.

I constantly wrestle with how to balance the good and bad of social media. Because although I am acutely aware of how it can negatively affect me, I also feel a strong call to be a positive, real, encouraging presence on a platform that so desperately needs it. I want to show, merely through my ordinary life, that being a young wife and mother isn’t what our culture says it is. It doesn’t, in fact, mean a total loss of freedom or fun. No, it is a wonderful life! A life with so many challenges and sacrifices, yes - but also a rewarding, fulfilling life full of small, beautiful moments that ought to be shared and celebrated.

Indeed, our child has changed our marriage. We are more exhausted on a regular basis and could probably use a few more date nights here and there, but I can’t describe the love I felt for my husband when he single handedly cared for me in the weeks after my long and tough labor; or the love I feel for him when he rolls around on the floor with our baby laughing. I want to be a witness to that kind of joy primarily through the personal interactions I have with others, and then through the venue of social media. Rather than adding to the perfectly curated photos of my child in the coolest baby brand or dumping my thoughts and emotions in a single caption instead of picking up the phone and calling a friend, I want to be a gentle reminder that Beauty Himself is in every mundane moment of our everyday lives, in every vocation.

I want to be a witness to that kind of joy primarily through the personal interactions I have with others, and then through the venue of social media.

A couple months ago, I received an email from a young woman around my own age who follows me on Instagram. She wrote:

“Somehow, I found your pages and I couldn’t be more happy about a technology that I tend to love and hate in equal measure...It is humbling, inspiring, and gratifying to see your family live such devoted lives—to godliness and to motherhood… I have constantly had this internal struggle of how to be both, how to be 100% mother and 100% “strong female career woman”. It was your Instagram and blog that made me re-shape that notion—that being a mother is a not just a career, but a vocation… I am so grateful to be able to follow along your journey of motherhood…and to find a voice on social media which radiates devotion to God and the church, to her family, and to motherhood...Thank you for that gentle, sweet, wonderful reminder in a technology which often forgets to celebrate the most important things.”

I was humbled and delighted to know that for at least one young woman, I wasn’t just another annoyingly perfect page of one-dimensional squares. And although I know that social media is not the be-all and end-all and I am just one little voice amongst many, I was encouraged by her honest words.

And so, I sincerely hope to be true to the real beauty of each ordinary moment, never feeling the need to humanize it by portraying it as worse than it is and never depicting it as perfect. The balance I seek lies in being a light in a sometimes scary and confusing world, while remaining a source of hope rather than anxiety.

Outrage rang loudly through the internet with the announcement that the classic film “Ghostbusters” would be remade with all-female leads. While many of those complaints could be dismissed as sexist, there is a valid reason to complain when remakes put women in roles formerly held by men: it’s lazy writing at best, and more concerning, it is a huge disservice to women.

As Catholics, we know that men and women are distinct - and in certain ways, that makes us different. When we take a well-known movie and just switch out a man for a woman, we are acting like men and women are merely interchangeable. Rather than developing a strong female character based on the unique traits of women, we are acting as though there is nothing distinctive about being a woman. Though equal in dignity, men and women have different strengths, weaknesses, and traits that make them uniquely masculine or feminine.  A strong female character should emphasize these gifts; she shouldn't just be a pretty man.

When we take a well-known movie and just switch out a man for a woman, we are acting like men and women are merely interchangeable.

Though many movies fail to even pass the infamous feminist “Bechdel test” -let alone present strong female leads- there are also movies that present strong women who draw their strength from their femininity, not in spite of it. What do specifically feminine strengths look like? Inspired by these four Feminine Gifts scholars say were identified by Pope Saint John Paul II, I sought out movies that presented strong women - as women. Here’s what I found.

Note: the following examples may include spoilers to these films.

Maternity

Speaking as a woman who hasn’t had children yet, this feminine trait is one that I struggle to understand. However, maternity isn’t just for women who have biological or adopted children; each and every woman is called to spiritual motherhood. Spiritual motherhood can be carried out in a variety of ways, but ultimately it comes down to imitating Mary and caring for others.

Spiritual motherhood can be carried out in a variety of ways, but ultimately it comes down to imitating Mary and caring for others.

In Juno, we see how a teenager who enters motherhood unexpectedly still demonstrates strong maternal qualities. t.When this headstrong young woman becomes pregnant, we see a sincere concern for her unborn child. After deciding against abortion, she seeks out adoption and talks about how she wants everything to be perfect for her unborn child. Though the child was completely unplanned, she refers to the baby as a miracle of life. High school is hard enough without an unplanned pregnancy, but she willingly takes on the ridicule and the complexities it adds to her relationships to protect this child. Juno is strong because she cares deeply and is willing to sacrifice for her child.

The Help is another film full of incredible examples of spiritual motherhood, and in many cases,, the spiritual mothers actually seem more caring than the biological mothers. The classic scene when Aibileen tells Mae Mobley “you is kind. You is smart. You is important,” is an obvious example of maternal nurturing, and there are many more throughout the film.  Minny and Aibileen have an incredibly strong friendship, and they care for each other in the midst of tragedies.

Another example of maternity is seen in the relationship between Celia and Minny. Despite being a married woman, Celia is a sweet, naive woman who needs someone to help her. Minny, her maid,  takes on a kind of mothering role as she helps Celia navigate household skills, deal with personal struggles, and becomes a protective friends.  The women in The Help are strong obviously for how they go against an oppressive society, but also in the way they care for their friends in times of intense suffering and vulnerability.

Sensitivity

This trait is often seen as a weakness: easily hurt, fragile, overly-emotional. A better definition  can be found in Merriam-Webster, which defines sensitivity as “delicately aware of the attitudes and feelings of others.”

At first glance, Elle Woods of Legally Blonde does not seem like an example of a strong woman. She is presented as a ditzy, girly-girl who follows a man who doesn’t treat her right. Despite her clearly being intelligent enough to get into law school, Harvard no less, we see her overlook her responsibilities as she tries to get the attention of her ex-boyfriend. Just when you think  it’s going to be another movie about a ditzy blonde stereotype, Legally Blonde shatters preconceptions and shows the power in female sensitivity. She is able to develop a better relationship with her clients and is more attentive to the complexities of human relationships, which helps to advance her case  and kick butt in the courtroom. Rather than her sensitive, people focused nature being a weakness, it is actually what makes her successful. And she does all of this while dressing in traditional feminine attire. Elle Woods is strong because she uses her sensitivity to succeed.

it is also empowering to have women who sensitively gauge the situation and respond accordingly.

Hidden Figures is at the top of many lists for strong female characters, and rightfully so. Based on a true story, we see three incredible women fight sexism and racism at their jobs in 1960’s NASA. Their intelligence and willingness to push against prejudice is enough to make them strong females role models, but what is also admirable is how they did it. These women are aware of the sexist attitudes that surround them, and though it is entirely unjust, they challenge the NASA culture in a “turn the other cheek” fashion. They don’t lash out; they let their hard work, their intelligence, and their character do the talking for them. Though sometimes injustice needs to be taken head on and more aggressively (à la Wonder Woman), it is also empowering to have women who sensitively gauge the situation and respond accordingly. Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mary Jackson are strong females because of their intelligence, their willingness to confront prejudice, and the delicate yet firm way they go about totally kicking butt.

Generosity

Generosity is ready and willingly giving something without the expectation or anticipation of anything in return; it is willingly providing because it is right.

Moana has quickly become many people’s favorite “princess” (chieftess-to-be?). In Moana, we see a young, passionate woman fight against expectations to help her people, and she does so at enormous risk. Legend has it that Maui, a demigod, stole the heart (represented by a small, iridescent rock) of Te Fiti, a goddess. Moana’s grandmother and Moana believe that the only way to restore the state of the island is to return the heart to Te Fiti. We see Moana’s physical strength as she goes across the ocean after never even leaving her island, and her fortitude when she takes on the demigod Maui to convince him, to help her save her island. The most powerful scene is when she takes on Te Kā, a giant, volcanic creature blocking the way to where Moana believes Te Fiti lies. Moana realizes that the terrifying Te Kā was actually once Te Fiti. While we see Maui doing various fighting moves, we see Moana boldly walking towards Te Kā only to gently offer the heart. Moana initially goes on this journey because she is hungry for adventure, but she also generously sacrifices her comfort, her chance to say goodby to her grandmother, her relationship with her father, and even her own safety for her people. She does so this without expecting anything; she goes because it is necessary for the good of others. Moana shows us strength can come both in the form of fighting/ physical ability and in gentleness and serving others.

strength can come both in the form of fighting/ physical ability and in gentleness and serving others.

In Lord of the Rings: Return of the Ring, Princess Eowyn demonstrates generosity through potential self-sacrifice. She secretly rides into a battle that seemed like it would result in certain death, while saying “courage, Merry, courage for our friends.” Though we see fear in her eyes, she bravely takes on the Nazgûl. The Nazgûl (referred to as “most terrible servants” in the book), are near-immortal servants to an evil power. One of them that war particularly frightening was the Witch King of Angmar. The Witch King calls her a fool because “no man can kill” him.  Princess Eowyn removes her helmet, flips back her hair, and says calmly “I am no man” and stabs the Witch King in the face, destroying him. Princess Eowyn is a strong female character because she generously risks her own life to save others, and for showing the hardcore power behind a “woman’s touch.”

Receptivity

Merriam-Webster defines receptive as “open and responsive to ideas, impressions, or suggestions.” While there is strength in standing for what is right, there is also a more subtle strength in taking in other thoughts to shape opinions.

The Miracle Worker shares the story of Anne Sullivan Macy and Helen Keller. Anne takes on the difficult task of teaching Helen to communicate. In Anne, we see strength through her love for Helen and her determination, but we also see it in her openness. Anne had to seek to understand Helen and the family dynamics impacting her. She had to be willing to look for different opportunities to communicate and teach Helen. Anne had to adapt her ideas to meet the needs of the people she was serving. She had to be willing to take on different ideas because she was doing something that hadn’t really been done before. Though the results are amazing, making both she and Helen Keller strong women, Anne’s loving persistence and openness are what really make her a strong female role model.

Belle of Beauty and the Beast was my favorite Disney princess growing up. As a little girl, I admired Belle’s love of reading,  her ability to ignore the mean comments of the town folk, and her standing up to the bully Gaston. As an adult, I also admire her sacrifice for her father. When I was watching the live action version recently, however, what caught my attention that hadn’t before was Belle’s receptivity. Obviously, dealing with talking furniture and a beast requires some openness to begin with, but we also see her demonstrate receptivity as her relationship with the Beast changes. Rather than holding on to the gruff, harsh reputation he had shaped earlier, she accepted the changes that occurred: him fighting off wolves, learning about her past, and ultimately freeing her to save her father. It isn’t a weakness to forgive; instead, it takes a great deal of strength (and humility) to accept ideas and events that contradict our preconceived notions. Belle is a strong female character because she willingly accepts new impressions and situations.

It isn’t a weakness to forgive; instead, it takes a great deal of strength (and humility) to accept ideas and events that contradict our preconceived notions.

This is by no means a full list of every strong female character out there, but what these women have in common is that they are strong because their femininity shines. They might be taking on a “male” role, but they don’t try to be male. They are strong women because they leverage their femininity, and we need to see more of this in our films.

Stop giving us poorly written characters that are just men with breasts: give us women who are compassionate, nurturing, kind, giving, and open. Stop making male characteristics the default for strength. Show us strength in its many forms, including and especially feminine.

Edith Stein (Saint Teresa Benedicta ) said, “The world doesn't need what women have; it needs what women are.” Let’s see the strong humans women are in our films.

Discussions on divorce in Catholic circles tend to focus on two points: 1) pastoral care for divorced persons in the Church and 2) the question of (not) permitting divorced and remarried Catholics to receive Holy Communion. As members of the body of Christ, we need to ask these questions and properly care for divorced Catholics. At the same time, there is a sobering void in our discussions. We are quick to state how deeply divorce hurts children, but we are largely silent when it comes to how we can help them.

We are quick to state how deeply divorce hurts children, but we are largely silent when it comes to how we can help them.

The truly efficacious grace given to me during the sacrament of Confirmation is, I am convinced, what kept me in the Church. One year after my Confirmation, my parents told me they were getting divorced. I sought comfort and healing in the Church, spent more time at my parish than before their divorce, and never missed Mass on Sundays. How I wish my situation were the rule and not the exception.

Our holy Mother Church has everything a child of divorce could need to heal (in addition to good counseling, as needed). Catholics often do a great job of professing the Church’s beautiful teachings on marriage and the family:

• The love of husband and wife models the love of Christ and His Church (CCC 1659).
• For the good of the spouses and their children, marriage and the conjugal love expressed therein require “the inviolable fidelity of the spouses” as a consequence of their gift of self (CCC 1646).
• The family is the domestic Church and a school of human enrichment (CCC 1656 & 1657).
• Within the community of the family, we learn moral values, how to love and serve God, and how to love others (CCC 2207).

However, the lived experience of children of divorce may not include a manifestation of what we know to be true about marriage and the family.

What do you do when you believe the family is the domestic Church, but yours was separated?

How do you express how you feel when you suffer from the evil of divorce, but you know your parents do, too?

Where do you look for a model of lifelong marriage when you do not have one in your parents’ marriage?

How do you process your emotions when you know that civil divorce was best in your parents’ circumstance, but divorce still hurts?

Given the beauty and truth of our Church’s teachings, and the experiences of children of divorce, Catholics are not doing as much as we could to take the teachings and do something to help them; I know I am not the only one who notices that something is missing. There is an entire group of people not receiving the support they need from their brothers and sisters in Christ during a time of great - and often silent - suffering.

There is an entire group of people not receiving the support they need from their brothers and sisters in Christ during a time of great - and often silent - suffering.

Members of this group may be unable to seek resources on their own; namely, young children and those whose suffering is so great that they do not have the energy to look for support. Even as an adult child of divorce with nine years of healing under her belt, I had trouble finding good, Catholic resources.

A Google search of “Catholic resources for children of divorce” did not provide as much as it should, considering that, in 2014, 20.7% of Catholics had experienced divorce at some point in their lives. The vast majority of results I saw consisted of pastoral care for divorced Catholics (which is great, and needed) and Catholic websites discussing how divorce harms children. As well-meaning as those websites are, if you are a child of divorce, you do not need someone else telling you how harmful divorce can be for children. What you might need is direction on where to seek support.

Fortunately, asking others for resources they know of provided more results than my Google search. The three that most caught my eye are DivorceCare for Kids, Rainbows, and Faith Journeys Foundation, Inc. (the only Catholic resource).

Yet the general lack of resources should tell us that we need to do better at helping children of divorce heal, and we need to do this in a way that does not make assumptions or vilify the adults who are divorced, because rarely do we know the circumstances surrounding their decision. We should remember that the Church is merciful and that, in some cases, civil divorce may be the best - though still unideal - course of action (CCC 2383 & 2386).

How can we do better?

No single solution will be what every child of divorce needs, so I cannot provide a perfect formula. What I can provide are a few suggestions for where to start:

• Pray for us and our parents. Ask the Holy Family to care for us, that our wounds may be healed, that we may grow in our love of Christ, and that we will stay in (or come back to) His Church.
• Remember that every situation is different. Some of us have good relationships with both parents. Some of us watched our parents receive annulments, get civilly remarried, or remain civilly unmarried. Some of us were victims of abuse. Some of us are doing quite well. Some of us are suffering deeply.
• Minister to our parents and keep them in the Church and your parish. Especially for young children, parents may be the best way to connect children with support they need.
• Consider talking to your pastor about hosting or advertising a support group at your parish. Take advantage of resources that do exist, such as DivorceCare for Kids, and bring them to your parish. Not every child will seek this out, but at least it would be available for those who want it.
• Be a model of a lifelong marriage for us. Who among us - no matter our family background - could not benefit from witnessing more examples of joyful, faithful, holy marriages?
• If you know us well enough, ask us what you can do. We each need something different. Some of us may not want to think of ourselves as children of divorce and just live like any other child. Some of us may want to talk about it. Maybe we will need you to connect us with resources you know about, or maybe we will simply need to know that you are there for us.
• Keep us in the community and continue loving us. Whatever relationship you have with us already, keep nurturing it. Whether you are our friend, the parent of one of our friends, or play another role in our life, continue doing just that.

You may already be doing some (or all!) of these things; if that is the case, thank you. Frankly, I wish I had more ideas to add to the list, but I have more questions than answers when it comes to what we can do for children of divorce. I cannot answer these questions on my own, and I hope you will help me. Let us begin the conversation.

Update (December 2020)

Though I didn't know it at the time, during the same year that I wrote this article (2017), a seed was sown that grew into a pastoral ministry for adult children of divorce: Life-Giving Wounds. This beautiful ministry offers retreats, support groups, and parish resources - all dedicated to supporting adult children of divorce in the Church. Thanks be to our faithful God, who always hears our prayers.

I could not believe my eyes when I sat on my bed, on a typical Saturday morning in Charlottesville, scrolling through my newsfeed on Facebook.

All that I saw were videos of protesters, carrying torches and marching in a line, down the lawn of the University of Virginia, my university, in the dead of night.

I knew that the Unite the Right white supremacist rally was going to take place in Emancipation Park later in the day, but I had no idea that this evil would be marching less than one mile away from my apartment in the dead of night.  

I had no idea that this evil would be marching less than one mile away from my apartment in the dead of night.

The next twenty-four hours were spent on lockdown alone in my apartment, with my eyes glued to a livestream of the news on my laptop while all of Virginia was in a state of emergency. A white supremacy rally had turned into large scale riots, violence had out-broken between the supremacists and protesters, policemen were struggling to clear the crowd, and a car was driven by a white supremacist down a crowded street, killing a woman and injuring others. The places where I had the past three years laughing with my friends was full of carnage, evil, and terrorism.

The following day I walked straight into my university parish and asked the chaplain, “What happened and what now?”

What can you do when violence and evil comes into your town and the entire country is watching? Racism is an evil that I never thought I would encounter, especially not stomping its way through my university. As a white woman at an affluent school, I did not even begin to have an idea as to how anything that I could do would be impactful. In our numbness and our confusion, we mourned, we prayed, and we surrounded our town to the care of Our Lady Queen of Peace.

In the midst of evil and chaos, women in particular have the unique strength to stand with others in a life-giving solidarity. At the foot of the cross, Our Lady stood with St. John, present to her Son as He endured His passion, and “a sword pierced her heart (Luke 2:35).” Standing here in Charlottesville, on the outskirts of brokenness amidst atrocity, my heart itself was pierced but what could I do, particularly as a white woman who does not know the pains of racism?  

In 1531, a simple farmer of Aztec descent walked to Mass in the early morning. A convert to Catholicism, he is of a minority race, spends his days enduring backbreaking work, and does not have any education. As he makes his way over the hill, he suddenly finds himself looking into the face of the Virgin Mary.

Clothed in a brilliant blue mantle that reflects the constellations of the night sky, the Blessed Mother appears as an Aztec princess, with dark skin and high cheekbones. She stands on the moon, the Aztec symbol for the god of the night, signaling the she is stronger than the darkness. When the bishop of the area denies the simple farmer, Juan Diego, his request on behalf of the Virgin, to have a church built, she says to him, “Do not be troubled or weighed down with grief…Am I not here who am your Mother?”

As women, we can reach into the darkness that shrouds the hearts of those around us and dispel it through the light of Christ with empathy. As the Blessed Mother appeared to St. Juan Diego bearing the same physical resemblance, so are we called to bear the same internal disposition as those who suffer. St. John Paul II writes in Sollicitudo rei Socialis that:

“Solidarity is not a feeling of vague compassion or shallow distress the misfortunes of so many people, both near and far. On the contrary, it is a firm and persevering determination to commit oneself to the common good; that is to say, to the good of all and of each individual, because we are really responsible for all.”

Racism targets the very dignity and identity of a person, and completely denies than all human life is made in the image of likeness of God. Just as the Blessed Mother stood by her Son at the foot of the Cross and affirmed His identity, as well as the human dignity of St. Juan Diego, so are we called to stand with the marginalized and the afflicted, to bear their burdens as our own. Our Lady of Guadalupe said to St Juan Diego:

“Here I will demonstrate, I will exhibit, I will give all my love, my compassion, my help and my protection to the people. I am your merciful mother, the merciful mother of all of you who live united in this land, and of all mankind, of all those who love me, of those who cry to me, of those who seek me, of those who have confidence in me. Here I will hear their weeping, their sorrow, and will remedy and alleviate all their multiple sufferings, necessities and misfortunes."

Turning our hearts towards the afflicted and bearing with them in love reflects the invitation that all Catholic women have to imitate the humility and mercy of Our Lady. In suffering with others we are able to draw nearer to the Cross together, where the mercy of Christ gives strength and a voice to those who have none. St. John Paul II states in Mulieris Dignitatem:

“The witness and the achievements of Christian women have had a significant impact on the life of the Church as well as of society. Even in the face of serious social discrimination, holy women have acted "freely," strengthened by their union with Christ.”

I first heard the term “fast fashion” two years ago.  

I took in the scene immediately: the quickly changing trends, the insatiable consumerism, the disregard for waste, the rock-bottom prices and consequent rock-bottom wages.  

The phrase itself validated my lifelong sense of being a step behind the fashion curve.  By the time I pondered a new trend long enough to decide whether I liked it, then decided whether it was worth a purchase, and THEN got around to actually shopping – the trend was stale, more often than not.  

The phrase also convicted.  How often have I bought an item, only to barely use it or find I didn’t like it as much when I got home?  

I knew in a vague sense about the connection between fast fashion, sweatshops, and garment workers’ rights.  I could name a brand or two that claimed to be ethically made.  

But I was horrified to learn what I hadn’t known.  

The global fashion industry is a $3 trillion industry that largely relies on cheap female labor.  Over 80% of garment workers are female, age 18-35.  These women often support their own small children or their elderly parents.  

They earn $2 USD a day on average, far below what would be considered a living wage for their country.   This average includes forced unpaid labor in Uzbekistan cotton fields.  

Their working conditions are often unsafe – sometimes deadly so.

They labor with little hope of bettering their conditions, little hope of advocating for a higher wage or overtime pay, and little hope of secure employment.  

And for what?

For a dress I don’t really need?  For the thrill of an unexpected find on sale?  For a new pair of tennis shoes or heels?  

I know the equation is not as simple as this and the problem extends well beyond my own personal decisions or even the cumulative effect of millions of consumers’ decisions.  

Still, I began looking for answers as to my responsibility – and my culpability – as a consumer.

I remembered my moral dilemma years before when I had come across a list of companies that donate to Planned Parenthood.  I scanned the list and grew despondent; it was obvious that I could not live in modern America and avoid buying from companies that supported abortion rights or other objectionable-to-me causes.  I decided that this was a symptom of living in a fallen world.  Moreover, the cooperation between my purchase of a laptop or a new book and that company’s choice of where they donated was so remote as to render me, the consumer, not culpable in the least.

And yet, the issue here -- where my purchase of a new shirt perpetuates demand and allows the company to continue to exploit the women who create that shirt -- seemed different in kind.  

And yet, the issue here -- where my purchase of a new shirt perpetuates demand and allows the company to continue to exploit the women who create that shirt -- seemed different in kind.

By knowingly purchasing clothing or shoes from companies who profit from the desperate oppression and poverty of their employees, I am participating in a system that maintains a status quo of despair for some of the world’s most vulnerable.  

True, I do not intend this evil, and I do need clothes to wear.  

So, what is a Catholic woman with a heart for the poor but a limited budget to do?

I began to search for what insight I could find in the Church’s many documents about social justice issues and moral theology.  Much has been written about the rights of workers, the duties of employers, and the responsibility of governments in the economy.  

But what about me, as a consumer?  What is my responsibility to these other women who produce my clothing? What is required of me?  

I turned first to the 1891 encyclical Rerum Novarum, “On Capital and Labor,” by Pope Leo XIII.  

He writes: “A most strict account must be given to the Supreme Judge for all we possess” (RV 22).  

Ouch.  I think of my house full of… stuff.  So much stuff.  

Pope Leo XIII continues: “When what necessity demands has been supplied, and one’s standing fairly taken thought for, it becomes a duty to give to the indigent out of what remains over.” (RV 22)

We have a duty foremost to care for our families and provide for our basic needs out of our resources.   For many, this task requires careful attention to budgets,  creativity, good fortune, and much prayer.  

For others, however, there is room for discretionary spending.  

It seems to me that this spending – after I have accounted for the basic needs and well-being of my family – is where I would need proportionately greater reasons to purchase items knowingly from companies who exploit their workers.  

Pope Benedict XVI had similar words for consumers in his 2009 encyclical Caritas in Veritate, or “Charity in Truth.”

“It is good for people to realize that purchasing is always a moral – and not simply economic – act.  Hence the consumer has a specific social responsibility, which goes hand-in-hand with the social responsibility of the enterprise.  Consumers should be continually educated regarding their daily role, which can be exercised with respect for moral principles without diminishing the intrinsic economic rationality of the act of purchasing.”  

The purchases we make are by nature economic and often eminently practical, but they are also necessarily moral.  By this I don’t understand Pope Benedict to mean that the only acceptable answer in this instance is to buy fair trade clothing exclusively, as if there is only one moral solution.  Rather, I think he means that indifference to the plight of others when purchasing our clothing is not acceptable for us as Christian consumers.  

It is tempting to say that an individual consumer will not change the ugly, unseen reality of our clothing’s origins in the global fashion industry.  Perhaps this is true.  There is much work to be done on behalf of the millions of garment workers.  Perhaps it is true that my personal efforts to root out materialism and indifference in my heart won’t effect change in the global market.  Maybe it won’t matter in the least.  

But it matters to me.  

I begin with a prayer that I may not be blind or indifferent to the suffering of others.  

I begin with a prayer that I may not be blind or indifferent to the suffering of others.

Then I forge ahead into the new-to-me world of fair trade fashion and advocacy, while keeping an eye on budget with thrift stores and embracing less.  

But that will be a topic for a future post.  

Though I was raised Catholic, the Virgin Mary has been a figure I have wrestled with throughout my life. Experiences of hurt and certain secular feminist perspectives caused me to question and even resent who I thought Mary was. Experiences of healing, prayer, and reflection ultimately revealed more about Mary, and led to a deep friendship with her and greater peace within myself.

In order to explain the progression in my relationship with Mary, I need to share a bit of my own story. When I was a sophomore in high school, my mom and dad split up after my dad came forward about being unfaithful. Eventually, my dad moved out of state while I was still in high school and was financially unstable and inconsistent with any kind of support to my mom. My mom was a single parent, breadwinner, sole caretaker for my little sister and I, yet she was also going through her own anguish which I often bore the brunt of. My dad fell from the pedestal I’d placed him on, and my mom simultaneously modeled that she didn’t need a man (or couldn’t rely on one) and yet often shifted the responsibility (unwittingly) onto me to pick up her broken pieces.

Understandably as a result of this, I learned to bottle up my emotions in order to be strong for others. I learned not to trust others to be there for you, especially men, and that women need to be strong for themselves. Both my maternal grandmother, and great grandmother were also single mothers with failed marriages.  I come from a line of women who are independent, strong, stubborn, resilient, gritty, and unorthodox. I also learned to downplay my femininity because it seemed to be so associated with a lot of negative stereotypes about women such as being less capable, less intelligent, and weak or easy to manipulate. In my desire to be treated as equal I felt I needed to embody more masculine qualities, and I resented my femininity and seeing others who displayed it.

Yet, deep down, I longed for someone to support me, to be loved by a man in the ways my dad failed to love my mom and me. This longing was often manifested in unhealthy and codependent ways. I longed to not repress my femininity. So when I saw it so openly and freely expressed in others, my resentment was rooted partly in my own longing to be more feminine, partly in feelings of inadequacy - that I would never be feminine enough - that I could never embody all that consists of being the perfect, ideal woman.  

my resentment was rooted partly in my own longing to be more feminine, partly in feelings of inadequacy - that I would never be feminine enough - that I could never embody all that consists of being the perfect, ideal woman.

In college, I began to identify as a “feminist”, mainly because it seemed my “equitist” or “equalist” values were more or less the same as those of the feminist movement and I felt that identifying with a more common label would help me to be part of a united movement towards dismantling sexism. But because I still had so much anger, hurt, and resentment inside of me, my feminism wasn’t yet a healthy feminism. I was a disintegrated person in college. I went to Bible Study and Mass, even prayed the rosary and went to Confession occasionally, but I also sought validation from friends and guys and still saw myself as very self-sufficient, and saw my worth and value in what I accomplished.

Towards the end of college, I had a powerful encounter with God and decided to place Jesus at the center of my life. I recognized that nothing else made sense at the center and I decided to trust that if I gave all to God, if I said “let your will be done”, that maybe my life would change for the better.

The first time I really thought of Mary as a feminist was in 2011, while attending an Advent Retreat during the winter after I graduated from college. The priest leading it pointed out how at the Annunciation, Mary represented incredible strength in saying “let your will be done”, not “well, first let me ask my fiance or father”. She allowed God to be first in her life and to say “yes” to God, unreservedly, and in doing so, was fully grounded and authentic and whole. This was only the beginning of being able to see Mary more fully, for I still had a lot of deep wounds, resentment, and frustrations to heal.

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In the year after graduating from my very secular and progressive college, I was spending a lot of time within young adult Catholic communities, some of which were fairly traditional. There I was challenged to begin to embrace my femininity more. It was painful work. In part because there truly were feminine aspects of myself that I was repressing, but also because there were certain idealized images of femininity often perpetuated in traditional groups.  I did not resonate at all with these feminine “idols,” and  wrestled and oscillated, swung like a pendulum in between extremes. art of me wanted to go to Mary with these struggles. Yet I began to recognize that another part of me deeply resented her.

In Feb 2012, I prayed in my journal:

“Help me Lord to embrace my femininity the way You call me to, not society, or patriarchy, but You! Help me to not resent my mom, or the Virgin Mary. Help me to ponder her mysteries and to embrace all of her. To fall in love with her and model myself after her. Help me to let go of my attachments and my insecurities about people who I feel have forgotten or abandoned me. Help me to be fully secure in you Oh Lord, my refuge.”

Later that year, I was doing an Ignatian Contemplation with Luke 1: 28-31, where I imagined myself as Mary’s best friend, being present with her when the angel Gabriel comes to Mary with news that she will bear Jesus.

In my journal I wrote:

“My feelings here are initially jealousy! Awe and jealousy. I imagine myself at first turning to my friend Mary and being like, ‘Whoa dang Mary, there is an angel here right now! Are you seeing this?! Oh my god!’ And then upon the angel saying to her that she’s favored and the Lord is with her, I’m feeling totally less than. I’m comparing myself to her and wondering why her?… I imagine Mary being very quiet, demure, feminine, coy, alluring, and I’m the loud, goofy, boisterous girl next to her… I think these feelings are coming from a place of great insecurity. I’m lacking full trust in God and feeling forgotten and undesired. And this revelation of feelings of jealousy toward Mary really reveals something new… I don’t know how to relate to her as a woman. I come up short in comparison, and I feel inadequate. I resent her for being perfect, and I want to be desired as I am without having to conform to some ideal of the perfect woman I feel I can never come close to being.”

This was what I projected onto Mary — an image of this ideal woman that I could never be.

This was what I projected onto Mary — an image of this ideal woman that I could never be. I projected onto her all my wounds from being passed over for other more "perfect-seeming" women, my wounds from how men treated me when they treated other "Mary" types better and with more respect, I projected onto her all my insecurity.

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The problem with getting to know Mary, is how little is stated about her explicitly, how little she speaks in Scripture. A lot is assumed about her (pun intended ;) ). Because there aren’t a lot of things that she says, we can assume that she’s “quiet”, or not opinionated. Often times women are "blank canvases" that we project onto - and Mary is no exception. The less a woman says, the more we fill in the blanks.

As Catholics, because we literally venerate and place the Virgin Mary on a pedestal, sometimes we  idealize her, to the point of actually dehumanizing her. Since Mary is upheld as the model for Catholic women, this inevitably leads to benevolently dehumanizing other women,, when they fall short of the idealized projection we’ve placed on Mary. For myself and other women, we often do this to ourselves. We see this kind of “benevolent sexism” when only women who appear to conform to this “Virgin Mary” type are treated with respect, while other women who don't appear to possess those same qualities, or who have become so very real and human, are more readily disrespected, or objectified. This is often referred to as the “Virgin/Whore” dichotomy. The funny thing is, Mary probably would've been treated much like the latter in her time, given she was pregnant before she was married, she said “yes” to God without getting permission from a man, and she didn’t commit sin, so she was probably very weird and different from other people. She didn’t conform to what society or man would seek from her, but was solely focused on God alone.    

As Catholics, because we literally venerate and place the Virgin Mary on a pedestal, sometimes we  idealize her, to the point of actually dehumanizing her.

I began to realize that a lot can be known about Mary from what we see in Jesus. He attracted sinners and broken people, and disturbed hypocrites and those who were slaves to their possessions and power.  Jesus became the man he was because he was raised by Mary. The wisdom, humility, willingness to act, to call out, to challenge, to be receptive and willing - he learned it all from her, and from Joseph. Everything Jesus did, we can see that Mary, too, embodied those characteristics, quirks, and virtues. He was flesh of her flesh, and bone of her bone.

I also began to see more of myself in Mary, and realized that she wasn't this ideal I couldn't keep up with, or someone I had to compete with, but she was someone who loved God and desired to be faithful to God with her whole heart - and that was something we both had in common. I also started to see how much she loved me and liked me and delighted in me. As a mother, a sister, a friend - someone I could laugh with, someone I could throw a fit with, someone who could hold me and support me no matter what. And as I felt more at ease in being myself, my feminine aspects have begun to be more naturally expressed in the way that I uniquely express them. As I healed this relationship with my Holy Mother, I also began to see more healing in my relationship with my earthly mother, and a greater capacity for forgiveness towards my father.

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In August of 2013, one of my seminarian friends was planning to journey with Mary through the 33 day Marian consecration. He invited me to do it with him. I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into when I began the preparation for consecration, but I’m grateful I was willing to do it. Marian consecration was instrumental in helping me become more grounded in who I am authentically before God, in pointing me towards that which most fulfills my heart. Mary was fully herself, full of grace, full of unabashed realness, and allowing her into my heart, and entering into hers has strengthened me in becoming more real and authentic.

Mary was fully herself, full of grace, full of unabashed realness, and allowing her into my heart, and entering into hers has strengthened me in becoming more real and authentic.

The rosary is another place where I’ve seen my friendship with Mary grow. Sometimes, I admit, I show up to the rosary but I’m really just saying words. Other times, it really can be an access point for reflection, imagining myself in the scenes in the mysteries, feeling my feelings, being vulnerable.

Most recently, I decided to pray the 54-day rosary novena (6 sets of 9 days of praying the rosary - the first 3 sets are for petition, the second 3 sets are in thanksgiving) after a painful breakup. I needed extra intercession to heal from it. During these 54 days I prayed for my former boyfriend and my healing, and for his joy and peace, even if I would never see it.

Towards the last few days of my novena, a bird built a nest right next to my front door. I’d lived there almost 3 years and no birds had ever moved in. The bird was literally at eye level and when I would walk up to my front door, I was within less than 2 feet of the nest and bird. On the last day of the novena, I looked up what kind of bird it was, and it was a mourning dove. I looked up what they symbolized: hope, letting go, healing/grieving a loss, a sign that your loved one has moved on. That felt like a pretty spectacular fruit from my novena. Especially since what I prayed for was something I couldn't see, this  sign was a helpful one. I even decided to write a song about it. While I was writing the song I looked up epithets for Mary, and one that I found was "Sighing Dove". Three days after my novena was over, and the day I finished writing the song, the eggs hatched. It truly felt like a gentle way that Mary was reassuring me, inviting me to trust, to let go, to invite in greater healing.

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Ultimately, my journey from resenting to befriending Mary has also been one of moving from resenting to befriending myself, to embracing myself as God sees me and created me. I’m less concerned with trying to conform to ideals, and more concerned with seeking to ask God what He wants from me and what He desires for me. And when I forget how to let God look at me tenderly and lovingly, I look to Mary, and she mirrors to me that generous gaze, that reminds me of my belovedness. This is ultimately what holiness and wholeness mean to me. And this is what I see as being the ultimate goal of feminism — and of Catholicism — to be seen, known, and loved wholly as you are and to reflect that to others, just as Mary did.

With my seven-months-pregnant belly leading the way, I headed into first day of level one Catechesis of the Good Shepherd training one muggy, Chicago summer day. The week that followed was thoughtful, “wonder”-full, and everything I hoped it’d be. I expected to have a deeper understanding of the child. I expected to have a more profound sense of the liturgy. I expected to be challenged to see the catechetical task differently. What I didn’t expect is how the friendships formed during our training opened up my heart to see motherhood in a new way.

Our group of trainees came from all walks of life: mothers, grandmothers, single missionaries, teachers, stay-at-home moms, parish catechists. One woman, who I’ll call Debbie, is about sixty, and, at the time, was about to start her job as principal at a new school in the fall. I couldn’t help but wonder how this came to be. At sixty, I expect most people to begin considering retirement, especially from an all-consuming field like education. “I’m a mom to four children, proud grandmother, and have been teaching for over thirty years,” she told me. “This is where I’m being called now, though. It’s a strange thing. I’ve never had this type of role before, but I’m of the mind that as women, we have to look at life seasonally, and never have too firm an idea of what a season will look like.”

This is where I’m being called now, though.

Like most all pregnant women, I found myself incredibly anxious about the choices I felt I needed to make before I gave birth. The decision taking up the most mental space in my brain was whether I’d go back to work, and if I so, when? Will I be a working mom? A stay at home parent? Common questions keeping more than one new parent up at night, I know.

Talking to Debbie, and so many other women I admire since, has led me to a new outlook on personal decision making in parenthood, particularly motherhood. As women, we live in an intensely seasonal way. This is reflected in our very bodies: our cycles reflect constant, yet fairly predictable change. Whether you’re a self-proclaimed control freak like me or not, we are really, really good at change and following our body’s “seasons.” When I embraced this physiological reality as a means of living my emotional, mental, and professional life, something just clicked. It felt peaceful, just, and comfortable - like I’d been forcing myself to wear six-inch-heels for too long, and I was finally able to walk around barefoot - a little weird and strangely painful at first (I like control! I like making decisions in a final, total way!) After a few minutes though, I could feel the cool, grainy sand between my toes and breathe a sigh of relief.

As women, we live in an intensely seasonal way. This is reflected in our very bodies: our cycles reflect constant, yet fairly predictable change.

For too long, I’d been seeing “work or stay at home” question in a way that was far too permanent. I desired to make a “seasonal” decision in a “once-and-for-all” way. But the truth is, I can count on one hand the “once-and-for-all” decisions I’ve needed to make it my life: deciding to follow Jesus, my vocation to marriage, and the person I’d marry. The only “once-and-for-all” decisions are rare and reserved for pivotal, heart-changing moments. The only final, total decision you truly make as a mother is deciding to love this child, this little stranger entering your life, for as long as you’ll live. The other stuff? Staying at home v. working? Cloth diapering v. disposals? Breast feeding v. formula? And on and on? Seasonal. These decisions change as the demands and settings of our lives change. Holding these choices loosely, whether they’re major or minor, is key for peaceful parenthood. I wanted to decide “what kind of mother will I be?” when really, I can only ask myself, “what kind of mother will I be… in this season?”

I wanted to decide “what kind of mother will I be?” when really, I can only ask myself, “what kind of mother will I be… in this season?”

Admitting this eased my mind as I stared at this decision I’d make to stay at home or go back to work. Maybe I’d be like Debbie, where I’d have seasons of staying at home, working part or full time, and, just when I think I’d be slowing down, God calls me in a new way.

If you’re like me, “seasonal living” is not comfortable or easy. While admitting my feminine-seasonal nature has been liberating, I’ve also needed to spend a good bit of time trying it on and walking around for a while in it. It is requiring something of me - an ability to listen to the call of God with a new urgency and awareness. To pray more. To shut my mouth more. To discern with more care what brings me joy and contentment. I’m 100% a work in progress, but I’m desirous to fully embrace this new way of thinking, and I think God can work with that.

As our country considers new legislation on patients’ rights and healthcare, physician-assisted suicide will undoubtedly join the conversation.

Physician-Assisted Suicide, or PAS, occurs when a doctor provides a patient with the means to commit suicide by prescription medication.

It's currently legal in California, Oregon, Washington, Vermont, Colorado, Montana, and Washington, DC.

This isn’t just an ethical issue, it’s a feminist one.

Most “right-to-die” legislation includes provisions to protect a patient’s autonomy in this decision -- such as minimum age of 18, a terminal diagnosis with six months or less to live, multiple requests for assisted suicide, and a mental evaluation.

When Montana legalized PAS, it was determined by the State Supreme Court (Baxter v. Montana), which mentioned “competent” and “terminally ill” in its ruling, but failed to define these terms or specify patient protections. With so little regulation, a patient might be more easily pressured into thinking suicide is her best, or only, choice.

Ethical reservations about PAS include this concern, that external pressures could push patients toward an unwanted suicide.

And several cultural norms in the United States indicate a woman may experience more external pressure than a man to hasten her own death.

So this isn’t just an ethical issue, it’s a feminist one. Here are 10 reasons why:

Note: Rather than discuss the moral implications of legalizing physician-assisted suicide, the purpose of this article is to highlight underlying issues that might force an expedited death on a person who feels he or she has no other options.

1. Rates of depression among women are twice as high as men. In a country with inadequate mental health resources, untreated depression more easily leads to suicide.
2. Since women outlive men, they are more likely to be alone as they age. This leaves elderly women with fewer advocates and a shrinking support system, as they navigate end-of-life issues.

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3. With unrealistic cultural pressure to be physically beautiful at any cost, a woman could feel unnecessary, additional despair at the diagnosis of a deteriorating, terminal disease.
4. Self-sacrifice is an elevated virtue for women. A woman might view PAS as the ultimate gift of self-sacrifice for her family, despite personal wishes to continue living.
5. As healthcare providers continue to dismiss women's health concerns, this could lead to an oversight in care for a terminally ill woman.
6. Women have lower net wealth than men, which could leave them without personal resources to alleviate the mental and physical toll of a terminal diagnosis. They might view PAS as their most affordable solution.
7. Since women are twice as likely than men to be caregivers, they understand the stress and isolation that can come with long-term care for another. Not wanting to become a burden, a woman may feel less worthy of long-term palliative care.  
8. As women outlive men, they are more likely to depend on their adult, middle-aged children for care. The stress this brings to households often leads to the outsourcing of elderly care to nursing homes, where more than 70 percent of nursing home residents are women. One survey by Hemlock Society founder Derek Humphry, who supports euthanasia and PAS, found that 30% of seniors would rather die than live permanently in a nursing home.
9. Healthcare providers prescribe less pain-relieving medication to women, and are more likely to dismiss women's experiences of pain. As a result, women patients might be more susceptible to choosing suicide as their best option to alleviate pain.
10. Our nation's for-profit healthcare system is more likely to err toward expediency and cost-saving measures than a patient’s preferences for treatment. Even with PAS legal in only a few states, claims have already surfaced of insurance companies denying further treatment while offering to cover PAS, in these states.

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There's a careful, conscientious balance between unnecessarily prolonging life at any expense and accepting impending death.

While this decision point is best discerned by those closest to the situation, undue pressure from outside sources may strong arm patients - especially female patients - toward premature death, instead of palliative care and support.

More than 70 percent of nursing home residents are women.

The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops expresses similar concerns that physician-assisted suicide and euthanasia could unfairly target the vulnerable and the marginalized, observing that legalizing physician-assisted suicide for terminal patients was followed by an increase in suicides generally:

"Oregon’s law allowing physician-assisted suicide took effect in late 1997. In 2015 the state’s health department said “The rate of suicide among Oregonians has been increasing since 2000” and as of 2012 was “42% higher than the national average”; suicide had become “the second leading cause of death among Oregonians aged 15 to 34 years.” These figures are in addition to deaths under the Oregon assisted suicide law, which legally are not counted as suicides."

While some would shrug and wave bon voyage to those who find death more welcoming than life, we can advocate, instead, for initiatives that give patients options and support: re-frame sickness as a natural part of life, better communicate palliative care and hospice options, mandate insurance companies cover medical treatment for any condition that’s covered by physician-assisted suicide, build intergenerational communities, incorporate quality mental treatment into standard healthcare, better regulate nursing home standards of care, improve conditions for elderly in poverty, revise standards of feminine beauty to include aging and illness, properly frame self-sacrifice as a healthy virtue, not a death sentence, and challenge medical professionals to listen and respond to women's healthcare concerns.

Without addressing these related issues of physician-assisted suicide, our society will unduly pressure those most sick among us, those with statistically less advocacy and fewer resources -- women in particular -- to accept expedited death as the only option in their most difficult hour.