Author: Meg

I'm a Catholic, madly in love with the Lord, His Word, His Bride the Church, and especially His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity in the Eucharist. I'm committed to the Church not because I was raised this way but because the Lord has drawn my heart and convicted my reason. After 2 degrees in theology and 5 years in the classroom, I quit my 9-5 to follow Christ more literally. Since May of 2012, I've been a hobo for Christ; I live out of my car and travel the country speaking to youth and adults, giving retreats, blogging, and trying to rock the world for Jesus.

Touching His Pierced Hands

One of the coolest churches I went to in Europe was this itty bitty (by Roman standards), dark thing covered with scaffolding.  A few blocks from St. John Lateran, Santa Croce is a monument to the work of St. Helena, mother of Constantine and patron Saint of archaeologists.  She actually carted back a few shiploads of dirt from her time in the Holy Land so that this church could be built on holy ground.

The interior is rather lackluster, but around a corner and through to the back is a display of relics unlike anything I’ve seen elsewhere–including the Holy Land itself.1  There’s marble from Bethlehem, Calvary, and the tomb; the cross beam of the good thief’s cross; a nail; a thorn from the crown of thorns; pretty awesome, all.

On the left. I remember it grosser than this.

But the clincher for me was this: St. Thomas’ finger.

EW!

Okay, yeah, but if you’ve been Catholic in Europe for any time at all, you’ve gotten used to the veneration (never worship) of shriveled body parts.  This isn’t just a finger, though.  This is “put your finger in the holes in my hands.”  This is the finger that probed the wounds of the risen Christ, the finger that proved the Resurrection.

Or maybe it’s just some old nasty finger.  The point here isn’t the authenticity of the relic but the truth of the Gospel.

Because prophecies and miracles and centuries of conversions aside, it really all comes down to this: the pierced hands.  The pierced hands tell us that this man was truly crucified.  And the living flesh that surrounds the holes declares that he rose again.

If Jesus claimed to be God2 and he rose from the dead, he’s God.  The resurrection is the ultimate proof of Christianity, as Jesus himself told us (Mt 12:38-42).  So when Thomas touches the holes in Jesus’ hands and side, he knows with certainty that Jesus rose from the dead.  And if he rose from the dead, he can’t just be some great moral teacher, as C.S. Lewis so brilliantly explains in Mere Christianity:

“I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept his claim to be God. That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic — on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg — or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God, but let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.” ((Among my favorite things ever written, if you’re keeping track.))

So when Thomas sticks his hands in the side of Christ, he doesn’t just know that this man was crucified and verified dead.  He doesn’t just know that this crucified man is walking around happily 2 days later, teleporting between Jerusalem and Emmaus and walking through doors.  (And I’m not talking alohomora throught the door, I’m talking Casper the Friendly Ghost through the door.)  No, Thomas doesn’t just know that this Jesus guy is something special.  In that moment, with that intimate gesture of love and proof, Thomas knows that Jesus is God.  Creator of the universe, ground of all being, our origin and destination.  No big deal.

Whatever they may not have understood before the Passion, the Apostles knew at this point that Jesus’ claims were radical, so radical they were revolutionary, for good or for ill.  There was no going back to regular everyday Judaism if this Jesus was for real, and he was.  This was no ghost, no impressive con artist “Walking” on “water” and “healing” the “blind.”  This guy was d-e-a-d dead.  And now he’s fine.  There’s was no going back to life as they knew it.

Not that they didn’t try.  Thomas doubts so seriously that he needs physical proof.  I’ve met more than one Thomas in my day, claiming that he’ll believe in God if God shows himself.  “Blessed are those who have not seen but have believed.”

Peter believes, he just doesn’t know what to do about it.  So after the Resurrection, Peter goes fishing.  Jesus rose from the dead, but for Peter it’s just another day at the office.  How many of us have been there, moved by the Spirit one moment and then back to gossiping and lying the minute the retreat is over?

Both of these men are called out, Thomas by being reprimanded for his unbelief, Peter by being reminded that his mission is far greater than fishing.  But there’s something so sweet about their correction.  Jesus could easily have ignored Thomas, saying that if he wasn’t ready to believe, that was his problem.  He could have let Peter be a mess and chosen the much holier John instead.  But God doesn’t cut his losses when it comes to souls.  He does whatever it takes.

Caravaggio–dude knew his stuff.

I’ve often wondered if Thomas wasn’t the whole reason Jesus rose with holes.  His glorified body was healed of the signs of his scourging, but the holes in his hands and side remained.  What if the God of the universe chose to spend eternity in a “damaged” body simply because that’s what Thomas needed?  What if that line in the Gospel is really there only for you?  What if the Holy Spirit inspired that composer centuries ago just so that you’d hear that song today?  What if God created lilacs just so the smell of them would remind you of his love?  It’s not impossible.

See, we serve an infinite God who manages to dwell in the human heart.  Somehow, he’s able to be for everyone and for each one all at the same time.  For Peter, he built a charcoal fire.3  For Thomas, he rose with holes.  What are the pierced hands he holds out to you to prove his love?  I’d love to hear about them in the comments.

 

 

As an aside, some people have been asking where to find my official facebook page.  It should be in the top right corner of your screen, but if you’re having trouble finding it, click here.  Follow me on Pinterest and Twitter, too!

  1. For those who aren’t familiar with the concept, a relic is an item associated with Christ or a Saint–a body part, more famously, or a prayer book or item of clothing. They’re not magic, but God often uses them as means to help us identify with a Saint and grow in holiness.  He sometimes even uses them as channels of miraculous grace. This is Biblical: see Acts 19:12. [↩]
  2. While he never said the words outright, it’s hard to read Jn 8:58, Jn 14:6, or Jn 17:5–among many others–any other way. [↩]
  3. A charcoal fire only shows up twice in the Gospel: Jn 19:15-18 and Jn 21.  Peter’s denial and his reconciliation.  Coincidence?  HA! [↩]

Your Screaming Kids Are Distracting Me

Crying Cecilia 2I was at a holy hour the other night, totally focused and immersed in my thoughts, when from the back of the church came the sound of a wailing toddler.  Just like that, I lost it.  I was completely distracted by some kid who was far too young to be stuck sitting in a church.

And thank God for that.

See, I was totally focused on planning the rest of my night.  I was coming up with a packing list and deciding which posts I could update before I headed out in the morning.  I was thinking about the songs I have on my new smartphone and wondering if the USPS would forward the package I had shipped to the house I was staying at in time for me to get it at the house I was staying at next.  Yeah, I was focused, all right.  Focused on me.

Then that kid started screaming, and I snapped out of it.  I heard the dulcet tones of a toddler tantrum and couldn’t help but thank God for the luxury of silent prayer.  I heard footsteps and a door opening and offered a prayer for the patience of that poor parent.  I prayed for those who were really angry about the disturbance.  I prayed in thanksgiving for the gift of life.

Parents, I know all too well the frustration of taking little ones to Mass.  I calculated this evening (when I should have been praying) that I’ve taken little ones 4 and under to Mass by myself at least 200 times.  So while I’m not a parent, I know the frustration and awkwardness and even shame of that experience.

Case in point: John Paul isn’t so great at first person pronouns.  He refers to himself as “you.”  This was great when he was potty training and announced at the top of his lungs during the Eucharistic prayer, “You awe weawing undewweaw!!”  There were definitely panty line checks all around the sanctuary.

I’ve gotten plenty of dirty looks.  But more often, by God’s grace, I’ve gotten affirmation.  People thank me for bringing “my” kids and compliment me on their behavior.  Once after John Paul threw a particularly loud fit at Mass, an elderly man came up to me and told me it was the holiest sound he’d heard all day.  “He reminded me that I’m alive,” he said with a smile.

But more often than not you don’t notice the smiles.  You notice the rolled eyes and raised eyebrows and dirty looks and you think that at best you’re not making anyone angry.  But that’s not true–at best, you’re making the people around you saints.  You’re pulling them out of their self-obsession and reminding them that being at Church is about emptying ourselves for God and each other.

Prayer is so often just a veil for narcissism.  We talk and talk and talk about ourselves and then slap an “Amen” on the end and consider ourselves holy.  When your kids start screaming, it distracts us from ourselves.  We start praying for you.  Or for them.  We pray for single parents.  We pray in thanksgiving for our grown children or we beg for screaming children of our own.

I was visiting with my grandmother the other day and mentioned that Cecilia shouted stream-of-consciousness for the entire Mass today.  She said, “Oh, do they let children in the church?”  Needless to say, she’s not Catholic.  But it’s an attitude I’ve found from some Catholics.  “Until they’re old enough to sit quietly,” they say, “leave them at home.”  Or maybe “You know there’s a cry room, right?”  As if the Mass is their personal property and they get to decide who stays and who goes.

Jesus embraced children, folks, and so does our Church.  If you don’t want to hear them cry, the solution is not to remove the holy little ones from the church.  The solution is for you to go to the 7am quickie Mass or the solemn high Mass that takes 3 hours.  Find a Mass kids aren’t going to and shut yourself up in that one.

Or maybe offer up your distractions and frustrations for their parents, who are so much more distracted and frustrated than you.  Take this as a sign that God is calling you out of yourself.

Ooh look at her shoes! I wonder how many states have more vowels than consonants. How far is it from here to Maine? I should make a pie this afternoon. 3.14159. What would I even do with a giant mouse suit?

Because if the normal noises of normal children are going to distract me, I was going to be distracted anyway.  By cute clothes or cute men or split ends or whatever1.  And nobody’s suggesting that we wear burqas to Mass or segregate our congregations or require frequent trims.  Unlike most of the thoughts that grab my easily-distracted mind, the screams of your children are a distraction that draw me to deeper prayer.

So take them to the cry room if you want–or stay in the pew.  Lord knows that at many churches if you’re in the cry room you’re practically not at Mass, it’s such a circus in there.  Keep them as quiet as you can however you want to–I won’t judge.  They’re going to be ridiculous and you’re gong to be embarrassed, but taking them to Mass gives them grace, earns you years off of purgatory, and breaks my hardened heart just a little bit.

On behalf of those of us who don’t understand the sacrifices you make to bring your kids to the wedding feast, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for judging you and being annoyed at you and rolling my eyes and everything else that focuses on me instead of on us.  Your kids are a very important part of us, even–especially–when they won’t stop yelling.

Because yes, your kids are distracting me.  They’re distracting me from my narcissism.  They’re distracting me from the idol I’ve made of worship, making me encounter God as he really is, not as I want him to be.  They’re distracting me from the endless series of irrelevant thoughts that occupy my “praying” mind.

Your screaming kids are distracting me.  Thank you for that.

  1. I’m not kidding.  I seriously examine my hair for split ends during the penitential rite.  Really, your toddler is the least of my spiritual worries [↩]

Why I Go to Mass Every Day

Sometimes I have to drive 40 minutes each way.  Sometimes I have to walk in 100 degree weather.  Sometimes I have to skip a meal.  Sometimes I have to get up at 5:30.  Sometimes I have to take two cranky children.  Sometimes I have to go in Arabic or Polish or Korean.  Sometimes I have to drive through the snow.  Sometimes the homily is terrible.  Sometimes the priest is so sketchy that it barely counts as Mass.  Sometimes I’m sick or tired or just cranky.  Sometimes I don’t pay attention at all.

So worth it.  Every time.

A Survey

Last week I asked y’all for some help and I’ve been so grateful for the responses I’ve gotten.  I know I asked a lot, though, so I thought I might just ask for a few clicks today.  Would you mind answering a few opinion questions for me?  Skip any that you want and don’t feel any pressure to write any comments, but if you have any opinions about any of this, I sure would like to hear it so I can improve.

[polldaddy type=”iframe” survey=”5073A959AFA0DB3C” height=”auto” domain=”mhunterkilmer” id=”pierced-hands-feedback”]

The Lost Sheep

“What man among you having a hundred sheep and losing one of them would not leave the ninety-nine in the desert and go after the lost one until he finds it?And when he does find it, he sets it on his shoulders with great joy and, upon his arrival home, he calls together his friends and neighbors and says to them, ‘Rejoice with me because I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you, in just the same way there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need of repentance.” -Lk 15:4-7

Think how desperate Jesus is for you.

Using the World: Technology in the Christian Life

6 weeks ago, I had facebook, email, a borrowed computer, and a go phone with no data or texting.  Now I’ve got facebook, a facebook page, email, my own computer, a smartphone with a few dozen apps, twitter, linkedin, and a website.  The world is very different.

I held out for as long as I could–I didn’t get a cell phone at all until I was out of grad school and then it was one of these models:

20 years later, I still think he’s cute

But after going cold turkey when I entered the convent (and for about 9 months after leaving), I discerned that it was time to enter the 21st century.  A big part of my discernment of the vocation to consecrated virginity (God willing) was that I feel that I’ve been called to be in the world.  Religious1 are called to leave the world, however much they might have to interact with the world for the sake of their ministry.  They have the luxury (and discipline) of rejecting many good things in pursuit of something greater.  Consecrated virgins, like diocesan priests and lay people, are called to be in the world but not of it, to use the world but not use it fully (1 Cor 7:31).

I began to realize, both in the convent and in the months after leaving, that the Lord has blessed me with the ability to be fairly detached from material things.  I’m able to listen to secular music without being affected, really, by what it glorifies.  I’m able to be sarcastic without being hurtful (I hope).  I’m able to be online without being a hot mess.  A lot of the way I connect with people to do God’s work involves being in the world.

With this new step into full-time blogging and speaking, I figured I had to be more connected.  And now here I am with everything in the world at my fingertips and so much to procrastinate–help!

So I’ve come up with some technology guidelines to help me keep myself in check.  I know it’s ridiculous to publish a list of smartphone rules when I’ve had mine for, like, 15 seconds, but I’ve been judging people’s smartphone habits since the things first came out, so I’ll do it anyway.  Adults, some of these will be obvious to you.  They are not obvious to your children.

1. Be present.  Oh my gosh, put your phone away!  I’ve had kids arrange to meet with me and then pour their hearts out to me while checking their text messages.

Love this.

First of all, RUDE!  If I’m not worth your time, why are you wasting mine?  Second, how can you really engage in this conversation and be open to what I have to say if you can’t shut everything else off for 20 minutes?

This is the reason I’m writing this days ahead of time–when you read it, I’ll be on a mission trip.  I’ll have wi-fi, but I want to be present to the people who are there, so I’m going to try not to use it.  So make the same rule for yourself–put your phone away when you’re with friends or family.

My rule for my students on the way to and from retreats has always been that if they’re using a phone or ipod or whatever together, it’s fine.  But if they’re plugged in alone, we’ve got a problem.  Once they shut the world out, they’re missing real life for their virtual world.  If whatever you’re doing in real life is worth your attention, don’t divide yourself.

2. Don’t replace human interaction.  I’ve actually had teens tell me that the reason they drink is because they don’t know how to have a conversation.  Everything “meaningful” in their lives takes place over text message or twitter.  Tell me again how relationships can develop in snippets of fewer than 140 characters?

I’ve known kids to start dating, have a “relationship,” and break up all via text.  So when they’re in a room with actual human beings and expected to engage in social behavior that people have been engaging in for millennia, they panic and supplement their electronic awkwardness with awkwardness of the good, old-fashioned drunken kind.

Oh, and then post all the pictures on facebook so they don’t have to tell anyone the next day.

All this social media can be great, but it’s easy to use it to hide from real life.  Have real friends.  Have conversations.  Have evenings with no cell phones.  You’ll find you have plenty to talk about.

3. Be alone with yourself sometimes.  A while back, I was with a bunch of kids in adoration.  One of them prayed for a while, went to confession, prayed a little more, then pulled out his cell phone.  When I called him on it, he told me he didn’t like to be alone with his thoughts so he had to find something to fill the silence.  That’s a problem!  The more you fill your life with good things–music and games and texting and facebook–the worse those things become.

There’s a reason people are still taking off to “find themselves” at 30 or 40–they’re so scared to be alone with themselves that they’ve filled their lives with noise so they don’t have to deal with their real issues.

Avoid the quarter-life crisis: take some time every day with no phone, no music–just you, yourself, and you.  I recommend inviting God, too.

4. Pretend you’re not dependent on technology.  Don’t google everything.  If you can’t remember who played Zack Morris, wait 30 seconds before you look it up!  Seriously, your brain will atrophy if you don’t use it every once in a while.  And don’t rely on spell check.  It will fail you, your teacher will fail you, and your parents will fail to sympathize.  Also, “u” is not a word.  If you use it again, I will punch you in the face.  It’s two extra letters.  It won’t kill you.

No idea what movie this is, but it’s funny.

5. Do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus. (Col 3:17)  All this new media is great for feeding your soul and spreading the Gospel, but you have to make an effort if you want to jump on board with the New Evangelization.  Follow some Christian blogs along with Cakewrecks and Paula Deen.  Tweet about today’s Saint.  Share good Christian articles on facebook–this guy knows how it’s done.  Get some of the many sweet apps with prayers or readings or Saint quotations.  How cool would it be if your iphone made you a Saint?

On that note, run, run, RUN from anything impure.  Get yourself some serious porn protection so that your firewall is strong when your flesh is weak.  Tape pictures of your sister and the Blessed Virgin Mary to your computer if that keeps you from losing your soul.  You know what you need to do.

I think it comes down to this: as in all things, be intentional.  Technology can be addictive (case in point: it’s 1am.  I have to pack up everything and be out the door at 7:30.  But–but–Pinterest!) but it can also be a great gift.  Choose when to be plugged in and when to unplug and be still.  Make specific rules for yourself if that helps–no facebook after 10pm, only an hour of Angry Birds a day, never ever ever click “Popular” on Pinterest, that sort of thing.

Be in the world, but not of it.  Use the world, but don’t use it fully.  Don’t let social media and cell phones dictate who you are and how you live.  It’s easy to let the internet run your life.  You’re better than that.

Because Catholics are awesome and have patron Saints for everything, let’s ask for some help from the patron of the internet.  St. Isidore, pray for us.

 

I’m offline until June 29th.  The posts will keep coming, but I won’t reply to anything for a while.  Be patient with me 🙂

  1. People who take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience–nuns, sisters, monks, etc. [↩]

HHS and the Thrill of Persecution

If you’re connected to the Catholic world at all, you’ve probably picked up on the outrage surrounding the HHS mandate.

In case you’re not, let me summarize (in overly-simplified language–try this if you want more details):

Department of Health and Human Services: All employers have to provide insurance that covers contraception and sterilization.
Catholic Church: Except us, right?
HHS: No, you, too.
CC: Freedom of religion?
HHS: Okay, fine, if you employ and serve only members of your religion, you’re exempt.
CC: So you’re saying that to follow our consciences, our hospitals have to turn away all non-Catholics?  Our schools can’t educate non-Catholics?  Not going to happen.  We’ll just shut everything down.
Obama: Sorry, folks!  How about a compromise?  You don’t have to cover the contraception.  You just have to pay for insurance that does.
CC: Seriously?  We’re still paying for it if we’re paying for other people to pay for it.
Most of the US: What’s the big deal?  They’re not saying you have to use contraception, just that you have to provide it to others.
CC: Cool, well, you don’t have to kill those toddlers, you just have to pay for the bullets.

Even if that were true, we’re not trying to restrict access to birth control. Just refusing to pay for it.

US: Why is the Catholic Church so anti-woman?  Why are you taking away our rights?  Are we going back to the Dark Ages?
CC: Whoa, we’re not even saying contraception should be illegal, just that we’re not going to buy it for you.
US: You have to!  It’s a basic human right not to get pregnant!
CC: We didn’t want to do this, but…sued!

Hope that catches you up.

The U.S. Bishops have been united on this issue–something that may not have happened in the history of our nation.  And they’re calling all Catholics–and all other Americans, religious or not–to take a stand against this violation of the First Amendment.  Today begins what the Bishops have called a Fortnight for Freedom.  They’re asking for prayer, fasting, education, and action from today, the vigil of the feast of Sts. John Fisher and Thomas More (martyred by their government for refusing to violate their religious convictions), through Independence Day.

They’re so sweet–how could you upset them?

This is huge.  This isn’t about contraception–as far as I know, we stopped fighting that in the secular arena after Griswold v. Connecticut in 1965.  This is about being compelled–as an institution and as individuals–to violate our consciences.  This is about the government making a law prohibiting the free exercise of our religious conviction against contraception.  It’s a direct violation of the first amendment,1 which means this isn’t just a Catholic issue.  Protestants, Jews, even Atheists should be concerned when the Bill of Rights is being ignored.  And they are.

.
I don’t think the Obama administration was expecting anything like this.  Theologically, the Catholic Church is a bastion of strength in an ever-changing world; politically, American Catholics (and our bishops) have been compromising for generations.  I think everyone expected some grumbling and then a mass submission to the mandate.  After all, 98% of Catholics use contraception anyway.2

But this time we seem to have been pushed too far.  God has strengthened our shepherds and they are refusing to compromise on this.  A mandate that required employers to allow women to opt in and pay for their own contraception we might have compromised on.  But we’re not going to define contraception as “preventive medicine” because we’re not going to define pregnancy as a disease.  And we’re not going to allow a nation built on the free exercise of religion to prevent us from exercising ours–indeed, to force us to violate it.

We’re not imposing our views on anyone here.  If you want contraception, there are any number of ways to get it cheap or even free.  If you want your employer to pay for it, find a different job.  The Church’s refusal to submit here doesn’t make it impossible for other people to sin.  It just means we’re not funding it.

“What will happen?” my students asked once they realized the gravity of this situation.

Cardinal Dolan: Fines and imprisonment? Bring it, Mr. President.

“Oh, we’ll take the government to court.  And I think we’ll win.  But if we don’t, we still won’t do it.  We’ll pay the fines until there’s no money left.  And then our bishops will go to prison en masse.  It’s happened before.”

There was a glow in their eyes when I said that–they weren’t scared, they were excited.  I can preach the Passion till I’m blue in the face, but it’s not real to them.  The idea of people they know going willingly to prison rather than betray God?  That got their blood pumping.

Is anybody else kind of excited about this?  I mean, we’re talking institutionalized persecution here.  And if nothing else, persecution separates the wheat from the chaff.  No more of this cultural Catholicism or cafeteria Catholicism.  When we have to suffer for Christ, we may lose a lot of Christians but we’ll gain a lot of saints.  After all, the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.  Now I can’t imagine anyone’s going to die over this.  President Obama doesn’t look much like Diocletian or Elizabeth I.  No, it’ll just be fines and censures and maybe imprisonment for the really important folk.  On this issue, anyway.  But for the first time in living memory, American Catholics are really going to have to decide: Christ or the world.

So it’s fitting that the Fortnight begins on the Vigil of the English Martyrs.  St. Thomas More‘s refusal to sign the Act of Succession didn’t disinherit the unborn Princess Elizabeth.  It didn’t hurt anybody but him.  He suffered for it.  We might suffer, too.  But I’d rather be headless in the company of the Saints than gutless at the right hand of Henry VIII or President Obama.  And so we fight.

In the words of our bishops, “We cannot–we will not–comply with this unjust law.”  Please join me in fasting, praying, and working for freedom.

 

Find out what your diocese is doing here.

*I don’t necessarily agree with everything said in the pages I link to above, just think they’re worth considering.*

  1. Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances. [↩]
  2. Which, by the way, is a made up statistic that involved polling only sexually active women of childbearing age who wanted to avoid pregnancy. Besides (to quote someone, I’ve forgotten who), “100% of Catholics sin, but the Church isn’t changing her position on that, either.” [↩]

Ora, Labora, and Ask for Help

I’ve always been very independent.  My dad says that my first day of “school” (at the ripe old age of 2), I didn’t even hug him goodbye.  There were people to meet, after all, and things to do–who needs Dad?  I distinctly remember learning to pump on the swings, probably around age 3, and thinking to myself, “This is great!  I don’t need anything from anyone anymore.  I can do it all myself!”  Friends, I even got excited when I had my first headache in second grade because I thought that made me an adult.  Really, I was born 30.

So I’m sure it comes as no surprise that I like to be master of my own domain.  I like to call the shots.  I’ve pretty much been in charge of everything I’ve ever done; it’s that type A thing again.  The problem is that on top of being bossy and opinionated, I’m almost pathologically lazy.  Which means that, while I want to be in charge, I don’t actually want to do anything or even really make any hard decisions.  Basically, I was born to be a princess–run everything except when I don’t want to.

This back and forth between doing everything and doing nothing makes me a big fan of Augustine’s line, “Pray as if everything depended on God, work as if everything depended on you.”  Except that Augustine (and Ignatius of Loyola after him) meant for the two to be done simultaneously–hard work and complete trust in God.  I have a tendency to do them sequentially.  First, I work my butt off without asking God for any help at all.  Then when I fail miserably, I sit on my worn-out butt and pout until he swoops in and fixes it all.  I make ridiculous deals with him like, “If you want me to have a car, you’ll just have to give me one.”  Like he’s Bob Barker or something.  Either I do everything and you can sit the and watch, God, or you do everything and I’ll put my seal of approval on at the end.  No collaboration, here.  Either autonomy or ease.

But whether I’m in the working portion of the cycle or the praying portion, I’m doing it all myself.  I hate asking for help.  It’s not that I hate being helped–remember that I’m lazy–I just don’t want to seem needy.  I think it stems from a deep-seated fear I have of being too much.  I’m loud and awkward and obnoxious and emotional–everything about me is just big.1  Sometimes it feels as though I’ve spent my whole life being told to be quiet or sit down or calm down or go away and I’ve really bought into the lie that I’m just too much.2  So to cope, I want to give and give to people but I don’t ever want to take because then maybe they’ll hate me.  I hate doing dishes more than almost anything (except running and bananas, as you’ve probably realized), but I’ll do dishes at other people’s houses because I don’t want them to think I’m a freeloader.

Why, God, why???

But God loves me too much to leave me the mess that I am.  So after I gave away everything I owned and entered the convent, thinking, “Ah, now I never have to ask for anything again because everything will be given to me,”3 the Lord led me out of the convent.  Oh, and told me not to get anything–a car, a phone, a place to stay.  I spent the next 7 months completely dependent on the incredible generosity of my sister and brother-in-law.  Theoretically, I was learning that I deserve other people’s help.  Nope, just felt guilty and in the way the whole time.

Then I got a job, but still no car.  I spent two and a half years mooching rides off people (in the suburbs and a small town–zero public transportation) so that I could learn to ask for help.  Instead, I just didn’t go anywhere.  I lived off of ramen rather than ask for a ride to get fresh food.  By the time I finally got a car, I’m pretty sure I had scurvy.4

I know intellectually that we’re supposed to be community and that I at least need to trust that the people who love me want to help me.  I’m trying.  I really am.  But whenever I ask for something (or even feel that by my very life I’m asking for something), I feel ashamed.  And afraid that this will be the last straw, that after this ride from the airport or this stopover in your guest room or this visit for lunch you’ll realize that I’m just too much.  I know that people love me and they want to help me and that most of the time they don’t even see it as help but as friendship.  But this is the lie Satan has convinced me to believe: pretty much anybody who spends time with me is doing me a favor and I’d better not ask for too many favors.  Is anybody with me on this?  Am I just neurotic?

It all comes down to pride, of course.  Everything does.  In my pride, I don’t want to need anyone else.  I want everyone to see me as self-sufficient because then I can be the magnanimous one in the relationship and they can be the peons graced by my presence.  And when I can’t do that, well, I’d rather just suffer.

Humility doesn’t suffer in silence–humility asks for help.  Jesus asked for help in carrying his cross; why do I think I’m strong enough to carry mine alone?  When people love me and offer to help me, why can’t I rejoice in their friendship?  Why do I have to obsess over my guilt?

So right now this is what I’m really struggling with: balancing my efforts, my trust in God, and other people’s help.  I’m inclined to spend hours a day on the internet putting my whole life in order.  Which will leave me exhausted and miserable and with no idea of where to go or what to do.  On the other hand, I’m inclined to sit back and let God make things happen for me.  I know he can, I’m just pretty sure that he won’t.  He refuses just to live my life for me, more’s the pity.  I’m not at all inclined to ask people for help.  But when I took a break from work to get in some pray, the word I got was “help.”

So I’m going to try to grow in this area by asking for help.  People have been so generous with this whole new life of mine and I’m so grateful.  But some people have been asking how they can support me, so I’m going to swallow my colossal pride and tell you what I really need:

  1. Prayer: Duh.
  2. Speaking engagements: I’m loving the blogging–I’m actually shocked at how much–but I feel so drawn to public speaking.  I’m not too proud to speak to confirmation classes or groups of church ladies.  I can do youth or adults and I can talk on pretty much any topic.  Plus, you only have to pay me if you want to, so you really can’t lose!  If you work at a school or work at a church or go to a church or know someone who does one of the above, do you think you could set something up for me to come speak?  I’d really appreciate it!
  3. Connections: I know a lot of people in education and ministry, but if you know someone I don’t, do you think you could pass my blog on to them and suggest that they ask me to come speak?
  4. Publicity: I know some of you must have been sharing my blog because I’m getting more and more hits on it.  Don’t just share it because you’re my friend (which I think most of you are at this point), but if I post something that really moves you or convinces you or makes you laugh, could you share it with your friends?  I’ve got nifty sharing tools down at the bottom for you.  If you’ve got a blog yourself, it would be amazing if you’d link to mine.  Apparently search engines really care about that.  Or you could like me on Facebook–click the facebook “f” at the top of the sidebar.
  5. Computer geek stuff: My C++ teacher would be ashamed of me if he knew how technologically inept I am now, but the SEO business is killing me.  Why are there over 2000 results for “Meg Hunter-Kilmer”?  Why doesn’t this page show up till page 4?  Why can’t I google all my individual posts?  Why doesn’t googling these questions get me decent answers??
  6. Advice/suggestions: Maybe you started a career like this and you’ve got some thoughts.  Or maybe you know how to use social media to advertise yourself.  Or maybe you’ve never made it to the end of one of my posts and want to tell me to keep it short.  Bearing in mind that I can be appallingly sensitive, could you give me your thoughts?  I can be reached through the contact me page or via facebook.

I hate asking for help.  But I can’t do this without it.  Feel free to ignore and just keep reading the blog–even the one hit your click adds to the stats that I check obsessively is a help.

You guys are the best!

  1. Especially my head. Have you ever noticed that? I can’t fit into a single hat at Target. Also, I might have lice now. BTW.<–my mother wants me to make sure that everyone knows that this is just a joke about how you’re not supposed to try on hats.  I don’t have lice. [↩]
  2. John and Stasi Eldredge do a great job of explaining how every woman is afraid that she’s either too much or not enough–or both, for many women–in their book Captivating. I really recommend it. [↩]
  3. which is not actually how it works [↩]
  4. My friend Nick had scurvy. I thought it was an STD that pirates got and I was really embarrassed for him. Then he told me it came from a vitamin C deficiency and I was really embarrassed for me. Probably should have known that. [↩]

5 Rules for Fathers of Daughters

I mentioned before that I was a teenager in the 90s.  This was a bad thing even for those with an innate fashion sense and wads of cash.

Oh, how I wish I could forget….

For those of us who were nerdy, broke posers, it was catastrophic.  I distinctly remember buying a worn-out pair of Umbros at a thrift store because Maia Matthews wore Umbros and she was awesome.  I had pink flannels from Caldor and chunky heels from Payless.  And I’m pretty sure I wore them all together.

I think my best outfit of that cringe-worthy era was a fabulous combination of oversized men’s jeans with a cropped tank top.  Oh, and because showing your boxers was cool for boys, I bought plaid underwear to sag my jeans over.  Pretty much, I was awesome.

I think I was going for something like this.  Yes, always take advice from “Married with Children.”

So that my 13-year-old pudge could be admired by as many people as possible, I would get all dolled up in this outfit and ride my bike around the neighborhood.  It was a disaster.

And my father thought I looked beautiful.

Okay, objectively he was wrong (and probably ought to have told me to put on more clothes).  But my daddy always thought I was beautiful.  Until I moved out of the house, I modeled every new outfit for him.  And every time, no matter how ridiculous the ensemble was (why did I WEAR terrycloth?), his jaw dropped and he said, “WOW!”

Now, I’ve had my share of body image issues.  Like every teenage girl I’ve ever met, at some level I hated myself.  But let me tell you: at the deepest level, I knew I deserved to be loved.  Because my daddy loved me so well.

Gentlemen, you are hands down the most important person in your daughter’s life.  Forget moms (sorry moms–you matter, too), friends, boyfriends, teachers.  Aside from God, there is no more important relationship.  I mean, no pressure, but so much of the woman she becomes comes down to the way you treat your little girl.  So in honor of my daddy and fathers everywhere, I want to give you my top five rules for dads based on years of working with teenage girls and even adult women who are, largely, as broken as their relationships with their fathers set them up to be.

1.  Love her.  I know this is obvious.  Hopefully it goes without saying.  But guys, you’ve gotta love that little girl like your life depends on it.  Because hers does.

I sure hope you’re captivated by her.  I hope you think she’s beautiful and smart and clever and worth cherishing.  But if you don’t, learn to.  Love isn’t a feeling, it’s a choice.  If you don’t think your little girl (whether she’s still in the womb or 60 years old) is incredible in every way, figure out how to.  Make a list of everything you love about her.  Sit down with an album of pictures of her and marvel at how she’s grown.  Write down all your favorite memories.  Pray for her,  Every day, without fail.  You can’t always be who she needs you to be, but you can always pray.

If your daughter is older and has hurt you, I’m sorry.  But I’m going to need you to be the grown up here and learn to forgive.  It’s hard to love a sullen teenager.  Believe me, I know.  That’s what I do for a living.  But this isn’t just feelings–this is a lifelong battle for the everlasting joy of the little girl you created.  You do what it takes to love that girl.  Because if you don’t, she’ll find someone else to.  And unless you’ve set a high standard, whatever man she finds to to love her like you were supposed to is just going to crush her spirit more.

2.  Tell her you love her.  I don’t care if you think she already knows.  Tell her.  Tell her every day.  Really, a woman can’t hear it enough.  My mom says she wanted to tell her kids she loved them so often that it was commonplace.  “Sure, Mama, whatever.  Can I have 10 bucks?”  And there were times when I found it annoying as a child.  But when I didn’t have a date to homecoming, I knew somebody loved me.  When I put on the freshman 15, I knew somebody thought I was beautiful.  And as much as I love my mom, it wasn’t her affirmation that I remembered.  A woman needs that affirmation from a man.  Blame the Fall if you want, but the fact remains that a man’s words mean much more to a woman than another woman’s words do.  If you don’t give your daughter this love, she’ll do whatever it takes to get it from some other man.

So tell her you love her.  But tell her in a thousand different ways.  Tell her she’s beautiful.  You don’t have to go all awkward goo-goo eyes on her (and please don’t ever, ever use the words hot or sexy to talk about your daughter), but tell her she looks nice in that sweater.  Tell her she has a sick jump shot.  Tell her you love her drawing or her dimples or her poetry or whatever.  Don’t limit your affirmation to her appearance–girls need to be more than pretty–but compliment her appearance.  Most men don’t need to hear that; most women do.  Don’t just compliment her on things she’s accomplished, either.  She needs to know that your love doesn’t depend on her corner kicks.  Do NOT call her names–even behind her back.  You say positive things or you say constructive things.  Then tell her you love her again.

Buy her flowers.  Write her a letter.  Write her a poem if you can.  I roll my eyes every time my dad writes me a poem (I told you he was amazing) but I keep them because they tell me what I’m worth.  Sometimes, just look into her eyes and tell her she’s everything you ever wanted in a daughter.  When she’s little, she’ll just run off to play.  When she’s a teenager, she’ll probably roll her eyes.  But those words will change her life.  She needs to know that you love her always and forever, no matter what.  She needs to hear you say it.

3.  Show her you love her.  It doesn’t matter what you say to your little girl if you don’t put your money where your mouth is.  So hold her while she’s little.  I don’t care if you don’t like to cuddle.  If she likes to cuddle, you cuddle that child.  Carry her when she asks.

Pack her up and take her with you if you have to.

Show up to everything.  Every game, every recital, every awards assembly.  No meeting is as important as her debut in the school play.  Cancel whatever you have to cancel–your vocation is not to make money.  Your vocation is to love your daughter.  Nothing is more important than being there for her.  You never know how long you’ll have with her.  No regrets.

And while you’re at it, don’t just show up–do something!  Take her on a daddy-daughter date.  Go to a zoo or a museum or just the playground–just you and her.  When she gets older, take her on her first “real” date–show her how a date ought to treat her.  When she moves out, call her just to talk.  Chicks love that.  Show up to help her move.  Treat her like a lady–holding doors and carrying things–so she knows that’s how a gentleman behaves.  Convince her not to waste her time with worthless men.  Listen when she complains and don’t try to fix it for her.  Most women just want to be heard, not to be solved.  She’s a person, not a puzzle.

Take the freaking ballet class with her if that’s what it takes!

Hold her when she cries.  Hug her often.  Kiss her on the top of her head.  Buy her presents that mean something.  Do NOT try to buy her love.  Change her tire or teach her to change her oil or let her give you a makeover or play ball with her in the driveway or take her fishing or read books together or take her to see the Rolling Stones (how are those guys not dead yet?) and then go with her to see Taylor Swift.  There will be moments in there that are boring or awkward or awful but what she will remember is that you loved her that much.  Get to know your little girl and love her the way she needs to be loved.  She deserves nothing less.

4.  Love her mother.  John Wooden is famous for saying, “The best thing a father can do for his children is to love their mother.”  The relationship you have with your daughter’s mother sets the standard for every relationship she will ever have with a man.  She needs to know that a woman deserves to be cherished and protected and adored.  So if you yell at your wife or roll your eyes or demean her, stop.  Right now.  Maybe yelling has to happen sometimes, but not in front of your kids.  You need to treat your wife the way you want your daughter to be treated.  If you wouldn’t want your daughter to marry a man like you, be a better man.

This kid’s a fan.

Showing her how a woman ought to be treated also includes romance.  Take your wife on dates.  Kiss her often–in front of the kids.  Don’t be gross, but let them see that love can stay alive in a marriage.  A friend told me recently that her 2-year-old niece saw a picture of two people gazing at each other and said, “Dada and Mama!”  The picture looked nothing like the girl’s parents, but when she saw love, she thought of her parents.  Your daughter deserves to see marriage as beautiful and romantic.  And she needs to see that the place for romance is in marriage.  Make her believe that her knight in shining armor won’t just slay the dragon and ride off into the sunset, he’ll kiss the princess awake every morning afterwards.  She deserves to believe in fairy tale love.  Your wife deserves it, too.

I know this is a complicated world and maybe you’re not married to your daughter’s mother.  You can still treat her kindly and talk about her respectfully.  If you don’t have custody, you fight for all the time you can possible get with your baby.  If there’s a stepmom, treat her like a queen.  If your daughter’s mom has passed away, you can tell wonderful stories and explain how much you loved her mom.  She identifies with her mom, whether they have a good relationship or not.  She needs to know that you’re not going to stop loving her if something terrible happens.  The mother of your children deserves to be respected in front of them even if that respect doesn’t go much further.  Do it for your kids.

5.  Love all women.  Treat every woman with dignity.  Every one.  The cashier, the obnoxious little girl on the playground, the politician on screen.  You’ve got to be consistent in the respect you show for women.  This means especially that you run from anything impure.  If you’ve got a problem with pornography, get help now.  Even if she never finds out (and she will), porn makes you look at women differently and she’ll start thinking men ought to see women as objects.  No porn.  Change the channel when something inappropriate comes on TV.  Talk about the positive things you see in women–and mention their beauty even if they’re heavy.  If you only think skinny girls are pretty, your daughter will think she’s fat and ugly even if she’s a size two.

Basically, I’m saying be this guy to everyone.

Open doors for all women, not just pretty ones or old ones.  Step up and be a servant.  Look at women like they’re human beings–you’d be surprised how many “decent guys” can’t even look kindly at a stranger.  If you can look at every woman the way you look at your little girl, she’ll know what a real man is and you’ll be a saint.

 

This is a lot to ask.  I know it is.  But not only do you set the standard for her relationships with men, you set the standard for fatherhood.  Christians have been taught to call God Father; I’ve met too many women who can’t love God because they’ve been so hurt by their fathers.  Don’t do that to her.

This daddy thing isn’t something you can compromise on.  It will take the rest of your life to become the kind of dad your daughter needs.  It’ll take a lot out of you.  But don’t you think she deserves it?

 

P.S. Happy Father’s Day–I love you, Daddy!

P.P.S. This list gives some great thoughts.  This article, too.

In Which I Give Up On Trying to Describe the Love of God

Catholics go to Notre Dame (the university) the way they go to Rome: it’s like a pilgrimage.  When friends are going to Rome, they ask me where I want them to pray for me.  When friends visit Notre Dame, especially for the first time, they ask if there’s any place I want them to visit for me.

The correct answers, of course, would be the Grotto, the Stadium, and maybe the Basilica.  Or quarter dogs at LaFun.  Lovely places, all.  But I give very specific directions to my favorite spot.

“Okay, so go to God Quad–that’s the one with the dome on it.  Get really close to the Main Building and look up at Mary.  Then turn around and walk back to the statue of Jesus with his arms open wide, facing Our Lady at the top of the dome.  The one that says ‘Venite ad me omnes.’  That’s my favorite place.  Pray for me there.

Students call it “Jump, Mom, I’ll Catch You!”

I’ve been drawn to this statue since I first set foot on campus more than ten years ago.  I’ve sat in front of it praying at all hours.  Once, in a time of desperation, I actually hopped up on the wall that encircles the statue and paced around it for the duration of at least one rosary.  When I’m in Northern Indiana and need comfort, this is my spot.  I’ll gladly skip the grotto and I haven’t been to the stadium in years but I always take the time to run to the open arms of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and hear him say, “Venite ad me omnes.”

Am I a bad person if I find this kind of creepy?

I’ve never had much of a devotion to the Sacred Heart per se.  See, when I picture the Sacred Heart, I picture a rosy-cheeked Jesus performing feats of anatomical impossibility, exposing his heart without even breaking open his ribcage.  Or maybe some saccharine, jaundiced guy with an oddly heart-shaped heart that glows and shows through his transparent chest and shirt.  Or maybe it’s just a sticker.  In any event, the traditional images have never really done it for me.

But devotion to the Sacred Heart has nothing to do with all those pictures, or even with St. Margaret Mary Alacoque, although she was a pretty big deal.  Loving the Sacred Heart of Jesus means loving being loved.  That’s why I’m so drawn to that statue: because it’s Jesus begging to love me.  His heart is ablaze with love for us and crowned with thorns because he has suffered so much out of love for us.  That’s what the devotion is really about: being caught up in the love of Jesus, whose arms are open and whose heart is crying out:

Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart, and you will find rest for yourselves.  For my yoke is easy and my burden light. -Mt 11:28-30

I’m loving this song by Jamie Grace, inspired by this passage (which is one of my very favorites):

I’ll save further discussion of how being a Christian is not all sweetness and light for another day.  Suffice it to say that it seems to me that the promise of this verse is that your heart will be at rest when you learn to be meek and humble.  Because the less awful you are, the more you find rest from guilt and shame and anxiety and fear and all the other nonsense that was attached to that stinking apple.

Today, though, as we celebrate Christ’s heart bleeding for love of you, can we just let him love us?  Just revel in the promise of love in that bleeding heart?  Because the heart of Jesus is calling to you, begging you to know that, in the words of my incredible friend Jamie, you are a “totally accepted, deeply loved child of God…created, chosen, adopted by [your] Father.”1

One day in class, I was going on and on about how much Jesus loves us.  I’m kind of a broken record on that topic.  I’m sure it gets annoying.  Anyway, a kid piped up with a skeptical look on her face.  “Ms. H-K,” she said.  “How do you know Jesus loves you?”  It was funny, because that question’s usually earnest and coming from a place of brokenness and a desire for deep relationship with Christ.  This time it just sounded belligerent.

“Oh, honey!”  I stuttered, rather taken aback.  “Well, it’s all over Scripture!”  Whether or not you believe in the Bible is an issue for another day (although if you want an answer NOW, you can watch the first video on this page for an explanation2), but the love of God is everywhere in that book.  From Genesis, where the whole universe is created for the joy of man and woman, to Revelation, a description of Christ’s wedding to his radiant bride, the Bible is a love letter to all of humanity and to each person.

I spent this whole day trying and trying and trying to write something beautiful about how much God loves you but it all just sounded like a cliché.  Because what’s I’ve got in my head is the Word of God and nothing I say matches up.  Turns out the Holy Spirit is way better at everything than I am, most especially writing.  So here’s what I’ve got for you:

This isn’t an exhaustive list, but it’s a good start.   I actually put it together for the girl who asked how I knew God loved me and I keep a copy in my Bible for inspiration in prayer.

So basically this post is a long introduction to somebody else’s words.  Accuse me of plagiarism if you want, but it’s all I’ve got.  Maybe after I get some good time with Jesus I’ll have something profound to say, but so far today, my deepest theological moment went like this:

Cecilia: Biwd!
Me: Yes, Cecilia, that’s the Holy Spirit.
Cecilia: (angrily) Biwd!
Me: Yes, sweetheart, it’s a bird and it’s an image of the Holy Spirit.
Cecilia: (more angrily) BIWD!  TWEET TWEET!
Me: Can you say Holy Spirit?
Cecilia: (defiant) NO.
Me: Well, okay.  But that’s the Holy Spirit.
Cecilia: Biwd.  Eagow (eagle).  Biwd.

So I might not be in the right place to reflect on the love pouring from the bleeding heart of Christ, but I didn’t want to miss the Solemnity.  Consider this an IOU.

 

P.S. Take some time in prayer today to read this, a letter composed of Bible verses about God’s love for you.  You’ll be glad you did.

`

 

  1. If you want to listen to the song–and you do–click here and scroll down to find the song “I Am.” [↩]
  2. Please spend some time first admiring the really pretty face that somehow is the image for the video. I look like I’m about to vomit. [↩]