vocation

Get a Life, Mom!

May 22, 2013 by Rhonda 4 Comments

When it comes to yapping up vocations, we so often have a poverty of imagination.

On occasion we have the chance to discuss the possibility of vocations with the college students we know. Though interested, their first response is often a vague, blank look. Religious life? Who-wha-who-huh? What do sisters or brothers do? Pray all day? I don’t want to be a hermit!

Well (we say), as it turns out, they do a lot of things. Religious orders have different charisms and apostolates, and within the structure of an order, each brother or sister has their own devotions and assigned tasks, in obedience to a superior, according to their spiritual gifts, strengths, abilities, and interests.

But (they sometimes respond), I thought you just pick one and they tell you what to do. Meaning, I thought religious life = self-annihilation. As if who I am or what I’m like has nothing at all to do with religious life.

Sometimes I feel like this is the way people approach parenting. You get a baby, you read the book, and you check off the “How To Be a Good Catholic Parent” checklist (whichever variation of that list you have in your possession), which invariably involves you giving up sleeping, eating without someone in your lap, hobbies, and talking about anything other than poop, multiplication tables, and the Blessed Virgin Mary, and voila! Perfect, holy, doing-God’s-will parenting.

But, here’s the thing: No one would ever want to join an order with which they don’t jive. Some people thought St. Francis was the bomb-dig-diggity. Some people (ahem, St. Dominic) thought the guy was a little… hmm. Holy, yes, but talking to the birds was just not their thing.

Is the Dominican way of being a religious the “right” way? Is the Franciscan? Is the Benedictine?

Yes. Yes to all. They are all different, and they are all the right way of being a religious.

But whether or not this or that person should be a Dominican, or a Franciscan, or a Benedictine – here there is a “right” and “wrong” answer that only the Holy Spirit can provide. Making the “right” decision has everything to do with the individual person, with their personality, their needs, their talents, their interests, and their virtues and vices. The content of a religious vocation – the day-in, day-out activities, both contemplative and active – will look different for not only each religious community, but for each religious.

Why? Because a vocation is precisely not about self-annihilation. Dying to ourselves does not mean denying who God made us to be.

Guess what? Same with the vocation to marriage. Consequently, the same is true about parenting.

I know. You’re tired of hearing about “being your own person” and “taking care of yourself”. But would we continue to hear this advice if it were not a common and ongoing problem for so many of us? And I believe it’s a huge, huge problem in faithful Catholic circles, especially for us moms. Somewhere, somehow along the road of mommying, many of us have swallowed the Catholic Parenting Checklist Kool-Aid and have given ourselves over the restless chase for vocational perfection(ism)…

…which often leads to co-dependency. And co-dependency leads to death. Death of the soul.

I know. I’ve been there. Before my son was born and for several months after, I honestly believed that all that lay before me was being a mother. Being a mom meant being a mom and nothing else. Thank God, He allowed me to be miserable as – well, hell! – in order to show me how wrong this attitude is. And it was hell – I was restless and bored, with a creative itch I did not understand, and I was more than ready to pout and complain and point fingers. Sounds just like a ring in Dante’s Inferno.

“I’m-My-Kid’s-Mom” did not work for me. Neither did its counterpart, “I’m-My-Husband’s-Wife”. Nope, nope, nope.

On their respective blogs last week, Jennifer Fulwiler (“The Anonymous Stay-at-Home Mom“) and my friend Colleen Duggan (“Motherhood Isn’t Indentured Servitude — We Make It That Way“) both touched on this theme. Fulwiler’s cocktail party experiment of introducing herself as a stay-at-home mom for the first half of the party, and then as a writer for the second half, yielded the expected results: People had more to say to Jennifer the Writer than Jennifer the Stay-at-Home Mom.

Unexpected, however, is Fulwiler’s explanation of this phenomenon:

I used to feel insulted by this kind of thing. I felt anonymous and overlooked when I received blank stares in response to saying that I stay home with my kids, and I interpreted people’s reactions to mean that they thought I must not be interesting enough to talk to or didn’t see the value in my work. But over the years I’ve come to believe that the problem isn’t that people don’t respect my answer that I’m a stay-at-home mom; instead, I think the problem is that my answer doesn’t give them the information they were actually seeking…

…I know that a lot of moms who are out of the workforce feel that their vocations are undervalued by society, and there’s certainly plenty of truth to that. But I think that at least some of the time, the negativity that we at-home moms sense surrounding our work is not due to people looking down on us as much as it is due to the fact that we live in a society has come to use people’s work as their primary social identifier, and being a stay-at-home mom is a catch-all kind of job in terms of personality types. (emphasis mine)

“Yes!” my husband said when I shared Fulwiler’s point with him. “I’ve had that experience. Someone tells me they stay at home, and I tell them how great that is–” (and he means it) “–but then, I’m not sure what else to say.”

Exactly Fulwiler’s point, and from someone who does value motherhood. How many of the world’s population are mothers? A lot. Like she says, the Mom label doesn’t tell us a whole lot. What we really want to know is what’s special about this mother – a unique person fashioned by the artist-Creator, gifted with this spouse and these children, who loves these causes or those callings or that interest.

Perhaps you not only parent your beautiful children but love to contemplate the means and meaning of parenting. Great! You’re a Philosopher of Motherhood. That’s what makes you unique. That’s what makes your eyes sparkle and your mind churn. That’s what you have to share with the world. “Hi, I’m Susie-Q. I’m a stay-at-home mom, and – I know! I’m a bit crazy – one of my favorite hobbies is reading up on parenting and education methods. Ever read any of that stuff? I especially like the way Montessori folks work with little ones – so insightful, early potty-training, blah blah blah blah blah.”

Of course, this doesn’t happen without taking the time to be yourself and take care of yourself. Which brings me to Colleen Duggan’s post:

She [another mom Colleen met at the park] didn’t answer. She’d made her point, maybe unintentionally, but one which communicated she, a martyr in her family’s cause, had no time for self-indulgent frivolities like reading or any other enjoyable activity.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes but the conversation left me wondering: when did the warped Puritan work ethic seep into Catholicism? When did Catholics–and women in particular– accept the idea that we must slave away in life in order to earn our salvation? It’s like we’ve bought and played some distorted tape recording that says:

“Have lots of kids, cook, clean, and labor and by God–don’t have any fun while you’re doing it! Don’t enjoy your life. The true and good example of an honest to goodness Catholic is one who toils, sweats, and sheds lots of tears.”

Puh-lease! …

Catholic moms, we don’t have to be martyrs. We don’t have to be women so burdened by our lives, we can’t take time to do things for ourselves. That isn’t true martyrdom anyway–it’s garnering attention through complaining so others will feel grateful and/or sorry for us. (emphasis mine)

Preach it, sistah.

As Colleen says, our attempts at (or succumbing to) self-annihilation in the pursuit of being the Perfect Catholic Mom can actually be attempts at (or wallowing in) self-aggrandizement and false humility. This is not Deny Thyself, Take Up Thy Cross and Follow Me. This is ME-ME-ME-ME-ME.

I’ll tell you, it was and continues to be hard – very, very, very hard – to ask others to watch my son so that I and my laptop can slip away to a coffee shop for a couple of hours. I think I don’t deserve it. I think I’m being selfish. I’m afraid of putting others out. I’m afraid of being offensive. I’d rather try to figure out some other creative solution so that I don’t have to ask for help.

Do you hear it? ME-ME-ME-ME-ME.

Asking for help – even for “me time” – is denying myself and taking up my cross.

I hate it. Oh, but it’s so necessary. So very, very necessary.

When I write, I am happy. My husband is happy to give me time alone to write, because he sees this happiness translating into the rest of our life together. Writing makes me happy, which makes me a happier wife and mother. My vocation to marriage consists of being a wife to this man, a mother to these children, and a woman who loves God in this way, feels a special affinity for these suffering people, and perks up when reading, thinking, and writing about this and that.

The content of my vocation has everything to do with who God made me. And who God made my husband. And my children. And so on.

Self-annihilation? Not on your life. Thank God for that.

Filed Under: C'est Moi, House & Kids, Religion Tagged With: bloggers, Catholic, Co-Dependency, Faith, Family, friendship, Gratitude, Health, Hobbies, holiness, Homemaking, kids, Life, Marriage, Motherhood, Parenting, Personal, Religious Life, saints, Self-Care, the Cross, virtue, vocation, Writing & Theory

Seven Quick Takes: Mr. Darcy Goes to Lawn Guy Land

July 20, 2012 by Rhonda 10 Comments

1. I just wrote my writing vocation story. Part One, Part Two.

2. Now I need to finish Jack’s baptism gown!

Oh, and MOVE to Michigan. Right-o.

3. A friend recommended I read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. Verdict: Enjoyable!

I liked it for two reasons:

a) The protagonist’s spunky personality jumped off the page from the very beginning. No wading through sighs and moans and angst and blah-dee-blah-boring in order to like and care about the character. The authors introduced the character and the premise without resorting to moping (can I get an amen?). Therefore, I plan to make a study of this book’s opening, to see what, exactly, makes the personality jump off the page. (What’s that you say, Noah Lukeman? The first five pages?)

b) It was a nod to Pride and Prejudice. It’s subtle, but then I thought about it, and ding-dong! Duh. The (SPOILER ALERT) eventual intended’s name is Dawsey. Think Mr. Darcy…

… getting a big crane and moving Pemberley…

…and plopping down here:

“Aw, Mista Dawsey! Oh my Gawd, I looowwwve Mista Dawsey! Mista Dawsey with the ten-thowsand smahckers!“

But instead of Lawn Guy Land, it’s Guernsey…

…and instead of Mista Darcy and his ten-thowsand smahckers, it’s a pig farmer who reads Charles Lamb.

4. (The Long Island accent and joke is courtesy of my native New Yorker, son-of-Long-Islanders husband. Yes, his relatives talk like this. From all accounts, everyone on Long Island talks like this. Do Long Islanders know they talk like this? What do Long Islanders think of us Oregonians, if they ever think of us at all? Deep questions for the ages…)

5. There are other reasons why The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society gives a lovely subtle (despite my joking, it really is subtle) nod to Pride and Prejudice. The “spirit” of the book is a character named Elizabeth. Whose best friend is Jane. And there’s a female Mr. Collins, too! (Oh my Gawd, I lowve me some Mista Cowllins!)

The book has other lovely qualities – it’s written in epistolary form, which the authors executed with success. The character’s voices shine through their letters, and the writing styles shift consistently with each character. The setting was interesting – England following World War II, and the Channel Islands recovering from German Occupation. Book lovers will love the book references, but book references without being stuffy. Many scenes were laugh-out-loud funny.

Crticisms? A few awkward transitions, the token he’s-my-best-friend-but-he’s-gay character (come on, folks, it’s become a cliché!), and a little bit of the old Deus ex machina.

Otherwise, liked it overall. Will read it again. Recommend it to you.

6. Speaking of Pride and Prejudice… I’m sure some academic out there has studied this, but I’m more and more convinced that modern fiction involving a romance story (note that I’m not limiting these to romances) can’t get out from under the shadow of Pride and Prejudice.

Think about it. How many female protagonists with a temperament like Elizabeth Bennet were there before Jane Austen conceived and wrote Elizabeth?

That’s right, crickets. Chirp away.

And, after Pride and Prejudice?

I’d say, 75% of female leading characters in novels from then on out, and especially in contemporary novels, have the Elizabeth aura.

Every woman nowadays either thinks she’s Elizabeth Bennet or wishes she could be Elizabeth Bennet. And it has very little to do with Mr. Darcy. It has everything to do with Elizabeth Bennet being the model of a intelligent, fun, stand-on-her-own-dang-two-feet kind of woman. She appeals. We love her.

Of course, Jane Austen herself knew what she had made. Someone All Too Powerful. Austen’s next heroine was the temperamental inverse of Elizabeth – Fanny Price. Her next antagonist the temperamental copycat but moral inverse of Elizabeth – Mary Crawford. Mary Crawford is a sort of warning bell. Très confusing to our sensibilities. And no wonder nobody nowadays likes Mansfield Park except a few weirdos like me.

The Elizabeth Theory. Go on, someone prove me wrong.

7. That’s all for me. Head over to Jen’s place for some more Quick Takes.

Filed Under: C'est Moi, Writing & Theory Tagged With: babies, Books, Humor, Jane Austen, literature, Long Island, New York, Pride and Prejudice, sewing, vocation, Writing & Theory

To Write is to Be a Child – Discovering My Vocation to Write, Part Two

July 19, 2012 by Rhonda 1 Comment

As I mention in Part One, I did not plan or expect to write fiction. Not seriously, at least. I had been editor of my high school newspaper and, for a brief time, managing editor of my college newspaper. I wrote for our church newsletter. I was a member of the “Young Voices” team for the local paper.

In short, I was a young journalist.

My fondest academic memories of college were not of class but of writing. I especially enjoyed taking a month off from class to write my Senior Essay. I could have written on Mansfield Park happily for months.

In short, I was a budding academic.

But fiction?

Never crossed my mind.

My fiction rap sheet is short. I wrote a few Jane Austen fan fic stories in high school. I wrote a children’s book about two chocolate-covered maraschino cherries to fulfill an AP English assignment. And my parents tell me that I wrote (drew) stories when I was very, very little.

“Discovering one’s inner child” is a clichéd concept. I’d laugh as much as anyone else… had I not discovered its truth in my own life.

Is it coincidence that I discovered my writing vocation while living with my parents, in my childhood home, after more than ten years of living far away? I think not. My uncultivated talent is a small green-yellow spout unearthed from under moldering layers of years of forgetfulness. It lay in the mind, heart, and activity of a little girl, a young storyteller who, for whatever reason, stopped telling stories.

It’s a curious directive, Christ asking us to “be like little children.” Some people sentimentalize it; I hope I’m not one of them. Learning to be a child is harder than it seems. I am used to being an adult; I am used to calling the shots and being an authority. And here I am, given a chance for “authority” of a different type – that is, of being an author – and I find myself at a loss. I’ve never done this before. I have no idea what I’m doing. I am no authority!

I am an adult, I read fiction like an adult, but I cannot write fiction with the equivalent degree of writing maturity. To say that this is sometimes frustrating would be an understatement. I know what I want but I cannot yet execute it.

But because I believe that I was given the gift of an idea, I am willing to be small, and humble, and trusting. I am willing to learn from my teachers. I am willing to put in the work necessary for seeing this idea grow to completion. I am willing to make mistakes and to accept the correction of others.

I can’t wear big girl pants until I grow into them.

I was created to be a writer. I must become who I was created to be. It’s a joy to become who I was created to be.

Filed Under: C'est Moi Tagged With: Children, fiction, God, Gratitude, holiness, kids, Novel, Personal, stories, storytelling, virtue, vocation, Writing & Theory

To Write is to Mother – Discovering My Vocation to Write, Part One

July 19, 2012 by Rhonda 2 Comments

My friend Colleen is starting a project. A BIG project. A book-shaped project.

Colleen wrote me an email several weeks ago, introducing herself and complimenting me on my (unthinkable? insane?) decision to write a novel, run a blog, and raise a toddler, all at the same time. I’m Supah Mom like that. (Kidding.) Anyway. Colleen and I began emailing, and, lo and behold, we have all these random, Twilight Zone connections – including a pen name connection. Kid you not. Emails turned into phone calls, and, to quote Colleen, now we’re “real-life” friends.

And, as she says in her post, our friendship has helped her make a decision to write the book she’s been wanting to write.

But just like Colleen, I owe my decision to write my novel to the encouragement of others. Without my father, my friends, and especially my husband, I would still be stuck in a stinky pile of frustrating restless-do-nothingness, asking myself the question I was tired of asking myself, “What am I going to do with my life?”

I love being a mother. It’s part of my “yes” to God when I accepted my vocation as a wife. Love and life and laundry and more love – there are gems, precious and beyond numbering, in marriage.

In marriage I find my calling to open my heart and accept others, accept love, accept Love – and to give. To bear forth that same love and Love into the world. Our son, infinitely precious and like no other, comes from that same bond of receptivity and creation. As parents, we have the role to raise him toward a life lived in the fullness of freedom and love.

But another aspect of my “motherhood” lay undiscovered. I did not know what I was missing until someone – my dad – made a simple suggestion.

“You should think about writing again.”

At the time, I had no ideas, nothing about which to write. But I was open to his suggestion. I accepted it for what it was and, without obsessing, considered it.

A few weeks later, my friend Vicky said the same thing. “You should be writing, Rhonda!”

Talk about uncanny.

I was listening.

I was sitting on our couch, some weeks later, my mind roaming La-La Land during morning prayer. As my mind wandered, an incident in our past (bumping into a well-known Hollywood actor in Chicago – a rather embarrassing event, incidentally) replayed itself in my mind’s eye.

Then it burst into being. Characters, a setting (Chicago), and a situation. And the characters began speaking to each other. In my head.

Now, when Dad suggested I think about writing again, I thought I’d be writing non-fiction. Fiction? Never gave it a serious thought. The experience of hearing my fictional characters’ voices speaking to each other in my – my! - head was in every way unexpected.

Whatever this was and is, it did not come from me. I did not seek it.

But I was open to it.

I then told my husband what happened. We talked. I took notes. The story began to grow.

Jane Austen used to call her books her “darling children,” a sentiment I now understand. The Muse sang the story-song, I welcomed it, and it grows in the writer’s womb until I can issue it forth into being. It is an act of creation, but I create like a woman – open to receive, and willing to give.

Click for Part Two