The Clean and Empty Stable

I've been working from home since Christmas, though I'm going back to the office next week. Call me old fashioned, but I'm not into the 100% remote thing. I need some balance; thankfully I have a 3/2 schedule (3 days in, 2 days remote) which is the sweet spot, in my opinion. Gets me out of the house and also gives me some flexibility on my WFH days. Of course, working remotely has its perks but is not without its challenges, especially when kids are young and can be wild and crazy when you have meetings and things. The house is also a mess and hard to keep clean consistently.

Still, I can't fathom at this point in my life the mentality of those DINKs that have been in the news a lot--Dual Income, No Kids (typically Millennials) who choose intentional sterility and financial leveraging over any kind of inconvenience children may bring into their lives. A true short-sighted and self-centered poverty and social contagion that has the aura of health and wealth. Reminds me of the proverb: “Where no oxen are, the trough is clean; but increase comes by the strength of an ox.” (Prov 14:4). Exhibit A, your Honor, and Exhibit B. I'm not gagging, you're gagging.

The silence when the kids leave the house with my wife is a nice little respite sometimes; but after an hour or so, the silent noise of emptiness begins to crescendo. On the flip side, when I am downstairs working and I hear the kids upstairs with their mom all piled on the bed laughing and talking--it's a sweet white noise to know there is life in this house, the currency of family. I try to soak it in, hold on to it as a cached memory for the times in our future when it will get quiet, empty, and yes, a little lonely. 

Sure, it gets crazy at times now. We may have more money in our checking account if we had forgone them kids. But the cutting, icy burn of that emptiness when you have prioritized things over people I imagine would catch up to you. No wonder we are such a lonely society. 

Here's the truth: you can never really "afford" kids and while I can sympathize with these Millennials who are finding it hard to live in the current economy, I also suspect that even if all the economic factors were in their favor, many would still choose not to have children, or limit them. Because we are an anti-life society of consumers. Not just here in the U.S., but globally. 

These DINKs are supposedly living their best life. Contraception, of course, has made this familial derth possible; a harbinger of the kind of dystopian future that we are reaping with our rejection of the natural and moral law of fruitfulness and right order and self-deference. The DINKs seem to have it all. Peace and quiet. A clean house. Complete autonomy. A perfectly planned life. 

What a pity, what a poverty, to never hear that song of children playing upstairs, of a home filled with messy life and expensive laughter and costly love. "As the sound of the playgrounds faded," she said, "the despair set in. Very odd what happens in a world without children's voices."

Have All The Babies

 Note: This is a repost from June 2021. It's my youngest's birthday today. We celebrated with Chinese food, a DIY obstacle course, and a homemade Spiderman cake. My wife was 43 when he was born five years ago--a miracle of sorts...our second-chance miracle of grace. We've made peace with the likely reality that we will not have any more children. I'm trying to take in the noise, the mess, and the crawling in between us in our bed. Because the fact is, each passing day erases a little bit of the childhoods under our roof the way a sand dune gets eroded a little bit each year. In five years, my oldest will be driving. In time, our house will be clean and quiet. But that makes me sad, truth be told. 

The self-serving trend towards millennials choosing a child-free life (and 77% reportedly being happy with the "freedom" gained by doing so) doesn't bode well for our future. A quote from the film Children of Men that stayed with me was when Kee's midwife reflects on the beginning of the infertility crisis in 2009, when people stopped getting pregnant and giving birth. "As the sound of the playgrounds faded," she said, "the despair set in. Very odd what happens in a world without children's voices."

Anyway, here's the repost:

 I don't give advice very often, but if anyone in their twenties or thirties was anxious about having kids and wanted my opinion, I would tell them at this point, "just have all the babies."

The concerns are always understandable--for me early in my career, when I wasn't making much money and we were juggling a lot and at our wits end with our two, it can be tempting to not be so open minded (and open-ended). This is the faulty promise of contraception, that you can "be done" and just get on with your life without the constant worry and anxiety that comes with being open to life.

But where does this anxiety come from in the first place? The contraceptive mentality is so prevalent in our culture it's like the air you breath or the water you drink. New life is a barrier to autonomy; it throws things off, wrecks best laid plans, causes financial hardship, and generally makes life harder. 

Is that such a bad thing? Satan wanted to be autonomous, loosed from the bonds of the Divine. Yes, new kids "throws things off," and sometimes upends our best laid plans--but when I think of the 'best laid plans' I have laid for myself and what God has put in their place, I'm constantly reminded that I don't always know what's best for me. Do kids cause financial hardship? Sometimes they do. Life is hard to begin with, but sometimes the hardest things bring out something good in us that wouldn't otherwise if we weren't pushed to trust that it's worth it. 

Babies are not a threat--they are pure gift, and the reason we all exist in the first place. We seem to have forgotten this. We don't "live to procreate," but take having babies out of the picture and it wouldn't be long before we all die out (see Children of Men). Underpopulation, not overpopulation, seems to be more a threat today in many countries thanks to the scar of contraception and may lead many countries to a demographic winter where there is no easy turning course on.

But no one has babies purely because they want to "save the planet." Some people do, however, choose not to have them because they "don't want to bring children into this world" or are fear-mongered into thinking they are being "irresponsible" by doing so or consuming "too many resources." 

I was talking to a mom at our fellowship get together on Wednesday at our house, and she mentioned that St. Alphonsus' Uniformity With God's Will (which we were studying and reflecting on during the course of the evening) felt kind of over her head. I told her that's ok, in scripture St. Paul says that women are saved through childbirth. "I've never read that," she said, with a bit incredulously. "Yep. First Timothy 2:15," I told her, and we looked it up. "Well, I'll be," she replied. "So take heart," I said, "You're doing great!"

The fact is, we are all saved through childbirth. Abortion and contraception introduce nothing but disorder, throwing a monkey-wrench into God's divine plan for happiness and salvation for mankind. This is not to speak of those who want children and can not have them (by way of infertility, for instance), but the decision to delay or prevent children for the sake of the things of this world and our short-sighted plans is, in my opinion, regrettable. I can say without doubt that as a father, "the children have made the man." The notion of sacrifice and protection is wired into us as men, but becoming a father organically taps into those primal characteristics and brings them to fruition. 

The Catholic plan for life is to be generous in regards to life. Some people do in fact have grave reasons to abstain through the use of NFP, but one should dig deep to look starkly at those reasons and discern their gravity. God is not trying to shortchange us--He wants to fill our cups to overflowing with the choicest wine. I think that children are that wine. Can they be overwhelming, taxing, hard to deal with? Sure. Are they worth it? You bet. 

I wish we would have been more open to life earlier in our marriage. Who knows how much more we would have been blessed. We changed course a little late, but God is good all the time, and we still pray that He might use us as His instruments to bring saints into the world. They can't do the work if they are not born. Who knows--you might be the soul they save in the end.

So have all the babies. It's my one regret in life, that we haven't had more. But we trust Him still. Listen to our Lord, "Fear not, for I have overcome the world" (Jn 16:33). Some of the richest people in the world are the most alone and unhappy. But for those rich in children, who may not have much but you trust that God wants them here--"You are already filled, you have already become rich, you have become kings without us" (1 Cor 4:8).

"Let The Little Children Come To Me": The TLM And Kids' Behavior During Mass

 

For the past couple Sundays some friends of ours who have four rambunctious boys joined us for the 11am High Mass at our parish. Their usual go-to is your standard suburban Novus Ordo parish, with adjoining school. But my buddy's son just had his First Holy Communion recently, and the son of his own accord wanted to try out the "Irish Mass" (he meant the Latin Mass), since they had been there once before. 

I had always invited them previously but I think there was some hesitancy, and not without good reason, since their boys were a handful (my buddy would say the same, so this isn't a disparaging comment). It can be intimidating--the children in the pews at the TLM there seem to be "so good" and for new families there is a fear, I think, that their kids will act up or not be able to handle it. Plus it was a bit farther away, and of course there is that feeling that you have no idea what is going on during the liturgy when you are new to it.

But as I've seen play out with my own kids (when we came over from the Novus Ordo about four years ago) and with other families as well, that fear is largely mitigated when one arrives for Mass. I've often wondered if it is a chicken-and-egg situation: does the Latin Mass attract well-behaved little angels? Or is there something about the traditional liturgy that instills something that makes them less prone to acting out?

It doesn't seem on the surface that it would. During the confiteor and the prayers at the altar, they are often inaudible. There are longish periods of silence. One might not understand the language. But there is also something profoundly captivating, if even for the sake of curiosity, that comes with being humbled by "not knowing what is going on." There is also an emphasis placed on a reverent environment in which prayer can be cultivated. It has been a while since I have been to a Sunday Novus Ordo, but the last time I was there it was unnerving the chit-chat and the overall casualness of everything that always bothered me when I was attending, but felt even more acute after experiencing the alternative. 

During the liturgy, I didn't hear a peep from our friend's boys; in fact, I didn't even know they were there until afterwards when we saw them near the back. So, it made me think: what is it about the TLM that gets otherwise "badly behaved" kids (I'm including my own in that, at our previous parish) to fall in line? Here's a few thoughts:

1) "Everybody's doing it" 

As social creatures, we tend to adapt to our environment. No one wants to be the "tall poppy" (to coin an Australian phenomenon of being one who stands out). Call it a healthy peer pressure. Most parents will tell their kids "we don't chat or run up the aisles or hit each other" here. But kids are perceptive--I think it's really when children observe other kids behaving at Mass, they want to behave as well. They want to "do what the other kids are doing."

2) A Full-Body Experience

The Latin Mass is full-body. There is lots of kneeling and standing. It takes a little physical stamina to "participate" in the sacrifice of the Mass in this context, and especially for boys who don't sit still well, this works to their advantage. 

3) Ad Orientum Vs. Ad Populum

The traditional liturgy does not have the anthropocentric emphasis the Novus Ordo does. You are here to worship God. For some used to Mass ad populum (facing the people), this can be offputting for the "we are the church" crowd. But because the liturgy has this integrity of "right order," everything else flows and falls into place on account of that. There is time to socialize outside after Mass or in the basement over donuts, but during the liturgy and beforehand is not that time. 

4) A Sense of Reverence

It is sometimes criticized that God was "wholly other" in the Old Testament. But the pendulum has swung in modern times to a more casual approach to God that is equally off-base. We should have a healthy fear of God, and when we enter His temple (the church), we should recognize we are in the presence of something beyond this world while being firmly in the world as well. The environment should reflect that, and in most TLM parishes, it does, because people have their priorities in line with what is expected. If the liturgy is more casual, people will act more casually. If the liturgy is reverent and represents what is truly happening (Christ's sacrifice on Calvary), it is being true to it's nature. 

5) Servers

When boys in the pews see other boys serving, there is a respect there, and sometimes even a healthy desire to be up there one day as well. It inspires, and having only male servers is again true to the nature of the priesthood and his duties and those who may have a vocation. Female altar servers sows confusion among impressionable boys, and drastically changes the dynamics of the act of serving. One would hope this (serving) would cultivate vocations as well.

6) Judgement and Grace

We got more dirty looks from our naughty kids acting out at Mass at the Novus Ordo than we ever did at the Latin Mass. I think because there are more (and larger) families in the same boat, shaming is not a thing (I can only speak for our own parish, though). Crying babies can be a challenge, and are in a separate category than toddlers and pre-teen kids. One local TLM parish has an almost "no-tolerance" policy for crying babies and kids acting out, and I find that a bit much. Our parish, thankfully, is very gracious and understanding that babies--the future of the Church--cry, and most moms just stand in the back or take them outside if they are hungry or fussy, no big deal. 

7) Expectation

The TLM expects something from you. It demands something from you. Like the faith as a whole, you have to put the work in for your faith to be fruitful. It can seem on the surface that because "participation" by the laity is not as prevalent during the traditional liturgy as in the new Mass, that there is less expectation of those assisting. But I don't find that to be the case. It's not a low bar, "come as you are" attitude; the Latin Mass pushes you--it pushes your body, it pushes you out of your ego and sense that everything is about you, it pushes you beyond your comprehension sometimes by being in another language. Being pushed is healthy. It challenges us to be better, to grow in virtue and deepen one's prayer life. You don't get that by having a low bar set. I think this is less elitism than it is simply wanting to grow in holiness among those who are attracted to the Latin Mass. And it applies to the kids observing, as well as the parents, that this actually means something, that something truly other-worldly is happening during the liturgy.

It took six months of attending the Latin Mass before I even picked up a missal, because I just wanted to experience it and not get bogged down in flipping pages. In retrospect, this was a grace, because it taught me humility, that the liturgy is not about me, and instilled in me a desire to learn more. I know it can be intimidating at first to set foot into a Latin Mass if you have never been before, and if your kids can be challenging. But after seeing it play out again and again, I think there is something inherent in the traditional liturgy that is good not only for adults, but children, to experience. I would encourage any family to give it a try. Anything worth something takes time and a bit of investment. 

The Stay At Home Dad Dilemma, Revisited

One of my first posts on my old blog was titled Fred The Fireman and the SAHD Dilemma. It was a admittedly confessional piece I wrote five years ago when we were a two-income family with my wife as the main breadwinner, and our kids were in daycare. Though I wasn't a stay at home dad, whenever I was home with my young kids for extended periods of times, I felt like I got a taste of it...and hated it.

Now, I love my kids, and I love spending time with them, especially now that they are older. We have made a lot of changes over the years--my wife leaving full time employment and being a stay at home mom, ditching daycare, and homeschooling. Everyone is happier. We have less money but a sense that we are not going against our inner-currents. During those years, things just didn't feel right, but we didn't know why. I was always open minded about gender roles, but sometimes nature wants a say too when it comes to the order of things.

I remember years ago actually spending an afternoon at a playground with an actual stay at home dad at a local church. He was a young guy, maybe early thirties like me, wife had a good job and he didn't, and confessed to me how hard it was--not the taking care of the kids or cutting the crusts off sandwiches, but having any kind of relationships with other men and being able to relate to them (and vice versa). He seemed so...isolated and lonely. I confess, I couldn't really relate either. I did get his phone number out of a sense of empathy, but never called him to hang out.

My kids were watching a movie a few weeks ago called Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Jennifer Garner is the mom working in a high-level position at a publishing house in L.A., and Steve Carell, the dad, is recently unemployed and has been looking for work for seven months. It appears to be a temporary situation, as he is actively looking for employment. While doing so, he attends play groups with the baby; when his son speaks his first word, "He called me FOMMY!" (father-mommy), Carell beams with delight, as the other moms applaud.

There's something about progressivism that tries to erase--erase our nature, erase established social norms, erase biology, erase fertility, erase shame, erase God and His precepts. After it has finished erasing, it tries to reinvent--that things don't always have to be this way, that we can write our own destiny script, that traditional values are outdated and based in ignorance. It takes down a fence without knowing or bothering to find out what it was erected for, to paraphrase Chesterton.

Here's the thing--there's nothing inherently wrong in a wife bringing home the bacon and a husband raising the children. Sometimes it makes the most sense on a surface level, and sometimes it is due to survival and necessity. I say inherently, because it's the exception not the norm for a reason. And I think it's safe to say that the aquifer with which the roots of this family dynamic draws its water from is feminism--a carcinogenic ideology. 

In my SAHD Dilemma post, "Fred" (a fireman) responds with frustrated honesty to a Dear-Abbey type column revolving around a woman having issues in her marriage and the women commenters saying "he needs to see a doctor," "He's depressed," etc. I think it shows what most men in these situations think and feel deep down inside--that this kind of household setup goes against their very nature as men:

"I disagree with pretty much all the advice given in this article and with the armchair psychologists replying. I am a full-time firefighter as well as the primary caregiver for my two little girls. I can tell you that I found this article by googling “being a stay at home dad sucks.” Due to my work shifts, I am able to be home, on average, four days during the week with the kids while my wife works her 9-5. I work with several men who do the same thing I do while their wives work (although a vast majority chose to work a second job instead of being home). 

After 4 years of this I can tell you that very few men are cut out for the stay-at-home-dad role. This has been my own experience as well as the experience of every other guy I work with that does the same thing I do. The same issues that stay-at-home-moms face (isolation, lack of stimulating activity) are even worse for men because there are just fewer dad’s out there than moms and really no other adults around to hang out with. Dad’s don’t go on “play dates” with their kids during the day because, lets face it, the other husbands in the neighborhood aren’t going to want some other guy hanging out with their wife while the kids play together. I wouldn’t want that either. The husband in this letter is probably depressed but he doesn’t need medication, a professional, or anything else suggested. HE NEEDS TO GET THE H**L OUT OF THE HOUSE AND GO BACK TO WORK. End of story. The guy feels completely trapped in his situation with no end in sight. Put the kids in daycare before this poor man loses his marbles or decides to take a nap in the garage with the doors closed and the car running. 

He is not a failure, he doesn’t have a mental condition, he’s a man who needs to get out and provide for his family for his own sanity. The days I am able to get out and work during the week are the only thing that keep me sane. I get to interact with other adults and solve real problems. I could not imagine having to be home 5 days a week with no way to stimulate my brain for years to come. I don’t care what anyone says, (most) men are not cut out to stay home with the kids and I’m not at all ashamed to say that I can’t wait until my kids start school so I can work more and do the other things I used to enjoy during the day. Every guy I work with in the same situation says the same exact thing."

At this point in our lives, if we were hard up for money, I would rather take on two extra jobs than be in this situation. My wife was never really happy working full-time in a manager role, and I felt guilty about not providing more. Daycare and everything that goes with it was a kind of trap to justify her high income. I for my part was able to rest on my laurels and wasn't pushed to make more or seek out additional opportunities to support my family. Our kids hated being away from their mom when they were young, and they weren't pining for me either. 

I know there are families, even conservative families where the wife has a high-profile career, who maybe could make this kind of arrangement work. I think they are the exception rather than the norm, though. I think the vast majority of women really want to be home, and the vast majority of men, if given the opportunity, want to work. It just seems to be part of our nature and right order, and when we go against it, we feel the chaffing. 

In a two-income setup, you can get pretty used to things how they are. You get used to that extra income, and you build your lives around it--you buy maybe more house than you would otherwise, finance your cars, do more convenience shopping than you would otherwise, take vacations to get away from the stress of work. Elizabeth Warren (of all people) wrote about this in her book, The Two Income Trap.

A buddy called me the other day--he's not a stay at home dad, but is relatively low on the totem pole in his career. His wife works part time to help supplement their income and makes decent money doing so (they have six kids), but has been starting to feel like she doesn't want to anymore. He confessed how he didn't see how it would work financially if that income went away, and the pressure and unlikelihood of making more money in his current position.

I really, really sympathized with his situation. It was very familiar. I try not to avoid, "This worked for us, so it will work for you too" advice. And I think what's scary is there really is a stepping out in faith that one has to make in trusting that God will provide, even when you don't see a way, when we seek to honor Him and put things in right order. Again, there is nothing wrong with a woman working part-time or trying to be a Proverbs 23 wife for her family; it can even be laudable. But to the extent that it is causing marital and family stress and discord, one may want to take a deeper dive and reassess the causes of the malaise. 

These kinds of difficult situations can also require some belt-tightening and sacrifices, careful budgeting, and an honest assessment of priorities and what is most important. Many times the "We can't..." doesn't actually mean one can't, but that one is making choices that wouldn't make a new situation work. There is also the trust issue--do we trust God to make a way when we don't see one and when the numbers don't add up? Do we go all in on (not recklessly, but with confidence) or are we a "man of two minds," as St. James says? These are questions for personal discernment, not external judgement. I have always been a proponent of "do what works," but if something is not working as a result of not being in the current of God's plan for us, it may be worth re-examining in prayer.

One note--men who experience unemployment (especially when prolonged) inevitably experience depression riding its coattails. Men were made to work, and when men (especially young men) can't or don't, it comes out in some not-to-good ways, both individually and in society. A wife who can help during these times are a source of grace; this is not what this post is about. Sometimes you have to do what you have to to survive. But when the roles and dynamics are switched and push against our nature--as much as a progressive might tell you there's no difference between male and female, that a dad can substitute for a mom (or two two dads or two moms), that the fruit of feminism is progress...well, you may want to examine the fruit of their claims by digging down a few layers to see how it's all playing out.

A final note--this year of St. Joseph has been pivotal for us. He has been a true patron for our family, and after our family consecration, we experienced great grace (especially in my role with work). So if you haven't undertaken it, I would highly suggest it. St. Joseph is the model par excellence for men and fathers--a worker, a provider, a protector. He was no "Fommy." He was a husband, father, and man, through and through--a true model for men both then and now.

A Too-Planned Life

Life in the COVID era has been surreal. Masks are a pocket accessory as much as a cellphone or car keys. Assuming conversations about whether one has gotten the vaccine or not yet has become commonplace in everyday conversations, the way someone may talk about getting a UTI or being on birth control as if it were normal. Then there's that moment when you don't know what to do when you would normally shake someone's hand. Like I said, kind of surreal. "Normal" life seems like a dream ago.

One interesting aspect of the pandemic-age has been in housing. In some aspects, there has been a predictable rise in people fleeing major urban areas (70,000+ exodus from New York City alone costing the city billions in tax renevue) as many employers have gone to remote work. Other people more prone to prepping long for land and neighbors miles away.

In another sense, though, there has been the curious phenomenon of COVID creating a surge in demand for 'tiny homes'. Some on wheels, where you might have a Murphy bed or a composting toilet. Nano apartments less than 260 sq ft in Hong Kong which sell for around $650,000USD have also been on the rise. 

For our part, I have really appreciated having a little more space in our single family home--some extra rooms to escape to (no Millennial 'open concept' floor plan here in our 1950's split level), and without the need to constantly be cleaning and tidying up. 

Affordability may be part of it (though tiny houses are arguably a poor investment in terms of resale value and are more of a depreciating asset). But I think there's more to it.

Whether or not you ascribe to the idea of a global NWO, there seems to be an ideal of a more or less 'planned society' in the works. In Render To Caesar, I wrote, 

"Have you ever seen an architectural rendering? You know, one of those two dimensional stylized representations of a future reality that doesn't exist but SHOULD because it would be so awesome and would solve all of planet Earth's problems? Like a 200 story high rise that is covered with vegetable gardens, or a mixed-use space where young urbanites can live and work and play and shop in a walkable paradise? It doesn't exist yet, but 'build it and they will come.' 

I have an admission: I hate renderings. Why? I don't know. I just like life in the real world. I have a low bs threshold, and real life has a way of not always fitting into neat prescribed models. I remember watching Jurassic Park as a kid when it first came out and thinking, "this is a HORRIBLE idea!" And it was, in the end, as all the dinosaurs escaped or something and turned on people. Maybe it's my acute awareness of the Fall, not only the rebellion in my own life, but in the world in which we live, that is wary of such social utopias."

You know one thing that messes up best-laid plans (in the best possible way) and a perfectly manicured life where everything gets put away in its place, beds are flawlessly made, and everything serves a purpose and is kept only if it 'sparks joy'? 

Kids.

It's apparent that population-control advocates like Bill Gates see humans and future generations in terms of environmental liabilities rather than human worth and capital. In Children of Men, I wrote:

"We seem to almost be living in a science fiction novel today. 59 million lives have been lost to abortion since Roe vs Wade in 1973, and 1.5 billion worldwide since 1980. We manufacture human life in test tubes and freeze or destroy embryos, bank sperm, take a morning after pill to terminate a pregnancy after contraception fails. Governments enact policies to limit children to 1 per household and force sterilization and abortions when citizens don't comply, while black market surrogacy is thriving. Human life is commodified and exploited by merciless systems of production, and traditional nuclear families are in the minority. Meanwhile, Europe faces a population disaster due to plummeting birth rates, the economic implications of which are starting to be realized.

In short, we have taken human life for granted, and there will be a price to be paid.

A quote from the film that stayed with me was when Kee's midwife reflects on the beginning of the infertility crisis in 2009, when people stopped getting pregnant and giving birth. "As the sound of the playgrounds faded," she said, "the despair set in. Very odd what happens in a world without children's voices."

Admittedly, I do watch a lot of tiny house videos and things on YouTube, because I like learning about construction. Almost without exception, those enamored with the idea are single women or young couples sans children; additionally without exception, they have pets which they treat as children. 

I saw this meme once on social media. It was brutally jarring and uncomfortable, but I think it speaks a savage truth about how future generations are holding up and actualizing their ideals of a planned life:

I appreciate simplicity. I appreciate, to a degree, a minimalism in owning things and what we bring into our home (that often alludes me, despite my best efforts). What I appreciate most, though, is what most upends all of that: my children. And not just my children, in the possessive sense, but the children we have brought into the world (or, rather, that God has brought into the world using us as the co-operators in that plan) for the world's benefit. Not just "going forth and multiplying," as the Lord commanded (yes, commanded) us to do. But forming them, sacrificing for them, so that they can actualize the kind of world we as Christians see as the ideal. Which is completely at odds with the focus depicted in the graphic above.

Maybe the thing about COVID and all it brings with it is the unsettling sense of uncertainty and upending--when the pendulum swings, and in a vaccuum of faithlessness, and where the vaccine is the new secular Eucharist, people want more control, not less--from the top (the "global elites") on down to the couple that's okay with doing number 2s in a sawdust bucket toilet and owning two sets of dining utensils and living in 150 square feet--as long as children--the enemy of a planned future--don't come along and mess it up. Or if they do, that they factor in seamlessly to the well-manicured 'plan for life' they have laid out for themselves.  

It's one thing to have to live in a shoebox-type living situation by necessity in parts of the world like Hong Kong or Japan, or the slums of Calcutta. Millions of people do. But here in the West, the vast majority of us have the luxury of choice and space. The tiny house phenomenon may be a fad but it's a curious one and I think tells us about what those attracted to it prioritize. There is a happy medium between McMansions and cottages-on-wheels. It's where we find ourselves as a family, and happily so. We have room in our home and space in our hearts for children, for guests, for mess, for the (thankful) luxury of not having to be constantly cleaning and tidying and putting things away. 

I'm not sure what the future generations will look like in the "12...6...2...dog" projection, but it doesn't inspire confidence in a future that seems very much the opposite of 'sustainable.' In a too-planned life, there's no extra room in the inn, and not just in terms of square footage. We need room in our heart and lives for uncertainty (which necessitates faith); mortality (which inspires fear of the Lord); charity (which inspires virtue); and love and commitment (in marriage, which begets children). Or, as the wisdom of Scripture attests, “Where no oxen are, the trough is clean; but increase comes by the strength of an ox.” (Prov 14:4)

Second Generation Catholicism

 My father in law is a first generation American. About ten years ago I read his life story in a self-published book written for the extended family in which he describes growing up dirt poor in the Philippines under the harsh tutelage of his father (his mother had died when he was young). He would gather snails and coconuts and prawns, but also managed to obtain a scholarship to attend UP to study medicine. He came to the United States with my mother in law in the early 1960's, where he began his residency in New York in the field of gastroenterology. They bought a house in the suburbs, and raised a family. His was a laudable but also relatively commonplace story of those immigrated for a better life and future. 

Like many immigrants, my in laws did not want their kids going through the same hardships they themselves experienced and provided admirably for their needs, including Catholic education K-12. Despite twelve years of Catholic schooling, my wife never really had an encounter with the living Christ until her thirties, right before her and I met. All the formal schooling and religion classes, in the end, only amounted to head knowledge. It was through a lifelong Protestant Christian friend's prayers and encouragement that she began to really have a "personal relationship with Jesus Christ," whom she encountered in prayer and reading the holy scriptures. In fact, just prior to us meeting, my wife was "dating Jesus" for a year after a long-term relationship ended. She did have a sense, however, that she wanted to remain Catholic rather then attend a non-denominational church. 

I think my wife and I really connected on our first date at a coffee shop because we had both had those "personal encounters" with the living God and recounted them to one another. It was alive and well in our collective memory, and we drew from those past encounters with the Holy Spirit; in essence, we knew God was real because we both had experienced Him.

Whereas my wife's parents sent her to Catholic school to more or less transmit the faith (it was never really talked about or taught at home), my faith generated from the latent roots of my infant baptism in a Episcopal church and by proxy to my father's attendance at the Divine Liturgy, but without teaching and without ever having been confirmed or having received the Eucharist. It was an authentic and real encounter in the wilderness at age sixteen that I recognized, by grace, the fundamentals of my condition--a sinner aware of his inability to save himself and his need for redemption and meaning. I was lost, and was found. I formally became a Catholic a couple years later at the age of eighteen.

As a convert not raised in the Faith, I feel like I am a "first generation" Catholic in practice. Like my father in law who knew the stakes and what it took to get to America for a better life despite the odds, I recognized that I was saved by grace but had to search out it's confirmation, learning the faith by my own volition and continuing to believe because I knew, empirically, that it was true.

The other night I was laying in bed talking with my son, who wanted to join me. He had been having doubts about God--how do I know He really exists? What if when we die there's 'nothing there?' My wife and I have been very intentional about teaching and passing on the faith to our kids, while recognizing they have not had those same adult experiences we have of coming to know the Truth first-hand. They are more or less taking our word for the fact that God exists and that we should live lives of virtue, that our citizenship is in Heaven, and that this life in the world is not our final home. Which, it occurred to me, is maybe why my son was struggling with doubt. Something I know innately, he only knows by way of word-of-mouth. His is a second-generation Catholicism.

Like the wise virgins with their oil, you want so badly to give your children the lived experience you have had so that they "know the truth that sets one free," but by it's very nature, it is not something that can be transferred. Like character, you can only live it out yourself, not transfer it to someone else to put on like a borrowed suit. 

We can and should pray fervently and often for our children, that they may receive that grace that was so lavishly poured upon us and which we know the Lord desires to give to all those who ask for it, and that they might have a real encounter with the Living God. We should desire the consistent "both/and" so fitting for our Catholic faith of a "personal relationship with Jesus Christ" as well as our religion with all its rich teaching and doctrine which allows us to live sacramentally and gives us a compass to navigate by.

It's difficult for me to navigate as a parent--if I put too much pressure on my son and panic at his reasonable doubts, there is the possibility of pushing him farther from faith. If I don't use it as a teaching moment and let him drift away on his own, who knows what kind of teaching he will find downstream in the culture. Knowing our children belong to God (and are consecrated to Mary and St. Joseph as well), I don't fear, but I don't always know how to direct things. As a first generation Catholic, I'm learning as I go! 

I also realize there are no guarantees that our children will persist in the faith. We pray and hope that they do and do everything we can to teach and prepare them while living it out ourselves with joy. But our children do not ultimately belong to us, but to God. We can only control them so much when they are younger, and they have free will of their own, the double-edged gift from God Himself, exercising it more and more as they get older. Life is not so easily controlled.

I do, however, pray they will encounter the Holy Spirit of God, which cut through me like a wind for the first time at a punk-rock show in a Church basement as a preacher prayed over the crowd on stage. It was an unlikely and unscripted place to have such a genuine and razing encounter. Maybe that's why the Holy Spirit is sometimes referred to as the "wild goose." I followed Him where He led, and He led me to the doors of the Church. I can only pray my own children encounter this God who saves in a real way, so that it's not just second-hand head knowledge we are passing down. I experienced every one of their births for the first time; but I hope to see them 'born again' in the Spirit so that they know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that He exists, that He is Truth, and that He is as real as the air we breathe.

I Will See You There

A year or so ago my 7 year old son fell from a not-insignificant height. It was the kind of fall on the playground where all the kids (and adults) turn and hold their breath, when time stands still for a few split seconds.

I was driving home from work when my wife called me. She was on her way to the hospital with our son, who seemed physically okay and not in pain, but who kept repeating the same questions over and over.

Not knowing the full extent of the fall apart from the few brief words my wife shared over the phone, and fearing a brain injury, I hung up, and opened up my mental rolodex of holy men and women I hold “on retainer” when I need them most.

Though I have my more established and well-known entourage of saints who have intercede for us in powerful ways--St. Catherine Laboure, St. Pio of Pietrelcina, St. Jude, to name a new--I have a special place in my life for those holy men and women who have not yet been formally canonized. My hope is that one day, in our time of need, they will work a needed miracle for us and in turn give witness to the mighty power of God

There is Servant of God Fr. Walter Ciszek, whose grainy portrait from a Siberian gulag hangs in our kitchen with the hard-scrabble caption underneath: “Give God your lousy best.”

There is Servant of God Fr. John Hardon, whose archives of talks and writings I have bookmarked when I need courage and clarity in the midst of my personal (and feeble) “white martyrdoms;”

And there is Servant of God Frank Parater, a seminarian from the diocese of Richmond, Virginia who died at the age of 22 in Rome of rheumatic fever and who offered his death for the conversion of non-Catholics in Virginia. His “death wish” was an inspiration to me that nothing be wasted, not even our retirement from this earthly life.

As my mind flipped through these holy figures and more, by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, one man came to mind whose story I had heard about somewhere. His name was Francis Houle.

Irving “Francis” Houle was a father of five and grandfather of seven who lived in Michigan, was a fourth-degree Knight of Columbus...and received the stigmata in 1993 at the age of 67. I remembered reading about him, and that he had fallen from a horse as a child and suffered near fatal injuries but was healed when an army of nuns prayed for him.

Whenever I rely on “friends in high places” for help, I try to call upon those who I feel would understand or have a special affinity for our particular situation based on their life or charism. In this case, I felt Francis Houle, the stigmatist from Michigan who lived in my lifetime, would understand and help my son. The who drive, I kept saying over and over, simply, “Francis, help!”

When I arrived at the hospital, my son was still confused and stuck in a ‘loop’ of questioning where he was and how he had gotten there. My greatest fear was short or long-term memory loss, as I had never dealt with head injuries before. The doctor who evaluated him, thankfully, determined he was suffering from a concussion but noted that he was very lucky in that he hit a hard part of his skull; if he would have fallen at just a slightly different angle, the potential for lasting damage would have been much more probable.

My son’s memory returned over the next few days, and his concussion subsided. Though this probably would not have counted as a miracle in the formal sense, I felt indebted to someone I at least knew understood and no doubt worked in some way to come to our aid, this married father, grandfather, and great grandfather from Michigan who bore the wounds of Christ and healed countless people who he prayed over. He was humble and unassuming. After all, he had children himself.

Not long after that event, we ended up having Thanksgiving dinner at a family member’s house where one of Francis Houle’s sons joined us as a guest. We recounted the incident to him, and he shared stories of all the people who would come to see his father. Though we didn’t discuss personal faith, I got the impression it was overwhelming at times for him and his mother, Francis’ wife. He recounted one particular instance in which his father was getting sick in the bathroom, and it was only realized later that he had, in praying over a cancer patient, taken on the poisonous effects of the chemotherapy himself.

As a husband and father of three, it is my greatest hope that I will see the glory of Heaven one day, and that my wife and family will join me there. It is what I live for, and what I hope to die for, God willing.

But when I thumb through that old mental rolodex of those on the roster in the Church Triumphant, I often wish there were more models I can relate to and emulate in my state of life--that is, as a husband and father. Sure, there are married canonized saints throughout history, some together (like Louis and Zelle Martin, parents of St. Therese of Lisieux), and some canonized separately. But for the most part, those canonized are primarily religious.

There are probably a multiplicity of reasons for this beyond the scope of this article, both religious and political. Not for a second do I doubt my calling to be a husband and father, nor do I question whether this is what God has chosen for me as my path to sanctification, which I am responsible for carrying out. But when I look around, can those “friends in high places” relate to this state when they themselves have chosen “the better part,” a higher calling, a renunciation of marriage and family for the sake of the Kingdom?

How does one live out the sacrament of marriage--not just to be healthy and happy, in love and old age, but for the purpose of attaining sainthood, for oneself and for one’s spouse? What does it look like? How do we exercise patience, chastity, temperance, when the floor is strewn with Legos, we’re tired from work and childrearing, and we lose our temper so easily?

I was always taught that the saints exercised heroic virtue. What is heroic about raising a family? Working a job? Taking vacations? Going to Mass on Sundays and praying the rosary in the evening? What worthiness is there for others to emulate, were we to be canonized some day? “Oh look, she did the dishes in love,” or “he worked hard to provide.” Yes, I know there is sanctification in the ordinary, humdrumness of life when done with love. But it is that very ordinariness, that part that is not, in fact, ‘set apart,’ that makes me wonder if this is, in fact, why there seem to be so few married canonized saints.

Of course, marriage and family life is a daily “dying to self” when done for Christ’s sake, because he set the example for us to follow in washing his disciple’s feet and offering his life to save theirs. It may in fact be harder to achieve the same level of sanctity as a religious given the unique burdens of our state in life. It does not make us exempt from the universal call to holiness. It just means we need to adapt our circumstances to make it our sole focus, while still maintaining and setting to the responsibilities of our state.

The ‘hidden life’ inside the walls of the domestic church is largely just that--hidden. And for good reason. Individual families--though they may be holy and worthy of emulation--do their duties quietly. People may hear about them ‘through the grapevine’ and want to be near them for their ordinary sanctity and warm charity. But they may not have a diocese or a large public gathering lobbying for a husband or wife’s cause to be considered, though they may already be wearing the crown of righteousness in Heaven, official title or not.

The process of canonization is careful and methodical for good reason, and it is also for the benefit of us, the Church Militant because we are the ones who need the saints, not the other way around. Though I do worry if I ever, by some miracle, achieve such a state and have church officials combing through my emails and text messages and interviewing my friends and family what they will find out about me.

We know from St. Paul’s words to the church in Corinth that the married man is divided and not free from concern as is the unmarried man (1 Cor 7:32, 34). Can a married man be saved? Can he wear the crown of righteousness? We know if can be done, for nothing is impossible with God.

“If ye be perfect,” says the Lord. But we are not perfect, and any perfect person in marriage or parenthood is, for all intents and purposes, probably not of the human species. And yet, the call is there. We are called to be perfect, as our Heavenly Father is perfect. But it is not by being a St. Francis or a St. Catherine of Siena or even a Francis Houle. It is by being YOU. God made you like no other, and if you are married and a father or mother, he destined you to live out your life as such.

You may not be doing hard time in a Siberian labor camp but if you are loving and forgiving your spouse when everything in you screams to lord their faults over them, and there is no one around to see you do it, you are not only living the beatitudes, dying to self, and doing so in secret...you are fulfilling the Greatest Commandments.

When you give your wife the bigger pork chop because it’s the one you want, and you do it day after day, meal and after meal, decade after decade, until your last supper on earth...are you not acting in the same way as a wise virgin trimming her lamp and holding her oil for the day the bridegroom comes?

When you live the virtues for your children to see, and set a hedge of protection around your hearth and home to keep out the things that harm--are you not setting yourself as a human shield, weaving a fence of thorns which you wrap and mend with your own bloodied hands to protect those little lambs whom Christ himself died for? Is your fatherhood, though temporal, not spiritual in the legacy it builds brick by brick, virtue by virtue, sacrifice by little sacrifice?

Whether or not we are formally recognized on earth among men for our sanctity matters very little when you have run the race and are wearing the crown. Our crosses are custom built for our backs, and the weight of all the family affairs we bear as well make it a unique burden and an unlikely joy as well. We are made whole through sacrifice, through suffering, through the school of charity which is the domestic church in which we learn the hard way how to love, how to forgive, and how to hope. There is no use wishing you were a priest or a nun. You have all you need for your journey. God has made you a mother, a father, a spouse. He has made you, YOU. He has to start somewhere today. He may as well start with you.

This Weekend, Take Your Son To A Barbershop

Getting a haircut for a man is like painting a room in your home--it doesn't take much of an investment and it tends to pay good returns. You tend to feel fresh and confident, good traits to possess when going on a date or for a job interview. It's relaxing to just sit and let someone clean you up a bit. 

Now, full disclaimer, I usually cut my own hair because I'm cheap and do a decent job, and I cut my boys' hair too. But every now and then I feel like getting a cut and if I have a coupon I'll go to the local Hair-Cuttery type corporate place and get cleaned up. I stopped by this evening after work.

As I was waiting, a young boy about my son's age was with his mom. When it was his turn, he climbed up in the chair, at which point the mom proceeded to dictate how his hair was to be cut, and to critique the job along the way. This isn't out of the ordinary--usually when I see boys they are with their moms at these kinds of places. I studied the boy out of the corner of my eye. He seemed slightly embarrassed and powerless. It's not unreasonable, of course, for a mom to say how she wants her son's hair to look, even despite the controlling tone in her voice. It did, however, made me think how things would have been different if he would have been with his dad, and he would have been in a proper barber shop.

Male bonding seems like it has to be a camping or fishing trip, some major thing that happens infrequently. Really, though, there's always an opportunity for it even in the most mundane of things, like getting a haircut. For a boy of eight or nine years old, to be surrounded by other men--young, middle aged, and old--for a singular purpose (to get cleaned up and look good), in a place with distinct smells (talc, disinfectant, sandalwood) where he can FEEL like a man even at that young age, and to do it with his father, well--it doesn't take much in that instance to make some memories. These male only spaces are sacred space in a way, with unwritten codes of conduct and unspoken understandings. 

With my son, at the age he is at least, he wants to do everything I do. Because I fast twice a week, he has expressed a desire to fast. Because I take cold showers, he wants to too. That's a little extreme, but it goes to show how a father can model for his son in the most ordinary of things, and make some memories in the process. The currency is time. There are so few male-only spaces, but the old school barbershop is one of them. For a boy to get out from under the wing of his mother for an afternoon, and to be given a little reign to have his sideburns shorter or his nape trimmed straight across instead of a V...well, I think you'd be surprised how empowering it can be for a boy of eight to feel like a bonafide man for a half hour. When his dad is with him, how much more so. These rites of passage may be worth the twenty bucks plus tip, if anything to just be surrounded by other men for an an hour or so, even if it's just once every six months or so. 

So rather than send your son to the local salon with his mom, as a dad, try taking him to the barbershop this weekend with you. Get a cut, get your son a cut, and break him in to these kinds of things. You'll feel like a million bucks, your son will feel like a man, and your forty bucks or so will be well invested because you'll be supplying him with memories to keep on file when it was just "me and dad" at the barbershop, doing the ordinary things men do on a Saturday morning. Get some breakfast afterwards at a diner. Talk. Stop and pick up a gallon of milk. Do the ordinary things--just be sure to bring your son along for the ride. 

The Indispensable Mother

I often talk about the father's influence in the life of faith. Touchstone has a good study with some stats here.

"In short, if a father does not go to church, no matter how faithful his wife’s devotions, only one child in 50 will become a regular worshipper. If a father does go regularly, regardless of the practice of the mother, between two-thirds and three-quarters of their children will become churchgoers (regular and irregular). If a father goes but irregularly to church, regardless of his wife’s devotion, between a half and two-thirds of their offspring will find themselves coming to church regularly or occasionally."

St. John Paul II mentioned an image of his father that stayed with him through the years of waking up in the middle of the night and finding his father kneeling in the dark, praying silently. Our son has started learning to serve at the Latin Mass, and I was even surprised that my wife mentioned he expressed wanting to fast and take cold showers, "like daddy." The model the father sets for the household--not only in word, but in deed--is essential, especially for sons.

If the father's influence in the life of faith is vital, what about the role of the mother in pretty much everything else? Again, especially during the early years, the mother's presence cannot be overstated.

In creating a "domestic monastery" in the home, I've found my wife to be the foundation. We have cut back on a lot of activities and things that just allow us more time at home as a family together, doing nothing but logging time together. And time has no substitution.

One thing that does take away from some of that time, albeit on a limited basis, is when my wife leaves the house for her weekend overnight shift. Thankfully, this is only a few times a month and occurs largely when the kids are sleeping and I am home. Ideally, she would not have to at all but it is the situation and arrangement we are in currently, though it may change in the future depending on finances. I notice, though, the nights when they know she is scheduled to go in, the kids are extra attached to her. It is pretty much the only time they are away from her, and they will crawl into my bed in the morning and ask, "when is mommy coming home?" prior to her returning. It's like they just can't get enough of being with her. Time is the currency they trade in.

But this is normal, especially when kids are young! Though it is disruptive in some sense, it is a manageable burden right now. I really feel for women who are forced to work by economic necessity and not wanting to. Daycare is in such cases a necessary and expensive necessity, but I think even mothers would admit it is not the ideal for them.

The argument in some Catholic circles is that women have always worked, and so working mothers should in the industrial age is a modern extension of this and should not be denigrated. Many women, as the claim goes, find fulfillment and purpose outside the home in their jobs. It can often be a vicious debate, because it is so personal. I have found, and speaking only from our experience (since we have been on both sides of it with my wife working full time and now largely at home), that children benefit from the presence of their mothers at home more than they do them being outside the home for extended periods of time.

Is this a 'privilege' that only those of economic means, who can live on the husband's income, are privy too? In some sense, but I think there are also budgetary choices that can be adjusted to make it more of a reality. The proverb comes to mind "Better a small serving of vegetables with love than a fattened calf with hatred" (Prov 15:17). A friend of mine has a good blog on many of these topics here. Women who have grown up in the wake of the feminist movement may not even realize there is an alternative, or know how to make it happen. She does a good job with 'nuts and bolts' things for those being moved in their hearts to make a change. It was a big help when we were making the shift as to the why. And grace came too, in large response to the prayers of my wife that God would give her the desires of her heart to make a way for her to be home. We're not a perfect model (is there really any perfect model), but things have vastly improved in the peace and stability of our home life with the change. Time is a currency with no substitution.

A Wallet Full Of Memories

As parents of three kids, my wife and I try to be intentional about carving out one on one time with our kids. Some wise Christian friends told us not to waste those little moments of running errands or being out and about--take a kid with you.

I decided to do this with my oldest this past Monday. I had stayed home from work because my wife was sick, and was going a little stir crazy near the end of the day. I decided to take my son to return some pants, stop by Lowes, and make a visit to the Adoration chapel to pray. He's been wanting to do everything dad does lately: wearing aftershave, hammering nails into wood, and asking about girls. If she could handle the other two kids for an hour, I would take the oldest out.

Everything was going great. We made an impromptu stop for ice cream. There were two other dads with their sons, which he noticed. It was "our place" and we shared a cone, and spun around on the bar stools. When we finished up, we headed to return the pants, but in the store things started to get derailed when he saw a toy he wanted and I said we couldn't get it. He got huffy, and then when we also emerged empty handed from Lowes, he started feeling like it was a wasted trip. When we got to the Adoration Chapel, he was upset and sulky. We both kneeled down to pray, him reluctantly at first. He started to blame God for things--He's not really there, He never answers my prayers, etc. I don't pray enough for my kids, but I prayed for him there, very intentionally, that he should never fall away from the Lord.

When we left the chapel, the waterworks began. He was upset because the memories we were making in the beginning of the afternoon, he loved them. "And then you had to RUIN EVERYTHING!" It wasn't what he expected. I knelt down to his level and tried to console him but he wasn't having it.

"You know D, we can make memories from anything. That's what's great about having an imagination. Anything can be a memory!"

He stopped crying for a moment and looked up, curious.

"Listen, I have an idea. Let's make a memory, something to remember between me and you, right now. Do you want to be my race car co-pilot? Yeah? Well, let's go."

I strapped him in, and started the car. "Okay, now listen, there's going to be a lot of drivers chasing us, so you have to have the smoke bombs ready. I'll try to lose them, but I'll need your  help."

He was listening, getting excited. "Okay."

We pulled out of the church parking lot and made a left to the highway. Soon enough, a car with headlights emerged in my rearview mirror. "Oh boy, D. Here we go."

"What?"

"Get the smoke bombs ready. I'll try to lose him."

I sped up. "We're losing him!" he cried. "Yeah, but there's a red light ahead. Get the smoke bomb ready!"

He was bouncing in his seat, excited. "Okay, bombs away!" He turned in his seat and threw an imaginary distraction at the guy behind us.

"We lost him!" I yelled, when the driver turned right and we turned left.

We continued to race and lose cars, throwing bombs all the way home. It was a silly game that boys love, that I loved growing up on vacation. I remembered it today, even with my lousy memory. By the time we got home, he was all smiles and told his mom and sister excitedly about everything we did. We managed to salvage a potential disaster with the power of imagination glued together with a few hours of borrowed time. It didn't cost us anything, and wasn't scheduled.

When we lose people we love, their memories sustain us. Memories are bonded to time, and they take place in real life, cached in the mind. They can also sear the heart, because we can never repeat them, only replay them. It's a kind of metaphysical currency we deal in. For a boy who has lost his dad, all he has of him are memories and mementos. If my kids ever lose me, I want them to have good ones that are worth their weight in gold.

"Daddy, Why Can't I Stop Sinning?" And Other Conversations

"Daddy, why can't I stop sinning?" my seven year old asked me this evening. He wasn't overly upset, but was clearly wrestling with something.

"What do you mean, son?" I asked.

"I mean, I keep on doing bad things. I say bad things to Mommy, and even to God, when I get angry. Even in my mind. And it's like I can't stop."

I asked him to come over and sit on my lap. "Do you remember what happened in the Garden of Eden?" I asked him.

"Satan tricked Adam and Eve," he replied.

"Yes, and do you remember what that sin that we inherited from them was called?" I asked.

"Original Sin," he replied.

"Yes, that's right. That's why we need the grace that comes in Baptism, to wash away Original Sin."

"But then why do I keep on sinning?" he asked, with a quiver. "Why do I keep offending God?"

"Well, even though we baptism takes away Original Sin and the punishment due to sin, we still have a big word called concupiscence. The effect of Original Sin, why we do bad things, remains. That was the consequence of Adam's sin, that we have to deal with in our lives. Do you want to read some scripture to learn more about concupiscence?"

[Nods]

"This is from St. Paul's letter to the Romans":

"For we know that the Law is spiritual, but I am of flesh, sold into bondage to sin. For what I am doing, I do not understand; for I am not practicing what I would like to do, but I am doing the very thing I hate. But if I do the very thing I do not want to do, I agree with the Law, confessing that the Law is good. So now, no longer am I the one doing it, but sin which dwells in me. For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh; for the willing is present in me, but the doing of the good is not. For the good that I want, I do not do, but I practice the very evil that I do not want. But if I am doing the very thing I do not want, I am no longer the one doing it, but sin which dwells in me.

I find then the principle that evil is present in me, the one who wants to do good. For I joyfully concur with the law of God in the inner man, but I see a different law in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin which is in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, on the one hand I myself with my mind am serving the law of God, but on the other, with my flesh the law of sin" (Rom 7:14-25).

"You see, we all sin. Mommy sins and Daddy sins, and you sin too. But we have a Savior who died for us so that we don't have to suffer the punishment of Hell that we inherited from Adam. He gives us the grace to resist sin, but in our weakness we fall. But you can go into your war room and get on your knees and ask for God's forgiveness when you sin, when you say hurtful things or don't obey your mom and me, or even when you are angry with God and say mean things to Him. He loves you and He will forgive you if you are sorry. Does that make sense?"

"But what about the worst sins?" he asked.

"Let's read some more scripture. Do you want to?"

[Nods]

"Listen to this. This is also from Paul's letter to the Romans, the next chapter":

"Who will bring a charge against God’s elect? God is the one who justifies; who is the one who condemns? Christ Jesus is He who died, yes, rather who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who also intercedes for us. Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? Just as it is written,

“For Your sake we are being put to death all day long; We were considered as sheep to be slaughtered.”

But in all these things we overwhelmingly conquer through Him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Rom 8:33-39)

"So you see my son, there is nothing that can separate us from the love of Christ. You can always repent, say you are sorry and resolve to amend your ways, and God will forgive your sins.  We are blessed to be Christians, because we have a Savior who loves us. You will make your first Confession next year. That is when you tell your sins to a priest, but it is actually Jesus acting in the person of the priest, who forgives you."

He was getting sleepy by this point. I could tell he was remorseful for his outbursts the other day. He did not want to sin, but kept sinning, even when he didn't want to. We spoke about the conscience, and how it is a great gift from God for us to know our sins, so that we can repent of them and seek forgiveness. Christ is the Divine Physician who wants us to be healthy, and sin makes us sick, but that he has the cure for that sickness.

He wanted to make up with his mother, but in private. He headed upstairs, wanting to be read to from his Catholic Bible. My son is a sinner like the rest of us. But like his namesake, he is a boy after God's own heart. And he has a great, great Savior in whom he can rest, for his yoke is easy, and his burden light.