Posts Tagged ‘faith’
Catching Up…and Some About the Death of Pope Francis
Folks, I realized last week I hadn’t blogged in a bit. My health has continued to be problematic, and I’ve been run ragged by work, family concerns, and writing.
Yes, writing. (I do that sometimes. Still.)
Anyway, I just finished a short story in collaboration with Gail Sanders yesterday. (It still feels like the same day to me, but I know it’s not. Moving on…) We sent it out to its market (no, I’m not going to tell you any more than that right now), and it’s with the editor. We have high hopes, and once I know if the story has been accepted (or not), I’ll tell you more.
I’ll also say that Gail and I have discussed what to do if this story isn’t accepted. (In other words, we have a backup plan.) I have a couple of other stories that I can put with it that are of the same type and with at least some of the same characters, and Gail’s a whiz with cover art, so…it looks like either way, you’ll see something from me this year, whether it’s in an anthology or a story collection.
That’s important to me, too. It may not seem like it, as other than some short stories here and there, I haven’t had a huge output, writing-wise, in years. The last novel I put out was in 2017, it did not do well in the marketplace (to put it mildly), and while I have other novels that I’m working on, none have been completed. Worse yet, my computer gave up the ghost a few weeks ago, and while I have bought a new one, I found that not all of my files had been properly backed up. This was very irritating, because I try hard to back everything up every couple of weeks…and what this means is, the last few months felt like a few days (at least in some ways; in others, it’s felt like decades).
The other thing I wanted to discuss tonight was the death of Pope Francis, which happened earlier this week. It was both expected, as the Pope had not been in good health for the past year, and unexpected, as the Pope had taken part in Easter festivities (as do all Popes) just the day before.
See, Pope Francis was a truly good person. He came from a different background than many popes had before him, as he was from Latin America. He also had worked as a bouncer, I read, plus he had been a food scientist. And when he was just twenty-one years old, he had such a bad bout of pneumonia that part of one of his lungs was excised. He also didn’t go into the seminary until he was twenty-two, so it’s possible that the life-threatening illness had made him reevaluate his life, though no one has explicitly ever said so.
At any rate, he took to the Church, and they took to him. He became a Jesuit priest, and Jesuits are known for several things. Intellectual rigor. Care for the poor. Truly believing that priests should not amass wealth, and taking very, very little for themselves. He took a degree in philosophy, and he taught classes in psychology and literature in several high schools.
All of this showed him the value of an ordinary life. Not that any life is ordinary, which he knew and taught also. But he saw how regular people lived, and he wanted them to have their chance to live their best lives. He was never a priest for the elites. He was instead a priest for everybody, but most especially the poor, the vilified, the oppressed, the hurt, and the misunderstood.
At one point, Pope Francis (long before he became pope; I believe he’d just been consecrated as an auxiliary bishop) became estranged from other high-ranking Jesuits because of his beliefs as he dissented from some orthodoxy and/or made them uncomfortable. (I think it was the latter.) Because Pope Francis cared about the ordinary person, he was not as interested in social justice in the same ways as others were back then — which seems odd, as that’s nearly the first thing people bring up now that he is known for. But the way he did it was through direct work with people, not mass movements or calls to action, and perhaps that’s why some other Jesuits back then did not agree with him.
Anyway, when he was elected to the papacy, Francis decided he would eschew as much ostentation as he could. He rarely used the Popemobile. He did not live in the traditional opulent apartments, instead living in something like a quasi-dormitory as it was far more comfortable for him. He looked for ways to help regular people, even as he continued to hone his intellect (over the years, he did a dissertation — this, too, long before he became Pope — learned English and other languages, and finally, was known for being an erudite and sparkling conversationalist in all of them).
This personal style of his was characteristic of the man Francis had always been. He was intelligent, had wide-ranging experiences, cared about people in specific as well as in the abstract, and it was his goodness that made the difference. His true, caring heart, the soul he showed in his actions and words, and the way he treated people (to him, the President of the United States was no more important than a fisherman or someone who owned a convenience store, as every person had value and worth to be celebrated). Francis believed we all sin, but our greatness as human beings is in continuing to strive for better conduct, better treatment of others, better care for the poor, all of that.
Pope Francis was a man to be admired, emulated, and appreciated, precisely because he wanted none of those things. All he wanted was for people to treat each other better and to see each other as valuable regardless of social stature, country of origin, sexuality, or gender. Everything he did in his life was in service to that belief, because that was the hope that Jesus brought (along with the promise of eternal life). What we do on this earth, the works we do, the way we treat others, matters because we want to emulate how Jesus treated people…and besides, it’s the right thing to do.
One thing most people probably don’t know about me (but will now) is that I was raised Catholic. I took a few extra years to decide to become confirmed in the faith, meaning I was confirmed when I was sixteen rather than thirteen or fourteen. My CCD teacher was a very learned woman, a deacon, who hoped that someday, the Church would admit female priests. (I had conversations with her about it several times, privately.) There were hopes that the Church would admit married priests someday, too, though neither of these have happened as of yet. Most of all, though, the Church was known to be flawed — the scandal of all the children who’d been molested by priests was known, though not to the huge extent found out over the last few decades — but still did more good than harm.
This is why I became confirmed in the faith. I believed in the promise of Jesus (in many ways, I still do), I believed in a positive eternity, and my belief in the feminine face of God (also called the Shekhinah) was validated at the time not only by my CCD teacher but by Father Andrew Greeley. Father Greeley was a well-known author and sociologist, and he said quite bluntly that the way he kept to his oath of chastity and faithfulness was to remind himself that God encompassed male and female. (He said he thought of the Holy Spirit as Sophia, the Goddess of Wisdom, too. I’m for that.)
Why I went away from the faith is a long story, but I will say this: the worst of the church, the worst of any church, should not turn you away from your values even if you must turn away from the church for a while (or even for always).
As Pope Francis believed, it’s more important what you do than what you say. But yes, you should try to live your values. You should try as hard as you can to treat others the way you want to be treated. And you should remember that we’re all equal before the eyes of God, who encompasses male and female alike, and that what we do matters whether anyone else can see it or not.
Also, honor the truly good people among us whenever and wherever you find them.
That, in a nutshell, is why so many people, including many non-Catholics like me, are missing Pope Francis today.
Illness, Thanksgiving, and Observing My Late Father’s Birthday
My father was born around Thanksgiving, and even before I knew how to understand things like months, days, and years, I knew as early as three years old that if Thanksgiving was coming, Dad’s birthday would be soon.
Of course, Dad died last year about a month shy of his 87th birthday. Had he lived this long, he’d have turned 88.
There are so many things that have happened in the past year that would’ve pleased him. There were other things that would really have upset him, including the national uptick of bad behavior, rudeness, and obnoxiousness. In some quarters, it now seems perfectly acceptable to treat others with disdain, disrespect, and, quite frankly, dishonor.
Dad was a proud veteran of the United States Navy, and watching the country devolve into chaos would not have been his thing. The pandemic was more than bad enough as it brought out the worst in a whole lot of people that seemingly hasn’t gone away since.
Mind you, there are still many wonderful people out there. I think the majority of people in the United States, as well as around the world, are good, caring, decent, honorable, and kind-hearted people who want only to live and let live. We hear about the others because they are aberrations. But there seem to be more and more of them, and you see this sort of bad behavior everywhere nowadays. On the highways, with road-rage incidents and people shooting at each other. In the grocery store, where I’ve seen several fights break out over the years — more in the last few by far. Really, anywhere a person can congregate with another, including churches, mosques, or other buildings meant for faithful people to enjoy their religion/religious beliefs and others in their congregation, can hold a mass shooter.
Other countries do not put up with this, but the US does. I don’t know why. I’ve written about it many times over the years, and I’ll probably write about it even more when the next unthinkable incident happens.
It’s because of knowing this, along with observing my father’s birthday soon and then Thanksgiving later this week, that I have a hard time finding the blessings there still are.
But there are blessings. As I said, there are good people out there. The scenery can be beautiful. I’m fortunate that I live near Lake Michigan — it’s only a few short miles away — and I can gaze out at it any time of the year and gain some peace from that. Books have always been my salvation, too. Plus, I ponder a lot of moral conundrums, as it’s been my lot in life to be a spiritual seeker rather than a follower of any one religion. (I consider myself a NeoPagan, which most of you reading probably already know. But I read the Bible often for its beauty and elegance and feel it holds a lot of truth within it. I’ve also read translations of the Koran and some of the Bhavagad Gita, though not much of the latter stuck.) I consider Buddhism, as it was my late husband Michael’s practice, and try to let whatever part I can absorb infuse my soul with meaning and purpose. (That sounds odd, doesn’t it? Best I can do right now, though.) I have enjoyed reading about the Stoics and their movement of Stoicism, which isn’t exactly what we Americans think it was…yes, they believed in what one Star Trek writer called “mastery of the unavoidable,” but they didn’t believe you shouldn’t feel. They actually believed more along the lines of “don’t let the bad things throw you, as we all have bad things happen in our lives. What can we gain from life besides the bad things?”
Thanksgiving is a time to honor family, friends, and loved ones, past or present. I do plan to see my family, despite the fact I’m quite ill right now and have been for weeks.
(Some of you may be thinking, “Barb, what took you so long to talk about the illness you’re enduring?” I’m getting to that.)
About two weeks ago, I’d called my doctor’s office about my asthma, the fact my throat was sore, and that my allergies were acting up. I was seen, and told that it was most likely viral bronchitis. If I was still sick in a week, I should go back and be seen or walk into urgent care if it was a weekend.
So, yesterday, as I was still quite ill, I walked into urgent care. I was told I had an acute asthma exacerbation — thus the bronchospasms and bronchitis — along with a particularly wicked sinus infection that was spreading to my ears. I had so much fatigue that walking from my car to the house required several stops to rest, and that’s all wrong. I was very frightened by all of this, which I’ll admit here…I also didn’t want to eat anything, though I was still trying to eat, as my throat hurt so bad I could barely swallow.
I was using all my tricks to amp up my appetite, including drinking diet soda before and during meals. (For some reason, diet soda raises my appetite. I guess I’m not the only one this happens to, but I don’t know how frequently it happens to others.) During meals, I often drink diet soda or some other carbonated beverage in order to be able to swallow the food. (Two endoscopies have been performed in the last ten years to find out why this is and no one has any idea.) Plus, I knew that without food, I’d have no energy with which to heal myself.
Because I’ve got so many friends and family on the Other Side now, and fewer remain on this side, I thought a lot about why I continued to fight to stay on this plane of existence. Yes, I feel I have unfinished business. Yes, there’s editing to do. Yes, I’ve got I don’t know how many books in me to finish plus at least seven stories at work either singly or in collaboration with my friend Gail Sanders. Yes, my family needs me, and yes, I hope someday that I’ll find some nice man that can tolerate me (better yet, light up at the sight of me and enjoy all our interactions, but first things first) and that I can tolerate in return (again, I want a lot more than tolerance, but I tell myself, “Patience, grasshopper” in my best Kwai Chang Kane voice).
Still. My chest hurt so bad it was like a vise was around it. I couldn’t get a good breath. My cough was unproductive in the extreme, though intermittent. And until yesterday, I had been told it was viral and that I couldn’t do anything about it other than put up with it and hope it went away.
I’m fortunate that I still have medical insurance, though I wonder for how much longer. That said, I had it now, and I was able to get the medication I needed at a lower price than I’d have paid on my own after I was diagnosed with acute asthma exacerbation driving the bronchitis and a wicked sinus infection driving everything else.
Just knowing what’s wrong helps. Being able to take some medicine (in this case, antibiotics and steroids) that I know will work has improved my attitude overall, to the point I can at least come to my blog and write/talk about it.
I’m glad that the US still believes in helping those in need, those who are not as fortunate as others (I, a disabled, long-time and still youthful widow, count in that category). But the uptick in bad behavior has me concerned. If we as a country go all in for “I’ve got mine, to Hell with you!” we are doomed.
I think most of us want the US to be a strong and safe country with leaders that make sense and try to do the people’s bidding rather than go off on tangents and only fix their own, personal hobbyhorses. I also hope and pray that people in the US, as well as around the world, will know that putting someone else down does not make you rise up. It instead lowers you to your enemy’s level.
This has been a long blog. But it all weighs on me. Dad’s impending birthday, that I’ll probably celebrate out at the cemetery where he’s buried. Thanksgiving, where half the country seems to hate the other half. This illness, which came too close to me just saying, “OK, if my time’s up, it’s up.” (When you can’t breathe well, you can’t think, you don’t really have much in the way of energy as I said before, and trying to find positives seems like a Herculean effort.)
I hope those of you who are ill right now, in body, mind, or spirit will know that you are worth it whether anyone else knows it or not. I also hope that this Thanksgiving will be one of reconciliation and kindness. Somehow.
If you want to light a candle, though, please do it. Pray for peace, especially in the Middle East and the Ukraine. Pray for wisdom among our elected leaders. Pray for strength for ourselves, and healing, too. Pray for the downtrodden, those marginalized by bad circumstances, by faults not their own, and pray their situations get better. (Here I’m thinking about the Sudan, much of the problems Middle Eastern women have, and other such things along with the prosaic.)
If you want to add to your prayers, say a prayer for my father, who I hope is in Heaven/the positive afterlife of his choice now. Or you could even say one for me, and I can’t stop you…(I know it’s a weak joke, but that’s all I’ve got right now).
Please have the best Thanksgiving holiday you can, though. Try to find the good in your relatives, even if they are difficult and insist on only the choicest cuts of turkey and hog all the dressing to themselves. (You can always wait until they get up to use the bathroom and grab the rest of the dressing if they refuse to give it up, you know.)
Find meaning and purpose however you can. Remember, don’t spread vitriol, and do be kind to others.
That’s what I want this week. That’s what I want always.
Musing on Sunday: Making Difficult Choices
It’s Sunday, so I thought I’d try a different type of post today.
What do we do, as writers, and as people, when we have to make a difficult choice?
In our writing, sometimes we have snippets of dialogue and characterization that leap off the page, but don’t go with anything in the story. What do we do with it, then?
And in life, we never seem to get exactly what we want. The people around us — and we, ourselves, for that matter — make bad decisions from time to time. Or maybe they make good decisions for them, but bad ones for us…because they’re human, and they make mistakes. (Just as we do, but I digress.)
In writing, it’s easier to figure out what you’re going to do with a difficult decision. First, you can turn that snappy dialogue or great characterization into a new story that doesn’t conflict with the one you already have. Second, if that doesn’t work, you can simply excise it — the whole “kill your darlings” thing that all writers know, and all writers hate. And third, you can try to find a way to incorporate the good stuff into your manuscript anyway…though that last is the most difficult choice of all, as if it had been easy, that bit that stands out but doesn’t go with anything would’ve been incorporated already.
Note I said “easier.” It’s still not easy. You have to think, long and hard, about what you’re going to do, and make a choice that you have to live with.
In life, sometimes we can only react to what is put in front of us. Where we are today might not be at all where we want to be. (I think I can safely say that, under the circumstances; if I had my druthers, my husband would still be alive, we’d be about to celebrate fifteen years of marriage, and we’d have I don’t know how many books out, together and separately.) Because we’re in uncharted territory, we don’t know what to do, and we feel our way toward the best solution possible.
We have to have faith in ourselves that we can find a good answer, even when the question itself seems like it has no answer. We have to believe that we can reason our way out, think our way out, know ourselves well enough that we can stay on an even keel while everything around us feels unsteady, almost as if we’re enduring a long-lasting earthquake that doesn’t quite — quite — swallow us whole.
This is hard.
It’s especially difficult for our friends, who watch as we struggle, and give advice, and give comfort and support, and try to do their best to help you keep your body and soul together another day, so you can continue the fight.
But ultimately, the choices you make are up to you. You have to live with them.
So please, make your best decisions. Use your reason as well as your gut reaction. And then act accordingly…knowing full well that you can revisit your decision if and when the situation changes.
What do you do when you face a difficult choice, in writing or in life? Let me know in the comments.
Barb Caffrey's Blog 