30 November 2011

Some inflammatory rhetoric, because I'm getting bored

It would appear that, generally speaking, one who detests the more normal functions of a woman's body, even if she who detests such functions is herself in so-called possession of that body, is fundamentally un-poetic. Which is to say, out of touch with the metaphysical, with who Woman is as She was created and as She exists even now as the Bride of Christ.

The Bride feeds her children from her Body. So, then, because this is what Woman does, this is also what women do, insofar as they are given to do so by God. To do otherwise when it has been given you to do is to deny your existence as a woman, and to become Something Else.

There are really but two choices for a woman who desires to be fully a woman: to remain a virgin and thence serve her neighbor out of love for Christ; to marry, chastely submit to her husband, and serve her own people out of love for Christ. Either choice is equally good, for the Woman is both virgin and mother, and thus, to have Woman reflected among us today, we need both virgins and mothers in our society, all working in their given roles to the best of their abilities as they have been blessed by God.

However, to try somehow to be both is aberrant and plain weird, because, then, what exactly are you?* There has been but one perfect reflection of the Virgin Mother: Mary, who bore unto us Christ, our Lord. The rest of us can't have it all, because "all" hasn't been proffered to us. We must choose. And if you are married, then you have chosen to have children insofar as they are given to you (Wives have the option of not having children? What does that even mean?). And once you have borne a child, then you have chosen to feed that child from your own body and to pour yourself out as a drink offering over the child, because this is what your Mother does for you. You cannot continue as if you were a virgin, just as the virgin cannot feed a child from her body. And yes, we live in a veil of tears, and it's difficult to die to yourself and to become your child's mother. I daresay, that very exercise is much of the point, for it is this exercise which makes a mother more like the Woman. As such, it is God's gift to women, further evidence that He loves us and counts us among His children. As if we needed any evidence beyond Christ's blood! But see how our cups overflow! Do you see?

Carry on.

*My friends, I know there are Hard Cases. I am sad with you.  

23 November 2011

2:00--someday

22 November 2011

A story about a story

Katie sent me a heads up a few weeks ago about a short fiction contest from Lulu. My natural inclination was to say that I can't write fiction.

But then I saw that one of the prizes was a Nook. And I would really like a Nook because then I could give it to my kid for Christmas and she could stop stealing my Kindle (can you get tons of free old-timey kid books on Nook like you can on Kindle?).

So back to not being able to write fiction: I got to thinking and realized I'd just written up my birth story for the benefit of myself and the boredom of a few friends and relatives. Contest stories only had to be 600 words long. I could write 6000 words about making lunch yesterday and it, like much of my life, would sound ridiculously fictional.

So I did some editing and published that silly thing on Lulu. It is an EPUB. I have no idea what this means except that I can't read it on my Kindle (I guess it can be read on a Nook, which is great because the only person I know with a Nook is Gauntlets and she's already read it). I don't know if it's done properly because I couldn't figure out how to preview it. I wanted to charge about $0.04 for it but then I learned I'd have to charge a dollar to turn a profit of one bright zinc-y penny. At the end, I got a message that said, "Your story has successfully be submitted." I thought that sounded really promising.

So if you'd like to pay $1 for the privilege of attempting to read an unpreviewed EPUB of my most recent birth story (oh yeah, it's a birth story--ew! Don't worry, though; it's just about the human condition), here's your big chance. Only 9900 zinc-y pennies and I'll be able to buy a Nook like suckers who would never win that dang contest anyway. Or a Kindle!

So.

20 November 2011

What I remember from high school

Sheesh, I've been looking for this poem on the internets for years. Finally found it here. Thought you should know.

BLINDMAN'S BUFF
Peter Viereck

Night-watchmen think of dawn and things auroral.
Clerks wistful for Bermudas think of coral.
The poet in New York still thinks of laurel.
(But lovers think of death and touch each other
As if to prove that love is still alive.)

The Martian space-crew, in an Earthward dive,
Think of their sweet unearthly earth Up There,
Where darling monsters romp in airless air.
(Two lovers think of death and touch each other,
Fearing that day when only one's alive.)

We think of cash, but cash does not arrive.
We think of fun, but fate will not connive.
We never mention death. Do we survive?
(The lovers think of death and touch each other
To live their love while love is yet alive.)

Prize-winners are so avid when they strive;
They race so far; they pile their toys so high
Only a cad would trip them. Yet they die.
(The lovers think of death and touch each other;
Of all who live, these are the most alive.)

Plump creatures smack their lips and think they thrive;
The hibernating bear, but half alive,
Dreams of free honey in a stingless hive.
He thinks of life at every lifeless breath.
(The lovers think of death.)

16 November 2011

Blessed are ye that hunger now

It is sometimes difficult to see, but it is nonetheless true that those of us living this CSPP life have more in common with folk who confess the real presence of Christ in His supper, even if those folk use birth control, than we have in common with Michelle Duggar.

08 November 2011

Personhood

The reason Mississippi's "personhood" initiative is getting attention is its implication for contraception. If personhood begins at fertilization, the initiative would de facto illegalize hormonal contraceptives. It is abortion advocates, not crazy anti-contraceptive people, making the noise. Abortion supporters are completely comfortable with hormonal contraceptives' failsafe mechanism of creating a uterine environment unfavorable for the implantation of a fertilized ovum.
Diane Derzis, who runs Mississippi's only abortion clinic, said most people don't understand how far-reaching the amendment could be. "By this very definition of this bill, a fertilized egg is a person, so that does away with the IUD and most forms of birth control," she said.

Pro-contraception Christians are the only people who have ever balked at accepting the potential for all forms of hormonal contraception to function as an abortifacient.

Disclaimer: Mea maxima culpa.

07 November 2011

Funny you've likely already seen, recommended

If you haven't used up all your YouTube time today, spend it on The Lutheran Satire channel. You won't be sorry.

05 November 2011

Fish, flesh, good red herring, and the Church of the Augsburg Confession

This thingy was at Mere Comments a while back. It looks at the "religious fertility" of a variety of traditions and categorizes them into four groups:

Religious Malthusianism idealizes 0-2 children
Implicit Natalism idealizes 2-3 children
Patriarchal Moderate Natalism idealizes 2-4 children
Patriarchal Extreme Natalism idealizes "the more, the better"

This struck me as another one of those times when we just don't fit. I have never heard any CSPP type say or imply, "the more, the better" (although they have been caricatured by their detractors as saying so, and worse). Once again, we are not Quiverfull™. The theology of the cross tells us that some won't get many or any and some will be overwhelmed. There is no right or wrong number. There is only faith's response to the gifts God would give, and faith's response to the gifts it does or does not receive.

02 November 2011

This cup

Sometimes, my heart breaks for the child who ran outside today, shockingly shoeless at first, to capture the first snow of the season.

Cup outstretched, he spun in the rain, the sleet, dashing between drops in his pursuit of the precious white stuff. Wads of snow clumped thickly downward in the mix, bright against dark wet bark, incongruous over lingering autumn color-collage.

But the snow he was so earnestly after—it disappeared even as he touched it. His cup was filled not with the abundance of magical flakes he hoped for, but with a scant spattering of dreary drops. A small disappointment, perhaps—but my mother-heart in that one moment ached under the weight of many moments, heavy for this child of mine to whom many things come hard.

But when he turned and saw me where I’d stepped out to snap his picture, his face was flushed with wet glee. “Look!” he shout-chortled joyously: “Your back has snow on it!”

And then he drank impossibly deeply from what appeared to me to be a woefully meager cupfull, and was satisfied beyond words.

I ducked back into the house to ponder these things, and to treasure them in my overflowing heart. He returned a bit later, soaked, glowing, and unusually quietly contented of spirit.

When I want a heap of snow, and I get a spattering of sleet instead, can I too drink and be satisfied—even unto quiet contentedness of spirit, even unto overflowing joy?

This is grace: our daily cup. We spin madly about, waving our tumbler heavenward, trying to capture only what we want from the mix, demanding the refills we think we need—but our Lord knows that too much can be deadlier than too little. We pray, “Lord, take this cup from me”—but our Lord knows that heavy luggage can be His revolutionary prescription for weary souls. For each of us, He lovingly mixes the bitter and the sweet, titrating with a precision we could never even approximate.

Lord, teach me to pray: Take not this cup from me—only teach me to drink from it deeply, to find even in its dregs an impossible satisfaction, a contentment surpassing words, a joy glowing strong.

01 November 2011

An idea

We're plowing into the holiday season, and you know what that means! A significant uptick in nominally-planned conversations about your lack of procreative sense!

Word to the wise: when the topic comes up, say, "You are sweet to be concerned. Why don't you discuss your concerns with my husband?" Chances are very, very good the crickets will start chirping your favorite tune then and there. ;)