revisiting brideshead revisited

I tried to find a Blogtember list of topics to inspire me what to write about, but instead I found a pretty basic list that included describing myself as though I were the author on the sleeve of a novel.

Melanie lives in the official Food Steamer of the country, Austin, Texas, and does nothing outside the house worth mentioning. She enjoys homeschooling, but in the kind of way that she hates it and resents it, but loves it (she's uncomplicated like that). When she's not homeschooling, she's frantically cleaning her living room rug that she stupidly bought, even though it has white lattice design on it. White. When the kids are in bed, she invests no time into anything productive, instead choosing to binge watch TV shows that recently came out on Netflix and reading the news, which in turn keeps her up late at night due to the anxiety she feels about anything other than someone smiling kindly. She has two children who probably need more structure to their lives and a husband who will be the fastest canonized future saint in the history of Holy Mother Church. Feel free to not contact her, as the social interaction will give her hives and possibly a mild heart attack. 

See? Ain't nobody got time for that.

Except you, if you just read it. Joke's on you.

Another was to write about what makes you happy.

Chocolate.

Check.

Be brave and make a vlog.

Google vlog. Heck to the no.

I am passionate about _________.

Does the term "not exercising" mean anything to you?

The obvious trend here is that this list isn't working for me.


So, I have to come up with things to blog about on my own. The trials I have to go through to keep you entertained.

I looked up the list I half-heartedly half-completed last year and lo and behold, September 24th's prompt was to review a book I've recently read.

Fancy that, as I wanted to write about a book I recently read.

How this book slips through the cracks for a gal who has been reading since she could logically put two letters together to form a concept, I don't know. I took AP English classes, my college schedule was filled to the brim with literature courses and honors seminar classes where all we did was discuss great writing (or not great writing, because let's get real - some of the stuff I read was just plain rotten and everyone acted like it was wonderful. Puh-lease. I can see right through you and your weedy-haze, liberal arts major.). Somewhere buried deep in my closet is a fancy piece of paper that certifies that I understand and excel in literature and creative writing.

Sidenote: post-college gets iffy on the choice of literature. I blame the overload of Amish fiction to the overload junky reading I was forced to do in college classrooms.

Sidenote: I really do like those Amish books. Nothing bad really ever happens. It's salve to my anxious soul.

Unpause.

What I'm trying to say is I read a lot. And my choice of reading is extensive. I've plotted vengeance with Dumas, anticipated the Second Coming with Connelly, cried with Dostoevsky; traveled through history with Rivers and the Thoenes; looked in the mirror with shame alongside Fitzgerald and Hemmingway and scoffed at Rand; I even milk cows alongside those Amish folks I just mentioned. There is nary a book cover left unturned by myself.

So I was surprised when that little "List Ten Books" game was going around Facebook and I kept seeing Brideshead Revisited pop up. I scurried to the library after the third recommendation I'd seen and quickly checked out this old, gorgeous copy from our library. The pages were frail and yellowed and if I could smell, I imagine they smelled musty and inviting. I'm convinced that all good books need to look well-loved, complete with dog-ears and food stains and and a little bit of water damage.

This book looked promising.

When I started it, I quickly realized it was British and written in the beginning half of the 20th century. A lot of good authors came from that period and I had a lot to compare this one to (see: degree buried somewhere in a storage closet in our house). I wasn't impressed immediately and the story didn't draw me in, but I pushed through. Very few books are left unfinished once I've started them.

I'm so glad I did.

I won't ruin plot lines, so bear with the ambiguity.

Once I got past the...British...in it (my blood runs Kelly Green, I can't help it), I was really struck by the depth of the characters that Waugh creates. I was so struck by it that I had to look up the plot to make sure that this book had characters with redeeming stories or qualities about them.

(Let's just say Cormac McCarthy and I aren't pen pals or anything. I can't handle his stories.)

Stick with it, pessimists; it does.

We had guests two days after I started reading this book in bursts (see: homeschooling and carpet scrubbing) and Joseph and I bunked with the girls in their room for the night. Once the wife went to sleep, I surreptitiously left Joseph to entertain the husband and laid down with Molly's flashlight and read for another hour and a half. I got up before anyone else the next morning and finished.

I'm so glad it was before anyone else because I sobbed like a baby at the end and that's just plain embarrassing when you have guests.

It wasn't the type of tragedy that McCarthy presents, where all you can think about is blood and gore and death and pain and suffering and all the things bad in this world.

This was the pain of beauty and redemption and mercy. The ache that experiencing God creates in a human soul.

I'm fully of the opinion that we need to fill our minds and souls with good. Not Pollyanna good, even though I get my fair share of that (Amish books for the win), but true goodness, which sometimes manifests itself in that which opposes evil.

Let me explain.

Pope Leo XIII's vision of the future Church and his witnessing the confrontation between Our Lord and Satan makes my blood run cold. But the beauty and goodness found there is overwhelming, too. Out of that preternatural confrontation, the Church was given one of the most powerful prayers of our time, once which was said at the end of every single Mass until fairly recently. One which families still pray at the end of Rosaries and sleepy children lisp at the end of their days. It's beautiful in and of itself, but also because it opposes evil itself.

The stories of the martyrs are filled with terrible suffering and ultimately death, but fill our hearts with the goodness and beauty of the Faith and their ultimate gift of love for God and the rest of the Church throughout time. St. Maximillian, St. Agnes, St. Thomas More, St. Issac Jogues, the Holy Innocents, St. Lawrence. These are some of the bloodiest stories in recorded history, but some of the most inspiring and good in the truest sense of the word.

Those examples to say that we have to fill our minds with goodness. That which lifts our hearts and souls to Heaven and helps them to desire it more. Not that which weighs us down to this world and it's trappings.

Brideshead Revisited isn't a story for the weak. It's a story that challenges the strong to realize just how weak they might be. It's a story of the Church and how She isn't an institution for the perfect, but one to help bring sinners to holiness and to the One who is perfect. It's a reminder that the mercy of God knows no bounds, as long as we're ready to meet Him with a contrite heart and a realization of our own humanness and failings.

It's a story of Christ thirsting for souls and souls, even unknowingly, longing for Him in return.

Brideshead is a book that every Catholic should read and revisit at least once a year; every Catholic household should have it gracing their bookshelf; every Catholic student should study and analyze it in high school, alongside Hemmingway, Steinbeck, Woolfe, and Fitzgerald.

I truly liken this book to Mr. Blue by Myles Connelly, which is no small comparison, as I think Mr. Blue to be the height of literary achievement during it's time period and well beyond. In fact, I think this could be a prelude to Mr. Blue's life story.

The redemptive story found in Brideshead is truly one that has great potential to be life-changing. Go buy yourself a copy and some Kleenex and settle in for the weekend. Netflix can wait, I promise.

to the men who punched me in the stomach last weekend

My parents have always taught me to treat others fairly. Skin color, religion, sex - nothing should create a barrier for charity.

Sidenote: this is not to be confused when I'm talking with a non-Catholic and I mention contraception/the Communion of Saints/Sacraments and then stumble over my words because I realize I'm talking to a non-Catholic and oh my gosh, does she even know what this means or do I look like an idiot, but wait, I can't stumble or she'll notice I'm stumbling and get her feelings hurt. So let's just change the subject to....dang, what should I change the subject to? I can't think of anything. Stop, just stop. Just.Shut.Up.Melanie.

We assist at Holy Mass at the beautiful, looming Cathedral in downtown Austin. Anyone who's ever graced a dirty sidewalk of downtown can tell you that there are a lot of homeless people there. A lot. And they make me nervous because I'm walking with two little girls and they are mumbling to empty corners or smoking or  asking me for money and are, well, homeless. I do tend to take a wide circle around doorways and stairs where they usually hang out because my oldest, the Super Sniffer, inevitably asks why that man smells bad and is sleeping at our church door. It makes for an awful situation all around.

So, I take a wide circle. I act as the devout Jews did in Luke 10, with the dying man lying aside the road. I carry with me food, if it's not Sunday (because I'm frenetic trying to get to Sunday Mass, I don't know), in case the homeless person enters my giant personal bubble, so I have something to give him. But otherwise, I put a little spark in my step and hold tight to the hands of my girls, and wide-circle it.

Pretty rotten of me, right?

I'm not advocating for those with young children or those barely surpassing the size of the Munchkin race to fling themselves into the throes of helping the homeless on the front lines. There are plenty of safer options while leaving the person-to-person help to the bigger, stronger, braver sex. While not every or even most homeless people are dangerous, using common sense is just smart.

But what I am advocating is to recognize that these people are people with dignity. They have souls that Our Lord loves and cherishes.

And I'm saying this mostly to myself because I tend to, I don't know, struggle with anxiety, that every person is going to attack me and my children as we just stroll along the sidewalk to Mass in broad daylight. (I know.)

All this to say that I have a story. And it hit me hard.

I try to go to Confession every week. Our parish offers it on Sundays before and during Mass, so it's not hard to go at all. And it's easy to get to know the weekly-ers while standing at the back of the church for half an hour every Sunday.

A few weeks ago, a man caught my eye. He looked like he was ex-military: military haircut, dressed sharply, and stood straight and still in line for Confession (that's pretty much my ex-military litmus test). But he carried with him a huuuuuuge backpack and a jug of water. I commented to Joseph after the second week of seeing him stand in line for Confession that he intrigued me. I mentioned that I felt very compelled to pray for him because I wondered if he was a homeless vet.

Fast forward two weeks. An usher friend of ours who is ex-military (the haircut and his stories are a dead giveaway) said that he had been intrigued by this gentleman and asked him after Mass about his story. He told our usher friend that he is homeless. Our friend said he gawked in surprise. He told the man that he feels awful and didn't see that coming at all. The homeless man said that he finds comfort in church and cleans up as best as he can when he comes to see Him.

As far as I know, that was the extent of their conversation (besides the "how can we help" conversation).

That punched me in the gut, y'all.

I get so caught up in focusing on the difficult time our Mass is at (3:30pm) and how our kids are tired and hungry and cranky that I forget that we are looking upon the Creator and Saviour of the universe in the Most Holy Sacrament.

Why am I not crawling on my knees to the altar? Instead I'm standing in the back of the church (albeit, in line for Confession because graces and help and I'm a miserable sinner, duh) letting my mind wander to the story of the guy with the backpack. Or I'm sitting up front with two little girls preparing for their First Holy Communions and stressing that I'm not doing enough and they just don't get it.

(Hello, log in my own eye. Didn't notice you.)

This man is homeless. He has no home. He lives on the dirty sidewalks and begs for his meals. People step over him and ignore him and make wide circles around him.

He dresses up as best as he can to visit Our Lord.

This man gets it.

This story came paired with another on that Sunday (the Feast of the Exultation of the Holy Cross).

Joseph is so good at evangelizing (he doesn't wide-circle anyone). He will sit with those not of the Faith and talk and talk for hours (for years, it's true). One of his dearest friends is a Protestant who is searching for the fullness of Truth. He and Joseph have gone back and forth for four years about religion. And Joseph has never budged: he's maintained Truth and that the Catholic Faith has the fullness of it.

We've gone to our separate cities since the beginning of these conversations, but the conversations still happen, via phone and email. And recently, our friend quietly and humbly admitted that if he thinks that the Catholic Church has the fullness of Truth, and he's not so sure it doesn't, that's where he and his wife need to be.  And then even more recently, we found out that this friend and his wife have been not just once, but three times to the Catholic parish Joseph recommended to them in their city.

We found this out on the Feast of the Exultation of the Holy Cross. Joseph called his friend just to chat and his friend said he couldn't talk, but before he got off the phone, he just had to tell Joseph that he is in awe that we have the True Cross. Joseph chuckled and said that yes, as Catholics, we definitely recognize the Resurrection as the height of our beloved story of salvation, but we always keep in mind the Passion that Christ suffered for --

No, Joseph. Y'all have the True Cross.

He went on to explain that Catholic parish that they went to that morning celebrated the Feast of the Exultation of the Holy Cross by having a procession that honored the a piece of the Holy Cross that the parish has.

Our friend was in awe of this.

This, too, punched me in the gut.

Our friend and his wife are Protestant (though searching) and they saw and felt the power of the True Cross. Though they didn't mention it, I wonder if they saw and felt the power of the True Presence, as well. They've been to this Catholic church at least three times without us there. Something...Someone is drawing them ever closer.

And yet we have people, myself included, in the Faith who take for granted that we can receive the Body and Blood everyday. We can go into Adoration and talk face-to-Face with Our Lord. We can step in line weekly for Confession and have our souls cleaned and the graces to keep it that way.

I see and feel the beauty of the Sacraments and sacramentals and powerful prayers, but I don't always appreciate them the way they deserve and NEED to be appreciated.

These are the steps to holiness and salvation and they are not to be ignored.

GK Chesterton wrote that, "A dead thing can go with the stream,  but only a living thing can go against it."

These two men cautioned and inspired me: cautioned me against growing complacent while going through the motions of being Catholic, but forgetting the point of it, and inspired me to truly have a love affair with Our Lord and His beautiful, beautiful Church.

Let's get cliche for a moment: love isn't a noun, it's a verb - a constant choice. A living thing. In order to fight against the culture of hate and death and narcicism and apathy, we must be alive with this virtue. Our love affair with Christ and His Church must continually grow until we can't hide it inside of us and it touches everyone we meet.

And so to the men who punched me in the stomach a week ago - thank you. Thank you so much.

{a review} prayer pillowcases, aka, the dream whisperers

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep,

May God protect me through the night,

And wake me with the morning light.

I relished those lispy-whispered prayers when my girls began saying them, first because precious, duh, but second, because it meant that they were finally, finally going to sleep. And I could finally, finally go to sleep.

But God laughs at our plans, right? And chuckle He did when He graced me with a child who doesn't like sleep and another who struggles with vivid dreams spawned by an overactive imagination.

We follow a routine of blessing the girls' room, blessing their sweet little foreheads with holy water or oil, and praying for the protection of their angels and St. Michael as they go to sleep. We've found that this comforts scared little imaginations in the middle of the night.

And then I went to Edel and was gifted with a Prayer Pillowcase in the fantastic swag bag they gave us. My girls were enamored with it. They wanted to take it out immediately and play with it, but I'd already mentally gifted it to a goddaughter of ours. As the girls kept begging for it, I realize what a gift these pillowcases could be and how much every precious Catholic child would love them.

I contacted Prayer Pillowcases and a sweet lady named Leane didn't think me crazy and agreed to do a review with me.  Leane was not only professional in our correspondence, she was personal. She was a friend (holla Mystical Body of Christ!).

She told me to have our girls pick out a saint pillowcase each and she would send them our way. I figured Molly would go the standard route of St. Therese and Ellie would follow suit and pick St. Joan (their beloved favorite saints, respectively). Nope! They surprised me and asked about the saints they didn't know and fell in love with some new stories. I sent their choices to Leane and she graciously and promptly sent me their pillowcases.

I was going to play a guessing game to see if y'all could guess the saints, but then I realized my photographic skills included taking pictures of the names of the saints on the pillowcases. Easiest game ever.

Pretty happy!

Or really happy - look at that face!

Or really, really, really happy.

Molly fell in love with the prayer that was on St. Kateri's pillow. My sweet little girl struggles with being timid and afraid to try new things. I can tell when she's scared because she tells me, "Mommy, I know God is with me so I'm not scared. Nope, I'm not scared. God is with me!" I can't tell which touched her heart more - St. Kateri's story or the prayer on her pillowcase which focuses on courage. Either way, she has a new favorite friend in Heaven, thanks to her beloved pillowcase!

Elisabeth picked St. Cecilia because she said she was beautiful. I'm not about to question a four-year old. She's grown in her love of St. Cecilia and her story and I've finally learned how to spell the name Cecilia, so it's a win-win-win.

What I particularly love about these pillowcases is that the prayers on them are written with children in mind. The prayer focuses on the virtues that the saint lived in her life, all while helping the child overcome common struggles of being, well, human and figuring out this big, sometimes scary world. And the words are simple for a young reader to read, understand, and hold close to her heart.

After I forced the kids to take too many pictures without the pillowcases being out of their packages, the girls were finally allowed to put them on their pillows.

New game. Who can tell if my children loved them?

I tried so very had to get a picture of both girls with their pillowcases prominently displayed. Little hands and big pillows don't mix. BUT in good news for everyone out there, it means that if you have a big pillow, these pillowcases have got you covered (ba dum ching...pun definitely intended). But for real - our pillows are bigger than the standard size and these pillowcases leave plenty of room for a bigger size if your head desires anything more than flat.

If only this meant she was sleeping. Instead, she was scooting across the floor. Isn't that what you do when you get a new pillowcase?

Prayer Pillowcases doesn't brag about this on their site, but their goodness is multi-faceted. Not only do they provide their owners with a beautiful place to rest their heads, but they provide religion lessons for homeschooling mothers who have no idea what they're doing. 

Poster Catholic homeschooled children. Also, be still my heart.

Religion lesson for the day - listening to Glory Stories CD of St. Kateri and St. Cecilia (which coincidentally are on the same CD, which we didn't know before this!) and drawing pictures of their new Heavenly friends.

My husband asked if I was going to blog about any negative aspects of the pillowcases. I told him I didn't have anything negative to say about them.

I might have something. It's tangential, but I have to be honest.

These pillowcases do not enhance any artistic skills of one's children.

Ahem.

St. Kateri

St. Cethelia, aka St. Cecilia.

But they do inspire a modernized version of Butler's Lives of the Saints, coming to a store near you nowhere in the near future.

Playing Mario with Daddy and new friends. This was not staged, promise. They love these pillowcases this much.

These pillowcases have quickly become beloved treasures of our girls. 

We try to surround our children with toys that point their hearts and imaginations toward Beauty, and Truth, and Heaven, because after all, this earth is just a stopping point before we go to our Heavenly Home and we want our children on the right path. We're surrounded by so much junk in this life - TV shows, songs, toys, and clothing that threatens to drag our children's souls down to their base level rather than elevate their souls and hearts to God. 

These pillowcases are on the forefront of fighting that battle.

Elisabeth (the overactive imaginer) has told me that she's woken up at night scared, but she just prayed to St. Cecilia and she felt better and went back to sleep. Molly's told me that, when she wakes up, she says her prayer to St. Kateri, and when she's done reading at night, after I tuck her in for the night, she sits up again and says her St. Kateri prayer again. 

Joining us on our road trip two weeks ago were Jaggie - beloved kitty friend, and St. Cecilia pillow, taking up much room in our tiny car, but much-required by it's adorable owner.

My motherly heart sings at the joy that my girls are learning, through the simple gesture of having a saint's picture on their pillows, the comfort of turning to Our Lord and His saints in moments of need.

And y'all - my motherly heart also sings at the quality. Seriously. I've washed them and they look just as good as they did when we unwrapped them. These are the real deal. They are adorable and well-made. They're all made in the good ole USA, too, using a Direct-to-Garment process. The ink is non-toxic and completely safe for those precious little heads sleeping on it. 

As the holidays approach, definitely keep these in mind for the children in your life. Our Lord commanded to let the little children to come to Him. The folks at Prayer Pillowcases have truly taken this to heart and made a product that helps lead little souls to the comfort of Our Lord, His Blessed Mother, and His saints. 

I'm going to pretend that my godchildren's parents don't see this because they are wonderful gifts.

Oh! 

And BONUS quality about these pillowcases: If you're anything like my uncrafty self and dread Halloween and All Saint's Day costumes, take heart that Molly's dressed up as St. Kateri at least half a dozen times and insists on dressing as her for Halloween (x2 for All Saint's Day, thank goodness). So pick a saint whose look is easily made into a costume and gift your child a pillowcase today, before October hits. :)

Go shop-happy and visit the kind folks at Prayer Pillowcases! They have free shipping, fantastic customer service, tons of options, a personalization option, and are really, really well-made. 

They have this Catholic mama stamp of approval. Which is pretty much a laity-version of the Imprimatur. 

One more thing, because I can't get enough of these pillowcases and I want y'all to know how much I love them:

For those family members and friends who kiddos are at their local Catholic school, there is a fundraising option! Move that World's Not-So-Finest aside and use these instead. They are fantastic AND CATHOLIC!

Laity-impramatur over. Go shop.