1. This week, after farrrrr too long, I went to Confession.  (Ahhhh, what a nice, clean, wonderful feeling, leading me to ask, yet again, why I waited so long!)

2. My hair has not been in a ponytail all week (thanks in part to a contraption Jen recommended a while back).

3. We had not one, but two family movie nights in the last seven days. (If you’re curious, we watched Misty and Where the Wild Things Are.)

What are YOUR successes (small or otherwise) this week?

Share them at Faith & Family Live!

As an atheist, I have kept my beliefs to myself for a long time, because I was afraid what people would think about me. Atheists are one of the most disliked and least trusted groups in America according to public opinion polls.  Because of an obnoxious minority of smug and anti-religious atheists, Christians I don’t even know feel perfectly happy or even justified to question or even berate me for my beliefs, and the Christians who love me berate me and question my beliefs because of concern for my eternal soul.

As for me, I mostly don’t want to talk about it.  I am afraid of the baggage that comes along with the term “atheist.”  I am afraid that to religious people, my atheism is synonymous with the view that they are stupid or, worse, Satanists (a belief held by a not-insubstantial group of people).

I believe what I believe, because, as a social psychologist who studies human behavior, I am aware of and conduct experiments on a variety of judgmental and perceptual biases that are usually great, but lead people astray in certain situations.

This does not make them stupid. I believe that people who believe in the supernatural have many reasons to do so; we’re programmed to see patterns in our worlds; we’re particularly likely to see intentionality where none exists. Look at all the people who act like their pets or even inanimate possessions are people, for example.

We naturally assume that people’s behavior was intentional and reflect underlying traits.  We have a fundamental problem understanding what randomness looks like, we think things are linked more than they are, and we don’t understand covariation. This doesn’t make people stupid; it makes them human.  Of course some people see the caprices of fate and invent a benevolent god who will look out for them and help them when they really need it.  I see nothing wrong or stupid about believing the world is a better place than perhaps it really is.  I just don’t have the same belief myself.  I don’t think of it in terms of who’s right at all, and I certainly am not secretly laughing at people who are religious.

In next week’s post, Brittany will share why she doesn’t think religion is bad.

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I never met him. I never held him or felt his small weight in my arms.

He was, for me, a baby in a small white casket, the small person whose short life made St. Patrick’s Day into a reference point.  He was a hitch in my understanding of life, a tripping point for how life was supposed to work.

On March 16, I can’t help it: I think of Logan. I remember getting the phone call from my mother-in-law (who was, at the time, just my boyfriend’s mom), telling me that Susan’s pregnancy would not be ending well.  I remember hearing that Susan’s doctor didn’t want to see her until after she had the abortion.  I remember praying with everything I had and believing that those prayers would make a difference.  (They did make a difference, though I didn’t get the answer I wanted.)

The days are getting longer this time of year, and I always have a certain excitement underlying everyday.  The sun might just come out or the crocus might just bloom.  There’s possibility in spring as there is at no other time in the year…and there is also this memory of Logan.

It’s appropriate, as we journey toward Easter, that I look to Logan.  Eight years ago, he was given a chance to live.  Eight years ago, his parents made a hard decision and chose life.  Eight years ago, the family gathered and mourned.

In our mourning, there was also the seeds of joy.  It was at the funeral, in the back pew with a strong man crying beside me, that I first saw that joy does not equal happiness.  You can be devastated and still see joy.  You can be certain of grace but still screaming at God.

What better lesson and assurance of the resurrection than this baby? He did not have to suffer in this life; he knew only his mother’s love while he was safe inside her womb.  He was held first by Mother Mary.  He was whisked away, to pray for us directly to our Heavenly Father.

I wonder if Allen is hugging him in a special way today, now that they’re together in heaven.

My tears, today, will be for the pain we feel on this earth.  After eight years, it is still there.  This year, it’s been compounded by the death of Logan’s dad.

When I say my rosary today, I’ll be holding Mary’s hand with a special tightness.  I’ll be thinking of the many blessings that are possible from tragedy, of the many graces that come in the midst of suffering, of the beauty that can exist wherever we open ourselves to God.  I’ll also be asking Logan to pray for us, because our grief is especially large this year.

From the archives:

• The Day Before (2009)
• The Miracle (2008)
• In Memory of Logan (2007)
• Logan’s Mom Speaks (2007)
• Susan’s Story (2006)
• Small White Casket (2006)

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Part of the Mary Moment Monday series

I have been reflecting on marriage a lot lately. In part, these reflections are inspired by the recent and unexpected death of my 38-year-old brother-in-law.

In the last two months, I’ve seen my own marriage in a different light.

It’s not a bad thing for me.  I have witnessed a lot of marital strife and a few divorces.  Taking time for my growing and evolving understanding of marriage is a good thing.

Lately, when I think of my widowed sister-in-law, I see Mary at the foot of the Cross.  Since her suffering is inspiring my introspection, it follows that I should look to Mary in her marriage.

Mary was, after all, a married woman, though too often we seem to forget that. Her marriage is so important that Joseph has a feast day just for his role as her husband (on March 19; read more about it at ChurchYear.net and Catholic Culture).

Mary was a woman with a devoted husband and father who predeceased her.  She knows, so well, the pain of burying a young husband, the grief of holding a sobbing child, the difficulty of returning to a new and strange version of normal.

What does this mean to me?  How can I learn from someone wracked with pain when I have it all: a happy life and a healthy husband?  Should I feel guilty?

The lesson, for me, is one of being open, of saying Yes.

Yes, God, I am Yours.  Yes, God, so is he.  Yes, God, I know Your will is better than mine (even if I don’t understand it or see the good you can bring from it).

–

In other news…

• I mentioned my new “Mary in the Kitchen” segment on Friday (in #2), and now you can listen to it on Episode 64 of Catholic Foodie.  Enjoy!

• I had tons of fun on Saturday morning appearing on a Catholic Weekend that must have set some sort of record for longest-time-to-record-a-one-hour-show.  Listen in (if you dare).

• And, if you want to know what I thought of the FABULOUS book Rocking the Cradle Catholic, you can read my full review at CatholicMom.com.

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So when Rachelle Gardner posted about a giveaway of Athol Dickson’s novel Lost Mission, I was game.  (I was also, it should be noted, rather too optimistic about how quickly I’d get it read.  She posted in October.  Ah, well.)

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but when I read Dickson’s bio, which is a delightful story in and of itself, I suspected I had a winner.  (A sample: “In the same year Albert Einstein died, Rosa Parks made history and Disneyland was founded, Athol Dickson was born in Oklahoma to a traveling salesman and his wife.”  What’s not to love?)

By the end of the first chapter, I knew I had a winner.

Despite having four other books to read as I started Lost Mission, despite putting it down for at least a week here and a week there, despite travel and weird schedules, Lost Mission was a gripping, compelling, and AWESOME read.

Dickson takes a complicated tale, told from two different time periods and a myriad of points of view, and weaves them together in a way that’s nothing less than expert.  This book is a JOY to read.  (Maybe it helps I’ve read enough self published books with bad editing in the last year to really appreciate those components.)

These characters ring true, and though it took me a longer-than-normal time to read because of life circumstances, I had no problem jumping right back into the action and drama.  Though I’ll be lending my copy out to a friend, I’ll also be asking for it back.  This is the kind of novel that ages well and reads even better the second time.

Lost Mission read like a classic-in-the-making, and I’m looking forward to checking out Dickson’s other work.

1. Prepare to laugh

Michelle Reitemeyer, who blogs at Rosetta Stone, has long been a favorite of mine.  She outdid herself last week, though, and I feel it is my duty to share it.

My life right now is a little messy. “Mary, put on your diaper,” I’ll demand. “No, I, Naked,” she’ll respond. Well, hello, Naked.

It’s a post about potty training.  Maybe you think that’s not relevant to you.  And maybe that’s accurate.  But if you’ve ever been around potty training, you might enjoy this (you know, so you can laugh at those of us with toddlers). There’s even a handy quiz if, like Michelle and myself, you’re not sure if it’s time to bite the bullet with your version of “Naked.”

Take a moment, even if it means you won’t be coming back to see me, and read “I, Naked.”

2. Writing what I know (and what I don’t)

I’ve heard the advice, over and over and over, since I’ve started “really” writing that you should write what you know.  I have mixed feelings about this as advice (as I do about most advice), but I find that when I’m back against a wall, it’s what I do: I write what I know.  My latest column at Today’s Catholic Woman is an example of that.  I reflect on Mary’s title as Mother Most Pure and bare my heart a bit as I write about a woman who has been a hero and inspiration to me for as many years as I’ve known her.

On the front of sharing about what I know, however limited it may be, you’ll also find me on the upcoming episode of Catholic Foodie (which isn’t live yet) in a segment called “Mary in the Kitchen.”  If you’re not one to listen to podcasts or online content, I’m not offended.  But, boo for you, you’ll miss the awesome intro my Louisiana nieces, Junie and Ree, did, complete with a cascade of laughter that I think I may make into a ringtone.  (It makes me smile just to think about it.)

3. My lil cowgirl

My five-year-old is doing so well with riding lessons.

She’s been riding Trent.  She still likes him, even though at the lesson before this one, back at the end of January, he got spooked and she was thrown when he took off running.

He looks pretty laid back, doesn’t he?  He is.  And she is learning to control him.

Well, we’re fans…of the horse farm and of Trent the Pony.  Oh, and the smell of horse. 

4. My (un)Book

Over the summer, I announced that I was working on a book.  And now I find myself in the (embarrassing? awkward? weird?) situation of admitting to you that I have discerned that the arrangement I had is not one that will work for my life as it is right now.

That’s not to say there won’t ever be a book.  There just won’t be one soon. 

5. CNMC in Boston

On a more terrifying exciting note, though, I will be speaking at the Catholic New Media Celebration in Boston this August.  Will you be there?

I just realized, this week, that the weekend of the CNMC might conflict with our annual State Fair stuff.  So let’s just be up-front about this:  I really, really love you people to forgo one of my favorite times of the year.

6. Gunsmoke

Meet the new love of my life.

His name is Gunsmoke.  (I love that, on so many levels.)

He has a bit of character, as you can see.

We get along pretty well, so far.  (In answer to the discussion from a while ago, my husband said Yes to riding lessons for me.  What a guy! )

7. This weekend

As I understand it from my husband, this weekend is a big deal.  I suggested full use of the DVR; he maintains that not only would it get full, he wouldn’t have time to watch things back. The problem, I guess, is that he doesn’t take the week off like he used to. So I’ll spend the weekend with the kids, cuddling with him on and off, and entertaining thoughts of greener pastures.

I’m making him play basketball outside with our future basketball star, though!  (Someone has to get pictures!)

Unless it’s raining.  (Which he says he’s hoping for.) (I say we have enough mud!)

Quick Takes Friday happens because Jen makes it so. Check it out at Conversion Diary.

1. Though I have mentioned it on Twitter, I have not officially complained about a certain two-year-old’s magnetism for mud.  I have resolved, instead, to hold off on potty training until mud season is over, because I can only handle so many outfit changes an hour.

2. I have wanted to give up on a certain Lenten project, but I haven’t.  I have also wanted to do more (you know, because I can never do enough), but I haven’t.  Instead, I’ve been holding steady, offering my small failures to God as a little gift of humility and taking the graces as a sign of love.

3. Tonight is leftover night, because I’ve been cooking this week (not with a plan, mind you, but still).

You’ll find more small successes today, as you will every Thursday, at Faith & Family Live.

The answer to my questions about God came in the form of the most wonderful boy I had ever met, and the most loving and accepting set of in-laws that I could ever hope for.  I had no reason not to, so I started going to Mass every Saturday, and I loved it!  I think that the saints are so cool, and the ceremonies are so inspiring (although I think the Methodists have better hymns).

When we decided to get married, I even started down the road to becoming Catholic.  In the end, I couldn’t fool myself, and I had too much respect and affection for both my in-laws and the priest to fake it.

In the end, this is what it comes down to for me: I just can’t believe that there really is a God, no matter how hard I try.  I know a lot of social scientists who don’t, and studying extraordinary beliefs (even though we can’t study believing in God, because God is outside of science) might be the reason, I think most of us had doubts before graduate school.

I’ve never been able to believe in things that don’t have tangible effects, and for me, there are no effects enacted by God that can’t be explained by human factors.  But, as any good scientist will tell you, God is outside of science, and I fully acknowledge that my non-belief is exactly that: a matter of belief. I would never presume to think that people who do believe in God are stupid or naïve.

I still enjoy going to church, even though I’m not a believer (I hope no one is offended by my presence).  I have always liked the singing, which was always the part I enjoyed the most as a child.  I like the feeling of community that suffuses the church; I like the quietness and the peace and the light streaming through old stain glass windows.  I like the messages of hope and love and compassion and goodness delivered in the sermon.  I like holding hands with my husband, and smiling at my family, and wishing them peace.

I like the sentiment, and I appreciate it.  I just approach it from a different direction.  Similarly, I look forward to the baptisms of my nieces and nephews as celebrations of their new lives; I marvel at how mature they’ve become, and how amazing it is that they’re old enough to receive first communion or confirmation.

In other words, I love my family and respect their beliefs, even though I have not come to hold the exact same ones.

Next week, Brittany will discuss “coming out” as an atheist.

Outside my window: It’s not my window and it’s not early morning as I look out, but there is sunshine and piles of snow waiting to finish melting. Glorious!

Rambling thoughts: Spring is springing and this Sunday is the time change. Usually I complain…but I’m not this year. I’m holding my arms open and welcoming spring (and ignoring the wasps).

In thanksgiving: For family. For hugs around my legs. For baskets of clothes to fold and a prayer to say as I fold them.

Folded hands, bowed head: For a special, special intention that I’ve been holding close for many months.

Kitchen meanderings: I have a kitchen? No, seriously, I am so out-of-tune with my kitchen…and that’s OK.  I signed up for the free Rouxbe trial through Catholic Foodie and…(plug your ears, I’m going to start yelling in my excitement)…WOW!  It’s just what I’ve been complaining about for years.  So.  My menu is suffering a bit for lack of planning, and there’s no hope for it anytime soon, but as long as I keep making corn bread (I almost have Danielle’s recipe memorized), I think I’ll be forgiven.  And hey, doesn’t spring = grill?  (It does this year!)

Nose inserted: I’m working on slowly reading the Catechism and companion books.  For my fun reading, I just started In-Sight, by Gerard Webster, which I received from the author.  I think it’s going to be one of those novels that I’m not going to be sorry to tell you about…but I need to stay awake during my reading time first (the book is not putting me to sleep…I’m just getting started too late!).

Recent reads: Oh, I can’t wait to tell you about Lost Mission, by Athol Dickson, and there’s at least one post brewing in me about Strong Fathers, Strong Daughters, by Meg Meeker.

In my ears: I’m catching up on podcasts, but I’m also really enjoying the Gerard Faucheux album I downloaded a few weeks ago.  If you haven’t checked it out, you should.

Around the house: Toddler sleeping, preschooler watching a movie, mother-in-law talking on the phone.

A favorite thing: The weekly novel installments at CatholicMom.com. Right now, they’re featuring Through the Open Window, a book I read recently and found very entertaining.

Food for thought: From my Mary Vitamin this morning:

I beg you, my Divine Jesus, to send me a humiliation whenever I try to set myself above others. But, you know my weakness, Lord. Every morning I make a resolution to practice humility and in the evening I recognize that I have committed again many faults of pride. At this I am tempted to become discouraged but I know that discouragement is also pride. Therefore O my God, I want to base my hope in You alone.

The Prayers of Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, (ICS Publications: 1997)

Worth a thousand words:

Is Lent really almost at the halfway point?

Really?

The reminder I really need this year is that Lent can start at any point.  I’m succeeding and failing in equal parts, making this a typical year in many ways.  What I’m struggling with is different than last year, but the thing I’m succeeding with is also different.  One thing, in particular, is different.

This year, I’m spending Lent with Mary.

You can read about some of my ideas for spending the rest of your Lent with Mary at Faith & Family Live, and you can share your ideas too.  I’d love to hear them.

(Note on the picture: NO, my redbud tree isn’t flowering. Last check, it’s not even budded out yet. But a girl can dream…)