So long, and thanks for all the fish.

This blog is on hiatus.
Keeping up with a blog and a toddler is just entirely too time-consuming, so you know who won that battle.
I will never have the time to recover my links, plus, I am too lazy to even attempt it.
I will still post from time to time, perhaps, but I cannot keep up with this blog on a daily basis. We are trying to sell our home and I have begun a 54-day Novena and there is too much work to be done to bother with blogging.
I have found that not doing it has given me more time for the important stuff.
I can't say what will happen in a month, but right now, it's just not a priority.
I will still be dropping by others' blogs occasionally, and I am happy if anyone got anything out of this one.


Joe is still updating the Mary blog when he gets a chance.

Thanks to the loyal readers (all four of you) - I still have e-mail, you know!
;)

I am...

about to delete this entire blog.

I wanted to add Playlist to my sidebar, but I could only do that if I went back to the old template, which I did.

Now all my links are gone, and I am not about to take hours upon hours to fix it.

I don't know how to add stuff, I don't know how to delete stuff.

I AM DONE with blogger.

FL Wife has some HUUUUGE news!

And I do mean HUGE!

Go check it out!

Latin Mass printable resources.

St. Odilo's now has a printable Missal to be used for the Latin Mass.
In addition, you may print the readings as they change from week to week.

Father also links to a word-for-word translation of the EF Mass.
Also, there are audio links to the chants for the unchangeable parts of the Mass, and a "Learn Gregorian Chant" link.

Nice page - check it out!

I think...

...it must bring Our Lady great delight when people name their children after her.

(I don't mean it delights her in a vain or superficial way, duh.)

Anyway, I thought this story was worth sharing.

Here is what little Anna Maria's daddy (surpised but touched by all the attention) later said when asked to tell more of the story:

We have heard from so many people world wide about the picture, we still can't believe it.

The story about the picture goes like this, my wife took Anna outside to take some pictures of her in her new dress. As she began to take the pictures, the batteries in our digital camera died. They came in and Amy said that they could only get one picture because of the batteries. I told her that we have lots of batteries and replaced them for her while they went back outside.

After I gave the camera to Amy, Anna walked up to the statue and began talking to Our Lady. She would talk for a while with her hands up, stop and wait for Our Lady's answer before talking again. After a few minutes, their conversation was over and Anna went back to playing.

Now she does not only talk to Our Lady, but stops and kisses Her goodbye before we leave in the morning. Attached to this message is a copy of the original picture which is in a higher resolution than the image of the article that you can post on your site if you like.

Father Matt Foley. Who lives in a TENT! DOWN BY THE RIVERRRR! (The Euphrates, that is.)

From March, 2008:

Rev. Matt Foley has stood by the ornate oak altar of his church and made the sign of the cross over dozens of young soldiers bound for Iraq and Afghanistan. Each time, his blessing has echoed through the Little Village sanctuary and back to a long-ago promise unfulfilled.

In the early 1980s, Foley faced diverging paths: Follow his brother into the Army, or follow his faith into the priesthood. Reluctantly, he felt pulled to the church.

But he told his brother, Mike, that he would join him in the service if war ever came.The U.S. invaded Iraq in 1991. Mike commanded a company of Bradley Fighting Vehicles as they stormed across the desert. Matt was two years out of the seminary, sworn to the church, tied to his priestly duties at a North Lawndale parish.

Entire article: "Chicago Priest Heeds Call to Iraq"

From 2004:

No One Steals From God

Chicago Priest Chases Down Church Bandits


Two men who allegedly tried to rob a Chicago Catholic Church late Wednesday afternoon are in police custody after a priest chased them down.The collection box at St. Agnes Church on the Southwest side had been robbed before so the priest and church volunteers were on alert. Through video security cameras, they saw a man brazenly lay out tools and try to pry open the box where about $300 was kept.

Father Matt Foley ran from the rectory to the church and grabbed the man’s tools. They fought in the church and the altercation spilled into the street and then the alley. While parishioners called police Father Foley tried to keep the robber from stabbing him.“He had threatened me that he had a knife so I saw the knife pouch on his belt. So, knowing that he had a knife --- I had to physically keep his hand away from the knife so I wouldn’t be harmed. So I put him basically in a half-nelson and held him to the ground,” said Father Foley.

Police arrested two men, 24-year-old Mark Lopez and 44-year-old Arturo Camarillo, who Father Foley says had received meals and other charity from his church. They are holding the suspects at the 10th District.

Father Foley said he learned to fight growing up with four brothers and two sisters. He said he would take a similar risk again to save the church's money. He says, "No one steals from God."

Now THAT'S motivational, folks.
St. Michael the Archangel, pray for him.

Eegah vs. Gaia.

Eegah has a new series of Outtakes up, this one dealing with those people who whine things like, "Jesus caaaan't be real because we don't know the exact date of Chrissssssttttmasssss and so it caaaaan't be real! December 25th is Saturnaaaaalia! They just wanted to keep the paaaaagans downnnnnn! Waaaaaaaaaaah!"

Most excellent.

Here's a peek:

Go see the whole thing!

Heard a joke.

A priest, a minister, and a rabbi are all in a boat fishing.

The priest says, "Well, I've got to go to the boathouse to use the restroom" and he exits the boat and walks across the water to shore and into the boathouse.
The rabbi is mystified.

When the priest returns, the minister says, "Well, I have to go use the restroom now" and he exits the boat and walks across the pond to the boathouse.

The rabbi shrugs and says, "Well, I have to go use the restroom" and he exits the boat and sinks like a stone.

The minister says to the priest.......





"Think we should have told him where the rocks were?"




And the priest says.......





"What rocks?"

Ba dump bump.

Daley's legacy.

Mayor-for-Life Richard J. Daley won't be remembered for much (other than corruption, but that's par for the course for Chicago pols), but in 100 years, I'll wager people are still cursing his name for allowing the first building in Grant Park, which will inevitably lead to the second, third, and tenth buildings in Grant Park.

Curse this administration.

Thank you, Alderman Patrick Reilly, for trying to save Grant Park.

Screw you, Daley, and screw the lousy, overpriced, piece of crap "Children's Museum."
I will never, ever darken the door of this place, nor will my child.
I'd sooner spend an afternoon in a McDonald's Playland.

"WHAT'D YOU DO?!"

Modest dress for the - ahem - mature maid of honor.

My friends Daniel and Michelle are getting married in July and I am honored to be Michelle's Matron of Honor. Michelle is a very easygoing bride and basically told me to find something that looked good and buy it.
Sounds great, right?

Except then you begin a mad search for a modest, age-appropriate, and pretty dress that would suit a Tridentine High Mass in July.

Riiiight. You'd sooner find Richard Dawkins in a confessional or Nancy Pelosi volunteering at a crisis pregnancy center.

After much hand-wringing, I came across Coco Myles.
This online site allows you to choose the fabric, beading, top and bottom to your dress.
I chose a short-sleeved eggplant number with beading and a ballgown skirt in a lightweight georgette fabric, all for $178!

You can see it here.

Coco Myles gets excellent customer reviews and I am sure I'll be quite happy with my dress, which arrives tomorrow! Yay!

If you need a formal dress, you might want to check this place.
(They also have a section of "Celebrity-Inspired" dresses which are great if you're rail thin and 20.)

HAAAAAAAAA!

One day, this little girl is gonna be livin' in a VAN! DOWN BY THE RIVER!

[A Chris Farley reincarnation, for those who don't get the reference. And man is she adorable.]

Showing our house today.

We put our condo back on the market.
The realtors from town are coming over to take a look today, then we start open houses next Sunday.

Say a prayer, will ya?

The cutest.

Mary has discovered the phrase, "What's that?" so she asks it about everything, except for it sounds like, "Whah dat?"

She hears a song - "Whah dat?"
She sees a garbage truck - "Whah dat?"

And she has the most serious look on her face when she asks.

It is pretty freaking adorable.

Movie.

If you get the opportunity, try and see the film "At the Death House Door."
It is a documentary about capital punishment.
It specifically deals with the life of Reverend Carroll Pickett, a prison chaplain at the Texas State Prison in Huntsville since the early 1970s.

The first time he was called to the prison was during the 1974 prison siege, which lasted 11 days and claimed the lives of two women who were members of his church, who had been taken hostage during the event.
He ministered to the women during the 11 days, listened as they told him what they wanted at their funerals, and eventually presided at those funerals after they were gunned down as their captors attempted escape.
After the siege, the prison warden called him and begged him to come be the permanent prison chaplain. He agreed, as he and his wife were having marital problems related to his church duties. (They later divorced anyway.)

When he found himself in the terrible position of being forced to act as chaplain to the man who murdered his two parishioners, he said, "They asked him if he had any last words. He said, "I'm innocent." This was a man who had told me during the last hours, when I begged him to confess, "I've confessed my crimes over and over every day since they happened." And here he was proclaiming his innocence! I wanted to go over to him and bash his head in."
Then, without a hint of irony, he corrects himself. "No, I take that back. That's not Christian. I didn't want to bash his head in. I just wanted him to die."

After the man was executed, Carroll went to see the daughters of one of his victims. "How are you doing?" he asked her. "Well, I'll tell you," she said. "Nothing that happened at that prison today is going to bring my mother back. Nothing. My mother's not back. The only thing that's changed is that now there are two dead people."

Thus begins Carroll's deeper examination of his own views. During all the years Pickett served at the TDC, not even his children knew his views on capital punishment. He is a private man who was abused as a child and keeps much to himself. But he did make audiocassette recordings after all 95 executions he witnessed, parts of which are featured in the film.

When a man whose innocence is virtually certain (Carlos DeLuna) was executed, things get even more difficult for Mr. Pickett.

This film is not preachy. It's not melodramatic. It's not propaganda, though at the core it is anti-execution. It's just a very fascinating look into the life of one man's life and the Texas Department of Corrections.

Pickett's second wife, a strong yet soft-spoken woman, appears throughout the film, as do Pickett's children, now adults. At one point, one of Pickett's daughters asks, "What if a man held me for hours, tortured me, raped me, and killed me in the worst way? How would you feel then?"

"Well," says Pickett. "I'd want him to have life in prison, no parole, in solitary."

"That's worse than execution!" protests his daughter.

"Exactly."

If you get the chance, see it. I have Comcast Cable, and it is on the "Free Movies" section of the On Demand feature.

RIP

She hated the term "hero", so in deference to her, I will just call her another one of her monikers: "Mother of the Holocaust Children."

She was nominated for a Nobel Prize for Peace; in the end, it was awarded to Al Gore.

She risked her life defending the defenseless.
She gave everything because she believed in the sanctity of human life and the dignity of the human person.

May the Angels lead you into paradise; may the martyrs greet you at your arrival and lead you into the holy city, Jerusalem.

May the choir of Angels greet you and like Lazarus, who once was a poor man, may you have eternal rest.

H/T Kit

Great.

Happy, Eegah?

What?

Just exercising her right to choose.
If only the child had been left to die after surviving an abortion instead of being left to die just because, Barack Obama might have paid her legal bills.

10 Prayers God Always Says Yes To.

I am always a little suspect of smallish books with catchy spiritual titles that look as though they could be featured on "Oprah's Latest Pop Worship."
Even this endorsement, because it is SO glowing and sounds so unbelievable, gave me a slight twinge. But I decided to give this book a try, because Anthony Destefano works for Priests For Life and --- the book does have an imprimatur.

I have thoroughly enjoyed it. It is very, very hard to put down. I like wading through heady theological stuff, too, but every once in a while, I want something pleasantly simple. If it did nothing else, it has allowed me to "get back to basics." We all need to do that every so often.

And believe it or not, after reading the book for just a couple of days, my prayer life has started to change for the better.

I'm not a Pollyanna. I don't do what I should often enough, and very often I do what I shouldn't. I curse, I snap at people, I fail to have patience. My faults have faults. So if this book can do good for me, it can do good for you.

It's not a preachy book. It's not a Catholic book, though it is written by a Catholic.
You don't really even need to be religious to read this. It is interesting on its own.

Anyway, here is the review that caused me to check it out of the library:

Virginia Tech Massacre Victim's Mother Speaks Out

My daughter, Caitlin Hammaren, was a well-liked and much-loved 19-year-old sophomore at Virginia Tech. On April 16, 2007 – one year ago – a deranged young man shot and killed her ... along with 31 other innocent people.
When one of his bullets took my Caity's life, it might as well have taken mine, too.

I've sent you this email because I truly believe that what happened to me in the days and weeks after I lost my Caity can benefit you.

"How," you ask? Because our loving God always – and I mean ALWAYS – brings good out of evil.

You have probably experienced troubles in your life. Troubles you couldn't explain. Troubles that tore at your heart. Troubles that rent you in two. Troubles that made you question whether or not there really is a God in heaven Who loves you as much as you've been told He does.

Well, I'm writing to you today to assure you that, not only does He love you as much as you've been told, but to promise you that He is with you at every moment of your life ... and most especially when you are hurting and feeling completely alone.

He was there for me. And I am now certain that He chose my little girl – my Caitlin – to be the instrument through which He will bring you and countless numbers of other just like you closer to Himself ... and nearer to your eternal home.

And here's how.

A moment ago I told you that when the gunman killed Caity, he all but killed me, too.

It's true. I wasn't suicidal. But my purpose for living had died with Caity. And I truly believe it would have remained dead and buried ... except for a book that gave me hope and a reason to live.

That book is Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To by Anthony DeStefano.

Since reading his book, I've spoken with Anthony many times. We have become good friends. And when I told him I'd like to send you this email, he objected. He felt it would be exploiting my tragedy in the worst way and he wouldn't hear of it. He didn't want me to be "pitching" any products.

But I told him, "Anthony, you're being selfish. Look at how your book changed my life! I wouldn't be the person I am today had it not been for you and 'Ten Prayers.' How many other hurting people are there in the world who God wants to heal using your book? Why do you think God inspired you to write it? So it could collect dust in a bookstore? Nonsense. People need to know about the treasure you've written. And there's no one better to tell them than me. I'm not 'pitching' your book. I'm trying to help people." Reluctantly, he agreed.

And thank goodness for you he did.

Because if you can only read one book in the next week, then read Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To I promise you it will change your life! Literally.

It changed mine. And to show you how, let me take you back to that terrible day a year ago.

My husband Chris and I live in Upstate New York. Caitlin was our only child. As you can imagine, our lives revolved around Caity ... but especially mine. When we drove her down to Virginia Tech for her freshman year and dropped her off at her dorm, I thought my heart was breaking. But she sent me a text message within an hour of our heading north ... and we texted each other every day thereafter.

So on that fateful day, as news began to filter out about the shootings ... and as no calming text messages were appearing on my phone ... I feared the worst. Chris and I got in the car around ten that morning and began the slow, 10-hour drive to Blacksburg. Every few minutes I tried texting my daughter. I was frantic. I clutched my phone in my hand desperately waiting for a text message back from Caity: "I'm OK." But nothing.

When we finally reached the campus, we were ushered to a large room filled with other anxious parents. And that's when it happened. Two men – a policeman and a minister – were walking toward Chris and me. I'll never forget that moment. I wanted to run out of that room. I didn't want to hear what I knew they were going to tell me. But I couldn't move.

With tremendous compassion and sympathy, the officer asked: "Mr. and Mrs. Hammaren?" When I nodded, he continued: "I'm sorry. Your daughter was pronounced dead at five minutes after ten this morning."

And with that, my world had ended. Or so I thought. The next week was a blur. And the days home in New York are fuzzy.

But one thing I remember very clearly is opening Caity's laptop after we were given her belongings. Just above the screen was taped a short message that read: "God, I know that today nothing can happen that you and I can't handle together."

Unfortunately, it would be several months ...and a lot of tears ... not to mention some real angry shouts at God ... before my daughter's message penetrated my heart and soul.

And I'm writing to you today to tell you that the instrument God – and my Caity – used to break through and open the eyes of this stubborn, know-it-all, never-trusting, cynical woman was Anthony's book, Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To.

Looking back on it, it was a series of co-incidences – and by the way, I've learned that there are no "co-incidences" in life ... only God-incidences. Anyway, it was an incredible series of events that brought "Ten Prayers" into my life at precisely the moment I needed it.

Once Caity had died, I avoided shopping malls like the plague. Caity and I loved to shop together. But now, every store ... every item ... every sight ... every sound ... they all reminded me of her and re-opened wounds I was trying to heal. Of course, that was one of my problems. I was trying to play the role of spiritual physician when there is only one Person Who can handle those duties: GOD!!!

But when my husband needed me to pick him up at an auto repair shop while the car was being worked on, I said sure. Little did I know the service shop was at a mall. To make matters worse, when I got there, the car wasn't ready and I had to wait ... at the shopping mall. The only place that offered me any hope of solitude was a bookstore. So I ducked inside.

Nervously I walked around until I found myself in the religious books section. I glanced at titles and snickered at all the "self help" pop psychology. I knew there was nothing here that could help me. I'd read a title and think, "Give me a break." One book, however, intrigued me. It wasn't the title so much as the cover. There was something about its texture that caught my eye. When I pulled it off the shelf and read the title: Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To, the angry, cynical Marian kicked in and said: "Yeah. Right. Well, He didn't answer my prayer."

With my smug smile on my face, I flipped it open to see what was on the inside jacket cover. Well, I was taken aback when I realized that the very first sentence could have been written about me. Here's what Anthony wrote: "There have been thousands of books written about prayer and millions of sermons preached about it, yet people continue to wonder: Why doesn't God answer me when I cry out to him?"

"Exactly!" I said to myself. "And are you going to tell me, Mr. DeStefano?"

So I read through the contents and saw chapter titles that talked directly to me:

Chapter Four – "I Can't Take it Anymore"
Chapter Six – "This Stress Is Killing Me"
Chapter Nine – "Will I Ever Be Happy Again?"
Chapter Ten – "Why Am I Here Anyway?"

Needless to say, I bought the book ... and devoured it within a couple hours after I got home. I couldn't put it down. Anthony put things in a way that was easy for me to read ... and even easier to understand. His was a language I could appreciate.

And because of Anthony's book, I began to understand how God works through people and events – even gut-wrenching, heart-breaking, spirit-crushing events like my Caity's senseless death – to bring souls closer to Himself.

Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To opened my mind and my heart to God. What's more, it gave me HOPE when I was filled with despair!

And that, my friend, is why I've sent you this email.

Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To is for you ... no matter how painful or joyful your current situation may be. If painful, "Ten Prayers" will help bring you comfort. If joyful, "Ten Prayers" will help you increase that joy.

I've given the book to others as gifts. In fact, I tease Anthony that I buy his book in bulk quantities.

I gave one to a young man with an alcohol problem. He needed to understand some of this. Again, because the language isn't threatening and overly theological it changed his life.

I gave a copy to a woman whose husband smokes and drinks. His behavior really troubled her and it was rapidly destroying their marriage. After reading "Ten Prayers" she told me it saved her marriage because it put life in perspective for her and made her realize that the suffering in her life and her relationship with her family were all part of God's loving plan for her ... and her family.

Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To is for anybody who wants to get to know God better ... on a new level ... on an intimate level.

Each chapter will speak to you about some portion of your everyday life. I know you will learn valuable lessons from the book ... just like I did. Even if you only read the one chapter that pertains to you, you'll benefit from it. I know you will because I did.

In fact, you'll probably end up doing what I did. I read the one chapter I thought applied to me directly. That was Chapter Nine: "Will I Ever Be Happy Again?" After I read that, I read another chapter, Chapter Four: "I Can't Take it Anymore." After that, I went to the beginning and read it straight through. To this day I keep the "Yes" prayer that Anthony added at the end of the book pinned to the bulletin board in my office. All I have to do is look at it to find solace and comfort.

That's what I'm sure will happen to you, too, when you read Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To.

And that's why I've sent you this email.

A year ago I thought my life had ended.

But thanks to God and His orchestrating events so that I found myself in that bookstore with Anthony's Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To book in my hand, I now realize that my life was really only just beginning.

God gave Caitlin to Chris and me. She was His special gift to us. And for nineteen precious years, we enjoyed His gift.

Today, in a very real sense, I am giving her to you.

Caitlin had absolute trust in God. She knew that He would take care of her ... no matter what.

And Anthony DeStefano's book – Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To– will help you find that same level of trust. Thanks to "Ten Prayers", God was able to use Caity's tragic and unexpected death to bring me out of my old world and into His new one.

If God could use Anthony's book to do that for me, I know He can do it for you, too ... and He will if you trust Him like Caity did! Remember the note she kept on her laptop: "God, I know that today nothing can happen that you and I can't handle together."

Prayers and blessings,
Marian Hammaren

Pics.

On Daddy's lap.

Mmmmmmmmm - blueberry pancakes - Mary's favorite.

Ooooooo, Gregorian Chant!

And...

Happy Mother's Day to all you moms out there.

Becoming a mother is relatively simple.
Being a mom - parenting - is thoroughly challenging.

It's time-consuming and it's often tempting to take the easy road.
Still, NOT taking the easy road will result in a better human being.

And the vast majority of mothers I know, religious or secular, are NOT taking the easy road. They are busting their humps to raise decent people.

And that's a very important thing.

Happy Mother's Day!

To the four mothers in our lives.

Mom, I love you more than you'll ever know.

Thanks for kissing my boo-boos, wiping my nose, putting up with all our sibling duke-outs, and letting us be kids. Thanks most of all for a foundation of faith.

Mom-of-Pa, thanks for raising a man who respects women, loves children and animals, is kind and gentle without being a wuss.

Grandma Phyllis, thanks for all your support in our time of need, especially your support of J. You are a shining example of how a mother should act in a time of great crisis. Your strength and faith was inspiring and beautiful. Your gentle care for your child was something the whole world could learn from. Your immediate acceptance and love of our family was humbling and selfless. I will never forget it.

And to dear J., the first mother Mary ever had. Your courage and self-sacrifice was the very definition of heroic. Your tender care for her before her birth was amazing. Every time you'd ask, "Do you think another Coke would be okay?" or "Do you think I could take anything for heartburn?", I'd melt a little more inside. I can't imagine a more precious or gentle person I'd want caring for Mary in those nine months.
"Thank you" could never be enough. Even "I love you" fails miserably.
You will always have my heart, until the day I die.
You can't know how you completed me. I will never want again.

We bought a donkey for a poor family in Haiti, and it was given in honor of all of you. You will all be remembered in the prayer intentions of Food for the Poor.

We love you all beyond measure.

Poor families benefit greatly from the gift of a donkey, which can help haul products to the village market. In Haiti, a donkey is extremely valuable in the countryside, where long distances prohibit villagers from carrying all their produce to sell. For the low cost of only $150, you can make a tremendous difference in a poor family’s life. A donkey lightens the load of poor families and provides much-needed transportation. Honor a friend or loved one by giving a donkey in his or her name — a dependable and valuable gift that will bring economic benefits to a poor family.

Good Lawd.

Okay, we all know about Emily and Jacob and Bella and Matthew.
And they aren't tragic names, they're just really, really, really, really popular.

But according to the new "Baby Names 2007" list that's out:

Also popular in 2007 were names for girls that were based on spiritual and philosophical concepts. Rising to No. 31 was Nevaeh, or "heaven" spelled backwards; it previously ranked 43rd. Also represented in 2007 were Destiny at 41; Trinity at 72; Serenity at 126; Harmony at 315 and Miracle at 461. Cutting against the trend was Armani at 971.
Parents were less likely to name their sons based on spiritual concepts, although the 2007 list includes Sincere at 622 and Messiah at 723.

Inconceivable! The 461st most popular name is the name of the horse in "Princess Bride."
Prepare to die.

Armani is a fashionable 971st in the girls' list. Wow.

[Reading, reading, reading.]

..."includes Sincere at 622 and Messiah at 723."

[Shakes fist at sky, weeps softly.]

Nope.

Attention commenters and potential commenters:

Sorry.

I don't deal with tantrums.

If you stomp your feet and pound your fists, you are not welcome here.
If you threaten to abruptly leave, then leave you shall.
No further comments of yours will be published.

I wouldn't tolerate this behavior in a child, and I certainly won't tolerate it from a stranger.

You are a guest here. As the owner of this house, I can (and will) say goodbye when you start to engage in name-calling and the like.

I have had this blog for a long time. I have talked about abortion with abortion supporters, I have talked about the death penalty to death penalty supporters, and I have talked about the Iraq War with its supporters. I have made some of my best online friends by politely answering questions they posed on this blog. Pity everyone can't act like a grown-up.

To my regular commenters, comment moderation is enabled.
Yes, it's a royal pain in the ass.

Ah, well.

Happy birthday, DOLL!

Happy birthday to my sister Vicky!

I won't say how old she is, but let's just say she's retiring from the Georgia Public School System this year after quite a few years of reminding kids to wash their hands, get their finger out of there, don't eat that, quit picking at that, and stop looking at him funny.

Happy Feast Day, dear Father Damien.

In honor of Father Damien's Feast Day, I post, as I do every year, the reply of Robert Louis Stevenson to a nasty "Letter to the Editor" which a fellow named "Hyde" (no joke) wrote to the Honolulu paper following Damien's death.

Why not say a prayer for the soul of R.L. Stevenson today in gratitude for his eloquent defense of the character of one of the greatest men who ever lived, one of your spiritual fathers?

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE REVEREND DR. HYDE OF HONOLULU




SYDNEY,
FEBRUARY 25, 1890.

Sir, - It may probably occur to you that we have met, and visited,
and conversed; on my side, with interest. You may remember that
you have done me several courtesies, for which I was prepared to be
grateful. But there are duties which come before gratitude, and
offences which justly divide friends, far more acquaintances. Your
letter to the Reverend H. B. Gage is a document which, in my sight,
if you had filled me with bread when I was starving, if you had sat
up to nurse my father when he lay a-dying, would yet absolve me
from the bonds of gratitude. You know enough, doubtless, of the
process of canonisation to be aware that, a hundred years after the
death of Damien, there will appear a man charged with the painful
office of the DEVIL'S ADVOCATE. After that noble brother of mine,
and of all frail clay, shall have lain a century at rest, one shall
accuse, one defend him. The circumstance is unusual that the
devil's advocate should be a volunteer, should be a member of a
sect immediately rival, and should make haste to take upon himself
his ugly office ere the bones are cold; unusual, and of a taste
which I shall leave my readers free to qualify; unusual, and to me
inspiring. If I have at all learned the trade of using words to
convey truth and to arouse emotion, you have at last furnished me
with a subject. For it is in the interest of all mankind, and the
cause of public decency in every quarter of the world, not only
that Damien should be righted, but that you and your letter should
be displayed at length, in their true colours, to the public eye.

To do this properly, I must begin by quoting you at large: I shall
then proceed to criticise your utterance from several points of
view, divine and human, in the course of which I shall attempt to
draw again, and with more specification, the character of the dead
saint whom it has pleased you to vilify: so much being done, I
shall say farewell to you for ever.

"HONOLULU,
"August 2, 1889.

"Rev. H. B. GAGE.

"Dear Brother, - In answer to your inquires about Father Damien, I
can only reply that we who knew the man are surprised at the
extravagant newspaper laudations, as if he was a most saintly
philanthropist. The simple truth is, he was a coarse, dirty man,
headstrong and bigoted. He was not sent to Molokai, but went there
without orders; did not stay at the leper settlement (before he
became one himself), but circulated freely over the whole island
(less than half the island is devoted to the lepers), and he came
often to Honolulu. He had no hand in the reforms and improvements
inaugurated, which were the work of our Board of Health, as
occasion required and means were provided. He was not a pure man
in his relations with women, and the leprosy of which he died
should be attributed to his vices and carelessness. Other have
done much for the lepers, our own ministers, the government
physicians, and so forth, but never with the Catholic idea of
meriting eternal life. - Yours, etc.,
"C. M. HYDE" (1)

(1) From the Sydney PRESBYTERIAN, October 26, 1889.

To deal fitly with a letter so extraordinary, I must draw at the
outset on my private knowledge of the signatory and his sect. It
may offend others; scarcely you, who have been so busy to collect,
so bold to publish, gossip on your rivals. And this is perhaps the
moment when I may best explain to you the character of what you are
to read: I conceive you as a man quite beyond and below the
reticences of civility: with what measure you mete, with that shall
it be measured you again; with you, at last, I rejoice to feel the
button off the foil and to plunge home. And if in aught that I
shall say I should offend others, your colleagues, whom I respect
and remember with affection, I can but offer them my regret; I am
not free, I am inspired by the consideration of interests far more
large; and such pain as can be inflicted by anything from me must
be indeed trifling when compared with the pain with which they read
your letter. It is not the hangman, but the criminal, that brings
dishonour on the house.

You belong, sir, to a sect - I believe my sect, and that in which
my ancestors laboured - which has enjoyed, and partly failed to
utilise, and exceptional advantage in the islands of Hawaii. The
first missionaries came; they found the land already self-purged of
its old and bloody faith; they were embraced, almost on their
arrival, with enthusiasm; what troubles they supported came far
more from whites than from Hawaiins; and to these last they stood
(in a rough figure) in the shoes of God. This is not the place to
enter into the degree or causes of their failure, such as it is.
One element alone is pertinent, and must here be plainly dealt
with. In the course of their evangelical calling, they - or too
many of them - grew rich. It may be news to you that the houses of
missionaries are a cause of mocking on the streets of Honolulu. It
will at least be news to you, that when I returned your civil
visit, the driver of my cab commented on the size, the taste, and
the comfort of your home. It would have been news certainly to
myself, had any one told me that afternoon that I should live to
drag such a matter into print. But you see, sir, how you degrade
better men to your own level; and it is needful that those who are
to judge betwixt you and me, betwixt Damien and the devil's
advocate, should understated your letter to have been penned in a
house which could raise, and that very justly, the envy and the
comments of the passers-by. I think (to employ a phrase of yours
which I admire) it "should be attributed" to you that you have
never visited the scene of Damien's life and death. If you had,
and had recalled it, and looked about your pleasant rooms, even
your pen perhaps would have been stayed.

Your sect (and remember, as far as any sect avows me, it is mine)
has not done ill in a worldly sense in the Hawaiian Kingdom. When
calamity befell their innocent parishioners, when leprosy descended
and took root in the Eight Islands, a QUID PRO QUO was to be looked
for. To that prosperous mission, and to you, as one of its
adornments, God had sent at last an opportunity. I know I am
touching here upon a nerve acutely sensitive. I know that others
of your colleagues look back on the inertia of your Church, and the
intrusive and decisive heroism of Damien, with something almost to
be called remorse. I am sure it is so with yourself; I am
persuaded your letter was inspired by a certain envy, not
essentially ignoble, and the one human trait to be espied in that
performance. You were thinking of the lost chance, the past day;
of that which should have been conceived and was not; of the
service due and not rendered. TIME WAS, said the voice in your
ear, in your pleasant room, as you sat raging and writing; and if
the words written were base beyond parallel, the rage, I am happy
to repeat - it is the only compliment I shall pay you - the rage
was almost virtuous. But, sir, when we have failed, and another
has succeeded; when we have stood by, and another has stepped in;
when we sit and grow bulky in our charming mansions, and a plain,
uncouth peasant steps into the battle, under the eyes of God, and
succours the afflicted, and consoles the dying, and is himself
afflicted in his turn, and dies upon the field of honour - the
battle cannot be retrieved as your unhappy irritation has
suggested. It is a lost battle, and lost for ever. One thing
remained to you in your defeat - some rags of common honour; and
these you have made haste to cast away.

Common honour; not the honour of having done anything right, but
the honour of not having done aught conspicuously foul; the honour
of the inert: that was what remained to you. We are not all
expected to be Damiens; a man may conceive his duty more narrowly,
he may love his comforts better; and none will cast a stone at him
for that. But will a gentleman of your reverend profession allow
me an example from the fields of gallantry? When two gentlemen
compete for the favour of a lady, and the one succeeds and the
other is rejected, and (as will sometimes happen) matter damaging
to the successful rival's credit reaches the ear of the defeated,
it is held by plain men of no pretensions that his mouth is, in the
circumstance, almost necessarily closed. Your Church and Damien's
were in Hawaii upon a rivalry to do well: to help, to edify, to set
divine examples. You having (in one huge instance) failed, and
Damien succeeded, I marvel it should not have occurred to you that
you were doomed to silence; that when you had been outstripped in
that high rivalry, and sat inglorious in the midst of your well-
being, in your pleasant room - and Damien, crowned with glories and
horrors, toiled and rotted in that pigsty of his under the cliffs
of Kalawao - you, the elect who would not, were the last man on
earth to collect and propagate gossip on the volunteer who would
and did.

I think I see you - for I try to see you in the flesh as I write
these sentences - I think I see you leap at the word pigsty, a
hyperbolical expression at the best. "He had no hand in the
reforms," he was "a coarse, dirty man"; these were your own words;
and you may think it possible that I am come to support you with
fresh evidence. In a sense, it is even so. Damien has been too
much depicted with a conventional halo and conventional features;
so drawn by men who perhaps had not the eye to remark or the pen to
express the individual; or who perhaps were only blinded and
silenced by generous admiration, such as I partly envy for myself -
such as you, if your soul were enlightened, would envy on your
bended knees. It is the least defect of such a method of
portraiture that it makes the path easy for the devil's advocate,
and leaves the misuse of the slanderer a considerable field of
truth. For the truth that is suppressed by friends is the readiest
weapon of the enemy. The world, in your despite, may perhaps owe
you something, if your letter be the means of substituting once for
all a credible likeness for a wax abstraction. For, if that world
at all remember you, on the day when Damien of Molokai shall be
named a Saint, it will be in virtue of one work: your letter to the
Reverend H. B. Gage.

You may ask on what authority I speak. It was my inclement destiny
to become acquainted, not with Damien, but with Dr. Hyde. When I
visited the lazaretto, Damien was already in his resting grave.
But such information as I have, I gathered on the spot in
conversation with those who knew him well and long: some indeed who
revered his memory; but others who had sparred and wrangled with
him, who beheld him with no halo, who perhaps regarded him with
small respect, and through whose unprepared and scarcely partial
communications the plain, human features of the man shone on me
convincingly. These gave me what knowledge I possess; and I learnt
it in that scene where it could be most completely and sensitively
understood - Kalawao, which you have never visited, about which you
have never so much as endeavoured to inform yourself; for, brief as
your letter is, you have found the means to stumble into that
confession. "LESS THAN ONE-HALF of the island," you say, "is
devoted to the lepers." Molokai - "MOLOKAI AHINA," the "grey,"
lofty, and most desolate island - along all its northern side
plunges a front of precipice into a sea of unusual profundity.
This range of cliff is, from east to west, the true end and
frontier of the island. Only in one spot there projects into the
ocean a certain triangular and rugged down, grassy, stony, windy,
and rising in the midst into a hill with a dead crater: the whole
bearing to the cliff that overhangs it somewhat the same relation
as a bracket to a wall. With this hint you will now be able to
pick out the leper station on a map; you will be able to judge how
much of Molokai is thus cut off between the surf and precipice,
whether less than a half, or less than a quarter, or a fifth, or a
tenth - or, say a twentieth; and the next time you burst into print
you will be in a position to share with us the issue of your
calculations.

I imagine you to be one of those persons who talk with cheerfulness
of that place which oxen and wain-ropes could not drag you to
behold. You, who do not even know its situation on the map,
probably denounce sensational descriptions, stretching your limbs
the while in your pleasant parlour on Beretania Street. When I was
pulled ashore there one early morning, there sat with me in the
boat two sisters, bidding farewell (in humble imitation of Damien)
to the lights and joys of human life. One of these wept silently;
I could not withhold myself from joining her. Had you been there,
it is my belief that nature would have triumphed even in you; and
as the boat drew but a little nearer, and you beheld the stairs
crowded with abominable deformations of our common manhood, and saw
yourself landing in the midst of such a population as only now and
then surrounds us in the horror of a nightmare - what a haggard eye
you would have rolled over your reluctant shoulder towards the
house on Beretania Street! Had you gone on; had you found every
fourth face a blot upon the landscape; had you visited the hospital
and seen the butt-ends of human beings lying there almost
unrecognisable, but still breathing, still thinking, still
remembering; you would have understood that life in the lazaretto
is an ordeal from which the nerves of a man's spirit shrink, even
as his eye quails under the brightness of the sun; you would have
felt it was (even today) a pitiful place to visit and a hell to
dwell in. It is not the fear of possible infection. That seems a
little thing when compared with the pain, the pity, and the disgust
of the visitor's surroundings, and the atmosphere of affliction,
disease, and physical disgrace in which he breathes. I do not
think I am a man more than usually timid; but I never recall the
days and nights I spent upon that island promontory (eight days and
seven nights), without heartfelt thankfulness that I am somewhere
else. I find in my diary that I speak of my stay as a "grinding
experience": I have once jotted in the margin, "HARROWING is the
word"; and when the MOKOLII bore me at last towards the outer
world, I kept repeating to myself, with a new conception of their
pregnancy, those simple words of the song -

" 'Tis the most distressful country that ever yet was seen."

And observe: that which I saw and suffered from was a settlement
purged, bettered, beautified; the new village built, the hospital
and the Bishop-Home excellently arranged; the sisters, the poctor,
and the missionaries, all indefatigable in their noble tasks. It
was a different place when Damien came there and made this great
renunciation, and slept that first night under a tree amidst his
rotting brethren: alone with pestilence; and looking forward (with
what courage, with what pitiful sinkings of dread, God only knows)
to a lifetime of dressing sores and stumps.

You will say, perhaps, I am too sensitive, that sights as painful
abound in cancer hospitals and are confronted daily by doctors and
nurses. I have long learned to admire and envy the doctors and the
nurses. But there is no cancer hospital so large and populous as
Kalawao and Kalaupapa; and in such a matter every fresh case, like
every inch of length in the pipe of an organ, deepens the note of
the impression; for what daunts the onlooker is that monstrous sum
of human suffering by which he stands surrounded. Lastly, no
doctor or nurse is called upon to enter once for all the doors of
that gehenna; they do not say farewell, they need not abandon hope,
on its sad threshold; they but go for a time to their high calling,
and can look forward as they go to relief, to recreation, and to
rest. But Damien shut-to with his own hand the doors of his own
sepulchre.

I shall now extract three passages from my diary at Kalawao.

A. "Damien is dead and already somewhat ungratefully remembered in
the field of his labours and sufferings. 'He was a good man, but
very officious,' says one. Another tells me he had fallen (as
other priests so easily do) into something of the ways and habits
of thought of a Kanaka; but he had the wit to recognise the fact,
and the good sense to laugh at" [over] "it. A plain man it seems
he was; I cannot find he was a popular."

B. "After Ragsdale's death" [Ragsdale was a famous Luna, or
overseer, of the unruly settlement] "there followed a brief term of
office by Father Damien which served only to publish the weakness
of that noble man. He was rough in his ways, and he had no
control. Authority was relaxed; Damien's life was threatened, and
he was soon eager to resign."

C. "Of Damien I begin to have an idea. He seems to have been a
man of the peasant class, certainly of the peasant type: shrewd,
ignorant and bigoted, yet with an open mind, and capable of
receiving and digesting a reproof if it were bluntly administered;
superbly generous in the least thing as well as in the greatest,
and as ready to give his last shirt (although not without human
grumbling) as he had been to sacrifice his life; essentially
indiscreet and officious, which made him a troublesome colleague;
domineering in all his ways, which made him incurably unpopular
with the Kanakas, but yet destitute of real authority, so that his
boys laughed at him and he must carry out his wishes by the means
of bribes. He learned to have a mania for doctoring; and set up
the Kanakas against the remedies of his regular rivals: perhaps (if
anything matter at all in the treatment of such a disease) the
worst thing that he did, and certainly the easiest. The best and
worst of the man appear very plainly in his dealings with Mr.
Chapman's money; he had originally laid it out" [intended to lay it
out] "entirely for the benefit of Catholics, and even so not
wisely; but after a long, plain talk, he admitted his error fully
and revised the list. The sad state of the boys' home is in part
the result of his lack of control; in part, of his own slovenly
ways and false ideas of hygiene. Brother officials used to call it
'Damien's Chinatown.' 'Well,' they would say, 'your Chinatown
keeps growing.' And he would laugh with perfect good-nature, and
adhere to his errors with perfect obstinacy. So much I have
gathered of truth about this plain, noble human brother and father
of ours; his imperfections are the traits of his face, by which we
know him for our fellow; his martyrdom and his example nothing can
lessen or annul; and only a person here on the spot can properly
appreciate their greatness."

I have set down these private passages, as you perceive, without
correction; thanks to you, the public has them in their bluntness.
They are almost a list of the man's faults, for it is rather these
that I was seeking: with his virtues, with the heroic profile of
his life, I and the world were already sufficiently acquainted. I
was besides a little suspicious of Catholic testimony; in no ill
sense, but merely because Damien's admirers and disciples were the
least likely to be critical. I know you will be more suspicious
still; and the facts set down above were one and all collected from
the lips of Protestants who had opposed the father in his life.
Yet I am strangely deceived, or they build up the image of a man,
with all his weakness, essentially heroic, and alive with rugged
honesty, generosity, and mirth.

Take it for what it is, rough private jottings of the worst sides
of Damien's character, collected from the lips of those who had
laboured with and (in your own phrase) "knew the man"; - though I
question whether Damien would have said that he knew you. Take it,
and observe with wonder how well you were served by your gossips,
how ill by your intelligence and sympathy; in how many points of
fact we are at one, and how widely our appreciations vary. There
is something wrong here; either with you or me. It is possible,
for instance, that you, who seem to have so many ears in Kalawao,
had heard of the affair of Mr. Chapman's money, and were singly
struck by Damien's intended wrong-doing. I was struck with that
also, and set it fairly down; but I was struck much more by the
fact that he had the honesty of mind to be convinced. I may here
tell you that it was a long business; that one of his colleagues
sat with him late into the night, multiplying arguments and
accusations; that the father listened as usual with "perfect good-
nature and perfect obstinacy"; but at the last, when he was
persuaded - "Yes," said he, "I am very much obliged to you; you
have done me a service; it would have been a theft." There are
many (not Catholics merely) who require their heroes and saints to
be infallible; to these the story will be painful; not to the true
lovers, patrons, and servants of mankind.

And I take it, this is a type of our division; that you are one of
those who have an eye for faults and failures; that you take a
pleasure to find and publish them; and that, having found them, you
make haste to forget the overvailing virtues and the real success
which had alone introduced them to your knowledge. It is a
dangerous frame of mind. That you may understand how dangerous,
and into what a situation it has already brought you, we will (if
you please) go hand-in-hand through the different phrases of your
letter, and candidly examine each from the point of view of its
truth, its appositeness, and its charity.

Damien was COARSE.

It is very possible. You make us sorry for the lepers, who had
only a coarse old peasant for their friend and father. But you,
who were so refined, why were you not there, to cheer them with the
lights of culture? Or may I remind you that we have some reason to
doubt if John the Baptist were genteel; and in the case of Peter,
on whose career your doubtless dwell approvingly in the pulpit, no
doubt at all he was a "coarse, headstrong" fisherman! Yet even in
our Protestant Bibles Peter is called Saint.

Damien was DIRTY.

He was. Think of the poor lepers annoyed with this dirty comrade!
But the clean Dr. Hyde was at his food in a fine house.

Damien was HEADSTRONG.

I believe you are right again; and I thank God for his strong head
and heart.

Damien was BIGOTED.

I am not fond of bigots myself, because they are not fond of me.
But what is meant by bigotry, that we should regard it as a blemish
in a priest? Damien believed his own religion with the simplicity
of a peasant or a child; as I would I could suppose that you do.
For this, I wonder at him some way off; and had that been his only
character, should have avoided him in life. But the point of
interest in Damien, which has caused him to be so much talked about
and made him at last the subject of your pen and mine, was that, in
him, his bigotry, his intense and narrow faith, wrought potently
for good, and strengthened him to be one of the world's heroes and
exemplars.

Damien WAS NOT SENT TO MOLOKAI, BUT WENT THERE WITHOUT ORDERS.

Is this a misreading? or do you really mean the words for blame? I
have heard Christ, in the pulpits of our Church, held up for
imitation on the ground that His sacrifice was voluntary. Does Dr.
Hyde think otherwise?

Damien DID NOT STAY AT THE SETTLEMENT, ETC.

It is true he was allowed many indulgences. Am I to understand
that you blame the father for profiting by these, or the officers
for granting them? In either case, it is a mighty Spartan standard
to issue from the house on Beretania Street; and I am convinced you
will find yourself with few supporters.

Damien HAD NO HAND IN THE REFORMS, ETC.

I think even you will admit that I have already been frank in my
description of the man I am defending; but before I take you up
upon this head, I will be franker still, and tell you that perhaps
nowhere in the world can a man taste a more pleasurable sense of
contrast than when he passes from Damien's "Chinatown" at Kalawao
to the beautiful Bishop-Home at Kalaupapa. At this point, in my
desire to make all fair for you, I will break my rule and adduce
Catholic testimony. Here is a passage from my diary about my visit
to the Chinatown, from which you will see how it is (even now)
regarded by its own officials: "We went round all the dormitories,
refectories, etc. - dark and dingy enough, with a superficial
cleanliness, which he" [Mr. Dutton, the lay-brother] "did not seek
to defend. 'It is almost decent,' said he; 'the sisters will make
that all right when we get them here.' " And yet I gathered it was
already better since Damien was dead, and far better than when he
was there alone and had his own (not always excellent) way. I have
now come far enough to meet you on a common ground of fact; and I
tell you that, to a mind not prejudiced by jealousy, all the
reforms of the lazaretto, and even those which he most vigorously
opposed, are properly the work of Damien. They are the evidence of
his success; they are what his heroism provoked from the reluctant
and the careless. Many were before him in the field; Mr. Meyer,
for instance, of whose faithful work we hear too little: there have
been many since; and some had more worldly wisdom, though none had
more devotion, than our saint. Before his day, even you will
confess, they had effected little. It was his part, by one
striking act of martyrdom, to direct all men's eyes on that
distressful country. At a blow, and with the price of his life, he
made the place illustrious and public. And that, if you will
consider largely, was the one reform needful; pregnant of all that
should succeed. It brought money; it brought (best individual
addition of them all) the sisters; it brought supervision, for
public opinion and public interest landed with the man at Kalawao.
If ever any man brought reforms, and died to bring them, it was he.
There is not a clean cup or towel in the Bishop-Home, but dirty
Damien washed it.

Damien WAS NOT A PURE MAN IN HIS RELATIONS WITH WOMEN, ETC

How do you know that? Is this the nature of conversation in that
house on Beretania Street which the cabman envied, driving past? -
racy details of the misconduct of the poor peasant priest, toiling
under the cliffs of Molokai?

Many have visited the station before me; they seem not to have
heard the rumour. When I was there I heard many shocking tales,
for my informants were men speaking with the plainness of the
laity; and I heard plenty of complaints of Damien. Why was this
never mentioned? and how came it to you in the retirement of your
clerical parlour?

But I must not even seem to deceive you. This scandal, when I read
it in your letter, was not new to me. I had heard it once before;
and I must tell you how. There came to Samoa a man from Honolulu;
he, in a public-house on the beach, volunteered the statement that
Damien had "contracted the disease from having connection with the
female lepers"; and I find a joy in telling you how the report was
welcomed in a public-house. A man sprang to his feet; I am not at
liberty to give his name, but from what I heard I doubt if you
would care to have him to dinner in Beretania Street. "You
miserable little -------" (here is a word I dare not print, it
would so shock your ears). "You miserable little ------," he
cried, "if the story were a thousand times true, can't you see you
are a million times a lower ----- for daring to repeat it?" I wish
it could be told of you that when the report reached you in your
house, perhaps after family worship, you had found in your soul
enough holy anger to receive it with the same expressions; ay, even
with that one which I dare not print; it would not need to have
been blotted away, like Uncle Toby's oath, by the tears of the
recording angel; it would have been counted to you for your
brightest righteousness. But you have deliberately chosen the part
of the man from Honolulu, and you have played it with improvements
of your own. The man from Honolulu - miserable, leering creature -
communicated the tale to a rude knot of beach-combing drinkers in a
public-house, where (I will so far agree with your temperance
opinions) man is not always at his noblest; and the man from
Honolulu had himself been drinking - drinking, we may charitably
fancy, to excess. It was to your "Dear Brother, the Reverend H. B.
Gage," that you chose to communicate the sickening story; and the
blue ribbon which adorns your portly bosom forbids me to allow you
the extenuating plea that you were drunk when it was done. Your
"dear brother" - a brother indeed - made haste to deliver up your
letter (as a means of grace, perhaps) to the religious papers;
where, after many months, I found and read and wondered at it; and
whence I have now reproduced it for the wonder of others. And you
and your dear brother have, by this cycle of operations, built up a
contrast very edifying to examine in detail. The man whom you
would not care to have to dinner, on the one side; on the other,
the Reverend Dr. Hyde and the Reverend H. B. Gage: the Apia bar-
room, the Honolulu manse.

But I fear you scarce appreciate how you appear to your fellow-men;
and to bring it home to you, I will suppose your story to be true.
I will suppose - and God forgive me for supposing it - that Damien
faltered and stumbled in his narrow path of duty; I will suppose
that, in the horror of his isolation, perhaps in the fever of
incipient disease, he, who was doing so much more than he had
sworn, failed in the letter of his priestly oath - he, who was so
much a better man than either you or me, who did what we have never
dreamed of daring - he too tasted of our common frailty. "O, Iago,
the pity of it!" The least tender should be moved to tears; the
most incredulous to prayer. And all that you could do was to pen
your letter to the Reverend H. B. Gage!

Is it growing at all clear to you what a picture you have drawn of
your own heart? I will try yet once again to make it clearer. You
had a father: suppose this tale were about him, and some informant
brought it to you, proof in hand: I am not making too high an
estimate of your emotional nature when I suppose you would regret
the circumstance? that you would feel the tale of frailty the more
keenly since it shamed the author of your days? and that the last
thing you would do would be to publish it in the religious press?
Well, the man who tried to do what Damien did, is my father, and
the father of the man in the Apia bar, and the father of all who
love goodness; and he was your father too, if God had given you
grace to see it.

LOLOLOL.

From The Onion:

"Pope Returns to Vatican With Comprehensive Plan to Blow Up U.S."

A few choice excerpts:

The CIA briefing details how a number of officials—including President George W. Bush—unwittingly gave up classified documents and information to the visiting pope, simply because he asked politely. During these seemingly benign conversations, officials said, the pontiff listened carefully, took notes, and was seen tapping on walls during tours of historic sites as if checking for structural weaknesses.

"We normally do not allow anyone to view top secret documents, but with the miter and the robe and everything, it was difficult to say no," said one Department of Energy official, who allowed Benedict to view plans for a proposed warhead delivery system, and detailed maps of the nation's nuclear power plants. "He said he wanted to bless the documents, which he did. Unfortunately, we now believe that the ring he wears is a miniaturized digital camera."

U.S. intelligence reportedly began to uncover the plot after routine monitoring of papal chatter in Vatican City—the heavily fortified city-state ruled by the pope and his minions, from which the infallible religious leader operates with diplomatic immunity—picked up the phrase "holy mission to blow up the United States" sometime around April 21.

According to a cardinal speaking on condition of anonymity, the popular religious extremist has been planning the destruction of America for decades. His plot includes coordinated attacks on multiple fronts, using explosives, poison gas, and some unknown weaponized biological agents referred to in Vatican parlance by the code name "plague of locusts."

...and...

Chillingly, the recording concludes with the phrase "May God bless America," followed by what is being called a "throaty, maniacal" laugh that experts have identified as the pontiff's.

"The pope has one billion followers all around the world who are ready to do his bidding in whatever grim and deadly schemes he may devise," CIA Director Michael Hayden said. "I cannot imagine a more formidable enemy. Lord, have mercy on our souls in the terrifying, tragic weeks to come."

Eegah, where are you?!!

Come in, Eegah! Eegah, are you there?!

New Mary pictures

I have posted new pictures and a video of Mary signing cookie and more, taught by Ma Beck.

On love and loss.

Oh, sweet Lord.

Go read this story. I have GOT to stop doing this at work.
A most beautiful and eloquent piece about what it's like to lose your child, whether he's 7 months old or 40 years old.

More than 40 years ago, my mother and one of her best friends struck an unconventional deal: They would share me.
My mom, Beth Dahlstrom, met Isabel Peterson when they were both nurses at a Southern California hospital. They became even closer friends when both became pregnant with their first child in their late 30s, later in life than many women at the time, and gave birth the same year.
I was 5 months old in July 1967 when Isabel’s son, Wendell, was born. My mom still cries when she recounts that phone call. Something was wrong with the baby, Isabel told her. He’d been having convulsions and was severely brain damaged. The doctors didn’t expect him to live.