A Minion Is Born

The last week of my pregnancy was brutal. Not because I was having any issues with it. I wasn’t. My whole pregnancy had been pretty easy, even when factoring in the gestational diabetes. But going to work every day was the worst. I was just tired of people asking me how soon it would be (as if I knew), telling me I “looked ready” (loose translation: you look haggard) and generally making themselves annoying. I wanted to be done and I hated it, because I loved being pregnant. Of course I was ready to meet the little baby inside me since we hadn’t found out the gender, but I was still mostly enjoying the fun of the kicks and spins and feeling good. The unknown was killing me. Not being able to plan anything, cleaning up my desk every evening in the chance that I wouldn’t be in the next day, getting the “you’re still here?” every morning I came in. I told my husband the Sunday before my due date after a particularly bad morning at Church that being 39 weeks pregnant was the only time in my life that I felt like people were actually disappointed to see me. As much as people wanted to meet my child, didn’t they think that I wanted to meet it more?

The Monday before my due date (June 24) I told my mom that I was convinced the baby was never coming out. I was under a lot of stress as I had been told at my last midwife appointment that I would not be allowed to go past 40 weeks due to the GD. This was my worst nightmare. I wanted an unmedicated birth, not because I was some kind of crunchy mama, but because I was deathly afraid of needles and didn’t want one stuck in my back for any reason. I knew my chances of this went way down with induction as well as increased my chances of c-section at the worst and constant IV drip at the least. Neither option was very appealing to me. I started a St. Therese Novena, downed evening primrose oil and red raspberry leaf tea and did all kinds of pelvic opening exercises. I had called them that previous Tuesday and told them I was refusing an induction unless they had a medical reason to do so. They didn’t, gave me the legal spiel and scheduled a bunch of appointments for July 1. At that appointment that day (the 24), they checked my cervix. I was 4cm dilated and 80% effaced and at a -1 station. My MW was shocked. I was shocked. But I was also secretly vindicated. I was hoping it would happen Wednesday, which was the day my grandmother was flying in from Louisiana for the birth. I hadn’t received my roses from St. Therese, but I was sure she was working on it. She had to be, right?

It didn’t happen Wednesday (the 26). I cried to my mom telling her that I wanted Mimi to postpone her trip,that the baby wasn’t going to come on time. I was scared to be induced, defiant of the so-called standard of care, and annoyed with my body for dawdling. I started an Our Lady, Undoer of Knots Novena in the hopes I wouldn’t have to finish it. I got text messages daily from my mother in law and auntie asking me how I was feeling. I was feeling pregnant. Just pregnant.

Thursday the 27, I woke up at 3am with the thought of “I am going to take a half day today and come home and clean, since Mimi will be here Sunday regardless of whether or not Minion is.” When I got to work, I emailed my boss and told him, citing exhaustion. I texted my BFF Jenny and told her, who cited nesting. Around 11am, about an hour before I was about to leave, I started to have back pains. I told Jenny I felt like I was having mild cramps, like the kind you get days before you have your period. She informed me these were contractions and told me to go home to take a nap. I told her I wanted to do laundry, but took her advice. I got home, laid on the couch and all contractions stopped. I was crestfallen. That evening, when Greg got home, we went for a walk. My mom told me the day she went into labor with me, she sat on the swing and just swung for hours. So I got on the swing at the playground, hoping something would happen. I went to bed that night feeling pregnant. Just pregnant.

Friday, June 28 was my five year wedding anniversary. I swung my legs over the bed and hobbled out as best as I could. But as I was doing it, I burst into tears. “You can come out now, Minion” I told my still-sleeping belly, “everyone is excited to meet you. Your room is ready, the world is ready.” Gathering myself, I checked my blood sugar and wandered to the bathroom. Blood. Lots of blood. I told Greg who was getting ready to leave. He asked me if I should stay. I told him no, everything was fine and to go to work. I told him I was going in and would come home if anything happened. I said it was probably my mucus plug, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. As soon as he left, I texted the doula (Christie), Jenny and consulted the hive mind of #CathSorority Moms. Moms said no big deal, Jenny said go to the doctor’s office, Christie said wait an hour to see if bleeding stops. I called my boss and told him I wasn’t coming in and sent up a prayer that the baby at least came over the weekend so I didn’t have to show up at work Monday after missing a day and a half. I got into the shower and decided to throw in that load of laundry after all. Jenny texted me a little bit later and asked me if I wanted company. I told her I was fine, but she insisted I not be alone if I went into labor. The bleeding had stopped and nothing was happening, so I told her I was not in labor. She came with Gabi and Grant at around 11. We watched Mickey Mouse Clubhouse for what felt like hours (realizing later the thing was on loop, so it was only like 10 minutes of the show over and over), before deciding to take a walk to the park to get me moving, hoping it would coax something else to happen. After having spent my entire pregnancy dreading this part of it, I was not in the least bit anxious.

June 28, 10am. Last belly shot. 39 weeks, 6 days

Jenny asked me if I needed to do anything and I declared I needed toilet paper (note to self: next time you buy toilet paper when you think you’ll have a newborn in the next few days, buy the BIG pack and spring for the good, soft stuff). We went to Target and decided lunch was probably in order. We dropped the kids off at Ed’s (Jenny’s father in law) and went off to Red Robin, which was one of the only places I could eat with my GD. After ordering approximately 10 fries and downing our food, I went to pay the check and BAM. Contraction. Big one. It hurt. Jenny paid the check pronto and we went to pick up the kids. It was 2pm on the dot. Jenny told me to time them, and I texted Greg but told him not to come home, he only had a couple of hours left and it was likely going to be a long night. They were sporadic and really short, lasting maybe 30-45 seconds and between 5-15 minutes apart. I texted Christie, who had a meeting in Boulder (45 minutes away) at 4. I told her to go, but that I would keep her informed. She was concerned that I would dilate really fast since I was 4cm nearly a week before. Greg texted me at 3:45 to ask me what I wanted for dinner. Since it was our anniversary, I told him to get Carrabba’s takeout since that’s where we would have gone. I told him I didn’t think I wanted to sit in a restaurant. Jenny left at about 4:15 and Greg got home at about 4:30. He downed his food, and got in the shower while I bounced on the yoga ball and timed contractions. Christie told me she was leaving and I told her things were still sporadic. Greg was feeding me between contractions and noticed that they were getting pretty close together. After being famished, I suddenly wasn’t very hungry and told him to put the stuff in the car so it would be ready “for later or tomorrow.” He timed my next few contractions and they were 3 minutes apart. I called my mom and said we’d be leaving for the hospital in about 30 minutes. Christie had just gotten to Boulder and decided to turn around. At about 5:15 Greg decided we should go to the hospital, since it was a Friday, rush hour and we had to get on the highway to get to the hospital. I called my mom for an ETA and she said she was on her way.

Mmmm... Carrabba's Chicken Bryan. 

When we got to the hospital, I realized I hadn’t called the midwife. I called the after hours line and they asked me a bunch of really stupid questions. We got up to the labor and delivery floor and they put me in triage. Martine (the midwife who had been on my shitlist most of my pregnancy because she’s the one who put me on meds and told me I would have to be induced) was the on-call midwife that night, and she came in to check me. I was 7cm dilated and 90% effaced and at -1 station. She commented on my shirt, which was an Imagine Sisters t-shirt (because I refused to wear a hospital gown). It was admittedly, a strange thing to wear in labor. They decided to admit me (hooray, since I was in labor). Christie got there sometime after 6, and we hung out there as they apparently had a baby boom and all the l&d rooms were full. My charge nurse, Terri (who was surly and I did not like her) came in to insert my IV and failed twice. This was, I would later report, one of the worst parts of my labor.

[I don’t remember a lot from my actual labor. I have two theories on this. One is that I had taken off my glasses and I am basically legally blind. Because I couldn’t see, I kept my eyes shut for most of my labor and have literally NO visual record of anything. The other is that, well, we’re not really supposed to remember it.]We were moved to an l&d room around 7:45 and someone came in to insert my IV in my hand. I was not happy about this. All these nurses need better training. Apparently, the weather had changed as it started to hail. One thing that Greg does not like is bad weather. So I was getting an IV (my worst fear) and it was hailing (his worst fear). I smashed my face into the bed and prayed Hail Marys like they were going out of style. Greg put on my CD of chant and rubbed my head. I looked up at him, barely coherent and asked him how HE was! Once the hail finally stopped, things just went on like that, contraction after contraction, breath after breath. Martine came in to check on me and told me she wanted to tap the baby’s head to see if they could get its heart to adapt to the contractions (or something like that). When she did this, the baby’s heart rate dropped. I had to ask Greg about this. He said a bunch of nurses rushed in all of a sudden. I remember one of them picking up her walkie talkie and telling someone that they would have to wait because she was in an emergency. Hubbs said that he prepared himself mentally at that moment that both the baby and I would die. I remember thinking this was all really stupid because my baby was fine. They put me on an oxygen mask, and broke my water. Baby’s heart stabilized and labor went on. The contractions were bad, but I breathed and listened to the music and prayed and at one point said I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. Christie encouraged me to move and change positions, they put me on a peanut ball (which I think is probably the most uncomfortable thing ever). I was 9.5cm dilated and not budging. Christie suggested I try to pee because maybe my bladder was full and emptying it could help, but every time I got up, I felt like I had to push and I couldn’t because of the stupid lip. Finally, Martine told me to go ahead and push with the next contraction and she would try to move the lip. BAM, just like that, it was baby time. It was 10:30. Martine announced we would be having an anniversary baby. I got excited and told Christie “I did it! I had an unmedicated birth!”

Pushing was glorious. Finally! A way to DO something with my contractions and my labor. They put me up on the squat bar because my pelvis was narrow and baby had a “large head.” I pulled myself up and was grateful I had done all those squats in prenatal yoga. I was too good at it, though. Baby’s heart rate dropped. Again. Martine told me they might need to use the forceps or vacuum and I told her whatever they had to do for baby to be safe was fine (and I was so happy no one even mentioned a c-section once). The OB came in to see what was going on, and checked me (seriously, I think everyone in that hospital had their hand up there at least once). He patted my leg, said we were fine and for me to just push every OTHER contraction. Agony. It was absolute agony. The contractions were so intense and hard and I had been pushing. I wanted to push. But I breathed and pushed hard. Everyone was saying encouraging things, everyone was rubbing my head or putting cold compresses on. I felt every single woman in my family all throughout history there with me—it was a true communion of Saints moment. I talked to my baby,“come on baby, we can do this, we will do this together.” I randomly got the song “Eli’s Comin’” by Three Dog Night in my head. It was almost time and I was tired, I had been pushing for nearly 2 hours, in labor for 10. My mom, who has been away from the Church for 20 years came to my side and whispered “Undoer of Knots” in my ear. I don't know where she got it from or heard it. I thought I imagined it, but I read my mom's journal entry and it was in there, too. Martine said “One more!” I pushed and… BABY.

They had to sort of wrench the baby out because its shoulder was stuck, they cut the cord to check the collar bone and make sure it didn’t have a dislocated shoulder. I said to Greg “what is it?” “It’s a girl?” He said. “She’s a girl?!” I said. My mom asked if she could call her by her name, and they laid little Eliana Claire on my chest. I had a daughter. A beautiful, wonderful daughter who was pink and perfect. 7lbs 8oz and 21 inches long. Born 25 minutes after midnight so she got to have her own day. She was born on her due date, 40 weeks exactly. Take THAT, standard of care. 

I didn’t finish the Our Lady Undoer of Knots novena. I didn’t have to. She came through for me (like she always does). And as for St. Therese, well, when I woke up the next morning in my hospital room, I noticed there was only one decoration on the wall: a picture of a vase full of roses. 

Blood, Sweat and Tears

I have reached that point in pregnancy where you stop to think "am I done yet?" I actually hate that, because I was very much so enjoying being pregnant. I think the second trimester lulls you into some kind of fantasy land where you get to reap all the rewards of pregnancy (minus the baby, of course-- but all the cute clothes! naps! people being extra nice to you! wearing yoga pants most of your days!), and have none of the drawbacks (I can still tie my shoes! shave my legs! wear low heels! walk upstairs!)

All of this was compounded by the fact that I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. Not the biggest deal in the world, seeing as how I could have been diagnosed with many other much more perilous pregnancy complications, but it was still devastating to hear nonetheless. I felt like my pregnancy that had been perfect all along was some kind of a sham and I was actually sick and poisoning my baby with all the carbs I had consumed in the past 7 months. It's really not as dramatic as all that, thank goodness. But it's definitely not fun! I, for many reasons, was skeptical of the diagnosis, but I am trying to do what I am asked so that I can continue to see my midwife as well as not be branded as a trouble patient.

The first few days of the diagnosis were the worst, I had almost a week before I could meet with the dietician and I was petrified to eat anything. I had no idea what I really could eat, though I had found some guidelines online, but I was hesitant to trust any of them, since everything I read said the diet would be tailored to me. Once I met with the nurse and learned how to poke my finger and test my sugar, I felt better... for exactly 2 hours. You see, aside from GD, I also have a condition called hyperhidrosis which causes my hands and feet to sweat almost constantly. I couldn't get a reading that first day at all because after poking all my fingers and wasting 5 strips per try (which equals approximately $20 in wasted strips), all the blood was just spreading out on my fingers and I couldn't get a good drop to test. I spent 30 minutes crying to my sister in law, a nurse, on the phone and got some tips and have been okay since. Have I mentioned I hate needles? I hate needles. The diet is pretty easy to follow, but the worst part so far (which I am confident will get easier) is having to plan EVERYTHING regarding food in advance. I have to eat every 2 hours, and I have to test my blood sugar after meals. I always have to know when I am eating and what I am eating. I had to walk out of the Easter Vigil 10 minutes in so I could test my blood and eat a snack. It takes a lot of planning and I have enough stuff to get done.

In any event, that is the update on my pregnancy. I will say that as all of this occurred the week before Easter, I did get to spend some time contemplating suffering and gratitude and openess to God's will. I had a pretty horrible Lent (in that, I feel like it's hard to truly live Lent when you can't fast and you're subject to the whims of your fetus!), but my Easter was truly joyful. I got to see someone who had gone through RCIA 3 times waiting for his annullment to go through be baptized! It was so, so amazing. I also sponsored the female half of a couple who is having their marriage convalidated this month. She told me on Easter that she is having her tubal ligation reversed so they can try for another baby. God really is wonderful and is making things happen in people's lives.

I'm Not Dead (Yet!)

I received a very lovely comment from a reader the other day asking if I had moved blogs. Well, I have not. And I apologize, dear readers, for my absensce. I owe you all an explanation (because I know I want one when someone stops blogging for no real reason)!

I had gotten myself into quite a funk with the HHS Mandate and the election cycles and stuff going on in my day-to-day life, that I found myself only wanting to write scathing posts about how stupid the world was and why we (the Catholics, of course) were just oh-so-much smarter and I really couldn't quite get anything out charitably. And I suppose that's what happens when your blog doesn't really have a niche. I like to say I write about the intersection of faith and daily life, but when your daily life has become consumed by chatter that makes you nuts, there's not much to blog about. So... I didn't. And I didn't tell you why. And I'm sorry for that if that upset anyone.

Cooler than you and we know it. 

That being said, I'm having a baby!! So that should distract you from my bitterness for a little bit. S/he's expected to make a debut June 29, but we'll see. My co-workers predict I'll go 10 days late. Because they are jerks. But honestly, for all the fear and anxiety and sleepless nights that went into this, being pregnant is so much better than I thought. I had very little morning sickness with my first trimester, so the worst of it was the bone-crushing fatigue that hits you. And the eating. I literally got tired of eating. Now I'm 18 weeks along, in the second trimester and nesting, which is awesome. The only thing I can really complain about is the horrendous transition between normal clothes and maternity clothes.
I'm also still teaching RCIA, and I'm sponsoring someone this cycle. So there's that.

And make people Catholic!

That's an update on me, and I think I have a few posts up my sleeve. Hope to see you all soon!!

We Interrupt This Catholic Blog For Some Auntie Fodder

My goddaughter's mom, J, and I have a long history together. And we also have a similarly weird habit: we make up songs. About everything. Not off the top of our heads, but from real songs, inserting words to make them fit. Her big achievement was "Puppies in the Dark" (when you come home to your dogs after being out all day) mine was probably something about cats. Until now. Working off of the most annoying song ever written, and one she sings to Miss G, I present to you: Red Sippy Cup. You're welcome.

Now, red sippy cup is the best receptical
For music class, playdates, fairs and festivals
And you, my friend, may be kind of a noob
If you prefer drinkin' from boob

Hey, red sippy cup makes snack time easy
It travels in diaper bags, clean up is breezy
And unlike my diapers, it’s not too skeezy
Those Pampers can be kind of crass, whow

Red sippy cup, I fill you up
Let's have a party, let's have a party
I love you, red sippy cup, I lift you up
Proceed to party, proceed to party

Now, I really love how you're easy to sip
But I really hate how you're easy to drip
'Cause when juice runs down my lower lip
Well, that, my friends, is quite yucky

But I have to admit that mommy gets smitten
Admirin' how happily I can be sippin’
On you so she’s not gettin' bitten
I’ve got teeth- so that’s pretty lucky

Red sippy cup, I fill you up
Let's have a party, let's have a party
I love you, red sippy cup, I lift you up
Proceed to party, proceed to party

Now, I've seen you in blue and I've seen you in yellow
But only you, red, will do for this fellow
'Cause you are the Abbot to my Costello
And you are the fruit to my loom

Red sippy cup, you're more than just plastic
You're more than amazing, you're more than fantastic
And believe me that I am not the least bit sarcastic
When I look at you and say

Red sippy cup, you're not just a cup
(No, no, no, God, no)
You're my, you're my
(Friend?)
Friend
(Friend, friend, friend, life long)
Thank you for being my friend

Red sippy cup, I fill you up
Let's have a party, let's have a party
I love you, red sippy cup, I lift you up
Proceed to party, proceed to party

"Tell The Truth Through Whichever Veil Comes to Hand..."

I’m not much of a discerner. First off, I don’t honestly know how to discern (despite my best efforts and trying to buddy up with the Holy Spirit), but also because I tend to be an over-thinker in most things and so when I feel moved to just implusively do something, I kind of just do it. In my experience, when I do something impulsively, it has always, always worked out for me. I think the Holy Spirit knows this (of course He knows this) so, I find when I start to have the desire to know or do something, He puts it everywhere for me and makes me REALLY want to do it.

So it was with veiling. People often ask me why I do it, and I do wish that I was one of those really lovely, holy Catholic women who could say “I had it on my heart and so I prayed on it for a few weeks and I felt a deep calling to do it, discerned that it was a calling from God and not from my own pride and I went along with the call.” (I will admit that I wish I said this because I just really like freaking people out with all the Catholic jargon I know.)  No, with veiling, I heard about it somewhere, read a website or two and I promptly went to the only Catholic store in town at the time—owned by a SSPX parishioner-- and bought a chapel cap. The next time I went to Mass, I pinned it to my hair and never looked back. I actually got quite a few compliments on it- mainly from older ladies in the parish- and so I felt less weird about switching to a full on mantilla when I was given one that belonged to Hubbs’ grandma. I won’t go in to all the stuff about whether it’s required still but no one observes it or no longer required but we should do it. I do it. It’s not not allowed, so I do it.

In my parish, there are only about 5 women who veil that I have seen and they are all under the age of 30. All but one is married. My parish is the most traditional in town (aside from the SSPX one, of course) but it’s by no means stodgy; both of our priests have been priests for fewer than 5 years and we have an elementary school attached to our parish. There are a lot of older people, but there are also a ton of kids. I never felt as if anyone gave me weird looks or scoffed at me or anything like that.

I have heard people say that they don’t want to veil because they feel like they will call attention to themselves because they will be the only one. I have heard people say that being the only one will make them prideful. I understand both of these inclinations. I know, for me, that it has made me less prideful, actually. For me, veiling is a reminder of my submission. This may be surprising to exactly none of you, but I’m sort of rebellious and incorrigible. Wearing the veil, which, to the person I was before I came back to the Church, would have seemed really backwards and patriarchal (“what do you mean I should cover my hair? I will cover my hair when men have to cover their hair!”), is a sign that I am submissive to the Church that Jesus founded on Earth- to the teachings and traditions she gave us by His authority. It’s an outward sign, not to everyone around me but to ME that I said yes to this life; that I chose, against all the “rational” thoughts of a former me, to be authentically feminine, to think of myself as a daughter of God. Standing out in front of people when I would rather have disappeared in some back row is breaking down my pride. It says “yes, I know I look a little silly, but I am a Catholic and this is how I show it.” Because, let’s be honest: without the veil, I could be going to work. Priests wear collars, nuns and brothers wear habits- I wear a veil when I’m at Mass. There are benefits, too. My mantilla blocks my peripheral vision so I can’t see when people dress inappropriately, or read the bulletin through the entire Mass, which allows me to be more focused on what’s going on and less judgmental.

So, if you are thinking of veiling (and you have discerned if that’s how you do things) here are my practical tips for veiling:

Wear what’s comfortable to you.

You can wear any kind of head covering that makes you happy- from a hat to a wide headband to a full-on veil. Since I live in a colder climate, I don’t go for the hat because it would feel more disrespectful to me to leave it on, since I am in the habit of always taking them off when I get inside. However, there is a lady at my parish (who must be either British or Southern) who wears SPECTACULAR vintage style hats and dress suits. She looks great. That would make me prideful, personally, since I’d be trying to match my awesome hat to my awesome outfit.

  

Start slow!

If you feel a little hesitant at first, that’s okay- try something small like a chapel cap or even just try it out at daily Mass. If you feel really weird after wearing it a few times, maybe it’s not for you.

Remember it’s not required

 If it’s not for you, then no big deal. We all have ways of expressing our devotion. I have never been able to stand a scapular.

Be prepared for questions

Someone somewhere will ask. Even if your answer is as simple as "I just feel like it's a really beautiful tradition" have an answer.

Still interested? Here is a website that I like Mantilla With Me

Captain America and the Catholic Church

I’m not sure, if in all the time I have been writing this blog (admittedly sporadically), that I have ever mentioned that Hubbs is a HUGE comic book nerd. I am not exaggerating either. The top shelves of my closet are full of long-boxes, the office is littered with pages in process for his very own comic book and every month there is a giant box on my doorstep that comes from Discount Comic Book Service. I have lately started to embrace this aspect of his personality more fervently, and it has gone from a mild curiosity about his interests into something that I find somewhat more fascinating. I have seen every XMen movie, every Spiderman movie and all the origin stories for the Avengers (except the Hulk, during which I fell asleep- I don’t think I missed much.) After seeing the most recent Avengers movie, I slightly switched my allegiance from Tony Stark/Iron Man (an allegiance that, to be fair, came just as much from his portrayal by Robert Downey Jr. and a penchant for AC/DC than anything else) to Captain America.

My husband loves to tease me about my overtly girly-ness when I talk about how much I love Captain America. I guess it says something about me that I love BOTH the bad boy (Tony Stark) and the All American Good Guy (Capt. Steve Rogers). Fine. He’s probably right. But hear me out on this one.

In light of the recent Supreme Court decision upholding the health care bill which, in turn, upholds the HHS mandate, I found this little gem from Captain America.

I know, right?!

That’s right, folks. Captain America. And do you know why I like good ol’ Cap so much? Because Captain America is like the Catholic Church! He is full of heroic virtue! As a military man, he obviously knows what it’s like to have to sacrifice for a greater good, a higher ideal. He was chosen to become a super soldier based on his character, not his physique. He has always, always stood up for what he believed in, even in the face of doing something “unpatriotic.” He knows that patriotism goes deeper than just following orders; if the orders are unjust, the best a patriot can do it disobey them. This was apparently the theme of a recent series called Civil War (where that panel comes from) in which he defied a law based on the fact that it was not a just law. These are characteristics that we, as Catholics, should embody. No, we should not be laying down our lives for a secular government (as Cap is essentially doing as a military member), but, we are the Church Militant! This means that we should be fighting to live out a Truth, even if that is made difficult for us.

It's 2am...

One of the spiritual works of mercy is to admonish the sinner, but we are also supposed to be charitable and loving, right? I know it’s 2am and so I don’t pretend that this post is going to make much sense, but this is something that is really troubling me (hence the 2am.) I hear all the time that we are to speak the Truth even when the Truth is unpopular. Is this whole “don’t be judgmental” thing coming from society? How can I speak the Truth when it is unpopular and admonish the sinner without being “judgmental”? Isn’t just pointing out that they live in sin a judgment, or, again, is that just society that says that?

I have some acquaintances (a couple) who used to be friends. There are personal issues I have with them, but there are also moral ones. I have actually had to cut myself off from them, but Hubbs is still involved. Whenever I bring up something about how they are not living their lives correctly and how that makes me uncomfortable, he always tells me I’m not supposed to judge. I insist I am not judging, I am not saying they are bad people or making any kind of prediction of where they are going in the afterlife. But they are in mortal sin. I can’t just pretend that they are exempt from being in mortal sin just because they aren’t Catholic or because Hubbs likes them. It really… pisses me off that he constantly tells me I’m being judgmental. He says that all I can do is be a good witness, but I have cut myself off so I can’t do that anymore. I do sincerely hope that if I they think I’m a bitch, they attribute it to me and not that I am Catholic.

But again, this brings me to my question: am I being judgmental? My problems with this particular couple are more personal and less moral, but the fact that there are personal problems make the moral ones feel bigger than with other people. I know that I have made mistakes, the very same mistakes that they are making, in fact. I know that I am not above sin. We are fallen and we all sin. I know that. How do we admonish sinners, speak the Truth and still be loving people in a society where no one will take responsibility for anything they do and any kind of questioning of anything is judgmental or intolerant? I don’t want my attitude to reflect badly on my faith (and I know it will) but I also don’t want to be relativist or permissive about things I know are wrong.