Giotto, The Visitation, via WikiCommons, public domain.

From Seeing Beyond Depression by Jean Vanier:

Loving someone does not simply mean doing things for them; it is much more profound. To love someone is to show to them their beauty, their worth, and their importance; it is to understand them, understand their cries and their body language; it is to rejoice in their presence, spend time in their company and communicate with them. To love is to live a heart-to-heart relationship with another, giving to and receiving from each other (19).

This is how Mary loved Elizabeth. It's also how she continues to love each of us.

As a convert, it took me a long time to understand my relationship to Mary and the saints as just that - a human relationship. Human relationships take time; they're also reciprocal.

Because they are in heaven, the saints for their part are more present to us than if they had been our contemporaries here on earth. It's hard to believe, of course, because we can't see them. But they see us, and their friendship with us has a depth that only the Beatific Vision can give; they love because they see Love Himself.

On our part, however, these friendships take time. My friendship with Mary has been a slow, uphill battle. After all, we were estranged until I was 24 years old. After my conversion I placed high expectations on myself to love Mary as I "ought," which resulted in what you might expect: scruples. Had I been patient with myself as Mary had been patient with me, I may have spared myself a good deal of stress.

Now, she and I sit down over a cup of coffee and chat. Affection is there, and I know that the more I spend time with her, the greater my love will grow. After all, like Vanier says, Mary loves by showing me my beauty, my worth, and my importance; she rejoices in my presence because I'm her friend and daughter, slowly being transformed into the likeness of her Son.

via Shutterstock.

Do you obsessively worry about your parenting prowess? Do you constantly second-guess your decisions? Do you envy others in their “chill” approach to parenting? Do you wish you weren’t plagued by so many doubts and compulsive attempts to be the perfect parent?

If so, you might be experiencing scrupulosity. Welcome to the club!

What is a scruple? St. Alphonsus Liguori explains in his book Moral Theology that a conscience is scrupulous when, for a frivolous reason and without rational basis, there is a frequent fear of sin even though in reality there is no sin at all.

A scruple is a defective understanding of something. A scruple is when you look at your actions and think:

“That’s sinful. Was I sinful in doing that? Should I confess it? I think it must be mortal sin! What would Dr. Guru do? Or the other Dr. Guru? Maybe I should sign Junior up for Underwater Ballet lessons—that would make everything better…”

…whereas other people think:

“That’s not a sin! You’re exaggerating its significance! It’s morally neutral! You’re doing the best you can, honey! Let up on yourself! Your kid is going to be fine. Bless your heart, but you need to look up the definition of mortal sin again.”

Read more at CatholicMom.com...

My dear friend, writing partner, and photographer extraordinaire Colleen Duggan spent some time this week teaching us less-camera-happy people how to take better pictures: use the rule of thirds, use the frame, use the camera you have, turn it to manual focus, try new angles, etc. Loved both the tips and (as always) her lovely pics. 

Armed with my newfound knowledge, I headed out to the yard the other day with my camera to see what I could do. Colleen, these pictures are for you.

p.s. I only tried the manual focus once. Next time.
p.p.s. I haven't cropped these at all.

I don't know if you can see it, but that's my reflection in the middle of the water droplet.

Photography is amazing. My yard is so much more interesting close-up.

See what I mean?

You know you're scrupulous if . . .

. . . you buy yourself a drink you didn't need or really even want from the grocery store Starbucks in order to look like a paying customer after your kids have had free cookies from the bakery, even though you ARE a paying customer because you JUST paid for a prescription, DayQuil, and children's Motrin, BUT you paid for said items at the pharmacy counter before the ingestion of said cookies and therefore have nothing left in the cart that would indicate to the Scary Grocery Store Authorities that you are not a complete and total cookie moocher.

. . . AND when I got to the car, I thought, "Dang it! There you go again!"

St. Dominic, via WikiCommons, CC0.

One distinctive trait among Dominicans is their laughter. At the time of their founding 800 years ago, laughter was viewed with pious suspicion, per St. Benedict’s prohibition against laughter in his Rule.

But St. Dominic was known for always being cheerful and affable, and many of the early Dominicans, in particular Bl. Jordan of Saxony, were known for their playfulness and good-humored jokes. St. Thomas Aquinas goes so far as to say that:

“A man who is without mirth, not only is lacking in playful speech, but is also burdensome to others, since he is deaf to the moderate mirth of others. Consequently they are vicious, and are said to be boorish or rude, as the Philosopher [Aristotle] states” (ST II II, q.168 a.4).

That’s not to say the early Dominicans engaged in raucous or belittling behavior. When Dominic laughed, “he did so with the true delight of the Holy Spirit."

Cover image courtesy WikiCommons, CC0. Copyright belongs to publisher and cover artist.

The ability to make a joke without hurting others or oneself is a gift and a virtue. And while our culture has mostly lost sight of the value of this gift, I am happy to see that one person, at least, hasn't. From Suzanne Collins' Mockingjay (Hunger Games Trilogy, Book 3):

The tube's cover's simple to unlatch. A wide ladder with rubber treads on the steps allows for a swift, easy descent into the bowels of the city [the Capitol]. We gather at the foot of the ladder, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the dim strips of lights, breathing in the mixture of chemicals, mildew, and sewage.

Pollux, pale and sweaty, reaches out and latches on to Castor's wrist. Like he might fall over if there isn't someone to steady him.

"My brother worked down here after he became an Avox," says Castor. Of course. Who else would they get to maintain these dank, evil-smelling passages mined with pods? "Took five years before we were able to buy his way up to the ground level. Didn't see the sun once."

Under better conditions, on a day with fewer horrors and more rest, someone would surely know what to say. Instead we all stand there for a long time trying to formulate a response.

Finally, Peeta turns to Pollux. "Well, then you just became our most valuable asset." Castor laughs and Pollux manages a smile.

We're halfway down the first tunnel when I realize what was so remarkable about the exchange. Peeta sounded like his old self, the one who could always think of the right thing to say when nobody else could. Ironic, encouraging, a little funny, but not at anyone's expense. I glance back at him as he trudges along under his guards, Gale and Jackson, his eyes fixed on the ground, his shoulders hunched forward. So dispirited. But for a moment, he was really here. (Ch. 21)

Peeta's comment proves the inverse of St. Thomas' description above: the humorless man is a burden to others, but Peeta's playful joke lightens the burden that Pollux and Castor are feeling and makes it possible for the entire group to escape into the sewers.

But also clear throughout the book series is that Peeta rarely makes a joke at another's expense, as Katniss says. The few times he does (I'm thinking of teasing Katniss after Johanna's antics in the elevator) only makes him the object of Katniss' resentment. Peeta is good at heart and making fun of others isn't his modus operandi.

So Suzanne Collins gets it. I'm glad.