How to Talk to Little Girls

This article actually comes from a Latina feminist website. The messenger I don't necessarily condone, but the message is one to heed: We should encourage girls (and boys, for that matter) to strive for more than an attractive outward appearance. The article is authored by Lisa Bloom.

I went to a dinner party at a friend’s home last weekend, and met her five-year-old daughter for the first time.

Little Maya was all curly brown hair, doe-like dark eyes, and adorable in her shiny pink nightgown. I wanted to squeal, “Maya, you’re so cute! Look at you! Turn around and model that pretty ruffled gown, you gorgeous thing!”

But I didn’t. I squelched myself. As I always bite my tongue when I meet little girls, restraining myself from my first impulse, which is to tell them how darn cute/ pretty/ beautiful/ well-dressed/ well-manicured/ well-coiffed they are.

What’s wrong with that? It’s our culture’s standard talking-to-little-girls icebreaker, isn’t it? And why not give them a sincere compliment to boost their self-esteem? Because they are so darling I just want to burst when I meet them, honestly.

Hold that thought for just a moment.

This week ABC news reported that nearly half of all three- to six-year-old girls worry about being fat. In my book, Think: Straight Talk for Women to Stay Smart in a Dumbed-Down World, I reveal that fifteen to eighteen percent of girls under twelve now wear mascara, eyeliner and lipstick regularly; eating disorders are up and self-esteem is down; and twenty-five percent of young American women would rather win America’s next top model than the Nobel Peace Prize. Even bright, successful college women say they’d rather be hot than smart. A Miami mom just died from cosmetic surgery, leaving behind two teenagers. This keeps happening, and it breaks my heart.

Teaching girls that their appearance is the first thing you notice tells them that looks are more important than anything. It sets them up for dieting at age 5 and foundation at age 11 and boob jobs at 17 and Botox at 23. As our cultural imperative for girls to be hot 24/7 has become the new normal, American women have become increasingly unhappy. What’s missing? A life of meaning, a life of ideas and reading books and being valued for our thoughts and accomplishments.

That’s why I force myself to talk to little girls as follows.

“Maya,” I said, crouching down at her level, looking into her eyes, “very nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” she said, in that trained, polite, talking-to-adults good girl voice.

“Hey, what are you reading?” I asked, a twinkle in my eyes. I love books. I’m nuts for them. I let that show.

Her eyes got bigger, and the practiced, polite facial expression gave way to genuine excitement over this topic. She paused, though, a little shy of me, a stranger.

“I LOVE books,” I said. “Do you?”

Most kids do.

“YES,” she said. “And I can read them all by myself now!”

“Wow, amazing!” I said. And it is, for a five year old. You go on with your bad self, Maya.

“What’s your favorite book?” I asked.

“I’ll go get it! Can I read it to you?”

Purplicious was Maya’s pick and a new one to me, as Maya snuggled next to me on the sofa and proudly read aloud every word, about our heroine who loves pink but is tormented by a group of girls at school who only wear black. Alas, it was about girls and what they wore, and how their wardrobe choices defined their identities. But after Maya closed the final page, I steered the conversation to the deeper issues in the book: mean girls and peer pressure and not going along with the group. I told her my favorite color in the world is green, because I love nature, and she was down with that.

Not once did we discuss clothes or hair or bodies or who was pretty. It’s surprising how hard it is to stay away from those topics with little girls, but I’m stubborn.

I told her that I’d just written a book, and that I hoped she’d write one too one day. She was fairly psyched about that idea. We were both sad when Maya had to go to bed, but I told her next time to choose another book and we’d read it and talk about it. Oops. That got her too amped up to sleep, and she came down from her bedroom a few times, all jazzed up.

So, one tiny bit of opposition to a culture that sends all the wrong messages to our girls. One tiny nudge towards valuing female brains. One brief moment of intentional role modeling. Will my few minutes with Maya change our multibillion dollar beauty industry, reality shows that demean women, our celebrity-manic culture? No. But I did change Maya’s perspective for at least that evening.

Try this the next time you meet a little girl. She may be surprised and unsure at first, because few ask her about her mind, but be patient and stick with it. Ask her what she’s reading. What does she like and dislike, and why? There are no wrong answers. You’re just generating an intelligent conversation that respects her brain. For older girls, ask her about current events issues: pollution, wars, school budgets slashed. What bothers her out there in the world? How would she fix it if she had a magic wand? You may get some intriguing answers. Tell her about your ideas and accomplishments and your favorite books. Model for her what a thinking woman says and does.

And let me know the response you get at www.Twitter.com/lisabloom.

Here’s to changing the world, one little girl at a time.

© 2011 Lisa Bloom, author of Think: Straight Talk For Women to Stay Smart in a Dumbed-Down World

Ten Tips for Better Mealtimes

The growing body of statistics confirming the benefits of regular family mealtime is compelling. Try these tips to make your family's mealtimes more positive.

1. Commit to a set time for meals (daily, weekly, or according to your schedule).
2. Turn off the TV, computers, handheld games, and don’t answer the phone. Don’t flip through your mail.
3. Use prayer to mark the transition from busyness to mealtime. Be mindful of those who do not have enough to eat today.
4. Slow down enough to taste and enjoy your food.
5. Hold one conversation at a time. Everyone gets a chance to speak. You can disagree, but you can’t be unkind about it.
6. Encourage laughter.
7. Practice manners, such as saying please and thank you and asking politely for people to pass the salt, and so on. Everyone stays at the table until they’re excused to leave.
8. Give everyone a role in preparing or cleaning up. Even small children can help set the table or put napkins in place.
9. Regularly invite guests to your table. Welcome them as you would welcome Jesus. Treat your family members the same way.
10. Always end with a quick expression of gratitude of God and thanks to the cook!

These tips are from LoyolaPress.com and can be found in their original form here.

How Fathers and Families Can Save Youth Ministry From Itself

This article is by Jason Craig from CatholicGentleman.net.

Man is formed by two main things: family and Church. God made the family at creation and made the Church at the re-creation through Christ. One we inherit at birth and the other we inherit at our second birth (baptism).

What has happened in recent decades, however, is the unprecedented breakdown in both of those institutions, family and Church. They’re divine institutions, so they’re not going anywhere, but they’re populated by men, so it can get messy.

And I want to point out the findings of Mary Eberstadt in her book How the West Really Lost God to perhaps shift your thoughts on which of those two things decline first, or rather, which decline has a great effect on the other’s decline.

Most of us think it does like this: stupid, lame, and lethargic teaching hurts faith – bad preaching, wonky catechesis, etc.. Without faith, then, families begin to loosen at the seams and decline. Families suffer when faith suffers.

Eberstadt looks at the evidence and finds that the opposite is often true. While poor catechesis and soft morality do perpetuate the problem, it is the decline in the family that usually precedes the decline in faith. No, it’s not an “either/or” issue, but we at least need to understand that the health of the family and the health of faith are inseparable. Like a DNA strand, “family and faith are the invisible double helix of society – two spirals that when linked to one another can effectively reproduce, but whose strength and momentum depend on one another” (Eberstadt).

Family life itself predisposes us and even prepares us for a life of faith. As St. John Paul famously said, the family is the “school of love”. Loving fathers reveal the face of the Father; tender mothers teach us the value of mercy; siblings teach us fraternal love; and all of the pains and trials teach us of sin and redemption. I’m pretty sure changing diapers prepares you for purgatory. And, of course I’ll mention this, the most important factor for faith is the father. The stronger his faith the stronger the chance that the rest of the family will be lifelong disciples. So, faith suffers when families suffer.

From Whence Cometh Youth Ministry?

Youth ministry is a symptom of unhealthy families. Why? Because most youth ministry programs are targeting young people for initial evangelization – often they’re trying to convince them that God is real, sent His Son, and loves them, and that the Catholic Church is the true Church. In short, they’re trying to make them Christians. But few are asking – why do so many youth ministry folks presume (rightly) those kids are not well-formed Christians to start with? We’ll get to that…

But the problem arises when most youth ministry programs see young people in isolation from their family. They are not considering the whole ecosystem, and by doing that they are limiting their effectiveness.

I Googled “Catholic youth ministry mission statement”, and here’s one from the top:

“The purpose of the Youth Ministry Program is to create an environment which leads high school teenagers into a relationship with God through Jesus Christ and His Church. This is the command of Jesus to his first disciples: ‘Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations.’ Everything we do at St. [Example Popular Youth Program] is directed toward the evangelization of our young people, leading them to know and love Christ and His Church!”

That’s a big burden for that ministry to carry. From evangelization to sending them out to evangelize? – it’s the entire Christian formation placed upon one team. It follows the world’s model of dividing and conquering; put babies in daycare, old folks in homes, those in the middle in “productivity”, and once every age is divided and cared for, we’ll be ok.

Click here to continue reading.

Two Young Women Discern the Religious Life

How to Avoid Converting to Catholicism in Eight Easy Steps

 

By Albert Little, ChurchPop.com

Read the article in its original form here.

 

As a Protestant convert to Catholicism whose journey culminated at the Easter Vigil earlier this year, I have some experience, oddly enough, in how to become a Catholic. For me, it was a particular, miraculous journey that I’ve been writing about for a few months now. For me, I can trace certain lines—a certain narrative—through nearly a decade’s long journey. In my own journey, I can check off certain boxes and say, definitively, yes, that made me become a Catholic.

So, naturally, I wanted to help others to avoid a similar fate.

For me, it’s too late, but there’s hope for you. If you can, with the help of our Lord and your closest friends and family, avoid these certain pitfalls, while I can’t promise, I can assure you that you’ll have a much easier time avoiding the trap that I fell into.

Friends, I offer some unsolicited advice: here’s how to not become a Catholic.

1) Don’t Read Scott Hahn

One of the first mistakes I made as a Protestant was to read Scott Hahn.

Dr. Scott Hahn is a renown bible scholar, and Catholic convert. In the 80’s Scott and his wife Kimberly were part of a wave of famous Catholic converts from Protestantism. Dr. Hahn, a evangelical pastor, was radically converted to Catholicism and soon after his “conversion story,” recorded onto cassette tapes, started being passed around. The popularity of Scott, and then Kimberly’s, stories touched off a massive wave of Catholic conversions and encouraged the pair to write a book based on their experience called Rome Sweet Home.

Do not read Rome Sweet Home.

What you’ll discover is that Scott and Kimberly are intelligent, well-read, and well-meaning people. Dr. Hahn is now a highly renown biblical theologian, a prolific author, and a voice of authority, compassion, and expertise in the Catholic Church. He’s brought his evangelical fervor to Catholicism and hasn’t slowed down. And you, poor evangelical, thought that Catholics didn’t know their Bibles—and certainly weren’t charismatic.

Reading a conversion story as fulsome as Rome Sweet Home is dangerous. In the story of Scott and Kimberley, and the stories of other converts to Catholicism, you’ll see echoes of your own faith journey. You’ll encounter questions you may have asked, or may not have, but you’ll sure be asking them now.

And, if you’re not careful, your road may begin to take a slight jog to the left and you may find yourself at the very beginnings of a Rome bound journey.

2) Don’t Read Church History

A second, major mistake that I made was to read Church history—the history of Christianity.

I did my best. I tried to select a truly academic, historical overview from as secular a source as possible. I didn’t want history tainted by an overly Catholic perspective, a heavily Protestant point-of-view, or a work of pseudo-historical merit. I wanted the real, scholarly deal. I’m a History major, after all, so I figured I could hack it. I chose the 800-page Reformationby Diarmaid MacCulloch (among other sources I’ve read since).

Do not read The Reformation by Diarmaid MacCulloch.

MacCulloch, a self-described lapsed Anglican, describes the time of the Reformation with sometimes mind-numbingly minute detail. It’s, truly, a thick slog and you could begin thesis work based on any of the small sub-sections MacCulloch includes. Suffice to say, however, his giant tome gives you a pretty intense overview of why the Protestant Reformers split from the Catholic Church in the 16th century and what was happening in culture and society in such a seminal time and place.

But reading Church History is dangerous.

From a fulsome reading it’s clear just how tenuous some of the decisions and attitudes of the Early Reformers were. How much of Martin Luther’s personal story of enlightenment is exaggerated. How much of his doctrine of justification and the very things he split from the Church over are driven directly by a manic personality. How so much of the Reformation was thrust forward by cultural, not religious, details. How politics, war, and the European dynasties proliferated and exacerbated tensions.

And, if you’re not careful, you might realize, like I did, just how shaky the foundation—the origin—of my Protestant faith truly was. And how adequate and immediate the response of the Catholic Counter-Reformation truly was in cleaning up places the Church of 1,500 years had gone awry.

3) Don’t Read the Early Church Fathers

A third mistake that I made was nearly fatal: I began to read the Early Church Fathers.

Understand, these are the apostles of the apostles, the Christians who were taught by the very first Christians that Jesus taught. These are giants of Christianity who had direct access to those who heard Jesus’s very words, and touched his flesh. As an evangelical I didn’t even realize that this material exists and when I did, I began to devour it.

Do not read the Early Church Fathers.

As a naive, curious Christian I began to read the Early Church Fathers only to find out that they were startlingly Catholic. The Fathers wrote about Jesus being really present in Holy Communion—not simply as a symbol. They wrote, endlessly, about the importance of submitting to Bishops and respecting the authority of the Church—a Church which, in their minds, Jesus began, the apostles continued, and then passed on to them, by appointing them into places of authority.

When I began to realize that the Early Church didn’t look like the evangelical tradition I had grown up in I was shocked, and then affronted. I was always told, as an evangelical, that “house churches” were biblical—that independent, small groups of Christians meeting in an “upper room” was what happened in the first centuries of Christianity.

Instead, the Early Church is decidedly Catholic in its doctrine and its hierarchical structure, and if you’re not careful, you may come to a similarly shocking conclusion as I did. And then what?

4) Don’t Meet Any Great Catholics

The next mistake you might make is to meet some great Catholics. Don’t do it.

You may have already come to realize, at this point in your journey, especially if you didn’t heed my earlier advice, that there are some pretty amazing Catholics out there. Maybe you’ve read people like Scott Hahn, Stephen Ray, G.K. Chesterton, Frank Sheed, or Robert Barron. Sure, they’re great, and they’re vigorous, enthusiastic Christians (who are also Catholic) but you haven’t met them you, so you’re still relatively safe.

Be careful though, don’t meet any great Catholics in person.

As soon as you meet great Catholics you’ll realize that right in your very neighbourhood, right in your workplace or your community centre or—heaven forbid—your local Catholic parish, there are actual Catholics. Catholics who might be trying, for real, to live out the Christian life. Catholics who are striving to represent Jesus to the people around them.

Catholics who are devout.

And those are the ones you certainly want to avoid, at all costs.

5) Don’t Start Living Like a Catholic

But, if you’ve already met devout Catholics there’s still hope, even at this late point in the journey I can offer this solid piece of advice: Don’t start living like a Catholic.

You’ve been warned.

Because at a certain point in my journey towards Catholicism I realized that for all the book learning I’d done, for all the lectures and stories I’d watched, and for all the conversations I’d had (mostly with myself) I simply had to begin to live the Catholic life. I had to try it on for size and see if, living it out, it actually made any sense.

Don’t live like a Catholic!

Don’t start going to Mass or asking for the intercession of the saints (because you’ll get it!). Don’t try to pray the rosary (it’s shockingly easy to learn!). Don’t dabble with the Liturgy of the Hours or Eucharistic Adoration because you might fall in love with these decidedly Catholic practices and then there’s very little I, or anyone else, can do to help.

You may be, at this point, too far gone.

6) Don’t Give God an Inch

But maybe there’s still hope, maybe the slope is not yet too slippery. Maybe your descent into Catholicism can be halted and I think I have some suggestions that, even at this late hour, can help to prevent your seemingly inevitable conversion into the Catholic Church.

Here’s one idea: Don’t give God an inch.

Don’t, whatever you do, let up even the smallest part of your life to God’s control. He’ll run with it, and that’s the last thing you want.

Don’t yield your will. Stand firm, and refuse to be moved. I know, in the past, He’s gotten you through some tough times and difficult situations. I know you think you can rely on Him who is Eternal and All-Knowing to bring you through, safely, to the other side.

But you’re wrong!

The minute you give an inch to God, He’ll take a mile, and He may very well take you to a place you don’t want to go. A place of deep reverence, devotion, beauty and—on occasion if you’re lucky—sweet-smelling incense.

7) Don’t Pray

Also, whatever you do, don’t pray.

This could, ultimately, be your greatest mistake. You must simply stop praying altogether. If you insist and continue praying you may, accidentally, pray in a way you don’t mean to. Thoughts, petitions, or thankfulness are all well and good but something else might creep into your prayers and you might, by no fault of your own, pray for guidance in your faith journey.

You might pray for help, and then, friend, you’re done. Finished!

You may pray, like I did, for God to help lead and guide you and suddenly all barriers to the Catholic Church might tumble down like those mighty walls of Jericho. And you might find yourself marching right on in.

Because God answers prayers, of that you can (and probably are!) assured. In this area you need to be maximally alert and abide by the old adage: be careful what you pray for.

God gives very good gifts, and loves us very much. That’s exactly what you need to be worried about.

8) Don’t Let Your Faith Be Challenged

Finally, friends, if you’ve come this far I’m not sure what else we can muster up but I’ll surely try.

You’ve read some conversion stories, the history of Christianity and the shockingly Catholic Early Church Fathers. You’ve met some great Catholics both online and in the real world and you’ve started to make small steps in living the Catholic life. You’ve given up part of your stubborn will to God and asked Him for guidance in your journey. And now you’re here.

How, at the last bastion of common sense, the final battlefield, the great basilica of reason and sanity, can we make our stand?

We must, at this point, completely refuse to challenge our faith.

I recommend burying one’s head in the sand although successful techniques may vary.

In any case, we must refuse to be moved. We must dig in, friends, and dig in deep.

We must read all the authors we’ve always read. Visit all the websites we’ve always visited. Spend time in conversation with friends who only agree with our points of view and refuse, at all costs, to challenge the faith we’ve always known.

We haven’t grown complacent—no way!—we’ve grown confident in our faith. We know what we believe! We’re not scared to think about the Bible, the Sacraments, or the Christian Church in a new way. Nothing scares us, we’re simply too busy or too happy with the way things are right now. We won’t be challenged because we don’t need to be.

After all, Jesus taught that change is bad, complacency is good, and we can get to Heaven by doing what we’ve always done.

Right, Pharisees?

Although, if you’ve come this far, and all else fails, maybe you should just become a Catholic. I know I am.

This is What Happens When Satan Steals Your Motherhood

By Christie Elkins, foreverymom.com

Motherhood is a gift from God that Satan will gladly suck the joy out of at every opportunity. Let’s stop the Liar in his tracks.

It is there, and it creeps up like a silent killer. Maybe it is the wet underwear that you found floating in the hallway bathroom. Or the cat food that has been flung out on the floor like tiny marbles waiting to trip up a passerby. Or the loud thumping and yelling and tantruming as if we live in some sort of primal age where roaring and beating your chest were the only way to get other’s attention.

And all of that madness and anger? It wasn’t the kids. It was me. The mother. The one who left a pair of Superman undies in a bathroom we rarely use for days, fed the cat without my glasses after someone else forgot, and the loud, obnoxious, downright scary human being I can be when I have just had more than I can handle.

That’s the kind of thing that happens when you allow satan to steal your motherhood.

No, it’s not the mistakes. It’s not the forgetfulness. It is what happens on the inside that no one else sees. And he knows just how to get to you.

He admires you, you know. But only when you yell at your kids, complain about tasks that need to be done regardless of how many people are in your home. He loves it when you wish you were the mom with the skinny jeans and tall boots and shiny hair with the perfectly groomed kids at the mall play area. You look at her and think you are sub-par. Satan loves that.

Satan also loves it when you get scared because someone posted a random video online of how their four year old can read, so you freak out that YOUR four year old is more interested in roaming outdoors and playing with bobby pins and giving them names, so you panic because books are the last thing on her mind. Satan is clapping now.

Satan also adores you when you get on the phone and ignore your kids, when you hide your true feelings and dreams and frustrations with your husband with a weak “I’m fine”, and when you feel like this fun birthday party at the park for your children isn’t “the best” compared to someone else’s insanely expensive Pinterest celebration.

Satan wants you to fail. And to feel alone. And to feel inadequate to what Someone Else has CALLED you to do.

Because I might as well have left the front door unlocked and allowed a thief to come right in my home yesterday. I mean, why not? I let satan in. After all the fussing and nagging and utter bone tired exhaustion, I crawled into bed with my three year old for a moment. Just to apologize.

“I am so sorry today was so rough”

“I didn’t think it was rough. I thought it was fun!”

“Really? Which part was fun?”

“The part where we played on the couch like we were on a boat. Where we ‘fished’ with your belt as a fishing line, and used the couch pillows for life boats”.

Tears started rolling down my cheeks.

“Please pray for me. That I can be a better Mommy”.

“Oh, I did! Earlier today. When it was sunny. Right before we played the boat game”.

Today I’m locking the door tight to whatever evil enters my heart and home.

Today I am going to remember the One who GIVES LIFE and knows I am a mess and LOVES ME ANYWAY.

I washed the undies. The cat took care of the food. That four year old is now six and can read like a champ. But she still names random things. And it’s cool that my hair is “shiny” because it is unwashed and I can’t wear tall boots because they make me taller than the guy that loves me to the moon and back.

Roll those cars down a ramp, read one more princess story, forget how “busy” you think you are and what the world thinks you should accomplish in a 24 hour period and for heaven’s sake, LOG OFF OF PINTEREST.

Take your kids and an old, worn blanket, reheat that coffee and hold them tight and just rest at the feet of Jesus for a moment.

Today? It is going to be okay. Take back your motherhood. It is a gift. Listen to the life-giver, NOT the liar.

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. {John 10:10}

Read the story in its original form here.

A Day in the Life of a Priest

Those Who Have Less Often Give More

This is such a powerful video. Without saying much, it says a lot. I had to share.
Posted by Frankie J on Monday, August 18, 2014

The Hardcore Catholic Saints Behind America’s Cities’ Names

By ChurchPop Editor, ChurchPop.com

 

San Francisco, CA. San Antonio, TX. St. Paul, MN.

These major American cities all have one thing in common: they’re named after some of the greatest Catholic saints.

It might seem strange that there are so many cities around the U.S. named after Catholic saints given American culture’s increasingly hostile posture toward important tenets of Catholicism.

Here are bios of the hardcore Catholic saints behind the names of 6 American cities (plus a bonus one at the end!):

1) San Francisco, CA

It’s a bit ironic that San Francisco, CA has become known for its acceptance of a wide range of sexual immorality, given that it’s named after one of the most fiery medieval preaches of repentance.

The 13th century Italian St. Francis of Assisi wasn’t an eco-hippy who just wanted to get along with everyone. Rather, he radically committed his whole life to following Christ and preaching the Gospel to anyone who would listen.

He traveled throughout Europe, calling on people to turn from their sins and seek forgiveness in the Sacrament of Reconciliation. He was a strong defender of the papacy and was particularly concerned with priests handling the Eucharist with appropriate reverence at Mass.

Others were inspired to follow him, and eventually he founded the Order of Friars Minor (the Lesser Brothers), also known as the Franciscans.

2) San Antonio, TX

San Antonio, TX is named after St. Anthony of Padua, a 13th century priest who was one of the first followers of St. Francis of Assisi.

He was also known for his fiery preaching of the Gospel and commitment to the Catholic Church. He was also a great theologian, with a particularly impressive command of Scripture. He lived such a holy life that he was canonized a saint within a year of his death (the second fastest saint to be canonized), and his theological writings have had such an impact on the Church that he is honored today as a Doctor of the Church.

3) Cupertino, CA

Cupertino, CA is home to one of the world’s most valuable companies, Apple. It got its name from a nearby creek called Arroyo San José de Cupertino, which in turn was named after St. Joseph of Cupertino.

St. Joseph of Cupertino was a 17th century Italian Franciscan brother. Despite a developmental disability, he had a deep, if simple, devotion to Christ. He had such a love for Christ that he was often fall into a religious ecstasy at Mass or even upon hearing Christ’s name, and apparently he would frequently levitate.

Yes, levitate. In front of large groups of people. Regularly.

He involuntarily levitated so often that it actually became a problem for his monastery. Word spread of his unique gift and the monastery was inundated with pilgrims. His religious superiors tried to calm the hysteria first by not letting him go out in public, and then by transferring him to other monasteries.

Today, he’s the patron saint of aviation, astronauts, mental handicaps, and students.

4) Santa Monica, CA

Santa Monica, CA is named for St. Monica, a 4th century saint best known for being the mother of St. Augustine. St. Augustine lived a life of immorality, pursing various pagan philosophies. But St. Monica kept praying that God would one day lead him to redemption in Jesus Christ in the Catholic Church.

By the grace of God, Augustine converted to Christianity at age 31, and went on to be not only a bishop, but also one of the greatest Christian theologians in history.

St. Monica is the patron saint of difficult marriages and the conversion of relatives.

5) St. Paul, MN

St. Paul, MN is of course named for St. Paul the Apostle.

At first a zealous persecutor of Christians, Jesus himself appeared to Paul and his life was changed forever. He dedicated his life to preaching the Gospel, particularly to gentiles. He traveled the Roman empire and suffered terrible persecution. He also wrote a number of letters to various churches which now make up a big chunk of the New Testament. He was martyred around A.D. 67 in Rome.

6) San Diego, CA

“Diego” is the Spanish version of “James,” so you might think San Diego is named after one of the Apostles with that name.

Nope. San Diego, CA is named after a fairly obscure saint, St. Diego de San Nicolás, also known as St. Didacus of Alcalá. His parents named him Didacus at birth, but called him Diego.

St. Diego was a 15th century Franciscan who lived a holy life from the time he was young. Even as a child, he wanted to be a hermit and placed himself under the direction of a local hermit. After living as a wandering hermit for a few years, he felt called to join the Franciscans.

He traveled throughout Spain preaching the Gospel for a while, but was eventually sent as a missionary to the Canary Islands. A few years later, he was recalled to Europe, and he spent the rest of his life in Spain. After he died, his body apparently remained incorrupt.

Bonus: Sacramento, CA

Sacramento, CA was named after the Sacramento River, which in turn was named for the Holy Sacrament, aka the Eucharist.

“There Must Be a Reason”: A Father’s Final Gift to His Same-Sex Attracted Son

Richard Evans with his father in December of 2014.

By Richard Evans, ChurchPop.com

Just a few short weeks ago, my father passed away at the age of ninety-two. I was privileged to be present, and it was both unreservedly sacred and utterly terrifying to watch him enter eternity.

As I reflect on his life and death, the United States Supreme Court may be on the cusp of opening the door fully to same-sex marriage in all fifty states, thereby changing the definition of marriage in a way history has never seen before. While I do not wish this tribute to my dad to be overly political, I cannot help but realize how different my life might have been if I had been raised by two mothers or two fathers.

I learned so much about being a man from the late Donald Leroy Evans. Only after his death am I now beginning to see how it affected me at every turn.

A Non-Traditional Beginning to a Traditional Family

My life growing up was not perfect, nor was my dad a perfect father. I grew up in the late 1950s, ’60s, and early ’70s. This was the end of an era that exalted the ideals of a perfect home: the two-parent family with two cars in the garage, a mother who was neat as a pin and kept her home in the same manner, and a father who brought home the bacon and always had time to listen and understand his children. No, that was not my home. Not exactly.

But neither was it hell on earth. I am the youngest of eight children (there was one miscarriage just before me, so in reality nine total). My parents eloped at the grand age of eighteen in December of 1941, marrying again a few months later (April 1942) in the Catholic Church after my Protestant father, still eighteen, converted. My dad had a high school education, but my mother had been forced to quit school and work. Having children and eking out a living on a small farm was all that either of them knew. My dad had been the hired hand on my mother’s parent’s farm, and it was a simple case of boy meets girl.

After they married, they almost immediately began having children. Once my parents were in their early twenties, they had three small mouths to feed. By the time I came along, they had a family of ten and were at the ripe age of thirty-three—not far past the age our modern generation begins to think about settling down to produce their two-child “modern” family. My family had very few possessions, and we wore our cousins’ hand-me-down clothes as well as one another’s. I can recall our small-town volunteer fire department delivering toys for Christmas, much to the embarrassment of my proud Irish mother. Though I never heard him say so, I imagine that accepting charity in that way also hurt my father, a man who worked tirelessly to be sure his children were fed and clothed.

It Gets Better

When I was around nine, things began to look up for my family. My mother inherited just enough money from her late father to buy a house, free and clear. A first for us, it even had running water and indoor plumbing! A year or so later my dad got a job driving a city bus, and three of my siblings had left home to begin establishing families of their own. Suddenly, there were fewer of us to feed and more money to go around. We moved out of the country and into a small town, giving us all more freedom to grow up as middle-class children.

It was around that time I began developing hormones that, in my case, awakened me not to the world of girls, but of boys. But this story is not primarily about me; my story is elsewhere. I only mention it because it is an integral part of something far bigger.

Much has been written about and by those who have been raised with same-sex parents. The most publicized voices are those adult children of gays and lesbians who believe that marriage should no longer be defined as the union of a man and a woman. More recently, Katy Faust, Bobby Lopez, Heather Barwick, Dawn Stefanowicz, and other children of LGBT parents have begun to speak out in favor of retaining the traditional, conjugal vision of marriage.

But how often has a person like me—a person who is attracted to people of the same sex—spoken out to say, “I’m glad that I was raised by a devoutly Christian mom and dad?” I am.

A Father’s Journey

I didn’t realize it growing up, but my dad’s background, upbringing, and faith journey up until that point simply hadn’t equipped him to deal with or understand a son who played with dolls and read alone in his room rather than shooting hoops or watching sports on TV. As a result, we weren’t very close when I was growing up.

There are many theories about what causes homosexuality—how much is genetic, how much is environmental, and so on. I do not know, nor does science, what the answer is. But I do know this much: the man I needed most and admired the most was not able to give—or, at least, to communicate—unconditional love to me during those crucial, formative years. I will not deny that I often felt both angry with my father and inferior to him as a man.

Thankfully, that is not the end of the story. Although attracted to men, I never acted upon those feelings and was for twelve years married to a beautiful, inside and out, Christian woman. When I came out to my family after my divorce in 1992, I was already in my mid-thirties and had accomplished at least a few things I knew that my father was indeed proud of. As a teenager, I had left the Catholic Church and eventually started a ministry with the Assemblies of God. My ministry, although never huge, did impact a number of people. Even though it was not a Catholic ministry, my father made sure that I knew he was proud of and pleased with the man I had become. We became closer during those years, and when I finally had to tell him about my homosexuality, although I was nervous, I was fairly confident that he would be able to handle it. And handle it he did, with honor and grace.

Advice and More

My father was always full of advice for his children, even after they had become adults. In this situation, he was no different. He told me that he had suspected sometimes over the years that I was not straight, and he admitted being disappointed about it. He then proceeded to tell me that he had realized over the years that tolerance of others was far more important than agreeing with them. He even gave me a lecture on being careful and using protection if I was indeed going to be sexually active with men.

In saying these things, he was in no way approving of my decisions, but he was clearly showing a kindness and sensitivity I had few times seen or felt in my earlier years. It was strangely but undeniably endearing. The fact that my father—this man whose approval I had craved all of my life—chose to offer me love and advice was a profound gift.

What made me closest to my dad, though, was his reaction to my return to Catholicism. I had searched in a lot of directions, some Christian and some not so much, for meaning in my life, and in 2005 I found myself longing for and then returning to the faith I had once had as a youth, once again becoming Roman Catholic, and taking classes in order to at long last be confirmed a few months later at age 50. Not only did my father attend my confirmation, but when I was confirmed I saw him, for the second time ever, weep. I cannot even type this now without tears as I recall that moment. The only other time I had ever seen him cry was when my mother died.

Later, he told me directly how glad he was that I had come back to the Catholic Church and how much the sacraments of confession and Holy Eucharist meant to him. These were conversations we simply had never had before, either while growing up or as adults. We developed a bond that we probably would never have had if God had not brought me back to the Catholic Church precisely when He did. The mutual pride, affection, and honest communication we had finally begun to establish was something I will always treasure.

This was what I had wanted all of my life, and I finally had it.

The End—and a New Beginning

In the last years of his life, my father and I spoke regularly, in a series of conversations that cemented our long-overdue connection. Rather than the half-hearted or forced feeling that had often characterized our interactions in the past, our talks now seemed to flow with ease as we spoke of life, God, and the Church. They never once ended without our saying that we loved each other. Eventually, my father’s health problems intensified, and he was told that he had only a few more months to live. During that time, he did his utmost to make sure he was right with and had peace with both God and all the people around him.

Although he had told me he was proud of my return to the Catholic Church, we had not discussed my homosexuality since I had become celibate and Catholic again. And that is where the gift I mentioned in the title of this article comes in. Before he died, he told me that he “believed that there was a purpose” in my situation, and wanted to be absolutely sure I knew he thought so.

I do not know what he thought of the campaign for same-sex marriage. I do know that, even if I had remained active in the LGBT world, he still would have loved me. But the fact that he wanted me to know that I, whatever my past or future, had been made for a purpose, and that he was not willing to leave this world without saying so to me, spoke volumes about what fatherhood is all about. I hang on tightly to those simple words. The man I had emulated all of my life did indeed accept me unconditionally. Whatever had been wrong or distancing between us disappeared with those words of love and deep affirmation.

If she had lived long enough to know of it, my mother would have loved me in spite of my same-sex attraction too. Of that, I am confident. But to know that my father really, really accepted me—the non-sports-loving son who may have been an embarrassment to him at times—and that his love was utterly solid and unreserved, was probably the most healing thing that could ever happen to a man with same-sex attractions.

My mother, brothers, or any of my sisters—all who have been wonderful to me over the years—saying those same words would just not have had the impact this did. It had to come from my father in order to cause me to feel just a bit more masculine in the best sense. We learn to be masculine from our male parent, our dad. We learn our more tender or feminine side from our female parent, our mom. And without that complementarity, we cannot learn those lessons effectively.

I am going on sixty, and I still need that affirmation. We all do. Without role models of both sexes, we will not get it. God made marriage for a purpose, and His ideal is to place children in homes where they will have affirmation, acceptance, and love from role models of both sexes. My dad’s acceptance of me as a man, with full knowledge of my attraction to other men, was his gift to me. And though it was late coming, I am utterly thankful for it. It came not when I was actively gay or when I was married to a woman. It came when I was able to be honest with myself and with the man who helped bring me into this world.

Perhaps—just perhaps—telling this part of my story is part of that “purpose.”

This article originally appeared in Public Discourse: Ethics, Law, and the Common Good, the online journal of the Witherspoon Institute of Princeton, NJ, and is reprinted with permission.