Most people hate to iron, but it's my quiet time to think every morning.  Himself comes up with a cup of tea for me and then goes off to perform his ablutions while I let my mind wander.  Yesterday I had a very startling thought; "Thank God my boys are out of high school so they're safe."  Let that sink in for a minute.  

This country is sacrificing its children to the gun lobby and the insanity has to stop.  While proponents of the NRA argue with members of the "Left" over verbiage, parents are standing in frighteningly quiet bedrooms, looking at piles of socks on the floor that will never make to the hamper because the occupant is dead.  That is just wrong on so many levels.  Politicians are accepting exorbitant contributions from the NRA who are (there is no other way to phrase it) buying their votes.  And children who can't buy cigarettes are buying semi-automatic weapons and with their hormones and undeveloped front lobes are taking young lives.

I would despair, but I don't do that.  And one of the reasons I have hope is that this group of teenagers is not waiting for a political caucus to save them.  They are taking matters into their own hands.  They are speaking frightening truths, their faces contorted with pain and tears and terror.  They are finding a way to make the grown ups listen.  They have provided more leadership in the last seven days than we've seen come out of Washington in a year.  They are cutting through the sugar coated niceties.  They don't have time for those.  Their friends are dying.

I am so proud of these young people.  I am inspired by them.  There will be threats and repercussions, undoubtedly, but they seem willing to sign on for that. They are willing to be on the front line for the battle of their lives.  The battle for their lives.  I believe in the power of prayer.  But at some point prayer has to evolve into action or it has little meaning.  Let us protect our children, and let us treasure and praise and yes, pray for, these teenagers who are marching out of classrooms around the country, and let us stand next to them in the fight. 

This picture was posted by Treva Muhammad, and the message is powerful.  I'm not sure if she is the artist, but it stopped me in my tracks.


Note from the author:  I apparently wrote this in February.  I thought I had posted it.  Maybe I was too depressed by the subject matter.  Maybe I was afraid of the reactions it would get.  I found this in my pile of "drafts".  Re-reading it I find my opinion hasn't changed, but perhaps I have, because here it is.  Be shocked.  Be horrified.  Then vote and make sure you do everything you can to have everyone you know vote, too.

I will acknowledge that Catholics have some interesting customs.  Celibate clergy.  Handing out dead leaves once a year. And let's not forget smearing one's forehead with ashes to wear all day to announce the start of Lent.  My Protestant friends don't get it.  I have a small pool with friends to see how long it will take before someone calls to one's attention the embarrassing "dirt" which we must have missed in our ablutions.  How, exactly, do they figure that one happened?  Fell face first into the fireplace on the way out and forgot to check the mirror afterwards?

Anyway, although Lent is not as trendy as it used to be, it's still another chance to reflect and renew for those of us who have already blown our New Year's Resolutions.  It's supposedly the 40 days leading up to Easter during which one makes sacrifices, large or small.  Giving up something like wine or candy or desserts or swearing are popular disciplines.  I like a positive spin, myself.  More Masses during the week.  More spiritual reading.  More quiet time without cell phones or laptops, to just sit quietly and hear what's really going on.  Now for those of you who can count, you will soon figure out that Lent is NOT 40 days.  It's 47 days, and although Easter falls on April Fool's Day this year, that is not a joke.  Here's the secret that many Catholics don't figure out unless they have a friend who happens to be a Canon Lawyer....Sundays don't count.  The Resurrection is such a really big deal, that one celebrates Sundays no matter what.  Which is as it should be, of course.  It's the ultimate trump card (Please pardon that expression.  I'm trying to eradicate it from my vocabulary.)

In all seriousness, we all need a Lent.  We need a reminder that there is more to life than Words With Friends or Godiva Chocolates.  Or even political affiliations.  There is compassion and forgiveness.  There is grace.  And there is love.  Above all there is love.  And that's our job.  To stop and feel the love God sends to us and to turn it around and love others.  So maybe it's very appropriate that Ash Wednesday coincides with  Saint Valentine's Day this year.  And I'm tickled by the fact that Easter will be on April Fool's Day, because Jesus pulled off the biggest joke of all in proving that death is not the end after all, in spite of what people might think!

Enjoy your thoughtful journey.

November has Thanksgiving.  December has Christmas.  January has the odd left-over winter party and a holiday celebrating Doctor King right in the middle.   And then there's February.

I once heard it defined as "The six-month long depression between January and March. Suicide month."  I get it.  February makes my soul weary and my heart stop believing that spring will ever get here.  I am having crocus-envy.  The weather has been mindbogglingly cold and disgustingly gray, but not really sufficiently miserable to justify my complete disgust with this stupid month.  It's just old.  Gloves and hats are becoming pilled and annoying.  Scarves are a pain.  And I know there are people who would be very grateful to have warm hats and gloves and scarves, and I do my best to share.  But I'm still sick of needing them.  I need more sunlight than I am getting.  A lot more.  Coming home in the dark makes me feel I have missed the whole day.

Valentine's Day is a Hallmark holiday at best, even though I've had the same fabulous Valentine for over a quarter of a century.  If I were a teacher I'm sure I'd be counting the moments until the vacation week.  But I'm not a teacher.  And I'm counting the moments until March.