It All Begins At Home

Fr O'Donnell

Welcome to my column, Family Matters, where I will try to reflect upon the importance of our families to the well-being of society—it’s true, “As the family goes, so goes America!”  It all begins at home. 

Home, after all, should be our first thought of the day; just after a hot cup of coffee, of course.  I once had a professor in graduate school who joked that he couldn’t believe in God until after his first gulp of “joe”.  But, I digress.

Dr. Armand Nicholi, a faculty member at Harvard Medical School, draws an important parallel between the emotional health of the family and the stability of future generations in an article in Christianity Today.  “Early family experience,” he writes, “determines our adult character structure, the inner picture we harbor of ourselves, how we see others and feel about them, our concept of right and wrong, and our capacity to establish the close, warm, sustained relationships necessary to have a family of our own.”  Boy, is he ever right!

Take the Beatles, for example.  In one interview in Newsweek with Paul McCartney, titled “The Family Man,” Paul talks about years earlier having played cowboys and Indians with John Lennon’s son, Julian.  After all the “bang-bang, you’re dead” play, Lennon pulled McCartney over and asked, “How do you do that?”  John was uncomfortable with his own son.  “I couldn’t tell him,” Paul confesses.  “You either know how to do that stuff or you don’t.”  Paul McCartney, like Dr. Nicholi, is right, too!

So much of what we do as adults we learned watching our own parents as kids.  That’s why creating a good parent-child relationship is so important.  From the interview with Paul McCartney we learn that his upbringing made him “comfortable with children.”  His folks rolled on the ground with him, took him hiking through the woods, and—you bet!—played cowboys and Indians with him on a regular basis.  As the saying goes, “One good parent is worth a hundred school-masters.”  Now grown and with children of his own, Paul McCartney knows how it’s done.

The Bible says it best: “Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it” (Proverbs 22:6).  The problem is, when citing this proverb, we usually highlight only the positive applications of the verse—like Paul McCartney being played with as a child and now as an adult playing with his own children.  But what about John Lennon?  We need to keep in mind that some kinds of training can have a negative effect as well.

Consider the generational effects of alcoholism.  An adult can have the tendencies of an alcoholic even though they’ve never taken a drop of alcohol.  How is that possible?  If they were raised in a home where one or both parents were alcoholic it’s possible they could have, as an adult, the psychological and emotional makeup of an alcoholic.  This is the negative application of this ancient proverb: Train up a child in the emotional and behavioral ways of an alcoholic and when he is older he will not turn or depart from being an alcoholic.  

That’s why the home—where we prepare our sons and daughters for life—is so important.  We need to understand the dangers of a do-as-I-say-but-not-as-I-do style of parenting.  We also need to consider the rewards of a job well done. 

The good news is that God doesn’t leave you on our own.  Because your children are a gift from the Lord (see Psalm 127:3), God intended you, and no one else, to train them up!  He gave you special resources—the Bible, prayer, and the Church and sacraments, to name a few—to aid you in your parenting task. 

And, starting today, the Colorado Catholic Herald is making available to you some biblical and psychological advice.  Thus, in the articles that follow, it will be my sincere desire to aid you, too, in making your family matter.  Therefore, may God richly bless you as you read on. Most importantly, may He help you to have the right kind of home –“on earth as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:10).

Riding the Distance

by Betsy Finley

My imaginary bike ride continues.  I’ve gone a total of 257 miles and have crossed over the Colorado/Wyoming border into Cheyenne.  My intent is to ride to Chadron State Park where this whole idea started, then backtrack some so that I can head to the Black Hills. 

I’ll meander through the Hills, as they are known in that area, throughout the winter months.  The nice thing on this trip is weather is not a factor.  I’m able to ride whenever and wherever I feel like going.  My goal is to ride through every state in the United States.  I’m sure this will take me years, but then it took years for me to get into the bad shape I was in when I started this trip.

The good news is I’ve managed to drop some weight and my eating habits have improved.  I find myself not eating out of boredom or stuffing myself when I know I’m full.  It’s a nice feeling to put on winter clothes that were slightly tight last winter and are bagging on me now.  And I know that I’ve strengthened my leg muscles as my knee is not hurting as much.

Saturday mornings are the best day for riding the distance.  I turn on PBS and watch all these how-to shows without commercials.  The time flies by as do the miles.  Last Saturday I rode 13 miles, which is the longest I’ve gone on any given day.  I usually ride at least 5 miles, but am hoping to increase that to 10 miles per ride.  My focus stays on “riding the distance” and not on losing weight or getting into better shape.  Those things happen because of “riding the distance”.  I know me, if my goal were to lose weight and I wasn’t losing weight fast enough, I’d quit figuring the bike riding wasn’t helping me.  But staying focused on “riding the distance” keeps me coming back for more. 

I have so many co-workers that are behind me and will stop and ask where I am on the trip.  Some will even say things about the town I’m in or getting near like “you’ll have to eat at this restaurant because they have fabulous food.”  Now we all know that I’m really not in these towns, but it gives me the motivation to continue moving forward.

God has truly blessed me with this desire to ride through all 50 states and to realize that taking life one day at a time allows you to enjoy life.  I’m not fretting over how much weight I haven’t taken off; instead I’m happy with the weight that has come off.  I don’t worry about not riding every day because if I were truly on this ride I probably wouldn’t have the energy to ride every day.  It’s on my non-riding days that I imagine taking in the sites of the town I’m in, meeting new people, experiencing new retail shops.  This all helps me in my everyday life for I allow me down time to rest and rejuvenate my soul.

I highly recommend each of you who have followed me along my journey pick a journey of your own and give “going/riding the distance” a try.  It could be life changing for you.  May God bless you all and thanks for your support and enthusiasm. 

Betsy Finley is an administrative assistant to The Rev. Dr. Michael O’Donnell, Catholic Charities, Colorado Springs.

My Deceptive Gift

by Betsy Finley

Yeas ago I was a member of the Nebraska Collie Club.  Every year this club would have their annual Christmas party to include a gift exchange grab bag.  Each member would bring a nicely wrapped gift with no name on it that would go into a basket.  These gifts varied in size and shape so your natural tendency would be to pick the largest gift or nicest wrapped gift thinking something great would be inside.  

Knowing that this wasn’t always true I chose a smaller package with a bright green bow on it.  As I carefully unwrapped this gift, excitement from those who had gotten a nice coffee cup, or a Christmas tie, or something really nice reverberated in my ears.  The anticipation was almost overwhelming because I thought I heard someone say “I know what that is and it’s really nice.”  As I opened the box and carefully removed the tissue covered items.  My heart was racing thinking I had gotten the best gift of all.  The tissue paper fell to the floor along with my jaw.  Inside were two fake birds.  

My mind raced “What sort of sick person would bring something stupid like this to a party and think anyone would like it.”  Knowing I couldn’t say that out loud, I feigned excitement and acted like I really liked them.  My best friend, Shirley, though, saw right through me, but masterfully covered for my disappointment by saying, “Aren’t those beautiful?  Look at those colorful feathers.  You know I think Steve could have made those because he’s into that and he’s known to search his property for bird feathers.  What a unique gift.”

Shirley was right.  The birds were actually beautiful and realistic looking.  My mind started racing and a plan was soon formulated.  I’d take that old bird cage from a my deceased parakeet and would put these birds in it and I’d use it as a house decoration.  

The next day I trudged up to the attic to retrieve the old cage and stand.  I took my birds and carefully wrapped their feet around the perch.  Both immediately feel to the floor of the cage.  I looked at their feet and realized they did not have wire in them so I needed to go to plan B.  “Masking tape!” I said to myself.  So the birds went back on their perch and the masking tape went around their feet.  Voila!  They stayed.  My sister came in to look at my handiwork.  She was impressed and didn’t even comment on the masking tape.

A few weeks later we had a party at our house.  Several people began commenting on the beautiful birds, but wondered why I didn’t have their cage covered since it was evening. My ornery Irish mind quickly devised a story “Well, they are exotic birds called Still Birds that don’t need to be covered.”  All who heard this said, “Still Birds, I never heard of them.”

“Yeah, they’re very rare,” I said, “but I just couldn’t resist them.  They’re also very quiet birds.  I was told they only chirp maybe 2-3 times during their lifetime.”  In my mind I was thinking “These bozos surely aren’t going to believe this outrageous story.”  But they did.  Every one of them!  And it didn’t stop with that group of friends.

At one particular party I saw 2 guy friends looking at the birds pointing.  Soon I heard one of them say “Hey, I think I saw that one move!”  The other guy chimed in saying, “Yes, I saw it too.”  

And then there was the exterminator.  We had an infestation of carpenter ants in the house so we called an exterminating company to bug bomb the house.  We were told to remove all animals for 24 hours.  The collies were put in the back yard, and our 2 other inside dogs and 2 cats were sent to my parent’s home.  

My mom came over to the house to let the exterminator in.  He asked if all animals had been removed.  Mom said yes.  As he was readying the bug bomb he noticed my Still Birds in the dining room.  He exclaimed “Hey lady, you have to get those birds out of here.  Birds are extremely sensitive to poisons.  They’d be dead within minutes of me releasing this bomb.”  Mom, of course, laughed and told the exterminator that the birds weren’t real.  He had to take a closer look and marveled at how real they looked.

It didn’t seem to matter that their feet had masking tape wrapped around them.  All our friends would simply look at the beauty of these birds.  Whoever made them certainly knew what they were doing for these birds did look real.  

And what started out as a gift I hated became a gift I enjoyed.  This deceptive gift didn’t bring harm to anyone, but it proves that sometimes deception can be wrapped in beauty. 

We must always be careful with how we perceive things.  And we should always look for the beauty within for that’s where true beauty lies.

About the Author

Betsy Finley is an administrative assistant to The Rev. Dr. Michael O’Donnell, Catholic Charities, Colorado Springs.

Double Trouble*

"Double Trouble"

One teen at a time, please, is the hope held out by every parent in America. After all, it’s hard enough raising one thirteen-year-old, but two? Forget it!

My parents had no choice, however. God had blessed them (or burdened them, depending upon your point of view) with identical twin boys, me and my brother, Richard. We were nicknamed “double trouble,” a well-earned title that stuck with us throughout high school.

When we were young, Richard and I were so alike that even my father could not tell us apart. To discipline us, my father would shout our names until we both assembled at his feet. Then, pointing to one of us, he would ask, “Now, which one are you? Michael or Richard?” Soon after the discovery of the correct twin to be punished, a penalty for wrongdoing would begin.

Well, it didn’t take me long to figure out that, since my father couldn’t tell us apart, aiding him in his apparent disabil­ity only quickened the inevitable spanking and lecture that followed. A new strategy was necessary. At this point, I need to tell you that my mother would help my father by writing the name of the twin to be disciplined on a note pad next to the kitchen phone. When my father would come home late from work, he’d simply read the name of the disobedient twin, climb the stairs to the second floor, and pull me (who always slept on the top bunk) or my brother (who slept on the bottom) from our deep sleep to administer justice. This, by the way, added a whole new dimension to the words, “Wait till your father gets home!”

To continue the story: One day when I was eight years old, I broke a living-room lamp. I had been told to stay a safe dis­tance from the lamp to avoid just such an accident, but I had disobeyed. I was in need of reproach. So my mother wrote my name on the infamous pad of paper. After dinner and a bath, Richard and I were sent upstairs to bed. Awake on the top bunk, I awaited my doom. And then it struck me! If only I could get Richard to sleep on the top bunk.

Because we were avid fans of the hit TV show “The Adven­tures of Superman,” I decided to arouse my brother’s curiosity by pretending to be “the Man of Steel.” With the top bunk creating the illusion of flying over the great Metropolis, I said in low tones (but loud enough for my brother to hear), “Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings with a single bound . . . it’s SUPER­MAN!”

“Hey, what are you doing?” he asked.

“Nothing, just go to sleep,” I replied.

“No, tell me. Tell me.”

Baiting him, I continued: “I’m pretending to be Superman, flying over the city. See, by swinging my arms out over the bed, I feel like I’m really in the air. … Da dum … da da da dum . . . Faster than a speeding bullet . . . whee!”

As predicted, Richard began to plead, “Let me play, please.”

“No, only me.”

“Come on! Just for a little while, please.”

“Oh, all right.” I gave in to his request with the one condi­tion that he stay on the top bed for the entire night—some­thing he previously would never do. But tonight he decided to make an exception, and a costly one at that. Why, I could barely contain my laughter as Richard began the Superman antics where I left off.

“More powerful than a locomotive . . . Da dum … da da da da dum.”

It was about ten o’clock when our father came home. I can still remember his footsteps pounding up the stairs and head­ing for our room. The anticipation had kept me awake while my unsuspecting twin had long since fallen asleep. I hid my head under the covers as Richard was hoisted out of bed and tarried downstairs to the spanking and lecture that awaited him. His protestations that night haunt me to this day.

“But I didn’t do anything.” WHACK! “I didn’t do anything.” WHACK! “I didn’t do anything.” WHACK!

As Richard and I got older, sibling rivalry got so intense that we could no longer sleep in the same room at the same lime. My father’s method of discipline had to be updated as well. Rather than try to figure out whose fault it was—that is, which twin first provoked the other—Dad decided both of us would be punished. This was accomplished by placing one twin over his knee at a time and hitting us, only once, with a gun belt, which was as thick as three regular belts! It got our atten­tion.

To further complicate my parents’ bedtime dilemma, I would go to bed in their room, Richard in our room. After the evening news, my parents would take me, the sleeping child, upstairs to where my twin was already fast asleep. The bunk beds had long since been dismantled, and now the two beds were placed at opposite ends of our room. It all worked out rather well and nighttime spankings were quite rare . . . until one night when my mischievous streak reared its ugly head.

Late one evening I found myself awake. I noticed that Rich­ard was restless and every half hour or so would get up to go to the bathroom. It was time to make my move. I decided to make up my bed as if I were still in it—to avert suspicion—and slide down one side of Richard’s bed next to the wall. Barely visible, I would wait for my brother to return from his bathroom ritual.

Without hesitation, Richard plopped back into bed. I could hardly quiet my breathing as I remained hidden from view, ready to pounce on my unsuspecting victim. I waited a few minutes and then laid my right hand on his chest. My brother gasped but did not say a word. I began to move my hand ever so slowly up his chest toward his throat. Richard seemed para­lyzed with fear. I could hear air being sucked into his mouth, as though he were gearing up for one big scream, but still nothing came out.

I continued my trek, moving my fingers like a large spider making its way toward prey. Just as my fingers neared his throat, the air that had been sucked in like a vacuum cleaner exploded from his lungs and mouth, filling the entire house with a tortured cry like a dog gone wild. Every attempt to calm him with the words “It’s Michael, it’s Michael” were in vain as he jumped out of bed and began running in circles wailing louder than before. I had never seen such a thing. I was amazed! Just then Dad burst through the door.

“What the heck is going on?!” he shouted at the top of his voice.

Even Richard didn’t know quite what to say, still dazed as he was by my nighttime antics. In keeping with my father’s new rule, both of us were spanked. I can still hear my brother plead­ing as if it were yesterday:

“But I didn’t do anything.” WHACK! “I didn’t do any­thing.” WHACK! “I didn’t do anything.” WHACK!

Now lest you think that I was overly cruel and took unfair advantage of my brother, let me assure you that our teen years seem to have evened the score. And so, another story comes to mind. In the fall of our seventh grade year in school, Richard and I were given an allowance that included enough money for a required monthly haircut. Richard persuaded me that if we could cut each other’s hair, we could pocket the savings. There was only one catch: I had to go first.

The plan involved going to the upstairs bathroom and using our father’s straight razor—with the door locked, of course. Running the razor carefully over my scalp, Richard began to remove large chunks of unwanted hair. Things seemed to be going better than expected and talk of saving a small fortune over the next year filled the room . . . until Richard’s facial expression changed.

With a look of wonder and surprise—as though Richard could hardly believe his eyes—he began to mutter, “Oh, no. Oh, I, ah … Gosh, Michael, I’m sorry.”

Not the kind of thing one wants to hear from a barber, especially a novice.

“What?” I asked. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what? Will you tell me what’s going on?”

Before Richard could explain, I began to run my fingers slowly through my hair. Starting at my crown and sliding my hand down the back of my head, I could feel that something was missing. Not believing my own sense of touch, I grabbed up my mother’s cosmetic mirror to survey the results. As the small, hand-held mirror reflected the back of my head onto the large bathroom mirror, a large gasp filled the air.

“Oh, no,” I moaned. “It’s gone. The hair on the back of my head, it’s all gone.”

Because this was the late ’60s, when hair defined a man, my discovery proved worse than a face filled with zits. Immediately I began to cry.

“What am I going to do now?” I sobbed as Richard tried to comfort me. Of course, there was only one thing to do—tell Mom and Dad.

Certainly Mom and Dad would come to the rescue as they had always done in the past. They would know what to do.

Being compassionate parents of teens, they agreed that I could stay home from school for a day or two faking a not-so-serious head injury. Then for the next three months, I wore a bandage around my head to hide my pretend scar—giving my hair a chance to grow back. Revenge for Richard had come at last!

* Taken from my book “Good Kids” (Doubleday, NY: 1996).

Pope deplores latest killings of Christians in Pakistan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Christian couple sit outside their destroyed home.Photo: REUTERS

By John Thavis

Catholic News Service

VATICAN CITY (CNS) — Pope Benedict XVI deplored the killing of eight Christians in Pakistan by a Muslim mob and urged the minority Christian community not to be deterred by the attack.

The Christians, including four women and a child, were either shot or burned alive Aug. 1 when a crowd attacked the eastern Pakistani town of Gojra, setting fire to dozens of Christian homes. Authorities said tensions were running high in the area, fueled by a false rumor that a Quran, the sacred book of Islam, had been desecrated.

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Vatican Backs Archbishop Williams’ Response to Convention Actions

Pope & Archbishop Williams

The Roman Catholic Pontifical Council for Promoting Christian Unity said it shares the concerns of Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams that the Anglican Communion’s unity be maintained through common faith and practice based on scripture and tradition. The July 29 statement from the Vatican office came two days after Archbishop Williams issued his reflection on actions taken at this month’s General Convention. The statement said the Vatican “supports the archbishop in his desire to strengthen these bonds of communion, and to articulate more fully the relationship between the local and the universal within the church. “It is our prayer that the Anglican Communion, even in this difficult situation, may find a way to maintain its unity and its witness to Christ as a worldwide communion,” the statement concluded. Archbishop Williams noted that if a two-track structure for the Anglican Communion emerges, representatives to ecumenical and interfaith dialogues would be drawn only from members who accept and adhere to a covenantal structure. If those who instead choose local autonomy “do not take official roles in the ecumenical interchanges and processes in which the ‘covenanted’ body participates, this is simply because within these processes there has to be clarity about who has the authority to speak for whom,” the archbishop wrote. Catholic News Service contributed to this report.

Riding Like the Wind

by Betsy Finley

It has been 26 days since I decided to recreate my imaginary bike ride from years ago. I started this trip in Aspen Colorado again and have made it to Vail. I’d like to say that it’s been smooth sailing and some days are very easy with me riding 7 to 8 miles.

And, then there are other days…. The reality of work exhaustion kicks in and makes me want to quit riding; sometimes, only within a half of mile from my destination! It is those times I try even harder to envision actually being on my bike trip…. I’ll tell myself, “Look, there’s the town, don’t quit now.”

It’s so rewarding riding into a town knowing that you pushed through the exhaustion and pain, and really went the distance.

I have to confess, though, that my greatest daily inspiration comes from a “fan” of my first blog post who told me to “Ride like the wind.” On days when I don’t feel like riding, but know I should, I think about those words–and the words of others who have commented about my imaginary bike trip–and I’m again inspired to not let them down. It is through their kind words of encouragement that allow me to bike to the base of Vail Pass.

I have about 20 miles to do to get to Copper Mountain. It may take me the rest of this week, but with those encouraging words bouncing around in my head, I’m able to make this trip in 2 days… we’ll see.

I have not yet ridden 10 miles, as I’m still working on strengthening my leg muscles, but I was only 2 miles from going 10 miles last Saturday. I know I have it in me, but at the very least I have managed to get myself off of that couch and onto my bike. And, I feel so much better!

Thanks for your support, my friends… And, I’ll keep you posted on my progress.

About the Author

Betsy Finley is an administrative assistant to The Rev. Dr. Michael O’Donnell, Catholic Charities, Colorado Springs.

Modern Morality: A Parents Dilemma

 “We get our morals from books. I didn’t get mine from books, but I know that morals do come from books- theoretically at least.”

- Remarks at the opening of the Mark Twain Library

I love to read, but I find, like many people, I just don’t have that much time, especially during the school year.  I have three very active kids, and between work and school, I’m exhausted!  However, the summer is my time to read, so I am always looking for a good book or series, and I can’t buy or check out enough books to keep my children satisfied!  All three of my children are voracious readers and can go through a book in a day, and I’m not talking about the 150 to 200 page variety.  They can speed through encyclopedia-sized books in the matter of a day and a half!  Now I’m really not complaining.  I truly believe that the ability to read opens all doors, and if your child learns to love reading at a young age, then they will have the opportunity to take advantage of all of the special programs your school system has to offer, such as gifted and talented, IB, SAIL, etc. 

However, I do have rules on what is appropriate content (which I seem to be relaxing more everyday), and it is difficult to withhold books that “everyone else” is reading at school and talking about. 

My oldest daughter really wanted to read the Twilight series.  All the kids were talking about it and the movie was coming out, so it was high on the minds of kids everywhere.  However, I had heard conflicting reports on the content, so when this happens, I try to read the books first to determine if they are age appropriate.  And, since my daughter was bugging me on a daily basis to read the books, I picked up the series and began to read.  

I have to admit; I really liked the series, and in fact, read all four books in the span of 10 days.  I decided the first three books were alright, but I had concerns on the content, really more of the implied content of the fourth book, but in the end, knowing my child, I decided to let her read it.  However, I have withheld it from my younger children until I decide it is appropriate for them.  The objection in the Twilight series was the implied sexual content, which was so little of the book, that I decided that it was ok.  The book really was about the relationship, the love, and protective nature between Edward and Bella, not about the sex, which didn’t occur until the 4^th book.

The next book I picked up was My Sister’s Keeper, by Jodie Picoult.  I read it on my recent vacation to the beach and my two oldest daughters were fighting the entire time as to who got to read the book after me.  I kept warning them that neither might be able to read it if I decided the content was inappropriate.

My Sister’s Keeper is a fascinating story about Anna, the youngest of three children who was conceived under interesting circumstances.  You see, Kate, her older sister was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer when she was just two, and the doctors suggested, after several other courses of treatment, that a sibling who was a genetic match would help Kate survive.  The next thing you know, mom and dad are picking the genetic characteristics that will provide the best donor for Kate.  Now, before you get all up in arms, this is not a book that supports Hitler’s Master Race, or even smells of Arian Nation rhetoric, it really is about a family trying to save a child.  However, to the reader, through most of the story, it seems like Anna is the spare parts child for Kate and everything else in this family is secondary to Kate’s health.

Anna, who has been Kate’s’ donor for 13 years (Anna’s age), has decided to seek medical emancipation from her parents, who now want her to give one of her kidneys to Kate.  The only problem is they never bother to ask Anna what she wants; they just assume that she will give whatever bodily fluids and organs Kate needs to survive.

I’m not going to give the entire book away; you can read that for yourself.  As with most of Picoult’s books, just when you think the story is done, there is a twist.  Anyway, this book has been made into a movie and will soon be in movie theaters, so you can judge it for yourself.

Once I finished the book, I had to decide if I wanted my daughters to read it.  I had no concerns with the story, but Picoult seemed obsessed in the use of the F-bomb.  If I could talk to Picoult the question I would ask is, “Why use it so much?”  In my opinion, it didn’t add to the story, just took away.  It was almost like she wrote the book, then went back and added it wherever she could.  The use of the word was my only reservation in deciding to let my children read the book.  Of course when I communicated this concern, my daughter informed me that she hears the F-bomb at least 10 times a day in middle school, which is a whole different subject entirely!!!

It amazes me, the amount of crap that is thrown at all of us on a daily basis, from the violence and inappropriate language on TV and radio, in books and magazines, in video games and movies, and in our schools.  I used to work in advertising in New York in the mid eighties to the early nineties, and we had very strict rules about what we could include in our advertisements, especially for television, as the network censors would reject anything they deemed inappropriate content.  At that time, commercials were rejected for using the word “damn”.  I don’t think the networks employ censors anymore because it doesn’t seem like anything is considered inappropriate.  The “family” hour, where commercial content and program content was strictly monitored, is non-existent.  It seems that as long as an advertiser is willing to pay the price of a commercial, the networks will accept anything.  A perfect example is the commercials for Viagra, which seem to appear at all hours of the day.  Try explaining Viagra to your children who want to know what that commercial was all about!  Commercial businesses certainly make parenting more difficult, especially for parents who try to limit the content to which their children are exposed.

The point in my writing this is to say, as our children get older and we are lucky enough to have children who want to read, or who watch television and want to discuss what they see,  it is almost impossible to keep them sheltered from popular culture which has some sort of objectionable content.  Whether it is real or implied sexual content or the F-bomb is used incessantly, or the video game is all about killing and violence, we as parents, have to allow our children to sometimes be exposed to popular culture that contains objectionable content, if for no other reason, so they fit in at school and with their peers.  We have to instill the values and morals in them at an early age, and realize that at some point, popular culture invades our little cocoon.  We do, however, have to monitor what they are exposed to, to the best of our knowledge, and make sure they are mentally and emotionally prepared to handle what is thrown at them. 

It’s a very thin line we walk:  If we shelter our children too much, they are not prepared to survive in our society.  It’s difficult to be a social outcast as a 5^th, 6^th, or 7^th grader.  And let’s face it, kids can be cruel:  they will tease and belittle their peers for the slightest faux pas – and that includes having a parent who won’t allow them to read the “book of the month”.   

For me, I have decided to let them be exposed to things that I might have slight concerns about, because it keeps the lines of communication open.  We talk about the objectionable material before and after they read it and I prefer this to them sneaking the book or watching the show without my knowledge.  I’m just thrilled that my kids still want to share and discuss these things with me, and I want to hold on to that for as long as I can.

About the Author:

Rochelle Schlortt has been the Communications Director for Catholic Charities of Colorado Springs for the past 3 years, and is the mother of three daughters:  ages 13, 10 and 9.  She spent over 13 years in the advertising industry, serving as a Media Director for Ogilvy & Mather in New York and Houston, and Young & Rubicam in San Francisco.  

FIRST CHRISTIAN CHURCH SHOWS THE LOVE OF CHRIST

Good morning, my name is Janet Hutchinson and I am the Director of Development for Catholic Charities.  It is a great pleasure to be here today to share with you what we do at the Marian House Soup Kitchen. 

To begin, I would like to quote a verse from Matthew’s gospel, chapter 25 which reads:   “Amen I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.  For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.”

I chose this verse because it sums up what the programs at the Marian House are really all about.  The Marian House is about the entire community coming together to help those less fortunate.  The new Marian House complex which houses the soup kitchen and the Hanifen Center for Self-Sufficiency, are beautiful testimonies to what our community has come together to accomplish. 

People in the community supported this project because they saw a need to help people who are less fortunate.  The people who come to the Marian House for help are people who are low income or living on a set income and are having a tough time making ends meet.  They are individuals and families who are homeless.  They are people who have come upon some tough times – maybe because they lost a job or they have an unexpected medical expense or car repair – but most importantly, they are our neighbors. 

The people who serve at the Marian House are God’s instruments here on earth who are called to help one another – whether it be to give of their time to serve and prepare the meals; or to provide food for the meal; or simply to give a warm welcoming smile to comfort someone in need. 

Just by walking into the Marian House you can sense this love in action!

About 45 volunteers come together (with our staff) every single day of the year. They prepare, serve and clean up the meal.  This is no small task because they serve an average of 510 people every day in 2 ½ hours.  They ensure the meals are well-balanced.  For example, a typical meal includes soup, an entrée containing meat, a vegetable, bread, a green salad, a fruit salad and, if available, milk or yogurt.  Many of these volunteers belong to groups represented by churches of all faiths, military groups, youth groups, and businesses. 

Approximately 95% of the food used at the Marian House is donated – again by members in the community, like grocery stores, businesses, restaurants, farms, and dairies.

In addition to providing a meal to those in need, people can receive other services by visiting the Hanifen Center for Self-Sufficiency, which is attached to the soup kitchen complex.  Through our Life Support Center and Client Services program, we distribute diapers, baby food, formula, school supplies, clothing, and blankets. We also provide help obtaining ID’s and information and referrals to other agencies.  And for those who want to better themselves and become more independent, we work with them through case management.  For example, our Community Outreach program does all of the above except they deliver these items and more to people who are unable to come to us or other agencies for help. Plans are being put in place for other agencies to have space at the Hanifen Center to help those seeking housing, medical needs, job training, child care and transportation.  The SET Medical Clinic is already located there. 

Again, thank you for your time; I really appreciate your support and interest in what we do at the Marian House.

(The following address was delivered this past Sunday at First Christian Church by Janet Hutchinson, Director of Development for Catholic Charities, Colorado Springs, CO.  It has been edited for this blog.)

Bike Ride to Health

by
Betsy Finley

Every year I take my vacation to Chadron State Park—Nebraska’s best kept secret—so that I can relax and re-center my life. It’s a wonderful place to do just that; and, on a quiet, cool night, as I lay in my bed reading the latest Stephen King novel of short stories, I had an Epiphany! The short story I was reading started out like a carbon copy of something I did years earlier while living in Aspen, Colorado.

I was struggling with my weight, as I have for most of my life, and in Aspen if you are not “scary skinny” you are considered fat. I also struggled with self-esteem trying desperately to fit in, knowing full-well that I’d never be that thin person, especially in Aspen.

At this point in my life, I was probably only 20 pounds overweight, but it didn’t matter to those who lived there. On one sunny day, while I walked my lunch hour away, I found myself standing on a street corner waiting for the light to change. As a car went through the intersection, I suddenly heard someone yell, “Join Weight Watchers, it will work better!”

I looked around to see who they were talking to… I was all alone, so I had to assume they were talking to me. My self-esteem plummeted and I wondered if I’d ever be thin enough.

A co-worker brought her stationery bike to work and set it up in the basement of the building I worked in at the time. I’d come in at night—to run backups, which took an hour to run—so I chose, then, to utilize that hour to ride the bike. My first time on the bike made me realize how boring riding a stationery bike can be, and so I came up with a plan to take an imaginary bike ride from Aspen, CO to Omaha, Nebraska where my folks lived.

On this imaginary trip, which I estimated to take about a month, I made it from Aspen to about 45 miles east of Denver. Unfortunately, the pedals on the bike broke so that was the end of my imaginary journey! Unfortunately, it was also the end of me keeping weight off…heavy sigh.

Years later, when I had moved to Colorado Springs, CO I found myself growing ever larger—again!  Still, Colorado Springs was a welcome place, far from the scrutiny of Aspen, so I quit fretting over my weight and started working on my self-esteem.

It has taken me years to learn to love myself, just the way that I am. Occasionally, however, thoughts of that day in Aspen, standing on the street corner, would fly back into my mind; but, I no longer cared what others thought about me (because that is simply outside of my control).

My most recent trip to the doctors, though, brings me to the parallel with the Stephen King novel…As kind as my doctor is, he dwells on my weight and even hand the nerve to suggest that I have weight reduction surgery!

I knew that was something I never wanted to do. But, I also knew I needed to start thinking about reducing—not to be thin so others would like me—but for health reasons, alone.

So when I had my epiphany I thought: “Hey, that recumbent bike in the basement that has become a clothes hanger… Why not get on that thing and recreate the bike ride I started in Aspen years earlier!  Maybe this time, I attempt to ride it longer than 5 minutes.”   So, I began to create my imaginary story afresh in my mind.  I started on June 18th and so far I’ve ridden 30 miles!

In my imaginary world, I’ve escaped the sarcastic and negative lifestyle of Aspen and I’m now spending the day in Carbondale, Colorado… Why, maybe tonight I can travel far enough to make it all the way to Glenwood Springs where, on my imaginary bike ride, I can relax in the hot springs pool there before starting the long trek down I-70 into Denver where I’ll need to make a major decision on which direction to go.

The neat thing is, if I decide to change directions—I can; if I decide I want to go to Hawaii on my bike—I can, because it’s imaginary and one can do whatever they want in an imaginary world…even ride on water!

You see, we all have the ability to utilize the right sides of our brains and, if it helps one get their bodies into a healthy state of being, so much the better.   So, put down that remote and decide just what your choice of travel will be (i.e., walking, biking, running) and start doing. Let your mind take you to wherever you want to go. You, too, will find you have more energy, a better mindset to face actual daily obstacles, and can bring you closer to God—since its God’s gift of imagination to us that allows us to go any where in this world.

May He bless you all, and (oh, yes) happy travels!

Betsy Finley is an administrative assistant to The Rev. Dr. Michael O’Donnell, Catholic Charities, Colorado Springs.