ArmaDei.com

Monica McConkey arrived at the Catholic Writers Guild booth as I was packing up to leave last week's Catholic Marketing Network Conference.

Thanks to the concrete floor and brutal lighting of the convention center, I was a bit cranky and not at my loving Christian best when she suggested exchanging books. She, however, was so lovely and loving that I did stroll over to her booth for The Arma Dei Publishing Company. Wow! Double wow!!

Does anyone not know how fiercely I advocate high quality in content and design and print production, especially for self-published materials? After seeing way too much junk in the world of print-on-demand and self-publishing, I am fierce to the point of rude about the need for quality control.

Monica's materials? Impeccable on all levels. The visual posted here doesn't begin to do justice to the richness of her products which include a book, flash cards that double as playing cards, crafts projects, and more. The Cathletics Key cards are brilliant in every sense of the word.

Arma Dei materials are great for parish-based as well as home-based catechisis, also gifts -- think RCIA, for example. She says these products are primarily for kids and, gee, I guess so. Many if not all of these items would work for adult faith formation as well. Order direct and while you're at it, demand that your parish, your diocese, and your local Catholic bookstore keep Arma Dei stuff in stock.

I gave her a copy of my book, The Catholic Home in exchange for a deck of Reverence & Awe Collector Cards. I also wanted a set of the key cards but didn't want to descend into gluttony.

More Mass Adventures

Maybe not growing up with the Mass is what makes it an adventure just about every time I attend. Sometimes it's a completely Inward Ho! experience, other times it is not. Last night's Vigil Mass was mostly an Outward Bound adventure.

Having worked on a parish staff I know when something is seriously amiss. I've learned to recognize the stride of speedy reverence that deacons, lectors, and extraordinary ministers of the Eucharist use when entering or exiting the sanctuary because of some snafu. I've become conversant in the body language priests use when they're pleased, peeved, or bored. There's even more to observe if the choir is floor level. Very distracting. Occasionally amusing. Usually invisible to the masses at Mass.

And so it came to pass that a variety of cues captured my attention last night. Sure enough, from where I was sitting, I could see a deacon scurrying out the back way to roust whichever priest had forgotten to get up, wash up, and vest up. The deacon returned, so did a priest -- eventually.

Meanwhile, I noticed a couple of things. First, the parishioners seemed blissfully unaware. No rustling or obvious watch checking (even after 15 minutes) or yakking or looking around. I, of course, was looking around but noticing I was doing so led to my second revelation. "Wow," I thought, "this situation is not my fault and not my problem to fix." Transcendent bliss. Inward ho!

What I did literally and figuratively pick up as my problem was an interesting piece of parking lot trash. After watching parishioners walk over or around it and after nearly leaving the church property myself, I went back -- to pick up the empty flattened box of Trojan Ultra Pleasure premium latex condoms.

No, I did not place my thoughts elsewhere. I let them roam through the mind field all evening.

Feast of St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (Edith Stein)

1891-1942
Gassed to death at Auschwitz

My beloved saint
for reasons that should be obvious,
for reasons that are not, and
for reasons yet to emerge.

An Author's Life: Dedications (V)

Some women, upon first learning they're pregnant, will immediately conjure up names for the baby; others will wait until they're further along, at least past the vomiting and desperate need for sleep; others will hold off until the baby is actually born. I've heard mothers in this last category say, "I needed to meet my baby before I could name her."

For me, dedicating a book is like all the above. Looking back, I can see how every book I've gotten published has fallen into one of these three categories.

It was clear from the beginning that my first book about working productively from a home office would be dedicated to my parents who both "made me constitutionally incapable of working in anyone else's office." It was equally obvious that my book about Twelve Step recovery would be dedicated to "those who have the guts and grace to do the work of recovery."

After those first books, I'd need to get pretty far into the writing process, at least past the vomiting and desperate need for sleep before I knew whose book it was, but at some point I'd be able to name that person without equivocation. Sometimes that point in time was long after the manuscript had been sent to the copy editor.

All other guardian angels get mentioned by name in my book's acknowledgments. That cloud of witnesses seems to change from book-to-book, as do I, which I believe is part of the Almighty's grand plan for my corporeal existence.

Today in Jewish History

Today is 3 Av on the Jewish calendar and Aish.com notes how on this date in 1881, the first shipload of Russian Jewish immigrants arrived in New York City. Over the next 50 years, more than 2 million Jews would flee pogroms in Russia, my father's family among them. The folks at Aish.com didn't happen to mention that factoid and I didn't expect them to. I do, however, think they could have a bit more precise about noting:

"This influx indelibly altered the demographics of American Jewry; according to the U.S. census of 1940, 1.75 million Jews spoke Yiddish at home."

Spoke Yiddish at home? I've only heard it screamed and yelled.

Sabbath Slippage

The bad news: my Sabbath observance seems to have slipped away during the past few months. The good news: I've realized this is a problem. Recently, in a display case for kosher meat, I saw this handwritten reminder, "Hang on! Shabbat is coming!" A few weeks later, I got a call from Christopher Ringwald, author of a wonderful book about the Sabbath.

It has been maybe a year since I sent Chris a fan letter after reading, A Day Apart: How Jews, Christians, and Muslims Find Faith, Freedom and Joy on the Sabbath. Since then, we've become buddies, swapping stories about being mid-list authors in the faith/religion marketplace and how friends don't let friends quit day jobs to write this stuff. He, by the way, has a terrific new day job as editor of The Evangelist, published by the Roman Catholic Diocese of Albany (New York).

Last Friday night's call was to congratulate me on my new book. I, of course, was delighted to hear from Chris. We both had a good laugh when I said, "And you're calling on Shabbat to tell me this?"

Yep, I'm a laugh riot but my smarty pants riposte has haunted me all week. I used to be more rigorous about keeping at least one weekend day holy having discovered how in the absence of at least one full day of rest, life becomes entirely too nasty, brutish and long. Now it occurs to me that when Jesus said that it's good to save a life on the Sabbath, I might start by saving my own.

Morning Prayer

Every day, Google Reader grabs the LOTH from Universalis and plunks it onto my iGoogle home page. Did you follow that sentence? It was kind of odd to write but I'm leaving it. Moving right along.

Having the LOTH on my desktop increases the probability that I will actually pray the readings. Truth to tell, I usually skim them. This morning's passage from Ephesians 4:29–32 stopped me dead and not quite resurrected in my tracks:

Guard against foul talk; let your words be for the improvement of others, as occasion offers, and do good to your listeners, otherwise you will only be grieving the Holy Spirit of God who has marked you with his seal for you to be set free when the day comes. Never have grudges against others, or lose your temper, or raise your voice to anybody, or call each other names, or allow any sort of spitefulness. Be friends with one another, and kind, forgiving each other as readily as God forgave you in Christ.

Wow, I thought, I am so screwed.

Is lectio divina a powerful practice or what?

Life as a Personal Aide

Earlier this week -- like yesterday -- I had a conversation about home health aides with a friend who has recently entered this crazy system of so-called care.

This, in turn, prompted me to think about how I've been going about this aide thing all wrong. You do know that a huge part of my life (that I cannot imagine being without) involves assisting Ruth, aka Wheelie Catholic, right? I've written about this before.

I might start writing more about this because we have so many noteworthy adventures. For example, I recently had to explain how to get much-needed wheelchair parts more quickly. The parts, I was told by the vendor, were coming from "all the way across the country." I suggested the dealer might be commanded to use an overnight delivery service.

Okay, so maybe I'm a genius when it comes to using the phone but what about my onsite performance? After a bit of research into what other aides accomplish, I decided to discuss my key concerns with Ruth. In addition to being the Boss of Me, she has a lot more experience in these matters.

"I love the kitty apron but I think I should be wearing a uniform."

"One of those smocky things? You didn't want one."

"No, I just didn't want one with bunnies or puppies. I wanted one with cats."

"What else?"

"Well, I think I should probably be more like other aides and watch TV while you struggle to eat something in the kitchen."

"You're forgetting to demand gas money and that I order in an entire pizza for you."

"Oh, okay. Could I get anchovies with that?"