St. Valentine and his Day

I know a lot of people who have a beef with the commercialization of Christmas. Every holiday season we're inundated with images of a jolly old chap selling us Coca-Cola, every product imaginable, as well as an array of toys that defies my imagination. To some extent I expect it at Christmas these days. And if the birth of Christ is open game, I shouldn't be surprised by the sickeningly sweet shades of pink and red that are washing over the local stores. Not that they're just starting to spread. Most retail outlets had at least one Valentine's Day aisle while Christmas shopping was still in full force. It feels like a slow-spread disease, the symptoms of which are forced displays of affection, a blindness to any colour not in the family of red or pink, and high blood sugars from excessive chocolate consumption. While I'm sure a lot of folks aren't just making displays of affection for Valentine's Day and are daily making their significant others feel beloved, I wonder why it feels like the message is to absolutely spoil your partner or spouse for the one day, but not to focus on the other 364 days. Even if you are a spontaneous person who spoils your loved ones in unexpected ways and on any day, the expectations behind this singular day are so huge, how can even the most loving person manage to keep up? It seems, according to the media and consumer stores, that I'm supposed to be expecting spa packages, special meals, cards, gifts, special mementos and so much more from my husband. Apparently all that is required of me is that I show up to be loved, maybe get him a card, and watch some hockey. I feel like something's been lost in translation.

St. Valentine must be rolling his eyes up in Heaven. Here a was a man, a priest, who gave his life to God and to God's Church every day of his life up until the moment he was brutally martyred. He was a man of daily charity to those who relied on him to give them the Sacraments. St. Valentine is associated with romantic love because he risked his life to help couples celebrate the Sacrament of Marriage at a time when Christianity was prohibited in the Roman Empire. At any point he could have given up his clandestine works of devotion to his flock, but he continued on until he was arrested and martyred. To me, this seems so much at odds with the current incarnation of his feast day. Here's a man, a beautiful image of sacrificial love, whose feast day is being used for indulgence, selfish expectations, and excess. The couples for whom he risked his life to witness the Sacrament of their Marriage, must be up there in Heaven rolling their eyes too. They had to gather in secret locations away from the eyes of the Roman law to sanctify their union. I'm pretty sure the idea of chocolates and spa treatments seem empty next to the freedom to celebrate their faith in peace. I may be speaking out of turn, but I'm pretty sure these couples would be at Mass on February 14th, giving thanks to God for the priest who gave everything to God and to them.

All of this leads me to reflect that if we're going to set St. Valentine's day apart as a special day, it shouldn't be a day to celebrate saccharine emotional displays. It should be a day to emulate that sacrificial love that St. Valentine lived unto his own death. And like St. Valentine, it shouldn't just be on one day, it should be the act of every day. While I think it's always great to remind people around us that we love them, I think we should go well past just saying it, and prove it year round, by devoting small duties and prayers to ease their path and bring them closer to God. Through the daily administering of his duties, St. Valentine brought Christ to those around him. This St. Valentine's Day, perhaps what we could do for those we loved would be to pray for them, offer Mass, and instead of handing over our money to the stores for the sake of trinkets and foods, give our loved ones the gift of ourselves. Maybe that means sitting down and taking extra time to listen to them, or pray with them, or even letting them go and take a nap when they get home after a long day. All the things that society tells us will express our love will only last a day or two. The flowers will wilt, the chocolates will be eaten, the cards will find their way into the recycling, but the gift of yourself will build up your relationship in a truly lasting way that could snowball and improve your relationship for the rest of your lives together.

A Franciscan Heart in a Material World

I am part of the Madonna generation. And know, I don't mean Mary. I mean the once ubiquitous popstar, whose famous song "Material Girl" still gets regular play on the radio. In my mind, her music was synonymous with the excess of materialism and general love of excess that pervaded the 80s and early 90s. We could do what we wanted, have what we wanted, and there was no such thing as too much stuff. I was just a kid during the most of this time, but as a kid I was on the receiving end of a certain amount of vicarious excess. Our parents generation had grown up on simple stuffed toys, Barbies that you could sew clothes for rather than buy, and the reality that the ingenuity of a well fed imagination was more valuable than anything. When we hear songs about Christmas days of the past, there's no talk about Cabbage patch, Polly Pocket, Thomas the Train, or Furbies. Even in the world of claymation, all the kids wanted was a dolly, a train, or a scooter. Pretty plausible stuff for Santa and his hard working elves to make with rudimentary tools. Flash forward to my childhood (and every Christmas since) and you'll have no problem finding video of otherwise reasonable people knocking down strangers for some battery operated monstrosity that they will grow tired of only 24 hours before their kids do. We are in the material age. There's no denying it.

I confess even my family isn't immune to it all. This past Christmas I saw evidence in the strewn wrapping paper on the floor that while the kids didn't expect much (a Barbie or two, some Cars dinkies, and some slippers were the requests), they were inundated with so much stuff they didn't know what to do. Now almost  month later the favourites have emerged, and not surprisingly it's what they asked for. Baby girl is drawn to books and simple wooden toys. Big girl wants to play with the Barbies. The boys spend all day playing with their Cars dinkies. Everything else is background noise and has already fallen to the bottom of the toy pile (and yes, it's a pile). Partly it's because they're the only little kids in the family on both sides (they have a preteen cousin who is well beyond the trendy toy age, and has moved on to music and art. Well done!). This lends itself to a certain amount of spoiling from one particular set of Grandparents *coughmyMomcough* who seem to have 20 years of pent of Christmas shopping they unleash under our tree every year since we've had kids (and let's be fair, any other said Grandmother sees something she thinks would please the kids). It comes from an honest desire to express love and to leave a lasting impression on the kids. My fear is that the impression it's giving isn't of love, but of entitlement and privilege. They are young enough that they don't have an expectation for how many gifts they have, or the financial value they can place on the stack of gifts they receive, but it's only a matter of time before their real needs get crowded around by the wants society teaches them are essential.

So what do we do? Do we roll over and accept the materialism of this world? For myself and my family, I say no. The riches of this world are worthless when I think about what their hearts really needs. I've learned over the years, that what my heart needs is something I can't find on the shelves at Walmart. I need God. The only one who will feed my soul. The same way that pair of shoes will give me only a moment of joy, I know that the pile of presents under the tree will give a momentary thrill before leaving their hearts more empty. If I could give my children any gift at Christmas, their birthdays, and every other day of the year, it would be a Franciscan heart.

For me, a Franciscan heart is one that relies on Providence. It is a heart that gives everything to God, even our suffering, with joy and trust that even if we can't see it, God is making good of our lives. A Franciscan heart rejoices in the moments of grace, and turns to God for comfort when this world strikes us down. It is a heart that hungers for the love of God and seeks to share that same love with everyone else. If I can have a Franciscan heart, I will not be ashamed to accept charity, but also be compelled to give everything I have to a stranger in need. I will work hard to provide for my family, but trust that when I am struggling to make ends meet, God will teach us to need less, and send those with a heart for the Spirit to answer our prayers before we know to pray them. Even if to others we appear little or poor, if God will teach me how, I want to give my children a Franciscan heart rather than any other material thing the world says they need. That is a gift that they can take with them throughout this life, and into the next.

Birthdays

This post isn't exactly timely in the sense that it has nothing to do with Advent, Christmas or the Mayan Un-Apocalypse. This post is about something that's been brewing since October. You see, friends, I had a birthday. The number isn't even remotely important, but rather that it was my birthday. As I recall I had more than one person upset that I didn't make a big deal out of the fact that it was my birthday. Not because I'm ashamed of my age (wooo! 30!), but because, for me, birthdays are not that big of a deal. Don't get me wrong, I will celebrate the crap out of your birthday. I will work excessively hard picking out THE perfect gift to make you smile. If I have occasion to I will make you a cake, possibly from scratch, and I will get loads of candles and sing "Happy Birthday" to you so loud and ridiculously that you'll be embarrassed. Because that's how I roll. On your birthday, anyway.

On my birthday, however, I prefer a more incognito approach. I will stay home if I can. I won't give you any good gift ideas (because I really don't need anything I don't already have, except for clothes for some reason). I won't want you to take me out to a restaurant and have waiters and waitresses sing enthusiastically while I wear a silly hat. If possible, I would simply have most people in the world not even notice my birthday at all. That's easier said than done in the age of Facebook, of course. If you simply wish me a happy birthday, I will be delighted of course, but I won't want a fuss beyond that. It gave me great joy this year that I managed to have my birthday pass by unnoticed by my Moms group, much to the chagrin of one of my closest friends (mwahah!). On a select few occasions, such a very cool concert, I have gone out for my birthday, but my preference is to stay in. I kid you not when I say that I honestly do not even want presents. I get that it makes everyone else feel great to give (as I said, I myself LOVE to pick out that perfect present when I know it'll make YOU smile), but for me, I'd rather see you take that money and spend some quality time with a loved one.

Growing up, I recall feeling much the same way. I didn't have a lot of birthday parties, though evidence shows my parents had several for me before I was old enough to say yes or no. I preferred sleepovers when I was little. As I got older, I just wanted to stay in with my folks and have a meal. My family has one birthday tradition that I loved, which was that whoever's birthday it was could pick what we had for supper. Just so you know, and I know you're dying to know, I almost always chose tortellini. I loves me my carbs. We'd almost always finish it off with an ice-cream cake Mom would pick out that day, or a few days before. I remember the year she special ordered a turkey-shaped ice-cream cake for my oldest brother. (That, by the way, was one of many moments that proved my family was a little weird.) Gift wise, unless I had something really particular in mind, my folks would pick out something on the more or less random side of things. When I was still young enough to live at home, I recall my Mom proudly presenting me with a cast iron stand-alone coat rack, so I could "hang up you coat upstairs instead of leaving it on the floor". Thanks, Mom. Haha. It became something of a gag over the years and eventually I re-gifted it to my Mom when I moved out, so she could, y'know, "hang up your towels instead of just leaving them on the floor". Yeah. We're a fun family.

Some people might think I'm bitter or whatever and that's why I don't want to make a big deal, but it couldn't be further from the truth. I can hardly be bitter when by and large the reason my family celebrated my birthday the way they did was because I asked them to. Even as a kid I didn't get the big deal. Yeah, of course, wish me a happy birthday (and I will be deadly hurt if my family forgets THAT), but beyond that I don't want or need anything. Except for maybe some tortellini and my hands on the remote control for the night. I've got everything I need in my life, my husband and our kids, a loving extended family, and all the necessities to get through the day. Everything else pales in comparison. So next year when my birthday rolls around, don't worry about it. Unless you are married to me or are the woman who gave birth to me (or are married to her), I don't need or expect a "Happy Birthday" from you (though that's nice, of course). If you insist that you can't pass the date without giving me something, please consider taking that money and giving it to a charity to help those who aren't as lucky as I am year round. I may have a big personality sometimes, but what I'm really about is celebrating the gifts I get to have all year. So give me your warm wishes, give me your prayers, but most of all, give me the time to celebrating who you are to me, not just that I had the good fortune to be born.