Introductions are in Order.

I said in an earlier post (a long time ago, actually) that I would cease to be so anonymous after getting married.
Well, I am a married woman now!  So, here is a list of things about me:

• Who am I? 
  Jennifer Fitch
• What do I do? 
  I am a homemaker.
• Where am I? 
  Colorful Colorado!
• How old am I? 
  I was born in the third month of 1988.  You do the math ;)
• Am I learned?
  I went to Metro State for a little while, but decided I was disenchanted with higher education - I was going for art - so I stopped after a couple years.
• Do I have pets? 
  Yes, I have two cats and a puppy.  Vincent, Leeloo, and Brienne.
• How did I chose the name Demosthenes? 
  When I started this blog I had just finished the book Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card.  That is where the name Demosthenes came from.  As to the actual man, I know very little about him.

 So that's all I can think of right now.  If you're curious about anything else, just ask.

The Ballad of Salvation Bill

I'm reading a book titled A Retreat for Lay People by Fr. Ronald Knox.  It is a collection of entries from which I read one a day (give or take, I didn't read yesterday).  The one I should have read yesterday is titled The Spirit of Faith.  Here is an excerpt from it:

I think we've got to ask Almighty God to give us more love, much more love, of truth for it's own sake.  Loving the truth isn't the same thing as arguing about it; when we argue, we are so bent on getting the other person to see our point of view that we hardly mind whether it is true or not; we become advocates.  Loving the truth isn't the same thing as preaching it or writing about it; when we preach it or write about it we are too much concerned with making it clear, with getting it across, to appreciate it in it's own nature.  Loving the truth isn't even the same thing as studying it, or meditating about it; when we study it, we are out to master it; when we meditate about it, we are using it as a lever which will help us to get a move on with the business of our own souls.  No, we have got to love the truth with a jealous, consuming love that can't rest satisfied until it has won the allegiance of every sane man and woman on God's earth.  And we don't, very often, love it like that.  We are God's spoiled children; His truth drops into your lap like a ripe fruit-Open thy mouth wide, He says, I will fill it.  There is a sense, you know, in which the false thinkers of to-day love the truth better than Christians do.  Their fancied truth is something they have earned by their own labours, and they appreciate it more than we appreciate the real truth which has dropped into our laps.

 If you can, I would recommend picking this book up and reading one chapter a day.  It's food for thought for me; it gives me things to think on very often.

Yesterday was a marriage preparation meeting for my fiance and I.  I think we spent exactly forty-five minutes actually talking about marriage related things, and then the conversation deviated to the subject of books and arguing versus quarreling.  I've gained two new books for my reading list, one of which is a collection of writings from various Popes and other officials.  Father said it should occupy me for a couple of years.  I look forward to it.

I leave you with a good poem:

The Ballad Of Salvation Bill
Robert Service

'Twas in the bleary middle of the hard-boiled Arctic night,
I was lonesome as a loon, so if you can,
Imagine my emotions of amazement and delight
When I bumped into that Missionary Man.
He was lying lost and dying in the moon's unholy leer,
And frozen from his toes to finger-tips'
The famished wolf-pack ringed him; but he didn't seem to fear,
As he pressed his ice-bound Bible to his lips.

'Twas the limit of my trap-line, with the cabin miles away,
And every step was like a stab of pain;
But I packed him like a baby, and I nursed him night and day,
Till I got him back to health and strength again.
So there we were, benighted in the shadow of the Pole,
And he might have proved a priceless little pard,
If he hadn't got to worrying about my blessed soul,
And a-quotin' me his Bible by the yard.

Now there was I, a husky guy, whose God was Nicotine,
With a "coffin-nail" a fixture in my mug;
I rolled them in the pages of a pulpwood magazine,
And hacked them with my jack-knife from the plug.
For, Oh to know the bliss and glow that good tobacco means,
Just live among the everlasting ice . . .
So judge my horror when I found my stock of magazines
Was chewed into a chowder by the mice.

A woeful week went by and not a single pill I had,
Me that would smoke my forty in a day;
I sighed, I swore, I strode the floor; I felt I would go mad:
The gospel-plugger watched me with dismay.
My brow was wet, my teeth were set, my nerves were rasping raw;
And yet that preacher couldn't understand:
So with despair I wrestled there - when suddenly I saw
The volume he was holding in his hand.

Then something snapped inside my brain, and with an evil start
The wolf-man in me woke to rabid rage.
"I saved your lousy life," says I; "so show you have a heart,
And tear me out a solitary page."
He shrank and shriveled at my words; his face went pewter white;
'Twas just as if I'd handed him a blow:
And then . . . and then he seemed to swell, and grow to Heaven's height,
And in a voice that rang he answered: "No!"

I grabbed my loaded rifle and I jabbed it to his chest:
"Come on, you shrimp, give me that Book," says I.
Well sir, he was a parson, but he stacked up with the best,
And for grit I got to hand it to the guy.
"If I should let you desecrate this Holy Word," he said,
"My soul would be eternally accurst;
So go on, Bill, I'm ready. You can pump me full of lead
And take it, but - you've got to kill me first."

Now I'm no foul assassin, though I'm full of sinful ways,
And I knew right there the fellow had me beat;
For I felt a yellow mongrel in the glory of his gaze,
And I flung my foolish firearm at his feet,
Then wearily I turned away, and dropped upon my bunk,
And there I lay and blubbered like a kid.
"Forgive me, pard," says I at last, "for acting like a skunk,
But hide the blasted rifle..." Which he did.

And he also hid his Bible, which was maybe just as well,
For the sight of all that paper gave me pain;
And there were crimson moments when I felt I'd go to hell
To have a single cigarette again.
And so I lay day after day, and brooded dark and deep,
Until one night I thought I'd end it all;
Then rough I roused the preacher, where he stretched pretending sleep,
With his map of horror turned towards the wall.

"See here, my pious pal," says I, "I've stood it long enough...
Behold! I've mixed some strychnine in a cup;
Enough to kill a dozen men - believe me it's no bluff;
Now watch me, for I'm gonna drink it up.
You've seen me bludgeoned by despair through bitter days and nights,
And now you'll see me squirming as I die.
You're not to blame, you've played the game according to your lights...
But how would Christ have played it? - Well, good-bye..."

With that I raised the deadly drink and laid it to my lips,
But he was on me with a tiger-bound;
And as we locked and reeled and rocked with wild and wicked grips,
The poison cup went crashing to the ground.
"Don't do it, Bill," he madly shrieked. "Maybe I acted wrong.
See, here's my Bible - use it as you will;
But promise me - you'll read a little as you go along...
You do! Then take it, Brother; smoke your fill."

And so I did. I smoked and smoked from Genesis to Job,
And as I smoked I read each blessed word;
While in the shadow of his bunk I heard him sigh and sob,
And then . . . a most peculiar thing occurred.
I got to reading more and more, and smoking less and less,
Till just about the day his heart was broke,
Says I: "Here, take it back, me lad. I've had enough I guess.
Your paper makes a mighty rotten smoke."

So then and there with plea and prayer he wrestled for my soul,
And I was racked and ravaged by regrets.
But God was good, for lo! next day there came the police patrol,
With paper for a thousand cigarettes. . .
So now I'm called Salvation Bill; I teach the Living Law,
And Bally-hoo the Bible with the best;
And if a guy won't listen - why, I sock him on the jaw,
And preach the Gospel sitting on his chest.

Theological Rhetoric...or Lack Thereof.

[EDIT]
If you're interested, read Women in the Days of the Cathedrals - Régine Pernoud.  It's a very interesting book about the history of women in Catholicism.
[/EDIT]

I hosted a party this Saturday to bring in the new year.  I'm feeling under the weather, so no drinking for me; which means that when I was asked if someone in the house was a religions major I was completely sober.  I was asked twice - at intervals of twenty minutes, or so - explaining both times that I was converting.  The second time it sunk in, but was not pursued.  The third time it came up, I was sitting next to the couch watching the game of King's Cup unfold when Ryan* turned around and said, "so, you're converting to Catholicism, why?  Are you converting for him?" He nodded his head in my fiance's direction and gave me an interesting look.
I told him that, no, I was not converting for him.  Yes, he had shown me the faith, but I had chosen to convert for my own reasons.
It was clear he didn't believe me because the next thing out of his mouth was a statement of his surprise.  Something about Catholicism being anti-feminine.
"You mean, anti-feminist?" I asked.
"Both." was his reply.
When I asked him what he meant he provided no answer, but changed the subject.
Later, as he was looking at my art he expressed his disbelief again by saying I was so good at drawing the female figure and that my artwork centers around women.
So I shot my confusion at his theory right back and was met, again, with a change of subject.
He never explained his reasoning.

On Being Socially Inept

Hi, I'm socially inept.

I didn't used to be this way..
During high-school I was just that shy kid who sat in the corner and read books that you assumed got awesome marks in whatever class you saw me in.  The majority of my time was actually spent drawing, which is just as destructive to your marks as passing notes, or any other occupation that takes your attention away from the class (for the record).

That Pest Which is Resentment

I am reading a book at work - which I should have read a long time ago for a book group I'm in - titled Women in the Days of the Cathedrals by Regine Pernoud.  It's really interesting, and I recommend it if you're not afraid of reading something that is involved with religion (particularly Catholicism).  It's always exciting to learn about history.

Tapping Into Inner-Femininity

Normally I don't participate in the madness that is Black Friday (why is it even called that?) because why should I get up at three in the morning to go throw my money in a bonfire?  This year the counter to this question was fabric.  I'm going to add chiffon to the wedding dress I bought so I thought I'd go to Jo-Anns and see what they had.  It was only dumb luck that I got the dress the week before Black Friday, and extremely dumb luck that I even remembered it was Black Friday.

Brain Vomit.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Today was quite the day for me, lots of house work done.  I (almost) finished painting the guest room (just one more coat of the darker color), moved junk out and ripped the carpet out of the same room, and tilled half the garden with a shovel.  I'm seriously considering buying rototiller, my garden is too large to till manually [read I'm lazy].  This was all I did really, I was going to plant some bulbs as well but decided against it in favor of tilling the garden with a shovel.  Right hard work that is, so I just went back inside and showered rather than continue yard work.

To the point:
I think Thanksgiving should be a weekly occurrence.  Not the overeating part, the thanks giving part - and maybe the family part as well.  As a culture we seem to have become rather...entitled.  We tend to lean toward ungratefulness in this attitude of 'I deserve'.  Truth is what you do and don't deserve is really very simple, you can work it out by separating the need from the want.  Wanting something is not congruent with deserving it.  For example; saying 'I deserve a new car because I worked so hard' is a bit silly.  You don't deserve that car, it is not your right to own that car, the car itself may be a frivolous purchase, but it is nice to treat yourself nonetheless.  On the same token, needing something isn't always the same as deserving it, but needing and deserving often go hand in hand.  I feel people deserve a roof over their heads, or a decent meal, someone to care about them.
The point here is that what is deserved and what is not is generally relative to the person.  However, in my opinion American society is too entitled for its own good.  In the very end, it is God who decides what we deserve and what we do not.

In the Beginning There Was...

To introduce myself:
I am a twenty-three year old woman living in the bipolar state of Colorado (don't like the weather? Wait five minutes).  I am engaged to a wonderful man, I have two cats, and I am currently - and incredibly slowly - remodeling a house that is soon to be mine.  I just transferred to a new store at my job, and it's wonderful working there.  Oh, and I'm one class (henceforth Convert Instructions) from making the life-altering decision of Catholicism.
To tell you how I got here, I must first tell you a little about me.

My family is not religious; my parents took my brother and I to church in our early teens as an effort of providing a family activity on the weekends.  Both of us went through the confirmation classes offered by the church, and - if I'm remembering correctly - both of us were baptized there.  The denomination of the church is supposedly Protestant, but I view the U.C.C. branch of Christianity as 'non-denom', as it were.  I attended through high-school and then promptly stopped as soon as I was deemed too old for the camp I was attending through the church.  I was not attached to the service in any particular way for reasons I will explain later.
Now comes the years of my life I will spare you the boredom of reading.  To give you an abridged edition; I went through several abusive (never physical) relationships and on-and-off enrollment in College.  Five years later I am here, with the man of my dreams and a path ahead of me that feels right.

In meeting said man I discovered Catholicism.  He is traditional Catholic (or Roman Catholic if you prefer) and I have never seen anyone practice religion the way he does.  Living your life as a devout Catholic requires Charity more than anything else (assuming discipline is a given here).  The idea is to be truly Christ-like.
This is the prevailing reason I chose to educate myself further.  I cannot lie and say that my desire to marry this man someday didn't play a role in my decision to pursue Catholicism.  However, there was so much about it that was congruent with the way I already lived (somewhat; I do not presume to be a saint by any means) and the way I wanted to live that I could not turn away.  I was mesmerized by the light I had found in my seemingly darker world: as a moth to the flame I could not resist the beauty that lay before me.  So I began to move toward it.

At this point I should say that we attend Latin Mass in the Old Rite - we're hardliners apparently, though I cannot see the draw of the Novus Ordo; it feels less genuine to me.

The event that sealed my fate was the midnight Mass for Christmas.
I walked into the small church and sat in a smaller pew towards the back (near the confessional) while my boyfriend waited patiently for his turn in the confessional.  As soon as I sat - with the choir behind me singing wondrous chants and polyphony - I was overwhelmed with emotion.  Tears welled in my eyes and I had an overpowering sensation that I had come home after a long time away in a distant land.  It was my first real glimpse of joy, unrefined and intense joy.  Along with the joy came relief and a sense of belonging.  It was a lot to take in, and I spent the rest of Mass riveted to the priest and altar boys.  The Mass was, of course, in Latin and I could not understand, but it's beauty was not lost in that.  In fact, it may have been magnified by the old tongue.
After that night I committed myself to Convert Instructions.  Previously I had forgone beginning them to think through the reasons I might do this.  I wanted to make sure my reasoning was not on account of this man I already loved dearly, but on account of myself and God.  I was fairly certain it was the latter, but fairly certain is not sufficient when making a decision of such magnitude as what one believes.

Here I should say that a few months prior I had bartered (as it were) with a God I was unsure of.  My plea was as such: let me be with this man, let him be mine and I be his - if you exist - and I will be happy for the rest of my days.
I spent a good deal of my time praying (although I was unaware that this was what I was doing at the time) with such intensity for this one thing - this thing that I wanted more than I have ever desired anything in my life - to come true for me.  I had poured so much of me into my wish that when it was granted, it took me a small amount of time to realize the implications.
I had asked God - if He existed - to grant me this one thing, and He had.  God existed.  God exists.  And God actually heard my plea, and He granted it to me.  This says (to me) that being with this man, through thick and thin, was no accident, for God has made it so.

It is now that I will say that, yes, this could be considered coincidence, or a self-fulfilling prophecy, or just that I wanted this thing so much that I put tremendous effort into getting it (which I did, but I had something guiding me in what to do that I cannot explain except for the word intuition - to avoid guardian angel, or something else rather cheesy).  To me, however, the providence is genuine.

So We Meet Again

Well hello.

It is curious that I find myself blogging once again.  My previous blogs are lost to my own forgetfulness.  I once had a LiveJournal and I'm fairly certain one on here as well, but I cannot seem to think what the names of them were, let alone the passwords.  So here I am.
I say it is curious that I am returned to blogging for the simple reason that I find blogging sometimes to be a little silly.  If you need to write something, acquire a journal or notebook and write with pen and ink.  Why publish it?
It would seem that I have had a change of heart.  I do feel a bit silly typing this, but I also feel that this might very well be a good outlet for me.

I have decided to blog about my conversion to Catholicism (among other, more light-hearted topics).  The questions it has raised and the questions it has answered.
No.  I am not here to preach. I find preaching to be rather droll to be honest.  I've simply decided to share my journey with you, for the prevailing reason that it has resonated in me in a way that nothing in my life has.
I am not here to try to convert you, either.  That would be silly and quite presumptuous.

If I were to say what the point of this blog is, I would say that it was to share my joy with you.  Joy is such an emotion that one who finds it feels the immense need to share it (at least in my case) and so here I am, trying to share.

I do hope I succeed.

I would write a more thorough introduction, but I'm to be up for work at five tomorrow morning and I've not gotten ready for bed at all.  So, I hope this is at least somewhat adequate.
Toodles!  And I hope to see you again soon.