I was leaving Mass when a charming, 80- something-old granny struck up a chat with my babies.
After admiring them she turned to me and said, "I'm one of 10 children. 5 boys and 5 girls. I'm number 6. God just carried my mother in the palm of her hand. God rest her soul."
Thinking this was a gal who understood the blessing of life, I told her I'm expecting number 3.
She said, "Just hope it's a girl. And then you can be done."
So here's the commentary: Without the generosity to life that Granny's mother had, Granny wouldn't exist. She simply wouldn't. Had Granny's mom been part of the sickening, selfish ME generation (who has it's head so far up it's own rear-end, it's lost the basic notion that "in giving we receive"), Granny's Ma would have "been done" well before she hit Granny. Granny is just another casualty in the Catholic battle against secular feminism. A casualty I say. The battle was lost in souls like hers. Although a generous, life-giving culture wrought her, she promotes the antithesis, even in such small, off-handed comments.
Granny went on to tell me (with a sigh) that her only family left attending the parish is her grandson, his wife and their 9-year-old child. They weren't attending today because the parents, both doctors, were at work.
Too bad kids are such a pain in the ass, Granny. Too bad. Cause if you had promoted a culture of life like your dear old Ma did, you'd have your own babies to admire.