reconciling things

When I don’t understand

Daja Steuer

October 5, 2022

Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of the prophecy, and blessed are those who hear and who keep what is written in it; for the time is near.
Revelation 1:3

In this Maronite liturgical season of the Holy Cross, we read from the Book of the Apocalypse, that is Revelation. I love that this mystifying book begins with a blessing to those who read it aloud and to those who hear it–as we do in the Liturgy, and those who keep what it is written in it–as we are instructed to do with all liturgy. It doesn’t necessarily pronounce the same blessing for those who completely understand this book, which is wonderful because I don’t understand it.

It’s mysterious. It cycles between liturgy and destruction, liturgy and catastrophe, liturgy and the angelic messengers saying “hold my beer.” At least that is how it feels. In its essence, however, the book is hopeful, beautiful, and is an unveiling of who Christ truly is. Apocalypse actually means “unveiling” or “disclosure.” Which is new for me because I grew up with an eschatology of fear. If I told you how many times as a child I thought I had missed the rapture because the house was too quiet at night or I came home from school and couldn’t immediately see my mother. I thought I must have been left behind. The elaborate plans my child brain made for how I would survive when (not if) I was left behind would make you laugh (or cry, depending how what side of therapy you are on). Somehow I found it completely plausible that all my family would get taken and I would be the one left alone. For a little soul that was already inclined toward scrupulosity, this rapture theology put me right over the edge.

The Child Jesus

Daja Steuer

2 comments

October 2, 2022

I had a strong devotion to St. Therese even before I was Catholic. She is a huge reason for my conversion. (You can listen to us tell that story, here.) When it came time to take a patroness, I knew it had to be her. But she has many titles: St. Therese of the Holy Face, The Little Flower, and St. Therese of the Child Jesus. I was insistent that my Confirmation sponsor present me as “St. Therese of the Child Jesus.”

I love this photo of St. Therese cosplaying Joan of Arc

Relating to Jesus in his childhood holds a special place in my heart and the practice of my faith. The fact that our precious Lord was once a baby—swaddled in his Mother’s arm, held tightly by dear St. Joseph during maybe sleepless nights, his baby cries, his baby giggles. Did he have chubby little arms and legs like my babies? Did Mary put her nose right up against his head and deeply breathe in his baby smell until her heart overflowed and her eyes filled with tears?

Jesus was once a child, playing in the dirt he made. Did he have to go to Hebrew school and listen to rabbis expound on the very words he wrote in the creation of the world? What must that have been like? What kind of beautiful humility and innocence did he model for us?^“Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, far too lofty for me to reach.” Psalm 139:6

Oversimplified Answers To Complicated Questions: The Birthday of the World

Daja Steuer

4 comments

September 26, 2022

L’Shana Tova! It’s the year 5783, according to the Hebrew Calendar. A day to wish those you love have their names inscribed in the Book of Life. G’mar hatima tova!

For Jews, today is the birthday of creation.

Recently I heard people discussing the age of the earth and how there is no way scientifically there can be a young earth. It has to be older than 6,000 years old. This is the thread that sometimes causes people’s interpretation of the Old Testament to unravel, because if they can’t take the book of Genesis literally, what about Exodus? And then what about the rest of the Pentateuch and the prophets? Does the whole thing fall apart?

Here is why no one will ask me to teach theology; here is my oversimplified answer to this complicated question:

All the things that don’t suck

Daja Steuer

2 comments

September 20, 2022

I met my friend Jenn the summer I was 17, while we were on a missions trip to Pakistan. It was one of the most formative summers of my life. At the end of the summer she went home to Washington and I went home to California. Every morning we sent one another a fax. It was a newsy little note about what was going on in our lives–the dramas at work, what we read in our daily devotions, and whether the cute delivery guy talked to us. On the fax was always a list of “Day Brighteners.” These lists of gratitude formed from our existence–maybe not large and lofty things, but real things, things that really made us smile or laugh or made the confusion of adolescence less sucky. I guess those Day Brightener faxes lasted for about a year, until we had computers with email in our homes. I miss those faxes.

This last Lent I was going through my desert (Lent is like that, isn’t it?) and another friend friend Joan texted me every morning with a “pocket of joy”–one thing that brought her joy that day. And she would ask, “What is your pocket of joy today?” Some days I had to dig. I had to think really hard, because life was slogging hard. Sometimes through tears I would find a pocket of joy and text it to her. Lent is over, but I miss those texts.

Recently in discussing grief and getting through difficult things another friend told me when I first wake up every day to thank God for three things. Find three things first thing in the day because it would rewire my brain toward gratitude. He is not wrong. It works. But, it is also work. You have to choose it. It’s not automatic. If you don’t choose, the world will choose for you.

Gratitude is not the default in our world. Five minutes watching the news and you can find about a dozen things that suck big time. Sometimes it doesn’t even take that. Simply watching people who don’t know how to merge onto the interstate is enough to make me lament the fallen world. (It’s really not that difficult people. Get up to speed for the love all that is good and holy!) Yet, gratitude is the key to everything. Somehow it is the most powerful code to crack that opens up reality and possibility and joy and perseverance. It’s amazing what we can endure when we start on the premise that not everything sucks.

It’s not a pie

Daja Steuer

no comments

September 17, 2022

When I gave birth to my first born child I thought (rightly so) that she was the most beautiful creature on God’s green earth. Although I had no idea how to parent her, no one could fault my love. I loved her so completely, I was so enraptured, I was sure no one had ever loved a child more. When she was just three months old I was pregnant with my second child. And people were aghast. So soon! Another baby! How will you care for two babies? My mother-in-law (may her memory be eternal) asked if I was going to discontinue my pregnancy. I was horrified.

No, I did not know how I would care for two babies. I was not sure I could love another child as much as I loved my first. I wasn’t sure how it would all work out. But one thing was for damn sure, I would not be ending my pregnancy!

My first born son, my second child, was born just 12 months after my first. How is it possible that I had not one, but two perfect children?! I loved him so completely. He was so beautiful! My heart could burst for this child whom I loved so much.

Did I love my first child less? Nope! Still loved her just as much and my love for her felt like it increased daily. And now I was experiencing it at the same time with the second.

And the third.

And the fourth.

And fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth.

My heart grew every time. The original love lost nothing in sharing it with another.

Give me someone who loves

Daja Steuer

no comments

September 16, 2022

When I was a teenager I had a sign on the inside of my bedroom door that said, “Fear of what you might lose, hope of what you might gain, or love of what you might give?” It was a reminder to me as I left my room each day that I could choose the motivation that fueled my day and my life. Even then, I desired more than anything to live in, for, and with love.

Years later friends began to joke with me that I was a “love hubber.” Meaning that I loved everyone without distinction. Which, of course, isn’t exactly true–there are some I love more than others. But, yes, in a general sense, I do love everyone. I was always taken aback by this little joke, because I felt like it was a way of saying that I lacked discernment. Yet, I am discerning. I know people can be false or have impure motives. I know people (including myself) are weird and neurotic. I know there are people who want to use others or have unrealistic expectations for me. All this I know to be true. But that is their choice. My choice is love.

It speaks of a mystery

Daja Steuer

no comments

September 6, 2022

“Mary does not come into prominence for her own sake, but for that of her Son. Her human likeness and its psychological details is inaccessible to every historic-critical method, to the most understanding interpretation, even to the most ardent love. It rests veiled in the mystery of God… it is veiled, however, for the express purpose of disclosing itself in its religious significance, for on earth the veil is the symbol of the metaphysical. It is likewise the symbol of womanhood, and all great forms of a woman’s life show her as a figure veiled. This makes it clear why the greatest mysteries of Christianity entered the world of creation not through the man, but by the way of the woman. The annunciation of the Christmas message to Mary repeats itself in the Easter message to Magdalen, while the mystery of Pentecost reveals man in an attitude of womanly acceptance. The Church indicates the same association of concepts, when at religious services and also at the marriage ceremony she assigns woman to the Gospel side of the altar.”

Just me…and God’s relentless tenderness

Daja Steuer

1 comment

September 5, 2022

The great thing about getting old(er) and I hope wise(r) is that you learn to accept yourself as you are at the same time becoming what you should be. When you are younger you may care about what is fashionable or what people think or find it difficult if you stand out from the crowd. At school or youth group you wonder if you should fit in with the jocks or the nerds and whether people are still tight-rolling their jeans this year. You may laugh at jokes you don’t quite understand just so as not to appear dumb (or is this just me?). Or you may pretend to like movies that are stupid or over-your-heard or simply not your jam because everyone else won’t shut up about them. (Like the time I gave into peer pressure and watched the Titanic in the theater against my better judgement. That’s 3 hours and 14 minutes I’ll never get back.)

But then you get older. You have enough life experiences that you kind of stop caring—in a good way. If you are a well-adjusted grown-up you realize you can disagree without being disagreeable and find you can own your own opinions without bending to the group-thought. (Unless you are so Hollywood that you care about being cancelled….) You realize there is a difference between style and fashion. You don’t pretend to like pumpkin spice lattes or IPAs just because everyone else does. (Aside: IPAs are to basic guys what pumpkin spice lattes are to basic girls. Change my mind.) You can lean into your strengths, embrace even your “flaws”, and find where the beauty lies in the mess.

Random Thoughts From The Summer

Daja Steuer

no comments

August 17, 2022

The heart can hold two seemingly opposing things at the same time and it does not have to make sense to anyone. As Pascal says, “The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of… We know the truth not only by the reason, but by the heart.” I have learned to hold two truths in the last few years, such as life is fucking hard and God is overwhelmingly good. And also, one can be extremely lonely and very content at the same time. A less abstract example: my marriage should have never happened, but I would do it again for the sake of these nine children who make the world go around for me. (NEWS: My marriage was annulled this summer. There was much rejoicing.)
You can only ignore stress for so long and you cannot “power of positive thinking” your way out of trauma. You have to walk through it, acknowledge it, honor it, release it, lather-rinse-repeat. Because you may think mentally you are fine. And then your body will remind you—first in subtle ways. And then in increasingly dramatic ways that get your attention. (NEWS: I had an autoimmune flair that nearly killed me this summer. But, I am recovering very well.)
We all live with holes. When someone important leaves your life—because of death, divorce, misunderstanding, or pure malice, there is no filling the hole they leave in your life with someone else. That’s not the way life works. You may make new friends or fall in love again, but that does not mean the new person fills the role of the previous person. I mean, if you have ever loved anyone, you know this intuitively, right? Instead you just somehow learn to live with the hole, work around it, and find some kind of beauty in it. Your life becomes like lace, which wouldn’t be beautiful if it didn’t have strategic holes.
Which reminds me of the time my now 20 year old was about 7 years old and was following me around Target as I bought some accessories for a party I had to attend. He look at the fishnet stockings and said, “Mom, you should get different ones. These are full of holes.”

Masculinity and Beauty

Daja Steuer

4 comments

July 31, 2022

It was right after daily Mass that I decided with an hour to spare I would feed my vanity and get a pedicure. Ordinarily I am a low-maintenance girl. My morning routine takes about 10 minutes, no lie. But a pedicure makes me happy and is really the only way I am wearing sandals in the summer. It’s vanity. I could have used a homily on modesty at that Mass.

I was sitting in the salon chair, mindlessly scrolling my phone because I forgot my book, which makes me look smarter and more sophisticated than others there and therefore feeds my ego. I joke, but it’s also kind of true. I refuse to read the fashion magazines, because I don’t need to add insecurity to the vanity I am there to feed. The only option is to feel superior reading Camus. Come on. You know you have your things that make you feel slightly better than others. I could have used a homily on humility too.

So, I sat there scrolling my phone, which rather than making me look superior just made me look like a bored millennial. Oh well. But, I was listening to the room. And it was chatty that day. It started out with some complaining about kids in general, then grew into complaining about adult children. One lady was about to go to a family reunion type function and getting the adult children to participate in whatever way she thought they should was not going well. Through the conversation it came out that she had sons. Well, she had daughters too, but apparently they had a smidge more sense than her sons. Another lady chimed in. She also had sons! In fact she had two! Back-to-back! And weren’t sons just the worst. The gallery practically erupted with tales of how difficult and stressful and just-plain-awful it was to have sons. They broke everything! They ate everything! They were so irresponsible! They needed constant supervision, because they could not be trusted to follow through on anything!

This attitude carried on to one lady’s husband. Men, amirite?! They are just so terrible. “Before I left today I had to give my husband some jobs to do. I told him he needed to do XYZ before I get home. Do you think it will be done when I get home? Probably not, but at least maybe it will keep him out of trouble.” Cue general laughter and agreement. Tsk, tsk. Men.