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One writer: How Edith Stein made me a woman

St. Edith Stein is the patroness of this blog, and I'm always delighted when I can introduce someone to her, or see that someone has discovered her. Here is a great piece over at Aleteia.com on how Edith Stein helped one writer "woman up".

In my desperation I took up the book my friend had recommended called ‘Woman’ which was the collected works on the nature of womanhood by Edith Stein (Converted Jew, Carmelite, Philosopher extraordinaire, Nazi gas chamber victim, Saint and all-round ROCK STAR.)

I got down on my knees. “OK Lord” I said “I’m here. I’m lost, I’m broken and I’m giving what little wretched self I have to you.” Then, not without a certain amount of trepidation, I took to the book in prayer.

I started to read; the more I read, the more my blood started to race... the words, those piercing words - they began to thunder through my mind, sending me into a whirl.


“Women naturally seek to embrace that which is living, personal and whole. To cherish, guard, protect, nourish, advance growth is her natural maternal yearning.
 
“The maternal gift allows woman to take interest and empathise in areas far from her own interest.

“All women have natural vocation to be a wife and mother...”

The more I read the more I realised that I was not at all like the woman Edith was describing and that all of the typically male characteristics that she described, I obtained, and in abundance no less. I tended towards abstract thinking, I had a wilful independence to the point where I relied and trusted in no one but myself...

…and then SMACK!  A lightning bolt of Truth knocked me for six and ripped through my heart like a wrecking ball...

I wasn’t a woman.


Read the whole piece - it's worth it!

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Crossing Guard

I saw you
today
as you guided
your little man across that busy street.

You were wearing some
big man boots
and
watching cars and lights.

Your little man had on
black sneakers and
a Mickey Mouse hat
that bounced
as he walked.

He wasn't watching nothing but
your big man boots
and
the white stripes of the crosswalk.

Just before
he got to the sidewalk again,
his step bounced a bit
- he hopped over
a spot where the asphalt broke.

You turned to look,
holding out a hand to
your little man.
Not rushed or angry,
just making sure
he got up
on that sidewalk.

Then you walked on,
in your big man boots,
face into a cold Michigan wind,
with the little man behind,
his hat bouncing.