Newspaper Page Text
Southern Cross, Page 12
Columns
Thursday, February 25, 2021
Know who you are
I am sad to report that this
will be my last column for the
Southern Cross. Upcoming
changes in the layout and pro
duction schedule have resulted
in a new lineup of columnists
so today is my last time in this
space.
It has been a great honor and
joy to find my way to your mail
box on a regular basis. Being a
voice in this newspaper was a
childhood dream come true. I
grew up reading the Southern
Cross, and I especially loved
knowing that my grandmother,
a parishioner at St. Anne’s in
Columbus, got the very same
newspaper as we did here
on the other side of the state
in Augusta. As a young girl, I
dreamed of being a book author
and newspaper columnist, and
I can’t believe God was kind
enough to let that happen.
Ending this column feels a bit
like the end of an era. I wrote
my way through the childhoods
of my four oldest boys. Our son
Augie, now 18, was a toddler
when Fr. Doug Clark so gener
ously hired me as a weekly col
umnist. I wrote my way through
the challenges of corralling four
little boys and all the joys and
challenges that came with my
vocation as wife and mother.
I’ve always asked the Holy
Spirit for guidance when I work
on this column. Sometimes I’ve
written in the absolute dark,
unsure why I felt compelled to
share something only to find out
it resonated with so many. As
a writer and as a human being,
I’ve learned to trust my gut
(which most of the time I try to
leave in the hands of the Holy
Spirit!). God is using all of us to
help draw each other closer to
him, and I’m always so blessed
to see the times I get to be a part
of that.
As I prayed about how to end
this time with you on these
pages, I thought of something
that happened recently in my
life. I was working on getting
Isabel involved in a particular
activity, and I was on the phone
with someone who needed more
information about my ten-year-
old daughter.
“What is she like,” the woman
asked me, “tell me a little bit
about her.”
“Well,” I hesitated, trying to
figure out what all to include.
“Honestly, the main thing you
need to know about Isabel is
that she’s the youngest of six
with five older brothers.”
The woman burst into laugh
ter, and she understood me
completely.
That “identity” of Isabel’s
told the woman everything she
needed to know (more or less)
because that detail speaks vol
umes. I could give you a lot of
other information, but to say
that first tells the most.
I got to thinking about identi
ty and how the circumstances
of our life can too often define
us. For me, I’m a wife, mother,
teacher, writer, and a colum
nist. But that’s so limiting. And
also, if and when those circum
stances change, it can leave us
unmoored. If we cling too much
to externals for our sense of pur
pose and worth, we will suffer.
And even worse is when we get
in the habit of defining ourselves
by our wounds and history, by
the mistakes we’ve made in the
past or the bad things that have
happened to us. We begin to “see
ourselves” as a culmination of
hurts and interactions or our
current struggle and hardship.
And God would remind us that
Learning not to
throw stones
A recent weekend trip to the
beach was winding down inside
Fort Pulaski’s courtyard, located
off of Rt. 80 between Savannah
and Tybee Island, as our crowd
waited patiently for their turn
to curl up the single-lane stone
stairwell that ended atop the fort
walls and beside a pile of cannons.
As each child emptied out of
the spire, they raced towards the
cannons with me firmly expect
ing one or more to do their best
Goofy “yahoo hoo hooey” into the
moat below. Thankfully, my para
noia was misguided, but a few
moments later, Ruthie (2) decid
ed to speak up on another issue
involving everyone’s health and
safety.
“Daddy, that’s a bad lady,”
Ruthie shouted from under her
butterfly mask. “She ain’t got no
mask on.”
A couple, a good 10 feet from us,
was headed toward the stairwell
and caught Ruthie’s eye for their
failure to follow Dr. Anthony
Fauci’s best practices.
Her shouts generated nervous
laughter from everyone around
and only added to the awkward
ness as we waited in line (six feet
apart, of course) for the mask-free
lady and her husband to head
back down to the courtyard.
One month earlier, a similar
situation took place an hour
west at the Georgia Southern
Raptor Center. Knee deep in
Thanksgiving break, we were
smack dab in the middle of our
annual day trip to Statesboro’s
home to every manner of reptile
and fowl when one of the Raptor
Center workers came striding our
way—also minus a mask.
Before anyone realized it, Isaac
jumped out in front of the man,
spread both his arms out wide,
and shouted, “Six feet apart, peo
ple. Six feet.”
Eh has erupted like an old man
watching the news anytime he’s
spotted a potential super spreader
event on the TV. Jesse’s Howard
Hughes style germaphobia had
him sitting on the opposite end
of another table when we met
my sister at the park for a social
ly-distanced lunch.
Magan and I want our kids to
be responsible and to understand
why we do certain things like
wear masks, and only eat meals
with Uncle Josh and Nannie out
side and from 20 feet away, but
we certainly don’t want them to
five in fear.
We also don’t want them unin
tentionally passing judgment on
others.
Throughout this pandemic, all
children have had to process the
world many times from their par
ents’ viewpoints, including mask
ing, vaccination, civil unrest, and
political affiliations. It’s an unfair
place that we, as parents, need to
be cautious of imprinting on our
children and cause them to lose
the innocence Christ calls all of us
to have to reach eternity.
Mark 9:42 warns of this, but
as parents, we should also heed
Matthew 25:31-46 as we try to
have our families navigate around
the pandemic.
“Truly I say to you, to the extent
the truth of our existence — our
identity — is so much deeper
and richer than that. Ultimately,
the most important thing I can
say about Isabel is that she is a
chosen, beloved, masterful cre
ation of God. And so am I. And
so are you.
When we walk around aware
of that truth of our existence,
we will find freedom and joy
beyond our wildest imaginations.
It sounds a little silly, but it’s
absolutely true. Who you are is
so much richer and fuller than
anything your human brain can
imagine.
It’s been an absolute joy to
be the female columnist for the
Southern Cross. Thank you for
reading.
If you want to keep us with me,
join my email list —
testosterhome@gmail.com. I
also have a new book coming out
next spring that I’m so excited
about. Stay in touch!
May God pour his blessings out
upon you and be gracious to you
and keep you safe.
Rachel Balducci is a wife and mother
of six. She and her husband Paul are
members of Most Holy Trinity Catholic
Church in Augusta, GA.
that you did it to one of these
brothers of mine, even the least of
them, you did it to me” Matthew
25:40.
That’s been our attitude behind
following the prescribed health
guidelines or attending Mass
virtually since March. Making
sacrifices like limiting contact
with people outside our home,
or wearing masks and keeping
our distance, isn’t an attempt to
create a houseful of hermits or
cranky old men. Instead, the hope
is it will foster a spirit of altruism
where these minor sacrifices can
bear fruit in the way of ending
suffering and return things back
to normal for everyone.
Teaching our children to have
empathy and treat anyone we
come in contact with as though
they might be Christ is much
more important than any pre
sumed righteousness.
I just hope Ruthie learns that
lesson before she spots another
maskless neighbor.
Jason Halcombe has five sons
and three daughters. He and his
wife, Magan, are members of
Immaculate Conception Church,
Dublin..