Funding for the digitization of this title was provided by Roman Catholic Diocese of Savannah.
About Southern cross. (Savannah, Ga.) 1963-2021 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 25, 2021)
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..
