Simcha Fisher, author of The Sinner’s Guide to Natural Family Planning writes for several publications and blogs daily at Aleteia. She lives in New Hampshire with her husband and ten children. Without supernatural aid, she would hardly be a human being.
Perhaps you are unaware that it's NFP Awareness Week. Perhaps you are even unaware of what the letters "N" "F" and "P," when arranged in that order, signify to the princely figure of nearly 4-5% of Catholics. Perhaps you hear the letters “NFP” and nothing at all springs to mind. Doelike you stand, innocent and incorrupt, your mind as blank and pristine as a spring meadow.
You lucky son of a gun.
If you’re anything like me, the past week has seen you absolutely saturated in thinking about, talking about, promoting, defending, clarifying, and occasionally innappropirately oversharing about NFP. I’m about as tired of thinking about NFP as a man serving a life term is tired of hearing his cellmate explain his theory about the grassy knoll. I tell you, I am tired of writing about NFP.
On the other hand, it is something to write about! So I thought I’d share with you some ways that NFP has shaped my life, formed my marriage, guided my family, and transformed my heart for ever, for better. I present: What NFP Means to Me.
NOW FOR PUPPIES!
Okay, actually, truly, I don't even like puppies. We had a puppy one time, and the first thing I realized was that he was scared and now I had to be his mother. I was okay with this, until we realized that I didn't love him, because he was a flippin' dog, not a baby. But he still thought I was his mother.Then he pooped on everything and bit everybody and tore the soles off my fancy shoes, bit some more people, and ran away. And that was that! So, maybe "No Flippin' Puppies" would be better.
No Fire Proofing
My husband used to review movies for my other blog, and the threat that held over everyone's head was that one day, he was going to review Fireproof. You know, that movie where . . . what is it, the guy doesn't know to be a real man, and his wife is sad about this, but then one day he puts on some rubber boots and their marriage is saved? Look, I haven't seen it. I'm extrapolating! That's the point: I haven't seen it, because we are of a certain age where we no longer have to watch things we don't really want to watch. Case in point: the other day, we were halfway through The Last Stand with Arnold Hasenpfeffer and we realized we were watching a giant snow plow knocking fifteen police cars filled with bullet-ridden bodies out of the way so a drug lord could make his way across the border with a beautiful hostage, and it was somehow DULL. So we went to bed. That's the No FIreproofing way of living: it's your brain, you decide how to treat it.
Not For Publication
I'd like to explain this one more, but . . . I can't. It's NFP.
Nine Farty Points
Look, I have two sons and an English mastiff. And let’s be honest, I have seven daughters. And a husband. And me, I have me. It's been a long week. It's been hot. We get our entertainment where we can, and there's nothing wrong with a little friendly competition between people who have a natural affinity for sauerkraut. It’s leisure, the basis of culture! Or anyway, it's leisure.
Nine for pizza.
This is the voting went, last time I asked them to raise their hands if they would rather have pasta (again) or omelets (again), or perhaps something different? Yarr, nine for pizza.
Not Fully Prepared
You see, occasionally there is someone who has been hired by a large, national organization, and she is contractually obligated to produce the blog posts per week. Ideally, these should be well-crafted, relevant, attention-getting without resorting to gimmickry; and yet, from time to time, despite her best efforts, she finds herself . . . Ahh, now we’re onto something
Happy NFP week, everybody.
Is it -- and I ask this with all due gratitude and reverence and Theology of the Bodyishness -- is it over yet?