How old is colleen carroll campbell

Realizing that I might never bear biological children forced me to ask all sorts of difficult questions about what it means to be a woman, and especially, a woman who bears fruit in the kingdom of God. Edith — her life and her writings — helped me to recognize that every woman is called to be a mother, and every woman can answer that call regardless of her circumstances.

But for women dealing with fertility struggles, the cultivation and emphasis on spiritual maternity can be a lifesaver. How has this writing experience colored and impacted your own femininity and motherhood? What advice do you have to share with our audience here at CatholicMom. I can truly say that the women saints have taught me what it means to be a woman and a mother. They, more than anyone else, have shown me what it looks like to be a liberated, fully alive, joyful woman of God.

But after the journey I recounted in My Sisters the Saints — a journey that is still ongoing — I do know this: Jesus is the true liberator of women. And the closer a woman draws to him, the more closely she imitates the generous self-surrender and audacious trust modeled by his mother, the more likely she is to know true liberation.

The women saints knew it. And the more we read their works, seek their intercession and learn from their examples, the more we can know it ourselves. I found them especially helpful in making sense of my maternal desires and sorrow over infertility. Finally, I had found someone who took seriously my desperation to conceive a child in my womb, who saw my yearning for biological motherhood as a reasonable response to the way God had fashioned me, physically and spiritually.

My monthly periods, and the subtle changes I noticed in my body all month long, kept me continually conscious of the fact that I was not pregnant. I needed to start recognizing the opportunities I already had to nurture growth in others, defend the vulnerable, and make the world a more loving, humane place.

The prospect frightened me. Since John and I received our first dose of bad news on the fertility front, I had careened between mourning my maternal desires and fighting to suppress them. My frustration at our failure to conceive had often led me to neglect prayer and escape into the excesses Edith warned against: superficiality, covetousness, and the pursuit of prestige. My escapes took subtle forms. I would spend a few weeks quietly fixating on my weight and clothes, bitterly deciding that if my body could not produce a baby, it must be thinner, sexier, and more stunning than all those bodies that could.

I would immerse myself in lavish travel plans, concluding that if John and I were going to be perceived as materialistic yuppies with no interest in children, we might as well play the part. I would dive into my work, not with the sense of duty and balance Edith extolled but with the explicit intention of working too many hours, garnering too many accolades, and earning too much applause to feel the pain of missing out on motherhood—or to feel much of anything, for that matter.

None of my escapes lasted for long. I always wound up back at square one, weeping in the bathroom over that accursed pregnancy stick. The strategies Edith suggested for coping with trials made more sense. I knew from experience that turning my mind to work helped when I found myself mired in self-pity, provided I maintained the balance between prayer, work, and rest that Edith advocated.

Her warning against false idols particularly hit home, as I realized that the child I wanted so badly had become one for me. I began to watch for openings to exercise spiritual maternity in my own life.

It only became one when I realized that I could not convey the truths that had transformed my faith and my life without sharing the context in which I had learned them, which is to say, in the midst of my own messy, surprising and sometimes painful personal story. The paperback edition of My Sisters the Saints is due on Sept.

How did the hardcover edition of the book do with readers? The hardcover did very well, thanks be to God. I worked six years in secret and solitude on this memoir, unsure that I would have the courage to put something this revealing out there when the time came to publish it.

Some relate to my struggle to navigate the hook-up culture on campus. Still others connect with my skepticism that the saints could really speak to my modern problems—and my surprising discovery that they could become some of my dearest friends and wisest guides. The book has a strong appeal to women, of course. They cherish marriage, motherhood and a rich family life, but they wrestle with the demands of their roles as wives, mothers and daughters caring for aging parents.

But they see faith as a liberating force in their lives, not an oppressive one. So I think they can relate to my story of discovering the liberating power of the Catholic faith in the midst of contemporary questions and trials. Some write specifically to tell me how the book affirmed them as men, that reading about my relationships with my father and husband gave them insight into their own roles as husbands and fathers.

Male or female, the saints are powerful guides. In the book, you talk about six women saints who have influenced your faith life. Each of the holy women I wrote about in My Sisters the Saints had a profound impact on me, and their support at crucial points in my journey made them friends for life—and, I hope, for eternity.

Teresa of Avila and her decades-long struggle to overcome worldliness and status-seeking spoke to me during my frenetic college years and jump-started my spiritual quest. Faustina of Poland guided me as I struggled to choose between continuing my work as a presidential speechwriter in the White House and marrying a man who was smack in the middle of medical school in a city miles away. Edith Stein offered me insight and consolation in the midst of my battle with infertility.

Mother Teresa did the same at a time in my life when I was feeling shades of the same abandonment by God that she described so poignantly in her private writings. And Mary, the Mother of God, was with me all along, but in a special way in my quest for motherhood.

She is a mother to me in a very real way, a way that feels more palpable with each passing year. Mary truly is the premier Christian disciple and the most liberated woman who ever lived.

Drawing closer to Mary has only deepened my intimacy with Jesus. Bush and editorial writer and op-ed columnist for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, Colleen is the recipient of two honorary doctorates and numerous other awards for her work. She speaks to audiences across North America and Europe and lives on the central coast of California with her husband and their four children, whom she homeschools.

Visit her online at Colleen-Campbell. Plus, get a FREE ebook when you sign up! Tell us what you like and we'll recommend books you'll love.