Searching for My Willoughby

The Honesty of Children

2009-12-06T15:07:00.002-07:00

We have been reading Old Testament stories recently. We've also read Egyptian and Greek myths and are at a place in history where Old Testament stories fit in.

We read about the fall. You know how the story goes. God creates this perfect world, puts a man and a woman in it, then plants a tree smack dab in the center of this garden of paradise. The tree is knowledge. God tells the man and woman they may not eat the fruit of that tree (that knowledge belongs to God only). But the woman, being a curious human who has a natural desire to learn (God given?), with a little help from that Old Adversary, eats the fruit. Then she wants to share it with her husband. (I like to share my new found knowledge with my husband, also.) Bad! God warned them. Now they have to face the consequences of their behavior.

They are quickly escorted from the Garden of Eden. Sickness, suffering, death, toiling all day for food come into the world. And the dratted woman who had curiosity and want of knowledge and started this whole mess by convincing the man to eat, got a double whammy. Henceforth women will have to labor in extreme pain to bring children into the world. But the biggest one of all? Bigger than sickness, death, hard work, labor pains? God takes away His grace. His very life, His essence. Humans are no longer born with His grace. The gates of heaven are shut and locked.

We read the stories from a children's Bible history, my girls narrated the stories back to me. They asked some questions, I answered. I DO NOT give my opinion. I let the stories stand on their own merit. When we were through with our reading sessions, Beatrice looks at me and says, "Mommy, that was really, really mean." Her big eyes were tearing up (she's my sensitive one - her twin - nothing phases her) and, "Why would God be so mean?"

She's only nine. She's honest. She says what she feels and thinks. She said what I've always wished I had the courage to say, but I haven't because I'm still scared of hell. However, aren't we to be like little children? Right? Okay.

So God, why oh why were you so mean? I think your reaction to the whole incident in the garden was a knee jerk reaction (do You have knees?), and no doubt You really regretted it almost as soon as you said it. Of course, if you want to keep the humans' respect and not have them questioning your rules every few minutes, you can't backtrack. (First rule of parental discipline.) So, after You inflicted this punishment on the entire human race, and were no doubt wishing You could undo it, You had to come up with some way that wouldn't lessen your position, make sure that your children continued to respect You and not question Your authority, yet give them an out. A Savior. But just to make sure they got the message, You make them wait thousands and thousands of years. Finally, You send your Son, Second Person of the Blessed Trinity to earth as a human. On earth, He will teach the people. Then He will suffer and die a most horrible, torturous and bloody death. Then, and only then, after this bloody sacrifice, can these humans, still suffering from the punishment You inflicted on that first man in a Godly fit of rage, be redeemed, gain Your grace and live with You eternally in heaven.

I'm with my daughter; that was really, really mean. Besides sounding like a made up story.

2009-06-06T19:58:00.003-06:00

My husband's bil has been fighting cancer for about five years. At first it looked like he might have it beat, but as is so often the case with cancer, it was still there, waiting for the right time to make a sneak attack. I'm not being flippant. That's the way it looks to me. He passed away a couple weeks ago, and we had his funeral last weekend. Tim and I drove north with two of his brothers and left the girls at home.

We were able to stay with his oldest brother and his wife in their cabin in the mountains. I always come back from there feeling as though I've touched heaven. His brother said he figures when he dies he won't have to go anywhere. Love his attitude. In spite of us gathering together to bury his bil, it was a good visit. All Tim's siblings (minus two) were there so there was a lot of visiting, eating, singing and reminiscing. We had a couple great conversations about life and all those big ideas.

On the other hand, it was a difficult weekend. Tom (bil) left behind his wife (Tim's sister) of 34 years and a son and his new wife. Tim's sister and her dh not only lived together, they worked together, built their business together, built their house together. Everything. She is going to be so alone. Such a helpless feeling knowing what she's going through and realizing how little you can really do. She had a lot of support the last couple weeks, but that will fade away. She does have a very active church group, and I hope they're there for her. The only family is the brother we stayed with. I can't even try to imagine what it feels like because it frightens me - being alone.

I have never attended a funeral like this one. After briefly talking about Tom's life, they spent the rest of the time telling everyone how they must accept Jesus as their savior; how nothing would make Tom happier than to know people turned to the Lord during his funeral; how the only way to paradise - if we ever want to see Tom again - is to accept Jesus. Then they asked us to pray 'the prayer'! We were preached to. Then the minister said if anyone accepted the Lord, to please let someone know so they could keep track. Keep track?

It bothered me - which probably says I have a big problem - which I do. We went there to celebrate Tom's life, not to be evangelized. It seemed that we were a captive audience and they took advantage of it. I felt offended. I don't like feeling that way. It was not guilt. It made me angry. But I don't want to feel angry towards anyone. I want to let people live the way they need to, wherever they are on their journey. It should not offend me. So I left the funeral realizing I still have such a very, very long way to go. For every two steps I take forward, I take one back. Or maybe three back. Alas.

So I've been pondering death, heaven, hell, salvation. Basically, driving myself nuts, as usual. I walked away from that funeral believing less than when I walked in. Not what the people in that church wanted. I would sure disappoint them.

How sad it must be to die believing that some people, family, friends, that you love dearly, you will never see again because they will be in hell. Just how depressing.

We are taking the girls on a short trip tomorrow, probably just one or two nights. The girls are so excited to be getting away; truthfully, Tim and I are pretty excited, too.

2009-04-26T16:00:00.004-06:00

My little girls are growing up. This has been a big weekend for them; one they've been looking forward to all school year. Aren't they sweet? Just a very biased mom here. Hmmm... the picture doesn't look right now that I've shrunk it. Oh well. They looked beautiful, they acted beautifully, they had a very special time. Fr. Bruno, our Tanzanian priest said Mass. He had all the First Communicants come up around the altar for the homily; he got down on their level to talk to them. Then during the Consecration, he again had the children come up and kneel around the altar. B.G. and Abby (B.G. is on the left, Abby on the right) volunteered to distribute and pick up collection baskets, a task they took very seriously. They children did the readings, prayers of the faithful and took the gifts to the altar. After Mass they went back up front and sang a song. Very sweet. The chidren are able to be so much more involved than back in my day. After Mass there was a reception in the church hall. Rachael's fiance was here this weekend, and he joined us as well as Hannah's boyfriend. Neither one of them are religious, but were willing to come along. I appreciated that.

Helping prepare them for First Communion and Reconciliation this year proved to be a struggle for me. I started off the school year saying, okay, if I'm catechizing my children, I need to believe what I'm teaching. So I went through this period of faking it. I fake it by saying 'I believe', 'this is the truth' when down inside of me I don't believe. Made me depressed. So I stopped. Put up the catechism (they get a little bit at RE) and just started reading stories. Spiritual stories, stories of justice and love. And just talked to them about love, justice, etc. No dogma, doctrince. I'm just not good at pretending. I can say, the church teaches this, but I can't say I believe this. I do share with them what I believe - just not doctrine so much. And I do love the traditions, the connections that I feel to all other Catholics out there, past and present. I love the liturgy. I'm not sure what I believe; if pressed, right now I would have to say I probably don't believe in the traditional understanding of the Eucahrist. I'm working on my own belief, what I can say 'yes' to. Oh well. Enough of all that for now.

Rachael and Dan came by so I will go talk to themf or a while.

Defeating Anger and Resentment

2009-04-08T11:38:00.003-06:00

I've made some progress in getting the best of anger, resentment, bad feelings especially with my mother-in-law and my sister. Long stories there, and ones best left alone. Anyway, I always tried to bury anger and ignore it, but it was always there under the surface, seething, waiting for the right moment to boil to the surface. Finally, I just wallowed in that anger for a while: talked about it, wrote about it, worked through it, and finally, almost, have put it to rest. I've made my peace with my sister and my m-i-l. They are who they are, and I need to work on myself. Occasionally, something comes up that sparks those feelings, but I'm pretty good at looking at them head on and dealing with it.

But, there is this event, this thing, these certain people, that I have not been successful in any way with putting the resentment to rest. It's the one thing that haunts my conscience, slowly tears away at my peace. I know it, I know what it is, I see it, but Good God, I'm having a hard time getting over it. It involves what were a couple of very, very close friends, a son of one, a daughter of another, and my oldest daughter. I won't say very much out of respect for my daughter other than to say it involved abuse and betrayal of the worse kind. My daughter spent a year working with a therapist, and I still see so many unresolved issues that stem from this past event. Even worse than the abuse, was the betrayal of her very closest friend. It truly tore her apart, and she's still trying to put the pieces back together. But it's not the same. She is forever changed.

So when you hear the hardest thing to forgive or get over is a wrong done to your child, let me tell you, there was never a truer statement. I've been fighting this for three years. I'll do fine for a while; I simply don't think about them. But then I'll see one of them, hear something, and there it is again. Yesterday Tim and I dropped over at a friends and heard that the girl (dd's friend) is getting married. To the abuser of my daughter. I didn't think I'd make it out of the house. I was physically ill. All evening. Couldn't sleep last night. I confess, I want vengeance. But not really. I like to imagine it, but I don't really want it. Anyway, I hope I don't. It wears me down.

I think a lot of this comes from the guilt I feel. I introduced my dd to this family. I took her into their house. I let her meet their son. The son of a very good friend. A friend who was the most pious, most holy Catholic you could hope to meet. This family, I thought, could have been the poster family for what a faithful, serious Catholic Christian family should look like. Oh, how deceiving looks can be. If I could go back and change any one thing, it would be that day. But I can't. The damage is done. There it is.

Also tied up in this mess, is the mother of the girl, my dd's closest friend, the one getting married. Her mother was my closest friend. She was the woman that I shared the most with, opened myself up to honestly. When I shared with her my faith struggles, told her the questions I had, was honest, she moved away from me. She pretty much intimated that my loss of faith, my turning my back on Catholic doctrine was what was responsible for my daughter's trouble. Never could it have been the fault of the boy's family. They were such good, holy, pious, law abiding Catholics. But me, the heretic. You know. Anyway, not only was my daughter seriously hurt and damaged, betrayed by her closest friend, I also was betrayed my closest friend. Many, many emotions stirring around in this pot of anger.

I'm so ready to be through with this, over it. Anger tears away at your soul, and when it's destroyed you, it will start destroying all those you love. I know where I need to be; I'm just having a terrible struggle getting there. People forgive murderers, horrible, terrible events. This is probably small compared to those. I think I need to see the victim on the other side. When I'm being sane, I realize the boy was a victim of a sick, religiously fanatical mother. When I'm sane, I realize my friend was a victim of her own, big insecurities. I know these things. I know....

Take a deep breath, go outside, breathe the fresh air, take a walk. Let go.

And Now, The Bad News

2009-03-29T19:13:00.004-06:00

One thing first, before the bad news. Last night at Mass Fr. Steve centered his homily around Archbishop Oscar Romero. Fr. Steve either has excellent sermons or really bad sermons; he never seems to hit mediocre. This one was excellent. Of course, that's just my very biased opinion. It reminded me of a prayer written by Archbishop Romero that I used to keep tucked away inside my journal. When I looked for the prayer, it was gone, however, I found it on my computer. I think I will write in my journal tomorrow morning, and I will tell my children about Oscar Romero. Sadly, they didn't know who he was. They can name all sorts of saints, but they didn't have a clue who Fr. Steve was talking about last night. I'm ashamed. Oh, and the prayer...

It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.

The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is even beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction
of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying
that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the church's mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.

This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.

We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation
in realizing that. This enables us to do something,
and to do it very well. It may be incomplete,
but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results, but that is the difference
between the master builder and the worker.

We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.
Amen.

Now, the bad news. Tim's last day of work will be April 30th. The prospects are bleak. Many local business have hiring freezes or are laying off, unemployment is growing. Several people he worked with have been unable to find any work over the last six months. Job prospects for an older, gray haired male with specialized skills in a field that has been largely outsourced doesn't hold a lot of promise.

Now the bright side of this bad news. We're okay. Really, we're okay. We've always lived simply. While others were getting a new monster SUV's every few years, I was driving my 10 year old Saturn while Tim was driving his 20 year Toyota PU. Instead of buying a bigger house, we stayed put and focused on simplifying even more. We enjoy our home so don't go out much. During the summer, the garden, orchard and picnics in the field satisfy us. In the winter, evenings in front of the fire with popcorn and a puzzle or a good book are great entertainment. The latest clothes, electronics, or whatever the newest fad might be, doesn't hold a lot of sway over us. We enjoy the simple. Also, we've known for some time that his job wasn't secure, so we've had time to prepare for this. We're okay.

Tim's got feelers out, but they're not feeling anything. He's eligible for unemployment, and he'll keep looking. Other than that, I'm looking forward to having him at home. The girls are looking forward to having daddy at home. And this is the best time of year it could happen, if it had to happen. Tim is a outdoor, nature boy. Nothing makes him happier than to dig in the dirt, and spring is just around the corner. He's looking forward to more gardening time and working outside. I'm looking forward to morning coffee in the orchard, walks together, time to sit and just be.

In the meantime, we're crunching numbers. and seeing where we are. Our retirement has taken a big hit, just like everyone else, but we have a couple ideas. By the end of summer, if nothing has come up, I'm going to start looking. Actually, I wouldn't mind part-time work if Tim was home. He would love, and I would love, for him to have the opportunity to be the 'on-duty' parent, while I actually wouldn't mind working. It's been quite a while. I know I can't get back into the field I was in, but I'm not picky and we don't need a lot.

And if I get to feeling sorry for myself, all I need to do is read the foreclosure notices in the paper or see the tent cities on the news. We have nothing to be sorry about. I keep all the homeless, jobless people in my prayers. If we all join together, in whatever little way, we can help everyone. Maybe just an extra can of food for the foodbank, or a kind word or smile. It spreads.

Happy News First

2009-03-27T06:25:00.005-06:00

because I'm the type that wants the happy and good news first. Bolsters me up for the bad news later.

I don't talk much about my family here, but I wanted to write about something other than religion. I have five girls, ranging from almost 20 to 8 yr. old twins. I could fill up blog after blog writing about any one of them. This time, it's about my second oldest.

R. has always been mentally years older than she is physically. She knows what she wants, she makes a plan, and gets it. She is one of those kids that was 13 going 30. She has a sense of maturity that is in some ways more developed than adults I know. Perhaps she has an old soul. Of course, there are moments when she proves that she's still young, but then there are days when I prove that I still have much growing to do. She finished high school at 16 and started college that fall. She works part-time, is paying her way through school, has bought her own car, pays her own insurance and pretty much any extra things she wants. Can you tell, I'm proud of her.

Well, several years ago she met her 'soul mate', or so she claimed. Now, I don't really believe in instant soul mates, but she vehemently disagrees. She knew immediately he was her soul mate. For me, after 23 years of marriage, I know Tim is my soul mate. Maybe I'm just slow? At first, because of her age we didn't allow her to see him. Last summer though, I realized I couldn't stop her. (I knew all along I couldn't stop her, I just wanted to pretend I could.) By that time she was driving to work, school, making her own way, so unless I wanted to lock her up, she was going to see him. With or without my permission. Well, I'm not a parent that is all about control and proving I'm bigger or older or I get the last word. Relationships are more important to me; unless they are in danger, that is.

Tim and I met him last July for the first time. It was obvious that the feelings she had for him were returned. We knew he was probably here to stay and were preparing ourselves for some formal announcement. It just came much sooner than we expected. He proposed to our daughter last December. At the ice skating rink. He got down on knee and asked, "Will you honor me by becoming my wife?" The answer is obvious.

Our daughter is getting married this August. Yes, she is young. Very young. I was almost 25 when I married, Tim was two weeks away from his 27th birthday, and we thought we were young enough. That was us, though. This is another person. R. made up her mind. She is getting married. Whether her dad and I are there or not, she will marry him. She made her decision. Now it was our turn to make our decision. We could be those parents who stand their ground: you're too young, you don't know what you're doing, you're making a huge mistake and end up with months of arguing and hard feelings. Or, the biggie, he doesn't go to church, he's not Christian, or even worse, not Catholic; there is no way we will support you in this. Yes, I have several friends who would react that way. Oops, promised not to mention religion.

Well, that's not our 'ground' we're standing on. For us, it was a no-brainer. We will be there to give them all our support, encouragement, prayers and love. Dan will be totally accepted into our family circle. Cause that's the kind of parents we are.

The couple to be....

Don't they actually, sort of, look like soul mates? I keep wondering if they're going to get hooked - literally - but haven't seen any ripped noses yet. If you're so inclined, you could send up a quick prayer or energy or positive thoughts for Dan and Rachael. All couples can use all the positive energy they can get. I want them surrounded by positive thoughts and love.

2009-03-17T14:49:00.003-06:00

This morning while I was sitting in my favorite chair, cup of coffee by my elbow, and all the children still in bed, trying to clear my mind, this one particular memory kept coming to the forefront.

The summer of 2004 was, I think, the lowest I ever got. Mom passed away in 2001; sister went mostly bonkers; dad almost died, spent 2 mos. in ICU, 1 mo. in nursing facility and I nursed him for 3 mos. in 2003; dh's position was outsourced, he was scrambling to find a position, and was showing all the signs of being depressed; everyday was filled with stress and tempers; I was worried sick about a daughter; my faith was a mess although I was still playing the game; my best friend had all but deserted me over my faith issues since I had become a near occasion of sin for her. Bluntly, life was hell.

One day I escaped to the orchard with a glass of iced tea. I remember feeling totally defeated and ashamed that I was so easily defeated. Praying seemed so useless. Where was God? I remember clearly saying out loud, "God, where are you? Where can I find you. The real you; God in the raw."

God in the raw. I never knew where that came from - inside me somewhere, I guess. It almost sounded sacriligeous at the time. Yet, that's what I wanted. Needed. God in the raw. God untouched by human hands. An unanthropomorphic God.

I clearly remember that feeling creeping in that something was wrong with me if I didn't know God, if I couldn't find God. People for 2000 years had found him in the church, he was there, why wasn't it working for me. It was my fault. My heart wasn't open, pride was getting in the way, on and on and on. But this time I stopped that line of thinking; it always made me depressed. I considered the problem. I wanted God in the raw. Then I needed to go where man had not intervened. Not church, not the bible, not catechisms, documents, encyclicals. No, no, no. Man was in the middle of everything.

What I couldn't see for a moment was the answer staring me in the face; and then I saw it. Creation. It was all around me. Trees with fruit. Flowers growing wildly. That was as close as I could get to God. God's creation. From that day on, I looked on God differently, looked for him in different places. I refused to look for God in books or buildings or someone else's answers. Ever since that day I have been trying to trust the answers in myself. Many times I doubt myself and want to run to another source, accept it without question, let someone else define my faith. When I do though, that depression starts seeping in again. So I keep moving forward.

Looking back on that time, it sounds a little hokey to me. Seeing God for the first time in my Santa Rosa Plum tree (which was probably altered by man to produce bigger plums). It was a start though. Laughable or not, it was a revelation for me.

Oh my, I'm a mess. Are there other people out there this messed up over religion? Other people whose thoughts are sometimes totally consumed with religion, faith, God, salvation, heaven, hell days at a time? I hate it. How I envy people who can take what works for them and leave the rest behind. Me, I've got to do it all, no picking and choosing for me. All black and white. If 'this' is true,then everything else is false. It drives me absolutely nuts. I drive me absolutely nuts.

Anyway, that thought kept coming back to me this morning, and I thought maybe it was for a reason. Something left to learn from it. I have now written it out so I can come back later and re-read it. And probably see how ridiculous I am.

I envy my brother-in-law the somewhat aetheist. Life is so simple for him. I know, I know.....

Back to my St. Patrick Day preparations.

Compassion

2009-03-13T06:53:00.003-06:00

Do you see an overabundance of compassion? I see some, but I am also sadly aware of a lack of human compassion. "They messed up, they were stupid, now they need to deal with it." That kind of attitude. It's bothered me for quite a while, but with the economy in the mess it is, with people losing homes, losing jobs, not meeting monthly payments, I have noticed an increase in this attitude. "I would never have gotten myself into that situation; I'm responsible. People want to play, they need to pay." Why is it so easy in our pride to turn a blind eye to suffering and write it off as someone's stupidity, that they deserve unfortunate circumstances and misfortune.

I'm linking this back to my thoughts on original sin. Somehow I think this belief in a punishing God makes it easy for us to be punishing; paves the way for us to show our supposed superiority over others. Do exactly what I say, don't go against me, and I'll be your friend. Go against me, offend me, I'll leave you. Get on your knees and beg forgiveness and mercy, and I'll be your friend again. We're a lot like God, aren't we? Or is it that God is a lot like us?

Showing people who have made bad choices, used poor judgment, or just plainly haven't been 'as smart as I am' any consideration, kindness or wanting to help them get back on their feet is misguided compassion.

I guess I'd rather be guilty of misguided compassion than be guilty of no compassion.

I'm feeling down today. Sad. And more than a little ashamed of humanity. In my little circle, anyway.

On another note, my brother-in-law called and asked 11 yr old dd to spend the night with her cousin. Dd is ecstatic. She and cousin are the best of friends. But... there's always a but in things. But, brother-in-law is a fundamentalist, born again, evangelical, preachy minister. I ran out of adjectives. So, dd and I sit down and go over the list of topics that are off limits. No religion, no wizards, no spells (dd is still into all sorts of things magical), in fact, no fantasy anything, no dinosaurs (evolution, don't you know), no Obama, no, no, no.... What have I missed. Frankly, the girls would be fine if the adults would stay the hell out of it. But we adults have our hang-ups, don't we.

2009-03-02T11:47:00.003-07:00

We are now a week into Lent and many thoughts have been swirling in my mind. For the past several years, my feelings about Lent have been rather ambivalent. That feeling of ambivalence has likely been due to a need to detox from my overly religious past.

For years I attacked Lent like it was my enemy, something that I must defeat. I searched for my deepest character flaws, gave up those things which brought me the most pleasure, and added on extra despicable chores. It was all about mortification. I remember meeting with friends to discuss how we could make this Lent better than all the previous Lents. Ideas ranged from eating only the scraps from your childrens' plates to giving up sex, praying a 15 decade rosary on your knees (that would be 20 now, right?) to covering your head in the house as a sign of submission to your husband. Yes, these were Catholic women. Ideas offered to our children, in addition to the normal 'give up candy', included sleeping without a pillow, sleeping on the floor, forgoing all books except school books, being silent until spoken to, etc. A family examination of conscience would include each family member confessing a sin in front of the family and doing a public penance. Are there still convents that do this? I remember thinking that a hairshirt and 'the discipline' would be suggested. It was all about mortifications, little and big. In the 20th century.

I did mention giving up sex to my husband to which he responded that you needed to have enough of something before you give it up so rather we should add more sex to our life for Lent. I was actually offended that he didn't take me seriously. 'Nuff about my sex life, or lack thereof.

Now all this was suppose to help you become detached from things of this world in order to live in God's Will. At the end of Lent, you would emerge closer to God, living more fully in His Will and not yours. You would know God better. I would emerge from Lent a few pounds lighter, or with a cleaner house, or some nasty chore that had been put off for months accomplished, but as to feeling closer to God, I can't say that was ever an outcome for me; neither did I know God any better. I recall so many conversations where friends would talk of what a blessed, holy Lent it was for them. How they felt they had died a little more to themselves and were living more in accordance with God. How their relationship with God was so much closer and holy. I would nod my head, say the right things while on the inside wonder why I was the only one that didn't have these holy experiences during Lent. After more than several years, I became very cynical and began to doubt the honesty of these friends. I became suspicious that they said these things because that's what sounded good. It made them more holy, more Godly, more pious. See what a nasty, jealous person I am? Instead of emerging from Lent a better person, I emerged a nastier person - on the inside, anyway.

Sometime after my mom's death when I started to take apart my faith (with the hope of re-building it from the ground up) I became totally disillusioned with Lent. And I quit. During this time I prayed and prayed - prayed to know God, to love God. I wanted what those other people had: this personal knowledge of God, this great LOVE for God. What friends said, I wanted for real. What I've found over the last eight years is something very different from what I thought I would find; indeed, what I've found is the opposite of what I thought the answer was. Yes, I knew the answer before I started looking. When that answer never came, and I screamed at God, "I give up", and that was when I started feeling God for the first time.

First off, I was always looking out there. You know, the God out there, up there. In church, in the Bible, in the teachings of Church Fathers, in the lives of the Saints. That God. An external God. Yes, I could have God's life inside of me, His grace, but I could lose that in a heartbeat. Sin. Yes, God was in other people, if they were open to Him, but then I constantly found myself in the trap of judging whether that person was open to God's grace or not. Yuck. So a God out there, a God that would come into my soul, but that would also leave me. No, that's not right. God would never leave me; I would leave God. Just as God doesn't send one to hell, but one chooses hell. Right?

Secondly, as I mulled over the whole Lent thing, I realized one thing that had bothered me the most was how individual it was. It was all about me. My holiness, my godliness, my salvation. People I knew, including myself, became so very introspective. It was all about me. Can I say selfish? Wow. That was sacrilegious. Lent and selfish are polar opposites, right? I don't believe I can even explain that statement, but nonetheless, that's how I felt.

So between looking for that God out there, hoping and praying for that God to live in me, and focusing on me, my salvation, my holiness, I came up empty handed.

A few years ago, Tim and I were watching a show on PBS. It was about women in Africa. It was heart wrenching. My gut hurt. At the risk of sounding corny, while watching that show I felt this incredible amount of love. And, the biggest realization of all? It was love for god, a spirit, a connectedness, a something. Or maybe it was middle age female hormones. Whatever it was, that was the starting of my journey towards knowing god. I had found god, not out there, but in there, in people. People so different from me yet so like me. The god in there, not out there.

Lent has been very different for me since then. It is not a time for me to get all introspective but a time for me to become part of this whole humanity thing, to connect with other humans, to love other humans. Sometimes I am amazed at this love I feel. Love for people; not God, the God, but just people, and that's where I've found god. Giving something up with an eye to solidarity with world is so much more inspiring and hopeful than giving something up in hopes of living in the will of an illusive, confusing God. In a world where we get upset when dinner is 15 minutes late, I now try to share a human connection, a human spirit with those who are lucky to get one meal a day. Looking for any little way to extend help, food, love to those who need our love most of all brings me closer to God than all the mortifications I could ever dream up.

Now I need to add a caveat to this: I don't believe you will find this rigid, puritanical attitude among the average Catholic in the pew. This is solely from my experience with traditional, orthodox (according to them) Catholics. For the most part, they were very disgusted with all the 'feel good nonsense' these 'liberal' priests were spewing from the altar. Many of them would freely admit they hoped and prayed to see the church return to her glory days, to the truth, and leave this modern heresy behind. I think many of them would be happy to wear hairshirt and use the discipline. For me, no thanks.

So, not only am I guilty of the sin of relativism, I am also guilty of the sin of humanism. Big sigh.

2009-02-24T12:35:00.002-07:00

My in-laws are still living: my father-in-law is 90 and mother-in-law is 86. They still live in the house where the family was raised; an old home sitting on 5+ acres. Some time ago they deeded over 4 acres to the children because the taxes and upkeep were more than they could handle with the understanding that the kids would keep the property intact while mom and dad were living. My father-inlaw is a saint. My mother-in-law - it's just hard for me to say anything. There's much bad water under that bridge. She is a difficult woman. At some point in my marriage I realization moment. My mil has problems, but somehow I had allowed her problems to become my problems. The amount of my energy that was spent with being angry, upset, offended, hurt, worrying about what she would do, would say, was draining me. So I made a choice to let her problems be hers and make my peace. Sometimes that literally entails my getting up in the middle of a conversation, making a lame excuse and leaving. Sometimes it has meant my not visiting my in-laws for several months at a time. It works. Also helping is her age; she just doesn't have enough energy to be miserable, difficult and cranky. So I can say I have reached a place where we have a fairly good relationship - something I didn't think would ever happen. There are still moments, but those moments aren't worth going over.

Along one edge of their property the bushes and trees are growing out into the street. They received a letter from the city some months ago, and one son trimmed up some of the branches. But the majority of the overgrown shrubbery remains. So this past weekend Tim, the younger three and I went over with nippers, saws, etc. to start the clean up. Now when you try to help my mil, you had better be geared up for battle because it will be a battle. In the old days, I would have thrown up my hands and said to hell with the whole thing. Now I don't do that. I ignore all the comments, the totally unnecessary remarks about my fil being lazy (remember he's 90 with a very bad heart), and every difficulty she can dream up. After a day of trimming, with very sore muscles and scratches up and down my arms, I will say it was a good day. We got a lot of work done, with a lot of work for next weekend, the girls had a blast building fairy houses in all the little hollows under the trees, we did a task that needed done, and I managed the whole day with a smile on my face. I am VICTORIOUS. I have conquered a nemesis, and it does feel good.

Other than that, on Monday I had an esophageal endoscopy. The procedure itself wasn't bad mostly due to the fact that whatever drugs they pumped into my vein put me to sleep, and they were able to dilate the area with the stricture. The downside is that I had no idea how much discomfort I would feel after wards. Today my throat is still extremely sore; swallowing is painful. Cool jello or ice cream feels best. The worst part? Today is Fat Tuesday, and it is our tradition to have lasagne, salad, french bread and cheesecake. This is so not fair. NOT AT ALL FAIR. Feeling very sorry for myself.

Sacred Places

2009-02-15T11:26:00.005-07:00

My hearth. The center of my home. Here I find warmth and strength.

What is important
in Infinity?
Smiling flames.
What is important
in Eternity?
Climbing flames.
What is important
in Immortality?
Glowing flames.

~Sri Chinmoy~

Breastfeeding another's baby - Taboo?

2009-02-13T06:12:00.001-07:00

Copying this from my other blog.

Have you all seen this video clip of Salma Hayek breastfeeding another mother's baby in Africa? Taboo or beautiful?

If anyone knows me, they know how I would respond. An absolutely beautiful, human, loving, gracious gift.

Would you do this?

Absolutely yes.

Would your husband be okay with it?

Absolutely yes. He would be my biggest supporter. What a darling he is.

I guess a lot of Americans think it's inappropriate, yucky, taboo. It's okay to run to the store and buy formula, or maybe possibly okay to pump breastmilk and feed the hungry baby that way. But to offer your breast - no. Here we are, America, leading country in the world, and we're offended by a mother using her breast to give succor to another's child. Let Victoria Secret models almost totally expose their small, pert breasts, but God forbid should a woman partially expose her life giving breasts to feed a baby. Yeah, let's keep breasts a sexual object, by all means, and never honor them for their highest purpose.

Scratching my head....

Love: Feeling or Action

2009-02-10T13:13:00.003-07:00

So, which is it. Feeling? Action? Combination of both? Or sometimes is it a feeling that keeps love going, and at other times it’s actions?

This rabbit trail was prompted by a discussion I was involved in about the mother of octuplets. Everybody was providing their opinions and judgments on the woman – mostly negative; then someone made the statement that she did not love her children. Her actions proved she only loved herself and not her children. Up to this point I had remained mute on the subject, but this statement brought me out of my mute state. I maintain that we cannot make that judgment regarding love. I’m not sure how I feel about it. I pretty much stay clear of that type of media so I’ve read very little about her. My first thought is that her actions were irresponsible. Human life isn’t something to play with just to satisfy needs. Beyond that, I’m not about to make a judgment on whether she loves her children or not. That I will leave to another judge, thank you very much. To which I received responses like these:

OH YES WE CAN! (In response to my saying we cannot make that judgment.)

Come on people, love is ACTION. It is NOT feeling.

It has nothing to do with how you feel.

The definition of love comes from the Author of Love, Who Himself is Love. God so loved that he GAVE. Love is not a feeling, it is action.

Guess I got told, huh? At this point, I backed out of the conversation. Well, after a couple little replies, that is.

I could say some things about this such as: actions can be false; judgments can be clouded by personal experience; judgments can be in error due to lack of personal information. I know someone very well, in fact, you could say I know this person better than any other person now living on this planet. If strangers were to cast judgment on this person based on sketchy information (such as what you get from the media), it’s very likely that judgment would be the same as the mother of eight received in this recent discussion; ‘she doesn’t love her children’. Yet I know for a fact, beyond a doubt, that she does love her children. I’ve witnessed her trying and fighting to do the right ‘actions’, but sometimes being so hampered by depression, instability, bi polar disorder, her actions would have convicted her. This is one of the reasons I will leave the judging to someone who can view us from the inside out.

Actually this question is something that has been on my mind recently. Over the summer I read several books on love/dating/marriage. These books were from a Christian perspective – primarily Protestant. The main point: our feelings cannot be trusted. Feelings are not stable, not reliable, they will trip us up and let us down. We need to use trusted sources such as Scripture (which is another whole discussion), authority figures God has placed in our lives such as parents and pastors with which to weigh these decisions of the heart and leave the heart out of it. I admit to being surprised at the number of my Catholic friends that totally agree with this perspective: you cannot trust your feelings.

This fits in with my faith journey because my journey is based largely on my feelings. I could substitute the word emotions or convictions of heart for feelings. I’ve been trying to look inward to see what outward steps I need to take. The few times I’ve shared this faith journey and my feelings with others, the advice I’ve received is ‘you cannot trust your feelings’. My feelings will lead me down the wrong path because they’re not reliable. I’ve been advised to ignore my feelings and rely on sources that I know are trustworthy and sound and cannot fail me. Such sources as the Word of God, the Church/Magisterium (which cannot err in matters of faith and morality), and other authority figures God has placed over me (spiritual directors, pastor, deacon, etc.) Simply put, be obedient to these as Jesus was obedient to Joseph and Mary and God, and you will be safe. Start following your feelings, and you could be falsely led. What they didn’t say, but what I heard is, if I follow my feelings/passions/emotions, I could be following Satan. Why following all those authority figures who are human with feelings just like is safe, but my feelings aren’t safe, is another discussion, too.

So this leads me to the question “where did this distrust of our feelings come from”. I am starting to think it is very connected to our belief in original sin.

I need to go attend a Little House on the Prairie tea party that my three little darlings have put together. More later.

Reading

2009-02-09T14:25:00.003-07:00

Last year I was on a reading binge of non-Christian authors or, at least, not traditional Christian authors. I finished most of those with a rather cluttered and more confused, than usual, mind. I decided to stop reading that type of book for a while and just ruminate. In the background I kept reading as I could no more not read than I could go without water, but that was limited to fluffy fiction - some deeper and some pretty shallow. My sister moved last year and gave me a stack of books. After looking through them I picked up Wicked by Gregory Maguire, and in spite of myself, I was quickly hooked in perverse way. I didn't want to like it, in fact I wanted to hate it, and actually set it aside for a time, but being the weak creature I am, I had to finish it. Then of course, I had to read Son of a Witch.

For some unknown reason reading those made me want to pick up The Screwtape Letters; however, I found it just about impossible to turn the pages. Since I had been giving so much time to the other side, I figured I would try Mere Christianity. I forced myself to stay with that one longer. Sometimes I would nod my head and follow his reasoning. Then there were the times when I would shake my head at his reasoning. But then who am I to question Lewis' reasoning ability. Obviously I'm in over my head. Looking over my religious bookshelf I just didn't feel quite up to much that it contained. I suppose it could be guilt. I don't know. I have been reading bits and pieces of In Conversation with God by Fr. Francis Fernandez, The Imitation of Christ and Prayers and Devotions by John Paul II. Sometimes I find great help and motivation to keep trying, to stay true to the course. Then other times I just feel plain uncomfortable. Oh, I know, it's that good old guilt again.

What started this, I believe, is the fact that I'm preparing my twins for their First Holy Communion. We read, we talk, they ask questions, I answer. Sometimes when I'm answering I'm not sure I believe what I'm saying. Can anyone understand how hard a thing that is to admit? My girls are forcing me to face my questions again. On the up side, we've had some very good discussions and completed a few fun projects. They made a prayer book from beautiful old fashioned hold cards I have, a book mark for their First Reconciliation, and we are now working on a Mass book. They wanted to learn the rosary (shameful that this Catholic mother hasn't taught this prayer to her young daughters) so we have been working on it one decade a day. I haven't prayed the rosary since my dad was fighting for his life in intensive care six years ago. I've actually found peace in those prayers, but one decade is about my limit. My older daughter, 11 yrs., is wanting to learn the Angelus, so I've promised we'll start that. I love the beautiful, traditional Catholic prayers. They give me comfort and security. My husband got me a chain for my very special miraculous medal, so I have been wearing that. Again, I feel very peaceful about it. It's just the theology that gets me down. If only I could ignore it, but that's not me.

Then on the other hand I put When God Was a Woman by Merlin Stone on hold at the library. Oh goodness....

Oh, and I did watch a video about Hildegard of Bingen and am going to explore that further. Our library has several books about her.

In the meantime I picked up The Historian and am deep into vampire lore.

And I wish I could figure out how to format things here at blogger. The font is all wrong.

2009-02-07T15:09:00.000-07:00

It's been quite some time since I've blogged here; I still blog over at Xanga but sporadically at best.

I've been in hiding. From myself. The door in my mind that I started to let open over the last couple years - the door that lets questions in, questions that your mind has to mull over, think about, search out, then eventually look for answers, but those answers can lead you down very frightening paths - yes that door, well I've been trying to shut it. I think I knew intuitively when I first started to let those questions form in my mind, that there was no turning back; nevertheless, I've been trying to shut the door and go back to the status quo. Basically I've been faking it, pretending. I read somewhere that's what you do when you find yourself doubting; you fake it. Don't let the doubts in and continue to do everything you were taught to do whether you question it or not. Do that, and God will be faithful and reward your trust in time of doubt. Well, all it's gotten me is a major headache and the feeling that I could be on the cusp of depression. Pretending makes you feel lousy, it makes your insides feel torn up, it leaves you no peace, no contentment but constant turmoil.

I need to let the door swing open and face whatever the other side brings me. I need to be brave, but in truth I'm scared. I'm afraid of the other side. This side is so safe with it's rules and safety nets. The other side is unknown. I want to be able to trust in God's mercy, I want to feel safe in questioning and wandering and perhaps ending up somewhere quite different from where I began, but I find it so hard to shake those voices in my head. They don't leave me alone.

Peaceful

2008-04-20T20:00:00.000-06:00

That's how I've been feeling, peaceful. I plan on soaking it up but chaos settles in again.

Friday was the 7th anniversary of my mom's death. While I still miss her desperately, it no longer feels as though my heart went through my husband's shredder along with unwanted junk mail. It's a peaceful missing. I was going to go to the cemetery and drink iced tea with her, but it didn't work out. Another time. I pray to my mom often; by pray I mean I talk with her. I tell her what I'm about, and ask her to bless my girls. She blessed them lavishly with her love, generosity, and kindness while alive so I don't see why would let death stop her. All in all, a peaceful day.

Mass was even peaceful. No turmoil. Our wonderful priest from Tanzania said Mass. I do love him. He is so humble and has such an eye opening perspective on American life - not that all the congregation appreciate his perspective though. He always has a few words of wisdom if you can understand him. Usually I can follow him until he gets tickled with himself or upset, and then he might as well be speaking Swahili as English. He spoke on Hope. Hope is big for me.

I've been reading whenever I can grab a few seconds: in the bathroom, while cooking - you know, spatula in one hand, book in the other - while eating, before bed. For pure pleasure I'm reading Joanne Harris's Five Quarters of the Orange and Tom Robbins' (confessed with a slight amount of guilt). I finished The Mists of Avalon which makes me want to re-read Mary Stewart's Arthurian series. In addition I've met Anne Lamott (I want to ask why I've never read her before now, but I know too well), and I'm reading Original Blessing by Matthew Fox. I've put The Pagan Christ by Tom Harpur on my library wish list plus I've got a growing list in my reading notebook. Also, I've been watching a video series by Joseph Campbell on mythology plus a stack of Johnny Depp movies. Ahem. No comment. Right now I'm feeling like a couple Agatha Christie books for the umpteenth time.

Thursday I bent over, and my lower back went out. This hasn't happened for several years, but this time it has done a number on me. To the point where I broke down and asked the husband for one of his pain pills. I do not take drugs! But it was that or being totally out of commission with seven year old twins storming the house. It's actually feeling some better today, but I plan on taking it easy for a couple more days which means no housecleaning but more reading. What a deal.

2008-04-10T09:49:00.000-06:00

I posted this over at my Xanga and thought I would put it here because it seemed to be part of this search for God. You know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking that we need to get back that feminine spirituality that loves and honors nature and life. This patriarchal mode we've been following has landed us here: produce, consume, ravage, conquer. I think Mother Earth has had about all she can tolerate.

Couldn't think of a title for this. Despair? Hopeless? Where the hell is God in all this? Something on that order.

Yesterday I received an e-mail from the lady that heads up religious education at our church. It informed us that Mr. L., who has been helping with Tues. evening classes for the last 10 years, just received word that his son Michael, 24, was killed in Iraq. Michael leaves behind his wife and an older brother and sister.

Michael should not be dead. Dead means you're dead. You're not coming back. Finite. It's over. Done. No more sunrises or sunsets, no thunderstorms, never a chance to hold your newborn, never to make love with your wife again. 24 years old. I was alive at 24. Working, having fun, in love, planning my future. Michael has no more future. The potential that he held, that every cell in his body held, is gone, erased. I feel so incredibly guilty.

I'm sick. Somebody tell me why we are doing this. Please.

And you know what else? Well, I'll tell you. The other day Abra and I were talking while driving somewhere. Something was on the radio (NPR - I always listen to NPR so you know where my slant lies) about how much Iraq is costing, and I started swearing under my breath. Abra looks at me with a big question mark on her face. So I say, "You know, the war in Iraq." She says, "War?" I say, "Yes, you know we're in a war?" She replies, "Well, yeah, but you know I guess I forget cause it seems normal here."

And she's right. Unless I receive news like the above, I don't think about the war. It's not around me. It feels all normal. I get up, go about my daily business, plan fun things, laugh, spend money. The restaurants are full. The theaters are full. People appear oblivious to this atrocity while they cruise down the road in their Hummers. Not what I picture WWII was like. Where every other house on your street had some young man over in Europe or in the Pacific. Where items were rationed. Where women were going to the factories to manufacture weapons. I picture the people here really suffering, mentally and physically, freely sacrificing to show their solidarity with the soldiers. I don't sense that at all. And I feel even more guilty. What can I do? I hate Iraq, but my heart is with every man and woman over there. With every family with a son or daughter or father or mother over there.

I was really too young to remember much about Viet Nam. I studied it in history in high school and was appalled. Iraq hasn't even seemed to elicit the same response. Yes, there are peace rallies, but not that same fervor that I believe people felt during Viet Nam. Have we become anesthetized to loss of life, killing, hunger, starvation. Have we become so self serving and greedy that all we think of is the next possession we can acquire. No matter the cost? Are we a country of fat, eager consumers who take, take, take just because we can? Not to even mention the destruction we're causing to this planet that has given humans life for tens of thousands of years.

I want to rant. To yell and scream and swear at someone. And what I do mostly when I feel like this is cry. Then go watch a movie. And forget. Just like all the other far, satiated, consumeristic Americans.

I was going to talk about Sweeney Todd, and how absolutely delicious Johnny Depp is even when he is slicing throats and making men into meat pies. How I would let him growl at me in that incredibly sexy growly voice he can produce any old time he'd like to. And about how silly we middle aged women are with our secret fantasies about younger (he's younger) actors while we sport sagging bellies and drooping breasts. But you know what? It all seems rather frivolous right now.

Springtime In My Orchard

2008-04-03T15:59:00.001-06:00

Attempting to learn new things about computers and/or internet is not my favorite way to spend time. I thought I might try to upload a few pictures, however, it's taking way longer than it should due to my lack of computer savvy. I'll give it a try and see what happens. Xanga is where I usually put up pictures, talk about everyday life, kids, husband and whatnot. I was just going to use Blogger to vent and talk my way along this journey, but venting gets rather dreary and depressing after a while. Anyway, here goes.

This is our orchard. There are several varieties of apple, cherry, pear, peaches, plum, nectarine, apricot, almond, plus elderberry, gooseberry, raspberry, blackberry, blueberry and something I'm sure I've forgotten. When we moved in and were planting the orchard, I was determined that there would be a picket fence around part of it. I had always pictured my girls playing in orchard surrounded by a picket fence. A place where they could hide, daydream, have tea parties with the fairies and tell secrets. You can't see it from this picture, but there is a picket fence. It's not all neat and white but rather weathered and brown and natural - much like the orchard.

There are also day lilies and irises growing between the trees. These are the day lilies - will be bright orange.

The buds are swelling with life. If Mother Nature doesn't send a late frost, we might have a very productive fruit year. One of my spring rituals is to bless our fruit trees. I go to each tree, call it by name (Santa Rosa Plum, Douglas Pear, etc.), thank her for all the food she provides. I ask for good weather, no late frosts, no hail storms, plenty of sun and rain. Then I picture the growth of the fruit, from bud to being covered in blossoms, from small fruit to large fruit ready to be harvested. I see my family eating and enjoying, and I see myself preserving all the bounty for the winter.

There are still crocus blooming. Abby (7 yrs old) had picked every one of the little yellow flowers she could find and presented me with a beautiful bouquet. More have bloomed and they line my front sidewalk.

My favorite spring flower is the daffodil. I still remember the beginning of the poem 'Daffodils' by William Wordsworth:

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils.....

I memorized that for 10th grade English many, many years ago.

Today I used the clothes line instead of the dryer. Actually, there's been quite a few days I could put the clothes out to dry, but I couldn't find the clothes pins. Found them today. Don't you just love clothes that smell of sunshine and fresh air? Don't you just love NOT turning on the dryer and allowing the clothes to dry naturally? I do. I love not using electricity. I love hanging out clothes. Like I love washing dishes by hand.

Well, there's a little taste of life on my side of the planet. Hope your days has been full of blessings.

2008-04-02T08:07:00.000-06:00

Something that keeps jumping out at me recently in my readings is along the lines of "your soul is your own". I just realized last night after I read something similar to this yet again, that I have never acknowledged or believed this.

Is my soul my own?
Or does it belong to God?
Am I my own, or do I belong to God?
God gave us free will to do as we choose.
My body is on loan?
My soul is on loan?
God's property but in His goodness He 'loaned' it to me?

I also realized I have no connection with my soul. It feels like something outside of my body that I need to care for properly so I can return it to its original owner. Get it baptized, keep it full of grace which is dependent upon my actions, keep it shiny and new, and return it to God in good condition. I've never, never considered it was MINE. Not my soul, my life, no, not mine. But I've always known my sin is most certainly mine and mine alone. But what my sin affects, my soul, is not mine.

I don't know my soul. I'm trying to get to know my soul. I'm trying to learn to recognize the voice of my soul. But separating the voice of my soul from all the voices I've heard my entire life is so hard. The voice of my soul is so tiny, so quiet, so beat down. For so long it's been drowned out by all the loud voices around me. But I feel it's tired of being beat down and quieted, of being told it is wrong, and fallen, and not trustworthy. I think what I feel is 'my' soul's anger. And little by little it's voice is getting louder and stronger.

I want to know my own FEMALE soul! I want to be intimate with MY OWN FEMALE SOUL! And I want to be able to trust, without fear, my soul's voice.

But I think first I need to answer this:

Is my soul my own?

Yes, I'm confused. But being confused all on one's own, to own that confusion, is still preferable to having others tell you your truth.

2008-03-31T10:55:00.000-06:00

From the comment yesterday:

"You have an inner guidance system that God has given you that is a good measuring stick for if you are headed toward or away from God's will: If you feel free and joyful and alive, you are moving toward God. If you feel depressed, fearful, depressed, burdened, you are not headed toward God. It is really that simple."

Looking at all I've written (I'm very wordy - it's hard for me to be concise), I sound sad, depressed, confused.

I'm not sad or depressed. Confused, yes. But not sad. For the first time in years I feel alive, joyful and free. Free to be confused. I see now how unhappy I was before. My husband has commented on how I was always angry, nit picky, fault finding. He says it's like a new me. The other day he was looking at me with an odd look in his eye. I asked him what he was thinking. He said he was thinking how I had just recently reminded him of the girl he used to date and married.

Me before I got so burdened down with sin, failing, not being just right. I was constantly at war with myself. I was trying so hard to control my passions, thoughts, ideas. My thoughts were proud, arrogant, willful, impure, and I was constantly at battle with them. Rarely did I have a day where I felt I was victorious. Prayer, sacraments, nothing seemed to help. Until I quit. Quit fighting me. I still get sad and fearful at times. But when I do I go outside, and just let it all sink in. It's so much easier to get back to joyful now.

A moment for me. We like old movies and re-watch them frequently. Anyway, we were watching The African Queen. I could have the scene wrong but I think it is where Charlie (Humphrey Bogart) got drunk, maybe, and Rosie (Katherine Hepburn) is lecturing him. He says something about it being natural. And she says, not verbatim, "that's what we were put in this world to rise above - nature".

And I said to myself, "Why?" Why are we always at odds with nature. Why not communion with nature. If God is in nature, Mother Earth, why are we always at odds. I want harmony.

I don't know where I'll end up on this journey, but I realized that after opening that door, I would never be able to return to where I came from ever, ever again.

Sunday Morning Thoughts

2008-03-30T13:34:00.000-06:00

Outside is calling to me, but I had some thoughts. One of these has been hanging around in the back of mind for quite some time, but I have never given voice to it. I think it's time.

But first, I have met several wonderful people over the internet. Over at Xanga there are several people who have been real friends even though I've never met them in real life. They listen to me, I listen to them. There's no judgment or condemnation. Of course, only one is a Christian and she marches to her own drum. There's been times they've been my life saver. Just recently during some of my searches for other women who are following different religious paths, I met another wonderful woman. Sr. Kathryn has taken time to read my ranting and personally comment. I feel humbled at the help and time people who have never met me have been willing to extend. This is exactly that spirit, connection, divine power that I've been looking for. It does exist. I wish I could find words to describe what I mean. I see these invisible lines or circuits between people, and when we connect with others, those circuits just start sparking. I know that sounds loony, but it's the best I can come up with right now.

This is funny to me, and maybe it shows how far I've come. Sr. Kathryn mentioned some authors of which I was familiar with three. One of them more so than the others. Matthew Fox. But not in a good way. Where I came from - if the people were feeling charitable - he would be described as a lunatic who was being led around by Satan doing his bidding to the other extreme of 'somebody should do away with him to save the Church. Well, you get the idea. So when I saw his name I felt some shock. Then I stopped and thought. I can read whatever I want. It's not a SIN to read different points of view. Heresy is a perspective. I went to the library, looked him up. Our library system had many of his books, but my local community library only had two. I walked over and picked them up. It crossed my mind to hide them in my bag because I'm always running into neighbors (Regnum Christi if that means anything) up at this library, but I felt so liberated I walked right up to the counter and checked them out. I'll have more to say about the books, but after the introduction of Original Blessing I was feeling validated. I'm not alone. Of course, depending on who you are that might label me a heretic, but for me I felt a ton of sin, damnation, penance being lifted.

Reminded me of a short story from my past. When I first became part of the Catholic Homeschooling group we meet in each others' homes for tea. The first time they came to my house I was showing the women around when we entered an upstairs bedroom that has one wall lined with books. One of the ladies - I'd only met her once before - was looking over books and gave a small gasp when she found Hans Kung on my shelf. She told me she was rather shocked to see that. I probably gave some garbled answer like 'it was here when I moved in'. Lie - I bought it. She told me I needed to be careful what I surrounded myself with, books could be a huge danger to our salvation, it was our primary job to treasure and protect our faith, on and on. She advised me to throw it away because if I donated it I would be partly responsible for spreading lies and heresy to other innocent people. I did go through my books and get rid of quite a few. I didn't throw them away - huge sin in my book - but I did tear my name out before I gave them away. I'm sorry I was so easily intimidated by loud women.

Now the big thing I want to say. This is very, very hard for me. The thought has been in me for some time, but I have never said it. Since I have no one to say it to verbally, I will write it. I feel angry with the church. I feel hurt and in some odd way, betrayed. Now I feel embarrassed writing that. Who am I to feel hurt or betrayed? I'm just me, little me. And the church is the voice of God here on earth. The pope the vicar of Christ. The authority. There not here to make me happy but to help me get to heaven, and I'm complaining. Seems pretty immature and childish and selfish. But there it is. That is how I feel. The world is changing. People have changed. Our understanding has changed. While the church can clothe doctrine in different words and language, it doesn't change. I know the changes Vatican II brought in, but I'm talking something different. I'll have to think it out. But all around me I see unhappy, disgruntled Catholics who feel they have no voice. Most of the kids I went to school with (Catholic high school) or that I knew from college have left. Out of my husband's family of 14 children, only 4 still go to church. At the last reunion (30th) only 6 showed up for the Mass. Something is wrong. I don't know the answer to the big problem, but for me I need to find my own way. It felt good to say it.

Now, we have brand new baby chicks that need adoring, and my father-in-law will be celebrating his 90th birthday tonight. So I'm off to do important things.

Addendum

2008-03-29T15:56:00.001-06:00

I think my last post was a cry for a Mary in my life. I need something feminine, and until I get comfortable with the Goddess, which I admit I don't understand, I need a female spirit. But maybe Mary Magdalene would be better for me. She was definitely human.

More Musings

2008-03-29T13:28:00.000-06:00

I feel like talking, and since the internet is always available, here I am. Today I want to talk about some of my friends although I’m never sure where my writing/talking will end up because it tends to have a life of its own.

I remember talking about how I met this woman who would become my closest friend. She was hosting a cenacle or prayer group for people following Fr. Gobbi at her house, and I went with the other women I knew from Marian rosary groups. Just now I realize I want to follow a rabbit trail here. I’ll get back to my friend, but first I want to talk about Mary.

I’ve always known Catholics who seemed to have such deep, personal devotions. These devotions seemed to be so much a part of them giving them guidance and providing a foundation for deep spirituality. I was trying hard to find something that did that for me, something that I connected with, that would bring my spirituality to life. Some people found Mary, some found particular saint or the Sacred Heart or the Blessed Sacrament. I wanted something special, too.

It’s embarrassing to admit that I never felt any type of a close, personal connection to God. He didn’t seem real to me. I’ve never doubted the existence of a ‘something’, but I could never find any particular feeling for that ‘something’. The only God I ever heard about was the Old Testament God and the God Jesus prayed to and eventually the God that Christians created. Well, there were many problems there for me.

Another embarrassment is that I never knew what to feel for Jesus. I had no personal relationship with Jesus. True God and true man. Not comprehensible. Who was he? Was he really man? The church always seemed to focus more on him being God than being human. There were times when I would hear or read something that talked about Jesus’ humanity, but there seemed to be this fear that we would humanize Jesus to where he was no longer God. We couldn’t forget he was God. I never and still don’t know what he means to me. The personal savior bit, dying on the cross for me just so I could go to heaven if I did everything right, just didnt' ring true. So nothing there.

There are certain saints that I’ve taken a liking to such as St. Francis. I liked ones that seemed to be joyful. Some seemed miserable. Some of the most popular ones such as St. Bernadette just didn’t click with me, and I assumed this was because I didn’t have a devotion to Mary. So I wanted to try to develop one. You just can’t force devotions.

It seemed all of the women I met, of course the ones I met through the Marian prayer group, but the other women I became friends with in the Catholic homeschooling group, had these hyper, indescribable devotions to Mary. They prayed to her constantly, the rosary was their weapon, every day. They read Marian devotionals, did Marian consecrations such as that 30 day one according Louis de Montfort, tried conscientiously to imitate her in everything – or to imitate her in the way they believed she lived???

Well, here you have this human woman who was perfect. No original sin so she had none of these failings I had. She was PERFECT. She was never impatient, she never got angry or frustrated or tired of dealing with life. She also must have had perfect faith. She never got totally disgusted with St. Joseph’s maleness and wanted to bop him on the head with a kettle. She never got impatient with Jesus because he never picked up his toys. Of course, there you go. Jesus was God so he never disobeyed his mother, but then was he human so did he ever give into the temptation of pretending you didn’t hear your mother telling you to come to dinner. Back to Mary. She never felt underappreciated. She never felt angry because women were chattel instead human beings with worth. She never wanted to tell of her petty minded neighbor who gossiped constantly. She never looked into the mirror and felt disgusted with herself. She never had moments of vanity. She never got tired of all the mundane work that was expected of her: cooking, sewing, cleaning, serving everyone else and herself last. Work that she had no choice to refuse because she was a woman. Well, she’s already lost to me. Because I have and still do feel all those things.

(An aside. When the movie came out – Mary of Nazareth or whatever it was called – there were some huge arguments over among Catholics. One of the things that some Catholics were offended by was when Mary was a little girl she rolled her eyes at St. Ann. Mary would never have rolled her eyes at her mother. How in the world am I suppose to tell my daughters that they are to imitate Mary if this is the picture Catholics have of her.)

Anyway, I tried and tried. But Mary just wasn’t real. She was too good, and I could not relate to her. In fact, I resented her because she set me up for failure. Or the church made her into a woman who set me up for failure. Beside her I would always fall way, way short.

On the other hand, you can’t worship Mary. Catholics do not worship Mary, or so they will tell you. But some of those women I knew, although they would vehemently deny it, appeared on the outside to worship Mary. But why can’t I worship Mary. Because she’s human. BUT SHE WASN’T HUMAN. I can’t call her a Goddess – is there a worse mortal sin than that? But she was supposed to be my role model.

A woman who never had sex with her husband. What happened to her sexuality. She never felt physical passion, arousal. Or she did but because of her Immaculate Conception she was able to overcome those base human emotions (said with some sarcasm). Next to her I was a harlot! And yes, my marriage has suffered because of this. Trying to come to terms with my real, natural feelings and at the same time trying to be a Little Mary.

(Another aside. My husband had never heard of Mary’s perpetual virginity. 12 years of Catholic school and he’d never heard that. Maybe he blocked it out? I remember him looking at me as if I were nuts. He said that probably had a lot to do with the church’s problems with dealing with human sexuality in a healthy way if that was our role model.)

But then I became pregnant. I was 28 years old, not a young mother. I wasn’t even sure I wanted children when I married and was quite concerned that children were mentioned so many times during the marriage liturgy. I even had people tell me that if I entered my marriage without being open to children it wasn’t a valid marriage. Finally I did feel ready for a child. I was pregnant and literally scared to do death at the thought of labor. I simply put it out of my mind and would deal with it when the time came since I couldn’t avoid it.

It was at this time that I had this most amazing thought. This would be the thing that would connect me to Mary. There she was, a young girl, frightened (or was she with that perfect faith), alone, pregnant under somewhat unusual circumstances. Finally I had found the connection. I could relate to her totally. She and Joseph, along in a cave, labor to give birth to Jesus. Then came the biggest letdown of my entire Marian journey.

Mary never labored. She never felt any pain. That intense pain that reaches a point where you know beyond a doubt you cannot continue yet somewhere deep in your recesses you do. Not for Mary. Well, of course. No original sin. No labor pains. Women only birth in pain because it was a woman who led a man into the first sin. Woman’s punishment. To bring forth life in great pain. There’s that punishing God again. I just realized, my own parents were so much nicer, kinder, loving towards me than God was towards his own creation.

Just wanted to add there seems to be arguments on both sides of the fence as to whether Catholics believe Mary actually labored or had some type of miraculous C section. Did she deliver Jesus naturally or did he just miraculously appear. I remember reading some of the writing Mary Agreda, a nun who had Marian apparitions, and her saying that Jesus just appeared. Of course she also said Jesus only had one tunic that grew with him and the earth was something like 6,000 years old so go figure. Quite a few of my friends took it literally, though. I don’t know whether this falls under tradition, Tradition (with a capital T), or doctrine, and frankly I didn’t care, because Mary had totally been ruined for me. And I’ve had much guilt over that.

Okay, end of my rabbit trail. I never had a Marian devotion and still don’t. I would like to be able to understand her, to feel something other total confusion on the one hand to resentment on the other. But it was because I was looking for ‘something’ and also looking for friendship, that I met this woman who became my closest friend although by the time I’d met her I’d long given up on Mary. She didn’t know that because I knew how to speak the language. By the time I met her I never prayed a rosary on my own because I would always fall asleep. I haven’t picked up a rosary since my dad was hospitalized in 2002, and even then it was an unbelievable struggle for me.

That’s my Mary story. Not very pretty. Guess I’ll talk about my friend later.

Easter Sunday

2008-03-23T15:53:00.000-06:00

This is a long, ranting, raving post that probably is no coherent. I'm feeling discontent and down today. Tried reading and couldn't concentrate. I just can't find the joy in this resurrection I know, that I've heard about my whole life.

On another note, I tried to make a happier post over at xanga on my sacred life. Still feeling depressed.

Mass was extremely crowded this morning. A full house.

Fr. again talked about how we can do nothing for ourselves (with regards to salvation). Alone we are lost. We are fallen. We can’t do one single thing to help ourselves gain heaven. He’s been on a roll with this for some time. I beginning to suspect it’s all PR work. You know, to downplay all the negative press Catholics get about good works from the Protestants. Good works are good but without the grace of God through Jesus Christ they won’t get you into heaven.

Frankly I always liked good works. Made me feel like I could do something myself. Like I had power. Well, I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that I CAN NOT DO ANYTHING TO SAVE MYSELF. Okay, I heard it.

Why do we need saved? Saved from what? Hell? So God got mad and said he’d show those sinful, proud people. He would just shut the gates of heaven. And make them wait until he got good and ready to send a savior.

Does anyone really believe that? Does anyone really believe that Adam and Eve story? Other than my fundamentalist brother-in-law and wife. Okay. I know. It’s symbolic. It symbolized man’s pride and desire to be like God. The tree in the garden is symbolic of man trying to be more than he is. Well, duh. God gave us a brain. He gave us passion. He gave us desire. But then He says only use these within these very narrow rules. What a set up. Of course we would fail. And why is God so jealous about His knowledge anyway. Why doesn’t He want to share his knowledge of good and evil? Seems like a petty minded dictator. Set us up for failure.

Of course I don’t believe that. I admit I’m clueless about original sin. Man fell. Was it one act by one man? Was it a general act by society trying to improve and gain more knowledge? We got a little greedy and wanted more knowledge. Is that so bad. Why am I fallen? Why do I need saved? I think it was just a story to explain the rotten, miserable lives the Jews had. And to give them hope that some day someone would come and make their life better.

So I need saved. But I can’t do a thing about it. Because I’m fallen. Because I was born without God’s grace. So there’s God up there, or out there, everywhere but evenly present thinking up a plan to save the helpless, unworthy humans he created. The three personalities or parts or personalities or characters come up with a plan. God the Father (Creator) will send down God the Son (redeemer) to teach the people and then die this bloody, horrible death to satisfy God the Father for the sins of humanity. Then later He will send God the Holy Spirit (paraclete) to help us on our way. So he picks this young Jewish girl to be the mother of God the Son. This plan has been in the making for sometime because God had the forethought to make sure this girl wasn’t conceived with this original sin thing. She becomes miraculously pregnant and gives birth to this baby boy. God the Son. Jesus.

Who is Jesus? God, as in God up there, out there. Divine. While we have God’s grace (his life) in us, as long as we’re not in mortal sin, that doesn’t make us divine. This Jesus is God to us humans – vertical. Yet he becomes man. Horizontal. God and man. Hypostatic union. Not man with God in him, but God who lowered himself to become man. Man and God together.

Fr. has also said several times that Jesus ‘gave up’ his divinity to become man. That isn’t Catholic teaching. But I considered it. God giving up his divinity to come down among us to save us. That was nice. That would be a sacrifice. If you were God and you gave up being God to become one of Your creation. Yes, that’s a sacrifice.

Well, here we have God/Man in Jesus. He grows up. He suffers all the temptations we suffer. But he’s still God. And then the time comes for the great sacrifice. His death on the cross. Now why in the world would GOD need a bloody sacrifice, require a bloody sacrifice, to let humanity gain heaven. If God is God, all powerful, all knowing, all perfect, He wouldn’t need this. But there it is. Without this sacrifice, heaven would still be shut up tight.

Scripture tells us Jesus prayed to his father (or was he praying to himself if he’s god – or do the holy spirit and Jesus have to pray to the father but who does the father pray to). Anyway, he prayed that night in the garden that he not have to do this thing, but if it was his father’s will, he would. I’ve always wondered since the apostles were sleeping how anyone knew what Jesus really said when he was praying. You don’t think somebody put words in Jesus’ mouth, do you. So poor Judas plays his part in the whole pre-arranged plot and gets Jesus arrested. Then feeling really rotten about it, goes off and hangs himself. But Jesus had to die so somebody needed to turn him in. Poor Judas. I always felt for Judas. So he gets nailed to a cross and dies. Three days later he rises from the dead, rises bodily from the dead and walks around down here until he goes up to heaven until his second coming – whenever that will be. Then God relents and opens the gates of heaven.

No, no, no. It just doesn’t work. I don’t think it ever has worked for me. This is not reasonable. This God is just like man. We continue with our anthropomorphic god and find a story that fits. Just this past year have I had the courage to actually write this out. To even let these doubts enter my mind would send me into near panic mode. I’ve come a long ways.

In a class I took to get my catechist certificate, we discussed the fact that more and more theologians are acknowledging that Jesus’ resurrection could have been a spiritual vision that the apostles had rather than this actual physical one. Again, that directly contradicts Catholic dogma.

Who was Jesus. I truly don’t know Jesus. Was he God. Remember, God is way up there and we’re way down here. I can’t even think of metaphor to describe the different between God and man. Creator and created.

What if Jesus is like us. What if we are like Jesus. What if Jesus is divine in the way we are divine. What if we are divine as Jesus is divine. What if Jesus was crucified just simply for the reason that the Pharisees wanted to get rid of him because he was about to pop their all powerful bubble. What if Jesus was just more evolved – his soul was more evolved. What if there have been others who have a more evolved soul.

When I started this whole journey I decided to go back to square one and start with God. Yes, I believe in a God, or a something. Not God as Christians teach about him. This energy, this something that is inside of us. And outside of us. And connects us to every other single human being, from beginning to end. Yes, something like that. Yes I do believe. But how to know him. Nature is my first answer. God is in nature. Well, then he’s in me. I’m trying. I have it suggested to look for God in me. I have to get out of the mode that I’m fallen, I can’t do anything, that I’m not worth, and consider the possibility that I’ve been worthy from the beginning.

Could all humans just be part of the big God. I didn’t put that well. But that’s where I’m at right now. I know I said this before, but I’ll say it again. Living inside of rules, doctrine, dogma with someone else telling you how to live, telling you exactly what was right, faithwise and moral wise was easy. It really didn’t take a lot of faith. Putting that all behind and looking inside your self takes an enormous amount of faith. Trusting that God will continue to love even I’ve questioned everything, even his own existence, takes more faith than I might have. It would be so easy to fall back into the rules, letting others tell me what I should have faith in, what is right, what is wrong.

Today at Mass my heart felt so heavy and sad. I felt near tears. It’s not easy shedding an old skin and donning a new one. It’s frightening and lonely. I want to be part, but I felt on the outside looking in. This Easter didn’t feel joyful. It felt very, very sad.

Good Friday Ponderings

2008-03-21T12:33:00.000-06:00

I shouldn't be here; I should be doing dishes or folding laundry, but I wanted to get a few thoughts down first. (Plus, my dear hubby is outside pruning, chipping and shredding and all that spring clean-up that is necessary before we start gardening.)

First, I absolutely should proofread what I write. I'm embarrassed by my errors. However, my idea was to write what I'm thinking down quickly, without questioning or analyzing it first, and then to not change anything so when I go back to read, it's original - hopefully. But when I do go back and read, I want to change what I wrote. More thoughts.

This entire Lent has been a fizzle. In fact, the Lents of the last 7 years have been big fizzles. The last three years, I haven't even tried to give anything up; I have tried to do more though. Little things. Smiling at grocery store clerks - especially at Walmart - strangers in the store or on the street. I fail more often than not, but I can actually say I've been more successful with each ensuing year. I'm certainly not opposed to 'giving up' especially considering American consumerism. And I do that. I've been going through closets, cupboards and just this week gave a huge bag to goodwill. Today, I'm starting another one. I'm so quick to notice the excess in others, and since I'm working on being simpler and smaller, I tend to put myself above others. Then I look at my house, and I am ashamed. I might not drive a Hummer, have a 4,000 sq. ft. house with 4 car garage, an RV and boat, but nonetheless, I have so much more than necessary. So Lent is a time when I will get more scrupulous about getting rid of what I don't need.

The part of 'giving up' that I don't get into anymore is looking for ways to actually make my life harder, more uncomfortable, the suffering that is difficult. I used to give up any myriad of things: coffee, tea (ouch!), bagels and bread, sweets (not a big deal), candy (no big deal at all), television, reading for enjoyment, movies, internet plus the taking on of extra works. I think they used to be called mortifications. Getting up at 4 AM instead of 5:30 AM, adding in extra prayers, more spiritual reading, praying on my knees instead of my comfy chair (that didn't last long), doing extra chores that I especially detest. I knew a few moms that gave up eating dinner, only eating the leftovers of their children. I never did that as I get light headed and generally feel unwell if I don't eat regularly. I even knew some couple that gave up sex for Lent. Holy cow. I knew a mom that made her way around the Station of the Cross on her knees. I used to wonder if they wore sackcloth and beat themselves, too.

I just don't get the point of it, I guess. I like doing things that make me feel good. Driving my '96 Saturn and getting 33 mpg makes me feel good. Trying to buy local makes me feel good. Giving away extra clothes and appliances makes me feel good. Smiling at people makes me feel good. Trying to be green and greener, loving the earth, and being simple makes me feel good. Plus, I believe in my heart of hearts, that it's good for everyone. I'm not fool enough to think that I alone can change much of anything, but I feel good about trying and improving in doing my very small part.

Giving up coffee and tea, books and movies makes me grumpy and generally not feeling good. Going out of my way to find extra household chores that might not even necessarily need to be done, but makes me down right grouchy. And I wouldn't even entertain giving up sex. I mean, after all, I'm getting older and my time is growing shorter. And who am I helping by giving these up. I know, the poor souls in purgatory. God will take those suffering and do good with them. Funny, a God that needs my sufferings. I know, God doesn't need my sufferings. It me showing how much I love God that I'm willing to offer up and unite my sufferings with Christ on the cross. Well, that another whole post.

So, am I hedonistic? I give up what makes me feel good. I don't give up that which doesn't make me feel good. Yeah, sounds hedonistic.

Yesterday was Holy Thursday. And it was glorious day. The sun was shining in all her glory, the sky was blue. The air had a chill, but with a sweater you were fine. We went upstairs, opened the windows to let all the old, stale, frustrated energy out. The twins and I worked in their room all afternoon, and it looks fairly decent now. Abra cleaned her room by herself. I lighted a new candle. Then I went outside to the orchard and sat under the almond tree with a book. After a while I got up and went around to each fruit tree, praying for a productive spring, admiring the small buds that are just waiting to burst open. About that time Tim came home. We had a small dinner and watched Danny Deckchair. I love that movie.

In the past I always made certain to go to Mass on Holy Thursday. The stripping of the altar was always so poignant. The empty tabernacle. What would we have without Christ. Bareness. Nothing. No salvation, no hope. Lost souls unable to do anything for themselves. But yesterday I hardly thought about it being Holy Thursday. I knew it was, but just didn't spend much time with that. It felt like a good day. I felt good.

Tim always takes Good Friday off. He usually works outside in the yard. We always joke that Good Friday is usually grey, dark, dismal. Actually today is like yesterday. Chilly and a slight wind, but bright and alive. As I said, he's outside. Right where he belongs. That man never belonged in an office. He's working - physical work - but for him I don't think he ever looks at it that way. He took me out for breakfast - our one big meal today. We shared a vegetarian omelette. Stopped by a greenhouse on the way home. And here I am. We won't be going to church tonight either. The last time I went on Good Friday they had some women from the parish in the part of the apostles while the priest washed their feet. There was an uproar from some because they had women portraying apostles. By that time I was getting filled up and burned out on all the petty little arguments. I secretly suspected that if Jesus were here today he would have women apostles, but I didn't dare voice that opinion. Anyway, Good Friday will be spent at home, working around the house. I think I'm going to go outside and pull some weeds when I'm done here.

Tomorrow will be more of the same. If I'm feeling up to it, I will take Abra to the vigil Mass tomorrow night. Depending on the number being baptized, it can last quite a while, and I turn into a pumpkin around 10 PM. But if I don't go tomorrow night, Tim will want to go to 7 AM Mass on Sunday which might be okay. The rest of Sunday will be spent hunting Easter eggs, re-hiding them and hunting again, playing and weather permitting, a picnic in our backyard. We always spend Easter outside.

I'm stopping for now. Things I need to do, and things I want to do are waiting.