Searching for My Willoughby

Feeling Alone

2011-11-06T09:27:00.002-07:00

There's no reason for me to feel alone. Husband, daughters. Usually it's all I need. Then somedays. It's just not enough. I remember having friends. I think maybe I can do it again. I try. Try it on little by little. A little bit doesn't feel too bad. Then add a little bit more. Then I feel it. The pretense. The dishonesty. Then the emotional roller coaster starts up again. I physically feel it. Emotionally feel it. It doesn't work. Sad, so conflicted, verging on depression.

So I leave it behind. Yet again. Then starts the recovery process. Digging myself out of this dark hole I intentionally put myself in again. I think. Why do I do this? I know how it turns out. Where is my spot? I want to find my personal, intimate spot. I know where it isn't. That must be half the search, right?

That was just for me.

Onwards. The weather is cold. The air has that biting, stinging cold feel in it. Little ice specks touch your face. It's warm inside. A lazy Sunday morning. Listening to John Anderson, Michael Buble, Frank Sinatra, Johnny Horton. Music the entire family agrees on. Biscuits in the oven. Hashbrowns on the stove. Sausage in the skillet. Soon there will be gravy. It makes me feel warm, content. A cozy kitchen full of homey smells. I ask my mom, "enough flour", "more milk", "think it's ready yet". I listen very intently for her voice. I can still hear it. I hope to never forget it. I will bury myself in my home and forget all else. For today.

Harvest Time

2011-09-11T13:41:00.000-06:00

Harvest time. Tim warned me the other night that it was getting to be that time. Pears, plums, tomatoes, peppers, then a little later grapes and apples. Do I know what I'm going to with the produce, where should he put it, and when should he start picking?

Secretly, I wish it would all go away. I'm tired. Worn out. Burned out. I've been at this for years. Every summer. In the hot kitchen, made all the hotter because usually two burners on the stove are going, peeling, cutting, filling, cooking, cleaning, back feeling like it's breaking. I've done my share. I've lived simply, worked with our earth, grown and produced much of our food. I'm ready for my little cottage by the ocean with fireplace and bookcase and comfy over-stuffed chair.

But.... then I remember how it feels to look in my cupboard and see it full of food we have produced. From little, tiny seeds to jars full of healthy, life-giving food. How it feels to grab a jar from the shelf, pop open the lid and smell the smell of our hard work and reward. And how I enjoy secretly laughing at the people running to the store in that God awful traffic just to pick up something. I've already got it. All natural. Nothing toxic. Didn't get shipped thousands of miles. Didn't cause any pollution. And how I was blessed with the opportunity of getting my hands dirty, seeing dirt under my nails, smelling that sensual, earthy smell on my hands. How I had that time in the morning while weeding to talk out loud to God with no-one listening. Except the neighbor having his early morning cigarette who probably already thinks I'm a total whack job. It's is absolutely amazing how many problems you can solve while getting your hands dirty.

So. I will find some energy that's been hiding away and tackle the harvest. My kitchen will be the heart beat of my home. The floor will be dirty and sticky. I will be hot and sweaty and achy and tired (I'm that anyway). I will stir prayers into my preserved food. I will watch my cupboards fill up with food. It will mark the end of the old year. And I will look forward to my time of rest.

I Love My Husband

2011-06-07T18:47:00.002-06:00

On June 1st we celebrated our 26th wedding anniversary. We went to a favorite sandwich shop, walked by the river holding hands, stopped at the store to pick up some ice cream for the family, and watched Lost in Translation. Quiet, simple. Just the way we are. Dining in one of the most expensive restaurants could not compare to holding his hand, feeling his arm brush against mine, leaning my head on his shoulder. It has been a wonderful journey together with its ups and downs, good times and bad. It hasn't always been a bed of roses. But even when it was one of those down times, I knew, without a doubt, that he loved me, and I hope that he has always known without doubt how much I love him.

Certainly death doesn't end this love. When I create my own religion, I will borrow from the LDS their belief in eternal marriage. It will be a most interesting religion indeed.

As I Lay Dying

2011-05-15T09:45:00.002-06:00

It was uncomfortable. Distressing. Disturbing. At times nauseating. An emotional roller coaster. Yet with each page, I felt more and more addicted. Compulsively re-reading sentences and paragraphs - each time resulting in a different emotional reaction. I just shut the book. Finished. Before the day is over I will again pick it up and see what new feelings it can elicit.

When was the last time I felt this way after finishing a book?

The last time I read Faulkner.

Simple Pleasures

2011-04-19T13:16:00.002-06:00

Sharing favorite books with your daughters.

Abra and I are reading The Lord of the Rings together. Would you think me silly if I told you I would fantasize about reading this book aloud to my children? Why did the first two get away from me without this happening.

I did read all the Harry Potter books (except The Deathly Hallows) aloud to Abra when she was younger. She couldn't wait for me to read the last one, so before I knew it, she was already half way through it. Well, B.G. has been wanting to read the first one, which happens to be the only one I don't own. Well, I did own it. But then I loaned it to my sister. Which means I no longer own it. Finally, I received the call from the library that my copy was waiting for me to pick up. That I promptly did. As I held the book in my hands I found myself remembering back to the adventures Abra and I shared with Harry, and I realized I didn't want to be left out even though I've been through all of them once before. So I called the twins and asked if they wanted me to read. I honestly can't ever remember getting a 'no' for an answer to that question. Then I pulled out Harry and started reading. Abby crawled up next to me snuggling as close as she could; a few minutes later B.G. was on the other side. Usually they're on the floor while I read; last night they were right next to me for the entire reading. A few minutes after starting, I saw Abra come in and grab a chair. So what if you've read them before.

Maybe someday they will share these books and memories with their own children, and it will be a real Tradition. Just makes me all warm and fuzzy feeling to think about it.

Friendship and Death

2011-03-12T08:56:00.003-07:00

It has been a very long, very sad, very difficult week. I've been wanting to write but there are no words to express these feelings. How I wish I could find words when I need them, and how I envy people who can weave words together to express their feelings. What a relief that could be.

My friend's 15 year old son took his life last week. The funeral was this Tuesday.

Disbelief. I just dreamed this. It isn't true. It can't be.

Horror. Horror that this could really happen.

Despair. This can't really happen. Nothing is right.

Helplessness. Couldn't something have been done? What went wrong? This needs to be fixed. But it's too late.

Anger. If he had waited 24 hours, he might have felt differently. A day, a few words, some comfort can make such a difference.

Incredible sadness and heartache.

One thing, among many - besides the fact that this was a young man taking his own life, that makes this so sad for me is the friendship I had with his mother mad fallen apart. And this reminds me of a friend who died last summer. Just a few years older than me. Another friendship that had fallen apart.

Am I a bad friend? I don't really think so. But I admit I have fragile outer shell. I'm weak. There are friendships that take so much energy and such a strong personality that I don't feel up to the task. I have, also, fought tooth and nail to keep a friendship together only to feel deeply betrayed so my defenses go up and I'm very hesitant. My family is my world, my religion, and I cannot tolerate them be dissected and criticized no matter what the other person's needs might be. I need peace, calm, stability. Fighting, discontent, upheavals, anger, harsh words destroy my peace and calm. And so... I ended the friendship. No words; I just disappeared from her life. I'm good at disappearing.

But the flip side of ending a friendship is the feeling helplessness at a time like this. At the funeral I hugged her, told her I was so very, very sorry for their loss, that I was holding her in my heart, that I loved her. It is all very true. My heart has ached every day for their loss. There has been no other death - not even my parents - that has affected me this deeply. I want to offer something, but I don't know how. Mentally I have drawn a circle of love around them - from a distance; mentally I hug them; mentally I send them my feelings.

But it doesn't feel enough. I know it's inadequate. I just feel guilty. My punishment for ending a friendship, and my punishment for not wanting to resurrect that friendship in a real life way. Maybe I just make a better spiritual friend than I do a real life one.

At This Moment

2011-03-02T18:37:00.004-07:00

I am eating a salad with romaine, spinach, feta cheese, blueberries, walnuts, and homemade vinaigrette - all from Costco! While I sit here eating my salad, I dream of the day that the lettuce and spinach at least will come straight from my garden along with a cuke and tomatoes. Still, it tasted good and filled my need for fresh.

Spring seems so distant right now: the sky is dark and ominous looking, it's been raining off and on. Yesterday felt like spring; today feels like winter exerting her power before she is forced into hibernation.

They are tearing up the road in front of our house to install sewer lines. Actually, not directly in front of our house yet; they are working down the street a ways but soon it will be in front of my home. Huge trailers, back hoes, tractors, and NOISE. Along with the fact that I'm not sure if we'll be able to get out of driveway.

My oldest is asleep on the couch - after spending the afternoon braiding her little sister's hair. Little teeny, tiny braids. And she has a head full of hair. She has to work tonight so she's trying to catch a nap before leaving.

My other daughter is having car trouble among other troubles. The stressful life of an adult. I wish it weren't.

My darling husband was so cranky yesterday. Today he apologized. Right now he is napping.

I'm trying to find something uplifting about today... I'm still thinking... Oh, I read from The Willows in Winter for about 45 minutes and drank tea. In fact, I think I will go read my latest No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency book. That is always uplifting.

More Sunday Thoughts

2011-02-27T18:44:00.002-07:00

Another Sunday. I have many, many thoughts but can't quite find the words right now so they will remain unsaid.

It has been a very special Sunday. It started with my oldest daughter calling to ask if her father and I would like to join her and her sister for breakfast. Of course. We had a delightful time. Not something we get to do very often - spend time alone with our oldest two without our youngest three around.

On another note, my kitchen smells wonderfully homey with cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves; two loaves of pumpkin bread is baking. I shall have a couple slices with some Constant Comment tea. A very nice way to end a very nice Sunday.

And now I leave you with this.

Sunday Thoughts

2011-02-20T11:39:00.000-07:00

Some thoughts to ponder this Sunday

Small Pleasures

2011-02-17T08:13:00.003-07:00

We woke this morning to find the ground covered in white. More than a skiff, enough to make some tracks and throw a few snowballs. Certainly not enough to make a really decent snowperson, but enough to have some awesome fun.

So when presented with a choice between starting school on time or playing in what will most likely be the last snow of the season, what do you think we chose?

I am thankful that we can grab these opportunities when they appear. Grab the moment and live.

More Illnesses

2011-02-14T12:44:00.002-07:00

The illness that came to visit hubby over Super Bowl weekend decided to linger. It had found a house full of willing hosts. My children. Abra first, Abby second, and last, but not least B.G. From oldest to youngest. Please note, the mother was excluded, again, as usual. All of them ran fevers, ached, and developed a nasty, nasty cough. I hate to see my children sick and miserable. I brought them blankets and pillows, snuggled them up on the couch or lazy boy, brought them tea, took their temps often so they could keep track, and watched movies.

Of all of them, it is hardest for me to see Abby sick. It's heartbreaking. To understand this, one must know the child. She is ALIVE. She is DRAMA. Life exudes from her every pore. And most especially from her eyes. From the moment her feet hit the floor in the morning until her little motor finally, finally runs down at night, this child is LIVING HUGELY. And when she is sick, the LIFE is gone. The pure spirit and life that comes out of her eyes is totally missing. Dull, listless, glazed. The only thing that keeps my heart from totally breaking is the fact that she will snuggle with me when she is sick. She does not snuggle. Very primp and proper hugs and few purrs, and that's it. But when she is sick, she actually snuggles her whole body up next to mine. That is a gift to be forever treasure.

This morning I was asking what they all wanted for breakfast. I heard Abby's voice answering: pancakes, an omelet, waffles with extra whipped cream and strawberries, a smoothie with a swirly straw, and candy. Before I even turned around I knew what I would see. LIFE! BIG HUGE LIFE. She's on the mend. Except for that damned cough. She's is back with the living, keeping us in smiles.

Super Bowl Sunday

2011-02-06T10:30:00.002-07:00

The Groundhog predicted an early spring, and the last few days were proving that fortune teller correct. I spent some extra time cuddled up in my favorite chair, daydreaming, and I could feel the warm dirt in my fingers and smell that wonderful warm, earthy, musty garden smell. The weight on my shoulders felt infinitely lighter, and my family was rewarded with more smiles and laughs.

Then today dawned grey, overcast, and dreary, and with that the weight is back. My morning smile was replaced with morning grouchiness, and instead of laughing, I found everything coming out of my mouth rather snitful. I am going to put on shoes and jacket, and go outside to face this dreary day head on. I will find something beautiful and hopeful in it, and I will bring that hope back inside.

Tim seems to have come down with the flu. His body aches, he feels congested and tired and is napping. The girls have been having a Get Smart marathon. I had to ask them to go upstairs and try to tone down the laughter since their dad was sleeping. You should have seen the look they gave me. Obviously watching Get Smart without riotous and very loud laughter isn't possible. They are giving it their best shot, though.

Nachos and beer is a tradition for Super Bowl Sunday although it appears Tim might not be joining in. Might just be the girls and me. Hmmmm..... no. If there's anything that will get that man out of bed (other than work) it's football. We'll just quarantine him to one side of the room.

Now I'm off to face my enemy, the dreary sky.

A Time to Reminisce Before Looking Ahead

2011-01-23T15:13:00.003-07:00

Christmas is over. I guess most people would be thinking, "Well, duh, January is almost over." For me, Christmas goes on for about six weeks. See, I love Christmas. I love the holidays.

It starts the weekend after Thanksgiving. I tried the whole thing about not celebrating Christmas until Christmas really comes, celebrating Advent. I tried not putting any Christmas decorations up until at least Gaudete Sunday (3rd Sunday of Advent), but I just didn't like it. So, all the decorations come out right after Thanksgiving. However, it's a process. Over the next couple of weeks I put out all my Christmas ornaments and decorations.

I cover every surface I can find with lights. Lots and lots of lights. Of many colors. Tree, windows, mantel, top of the piano and entertainment center, doorways, stair railing, over the kitchen cabinets. The more lights that go up, the more my energy increases, the more my spirit soars. Then every little ornament I've collected plus all the ones I inherited from my mom find a special place. Some are from her childhood, quite old, with an odd arm or wing missing, paint chipping off which makes them all the more special. Every surface holds a memory for me.

Then there's the reading. All of our favorite Christmas stories. Read every year. After all these years of reading The Christmas Tapestry by Patricia Polacco, I'm still in tears by the end. The Story of Holly and Ivy by Rumer Godden, A Cajun Night Before Christmas, The Donkey's Dream, A Cobweb Christmas, The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey, and on and on. Oh, and A Christmas Carol cannot be missed.

Christmas movies. Every single version of A Christmas Carol although the one with George C. Scott is my favorite. White Christmas, Christmas in Connecticut, Holiday Inn, It's a Wonderful Life, Christmas Vacation, A Christmas Story (several times). Truthfully, I never tire of A Charlie Brown Christmas, How the Grinch Stole Christmas (animated), Frosty, and Rudolf. I remember before children thinking how exciting it would be to watch those shows with my children. And I have. Every year.

Baking. Cookies, candy, snacks. Abra and I made a list of all the cookies we wanted to try, went to the store to collect ingredients, and then cooked something almost every day. Extra pounds. Oh, so what. They come off - mostly. And gingerbread houses. This year Rachael came over to make gingerbread houses with her little sisters.

And while all this is going on, there is Christmas music playing in the background. I love Christmas music. Any and all Christmas music. While not classical, Bing and Nat King Cole are still my favorites.

Christmas Day. Early Mass on Christmas Eve, pick up a pizza on the way home, and the traditional early gift. Always new PJ's which is the signal that it's time to go to bed. Then Santa and his helper go to work. Santa is very particular about the way he arranges gifts. They must be perfect. The girls take my phone upstairs so they can call when they wake up - usually around 6:00 AM. Santa's helper gets up, turns on every light and the music, gets Santa out of bed, turns on the video camera and calls upstairs to let the girls know everything is ready. There is an order to how they come downstairs. Youngest first. I'm sitting here with a goofy smile remembering. They play with the Santa gifts while mom puts on coffee. We wait for the bigger girls and their husband/boyfriend to show up before we open the wrapped gifts. It must be done slowly. One at a time. Everyone watches and oohs and aahs at the appropriate moment.

Since there has been so much cooking going on all month, mom takes Christmas Day off. Egg and hashbrown casseroles for breakfast, take out Chinese food for dinner. PJ's all day, if you want. Lay around reading, watching A Christmas Story over and over, playing a new game or putting together the new puzzle.

Nothing comes down until after Ephiphany, usually the weekend after. And then it again is a process. No hurry. In the evening, when everyone is quiet and the littler girls are in bed, I turn on the Christmas lights and sit on the couch with a cup of tea, or maybe a glass of wine, and watch the flames in the woodstove and the multi colored lights and am as contented as can be. I savor that time. It feeds me.

So what is it about Christmas? The religious aspect. Truthfully, no. I wish I could say it was all about Jesus, but it's not. Jesus is not ignored, but he is not the reason I love Christmas so much. Is it the gifts? No. I love giving, but that's not it. This year gifts were quite sparse as money is very tight, still the entire season was no less. My mom loved Christmas. She was like a little kid about Christmas. The entire house would glow with Christmas. Mom wasn't particularly religious; she wasn't anti-religious, just not overly religious. For her, in fact, her whole life, was about family. That was her religion, her spirituality. Family.

And I'm her daughter.

Thoughts on Reaching 50 Years

2010-10-23T15:45:00.003-06:00

In my normal, roundabout way.

Earlier this summer, my eldest was making plans for her 21st birthday. While most new 21 year olds are out proving they can get as drunk as any idiot, taking all the free drinks the bars offer, my daughter chose to spend her birthday with her family. My daughter chose to spend her 21st birthday with her dad, mom and little sisters. I just had to say that again.

In spite of the mistakes I've made - and they were numerous - my daughters love their family. Having my daughter choose her family to spend her special day with instead of partying with friends might be enough to carry me through for the next 50 years. I don't have any special awards to put on the walls, no public recognition, but my children actually like me and want to spend time with me, and that is all I need. Beats awards all to heck.

And what does that have to with turning 50? Well, as I was pondering the fact that my daughter was turning 21, I turned my mind back to the day she was born. My first pregnancy, my first labor, my first baby. All those memories. Then I thought about how we hadn't rushed into parenthood. In fact, I was a few weeks shy of 29 before my oldest was born. HUH! HALT! Back up there a moment. If I was almost 29, and it's been 21 years, (silent mental math going on here) that makes me a few weeks shy of my 50th birthday.

50? How in the heck did that happen. I knew it was coming, yet it really had not registered. I don't feel 50. I have to force myself to do the computation. Yes. 50. If I went off what I feel, I would guess I'm still in my 30's. Ah! The cruelest joke of all must be time. I'm not depressed over turning 50. More than anything, I'm in awe that it happened so fast. It feels it happened without me being aware of it.

Well, the day has come and gone. Hannah and her boyfriend, Rachael and her husband, Tim and I went out for lunch to one of my favorite sandwich shops. I spent the day with my husband and children. It was quiet. Rather like me. The way I like it. Then it was all over. It just was. Nothing was any different. Yet everything is different.

I remember my dad talking about when he was 50 and how far off 80 seemed. Yet, here he was at 80, and it happened so quick. That cruel trickster again. Have my priorities changed? No. I still want to treasure every moment. I want to not miss a chance to love my family, smile, laugh, cry, enjoy this one wild and precious life.

All I Want Is Justice

2010-08-06T21:49:00.001-06:00

Mark Hurd, CEO of Hewlett-Packard resigned due to unethical conduct. Over the last five years he has earned over $100,000,000. Yup, I counted the zeros. Plus, he will receive over $12 million in a severance payment. Yeah, you read right. He's unethical, funnels money to his lady love, has to resign, and still gets more money on his way out the door. How many people get severance payments when they quit? How many people get severance payments when they're forced to quit due to unethical, illegal activity? Only if you're a CEO.

Twenty-eight years my husband gave to that company. A year after Hurd became CEO my husband finally got cut in one of his massive lay-offs. Bitter? Surprisingly, I haven't been extremely bitter until today. There were so many people losing their jobs, that I never took it personally, and for some reason, never felt bitter. Today is a different story. I am beyond bitter. Just totally ticked off is more like it.

I want justice. Who wants to join me in demanding justice? Anyone?

Oh well. While I'm waiting I'm going to have an icy gin and tonic and a bowl of guacamole.

Me In No Particular Order

2010-07-08T09:25:00.003-06:00

I hate wearing make-up.
I hate wearing pantyhose.
I hate hair gel, hair spray, curling irons.
I hate business/office clothes.
I love my jeans.
I love loose, full, long skirts.
I love cotton blouses.
I love being barefoot.
I love Birkenstocks if I must wear shoes.
I love walking barefoot through the dewey grass in the morning.
I love drinking coffee in my orchard.
I hate arguing, debating.
I love discussions (both sides open to learning).
I love people.
I hate crowds.
I LOVE my children.
I LOVE my husband.
I love walking with my husband, holding his hand, brushing my shoulder against his.
I love thunderstorms.
I love laying in bed with the window open while it rains.
I love laying in the orchard at night with my husband.
I hate discontent.
I hate that we have so many divisions that cannot be put aside for friendship.
I hate touching and looking at raw meat.
I hate warm milk.
I love cucumbers, tomatoes and lettuce from my garden.
I love salads and eat a big one everyday.
I love books.
I love rearranging my books.
I love snuggling.
I hate violent movies.
I love fresh baked bread with butter and homemade peach jam.
I love the feel of a freshly laid warm egg.
I hate fast.
I love slow.
I hate traffic.
I love taking my time.
I love daydreaming.
I hate most sitcoms on TV.
I HATE arguments over religion. Hate, I say.
I love star gazing and letting my mind wander - the possibilities.
I love roads I've never traveled.
I LOVE the ocean.
I love daisies.
I love my home.
I HATE consumerism.
I love finding things I don't need.
I love getting the last itty bit of toothpaste out of the tube.
I love Tolkien.
I love hobbits.

That's all for now.

Why Can't I Get Past All This?

2010-04-20T11:32:00.003-06:00

Spring is here. The weather has been perfect. The yard is shaping up. The orchard is full of color and life. And I'm all depressed. I HATE it. I know only I can change it, but My God, it's hard to move on sometimes. I was not going to write, but many times writing it all out seems to be the only way for me to start moving forward again.

All the recent news about sexual abuse in the Church is difficult but most difficult is the news that hits home. Over the past few years I've been sort of following the news about Fr. Maciel, the Legion of Christ, and particularly, Regnum Christi. Over the years I've been closely involved with people in RC; in fact, no one knows how close I came to joining. I've always been a person that needs to belong to something. I need a tribe. So I go looking. That's how I found RC. For whatever reason, thankfully, something held me back from taking that final plunge. It was that something that never settled quite right with me. Plus, Tim had no interest whatsoever in it, and they were always after both of us although I think they would have taken me alone.

Anyway, for years I've been very closely involved with RC people even though I never joined. I helped with their groups, meetings, etc. My children were involved with their groups: Kids 4 Jesus, Familia, Challenge. I attended their women's meetings for some time. They were my support group even though I stayed on the sidelines. These people were my friends. I care about them. And what I see now absolutely sickens me.

They refuse to acknowledge the truth. Of course, RC still controls what goes into their minds. They read the RC communiques carefully and do whatever they're told. When they're told not to read certain authors, newspapers, blogs, they don't read. Still! How can you overlook and excuse the truth. One family still has Maciel's picture prominently displayed on their dining room wall. I was just reading a blog entry by another friend who was stating how much they still loved and respected Maciel for all the good he had done. Another friend was writing how we're not in a place to judge as we're all sinners. (Yes, we're all sinners but how many of us sexually abuse children, take money of people we've hoodwinked and build an empire?) Many are still hanging onto the fact that John Paul II loved Fr. Maciel, and of course, JPII could never be wrong.

Where does all this take me? Back to religion. The power religion has over people. I'm beginning to think that religion is the most powerful influence that has ever existed. Religion doesn't just deal with life here on earth; it deals with your eternal life. Hell or Paradise with God. Think of that power. Incredible. For several years I've viewed religion as neutral, neither good nor bad. It's power can go either way - great good or great evil. There has been great good done, and there has been great evil done. The deciding factor is human nature. Humans use religion for their own purposes. If there wasn't religion, humans would find some other means to get what they desire.

I'm beginning to wonder now if religion is as impotent, on its own, as I've made it in my mind. Now I wonder if religion, by its very nature of separating and dividing, doesn't tend to bring out the negatives in our nature. We desire to be right, for our truth to be the Truth, and for that to happen we need to be able to point to those who are wrong, whose truth is not the Truth. Religion does that for us.

These are my own personal experiences. How I experienced religion. When I said I was sickened by behavior of friends, what truly sickened me was the knowledge that behavior was my behavior and could still, very easily, be my behavior. I see myself so clearly in them. That is what appalls me and frightens me. I feel as a recovered alcoholic might feel: one drink might land me right back in the gutter. I do not want to fall of the wagon.

Funeral Thoughts

2010-04-15T16:27:00.003-06:00

This has been one of those weeks you don't want to repeat. I'm not sleeping well, my back aches, plus I get so hot I'm tempted to turn on the AC expect for the fact that my husband is snuggled under the down comforter. It seems everyday there has been an interruption, and then last night Tim's mom called to let him know that a man he attended school with for 12 years was killed in a tragic accident. So today found us at his funeral. It was odd - looking around at all the familiar faces it seemed as though it should be a high school reunion, but instead everyone was gathered together to say good-bye to a 52 year old man.

What I hate hearing most at times such as this is 'it's God's will' or 'it must have been his time'. Doesn't work for me. God's will. What a damn cop out. Life is full of tragic accidents, illnesses, untimely deaths. Let's just blame some God that sits up there in heaven for everything. It's just life. The good and the bad. For those people who believe it's God's will, I hope it is a balm for them, that it helps them in their grief. When I have tried to find answers for suffering, unhappiness, grief, it has driven me crazy to the point of depression.

More and more I'm feeling at peace with just letting it be - letting the mystery be. Suffering is. Death is. At the same time happiness is. Joy is. Instead of wasting precious time, of which I don't have enough, in trying to figure out why there is suffering or tragic deaths, I would rather spend my time living each day fully. Enjoying and taking pleasure in EVERY SINGLE MOMENT I HAVE HERE ON EARTH. I want to spend my time listening and being with people/God (same thing for me). No need to go looking for sacrifices - they will present themselves in a way you will not be able to say no to. They'll come.

The one thing funerals seem to scream at me is: slow down, simplify, live slowly and fully, love fully. There is enough in the world that needs love to keep you occupied until the day you die. Actually, Tim and I are doing pretty well. I think we are. Our lives move rather slowly, we don't need a lot, we're a pretty simple couple. We have time - so much more now that's he's not working. Time. Once you sell it, it's gone. All you've got in exchange is the amount for which you agreed to sell it. What a poor substitute. This is my own private revolution against our culture. I will fight it tooth and nail. They can keep their high standard of living, their big, gas guzzling SUV's, huge homes and all the rest of it. And I'll keep my time.

Funerals do have a way of keeping life in perspective.

Sacred Things

2010-04-07T14:22:00.002-06:00

Every once in a while I come across something that just speaks of God to me. This blog and its owner shout out 'God'. His compassion, love, generosity and spirit makes my soul swell to the point I think it might burst. Even if one isn't religious or spiritual, I have to think they would be touched. So do yourself a favor, and visit his blog. You will be impacted and challenged.

2010-03-29T09:29:00.004-06:00

I've been feeling down lately. There has been more nastiness going on in my extended world. Why oh why do people have to look for reasons to exclude other people? And what gives you more reasons than you need to exclude someone? Religion, of course. Every time it happens, I feel as though I've slugged in my soul. How do you get away from it? Or how do you become immune to it?

On a much happier note, my daughter and son-in-law are here. It looks as though my daughter will be staying and looking for a job. As soon as she finds a job, her husband will be moving here; he is currently a long-haul truck driver. They were planning on moving here by this summer anyway since my daughter will be starting school again in the fall, but if she has a job, it will be much easier for her hubby to quit.

My beautiful daughter and handsome son-in-law. I love them both so much. Isn't it wonderful the way families grow?

My two oldest, beautiful daughters (actually I have five beautiful daughters). Sisters and best friends. I do feel proud and accomplished. Plus, I really like them. A couple of wonderful young women.

Out With the New...

2010-03-18T16:15:00.007-06:00

and in with the old. I have been known to get rid of new items in favor of old ones. New items don't have stories. They're empty. They have yet to be handled by human hands, used, adored or even disliked. I much prefer 'things' that have been used, that have memories. Even if it's something I picked up at a thrift store, and never knew who owned before me, I can still fill in memories with my imagination. I have quite a few things that belonged to my mom and dad. There are many items I let slip through my fingers after my dad died. At the time I thought I was avoiding issues, but I so wish I kept some of them. But who knows. Maybe they are now sitting on someone's shelf who appreciates used items with spirit.

My mom and dad had this bowl for as long as I can remember. Perhaps they used it in the restaurant they owned at the time I was born. I have vivid memories of my dad eating popcorn out of this bowl. This is the bowl he always used for his sourdough pancakes, and it is now used for my sourdough pancakes.

My dad's grill. My newer grill burned out, but his old grill still cooks up a good batch of pancakes.

And we will eat the pancakes on plates that belonged to my parents on a table that was in their kitchen. This is the table where my parents argued over the crossword puzzle every morning: mom always got it first so she could get her few answers in before dad finished it up. This is the table where I ate the last dinner my mom ever cooked. This is the table where I sat with my dad, crying, the morning after mom died.

See what I mean? They have stories. They have memories. These are sacred items.

Coming Out....

2010-03-14T11:37:00.003-06:00

There's one message board I visit daily. Mainly, it's a place for me to discuss curriculum. In addition there's a general forum where people just chat - sometimes pleasantly, sometimes not so pleasantly. I would guess the breakdown on the board is probably 80% conservative Christian, 10% the other kind of Christians (not fundamentalist, more liberal) and 10% non-Christian. It's not a religious board, but since it's for homeschoolers, that's the reality. The secular homeschooling population is quickly growing, and it's likely that representation on the board is more than 10%, but not everyone posts regularly so it's hard to tell.

Recently there has been a flood of religious posts most of which end up getting closed. I think the moderation is a little strict, since we're all adults, but it's their message board. In the past, in religious threads, I have identified myself as a Catholic Christian. I've also been involved in discussions where I've talked about my journey. Yesterday, someone asked non-Christians (Pagans, Buddhists, Wiccans, etc.) to talk about their beliefs. Well, I did it. I posted about the quiz I took and little about how my belief in 'God' has changed over the years.

That might seem like a little thing, but it was a huge step for me. It was with anxiety and some fear that I clicked submit. It's not at all unusual for the 'louder' of the conservative Christian group to jump in and, not discuss, but argue. It goes without saying that they are absolutely, without a doubt, right, and everyone else is wrong, so having a enlightening discussion is a forlorn hope. Just to say I'm feeling rather proud of myself right now. One step at a time: first, be honest with yourself and branch out from there.

One other thing. Last night we went to another parish for Mass (due to the main road being blocked heading north). The pastor of this parish has the reputation of being the most liberal priest around - with our regular pastor coming in second. The main point of all this is: I loved his sermon. In all my years I had never heard the parable of The Prodigal Son explain in such a way. I felt full of love when I walked out. Even more than that, I felt so full of love and felt so sure that God is Love that I even went to communion which I haven't been doing for some time. I'm going to quit here before I start talking about something that will depress me.

Forward Progress

2010-03-06T16:07:00.001-07:00

A year ago there was a poll posted on a message board I visit. It led you to beliefnet.com where you can complete a survey, and it will match you with the right faith according to your beliefs. I remember struggling with the questions – my finger tapping the mouse nervously, moving the pointer between the ‘right’ answer and my answer. In the end I chickened out and clicked the ‘right’ answer. When I completed it, I clicked submit, and what do you think? I passed the test. Yes, it was a test for me: to see if I could be faithful in my answers even when my mind was in total doubt. It matched me to Roman Catholicism 100%. The next was Eastern Orthodox.

This week this same survey popped up in a thread I was involved in. I clicked over there and stared at the questions. I was nervous. I think my clicking finger was shaking. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and clicked. This time, not the ‘right’ answer, but my answer, from my heart. Moved on to the next question and did the same. It wasn’t easy. I felt cold all over. Is this how a traitor feels? But I did it and clicked submit. My eyes were squeezed shut because I was still afraid to see the verdict. Would I pass or would I fail. Or would I be able to recognize failure as my own personal victory? I opened my eyes slowly, and there it was before me. My feelings were all over the place. There was no going back. I must move forward. So I will publicize it. Tell the truth to the whole internet world, which is relatively safe, since my entire internet world here consists of a handful of people. Braver than I was a year ago.

100% - Neo-Pagan
98% - Liberal Quaker

And at the very bottom…

Eastern Orthodox and
Roman Catholic

I think they both had around 2%.

So, what do I do with this? Neo-Pagan? Hmmm. I know some very nice Pagan people on line. This helps. My favorite sister-in-law is a liberal Quaker, and I don’t think there is a nicer, more compassionate, respectful person walking the earth right now. Okay. Pretty good company so far.

This time I was honest, or as honest as you can be with multiple choice answers that don’t quite pinpoint you. Still, it wasn’t the answer I wanted. You see, I want to answer the questions honestly, from my soul, but I want the answer on the bottom to be on the top. But it doesn’t work that way. If I’m honest, I don’t get the result I want. To get the result I want, I have to ignore my heart, my mind, my reason. Is that what belief and faith amount to? So I felt sad.

Then I felt happy. I had passed a big hurdle. I had passed a personal test. It took courage and resolve and faith. Faith in myself.

I’m moving forward.

God

2010-02-26T10:24:00.000-07:00

It’s hard for me to write or talk openly about very private matters, and beliefs are very, very private for me. I feel afraid. My thoughts, when I go back over them, seem sometimes rather silly. Not very educated nor intellectual. I’m trying to get over that. When something strikes me a certain way, I want to remember it. I’m getting braver about saying I believe… even though I know many find will find it silly or ridiculous. It takes a lot of courage for me to say these things out loud – understanding that the internet is as out loud as I get.
There’s this movie that we’ve watched on several occasions. Each time I have nothing less than a spiritual awakening. The movie is The Straight Story. Richard Farmsworth (Matthew from Anne of Green Gables) plays the part of Alvin Straight who is making a trip ‘his way’ to see his estranged brother. It’s one of those heartwarming movies that makes you cry, smile and laugh all at the same time, and leaves you feeling uplifted for days afterward. But it’s much more than that for me.
Alvin is no-one important, at least by our culture’s measuring stick. He not well-educated, a common laborer, maybe not even the nicest man around. He admits he used to drink and he was mean when he drank. But his story, for me, is the epitome of human spirit.
We watched the movie this last weekend, and this time it finally dawned on me why this movie always leaves me feeling I’ve had a spiritual epiphany. It’s a movie about God. Alvin is on a pilgrimage – a pilgrimage to honor God, to honor the human spirit. That’s it. The human spirit, that something that can never adequately be described with words: the passion, emotion, conviction, courage, lust, desire, love, hatred, determination, that spirit. That is God. Human spirit is God. God is human spirit.
Have I just raised man to the level of godhood? Or have I lowered God to the level of manhood? Or is there any difference?

If I Could Do It Over...

2010-02-23T17:17:00.002-07:00

A couple weeks ago (post football season) my dh was sitting at the kitchen table with his coffee looking very pensive. I asked him what his thoughts were. He said that if he had it to do over he would choose to not get involved with football. (He's a self-proclaimed fanatic.) I smiled, nodded and said I understood. He gave me a questioning look, and I said if I had it to do over I would not get involved with religion. He smiled and gave me an understanding nod.

We understand each other so well.

Powerful Words

2010-02-12T19:47:00.002-07:00

From "The Voices"

The rich and the fortunate do well to keep silent,
for no one cares to know who and what they are.
But those in need must reveal themselves,
must say: I am blind,
or: I'm on the verge of going blind,
or: nothing goes well with me on earth,
or: I have a sickly child,
or: I have little to hold me together ...

And chances are this is not nearly enough.

And because people try to ignore them as they
pass by them: these unfortunate ones have to sing!

And at times one hears some excellent singing!

Of course, people differ in their tastes: some would
prefer to listen to choirs of boy-castrati.

But God Himself comes often and stays long,
when the castrati's singing disturbs Him.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~

Traditions

2010-02-02T21:06:00.003-07:00

traditions keep me grounded. They're my constant. We have many traditions, ones that my husband and I have forged together. They're directional signs, keeping me on the right path. Security. Some rather silly, some more serious, and some very secret.

Always on Groundhog Day, we watch Groundhog Day. Every year. In our room with the girls on the floor. They expect it. I expect it. Husband expects it. One of life's anchors.

Life

2010-01-30T10:25:00.002-07:00

One nice thing about a blog that almost nobody reads is that I feel freer to write my thoughts on some very controversial subjects. I do not care to debate. I don't have answers. I have many, many questions. Writing it out helps me.

It became clear to me, after participating in the Right to Life March and listening to the speakers this year, that there is a huge divide between what being pro-life means to me and what it means to many who wear the label pro-life. This has been eating at me all week, and I’ve finally decided I need to sort it out – for my own sanity, you know.

Over the last five years or so it has become more apparent that many pro-life people (the vocal ones) do not speak for me. First off, I want to say that I am PRO-LIFE. However, I’m beginning to think that many of the pro-life people are more anti-abortion than pro-life. I’ve come to this opinion based on attending pro-life marches and rallies, being on numerous e-mailing lists, reading the writings of pro-life leaders.

Anyway, I want to get down what I mean when I say I’m pro-life.

Pro-life is huge. See the word LIFE in there. That is from beginning (conception) to end (death). Taking life as a whole, the time in the womb is the shortest part. Extremely important, but very, very small compared to the rest of life. Pro-life is supporting life. Inside the womb as well as outside. When we narrow pro-life to being anti-abortion, we remove the largest part of life. (I can already see arguments and problems with my reasoning, but I’m still working on it.)

So let’s address abortion by itself. I don’t believe we will ever see Roe v Wade overturned. In fact, I’m not sure that is the best way to fight abortion. We would probably end up with more people accused of crimes (according to the law) than our already overloaded court system can deal with. Women aren’t going to stop seeking abortions, and there are doctors who are going to provide them. Making something illegal doesn’t solve the underlying problem. What is the underlying problem? Wish I knew. The pro-life answer is probably a lack of respect for human life, not seeing the sanctity of human life. I see a definite lack of respect for humanity – worldwide – from the unborn to the aged and everything in between. It’s more than that. On a practical level then, what do we do? Try to reduce the number of abortions. Envision a world where abortion is rarely used. How? A few starters might be:

Education. Girls and boys educated about sex. Not just on a physical level, but on an emotional level, too. Teach respect. Can you even do that? We could try. I have personally seen much negativity being taught about sex among conservative Christians, but that’s for another time.

Contraceptives. Make them easily available and affordable. My insurance doesn’t cover contraceptives. Part of me thinks: why don’t you just use birth control? It’s so easy. Maybe it’s not so easy, though. Then I know people who have said they would be more upset and concerned over their child using birth control than having pre-marital sex. My daughter was getting birth control from PP, and it didn’t seem that cheap to me – especially for a young woman who doesn’t make much money. Again, boys need to be taught that they are also responsible for contraceptives.

Support. That young girl that is pregnant? She needs your help. From health care to maybe shelter, food, work, and a shoulder to cry on. I keep hearing about crisis pregnancy centers. Those are great, but I don’t know of any locally that provide health care, probably due to a lack of funding. They have clothes and referrals, but those girls need health care, during and after the birth. And I swear the next time somebody spouts off personal responsibility, I’m going to smack them.

I’m willing to listen to other thoughts. As long as it's not preaching.

Last week I spent an hour listening to pro-life speakers. Their main (only ?) concern this year was that we defeat health care reform. I heard nothing about education (many are opposed to sex education in schools), I never hear anything about making contraceptives more available (there would be problems with the Catholic and some evangelical pro-lifers), and I hear little about support. It’s always political.

Another thing. The pro-life movement seems to be a Christian movement; in fact, a conservative, evangelical Christian movement. While they were decrying health care reform (will increase abortions by the millions and elderly people will be dying off by the thousands), they didn’t miss a chance to encourage people to spread the Gospel of Jesus while they were campaigning against ‘Obama care’. I personally have met several Muslim and Jewish women, over message boards, who would like to be part of a pro-life movement, but find it impossible due to religion. I’ve even met a few non-religious people who self-identify as pro-life but want nothing to do with Christian groups. Shouldn’t we be reaching across the path to the other side? Is life only important to Christians?

With all the flack going on about Tim Tebow’s ad during the Super Bowl, I did a little reading. His mother was in the Philippines while pregnant with him. I think abortion is illegal there, so I’m not really sure if abortion would have been a legal choice. I’m positive even if she were here in the US, she would not have chosen to abort. I admire her choice. That’s fine. But. Just because everything worked out fine for her, there are many women in similar circumstances (major health issues) where things didn’t work out so well. Not everybody gets a miracle (regardless of faith, religion or how hard they pray).

While abortion is severely restricted in the Philippines, many women choose to abort and many end up in the hospital due to lack of proper care during and after the abortion. I found an article about a woman who went to an older woman for an abortion. She performed the abortion through massage (crushing the baby???). This lady bled for a week afterwards. She was begging God to forgive her. Why did she do it? Because she didn’t know how she was going to feed another baby. The one thing that becomes more and more apparent as I get older, is that life is not black and white. It’s rather a beautiful color of gray. I didn’t sleep well after reading that article. No-one should sleep well after reading an article like that. Especially pro-lifers.

Then there was the woman who found out that her baby was developing with only a partial skull and no brain. The answer I read? That we (including her) needed to learn to love sitting at the foot of the cross with Christ. Somehow, that just isn’t a good answer. This woman and her husband did decide to abort. Answers to these problems are not easy nor are they always black and white. I know what the Christian pro-lifer says about this, but I’m not clear what God is saying. The one thing I think both sides could agree upon is creating a world where abortion is rarely chosen. But to do that, you truly have to support LIFE.

Pro-life also means to me:

I’m opposed to the death penalty.

I’m opposed to war (although this appears to be a pipe dream).

I’m opposed to oppression, by religions, governments, the rich. Remove oppression, and we might be a good way towards eradicating war.

I believe people have a right, simply due to their humanity, to basic health care, clean water, food, simple shelter.

I believe in personal responsibility. I also believe in responsibility for the whole of humanity. I am responsible for my own actions. I am also responsible for humanity. I am inseparable from the whole of humanity. When humanity suffers, I suffer.

I would love to go to a pro-life rally that truly supports life.

Tea Memories

2010-01-20T17:25:00.004-07:00

I come from a long line of tea drinkers. My great-grandmother (who refused to give up tea during her Mormon days), my grandmother, my mother, and now me. Drinking tea is such a spiritual act. To serve tea to a friend is an act of love. Drinking tea is a simple act that fills my soul with peace. Drinking tea is sacred.

My brother-in-law from China will serve tea to family and friends when he is here. The process is quite detailed and takes time. There is no rushing tea. When he has served me tea, I feel special, cared for, honored.

Tea at our house is nothing as elaborate as his teas, but they are still sacred. Even a cup with a tea bag and some boiling water is special. Every day I try to take time to have tea and let my mind clear for a few moments.

When I drink tea, I am drinking tea with several generations of women in my family. I am not alone. The last thing I ever said to my mom was, "I'll drop by tomorrow and we'll have tea". And we do.

Trusting Myself

2010-01-16T13:30:00.002-07:00

I often ponder why it is that I seem incapable of trusting myself with my own spiritual journey. For crying out loud, I'm 49 years old. I've been married, successfully, for 24 years; I've given birth to 5 children, two grown and gone from home; I've buried both my parents; I've worked through grief. I have trusted myself to make many big decisions, decisions which could have had huge ramifications for my family. I've made decisions about my career, I've made big financial decisions, I've made parenting decisions (the biggest ones yet), I even made the decision to educate my children myself. I've trusted myself in making decisions that impact others' lives. Yet when it comes to trusting myself to find my own way spiritually, I end up feeling totally inadequate, not capable, not trustworthy.

All my life I was told to stand on my own two feet, make my own decisions, think for myself. I come from a long line of very strong women. Women who made their own decisions and made their own way. Liberated before their time women. Yet, when it came to matters of faith, I never heard that lesson. Yes, I was told I had to make my own decisions and that I had free will, but underneath those words you fully understood that the decision of faith had only two outcomes: truth and the right way or lies and the wrong way. So in the end, you weren't really free since if you made a choice other than the true one, you would find yourself headed to hell. It's so easy to say 'you need to follow your own conscience but if you choose anything else than our way, your damned'. Yeah, lot to choose from.

Add to that the belief that I was flawed, weak, given to sin, easily led astray by any temptation, and that the only way I could ensure my soul was safe was to follow the teachings of the church, irregardless of whether I understood or believed them, I'm pretty much crippled when it comes to trusting my inner voice. The last time I discussed this with another person, his strong suggestion was that I find myself a spiritual adviser, and quick. They would listen, make sure I wasn't falling into error, and it would be someone on the side of my soul. The suggestion didn't help much. Sure, go to someone, bare my soul, have them tell me I'm being led astray (as I know they would if they were a devout Catholic - they would have no choice), that I need to keep believing in spite of my doubt. That I need to humble myself and be obedient to the church's teachings. Basically, don't' listen to your own voice, it's not trustworthy. No thank you. I've already been there.

Of course, I've been surrounded by ultra-conservative, radical, orthodox Catholics. The real Catholics. Not those false Catholics that are trying to tear down the church. Yeah, whatever. I have completely removed myself from them. Still, I can't shake it. I've given very brief thought to asking our Pastor if he would give me a little time. This is a priest that those conservative Catholics run from as though he's the devil incarnate. However, I'm not very comfortable with him. He's not, or certainly doesn't seem, approachable. Frankly, I don't want to talk to anyone that has all the answers. Lately, every Christian I meet, has all the answers. The truth is their way.

I think it's time for me to grow up and start accepting responsibility for my own faith life, whether right or wrong. It's time to quit blaming others for my inability to trust myself. I have the power to choose to listen to myself, find my own God, a God that I'm comfortable with. In fact, I do believe it is each person's own responsibility to do this, to be personally responsible for what they believe.

I just wish I could embrace this journey with excitement and without fear.

Thoughts....

2010-01-14T15:04:00.002-07:00

Is it possible to walk away from religion, deconstruct your entire faith, start over at the beginning, and end up with any faith at all?

Sometimes I have this uneasy, very distressing feeling, that the atheists are right....

I don't like that feeling. At all.

New Year's ....

2010-01-03T16:19:00.002-07:00

Resolutions? Goals? Promises? Pursuits?

I don't care for any of them. Maybe pursuits. I will pursue:

Peace with what I know and what I believe right now, and peace with the knowledge that what I know and what I believe might very well be different by the end of 2010.

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.

2008-03-19T10:48:00.000-06:00

I just returned from the dentist with a numb mouth and tongue; they feel five times their normal size. The pasta salad I was looking forward to isn't tasting right, so I thought I'd type for a few minutes while the girls are otherwise occupied.

I'm a romantic. I romanticize things. I dream about living in a little cottage (could be Ireland, maybe England), surrounded by my gardens, a few sheep, goats and chickens. Life is simple. I grow my own food, I have no need for fancy gadgets or clothes. I have my books. The hearth is in the center of the house, and my tea kettle is always ready. Here in this place I can ignore Iraq, terrorism, race relations, CEO's with $40 million salaries and just focus on the good. My husband would do well here, too. He was not cut out for this fast paced life in the consumeristic society; we call him 'Pa Ingalls'. He could dig in the dirt, care for the animals and have his solitary time he so desperately needs. I can picture this. I swear I can even taste and smell it. The vision is that vivid. But then I open my eyes, and here I sit with a fat lip, a pain in my jaw, health insurance issues, job insecurity (at the age of 50 in my husband's case), taxes plus everything else. That old voice starts to creep in saying something like, "The Lord never promised you happiness here on earth." But now I'm telling it to shut up and go away. I'm not listening to it as much.

When I was about 19 or so I decided I wanted to be a nun. I think it had a lot to do with In This House of Brede. I would live in a convent in the country, I would till the ground, I would eat simple meals, and I would have my books. All of them. Until my dad pointed out that I might not be able to take all my books (in the 100's). In his day nuns renounced those material possessions. Renounce books. That stopped me in my tracks. Then when I was 21 I met Tim. It didn't take long to acknowledge that the celibate life wasn't for me. And I never looked back.

Of course I romanticized the religious life just as I romanticized the married life. All in all though, the married life has been good. I'm fortunate. Ups and downs are inevitable when you've got a male and female living together. We are different, and isn't that the beauty of it. I've never believed in soul mates. The idea that there's one person out there who is my soul mate is not reasonable to me. How in the world could I find him? But, you know, over the years Tim has become my soul mate. We've grown into it. I have had friends in bad marriages; they truly were miserable. Some divorced, some would not consider divorce and tried to make the best of it, but they're not content or happy. I don't know the answer. But it does make me wonder how Tim and I came together. Was it coincidence? Was it prayer? Just simple luck - in the right place at the right time? I don't know the answer but the romantic side of me likes to think it was prayer and a connecting energy that brought us together.

Where was I going with this? Oh, how I romanticize things. Well, the religious life was out. Marriage was in. I needed to find my spot, my spiritual spot. I've always felt this need to be centered spiritually. I need to feel peace and contentment. But I think I tried to force things that looked good on other people to fit me instead of just being silent and listening to me.

Through Tim I met a woman who was married to his friend. She was a convert to the church and totally devoted to Mary. She started asking me to prayer groups, and since I'm always looking for where I fit in, I would go with her. They were usually wrapped up in some Marian apparition and would discuss that, read messages from Mary, say the rosary. That type of thing. What I really looked forward to was the the coffee and conversation afterwards. They were nice women, and I enjoyed our time together. I didn't mind praying the rosary with other ladies because that way I wouldn't fall asleep. It felt good. Around 1990 we decided to go to Medjugorea. I will be honest. I was excited about going because I love traveling, seeing new things, experiencing how others live. I wasn't either a believer or a disbeliever in the apparitions. I went because it's exciting to get on a plane and head out.

It was a good trip. Everybody around me had this hyper type devotion to Mary. I did not. I tried, and it never happened. Everybody wanted something to happen: the sun to dance in the sky, hear voices, mysterious pictures to appear. I was just enjoying my time. Now while I was there two things happened to me. I've never really talked about them to anyone other than my husband. By the way he finds it easy to believe in miracles; I'm more the cynic.

The first thing that happened was this: I standing with my tour group, probably 50 people. We were gathered in the street underneath the balcony of a house where one of the visionaries lived. She was standing on the balcony, talking to the crowd. I don't remember what she was saying. Anyway, as I was standing there, suddenly this incredibly strong scent of roses surrounded me. No one had walked away, no one had joined the group. In fact, no one was moving; they were are rooted to the spot listening to this girl talk through interpretor. The scent was so strong I thought I might have a hay fever attack. I looked around me, and no one seemed aware of anything. They were all looking at the girl. As far as I could tell, it was just me. The only person I ever shared this with was my husband. He's always maintained it was a gift from Mary.

The second happening. I had this medal that my parents had given me when I was in high school. It was a Miraculous Medal made out of pewter. I always wore it. Probably more so because my parents gave it to me rather than having some devotion to the Immaculate Conception of St. Catherine Laboure. It was a couple days before we leaving to return home, and my friend looked at me and asked where I had bought the new medal. I hadn't bought a new medal; it was the same old one. She thought it was new because it was gold. Sure enough, it didn't look pewter, it looked gold. Now a lot of people were saying their rosaries were turning gold and such, but there was no denying that my medal was a different color. The medal not only turned gold (color) but the link that connected it to the chain was gold also. The chain was the same. Some years later I was leaning over a chain link fence and caught the medal on it. When I jerked up the it pulled the medal off. I found the medal but could never find the link so I put a new one on. It was silver, just like my old chain. The next day the link was gold. Well, the medal was old and wearing thin. I was afraid where it would wear through where it connected to the link. I took it to a jewelry shop, and they tried filling it in but I always worried about it. So I put it in a special drawer.

When my dad was in the hospital the first time and they thought there was no way he could survive, I needed something desperately. I didn't know what that something was, but for some reason I went to my armoire and opened that drawer. There was my medal, still gold. I put it on. Throughout the day I would constantly pray that prayer: "O Mary, conceived with sin, pray for us who have recourse to Thee." My dad recovered. I still have my medal, in the drawer. I looked at it the other day. The chain is gone. The medal is still a gold color. I haven't felt that need for it, so it waits.

Anyway, back to the story. After we got back, the women seemed to get more and more fanatical. They lived by the messages. They fasted on certain days, said prayers a certain amount of times. It became unbelievably legalistic. I felt that some of them had moved from devotion to worship. Catholics are always being accused of worshiping Mary, and, of course, Catholics will say they only worship God. I'm not sure how I feel about this. I have met some people who call Mary a Goddess. I still don't know. I'm thinking. And I'm getting sidetracked again.

Back to the story. Then some of them got into Garabandal after a man spoke at a local church about those apparitions. They were a little too out there for me. In fact, they made me down right uneasy. I started to drift away. The conversation at coffee after the prayer group was always about 3 days of darkness, or a cloud pillar in the sky, or the end of the world. I was expecting any moment for one of them to start talking about the rapture. It wasn't working anymore.

About this time this same friend asked me to a new prayer group. It sounded a little more grounded so I went. They were called cenacles and focused around a Fr. Gobbi - I think, the memory fails. He was an Italian priest who received messages from Mary. I remember reading these messages and some of them not sitting well with me. They always focused on sin and hell and being good and heaven. I know one of them said something about Mohhamed and the anti-Christ and the year 666. Again, not for me. But one thing came out of this. I met the woman who become my closest friend. The cenacles were held at her house.

She was a mom of 5, I was a mom of 2 at the time. She homeschooled, and I was planning on homeschooling. She liked to sew, cook, bake bread, garden. I did too. So shortly I romanticizing the 'little woman' role. I was still working at the time but was planning on quitting and she encouraged me in this. We became very close friends. She, too, drifted away from the Marian apparitions and finally stopped having the cenacle at her house. She was more of the intellectual type. She read Aquinas, studied encyclicals, was raising her children to be apologists and save the church from the Satan led liberals. Well, it was also easy for me to romanticize that. Saving the church. Sacrificing myself for the good of the church. Noble. And she and her friends got together weekly to talk, discuss, drink coffee and eat pie. I had found a new group. Little did I know that this one would be catalyst for me falling away from traditional Catholicism and Christianity.

My kids need some snuggling and a book. I need a cup of tea. This computer needs a rest. So until later....

2008-03-17T06:59:00.000-06:00

My mind was wandering yesterday as I was pondering all the thoughts that have been bombarding me lately. I was trying to see why I'm so uncomfortable trying to speak to my husband about what I'm thinking. Just now I went back and read that long diatribe I wrote yesterday, and while it is true from my perspective, I think it is also true that I'm afraid to open up. My husband married this dedicated, loyal, to the letter of the law type Catholic woman, and he probably thought that was what I would remain. I think I'm afraid of him being disappointed with me, feeling as though I let him down, that I've betrayed him somehow. I'm afraid of how he will receive what I'm going through.

After dinner last night I told him I really needed to say some things to him. I was embarrassed and timid, plus I didn't want to make him feel he needed to get defensive - which I'm not good at. But I finally just dove in. He listened. He let me talk. He looked at me with concern and love. When I told him I could not teach catechism to the younger girls, he didn't get upset. He asked me what I could do, I said I could teach them about this God that is full of love, that we need to open up to this awesome spirit that connects all of us. I said I couldn't focus on heaven, hell, mortal sin, rewards or punishments, but I could focus on how we treat all people. I said I couldn't teach that the bible was divinely inspired, but that it was written by men who were trying to find answers to their own lives, trying to find their way and make sense out of the sufferings. He nodded his head. Then we talked some more, and I mentioned to him some of the questions/problems I have with traditional Christianity, and he nodded. Then he told me he had some questions himself, but that if he didn't think about them, and I didn't mention them, he could ignore them. I smiled because I knew that. We went for another walk. And I felt safe with sharing my intimate thoughts with him. It's been a long time since I felt safe doing that. Maybe I can open up even more in the future, but I think it best if I don't dump too much on him.

Right now the twins are in Rel. Ed. so they can make their First Communion next year. I need to get them through that. I really can't rock the boat too much right now. However, I feel relieved he heard me and accepted what I said. I wish I still didn't have moments of panic where I'm afraid I'll end up in hell - whatever hell might be - and I wish I could learn to trust my inner voice. It's hard. This journey has taken more faith in a loving spirit than I ever needed to follow black and white rules that were laid out for me by someone else. I feel I'm getting stronger, but it's been a long, windy, bumpy path.

Sunday Thoughts

2008-03-16T15:35:00.000-06:00

I want tell about what happened today, but I need to get these thoughts straight in my mind. I've talked about how my husband doesn't really want to hear about my faith/religious/spiritual struggles; that they make him uncomfortable, he doesn't know what to say or how to help me. I also believe - my belief - that he doesn't want to hear my struggles because then he might have a few of his own. Well, today I felt a need to say something to him, but first I'm backing up a bit.

Since I started this journey I have told my husband in a very point blank, plain English type way that I'm having a faith crisis. Probably a half dozen times. This would be over 4 or 5 years. A couple of them I remember vividly. One evening we were sitting outside and the conversation wandered over into the realm of God. I felt the urge to share some of thoughts so I started talking, a little, because I wasn't confident about sharing too much. Finally I looked at him and said, "Tim, I having a faith crisis." He just looked at me. He didn't respond. After a minute or so he looked out at the orchard and commented that he needed to finish picking up the slash.

Another time was last August. I wrote it down in my daytimer. We were in KMart of all places. I don't remember what led the conversation to God, but something pushed my buttons and I told him I didn't feel he really heard me. Of course, he reassures me that he hears and listens and cares. Then I asked why he never asked how I was doing? That people I've never met who live across the country show more concern about my faith, or loss of faith, than he does. Somewhere in here I blurted out I wasn't even sure if I believed Jesus was divine, the son of God, in the traditional Christian understanding. He asked what he could do. I told him to pray for me. He said he does, and I believe that. Then I asked him to check with me once in awhile, ask how the journey was going. He said he would. As of today he's never asked.

One other time, last summer. I'm not sure if it was before or after my KMart meltdown, but we were standing in the kitchen. I told him I saw that he clearly didn't want to talk about religion or spirituality or any problems pertaining thereto. He admitted he really didn't. Then he said to me that he believed in God and that he went to church because it was the right thing to do, but other than that he didn't want to go down any of those "man made rat holes". Okay. So I don't say much to him.

Now today I felt the need to say something about where I'm at right now because he needs to understand what I'm capable of giving and what I'm not capable of giving in terms of passing on faith, religious education with our girls. Backing up again, about a year ago or maybe longer ago than that, our second oldest daughter was really balking at taking part in some religious activities. She absolutely refused to go to confession, and I supported her choice in that. I think my husband felt he was losing any control he had over this family, and we ended up in an argument about it. Not what I wanted to happen, but I felt it important he not try and force her to go to confession - not that in the end he actually could but he was trying everything he could think of. I finally got him to admit that you can't force someone to confess, or be sorry, that it must come from the person's heart. So in the end he dropped it but not until there were a couple unpleasant moments. When he was young he was forced into things, and I believe we often fall back on these default modes when pressured.

Anyway, there were others issues with our daughter, and we decided to take her out to dinner so we could talk. While we were there he started in on God, mortal sin, heaven, hell, church with her. She told us how she felt about religion, church. She told us the questions she had and the things that she just couldn't believe. Her dad wanted to make a point with her, but it started getting uncomfortable. She looked at me, pleading, wanting me to stop it. Then he looked at me expecting me to say something to back him up. And I couldn't. I just said that the conversation wasn't going anywhere and we should let it go so we could have a pleasant evening.

Later that evening at home he 'sort of' jumped on me for not saying something to her. He actually expected me to start lecturing her about theology, Catholic doctrine and tell her what was what, what was right, what was wrong. It was then that I realized he truly didn't understand that I couldn't do that. Either he had never truly heard me, or he didn't believe me maybe thinking I was just being an emotional female or making a mountain out of a molehill, but that whatever the case, he didn't not accept that I was having a real faith breakdown. I remember standing by the bed and the tears flowing down my face. Of course that wasn't what he wanted to happen, and he immediately felt bad. I just told him I couldn't talk right then.

The next day we went for a walk together, alone. I stopped, asked him to stop, and looked at him. Made eye contact. Then I asked what part of 'having a faith crisis' he didn't understand. I was angry, I was hurt, and I decided he needed to see that anger and hurt. He told me that he didn't know. I told him very clearly that I couldn't lecture Rachael because her questions were my questions, the issues she was having, I was having. If he wanted her to be lectured, he was going to have to do it, but I truly, truly believed that God, Jesus or whomever never wanted religion to be a source of tension in families. Since then he's pretty much let it drop. Fortunately Rachael, the daughter I'm talking about, has never refused to go Mass. She goes without too much complaint for which I'm glad because I don't know what her dad would do if she refused. He's dropped saying anything about confession and overall, I think relationships have improved drastically.

What's interesting about this is this daughter could run circles around him when it comes Catholic doctrine and teaching. When she was growing up, I made sure she got her daily dose of catechism. We studied and memorized and talked. I made sure my girls were the best catechized of any group because after all, they were going to save the church from the liberals. And, no, I don't have to ask why she's burned out and tired of religion.

I want to say that my husband is a kind, loving man. I love my husband. I have a very good marriage. I think we become complacent with one another, take each other for granted. He took my faith for granted. Just as I've done the same with him. Also, I know he has his own faith issues, but I don't know how much I want to talk about that since that's his story and not mine. I think I'll mention his faith as I see it relating to me, but I could never say exactly what he believes, doesn't believe because that's his faith.

Well, time moved forward and here we are. I restrain from talking to him about what I'm thinking. A few times we've had a good conversation about God, spirituality, just naturally, not me instigating it or bring my issues into it. But last night while we were at Mass I looked over at him, and it hit me again that I still don't believe he has accepted what I'm going through. I could almost swear that he thinks things are back at the status quo. I'm at Mass, I don't say too much of anything, we're going forward as if everything is normal. But it's not. And we still have three younger children coming along, and he's probably thinking that I'm teaching them everything Christian and Catholic. But I'm not because I just can't right now. And he should know that. I don't want him thinking I'm doing something that I'm not doing. He could be taking it for granted that I'm teaching and sharing with Catholicism and faith with the younger girls as I did with the older two. I don't want someday for him to look at me and say, "I thought you were catechizing them."

So I thought I would talk to him today. I asked him to go for a walk with me, but nothing worked out. He seemed frustrated and cranky with people, and that negative energy seemed to engulf me, and I lost my confidence that I could speak kindly, without making him defensive. So I didn't say anything. And it's all building up inside of me right now. This is my journey, my path. I'm not upset with him, he didn't do this to me. I just need to share it. Maybe I'll try tomorrow.

Well, my girls are after me to get the corned beef on the table. We're celebrating St. Paddy's Day early since everyone is home. I'll think and write more later.

Does God Abandon Us?

2008-03-14T07:38:00.000-06:00

My daughter, Abra, takes piano lessons from our parish DRE for elementary. She is a wonderful woman. My daughter loves her gentle nature and teaching. Plus the teacher loves having Abra once a week for lessons. I truly believe she looks forward to Thursday afternoons when she walks across the hall from her office and enjoys some music. A win-win situation. This lady has been having a very difficult time lately with several issues including depression, financial, an unwell husband. Added to that her sister is dying from cancer.

Yesterday she asked us to pray for her sister. I said, of course we will. I thought perhaps she had gotten worse. Then she explained that her sister is an atheist. She was asking for prayers that her sister would let God in before she dies. Again, I said of course we will pray for your sister to open her whole being to God. Then I said, "But you know, just because your sister says she doesn't need God doesn't mean God has abandoned your sister. God would never abandon any of us." But, you know, I don't think she believes that.

She didn't say this, but this is the feeling she left me with. That unless her sister makes a decision to believe/accept God's existence, that she is all alone, God isn't with her. For God to be with her, she will have to mentally make a decision to open her heart and ask God in.

I do not believe that.

How could God not be a part of us. He is in us. We have God in us. We are part of God. He could not abandon this woman. Also looking at God as Father, how could a Perfectly Loving father abandon his child? As a mother, I could never abandon my children. In the end, that door would always be open and my love would always be there. Even if my child denied me, I would still be there.

How many people view God this way? As a God 'up there', looking down on us here on Earth. They must view God as separate from us. Does our piano teach truly believe that if her sister dies without accepting God, she will not go to heaven. Does she believe God would send her sister to hell? I was afraid to ask. Not only because it's a very touch subject, but also because I don't think I would like the answer.

I read something recently that went like this: In the Old Testament God created man in his own image, and we've been repaying the favor ever since. Yeah, you could say that.

I'm thinking on this. And here comes a heretical sentiment. In the end, does it matter? During life I believe that accepting God's existence can make our life infinitely better, if only on an invisible level. But in the end, is God going to hold it against us if we chose to navigate this world without acknowledging him?

And in this life if a person chooses not to believe in God, does that mean God is no longer in them? He is no longer part of their life?

If I remember correctly, mortal sin kills the life of God in your soul. His grace is gone. I remember a picture from my old Baltimore Catechism of two little kids. One had a heart with a picture of God in it. The other little kid had a black, empty heart. How awful.

What a petty, jealous God.

And what about all the love these non-believers have felt. My b-i-l says he is an atheist. I know he loves his wife, his daughter, his parents, his siblings. He's respectful of people, takes care of this beautiful Earth. Doesn't that love have its own energy? All that love is for naught?

Our piano teacher said her sister doesn't believe in God because her life is so much simpler without God. When I told Tim that, he said it's probably because people (perhaps her family, maybe even her sister) have made God so complicated she doesn't want him in her life. Sadly, I can understand that.

I have more thoughts but am stopping for now.

2008-03-12T10:53:00.000-06:00

I think of my parents often. In the shower this morning I was having a conversation with my mom, talking things over with her. She passed away in April 2001, so the best I can do is try to imagine what she would say. I was very, very close to my mother and father and still am very close to them. Their answers that form in my mind are part what I want to hear and part what I do believe they would say to me. We are so much a part of our parents, our childhood and young adult years. I am very much my parents, yet I am totally myself. So it seems very natural when I ponder where I am, what I'm searching for that I should also mull over in my mind my parents' stories.

My mom had a rather sad, depressing, interesting life. That her family was dysfunctional would be an understatement. Her grandparents, George and Jane, came to America from England, met here in this country, married and at some point traveled to Utah with a Mormon wagon train. That they joined the Mormon church I think is a given since they lived there for a number of years and several of their children were born in Utah. Also, Jane's brother had become involved with Mormon missionaries in England and come to America because of them. Well, the story goes that George was being pressured to take a second wife, which he didn't want or his wife didn't want or something, and they abruptly pulled up stakes and moved to Idaho. They left with another family deserting their homes in the middle of the night in order to leave undetected. This story came to my mother from the oldest daughter of Geo. and Jane who was a young girl at the time. They settled in Idaho where my grandmother, Matilda, was born, number 8 out of 9 children.

There's nothing that leads me to believe that they attended any church during this time. However, at some point my grandmother was baptized in the Reorganized LDS Church although I don't think she ever attended. The oldest daughter married a French Catholic and converted, and shortly after that Geo. and Jane followed along and joined the Catholic Church. At some point my grandmother had my mother baptized Catholic. And that's how my mother became Catholic.

My mother's father was not one for organized religion of any kind. He was raised Presbyterian and left home when 16 or 17 because of his mother pressuring him to become a minister. What he had to say about my mother being baptized I have no idea. Actually, I don't think he had much to say about anything as my grandmother ran everything making his life hell. My mother went to the Catholic school here until her dad died when she was 12. She never went back after that, and her life changed for the worse in many ways. My grandmother was mentally unstable and my mom's life was very, very difficult. I know my grandmother was involved in spiritualism of some type and for a while my mom went to a Seventh Day Adventist school. What a combination. I honestly don't think my mom had been in Catholic church from the time she left the Catholic school until she met my dad when she was 28. Her upbringing wasn't particularly religious, definitely not Catholic; actually it was rather a hodge podge.

My dad did not come from a religious family, either. I don't know if his father ever attended church, but his mother might have attended the Methodist church occasionally. He grew up on a farm, went to public schools and had a very normal life. Religion just wasn't part of it. They weren't anti religious, just indifferent. Neither of my paternal grandparent's funerals was held in a church.

My dad moved to Chicago in the early 40's, and there he made friends with several Bohemian and Polish kids. (He always referred to his friends as kids.) Of course, they were Catholic, and this would have been his first introduction to Catholicism. He often told me how they impressed him with their sincerity. I'm guessing he might have attended Mass with them on occasion, but he did have one experience while in Chicago that touch him spiritually. It was Christmas Eve and he was feeling quite homesick. He had gone out to eat by himself and while walking home (it was safe to walk in downtown Chicago at night then???) he passed a Catholic Church and felt a strong urging to go inside. He went in, sat down in a back pew and just stayed. For a couple hours. He said he had never felt so peaceful before; that he felt he had found his home. He stayed for Mass and then went home.

He didn't start instruction until 1950 when he moved back to Idaho and was baptized that year. He had an aunt by marriage that was Catholic who played a large part in his conversion. Then he met my mom, and in 1953 they married. Because my grandmother was causing so many problems for them, they took off one Friday night for Winemucca and were married by the justice of peace about 1:00 AM. My mom always said that it was very important to my dad that their marriage be blessed in the church. I took it that she was okay with the Nevada marriage, but she was happy to have the marriage blessed in the Catholic church for my dad. So three months later they had a small ceremony in the Church. Coincidentally, the priest that married them also married Tim and me.

I don't think they attended Mass regularly when they were first married. In fact, of the friends they had back then none of them were Catholic. They were married 7 years before I was born, and I wasn't baptized until I was 3. If they were going to church regularly, I think I would have been baptized before that. As far as I can remember we always attended church except for a couple years when I was young. Probably around this time some of the changes of Vatican II had started to take root here, and they left my dad feeling rather lost. He had joined the church in 1950 before Vatican II, and then a little over a decade later, things started to change. Our Mormon neighbors decided to jump at the chance and had the missionaries at our door in no time flat. I remember going to the Mormon church a few times, but the only result of that was my dad quickly becoming convinced that he would never be a Mormon. We went back to the Catholic church and there we stayed.

I also thought we were fairly religious. We went to Mass on Sundays and Holy Days, my sister and I attended Catholic schools (with a few public school breaks thrown in), we had Catholic papers in the house, catechisms, theological books, etc. We discussed religion at the table; sometimes we argued religion at the table. My dad was a reader and thinker so consequently he was a very well catechized Catholic. But as I said, he was a thinker. He didn't just take whatever the priest said during his homily on Sunday or what the Vatican said at face value. Remember, he wasn't raised Catholic or in any church at all so he didn't have grounding in being absolutely obedient to the church. When I was older he would discuss certain teaching that he didn't agree with, but he was a Catholic until the day he died.

Now my mom on the other hand wasn't religious at all, but she was very spiritual. Yes, there is a huge difference as I've come to know. She prayed, especially novenas and rosaries. She loved the Bl. Mother. But she was particularly Catholic - other than the rosary and Mary. She could have been Anglican, Methodist, something like that. The only thing she could never be was a born again fundamentalist. Church teachings just didn't mean much to her. She followed her own conscience, and could never understand when dad and I would get distraught over something Fr. said at Mass or something we read. Actually, for dad and me, I think it was more the argument than any deep seated belief that drove us. My mom found God in her family. Her spirituality was her family. Her purpose on earth was to love her family. Dogma, doctrine, teachings she didn't know, but she loved her family.

Towards the end, before mom died, I remember talking to dad and him saying, "Oh, your mom just wanted to take a drive in the country and eat lunch somewhere so we didn't make it to Mass." This was during my 'on-fire' time, and I would be so upset with him. I would tell him he couldn't just miss Mass like that, it was a mortal sin. I was appalled. He would always say something like, "You know Janet, your mom is failing. She doesn't have much longer. It makes her so happy to take Sunday drives and enjoy our time together. She didn't feel like going to Mass, and I want to spend this time with her." And of course I said something like, "Feelings don't have anything to do with it; or why didn't you go Saturday night," or something equal to that. And he would say something like, "The older you get, you tend to see things differently, not so black and white." And I would say, "I'll never do that." You know: never say never.

Dad usually always made it to Mass after mom died. I do remember him saying that he never went to confession any more. He just didn't know what to say. By that time, my 'never' had been fading. I told him I was sure that he was fine with God. One of the last conversation with him about religion he said, "I believe in God." That was about it.

I've never believed that I chose my parents. I'm more of the 'it just happens' type. But had I been able to choose parents, I couldn't have done any better. No woman ever had more loving, dedicated, honest, kind, caring friends than I did. Those friends were my parents. I miss them terribly. I want to believe they're on this journey with me. Sometimes I feel them; sometimes I don't. Sometimes I feel them right next to me; sometimes I feel incredibly alone. Lately, I've been feeling very alone. So I create conversations with them and try to hear their voices. Their voices have been faint lately, but I choose to believe they're still very involved with me. On a different level, but still intimately involved. Otherwise, this whole life is a damn crap shoot.

Intro

2008-03-10T11:27:00.000-06:00

I usually blog over at Xanga but have been looking for a somewhat more anonymous spot in which to ramble and think. I'm not totally comfortable with telling my story, nor do I think most of my visitors would really be interested in it. Not that my story is embarrassing or that I have much dirty laundry to air. It's rather mundane; just my story. This will be my spot to think out loud, ramble along, change direction without prior notice, repeat myself as I find necessary, without feeling any need to be witty and humorous or profound and intellectual, not that I'm any of those things on a regular basis. I comment very little here at Blogger, so except for the random passerby or someone whose blog I have commented, no one who knows me knows I'm here - until I'm found. Anonymity. What an odd thought considering this is the internet.

At the age of 47 I find myself on a path that a decade ago I would have sworn in blood I would never travel, and I find myself very alone in this particular journey. I have a wonderful husband and family, but this is my journey. I would very much, at some point, love to share this with my husband, but right now it would make me feel more vulnerable. Also, I think it would make him uncomfortable. He doesn't think and ponder as I do. What has been a huge, guiding force in my life has not been one in his. He's a man; I'm a woman. We have different needs, different personalities. He would feel responsible to help me solve these issues even though I would assure him it isn't his responsibility. As much as I never thought I would be here, I am sure he never thought this would happen to his wife, either. I'm in the midst of a faith crisis.

I'll freely admit that being a middle aged, pre-menopausal woman probably has much to do with this. I don't find this a reason to sweep it under the rug and ignore it as best I can for the next 10 years or however long it might last. Also, there are other reasons I am where I am having little to do with my hormone fluctuations. Whatever the reasons, here I am, very much alone.

Right now at this point in my life I am without a woman friend. I've never been one to have many friends; one or two does quite nicely. But in the past I've always had several acquaintences - the kind you stop and visit with in the store, meet up with at park day, visit occasionally with on the phone - but most importantly I've always had a friend. The kind you sit down with at you kitchen table, the teapot between you full of Constant Comment or Earl Grey, a few cookies and several to talk, laugh and cry together. She is someone you could share your inner turmoil with and you wouldn't be embarrassed by the fact that your family is less than perfect: teenage problems, marriage problems, depression, grief, happiness, dreams. You could even share your faith crisis, honestly without having to choose words carefully. For me, however, my friend (and acquaintenaces) were are based on sharing the same religion. More importantly, sharing the perspective of that religion. So when I started to fall away, my friend fell away. I had become a danger to her soul.

And that brings me here. This blog will be my friend sitting across the table from me. I will enjoy my cup of tea, talk away unhindered, share thoughts and feelings. Of course, this friend lacks human warmth and love and the ability to converse with me. If along the way someone wants to leave a thought, please do. There is much to be learned from others who have forged their own spiritual path.

2008-01-22T08:54:00.000-07:00

My main blog is over at xanga LivingInWilloughby - I thought I might start one here. Maybe. But for now I'm posting at Xanga.

Test

2008-01-06T19:09:00.000-07:00

Just a test.....