Full Communion

In such a strange twist of fate (or more accurately God's will) I was granted a dispensation to receive the sacraments of Confirmation and First Holy Communion on September 21, 2016.

My eldest son accompanied me to Mass and sat alongside me in the pew with my beautiful friend and sponsor, Christi.

I almost always read the daily readings but that morning I ignored my email containing them and decided to wait until Mass to hear them. Of course, our Lord graced me with the most perfect readings possible for my day of full acceptance into the Catholic Church. As well as it being the Feast of St. Matthew...my eldest son's middle name and Matthew being quite the sinner (which I can relate too maybe a little to well).

Ephesians 4:1-7

I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, beg you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all lowliness and meekness, with patience, forbearing one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of us all, who is above all and through all and in all. But grace was given to each of us according to the measure of Christ's gift.

This entire passage from Ephesians corresponds exactly with the divine sacraments I received this day. I was called to walk with Him, not only to walk, but to walk in a certain manner. One worthy of the calling. Called to be little and humble, loving and patient, and always striving to maintain peace. The passage speaks directly of the Spirit. Confirmation strengthens you with the gifts of the Holy Spirit and obliges you to walk your faith more diligently. For a bit of information on the Sacrament of Confirmation please check this short article out.


11-13

And his gifts were that some should be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until we all attain to the unity of the faith and the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ

This refers back to the grace given to us and the gifts we receive and what we are to do with them. Mainly to build up the body of Christ and the unity of His church through living the gospel and sharing it with others. You never know, you could be raising a future saint!

Matthew 9:9-13 

As Jesus passed on from there, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax office; and he said to him, "Follow me." And he rose and followed him. And as he sat at the table in the house, behold many tax collectors and sinners came and sat down with Jesus and his disciples. And when the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, "Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?" But when he heard it, he said, "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, 'I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.' For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners."

Matthew listened. He did not say, "Hold on a second, I've got to put my money in the bank, or tell my friend where I am going, or grab a coffee." He got up and followed. We don't know much about Matthew but he as a tax collector is grouped with the sinners. He heard the call and he listened and his life was forever changed. I love where Jesus says that those who are well have no need of a physician when he is asked why he is hanging out with sinners. He has no need to call the righteous for they are already where they are supposed to be. It is the sinners he is calling to walk in that worthy manner.


I've hand written these readings in one of my numerous journals along with my experiences and meditations on the day. It is one I will never forget. I was finally able to join the feast and quench the thirst and hunger that I have experienced my entire life.

Blessed is she who comes to the table of the Lord.
Amen.

The Joke Is On Me

This morning while scrolling through my feed reader and scarfing my breakfast, I came across this post by Sara Wilson. Her mention of author Laura Munson's book This Is Not the Story You Think It Is reminded me that I had read that very book sometime last year. At the time it was just the beginning of the problems I was to experience in my life and my marriage over the next year and a half.  I remember thinking in relief that, thank goodness my marriage wasn't going through that and I marveled at the strength of self the author showed. I loved the book, retained a lot of valuable wisdom from it, but then promptly threw all that wisdom out the window when things got truly difficult. It then became about me me me and me being right right right and him being wrong wrong wrong. It's a daily struggle to remember to ask yourself the question, "Do you want to be right or do you want to love?"

Sara shares some widsom from Rumi,
"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I will meet you there."

I detest being lonely. Something to do with way back in my childhood has hardwired me to be attention seeking (whether negative or positive), needy, and nearly incapable of being alone. I'm prone to apologize even when I don't think I'm in the wrong just to retain closeness. Of course that in turn leads to resentment. Or I might practice what is termed as "proximity seeking". Meaning I will strategically place myself close to the person even if the vibe is strained or I know they want distance just so I don't feel the physical pain of solitude. When I say the person, I really mean my husband. For the most part I am capable of acting like a normal human being in most other relationships. Although honestly there are always exceptions.

I explain all this to say...I don't want to go sit in the field and wait. I want to ask a million questions...will there be snacks in the field? will there be distractions? is there wi-fi available? can someone come sit with me and keep me company? can I take a nap while I wait? And then when my questions run out I want to bargain...please don't make me go to the field. i'll be good. i'll be chill. i'll do what you want just don't make me go be by myself until you decide to come meet me. 

Over the past year and a half I have walked out to the field, waited in the cold, grown tired of waiting and run back home. Only to return to the field and repeat the process over and over and over. There have been times he has come out to the the field himself and we have sat there together for a time. But it has yet to happen that we have come out of the field side by side.

Laura's book shows that she possesses a level of patience and tolerance and love that I have yet to master. When I really examine my actions and behaviors closely I see that my ego is still alive and kicking. I thought it was dying, that it had actually died, but evidently catlike in its qualities it has nine lives and no regard for anyone's life but its own. I've asked that it be taken to the firing squad for a quick execution but instead it has been sentenced to the cross for a slow death. And I am front row for its pain and pleading. Wanting to save it only to save myself the agony. There is no love in that.

While my husband and I have been fighting our own private battles we have been waging war against each other. We are exhausted. Fighting off what you perceive as the enemy on all sides takes its toll. It's hard to be rational from a place of exhaustion. It's painful to love when you feel you are under attack. It's difficult to recognize wisdom when your supplies have run out and the troops have deserted you. They realized that the battle is pointless but you are still there, firing at yourself and calling it a win.

One thing I've come to realize during my conversion is that I am actually never truly alone. While in moments of weakness I might forget but it always comes back to me. God is always with me. He is there through the pain. He is there in my marriage. He is giving me support and letting me fall according to His plan. And the joker that He is, He is making sure that I understand good and well that things happen on His timeline and not mine. The final step of me being able to come into full communion with the Church has now been put in my husband's hands. That's right. We need to have our marriage convalidated before I can receive all the sacraments. Basically...we have to get married again.

Pray for me...
Please.

Immaculate Heart of Mary

She revealed her heart to me on a beer can.

Whoa. Back up. Let me go ahead and say I hope this does not offend anyone. Although I've found that when you start a conversation with, "no offense but..." someone almost always takes offense.

Back to the beer can. I might have been a few of these in, but I will enthusiastically say that when your mind is a little bit loose you find yourself more open to receiving the messages being delivered to you.

So there I sit, drunkenly regarding the can of beer in my hand and marveling over its seriously cool label. That would make an awesome tattoo I think to myself. It reminds me of Mary's Immaculate Heart. Now maybe this thought was reaching a bit but it did cross my mind.

A few weeks later...out of town for an appointment I located Mary and visited with her. The next week I had to return to that town, kids in tow, and Stella and I stopped by to see her again. As we meandered up the busy tourist laden sidewalk, we window shopped and occasionally stepped in a funky boutique or sweet shop. When I saw this print it instantly jumped out at me as yet another sign of Mary showing her heart to me.

My apologies for the awful picture quality.

She is calling me that is for sure. Appearing in dreams, making herself known in little ways.

The catechism has this to say about her:
Paragraph 6. 963  "The Virgin Mary...is acknowledged and honored as being truly the Mother of God and of the redeemer...She is clearly the mother of the members of Christ'...since she has by her charity joined in bringing about the birth of believers in the Church, who are members of its head."

969  Taken up to heaven she did not lay aside the saving office but by her manifold intercession continues to bring us the gifts of eternal salvation...Therefore the Blessed Virgin is invoked in the Church under the titles of Advocate, Helper, Benefactress, and Mediatrix.

So Mary didn't just relax when she ascended directly to heaven. After working so hard on earth she continues to work hard for us, to advocate for those who call on her, from her position as Queen of Heaven.

I read that Pope Francis has a special devotion to the Blessed Mother. It is said that he watched Pope John Paul II pray the rosary and experiencing this witness of his predecessor's devotion of the path of his Mother up to the sky had a lasting impact on him.

The rosary does not come easy for me. For one thing it takes a bit of time and that is something I am quite short on. For another, I have yet to memorize all the mysteries and when I do pray it I always have my phone handy to guide me. That in itself is uncomfortable for me. Our parish has rosary prayers before Mass sometime during the week and I have been itching to get there early enough to join in. I can truly feel Mary calling me to her and instructing me to take up the rosary as part of my spiritual health.

In what ways have you experienced the Blessed Mother's presence?

Solitude vs. Loneliness

I've been thinking about solitude. Solitude versus loneliness.

"All human beings are alone. No other person will completely feel like we do, think like we do, act like we do. Each of us is unique, and our aloneness is the other side of our uniqueness. The question is whether we let our aloneness become loneliness or whether we allow it to lead us into solitude. Loneliness is painful; solitude is peaceful. Loneliness makes us cling to other in desperation; solitude allows us to respect others in their uniqueness and create community." - Henri Nouwen

Is this it?

People watching in a tourist town behind glass. With a beer in hand so it is a double meaning. Behind the window, behind the glass. Pen in the other hand instead of a phone. Dining alone never bothers me. This is self imposed solitude that is anything but lonely. But I'm watching these people walk by, and I'm thinking about counting how many of them are walking looking down. Peripheral vision is not engaged while there is a whole other world in the screen in their hands. I keep expecting one of them to walk off the sidewalk into traffic, or bump into a passerby or a pole. It doesn't happen today.

This is so obviously what I needed. Solitude away from what at times feels like a home in a prison colony. The home itself not a prison, but the location of it, so remote, the community so lacking. Fallen down buildings, fallen out teeth. Overgrown lots, overgrown adults. Burnt out trailers, burnt out addicts. The drive just to get anywhere to experience anything other than poverty is exhausting in itself. Two hours travel just to be somewhere that doesn't feel like its standing still. Alone in the bathhouse turned brewery, perched at a counter in front of a huge picture window, I sat and watched. Savored my beer and good food, counted my blessings, and then I took a walk to see Mother Mary.

I tried to meditate on her solitude.  How utterly alone she must have felt after her only Son gave his life. Then I recall John 19:26-27 When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he loved, he said to his mother, "Woman, behold, your son." Then he said to the disciple, "Behold, your mother." And from that hour the disciple took her into his home. At this point Mary became the mother of the Church, which could come with great solitude but hardly loneliness. I always ask her to intercede for me that I might be a better mother myself and learn to love as selflessly as she, but I think from now on I will include a petition for learning to live in solitude among community so as to not feel lonely anymore.

UNRAVELING MY FAITH: Easter Vigil

I have gone my whole life...thirty-three years...as an unbaptized person walking this Earth. My thoughts on this part of my life were this:

 "I'm a good person. I've never committed any major sins. I try hard to do unto others. Surely, despite my not being Baptized I won't go to Hell. If there is a God and He is as loving as they say, He wouldn't deny me entrance to Heaven just because another human didn't dunk me in a tub of water at some point in my life while telling me my sins were forgiven."

Yes, I was completely comfortable going the rest of my life in this state. Or so I thought I was. There were times that I questioned how sound my reasoning was. No doubt my husband was worried about the fate of my soul. Somehow or other, he didn't realize I had not been baptized until a few years into our marriage. I can look back on it now and laugh because that man had an absolute freak out! You would have thought I told him that I enjoyed killing puppies. Several times over the years after that he would mention that he wished I would go through the experience. He promised it would change me in ways I couldn't imagine. That the Holy Spirit would come down and I would feel it.  I always blew it off, making some anti-religious joke to hide my true feelings on the subject. Because when it came right down to it, I just wished that it had happened when I was a child. In my mind an adult going through baptism (especially in front of a whole congregation) was just embarrassing.

Coming up on Easter, we are attending Mass regularly, I am deep in RCIA, and the kids are getting their weekly dose at our Parish Religious Education classes every Sunday. I know that baptism will be a part of my becoming fully catechized in the Catholic church. And at this point, I am looking forward to it. I've learned so much. I've grown in my faith. I no longer feel ashamed about what I perceive about myself and not being Christian. There is no lingering anxiety about proclaiming my belief in our Lord, and his Son, and the Holy Spirit in front of our parish.

The beautiful thing about coming into the Church as a family, is that the kids will be baptized alongside me. And that is exactly what happened on March 26, 2016. At Easter Vigil (the longest Mass of the year I believe) all four of us were baptized into the Catholic Church using our given names and our chosen saint names. With our godparents beside us making their promise to be our spiritual guides.

Cleansed of our sins. Taking our place in His house. Choosing to accept His will. Reborn and ever so thankful for the gift given to us by Jesus.

Saint Monica, Saint Michael, Saint Peter, and Saint Cecilia.

It's an experience that I can't write about right now. The night is much to personal, each of us having our own reaction that we were reluctant to even share with each other. But there was joy, and tears, and a knowing deep down that all will be well from this point forward.

What I'm quickly learning is that your life is not about you. It is about Him. And He is all about us. So in the end it all comes back around. Loving Him. Loving others. It's not enough to just be the best person you can be. We need His help. With Him we can come to a place on this Earth and eventually in Heaven that we probably could never dream of. Better safe than sorry. Better to give than to take. Better to walk than to talk. Better to be the prayer and not the pray-er.

UNRAVELING MY FAITH: Borrowed Words

This post is part of a series I wrote over the last 6 months and am just now publishing...

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness and witherings, of tarnishings." -Anais Nin

I like to let others speak for me. What I cannot form into words, I can almost always find in a quote. You know the ones that just grab you? Jerk you right off your chair. I collect them. I scribble quotes everywhere, screenshot them,  letter them in journals.  Quotes are to be shared. Doled out like advice.

"A person learns how to love himself through the simple acts of loving and being loved by someone else." - Haruki Murakami

The last two books that came into my possession have handwritten quotes in the front. Favorites of the giver of the books. Words are so beautiful and sometimes you can't speak clearly anymore; because of whatever reason. Maybe your heart just hurts and your thoughts are disjointed.  Maybe you devour language and literature and let people's words brand your soul and knit your thoughts together for you.

"The most beautiful voice in the world is that of an educated Southern woman."- Winston Churchill

I'm not insinuating that all your collected quotes must come from great works of literature or spiritual leaders and figures of the past. Sometimes you can find exactly what you couldn't say in a simple blog post. Another soul was feeling exactly as you are and found a way to articulate it and then they had the courage to take it and immortalize it with pen and paper or keyboard and storage cloud if that is the case. What you couldn't say has now been said and its either a tool or a weapon depending on how you choose to use it. I'm fond of texting my husband quotes whether he wants me to or not. I suppose I feel that if someone else said it then he can't take it as a directed at him. But of course, I'm probably just fooling myself on that point.

 "But there’s something deeper here too, a growing awareness that real life and real

 love have less to do with feelings and a whole lot more to  do with acts of courage, acts of grace, and acts of quiet, desperate surrender."- Jenny from Mama Needs Coffee

In one of my journals I have a page full of quotes. I try to gather my scattered jottings together sometimes and inscribe them there so I have something to reference. I'm prone to quoting things my family members and friends say. There are quotes from my kids, my husband, and even myself on those pages. Not all are wise or wordy or particularly moving. Some just needed to be recorded like a photograph. To be reread and pull you back into whatever conversation or moment spawned the words.

"It doesn't matter who you marry; they're gonna be psycho."- my husband

And upon rereading those quotes you can often see the truth hidden behind the humor. Or the pain hidden behind the wisdom. You can take solace in knowing that you aren't alone in your sufferings or in your triumphs. And if you are like me and can't always find the right words, I can almost guarantee that someone has said it already, exactly how you want to say it yourself.

UNRAVELING MY FAITH: The Rosary Made It's Appearance

This post is part of a series I wrote over the last 6 months and am just now publishing...

I can't help that on the same day I decided to write a post about leaving Buddha in the woods...my rosary showed up.

Shall I back up? Yes. I probably should.

I've dabbled in Buddhism off and on for many years. Appreciating its non-commitment, wonder, beauty, and overall message of kindness and of course that reincarnation thing sounds kind of nifty if you are terrified of there being nothing in the afterlife. So this Buddha charm has been hanging from my rearview mirror for years.  A few days after attending my first RCIA class I looked up at it and it struck me...You shall have no gods before me.  Well...okay then. I took it down that instant and put it in my console. Then a few days later, on a short solo hike in the woods, I left it. An offering if you will. A sign of submission. I left it where it would be easily spotted by another forest wanderer and maybe it would be just what they needed at that moment. It was no longer what I needed and I was at peace with that.

Now fast forward a few weeks...  The rosary had been on my mind. I wanted one but I didn't actually want to purchase one for myself. I wasn't sure exactly which one I wanted and while I looked at several I kept putting off the actual buying part of it. I told myself to be patient. I would find the right one eventually. In the meantime I studied how it was prayed and listened to a few podcasts on the subject. Then...on the day I meant to write about leaving the Buddha charm in the woods, my rosary showed up.

It came in a box of stuff sent to me by my best friend who relocated about a year ago to Tennessee. She will periodically send things she is purging from her house to see if the kids or I can use them. The box had been just sitting because I had been busy and not all that worried about sorting through it. On this day though, I opened it and came across a red wooden rosary. My heart swelled and my soul shifted. Draping it around my neck I had the urge to check and see if that was appropriate. According to this.... as long as you are wearing it for the right reasons then it is okay to wear it.

I called my friend immediately and asked her where in the world she even got it. She could not remember how it came into her possession. She is not Catholic or even religious at all. But she knew when she was cleaning and organizing and came across it that it was meant for me.

I'm slowly learning how to pray it. I'm very grateful it made its way too me. And being the first one I have received and from a soul very dear to me makes it that much sweeter.

UNRAVELING MY FAITH: Desolation

This post is part of a series I wrote over the last 6 months and am just now publishing...

I've had a few bad days.

And I'm not one of those people to get over it, move on with life, just keep swimming. I wallow in it. Mentally abuse myself to the point of extreme sadness. Anxiety envelops me, a large mammal takes up its position sitting directly on my chest.

There has been no Wednesday night Mass for two weeks. I can't say that this has added to my state of mind but I do know I feel more peaceful and function better when I get a mid-week dose.

I've been a bad parent. Short tempered. Forgetting things. Letting children down. Yelling. Blaming. Taking my frustrations out on them.

This morning a fight with my husband over how I was treating one child ended with me throwing a coffee cup in the front yard and then berating said child the whole way to school. When I got home I sank down on my knees, started my prayers and then half way through them began crying and begging God to bring that child some comfort today so they didn't have a horrible day because of my issues. I didn't even ask forgiveness. I don't deserve it. I just want him to be okay.

Yesterday the same. Broke down in tears after dropping another child at dance. I forgot to pack her costume for a party and I knew she would be the only one not dressed up. We live 20 minutes from everything so going home and getting it wasn't an option. She was gracious. She completely understood and forgave her forgetful, selfish mother. I on the other hand couldn't handle it. Once I made it back to the safety of my car I collapsed in sadness and anger. The other two sat watching this display. Trying to reassure me it was okay. Why are they having to parent the parent?

I have bickered with my husband for three days. We fight, yell, storm off. And then come back, talk through it, reach an understanding and get along for about 12 hours. Only to have it repeat itself all over again leaving us both frustrated and exhausted. Currently, as of writing this, I'm not talking to him.

And through this a voice keeps telling me I should pray. Pray through it. And sometimes I do. Like this morning. But yesterday I couldn't bring myself to form the words. Just thoughts. The podcast I listened to on the drive home this morning was about Discernment of Spirits. Desolation and consolation and what to do when experiencing each. It made sense to think that in times of abject desolation that an evil spirit is working against you. Planting seeds of sadness and despair. And Father John even pointed out that his spiritual adviser had told him that the great rollercoaster of consolation and desolation swings even higher and lower when you are close to making a big change in life.

When I pray one of my most oft repeated prayers is to Saint Monica, begging for patience. And for her to please ask God to help me be a better mother. And then for God to help me come closer to him and to please soften my husband's heart towards me. Am I missing something here? Am I not giving enough thanks for the blessings I have? Am I not showing how grateful I really am? These things are tormenting me. And all I really know to do is kneel down and pray some more.

UNRAVELING MY FAITH: Called To Serve

This post is part of a series I wrote over the last 6 months and am just now publishing...

I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Most everything I'm currently reading or listening to brings this up. The idea that as Christians, we are called to serve. We serve those less fortunate. We serve our loved ones. We even serve the ones we don't feel much love for.

I think I used to be better at this than I currently am. I volunteered. I sent thank you notes. I held dinner parties. I crafted gifts. I baked and shared. I organized fundraisers. I coached. I taught. I said yes to everything. I did all those things for so long that, inevitably, I got burnt out. So I stopped serving almost anyone outside my immediate family. I said no. I said no to almost everything. At first I felt the tiniest amount of guilt and then after a while of saying no, I just didn't feel any. No more guilt. Clean conscious.

Saying yes to everything stretched me so thin that I was a mess. The stress of it caused me to be a short tempered parent and an inconsiderate wife. But in turn, saying no to everything means that I removed myself from the community and the distance makes my heart ache for friendships. Because when you start saying no to invitations, requests, dinner dates...and you do it long enough, people stop asking you.

Since this call to serve has been coming up all around me, I've been wondering where I can strike a balance. How can I serve the community with my God given gifts and still be present and refreshed for my family? And in pondering that I've had to attempt to identify my gifts so I don't squander them in a service that would be better suited to someone else.

What am I good at? Instruction, organization, cooking, public speaking, some artistic endeavors (photography, writing, design/layout) and speed reading (seriously).

What should I leave well enough alone? Interacting with people (because let's face it, I'm just awkward), consistency, counseling or listening (I'm not the person to have around if you need a shoulder to cry on), and I'm also a very bad dancer. Like really bad. Furthermore I can't sing or play an instrument so don't ask me to join the choir.

I am also good at ideas. Like maybe a bit too good at ideas. I have so many. And I want to implement them all at the same time and probably not follow through with 90% of them to completion. But I am an idea machine! So I have that to offer, as long as I can share those ideas with people who actually will do something with them instead of leaving them half finished all over their house.

It's an ongoing thing, this learning to serve. While part of me balks at the thought of giving myself- my time, my energy, my precious little brain space to anyone other than my kids and husband, another part of me realizes the good that comes from community and sharing. So I'll just keep on working on it until its no longer a big deal. Fake it till you make it, right?

UNRAVELING MY FAITH: Fist Bump From A Monk

This post is part of a series I wrote over the last 6 months and am just now publishing...

Our dear sweet little Father John was on vacation this week, resulting in no weekday Mass. This was disappointing and made me a bit sad. Which in turn surprised me. I was sad that I wouldn't get a chance to attend Mass twice this week? Very unlike me.

When I took a minute to examine what was the source of my sadness over this, I realized that the quiet routine of Mass brings me to a calm place. It is an hour to absorb ancient words passed down from the earliest Christians. It is an hour of peace in a serene house of God. It is an hour to live the faith I am learning about. I can let my mind wander as my eyes take in the beauty of our church. I can let my mind be lead by the reading of the scripture. I can bow my head and take a break from my life. It is almost as if time stops for me during Mass.

With Father John away, we had a visiting monk from Subiaco for our weekend Mass. I had been eagerly looking forward to this all week. Yesterday was the first time Cash has attended Mass with us, being as how he was ill last Sunday. Eli was at his father's and was wishing he had been home to attend this Mass with the visiting Brother. Cash, Stella, and I chose a pew closer to the front than usual. I had been wanting to see the whole thing better, to watch as the Father blessed the Holy Eucharist. The visiting monk was a tall older man who had a very stately manner about him. He spoke loud and clear and with just enough self deprecation to make him relateable. His homily addressed loving your neighbor and he spoke about Mother Theresa giving advice to a young woman who was having trouble loving some people she found difficult. Her wisdom was to instruct the woman to smile at five people she disliked every day. Brother Brandon told his own personal narrative of trying to do the same thing every day especially with the students he teaches at the academy. It was a good message on how its okay to like some people more than others but you should be kind to all no matter what. And in smiling at those you dislike, it can help you learn to like them more.

While I quite enjoyed the entire Mass, the funny thing, or the thing that stuck with me or seemed out of place, was that as Brother Brandon was exiting down the aisle he paused as he reached Cash who was standing closest to the aisle. He reached out his fist. Cash hesitated for a second and then reached out his own fist for a bump. Brother smiled and proceeded on. I leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Did you just get a fist bump from a monk?" His smile stretched across his face as he nodded. His very first time at Mass and he is singled out by a visiting monk for a small sign of solidarity and acceptance.

I very much wish I could have spoken with this man. His grace and contentedness drew me toward him and I would have liked to ask him some questions. And maybe our paths will cross again at some point, I can at least hope they do.

UNRAVELING MY FAITH: Patron Saints for $1000 Please

This post is part of a series I wrote over the last 6 months and am just now publishing...

I am quite new, like brand new, to the workings of the Catholic Church. Currently I am going through RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults) to become familiar with our faith. But being the ever curious and inquisitive soul that I am (and also not wanting to miss out on any important tidbit that might make me look uneducated should it come up in conversation) I do a lot of reading and research on my own. When I came upon the part regarding each catechumen (unbaptized person studying to become Catholic) choosing a patron saint for their conversion, I was very excited!

My own personal saint to pray to!?!?! Yes!

Now of course you can call on any of the saints at any time to intercede for you in prayer. But getting your own special one sounds pretty awesome. So does the fact that we all are assigned our very own guardian angel upon birth (but that is for another post).

Enter me desperately wanting to know who my patron saint should be that way I can introduce myself and get to know them before my Baptism.

"Hello there! I'm Ashley. I am an absolute mess of a human being, but I mean well. I hope I don't irritate you with my constant chatter because you are about to become my new best friend. Do you have voicemail? Might want to go ahead and empty your inbox because I'm going to fill it up."

If you are the type to enjoy taking online quizzes, there are several to help you choose your saint. I'm not that type. Not judging if you are. Just saying, I'm not.

Instead I sat and thought. For quite a while actually, about what I need help with. It came to me early on in brainstorming, but I didn't actually want to listen to it. I ignored my first command for obedience. Then I gave in. Obedience. I have a lot of trouble being obedient. See? I had a problem listening to the fact that the first thing that came to mind was obedience. It's not that I am a rule breaker, I actually am a stickler for the rules. It's just that I don't like to be told what to do by any one person. My parents when I was young. My teachers when I was a bit older. My bosses when I was even older. My husband for the last 12 years. And probably God for my entire life.

According to Google, there is not one specific patron saint of obedience. Great. Just great. So I am supposed to be obedient with no help, huh? First lesson of humility I suppose.

My next thought was patience. Ever the rash person. Instant gratification is my love language. No time for weighing options. Must do everything right now. So back to Google to determine the patron saint of patience.

Say hello to.......

Saint Monica!

"The circumstances of St. Monica’s life could have made her a nagging wife, a bitter daughter-in-law and a despairing parent, yet she did not give way to any of these temptations. Although she was a Christian, her parents gave her in marriage to a pagan, Patricius, who lived in her hometown of Tagaste in North Africa. Patricius had some redeeming features, but he had a violent temper and was licentious. Monica also had to bear with a cantankerous mother-in-law who lived in her home. Patricius criticized his wife because of her charity and piety, but always respected her. Monica’s prayers and example finally won her husband and mother-in-law to Christianity. Her husband died in 371, one year after his baptism.

Monica had at least three children who survived infancy. The oldest, Augustine (August 28) , is the most famous. At the time of his father’s death, Augustine was 17 and a rhetoric student in Carthage. Monica was distressed to learn that her son had accepted the Manichean heresy (all flesh is evil)  and was living an immoral life. For a while, she refused to let him eat or sleep in her house. Then one night she had a vision that assured her Augustine would return to the faith. From that time on, she stayed close to her son, praying and fasting for him. In fact, she often stayed much closer than Augustine wanted.
When he was 29, Augustine decided to go to Rome to teach rhetoric. Monica was determined to go along. One night he told his mother that he was going to the dock to say goodbye to a friend. Instead, he set sail for Rome. Monica was heartbroken when she learned of Augustine’s trick, but she still followed him. She arrived in Rome only to find that he had left for Milan. Although travel was difficult, Monica pursued him to Milan.

In Milan, Augustine came under the influence of the bishop, St. Ambrose, who also became Monica’s spiritual director. She accepted his advice in everything and had the humility to give up some practices that had become second nature to her (see Quote, below). Monica became a leader of the devout women in Milan as she had been in Tagaste.

She continued her prayers for Augustine during his years of instruction. At Easter, 387, St. Ambrose baptized Augustine and several of his friends. Soon after, his party left for Africa. Although no one else was aware of it, Monica knew her life was near the end. She told Augustine, “Son, nothing in this world now affords me delight. I do not know what there is now left for me to do or why I am still here, all my hopes in this world being now fulfilled.” She became ill shortly after and suffered severely for nine days before her death.Almost all we know about St. Monica is in the writings of St. Augustine, especially his Confessions." LIFTED FROM WIKIPEDIA 

According to different sources Saint Monica is the patron saint of patience, wives, mothers, victims of abuse, difficult marriages, alcoholism and a few other things that follow along those categories.

Saint Monica is basically my one stop shop for the vast majority of the troubles that have plagued me over the years. 

Knowing with certainty who my patron saint is has already helped me form my prayers a bit. I've always had a difficult time praying. Only giving it a shot when it was something very dire. Something so life or death in my mind that the only place to turn was God. And to tell you the truth, He never let me down. Of course after that one fervent session of "Please God, please help me now. If you do I will XYZ", I would be done with prayer until the next emergency. But lately I am learning to speak to Him on a daily basis. It's still very conversational at this point. I haven't learned to evolve my prayers past my own pitiful self and what I think I need. I would love to learn some specific prayers to add some ritual to my prayer time, but I don't think that God minds me stumbling over my words for the time being. He is probably just glad to hear me trying. And poor Saint Monica, she now has another wayward child to worry over, but I think her patience with her husband and Augustine will wear off on me. 

SAINT MONICA PRAYER

Exemplary Mother of the great Augustine,

you perseveringly pursued your wayward son 

not with wild threats but with prayerful cries to heaven.

Intercede for all mothers in our day

so that they may learn to draw their children to God.

Teach them to remain close to their children, even the 

prodigal sons and daughters who have sadly gone astray.

UNRAVELING MY FAITH: Thanks For Clearing That Up

This post is part of a series I wrote over the last 6 months and am just now publishing...

One of my main issues over the years was trying to reconcile what I had been taught about creation with my belief in evolution.

I am a science girl.

Not that in I want to participate in scientific discovery or pour over pie charts, case studies, and the like. Specifically in that I have a high amount of respect and belief in scientific findings and theories. Scientists estimate the Earth to be around 4 billion years old. Creationists believe it is only 6000 years old. That is one hell of an age gap.

So for many many years I just couldn't fall in line with what Genesis said according to the church teachings I had sporadically received. And then, this week, after binge listening to back episodes of  Catholic Stuff You Should Know, my faith and scientific beliefs came to a compromise. I had long lamented that surely Genesis was just being interpreted wrong by the Young Earth crowd. Who was to say that God's seven days were really the same time span we go by. I mean...he is God after all.

This specific podcast, Creation and Evolution, nearly caused me to have a car wreck. I was so stunned, amazed, and absolutely overjoyed that this church didn't stubbornly hold tight to the 7 days translation in a literal sense. One more door opened for me in those 17 minutes it took to listen to it.

If you get a chance, please check them out. It's free to listen on itunes and on their website. Also, Father John is pretty cute.

UNRAVELING MY FAITH: Onward and Upward

This post is part of a series I wrote over the last 6 months and am just now publishing...

“I don't care what church we go to, just pick one.” he said.

It didn't seem quite that easy.

I was in the middle of reading Mere Christianity, thrusted upon me by Ina Lou who said I needed it more than she did. I appreciate C.S. Lewis' style and conversational tone and the part about, some waiting in the hall longer than others, but eventually you have to pick a room and go in, well that set me to knocking doors. Or more precisely, trying hard to narrow it down to one door without opening a whole bunch first.

Weighing it all in my mind, I knew with nearly absolute certainty that I wasn't interested in The New Life church. I had mostly already vetoed the majority of Protestant churches. At this point I was leaning towards the Lutheran or Episcopal Churches but upon some digging I discovered that there was no attendees under the age of 70 in their local congregations. So much for trying to do Catholic the easy way.

That's what it came down to. That's where my mind kept coming back. The Catholic Church. I wasn't so sure they would have me, and after perusing various online resources I thought maybe there was a small chance but it still seemed like it might be too hard. Too much work. I knew they would let me in the doors but would they accept me? Could I get to a place where I could be considered Catholic and receive holy communion?

It was much like something or someone had made my mind up for me on a Tuesday afternoon when I found myself with a few hours to kill and parked in front of the church. I cautiously went in, feeling like I was going to get into trouble. I stood in the vestibule for nearly 5 minutes. Reading the bulletins, thumbing through the pamphlets, admiring the rosaries, and staring through the windows into the chapel. I worked up the nerve to go in and quickly took a seat in the last pew on the right side. I sat in silence. Five maybe ten minutes. I sat and took it all in. I didn't close my eyes. I didn't pray. I just sat. After a while I got up and wandered towards the front, examining the candles and studying the statues. Then I walked out.

Across the street was the parish hall (somewhere I had been before during a Boy Scout meeting). This is also where the church office is located and I hoped I might find the pastor there and be able to ask him some questions. Instead I was met with Kaylon. When I say met with, it was literally that she blocked her office door and looked me up and down. I faltered for a moment at being confronted with this person. I introduced myself, asked if the Father was there. He wasn't. I then asked for a church member's phone number (one that I knew and hoped could help me) and was denied that as well. Finally I explained to her what I was doing there, or rather that I wasn't sure what I was doing there. She softened and led me in her office where she spent the next hour answering my questions and completely relieving me of any and all anxiety that I was feeling. She instructed me to come to Mass and RCIA the next evening. On my way out, I met Father John and while I couldn't understand more than two words he said, he emanated happiness and that was a feeling I wanted for myself. Not that I didn't want him to have it, I just wanted a tiny bit of that feeling too.

Wednesday turned into a strange day for me. I went to school to have lunch with Stella and ended up talking to a teacher for nearly an hour. She was pouring her heart out about her marriage troubles. I've never considered myself an easy person to talk to and here was this person I would consider a friend (but whom I only talk to a few times a year) trusting me enough to listen to her heartache. I felt honored to be able to be there for her just for a bit. From there I had a second lunch date with Liz, a former employee at our business, who has been on mission in Africa for over a year. She was happy, healthy and full of life. She told me I had been a big encouragement to her whether I knew it or not and had inspired her to dream bigger and go for it. Again, more balm for my soul. Feeling thankful to be of use or maybe that my advice could be of use to someone.

Later that day, the kids had haircuts scheduled with Jeri Dee after school. I had just found out from Kaylon that J.D. had converted to Catholicism four years prior. Kaylon was her sponsor. So during the kids appointment, I casually mentioned that we were going to Mass that evening.  The rest of the time was spent in deep discussion on the topic and by the time we left she had agreed to cancel her last appointment and accompany us to Mass and RCIA. Another person making me feel at ease and gently guiding me along the road to the church.

That evening, Eli and I attended Mass. It was the first one I have ever been too. It was the first time I have ever been in a church service and felt anything other than skepticism and a bit of disdain. I was completely comfortable, open and happy to be there. I never felt nervous or like I was being judged. It was beautiful, calming, comforting. I felt like I belonged in the exact spot I was standing.

Once Mass was over, Eli went to Youth with friends and Jeri Dee and I went to RCIA. I knew the presenter and loved her style from having taken her World Lit class previously. The hour and a half went by quickly. They gathered some materials to try and catch me up since I was starting half way through the program. Coincidentally (or maybe not) I already had the two books they were offering me. Sitting at home on my shelf were the needed books along with a few other on Catholicism that belonged to Grandma. The only things I took of hers when she died were a few pairs of shoes, her bird mug, her rosary style necklace and her Catholic books.

Again, sitting at RCIA, I felt at ease. Comfortable and accepted.

I spent the next day reading in the books, trying to catch up. Finding it all very interesting and wondering at the fact that I wasn't rolling my eyes, making judgmental observations, or letting my previous thoughts get in the way. It was starting to make sense. I had also started listening to the podcast, Catholic Stuff You Should Know, and it was equal parts entertaining and informing. When I came across the one explaining where Catholics stand on the Creationism/Evolution debate, I was absolutely floored. That got me. It was exactly what I had been saying for years. 

To add to the strange happenings surrounding this entire shift in my life, I had an early Friday morning hair appointment myself with Jeri Dee. I went for a walk that morning, grabbed a coffee for both of us and drove over to her salon. I had a feeling she would be late so I took a minute to call Grandma's friend Katherine. A devout Catholic, and the person who spent the most time with Grandma before she passed, I had questions for her concerning Grandma's faith. Grandma was quick to tell you she wasn't a fan of the church yet she kept prayer cards in her wallet and her rosary on her bedside table. Katherine and I had a lovely long chat and she told me the last time she knew of Grandma going to Mass. She also told me her thoughts on Grandma's faith and it answered my questions.

On to my hair appointment with Jeri Dee. She told me that Christi had approached her after seeing us at Mass and asked a bit about my background with religion and if I had a sponsor yet, and then... offered to sponsor me. Jeri Dee filled her in on what she knew and told her she would let me know that Christi was interested. Again....floored. Christi is an extremely reserved person. Quiet and keeping to herself. She was not someone I would have expected to step forward from the community and offer to sponsor me.  But from the instant the words left Jeri Dee's lips I knew Christi would be my sponsor. There was no question about it.

Moving onward to Mass on Sunday morning. Eli and Stella attended with me, Cash was feeling sick and stayed home with Warren. We entered the sanctuary, dipped our fingers in the Holy Water, made the sign of the cross and approached our pew. We knelt, signed the cross again and took a seat. Again, Mass was beautiful. Again, I felt at ease. Again, I felt happy and calm and peaceful the entire time. Again, it felt like home.

After Mass there was snacks and visiting in the Parish hall before the kids went to PRE. I spent a few minutes greeting people I knew, meeting some I didn't and filling out a bit of paperwork. Then once the kids went to class or off with friends, Christi and I talked for over an hour. She filled me in on her history and I discovered just how much I liked her. She said that she felt compelled to sponsor me and that she had never sponsored anyone before so it felt strange to her to have that urge. And when she told me she bought me a book, well that's when I fell in love! All joking aside, everything falling into place as it did, and the people coming forward or being there to intercept me in the right place at the right time, just seems like too much. Like I am too fortunate. Like its all too easy. When I asked Warren if he was going to attend Mass with me he replied that he would see how far I got then he would go. Seems fair to me. I have a history of getting bored with things. But this feels so wildly different. If only I had known sooner. But maybe it wasn't the right time for me to know yet. In my 33^rd year I came to the Catholic Church and found my home.

UNRAVELING MY FAITH: I've Been Wandering...and I Think I Am Lost

This post is part of a series that I wrote over the past 6 months and am just now publishing...

I've Been Wandering...and I think I Am Lost

That often repeated quote of Tolkien's... "Not all those who wander are lost."

I used to wear it as a badge.  Carry it like a compass and declare it my true North. Brand it searing hot into my flesh so that no one would have any doubt as to the fact that I knew I was wandering and I was perfectly fine with it.

Truthfully? My road has gotten a bit rough lately.

Maybe more than rough. Back alley, big city, stayed out carousing till 2 AM rough. Rutted out red clay, too narrow to drive down, tree blocking the way rough. Dead tired, hungover, sick as a dog rough. Don't read that literally.

I'm tired. I'm very tired of wandering. I think I just want to come home.

I've tried on religion before and just like any fashion trend, it never felt quite right, or only felt temporary. I would challenge myself to read the Bible using a guide and while I sometimes felt comfort from the scripture I mostly felt like a poser. Like I was trying too hard. It was unnatural and I couldn't stick with it. We would attend church and I was always uncomfortable, irritated, and sometimes so amused I would have to stifle laughter during the sermon. Surely this was not the way God wanted me to come to him?

The other day my husband asked me if I ever felt led. It was an odd question, but maybe not considering 10 minutes prior he asked me if I believed in angels in which we delved into discussion on hierarchy and such. But when he asked if I ever felt led, I paused and replied, "Led? No, never led. More like pushed."

His questions prompted my questions. Hard questions you mostly don't feel like asking yourself. And now I feel like I have to go look for answers.