Simple Joys and Immense Sorrows

This weekend I lost a friend in the most horrific way, suicide. I had known her since I was 16, I met her the day I met my husband and Br. Maximilan, one of our best friends. We were on a retreat, and she, Br. Max, and my husband were the only 3 people to talk to me. I was shy, had just gotten over the Chicken Pox, and in the past year had suffered a great tragedy. I was depressed, and they gave me hope. That is why it is breaking my heart to think that no one could give her that hope to continue on the journey.

We had many good times, she left to join a cultish religious group when we were on college and we were not allowed to communicate. When she came home, I picked her up at the airport, but she was not the same. Life moves quickly, she married and moved to the other side of the country. We lost touch. I regret this so much right now, more than so many regrets that I have in life.

Thanks to the internet, and facebook, we connected. It was like old times, virtually. We communicated privately online, but that is a terrible way to be a friend. I could not read her sorrow in email, I could not see her tears in chat, and I could not give her any hope.

Last month, we met in person, I think now that she loved my husband and I enough to say good-bye to us in person. That makes things so much worse, to tell the truth, why didn’t we hold her forever, why didn’t we tell her to move back to Chicago, why didn’t we give her hope. I told her things that she didn’t know, painful things. When she got back to California, she attempted suicide for the first time. Did we push her over the edge?

Her husband is a good man, he tried to protect her, but she left one Sunday morning and never returned. She was found in the bottom of a canyon a week later. How can someone leave their 3 little children? How can you lose hope to the point that even your babies are meaningless? I will never understand. I have been at the point she was in the past, about every 6 years I fight a battle with depression, but my children, my husband and my God are enough to give me the glimmer I need. How can there be no glimmer?

I’ve been praying the Psalms a lot, and one thing strikes me again and again, Praise for rescue. I Praise Him for saving me, rescuing me, but I also ask, why not her? What makes her plight different? I know her sorrows were worse, her past was darker, but why didn’t he rescue her, why did she slip into decay? There are just so many things I do not understand, but I trust  in the goodness and mercy of He who rescues me.

For my two readers

Did you ever have an evening, in which you received bad news, went to bed thinking about it, woke up, again, it was the first thought in your head, but were sure it must have been a bad dream, then realized it wasn't. That was my night. I'm fine, before you ask, but a friend received bad news, and I feel terribly for him.

I can't go into details, but please pray for my friend, and that he may be submissive and patient with God's will for him. When we are in the midst of trial, it is so difficult to see what God could possibly be preparing us for, or teaching us. It takes tremendous amounts of faith and obedience to see the potential good. I know this friend has both, but that does not make it any less difficult to understand why.

I already know I am, but thanks for letting me know.

Busy, that is. I really hate people telling me I am. I hate it almost as much as people who say things like "you do everything don't you" or " is there anything you are not involved with?" To answer that, yes, quite a few things, like sports for example.

I am busy, but I am happy and I can almost always make time for friends in need, it is quite rare that I'm unable to. I certainly do not expect anyone to be me, honestly, I could not figure out why they would want to. Therefore, I do not expect other moms to do anymore than they want/feel is necessary. Necessary is a key word here, it sums up my motivation for most things.

Most of what I do I did not decide to do, frankly. I was not forced either, but it became necessary. I teach NFP because there was no one else doing it in my area at the time, and though there are others who might be better at it, I had the knowledge and willingness. I also felt like God was asking me to share what I knew with others to help them get to heaven. The same can be said for 99% of the activities in my life.

I do not know why God has asked me to keep myself so busy, but I do function better that way, and knowing that sacrificing the sheer joy of sitting on my behind helps others sometimes, makes it worth it. So please, if you know me, I'll say I'm busy, just to vent and because it is infinitely easier than explaining everything going on, but do not throw it back at me. I'm easily hurt, and feel guilty that I do many things outside my home that I wouldn't be able to do if I had more kids, or a bigger home or a type B personality, I envy those of you who are able to look around your homes happily and not feel draw to escape, but that is not me, sorry.

Cock-eyed Optimist?

I never pegged myself as an optimist, matter of fact, my oldest and dearest friends would probably laugh out loud to hear me say it, but I am. Sure I think that the world is going to hell in a hand basket, I mean, seriously, look around! But I'm pretty sure there is a hole somewhere in that mass produced basket that is a way out, there is always hope.

Hope is a funny thing, it is one of those virtues that you have to pray for, to ask God for, and cannot "earn". I cannot give a great lesson one hope, Salvi et Spes puts into words my hearts deepest beliefs, and my dumb sea cucumber self can only put into feeble mutterings how important hope is. Hope has become my driving force. As bad as it seems, as bad as the government, or schools or economy are, I still believe that it has a purpose, we cannot give up, or simply whine about how bad it is. Hope puts faith into action.

I dunno what else to say, it has been a crummy day that makes me miss a lot of old friends, and really wish I could hide in a beer slushy (don't ask), but for some stupid reason, I still see the goodness, I still believe in hope. All the crap has a purpose.

Under Pressure

Tomorrow is my middle son's First communion. Big day, but I live for big days. However, this time, there are many convergences that are causing me a bit of stress. No not the food, or the weather, or even will he stand still, but will the people coming be moved. Yes, moved.

Two people are coming that are fallen away Catholics. One happens to be my little sister, whom I love very much, and frankly, pity, she really did not get a fair upbringing or exposure to the faith. She called today to let me know she is church shopping. This is better than her current state of nothingness, but I want her to be Catholic again. The faith of her baptism. I want her three kids to be Catholic, too. All this is happening because her husband's base in Afghanistan was attacked last week, and he decided they need a church. He is not Catholic, but again, I'd give my right arm, and my left for that matter for him to cross the Tiber.

Why does this cause me stress? I feel like I need to impress them at Mass. Yes, me, the dumb sea cucumber (if Aquinas was a Dumb ox, I must be a dumb sea cucumber). But then, I remember, wait, is it my job to impress? Not at all. Sure I can sing my little heart out tomorrow, but that would only bring attention to me. No, the Mass is about Love, pure, undying selfless love. But how I share that in the Mass? I don't, again, not me. 

But what can I do? My best guess is pray for them, show my genuine love of being there. I know it's tomorrow, but I'd appreciate any suggestions!

Where there there is saddness, Joy

This weekend has been hard, two of my best friends had miscarriages, one yesterday, the second, today. For lack of a better way of putting it, I'm tremendously sad for them. I cannot imagine their  sorrow, loss or pain, but I can feel mine. It seems so selfish of me, to mourn their babies.  I was so excited for them, they both were delighted to welcome a new little life into their lives, and I was delighted to witness their joy and eager to meet their little one. That life is gone. 

How can the sorrow of a promise never fulfilled be soothed? I long for the perfect words to say to them, for the right glance or embrace to make it better, but I know, I have little to offer. I have never felt this pain firsthand, thank God. I feel even worse that I put off pregnancy while so many of my friends long for a baby, it just feels selfish of me. I know that that is how it has to be for now, but still, I wish I could take away their longing. 

Moments like this are beyond my understanding, I am not meant to see how this fits in God's plan for my friends. It is not a crisis of faith, or a moment of doubt, just a lack of knowledge, but faith picks up where knowledge leaves off. 

Me Know Music

What exactly happens to the knowledge that once dwelled in our brains daily after a few years of non-use? This is the great mystery I need to solve. Twice this week I have been asked to define a music theory term, and the answer was pathetic. I used to be able to spout off this kind of stuff. Where did the knowledge go? 

I've heard theories, the best was that the knowledge that filled a brain pre-children goes out with the milk. So after 11 years of nursing kids, my brain should be pretty empty. That would explain the fact that I now respond to simple questions like a cave-woman. 

The sad thing is that this very useful knowledge has been replaced by other information, like the names of every Star Wars guy that litters my living room floor. Or even better, how to make a paper water bomb. How could this info be more important than the definition of fugue? 

At this point all the Ginkgo in the world cannot help, I guess it is time to just give in. So if you ask me an intelligent question, and I look glazed over, use small words and hand gesture, and maybe I can come up with a two word answer.

My Faith and the Three year old

I had a profound religious experience today. Cheesy as it may sound, it was one of those, Oh, I Get It moments. Our parish was all smells and bells, as it should be, for the feast of Corpus Christi. My kids were being good, as they waited for mass to begin, so I was able to to read the Magnificat meditation of the day. I came across a passage concerning St. Loenidas and his son St. Origen. It said that according to Eusebius, Leonidas used to kneel by the bedside of the sleeping Origen and deoutly and reverently kiss his son's breast as the Tabernacle wherein God dwelt. The child in his innocence and grace is the fittest home on Earth for God. The fact that I was sitting with my three beautiful children, in front of the Blessed Sacrament may have helped, but I was moved very deeply.

Fast forward about 5 minutes, Mass has begun, and Father is using the incense. My three year old had been quiet too long, and begins asking questions, what is that (It's incense, like in your little Mass kit), why is Father swinging it (he is blessing everything). Then I asked What does it smell like to you? And he gave me the most unexpected answer, Like my prayers are being carried to God. Yes, this is not a smell, but Gosh, this is the indwelling of the spirit, in my child. That pure innocence, that total unitedness with God. He is three, but his answer echos the psalms, which I'm not sure he would recognize. Throughout the rest of the mass, one thing after another made me realize, the meaning of being childlike.

I was never childlike, even as a child, and I have understood divine filiation on a very intellectual level, but, this moment, and moments like this, have opened my eyes to so much. I now wonder how I could ever grow in faith, without my kids. God has shown me Himself, though them. So many things my three year old has said, I do not remember telling him or teaching him, it is the naturalness that comes from innocence and grace.

They are my path to heaven, not just from the vocation to motherhood being my work, but through the many lessons I will learn from them. Rest assured, the three year old still had to be hauled out of the church in trouble at least once, for being, well, three, but that too is my path to heaven.