Feast Days and Birthdays

Today is the feast day of St. Maria Goretti, today is also the birthday of a friend of mine that took her precious life almost 2 years ago.I see an irony today, "B" was sexually abused as a child. That abuse, in combination with later abuse, ultimately lead to her death.

I have so much anger still from her death. I saw her 10 days before she died, she came to town to say good-bye. If I had only know, could I have said the words to save her. I knew her when we were teens and in college. Could I have guided her to a place for healing? Some would say I did, she converted to Catholicism as a freshman in college, but that lead her to more abuse. Could I have prevented her from joining that "religious movement" that opened old wounds? That I did try, but she not listen. Could I have been her doula, and prevent the birth trauma that again made wounds open, maybe, but, the past haunted her so much. If only I had come to visit her all the times she begged me to fly far from my family.

The truth is that I could not do anything, even if I tried harder than I had. She was deeply wounded, and wounds were open again and again. She could not make peace, even with the best religious counsel and the best therapy. She her wounds could not be healed, no matter how may efforts her truly loving, and gentle husband made. She was so deeply wounded.

Why anyone ever would hurt a child in such a horrific manor is beyond my comprehension. We see the stories in the papers, on TV and, in the lives of the saints. Today, I beg for the prayers of St. Maria Goretti for my friend, that God is merciful. I beg her prayers for my children, for their protection and purity. I beg her prayers for those who are put into situations that they cannot control and are forever wounded.

The Simple Joys of a Movie

After years of waiting, my sons and I finally saw Monsters University. A movie usually is not a big deal, we see them sometimes. But for my eldest son and I, Monsters, Inc. is a moment in time, it is something we have shared, it has much deeper meaning.

When my son was 18 months old, we were shopping, I was wearing high heels, and carrying him and fell off a curb. I dropped my baby. It was the worst day of my life. He suffered severe head trauma. We knew it was bad, but when we got to the ER and they transferred us to the nearest trauma center, we knew how bad it was. My little guy has always been special to me. He was my first and only 100% natural birth, he bonded with me in a different way, he made me feel alive, until I was hit with postpartum depression. Then, he was the only thing that kept me going, my love for him, my desire to provide life giving milk for him, and his cute fat little face. It passed, but at the end, he was there, smiling, not knowing how he saved me.Now, he was lying helpless in a trauma unit crib and there was nothing I could do to help him.

After many hours of tests, crying and worry, he was to be observed for 48 hours. I was in shock, my baby was not allowed to be held, to be nursed, to be mine. Worst of all, I was reported to DCFS for inflicting a head wound on my child. As if I would EVER hurt this precious baby I adored, but that is exactly what I was accused of. Thankfully, that was resolved, but, it haunts me to this day, for my work I frequently have to have DCFS background checks, and it is on my record. I have to explain to future employers the circumstances of that day. It hurts every time, I usually tear up explaining.

 My baby went home 72 hours after the start of our horror, with the restriction that he needed to sit in the dark and not move. Did mention he was an 18 month old boy?? And a super active on at that. We needed to keep him as unstimulated as possible.I sent my daughter off to family for a week, and bought the only movie we had not seen yet, Monsters, Inc. We spent the week watching it over and over and over. I loved it, it made me cry, like all Pixar films. Even better, it kept the toddler happy and quiet and nestled on my lap.

Now, unlike most movies that we watch ad nauseum, Monsters, Inc.endured. And as that son grew, into a snuggly boy, he would always suggest that movie as his first pick when asked what we should watch. It almost became a joke how often he would suggest it. For some reason, I always let him watch it, and we always snuggled on the sofa. His siblings hate that he always wins that movie, but, for us, it is special, and we still love it. His laugh is so light, so full of life and joy, I secretly let him watch it to hear that melodious sound.

That boy is now a terribly awkward 12 year old. He is lanky, really lanky, he is smart, he is OCD, he is sweet, tender and still likes to cuddle. He still has the best laugh. We have been talking about the sequel since we heard about it. We planned a date, he and I , and we let his brother join us to keep the peace at home.Finally, the day arrives, and I did not have hopes for it being good, but, without giving away anything, it is what he needed right now and frankly, a wonderful movie. It is about a guy who has hopes, but they are unrealistic, it is about making real friends, it is about the underdog coming out on top through hard work. That is my boy. He is so amazingly smart, but he has to work, he gets picked on my his peers, he is never picked first for things, but he has the sweetest heart and an unrealistic hope. It is a beautiful thing. I can't quite explain why Sully and Mike have stuck with us, but like the wounds of that day, they have. I am so thankful..

Wounds that time cannot heal

My brother is in the Army, he has been since July of 2001. He rather likes his life. Today he posted a picture on Facebook of a memory bracelet he has from May 2, 2004, the day most of his unit was killed in Iraq, including his Captain. I know he posted in response to the Captain's wife sharing her last photo of her husband with their children. Heartbreaking. My brother is like that, he thinks of others. He thinks of all the guys who have died around him every day of his life, they walk with him, invisible to sight of others. As a medic, there have been hundreds.

My dad also has his own band that walks with him, He, too, served in the military. It has been 40 years since he said farewell to the Marines, but, he never really left. As he ages, his memories get stronger, and worse. 40 years of repression gets harder to maintain as his body gets older and his mind less occupied by work and raising kids. Every night he has nightmares, and often wakes up with bloody scratches on his arms, from where he was "shooing mosquitoes".

They are the walking wounded. Their minds, bodies and souls bare wounds that time cannot heal. If my brother's life is like my dad's, the memories will only get worse. I pray it is not so, that J-gets the help that was not there for my dad, but, they are strong proud men, it is hard to admit help is needed.

All of this makes me think about the article that is going around about court martials for those who share their faith, including chaplains. When our soldiers are grieving, they need God. When they are tired, they need God. When they are scared, they need God. When they are homesick, they need God. Sometimes, though, like the rest of us, it is hard to see God among the muck of life. Sometimes, He has to be brought to us by others.Now, that could be grounds for the worst punishment that the military can offer. I wish my brother and my dad were more religious, I know in their hearts they have faith, but life has beaten it out of them at times, but I am sure, there have been men who were there to share it when they really needed it.

The Simple Joy of Nostalgia

It has been a LONG time since I have taken to this page. It has been a long year, I will spare you the details, but it feels as if I am coming out of a long winter into spring. The beauty of it all is breathtaking.

I just finished reading Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis. I first attempted to read it twenty years ago, as a high school student, but, I could not. There are many books that for whatever reason, if I do not read them at the right point in life, my brain will not tolerate them. This is one of them. In honestly, I was listening to it. One of the turns my life has recently taken involves me working full time, driving all over the place, and my husband being a full time stay-at-home home schooling dad. This gives me hours to listen to books each week. I was lead to Till We Have Faces while wandering through the audio books at my library, remembering my past efforts, hoping that if I could not escape, ie I am driving, I would get through it. I did. It was wonderful, even though it was hard, I did not "get it" until the end, then, I wept, it was just what I needed.

At the time I first tried to read the book, it was because the band, Over the Rhine, named their debut album after the book. Now, I wanted to know why. This lead to a flood of memories, feelings and joys. I first started listening to OtR when I was a senior in high school, when I was falling in love with my now husband. We fought falling in love, but, you cannot resist the nudging of God. Every song put into my head a overwhelming feeling of love for Chris. Reminding me of the smells, the warmth of the sun, the chill of the nights, the adventures everything 18 year olds feel in love. I am long past that time, but again, God shows us what we need when we need it, I needed the memories. I needed to be reminded why I passionately love him.

Last night we taught an NFP class, we've taught hundreds I think, but our talk that we give on why NFP for us was the best ever. Not because we are passionate about NFP, but because the memories of our early days were fresh, out struggles, our joys, our quirky personalities and why we are married and have kids. We are passionate for each other and the love God has created.

This is another thing that has lacked in the winter of the past year. My heart has been cold, not just to my husband, and my friends, but to my Creator. And now like Orual in Till We Have Faces, my veil has been truly lifted and I am allowed to see the hand of God. The beauty of it all fills me.

Out of touch

It  has been a while, the long winter, though mild, took a toll on me. I am left feeling out of touch. My relationships are different, my life is different. All that was last year is gone.

So many people have disappeared from my life, not just through death, but through neglect. So many friends have drifted in different directions. I’m not sure how to feel about this, other than lonely. I feel out of place everywhere I go. I feel 16 all over again. And that stinks, except then I had April to help me, this time, who is the April in my life? I haven’t figured that out. Who is the wise and gentle friend who gets me through? Who listens to my insanity, and does not judge?

Why we need Saints.

It has been an exceptionally crappy fall for me. My last post highlighted the death of my friend, a few weeks after that, my husband lost his job and at the end of October, my mother very suddenly died. Crappy is the only word for it. It has been hard emotionally and in all honestly, financially.All of this has made family life, especially my marriage very trying. It has led me to really question more than I have in years every aspect of my personal faith.

I have not run and turned heathen, but, my prayer is dry, my soul is even drier, and my sense of hope is long lost in a desert. Today seems especially dark and dreary to me. So many things are not as I would have them, our home is not prepared for the birth of our Lord, I am overwhelmed with my jobs that help us get by and I am lonely. It feels like so many of my friends has left or simply are too busy, which I get.

But, in this darkness, there is a beam of light. It was announced Bl. Kateri will be St. Kateri very soon. Why does this matter to the whiny suburban mom? Simply because she has been my “go to” girl for years. Her family didn’t understand her, neither does mine, she was not beautiful, I hate the way I look, she was often alone, see above. But, instead of sitting in the dark with a cup of coffee, she glorified God and offered him her pain. Yep, I need to stop whining and crying, okay, that may be harder, but I need to Glorify God, no matter what. No matter how much it hurts to have not said “Goodbye” or “I’m sorry” or “I love you” to my mom. No matter how much I hate leaving my kids, neglecting our homeschooling to go to jobs that are disgusting. No matter how frustrating it is that my husband is not my provider or protector right now. I need to Glorify God, I need to give him these things, and let him keep them. I need to ask Kateri to help me, to show me how she did it, and then, I need to give thanks.

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.

I Have Confidence in, Oh, Wait, No I Don’t

I can admit to having absolutely no faith in my ability to do anything. Truly, it is a nothing short of a miracle that I accomplish anything. Take this moment for example, I’m supposed to be writing an essay that will complete my doula training. And, what am I doing, drinking coffee, listening to sappy music and writing on my mostly ignored blog. Why? because I cannot articulate the 1000 words that I need to to get the darned thing done.

I’ve been working on this for months, all I need to do is put 1000 words down on paper, 1000 words that meet pretty strict guidelines, that are supposed to sound like I know what I am talking about. But, as usual, I know in my head what is true, but I cannot express it, because I’m not sure I provide the services that I am describing.

It doesn’t matter how many people tell me I am doing fine, or that they think I am good at what I am doing, I don’t think that, and therefore I cannot attempt to promote myself. I lack confidence.

My daughter on the other hand is a big ball of self-belief. How it is even possible for me to have offspring with so much confidence is beyond me. She is faced with some pretty serious auditions in the next few days, and is handling it all with amazing grace, believing that she is the best. She may not be the best, but her ability to believe that she is often makes up for her lack of a small skill. How did I raise this child? How did she get to be so self assured? I think it may have something to do with my belief in her, her father’s belief in her. We think and know she is great at the things she does and are honest with her, in loving ways, when she is not. I never had that.

We all just want to be loved.

It is just human nature to be desire to be liked. I’m totally guilty of this, I want people to like me. I want them to want to be around me, I want them to want to do things with me. Essentially though, I am still the sixth grade girl hiding in the corner of the gym at a dance because she knows there are people who do not like her.

I’ve run into a few people in life lately who for whatever reason, have made it clear, they do not care for me. Most of them I do not know well. Not nearly well enough I feel for this judgment to have been made. It has caused me to have to soul search, do I have such a strong personality that I send people running the other direction as soon as they meet me? Or worse, have I offended these people in the few moments I have been around them?

Okay, here comes the grown-up, why do I care? Seriously, I left the 6th grade any my Jr. High ways a loooong time ago, like when I left Jr. High long time ago. But still, I care. These people are not the kind that will be my close friends, not matter what they think about me, or time together is so limited. But as our circles intertwine, I want them to have a positive view of me. Again, why do I care. I care because I carry the light of Christ.  It is a burden and a blessing.

I have to project it in a beautiful way, if I am not, that is when it becomes a burden. In my life right now, it is a heavy, large light, something not always easy to carry. My faith is not as strong as it used to be, or needs to be, and I know I’m not reflecting the light well. I worry that my portrayal of the light is distorted and not clear. That could easily put people off. My love is not glowing, my heart is not light, and that, my dear readers, is off putting to me, I can only imagine how it is to others.

All right, I’m back.

The voices in my little red head are getting too loud, so it is time to blog again. Nothing special is going on, the kiddies did a play. I agree to these things to enrich their lives, and forget they kill mine.

I am now officially a doula in training, with a pending certification, anyone wanna give birth with me there, that is seriously all I need. I’m begging the hubby for new floors, and in the process doing all I can to make the currently floor look bad ie vacuuming as little as possible. But being that Chicago weather is as logical as its politics, we had a freeze/ warm up/ freeze pattern, so now we have ants. Good times. So instead of dealing with the little critters, I’m here and the kids are making cookies. That’s how we roll. Dang, there is one on my foot, now where is that vacuum?