Be Real, People

There’s been a lot said lately by people more qualified than me about the current state of the Catholic Church. That its archaic. That it must change to keep people engaged. That the conventional wisdom of modern people is stronger than the doctrine of an institution that has survived thousands of years of in spite of the human brokenness of its members and leaders.

I honestly don’t have answers for any of the Churches critics, internal or external. I do know that I have made a conscious decision to follow Christ through the Catholic Church and to raise my children within it. Of all the adventures I have embarked upon in my life, this has by far been the most challenging.

When I began blogging and sharing how Christianity collides – sometimes rather harshly – with the daily life of my family, I truly believed I had found my role in the “new evangelization” the Church was talking so much about. I thought it was a great way to use the amazing technology God had given us to make the world a better place in my own little way.

I soon found that trying to navigate the intersection between adult life and Christian morality was not so easy. The more I explore, the more I realize how flawed I am as a Christian and Catholic.  I believe in decency, goodness and, as corny as it sounds, brotherhood. Even when, as I am currently, struggling to find these things within me.

I have been very blessed over the course of my life – for many years, I was one of those people who was hated by others, including my friends, because things often seemed to go my way. I got good grades from elementary through graduate school. I had wonderful family and friends. I was in good health, was motivated and innocent to a large degree of the harsh realities of living. I did not know how fortunate I was. The last ten years or so have brought me many challenges and battles for which I was morally unprepared.

A writer at heart, I thought sharing those struggles as I reconciled them with my faith would offer support and motivation to others facing personal hardships like mine.

May be it does.

But its done something else as well. Its made me more reluctant to wear my heart on my sleeve about my beliefs and experiences. We live in a world that wants conformity and homogeneity when it demands diversity. My most powerful stories of God in my life amidst my own numerous failings are ones I could never share here. Not because people might label me a religious fanatic. Heck, I get that by just going to Church on Sunday and being pro-life.

No. I can’t truly share because I must also live for the future in some sense. In many ways, I’ve already hindered myself through my writing. I’ve given the world reason to exclude me from social groups, employment opportunities, friendships, even family circles. It’s not because I’m trying to be Catholic – it’s because I share my un-perfectness in a world that demands flawless living. Funny concept for someone like me who spent my professional life “selling” businesses and ideas, and “putting the right spin” on straightforward things.

St. Paul faced great danger in his desire to spread the Gospel and God’s Word. Today, sharing our spiritual experiences in life can lead us to isolation. I often feel I have contracted Jerry McQuire syndrome, if you remember the old movie.  I know I have something to share, and my blogs do come from my heart. I just wish it was easier to know what’s right and get on with it like Jerry did in the movie. Or like Paul did in the New Testament.

I also hope I’m able to continue as Paul did in the face of adversity. Perhaps like he, I can learn to be happy with fewer friends and even fewer true companions on my journey.  Maybe I can learn when its best to keep quiet and best to share my life loudly. But more importantly, perhaps I can encourage others that the goal of life is not to be what society sees as perfect and acceptable. Perhaps we can never truly heal our own brokenness until we’re home with the Lord. But we can help one another cope through honesty and understanding.

 

People are People

I’ve been thinking a lot these days about the boxes we put ourselves in and the labels we put on those boxes. 

It’s somewhat amazing that in an era where we devote so much time to ensuring diversity in everything we do, that we actually end up driving people farther and farther away from one another.

My favorite incidence of this phenomenon this week is the idea that no white woman should have the audacity to wear hoop earrings. In case you didn’t know, those are apparently reserved for black women, and it’s wrong for white – or any other non-black woman I suppose – to appropriate black culture.

Huh?

If this is where we’ve come to in our culture wars, it should be clear that not one of us on this planet gets it. By sharing culture – music, art, fashion, food, and yes, even jewelry – we bring ourselves closer together and ultimately can find peace with one another.

Our love affair with technology often takes the blame for the social distance of the modern era. After all, it’s easier to say what we want to say (i.e., be insensitive to anyone and everyone) from behind a screen. There’s truth in that – I know I’m guilty of saying things online I’d never say to a person in the flesh. Who isn’t?

But self-separation really isn’t as new as the latest tablet or phone. We’ve been doing it forever really, so it makes sense to think people are farther apart than they’ve ever been. Society decides who they don’t like, and then they pounce. When we don’t know the type of person we’re attacking, it’s easier to stereotype and “normalize” ostracism. 

I’m pretty sure that now a days, no one really wants equality. Every “group,” be they women, religious, atheist, blacks, gays, trans, hillbillies, millennials, hipsters, liberals, conservatives, married, single, etc, etc, wants to claim some level of superiority over everyone else. Like it or not, equal DOES mean all lives matter. Even unborn ones, old ones, and dare I say it, Muslim ones.

I’ve become sensitive to this lately watching my husband maneuver through life. He is a middle-aged white man. With a beard, who likes coffee, and working outdoors. He goes to church, owns guns and trucks, and likes big dogs. He grew up on a farm and understands American laws at all levels. I guess you could say he’s the guy everyone wants to hate and blame these days.

But like anyone else living under any other label, there’s more. He works long hours at a job he’s good at, but, like so many, he is disrespected everyday. He struggles with his own health issues. He supports our family financially to the point of exhaustion. He’s all about “girl power,” being the biggest cheerleader our two tween daughters have, urging them to strive to be all they can be. He fights the system where he sees it failing people, especially kids. He provided extraordinary end-of-life care for both is his parents, and had been rock solid in love and support for a wife plagued with illness and depression.

Maybe he’s not so bad after all. Like a lot of other plain white bread guys I know, he’s working hard at life with absolutely no time to worry if someone is black or white or yellow or green or purple. Yeah, he’s worn and broken in spots – just like EVERY LAST ONE OF US. 

So it’s this simple : people come in all shapes, sizes, colors and conditions. We’re all here for a reason and we all count. People who do wrong should faces consequences – not because of their “type” but because they have somehow hurt another.  What we should be doing is encouraging one another to do right – in though, word and deed. Because in the end, we are all the same. 

Who would have thought that in our modern, enlightened world that we’d still have trouble understanding this?

Lent with My Dogs

For Lent this year, I’m going to try to be more like my dogs.

Now before any of you very serious traditional Catholics run for the Rosary beads, hear me out. I’m not talking about eating out of a dish on the floor, barking to go outside or visiting all of the other dogs in the neighborhood like my Great Pyrenees does. No. What I’m talking about is learning from my dogs about some of the amazing things they do that people seem incapable of doing.

People who know me well know I spend an inordinate amount of time with two very white dogs – the aforementioned Pyr, and an aging, yet very playful, West Highland White Terrier. If you don’t know me well, you might guess this from the fact I’m constantly covered in white fur.

I like them better than I like most people. Even when the Pyr drools all over my leg for a pretzel or the  Westie erupts into peels of high pitched barking every time the washing machine switches cycles. Its not because they’re cute and furry, although that does help (especially when one of them just ate an entire birthday cake or switched the gas on the stove on trying to get to an apple pie).

It’s because dogs know how to love unconditionally.

I’ve been observing them now for some time and I’m really not sure exactly how they do this. I know they don’t forget things – like when they’re punished, or dog shamed, or where the treats are. And I know they aren’t stupid – the Pyr can open doors with knobs and the Westie can hide his toys successfully from the Pyr. And I saw a lab on tv last week open an armoire refrigerator and find the peanut butter.

It seems that when they greet me with uncontrolled enthusiasm at the door, watch over me when I’m sick, snuggle with me at night and try to sit on my lap (the big one, not the little one), its truly because they love me and are happy in my presence.

I don’t know a human, even those who I love and love me most, who has never been angry with me, showed me distain, let me down or felt unloving toward me at some point. I have a way of torquing everyone I know off at some point. That’s just me. And I’ve paid for it in human relationships (hence my preference for animals).

But Max and Penny, those white furry angels, forgive me anything – unnecessary vet trips, tripping over them, buying the wrong treats, staying out too long, etc, etc. Sure they’ll show annoyance, but they’ll be back in no time for an ear or belly scratch, or in the Pyr’s case, a full body hug, like nothing ever happened.

I wonder often in their presence about this amazing trait. From what other dog lovers tell me, this is a hardwired thing in almost all breeds. They know how to forgive and forget. They KNOW nothing in life is more important than the power of love. No wonder dogs are man’s best friend. Its too bad we’re not more like them. Or learn more from them. Incredible were the masters.

So, my Lenten promise to be more like my dogs. I will be making more concerted efforts to love people without conditions or limits. To forget about the things that rub me wrong and remember that I myself am broken. To spend more time out of my house and my yard and with other human beings. And to learn more about my own shortcomings in loving other people for who they are – the image of God in a crazy world.

Teach Your Children Well

School is starting this week all around our area. Parents are running to and fro making sure their children have everything they need on that list of supplies, making sure they still have uniform compliant clothing in their drawers, checking in on any new rules and teachers, and generally driving themselves batty with minutia.

More and more these days, however, there are a few things we need to provide our children with for school that we won’t. Or can’t, in some cases. What they really seem to need is the ability to enter school with confidence, a bit of psychological toughness and some humility.

Or, more clearly, either the capability to endure being bullied, or the values that keep one from becoming the bully.

Yes, I recognize that schools far and wide have what we now call “bully programs,” which in most cases dedicate time in the school week to sitting around talking about being nice to one another and telling on the bullies. Sound good? I’ll let you in on a secret. It doesn’t work.

Here’s why : every possible protection in our school system is given to the bully but almost no consideration to the bullied. Most teachers and administrators don’t want to deal with this, for good reason. The liability in confronting the bully and his or her family can be enormous, especially in a private school where there are entanglements with personal connections and potential for financial support. In the case of the bullied, there can be legal concern if someone is physically or emotionally injured. Best that no teacher, aide, or administrator has knowledge of the situation prior to any escalation. Plausible deniability means less monetary damage.

I’m not blaming teachers and administrators per se. After sifting through bullying issues and consequences, for myself years ago and more recently with both of my girls, I have been unable to discover any real workable solution to this problem. I have learned much about the bully phenomenon, however, and as school starts again, I feel compelled to share some of this with parents. So:

1. THIS HAPPENS IN YOUR SCHOOL. I don’t care where you send your child to school. Bullying happens there. If you think Catholic or Christian school is exempt somehow because children have classes in religion, are compelled to do service and practice the commandments, you are dead wrong. In fact, such schools, which rely heavily on parents for fundraising, donations and volunteer time, may struggle with this even more. Kids are smart when it comes to knowing what they can and can’t get away with.

2. BULLYING CAN BE MORE ABOUT HOME THAN SCHOOL. Carefully examine your child’s home life and experiences outside of school. Bullying is a learned behavior. Is your child in regular contact with someone who puts him or her or other people down? Are they berated, teased or laughed at? Kids imitate. Chances are, if your child bullies someone else, they have experienced it along the way, or have witnessed someone they love doing it.

3. ITS NOT OVER WHEN YOU SEPARATE THE BULLY FROM THE VICTIM Kids who get bullied don’t forget about it. They carry the damage with them, and constantly question their worth and ability as a result. Many will not engage in activities they enjoy for fear they will fail and be laughed at. They will not try new things, speak up, read aloud, or volunteer, and will act completely different at school than at home. They stunt their own personal development to avoid mean kids. I know many parents who think the answer to this is to remove their child from a school where they are bullied. But the stress of starting over at a new school after being abused by other kids only causes more problems. I know a parent who keeps moving her child between schools because she thinks teachers are mean to her when they reprimand her for bad behavior. Now children in multiple schools dread interacting with this child!

4. IT HURTS THEIR CHANCES TO ACHIEVE In the classroom, kids who experience abuse or trauma are known to go into a type of security mode where they think about nothing but avoiding additional damage. They’re learning ability actually shuts off. Catholics, I learned about this during my mandatory reporter training for child abuse. And I’ve experienced it with one of my daughters. After years of above average standardized test scores, hers fell to well below average in less than one year. But she could tell me all the answers correctly when I worked with her at  home. We have a lot to make up academically this year. It’s simply not fair for any child to be terrified of their school work because other kids tease them for getting an answer wrong or taking longer to complete an assignment.

5. BULLIED KIDS ARE NOT WHINERS OR WIMPS I often hear adults say kids who claim they are bullied are just wimpy and need to suck it up. Don’t believe it. These kids are brave and walk into the lions den everyday where people who are supposed to help them simply cannot for a wide variety of reasons. Sometimes they do start to believe everyone is a bully, and have to be taught that not every bad thing that happens in their lives is aimed directly at them. But don’t underestimate them. Many are bullied because they are exceptional in some way or talented in another. Or even because they’re ordinary. I’ve seen kids bullied simply because they have both a mother and a father in their household. Or because their parents took them to Walt Disney World. Kids don’t have to have special needs, or be unconventional on some way to be bullied. It can be as simple as being the new kid.

The truth is kids can find lots of reasons not to like someone else when they regularly see adults disrespecting other people. As the adults, we probably don’t even realize that we do it. Do we favor some of our kids friends because they’re smarter, more athletic, more attractive, better dressed, more involved, whatever? Do we disrespect our kids and their brothers and sisters in the way we discipline them? Or maybe we make fun of random people we encounter during the day and invite our kids to laugh with us?  You know, that weirdly dressed woman in Wal-Mart? The kid on the ball team who never gets in to play? The grouchy old man down the street?

Take some time early this school year to remind your children that everyone has value, no matter how different or odd they may seem. Every child in their class and school deserves their respect, if not their friendship, and the opportunity to come to school every day without fear.

There may be little we can do to erase bullying’s impact once it occurs. But we can do a lot about our adult behavior, and how it influences the way our kids treat others. And we can serve as a reminder to them every day that the world takes all kinds of people to turn, and that everyone of them, rich, poor, cool, nerdy, acne-prone, tomboy, and on and on, deserves the most basic respect.

Make It Harder to Rape

I’m never going to understand modern feminism.

A few days ago, Catholic blogger Matt Walsh lamented via Twitterr that he found it sad that it was politically incorrect to warn young women off about the potential consequences of hook up culture. I publically agreed, saying I was sad women didn’t have more common sense.

We were of course talking about the infamous Brock Turner case. He’s the ex-Stanford swimming star who dragged a young women behind a dumpster after she blacked out at a frat party and raped her. Remember, his dad wrote that sickening letter asking the judge for lenience and actually got it?

Before I share , I want to say this : I think rape is more reprehensible than murder. I don’t know why men keep doing it (since ancient times), and I don’t know why we aren’t throwing the book at these jerks (Mr. Turner got a whole six months out of a possible 17 years). I do not feel victims are to blame in any case. I’ve known some and I know their plight. But I also know some women lie about rape (Rolling Stone, anyone?), damaging real victims credibility and hurting innocent men. I teach my daughters to protect their bodies as much as they can.

I have never had a response on Twitter like I have had to that comment. In fact it’s still going. More than 48 hours later. I see where it could have been misconstrued, but I was sure to explain myself. Ad nauseum. I’ve stopped that now. I’m belaboring the point, and it seems there is no end to the number of people who, without reading the conversation in its entirety, want to tell me I’m wrong.

Numerous young ladies want me to know they SHOULD be able to walk down the street naked and not fear rape. I don’t disagree with them. But unfortunately, reality does.

There seems to be no shortage of men who are capable of rape and assault. They won’t be stopping anytime soon. As a strong woman, I feel my best defense is to avoid situations where rape is likely to occur. If I’m in a situation of that sort, preparedness is prudent. Any women can still find herself in too deep, we are human. But if I can lessen my chances of becoming a victim, I’m going to do it. Wouldn’t you? It’s not about fear. It’s about odds.

Frat house rape is nothing new. I went to college and grad school. I lost a friend my freshman year to suicide. She’d gone home to regroup after being raped. We see major stories like the Stanford one in the news when college is in session every year. People study it. Law & Order recreated it on its various shows a million times. Every woman alive knows what a rape kit is.

Drinking too much elevates a woman’s risk of rape – for the very reasons we like it so much. It eases tension, blurs our decision making, makes us feel 10 feet tall and bulletproof. Unil it doesn’t. I’m not saying don’t have fun. Go out. Party. Be young. But also be smart and respect yourself. No, that does not mean that every single rape victim that ever lived asked for it. No one asks for it, let alone the aftermath.

But why risk the horrific possibility by getting black out drunk? Is drinking to excess that important? Do you really want to make yourself sick? Pass out next to a toilet on a filthy bathroom floor? Have – hopefully – some annoyed friends carry you to your bed? Maybe check on you once or twice if your lucky? Go to a hospital to have your stomache pumped? Get alcohol poisoning? Wonder what happened when you come to?

If you need more than me to tell you drinking can lead to bad situations, how about God? Wine is enjoyed a great deal in the Bible. But Paul warns us, “do not drink wine to excess.” Sirach chapter 31 hits the nail on the head, “…wine drunk to excess is bitterness of soul, with provocation and stumbling. Drunkeness increases the anger of a fool to his injury, reducing his strength and adding wounds.”

Men who want to rape will. What’s wrong with loving other women enough to warn them that even though men should stop, and be taught to respect dignity, reality hits a little harder? Rape will never be the victims fault – woman, man or child. But smart, strong women will avoid behaviors and situations that elevate risk simply because they SHOULD be able to do anything men do.

Ladies : Protect yourself. Protect your friends, sisters, mothers, aunts, cousins and nieces. Looking back on my younger days, I think I may have had many near misses. I was lucky. I’m more conservative now that I have more to lose. Life, it turns out, has much more to offer than a party and a good buzz.

Including the love of a decent honest man. We should all think about what could lie ahead before throwing caution to the wind for a good time.

Let’s pray that Brock Turner’s victim can rediscover the peace he took from her that awful night, and support all women, men and children who have experienced the horror of rape. We honor them by respecting ourselves.

Sorry, not sorry.

I heard some good news today about an old friend who had hurt me a great deal a few years ago. It soured my day.

But it made me realize, yet again, how fragile forgiveness can be,  and just how difficult it can be to live as Jesus did, and as the Father wants us to. Funny how we can assure ourselves we have forgiven in our minds, but when shocked or surprised somehow – like when you run into someone unexpectedly – the truth comes out. At least in your heart.

So, what to do? I guess I could sit around, walk around, whatever, feeling glum, excavating the pain and rehashing all the terrible things I think ruined my friendship. Isn’t that what we all do? Those of us who are willing to admit it, anyway. I know I do. But I don’t want to do that. I’m trying to live my life better, by what I’ve learned and by the path God is asking me to follow.

I tried something new instead. I said two prayers. One for me, and one for my old friend. Nothing elaborate. Just a quick nod to the Lord acknowledging that it’s hard to control our feelings, even when we can admit they are sometimes a little irrational. I asked him to help me let it go and find happiness in someone else’s success. And to remember the goodness of that relationship, not the bad ending. It was a long one. Most of it was special.

I also asked God to bless my friend and her family. I’m not sure if she ever understood the impact her actions had on my life. I prayed for her happiness, and that she always keep in mind that others are part of the decisions she makes, no matter how insignificant they may seem to her. The people or the decisions.

I find again that being a Catholic is indeed a great challenge, every day on every level. Forgiveness is not a one time thing, where you say your sorry, shake hands and everyone goes on merrily. It’s an ongoing choice to fight off the negativity and maintain your desire to make that “I’m sorry” stick. 

We certainly don’t make it easy for one another. Here’s to trying harder to forgive and to forget.

Girl Power-Up

For a little while now, I’ve been reliving some of the worst memories of my adolescence.  I suppose it’s my way of living vicariously through my daughters, both now tweens. 

Like all mothers, I pray they will grow into level-headed, self-loving, decent young women. In my generation, many of us instead grew into neurotic, self-doubting, low-self esteem bundles of emotion. Sadly, and many women won’t admit this, we developed this way at the hands of other women – bullies, social climbers, gossips, etc. In my day, women were their own worst enemies. And I think very well may still be.

We give a lot of lip service these days to raising strong, independent, self-actualized young ladies. We encourage them to do whatever they dream, to be who they are, and see themselves as powerful. We remind them they’re capable of math and science. We have them playing football and hockey. We change the body type of Barbie so they don’t see themselves as sexual objects. And yet somehow, that cattiness is still alive and well in females everywhere, and at even younger ages.

I have been working for the last 11 years now at raising my own strong little ladies. I don’t sugar coat the lesser amenities of life for them – we all need to be responsible and productive. Even with my own very pronounced short comings (depression, diabetes, heart disease) I’m dedicated to providing them with the tools they will need to take care of themselves with confidence as they become adults in a very cruel world. 

Yesterday, for the first time, I began to wonder if I’m doing it wrong. 

My oldest daughter asked me if she could go to a different school. I was surprised…somewhat. She has had a hiccup or two in her emotional development, and is regularly referred to by people at our school as “sensitive.” That means she’s known to cry at school when she feels put down, alone, overlooked, overwhelmed or teased. She shows her hurt. That makes some kids think she’s not cool, and some teachers that she’s less intelligent. 

Nothing could be further from the truth. She’s quite smart, a wonderful cartoonist, dedicated musician and overall good-hearted person. Her academic test scores are well above average. And she’s very likable. Similar to other girls her age, she’s also a bit awkward and confused. Like others, she’s gained a little weight, struggles with athletics, is stymied sometimes by her developing body and feels left out of almost everything. She seeks affirmation.

She’s had a few “best friends,” but all in all, it seems when she finds one, that girl finds someone else who doesn’t want her around. It appears she’s been labeled uncool, and is regularly alone in a sea of little girls, who, unlike her, do not appreciate country music, trombone, Disney animation, black jelly beans and Minecraft. 

I was like this growing up. Like her, I lived a bit farther away from the others in my class, didn’t play with those kids often after school, and my activities were considered weird. I went through that awkward phase where I got a little overweight and couldn’t get my hair to lay just right. I was an early bloomer. I was teased and bullied regularly by kids who today don’t remember doing it. But I remember – and that treatment stayed with me my whole life. I still doubt my worthiness and abilities today.

I had hoped in this new age of the Strong Girl, my daughters would not experience this catty competitiveness that should have died off by now, allowing young women to support one another while appreciating their differences. Yet it now seems to start more strongly at younger ages. (For my youngest in first grade.)

What are we doing as mothers, teachers, role models that tells girls it’s ok to ostracize other girls on the basis of what society tells us is cool or not cool? Is it right not to invite one girl out of a class to a party because she doesn’t get an A on every test, or because she doesn’t have the coordination to play basketball? What about if she’s chubby, or tells silly jokes or repeats herself when she talks?

All girls, little ones, tweens, teens, even adults, want a friend or two to share life experiences with. As adults, as a society, are we subtlety telling our daughters that some girls don’t deserve friendship or an ally in the battle of growing up? 

It seems so. We can do all we can to encourage them to be who they are as their parents. But there’s little we can do when their peers deconstruct that confidence daily simply because who they are isn’t in style. When push comes to shove, they believe other girls over parents “who have to tell them nice things.”

As women, likely all of whom have experienced this type of abandonment by friends, shouldn’t we be encouraging our daughters to embrace differences and build support for and among all girls facing the perils of young adulthood?  Let’s find ways to kill the spectre of “popularity” among kids before we create more girls who are afraid to engage their gifts.

Can I Trust You?

My hair hurts.

I’ve been spending a lot of time these days thinking about trust. And I’ve got to say, I’ve got nothing.

I can honestly tell you I currently trust a total of seven people. Two are 10 and under.  And if homework is involved, there can be lapses there.

But that’s not the kind of trust I’m really talking about. Kids are going to fib if they think they’re headed for trouble. I’m talking about the kind of trust you base life decisions on – the kind you build your foundation on and take refuge in.

For many years, since childhood until my 30s, I trusted freely. I believed in people, and I believed those who I spent time with, worked with and for, and knew me in my community, if they claimed to like me, accepted me for who I was. We may not have agreed on everything, but I thought my inside person – the part of me that loves, hates, likes, dislikes, thinks etc – was safe with them. I rarely held back my feelings on anything, even if I changed them, or they led to what I considered an “agree to disagree” situation.

Much has changed. A few years ago, I lost the woman who had been my best friend since high school. In a somewhat heated discussion in front of all of our other friends, suffering with serious depression, I told her I didn’t think our relationship was reciprocal – and that it had been a long time since it had been, if it ever was. After over 25 years, in which we always said “friends can tell each other anything,” she kicked me out of her house. I apologized – in writing no less – at least three times. She has yet to accept. 

I’m sure we don’t know each other at all any longer. Nor do I know the others who were there that night any more, even those who promised to support me but have now even unfriended me on Facebook.  Sadly, I couldn’t even say I’d trust any of them now if I had to.

I’ve tried to keep up and “fix it” – I have sent Christmas cards, gifts for my God child. Tried to find out what’s happening through other sources. I pray daily I’m forgiven. I pray for my friend, our friends, their children, their parents. Heck, I even tried to die once of a heart attack. I got a delivery of rotten pineapple and cantaloupe from four couples who were once my foundation. No calls, no cards. To this day, it’s the most painful part of that experience – I truly was sick of a broken heart.

But I digress. Recent turns in the world have me realizing that beyond my tight circle, I’m really not sure who or what there is to trust in.  Obviously not age-old friends who’ve abandoned me. I have relatives I cannot trust, who have literally stolen or attempt to steal from me when I’ve showed them kindness. I had colleagues who destroyed my confidence and eventually my career because I put my children above my job. Not doctors who can’t seem to comfort or heal me. I love my country – yet the very president shows contempt for my religion, my race and my upbringing.

I’m confused also about my Church. As an adult, I’ve finally gained an understanding of what it stands for, what its traditional teachings show. While I’m busy striving to be God’s servant and falling on my face in the process like any real Catholic, our clerics are giving the impression that perhaps THEY no longer trust the Word of God.

In this world, I find love only in my family and my dogs. I hide from most of the rest for fear my heart cannot take any more loss. And I’ve come to understand those who say God is their light. Not the God wrapped in the majesty of the Church. Not the superhero one we look for when something awful happens and we wonder why he allows it. But the one who’s strong hand I can feel on my shoulder at night when I open my Bible and allow him to lead me to the right passage to heal my anger and fear. The one who gently shows me each day, through my beautiful daughters, that the world might be ok after all. The one who trusts ME to raise them. The one who gives me the ability to share my often unpopular ideas here with you.

I’ve found through my recent thinking, in our world so full of lies, he is the one I trust most of all.

We Can Be God for One Another. Just Try.

So I was reading Matt Walsh’s blog this afternoon on the wake of the two journalists killed live on air, in which he talks about our problem not being guns or mental illness, but Godlessness. I wholeheartedly agree. We either don’t want to recognize evil, or we have lost our ability to recognize it.

As he was talking about the few among us who are still truly fighting in the name of morality, I stopped to think. Perhaps the problem is not that there are so few, but that for us to make the kind of progress we truly want to see is going to take some time.

I’m a person who truly worries for and about the world we live in. I have cried myself to sleep over things I have witnessed and experienced. I try to live as a disciple of Christ and put my talents to work for a better world. But I’m human. I know I have light years to go to even consider myself worthy of His love. I screw it up constantly. Just like everyone else in the world, I’m complicit in this mess.

Yet this summer in many ways has been a revelation. I have found more hope by realizing that there is truly a swell of people who want better for us all. It’s subtle. Simmering beneath the surface. But it’s there. And when you see it, you want it to grow faster and stronger. But the road is indeed long, and the change built on little things.

A few months ago, my husband and I took our girls to a local amusement park. It’s an amazing place, in the theme of the classic East Coast parks of yesterday. But it had some trials upon opening this year, as it’s not exactly located in the safest of neighborhoods. While sitting at one of those games where you shoot a water gun to make a plastic gorilla shimmy up a pole, I dropped $50 out of my purse. I would have never known.

A young black man, about 14, approached me, and without picking it up, pointed it out to me and told me he saw it fall from my bag. I’m a middle- aged white woman with two young white daughters and a husband who has worn a thick-style Duck Dynasty-type beard since Phil was still cheating on Ms. Kay. This young man, and his five friends, were the people I’ve been told to fear. They would rob me blind. 

Yet this young man was returning money I never knew I lost. He could have taken it, walked away and enjoyed everything in that park on my dime. He didn’t. The sheer surprise and amazement I felt at his honesty made me realize, even though I try hard, I’m not trying hard enough. I believed the hype. He changed me. Instantly.

I pulled a $10 bill from my purse, walked up to his seat at the water gun game and handed it to him. I so wanted to reward him for doing what he did. To reinforce his behavior in front of his friends, as if I were his mother. He looked at me quizzically, and said, “Ma’am, I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t have done.” I told him he indeed had, but it hadn’t anything to do with the money. He shook his head, and took the reward.

Later, I realized I may have unintentionally insulted him. He didn’t need a reward. He was simply a good kid. One who knew how to show people he was properly raised and proud of who he was. But me, I was so excited to have been surprised and challenged by this young person, I had to show him somehow. I wish his parents had been with him so I could tell them how beautiful their son is. 

I’ve witnessed a lot of those kinds of things this summer. I watched my husband pay for dinner for an older veteran in a diner one night, without anyone but me (including the vet) knowing. I found an old friend and his wife had doubled the size of their household by opening it to three older kids who needed a family. I saw other parents refuse to allow their children to get away with bad behavior, holding them accountable for their actions. My own 10-year-old daughter just the other day, reached into her own pocket at a restaurant to donate to St. Jude. I saw my workaholic brother cancel his entire business schedule to be with his best friend when his mother passed.

People have the capacity to be Godly. There are so many other examples everyday that keep people like me, trying so hard to lead, moving ahead toward Godliness. We’re out here Matt. I hope more of us find you and show you our light soon.

Pomp & Circumstance

I had a little bit of a shock today from an old friend. He noted on his FaceBook page that it had been 25 years to the day, June 2, 1990, that our senior class had graduated high school.

It wasn’t that I didn’t know that…I did. But it finally dawned on me what 25 years really meant. It meant a college degree, a graduate degree, a series of very rewarding jobs, a wedding, a husband, and two wonderful little girls. It also meant diabetes, depression, the crash and burn of a promising career, the failure of a new career attempt, the loss of once-true friends, and a heart attack.

In June of 1990, I was a young woman with all of that ahead of me, and of course a lot more hair. The night before my graduation ceremony, three days before my 18th birthday, I had broken up with my first love. I whimpered through most of the graduation and baccalaureate Mass. In true teenage fashion, we were back together the next day, and held on for three more years, as our very different lives sent us down separate roads little by little.  

 A few years back, we found one another. He told me he was using the lessons he had learned from my parents to guide his own children. I cried – He had come from a broken home, and my parents never really approved of our relationship. To think he had learned from them anyway was extraordinary. My first love took his own life a few years ago now. There’s a different, bittersweet feeling to the world when I look back at graduation today.  The same world that propelled me had failed him.

Two good friends of mine spoke as co-salutatorians on my graduation day. I’d spent everyday and almost every class with them for four years. I lost track of them almost immediately. I still really don’t know why. I saw one, now a successful and admired doctor, one day when I was at a local hospital for a pre-natal check-up. We had been thick as thieves, yet I couldn’t bring myself to even say hello. For some reason, I was afraid she wouldn’t remember me. 

In the same hospital, I ran into another classmate while visiting my grandmother. I had known her since elementary school. And, as few know, in our junior high years, lived in fear of her bullying me. I was happy not having seen her more than twice since high school. Even in my late 30s, the encounter sent me back to a time when I was timid, embarrassed and sad. A time when good grades allowed our principle to overlook me skipping school to keep away from her. Today, I’m using that experience to help my own daughter who gets bullied.

Just a few weeks ago, my oldest daughter went to a sleepover at a friend’s. The friend’s father graduated a year after I did from the same school. I had a friend then who had a colossal crush on him. I lost track of her a few years back, but I hear she’s somewhere back around town. If you had told me in 1990 that his daughter and mine would be in the same class in Catholic school, I’d have laughed. God brings people back into our lives sometimes. Only He knows why.

It’s amazing to me how 25 years later, the lessons of those years of Catholic high school are still with me. How the people I knew then can illicit the same feelings from me now. How the teachers I knew then can still make me feel like a kid. How my older brother’s friends who looked after me as a freshman still make me feel safe and loved today. How memories of class trips and adventures keep me connected to some I’d never have known otherwise. How I can’t hear the Eagles sing “Take it Easy” without thinking of a dear high school friend who sang and played it better to my ears.

So much that I learned in those years made me who I am. Not only personally, but in relation to God. My experiences in Catholic high school, while maybe not so different from those of other teenagers in many ways, came with an underlying morality, and a safety net of teachers, parents, administrators and friends to hold me up. In my later life, I find many of the lessons I learned from them have kept me alive to fight another day. Literally.

I couldn’t have imagined sitting in that wood pew in St. Paul’s how much hardship life would bring in my future. Nor could I have imagined the blessings. As I look at this year’s graduates, I can’t help but wonder what the Lord has in store for them. I hope they have learned as much as I found later that I had.