empty

my name is Rachel Elizabeth. my birthday (May 4th) is the feast of St. Monica. if you're even slightly religious, you might recognize a theme here. a Trinity of holy mothers, if you will.

Rachel means motherly. she was preferred over her older sister Leah, married to the same man as Leah, breathtakingly beautiful...and cursed by God with barrenness as a result of that beauty, so that her shared husband would learn to appreciate his other wife. (while I'm sure Leahs everywhere adore this story, I get hella salty about it). despite this temporary barrenness, she is the mother of nations and an ancestor of Christ.

Elizabeth was also barren for many years. what must it have been like to be a prominent member of the community and have everyone think God was denying you children due to your sin? how many tears did she shed? how many times was she put down by her peers? and yet, she gave birth to a son - the forerunner of Jesus Christ. She is the patron saint of expectant mothers/pregnant women.

Monica was married at a young age to a violent and unpredictable man. she was not barren but she suffered grievously during her lifetime. she is the patron saint of married women, abuse victims, alcoholics, alcoholism, difficult marriages, disappointing children, homemakers, housewives, mothers, victims of adultery, victims of unfaithfulness, victims of verbal abuse, widows and wives.

see a theme here?

motherhood/the desire for motherhood was a glorious cross, for all three of these women who eventually became saints. I see motherhood in my future. I'm not exactly sure what it will look like but I feel in my bones that it won't be ordinary or easy.

I know I desire children far more than I desire a husband (that is to say, not at all). I'd rather hold a baby than a man's hand.

it is a very odd place to be in, desiring children but not marraige. holding space not only for myself but for others like me in the Church comes at a price. I feel that people get frustrated and want me to either go to a convent or settle down, but the desires of my heart are not so easily solved. I could probably put up with a guy as long as I got kids out of the deal, but as we see with Rachel and Elizabeth, kids are no guarantee. And that's no mindset to enter a relationship with either.

in a world that uses women so shamelessly and shamefully, I do find myself tempted to use men. to get back at them. to satiate some petty desire for revenge that comes clawing out of my fractured nature.

children pass through my hands like water; they stay for a little while and then they need to be given back to their families and my arms are empty again. barren. lifeless. and I look at my empty hands and wonder why God would place a desire for motherhood so strongly in my bones without the coinciding desire for companionship that seems to accompany it for everyone else.

I know this post should have been about modesty or religion or something Sunday-ish, but we just celebrated the Visitation and it affected me in some type of way. A teen mom and her elderly cousin visited each other while pregnant. what the hell are the odds of that happening? could it ever happen to me?

this Glorious Pile of Dirt

...What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end

And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt...

Johnny Cash spoke openly of his earthly accomplishments (namely wealth and fame), but in his song Hurt, he notably refers to them as his “empire of dirt”. He offers to give them away, not sell them, implying that at the depth of his being he knew how truly worthless they are. Acknowledging how much attaining them had cost him. How much it had hurt.

I never thought I would be saying this, but I deeply empathize with this Hall of Fame Junkie. Because more and more often lately, it seems like people want my empire of dirt (my life here on earth). Or they want my empire of pure gold (my spiritual life). And I don't know how it looks so good to them. They must surely be insane.

Actually, let’s be realistic. My physical, mortal life is less like an empire and more like a pile. A glorious pile of dirt.

I'm not quite on Cash’s level just yet. I don't offer my life to those who imply with their actions and words that they want it. Sometimes it's because I'm watching out for the person; they truly don't know what they are asking for. But sometimes it is all I can do to forget the ones who try to talk me down or demean me in all kinds of ways. It's hard to keep quiet.

So like a perfectly normal, adjusted millenial, I have chosen to blog about it.

You cannot take someone else's physical or spiritual accomplishments from them. It is impossible. You will always be lacking in some way if you attempt to fill the spot of another person. You will never gain anything worth having, or be a person of merit, if you aren't willing to put in the same amount of time and sacrifice of the person you hope to emulate.

They say that immitation is the sincerest form of flattery. While this is true, there is a line that imitation should not cross.

The line begins and ends with your desire to do what is necessary to gain what the other person has that you want. I'm not saying that you should come up with some grand scheme in order to cheat your friend out of her essential oils business, or that you should steal your friend’s excellent wardrobe in the middle of the night. Not at all. But even that would be more commendable then needlessly and mercilessly putting your friend or acquaintance down out of spite, jealousy, or because they (unintentionally) make you feel inferior.

So often on social media these days, we see other people living the lives we want. We see travel, we see children, we see business accomplishments, we see people passing milestones that we think we should have passed a long, long time ago. We lose our way when we forget our own worth, and somehow think these other people that we envy got a special deal in life. That their lives are so much easier than ours. That they have what we deserve.

What I've gone through has been unique to me. Everyone's walk through life, everyone's path to holiness looks different because it is specifically tailored to the salvation of their soul. My life, both spiritual and non-spiritual, is designed with my eventual entry into heaven in mind. My suffering and my joy has all brought me to where I am right now in my life. It is a good road, but it is not an easy road by any means, and sometimes I am guilty of resenting people who imply that it was. They that speak of my spiritual life as something that can be possessed, not something that is a gift from God. Something that they have just as much right to as I do. Except joke’s on them, because I don't have any right to it at all. But I know that.

You do not deserve anyone else's accomplishments. You do not deserve anyone else’s spiritual life. You are not owed my spiritual experiences. You are not owed my consolation if you are not willing to live through my desolation. And besides, my consolations would make no sense to you. If I told you that my consolation was my suffering, what then? Where would that leave you? Because I guarantee that your spiritual life doesn't work like that.

I'm not trying to say I'm more special than any of you, or that I receive great favors. What I am saying is that it's a dangerous thing when you can look at someone else's prayer life or heck, even their regular life, and feel like it is owed to you. This world owes you nothing. You talking me down for having what you want doesn't change things and won't make you feel any better.

Living the life you want to live has nothing to do with what you deserve or how easy your life is, and everything to do with your disposition.

I've spent the better part of my life clothed in second hand clothing from other people. Sometimes I pass by shop windows or I see ads online and I admire the clean lines and the feel of clothing that has not yet been worn by other people. And I try it on and I look in the mirror and I see myself. And I thank God that He has protected me from ever being well-off enough to buy brand new clothes for myself. Because that is surely a road to hell for me. I'm happier in my threadbare t-shirts than I am in designer dresses from White House Black Market. Not because of the monetary value placed on such items; we all know that the T-shirt would lose. But because of my disposition. Simplicity breeds happiness. I find that I am well suited for simplicity, and therefore, happiness and satisfaction with what I have.

This is not to be confused with settling. Settling for a mundane job, that is a subpar use of your time and talents is not something I would encourage anyone to do. But what I would encourage you to do it's to learn the difference between settling for less and being happy with what you have. It's not an easy thing to discern. It takes prayer. Lots of it.

My first instinct was to tell you that you absolutely deserve to have the best life possible. You deserve supportive family and fun friends, a body that you're pleased with and clothes that you love putting on in the morning, to live somewhere that makes you feel happy to be alive and to feel God continuously by your side. These are all good things, and these are all things that I want for you.

But even as these words were about to leave my lips, I remembered that we are all human and thus, we deserve nothing. We were made from nothing and one day, when we die, our bodies will be nothing again. Nothing in this world lasts forever. So is it worth the angst and drama?

I don't think so. But don't take my word for it. Because all I've got to my name is this glorious pile of dirt.

Shine.

Nor do men light a lamp and put it under a bushel, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven. Matthew 5:15-16

It’s that time of year. Time for resolutions and gymn memberships, diets, organization and reading lists. Everyone’s doing something.

Every year, I try to quit social media as my new year’s resolution. And every year, the Love of My Life gently requests I do not. Because I Listen to Him so well and do all He asks of me, I usually log out of my social media accounts anyway, with or without warning, and delete them off of my phone. Every year, He asks me not to do it but gladly welcomes me back when I start listening to Him again. We each have our own way of being the perpetual prodigal, don’t we?

My particular problem that results in my being perpetually prodigal person is people.

I don’t like people. I can’t stand them. I have a shirt that says “Ew, People” on it that I wear to social events (I met the Bishop wearing it) and first dates (there usually isn’t a second).

I’ve often said I want to be a hermit. I’m not joking. My dream is to live in a hut in the desert or in a cell attached to a church, where I can be hidden from all but God. Barring those options, I would settle for living out my days in a basement, housing a grand piano, surrounded by hundreds of books amd a sign on the front door saying “No admittance, even on party business”.

However, God is my dream come true, the deepest desire of my heart. *cue “Never Enough” from The Greatest Showman,* You set off a dream in me...His desires for me take precedence over any of my mediocre aspirations. He wants more from me than complacency, more than my solitude, more than any sacrifices. He demands from me every part of who I am including the parts I don’t consider valuable enough to give Him. He desires my passion, my salvation. Dear as my dreams are, His completely eclipse mine because they are designed with every part of me in mind, not just the pretty parts; His plans are wholly and uniquely made for me, as I am wholly and uniquely made for Christ.

He isn’t calling me to give up the world by entering a cloister. He isn’t calling me to give up social media under the ruse of “simplifying” my life. He isn’t calling me to give up ranch dressing. He’s not asking for sacrifice. He’s calling me into a rightly-ordered life. Balance. Moderation.

I want to quit social media. It's the thing to do right? It would make me less self centered, keep me from comparing myself to others and give me more free time to spend on God. And it would make my life easier, because social media, much like driving (although that is an entirely different conversation), is impeding my path towards heaven and holiness. I hear God far more clearly in the sound of silence. I feel His presence more strongly the farther I am removed from humanity. I swear I can feel Him slipping from my grasp every time I log back into facebook or instagram.

If you think I love you, I do but I’d be lying if I didn't say I love God more. The day I cease putting Him First is the day I cease to be myself and become something else entirely.

Thus does mankind’s perpetual struggle continue of keeping the eternal present in our daily lives, while existing in this mortal world.

It would be a good thing for me to get rid of it. But maybe this is about me learning to not let it impede my progress. It would be a good thing for me to get rid of it. It would be the best if I practiced the virtue of moderation and stopped allowing it to come between God and I. It is a good thing (a VERY good thing) that diapers exist for babies and small children. It is best when they are potty trained, when accidents are a thing of the past. It is a good thing that I love God to the exclusion of all else. It is best that I love Him more fully and completely, by learning to love Him in His creations that bear His Image in the world.

Quitting social media entirely would be far easier than learning how to balance it properly and I honestly cannot remember the last time He requested anything easy of me. I want to get rid of Instagram so I am less distracted, not as dragged down by the world and have more time for Him. He wants me to make time for Him while maintaining an online presence. He's calling me out of excess into moderation. Quitting would be easier.

I did log out this year, but briefly. I spent NYE in communion with Christ, praying and journalling and weeping like the lovelorn weirdo religion has made me. And then I logged right back in the next day, even though it's the last thing I wanted to do. I'm learning. And I’m done trying to do things my way, done suffocating my light with a bushel basket.

So this was a blog post all to say how I am not quitting social media for 2019. Or ever, most likely. It’s my favorite New Year’s Resolution, maybe because I never actually get the chance to carry it out.

What is God asking of you in 2019? What is He not asking of you, that you are trying to give Him anyways? Try giving Him yourself first. Give Him your obediance; let Him choose your resolution.

Pax Vobis.

Take Me to Church

My first memories are of praying. I would sneak off to my room, hide under my bed, and talk to Jesus.

I was four years old.

I didn’t know I was praying. It would be years until I heard the term “mental prayer”; it would be longer before I fully understood the term. I had heard people speak of it and the difficulty they had doing it. It took me less than a second to decide to keep my ease with mental prayer to myself. I didn’t know why it was easy for me or hard for everyone else. I didn’t know how to explain it. I still don’t. So I hid it.

Currently, I am sitting on my roommate’s couch, my broken leg fully extended before me. My prayer life isn’t what it used to be. The physical discomfort combined with the emotional strain and complete exhaustion from lack of sleep are taking their toll on me. I’m having trouble getting my days straight; I’m not sure how many daily rosaries I have missed or when the last time I said my Christmas Novena was. I haven’t opened my Bible in days. I have the Blessed Is She advent journal. Tomorrow is the Third Sunday of Advent and I am on day four of the first week in my journal. Tomorrow also marks my third Sunday in a row of missing Mass. It’s frustrating and infuriating at the same time.

I know the best way to improve my prayer life is to pray more. I also know I am unable to pray by any of my usual methods. I am not up to speed. I have the attention span of a squirrel in a nut patch or a greedy dwarf in a gold mine. And every time I reach for prayer, spiritual sloth is there to block my path. I am going to be completely honest; I don’t even feel like praying right now. I don’t want to pray. I don’t want to pray. If you know me at all, you know how wrong it feels for me to be saying that. It freaks me out just thinking it.

My prayer life is a far cry from what it used to be. And the effort it would take to get it back feels like an insurmountable obstacle.

This is where I cheat or use crutches to help me get back to where I was. the main thing is to get back to praying. Prayer has a life of its own; once you start praying your prayer will morph and grow and change and change you and then change other things and there really isn't anything you can to to stop it. All you have to do is start. And for when starting seems impossible, there are tools you can use to help.

My main cheat/tool/crutch (whatever you want to call it) is Spotify. That’s right. But instead of music, I turn on the Rosary. I pull my rosary off my wrist and go through the motions until my actions become a prayer. Sometimes it happens instantly. Sometimes it never happens. The point is to keep trying anyway. I have a Rosary and a Divine Mercy Chaplet saved on my Spotify account; all it takes is the push of a button and that is far easier than attempting a rosary on my own. (I also sometime use EWTN streaming for rosaries or litanies.)

My second one has a bit more background to it. I have certain actions/locations I have trained myself to associate with prayer; I mindfully built a habit and it stands me in good stead in times like these. I have a plethora of hand me downs. I say a short prayer for the person I received an article of clothing from every time I wear it. I do the same when using/seeing a gift from someone, I pray for the gift giver. I pray before meals. If a book or a song or a movie brings a certain person to mind I try to pray for them right then and there. I cross myself every time I pass a church where Jesus is present in the Blessed Sacrament. I make the sign of the cross over graveyards and try to drive through them if possible, praying as I go. I pray for people who are dangerous on the road or whose bumper stickers seem like a cry for help. I say a prayer when emergency vehicles pass me on the road.

There are a thousand and one little ways to incorporate Jesus into your life if you truly desire to do so. Keep in mind that these can be tiny prayers: a Hail Mary or a simple ejaculation like Jesus have mercy or Come Holy Spirit. Remember the Sign of the Cross is a prayer.

The third one is my favorite but isn’t available to me right now. It is the practice of putting yourself physically in the presence of God when you would rather be anywhere else. Just to simply be in His presence, to make the effort of seeking Him out, to tell Him through your actions that even if you can’t pray right now, you are showing you still care the best way you know how. Go where you find God. My top places are adoration, graveyards and the beach. Go somewhere you feel physically present to God. You don’t have to pray the entire time you are there. You can say hi to God and then sketch or write or read or cry or type that email you have been dreading sending; the point is that you are doing it with Him and you chose to seek Him out to accomplish it.

The fourth way is the simplest. It is keeping things that remind me of God everywhere: on my person, in my house, in my car. For my readers who aren’t Catholic, we call these Holy Reminders. The name says it all. They are objects designed to bring our minds and hearts back to Christ. Our churches are typically full of them. They can be statues, crosses, medals, paintings or icons, banners or flags, stained glass windows….the list is almost endless.

I did just finish my rosary for the first time in days. I sat myself down in front of the TV, turned on the rosary with Mother Angelica and followed along with it word for word. By the fifth mystery I was finally “feeling it”. - for a split second before my attention slipped and I was back to square one. Tomorrow I will try again. And I will keep trying even though it seems like I am getting nowhere.

Life is hard. Praying can be hard. No one starts off being good at prayer. No one is good at prayer all the time. Our God is there to listen when we speak, heal when we are hurt and hold us when we cry. After the crazy of yesterday, let’s bring the focus back to Him.

R. Adjutórium nostrum in nómine Dómini

V. Qui fecit cælum et terram.

On the Evils and Pervasivity of Gnosticism within Christianity

I have a case to present to the good Christian people of this world. A case for love, modesty, the theology of whole personhood and positive self image. A case against the harmful Christian literature that surreptitiously speaks out against these things.

Exhibit A: Joshua Harris’ recently recanted (yet still relevant), misguided book I Kissed Dating Goodbye. (Can I get an “Amen” in the house of God??? I mean come on people. It’s about damn time he apologized for writing that thing.)

Exhibit B: another great Christian literary disaster, Dressing with Dignity by Colleen Hammond.

And lastly, just to make sure everyone is thoroughly confused and intrigued (and therefore keeps reading this blog post), for Exhibit C I'm going to reference the deplorable Mental Health of the generation that was raised on these two books, as well as briefly allude to their relationship/dating crisis. I'm included in that generation. Stick around to see how all three of these fun facts factor into my bad attitude and what I personally believe is the greatest resurgence of Gnosticism since the second century.

To make sure we are all on the same page, I am going to start with a definition of Gnosticism, how Gnosticism came to be a thing and why it is still a thing after being condemned by our holy Mother Church centuries ago.

According to the Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph 285, Gnosticism is defined as believing “...the world (at least the physical world) is evil, the product of the fall, and is to be rejected or left behind”. This is an extremely simple definition of an intensely complex and varied heresy. Many incorrect teachings fall under the blanket term of Gnosticism. I’ll move on to the purpose of this blog post, on the modern resurgence of what is possibly the oldest heresy to threaten Christianity.

Let us begin with an idea. It's not an original idea, mind you. It’s been toyed with since the beginning of the Church (before the Christian church, actually) and is rooted in the essential premise for the heresy of Gnosticism; the idea that our human bodies are sinful, evil in fact. I’m going to take this a step further and say this particular modern brand of Gnosticism specifically targets human sexuality. My generation has been taught for years that any aspect of our sexuality - from our desires to our actual, physical bodies - is sinful. I would like to note that I am speaking to all human sexuality, both the rightly-ordered (heterosexuality) and disordered (homosexuality) kind.) We are not merely our sexuality but our sexuality is a definite part of who we are and should never be discounted or discarded, especially not in the name of religion.

“For our God hath blessed creation, Calling it good.” (G.K.Chesterton, Ballad of the White Horse) He made the Grand Canyon and the Northern Lights, the plants and the animals and then said “I know what’s missing” and then made you, you beautiful person reading this post. You including your hair/eye/skin color, personality, sexuality, body type, sense of humor, ect…. He made every aspect of you intentionally and called you good. I love you. God loves you. Read on.

Gnosticism preys upon the part of our nature that knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that we are not worthy of the love and mercy we receive daily at the hands of Jesus Christ. That is how it has lasted this long. Don’t get me wrong, self knowledge is a beautiful thing, but so is self worth and Gnosticism is deadly to both of them.

Joshua Harris told us all in his book I Kissed Dating Goodbye, released in 1997, how to get the perfect relationship and consequently, the perfect Christian marriage. All we had to do was not spend any significant amounts of time with each other or ever touch each other and our dreams would be realized. Many of us bought that lie; there are dozens of broken marriages and countless broken hearts to attest to that. How did such well intentioned, good sounding advice go wrong? I Kissed Dating Goodbye had just enough truth mixed into it to appear harmless, but it was Gnosticism disguised as relationship advice; it taught us that our physical bodies and desires, therefore our sexual identities, were evil and not to be tolerated, spoken of or thought about and certainly not acted upon at any costs. While I am certainly not suggesting promiscuity, I wonder how he came to the conclusion this would translate into anything positive in married life. How anyone is supposed to reconcile physicality of any kind, even with their spouse, after living their entire life believing in the evils of their sexual identity (and all it entails) is a mystery to me. I simply do not believe it is possible. I offer you the many failed relationships, broken marriages and deplorable mental health of the generation that was taught abject denial of intrinsic parts of their being was the only way into heaven as proof of how damaging it is to attempt “divide and conquer” as a route towards sanctity, as opposed to the healthier, more fruitful theology of whole personhood.

This perverted, incorrect idea of how our sexuality affects our sanctity was further supported with the release of Dressing with Dignity by Colleen Hammond in 2004. Here we have another book filled with seemingly helpful advice. Claiming to give guidelines for modesty in a modern world, what Colleen really does between the covers of this books is take a hard swing at whole personhood. She too promotes Gnosticism, telling young christian women everywhere that they must “divide and conquer” and separate the sinful part of themselves from the good part of themselves; that our bodies are evil and our souls are good and therefore we must rid ourselves of the first in order to glorify the second.

Yikes.

These two great “Christian” works have led to a discombobulated train wreck amongst Christian millennials everywhere, in every walk of life. Thus we arrive at my final point. After being taught for years that our bodies are evil, is it any wonder that self worth/self image/self love among Christians has plunged to an all time low, while mental illnesses and eating disorders have soared to an alarming height?? Is it any wonder hordes of us are single and many of us have never even been in a relationship? That many of us are on medication or regularly seeing a therapist?* “I’ve never had a boyfriend/girlfriend” has become as common a phrase as “I struggle with anxiety/depression/anorexia/bulimia/ect.” We’ve been so busy trying not to be who we were created to be, we have forgotten how to love ourselves; since love of others and love of God hinges upon self love, we find ourselves in the sad state of not only being incapable of loving ourselves but also incapable of receiving love (from fellow men or from God) and, by default, incapable of loving others to the self-sacrificial degree required in relationships/marriage. It is a sad state of affairs when things deteriorate to the point that leaving Christianity (or what is taught as Christianity) behind is the only way to break the chains of self loathing and become whole, happy people.

I have a question to pose here. If we completely rid ourselves of our sexual identities in a mad grasp for sanctity and are successful, who, then are we? Certainly not ourselves. If we cease to be who God created us as/to be, are we really on the path to holiness? Are we still capable of fulfilling our purpose in life? Or, in chasing Christian ideals of perfection, have we permanently lost an intrinsic, valuable part of ourselves?

And for everyone who would say that I am coming down too hard on the authors of these two books and that they “had the best intentions”, I am going to quote St. Bernard of Clairvaux; “Hell is full of good wishes and desires.” (You might know this quote in it’s more modern form, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions”.) Their intentions may have been good and honorable but the exorbitant amount of damage caused to the millennial Christian psyche due to their work is proof that intentions are not enough. I fully intend to be a saint but that intention alone will not gain my entry to heaven.

This post started as a post on modesty and somehow turned into a post speaking out against Gnosticism parading as Christian teaching on modesty, chastity and sexuality...I am not exactly sure how that happened but I trust the Holy Ghost enough to let His words be. If this rubs you wrong, feel free to tell me, but if this hits home in an uncomfortable way, please know you are not alone. Many of us got duped and it’s going to be a long road to recovery. My prayers are with you as we move forward out of heresy-riddled darkness into the healing truthfulness of Christ’s light together.

Pax vobis, amicis.

*there is nothing wrong with therapy or medication to treat mental illnesses or eating disorders or anything else people use medication and therapy for. I am merely pointing out one of the reasons I think there are high numbers of people using these resources.

"What a Beautiful Confession"

This might seem lacking in the area of humility, but if there's one thing I know I'm good at, it's going to confession. I'm rather an expert at it, actually. Why? Cuz I'm a sinner and I know it, thank heavens.

I don't know what your confessions look like typically, but if you have ever experienced hurt in the confessional due to something a priest has said, this post is for you. I'm not talking about when a priest gives you solid advice to change your behavior and your pride is hurt. I'm talking about when you go in to receive counsel and forgiveness and leave feeling misunderstood, confused or hurt. I'm talking about the cross that affects some of us more than others in utilizing the confessional. The cross of confessing adding to our burden rather than relieving it.

I guess I go to confession pretty frequently. I try to go at least once a week, more often than that if I can. Like I said, I'm an expert at the confessional because I'm a sinner. But I also dread going to confession, sadly with good reason.

I've had priests chide me for how frequently I go. I've been flat out told after confessing that nothing I said was a sin and had it hinted I intentionally chose to waste the priest's time. I've been denied penance. I've been cut off mid-confession and told to hurry up. I've been told not to come back until I had "real sins" to confess. I've finished confessing, only to have the priest begin counselling me as if he hadn't listened to a word I said. I've walked out of confession feeling more lost than when I entered more times than I can count.

I've been tempted to stop going, time and again. But I've stuck with it in hopes it would get better one day and last night, my faithfulness was rewarded.

God saw that deep wound in me and allowed the healing process to begin.

I went to confession before Wednesday night Mass; the line wasn't long but people were taking their time so I had plenty of time to thoroughly examine my conscience and pray for the grace to make a good confession.

I (finally!) got in the confessional and briefly considered generically listing my sins and booking it out of there; I heard the Holy Spirit prompting me to be brave so I took a deep breath and started properly, Bless me Father, for I have sinned; I am single, it has been a week since my last confession and since then I accuse myself of...

The priest on the other side of the screen was so silent when I finished, it was agony to hear his intake of breath before speaking. What he said blew me away.

"What a beautiful confession."

I was stunned. My breath caught in my throat; I started crying and found myself unable to stop. Nothing in my 25 years as a Catholic had prepared me for those words, spoken in that moment, in a tone of awe and wonder. Never in my life have I recieved positive reinforcement like that in the confessional. Those four words tore open the deep wound in me caused by the hurt of previous confessions; God poured His love into that wound through the voice of that priest, to begin healing me. Grace entered my soul when the priest spoke those words to me, grace upon grace.

This is the paradox that is God. That He would come into the world born of a virgin mother. That He would be both God and man. That the first person He would recieve into heaven would be the last person invited to dinner by everyone else. That He would use a confessional to heal my wound caused by confession.

I don't know where you're at in your faith. I don't know how you've been hurt by the church. I want to tell you that hurt you experienced is not okay. The anger or sense of loss you feel as a result of that hurt is okay. The person who caused it is human, fallible and imperfect. They are not Christ and they do not speak for all of us. They do not speak for me.

I know this particular example isn't as drastic as other ones that are clogging up your newsfeed. I've kept quiet about it because it went against every fiber of my being to speak out against a priest(s). And we see where that has gotten us as a church. I will be silent no more. I am determined that the suffering of others will no longer be sanctioned by my silent acquiescence. I think we are all done with the illusion of perfection that is built on the silence and shame of innocent victims. I know I certainly am.

I want you to know if you are reading this that I will believe you, should you choose to tell me the story of how the Catholic Church has hurt you. I can't change it. I can't fix it. I can't undo it. Hell, telling me probably won't make you feel any better at all. I can't stop your tears but I can hold you while you cry.

Pax Vobis.

The Ninth Year

I have a special favor to ask of you. This is a little long winded, so bear with me here. This is also something I am not used to talking about, so if you’ve known me my whole life and never heard me mention it, don’t be surprised. It’s hard for me to talk about disappointments and failures.

When I was 16 years old, I had my heart set on joining the Poor Clares. I don’t wish to go into too much detail here; suffice it to say that I was granted the clarity of knowing the cloister was not what God wanted of my life. It was my first fight with God. Knowing He didn’t want it for me was one thing but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to stop wanting it for myself.

And so I found myself adrift in the sea of the “real world”. The cloister was my first choice. I never planned on having a career so I had nothing to fall back on. School lost much of its appeal for me. Every time I entered church, be it for adoration or Mass, satan would whisper in my ear, asking me how come I bothered to still seek God out when I hadn’t been good enough to be His bride. The devil preyed ceaselessly and relentlessly on my feelings of being rejected by God. Every time I got asked out or someone showed interest in me felt so wrong because I had never truly desired marriage for myself either. Or I had, but a different kind of marriage.

I am using past tense here but I want you to know most of this is an ongoing struggle for me. I look at the hot mess that is my life and feel betrayed because, while I wasn’t meant to be cloistered, I don’t seem to have a place out in the world either. I feel trapped, caught between my own desires and God’s desires for me.

Because the wanting never stops, not completely. Every time I think I am done being resentful or upset, someone will mention praying for vocations. Or I will hear an acquaintance talking about being a nun as a last resort because they don’t have a husband yet. Like being a bride of Christ is settling. And while other people console said acquaintance about possibly having to a nun since nothing else has come up, I am busy biting my tongue so I don’t harshly berate the poor person for failing to realize how lucky they are.  And usually fleeing the conversation. Or people ask me why I’m not married yet. Maybe because I don’t want to be married. Or offer to set me up with someone. What I would really like is to be set up with God. - can you arrange that?

I am proud to say I have reached a point where I can be happy for those actively discerning a vocation to religious life. I can support those choosing it instead of acting like it’s a punishment. It has taken me a few years but I can finally do it.

This year, 2018, has been harder than most of the others. It is the ninth year. For those of you who don’t know, cloistered orders typically take their final/permanent vows after 9 years. Sometimes there extenuating circumstances. Sometimes people discern out before then. But 9 years is the rule of thumb.

This is the year I hope to finally put aside any bitterness towards God on this particular issue. In my ideal world, where I enter the Poor Clares at 16 and am perfectly happy being the perfect nun, this is the year I get to give my permanent yes to God. I can hear the door closing permanently, in my mind. But instead of shutting me in, it’s shutting me out. In many ways, this year has challenged everything I know about God.

My word for the year of 2018 is Fiat, ironically enough.

God is asking me for a different yes than I originally planned on giving Him and, in the spirit of moving on and being who He wants me to be, I have a favor to ask of you. I want to see the purpose behind the biggest disappointment of my life and I need your help to do it. Could you please comment or message me with a way I have impacted and/or touched your life in the last nine years? I know nine years is a long time but this is important to me. I want to hear from your point of view one (or more if you are in my fan club) way my life touched yours, in a way that wouldn’t have been possible had I been in a convent. Thank you and please, keep praying for me.

Pax Vobis.