"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. 

the cross you carry

***trigger warning***

this post is about depression. I don't know whether it will negatively affect your mental health or not so read at your own risk.

I wish

I wish I could heal. your. hurt.

I wish I could follow the sound of your broken heart beating

And make it whole

People hurt you

Used you

Abused you

And you carry that pain all alone

Jesus had Simon of Cyrene but you don’t have anyone

You won’t let anyone help you carry your

Big

Heavy

Cross

The weight of it would kill anyone else

It almost killed you

So many times

But you

Precious you

You are determined to carry it alone to spare anyone who might try to help you the pain of carrying it.

You think you are helping

Maybe you are

But I feel helpless watching you

Seeing you struggle

Seeing you in pain

You hurt

I hurt

You bleed

My heart bleeds too

And somehow in the midst of it all we’ve never been closer or farther apart.

You think you know best

Maybe you do

I know if I have to watch you suffer one more second I’ll

cry

die

So I

Turn away

Pray you survive.

You come to me with this huge weight on your back

Tears streaming down your face

But if I ask you about it

You apologize

Turn away

Pretend it’s not there so I have to pretend too

But that's not fair to me and it's not fair to you

Your cross is an elephant in the room,  a secret we can’t share

I hate it for being there.

I have to remind myself not to hate you too

It's not your fault

You didn't make it

Life gave it to you

I just need you to admit it’s real, even for one second

Let me take it from you

Let me help you hold it

Let me be the one person you don’t have to hide from.

I’ll probably regret it

I’ll definitely regret it

But it will be worth it

For you

I’d do anything

For you

If you would let me but you never do. 

Unrequited Love

The thoughts of His Heart are from generation to generation: To deliver their souls from death, and feed them in famine. {Psalm 32:11, 19}*

“This is a feast of unrequited love.”

Let that sink in for a moment. Ouch, okay now back away from that thought. Drop it like a hot potato. No matter who you are, no matter what your calling in life, no matter whether you are male or female, I’m betting you know what unrequited love feels like. We all do.

It might have been the crush who never liked you back.

The person who never responded to your overtures of friendship.

The parent who you couldn’t please.

The child who doesn’t appreciate anything you do.

The spouse who leaves you feeling lonely.

The friend who never calls/texts back.

The person who left your life with no explanation.

We’ve all been there. On some level, we have all experienced unrequited love. And goodness, does it hurt.

“Today is a feast of unrequited love.”

I challenge you to take those feelings that come from your unrequited love, to dig them up from wherever they are safely buried in your mind, and to re examine them in the light of His heart. His broken, bleeding heart. Celebrating these feelings might seem impossible but recognize them for what they are; a rare insight into the mysteries of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

My heart hath expected reproach and misery: and I looked for one that would grieve together with Me, but there was none: and for one who would comfort Me, and I found none. {Psalm 68:21}*

You have felt what He feels. He has felt what you feel. Let today be the day that you comfort each other. His heart bleeds for you and I….and we try to drown out the sound of our own bleeding hearts with Netflix instead of turning to Him.

Late have I loved You, O Beauty, so ancient so new, late have I loved You!

St. Augustine

Today is a feast of unrequited love. Mourn it with Him. Celebrate it with Him. Unite yourself to Him through it. Let Him love you. Love Him back.

V: Cor Jesu sacratíssimum.

R: Miserére nobis.

Pax Vobis.

May Thy holy mysteries, O Lord Jesus, impart to us divine fervor: wherein we may taste the sweetness of Thy most loving Heart, and learn to despise what is earthly and love what is heavenly: Who livest and reignest.*

*these are prayers from today’s feast, The Sacred Heart of Jesus (pg. 718), the Introit, Offertory and Postcommunion, taken from the 1962 Daily Missal.

I don't know what I'm doing

It’s 9am on a Saturdaaay, the regular crowd trickles in

Most people here are commuting to work

Coffee helps them feel human agaaaain

Where: Dunkin’ Donuts across the street from Holy Family Catholic Church

When: 9am on a Friday

Who: Me :)

There is a line filling the entire store, someone just tried to walk off with someone else’s coffee, some lady and her kid are all over the place bumping into everyone and standing right in front of the door and the atmosphere is filled with the unstable joviality that will come crashing down as soon as a customer doesn’t receive their coffee/sugar fix quickly enough.

And that, my friends, is when the window washers walk in. Now in addition to tying not to trip over anyone’s feet or children, there are sudsy buckets of water on the floor to avoid too. A crew of men wearing bright green proceeds to get in everyone’s way and thoroughly scrub and shine the windows. It’s like a scene from a comedy. The cacophony and chaos are stupendous. Nobody knows what to make of the window washers. Nobody can remember what they ordered. But hey, at least it smells good in here right?

And then just like that, the window washers finish and exit. Everyone receives their orders they have been waiting on for the last 10 minutes and there is a rush to get to the door, to complete the final leg in the morning commute. I am one of the last people left standing inside and the sudden silence is breathtaking.

Just, you know, a regular morning in Florida. Yes, folks, this is the long anticipated update on how I am doing here.

How do I like it here? I don’t. Jacksonville, to put it mildly, sucks. For those of you back home, think of Portsmouth and then imagine it on a much larger scale with worse drivers; now you have a little insight into the place I now call home.

"We don't know what we're doing, but we're getting good at it."

Mother Angelica 

That being said, my soul really likes it here. (I realize this is a strange way of putting it but it also makes the most sense.) Deep inside of myself, I am content. Happy, even. At peace. This is where God wants me. I am here doing His will; here is where I’m meant to be. It makes no sense but I find myself quite incapable of planning on leaving a place I don’t even like. Following God tends to do that to me. Jacksonville Florida, for the foreseeable future, is a match made in heaven and I ain’t gonna mess with something good.

There are lots of bugs here. I have learned not to look up when I leave the house early in the morning; the cluster of insects that lives in/near the front porch light leaves my stomach turning and wishing I could be back inside, safely in bed. There is a green frog that lives on the front porch. There are snakes, lizards, geckos, newts and all sorts of amphibious life everywhere; I find myself almost stepping on all sorts of things during my runs. Last week, I saw my first alligator.

It is still so odd for me to be the new person. Everyone typically assumes I am a college student before I set them straight. For the first time in my life, I am bolding telling people I relocated a day’s journey from everything I know because God told me to.

“what brings you to florida?”

“God wants me here.”

There is a freedom that accompanies admitting you aren’t in control of your own life. My heart might not be happy to be here but my soul has been given wings.

They shall soar on wings like eagles. They shall run and not grow weary. They shall walk and not grow faint.

I go to Mass at 7am when I can. I am succeeding as often as I fail for putting the baby down for a nap now. I have a carseat in the back of my car. I have my own personal cheerleading squad that jumps up and down with excitement every time I come home. I am realizing afresh how impatient and imperfect I am. My failures dismay me but the good news is, I am much too busy throughout the day to dwell on it; I make a firm purpose of amendment and ask for the grace to do better tomorrow.

Best of all is being here with Jiza. It has been years since I got to spend any decent amount of time with her. I used to pray Mark would get transferred back to Norfolk so I could hang out with his wife again; now years later, I am living out the answer to my prayers. They didn’t come to me, I came to them but I’m not picky so I’m not gonna complain about it.

I am near a beach. I have found a few decent cemeteries. When I was in a Chick-fil-A a couple weeks ago, it got searched by the police. I met someone in the confession line that grew up in Virginia Beach and used to go to St. Benedicts! Last weekend, I was supposed to have girl time with a sweet soul who is generously being my friend and showing me the good in Jacksonville; it turned into quality time with her husband and two other random wierdos (Alex and Mahlon, I hope you are reading this) too. We started by getting artisan donuts and ended up playing Carcassone in a coffee shop.

I miss mail boxes. I know that is an odd thing to say, but I think neighborhoods should have mailboxes and they don't here and it irks me. The house number next door is 12534. It drives me crazy. I wore a skirt with pink flowers on it two Sundays ago. The 4 yr old told me I looked "so pretty, just like a pig!" The 5 yr old informed me later the same day she liked my pig outfit. My pig outfit is definetly staying in Florida whenever I move next.

I've been asked about my husband. I've had someone approach me and ask if I was a Rastelli, two things I never imagined happening here, where nobody knows me.

Two more things before I end this ridiculously long update. Y’alls prayers are the freaking bomb dot com, yo! I appear to no longer be allergic to cats….

…..RIGHT?!?!?!? It’s a heckin’ miracle.

Since y’alls prayers worked soooooo well, I am unashamedly asking for more. I have two intentions very special, very close to my heart. Timing is everything so I am not going into specifics just yet but I promise, you will get the full update as soon as I feel led by God to let y’all know what’s up. It’s all good, but it’s gonna be a lot of work and I don’t know what I’m doing so yeah. The prayers would be appreciated. I know this is insanely cryptic but heck, I need the prayers mmkay?? :-)

Thus concludes my Florida update. Y’all are in my prayers. Miss ya. Love ya.

Pax vobis.

FOSO

I went to the beach this morning. It’s the thing to do in Florida. (Actually, I was at the beach all the time back home too.) I got there early. Packed “light”. Brought G. K. Chesterton’s Ballad of the White Horse. Wore a totally outrageous outfit as a cover up for my bathing suit. Like I always do.

Like I always do.

Always.

If you found out you were going to die in a week, how would your life change?

People’s answers vary for this all important question, but I have chosen to stick with my favorite.

My life wouldn’t change. Or; I am making the necessary changes now, so when my time comes I can say “I lived” instead of “I wish I had lived”.

If I am already taking every chance as if it’s my last and living everyday like it could be the last one, what do I have left to regret at the end of my earthly existence? Nothing, that's what. Depending on your perspective, this is either incredibly freeing or incredibly morbid.

"Safe?! From what? Life is always on the edge of death; narrow streets lead to the same place as wide avenues, and a little candle burns itself out just like a flaming torch does. I choose my own way to burn." Sophie Scholl 

I’m not under any (many?) illusions about myself. I know I’m not perfect and any virtue is something I associate with perfection; something I am working towards and might have one day, but don’t have yet.

And yet. There are times when I tell people of the life I lead, times when I talk about how I follow God wherever He sends me and they say I could never do that. Time and again, I have run head on into that phrase. I could never do that. I could never leave my family. I could never travel alone in a foreign country without knowing the language. I could never - the list is endless. People think they could never do what God is asking of them and all for the same stupid, insufficient reason; because they are afraid.

Newsflash y’all. I am afraid too. More than half the time. I cry. I stumble along after God, tripping over my own feet and refusing to let Him carry me. I wonder how His will for my life can so often feel like a punishment if it’s the best thing for me.

Not just with the big things either. Going to France 2 years ago felt the same as wearing a veil the first time. Veiling the first year in turn feels the same as standing up to my peers (some of them fellow Catholics!) when they are wrong. Forget FOMO, Fear of Missing Out. Ya girl here struggles with FOSO, Fear Of Standing Out. And by struggle, I mean every time I enter a Norvus Ordo Parish, there is a voice in my head tempting me to pluck my veil off my head, just to blend in with everyone else. Not just in the first 5 years I wore one; every single time, from the first time until now. Every time I do something that could make me stand out, all I want to do is fade safely back into obscurity.

But that is not what I was created for. My Lord and Savior has burdened me with great purpose; He spoke the words to us "Go and make disciples of 'The Nations'". The world isn't won by blending in.

We are called to bear the shame of being different and standing out.

So. I stand out. Not because I want to but because God has called me to live in this world, yet in a way that is different from what most other people’s lives look like. And I think there is a common misconception floating around that when you stand out, you are okay with it, and if you are okay with it, you are brave and when you are brave, that means you aren’t afraid anymore.

PSA, that’s a load of crap. Surprised? I sure was. It is one of the beautiful (if complicated) mysteries of our human nature combined with our souls that we can experience both human emotions and the powerful, releasing presence of God the Holy Spirit in our souls at the same time. It is possible to stand up for what you believe in absolutely secure in your knowledge of the truth and shake in your boots at the same time. I’m not saying thats how it is for everyone, but that is how it continues to be in my own experience. I am perfectly at peace in my soul while a storm of butterflies rages in my stomach. I am both afraid and brave.

So. Back to living each day as though it is my last. Back to the beach. I changed things up a bit this morning. I brought my earbuds, put on my dance music playlist (Deborah 😘 Sarah 😘) and I danced. I went in and out of the waves, back and forth, spun around...at one point (still not quite sure how) I ended up sitting in about 4 inches of water mid-movement. I laughed, got up and kept dancing. 

For two hours this morning, I did something I have never done before, something I have always wanted to do. Something I knew people walking past me would judge me for. Something "crazy". 

What does contemporary/hip hop dancing on the beach to *cough* musicwithagoodbeat *cough*, making a spectacle of myself have to do with my salvation?

Nothing. And Everything.

It’s good practice. If I get used to standing out, used to being uncomfortable and to not caring as much if everyone is looking at me, that will be one less temptation keeping me from being the Witness of God I am called to be in this life. Because we all know the world preaches individuality while simultaneously expecting everyone to be the same and not make waves.

Don't let FOSO keep you from being who you are and witnessing to Christ (the two go hand in hand). I'm going to put this bluntly. If you can't dance like nobody's watching, it's not anybody's fault but your own. If you started dancing near me, I would watch you too. That's the f*cking point, that people are watching you. If I was in a pitch black room and you struck a match, I would certainly look your way. I might even be angry with you if the light hurt my eyes. (See that cool analogy? Badumcha!) Don't be fervent in church and go with the flow on campus. Don't bother telling people you are Catholic if you aren't going to act like one. Don't try to skate by doing the bare minimum and kid yourself that avoiding the topic of death means it won't happen to you. Don't fall into the trap of thinking your own vocation is too hard for you. 

Get off your butt and stop telling God you could never do what He asks of you. Get used to standing out. Welcome the odd looks. Own the shame that Christ gave you when He called you out of the darkness and into the light. 

And dance. Dance like no one is watching. 

Live. Live like everyone is watching. Live like God is watching. 

Pax vobis.

"If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;Be happy anyway.The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;Do good anyway.Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;Give the world the best you've got anyway.You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and your God;It was never between you and them anyway."

This revision is credited to St. Teresa of Calcutta. Original Poem by Kent Keith 

On Being Beloved

Do you let God love you?

When I enter into God’s presence, either physically by entering a church/chapel or spiritually by entering into communion with Him through prayer, I find myself doing everything but letting Him love me. Is love truly love if it is only one sided? And by this I mean - do I truly love God if I don’t let Him love me back? Do I let Him love me back?

I have come to realize that I don’t. I treat God the way I treat the rest of humanity; I act like I need to spend my time in His presence minimizing the amount of space and attention I am taking up. I make myself small in His presence for all the wrong reasons. I sit in the back, not because I am humble (I wish I was), but because I am both too afraid to get closer and I don’t want to take a coveted spot near the front just in case someone more worthy than I comes in.

I wish I loathed sin as much as I loathe being “in the way”. I wish I was as good at loving God as I am at telling Him all my faults and failures. I wish I knew how to receive love as easily and freely as I give it.

He tries so hard to break through my iron wall of negativity and discouragement, but I am not easily dissuaded. Half my time in adoration is spent telling Him how worthless I am. Half my tears shed during Mass are out of sorrow for my many, many failures throughout the years. This is all well and good - contrition has its place in our relationship with God but as with any other good thing, if taken to an extreme it can do more harm than good.

Are you in the habit of letting God love you?

I don’t know how Mary did it. I don’t know how she sat at His feet and watched every word come out of His mouth and let Him love her without feeling ashamed. I am like Martha - I would have faded into the background, done the grunt work and at the end of it, found something to complain about. I too, have tried to boss God around. (He won’t be bossed y’all, it doesn't work.)

I try to tell Him how to treat me - thankfully, that doesn’t work either. He knows my sins, my transgressions, just like I do. But He also knows something I tend to forget; I am worth dying on the cross for. I am worth loving. I am loved.

I’ve been at a stalemate with My Maker for a long time over my worth. Worth is what we are, the basis of our relationship with God. He accepted my worth centuries ago, alone in a garden in Gethsemane. My refusing to accept His acceptance does me no good.

So I am trying something new. Now, when I enter into His presence I make sure there is time for love on both our parts. I usually start with my intentions, then move to praising and thanking (loving!) Him. I try to incorporate my self-criticism into this to give it purpose.

You are He Who Is and I am she who is not - St. Catherine of Siena

And then - this is the hardest part - I merely sit (or stand or just be with Him) in His presence and let Him love me. Having emptied myself of requests for other people, harsh words against myself and all manner of praises toward He Who Is, I sit in silence. I don’t do anything. I don’t always feel like I am doing anything. I look at Him. He looks at me. Sometimes I find myself repeating the phrases “I love You” or “You are beautiful” over and over (sometimes out loud, to my acute embarrassment); sometimes I feel like it was worth it. Sometimes I feel like an idiot. And sometimes He meets me head on with the full force of His love for me and I am so overwhelmed I forget to breathe. These are the best times.

Any relationship requires good communication - how can we love someone we don’t know? I can busy myself with the cares of the world, I can bring the burdens of others to God and lay them at His feet, but if they are done without love, I am a clanging cymbal.

I am trying my hardest to stop wasting God’s time. One of my liturgical new year’s resolutions was to stop asking Him why and so far I have only seen good things come from that. I believe seeking Him out in prayer and lovin’ on Him through my thoughts and actions then not allowing Him to reciprocate by showing me love and affection is a huge waste of His time and mine.

So let me ask you again. Do you let God love you? There is nothing to be gained from avoiding or running from His love. There is everything to be gained by running towards Him with arms wide open.

Join me in learning to be loved. In Being Beloved.