Tattoos, Motorcycles, Beer, Bourbon and Faith

Birthdays, Winter Walks, The Indigo Girls and Memories

It was Easter Monday, April 9, 2012. You know those fresh spring mornings when the sun streams through the windows, you awaken to the melodious songs of wrens, chickadees and finches, and the aroma of lilies and forsythia hang heavy in the air like the smell of a sweet and heady perfume? Well, this was not one of those spring mornings. It was gray and overcast, unseasonably cold for early April with a good stiff breeze that sent a chill through your bones. Rain was predicted for most of the day; that very thought exhausted me more than anything. It was a lazy, lethargic kind of day specifically designed for sweatpants and hoodies, good books, Law & Order marathons and long naps on the couch under big, thick comforters. And it was exactly eleven days before my birthday. That is when it hit me that I would be turning forty.

Coffee is always part of a lazy, lethargic day

The BIG 4-0. Forty had always hung out there in the far, far distance like something you could just barely see on the horizon if you squinted really, really hard. It was an age that seemed so old when I was eighteen

Desert horizon, squinting to see what is in the distance

Eighteen was the age where I was going to kick the world’s ass. I was so cocky, so full of optimism and promise and had such big plans. By the time I had turned 22, the world had already kicked my ass several times over.

Upon reaching the ripe old age of twenty-five, forty still seemed old but not nearly as ancient as formerly perceived. I knew people who were forty, well I worked with people who were forty or in their forties and they still seemed kind of cool. And once I hit thirty, well by that time, forty is not old at all. Forty was young, very young. In fact, in my thirties, I had friends in their forties. We would sit around the bonfire drinking beer and laughing about stories of our glory days in high school and college. We would reminisce about all the stupid stuff we did when we were young and boast about how we didn’t get caught doing all those things that we shouldn’t have been doing. Each story was better than the last.

Certain songs make me nostalgic for those days. In fact, I can’t listen to Bon Jovi without reliving those summer walks to Dairy Queen for Blizzards or the late-night strolls during the first snow fall or numerous jam sessions with my friends, Laura and Karen. And the Indigo Girls bring back those crazy college days in Jayne’s VW Beetle going anywhere or heading to Penn in Cass’s Mercedes for a Theta Xi Frat party or smoking cigarettes on the Fournier Porch with AD, Michelle, Julie and Feeser thinking we were so damn cool.

College and High School Friends

I remember my parent’s friends were in their forties, but that was twenty to thirty years ago. I knew it was inevitable; forty would eventually catch up with me. Someday (if I was lucky enough) I, too, would celebrate my fortieth birthday. But now forty had crept up and pounced on me all of a sudden. I certainly wasn’t ready for it to spring upon me and sink its claws into me. Where the hell did the last twenty years go?

It seems like I was just in college celebrating a momentous twenty-first birthday. We did the Chestnut Hill Pub Crawl. My partner in crime throughout my entire college career, AD, had orchestrated the entire evening. Purple Hooters were the celebratory drink of choice. We started the night off at JB Winnebare’s at the Chestnut Hill Hotel, preceded to McNally’s, then hit a couple of other random places before heading to the Depot. We wrapped the night up at our favorite haunt, Butler’s Pub.

My alcohol and snack selections have gotten a bit more refined as I have gotten older

I had been frequenting Butler’s Pub that entire school year, so the Butler’s Brothers were more than a little surprised to learn that I had just turned twenty-one that very day. We were at Butler’s every Wednesday Night to see the band Serious Fish perform, then, we would come back on Thursday for $0.10 wings and $7.00 Buckets of Rocks. We often stopped in on a Monday or Tuesday because we could, and it was just understood that we would swing by on the weekend in the midst of our countless adventures. It was our Cheers and everybody knew our names.

Closing Time, Semisonic

We wrapped up at Butler’s Pub at closing time – 2am April 21, 1993. AD and I sat outside the bar and talked to Tom – the skateboarder and Tim Butler (no relation to the Butler Brothers who owned the pub) until nearly 3am. At that time, somebody came to pick us up, because we were in no condition to drive. We sang Galileo and Joking by the Indigo Girls at the top of our lungs the entire ride back to campus. It was one of the best nights ever and one I will never forget!

Galilieo, Indigo Girls

The Indigo Girls provided the background music for my entire college career. We listened to Rites of Passage like it was our job. Their music played in the morning when we got up – blurry-eyed over steaming cups of coffee, while showering – getting ready to face the day, before classes – making sure all assignments were completed, while studying – because who doesn’t study with music in college, while getting ready to go out – the Indigo Girls were always the beginning of a great night out, in the car – on the way to where ever we were going, and at the bar – for obvious reasons. And when we weren’t listening to the Indigo Girls, we were singing the Indigo Girls, loud and proud like we had experienced those very songs. You could hear their music playing in Fontebonne Hall at any given moment of the day or night and the squeaky, off-key voices of young college women singing right along like we were at a concert.

Most of the time, I really don’t feel like I’m any older or any more responsible than I was back then; except now, I am approaching 50!?!?!

I still sing along to the Indigo Girls at the top of my lungs whenever I hear them, though I know I am older and more responsible these days. I have a husband, and a son, three indoor cats, and four dogs. I have a house and a mortgage, three trucks, an SUV, a boat, a business, and life insurance. I take family vacations, visit my siblings in other cities and states, have grown nieces and nephews, have lost my father, but am fortunate to still have my mother and in-laws.

I get up every weekday at 5am and pack lunches for my husband and son, I make a family dinner nearly every night, I clean the house, go grocery shopping but rarely do laundry. And I tend to worry a lot. I worry about welfare and unemployment and taxes and inflation and politics. I worry about mortgages and home improvements and finances and retirement. I worry about my family, my mom, my in-laws and my friends. I worry about the conflicts in our country and the division and what the world will be like for my son when he ventures out on his own in a couple of years.

I love to cook!

And I worry, in general, about my son, his education, his health, his future, is he happy, will he be successful – everything a mother worries about concerning her children. I exercise and workout, hike and walk the dogs not only to stay in shape as I get older but also to keep my sanity in this craziness that is adult life. I have a full-time job at a local Catholic High School, and I operate my own consulting business.

Maybe it is because I am around young people for a huge portion of my day, who are the very reflection of what I was decades ago; young and free and on the cusp of discovering something new and wonderful that life has to offer, that I really feel like I never really left that part of my life behind. That is not a bad thing. Being around these young men and women keeps me keenly aware of youth and extremely careful to not lose that vibrancy and optimism and ability to have fun in and with the everyday minutiae of life. Because of them, I have begun to look at fifty a little differently. I am simply an eighteen-year-old with thirty-two years of experience.

Living every day and taking the beauty of God’s country

So today, don’t take life for granted, be here now, live in the moment, be open, carpe diem, and pray that your life will have all the blessings, joys, and even struggles that make life worth living. And today please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

Memories, Confession, and REO Speedwagon

This memory came up on my Facebook feed yesterday. It is from December 19, 2018. It seems like a lifetime ago, but I remember that day very vividly. I actually read the feed while I sat waiting for Sunday Morning mass to begin. Coincidentally, I had been pondering going to confession before Christmas. Even though it is dated and I now longer work for the Franciscan Sisters, I thought it was worth sharing.

December 19, 2018
I really do not like going to confession. I know there are some people that enjoy it, they feel liberated and restored and, therefore, receive the sacrament of reconciliation often. I don’t experience that same “joy”. The thought of confessing my sins, whether it is to a priest I know well or to a total stranger, makes me feel physically ill. I become anxious and agitated and eventually talk myself out of going to confession at all. That would explain why in the past 25 years, I may have gone to confession half a dozen times.

Confession by Florida Georgia Line

But now I work for religious sisters, sisters who receive the sacrament of reconciliation weekly. I mean I already kind of feel like a heathen when I am with them, but now I feel even more like an unrepentant sinner because I don’t like the process of atonement. In the 3 years that I have worked for them, I have gone to confession 3 times. That 3 times is included in the 6 times that I have gone in the past quarter century. One of those times was today.

There is a priest who comes every other week to hear confessions at the Mother House for the sisters. I asked if I could sign up for one of the confession slots. One of the sisters was kind enough to put me on the schedule for this afternoon. Then this morning before mass began, I had a change of heart. I just wasn’t feeling the whole “let’s go confess our sins” thing. I had decided that I would take my name off of the schedule. I’m not going to confession, no big deal, right? Wrong.

There were several tiny little signs that were telling me I needed to go to confession today. The first one was before I even got to work. I was coming down the drive to work when I was overcome by a profound feeling of sadness. It hit me like a wave and I felt like I was drowning. I started thinking about my Dad, how Christmas was less than a week away and that this would be the first Christmas without him. All of these thoughts are running through my head as I pull into the parking space and I notice a deer in the grass at the edge of the lot. The Reverend Mother had told me that the deer symbolizes God’s grace. Immediately, the feeling of sadness left me. Amazing!

Fr. Gregory said mass this morning, and he opened up mass talking about REO Speedwagon’s song “Keep on Lovin’ You.” He said that is why we are here, to love Jesus. It made me smile and kind of laugh to myself. REO Speedwagon’s cassette, Hi-Infidelity, was the first tape I ever bought. That is the album which contains “Keep on Lovin’ You”. Really? What are the chances of that actually coming up in mass – ever. It caused me to reflect on the happiness of my childhood. I can still remember listening to that tape in a tape recorder, sitting on the wall along the drive of the house on Whitehaven when I was nine years old. That memory makes me smile.

Fr. Gregory had a great homily about how God bears fruit in us, even when we might not see it. We just need to be open to the work He will do within us and through us. Then he closed mass by stating that he would be available for confession if anybody would be interested. I sat in the pew dumfounded. Alright, I get it. So I went to confession.

It is amazing the ways in which God will speak to you if you only listen. It is amazing the work He will do in you and through you if you only open yourself up to that possibility. I never thought it was possible, to hear God, but now that I have, it is pretty amazing what He says. Today, listen for God to speak to you; it may even happen through an REO Speedwagon song.

As I prepare to share this, I am also getting ready to go to morning mass; morning mass at that very monastery. I am not sure who the celebrant will be or what words of wisdom he might share, but I am looking forward to listening for God to speak to me today. And today, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

Lessons from Dogs (Family and Gratitude)

I love dogs. I actually love animals, but I am partial to dogs (and cats). My blog title probably should have included dogs and food.

I spend most of my free time with my dogs and all of my time with them when I work from home. There is even a dog bed in my home office so they can stay close to me. I love my dogs, all four of them. Cats are great, but they can be fickle and aloof and independent. And they are not always happy to see me. Dogs, on the other hand, are loyal, loving, and always happy. Wiggle butts are a real sign of happiness.

Cuddles by the fire with Ruby and Charlie

I identify people by their dogs and I know the dog before I know the human. I remember a dog’s name better that I remember a person’s name. I am sure there are a number of people in my neighborhood who know me because of dogs. I walk them every day. Sometimes one at a time (that’s a lot of walking with four dogs) but most days I walk them in twos – the littles and the bigs, as I affectionately call them. The littles are Bailey and Charlie; they are also the two youngest each weighing under 50lbs. The bigs are Ruby and Eve, the two older dogs who both weigh in at over 50lbs. I know that people identify me because of my dogs since I have been stopped in the grocery store or at a local festival and asked, “Aren’t you that lady from Crestview that has all the dogs?” Yes, that’s me.

Hiking Adventures

We walk everyday (weather permitting). I alternate who will get the first walk. Upon departing the house, with all doors closed behind me, I can hear the mournful howling or anxious barking of whichever two were left behind. Everybody wants to be first. The littles get the longer walk, usually 2-3.5 miles and the bigs a shorter walk that rarely breaks 2 miles. I know the names of most of the dogs in our neighborhood, but like I said earlier, I don’t necessarily know all of the names of their owners. And that’s ok. Dog people are okay with that, being identified by their furry companion, or companions in my case.

We have a very dog-friendly neighborhood filled with all types of dogs, big dogs and little dogs, senior dogs and puppies, furry dogs and short haired dogs, fat dogs and thin dogs, pure-breds and mutts. And their owners, my neighbors, also come from every spectrum imaginable, men and women, young people and retirees, liberal and conservative, natives and transplants, white collar workers and blue collar workers, and a multitude of nationalities and races. But the dogs don’t view each other by their different backgrounds or by the categories of gender, age, race, religion or political persuasion. They view each other as coming from the same family – canis lupus familiaris.

They are all dogs. It doesn’t matter if they are registered with the American Kennel Club or adopted from a shelter, if they are male or female, neutered or spayed, young or old, shaggy or short haired. They are happy to have the opportunity to walk through the neighborhood with their owners, run in their fenced in yards, chase a ball, play frisbee, roll in the grass, dig in the yard, lie in the sun, bark at passersby, or just sleep on the porch. You see, dogs don’t have an agenda or expectations. They are not worried about impressing each other or out to serve some self-interest. If you take some time and watch a dog, you can see clearly see what gratitude and happiness looks like. They are an example of pure, unadulterated joy. Dogs take nothing for granted. They have low expectations, they are accepting, and the love unconditionally. They delight in the simple things in life; a run/walk with their owners, the company of friends, the opportunity to play, and moments to sit, rest and just be.

You see, we can learn a lot from dogs. It doesn’t matter where they came from, what their current situation is, who their owners are, or how they came to be where they are. They are all part of the same family – canis lupus familiaris. They are dogs. And they know gratitude. Gratitude leads to joy.

Maybe if we started to treat each other as part of the same family – humankind, and less like all of the labels that we attach to ourselves and to one another, we would be better able to operate from a place of gratitude and travel that path that leads to joy. Today, look beyond someone who is not like you and see and appreciate the human being who they are. Be thankful for the simple things in your life. And take that first step on the path to joy. And today, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

What’s In It For Me?

What’s in it for me? Do you ever find yourself asking that very question, particularly when you are asked to do something? I never thought of myself as particularly selfish, but I find myself pondering this very question more and more often whenever I am asked, no whenever I have to do something, anything.

This really started with going to Sunday mass. You see, I typically go to daily morning mass, Monday through Friday and enjoy it immensely. I always take something away from the readings, the gospel, or the homily. Sometimes it is the psalms and the responses. Sometimes it’s a song (at the churches that have music during their weekday mass). Sometimes it is just the fellowship of the people who are also there each morning celebrating the mystery of the Holy Eucharist with me that make it meaningful.

Photo by David Eucaristu00eda on Pexels.com

Just last Friday when I attended morning mass, there were only three of us celebrating and that included the priest. I’ll be honest, at first, I thought, this is a little strange, so few people at morning mass. But it turned out to be extremely blessed and intimate. “For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am with them.” — Matthew 18:20. It was a profound experience.

While I have these wonderful weekly experiences, of being fed spiritually and even socially, during weekday mass, I don’t enjoy that same experience during the Sunday service. In fact, if I am being honest, I dread going. It is not the same experience or even the same atmosphere. It feels pretentious and fake to me. I cannot follow the homilies; they are so convoluted. The service itself is so drawn out, even ostentatious with the changes to the Gloria and the Holy, Holy. I find myself completely distracted during mass and become irritated and tense.

At first, I thought it was simply the parish where I was attending mass. And this is a parish that I absolutely love. But, you know, sometimes change is good. So, we tried a different parish. And while I connected more with the homily, I still found myself distracted and anxious. There is a lot that I just don’t understand, and I have been Catholic my entire life. Everything feels forced and attending makes me feel fake, because I’m not feeling it. Because I don’t want to be there. And that makes me feel guilty.

This is not a good feeling for me. Why do I love the experience, the interaction through the week but loathe it on the weekend? I love going to mass during the week because each day I feel my faith being nourished and restored. But when Sunday rolls around I find myself dreading the arrival of mass time, feeling anxious and frustrated and even angry. I’m not getting anything out of the Sunday service. So, I have found myself asking, “What’s in it for me?”, because I’m not feeling nourished and restored when I leave mass on the weekends.

Then I remembered a conversation that I had with a priest friend of mine, who very gently called me out about not going to Sunday mass, because I had been skipping out for quite a while. He pointed out that “Sunday masses are the ones that it is a sin to miss – even a mortal sin.” And this wasn’t mass shaming, it was telling me what I needed to hear. I was sinning, I knew I was sinning, but needed someone to hold me accountable. That’s when I got my act together, went to confession and got back to Sunday mass.

Then I got sick and had to miss mass because of my illness. And that’s when the backslide began. So, as I am trying to get myself back to church, I find myself asking again “what’s in it for me?”. And once again I am reminded of something profound Fr. Michael had said which was reiterated recently in a homily by Fr. Drake, and that is at we are there for Jesus, not for us. We are there to celebrate God’s great love for us, to worship, praise and honor Him. So, “what’s in it for me?”…God, God’s love, and a chance for me to thank God for the many blessings in my life. Looks like there is a whole lot in it for me.

Tux the Cat stayed with me while I convalesced

So today, remind yourself that its not always about what’s in it for you, but maybe about what you give back to others. And maybe when you give back to others, you’ll really find out what’s in it for you; love, gratitude, empathy, goodness, compassion, and God Himself. And today, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

Letting Go

I attend Monday morning mass at monastery. There are these beautiful young trees that line the drive to Our Lady of Sorrow’s Monastery and Father of Mercy Chapel. Based on the shape of the leaf, I am guessing that they are some variety of maple. Each year, they turn the most glorious shade of fiery orange-red in the fall. When they are at their peak, it is quite a magnificent yet peaceful sight especially with the chapel in the distance.

However, I have noticed every single year that all of the trees shed all of their leaves except for one lone tree. This tree has always managed to hang on to almost all of its leaves. I find it amazing that all of the others have released the old growth, but this one tree still clings to its foliage, almost like a security blanket. Each year, leaves are nearly wholly intact, and still as gorgeous as ever as we approach mid November. For the life of me, I cannot figure out why this one particular tree does not drop it leaves as all of the other have. All of the others around it are bare.

As I drove up the long drive this morning, the cool autumn air pouring through my sun roof and open windows, I pondered this. Why this one tree? Why not the others? How did it hold on to most of its leaves, when all of the others are barren? What is it waiting for? When will it let go of its leaves? It just doesn’t seem natural. I ponder this very thing nearly every year, and every year it causes great consternation.

This one tree is a metaphor for life…for my life (and maybe for yours too). That one tree, holding on to its leaves, represents me. I tend I hold on to a lot, more than I probably should. Just two days ago marked 2 years since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. And while I am now cancer free, it is a date and memory that I continue hold onto. And it’s not the only thing that I hang on to, there are past offenses, rejections, relationships, frustrations, and the list goes on. I hold onto these things, almost like a security blanket, because who would I be without them? They define who I am. They are who I am, right?

Trees let go of their leaves to protect themselves, to care for themselves. Shedding leaves helps the tree to conserve water and energy. As unfavorable weather approaches, hormones in the tree triggers the process of abscission. Essentially, the leaves are actively cut-off of the tree. When the abscission process begins, the tree re-absorbs necessary nutrients from its leaves. These nutrients are stored for later use in the roots. Chlorophyll, the pigment that gives leaves their green color, is one of the first molecules to be broken down for its nutrients. This is one of the reasons why the trees change color during the fall. At the end of the abscission process, when the leaves have been shed, a protective layer of cells grows over the exposed area. The shedding of leaves also helps trees to pollinate come springtime. Without leaves to get in the way, wind-blown pollen can travel longer distances and reach more trees. So this “letting go” is essential for the tree’s health, life and continued growth.

Because of this tree, I have come to realize there are things of which I should really let go. Anger. Fear. Resentment. Mistakes. Past hurts. Bad decisions. Second guesses…everything that that is harmful, damaging or destructive. I tend hold on to all those things that are negative, and ruminate on them over and over again. But those things don’t define me. They may have influenced me, but they are not who I am. It reminds me of a quote I once read, “You are not defined by your mistakes; you are prepared by them. God doesn’t waste anything.”

We can learn a lot from nature and from trees. Just as the shedding of leaves is beneficial to the health, life and continued growth of the tree, so is the letting go of all that is negative in our lives. All of those things consume your thoughts and affect your peace.

So today, learn from those experiences, let them make you better than you were and then let them go. And remember, “You are not defined by your mistakes; you are prepared by them. God doesn’t waste anything.” And please pray from me and I will continue to pray for you.

The Obvious and The Extraordinary

Thoughts about confession, mass, Satan and God

Have you ever felt like the whole world was conspiring against you to keep you away from God? Maybe I am over dramatizing here, but that is exactly how I have felt these past couple of days. I have felt like God has been so far out of reach, and everything I try doesn’t bring Him any closer.

https://www.franciscansisterstor.org/about/spirituality-and-charisms/father-of-mercy-chapel

I awoke early this morning and was ready to leave the house well before my normal 6:30am departure. I jumped in the car and headed to the Father of Mercy Chapel for morning mass. This is where I normally attend Monday morning mass. However, when I arrived this morning, the doors were locked. Needless to say, I was taken aback.

I had spent that morning drive pondering how I would pray morning prayer. I had left my prayer books at work over the weekend. They were lying on my desk. I had been making a mental plan of how to approach morning prayer for the past 20 minutes. Never did I image that the doors to chapel would be locked. I knocked. No answer. I stood dumbfounded wondering if God knew I was standing outside, wondering why I could not get in.

The prayer booklets I left on my desk at work.

With an air of desperation, I turned and walked down the stairs and back to my car. While doing so, I checked the emailed mass schedule that I had received for the month of October. Mass wasn’t being held today until 8:15am. I drove to work.

This was the second, third or fourth time in the past 24 hours in which I had felt alienated from God (not alienated by God).

I thought this picture capture alienation perfectly. Taken at the Stone Lodge in Beatty Park.

Yesterday evening, I had this incredible desire to go to confession. You should know, this is not something for which I ever have a yearning – ever. Confession is a challenge for me – extremely difficult, yet yesterday evening I had this “pull” or felt this need to go. And I really wanted to go immediately, but that wasn’t possible.

I contacted a few of my priest friends hoping to be able to go this morning, fully expecting this to be possible. Only it wasn’t. Nobody was hearing confessions on this dismal, gray and drizzling Monday morning. It was kind of like, three strikes and you’re out. I had contacted 3 priests. I was truly dumfounded. I mean, I actually wanted to go to confession, and I couldn’t. God felt so far out of reach last night and there was no light at the end of the tunnel.

I worried that my longing to receive the sacrament of confession would wane as time passed. I went to bed, contemplating this and what it really meant. Still, I planned to attend mass, but for the first time in a very long time, not receive the Eucharist. All because of this great need to confess my sins to a priest and receive absolution.

As I awoke this morning from one of the deepest sleeps in which I have been in a very long time, I felt a renewed sense of the need to attend morning mass. To discover only an hour later, the doors locked and no one answering my knock, deflated me. I left the hilltop, defeated. As I was descending the hill from the monastery, I began reflecting on how I had been intending to not receive communion this morning. Then I began wondering why getting to God was so difficult these past few days, I mean really difficult.

Satan is real and evil permeates our society. These things you can clearly see if you just look at our world today. All you have to do is turn on the news or read the paper. There is too much evil.

I began to think that this was the devil trying to undermine my relationship with Christ. I mean, I couldn’t find a priest to hear my confession this morning – not one, not two, but three were unavailable. I had left my prayer books at work, lying on my desk. And then the doors to the chapel were locked. LOCKED! I was locked out, away from God.

But as I pulled into my parking space at work, I had a different realization. I realized that perhaps, all of these things were a blessing, and all of these things were orchestrated by divine intervention. Sounds weird, right? But not being able to find a priest to hear my confession today has given me a greater opportunity to examine my conscience, to reflect on my sins and to better prepare for absolution. And yes, I still intend to go, it just might not be as soon as I would like. And the doors being locked and mass being at a different time, I think that was to help me avoid the temptation to receive the body of Christ while not in a state of grace. Yes, I would have been tempted to do that. I probably would have gone to communion had I gone to mass this morning, even if I was thinking that I wouldn’t. It is difficult to explain, and I am sure there are many who understand where I am coming from. But I truly believe it was God’s gentle hand protecting me from falling even further from grace.

Just moments before I arrived at the chapel, I had been listen to the song Fallen, by Sarah McLaughlin. It was almost prophetic for how I have been feeling lately. But I know there is redemption and there is grace and that God does work in mysterious ways. By all accounts, my Monday morning did not go as I had planned, it was a bit mysterious the way in which it unfolded. It seemed obvious that someone or something was trying to undermine my peace. But, in the end, I truly believe it was in my best interest. I just had to look beyond the obvious to see the extraordinary love of God.

So today, look beyond the obvious and find the extraordinary. Everything does, indeed, happen for a reason. And Today, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

Tattoos, Scars, and Acceptance

I watched the sunrise in the rearview mirror as I drove to Columbus this morning. I was headed out for one of several doctors’ appointments that I have over the next few days.

Today’s first appointment was to take measurements with the PT department. This is to make sure there is no swelling in my extremities and that I am not developing lymphoedema. The second appointment was with the plastic surgeon’s office, just to make sure everything “looks” right. My surgeon has actually left OSU, so I saw the nurse practitioner, with whom I am very familiar. Her name is Hannah, and after talking with her a bit before the exam, she asked if I did anything fun this summer. I answered, “I got a new tattoo.” I laughed when she asked if she could see it, because this tattoo covers up the scar from my mastectomy. Of course, she could see it. In fact, she kind of had to see it as part of the exam.

I know I tend to talk about tattoos a lot. But that’s understood; I mean it is included in the title of my blog. It’s the first word. Tattoos kind of tell my story, the story that I don’t share with everyone. But I always find it funny when people meet me for the first time, then find out later that I have tattoos. There is always this surprise. And then there is this look, like the thought running through their mind is “I didn’t know I was better than you”.

I always wonder why people are surprised when they learn that I have tattoos. Yes, that is plural. I have more than one. Actually, I have numerous tattoos. First, I think it is because I have a professional job, that I’m responsible and dependable. Then I think maybe it’s my age. I am almost fifty and I am the parent of two adult sons. Or maybe because I’m pretty strait laced, buttoned up and direct. Whatever the reason, I am usually met with surprise when people find out “I’m tatted up”.

Just this past weekend, while enjoying a Friday evening with some co-workers, the topic of tattoos came up as a few of us in the group have multiple tattoos. We were discussing tattoos in general, what people thought of tattoos, why people get tattoos and our individual tattoos. That was when I asked one of the men in our group (whom I just recently met) if he would have suspected that I had tattoos. And he answered yes because “you’re edgy”.

I needed a beer and cigar after the tattoo discussion.

I wasn’t really sure how to take that. My husband thought it was a compliment. But me, I wasn’t sure. The conversation kind of left me unsettled only because I had never been called “edgy” before and it bothered me a bit. Normally, I’m not one to care what anyone thinks. While I’m not sure if I really cared, the word edgy seemed harsh, sharp, maybe even dangerous. I kind of liked the dangerous part.

I decided to look up the definition of edgy later that night and this is what I discovered. The primary definition of edgy is nervous, tense, or irritable. However, the second definition is at the forefront of a trend, experimental, or avant-garde. Okay, I can see his perspective. Maybe I am a little edgy.

Edgy or not, I think I am pretty self-aware. I know myself, my limits, and my capabilities. And I know who I am, now more so than ever. One thing that I know I am is Catholic. And I find myself telling more and more people that I am whether they ask or not. I’m not really sure why I do this, but I do. Maybe because I know who I am and I want other people to know too. I’m comfortable in my own tattooed skin.

Yes, I pray. And yes, I pray for you. Yes, I attend mass, and go to confession, although not as often as I should. Yes, I screw up and make mistakes. And yes, I sin, a lot, although probably a lot less than I did in college. I am, most times, a beautiful mess, but I’m God’s beautiful mess (and my husband still claims me and loves me too through all of my messiness and brokenness).

It took me along time to embrace the Catholic faith, even though I have been Catholic my entire life. I didn’t always claim it. In fact, at one point, I would have considered myself an agnostic. But then Jesus found me and he wouldn’t let go. Yeah, he has that kind of love for each one of us.

At first, I was convinced this wasn’t possible, me – sinful, scarred, broken – to be loved by God. But He is persistent, even when we are not.

There is a line from a Sugarland song, Take Me As I Am, that says “They keep yelling about my tattoos, we all live with the scars we choose. They might hurt like hell but they all make us stronger”. It is one of my favorite songs and that is one of my favorite lines.

We all have scars. Sometimes we get tattoos to cover them up. But we also live with those scars and they will make us stronger if we let them. But the real clincher is in the title – Take Me As I Am. You know who does that always – Jesus. No matter what, he accepts you just as you are, scarred, broken, bruised, confused, angry, frustrated, upset, sad, lonely, irritated, tattooed and edgy.

So today, be yourself, be who you are and give it all to God. I can guarantee He will take you exactly as you are. Yeah, He really does have that kind of love for each one of us. And today please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

Cafeterias, A la carte, and Catholicism

I remember, as a child, going to Mehlman’s Cafeteria with my grandparents. Any time we went out to eat with them, we went to a cafeteria. I remember there being a Young’s Cafeteria too. And they all seemed to be located south or east of where we lived. But my grandparents loved eating at cafeterias.

As I got older and more sophisticated (insert sarcasm here), dining at a cafeteria reminded me of being in school. I spent the beginning of my high school career eating the chef salad in the cafe (as we affectionately called it) , but never any of the entrees offered. And never ever would I eat the hot ham and cheese sandwich, simply because I had biology right before lunch my sophomore year. I could never eat the hot ham and cheese sandwich after dissecting the fetal pigs we worked on in class. In fact, it was that same year that I moved away from the chef salad (because of the ham), and just drank coffee at lunch and played euchre. And all because I had choices. I was free to choose, no salad, just coffee – black.

But my grandparents, they loved a good cafeteria. This was also something that my Dad came to appreciate. So when Lenora’s opened locally as a cafeteria in the old movie theater back in the 1990’s, it was a big deal, at least to my Dad it was. Still, at this point, over 25 years ago, I did not see the big deal about cafeterias. But as I am getting older, I can appreciate their appeal.

Cafeterias provide options, selection, choices, from a variety of entrees, soups, side dishes, and desserts. I mean at a really good cafeteria; the options are seemingly endless. Who doesn’t like choices? Who doesn’t like really deciding for themselves? You get to pick whatever you want! You want two or even three desserts, you can get them. On a high protein low carb diet, load up on the various meat offerings. Trying out vegetarianism, you can go that route too! Its like the al a carte menu in fine dining establishments, but you don’t get the sticker shock because you’re not going to pay $10 for a dish of peas.

I have chosen Catholicism as my religion. But being Catholic is not an al a carte menu. There are no cafeteria options. I will admit, early in my faith, I thought that it was. I thought I could pick and choose what I wanted to believe about Catholicism, how I wanted to practice Catholicism, and still be Catholic…still be a good Catholic. This included attending mass on my terms, not recognizing confession as necessary, thinking that premarital sex was no big deal, and even at one point thinking that it is a woman’s right to choose. But it doesn’t work that way. Catholicism is an all or nothing proposition. You don’t get to pick and choose what you like, what sounds good, what is easy, what works for you and be “your” kind of Catholic. You have to go all in with God.

So yes, I have a hard time with people who claim to be Catholic and be pro-choice. No, you cannot be both. Not possible. Quoting the Catechism of the Catholic Church, in paragraph 2270, it begins – “Human life must be respected and protected absolutely from the moment of conception. From the first moment of his existence, a human being must be recognized as having the rights of a person – among which is the inviolable right of every innocent being to life.” This is not something you can pick and choose. If you are Catholic, you cannot be pro-choice. Period.

And yes, I know this is a controversial topic, but if you are Catholic it is not up for debate. It is stated in black and white in the Catechism. There are no exceptions, no buts or what ifs. If you are Catholic, and if you claim to be a devout Catholic, as so many of our elected officials tout, you cannot be pro-choice. Period.

Does my stance or belief make me any better than someone who claims to be Catholic but also is pro-choice? Absolutely not. We are all sinners, we are all broken, we all struggle. Trust me when I say I have fallen or gotten lost more times than I can count. But there have been people there to help me back up or point me in the right direction, particularly when I was sorely misguided. But that is what we are supposed to do, help each other, guide each other, pray for each other. We are supposed to be helping one another get to heaven. Maybe, just maybe, this reflection will help somebody get back up, get on the right path, get to heaven. Maybe.

So today, don’t treat your relationship with God like a visit to the cafeteria, picking and choosing how you will serve and honor Him. Go all in. It’s demanding, it’s difficult, it’s vulnerable, it’s challenging, and sometimes it goes against what society tells us is acceptable. That’s where the trust comes in and that’s where is gets even harder and even more beautiful. So believe me when I say it’s worth it. And today please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.

Decisions, Decisions…

I have been thinking a lot about decisions this week and reflecting on a number of decisions that I have recently made. You see, I planned to begin this week with morning mass at the Monastery. However, when my alarm went off on Monday morning, I turned it off and went back to sleep. That was my first decision of the day, and maybe not a good decision.

When I woke up, at 6:30am, I figured I would simply miss mass and go straight into work. That is when I remembered the 8am mass at Blessed Sacrament. So I decided to go there. Normally, Mondays are Fr. Michael’s day off. But there he was saying mass that morning. This ended up being a good decision.

Adoration at Blessed Sacrament, photo by Molly McManus

After work on Monday, I decided to mow the lawn. I decided to push mow it (because it’s a great work out). I push mowed the entire lawn (roughly 6.5 miles total). I was supposed to lift weights on Monday but decided that I probably should not after the lawn mowing work out. So I decided to shower and make dinner. After dinner, Todd and I decided to sit outside and read on the patio with the dogs and enjoy the cooler evening. As I sat outside, I began to feel the effects of mowing. While everything about Monday seemed to be me making good decisions, I began to wonder about my decision to take on the lawn alone (my son had offered to help) and not use the riding mower (I normally opt to leave it in the shed). Perhaps push mowing was not a good decision.

I continued to think about decisions throughout the week. Again, I had decided to attend the morning mass at the Monastery on Wednesday, because I had not been there all week. But as I debated the time of mass and the work I needed to accomplish before 11am that day, I decided that the 7am mass at Holy Rosary would be preferable.

As I was sitting in the silence praying morning prayer, Sr. Agnes Therese appeared. I had not seen her in several months. She is a good friend of mine with whom I had worked closely with at one time. Additionally, Fr. Tom’s homily, one about having faith in difficult moments, was one that I desperately needed to hear. So of course, I viewed this as another good decision, one that had a touch of divine intervention.

From my days of working and traveling with Sr. Agnes Therese.

We make multiple decisions every day, throughout the entire day and often don’t put a whole lot of thought into those decisions. Many of them are trivial decisions, like deciding to mow the grass or which mass to attend. We make those decisions based on need or preference and little else. I can certainly say that I didn’t think out every possible scenario for morning mass options when I decided to go mass any morning this week. I certainly didn’t think about the possibility that I might run into a friend or that one of my favorite priests might be saying morning mass or that a homily would be so important. But that very decision to attend mass could have, and typically does have, a huge impact on my day.

What if I was unable to attend mass? What if I decided to not go to mass at all? What if I chose to use the riding mower? There are literally thousands of decisions that we make daily. What am I going to wear today? Should I ride my motorcycle to work? What should I eat for breakfast? When will I work out today? Should I call my friend? Should I visit my Mom? Should I ask my neighbor to go for a walk? Literally thousands – everyday – decisions that we don’t even realize we are making.

I know I have personally made a lot of bad decisions, made decisions that I have been unsure of, made decisions that I have questioned, made decisions that I didn’t even know I was making. But I have also made decisions after substantial prayer, and conversation with God. Serious decisions that require prayer, thought and introspection. I vacillate between quick knee-jerk decisions and prayerful decision-making.

And as I sat in mass each morning this week, I thought about those decisions. I thought about those decisions because Mondays gospel talked about how Jesus withdrew when he heard about the death of John the Baptist. (That was Jesus’ decision to “withdraw” and it was the crowd’s decision to follow him.)

So I went back and read Matthew Chapter 14. Herod made the decision to have John the Baptist beheaded, although Herod really didn’t want to have John beheaded. He had wanted to kill John because John told him he should not be sleeping with his brother’s wife, Herodias. However, Herod feared reprisals because John was regarded as a prophet. So he had John arrested and imprisoned.

Eventually, Herod made a decision to give the daughter of Herodias whatever she desired; she desired the head of John the Baptist. That “promise” he made, resulted in that decision to take John’s life because Herod certainly couldn’t renege. He made that statement at a birthday party in his honor, in front of distinguished guests and in front of Herodias and her daughter. Herod ultimately made the choice to behead John because he was worried about what everybody else would think if he didn’t up hold the “promise”.

Just a little prayer I thought I would share.

Wow! How many times have we made decisions in the very same manner, worried about what others would think? I know I have, I am sure you have. So I reflected on that today and in that contemplation made an unconscious prayer to the Holy Spirit, asking Him to “Lead me, Guide me, to make those decisions that will draw me closer to Christ.” Just for the record, this type of prayer is atypical for me, but it reconfirms just how far my faith and prayer life have actually come. So today I encourage you to approach your decision-making from that same standpoint and ask, “Will this decision draw me closer to Christ?” And today, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you

Have Faith

Today is the Memorial of Saints Martha, Mary, and Lazarus. This is the first year it is celebrated as such. At one time, it was simply the feast of St. Martha. The more I dig deeper into my faith and the more time I spend learning about the saints, the more I realize that they were people just like us. Even 2,000 years ago, they struggled with a lot of the same things that we still struggle with today.

Lament – Audrey Assad

The more I learn about Martha, the more I like her. Maybe because I am realizing that I am a lot like Martha on a number of different levels. I am anxious; I get irritated when people don’t do what I expect them to do, say what I think they should say or react in a way I have anticipated. Sometimes, I get caught up in the details rather than simply enjoying the moment. I get disappointed too, much like Martha does in today’s gospel from John 11:19-27.

Martha was disappointed that Jesus didn’t arrive sooner. But Martha is honest with Jesus, blunt even. She doesn’t hold anything back in telling Him how she feels that she is disappointed and that she doesn’t fully understand. I am not always so honest with God or myself. I want to hide what I am really thinking or feeling because I am embarrassed or ashamed or feel guilt for having such thoughts. But it is in those moments that God wants us to be “real” with Him. He already knows our heart, what is hurting us, what concerns us, but He wants us to bring that to Him directly. He wants us to share it, to give our struggles, our concerns, our challenges, even our ugliness to Him so He can carry that burden for us and heal what might be broken.

Having faith in Christ does not mean that we can’t ever question God. It doesn’t mean that we that we aren’t going to wonder why some things occur the way they do or even seek to understand God’s purpose when life seems most bleak.

I love the premise of this morning’s gospel. Because Martha was honest with Jesus, she didn’t hesitate to express her confusion, to give Him her struggles or to share her feelings. But that didn’t mean her faith was weak. If anything it was stronger. Although Martha didn’t understand, she still believed that Jesus was the one, “the Christ, the Son of God, the one who was coming into the world.” I love that!

Having faith doesn’t mean that you won’t question God. Having faith doesn’t mean that you won’t be disappointed. Having faith doesn’t mean that you won’t understand the reason, meaning and purpose for everything that happens in your life. Having faith doesn’t mean that you won’t be angry with God.

A little reminder that we found on a recent hike.

How many times have you felt these very things about a friend? That is all a part of real friendship.

What a perfect sentiment of true friendship.

Having faith means that you have faith that everything will work out according to God’s plan. Faith is walking with God through the difficult times and knowing that there is something better waiting for you. Having faith means working on that relationship with God, no matter what, cultivating that relationship and continuing to grow it. Our relationship with God should be a friendship, much like Martha had with Jesus.

Maybe we should try to be a little more like Martha and be honest with God about all that is troubling us. Even when we don’t understand a situation, we need to be honest, have faith, address our own concerns with God and know that God is working for our benefit. While you may not understand the situation, remember that God loves you and wants the best for you. He is the friend who is always with you on this journey, so be honest with Him in everything. And, as always, please pray for me and I will continue to pray for you.