I wrote these words (below in italics) a day or two after Christmas. I decided to not be a downer for anyone and not publish the words at that time. But yesterday, I spent about three hours with my dear and treasured priest-friend. I am pretty certain I talked for about three hours...and I think I gave him 15 minutes to tell me about his Christmas. It had been an unusually long space of time. I had not seen him since November. And he understands how my life moves and he very much understands how I need him to just listen...and he always asks the right questions...but I know I taxed him...I had so much more that I needed his help with...but he booted me out...my arms filled with wonderful concoctions of foods that he was not allowed to eat because of his health. I made a mental note to not stay away so long in the future. What words were exchanged, how the conversation flowed...I knew God had other things for us to talk about. He always laughs and gives me new titles for my book...because my life is so totally outrageous...and so filled with God...I am content that at least one person has the courage to witness my life, whether or not others will or should...well, those waters are tested here. If my words do not teach, then they are really unnecessary. I don't claim that I am a teacher, but like the book "Flowers for Algernon," it is about teaching without really teaching.
More words to follow later. But for now, here are some thoughts to ponder. May they challenge you to love God more today.
Kids have gone off to their paternal grandfather's house for round three of Christmas. I watched it all very carefully these last few days. growing to hate Christmas more and more as I tried to keep straight in my head, what I had bought, who it was for, and how much I had spent. I hated it. Not the giving of the presents mind you...I love to give things to others...but I mildly resent being told how and when and to whom from the rules of society. I hate the illusion that, when one gives, the receiver is the obligated to return the favor...which is really not giving at all. It is exchanging of presents, which is an entirely different event.
I dislike wrapping them. I dislike the waste it involves, no matter how pretty they may look under the tree. I think of my mom, who lived for her Christmas "themes." One year was blue, another gold. Another year, a pink flocked tree and all the presents wrapped in pink beneath it. And of course, my dress had to be pink, as sat, oh so holy-ly, with hands folded...for the 100th Christmas photo shoot.
What is the purpose of such things? To drive us all bananas over the holidays? To see what limits we will go to make the perfect Christmas? I am truly glad the kids bounced all over me with hugs and kisses when they received their gifts, but I'd be just as happy getting the chance to read to them, or have them read to me...holding them, hearing their stories.
Both of the older kids are talking a lot about death this Christmas. I knew that they would. Their great-great grandmother died only two weeks ago. Suddenly their stories have become a bit darker, the older ones, at least, are thinking beyond today in more serious ways. They are speaking about what is healthy and what is not. They want to understand what it means to die. They have lots of questions, but are only indirectly asking them. They see the sadness on their mommy's face, they don't understand her tears exactly...but a new world is opening to them...and they are watching the signs and wondering.
Now they ask me, "Where is your husband, Nana?" "Who is your husband, Nana?" "Did he die?" and things like that, making me wonder what I should say. What are they really asking me? What is a good answer for them?
I realize I am writing best when I am in some kind of turmoil or challenge. I feel more authentic writing then, writing when I am bubbly or in some kind of euphoria doesn't always feel apporpriate...there are plenty of "balloons and bubbles" people to fill that space. They used to drive me crazy, but they are as much a part of the Body as me walking around with a constant raincloud over my head. We are all Charlie Brown's or Linus's or Lucy's or Peppermint Patty's or "the girl with the naturally curly hair." Notice how Shultz makes the only non-neurotic character in his play nameless? Or perhaps he finally named her, but I never found out...
I've spent the last few months watching everything carefully...because I am looking for a sign. Is it time to pack up and move to the river? Will I survive on the river? Where and when will I find a paying job with health insurance, which really has a lot to do with my mood and my understanding of the failings of this country and this country's government. Do I play it safe and stay, never really able here to achieve much of anything? (and don't kid yourself, I am an ambitious woman)
Take the risk, spend the money, and gamble for a life where the air is a bit cleaner and the stars shine a bit brighter...and just maybe, there will be a man who can love me for who and what I am...
That last part comes because of another yet annoying letter from the Diocese asking me to jump through one more hoop to get my anullment finished. I am exasperated and I am close to not caring at all whether or not I am granted a reprieve from my "uninformed choice for marriage" at the age of 20. The fact that the letter arrived on Christmas Eve made me wonder again about the Catholic Church. Is it really worth this much trouble to get a ruling from them on the personal choices of my life? Why should I possibly care what they think? They are not God. Yet I am supposed to let them decide if I can let a man into my life or not? It all seems like such foolishness...and yet, as each letter comes, with it's next demand...I begin to reassess how much influence I want the Church to have over my life. Quite troubling and disappointing, because this power play forces me to reflect on all the influences the Church subtly requests to rule over. Does the Church decide what my sins are? Does the Church dictate how and where and when I am to pray? Does the Church decide if and when my prayers are heard? Does the Church decide if I am forgiven? See how this confuses me. All because of this anullment thing. I understand much better today why some people leave the Church.
It makes me want to cry, because God never intended for the Church to separate us from Him. The idea was to have the Church bring us closer to Him. The Church is supposed to help us to use our reason with wisdom, to guide us and our community into a more loving life, to make precious the gift of life and of all creation. It was not created to simply make us feel bad about making mistakes. But that's how I feel. Bad. Condemned. Without parole. Unless, of course, they can find a legal label to put on me, or my choices...because God is all about legalism...right?
All this on Christmas Eve. If the devil had planned it, it was a success. I did not want to go to Church. I did not want to "play nice" with my Christian friends. I wanted to scream and throw things...and yell quite definitively at a few priests...because I needed someone to blame. Fortunately...because I am older now, I did not send the email or make the phone call...
Combine that with all the deaths I've witnessed this fall...I'm looking for a sign. I wonder what God wants of me.
I looked into the face of a friend. She looked exhausted. I saw her looking around the room, looking for her mother, who wasn't there anymore, I saw her putting on her best face and making the evening beautiful for everyone else, because she's that kind of woman. I admired her...and I wondered if I could have done anything to ease her pain. I just didn't know what to do, or if I should do anything...but being wired the way I am, I couldn't pretend it wasn't there. I kind of felt like a failure in those moments, not able to be helpful at all.
I looked all about the room, and saw the lives of people...their wounds that they hide behind smiles and laughter and food...but not in a sad way, because I began to see and understand more about the rituals and the games, how the real beauty of our humanity clashing with our faith is that, in spite of the real world blows that knock the breath out of us, we go on living...living well. We don't just survive, we thrive. We take all that the world gives us...and we create a story of redemption and mercy and grace. We learn how to love from the pain we feel when someone yanks out soft fuzzy blanket away and we think, "I will not be defeated today." We are able to see through our suffering, that suffering has great merit and gift.
To push our bodies out of the womb, because we've grown to big to live there anymore...and to labor through pushing the child out of us, in pain and grief, because we have given all that we can to that new life...is pain for both child and mother. But both child and mother know that the work is necessary for life to continue, to go on...that this kind of suffering brings joy. Life is always good, even when it is short, or painful, or dark. Life is always good.
I am truly angry with the Church right now. I hate what it is trying to do to me. I hate the fact that I think it is trying to control my life and my decisions. Yet, this is another labor, another suffering...that will bring life. My grandchildren are sad and confunsed now because they can't understand yet exactly where their great great grandmother went...why her body wore out...why I don't have a husband...and are starting to think about things...about loneliness and loss...and where is God in all of that...they are in labor, watching their mother and father grieve...and are learning how to grieve from them...that, in loving, there is always loss, but there is also always life.
This battle I have with the Church, is always a growing process. It is my labor. My work as a Chaplain is my labor, freely chosen...and death, violence and suffering are always around me. I don't kid myself in thinking I am a noble person, doing this hard work. I am doing it to teach me what I need to know so that I can be closer to God, and to God's children and God's creation. I realize in the midst of my learning, I will often be able to help other's learn, even when I screw it up, make mistakes, hurt someone's feelings...it is all part of being alive.
I know ultimately it doesn't matter if I live on the river, or stay in Dallas. I know that if I get my anullment or not, if I fall in love again or not...I will do what I think God wants of me...and ask for help. If I have to leave the Catholic Church because they choose to say I'm still married to a man who has been married to another woman for 15 years...well, then...so be it. God will not love me any less.
It all matters so much, and it doesn't matter at all. That's what I've learned. You've just got to live the life you've been given to the fullest you can. I love the Catholic Church, but it takes two to make a marriage. I have decided I will do what they ask...simply because it is an interesting challenge...and I view it as one more test...that will defend me when the time comes...for the work I will do later.
For better or worse, for richer or pooer,
Love always,
Cindy
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