Wounds healing

I had the most interesting experience today. I was asked to be the lector at Daily Mass. As a person who just absolutely despises public speaking, it was something that I was really not excited to do. In fact, when Father walked out and I realized that Mass was starting and I hadn’t found anyone to pass the job off to, well… I panicked.
But God is faithful. Shortly after I actually got up there, I was amazed to find that the reading was actually of one of my favorite passages. Talking about God’s love usually lights me up, and I relaxed into it, and eventually got over my embarrassment by the second to last stanza of the responsorial psalm.

Anyways, I physically cringed when it was all over and sat down, beet red. Bleh.
Nevertheless, I tried to just move on, retain what God was speaking to me on this feast of St Martha, and go ahead and just enjoy mass. Which I succeeded at.
So imagine my surprise when after mass, the little old ladies who I just LOVE congregated around me and expressed how much they had enjoyed the reading.
“You really brought the Word to life for me,” said one, and then later, when I recounted the tale to a couple of friends at our talk, they said something similar.
I should never be surprised when God uses those terrifying moments of sinfulness (because what is my fear of failure at reading or speaking publicly other than pride and probably vanity?) to really teach us something deep.

In fact, later, when I was on the phone with a dear Christian friend, Robin, who I had not spoken with since returning to Catholicism and who I owed a great deal of explanation to…. And well…there it was. She reminded me of the privilege I have as a Child of God who Knows and loves His Word.
Because unlike what I dare to bet would be eighty percent or so of the people in the pews, I have a personal relationship with a very real Savior who speaks to me daily through His Word! What an honor, to be able to bear that Word to the people of God who don’t get it anywhere else!

This officially begins the phase of my spiritual walk where I have an appreciation for my journey. Where I recognize that it WAS God who took me through the entire last eleven years. Up until now, I’ve felt so frustrated and angry with everyone who pulled me away from Catholicism-- I have felt like the last eleven years of my life were time lost. But the reality is that I have been right where I was supposed to be that entire time. In faith. Walking daily led by the Lord. And ultimately, that’s the only place I ever want to be. I can be grateful then, for the work that God was doing in me through the various churches, because just as individual people were instrumental in helping me get to where I am, so were the individual bodies of believers. Together. Pointing me towards something. If I had not left the RCC when I did, in the Catholic environment I was in, I’m not sure I would have developed such a deep reliance on God. I’m not sure I would have learned to live for Him the way I did, or that I would have been able to receive the great gift of Faith that He wanted to give me.

Ultimately, I’m starting to see the footprints of God alongside mine again… recognizing yet again (when will I stop learning this lesson and actually just GET IT??) that NO ONE knows but me what God is really doing in my life, and that I don’t have to explain it to everyone for it to be real, and that I don’t have to even necessarily understand it myself, so long as, in faith, I’m going forward.

I was so happy to talk to Robin tonight… she had lots of exciting news for me, and I was able to share with her her part in my Carmelite formation… how many times she-- even as a protestant-- had poured a very Carmelite dose of prayer into me, an understanding of what prayer was and how much it mattered to form my life around it. It was a beautiful moment to rejoice with her in what God is doing everywhere-- saving us, making us holy, loving us. I love the gift we are given. I love the Giver more.

Celebrated soldier fell victim to 'demons'

This is Joseph Dwyer.




This photograph contributed to his demise. And yet this photograph, in a wordless, powerful way, tells us what kind of a man he was. The following is the AP news story taken from CNN.COM. Please pray for his soul, and for the souls of our troops caught in this terrible war.

http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/07/20/enemy.within.ap/i...

Officers had been to the white ranch house many times before over the past year to respond to a "barricade situation." Each had ended uneventfully, with Joseph Dwyer coming out or telling police in a calm voice through the window that he was OK.

But this time was different.

The Iraq war veteran had called a taxi service to take him to the emergency room. But when the driver arrived, Dwyer shouted that he was too weak to get up and open the door.

The officers asked Dwyer for permission to kick it in.

"Go ahead!" he yelled.

They found Dwyer lying on his back, his clothes soiled with urine and feces. Scattered on the floor were dozens of spent cans of Dust-Off, a refrigerant-based aerosol normally used to clean electrical equipment.

Dwyer told police Lt. Mike Wilson he'd been "huffing" the aerosol.

"Help me, please!" the former Army medic begged Wilson. "I'm dying. Help me. I can't breathe."

A half-hour later, he was dead.

When Dionne Knapp learned of her friend's June 28 death, her first reaction was to be angry at Dwyer. How could he leave his wife and daughter like this? Didn't he know he had friends who cared about him, who wanted to help?

But as time passed, Knapp's anger turned toward the government.
Please click the link above to read the whole story and to find out why.

Standing at the bottom of the mountain, looking up.

Had an amazing day.
After a rather intense free-roaming pit bull experience (they are quite common here in Fayettenam) we got the kids in the car early for once and headed to mass.
We had a visiting African priest from Tanzania who was there to speak to us about the HIV/AIDS pandemic and what we could do...His organization was particularly involved with nursing aids orphaned children. He made a very moving sermon and it renewed my commitment to work for peace in the Ivory Coast among the lepers in the Raffierkro colony, which has somewhat fallen on the backburner since the birth of Ishod and what not.
I was particularly marked by the thankfulness I experienced when I realized that in his village, no one had ever SEEN electricity, and that we took for granted nearly everything they might experience with amazement here in the US. Honestly. Five dollars is a world of difference over there, it kinda sickens me that I think it's "not much."
Even though Wayne is still unemployed, we felt moved to give to this man's ministry (the Little Brothers of Jesus and Mary) and to pray for him and his mission...we hope you will too! Just a tiny little sacrifice on our parts makes the difference between hope and hopelessness for them.

We rushed home so I would make my Carmelite meeting on time.
The trip to Raleigh is always so interesting. I ride down there with Bill and Diane, and we talk and pray and sit in silence and it's glorious fellowship. Diane is such a kindred spirit-- She reminds me of Dvora in a lot of ways and is a very warm, motherly, nurturing and prayerful person. I hope to be even 1/8th as spiritually mature as these women by the time I reach their age.

About halfway there, as we were praying this beautiful rosary, we had the surreal experience of driving right past a car that had just been in an accident. It was on fire, flames leaping out of broken windows and what not. I had never seen anything like it before, it was eerie and sad. Cars were lined up about a half mile on either side and thick, black smoke was creeping across the sky from the location of the burning vehicle. It seemed such a wierd thing as we drove by in what seemed like slow motion that inside our car we were at total peace and practically drifting through heaven and outside the world was so scary and harsh and dangerous.

We got to the meeting just as the business bit was closing, and then took an hour for formation. Which was awesome. Instead of sitting with the professed folks today (which I just LOVED last time as we studied the spiritual impact of the French Revolution through the eyes of the Martyrs of Compiegne) I was in class with the newest carmelite postulants, who were studying the Rule of Life (Regular blog readers: see how God has a sense of Humor?)

It was a fascinating subject though, and I discovered that Carmelites have the shortest and easiest rule to follow of all the orders-- ironically, since a life of prayer is neither easy nor short!

Afterwards, we had our 1/2 hour of mental prayer / meditation during which I discovered just how LOW on the mountain of Carmel I am.... I'm usually pretty good about stillness but for whatever reason, today was a challenge-- I was fidgety and sleepy.
Then we prayed the liturgy of the hours together-- I cannot describe the beauty of the Carmelite LOH. Just gorgeous.
After that I was privileged to see four members of the community take vows and make temporary promises--- soooo cool!
We then had a giant feast to celebrate the feast days of Our Lady of Mt Carmel and the prophet Elijah.
And since Elijah and His chariot have made it traditional to bless our own chariots on his feast day, we did a Byzantine rite of car blessing, parading through the parking lot chanting as we blessed everyone's vehicle!! Which was AWESOME.

I also discovered that two of the Carmelites there are French speakers--- from Canada, yay! In fact, they are a homeschooling catholic family with eleven kids-- awesome!
you can check out their blog at www.timetokeep.blogspot.com
There is also one other French Carmelite.
The more time I spend with these people the more I see why they are so close. I definitely feel at home there, even though I'm a little bit out of place. I can't wait until next month!!! I've got TONS of reading and studying to do now, so I'd better go....

I prayed for all my blog readers today :)

The Rule Book

It’s Saturday evening, and I’ve still got quite a few things left to do to get ready for tomorrow, which is my long-awaited day at Carmel learning from my Carmelite sisters and brothers.

On Tuesday, we went to take Annika’s cast off at the orthopedic surgeon’s. The idea was to take the cast off, take some more X Rays, and then put the cast back on for another six weeks. Lo and behold when we took the cast off, we discovered through the X Rays that her arm had healed to the point where -- miraculously-- we could keep the cast off entirely so that she could begin to redevelop her muscles in the arm, etc. The doctor was quite surprised. It seems more than one little miracle occurred on the day of the miraculous thumb healing! God is good.

Wayne also had a very promising job interview that day, and we are looking forward to hearing more from them next week.

I’ve been discovering more and more how my Mediterranean heritage is a cultural handicap in the religious debate arena…. Most people, it turns out, are a lot like Wayne and don’t actually ENJOY the arguing and exaggerating (Wayne calls it lying and picking fights) so I’m going to have to work on that not just in the home, but outside as well. It also plays out in my women’s book and bible studies etc. I think I’ve been talking more than listening, and I need to work on that.

My SIL made friends with a nice girl who I’ve now met a couple of times at their house. She and I have a lot in common-- she’s got two children my kids’ ages and we both go to the church, she lived in Italy until this year, likes cooking and natural parenting, and things like that. And yet, no matter what my attempts to win her over are, I can’t seem to really make friends with her. She’s always a bit standoffish, and I hate that she just doesn’t seem to like me. I know not everyone has to, but whenever I meet someone who doesn’t, it really bothers me and I spend a great deal of time wondering WHY not. This may all just be emotional trash I need to sort through from high school when Kiki Lew used to beat me up all the time because she (and I quote) “just didn’t like me.” Nevertheless, I wish people would like, fill out anonymous surveys and put them in my mailbox: I don’t like you because you talked too much, or you chewed with your mouth open, or you are too nerdy. The most likely culprit is that I overwhelm people. I need to work harder to be of a “meek and quiet” disposition.

I’ve been thinking a TON about the rule book concept that Amanda and I always blog about.
As nondenominational ex-Catholic and ex-Mormons, we had to learn to “put away our rule book,” so to speak… to stamp out legalism in all it’s forms. It’s a good idea-- to get away from the idea that adherence to a rule is righteousness, particularly to one’s rules without doing it from the heart, or out of a desire for righteousness and godliness.
We recognized that in the past, we had done things “for the sake of doing them,” and not out of a motivation to really love God and love others. Of course, that motivation came later, and we found ourselves adhering to many of the same rules.
But like good protestants, we trained ourselves to bristle at the idea of “putting rules or laws over ourselves.”

I have a friend who has nine children. During family devotions, if some of the kids are messing around, not really “present,” the parents will tell them to go back upstairs and do what they want to until they WANT to come down and worship God.
On the one hand, I think it’s a good idea to encourage them to be present in the moment and to give God their best. BUT I also think that it discourages discipline-- it demonstrates that our godliness is dependent upon our feelings and not our disciplined lifestyle.

I’ve heard it said many times that if a Jew loses his faith, he should continue to live as a Jew (observe the law) and that eventually, his faith will return. Likewise, I think the same is true for a Catholic--- continuing to do Catholic things will eventually bring one back around to some sort of seedling of faith. But if a person has no law to return to, they are left with nothing. And that, quite frankly, is a very dangerous thing. It seems that in trading in my legalism, I was going so far as to cling to lawlessness too.

Ironically, I felt that I was really balanced in that I allowed myself lots of “wiggle room” in my own spiritual walk. While I would never condemn someone for either NOT drinking, or FOR drinking, for example, I myself drank when I felt I could drink and didn’t when I felt I could not. I thought I was very spiritually mature in that I was neither shackled nor wild, but simply what I would have described to you as…. In faith. I knew that discipline was important for myself, and I was interested in discipline, but I refused to create steadfast rules for myself out of a distaste for legalistic thought patterns.

And yet one of the biggest factors in my return to Catholicism was a frustration with how many rules there were over my head which did absolutely nothing for my soul. When I walked out of my nondenominational church for the last time, it was as if I was physically shedding skin after skin which weighed pound upon pound… my first day at mass I thought I was going to start literally levitating. (Hey, some Catholic saints actually HAVE levitated, now that I think about it!)

In my stepping further away from fundamentalist ideology, I’ve seen how I sometimes react with a type of fear that I’m somehow wronging God when I do something that wouldn’t “Fit in” with fundamentalist theology. I experienced this the first time I prayed a rosary, or prayed before a statue of Mary, or even simply crossed myself.
I felt this very strongly when I was first discerning my vocation to religious life in the various third orders. I was strongly attracted to the Franciscan Sisters of the Renewal, the Little Sisters of Jesus, and the Discalced Carmelites. And deciding between them was eventually clear--- there is no third order for the FSR or the LSJ. During that time, I re-discovered my love of the brown scapular, which also gave me the “weird, nervous” feeling that I might be stepping out of favor with God. (that has since TOTALLY been resolved…. Just in case any of you are wondering, I would NEVER purposely do something that I didn’t think was directly from God.)
As I drew nearer to discerning a call to the Carmelite Order, I realized that being in a Religious Order meant that I had to adhere to a Rule of Life. This concept, which was once so familiar to me, had fallen to some distant part of my brain during my protestant years, and when it resurfaced really freaked me out.

For those who don’t know, a Rule of Life is a document drawn up to contractualize a member of a religious order’s faith life -- something that explains what will be expected of them in their daily life, right down to how much they will pray and what they will pray. It’s a rule book.

Which I have incessantly spoken about in here as wrong, evil, etc. And which I have always talked about yearning for!

The Carmelite Rule that I will be living under is the Rule of St Albert. You can google it if you are interested and read it yourself, but the important thing to know is that there are some heavy prayer requirements for each day: things like, 30 minutes of mental prayer (meditation) a day, at least praying the morning and evening prayers of the Liturgy of the hours, daily devotion to the Blessed Mother, etc. It also includes vows of chastity (maintaining purity within my marriage) obedience (to the order and the church) and poverty (not living in excess of wealth but rather using what I need and passing the rest on to do the work of God.)

I get tingles whenever I read this rule. I am currently living under a different Rule of Life, which is from Father Lasance’s My Prayer-Book, an extremely orthodox prayer book with an excellent little Rule with tips like…. Crossing oneself before getting out of bed in the AM and just as you go to sleep in the PM, or remembering to say grace, things like that. Most of these things I do already, but they become ingrained in me as I try to live the Rule and I find it so ironically liberating that I just cannot describe my joy.

See, before I had a Rule of Life I still lived a VERY faithful life. God is and always has been right at the forefront of my mind. However, before I had a Rule of Life, there went entire days where I realized that I had barely prayed at all, whereas now, at the end of a bad day I can say… well, I didn’t do MUCH, but at least I prayed the LOH, and the rosary, etc.

Its’ like re-learning how to pray from a book. At first, it’s totally disconcerting. I get guilty feelings when I pray too much from a book and not enough spontaneously. And yet when I pray from a book, I find so much richness in the prayers--- they are theologically sound, beautifully written , and thoughtful. Letting go of my “consciousness” of what I am saying to God frees me to pray with my heart. And so now, while I still LOVE to pray spontaneously and freely to the Lord and pour out my heart, I am finding great solace in praying the prayers of the Saints, as well. I feel connected to them when I pray their prayers. It reminds me that I’m a part of a big family, and it connects me to God in the way THEY connected to God… for a small moment, I’m a part of their walk.

Who knew that I wanted my Rule book for a reason? My Rule turns out to be good for my soul… I am more disciplined and more in love with God and aware of Him because of it… and suddenly I’m really walking in the footsteps of the Saints, following their advice and learning from their lives. It’s awesome.

Miracles and Miseries

It’s funny that I’m writing this on a word processor, because what I’m doing is not processing words but thoughts and emotions that turn into words. Usually, I journal when I’m in this state, but I’m going to blog because I know a lot of you are wondering why I’ve been busy, having a hard time, etc.

I’ll start with Annika. She has really had a hard time. Since her birth, she has been in a terrible car accident, had all kinds of weird fever issues and issues relating to pooping, had her butt hold snipped, she has had a barium enema, had her arm broken, had her arm reset without sedation, taken a cast off three weeks later to find out that the arm was worse than when we initially put it in the cast, gone under general anesthesia, which is really dangerous for a two year old, to have it reset again, had a catheter, had a fever of 105-106 regularly (at least twice a month), and last week she was attacked by a normally sweet and very nice dog she knows.
Last night was about all I could take. We all had a nice dinner together, came home, had a bath, and put the kids to sleep at their normal 7 pm time.
Annika has been sleeping in the crib again because she kept falling out of her toddler bed while sleeping and that wasn’t good for her arm. The crib is still very high (she can’t just fall out) and she has never attempted to crawl out. (especially with a cast, that’s a fail)
All of a sudden a sickening human crash resounded through the house and we heard Annika screaming. Colliding with one another as we rushed in, we found her curled on the hardwood floor in a horrible ball. We spread her out and felt for breaks. I found the break first… aided by a yelp from her. Her thumb was dangling sickeningly from her cast, already beginning to turn a weird color. Wayne looked at it and made a horrible face…. Saying no, no, no, and making a fist.
We grabbed Ishod and headed straight for the hospital, me praying the entire way and Wayne wondering what he had done to anger God.
Arriving at the hospital, I sent Wayne home with Ishod and I stayed, since they admitted her for the broken thumb and head injury. She went through several nurses and a physician’s assistant, who all said it looked broken.
The doctor ordered some xrays and we waited. I prayed. Mostly for her emotional state, since by now she knows that at the hospital, terrible things happen to her that cause her a great deal of pain and anxiety.
I was amazed that as the hours rolled by, she started to lift her hand, then wiggle it, and eventually play with it. By the time the Xray tech came to get us she was in very good spirits, and where we nearly had to sedate her to get the xrays last time, this time she was proudly showing off her “picture taking” abilities and asking for stickers.
The X Rays came back, confirming what I had thought-- a miracle. No broken thumb. She had rebroken her arm in the cast, but in the same place…nothing new or worse.
God worked a miracle on my little girl--- and I was the only one in the ER not surprised.
I burst into fresh tears.. Thankfulness, this time.
And for the first time in my life, I promised God something. I promised him that I would take just about anything life was going to dish out with true Joy if He promised to care for my little Annika.
When Wayne came to pick her up, he was elated, but also extremely frustrated. He is having a hard time understanding what God could possibly be doing by allowing her to hurt so much.
He and I had been fighting because he deals with hard things by retreating inwards and fighting off questions and what not, so instead of letting him do that and waiting til he wanted to talk, I bristled and took everything personally.

Today, as we were walking out of the church parking lot, he and Ishod hung back to talk to a friend while I took Annika towards the car. As we were walking, I heard a car begin to screech and I spun around, snatching her up so she wouldn’t get hit. Right in front of us, a car hit a motorbike and the biker was thrown straight up in the air like a rag doll, crashing back headfirst onto the pavement where he had lost his helmet… head exploding as both car and motorcycle met on his shoulders. Right. In. Front. Of. Us.
We stood still amidst the resulting chaos of running people, dialing cell phones and cries to God, holding each other tight, praying for this poor man who had probably just received the Lord’s Body and Blood and examined his conscience…. Wow.
If he lives, it will be a pure miracle… but as we know, that’s God’s specialty.

This weekend was my first weekend as a wedding sacristan. Basically, I’m the church owned wedding coordinator… I take over once the rehearsal and ceremony begin. Which is interesting, because we all know that that’s when ALL the last minute crises take over. Not to mention that most of my job involves protecting the sanctity of the environment and of tradition within the walls of the church, etc. Which can be touchy in this day and age.
The rehearsal went well. Basically, the sacristan just walks everyone (priest and wedding party) through the entire ceremony, adjusting glitches here and there, etc.
The glitches were few: a missing maid of honor to make the first reading, and a couple of questions about who stands where and how. The Father of the bride asked when he would be able to give away the bride, and then comes the hard answer: “well, the RCC has never promoted slavery, and since the tradition is rooted in slavery, we try not to… blah blah blah….” OF course, if the father or bride insist, they may, but we are to inform them that this is a mostly protestant tradition rooted in the ancient Judaic “woman owning” concept of giving away a bride.

In this case, the bride, who was marrying a freshly returned from an Afhgan deployment soldier and who will be moving with him to Germany next week, chose to have BOTH parents walk her down the aisle instead of walking down the aisle WITH the groom (as both are the administrators of the sacrament) as we suggest.

Saturday, the next day, was the actual wedding. Photographer issues to deal with, can’t find the rings, none of the boys knew how to pin on their flowers, one of the bridesmaid’s dresses snapped, and things like that.

THEN came the real problems. They were having a wedding mass, but we were short a eucharistic minister. Yikes! Having never done it, Father Mike asked me to stand in. We had to clarify a few theological issues, first with the Family Life ministry leader, Beth. A very, very progressive Catholic, and also a good friend, she wanted to know why, if I knelt to receive the host I didn’t kneel to receive the blood. Which is a good question I didn’t have an answer to, other than that when I was coming up, we didn’t really have the cup, and then they changed it and said everyone should have both. Nevertheless I couldn’t receive on my knees up front because the NORM (in the GIRM) is standing in the United States… which pretty much answered my whole question about whether or not I SHOULD be standing at all. (incidentally, most priests expect this to be changing soon, but it hasn’t yet)
So, on my first day standing, which was REALLY hard for me because of a million reasons from pride at being an example to a real sense of frustration that I couldn’t honor my Lord the way I felt He was meant to be honored, it actually ended up being really cool, and I was glad I acquiesced. It’s also pretty neat handing out communion, it creates a HUGE bond between you and the person recieving. BUT as it turns out, this wedding mass was not exactly full of Catholics, and I found myself with a basically full cup of the Blood to drink when all was said and done, which ‘aint easy to do in less than five minutes at such an early hour. I thought about the scene in The Messenger when Joan of Arc wants to “be at one with Him” so badly she just GORGES herself on the cup and it spills all over her face. I related to her at that moment-- it was a weird experience to which I can only say that the words of one of my favorite prayers, the Anima Christi, seemed to deal with appropriately: BLOOD OF CHRIST, INEBRIATE ME.

Another interesting thing that happened was when the moms were bringing up the gifts. The groom’s mom sharply reminded the bride’s mom that “when we get up there, we genuflect!”
“I thought we were supposed to bow?” She asked with genuine surprise.
“Absolutely not. We genuflect!” was the sharp retort.
(at that point I noticed that the brides’ side of the family was gleeful in spaghetti straps and short skirts and the grooms’ side was head to toe covered and somber… hehe.)

Nevertheless, once the gifts were presented, the bride’s mom bowed and the grooms’ genuflected, and it looked silly and awkward and overdone on both ends. It reminded me of the never ending Catholicism 101 thread in Ravelry where we have been beating these types of issues TO DEATH…. In the end, we all need to understand that piety is a personal thing, and deal with it respectfully and tactfully. The groom’s mom was right-- you DO genuflect, but since the other mom just wanted to bow, she should have bowed and made a gesture. Just like I should stand, and make a gesture. God knows our hearts. And as I’ve seen over the last few days, he is Good and Just, He expects much from us and He gives us all the grace we need. He is sovereign, that’s for sure.

Inner Fireworks

There we were, on Ft Bragg, like every year, enjoying the glorious military family atmosphere and my brother's bomb cheeseburgers and kabobs.

By total randomness, all the neighbors to the left of his house and down happen to be catholic. The neighbors to the right are protestant. Righties had their whole entire church over for the fireworks show.... they brought a tent, potluck, and a 17 foot water slide and bounce house with them. So naturally, all the neighborhood kids wanted to play. Because of Annika's broken arm, we couldn't play, so I stayed in the house and tended to the serving part. At one point during the evening, one of our friends who just returned from an 18 month deployment to Iraq (btw, Not so sure it's a hot idea to do fireworks on Bragg this year with nearly every soldier freshly returned, but that's another story.) was over at the bounce house with the kids. After a while, he came back in. He was kinda quiet, grabbed a beer, leaned against the and looked at me.
"Whats wrong?" I asked.
He told me that he had been over talking to some of the parents, and the conversation had turned to Jesus. Somehow, somewhere, during the conversation, they had discovered that he was a Catholic. The result? "Apparently," he said, "they think I'm not going to make it into heaven."
I was mortified. Afraid that I would be either too jaded in the conversation or too badmouthed towards the church folk out there, I just cheersed him and smiled and told him... "Well, you keep on trying."

This really bothered me. It really bothered HIM.. so much so that instead of sitting with the group, he and his family later moved their chairs back a bit and he brought the incident up a couple of times more with others... I could see he was looking for a resolution.
This is where it gets to the point that basically ruined my 4th of July.

Now this may be just me being paranoid, but it appeared as though word spread around the group that there were Catholics present. And all of a sudden we were bombarded by "nice" people, just making "polite" conversation, all the while steering it towards Jesus. It was almost like I was playing a game... I was not biting purposefully on all the questions the evangelicals were trying to bait me with to steer the conversation towards my salvation. It was so sad, and almost funny.
I thought about how that could have been me a year ago. *Facepalm.*

I thought about all the ways they were trying to bring the conversation to Jesus: asking about Annika's arm, talking about God's healing. Asking about being unemployed, talking about God's provision. Asking about how long we were married, talking about how important marriage is to God. On and on and on it went... like this vortex trying to get at "where I was with God."

Part of me admired the tenacity of it--- the women who were coming up to chat with me were genuinely concerned about my salvation. They wanted to make sure I'd be OK in the end, and were I still an evangelical, I would have been impressed with their zeal for souls! In fact, I'm still impressed! We need people who care.
On the other hand, I was disgusted. I thought about how vain and presumptious it was to assume that "because we were Catholics" we needed to hear the gospel, and how funny it was that most of these people, when they started talking about the church, had probably never set foot in a Catholic church in their lives and had absolutely no idea what was taught "inside."
The whole thing just turned my stomach. I questioned whether anyone there actually thought my daughter was really cute or they were all just swooning over her to get an "in." I questioned whether anyone really did like my casserole (it was mormon, btw! Thanks Deseret!) or whether they were looking to just bring me "spiritual food." I stood there smoldering with this plastic smile painting my face friendly, when inside I was feeling a combination of anger, frustration, and almost a desire to just laugh.

I admit, this is my paranoia settling in, but the look on my friend's face when he came in just broke my heart.
Nothing like being told your religion is dead to bring some real sense of community to a block party, right?

The craziest moment was when this woman was sharing her sheetcake recipe with me. She told me of it's success at church potlucks, etc, and I told her how delicious it was. She said she wanted to give it out at church on Sundays. She began talking about how much she loved going to church, and said that it was, for her, the "best day of the week."
I told her I felt the same way, only that we got to go to church every single day! I thought we could leave it at that--- her being appreciative of the fact that maybe I really loved getting close to Jesus and that that was a nice thing. We parted ways on friendly terms.

So imagine my surprise when I overheard her as I was running back indoors with my daughter once the fireworks started......(she was totally scared! Who knew?) talking to another woman from her church, obviously about me. I only caught the tail end of the conversation:
"isn't that sad? They go every day just to meet with no one."
"it's not no one," said the other lady. "we really need to pray for them."
I kept running.

you see why I'm having such a hard time with this??