Community Love and the fear of being alone

It’s Monday morning. The kids are happily plunged in the land of Baby Einstein, and I’m just waking up. There is a noise outside my house that sounds like a low, strange rumble. It’s been going on since 5 a.m. or so and I can’t find a source for it, even though I went outside and walked the perimeter of our property. I can only assume that it has something to do with some field exercises on Ft Bragg and that it will cease when my friends’ husbands start coming home on Thursday night.

Wayne’s first day of work is Tomorrow morning at 8 am. I am so pleased—I couldn’t be happier that he will be working. And it’s a good job, which will teach him so much about his dad’s specialty, electrical work. But I have to admit, I’m really sad that he will be gone. Monday through Friday, day in and day out, well. I don’t know. Part of it is because we will really miss him!! How am I going to enjoy GHI every Wednesday without him next to me? Who will be there to encourage me to eat yogurt instead of brownies? Who in the heck am I going to snuggle up next to in bed?

Part of it is also selfish. I’ve been practicing driving, but I still don’t feel comfortable doing it alone, especially with the kids in the car. So I’m still not driving, and that means that on Sunday night, when we do our grocery shopping, I better make sure I have EVERYTHING—there is no public transport here in Fayetteville that I can get on.
I won’t be able to go to mass anymore during the week, and if no one can come all the way out to pick me up, I wont be able to go to my study groups either. And God forbid anything happens to the kids or something, I will have a hard time getting to the hospital.
This really bums me out and makes me feel so angry at myself and at him for not having pushed the driving issue when I had the chance. But what can I do? He has to go. I’m also concerned that his parents will take the fact that he’s gone all the time to try to “drop in” more frequently than they already do. (Not that I don’t love them and all, just… you know!) What about intruders? We never did get me that handgun, so now all I’ve got is the warclub in case someone tries to come in. That thing is pretty bad, but still…. It would be nice to know that I have the security of a weapon in my home. Fortunately, my neighbor across the street is a walking Country Music Video and will be good protection, I guess.
The last thing I’m worried about is that I will be so exhausted from caring for the kids and doing absolutely everything (for those of you who know us, you might find that funny, but he does at least take out the trash once in a while and frequently gets excited about cooking dinner! :P) but I might be so tired that when he comes home on the weekends I’m not myself, or I have a hard time being patient, or something. I don’t know.

But, all the “feeling sorry for myself”s aside, I’m excited for this opportunity to work. I’m so happy that he will be doing something that will teach him a part of the construction/engineering field that he doesn’t know a whole lot about. He will also be going out of state and out of the area and seeing some really interesting cities and things.

It’s a good opportunity, and the way I see it, it could be a LOT worse. He could be gone all the time AND in a war zone, right? So, yeah.

Saturday night Wayne and I were supposed to go out to dinner with our priest and his parents, who were visiting. Wayne decided he didn’t feel well enough to go that night so he offered to care for the kids while I went instead, which was a really nice treat for me!! I never get to go out without the children, much less to a nice dinner, so I was excited.
Particularly since we ended up going to Outback (my best friend’s faaaavorite!) so instead of being a little stuffy we could totally relax. His mom and I had margueritas (I hadn’t had one in YEARS!) and his dad and I talked politics. They are an amazing family—they were both Baptist until our priest became a Catholic and hounded them about religion until they were able to have decent conversations about it. Using the Bible, he was able to convince his father that the Church is who Jesus said it was, but his mom remains not just unconvinced but stubborn and seriously irate about it. I imagine being a hardcore Baptist momma and having a celibate priest as a son is a bit of a challenge.

There was this extremely awkward moment during dinner when the waitress jokingly told my priest to stop touching her hand. Because he was in civvies, she had no idea whatsoever that he was a Roman Catholic Priest. A little while later, he apparently did it again because she laughed and looks at me and says “honey, you better tell your husband to quit touching my hand.” Ha! We all looked at our plates, Father and I laughing quietly, but I could tell that had the potential to be a sore spot for his mom by her expression. He looked at me and said “I’m not worthy to be your husband,” to which I could only wonder how in the heck you explain to Baptist parents that he not only is my bridegroom but theirs, my husband’s, AND the waitress’ too?? Haha. Theology of the Body, baby. Wayne got a good laugh out of that moment when I told him about it later.

Anyways, in trying to do some icebreaking when we first met, I mentioned that I was looking into doula certification through DONA because my brother had rightly pointed out that I could make just as much money and work with just as many births as a doula than I could as an LPN, but that the training was a lot less difficult to do with the younguns, and way less expensive! (My brother is a genius. When he runs for president twenty years from now, please vote for him—so long as he’s not running against Amanda’s husband!) She lit up like a Christmas tree—turns out she IS a doula, she doulas for free to medicaid patients, AND she’s been in ministry with girls and women considering abortions for years and years. She was an amazing woman—I felt fortunate to get to know his parents a bit who I know have formed his faith which in turns forms mine, and I think it was probably refreshing for them to go out to dinner with one of his parishioners who “Spoke their language.”
I speak Baptist. Not as well as I speak Pentacostal, but I do speak it. And I bet it comforted her on some level to know that her son was still surrounded by people who were---- you know. Jesus Freaks. :P


Anyways, we went to mass on Sunday morning with a lot to pray for and offer up on the altar. Father Shay, a retired priest, was presiding. I had met him the night before at the rectory…he’s a total character. But in his age, he isn’t able to attend to his priestly duties the way he always has been (He needed an assistant to help him navigate at the altar and wasn’t able to distribute communion, you know?) so, I think a lot of less open-minded people probably suffered a bit through mass. I, on the other hand, was flabbergasted by how much I learned from him!! In yesterday’s gospel (Matthew 16:21-27), something stood out for me that I had never noticed before. We heard from God that He would repay each of us according to his conduct. (his behavior in other translations)

I couldn’t help but realize that judging us by our BEHAVIOR and not our motives is pretty major. How many of us MEAN to do well and end up not doing it???? It was a huge wake up call for me to get to the things I’ve been wanting to do but not doing.
So…. That hit me like a ton of bricks. It’s not enough for us to “mean” to love others. We have to DO IT.

Later on, at communion, I realized that Father Shay wouldn’t be distributing. Call me weird, but I like to receive communion from a priest. It REALLY, REALLY bugs me to receive from a Eucharistic minister unless I absolutely have to, and so I was already slightly…. peeved. To top it off, the Eucharistic minister who was distributing on my side turned out to be a certain person who shall remain nameless who greatly irritates the more orthodox persons of our parish with his majorly progressive views. (myself being one of them. I should state here that I think he’s a really, really nice guy. There’s nothing wrong with him. I just can’t stand some of his liturgical views and the decisions he makes in the parish)

Nevertheless, I wanted to receive the Lord, but I also had to check myself before going up--- I didn’t want to receive Him from him! Part of me was afraid he was going to judge me for HOW I was receiving. Part of me was judging HIM for what he believed about what he was doing. It was a mess. I was torn about even going up at all. But I did.

What an amazing lesson I learned. In the moment, being given the body of Christ from this person, I instantly felt so connected with him that I started crying!!! I would have hugged him if it didn’t make a giant scene. It was like, as the wafer hit my tongue, that waves of love washed over both of us, and I immediately knew that he was me and I was him and that we were together in the Lord--- and that nothing—absolutely NOTHING else mattered. I don’t think I’ll ever look at him the same again. I felt God’s love for him and I hope he felt God’s love for me. It was an amazing moment for me. I feel like it healed our relationship completely.

Back on my knees, in my pew, I reflected on this moment for some time, gratefully giving back to the Lord all the amazing love He shares with us. At one point, I looked up to the crucifix, out of the corner of my eye catching something totally amazing. A young boy, no more than 11, was receiving on his knees--- and what’s even more amazing was that neither of his parents did… they actually both received in the hand!! I thanked God for this young man and left mass yesterday completely refreshed in the Lord and thankful, especially, for the Eucharist and his great love for us… He is so good.


Pray for us as we start this new journey.