When Dads DO Parenting

It took me a while to trust Marvin to be a dad. I know that sounds kind of crappy. It sounds like Marvin needed my babysitting or hand holding when it comes to our kids. I don't mean it like that. I don't mean I didn't trust him to handle things properly. I mean that it took me a long time to trust that Marvin could be a dad (a REAL dad) and still love me. That he would still love us and want to come home after work. That he could see the hard, do the hard, LIVE in the hard and still choose us.

I had good intentions. I knew how hard parenting was. Real parenting. It was exhausting and messy and constant and I wanted to save him from that. I had to save him because surely he could only love us if life was easy and we didn't ask much of him. He couldn't love us through the ugly. And parenting IS ugly. We're not talking drive-by parenting here (where the dad comes home and gets to kiss freshly washed children and throw them around a bit and then send them off to bed and call it a day). Real parenting. Parenting in which the kids are fighting and no one wants to eat what I've cooked for dinner and there's wet, dirty clothes every where and mom is heading out the door because (as I was shocked to learn) moms ARE allowed to leave sometimes-- even GOOD moms! In real parenting Dad is there to step in. Really step in. He can do homework and bath time and the feeding and the rocking and the breaking up of fights. He can do it all. Because, you know what? They're his kids too.

REAL parenting was only for me. I could handle real parenting. I could do the hard and still love my family. 

My thought process had little to do with Marvin and everything to do with my insecurities. We all have issues from our past that we carry into our current relationships and friendships. My insecurity was waiting. I was always waiting. Waiting to meet the real Marvin. Waiting to see a glimpse of the Marvin who had a secret life or cheats or hates his family or or or. That's the way my brain works. There's no way a human being that good and that kind and that CUTE could really love me. All of me. The bad me. The moody me. I wasn't worthy of that kind of love. Eventually the other shoe would drop and I'd be all alone and it would be all my fault because I'm too much and "can you really blame the poor guy"?

So, I hid. I didn't hide the crazy me or the moody me. That would be way too hard to do. I'm too impulsive to hide those parts of myself. I hid parenting away. It was all mine. He wasn't invited to parenting. He couldn't handle it AND love me AND stay. It was solely my job. 

Having parenting all for myself served me well. You see, if I was the only one doing REAL parenting then I was the only one who could have REAL parenting tantrums. Real parenting tantrums are the tantrums where you lock yourself in your room or bathroom or wherever after a long and dramatic monologue entitled "How Much I Do and How Little I am Appreciated". It was a self esteem boost. "Look at how much I do! Look at how much I juggle. See! I AM a good mom! Now give me a break. I deserve it." And, maaaan, I needed that self esteem boost because I always seemed to be one mistake away from ruining my children. One mistake away from being a "bad mom".

I noticed that the dads that did real parenting were worshiped. For moms, real parenting is expected. It's our responsibility. No one freaks out when a mother brings her kids to the grocery store. That's part of her job. It's not even a fancy part of her job. It's the bare minimum. No one even gives it a second thought. That's a Tuesday. Now, if your kids are perfect robots and you're dressed in real people clothes and you have make up on and smiling children with manners in your midst you may get a smile or two from fellow shoppers but that's where it usually ends for moms. However, if a dad brings a child to the store or even (gasp) more than one child people lose their ever loving minds. I wasn't going to allow people to fan over him. I was doing the hard. I was the one that needed all the credit. I needed everyone to think I did it all and, more importantly, that I did it all well. 

If Marvin did real parenting then I would be vulnerable to judgment. Judgment I wasn't ready for or strong enough or secure enough to handle. You see, him DOING takes away from me. When he's seen being a father, when he's seen doing, people are quick to wonder why I'm not doing. Surely the mothers-in-law of the world would make comments about how their husbands never helped in that way. Those women did it all. Without a problem. Their baseboards were always clean and their kids' clothes were always ironed--with pleats nonetheless and they had no one to thank but themselves, thankyaverymuch! They would always make sure to say how lucky I was. Always the word "lucky". If they said the word "lucky" their comment was disguised as a compliment--it no longer sounded like a dis.

I loved being able to have the "your husband does WHAT?" conversation with my friends or (sadly) even with strangers. "My husband can't even make toast, yours cooks?" This is a conversation where we compare and contrast what our husband does (or, really, doesn't do) against the other husbands in the world so we can feel better about how we're doing more than most. It's a stab at the men in our lives, but it's not even really about them. It's about us. We use them so that we can feel better about ourselves. About how much we do. Why? Because doing more means caring more. And caring more means being a good mom. And at the end of the day we all just want to be good moms. 

Allowing Marvin to be a dad would mean a hit to my pride and letting go of the need to always be right. You see, when you're the only one doing parenting you have the final say. You decide what's good and what's bad for your kids. You lead the way. It's easy to do parenting with only your opinion to consider. 

Kids tend to learn real quick which one of you is doing parenting. There's trust there-trust that's been built. It's an unspoken rule: "The real parent can answer these questions and can help me with whatever I might need. The real parent knows the rules. The real parent is the boss--even of the other parent." 

Once I invited Marvin into real parenting my love for him grew. The kids' affection for him and trust in him grew and I'm fairly certain his love for us grew. Marvin is now invited into decision making. What should we do with Dane's speech issue? Should I bring Juliet to the doctor for this rash? Should Elaina play basketball in Lake Charles or Sulphur? These are real questions I ask now. Before they were conversation fillers. They were questions I asked out loud to him, but only so I could weigh the pros and cons of my own thoughts against one another.

I learned so many things after Marvin joined real parenting. I learned he shouldn't have had to be invited by me afterall. He had a right. And I was taking his right from him. I was unfairly putting myself in a position of power. I was also cheating my kids out of another perspective--out of a real relationship with their dad. "Man, who is the only creature on earth that God willed for its own sake, cannot fully find himself except through a sincere gift of self." (Mulieris Dignitatem) I was keeping him from making a sincere gift of self to our children and thereby keeping him from growth, from knowing himself. Parenting is a partnership. Two brains are better than one. (Even when I'm one of the brains involved.) Surprisingly, my ideas are not always the best ideas. There's more than one way to do things. My way is not always the right way. These realizations were groundbreaking in our home. Groundbreaking and necessary and long overdue. I was definitely thrown off my high horse.

It turned out, I wasn't doing anyone any favors. Not Marvin and not myself and certainly not the kids. I was cheating Marvin out of parenting. Cheating him. I wasn't saving him at all. I was robbing him, robbing everyone out of real, hard, pure love. Love is hard. It isn't always easy, in fact, it's rarely ever easy in the ways that count. Things worth doing are often hard. I'm lucky (see, I use that word too!) that I'm married to a man so willing to jump completely into parenting. I needed to stop holding him back. I needed to move myself out of the way to allow Marvin to really get to know the kids and to allow the kids to really trust Marvin. 

To experience real love, to really love someone, you have to allow yourself to be loved. That was a tough lesson that I'm still working on learning. I don't have it all figured out. Not even close. I am a work in progress.

Now and then I'm still guilty of downplaying what Marvin does and up-selling what I do. I still find myself comparing him to other dads and husbands. I still let the wrong comment slip from time to time. My mouth always works faster than my brain and my tact. 

I've realized people (at least during my lifetime) will probably always praise men as fathers and husbands for doing just a little bit more than the bare minimum. It's not an attack against me or my motherhood. It's just genuine surprise. Not every guy is the same and some women (even after inviting and inviting and begging and re-inviting) are met with partners who do not wish to take part in real parenting. When these women use the word "lucky" they genuinely mean lucky. They're serving as a reminder (maybe a Divine reminder?) to be grateful for what we have. A little appreciation goes a long way--we've learned that through experience, haven't we?

We should not be comparing our husbands. We just shouldn't. We have to stop doing this--let's agree right now. Can you imagine if guys got together and in front of our FACES dissed us (like we tend to do)? Or compared what we do with what another mother or wife does? (God forbid that mother be HIS mother. Those are fighting words!) If it's not ok and if it's not nice for them then it shouldn't be ok for us, right?

Like with any change, when you take a long-standing dynamic and decide to tweak it there may be some push back. If you go from handling all-the-things to needing or asking for help there will likely be confusion. Be patient. Ask. They don't always know. I know that's mind boggling for us. "How can they NOT know?" But, it's true. I've learned it may take a while for the anticipation of the need to come into play with dads, but it'll come and it'll come faster when he's built up rather than torn down. When they jump in and help and anticipate your needs or the needs of the family DON'T criticize the way they're helping. Bite your tongue. Write it down and then throw it away. Set a timer and don't talk until the timer dings. Do whatever you need to do, but keep your pie hole shut. Walking on egg shells is not a good way for him to learn initiative. He will figure out his way (not YOUR way, HIS way). Just like you had to figure it out. It takes time and patience. Be patient.

Change is hard. Relinquishing control is hard. Opening yourself to criticism is hard. Being vulnerable is hard. But, things worth doing are sometimes (often?) hard. Your children deserve two parents doing parenting. Don't let your insecurities, expectations, fears or need for perfection rob them of that. It's not your place.

Maybe

When I began to really understand what was happening at mass, I didn't understand why people all around me weren't crying with joy. Why people aren't silent and reverent the entire time. Why the air in the church isn't thick and important. Why did it seem, on the outside, like nothing important was happening? I don't know this answer. If I had to guess I'd say maybe some people don't know what's happening. Maybe others are having an off day. Maybe some have gotten complacent. And, maybe, most importantly, I am not the judge of what other people have going on in their heart and soul in mass. Maybe on the inside they are busting with love and joy and worship and on the outside they are trying to keep their 2 year old from disturbing the entire congregation.

There came a time on my journey that I could not deny Christ's real, true presence in the Eucharist. I literally felt something deep in my gut any time I was around the Blessed Sacrament in adoration. I initially thought that the tug I felt in my stomach was because of my realization that Christ was in the room with me. I knew that I was in front of Jesus and so maybe my brain made my stomach feel butterflies. I didn't know the reason. But I did know that when you come to know that Christ is really, truly present in the Eucharist, you no longer find mass boring. It's impossible. I also found myself longing to spend time with Him in prayer, adoration and mass.

One day, I was driving to Lake Charles to meet my mom, and I decided to stop at OLQH to pop in and say a quick prayer in front of the Blessed Sacrament. I have been to OLQH before for mass, but I had no idea where the chapel was. I was lugging Dane walking around the church trying to find the chapel, and all of a sudden --out of nowhere-- I got that feeling deep in my gut, and I knew He must be close. I turned the corner and there was the door! That was such an awesome realization. I don't always feel that feeling and maybe one day I won't feel it at all, and that'll be ok because Christ is really present in the Eucharist no matter how I do or don't feel about it. With or without my gut feeling.

I went to a Woman's Group meeting recently that takes place in a room at a church in Sulphur. I try to go to this meeting monthly. The meeting is at 7PM, and that's pretty late in my house with my kids. I didn't want to go, so I knew that meant that I needed to. (Funny how that works, eh?) I fed my family, took a shower, put on a t-shirt and headed to the church for the meeting with wet hair, not a lick of makeup and sweatpants. Oh well. I figured it was better that I go looking a mess than not go at all. 

Generally when I go to these meetings I know about 2 or 3 of the 20 people there. This time, none of my friends were at the meeting. I walked in and sat down. I smiled at the two ladies whom I've seen every morning for several weeks when the kids and I would attend daily mass. They didn't smile back. I sat down in the circle alone. My mind started judging. "Wow, that's really nice. This meeting is supposed to be about sisterhood, and the women I go to mass with can't even return a smile." And then I caught myself. I don't know their hearts. Maybe they were daydreaming when I smiled and said hi. Maybe they don't recognize me with wet hair and no makeup. Who knows. 

Remember when I told y'all about that awesome experience I had in confession when the priest went on and on about how terrible my sins were? Well, it was awesome. No, really, it was. Anyway, one of the things he talked to me about was how terrible gossip and judging is. He said (in my own, incomparable words) that when you gossip about someone you are taking away their right to a good reputation. Whether the thing you are discussing is true or not does not matter. You are claiming to know their heart and their intentions and since you cannot possibly know either (because you aren't God) you shouldn't speak about others in that way. I remember hearing something about how when you judge others you don't have the opportunity to love them. 

Anyway, so there I am sitting all alone in the circle and judging the other women who aren't saying hi or trying to make me feel welcomed all the while (and here's the kicker) sitting there not saying hi to anyone or trying to make anyone else who might be alone feel welcomed. The beam in my eye was SO BIG that I was having a hard time seeing.

A woman gave a small talk about how, in her day, there was a reverence for the Blessed Sacrament that we are missing today. She talked about how important modesty was and she shared a little of her personal story. It was such a great talk. I really benefited from alot of it, and, yet, some of it made me uncomfortable, which always makes me look within myself and wonder why. She mentioned that she thought it was incredibly disrespectful seeing someone in yoga pants in adoration and how terrible it is to see people in mass in shorts or who had just come from ball games or in halter tops and short skirts. She mentioned how loud the noise is in mass. My heart sank and my pride was starting to rear it's ugly, ugly head. 

I've been the person driving by the church and feeling an undeniable pull to stop in for a few minutes and spend some time with Him in the Blessed Sacrament. The problem was, it's summer and I have two kids who I have to lug around and chase after and, so, sometimes I wear shorts so I don't sweat to death. Would I wear shorts to mass on Sunday? No. But, I figure if the Holy Spirit is leading me somewhere I didn't plan to be, who am I to say "but, umm, I have shorts on and people might think that's irreverent". Because, THAT would be the reason I don't stop. Not because Christ would be offended. I mean, I don't know if He would be offended or not. I know that God is omnipotent and so he sees me when I'm walking around Wal-Mart in shorts. I know that, out of respect, I wouldn't get dressed to spend time with Him and put on a swimsuit. But, when I have no plans of heading to church and something pulls me to Him and I'm wearing shorts-- the ONLY reason I wouldn't go is because of others. Because of what others might think. Because of what my sister or brother in Christ might think. That's terrible. Really. That's my pride. That's my wanting to be well thought of. 

I don't know the answer. I don't know what's right and what's wrong. I don't know if I should pass up the Church because of the shorts or if I should go in despite them. I truly don't know.

I just know that you and I DON'T know. We don't. We can't. We don't know if the woman in yoga pants in adoration has been taking care of her sick kids all day and her mom offered to watch the kids for 5 minutes while she runs to the church. Maybe she's spent all week wiping up snot and she doesn't have any church appropriate clothes clean. Maybe the woman in a halter top in mass recently came back to the Church and she doesn't know that what she is wearing is disrespectful. Maybe the woman wearing too tight clothing just had a baby and has no time or money to run to the store to find something that will fit her. Maybe the family that looks like they're wearing ball game clothes IS wearing ball game clothes because they had a game and today is the ONLY day they can attend mass. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe the guy wearing shorts doesn't care that it's disrespectful. Maybe. Maybe the woman wearing a short skirt likes getting attention from guys and she's using church as her own personal dating show. Maybe. Maybe. That's the point: maybe. We don't know. You and I don't know. We can only do our best. We can only love and set a good example. We can only lovingly correct those with whom we have a relationship. Because, trust me, nothing will get the woman in the halter top going like a perfect stranger commenting on how inappropriately she is dressed. 

It's not our job. It's just not. I am wrong about alot. And maybe I'm wrong about this, and if I am, I hope someone corrects me. Maybe my secular "to each his own" attitude is creeping into my spirituality. I don't know. I know that I want to learn. I want to serve Christ in the best way I can. And, if that means that you need to tell me I'm doing things wrong, then do it! I welcome it! But, not everyone is there, y'all. We don't know where people are on their journey. We don't know. We can't. 

I've been in morning mass with Elaina sitting quietly next to me and Dane yelling randomly and squirming. We're all in a small, cramped chapel. I sweat. I try to get him to sit still and to be quiet, but he's 15 months old and he doesn't understand. I've sat there, in prayer, while Father is blessing the bread with tears streaming down my face because I'm torn: I want, so badly that I cannot verbalize it, to be there and yet I worry that I'm selfishly disturbing my neighbor. I've had sweet older ladies make a point to come to me after mass and express how wonderful it is that I bring my kids to mass. I've had someone tell me how great of a job I'm doing and how they know it isn't easy. I've had Fr. Guilbeau tell me (after my apologizing for the noise) not to worry that it just means new life in the Church and that it's awesome. I've had older gentlemen comment on how Dane will be a choir member with that loud, beautiful "singing" voice. And, yet, I wonder. I wonder how many people sitting in the front are rolling their eyes wishing that woman who is sitting there clueless letting her kids "do whatever they want" would shut up her kids. I wonder. 

You don't know someone's heart. You can't. Pray for them. Pray for yourself. Love. 

My Confession

You'll remember from this blog post that I struggled with confession. I used to see it as a good tool, but just couldn't wrap my head around the fact that it was necessary. That was back when I was making my own rules and had made myself my own god. Anyway, there came a time when I fell in love with confession (what a weird thing to say, right?) and I was hoping I could share that particular story here. 

I know that confession, or the Sacrament of Reconciliation, is something that Protestants don't get. I know that a lot of Catholics don't get it because I was a Catholic for 26 years before I really got it. I will address (quickly and incompletely) a few of the main objections.

1. Confession isn't in the bible: ^"21 Then said Jesus to them again, Peace be unto you: as my Father hath sent me, even so send I you.
²² And when he had said this, he breathed on them, and saith unto them, Receive ye the Holy Ghost:
²³ Whose soever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them; and whose soever sins ye retain, they are retained." (John 20:21-23 --that's also the King James Version which I know that alot of Protestants use)

2. Confession is something the Catholic Church made up along the way: Some of the earliest Christian writings (dating back to the first century) make it clear that the sacrament goes back to the beginning of the Church. In 1215, Confession was reaffirmed and emphazised in the Fourth Lateran Council and maybe that's why people think it was "created" later. 

3. I can go straight to God with my sins.: "When it is 'just me and God' it is all too easy to project my own qualities and biases upon God. Then, rather than being created in the image of God, we begin to create God in our fallen image." "Catholics who use this argument tend to not be in the habit of confessing directly to God either. Too often it is used not to justify a different form of confession, but as an excuse to avoid confession altogether." (Rediscover Catholicism by Matthew Kelly)

These points are incomplete, but I wanted to give a little rather than nothing at all in case someone reading this just doesn't understand confession at all. You can use the above as a jump start to learn more if you're interested! It's not my intention to change your mind about confession or to say that I'm right and you're wrong. I only to hope to address some serious questions and misunderstandings that maybe you've only ever had the question to, but were never presented an answer.

So, we all know I struggled with the concept of confession. I didn't understand why I couldn't just go straight to God (which -like said above- I never actually DID). Remember how I read and read and read and read? Well, I read about confession, and I learned something frightening. I had never made a good confession in my life. Not ever. Not once. I'd been to confession. I'd confessed my sins, sometimes completely, but without an ounce of sorrow, sometimes withholding the ones that I was too embarrassed to say to an old dude, sometimes I didn't confess things that I didn't deem sinful (but that clearly were). Anyway, never. Not once. That's scary. So, after I freaked out for a hot minute, I decided to do one, big, all encompassing confession for the 26 years I'd never taken it seriously.

I decided the next day would be devoted to prayer and fasting and my first real confession. I set apart some serious time to examine my conscience, and, when the next day came, I was ready. It was a weekday, and there were no scheduled confession times at my church this day. 

I couldn't get to confession fast enough. Really. Imagine finding out that you have been exposed to a deadly strain of the flu. How quickly would you run to the sink to scrub your hands clean? You might even hop in a hot shower. Anyway, that's how I felt. So, I called my church office asked if Father would be able to hear my confession. The secretary told me she would ask him and get back with me. Pure agony. I had to wait and wait and wait. She called back. Father was very sorry, but he was leaving to go on vacation and wouldn't have enough time before he left town. My pride yelled from inside "Wow, some priest he is! This is his JOB. Here I am chilling with mortal sins on my soul and he's going on VACATION? How badly would he feel if I died today!! This is serious!" 

I caught myself. "Wait. Maybe God has a purpose for this! I don't know what's going on in Father's life or day. Calm down." 

I took a chill pill and told Marvin. He suggested I go to confession before 5:30 mass at a different church that afternoon, and I could even go to mass after. Perfect. I would be able to receive Him. It would be the first time I did so with an understanding of what that really meant. It would be the first time I did so while in a state of grace. I couldn't wait. I wanted to make sure this counted. I continued fasting and praying and really preparing. 

The time came for me to make it to confession and my heart was pounding. I walked into the chapel, and sitting on the altar was the Blessed Sacrament. My heart dropped into my toes and my stomach did a flip. I got in line. I prayed that I would feel sorrow for my sins and that I would make a good confession. I prayed and prayed and prayed and waited for my turn. It was my turn. I walked towards the confessional and an old dude walked out. "Hey, can I catch you after mass? I don't want to be late starting mass!" My eyes looked panicked.  I looked at him as if to say "WAIT! NO! I reaaaaaaally need this!" I said nothing.  "Would that be ok," he asked. I said sure. I turned around and walked back to the pew and sat down and tears streamed down my cheeks. 

And then, out of nowhere it hit me like a 50 pound weight. How I felt in that moment was a small, small piece of how I made Jesus feel the majority of my life. This is how it felt to Him knowing that I was walking around with all of these sins and therefore separating myself from Him. This sorrow that I felt. This terrible feeling of being separated from Him and this longing to be near Him and open to His graces. I've been aware of this for only 48 hours and it was killing me. He's felt this way most of my life. This deep desire to be connected with Him is something He's felt and I've ignored. I've never even given it thought. Wow. How awesome is God? Had all the things worked out perfectly (according to my plan), had I been to confession when I wanted to go, I would have never had this epiphany. That was totally the Holy Spirit. I sat through mass with an ache in my body. I didn't want to be separated from Him for one more minute. This sucks.

Mass ended and the priest came to me and asked if I was ready. As an extra stab at my pride I had decided (before arriving to the chapel) that I would make this big, fat, ugly confession face-to-face.

I walk in to the confessional and sit down across from the priest. He starts chatting about how he's sorry that he had to make me wait, but blah blah blah one time when he was hearing confession before mass he kept letting people come and he missed the entire mass and blah blah blah funny story that's taking a long time. I tried to pretend like I was listening. JUST LET ME SAY MY CONFESSION. Ok, his story is done. It's time. 

"Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession, but I have really been learning about our faith and praying and I learned that I have never in my entire life made a good confession, so, I would like to make a big, all encompassing confession now." 

"Ok, but you're not going to remember..." I cut him off.

I pulled out my five pages of paper full of all of my sins (front and back on composition paper). "Ummmm. I wrote them down."

His eyes get big. "Uh. Ok. Go ahead."

I go through my sins. I cry. I finish. I look up at him. He's smiling.

"Wow. Ok. It sounds like God sent you a wake up call, and you got it."

We talked for a bit.  I said my penance in front of the Blessed Sacrament and I prayed in thanksgiving for a while.

That's how I fell in love with confession. I go pretty often now. I wish I didn't have to go, but for some darn reason I make the same mistakes OVER and OVER. It's exhausting. Thank goodness we have a loving and merciful God!

Similarily, recently I walked into confession with my chest puffed out. I was all proud of my itty bitty venial sins. I mean, I'm a mom and a wife. My sins aren't all that crazy. I thought I would be in and out. Nope. This priest was awesome. He really knocked my off my high horse. He spent a good deal of time talking to me about how damaging and sinful gossip was. He chastised me. It was great. My penance was spending FIVE DAYS off of Facebook. I wish I could confess to this priest every time. My pride could use some stabbing at, and this priest is the man for the job. Make sure you confess to a priest who challenges you! You could stand to be pushed every now and then.  

God's plan is so much better than mine or yours. When I needed to go to confession so bad that it hurt, I was forced to wait so that I could learn something. When I walked into confession feeling like I wasn't that bad, I was scolded. We get what we need at the time. Had the two situations been flipped (the tough priest for the big confession and the other one for the "little" confession), who knows what would have happened. It's good to be uncomfortable! Get uncomfortable!

A Conversion Story

The following is my personal conversion story. I'm writing it mostly because I've been asked to share it at a retreat for college students (and what better way is there to gather my thoughts?). It would be awesome if someone could relate to my story and felt inspired to dig deeper. I know that, generally, any time people speak publicly about their religious beliefs to a random audience one of two things happen: 1- people with differing views feel insulted and judged or 2- people make fun of the person who "just talks about God all the time." I'm 100% ok with being made fun of in this arena (for reasons I'll discuss later), but I would absolutely hate it if someone read this and got insulted.  Please know that this is my story. I'm not writing my conversion story AT you. I'm just sharing it with you.

I grew up "Catholic". Catholic is in quotes because I'm not sure the Church would agree that what I was doing -or wasn't doing- was Catholic at all. I received the sacraments, and went to weekly mass only because we went during school. (I went to a small Catholic school in Ville Platte.) I lived my life trying to be a good person. I decided what constituted a good person. I ran decisions by my conscience (which I spent exactly zero amount of time forming in any meaningful way). My conscience said that confession was a good tool, but it wasn't NECESSARY for the forgiveness of sins. Therefore, I went to communion when I went to mass-no matter what state my soul was in. My head told me that Jesus wasn't REALLY present. My conscience also told me that mass wasn't necessary. I didn't "feel" close to God at mass and, you know, Christianity is ALL about how we "feel", right? I thought pre marital sex was only wrong if I felt it was wrong. In a committed dating relationship it didn't feel wrong to me. I didn't see how birth control could be wrong? What did the Church want us to do? Have a million babies? We all know those Catholic families who have soooo many children. That's great for them, but, ummm, no thank you. Obviously NFP doesn't work. I took a strong stance on a social issue that is close to my heart (and remains close to my heart) and shouted from the rooftop how unloving and angry Christians were to not allow everyone to do what they pleased. I don't think I ever said the word "atheist" in reference to myself, but if I really took a long, hard look in the mirror, that's EXACTLY what I was. I was fairly certain there was no God. Or, if there was, I got to decide what he was like and what he did or didn't approve of. I made up my own rules. I would loudly and passive aggressively mock how "everyone thinks THEIR religion is the right one" and "God is like Santa for adults". I was lost. I didn't know I was lost. I had a great life. I was (and am) in an extremely healthy and happy marriage. I had two children who were healthy and happy. My husband had a great job and was able to provide for our needs and all of our wants. We are surrounded by an extended family that loves us (and our kids) emphatically. There was nothing missing. Or so I thought. 

Since I've been with Marvin, he's always suggested we go to mass. I've always told him I'd go if he wanted to, but that I didn't think mass was really NECESSARY, and plus, I don't feel close to God there. During Lent of this year, Marvin suggested we make it a Sunday family tradition to go to mass and then to have lunch at a restaurant. Wait, there's lunch involved? Ok! Sign me up! We began going to mass every Sunday (and to lunch after--don't forget lunch!!). Apart from showing up to mass once a week for one hour, I did exactly zero things to grow closer to Christ. I didn't spend any time thinking about Christ, actually. I lived my life normally and went to mass once a week. Then, one day after we had gone to mass for several Sundays, I realized two things were changing: 1- I had an inner peace I'd never had in my life. Things that would have previously bothered me, were no big deal. I never felt like my life was turbulent, and I'm not sure it was, but all of a sudden there was peace. Peace that I didn't even know I was lacking. And, 2-I realized just how flawed I was. And I wondered why I was so quick to judge EVER-Y-ONE if I was so flawed. I was SOOOO full of myself and had such a sanctimonious and entitled attitude. My eyes opened up and I saw my sinfulness.  I literally did nothing to warrant these two changes. I didn't pray. I didn't desire to grow closer to Christ (at least not a desire that I was aware of). I did nothing. I showed up to church, sat in a pew, tried to get Elaina to whisper, tried to keep Dane from crying and then we left. The end. And yet, I realized two pretty big things had changed within me. (I now recognize this was the Holy Spirit, but at the time if someone had suggested that to me, I would've been extremely uncomfortable.) I started to think, if I could change (with zero participation and minimum effort) what would happen if I actually CARED?

I began learning about the Church from the craziest source...... the Church. I read the Catechism. Cover to cover. There was pretty much nothing in it that didn't make sense. Wait, so Catholicism isn't silly? I read alot. Wait, religion wasn't just something that dumb people do? One thing that I read during my discovery really stuck out to me (and has remained with me since): There are things that you and I cannot wrap our heads around. For example, can you LOGICALLY think of a way that your little feeble brain can wrap its head around the fact that Jesus was both God and man? I know I can't. Maybe my faith is lacking, but that's something that's pretty difficult for me to understand. But, guess what? We're not going to understand everything. I realized that expecting to understand everything is silly. I realized it was vain of me to categorize things as lies simply because I didn't understand them. It's like telling a 7 year old that the Earth is round. He can look WITH HIS OWN EYES and see that the Earth is, in fact, flat. There are probably very few 7 year olds who can conceptually grasp the fact that the Earth is round even though everything they see looks flat. We can tell them that the Earth is round, and they can take our word for it, but understand- probably not. That's how faith is. We aren't the pinnacle of intelligence. We aren't the end all be all. We are human and that means flawed. We can't expect to understand everything and we can't say something is a lie simply because we cannot understand it. It's unrealistic. I mean, Quantum Physics is a thing, and I don't get THAT. 

I knew there were two pretty fundamental teachings that would be challenging for me: birth control and homosexuality. We weren't ready to have another baby just yet (and adopting the Church's teaching meant changing and trusting and that's HARD) and my strong views on homosexuality made me nervous to dig too deeply into either arena. I "knew" that what the Church taught was pretty polar opposite to what my heart said, and so I avoided these two topics. I prayed that God would be patient with me. I read books about Church teaching. I started praying. I went to confession. I participated. I thought the Catholic church was just one (of many ways) to grow closer to Christ. It wasn't necessarily the "right" religion. Such a thing didn't exist, I thought. People picked the faith that worked for them--the religion that "felt" (there's that word again) right. The Catholic church was all I knew so that's where I began. And then, I read Scott Hahn's books. The way he explained the mass brought tears to my eyes. I read and read and read and read. Someone suggested I read Christoper West's "Good News About Sex & Marriage". So, I did, and I learned (for the first time, really) what sex was. Sex is a physical expression of love between a married man and woman in which the couple is open to the gift of children from God. So, sex should be unitive and open to children. I learned how man desires to separate sex from marriage and children. How man desires to have all the feel good parts of sex without the responsibility part of sex. I learned how, since the popularization of birth control, adultery -and by proxy divorce- has been on the rise. Sex, in our culture, means something that is supposed to feel good. We've made sex into something that is about US, not, as it should be, about giving fully of yourself to your spouse. I came to the realization that the Catholic Church is right. Not every church. Not whatever you want to do. Not however I choose to do it. Not wherever I "feel" I should be. There is an authority, and I'm not that authority. The Catholic Church is the authority. We have somewhere to turn when we don't understand something. There is a uniformity that is beautiful and unique to the Church. Our faith isn't case by case. You can visit a Catholic Church in Ville Platte, Louisiana and a Catholic Church in San Francisco, California and in Brazil and in France and the same thing is happening at each of these churches. Again, please remember that this is my conversion story. It's what happened to me. I do not judge you. Truly. I'm too busy being grossed out with my own sinfulness to even pay attention to yours. 

Reading the Church's teachings about sex made. so. much. sense. I mean, it isn't easy to change. It was difficult, actually. But that's one thing I've learned through this process (and something I'm constantly trying to remember) that just because something is RIGHT doesn't mean it's EASY. Being a Catholic is HARD, but it's worth it. I learned through my journey (which I'm still on, and will always be on--the journey never ends) that NFP does work! God created a woman's body in a way that she is only fertile in phases. It's amazing how little I, and I'm going to assume alot of women are this way, knew about my body. Some Catholic families have a lot of kids, yes. But, I know now that, generally, that's because their view of children is different from the mainstream. A big family is not a sign that NFP doesn't work. A big family is a sign of being open to God's love and gifts.

I began saying the rosary daily. I took some meaningful time at the end of each day to examine my conscience and pray. Confession became something I scheduled in my calendar. My faith grew. When you put your time, love and energy into something that area blossoms, and my love of Christ blossomed. I hope that no one is reading this thinking I'm the pinnacle of holiness because.... just, no. I'm so, so, so flawed. I'm going to just go ahead and put myself on blast: One area that I really struggle with is gossip. I think alot of women can relate. Sometimes I am so eager to bash my neighbor it's embarrasing. Sometimes I am with a group of friends and I feel that I have to join in so I'm not silent in the conversation. Sometimes I feel like I have absolutely nothing to talk about if I don't gossip. That's sad. And, it sucks, but I'm real and I struggle. The closer you get to God the more visible your sinfulness is to you. All I have to say is: the poor Saints! I annoy myself and let myself down daily- hourly.

I learned alot about suffering-- little, small sufferings and big sufferings and how wonderful they can be. I know that sounds crazy, but it's true. 

I'm going to share something personal with you. When I began on this road, I had a hard time believing that God existed. I mean, isn't that the very center of all things faith? The most central teaching upon which all other teachings are built and I wasn't even certain it was legit. So, I prayed. I generally pray with the help of a prayer journal. The prayer journal helps to keep my mind from wandering. When I would take some time to pray, I would ask that God increased my faith. Then after a while I decided that I would make a promise. I would be obedient even if my faith was lacking. I would respect and follow the Church's teaching even if it's not what I would do if left to my own devices. I prayed that prayer for a while. And then time passed and one day it was apparent to me that God had answered my prayers. I know God exists now. I doubted God was real. I prayed to God to help me believe. I believe in God now. There wasn't an explosion. The world didn't end. An angel didn't come to me while I slept. I asked God to increase my faith. I told him I would obey his Church even when I didn't understand and then one day my faith increased. I've had SO MANY experiences like this (answered prayers) throughout the past several months that it would take all day for me to list them here. I think it's so beautiful how I sometimes pray for something and then one day, randomly, I realize that God answered my prayer and I didn't even notice. If you've never had this experience, I know it's hard to understand, but it's real. I pray now that God's will be done in all situations. There was a time I was scared to resign myself to God's will. I was scared to pray "your will be done". What if his will meant my life would get hard? So instead I prayed for the strength and trust to pray that God's will be done, and then one day, I trusted! I'm rambling now.

Anyway, I've changed. Yes. It's not an insult. It doesn't hurt me if you tell me that you see "I've been getting into the holy stuff". It's a compliment. It's 100% ok if what I post on Facebook (about motherhood or God or my walk with Christ or whatever) annoys you. It's ok if you think it's silly. It's ok if you think that faith is all good and fine, but I need to keep it to myself. It's ok. Because my pride-o-meter could stand to be lowered a few million degrees. It's all ok. We're only on this world for a short time and there is forever waiting on the other end of death, and I've decided I'm not wasting my time any longer!