It wasn't until I was in high school that I began skipping church. Going to church every Sunday was something that was not only expected in my house, but enforced. Sick or not, you were going. You could have a fever and be vomiting, and you were still going. Not honoring the Lord's day was the pathway to Hell and a mortal sin to boot.
And every chance I got, I'd head toward church in case one of them was looking out the window, which they often did, and then just walk around the neighborhood, or go to the store or find another way to occupy that hour.
I always envied those people who found comfort in being in church, and in group worship. From as early as I can remember, I always felt like an observer when I was sitting the pew...an outsider who didn't belong there...a sinner who didn't deserve to be in God's house. A hypocrite.
When I met my future husband, my parents were mortified that he was protestant. In fact, when we became engaged, my mother told me she was actually afraid to call my grandfather in Ireland and tell him I was marrying someone who wasn't Catholic. That he would never understand such a thing. You would've thought I'd committed a felony.
I know that being Catholic is not an easy thing, but I was never given a choice. There was no choice. If you were born into Catholicism, that was it. End of story. You follow the rules, you do what you're told, there was no questioning anything. There was no tolerance for other religions, because Catholicism was the only true religion.
And being the person I am, I began to question everything, which did not go over well in my home. It wasn't until I was in my late 30s that I finally told my parents that I didn't go to church anymore. For years, I lied about it, because I knew well how they would react. And when I sat my mother down finally and broke the news to her, she responded exactly how I anticipated she would.
How can this be true? Didn't I fear for my soul? Didn't I care that it was a mortal sin? And what about my children? Didn't I care about their souls? The guilt was laid on as thick as ever. And I was so tired of feeling guilty over how I chose to live my life.
To be continued.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Blind faith
When I blog here or write my column at work, there are two things I normally try to stay away from - politics and religion. Like most people, I have opinions on both, but I choose to keep them to myself. These topics get people fired up, which isn't a bad thing in itself, but often the conversations can break down into personal attacks quickly, and that's never good.
But today, I'm going to break from my own rule and talk about religion. Faith is a very emotional subject for me for many reasons. I was raised by people who believed most things in life were sinful...that anything that gave us joy or pleasure was most likely sinful. They themselves were raised on the belief that fire and brimstone were what awaited us in the afterlife if we didn't lead pious lives. They took no joy at all in this great gift we've been given, and lived in constant fear of their souls and ours, burning in Hell for all eternity.
Let me tell you first what I believe. I believe in God. I believe in Heaven and Hell, and saints and angels and miracles. I'm not much of a churchgoer because I believe my relationship with God is a private one. But I pray all the time, every day, mostly to the blessed Mother. And I try to live a good life and to be kind to others.
As I've gotten older, I've lost faith not in God, but in Catholicism. That is to say...in the church itself. I take issue with a group of men deciding how I should live my life, and in the ways women have always been painted throughout the histories of organized religion. Not always, but in great part, we have consistently been the second-class citizens, the greatest sinners, the ones who lead good, God-fearing men to do evil deeds. Please.
I went to Catholic school for ten years. My teachers were primarily nuns. Some of them were funny, kind, remarkable women, and others were everything one thinks of when they think of old-school nuns...strict, rigid, and to be feared. One in particular used to beat us on a daily basis. And this wasn't in the olden days, mind you, when such a thing was tolerated. This was in the early 80s.
It was that nun, a bride of Jesus, a woman who had taken vows to live her life for the Lord, who first initiated my turn from Catholicism. She beat children. She humiliated us. And she did it without hesitation and with what seemed almost like joy. She left her mark both physically and mentally, year after year, on class after class, while the school turned a blind eye. I'll never forget the day the told my classmates and I that she hoped we all burned in purgatory for a hundred years. Very Christian of her.
To be continued at a later date.
But today, I'm going to break from my own rule and talk about religion. Faith is a very emotional subject for me for many reasons. I was raised by people who believed most things in life were sinful...that anything that gave us joy or pleasure was most likely sinful. They themselves were raised on the belief that fire and brimstone were what awaited us in the afterlife if we didn't lead pious lives. They took no joy at all in this great gift we've been given, and lived in constant fear of their souls and ours, burning in Hell for all eternity.
Let me tell you first what I believe. I believe in God. I believe in Heaven and Hell, and saints and angels and miracles. I'm not much of a churchgoer because I believe my relationship with God is a private one. But I pray all the time, every day, mostly to the blessed Mother. And I try to live a good life and to be kind to others.
As I've gotten older, I've lost faith not in God, but in Catholicism. That is to say...in the church itself. I take issue with a group of men deciding how I should live my life, and in the ways women have always been painted throughout the histories of organized religion. Not always, but in great part, we have consistently been the second-class citizens, the greatest sinners, the ones who lead good, God-fearing men to do evil deeds. Please.
I went to Catholic school for ten years. My teachers were primarily nuns. Some of them were funny, kind, remarkable women, and others were everything one thinks of when they think of old-school nuns...strict, rigid, and to be feared. One in particular used to beat us on a daily basis. And this wasn't in the olden days, mind you, when such a thing was tolerated. This was in the early 80s.
It was that nun, a bride of Jesus, a woman who had taken vows to live her life for the Lord, who first initiated my turn from Catholicism. She beat children. She humiliated us. And she did it without hesitation and with what seemed almost like joy. She left her mark both physically and mentally, year after year, on class after class, while the school turned a blind eye. I'll never forget the day the told my classmates and I that she hoped we all burned in purgatory for a hundred years. Very Christian of her.
To be continued at a later date.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Life, in all its sweetness...
It's been a while since I sat down to blog, to open that tender, exposed vein and let the words and the emotions flow out of it. But I think today is a good day to give it a shot.
When I opened the front door this morning to take my youngest to school, I stopped and just stood there for a moment, letting the morning take me in. It's such a beautiful day outside today...not just nice and spring-like, but spectacular. The sun is shining, there's a light warm breeze coming from the ocean, just beyond the main road to the left of the house, and over the streets and trees beyond that. I closed my eyes for a second, and just breathed it in.
The sun was warm on my face, and I could hear the birds calling to each other from every direction in the trees above. The perfume of all the flowering trees is in the air. It's an incredibly beautiful morning. And I said a quiet "thank you" for the gift of seeing such a morning.
I must be getting sentimental in my old age. lol No, that's not true, I've always been sentimental. I think I'm becoming more....aware now. The last couple of years have been a huge trial for my family, with sadness and worry and insecurity to accompany every month that passed. But we made it through. And now, lately, I am feeling a new appreciation for life.
It's easy to go through this existence and to complain and be bitter and wish that we'd been dealt a better hand. We've all done it at one time or another, and as human beings, we will continue to do it. But while we're doing that, we should also keep in mind that this life is so fleeting, and the trials and problems we face now will do one of two things....make us stronger people who embrace what we have, or bitter, angry people who just can't. Which would you rather be? I know which I would choose.
So yes, I do get teased sometimes for being disgustingly positive, and to be quite honest, I take that as a compliment. It sure as hell beats being the opposite of that. I want to be aware of the beauty that is often hidden beneath the ugly. I want to watch less bad news and take more walks in the sunshine. I want to smile at strangers and say good morning, even if they ignore me and continue on in there own little unfriendly world.
I guess what I'm suggesting here, not only for myself, but for anyone who knows that the little nuisances and tribulations just won't matter at all in the end is this....
Embrace this life, take a walk in the sun, listen to the birds, laugh more, love more, smile at strangers, don't be afraid to look people in the eye and say thank you and mean it, don't be afraid of being judged or being silly...BE silly. Hug your children more, hold your lover's hand, kiss more, dance more, sing to yourself, swim in the ocean, draw in the sand.
And most importantly, and I can't say this enough, if you love someone...tell them. Don't be afraid that they may not feel the same. It doesn't matter. Just tell them. Life is too short to keep love to yourself.
Now go breathe in this beautiful day. :)
When I opened the front door this morning to take my youngest to school, I stopped and just stood there for a moment, letting the morning take me in. It's such a beautiful day outside today...not just nice and spring-like, but spectacular. The sun is shining, there's a light warm breeze coming from the ocean, just beyond the main road to the left of the house, and over the streets and trees beyond that. I closed my eyes for a second, and just breathed it in.
The sun was warm on my face, and I could hear the birds calling to each other from every direction in the trees above. The perfume of all the flowering trees is in the air. It's an incredibly beautiful morning. And I said a quiet "thank you" for the gift of seeing such a morning.
I must be getting sentimental in my old age. lol No, that's not true, I've always been sentimental. I think I'm becoming more....aware now. The last couple of years have been a huge trial for my family, with sadness and worry and insecurity to accompany every month that passed. But we made it through. And now, lately, I am feeling a new appreciation for life.
It's easy to go through this existence and to complain and be bitter and wish that we'd been dealt a better hand. We've all done it at one time or another, and as human beings, we will continue to do it. But while we're doing that, we should also keep in mind that this life is so fleeting, and the trials and problems we face now will do one of two things....make us stronger people who embrace what we have, or bitter, angry people who just can't. Which would you rather be? I know which I would choose.
So yes, I do get teased sometimes for being disgustingly positive, and to be quite honest, I take that as a compliment. It sure as hell beats being the opposite of that. I want to be aware of the beauty that is often hidden beneath the ugly. I want to watch less bad news and take more walks in the sunshine. I want to smile at strangers and say good morning, even if they ignore me and continue on in there own little unfriendly world.
I guess what I'm suggesting here, not only for myself, but for anyone who knows that the little nuisances and tribulations just won't matter at all in the end is this....
Embrace this life, take a walk in the sun, listen to the birds, laugh more, love more, smile at strangers, don't be afraid to look people in the eye and say thank you and mean it, don't be afraid of being judged or being silly...BE silly. Hug your children more, hold your lover's hand, kiss more, dance more, sing to yourself, swim in the ocean, draw in the sand.
And most importantly, and I can't say this enough, if you love someone...tell them. Don't be afraid that they may not feel the same. It doesn't matter. Just tell them. Life is too short to keep love to yourself.
Now go breathe in this beautiful day. :)
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Time to live
Today was one of those days where I took a long look at my future. What prompted me to do this was the visit to my aunt in the hospital. She's been very ill with cancer for a very long time. But because of the months I spent at my mother's side as she lay dying, I delayed it. And delayed it. I felt awful about it, but I was afraid of what I might see when I did see her. And it was worse than I ever expected.
My aunt, my mother's younger sister, has been one of the two most influential women in my life. My relationship with her has always been a good one, a fun one. She is not only my aunt and my Godmother, but a friend as well. She was the yin to my mother's yang, and on more than one occasion in my life, she had run referee between my mother and myself when I was growing up. She is a rare and beautiful person inside and out, full of life and always enjoying it.
When I came home today, I went out with Jim for a ride...to vent, to describe, to cry. The worst of it was when I shared my fear that THIS - the fates of both my mother and my aunt - is what I have to look forward to. I choked out that one day that would be me in the hospital bed, gasping for air and at the mercy of breathing tubes and chemicals and intravenous liquids to keep me alive. And the fact that these women were still relatively young when they were diagnosed (my mother was 69 and I believe my aunt was only 64 or 65 at the time) prompts me to think about what the next 20 years will bring me. Or if I even have 20 years.
I know, of course, that none of us can predict the end of our lives or how we'll exit this existence. But with both women so closely related to me suffering the fate of cancer, albeit in different forms, I know my chances are greatly increased of meeting a similar fate. In fact, a few weeks ago, I had a dream in which I was in the shower, shaving my legs, when clumps of long red hair began falling from my head. Each time I pulled a tangled clump from my leg, another would fall. That dream has been haunting me for weeks. I haven't spoken a word of it to anyone until now. What a cheerful thought. Bet you're glad I shared, eh? lol
So now, what I'm thinking is, it's time to stop obsessing and start enjoying, as much as possible. It's time to stop being afraid of what might or might not happen, and start embracing the gifts that have been given to me. It's time to stop analyzing, and overanalyzing, and putting everything under a miscroscope, and instead welcome with open arms the adventures and opportunities and blessings that God has deemed fit to place in my life for whatever reasons. It's time to not only tell people I love them, but to show it. It's time to do more unto others than I would expect them to do unto me.
It's time to live...for however long I may have it.
My aunt, my mother's younger sister, has been one of the two most influential women in my life. My relationship with her has always been a good one, a fun one. She is not only my aunt and my Godmother, but a friend as well. She was the yin to my mother's yang, and on more than one occasion in my life, she had run referee between my mother and myself when I was growing up. She is a rare and beautiful person inside and out, full of life and always enjoying it.
When I came home today, I went out with Jim for a ride...to vent, to describe, to cry. The worst of it was when I shared my fear that THIS - the fates of both my mother and my aunt - is what I have to look forward to. I choked out that one day that would be me in the hospital bed, gasping for air and at the mercy of breathing tubes and chemicals and intravenous liquids to keep me alive. And the fact that these women were still relatively young when they were diagnosed (my mother was 69 and I believe my aunt was only 64 or 65 at the time) prompts me to think about what the next 20 years will bring me. Or if I even have 20 years.
I know, of course, that none of us can predict the end of our lives or how we'll exit this existence. But with both women so closely related to me suffering the fate of cancer, albeit in different forms, I know my chances are greatly increased of meeting a similar fate. In fact, a few weeks ago, I had a dream in which I was in the shower, shaving my legs, when clumps of long red hair began falling from my head. Each time I pulled a tangled clump from my leg, another would fall. That dream has been haunting me for weeks. I haven't spoken a word of it to anyone until now. What a cheerful thought. Bet you're glad I shared, eh? lol
So now, what I'm thinking is, it's time to stop obsessing and start enjoying, as much as possible. It's time to stop being afraid of what might or might not happen, and start embracing the gifts that have been given to me. It's time to stop analyzing, and overanalyzing, and putting everything under a miscroscope, and instead welcome with open arms the adventures and opportunities and blessings that God has deemed fit to place in my life for whatever reasons. It's time to not only tell people I love them, but to show it. It's time to do more unto others than I would expect them to do unto me.
It's time to live...for however long I may have it.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
In pursuit of happiness
I feel happy. There is no one particular reason for this, but many. Some are bigger than others, and some are small, easy to overlook, but still present enough to catch my attention. I feel lucky and blessed.
No, I haven't won the lottery, although I will faithfully continue to try. lol I haven't gotten a great new job that will pay me triple what I'm making now, allowing me to travel occasionally to New York or California. And no, I haven't yet hit my goal weight, although I'm close, and that's something in itself. lol
I'm happy because I have a perfect life.
I know that statement means something different to everyone. To me, it means many things, but perhaps not exactly what you might expect:
I am relatively healthy, I have a home, I have a job I still like, and I have the love of people who matter to me. I can still trust, and I can still hope and laugh and cry. And I can return love.
I have been blessed (or cursed lol) with the ability to write, to express myself so that others might laugh, or cry, and feel that they are not alone.
I can appreciate the beauty in nature. I believe in the existence of God and angels and miracles. And I try to keep in mind that we are here in these bodies and on this planet for a very short and precious time.
I know that I will always make mistakes. I will sometimes do things because my heart tells me to, even when my head insists I shouldn't. I will always try to see the good in people before the bad. And I will sometimes be impatient when I could show more understanding.
It will always mean more to me to sit quietly with a book than it ever would to make a deal. I know I may never be a success in business, but I feel confident that I will still be a success in living.
This life I've been given, for me at least, is perfect.
My childhood friend once told me years ago that a perfect life, to her, would be to have a husband with a white-collar job, a large, beautiful home, and for her to play the charming wife, and host dinner parties for her husband's peers. I could have gagged.
It wasn't until much later that I understood that those things, that image she had in her mind, is what she felt at the time would bring her happiness.
And isn't that what we all seek? Happiness? It, too, means something different for each of us. But I think, in many cases, happiness can be found in what we have now, and not always in what we think will make us happy.
My husband told me a few years ago that if he died tomorrow, he would die knowing he was loved. What matters after that?
I guess my point is, even though we all have dreams and goals, we should take pleasure in what we have around us now. The simple things that make us smile should not be so easily overlooked. Laughter should be an every day occurrence. Peace can easily be found within ourselves. Joy and pain both show us that we are still alive.
So breathe...laugh...cry...love...and find that perfect life you may already have.
No, I haven't won the lottery, although I will faithfully continue to try. lol I haven't gotten a great new job that will pay me triple what I'm making now, allowing me to travel occasionally to New York or California. And no, I haven't yet hit my goal weight, although I'm close, and that's something in itself. lol
I'm happy because I have a perfect life.
I know that statement means something different to everyone. To me, it means many things, but perhaps not exactly what you might expect:
I am relatively healthy, I have a home, I have a job I still like, and I have the love of people who matter to me. I can still trust, and I can still hope and laugh and cry. And I can return love.
I have been blessed (or cursed lol) with the ability to write, to express myself so that others might laugh, or cry, and feel that they are not alone.
I can appreciate the beauty in nature. I believe in the existence of God and angels and miracles. And I try to keep in mind that we are here in these bodies and on this planet for a very short and precious time.
I know that I will always make mistakes. I will sometimes do things because my heart tells me to, even when my head insists I shouldn't. I will always try to see the good in people before the bad. And I will sometimes be impatient when I could show more understanding.
It will always mean more to me to sit quietly with a book than it ever would to make a deal. I know I may never be a success in business, but I feel confident that I will still be a success in living.
This life I've been given, for me at least, is perfect.
My childhood friend once told me years ago that a perfect life, to her, would be to have a husband with a white-collar job, a large, beautiful home, and for her to play the charming wife, and host dinner parties for her husband's peers. I could have gagged.
It wasn't until much later that I understood that those things, that image she had in her mind, is what she felt at the time would bring her happiness.
And isn't that what we all seek? Happiness? It, too, means something different for each of us. But I think, in many cases, happiness can be found in what we have now, and not always in what we think will make us happy.
My husband told me a few years ago that if he died tomorrow, he would die knowing he was loved. What matters after that?
I guess my point is, even though we all have dreams and goals, we should take pleasure in what we have around us now. The simple things that make us smile should not be so easily overlooked. Laughter should be an every day occurrence. Peace can easily be found within ourselves. Joy and pain both show us that we are still alive.
So breathe...laugh...cry...love...and find that perfect life you may already have.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Surviving the earthquake
Each year aound this time, I make an effort to sit down and write about the earthquake. Every attempt that I've made so far over the years has gotten only so far before my hands begin to shake and I need to stop. So we'll see how it goes tonight.
It seems ironic and sad tonight that a major earthquake, the largest in 200 years, has hit the island of Haiti. I'll say a prayer for them, although I feel that the casualities will be astronomical.
In 1994, my husband and I were living in a small apartment in Northridge, Calif. I was four months pregnant with our first child. It was the long weekend before the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday, Jan. 17, and I'd gotten up early in the morning hours while it was still dark, because I was hungry and I needed to use the bathroom. The clock said it was around 4 a.m. So I had a snack and returned to bed, glad that we'd be able to sleep in that morning.
A little over twenty minutes later, a 6.9 magnitude earthquake hit, with its epicenter there in Northridge. And just recalling the beginning of that sentence has set my hands trembling once more. Recalling that event, even so many years later, is so difficult. I don't understand why it is still. We lived. His parents lived. But others did not, many who lived close to our small apartment.
And now I have to stop once more. Maybe I'll try to pick it up again tomorrow.
It seems ironic and sad tonight that a major earthquake, the largest in 200 years, has hit the island of Haiti. I'll say a prayer for them, although I feel that the casualities will be astronomical.
In 1994, my husband and I were living in a small apartment in Northridge, Calif. I was four months pregnant with our first child. It was the long weekend before the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday, Jan. 17, and I'd gotten up early in the morning hours while it was still dark, because I was hungry and I needed to use the bathroom. The clock said it was around 4 a.m. So I had a snack and returned to bed, glad that we'd be able to sleep in that morning.
A little over twenty minutes later, a 6.9 magnitude earthquake hit, with its epicenter there in Northridge. And just recalling the beginning of that sentence has set my hands trembling once more. Recalling that event, even so many years later, is so difficult. I don't understand why it is still. We lived. His parents lived. But others did not, many who lived close to our small apartment.
And now I have to stop once more. Maybe I'll try to pick it up again tomorrow.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
* Saying goodbye to 2009 *
Finally.
Yep, that pretty much sums it up, not only for me, but for all of us who felt that this last year could peacefully and happily have been skipped right over in the decade's calendar. It's finally over.
It was a hell of a year, wasn't it? Personally, I'd have to say it was probably the worst year in memory. My husband was laid off for eight months, my mother died from an incurable form of cancer, friends and family divorced, lost jobs, lost homes, lost loved ones, and we've had a number of crises within our little household alone.
And yet...
There were still a few bright spots, and a few unexpected surprises. There were still causes to laugh, and to smile, and to celebrate small victories. And it's those small moments that brought me through to today, the last day of the year.
I was hopeful about the year ahead on this very same day last year. But it seemed that there were more bumps and kicks for us in 2009, and for many others, than seemed fair. But life isn't fair. We all know that.
And still....
There was just enough joy to keep us sane. Enough happy moments to float us along to the next one, regardless of the hurdles we had to jump over in between them. There was just enough light to balance the darkness, even during the moments where it seemed the darkness would swallow us whole.
We're alive. We're healthy. We can still laugh and play and love and enjoy this gift we've been somehow able to cling to, if only barely. We're still here.
And now I sit here once more, looking back on 2009 with only a feeling of relief that it's over. It has scarred us permanently and some of the wounds from it will never heal. But they'll fade. Over time, they will fade.
And I look ahead with hope once more, that the new year will be a good one for all of us. And it will be. I know it.
Yep, that pretty much sums it up, not only for me, but for all of us who felt that this last year could peacefully and happily have been skipped right over in the decade's calendar. It's finally over.
It was a hell of a year, wasn't it? Personally, I'd have to say it was probably the worst year in memory. My husband was laid off for eight months, my mother died from an incurable form of cancer, friends and family divorced, lost jobs, lost homes, lost loved ones, and we've had a number of crises within our little household alone.
And yet...
There were still a few bright spots, and a few unexpected surprises. There were still causes to laugh, and to smile, and to celebrate small victories. And it's those small moments that brought me through to today, the last day of the year.
I was hopeful about the year ahead on this very same day last year. But it seemed that there were more bumps and kicks for us in 2009, and for many others, than seemed fair. But life isn't fair. We all know that.
And still....
There was just enough joy to keep us sane. Enough happy moments to float us along to the next one, regardless of the hurdles we had to jump over in between them. There was just enough light to balance the darkness, even during the moments where it seemed the darkness would swallow us whole.
We're alive. We're healthy. We can still laugh and play and love and enjoy this gift we've been somehow able to cling to, if only barely. We're still here.
And now I sit here once more, looking back on 2009 with only a feeling of relief that it's over. It has scarred us permanently and some of the wounds from it will never heal. But they'll fade. Over time, they will fade.
And I look ahead with hope once more, that the new year will be a good one for all of us. And it will be. I know it.
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