My Confession Told in Gifs

So I went to confession on Wedneday after 5 difficult months. 

Here's the story. 

For a long time I've been feeling really down in the dumps. 

God has been calling me to confession, but this is pretty much how I've been responding:

You see, every time I think about going to confession I suffer though TONS of anxiety. 

I worry about the silliest things. I worry that I'm taking too long and people waiting in line behind me are getting mad.

So then I finally found a confession time at a parish where the priest didn't know me and where there was no Mass afterward. I felt a small sense of relief.

I was still a super nervous. This was pretty much me while we were in the parking lot:

"Oh my gosh we're too late!" (Confession started at 6:00. It was 5:52.)

"Why aren't there any lights on in the church??!?!?"

"Why are there so many cars??!?!?!?"

"Why are people going to the school instead of the church?!?!?!?"

"Maybe it isn't tonight!!!!"

"What's going on here?!?!?!"

"This is the most horrible thing in the universe!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Bascially I was doing this:

Ryan was all like

So finally I see some other people go into the church. Thankfully the church has a huge foyer and Ryan and the boys stayed there while I went into the church.

I knelt in the pew and was filled with great anxiety. I knew this anxiety was from the devil. I knew I had to tell Satan what's up and to leave me alone. Something like this:

"Get outta here you stinky debbil!"

and

 

 

Bam! GET ON OUTTA HURR!

I felt a little more at ease. 

But then I gazed on the crucifix and was overcome with sadness and guilt. I was still mentally freaking out and my chaotic feelings spilled over in my tears. 

Finally I get the courage to walk into the confessional. 

I'm finally in there. The screen is there. The priest is behind the screen. I can't see his face. I can only hear his voice. I picture Jesus sitting there waiting to hear my confession.


Long story short. I start confessing my sins and this happens.

And some more

Absolution:

And finally, me after I leave the confessional.

I was in there a long time. When I walked out with my beat red, tear streaked face people in line were probably all like

But I didn't care.


It was such a wonderful feeling to let it all out. I felt 100 pound lighter. It was amazing to actually hear the words "You are forgiven."

Ryan went to confession as well and afterward we were like

Jesus doesn't feel like my second cousin anymore. I feel like now that I am right with God I can re-focus on some other areas of my life. I need to get healthier. I need to stop being lazy. I need to rededicate myself to being a good wife and mother.



I feel free. I feel strong. I feel like I can take on anything now, with God's help.

I'll be taking a break from blog land until after Christmas. I hope you all have a very joyous Christmas. There will be stress and chaos, but remember the quiet, peaceful night long ago when God became man in the form of a helpless baby. Remember to keep Jesus in your life.

Merry Christmas!

Harebrained Idea: Nursing School

I've had many a harebrained idea in my day.

They go all the way back to the days of elementary school. I had plans with my friends to form a real baby-sitter's club, just like the books. We were going to have officers and meetings. I even had my mom print off some flyers with that old school print shop program.

That idea didn't pan out.

Fast forward to the days of attending my first college. When I quit I had big plans. BIG plans, I tell ya. I was going to go work at the Kawasaki factory, save up some money, then move to Los Angeles to pursue an acting career. Oh, yes. I'm serious. I even tried out for the Broadway show The Lion King.

That idea REALLY did not pan out.

When I was working maintenance and housekeeping at our local hospital I felt really lost in life. I felt like I had no direction and was stuck in a rut. The solution to this problem? Why, backpack across Europe, of course! (I wish I was making this up.) I would save up my money, hop on a plane and have a grand ol' self-discovery journey!

A few years later I got another harebrained idea, but I really do think that this was the Holy Spirit guiding me. I decided to move to Atchison, Kansas. I had visited the town before, but I did not know a soul there. I was going to move there and be all by myself, quite a ways from my family and friends. This was going to be the first time living on my own; no roommate to split bills with or to keep me company. I just had to get away from the toxic situation I was in at the time.

That plan of mine worked out very well, I think. I moved to Atchison, had a reversion back to the Catholic Church, met my husband, and finally graduated from college.

Since my vocation had come to fulfillment in becoming a wife and mother, my schemes have dimished a bit. I did have a desire to get my masters in theology from Franciscan University. I even wrote an enthusiastic post about it!  I did have a crazy one a couple months ago. I wanted to start decorating cakes. You know the really cute, detailed and very time-consuming cakes you see in the magazines or on Pinterest? I would save you time by making them for you! I practically had dollar signs in my eyes when I thought this up. Yeah, that was a no-go.

Well, another idea has been brewing in my head for sometime now. I don't know if it's Holy Spirit material or just another Hollywood/backpacking/cake decorating deal.

I want to go to nursing school.

Now, in all honesty, this isn't a new idea. When I quit my first college, and after I realized my Hollywood plan was foolish as all hell I decided to go to nursing school. I got a job at a nursing home. I hated the staff and administration, but I LOVED the patients. Even the really crazy ones that would hit and scratch at me and scream at me to get the hell out of their room. I really did enjoy working with the residents and trying to make them feel better. I loved the feeling of helping others.

My first step to get into the techincal college for nursing was to take a sort of entrance exam. I passed and the next step was to apply. However, I was informed that since I still owed a substantial amount of money from my one month at CMSU I would not be allowed in until it was all paid. That put that idea in the pooper.

When I decided to move to Atchison my plan was to go to nursing school at the technical school. I planned on working full time at Wal-Mart to save up some money and then apply. But then I met my awesome neighbors who were students at Benedictine College and a few months later I was a student there starting my major in theology.

Over the years I've thought about nursing, but I didn't want to work in a place where I would miss out on family activities. I wanted a job with weekends and holidays off. I wanted a job where I could help people, and nursing would definitey fit in that category, but it just didn't seem like the right fit for me at the time.

So when did this idea of going into nursing make such a resurgance? Right before I went in to have my c-section. I was going in every week to my doctor's office so I was seeing these nurses all the time. One of them actually became a friend of ours. Ryan and I were in the elevator at the office when he suggested I become a nurse. "I think you'd be really great at it." I kind of shrugged my shoulders and thought it would be nice to work in a doctor's office so I could be a nurse but still have nights, weekends and holidays off. Plus, ever since I have learned about NFP and about the female body during pregnancy and childbirth I've been fascinated with the human body. Blood doesn't bother me. I actually wouldn't mind having a mirror so I can see my c-section being done. When I had my ear infection the nurse told me my ear was full of fluid and my ear canal was swollen I was dying to know what that looked like. I know that sounds super weird.

While I was at the hospital both Ryan and I marvelled at how awesome the nurses were. One of our favorite nurses, Ginny, talked about how much she loved her job. One of the night nurses sat and talked with me for quite awhile. We just chit-chatted about being mothers and breastfeeding and other random stuff. She talked about how much she loved her job and how flexible it was for her. She worked part time so she was able to stay at home part of the time and still bring in a nice chunk of income. It never occured to me that I could still work a little bit AND still be able to stay at home part of the time with my kids.

Ever since my stay at the hospital I have had nursing school on the brain. I messaged a friend who is a nurse to ask her questions. I talked with my husband about this idea. I've been praying about it as well.

Is this just another crazy idea? Will the excitement and curiosity wear off soon?

The reason I think this is a serious idea is because I have been praying to God for years now to guide us into how to handle our financial situation. We would be doing just fine except for my student loans. They are astronomical. I don't think it is feasible for me to stay at home without bring some sort of income. I had big dreams of being a free-lance writer, but as you can tell, that's not really panning out so well. I don't have any other talents that I can think of that would help us out. I always told myself that I would get back out in the work force once all my kids were in school, but it might have to be sooner than that. (I'll write more about mommy guilt and staying at home vs. going to work in the future.)

Another thing that is holding me back besides worrying this is just a dumb idea is pure, unadulterated fear. First of all, I would have to take some pre-requisets to get in. The thought of taking chemistry and microbiology scares the crap out of me. Then there is the process of being accepted into the program. What if I don't even get in? What kind of program should I do? Should I just go whole hog and get my bachelors of science in nursing? Should I do an accelerated one year program? Should I just stick with getting my R.N. and do a two year program?

How would I finagle going to school full-time when I have two very small children? I can't even go to the bathroom in peace. How would I be able to study for a very intense program? 

Probably the biggest fear is paying for school. I know there is financial aid, but is it really worth it to add even MORE debt to my ginormo mountain that I already have? I feel like that is the one big thing holding me back.

I fear I'm just setting myself up for disappointment and failure. This would be a huge undertaking. Am I up for it?

I'd appreciate any prayers for me to make the right choice and to REALLY listen to God's will for me. I wish he'd just send me an email!

VBAC Hopes Fading...

I had my 39 week appointment today. I wasn't going to get too excited because I had a feeling that nothing had changed from last week. I had no progress then.

My blood pressure and weight were fine. The baby's heartbeat was fantastic. But the look on his face when he was checking me did not give me hope. He just kind of sighed and had that "I hate to tell you this" look on his face. He informed me that my chances for a VBAC were not looking too good at this point because the baby hadn't dropped. Since we are treating this as my first vaginal birth he said that by this time in my pregnancy the baby should have been somewhat engaged in my pelvis. The baby's head is nowhere near getting to that point. That fact that he is not could possibly mean my pelvis is too small for him to get down there.

My water could break and I could dilate, but if my baby's head is not down there is a risk for cord prolapse. Or I could start to push and my pelvis won't be wide enough for the baby's head to pass through. Both of these are serious risks with having a vaginal delivery.

He said he has been pleasently surprised before with women who he was convinced were not going to be able to have a VBAC. They delivered beautifully. He talked about how delivering babies is such a crazy game and you never know what God has in store.

Even though he is doubtful I will be able to have a successful VBAC, he told me that it was still my choice. I could schedule a c-section or wait another week. I decided to wait. My due date is this Friday and my next appointment is the following Tuesday. I wanted to give my body a little longer.

I did shed a few tears while driving home but I didn't have a full break down like I thought I would. I tried looking at the bright side. If I do have a c-section, I have been through one before and know what to expect. And unlike last time I know there is a possibility of a c-section. With Joe I was in denial about having a c-section pretty much up to the point to where they were wheeling me into the O.R. And I know what the recovery is like with a c-section and I had a very fast and easy one with my first c-section.

I haven't developed pre-eclampsia so far which is a HUGE blessing. I don't know how I could take care of Joe and a newborn while battling high blood pressure. It was a huge scary ordeal for me and really took away a lot of the joy in welcoming Joe to the world.

If my pelvis is too small to deliver vaginally then thank God for modern medicine and c-sections so that my baby and I can be safe from harm.

My doctor has assured me that just because I have c-sections doesn't mean that I have to have a small family. He has on many occasions delivered a woman's fourth or fifth child by c-section with no complications.

No matter what the means are to get the baby out, the end will be the same- a precious baby to hold in my arms. 

I'm still pretty bummed. I know that there is still hope for a VBAC, but I am getting very discouraged. And even if my water breaks I will be scared that my baby hasn't dropped and complications could occur. Although my  measurements have lined up perfectly with how many weeks I am, I still wonder if my due date is off. All these doubts and questions and worries are going through my head. I still get jealous of women when I hear about their vaginal deliveries. Now I will be jealous of those women who had successful VBACs.

I am praying a novena to St. Gerard that is to end on my due date. My prayers are to keep baby and me safe and for me to accept God's will regarding VBAC/c-section. I know I have many friends and family praying for me as well, which I am very grateful for. I'm just stubborn and want God's will to conform to mine.

Who knows what will happen in the next week. Like my doctor said, who knows what God has in store for us! I'm still anxious and nervous, but God knows best.

God knows best.

We Are The 98%

Michelle from Endless Strength and Rebecca from The Road Home have co-authored a great post called We are the 98%. They have encouraged other women to share their stories with contraception and NFP. I have really struggled on deciding if I should write about my experiences. First of all, my mom reads this blog, as well as my big brother. I also have other family and friends who read this blog, and some of the things I have posted in the past has created some, erm, conflict. You've been warned: This is very personal.

I am going to share despite my hesitations. I sometimes feel so alone being a former contracepting-non-virgin-at-wedding Catholic woman. Maybe this will help some other Catholic gal not feel so lonely. Maybe it will clear up some questions some of my readers have about me. I'm sure when I'm preaching about NFP and saving sex for marriage that some people are like, "Uh, girl, we know about your past."

So here is my contribution.

***************

"You’ve probably heard it on the news lately; “98% of Catholic women are using contraception”. You’ve heard the statistic, but I’m here to tell you it just isn’t true. How do I know?

Because I’m one of them.

Even though I 100% wholeheartedly agree with the Church on contraception, I’m part of this “98%”. How can that be? Because the only question they’re asking Catholic women is this:"

"Have you ever used contraception?"

My answer would be yes. I can't say that my excuse was medical reasons. I was using contraception because I was sexually active, starting at an early age in high school.

"How did you previously view contraception?"

To be honest, I don't ever remember learning about contraception in high school classes. I probably wasn't paying attention. I learned about it from my friends and a teen website produced by, you guessed it, Planned Parenthood.

I remember reading the website and teen magazines and being terrified at the thought of getting pregnant. It could happen just ONE time! It could happen with just genital contact! They practically taught that if you took your shoes off in front of the opposite sex that you would get pregnant and your life would be ruined forever and ever and ever.



I remember being in middle school and thinking I would OF COURSE wait until marriage like all good girls do. But once high school hit and boys started taking notice of me, that all went out the window. With the teen hormones and the teen psyche and emotions, having sex was something you did. My friends were doing it. Teens on TV were doing it. It was a normal part of growing up.

I vowed not to be stupid about having sex. I protected myself from pregnancy in multiple ways- condoms, creams, films... lots of fun stuff to suit up with before doing the deed.

When I turned 18 I decided I was done with all those annoying barriers. I wanted to feel more "free" so I went on the Depo-Provera shot. No more condoms, no more creams. Just a shot in the hip every three months and I was good to go.

I was proud of myself for taking such precautions. I was a good girl, a good student and I didn't want to ruin my life or reputation by getting pregnant. That would have been the end of the world. I wanted to go out in the world and make a difference. I made sure my sexual actions had no negative consequences.

Even though I was sexually active in high school, I didn't become sexually slutty until I moved to Maryville. I was tragically depressed and the only thing that made me feel better about myself was lots of booze, buying pretty clothes and shoes, and having sex with pretty much whoever found me desirable. I was trying to live a Friends lifestyle. I was trying to live the modern college girl's lifestyle. I was being used and emotionally abused. Sex was making me happy and miserable at the same time. But it was so easy to have sex with whoever since I was on the shot. The shot also made it easier to be taken advantage of.

I remember hearing here and there that the Catholic Church was against contraception. I didn't grow up with a youth group while in high school so I was clueless when it came to teachings on sex and marriage. I just thought that contraception was frowned upon because it led to premarital sex. I thought the Church was cool with married couples using it. I never bothered looking into because I didn't care.

"What prompted you to stop using contraception?

It wasn't any religious awakening. It wasn't even going online and reading about how I was having carcinogens injected into my body every 3 months. I really think it was the Holy Spirit prompting me to get off the shot. I had gained a little bit of weight and was still feeling depressed even though I wasn't drinking anymore and was in a solid relationship with a decent guy. I didn't feel "right" being on the shot, so I just decided to stop. My boyfriend was upset. I went to my annual pap smear and said I was ready to be done. They gave be a huge paper sack of condoms. I was OK with that.

Fast forward to my spiritual growth spurt in Atchison. I started exploring more about the Catholic faith. I read Christopher West's book The Good News About Sex and Marriage and my mind was blown. Birth control wasn't just frowned upon by the Catholic Church- they thought it was intrinsically evil. And the reasoning they gave blew me away. The Truth knocked me on my ass. I was shocked at how my view of sex was changed. Sex was much more awesome than I thought, I was just doing it wrong. I was so angry that I was never taught this view of sex. The view I previously had of sex was so dull and cheapened. Never again would I have sex before marriage. Never again would I use contraception.

I decided to read up on how harmful Depo Provera really was. I learned there was a "black box warning" that read:

"FDA and Pfizer notified healthcare professionals of the addition of a BOXED WARNING along with revisions to the WARNINGS, INDICATIONS AND USAGE, PRECAUTIONS and POSTMARKETING EXPERIENCE sections of the prescribing information to include information on the loss of significant bone mineral density. Depo-Provera Contraceptive Injection is indicated only for the prevention of pregnancy in women of child-bearing potential. Bone loss is greater with increasing duration of use and may not be completely reversible. Depo-Provera Contraceptive should be used as a long-term birth control method (eg, longer than 2 years) only if other birth control methods are inadequate."

I was on the shot longer for just two years, thank God. I read elsewhere that getting the shot in your teenage years increases the risk of bone loss and can lead to infertility and breast cancer. Now I was scared.

The part that scared and devastated me the most was learning that some forms of contraception are abortifacients. How many of my own children had been swept away from my uterus by the hormones caused by the shot? If I get to heaven how many of my sons and daughters will be there waiting for me with love and forgiveness? Needless to say, I cried over that thought many many times.

The first time I had ever heard of Natural Family Planning was in Christopher West's book. I read about how awesome it is and how beneficial and beautiful. That was the path for me.

I turned my life to God. I changed.

Or so I thought.

I started dating Ryan about a year after my spiritual growth spurt. It had been a little over a year since I had sex. Those temptations were buried deep inside and sin took over. Ryan and I became sexually active and used birth control. It was a huge struggle for both of us because we knew the reasons why sex before marriage is a sin. We went to confession frequently. We prayed. We "stopped" only to start back up again. We were both weak and I was deeply, deeply ashamed.

Instead of helping the situation, I created more temptation. My cycles were all over the place, probably still trying to regulate after I got my period a year AFTER I stopped getting the shot, and also due to stress. I decided to go on the Pill to get regular. I was on the pill for two months, deluding myself that this was due to health reasons.

I remember the day I knew that Ryan truly loved me and that he was the man I was destined to marry. He picked me up from one of my classes and dropped me off at the house I was living. Before I left he took a deep breath and said to me, "This is your choice, but I really think it would be better for you to get off the pill. I'm afraid it will make me start viewing you as an object." That was the Holy Spirit talking through him. He wasn't very knowledgeable about Catholic sexual ethics or theology, but God showed him the truth. My heart filled with love and from that moment we stopped having sex and stopped contracepting.

"How did you learn NFP?"

I read about NFP in The Good News About Sex and Marriage, but didn't know the details. When I lived in a campus house with seven other good Catholic gals I got a basic gist of the idea. One of my housemates was getting married and she and her fiance went to an NFP class. Later that night she kind of explained some stuff. She mostly talked about periods and something called cervical mucus. Sounded interesting. I remember hearing in a conversation that using condoms was like french kissing with plastic grocery sacks over your heads. I couldn't agree more.

I don't really remember talking to Ryan about our decision to use NFP in our marriage. I'm not sure if was after our decision to stop sleeping together while we were dating or if we were engaged. He was fully supportive of using NFP even though he had only heard negative things about it.

When we got engaged I thought we should take a class and learn as much as we could before we would have to put it into use. A college friend of mine was going to a class with her fiance and she kind of explained the Sympto-Thermal Method to me. Sounded easy enough.

In our marriage prep we got a brochure about NFP. We went to an Engagement Encounter retreat and they talked about it there, but I didn't feel they really went into good detail about the benefits of NFP. It felt more like a lecture.

We never found the time to get into a class, so I ordered the home-study kit through Couple to Couple League. I read through the book and it all seemed fairly straight forward. Yeah there was a lot of weird sounding stuff like checking your mucus and cervix, but it takes a lot to gross me out. However, when I started to make my own observations I was confused beyond all measure. Was this sticky or stretchy mucus? Uh oh, I forgot to take my temp! What now?! And the one I asked frequently- Where in God's green earth is my cervix?!

It took awhile, and I still don't feel like an expert, but I got the hang of it. My periods were always very irregular, but once I found my temperature shift I knew in 13-14 days I'd have my period. I started learning more about my body. I was amazed at the female body. God did some nice work creating us females.

I found it very difficult to explain to Ryan how STM worked. I could work it out in my head but explaining it was tough. He's not much of a reader so I didn't want to just throw him the book to figure it out. We took a class with a very nice teaching couple. It was during that class that we found out there was a good possibility I was pregnant. A couple days later a positive pregnancy test confirmed it. We never went to another class.

I had two charts in between my miscarriage and getting pregnant with Joe. I was very nervous about NFP and breastfeeding. I could see that luteal phase was greatly affected by breastfeeding which I knew would create an obstacle with conceiving in the future, which it did.

To help with supplementing STM, I enrolled in a research study for the Marquette method using the Clear Blue Easy monitor. Ryan and I loved it!

"How has it impacted your marriage?"

We have never used any form of artificial contraception in our marriage, so I don't know how using it and then using NFP would have impacted our marriage.

A lot of NFP information talks about the beauty of the husband being involved in this form of family planning. With contraception it is usually the woman's sole responsibility. There are NFP stories of a husband filling out a woman's chart at the end of the day or who wakes her up to take her temperature in the morning. I'm sure that does happen, but not in our marriage, and I'm fine with that. I'm really anal and OCD about making sure everything is neat and correct, so I'd just take the time to double check his work anyway.

Ryan has learned a lot about my body and thinks it's pretty awesome how I am put together. He also knows ahead of time the times of the month when I'm more hormonal than usual.

NFP has opened the doors of communication in our marriage. Sure, we fight, we argue, we joke, we discuss, we debate- but we're always open and honest about our feelings. There is no silent treatment and we always resolve our negative issues fairly soon after they begin.

"What struggles have you had with NFP?"

Our main struggle was trying to understand how NFP works. There have been times that I have really had a difficult time understanding my signs.

It is hard to trust NFP and God sometimes. It can be downright scary.

We haven't had a lot of OMG ABSTIENCE IS TORTURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! moments. That really hasn't been a difficulty, but those rare times that we have to put on the brakes have been tough.

The biggest struggle has been emotional for both of us. We have family and friends who just don't understand our decision to use NFP. It's tough to live in a society where everyone around you use contraception. It's tough and annoying to hear that NFP is "Vatican Roulette" or "What do you call couples who use NFP? Parents." comments. We feel like complete outsiders sometimes. There have been times I've thrown my hands in the air and yelled, "Fine! Let's just use the Pill! It'd be so much easier!" My saint of a husband has reminded me that we don't buy into modern day society. We buy into God's plan. God's plan isn't easy, but it is good.


So there is my contraception/NFP journey. NFP hasn't been easy, but it's been a blessing. Contraception was easy, but was destroying my life and my soul.

Oh yeah, and NFP really does work!

If you want to hear God laugh...

The lovely Elizabeth at That Married Couple had a great idea for a post a few weeks ago. She wrote of the things she planned for in the past that probably made God laugh.

I've had some pretty grandiose plans in my day. Such big plans! My goals, my dreams! I've made the Lord God slap his Almighty Knee a time or two.

Age 15: For a college prep program we had to write our long term and short term goals. Some of my long term goals included: Going to medical school to become a pediatrician. Live in New York City for awhile. Meet Mr. Right and get married. Have 5-7 kids. Move back to Maryville, MO and start up my own pediatric clinic.

Age 16: Those big time dreams folded when I started dating my high school sweetheart. All that was on my mind was graduating high school, going to college and marrying said high school sweetheart and having babies.

Age 18: I did end up graduating high school but said high school sweetheart had broken up with me a year earlier. Was dating another guy (we'll call him Mr. Right #2) who I was certain I was going to marry. Well... I broke up with him shortly after I started college. Went to CMSU in hopes of getting into a sorority and finding a nice fraternity boy to date/marry and start having babies. I was majoring in theater.

Age 19: I was at CMSU a little over a month when I dropped out. I dropped out on my birthday. My plans were to work at a factory and earn enough money to move out to Los Angeles to pursue my dreams of becoming an actress. (That one made God laugh the hardest, I'm sure. It sure made my mom laugh pretty hard when I told her.)

Age 19: Started working an evening shift at a hospital doing housekeeping, laundry and maintenence. Got back together with Mr. Right #2. Started making plans on moving in together and looking at engagement rings.

Age 19: Mr. Right #2 breaks up with me. I plan on winning him back by acting all sexy and hard-to-get.

Age 19: My attempts at winning Mr. Right #2 don't work.

Age 20: Start my second try at college at Northwest Missouri State University. I plan on studying hard to become a high school history teacher. I also plan to find the REAL Mr. Right and start having babies with him.

Age 20: Stop going to class a few weeks into the semester. Get drunk a lot with my roommates, play Sims 2, and participate in a lot of hoochie mama-ness.

Age 20: Meet Mr. Right #3. He was just what I was looking for. Handsome, small town, farm boy. Catholic. Liked to hunt and fish. Became great friends with his sister (still great friends today!) I (not he) started planning on getting married and having babies. I drop out of college because I know I failed all my classes.

Age 20: Mr. Right #3 breaks up with me. Fall into a pit of major debauchery. On the look out for Mr. Right #4. Get together with a lot of potentials, but they all break my heart.

Age 20: Meet Mr. Right #4. He's another farm boy. Make plans to become a farmer's wife and stay at home with our future babies. In the meantime I apply to become a customer service manager at Wal-Mart.

Age 20: I don't get the customer service job. I get frustrated with life and on a whim move to Atchison, KS to go to nursing school. Mr. Right #4 breaks up with me because of the distance.

Age 21: When I move to Atchison I meet my neighbors- J and E, who were students at Benedictine College. They take me some homecoming get togethers and plant the seeds of becoming a student at Benedictine. I never really get the motivation to apply to nursing school.

Age 21: Start Benedictine in the 2006 spring semester. I plan on majoring in theology and finding Mr. Right #5- for REALLY REAL REAL this time.

And for once... this plan actually came to fruition! Except he was no small town farm boy. He grew up right in the heart of Kansas City. He was my best guy friend before we started dating so I really had no plans of getting romantically involved with him. I wasn't actively looking for Mr. Right. I'm really glad God changed that plan to how it is today!

Age 24: After graduation and our wedding I planned on finding a job teaching theology or youth ministry in the Kansas City area.

Age 25: Still no luck finding a job, keeping busy as a homemaker in Middle-of-Nowhere, MO.

Age 25: Get pregnant for the second time after my miscarriage. Plan on having a smooth, healthy pregnancy and a drug-free vaginal birth.

Age 25: Develop severe pre-eclampsia. Go through a 2 day failed induction. Have a c-section.

Age 26: Hope and pray that Ryan gets a job in Kansas City. Ryan finally does get a job in Kansas City. Plan on staying with his parents for a couple of months to save up some money to move out on our own.

Age 27: Seven months later I am still living with my in-laws waiting for the next step. I have no clue what that is and I don't even have a plan in my head for God to laugh at.

I remember being very disappointed when my plans would never go through. What was so wrong with my plans? They were very basic and simple. They were what most people wanted- to get married, get a job, have children. Why wasn't it happening the way I wanted it?

The answer is simple- because the "way I wanted it" sucked. God's plans are oh so much better than mine. What would my life be like if I would have married some fraternity guy? What would my life be like if I would have gotten that customer service job? I wouldn't be where I am now. I wouldn't have my real Mr. Right- my best friend, my soul mate. I wouldn't have my son. My goodness... I can't imagine my life without them.

God knows best. God's time is best. It can be frustrating and discouraging at times not knowing what is going on. But looking back you can always see God's hand in your life and how he has made everything the way it is supposed to be: simply awesome.

Motherhood and Pride

It has been a very long week.

I've been in a crabby mood, easily annoyed and frustrated all week. Maybe I'm PMS-ing, I don't know.

My babysitting schedule got all out of whack this week and today, a day I don't normally babysit, I had to wake up at the butt-crack of dawn. This all has thrown Joe's schedule off, and when Joe is out of sorts, his mama is out of sorts.

But what really got the bad-mood ball rolling was Monday. I made a dreaded call to his pediatrician about Joe's swallowing problems. I knew what his recommendation would be: send Joe to occupational therapy.

I suppose I should back way up and start at the beginning of Joe's eating troubles.

Joe has always been a champion nurser. He would have nursed all day long if I would have let him. (He still loves to nurse, but that is a different post for a different day.) I am thankful that we had no problems establishing a nursing relationship.

However, with my massive oversupply of milk and Joe's horrible acid reflux, there was a lot, A LOT, of spitting up. We didn't use burp cloths. Those were a joke. We had to use receiving blankets as burp rags, and we had to have one or two on us at all times because he was prone to spitting up and/or projectile vomiting. It was messy and gross. It got so bad he was getting miserable so when he was about a month old he was put on Zantac to control the reflux. We took him off those meds around 6 months because he wasn't spitting up and since he was sitting upright I figured the problem was gone.

I was wrong.

At around 8 months he was starting to spit up again (not as much as when he was younger) and I could tell he was miserable once again, so his doctor put him back on the Zantac. Things got better in that department and we stopped giving it to him when he was 11 months old.

I wondered how his acid reflux would figure in to giving him solids. When he was 4 months old the doctor gave the go-ahead to start rice cereal. I was so excited for this new step in Joe's life. Well, Joe wasn't too thrilled because after a few bites he'd stop eating. I knew this was relatively normal, but I tried everyday and he wasn't diggin' it. I tried different kinds of cereal- oatmeal, barley and mixed grains. I tried different consistencies and mixing it with both breast milk and water. He just wasn't liking it. I wasn't going to push it, so I waited until he was 6 months to re-introduce the cereal.

6 months came around and I tried the cereal again. He still didn't like it. I tried for a week or so then gave up. I decided to go ahead and give him level 1 sweet potatoes and he loved them! He wouldn't eat the whole 2.5 oz, but I could tell he enjoyed them much more than the cereal. Maybe he just wasn't a cereal-eating kind of guy.

I figured he would cruise right along to the thicker level 2 baby foods in no time. After all, according the suggested guidelines on the baby food jar he should be ready for them. He was sitting independently and had no problem getting the food down. But he would barely finish a whole container of the level 1 so I didn't bother giving him the level 2 that had one more ounce in it.

I didn't really try giving him any real solid foods since he didn't seem interested in the pureed food. I tried giving him puffs and yogurt melts but he barely even touched them. Again, I didn't push anything. I mentioned it to Joe's doctor and he wasn't concerned.

Finally one day when Joe was about 9 months old he started eating level 2 baby food and gobbled it all up. He was getting to the point of putting the puffs and yogurt melts into his mouth but he'd push them out of his mouth with his tongue or take them out with his hands.

Then came the Baby Mum-Mum's and level 3 baby food. With that came the vomiting. He had no problem putting the Mum-Mum's up to his mouth and biting and chewing, but once he swallowed he would gag then vomit. It was extremely nerve wracking because I always thought he was choking. I tried giving him level 3 baby food which has more in it and also has tiny bits of food. We gave him spaghetti which has iddy biddy tiny pieces of noodle and he could not handle that and there was even more vomiting. Joe just now got the hang of level 3 in the last month and a half.

So for the last few months I would give him 3 jars of baby food a day and before each jar I would offer him Cheerios or puffs or yogurt melts or pretty much anything that was safe for him to eat. He can pick them up, put them in his mouth and chew them. Most of the time he pushes them out with his tongue. Sometimes he swallows them like a champ and I think he's getting the hang of the whole swallowing thing. But then there are those times that his eyes start to water, his mouth opens into an O-shape and the gagging starts. I pat his back, I do the finger sweep and then a few seconds later out comes everything I just fed him. And now that he is drinking milk the smell is AWFUL! He has no problem swallowing pureed foods like mashed potatoes and he loves jell-0.

It's always been kind of drag. I'm paranoid he will choke. I see all these cute pictures on facebook of babies Joe's age gobbling up spaghetti or corn on the cob. I was worried that we'd have to puree his first birthday cake, but he had no problems with that. In fact some of the only things he can swallow with ease are large cookies and sweets. But I didn't worry too much about it. It's a bummer, but I figured that he'd grow out of it.

I mentioned my concerns to his doctor again at Joe's one year check up and the doctor was only slightly concerned. He thought maybe Joe has a hyper-sensitive gag-reflex, which could be the case since he pushes food out of his mouth with his tongue. However, there are times I give Joe his baby spoon to play with and he jams it way back there in his mouth and other times I give him his toothbrush to chew on and it also goes way back there and he doesn't gag then. The doctor said not to worry too much and wait a few months and if it doesn't get better then he would send him to an occupational therapist who would work with Joe's swallowing technique.

I wasn't ever really too worried until these last few weeks. Joe is vomiting more and more. He's throwing up food he used to eat with ease. He even once threw up while he was sleeping. He wasn't sick. Maybe a piece of food was caught on the side of his mouth and he gagged on it, but that scared the crap out of me. What if he would have choked on his own vomit? He never cried and we even had the baby monitor on and I didn't hear anything.

All of this throwing up has gotten to the point where I am beyond concerned. Plus, I can tell that baby food is no longer cutting it with Joe. I can tell he is hungry for more. He looks at our food at lunch and dinner and reaches for it and cries in anger when we don't give him a taste. We've tried, and he throws it all up. My mommy gut told me that it was time to call the doctor.

Monday morning I made the call. I explained to the nurse what was going on and she said she would consult the doctor to see what he thought was best. I waited all day for the phone call. Later that afternoon she finally called back with the news I was expecting- Joe was being referred to an occupational therapist.

When I hung up the phone I went upstairs and cried. It had been a rough day with both the girl I was babysitting and Joe, so I was tired and cranky already. I was emotional.

I wasn't sure why I was so upset. I knew this was going to be the outcome. I should be happy that the solution to Joe's problem was simple. I should be thankful that other than this little problem that Joe is perfectly healthy. He is growing and still gets nutrients from baby food and breast milk and whole milk. It could be so much worse. I could be sending him to have major surgery or for chemo for a childhood cancer. Occupational therapy isn't a big deal. His swallowing problem isn't that big of a problem because he is still thriving and a very happy little boy. I shouldn't be so selfish.

It took me a few days to figure out why I was so bothered by this. I finally came to the conclusion today. I am so upset because I feel I should be able to fix this problem on my own. I'm Joe's mommy. I should be able to fix this problem. I want to be the one to help him overcome his challenges. Letting go of the reigns and allowing someone else to step in and help Joe out makes me feel like a craptastic mother.

I keep thinking that maybe I should have tried harder with him at a younger age to get him to eat cereal and solids. Maybe I waited too long and that's why his swallowing muscles don't work properly. Maybe I shouldn't have nursed him as much as I did. If he was so happy with mama's milk perhaps that is why he wasn't interested in something more. Maybe I shouldn't be nursing him now. My fears of screwing up my son are coming to light in the fact that he can't swallow very well. What if it is all my fault?

I know this is a control issue. I'm relatively sure that Joe's challenge isn't because of something I did. I need to step back a little and realize that I am not Joe's one and only guardian and protector. There will be times that his daddy or grandparents will be able to solve one of Joe's problems better than I could. Someday a teacher will help him in an area where I cannot. A coach will help him perfect a certain athletic skill that I can't perform. A priest will be able to give him the kind of spiritual guidance that I am not capable of. A doctor will be able to heal him in ways that I am not trained to do. The same goes for an occupational therapist whose vocation in life is to help children with problems like this.

I am full of too much pride. I need to stop thinking that I am the ultimate super-mom that can take care of everything. It's hard to detach myself from Joe. We've been together since day one and we have a very deep bond. I've never spent a night away from him. So, it will be hard for me to see someone else working with him to overcome an obstacle. I need to be thankful that this isn't a serious medical issue and that there are people available to help him with this swallowing problem. I need to remember to stop thinking about myself and my ego and do whatever I can to help Joe, even if that means stepping aside and realizing that I am not all-powerful and perfect.

I'm sure someday I will look back and remember how silly I was to be so upset about this situation. But it is just hard for me to shake off these feelings because I love Joe so much and want to be the best mother possible for him.

My emotions ARE all over the place. Yeah, it really must be PMS. :-)

On Being Melancholic

I am a sensitive person.

I have such a delicate nature that I consider it a cross that I bear.

I have been an easily affected person as long as I can remember. This is so embarrassing to admit, but one time when I was a child I was watching a TV show and this old man was walking a dog. The dog got loose, and the old man started chasing him and hollering after him, begging his dog to stop. The dog didn’t stop. The old man was distraught. I started crying.

Um, HELLO?! MAGGIE- IT’S A FLIPPIN’ TV SHOW! It’s make believe. Like unicorns and fairy poop- it is NOT REAL! I just couldn’t stand to see this sweet elderly person in emotional pain.

I remember another time when I was very young and I was at a Royal’s game with my brother. A man was walking up the stairs next to where we were sitting and he tripped. He was holding a tray of food and it went everywhere. He was fine, but probably embarrassed. My heart ached for him.

As I got older my sensitivity grew with me. When I entered my teenage years and those pesky hormones started kicking in… well, it was game over. Depression and anxiety grew out of my delicate emotional state. Every teen feels lonely and worthless at some point, but my feelings were much more severe.

You’d think that now that I’m all grown up my overly-sensitive feelings would have faded away. Um, not so much. I can’t stand to see people eating at restaurants alone or sitting by themselves at a movie theater. I know that 98% of the time these people are not lonely, they are alone by choice and they are perfectly happy. But I wonder if that elderly woman sitting by herself at Cracker Barrel just lost her oldest childhood friend to cancer and is hurting deeply, or that man in the business suit hasn’t seen his family or friends in two weeks because he has been traveling for his company. I just want to go and sit with them to keep them company.

Because I am so sensitive I don’t handle criticism very well. That is part of the reason I haven’t really started to work on my writing skills to kick start my dream of free-lance writing. I know in the world of professional writing there is a ton of rejection. I can get pretty protective of my writing, so when it is criticized, I take it as a direct criticism of me. There are times I get overly sad when I lose a blog follower or when someone who used to be a regular commenter stops commenting. I spend a little too much time wondering if it was something I wrote that made the person “mad” at me and stop following me or commenting. Too many times I measure my worth on who is following me or by how many comments a post receives. Very unhealthy thinking, I know.

I don’t do well with those people who like to make fun of others. There’s nothing wrong with a little harmless teasing once in awhile, but I really cannot stand to be around people who tease others constantly. My feelings are very easily hurt. I take things very personally. These people might tell me to lighten up or that they weren’t meaning to be mean. Believe me, I wish I could just laugh off those jabbing comments, but I just can’t sometimes. I hate it that I am so sensitive. There are people out there who are mean just to be mean and it irks me to no end.

Sometimes I wonder if my sensitive nature is something that needs medical attention. Sometimes I will start crying for no reason. One time I was watching Joe play with his toys and tears spilled over because I was just so in awe of how he is growing up so fast and the pure innocence in his eyes and smile. I have struggled with depression before and one of the obvious symptoms of depression is persistent sadness. However, the sadness I feel doesn’t feel “clinical.” I just think that I am a melancholic, wistful person. It’s how God made me.

Oh how I wish I weren’t such a sensitive person. I wish I could be one of those people who are perpetually in a good mood. I wish I could be a positive, optimistic person. I want to be one of those people who are bursting with happiness; a person who is a joy to be around. I know that people like this have their down days, but they cope with it much better than I do. I try not to be an Eeyore. I try to be as positive as I can. But there are days that I just shut down. I can’t snap out of my funk, and usually it is quite obvious to others.

I feel so silly and foolish being so emotional and sensitive. I hate getting so easily upset. I try so hard to reason with myself that usually the things that make me sad, angry or worried are not that big of a deal. They shouldn’t agitate me. I wish my intellect would win over my emotions, but most of the time it does not.

I am no saint. I struggle to embrace this cross. I want it to be different. I want to be different. But God does things for a reason and sometimes I feel like he makes personalities like mine because we need compassionate people. Again, I am no saint. I am a very selfish person. I can be mean and hurtful. However there are times I want to make a really mean, snarky comment on someone’s facebook status, but I don’t want to hurt their feelings. If I can’t say anything nice, I shouldn’t say anything at all. (Thanks for that, Mom!) There might be a time I want to make fun of liturgical dancing with bongo drums or a priest’s tie-dyed cassock, but I wonder if someone who is interested in joining the Catholic Church will hear or see my hateful comments and decide not to join because of my hypocrisy.

I avoid writing about controversial topics because I don’t want to make anyone mad. For example, I refrain from posting anything online that says “Abortion is murder.” I fully believe that abortion IS murder and that Roe v Wade should be overturned. However, I know there are women out there who are deeply hurting from their abortions and are full of regret. I don’t believe throwing the word murder around will help them to repent and start to heal. I know that the truth is sometimes hard to hear and that controversial topics need to be addressed. I just believe that people’s feelings need to be taken into consideration sometimes.

Being a sensitive person has helped me to help others. I can usually always tell if something is wrong with someone. Sometimes I am freakishly in-tune with how someone is feeling. That helps me to better communicate with them and sometimes I am able to give them comfort when they need it the most. But believe me, it is not easy to take on someone else’s pain.

I have learned to love others so much more because of my sensitive nature. When the 10th anniversary of 9-11 came around this year and there were all these stories of women who had lost their husbands or children who never got to meet their fathers I often broke down in tears. I even started tearing up in Mass that day when we sang America the Beautiful as our closing hymn. It made me realize just how short life is and to never take anything for granted- including living in the United States. Today, right here in Kansas City, a 10 month old baby girl was taken from her crib while she slept. Someone came in through her bedroom window and took her. I cannot imagine the pain and fear that her mother and father are going through. My heart breaks for them. I realize that when Joe wakes up for the 10th time tonight, in his crib that is in my room, I should be thankful. I know people are sad when they hear this story, but I’ve been thinking about it almost constantly and feel worried and sad.

When I hear of a woman who has had a miscarriage or stillborn, or who is suffering from infertility I cry with them. I know the pain. I know the emptiness and sadness. I know the questions they ask. I always cry when I see the video of the baby who hears his mother’s voice for the first time or the child who runs a race with prosthetic legs.



It makes me so thankful for the advances in technology and look in amazement at the tenderness and brilliance of the human soul. Heck, I even cry at Dancing with the Stars! This all makes me realize that life is precious. Life is a gift. I want to reach out to those who are lonely and grieving. I want to hug those young women who are confused about what to do with their life and who don’t realize their self-worth. I want to hug those men who work hard and get no recognition. I want to pray with those who are hurting.

God gives us gifts. Sometimes I get mad and want to know why God made me such a moody-mooderson. It’s not easy to suffer and feel this way. However, I try my hardest to see the good that can be brought out by my sensitive nature. Hmm… a pessimist who sees the glass half full? I know, I know- I’m strange.

Jesus, I (want to) Trust in You!

As I sit here in my recliner I reflect on this beautiful fall day. There is a crisp chill in the air, the trees are starting to change color and people are thinking crock pot meals and pumpkin spice candles instead of BBQ’s and sun block. Yet, I can still hear the chirping crickets. The orchestra of cicadas has drifted away these past few weeks, but the crickets still sing strongly in the cool evenings. It’s like summer and fall are one.

I sit here feeling a bit melancholy and fearful. I absolutely love the changing seasons. They are even more special now since I have become a mother. I have all these daydreams running through my head. I see Joe splashing in a baby pool and getting all dirty by playing outside in the dirt. I see him running through a giant pile of bright orange and red leaves and trick or treating. I see him playing in the snow and becoming mesmerized by twinkling Christmas lights. The reason I feel so blue is because we don’t have a house of our own to make these memories in.

My in-laws have graciously allowed us to live with them these past 5 months so Ryan and I can save up money to be able to afford to live in Kansas City. They have been nothing but welcoming and kind. Words cannot express how grateful we are for their unconditional love.

But I’m scared. Ryan’s job doesn’t bring a lot of income to our family. I have started a babysitting job that supplements some of his income, but just barely. It really isn’t feasible for me to get a full-time day job because we wouldn’t be able to afford the daycare. I sometimes wonder if we will ever be able to get a home of our own, and I mean renting our own home- the option of buying for us is as realistic as buying a spaceship. I see all these stories on the news about recession and poverty level and I immediately stress out.

We are thankful that my in-laws have opened their home to us, but we still want a place to call our own. I want my own plants to water in the spring and summer. I long for my own backyard with a vegetable garden and a swing set for Joe. I want my own front porch to put pumpkins out in the fall and a swing to spend relaxing evenings. I’d love my own kitchen to turn into a disaster while baking chocolate chip cookies.

My fear is that we will never have a house of our own. Are we destined to live in apartments forever and deal with barking dogs and neighbors who seem to think that no one will mind if they play their bass guitar at 3:00 in the morning?

Ryan and I are crippled by our debt of student loans. It is a burden I become anxious about every single day. I feel like we aren’t even making a dent in my loans. I know everyone worries about money. Our worry is constant. It is a “Will we ever be able to live on our own?” worry. It is a “Can we ever afford more children?” worry. I worry that when I talk about my dreams of having a large family people think, “Gosh, she is so stupid. They live with her in-laws! They are so foolish and irresponsible!” I’d rather have a large, loving family than any material thing.

Facebook can sometimes be a source of anxiety for me. I become green with envy when I see my friends (most who are younger than me) posing by “SOLD” signs or standing proudly in front of the door to the very nice home they just bought. I long for my own home when I see my friends posting their remodeling pictures. I get jealous of those friends who don’t have student loans to worry about or who have their debt all paid off.

I’m not asking for a 5 bedroom home, an annual summer vacation or satellite TV. I just want to know that after careful budgeting we can live in our own home, provide for our children and not live under this heavy burden of debt.

Ryan and I are doing our part as best we can to achieve this. We aren’t perfect by any means. There are times we mess up with our money. But we are trying.

We also try to trust in God to help us out.

We aren’t asking him to send us a check in the mail to cover our debt. We know it won’t go away overnight and that God expects us to help ourselves as best we can.

I have well meaning people tell me, “Trust that God will provide for you and your family.” I’ve also heard a saying, and I know I’m getting the words wrong, but it says something along the lines of, “Every time a baby is born, he comes with a loaf of bread under his arms for his family.”

There are tons of verses in Scripture that tell us not to worry:

But when I am afraid, I will put my trust in you. I trust in God, so why should I be afraid? What can mere mortals do to me?
(Psalm 56:3, 11)


Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? (Matthew 6:26)


Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. (John 14:1)


Even in the second reading for this Sunday’s Mass it reads, “Brothers and sisters: Have no anxiety at all, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. Then the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” (Phil. 4: 6-9)

I want to trust in God that He will take care of us. I want to take comfort that He will not let us fall if we truly are trying to do His will and to glorify His name. I want to find peace in His merciful love. I am in awe of those people who put their complete trust in God and have no fear.

But sometimes it is so hard to trust. Sometimes I get so frustrated because it seems that God isn’t listening to our pleas. It is hard to trust in someone you can’t see. I get so scared that maybe there isn’t even a God out there who will take care of us.

What if Jesus Christ was so manipulative and charismatic that he was able to change the course of civilization? What if he was such a dynamic speaker and brain-washer that he was able to convert thousands to his beliefs? What if he was such a maniac that he would even be tortured and die a gruesome death to make absolutely sure that people continued to follow his teaching?

What if we are all part of the biggest conspiracy of the entire history of mankind? It has become so elaborate and detailed that nearly every day of the year there is feast day or liturgical season devoted to honoring an absent God. Every prayer, every Bible verse, every note we’ve sung in a hymn at church- it’s all for nothing.

Sure, there is a God. But he doesn’t take care of us. He just set the world in motion and it is up to us, and only us, to take care of ourselves. Those people who say God has helped them and provided for them- they are just lucky and it’s a coincidence that help showed up around the same time they prayed for it. Our devotion to God is empty. It is a hoax. We are destined for nothingness.

When these thoughts pop into my head I become very panicky. Perhaps my husband and I are supposed to be miserable with this cross of a huge debt. It is what it is. No God will help us in our time of need.

But I look around me and I look inside me, and I know that all these doubts and fears I have about God just aren’t true. I don’t have proof either way, but I still lean towards the God is Love camp instead of the God is Chillaxin' in His Lazy Boy and Doesn't Care About You camp. I won’t even say that something poetic like a fiery fall sunset or a baby’s laugh or that warm fuzzy feeling you get at Christmastime is what makes me know there is a God. It is in my innermost being. It is faith. I know that isn’t a great argument against atheism or agnosticism, but I'll leave the heavy lifting to the theologians.

Christianity is not a hoax. If Jesus were just a human, and an evil human at that if he duped that many people, then Christianity would not have lasted 2000 years, especially through those turbulent years known as the Reformation. God has provided for us. Ryan and I are still doing well. We’re not at the brink of having to live in a box by the river and have the state take care of our child. I have a tendency to look at the negative instead of the blessings.

It is so hard to trust God. You know those trust exercises where you fall backwards and trust the person behind you to catch you? Well imagine if that person were invisible. It makes it so much harder to fall and trust. Jesus will take care of us. God wants us to be happy. But then I get confused with that whole redemptive suffering thing and true happiness awaits us in heaven deal. I always long for “better times” where I am happy and not worried. If I do God’s will I will get that someday- in heaven, for all eternity. It would just be nice to be able to experience some of that while I’m still on this earth.

I find when I start feeling all Jesus-Isn’t-Real then it is time to go to confession. I need a soul-scrubbin’ and a good spiritual arse kick. I also need to realize that I am not the one in control. God knows what he is doing. I just wish he’d send me a flaming arrow from heaven with a scroll on it telling me of His plans. Even a post-it note would do.

I know things will get better. That is my mantra these days.

Jesus, I trust in you. Help me to trust in You.

Just Keep Praying....

Do you remember that part in the Disney movie Finding Nemo where Dory tries to cheer up Marlin? "Cheer up Grumpy Gills... you know what you gotta do when life gets you down? Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming..."

Well I need that as my mantra, except replace the word swimming with praying. Ryan was informed today that he did not get the job we were so hoping he would get. I can tell you that I was not a happy camper when we got this news. I've been feeling down lately and this was just the last straw for me. It was very tempting to start getting mad at God. It is so hard to accept God's will when you pray so hard. I was praying so hard that I would squeeze my eyelids together real tight (like that makes God change his mind or something...)

But I'm not going to get mad at God. I'm not going to do my usual routine when God doesn't answer a prayer how I want and start stomping my feet and sticking out my lower lip. I'm not going to shut him out. I'm still really confused as to why Ryan didn't get the job. I know that God doesn't grant any prayer requests that might harm us or ultimately not be good for us, but I still wonder why? I am really worried about the future. My prayer for God right now is, "What's next?" I'm trying to be positive.

I just wanted to keep you all updated and thank you for your prayers.

Trusting God

Some of you may have heard this story about relying on God's help. (It has been years since I've heard this, so I'm sure I'll screw it up somehow.)

A massive flood was covering the town. A man camped out on his roof. His neighbors who were in the process of evacuating begged and pleaded with him to get down and get to safety. He told his neighbors, "I'm not going anywhere. God will help me."

The water got higher and higher and reached the roof.

A man in a small motor boat came by and told the man sitting on the roof that he was there to rescue him. The man said, "No thank you. I'm staying here. God will help me." The man in the boat pleaded and begged the other man to get in the boat, but to no avail.

The water reached the top of the roof, just about a foot away from washing the man away. A helicopter came by and dropped down a rescue ladder. The pilot yelled out, "We're here to save you! Grab on to the ladder before it is too late!" Despite the water rushing over his feet, the man said, "No thank you. I'm staying here. I know God will help me!" Despite the pilot's begging and pleading the man stayed put.

The water overtook the man and he drowned. He went up to Heaven and in a bewildered state asked the Lord, "My God, I had faith that you would help me, and I ended up dying. Why did you not help me?"

God said, "My child, I did help you! I had your neighbors try and convince you to come to safety. I sent a man in a motor boat and a rescue helicopter to save you, but you didn't go. I did help you, just in ways you didn't expect."

I have a hard time trying to figure out where to draw the line of where to meet God when it comes to trusting Him to help me.

Living on one income hasn't been easy. There has been a lot of stress, anxiety, and worry. Our goal is to move closer to the city where there are more job opportunities and where we will be closer to family. But things haven't worked out that way yet.

I learned long ago that the saying, "If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans" for sure applies to my life. Some of my plans included going to Hollywood to be an actress. I was going to be a life-long sorority girl and meet a nice fraternity boy and marry him. I was going to be a pediatric nurse. My plan for after graduation from college was to settle in with my new husband, start teaching at a Catholic school and plan on waiting six months to start having babies.

Well we all know how that last one turned out.

In these times of stress and uncertainty I've come to rely on the power the prayer and letting go and letting God take over. He's the one ultimately in charge anyway. I started praying a 54-day novena that brought a lot of comfort and peace. This novena also brought many small unexpected blessings. My student loan payment was lowered. Ryan got a small raise. Our parents' generosity was more than we could have ever asked for.

But we didn't just sit back and wait for the blessings to come roll in. I had to make the call to get the lowered student loan payment. (The blessing was that it was lowered more than I thought it would.) I told someone I was praying this novena and he told me, "You have to ask God to help yourself." I realize this is partly true. I am not going to be like the man on the roof during the flood and just wait for God to do all the work.

But where does God's help begin and helping myself end? I know there are situations where God and I have to work together. But what about the situations where things are completely out my control?

How about times of deciding whether or not it's the right time to have a baby? There are some people who wait to have their own house, have some financial security and have a couple of years of marriage under their belt before they even think about having a baby. And when they decide on children, they believe in their heart that finances will only allow them to have one or two children. But then I look at women who have four or five (or seven or eight!) children, stay at home and have wonderfully fulfilling lives. I know they make many sacrifices. but I know they also ask God for help as well.

Where do you draw that line of completely depending on God and then putting yourself in the equation?

Shame on Me

I have a lot, I mean A LOT of pet peeves.

Unfortunately a lot of them have carried over to my experience during Mass. My brother wrote a very funny blog post about the Top 50 Annoying Things at Mass. A lot of them ring true for me!

Today I was really looking forward to Mass. I have had a crap-tacular week and was really needing some quality God-time. I had read some reflections on this week's Scripture readings, and of course was ready to welcome in the graces by partaking in the Holy Eucharist.

However, when I walked into Mass I realized they were having a Children's Mass. Normally I love these kinds of Masses and truly enjoy them, but today I wasn't really in a Children's Mass kind of mood.

They have a children's choir and I don't know who it is, but there is someone who practically yells out the words of the songs. (I know this is the norm for how kids sing, but this doesn't sound child-like. I'm thinking it is an adult, but I could be wrong.) It's like nails on a chalk board to me.

They always sing the Gloria. The way they sing it is great for kids, but it is one of those ditties that will stick in your head for like a week. *Gloria (clap, clap), Gloria (clap, clap), in excelsis Deo!* (Ahhh...it's back in my head now!)

So instead of enjoying the readings I sat and sulked that I was going to be perpetually annoyed the rest of the Mass, all while STILL having the Gloria stuck in my head. I was grumpy and was mentally and spiritually acting like a three year old. My guardian angel must have given me a nudge because I took a second to actually listen to the Homily. And what the Deacon was preaching about caught my attention.

He said that too many times we wait until we have big issues to deal with or a lot on our plate when we finally fall to our knees to ask God for help. We don't have to wait until we are blind like Bartimaeus to cry out to Christ for help. God is always there for us. God's cell phone always has minutes, always has service. It's on our end where the communication is faulty.

Boy did I feel guilty. I've had a horrible week and have barely reached out to God for help. Instead of asking God for patience during this Children's Mass I just immediately went the pouty-route.

And honestly there wasn't anything for me to really be annoyed at. It's was a Children's Mass for goodness sakes! How beautiful is that! "Whoever welcomes a little child like this, in my name, also welcomes Me." (Matthew 18:5) I sure wasn't being very welcoming.

Finally I made the choice to welcome God's grace and I really did feel it. During the offering these absolutely adorable kids, probably around four or five, brought up the gifts. They were all spiffed-out in their school uniforms and they looked so joyous in bringing up the gifts to our priest. They had big toothy grins and I could honestly see the light of Christ radiating through them.

"Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." (Matthew 18:3) Instead of turning to God with a child-like dependency I turned my back on Him. "Sorry God, I'm just not feelin' it today. I don't need your help."

I started to really pay attention to my surroundings. The church was packed. Even the much-avoided-front row pew was filled. (And it wasn't Christmas, or Easter or a baptism! Shock!) I've been to a couple of Children's Masses there before and I had never seen it so full. How lucky we are to be a part of the Universal Church. I was sitting next to my brothers and sisters in Christ listening to the same readings that we also being heard all over the world. We all were about to celebrate the Eucharist and truly be a part of the Body of Christ. I was with family.

Mass is not about "the show." It's not all about the music, or a dynamic priest who gives awesome sermons, or the amazing architecture. It's about God. We are required to go to Mass. God made this rule not for His own sake- but for our benefit. And there I was, ruining a true "Heaven on Earth" (because that is what Mass is supposed to be) by wallowing in my own self-pity.

I need to learn patience. I need to learn trust. And I need to learn to get used to that Gloria song, because my husband and I are truly blessed to be a part of a very good and devout parish.