But... I don't adore Him...

It is the first week of Advent. I'm preparing for blog posts and articles about "preparing the way" and having a spiritually fulfilling Advent. While all that joyful stuff is going on I'm going to write a post that has been on my mind for weeks now. I hate writing the "oh, poor me, I suck at being Christian and Jesus doesn't like me" posts, but I just feel the need to get these feelings out on paper my own space.

Mass is hard with a 2 year old who likes to scream and climb everywhere. I rarely ever hear the readings. They could be reading snippets from Harry Potter and I wouldn't even notice. ("A reading from the first book of Kingsley Shacklebolt.") I say the words to the prayers, but I mutter them somewhat mindlessly. However, a few weeks ago I actually paid attention to one little thing I prayed along with the other parishioners, and it I swear I could feel my heart stop.

There I was, saying the words to the Gloria. "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good will. We praise you. We bless you. We adore you. -" and that's where I stopped. The slow realization crept in.

I don't adore God.

I just... don't.

I started thinking of those that I do adore. My first thoughts went immediately to my husband and sons. My heart is filled with an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude for them. They bring me such happiness. Words cannot express just how much I love them. Thinking about my husband and boys brings tears of happiness to my eyes sometimes. Then I started to think about how much I adore my mom. She has helped me in countless ways. Whenever someone hurts her or tries to bring her down I get furious and want to start cracking skulls. I think about how I adore my brother. My heart fills with pride knowing that he protects our city as a police officer and I admire how devoted he is to God and his wife and children.

My adoration extends to my uncles, aunts, cousins, Ryan's family, and my friends. It even goes as far as to some women who I've met over the blogosphere that I've never actually met in person. I love all these people with such a fierce love. When they hurt, I hurt. When they are full of joy, I am full of joy. I would do just about anything for them. I would do just about anything to protect them. I would die for them because I love them so much.

But God? Would I be as brave as those martyrs who chose to be burned alive, beheaded, or tossed into a pit of lions rather than deny their Lord? Of course most of us say that we would die for God, but I sometimes have serious doubts that I would. If I did, I wouldn't be one of those brave and happy saints who danced and sang hymns while being marched to their deaths. I'd be bawling, peeing myself and curled up in the fetal position. Heck, my heart would probably explode from fear before they even got me to the chopping block.

Something is wrong with this picture. My priorities are backwards. It seems I love my husband, my son, my family and friends moreso than God. Jesus says the FIRST and greatest commandment is to love God with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your mind. (Matthew 22: 37) It is sometimes hard for us to put God first in our lives. I know a lot of people who disagree with that ideal. Even though I feel like I don't practice this commandment, I get it. We wouldn't have our loved ones if it weren't for God. God gave us every little thing in our lives... uh... even our life itself, so he should be #1. He became man and died a cruel and torturous death to save each and every one of us from Satan. It makes total sense to love him above all things.

There is no doubt in my mind about the existance of God. I've felt his grace and witnessed his blessings in my life and in others lives. I know he is real.

And there's no doubt that I love him. I really do love him... but not as strongly as I should. I love him in the way you love your 2nd cousin, twice removed. You love them simply because you do, because they are family. It's not a case of "well they are family so I HAVE to love them" because if you are forced to love someone, well, that's not real love. I know my love for God is real, but it's lackluster. I know this sounds so incredibly spoiled and rotten of me, but sometimes I feel God's love for me is lackluster as well.

I thought of all this pretty much the rest of Mass. It has stuck with me. I don't know what my deal is. I love Jesus and I'm thankful for what he has done, but I'm not on fire for him. I am so jealous of those people who have such a zeal and passion for Christ. It's like Jesus in their best friend, their father, their brother... But my Jesus is my 2nd cousin, twice removed that I see on occasion at the family reunion where the only conversation you have with him is the awkward "How are you? How about this weather?" It is hard to love someone you don't see. I know we interact with God in the sacraments, but I just don't feel it. 

I feel so far away from God. I go to Mass because I know I need it the Eucharist. I hate that I have felt this dryness for years now. I know that some of the greatest saints have suffered through dark periods in their spiritual life. Mother Teresa was one who suffered years and years and years of spiritual darkness. However, she still seemed to love God fiercely and did all things to glorify him. Why can't I have that kind of strength? Why does God even let people go through feeling so far away from him? I have heard the "why does God let bad things happen to good people" question over and over again. The answers of free-will, strengthening us, and bringing us closer to him are somewhat satisfactory answers. But why does God abandon super holy people who actually try to cling to him? What kind of God does that? I am not trying to compare myself to these saints. I'm quite lazy on my end of my relationship with God. Still, I want to know why he flits in and out of our lives.

Now here is where some of you readers might think I'm a little cray cray. Just bear with me. Part of me wonders if this distance from God that I am feeling, this "eh" attitude that I have is from the devil. Ooooh great, y'all are probably thinking. Not only is she Catholic and proud of it (what a weirdo..), but she's one of those "LEAVE HER SATAN!" people.

Rest assured, I'm not going all Carrie's mom on you all.

They're all gonna laugh at you!

I often wonder if Satan has planted a "ho hum" seed within me. It's not like I hate God or am questioning his existance. If I were, I'd be clinging to God because I am even more miserable than I am now when I have animosity toward God. And the devil is smart enough not to use all that scary ass demon trickery on me, because the second I start hearing voices or experience creepy shit like upside down crucifixes I'm hauling butt to the priest. I will run faster to God than Usain Bolt because that stuff freaks the eff out of me. Instead, I think the devil is using the subtle tool of not really caring. He's slowly putting out the fire of adoration I have for Jesus. Damn him.

I have experienced dark forces in my life before. I have physically felt spiritual battles going on around me, one of them being the night Joe was born. I know of other people who have also dealt with being sensitive to evil around them. I know Satan is real and he never stops getting us to turn away from God. Thankfully my guardian angel and St. Michael have protected me.

Only God knows who or what is behind the reason for my dull attitude towards him. Maybe it's the post partum hormones ligering around. Maybe it is Satan. Maybe it's just the season of life that I am currently experiencing. I just don't know...

I know what I need to do. I need to get my butt to confession. But here's the conundrum I am facing. I am sorry for my sins because I am utterly terrified of going to hell and want to go to heaven someday. But I cannot fit it into my little dumb brain about how my sins offend God, and therefore I feel like I don't feel truly sorry for my sins. So I feel like a fraud going into the confessional.

I know I should go more to confession more often and go to adoration and read more spiritual material instead of the Entertainment Weekly I have on my nightstand. I need to turn to the Blessed Mother. I need to unplug from the internet on occasion. I was doing all that regularly when I was a student at Benedictine and I felt so much closer to Jesus.

I think this Advent will be a good time for me to really step back and look at what I need to do to start adoring God again. I feel so blah in so many areas of my life. So lonely and melancholy. I need the joy of Advent. I need the joy of Christ. So if you kind folks could throw out any prayers, I'd greatly appreciate it.

I Dread Lent

Every year it happens. About a week before Ash Wednesday the stirrings of "What am I going to give up for Lent?" begin on Facebook. Then, on Mardi Gras, Facebook explodes with profile pictures of "Off Facebook for Lent" and "Goodbye chocolate!" statuses. Not just from Catholics- there are a lot of our Protestant brothers and sisters who give up something for Lent as well. I always thought Lent was a Catholic thang.

Then come the statuses from my friends who are destined to be saints. "Yay Lent!"

To that I want to say, "Are you crazy?!"

I wish I could be like my friends and look to Lent with joy and anticipation. It is a time the Church gave us to grow in holiness and to grow closer to Christ. We should always be doing that, but, Mother knows best- she knows our weaknesses and knows we need a massive spiritual boost oooh... about twice a year.

But what do I see? Lent = dread.

NO MEAT ON FRIDAYS. I am a meat girl. For realz. The only time I ever considered being a vegetarian was when I learned that Jonathan Taylor Thomas was a vegetarian and if I was going to ever marry him I better get used to not eating meat.

Oh, JTT. Don't judge me, people.

That lasted about 43 minutes.

I LOVE my meat. Mmm- MMMM! I eat it everyday. It is so tender. It is so juicy and delicious... Wow. I seriously just zoned out for about 1 minute thinking about meat. I better stop writing about it.

Needless to say, it is hard for me to give up meat. Ironically when I was a student at Benedictine I gave up meat FOR ALL OF LENT. I was much holier then. Not sure what happened to me. I know there are plenty of other things to eat besides meat, but I'm picky. I'm not a big fish fan (except for Long John Silver's fish and fish sticks, but I'm usually laughed at when I say this is the only fish I like.) And those crappy vegetarian meals just don't cut it for me.

I HATE fasting. I love to eat. Snacking is my downfall. I'm not sure if I would have survived back in the day where you couldn't eat anything ALL DAY. That's why old people are holier than us young heathens.

So that's the two major things that bum me out during Lent. But then there are the boring churches. No decorations. Sometimes the statues are covered up. Yes, yes, before you start in- I know all that external stuff is just extra stuff to aid in worship, and half the time I don't even notice it. But when Lent rolls around the difference just stands out to me. Everything is so blah. I feel spiritually blah. The weather outside is blah, no flowers, no color... Lent is just blah. So when the sanctuary is blah, and there is no Gloria or Alleluia sung I feel... lackluster.

Then there is that whole penance thing. Lent is about penance. As a prideful, sinful person, penance is hard. As a person who wants everything to be easy, penance is REALLY hard. I know that I need it, but it's like exercising. I know I need to do it, it's good for you, helps you out in the long run, but I'm lazy. Simple as that.

When I see my friends' Facebook statuses that read "Yay Lent!" or "I love Lent!" I just scratch my head. Is Lent really to be enjoyed? Denying oneself is not easy. But then I remember the Bible verse:

"Whenever you fast, do not put on a gloomy face as the hypocrites do, for they neglect their appearance so that they will be noticed by men when they are fasting. ... But you, when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face." -Matthew 6:16-17

I know my friends know that Lent isn't all sunshine and unicorn glitter. They know it will be hard. Their mouth will salivate when they smell their neighbors grilling steaks on a Friday night. But they have anointed their heads and washed their face. They put on the face of joy and not complaining. That's why they will go to heaven right away and I'll burn in the purifying fires of Purgatory for 900 million years.

Maybe I get so pissy and bitter because I always hope that I'll have some spiritual Renaissance happen to me. I'll finally battle through this spiritual darkness that I've struggled with for the past couple of years. But in the end it is still the same. Nothing has changed. That is just something I will have to work on and pray through.

Why do I even bother doing all this jazz during Lent? As much as I complain I do follow the standards. So why?

Because I love Jesus and I love the Catholic Church. Jesus was tortured, mocked, humiliated, stripped, spat upon, beaten, had huge thorns pierced into his scalp, screamed at by hundreds, had nails driven through his wrists and feet and hung on a cross to die. He didn't die by bleeding to death. He died by slowing suffocating. All this for hours upon hours. As he sees his closest friends abandoning him. As he sees the people who just days before welcomed him into the city as a king now cursing at him and laughing at him.

All this for me. For you.

So of COURSE I can give up meat and gorging myself all day. I really need to stop complaining. All these things we do reminds us of Jesus. These actions remind us that it isn't just food that nourishes us. It is God. Going without food reminds us of the hungry- that we must care for all God's children. Giving up meat and sweets or caffeine reminds us of sacrifice. It helps us to remember the ultimate sacrifice that Christ made for us.

The Church wants what is best for us. That is why she has these guidelines. They are to help us, not hurt us. Why not take advantage of the gifts the Church has given us to grow closer in our relationship with God?

Lent is kind of like our time here on earth. It can be drab and dark. But there is good and growing in it as well. Our time on earth is leading up to our final home in heaven, just as Lent leads up to the glory of Easter. The days get longer, full of sunshine, the flowers begin to bloom, the grass pokes through the barren, cold soil and there is glory and life. Easter comes and in the blah sanctuary is an explosion of pure white lilies, the statues are uncovered to show the holy men and women of heaven and we can finally sing alleluia.

Lent is good. I just need to stop acting all Adam and Eve-ish with that pesky Original Sin and start looking to Jesus.

Praying that you all have a very blessed Lent!

On this third day of Christmas...

I don't know why, but I always get sad when Christmas Day is over. Yes, yes, I know that it is technically still Christmas until the Epiphany, but I just feel like all the magic and splendor of the Christmas season is gone. Christmas morning comes, the presents are opened, and just like that- poof- it's gone. People take down their Christmas trees that day. The neighborhoods are cold and dark with no twinkling lights to shine in the night.

I always get so emotional on Christmas Day, probably due to lack of sleep. However, the days following it I am still morose. For some reason I hate New Year's Eve. I hate all the specials on TV about the year in review. I hate when things come to an end, even something as inevitable as the year. I've always had this melancholy depressed feeling watching the Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve with all the peppy pop culture hoopla and excited people lining the streets of Times Square. Maybe it stems back from when I was in elementary and high school. I knew that once New Years Day came then that meant back to school in two or three days, and that was no fun. Maybe it is because I know there is about three months of crappy, cold and snowy weather. Yes, the first few snows of winter, especially around Christmas are pure magic, but after that I'm sick of it and ready for spring.

I wish the joy of celebrating Christ's birth would storm into my heart. I wish I could be like this:



End of the year blah's. Yay. It doesn't help that I feel like the last 15 months of lack of sleep is catching up with me.

Hopefully this Mrs. Poopy-Pants attitude with go away soon.

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.

Be Not Afraid

I have found my best form of prayer is studying the face of my sleeping son.

Last Sunday I started a novena to St. Michael the Archangel. I wanted protection from fear and an increased faith in God. The novena isn't over yet, but I can feel its graces working already.

I hesitated publishing my last post, because I didn't want it to seem like I was throwing a pity party for myself. However, I am so thankful I hit the publish button because I got so many wonderful and inspirational comments. They were little blessings and helped me tremendously. I am forever thankful for those that commented and offered your prayers. I knew motherhood would be a huge adjustment, but I guess I didn't realize just how big. Your comments reminded me that just the simple things, like nursing my son, can be a form of prayer.

So instead of worrying and fretting while I nursed Joe, I just stared at him. Instead of searching for words to say to God, I just marveled at his masterful artwork in creating every perfect detail of my son. When I came to terms with that being an acceptable form of prayer, I knew things were starting to get better.

It was today that the chains of my spiritual dry spell were finally broken.

Ryan decided to go to the super-duper early Mass and I chose to stay home and go to the 11:00 Mass. When the alarm chimed for me to get up I was immediately put in a bad mood. Ryan would be home soon and he would take care of Joe while I went to Mass. I have no problems going to Mass alone, but I just didn't feel like going today. I was nice and toasty warm all snuggled with Joe beside me. I nursed him and with a soft little sigh he drifted off to sleep in my arms. I was still so tired and watching my Joe sleep made me even sleepier. I didn't want to get out of bed and walk through a drafty cold house, get ready and then drive the 25 miles to church.

I did eventually get up, because missing Mass isn't an option for me. But I wasn't happy about it.

God knew I needed to go to Mass by myself today. He knew I needed to be distraction-free to hear the message he was about to give me. (My darling husband and son are my favorite distractions!)

During the opening blessing, Fr. Kevin mentioned that today's reading would focus on St. Joseph's "yes" to God's will in deciding to take Mary as his wife. I immediately perked up because of my great devotion to St. Joseph. I'm glad I started paying attention because Fr. Kevin's words in his homily seemed like they were meant just for me.

He talked about how Joseph had an idea on how his life would go, but then God threw a wrench in that plan. That got me thinking- Joseph learning his betrothed was pregnant with a child who wasn't his and eventually becoming the adopted father of the Savior of the world must have been quite a shock to him. He was probably very content before he got the news- he was betrothed to a woman he loved and cared for deeply. She was beautiful and kind. He couldn't wait to start their life together. He probably had plans on what their new home would look like. He imagined celebrating feasts and celebrations with his darling wife. He imagined growing old with her in their normal, simple and humble life. He probably assumed that when he and Mary had lived their lives and passed away that in a hundred years they wouldn't be remembered.

Well, we all know that isn't quite how Joseph's plans turned out. That reminds me of the saying, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans." God probably got quite the chuckle out of Joseph's plan. "Oh, my dear Joseph, my plans are so much better than yours" is what the Lord Almighty probably thought... and I know he thinks that about me too. Maybe it's not in God's plan for Ryan and I to live near family or to have a bunch of kids. Whenever I think of my plan not lining up with God's I focus on the "BUT I WANT IT MY WAY!" and I forget to remember that Father really does know best. I forget that he only wants what is best for us and his will is ultimately good, even if it doesn't match up perfectly with how we want our life to go.

Fr. Kevin also mentioned how fearful Joseph must have been. He had a huge decision to make regarding what should happen to Mary since she got pregnant outside of marriage. Then when he realized the magnitude of the truth of the situation, he had to face his fears and completely trust in God's guidance. He had to face the fear of being the guardian of the Messiah. He had to face the fear of being looked down upon by society since he chose to stay married to Mary. He had to face the fear of journeying into an unknown life in Egypt to escape the evils of King Herod.

I finally realized what is really responsible for my spiritual despair. It is fear. I am fearful of many things. I'm afraid that God doesn't love me as much as his other children. I am afraid of what other people think of me if I proclaim my love of my faith. I'm afraid I will offend someone. I'm afraid people will think I am a fool for not using birth control and wanting a large family and rejecting some aspects of our popular culture. I'm afraid that we will never have enough money to be at peace. I'm afraid I will be a horrible mother and fail to raise my children to get to heaven. I'm afraid some tragedy will strike my loved ones. I'm afraid that we look like failures to other people. I'm afraid God doesn't trust me in doing great things with my life. I'm afraid God doesn't trust me to be a mother to many children and that's why his will was for me to have a c-section. (Can you tell that I still have some hang-ups on having a c-section? I need to realize that not everyone has the "perfect birth." Look at Mary- I'm sure she didn't plan on having her Savior son born nearly a hundred miles from her home in a cave with livestock. It's not like the archangel Gabriel added at the end of the Annunciation- "Oh yeah, and your son, the King of the World, will be born in a barn. After you travel, like, for forever.")

I need to stop being so afraid. I need to learn to trust God (that's hard for me- a stubborn, sinful control-freak.) HE WILL TAKE CARE OF US. HIS WILL IS THE BEST FOR US. I am hiding behind my fear. I am letting my fears and worries control my life and get in the way of my joy.

Earlier this week I read a post written by the lovely Betty Duffy. She writes about how she refuses to let other people and situations steal her joy. Instead of succumbing to anger, she refuses to let the good stuff of life be stamped out. I need to adopt this mentality. Instead of being all glum that I had to have a c-section and possibly future c-sections, I can't let that take away my joy of having a healthy beautiful child. If some day I announce my 5th pregnancy or a pregnancy soon after a birth and we get judged and criticised, I won't let that take away my joy of being able to participate in the miracle of life. The next time I get bummed out that my husband has to work late or miss a family get together, I won't let that steal my joy of being thankful that he has a job and that I do get to spend a lot of time with him. He could be in the military and be gone for many months at a time. Instead of worrying so much about being secure financially I need to remember my joy in knowing we have wonderful family members that have been generous to us and that there are more important things in life. There might be people out there that have no debt and own their own home and have matching furniture, but can't get pregnant or find a spouse. If someone makes a comment that drives me crazy at a special function, I won't let that take away the joy of having a good time.

I know I can achieve not having my joy stolen. I have done it once before. I was a little late getting to the church for my wedding (and I HATE HATE HATE being late for ANYTHING... it makes me super anxious) and our cake was a little lopsided because of the platter it was on. That might have freaked out some brides, but I refused to let it take away the joy of this special day. My wedding day was one of the best days of my life, and even though there were minor mishaps, the sacrament was perfect.

Yes, I did think of all this after his homily was over. During the offertory the song director decided to change the song selection. We sang "Be Not Afraid." It was like God whispered into the ears of the director, "Someone in the congregation needs to hear this." As we were singing, "Be not afraid... I go before you always. Come, follow me, and I will give you rest" tears started filling my eyes. I don't mean to sound melodramatic, but I could physically feel the spiritual dry spell lifting from my soul. It was like my heart was made of stone, and God finally touched it, and the stone shattered and I could feel the grace just infuse through my body. It was like I had been tense for months, and I could finally breathe and take a sigh of relief. I choked on the words of the hymn and tried so hard not to bawl like a little baby. Like the words of the song said I could finally be at rest because God is always there.

For the first time in months I walked up to receive communion with a happy heart. Again, tears filled my eyes as Fr. Kevin said, "The Body of Christ." My "Amen" was stronger than it has been in a very long time. I could feel the grace from the Eucharist solidify feelings of peace.

As I left church the sun was shining after a long gloomy morning. I knew for a fact that my spiritual dry spell was over because a man dressed up as Santa Claus came in church and "Ho, Ho, Ho'd" right before the final song. No, I am not anti-Santa, but that gimmicky stuff at Mass usually makes me want to tear my hair out. Instead I smiled and found joy in seeing all the little kids' faces light up.

In some ways I wish that I could have gotten over my dry spell at the beginning of Advent so I could have had a more meaningful beginning of the liturgical new year. But Advent is a time of waiting. I have been waiting for Jesus to come to my heart and fill it with grace and he has finally come on this last Sunday of Advent.

I now have a week to really enjoy and appreciate the Christmas season. So this will be my last blog post for awhile. I am going to find joy in wrapping gifts for my loved ones. I will find joy in sewing my husband's Christmas stocking. I will find joy in sitting in the living room with nothing on but the Christmas lights and hold and snuggle my son. I will find joy in giving my husband a kiss when he comes home from work and holding his hand. I will find joy in making cookies and a gingerbread house with my nieces and nephew. I will find joy in singing at Midnight Mass and being with my hometown parish family. I will find joy in sitting around and talking with my family and eating good food. I will find joy in knowing that Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior and he loves me and will take care of me.

The last song we sang in Mass today was "O Come, Divine Messiah." The refrain verse is, "O Come, Divine Messiah, The world in silence waits the day, when hope shall sing its triumph, and sadness flee away.

Finally, my sadness has fled away.

Many blessings to you and your family! Have a very joyful and merry Christmas!

My Hopes and Fears As a Catholic Woman

A couple nights ago I hit rock bottom. Well, maybe not quite rock bottom, but it was pretty darn close.

I wouldn't call what I am going through a spiritual dry spell. It feels much worse than that. In my experiences of dry spells I am usually just very lazy and have no motivation to strengthen my relationship with God. This one feels different. I try to pray. I try to pay attention at Mass and make use of the graces I receive. But when I pray, no words come out. When I am at Mass it just sounds like a bunch of meaningless words.

The other night I was bound and determined to have a nice long talk with God. I even set the mood for contemplative prayer. I had my sleeping son in my arms, nothing but Christmas lights on and classical Christmas music playing softly in the background. The scene was beautiful- the lights creating a calming ambiance, the relaxing music, and being all snuggled up, nice and warm, smelling that wonderful baby smell radiating from my sweet boy.

It was the perfect atmosphere for prayer. My son, husband and dog were fast asleep so I didn't have to worry about any distractions. Yet, here I was, searching for the words to use to speak to God. My mind was blank. I have a million and one things I need to pray about, yet nothing came out. It was like God and I were sitting at a table across from each other just staring at each other. We have so much to say, but no one is talking.

After awhile I gave up and went to bed. An hour or so later, Joe woke up to nurse. Usually he falls right back to sleep after he's done but this night he was starting to fuss. I was worried that he would wake up Ryan. Normally Ryan would get up to help, but he had to work the next morning at 6:00 a.m. Thankfully Joe calmed down before he got too loud and I put him in his bassinet.

It was about 30 minutes later, just when I had gotten back to sleep, when Joe started crying again. I picked him up and sat with him in our bed and tried to rock and soothe him. That didn't work. I tried burping him. Nothing. I tried offering my breast again. Maybe he wasn't finished eating after that first feeding. That one really didn't work and he got louder and louder. I was getting so frustrated that I couldn't comfort my child.

Ryan woke up before I had a chance to get out of there. I was so tired and I didn't want to get out of bed. But finally I realized that Joe wasn't going to be comforted in this room so I reached over on my night stand to get my glasses.

I accidentally bumped my glasses and I could hear them fall and skid across the floor. I don't have a lamp next to my bed so I'd have to go searching for them in the dark.

I laid Joe next to Ryan and I tried to move his bassinet so I could get to my glasses. The darn thing wouldn't move. Usually it rolls but one of the wheels was stuck and I couldn't move it. I tried lifting it but it got caught on the carpet. In my frustration I kicked it out of the way. I finally found my glasses. I picked up Joe and started walking out of the room. I nearly tripped over the footstool to the rocking chair and I muttered a curse word into my innocent son's ear. Talk about feeling even crappier about yourself...

I finally made it into the living room. I sat in the recliner where I had sat just hours before. Joe started drifting off to sleep on my shoulder and I held him close. I buried my face into him and let the tears fall. I didn't want to be like this in front of my son. So full of anger and frustration. No happiness or joy on my face. It seems like that is how I've been for quite some time.

I sat in the dark. No pretty Christmas lights or music to lift my spirits. You'd think that here, in one of my darkest hours I would finally get over those stumbling blocks of prayer and be able to reach out to God.

No such luck.

I've had a couple of days to reflect on my actions and attitude. Nothing has really changed. Sometimes the only prayer I can get out is, "Lord give me faith" over and over again. I guess that is better than nothing.

I want to be the best Catholic woman I can possibly be. I feel like I am failing miserably at that goal. I compare myself to others way too much. I observe on facebook and other blogs of these awesome holy women. They pray rosaries, they go to Bible studies, they have nightly prayer devotions with their husbands. They seem so incredibly happy. I remember a conversation I had with a friend when we were discussing those people who just seem to be bursting with happiness all the time. "There's no way they can be that happy," she said. I agreed... to a point. I've seen these people. And most of the time they are devout Christian. I know their life isn't perfect. Maybe they aren't happy 100% of the time, but they are at peace. I know this to be true, because I was like that at one point- when it was easy to talk to God and not be ashamed to be called his daughter.

I know many people have the same troubles of feeling like God doesn't hear their prayer. I have felt like that for months. I feel like a little kid tugging on my Daddy's shirt, desperate for any kind of attention. "Father! God!" I yell, but he's too busy showering graces and blessings on his other children to really notice me. He pats me on the head and says, "Just a minute" but like a toddler I have no patience.

I once read a post about women who prayed to St. Gerard, patron of expectant mothers, and they shared their good news of being able to avoid a c-section or having a wonderful natural childbirth. I got jealous. I had prayed to St. Gerard not to get pre-eclampsia and begged not to have a c-section and look what I ended up with. Sure, during my long process of induction I told God that he had control of my body and that I trusted him, but deep down I was begging that a miracle would happen and my cervix would open up and I could have the birth I wanted. I thought I had enough faith in that miracle, so when things didn't go as planned I was upset. Did God not have enough faith in me that I could handle a natural childbirth? Does he not think I will be a good mother to 4 or 5 kids so he made it so that achieving that number will be more difficult since more than likely I will have to have repeat c-sections?

I get mad when I don't get my way. Then I get pissed off at myself because I realize how damn selfish I am being. MY SON IS HEALTHY. Sure, I had some blood pressure complications after his birth, but they went away and I am healthy too. Why must I insist on focusing on the negative and forget about the blessings? I have tons of good things in my life to be thankful for and has answered my prayers before.

Why can't I be like those perpetually joyful people instead of a Negative Nancy? Last December, a college classmate of mine lost her baby son when he was only 24 weeks gestation. Her facebook status was always positive and showed her up most faith in the Lord. "Praising God in the storm!" was one of her statuses, and I couldn't believe her unshakable faith. Here I am complaining about having a c-section when there are women out there who would kill for a c-section if it meant that they could have a living and breathing baby in their arms. I want to be like her- I want people to say "Wow, she has such great faith." I want to be an inspiration.

Maybe I don't pray enough. Maybe my side of the relationship between God and me is so screwed up. But I've prayed and prayed for certain things to happen and they haven't yet. I know that God doesn't answer yes to all prayers and in our suggested time frame. However, we haven't received ANY direction from him. My husband and I feel like we are at a dead end and waiting for God to tell us what to do next, and he hasn't. It is taking a toll on me. I feel utterly depressed and in despair sometimes. This isn't a depression that can be fixed with the Zoloft I am already taking for postpartum... it's a depression only felt when it seems like your Father in Heaven has forgotten about you.

What really upsets me is that I'm afraid that if I don't live up to be a good Catholic woman, then I will fail as a good Catholic mother. A couple weeks ago I received my magazine issue of Family Foundations from Couple to Couple League. I flipped though it and there was an article about Advent family activities. I got excited about the possibilities of doing faith-filled activities with Joe someday.

I look at my friends' pictures on facebook and some of them are so beautiful they bring tears to my eyes. One woman has pictures of her young sons playing with rosaries. She's also baked a rosary out of cupcakes and made saint cookies. Another friend of mine has pictures of her little boys playing Mass. I've read blogs of women whose daughters are very interested in learning the faith.

I know Joe is a little too young to start his interest in Catholicism. So far in his 14 weeks of life he's only missed Mass twice- one of the Sundays he was still in the hospital after he was born and the other was when he was really sick. He used to always snooze during Mass, but now he is usually awake in a quiet alert state. We've had a lot of comments on how well-behaved he is. I'm sure that won't last forever! I also read to him a children's rhyming Bible he got for his baptism, but that's pretty much it when it comes to exposing him to the faith.

But when he is old enough to understand, what kind of role model will I be for him? How can I teach him to love the faith when right now I feel so troubled by it? How can we have family rosary time if I don't ever pray the rosary now? How can I teach him to love Scripture when I rarely crack open a Bible? How can I teach him to pray when my prayer life stinks? How can I teach him to be a happy person, when I feel depressed all the time?

I don't want to half-way parent in any area: in my child's health, education, emotions and especially in their faith formation. But since I can't take care of myself in these areas all the time, how can I take care of a child's? I want to have a lot of kids. I want to glorify God. I want to make a difference. But how can I when I feel so far away from Him?

In the end, I know things will work out. I am definitely learning the meaning of waiting during this Advent season. If I don't have faith in God, then I have nothing.

Rock Bottom...

33 weeks today

I try and keep it light and funny, and occasionally spunky here at From the Heart. No such luck today... sorry folks.

No wondering Wednesday post today. Actually, if I'm wondering anything, it's when this spiritual dry spell will end. I wouldn't even call it a spiritual dry spell... I feel completely drained of anything spiritual.

I have been so tired lately. I'm sure part of the reason is being so pregnant, but I feel it is much more than that. The other day I was so tired I didn't have enough energy to go brush my teeth. I was so desperate to rid myself of that nasty morning breath/cereal/orange juice taste in my mouth, but I when I would stand up, a wave of exhaustion would crash over me like a tidal wave. All I did was crawl on the couch where my husband was sitting and sob in his lap. There he was, gently holding his pitiful wife who had bad breath, a desperate need to shave her legs and was due to put some deodorant on.

Yesterday was a horrible day. It started out by reading a beautifully written blog post from Femininity Revisited. She wrote that her dreams of being a stay at home mother were literally too late to be fulfilled. The post broke my heart and of course I bawled my little eyes out. I felt so bad for her, but also was afraid that her dilemma could be my fate. As much negative criticism I get for wanting to be a SAHM and have more than 2 kids, I get a lot of positive feedback as well (mostly from you lovely folks in the blogosphere.) "You can do it! Trust God! Budget well! If we can do it, you can do it!" Unfortunately at this point I have this big fear that we won't be able to manage it. Maybe it isn't God's plan for me to stay at home. But I have the strongest pull and desire to be a SAHM. It isn't because it's what other people do or because I'm lazy and don't want to work or because I want to be one of those crazy, smothering mothers who end up having spoiled children. I feel it in my heart.

Yesterday I received some pretty crappy financial news. I'm surprised I didn't bawl on the phone with the lady who delivered this news, but I sure did after I hung up. I crawled into the fetal position and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. It wasn't just because of this news- it was a combination of feeling alone and worrying about the future. I literally was crying out to God to help us. (Ryan was at the store. My dog was looking at me with confused eyes.) I was sobbing so hard I started having a panic attack. I could feel the hyperventilating coming on and as I was gasping for breath while tears were streaming in my mouth I remembered that if I wasn't getting oxygen, my baby wasn't getting oxygen. I grabbed my belly and took deep breaths. "I gotta calm down for the baby" was something I repeated over and over again. Miraculously, my panic attack quickly subsided- almost instantaneously, and for those who have been around me when I've had an attack know that it usually takes a long long time to calm me down. It's amazing what one can do for someone they love so much.

I've been meaning to write a post on depression during pregnancy but haven't gotten around to it. But I know the difference between depression and spiritual emptiness. I still love being pregnant. Sure it's getting harder to move around and sleeping at night is practically impossible, but when people keep saying to me, "I bet you're ready for this pregnancy to be over with!" I only agree because I am ready to see my son in person. But I still love looking and rubbing my growing belly. I love feeling the nudges and rolls and the way my stomach moves when he's doing the rumba in there. I love pressing down on the hard parts of my belly (maybe a foot? or his head?) and knowing that I'm just a couple inches away from touching my child. I know I am tired because of this growing baby (he's over 17 inches long now!) and maybe that is causing this spiritual dry spell. I feel like I'm in a very deep pit. I look up and see God way up there, out of the pit. I know he's there. I know I can get to him. I just have no mental or physical energy to use the ladder right next to me to climb out of the pit.

I know God doesn't get annoyed, but if he did, he sure would be annoyed with me. Last night while praying I said, "I'm sure I'm driving you nuts, Lord. When I need you the most I run to you and cling to you. But when things are going OK, I put you on the back-burner." I think I'm going to start a novena or dig through my book shelf to find my In Conversation with God devotional. I have no energy to do so, but I will power through.

How Do You Pray?

What do you call what I am going through? It's not a spiritual dry spell, really. I guess what I think of as a spiritual dry spell is when I start having doubts of God's love for me, His will for my life, or even His existence. It's that udder despair when you feel the one reliable aspect of your life (God) is a ga-jillion miles away. Usually good ol' confession blasts that feeling away.

That's not what I'm feeling. No despair here. I think reading blogs regarding religion has helped in that area. But no matter how awesome a blog post is, I have been feeling spiritually lazy. Just blah-ness. Maybe that is what I'll call it- a spiritual blah spell.

Maybe it is because of the parishes I go to for Mass. I know it's wrong to "parish shop" but I don't feel anything powerful when I go to Mass. I remember feeling so spiritually uplifted after Mass in my college home town or at my mom's church. What is the difference? I know I am getting the same amount of graces no matter how spiritually satisfied I feel after Mass... but I just feel.... b l a h.

Maybe I should start reading more spiritual material. But that is all I've read for the past 5 years whether it be in text book form or saint biography form. Instead of reading my Navarre Bible before bed I've been reading Harry Potter. (Don't even start with the whole H.P. is witchcraft devil voo-doo and that's why I am feeling spiritually blah. I will go all Chuck Norris on that argument!) I just felt I needed some non-intellectual stimulation.

But I know what my main problem is: my prayer life stinks. The only time I really pray is when my husband and I pray before bedtime, and even then sometimes I'm too tired to really put my heart into it, and other times we start going off into our own discussions.

Other times I get so distracted when I pray. It doesn't matter if I pray before I go to sleep or pray in the middle of the day. It's like my brain is channel surfing while I pray.

I know that steadfast praying can combat this spiritual laziness. I just have no motivation. I could pick up a rosary or a prayer book- I just need to get off my spiritually lazy bum and DO it. I have prayed since I was a child, but sometimes I feel like I don't know how to pray.


How do you pray? If y'all have any suggestions- please throw them my way!

In a Funk

I feel like a selfish child. I feel mad. I feel empty. And there's no reason why I should feel these things. I'm just in a spiritual funk. I've felt that way since Friday, and maybe it is because Ryan worked evenings this weekend and I felt really lonely. I should be thankful that I did get to spend time with him before he left for work....but like I said, I feel like a selfish child. I feel another spiritual dry spell coming on. During Advent. Awesome. I wish I could have my big brother's thankful attitude toward God right now. (Here comes the selfish child again...) I guess instead of wasting time reading blogs and feeling sorry for myself I should focus on the big picture.

I don't have a lot of time to blog today. I could ramble on and on and on about my feelings, but today my husband is in Kansas City searching for a new job. We've been praying hard for this. We've felt stuck in a rut for awhile. We're waiting for the next step in our lives. This could be it...but we have to prepare ourselves that it may not be "it" yet. Maybe my mixed feelings of nervousness and excitement are adding to the funk. But no matter what, God's will be done.

Instead of writing a lament of "Why me? I wanted Advent to be special this year!' I'll leave you with some YouTube videos. The first one is very clever, and you've probably seen it because I've seen it buzzing around different blogs. (I found it at Creative Minority Report.) The other one is a good one to think about during this busy holiday season. Enjoy!

*If you don't mind...if you have a minute, please offer up a prayer for us.