First Retreat After Covid

Since I returned to the Catholic Church, I had never experienced a period of dryness like I have during and post pandemic.  Scared of bringing the virus home and infecting my parents, I stayed away from everything except work.  I was watching Mass online, but my religious groups all closed shop and for once I was living life without community.  Finding myself virtual teaching, I had no desire to login to more zoom calls as some of my prayer groups opened back in that format.  After, that difficult first year my introvert side started enjoying being home and I slowly became a content recluse.  This past year, with what seems like the worst behind us and society starting to open up again – I have struggled getting back into my religious community.  I attended a couple times, but then tiredness and a need to be alone win when I think of going out.  Yet, all this time away from like minded people has depleted my soul, I feel like that fire that used to burn so intensely now only embers remain.

As I perused bulletins from various surrounding parishes, I noticed that one near me was having a Women’s Retreat.  I was surprised because this was the only retreat that I had seen since Covid reopening, but the title “Welcome Retreat” was off-putting because I thought it might be for new and non-Catholics.  I spoke with a friend who attends Saint Simon and Jude and she said that the title was not meant to be understood that way, so I signed up.  I knew that I needed something extraordinary to light those embers back up and the fact that I had missed my practice of yearly retreats – I knew this could be a lifeline to Jesus. 

The Saturday morning of the retreat I was struggling with a migraine that had plagued me since the day before and I was under so much pain that I almost missed it.  However, the retreat organizer had been in constant communication with me and I knew that it was being sponsored by the parish, the hotel had been paid as well as all accommodations for me – so guilt made me get out of bed and “just show up.”  I didn’t pack an overnight bag because I was thinking that I would probably not stay because I was feeling physically unwell, but when I got to the Ayres Hotel I was stripped from my cell phone and told I would get it back the following day at the end of the retreat.  My cell phone has never been confiscated before so I was stunned when I handed it over and then when I realized what I had done I knew that I couldn’t just disappear.  I took some Advil and hoped for the best.

As the first person went up to share her talk, I was thinking this is going to be just like any other retreat.  The format felt highly familiar and I was still thinking of the “Welcome” retreat label and continued to feel like there was no element of surprise.  However, by the time the second speaker was done sharing I was in tears because God was stirring those embers by showing what I think was the revelation of this weekend with God.  God showed me that He wants me to have an adult relationship with Him.  He wants me to grow: “when I was a child, I talked like a child, thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a (wo)man, I set aside childish ways.”  With each speaker’s testimony I was blown away by each story, each heartbreak, each deliverance.  The speakers were women (not girls) with mature stories!  That’s what was different, that was the surprise – mature faith.

I was able to participate in the Sacraments. I went to confession after the longest period of absence since I returned to the faith and that culminated with receiving the Eucharist!  We had a small group so Father invited us up to the altar during consecration.  It was such a beautiful, first time experience to be so near during such a holy moment.  Everything else that occurred was just icing on the cake! In one week, I will be heading to my first pilgrimage since Covid closures and I know that because of this retreat I will be traveling no longer feeling like a black sheep, but rather like a sheep who lost her way and has rejoined the flock.  “God is good all the time, all the time God is good!”              

Some Thoughts

When I got laid off from my mortgage job, I asked God that if in my future I was to be a career woman to provide me with a job that I was happy to wake up and go to.  Or that if I was to be a house wife to provide me with a good, Catholic fellow.  Well, when I was hired as a teacher I figured that for the time being God’s desire was for me to work and help the many young souls that come into my classroom.  I made the commitment that my entire focus would be to making sure that I transitioned well into my job, especially after so many tries and failures (at teaching) due to my mental illness.  I had a weird schedule the first year and had to give up my bible study groups along with sacrificing my social life.  Then the pandemic hit and isolation hit the entire world.

Post pandemic, my work schedule changed to a normal 8AM – 4PM schedule and now that I feel like I am succeeding at my job I am more able to focus my attention to other areas of my life.  Though on a daily I never know how my day will go; whether I will have a free moment to gather my thoughts, or if I will be able to take my full hour lunch or sacrifice it to run student council- I am more able to balance work and the rest of my life.  I have become more intentional of doing things for me as I have seen the consequences of just working. While I love my job (minus the drive), I need my Catholic community to keep a healthy mind.  Thus, I am really looking forward to my first trip since the lockdown this upcoming October.

To prepare I am going on a two day retreat next weekend with my local parish.  I am hoping that participating in the sacraments, being around other God loving folks and the talks will ignite the neglected embers in my soul.  Since my reversion to the Catholic faith, I haven’t been this cold in my faith and I definitely don’t want to remain here.  I know for a fact, that my mental health requires both medication and my faith community and these past couple of years that has been quite evident.  Maybe God is trying to show me that man doesn’t live of bread alone.            

The Honest Truth

Growing up, I had a lot of wishy-washy adults who would say things to me and get me all rattled up only for it to not be true. 

“We will take you to Thrifty’s for ice cream.”

“We’re going to the park for a family picnic.”

“We are taking you to your cousin’s Easter egg hunt…”

“I am going to stop drinking.”

For the most they were little promises because poor people have simple dreams - but even though they were small plans the crush of not meeting the promise was as defeating as a let down of a trip around the world. Or missing the MEGA Lottery win by a number.

Yet, every week I would have an adult who would rattle my heart with promises too soon gone with the wind. 

“We are walking to Bun ‘N’ Burger for lunch Saturday.”

Sometimes with a sense of exasperation I would reply under my breath, “No, we are not,” but on that Saturday I would privately hope that this was the day that a promise would be fulfilled. 

With time, I lost faith in words and promised that when I had some sense of control over my life my yes would be a yes and my no would be a no. I was young, when I realized how your words had to match your actions, especially when making declarations that affected other people.                 

One day, as a recent revert in Mass my mom and I heard the story, about the two brothers who say “yes” and “no” to his father’s request. “Which brother obeyed?” Father asked during the homily.  My mom elbowed me in the pew, “You are like the one that says “no” and then always follows through!”  Usually when she asks me to do something I always jokingly say, “no” first.

I don’t have children, but with my nephew I try really hard to not make promises I don’t intend to keep because I know how damaging they can be. I mean a broken promise cost me to walk away from my faith for many, many years.  So, to say that I value honesty is an understatement. In fact, when I was in therapy I had to learn to not be too honest.  For example, if your meeting your boyfriend’s best friend for the first time who cooked dinner specially for you and you secretly dislike it, you don’t say, “I could have gone without the sausage.” Which is a true story. I did that in a previous relationship only to learn that sometimes the truth needs to be omitted or presented in a more positive way to avoid hurt feelings. Instead I could have said, “I really liked the sauce.”

I prided myself in my honesty because I didn’t want to be like so many adults whose words let me down, but I had to learn that honesty needs to come with an ounce of grace.  Not all of our opinions need to be vocalized.  In my honesty journey, I am learning that honesty requires tactic, because my words cannot raise false hopes, but they shouldn’t hurt feelings unnecessarily.    

My Folks & I

One of the great things about getting older is that you are more confident in who you are as a person and the desire to prove yourself seems to diminish.  I just remember growing up I so (and I should capitalize that for emphasis) SO desired to be seen as normal.  My therapist would say that because I grew up in such a chaotic home (due to alcoholism and poverty) that my desire to be normal stemmed there.  I wanted so bad to change what was happening in my home that I sought to be perfect to fool outsiders. 

In growing up, I have finally accepted that normal doesn’t exist. 

As I have gotten older, especially once I started attending college some friends would make comments about when I was going to move out and leave my family.  It’s unhealthy for grown-ups to live at home.  Some days I felt shame and other days I felt like I really needed to leave the nest.  Again, this question of how abnormal was continued to be thrown my way.  Because I moved to this country, I needed to enculturate and do what all adult American’s do and that was to get my own place… 

I am glad that my parents put up such a fight when they didn’t let me leave my nest, because I don’t think that my life would be as rich as it has been.  In Mexico, kids don’t leave home unless they get married and no one blinks an eye, but here if you don’t live on your own by a certain age all these negative connotations smack you in the face. 

Growing up poor, my dream was to buy my parents a house.  If you live in California one is lucky if one can afford to purchase one home let alone two. So, I have been living in this dream home with the people I love most and I have finally realized that I don’t care if people look at me and think negatively because I love coming home to my family.  My parents give me SO MUCH joy! Recently, they took a trip to Mexico and I wanted to call them every day, but I stopped myself from being so clingy (LOL) and only called them twice a week. They were gone for three weeks and coming home to an empty nest felt sickening.  I was as depressed as my little Francis who didn’t eat for the first two days out of pure sadness. 

On Thursday, they returned and boy has the mood in my home changed.  It was when after a long day of work, as I was stuck on the 405 (impatient to get home) that I realized how much I am a family person.  I don’t care that living alone gives this admired gold star “yep, she has her stuff together,” because living with my folks doesn’t take away from the responsible person that I am.  I mean I have been working since I was fifteen years old! My parents will tell you that out of their children I am the one that they least worry about…  I will tell you that I am blessed to have these years to live so closely with the best people on the planet that I know.  No regrets about not leaving the nest- in fact only the best memories of a constantly full house to arrive to.    

Reengaging in my Spiritual Community

I started in-person weekly bible study again.  A couple of weeks ago, I finally went back and was met by the warmest welcome from my old friends.  Half of the old Monday night group is still attending the rest are new parishioners to the now Wednesday night meeting.  I wasn’t expecting my return to have such a positive effect on me; being there gave me so much hope!  The group is on week fifteen of “The Bible Timeline,” and even though I have taken this series before I am learning so many great things.  Beyond the academic learning, it’s just so nice being around people of faith!  They took me in without hesitation even though they are quite into the series and provided me with the materials to quickly make me feel part of the group again.

This pandemic has made me even more of a homebody.  I have always loved being home and with the social restrictions I feel like I became even more reclusive.  It’s difficult to find the motivation to leave my home- the other day I rented a movie instead of going to the movie theatre – which is so unlike me (I love movie theatre popcorn)!  Thus, even though things are back in business, I have little inspiration to leave my home.  My habits changed during the lockdown and now getting myself to make changes – to be more social is such a struggle!

It took me forever to go back to the bible study group, even though they have been meeting for a few months now.  I blamed my job and how tired I am afterward for not attending sooner, but the reality is that I need to create new habits.  I need to start attending all the events that used to inspire my faith regularly.  Though, I am finding it a struggle to reengage in my spiritual social life, I know that I am in desperate need of it.  I think once I have added this Wednesday Bible study to my routine then I can start looking into adding more things, like the classes to complete my Master Catechist certificate. Little by little…  

All I Lost Was a Hat, Not My Name

I have a new student from Tehran, who has a really thick accent.  In my interaction with him I have noticed that he gets really upset when any mention to his accent or race is mentioned.  I wanted to refer him to our English Specialist and he got really offended and said that even though he had a thick accent that he didn’t need any assistance- he went on this long angry discourse. When I finally got a word in, I told him that it had nothing to with his accent that in his file I just noticed that he hadn’t been reclassified because he had failed the ELPAC. As, I have gotten to him I sense this great need to shed cultural ties because he just wants to be a normal American kid.  He wants this so much that he is, rocking the Raybans, The Converse, Adidas Tees and shedding his birth name - legally changing it to Henry with a nice American last name… I wish I could tell him (in a way that he would believe) that he is perfect; even with his beautiful, unusually difficult name to pronounce.

After moving to America, it took me decades to put to rest the feeling of being different-in-a-bad-way to stop seeking Americanisms as my perceived view of perfection.  Even as a child, the students in my elementary school made me feel ugly different.  It wasn’t just that I didn’t speak the language- I also dressed differently and even with the language barrier I knew that my style of dress wasn’t approved.  You see, in Mexico parents dress their girls in dresses and tie their daughters’ hair in bows because presentation is important.  Looking presentable easily equates with you coming from a good hard-working family – and reputation is held to a high esteem.  When we moved here, my mother continued to dress me in frilly dresses and to beach loving kids this manner of dress was something one wore on special occasions.  So, I knew that I needed to tone it down.  So, slowly I chose jeans and a t-shirt over the dresses.

But…

Every year, on school picture day, my mom would spend weeks planning my photo outfit down to the last detail.  I was in fifth grade and the TV show “Blossom” was all the rage along with large hats with fake flowers.  Well, my mom (my sister might have helped) found a blush pink bucket hat and hot glued a large white Dahlia on the front.  She put me in my new handmade dress, curled my hair and plumped the hat on my head.  The look of satisfaction in her face made me keep the hat on until I was safe from her view.  Once, I knew I was a safe distance from home and far enough from school I took off the hat and shoved it my backpack.  I spent the hours until picture time tortured, concocting a plan on how to put the hat on right before the photographer snapped my picture.  Yet, when it was time for me to take my picture the hat remained in my backpack- I feared the teasing more than my mother’s wrath.  When I got home, mom wanted to know all the details.  I thought of waiting until the proofs came in before telling her that I hadn’t worn the hat, instead I told her that I wasn’t allowed to wear the hat.

 “No hats allowed in school,” I whispered.

She was so angry, I thought she might call the school and complain, “Why did they not allow you to wear it just for the picture!  After all, am I not the one paying for those pictures?!”

To this day she still believes that the school forbade me from wearing my hat on picture day.  This story had long been forgotten, until I came across a box full of vintage hats at a neighborhood yard sale.  I bought it, gave my neighbor ten bucks and I went home salivating over the ribbons, feathers, veils and flowers of my new hat lot.  As I sat at home, handling each one I thought how much I missed the good old days and then just like that I remembered my “Blossom” hat and the picture that never was because I was afraid to be colorful, Mexican me.  But, all I lost was a hat, not my name. 

Moving Back to In Person

Lent is starting this week and I am looking forward to a time of conversion in a way that I hadn’t needed before.  This year, I am looking forward to bringing community back into my life.  After a couple years of seeing people virtually or not at all, I am being more intentional about doing things the good old-fashioned way, face-to-face.  Though I have enjoyed and been blessed to have my monthly women’s group, fraternity and Franciscan formation continue to meet virtually these past hectic months – I crave for my weekly in person bible study to be back on my schedule and established as a routine again.  I also, hope my other groups will slowly begin to meet in person soon. 

For Mass I have rotated between virtual and in-person attendance based on the spikes of Covid mostly for my parent’s sake.  They are retired and watch the news and this has made them quite worrisome about our safety, so in order to help them keep peace of mind I have modified my actions.  Now, though I think that we are back to feeling more optimistic about the pandemic that I have returned to in person Eucharist.  While I missed going in person severely, joining online has been such a beautiful experience because I was able to attend live streaming all over the US.  I got to see many ways communities’ worship and I learned a lot more about the Eucharist and how to enhance community involvement.

My favorite virtual attendance where at parishes where more traditional people attend because I loved seeing the veils and listening to classic hymns.  I also enjoyed the parishes that did the spiritual communion prayer for those worshiping from home.   The best thing that I witnessed was a community in Kansas that has a chalice that travels each week to a different family to remind them to pray for priests and vocations.  They announced the name of the family that would be receiving the chalice, the family then came to front where the priest handed over a box (with chalice inside) and sent them to pray and return the chalice the following Sunday for a new family to take over.  I was so excited by this, even from my screen at home since I had never witnessed anything like it.

Yet, even with all the great intel that I have gathered from my virtual faith life, it doesn’t compare to the intimacy that occurs during in-person attendance.  Even though, two years plus into the pandemic I have gotten used to login from home to attend the few options available to keep my faith in communion with others- nothing compares to the beauty of physically being with other people.  I miss the sideline conversations, the small group discussions and breaking bread physically with others.  In all my faith groups we would have snacks or organize potlucks for certain feast days and I miss the joy of those simple celebrations. As California has once again dropped the mask mandate as a sign that there is improvement, I am also at a point where I need to be around others. Thus, this Lent I am looking forward to attending in person Lenten services, Fish Fry’s, and maybe even a weekend retreat!   

Time Off

I am learning as a teacher that I need to be healthy too. Since, I am a year round teacher I don’t have that nice long summer off, but I do get vacation days to take whenever I deem wise. For the past two years I didn’t want to miss any days even though I was neglecting my own needs. I simply felt guilty thinking the students needed me. You see, I have been entrusted with students with disabilities and mental illness. So, usually when I take a day off I get at least one text asking me where I am at and if I will be out the next day too. It’s endearing to have teens that have developed such a connection with me and that my presence inspires calmness.  However, I recently shared with the students that have the hardest time when I am not there that I am bipolar and sometimes I also need a mental day to take care of me. It was sweet when my seventeen-year-old nodded acknowledging that he understood.

Just recently I decided to take my vacation days here and there to work on my own mental well-being. I will take one or two extra days when I have a long weekend, even if I don’t have any special plans. Today, I am at home taking an extra day and I had enough energy to cut my own bangs which had been neglected far too long (smile).  

I was also able to see a few friends over the weekend and I told them that I am tired of being cooped out at home and that I am going to be more intentional about seeing everyone. As I vocalized this to the friends that I did see, I got positive reactions that it’s time to see each other again and learn to live during this pandemic not just survive.  Getting together with my church friends made me realize that I need them to inspire my faith too. We had some great conversations about how God has been working in our lives and it made all of us desire Him more. We promised that we would come together this upcoming Lent for a home fish fry and rosary time.   

Life is meant to be shared and if I have learned anything this pandemic it’s just that. Don’t get me wrong I love being a homebody, but I also need a good chat with my friends. It does the soul good (smile).

I Am A Little Weird

I am a little weird…

I remember when I started therapy my goal was to be normal.  My life was in so much chaos that I craved a normal family and, in some way, a normal me.  At the time I didn’t know that a lot of my weird was because I was struggling with untreated bipolar disorder.  I was also traveling the least traveled path for a girl from a little town in Mexico going to college was unheard of.  The power to realize my dream to leave the ghetto was at the time my primary decision to hold off on dating in addition to trust issues brought on by my past with abuse.

I never made my love life a priority, I just thought that it would happen on its own.  I guess just like all the other avenues that I have traveled dating has also been a different experience for me.  First, it was out of my radar because I wanted to graduate college.  Then, I thought that it would just arrive on its own, but the places that I was going to were places that the type of guys I am into would never go to.  My friends met guys at bars and clubs, but those guys were not my type.  I like introverted, intelligent men. Smarter than me, even better.  I find brainy men utterly attractive and these men rarely step inside a club or a bar.  Then I encountered that sometimes, intelligence more often than not came with arrogance and that was a major turnoff. So, I realized that I wanted an utterly intelligent man with a humble heart.  Along the path I had a faith reversion, that meant that now I was also looking for someone who would inspire my faith journey – a man with a vision towards heaven… 

No one around me fit that bill, so I trusted that God would figure it out for me.  I had heard of online dating from acquaintances and eventually some friends; however, just like college the online platform is the less traveled road for girls from where I come from.  Thus, I have been apprehensive to get on there.  I still have this part of me that believes that God will bring the man for me when the time is right.  My parents are small town folk and when I speak to them about joining a dating site they are as apprehensive as I am.  They are used to the good old days when a girl would meet a man from the same town, a man who could be trusted by his family.  For now, I am still waiting and praying and asking Saint Valentine to bring me mine.   

My True Home

Some moments in the year feel heavier when they have been marked by loss. I know for me every November there’s this gray shadow that just sits in place.  It just shows up around the same time and just sits there, a reminder of something tragic, but also a testament to great love.  When I was younger, I couldn’t wait to grow up and leave my family because my teenage heart felt like I couldn’t handle the pain of being part of such a dysfunctional family.  One day, I was so upset that I shared this with my mentor, she in her wise age told me- you’re only thinking of the pain that you would avoid, but you would miss out on all of the joy.  That was the beginning of my education - only those that know great pain can also know great love, these two disciplines live side by side to illuminate the power of love. 

God calls us to be happy, and though I try my best to live contently every November the shadow comes and drops reminding me of the separation between siblings that began one Fall day.  I used to agonize over the sadness that comes during those weeks, but now I use the shadow to remind me of why I believe.  My faith is strongest when I think of death and when I know that even if it comes and it shatters my heart, that one day I will be reunited.  At first, I used to think that I would be reunited with my loved one and that gave me utter joy and satisfaction- until one priest said, “what about Jesus?”  Now when I think of my reunion with those that have gone before me, I also think about Jesus and Mary and all the saints that I have gotten to know and the longing for the life to come intensifies.

We are all just passing by, this house that we call our home is temporal and a crumb of sand compared to the home that waits for us in heaven.  That’s why I believe, that’s why I reverted and in November I think about it more deeply and the shadow that comes serves as a reminder of the world to come…