Tell Me Something Good

Tell me something good, is a strategy that our principal uses every few months to get the staff talking.

My something good has been joining a water aerobics class. 

Fun fact, I don’t know how to swim! 

I had been looking for a fun way to increase my activity and then I remembered that a lady in the dog group that I used to meet-up when I had Dollar told me about taking classes at the community pool.  I do love the water so I decided to give it a try.  I hoped that swimming wasn’t a requirement for taking the exercise class and I signed up.

The first night of class (they start a 7PM), I was anxious about several things. One, leaving my house after being secluded since before Covid isolation. Seems like I had developed a mild case of agoraphobia. Two, I was afraid of the new experience: Would I be able to keep up with the rest of the class? Would my classmates be nice? Would I drown?

As the first class began, I soon was enjoying myself. I do love the water.  Even though I wasn’t properly dressed. I wore the wrong type of bathing suit and no water shoes. Since, I have learned that water shoes help with balancing yourself in the water in addition to adding sole support. I have also learned that not all bathing suits are equal, you need a one piece that is modest and keeps all your bits covered during all the movements. Most recently, I have invested on a swim parka- a must to keep you warm and dry as you get out of the pool and drive home.

The first class was a giant comedy of errors as everything that could go wrong did.  On a positive note, I did bring a lot of laughs to the regulars as I kept drowning and having issues with my erroneously chosen wardrobe.  Yet, I didn’t let my mistakes keep me from eventually getting the hang of the fun sport. Going into my fourth week, I think that I have discovered my workout routine. I look forward to getting in the water after a stressful day at work, away from screens and from life’s demands. It’s my “me time” which is becoming as special as my weekend coffee mornings in my naturally beautiful backyard.

The class is 99 percent female, there’s only one man in the class which I like.  There’s only me and another girl that are the young blood, the rest are silver mavens. Most of them are regulars too, so they have been taking the class for awhile and they are super encouraging.  I am a little skeptical about doing this in the winter months, but the ladies tell me that I will be ok. “It’s the getting in and out of the pool that will be hard,” they all chime in.

For many taking a class is no big whoopie, but for me it’s a huge pat on my back.  Most of my life I struggled doing new things because my anxiety and fear of the unknown was so great.  Thus, when I do things that are absolutely new to me and I venture out on my own - I truly amaze myself.  My chest puffs with pride and my self-confidence increases.       

The Last Few Months...

At the end of the last school year in early mid-May one of my students died of an accidental drug overdose.  She was discharged from a drug rehab center a few weeks early to be able to participate in our school’s graduation activities and ceremony.  The last time I saw her was at Disney for Grad Nite, she brought donuts for all the students that attended the event.  She looked good but, I could still see some level of fatigue perhaps sadness in her countenance.  That night was full of activity and I never had a moment to hug her to welcome her back, but I thought I will have graduation to celebrate her and to give that embrace…

After Grad Nite, I was assigned to chaperone a student trip to our school’s Colorado Ranch for two weeks.  On the morning that I was leaving my brother almost died from a drug overdose.  Luckily, my mom went into his room to wake him up when she noticed that he wasn’t getting up for work. We found him still breathing, but we couldn’t wake him up.  I called the ambulance and the paramedics came, pumped his stomach and told us it was an opiate overdose and took him to the hospital still in serious condition… I didn’t know whether to get on the flight with my students or hop on the ambulance with my brother. My parents encouraged me to go on the trip, and I was so angry with my brother because he had been hospitalized twice in this last year and he still couldn’t stay clean. I was tired of playing the hero, of rescuing him and I wanted him to know when he woke up that I was done.  The first week of the trip was extremely hard because they kept him in the hospital because they couldn’t control his blood pressure and then he got a blood infection.  I would call home once a day when I got my two-hour break from my students to check up on him and every day things didn’t get better.

During the first week of the trip while I was trying to hold it together with all the chaos happening at home, we had a student who bullied, hit and made threats about shooting all his classmates. So, a male chaperone had to leave to take this student back home to California.  That was my breaking point, in my mind as soon as the male chaperone was back, I was going to request to be sent home to be with my family.  Yet, that day things improved with my brother and he was given a release date.  So, I pulled myself together and completed the chaperone gig.

Upon my return to work, after the Colorado Trip, I was given the news that my student had died. At that moment everything in me collapsed. We were able to bring my brother home from the hospital, he was given another opportunity to get healthy.  However, for my student’s parents and sibling – they were not able to revive their daughter, to wake her up from a fentanyl lace pill she took to calm her anxiety. The similarities were just too much and I collapsed in grief, in pain over what drugs do to families, to parents, to siblings! I cried for her, for my brother and for me. I went into this dark depression and I just couldn’t see hope.  After learning about my student’s death, I had to get ready to have Senior Day and celebrate with all my graduates. So, I had to compose myself. Then a few days later I had to attend our graduation ceremony and not give a hug to my kid. I couldn’t even acknowledge she was dead because our principal didn’t allow me to do anything in memory of her as the principal thought any remembrance would ruin graduation for the rest of the students. I was in mourning and not allowed to mourn.

This week a new student I just got came to school inebriated. I had to call the ambulance as she got so sick that she was foaming at the mouth and I thought she was going to die. Luckily, when the paramedics made it to the school, they told me that my student was just extremely drunk.  They ended up taking her and hopefully she will get the help she needs…

Some days I feel so burned out. Other days I feel like I can’t get away from drugs poisoning those I love. I spoke at lengths with the priest on the cruise about all of this and I liked something he said when he prayed over me. He thanked God for using my brokenness, my scars to reach the hurt souls I work with and those in my own family I care for. Pain when consumed alone is devastatingly tragic, but when redeemed by God it can be utilize for good.  It can then transform the world.

This week my student who became my pen pal for six months at the juvenile detention center came back to school. I have him as my student again and there’s celebration in that.         

Catholic Cruising Again

I just returned from a cruise to Alaska…  A close friend told me that she had met a gal who was organizing her first Catholic Singles Cruise and I always wanted to see Alaska so I told her that I would join the group.  From my initial involvement in the trip, I didn’t think much about it being a singles thing, I thought more as continuing my love of travel in the security of a group.  Though, the thought of the sacraments being available on the daily did warm my heart!  While this cruise wasn’t as spiritual as the cruises that I have been on with Father Morrow (where there's daily Mass, Adoration, Rosary, Spiritual Direction, Reconciliation) I still returned full of blessings.

Now, I don’t know if it’s in God’s plan for me to meet a husband while traveling, but I do know that every time I join one of these cruises I always meet such great friends! I was able to get close with a couple single ladies, who like me are living out our single vocations true to our Catholic faith.  I was able to share some of the things that I am struggling with in my walk with the Lord, some of my recent trials and tribulations and just what life is like living as a single woman no longer in the prime of my youth.  I am at that age where I am aging out of the young adult events and entering a group of Catholics that is not super represented in our Church. That single Catholics group that are not old, but not so young either (smile).

Yet, as a Father Leo said on the first day of Mass on the ship, “you are on a cruise, no one can feel sad.”  God, has blessed me with the ability to travel and just the fact that I am able to visit all these new-to-me places is enough benediction.  Yet, God never disappoints in providing people for me to share the experience with.  Though the isolation of COVID has been over for sometime now, the effects of it for me are still so present.  I haven’t been able to get myself back connected with a spiritual community. Other than Mass, I have no connection to other Catholics.  As an introvert, COVID made me a bit of a recluse and now thinking of joining groups seems like so much effort.  Yet, this cruise made me realize how much I am missing because God didn’t create us to be alone, He created us for relationship.

I loved being around other Catholics and having conversations that dug deep beyond the superficial.  I enjoyed going to fancy dinners with a couple of ladies and finding comfort in their beliefs which matched mine.  It’s always so therapeutically to find people that validate our faith journey, that understand the sacrifice of living a Catholic life in these modern times.  People you don’t have to explain why you are the caretaker of your family and why you don’t give up on the lost sheep… On this trip, it was also extremely inspiring to share our single journey and though we are content, professional women we do hope to find a partner in crime to join and share our happy lives.  It was edifying to share a meal, a drink, even a dance or two… 

It was also nice to look at myself, ten years later (after my first cruise) and see a mature Catholic reflection.  I also spent a lot of time on my own, exploring Alaska joining the typical excursions. During these times outside in mostly coastal rainforest I was able to connect with God through nature.  Everyday, I was inundated by God's beauty, the majesty of His creation and it was humbling to realize that this is my life!  That I get to explore His pristine creation and when I am surrounded by such vast, natural beauty it's so easy to see God, to be in His presence - in complete awe.  There were moments where I stopped myself from crying because after recently living some of the most difficult months of my life, I found peace.  Whether in the Tongass, gardens, Glacier Bay or on an Alaskan Huskies Sled Ride - I knew that God was with me, and when God is with me, who can be against me?  The Lord is by my side and I will not be afraid!        

I'll try to write at least once a month.

Have A Little Faith

I have been seeing friends a little more often and the same conversation we have been having is that many of us are still homebodies and are having a difficult time adjusting to life after COVID.  Our social activity doesn’t match many of our peers who seem to be out and about all the time.  What I did manage to attend at the end of the year was the annual Christmas YCP Party.  One of my close friends motivated me to go and I think God wanted me there!  The family that usually opens their home for our party had a tragedy a few weeks before our celebration, they lost their son in a tragic accident.  Yet, instead of cancelling the event the couple decided that they more than ever wanted their home full of young people and for attendees to share stories of their son.

After an hour of socializing it is customary for the hosts to stop the party to bless the food and also to give a short speech to motivate attendees to join YCP. –

The end of the year was quite challenging for me and my family and as the holidays approached my usual Christmas spirit was lacking.  I am usually the one who decorates the house, who puts up the lights, the nativities and the tree.  Yet, this year I only managed to decorate the outside of the house with lights and only because Dad did most of the work.  Due to a family crisis, I had to seek therapy and increase my medication because for the first time in over fifteen years my anxiety was thru the roof and I think I had a bit of depression too.

So, when the party came around I wasn’t in the mood for it, but I pushed myself. During the speech, the hosts spoke of their recent loss, they spoke of their son and what he meant to them and how looking at all the young people gathered who he had mingled with gave them joy.  They asked us to seek them and share moments we shared with their son, but what most impressed me was that even through such an unforeseen loss the husband and wife spoke of their hope in God.  I looked at them, clearly brokenhearted and still praising God and finding so much comfort in their Catholic faith.  Their hope was contagious and I thought of my own crisis and I finally saw God’s hope.

I didn’t go home and decorate my entire house- but I realized that in my anxious despair I became blinded to the reason for the season.  The incarnation of that babe that came to save us all.  I felt momentary guilt for focusing on things that added to the darkness of my soul instead of finding contentment in God becoming man and the implications of that action.  I needed people who were hurting more than me to remind me to never loose hope.  I drove home that night, light, knowing that with time the challenges I was facing were going to pass.  While, it was still the first year that no inside decorations were on display – it was the first year that we visited extended family to lean on them and being one big family was better than all the decorations in the world.  Moral of the story; “one, there are always people hurting more than me and still find hope; two, community/family helps a ton!”  

“Whatever is received into something is received according to the condition of the recipient.”

Saint Thomas Aquinas said, “Whatever is received into something is received according to the condition of the recipient.”  God is always generous in His giving, but we limit His generosity when we are unwilling or unfit to receive Him.  I am coming out of a crisis of faith.  That’s why I wrote the previous post, because though my latest pilgrimage reignited the embers that so needed to be relit- it also mimicked what I have been internally experiencing.  Martha, our skeptic guide personified what I had been feeling lately and through her challenges about what was real and not- I realized that I myself had been doing that with God through mandated isolation and even after the pandemic restrictions were lifted.  I got comfortable being away from my religious community, away from Mass, away from God… 

In Loreto, there wasn’t enough room at the hotel we had reservations to accommodate our group and five of us including myself had to be driven to a nearby location to sleep.  That night, I was exhausted and was planning on skipping dinner to go to my room and sleep and it wasn’t until after everyone had left to their rooms that the leftover five were told that after dinner we would be driven to a nearby hotel for the night.  I was super frustrated to receive this news like a bucket of water and because we had to wait in the lobby for an hour before dinner and I was the only on that wanted to skip on dinner. So, I had to brave it three more hours before I could be taken to my room for rest.  When we made to the hotel, I realized that it was a retreat house and not a hotel. My room was very humble, but there was a painting above my bed of Mary and Child and that gave me confidence that I would have a good night sleep.  It wasn’t until morning when we were to be taken back to join our group that we noticed that we had slept right outside the church where the walls of Mother Mary’s house are kept.  I guess Mamita wanted to have me near during the night!

Later that morning, when we all boarded the tour bus, the driver missed a metal rod that stuck out and I was awaken by the glass of my window cracking. I was terrified, but quickly noticed that only the outside glass had cracked.  After analyzing the damage, the driver thought it safe to continue on our way, but as we started to drive pieces of the glass started breaking, I was terrified that the weight of the shatter glass was going to break the inner glass. However, the bus driver was able to pull over in time, remove all the cracked glass and we continued on our way safe with the inner window still intact.  It wasn’t an hour later that I heard a scream and the noticed that one of the passengers had fallen out of his seat asleep and his wife shrieked trying to keep him from hitting the ground. After assessing the situation, we laughed, but I was a little on edge from all the unexpected happenings.

I dwelled a little too long on all the things going wrong with the trip, that I felt like an unwilling recipient to all of what God wanted to give me.  Yet, God is good all the time, because now after a few weeks back I feel so many graces that I am receiving as I look back.   

Our Rome Tour Guide

So, there I was touring some of the most beautiful places in Rome with religious significance and I had a skeptic as a tour guide, Martha.  Just right outside the Sancta Sanctorum trying to decide if I would be able to climb up the twenty-eight stairs on my knees, Martha ends her tour bit with, “The wood of the stairs was tested and only dated to the fourth century so these steps are probably not really the stairs that Jesus climbed on his way to his trial, but does that change your faith probably not.”

Just a few minutes earlier at the Cathedral of Saint John the Lateran on our way out, Martha pointed to the relics of the Last Supper Table and offered her first bit of doubt, “During the times of Jesus, tables weren’t used so this is probably not the real table, but does that change your faith of course not.” Then she led us out as if her words weren’t a big deal and moved to another painting and while she shared what she knew about the art piece, I thought this lady is not good at reading her audience.  At the archbasilica where the heads of Saint Peter and Saint Paul are said to be found, again Martha said, “no one has ever opened them to know if it’s truly who they say they are.”

By the time we had reached the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, I made a comment to Father, “I think we have a skeptic as a tour guide – she keeps saying that none of the relics are the real thing.”  Then she made a huge error when she said that the mosaic of Jesus crowing his Mother represented Mary as Jesus’ wife that Father finally had to address not only her Marian theology, but the information she was sharing with us.  He politely gave her a mini Mariology lesson and also challenged her on the furniture that was around during Jesus’ time by quoting the many times the word table is used in scripture.  From my own studies I know that tables looked a bit different (lower) during that period so maybe that’s where her confusion stemmed.

Yet, by the time we reached the Sistine Chapel the group was over our Rome tour guide.  I for one was thinking of skipping the Sistine Chapel this time because the previous time I went I hated being stuck in such a crowded place, but before I was aware I was inside the museum.  That day the itinerary wasn’t followed and I got stuck in the crowd thinking we were going to a different location. In my mind I was hoping to sip on a cappuccino while the group went to the museum and instead I was in a people traffic jam with a tour guide who I had less and less patience for.  It seemed that Father having had the brief talk with Martha made her insecure and she was now reading her extensive notes afraid to make a mistake.  She stopped in the garden of the museum to explain the frescos that we were about to see. Tour group after tour group passed us and she continued her extensive lecture on the art pieces. The hot sun combined with our aching feet from standing all day made many of my group members run out of patience.  “We just needed an overview not a college discourse!” bellowed an elderly man, but it seemed like Martha was wound up and nothing could stop her from sharing the most miniscule details.

Hours later we boarded the bus exhausted, but happy to be leaving our Rome guide behind.

Visitng Lourdes France

After a few years of no traveling, I finally made it overseas.  While the trip was too ambitious in the ground that I aimed to cover; thus, a bit hectic – there were moments when I had to pinch myself.  I began in Portugal and was really looking forward to Santiago de Compostela – the resting place of Saint James, disciple of Jesus and also the end of The Way.  Yet, because it was the day after a full day of travel, we were running late and then it started to rain that that visit was almost like it never happened.  My hope was to sit in a pew and just enjoy the fact that I was there, but the tour of the church happened so quick that there was no moment to gather my thoughts or do more than light a votive.  Fatima was almost equally rushed and I was beginning to think that my trip was going to be a race to get to the next place and for the most part it was a bit of a rush. However, even in a blitz God can reach us.

Where is Judas?

The question I have been getting is, “What was your favorite place from your trip?”  Since, I had already been to Italy before – my favorite place this time was Lourdes.  A small town situated in the Pyreness of France that gets as many visitors as the bigger more famous Paris.  This holy site brings in pilgrims from all over the world as it’s one of the most spiritual cities famous for its healing waters.  The Sanctuary de Notre Dame is the site where Our Lady appeared to Bernadette.  Since, Lourdes has become a major place for Catholics to visit and also a place known for many miraculous healings.  The first day I arrived in Lourdes, I was exhausted from all the travel, but mustered the energy to attend the vigil.  As I made my way to the sanctuary I was blown away by its beauty – the architecture, the mosaics the lighting- perfection. 

Then I was directed to the back of the sanctuary and before I knew it I was in a line walking towards the grotto.  It was at this time that I lost it and began to sob.  Tears rolled down my eyes.  I was utterly overwhelmed by the place.  I felt so fortunate to be there so undeserving…  As, I got closer and began to touch the rocks, see the image of Mary looking over me and touch the stream of water I just wanted to stay there. However, I was in a line and people after me needed to come close too so I made my way out and joined the procession.  Even though I was exhausted from traveling – I felt so light and so connected to the world as I heard the prayers in so many languages.  At moments like this, I always wish that all my loved ones could be there with me sharing in faith and communion with God and His people.  So, spiritually I carried all my loved ones and their petitions along the procession. 

The next morning, I got to tour the grounds by day and then had the afternoon at leisure.  I decided to return to the grotto that afternoon to fill my bottle with holy water (per my mother’s request) and as I was filling up it started to pour.  It rained so hard and I didn’t have any type of protection from the water and soon I was drenched.  I made my way back to the hotel in the pouring rain laughing thinking my mom would get a kick out of this story - of how I got drenched getting the holy water from Lourdes for her.  That night it rained and still the pilgrims participated in the vigil.  I was too scared to get sick so, I opened my hotel window and listened to the prayers that second night and again I felt so grateful that my journey carried me to such a holy site.            

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…