People Tell You Who They Are - Just Give Them Time

 Yesterday was a national holiday in the United States - it was Juneteenth, a celebration long held dear in the Black American Community and one that I was introduced to back in 1975 as a Freshman at CAL.  I was pleased when this became one of our new national holidays - it is one that should bring people together, to celebrate how our country tried to do better, once it knew better.  

For the most part, I read positive statements about Juneteenth.  But two people, both who crow loudly about being Born Again Evangelical Christians, posted things that were so horrifically racist it made me sick to my stomach.  I pushed back on one - he called those of us acknowledging the holiday 'stupid' and I will not longer allow people to call me names - but the other was so ugly, and the string of 'ha ha oh you are so funny, man' posts that followed gave me an insight into people I am both glad and sad that I was given.  Glad because I know to just avoid them.  They are what we call White Trash and they are dangerous.  They are the type of men who will gang rape a Black Woman or blow up a church with Black children inside.  Sad because these guys sit in rooms with me declaring their sobriety and their deep love for Christ.  It makes me just weep for them, because their are so off track and they are declaring it to the world on the internet.

Why did this hurt me so much?  Why can't I just ignore ugly people, scratch them off my list of friends and go about my business?  

I had to look at this and be, like St. Teresa of Avila suggests, stern with myself.  I realized these posts reminded me of the father I had and how difficult it is to love someone who is mired in such cultural ugliness.  It made me realize that these two men are so fear driven that the only way they can feel better about themselves is to view their existence through the lense of 'I am inherently better because of the color of my skin'.  That they are lost right now - lost to the Love that Heals ALL things....but they think they are SAVED and can walze into heaven whenever they die because they said a magic prayer.

Because I am reading through the Gospel of John with Jeff Cavins, I have been challenged to think about the service Jesus did for Judas.  He washed his feet too.  He knew what that man was going to do, the events that would unfold as a result of the betrayal and the hatred for his fellows Judas had in his heart (his dismissal of Mary for washing the Feet of God, for instance) and yet Jesus washed that man's feet.

Tall order.

These men that posted these horrible things think they are funny, conservative men defending America.

And it made me so sad...because I know they are damaged.  I also know how hard it will be for them to change.  

My Dad never really did - and died alone.  He had me, and because of The Church I loved him while hating the sins he committed.  He returned to Christ before he died and I trust that my Dad is on his way to heaven, which is why I continue to pray for him every day.

So I guess the answer is to continue to pray for them as well, and to remember that through Christ all things are possible and their salvation is possible as well.  Stand ready to serve them.  Love them anyway.

God help them, today and every day.  And God help me not to hate them but to love them as Jesus loves them....

My Big Reveal - I don't like being disliked

 No one wakes up in the morning and thinks, "I really hope I upset at most, annoy at the least, someone today".  

Well, okay - I will take that back.  Some people do - some people really love making an negative impact on the world.

So I will qualify that first statement.  I do not wake up in the morning and hope my day includes someone disliking me.

Yes, yes, yes...I understand that I am supposed to only care about the opinion of God.  Rest assured that, in my heart of hearts, His opinion is all that matters.  However, I would be lying if I said I am immune to the slings and arrows of people who take offense at my words or actions, how I think, or what I did to earn a living.  It's not even that I want to be liked.  I just do not want to be disliked.

So what really bothers me?

Tell the truth and shame the devil, it hurts my pride when someone shares with me that I am the object of derision.  I don't want to know.  Let me live in ignorance and be okay with the abstract idea that I am not everyone's cup of tea.  Don't tell me that I was laughed at or put down as soon as I left the room.  I don't need to know and I don't want to know.

Nothing happens in God's Universe in error and so I am wondering why this information is shared with me.  Is the person sharing it trying to warn me or get me to act differently?   Or are they simply sharing something with me to laugh about and why would they think that would make me laugh?  Because I am not laughing am I now the immature one, unable to rise above the hurt?  Can I overthink this any more?  

Sure I can - give me a minute.

Most of my life I have not felt as though I fit in.  I have never felt completely comfortable around other humans.  I don't understand how they talk and act and why they say the things they do.  When I drank, that fear went away (it's one of the best reasons in the world to drink, wouldn't you say?) but I don't drink now.  Now, I get to just deal with the feeling of total uncomfortable alienation from human beings.  

I guess the best part of getting older is that one learns to just accept their weirdness and the hurt that sometimes comes from trying to have a friendship with human beings.  Shoot, sometimes it hurts just trying to sit quietly among them.  However, I get that today I have a relationship with God that is supposed to help me when the ups and downs of life hit this hard.  So I turn to God and I offer my sadness and hurt as a Sacrifice of Love.  I wipe my tears and watch a comedy on Netflix to laugh out loud.  I pray my Rosary and pet my dogs.  I lean into the Faith that has brought me this far and what I try to remember is that I am an alien here, a stranger in a strange land.  My true home is in Heaven and that is what I am aiming for each day.  The Sacramental/Liturgical Life I lead is not for show; rather, it is the medicine for my fear of the world, my inability to walk through it on my own with any kind of confidence, grace or dignity.  Without God, I am nothing.  With God, all things are possible.

In fact, with God the scared kid in the corner can forgive those who dislike her and love those who hate her and be okay with what stares back at her from the Looking Glass.

Relieve me of the bondage of myself, Lord.....because if I am in bondage to myself I cannot serve You.

Morning Offering

My whiny self can be such a bore.

I don't want to be the person always looking to be comforted.  Like the prayer advices, I wish to seek to comfort rather than be the one that needs to have someone say they understand and they are sending me hugs or whatever.

Being in that emotional space where one is on the edge of tears every minute is so damn uncomfortable. It causes one to stop, to withdraw, to look for a hole to hide in rather than look outward for a solution. 

The solution, of course, is simple - offer all to God in a sacrifice of love.  Be willing to acknowledge our sins and embrace our failings and admit when we are wrong.  Be willing to abandon myself to the Will of God and just trust.  Trust that what is happening right this second is exactly what is supposed to be happening and just look around - who can I help? What can I say to lift someone up?

When I am in search of comfort be willing to be okay with that as well - but lower the expectations.  Don't expect anyone other than the Triune God to be the refuge I seek.  

So simple.  So difficult to do.  What keeps me from doing this?  EGO - me me me.  PLEASE someone tell me I am enough, that I matter, that what I am doing is worthwhile and okay.....in other words, the need to turn to that which is not designed to give the totality of comfort and forsaking God. 

My prayer should be: 

"I need You.  Help me accept the Grace I need to walk this path with grace and dignity".

If I see others struggle, tell them they matter.  Comfort, rather than be comforted.

 I am okay.  I have exactly what I need. God has been more than generous with me.

Let me offer myself to this generous God with complete abandon.  Let me be grateful for all I have today. Let me be happy for all that others receive. 

May today be the best day ever.

Amen

Made it Another Day

 I suspect a lot of my writings this year will be documenting 'firsts'.  After all, after 62 years I am no longer a sister or a daughter.  I am, still, a cousin, an aunt and a friend but everyone else has gone on to their just rewards.  

The past weekend was another first - my first Mother's Day being the only kid alive.  All I can say is, "Yuck".

It feels awkward.  For one, my father's death was in 2003, my mother's in 2020.  Time has marched on and so it seems as though speaking of mourning them is the same as waving a brightly lit flag and shouting, "LOOKATMELOOKATMELOOKDAMNITLOOK" over and over again.  Yes, everyone gives lip service to the idea that grief has no real time table but let's face it, crying over my parents' deaths seems out of sorts, in a way.  They've been gone awhile.  Let them rest in peace.

My brother's death and mourning him makes a little more sense but, well, it's also more difficult.  If it hadn't been for his illness, we would not have been reconciled.  His behavior had deteriorated to the point that even I could no longer stomach the abuse and, for the first time in my life, I had actually told someone mistreating me that they were no longer welcome in my life.  Being told he was dying gave us the opportunity to forgive each other; however, my anger at him over his refusal to spend money on basics like health care while buying broken down limos and giant dogs off the internet took awhile to dissipate.  He lived the life he wanted to live, that is for sure, and there is much to admire about that as long as one does not look at the wreckage his lifestyle caused.  

This past weekend I went to Mass and the cemetery.  I sent cards and greetings to the women in my family who are mothers.  I watched television and hung out with my dogs. And I mourned.

I mourned my mother who probably did not expect me to be the child that lived the longest.

I mourned my brother who never really lived how he claimed he lived.

I mourned my father who spent his life just wanting to be loved but unable to truly love anyone in return.

I read my book on St. Dominic, I prayed, I took walks.  I balanced all the checkbooks and reviewed all the statements.  I paid bills.  

In two weeks I will read the Prayers of the Faithful at the funeral of one of my oldest and dearest friends.  I lost two from college this past year.  It feels weird again...like I am swimming in jello.

All in all, my life is filled with blessings.  I am safe.  I am almost completely well.  Life really is pretty darn good - but it still feels strange to be the last one standing.

The grief is real but I also want to say, with confidence, that I am walking taller than I ever have simply because I am the last one standing.  I made it one more day - without those I always had around me - and for that I am grateful.  God's got me.  I am okay.

I am getting used to saying good-bye

 I remember my mother telling me that she was saying good-bye to more people than she was welcoming into her life.  It made me sad for her, but I now understand what she meant.  It is one of the cycles of life.  As we age, we say good-bye to those we grew old with (or they say good-bye to us).  We bury our parents, siblings, dear friends saying the same thing over and over again but we do it. It is the rhythm of life.

I buried both my parents and my brother and am now waiting to hear whether or not a dear, dear friend I have known since I was 18 years old has entered into her Eternal Life.  She is prepared.  I know because we have had some major talks the past couple of years, late at night when the world is quiet and there is nothing to do but be gut-level honest.  

She has been defeated by the disease I battle every day.  I am successful today because I do what has been taught to me by others who have walked this same path.  She could never do it.  It was not possible for her.  I don't know why.  She knew she had it, knew it could be battled...she just could not stomach the cure.  

Life without alcohol was too ugly for her, too full of anger and resentment towards people who had let her down and been less than perfect.  She could forgive them but could never forget that her dreams had been shattered and she had been forced to live life on Life's Terms and not her own.

Perhaps it is better that none of my dreams have really, ever come true.  I mean, sure I had a successful marriage to a man I loved but in the eyes of the world I am just a loser who lives alone in a house she has to rent, taking care of other people's money and going to Mass every Sunday all alone.  In my eyes I have a life that is second to none, but she could not see that same thing for her.  She had children and grandchildren, a loyal husband,  but it wasn't enough because it wasn't big enough.  

Because so few of my dreams came true ( I do, after all, have two china cabinets), I am pretty darn content with this little life I have.  I am not getting everything I want but I have more than I need.

I love you, Kelly.