Almost done with Winter Quarter at Bellingham Technical College (BTC), thank goodness! For the first time in days, I woke up to feed the dogs on time this morning. I said good morning to Annabelle, my African violet. Yes, I talk to my plant. I love that little violet - those fuzzy leaves... I used to be on the fence about tree hugging, but I can safely say I'm just nutty and sentimental. I used to have names for all my airplants, but when I'd lose one, or another would have pups (lol, that's what they call baby tillandsia plants) I would lose track of what names I had for them. I finally got my betta, an iridescent yellow/blue Delta betta I named Rainbow Flutterby, to eat dried bloodworms. At first, I just called him Flutterby after Fluttershy on MLP Series 6, but I wanted his name to reflect tribute to his iridescence so I added Rainbow. Took weeks to name that fish. No original names of mine seemed to fit him. Got another teddy bear in an after-Valentine's Day sale: white with pink nose, ears - named him Luvs but sometimes call him Minky because he's so soft. I need to vacuum today and get the piled up recycle outside to the bins, but I'm moving slow this morning.
I can honestly say that this Lent has had the life changing impact I hoped it would. It's also left me with a lot of questions with no answers. The more I read St. Faustina's Diary of Divine Mercy, the more I wonder about how I lost my vocation to be a nun. God's grace is infinite, and an experience such as St. Faustina's does show how much God loves us and wants to give us graces - that we can overcome any trials with Him. So what went wrong with my religious life? I was young - too young; not enough social experience or spiritual guidance to know what to do in the situations I found myself facing at the convent. I've forgiven many times over the ones who hurt me, and have prayed they'd forgive me even though I don't hear from any of them anymore. I can't change what happened, and for the life of me after what I went through, I do not want to go through that again. I'd rather be single and lonely than be a nun/religious sister again. I have no ardor, no all-consuming love for Jesus to do that again. Yes, it's selfish but I was burned bad, and once burned/bitten, twice shy. My family and I have been watching "Foyle's War," and watching the soldiers come home with PTSD really shed light on the sacrifices and trials my family went through when I came home in the state I was in...but I had nowhere else to go.
I was told, and I have related this several times, by a friend of mine who is a mystic - a saint only time will discover - that God revealed to Him after much prayer for my healing that I did great good for the order and those nuns, and my being there was a blessing for them. I wanted that - I loved them like family, even if I was treated worse than crap at times. I still love them. Honestly, I think I did leave my heart in San Diego. I wonder about going back sometimes, if only for love of them to do what I can to help by sacrificing my life for their well-being (spiritual and physical). For all my wondering though, I know I am not a welcome candidate or a viable one, having Panic Disorder. The one thing I wonder about most is did I do right by me? I was a fool to rush in to university studies, getting a bachelor's in US History. History fascinates me, but the degree is no good in this economy. I got it all on grants. Now, as I look back, I could have used that grant money for the real career studies I'm taking at BTC. But I just couldn't face the PTSD at that time. I had some close calls, and I needed something to distract me that I could focus on to dull the heart-shattering pain I lived with everyday. So now I have several thousands in federal loans to repay, a therapist for all her good intentions is hesitant to help me until she gets paid, a brother I don't know anymore, another sibling who calls the kettle black, a godmother who has disowned me, and...never mind. For all the issues we have with each other, I love them all very much. The one thing I hope in is one truly selfless friend I have outside my family and parents who love me with all their being. For me, that is enough to get through life on when you add a filial relationship with God to it.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
Religion On the Radio....
I had the radio on while I was driving to a doctor's appointment yesterday, and one station I tuned into had a guy talking about religion. Well, what he thought religion was, anyway. He said some study had been done recently where people of different faiths had participated in a sociology experiment of personal interaction. He said that when the other person did not know the faith of the person they were paired with, the majority of people in the study tended to be more reserved when it came to responding to requests for help and generosity in general. The flip side of the study, where the people paired up were allowed to know what faith the other person was/believed/practiced, showed that when the people knew that the person they interacted with was of the same faith they were, they were more generous/likely to be generous and responsive to that person's needs or circumstances. He went on to comment, "Isn't this the opposite of what religion is supposed to be?"
Traditionally, religion by definition is the service and worship of a deity or spirit. But when it comes to the practice of religion there is quite often a discrepancy, and I can understand what this man on the radio was trying to say. In his talk, religion is not distinguished from devotion to a religious faith on a personal level and the wider applied social practice of religious beliefs. It's the old argument of works without faith, and simultaneously works without love. For Christians, God is Love, and so then Love is our faith, and true to this man's point, a person's religious beliefs, practices, and attitudes should be properly reflected in social interaction without regard to another person's background or beliefs. But, this is true only in so far as Christianity is concerned.
Now I may get called on that statement, as other faiths may in doctrine express a similar practice of charity to some degree, but I cannot speak for people of other faiths. I have not seen the integrated expression of faith to the extent that 'they'll know we are Christians by our love' (as the old hymn says) from Muslims, Hindus, Jews, Sikhs, etc. However, I personally know people of other faiths who would put most so-called Christians to shame in their care and concern of a stranger. It's embarrassing but necessary to get called on the carpet about practicing what we preach. I thought about writing my parish priest about this, but with Easter and First Communion and Confirmation all coming up so soon, I know he's busy and overwhelmed. All I'm trying to say is that while one person professes their faith, without corresponding demonstration of that faith in attitude and practice, they are a liar and will (in my religious belief) stand before God and answer for it when there time comes. Thank God, however, for the practice of Divine Mercy.
As St. Paul said, Christ's death for the sins of the many, of the whole human race, was nothing less than an act of God because who would die innocently in the place of a guilty person? Granted it is conceivable that a person might die for a righteous man as Scripture states, but would you lay down your life for a criminal? I would.
You see, it is my religious belief that if I was in a situation where I could push a person who had wronged me grievously out of the way of an oncoming bus in time to save their life but risk losing mine, I must do so. For my Catholic faith requires me to lay down my life in that situation as Christ Jesus commanded us to love our enemies and do good to those who hate us. Knowing God would look with mercy on me for such an act and that my soul would not be lost, it is better for me to die than the other person who may not be in a state of grace. This is a person from whom God wishes repentance and love, and by laying down my life, I Love, with a capital L. That person has been spared, given time as God desires quite clearly in Scripture, to turn aside from evil ways and come back to Him with all their heart. The same goes for facing an attacker with a knife or gun. We have lots of guns, but only in the defense of another person's life for whom I was responsible (say my nephews, a friend, a neighbor, a school-age child), would I even consider using a weapon in defense. One, because I am responsible for my brothers and sisters who are defenseless, and two, I know not what state their own souls are in. Truly, I say 'consider' because I know that by using a gun or another weapon, I risk killing the offender even though my intention would be to merely disable them from doing any harm. But to take up and carry and a gun "Harry" style ultimately boils down to mere self-preservation, which is not in accordance with my faith. Even in self-defense, by whipping out a handgun if and when provoked and using it I may have allowed the devil to take that person's soul to hell. And no feeling or emotion justifies rendering judgement that the person 'deserved' to die, or it was 'better' that they die. Think about it - long and hard. That, Charlie Brown, is what Divine Mercy is all about.
Traditionally, religion by definition is the service and worship of a deity or spirit. But when it comes to the practice of religion there is quite often a discrepancy, and I can understand what this man on the radio was trying to say. In his talk, religion is not distinguished from devotion to a religious faith on a personal level and the wider applied social practice of religious beliefs. It's the old argument of works without faith, and simultaneously works without love. For Christians, God is Love, and so then Love is our faith, and true to this man's point, a person's religious beliefs, practices, and attitudes should be properly reflected in social interaction without regard to another person's background or beliefs. But, this is true only in so far as Christianity is concerned.
Now I may get called on that statement, as other faiths may in doctrine express a similar practice of charity to some degree, but I cannot speak for people of other faiths. I have not seen the integrated expression of faith to the extent that 'they'll know we are Christians by our love' (as the old hymn says) from Muslims, Hindus, Jews, Sikhs, etc. However, I personally know people of other faiths who would put most so-called Christians to shame in their care and concern of a stranger. It's embarrassing but necessary to get called on the carpet about practicing what we preach. I thought about writing my parish priest about this, but with Easter and First Communion and Confirmation all coming up so soon, I know he's busy and overwhelmed. All I'm trying to say is that while one person professes their faith, without corresponding demonstration of that faith in attitude and practice, they are a liar and will (in my religious belief) stand before God and answer for it when there time comes. Thank God, however, for the practice of Divine Mercy.
As St. Paul said, Christ's death for the sins of the many, of the whole human race, was nothing less than an act of God because who would die innocently in the place of a guilty person? Granted it is conceivable that a person might die for a righteous man as Scripture states, but would you lay down your life for a criminal? I would.
You see, it is my religious belief that if I was in a situation where I could push a person who had wronged me grievously out of the way of an oncoming bus in time to save their life but risk losing mine, I must do so. For my Catholic faith requires me to lay down my life in that situation as Christ Jesus commanded us to love our enemies and do good to those who hate us. Knowing God would look with mercy on me for such an act and that my soul would not be lost, it is better for me to die than the other person who may not be in a state of grace. This is a person from whom God wishes repentance and love, and by laying down my life, I Love, with a capital L. That person has been spared, given time as God desires quite clearly in Scripture, to turn aside from evil ways and come back to Him with all their heart. The same goes for facing an attacker with a knife or gun. We have lots of guns, but only in the defense of another person's life for whom I was responsible (say my nephews, a friend, a neighbor, a school-age child), would I even consider using a weapon in defense. One, because I am responsible for my brothers and sisters who are defenseless, and two, I know not what state their own souls are in. Truly, I say 'consider' because I know that by using a gun or another weapon, I risk killing the offender even though my intention would be to merely disable them from doing any harm. But to take up and carry and a gun "Harry" style ultimately boils down to mere self-preservation, which is not in accordance with my faith. Even in self-defense, by whipping out a handgun if and when provoked and using it I may have allowed the devil to take that person's soul to hell. And no feeling or emotion justifies rendering judgement that the person 'deserved' to die, or it was 'better' that they die. Think about it - long and hard. That, Charlie Brown, is what Divine Mercy is all about.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
The Truth Can Set You Free
It is through this Winter Quarter at school I am learning more than ever the practice of the virtues of my faith. About two weeks ago, when my dad was helping me with an assignment for my online computer class that I was struggling with, his advice on dealing with the difficulties was candid. By candid, I mean honest and open. Without criticism, he pointed out that my instructor was challenging me and not putting me down in her comments about my work. It was he that pointed out that I put up defensive barriers under criticism or feeling criticized, or in anything I view as conflictual.
The first few years after I came home from the convent, 7.5 years ago, I was under the illusion that I was truly humble. Well, humility may have been there, but with PTSD I could not and did not recognize that my reactions and behavior sprang from traumatic shock as I tried with great difficulty to readjust to my new life. Others in my family have pointed out the impact my coming home in such a state had on them. Until recently in dealing with a cousin's personal and family problems I did not grasp or understand the deep impact it really had on them. When I realized how much I affected them in my mannerisms, what I said or didn't say, and how my behavior upset them at times causing flares of frustration, anger, and pain just as I experienced as I was trying to help my cousin deal with her own problems... It was so overwhelming to feel I imposed so much on people who were there for me and promised their assistance how and whenever I needed it. I had tried to limit 'imposing' on their kindness, but in retrospect, I realized just how far people could tolerate out-of-control anxiety on a constant basis. When I learned the truth firsthand, I realized within me was the seed of humility, but the compost pile of garbage from my past piled on top of it had hindered its growth. After all those years of 'service' to come home with nothing but emotional baggage - and then to realize all those years of service were so flawed in practice, it was a wonder that any good came of them at all. And I realize that only God could take something like that and turn it into good when you place it in His hands.
As I have been pondering what to give up or sacrifice for Lent, it has been a spiritual journey of insight since I began thinking about it a month ago. Lent begins early this year, in the middle of February. By the end of this past week, I thought giving up Facebook this year (again) would be good, as I desired to offer to God all spare time I wasted on frivolous online activities. Then it occurred to me that I spend as much time on YouTube, and it would be just as beneficial to give that up as well. As I prayed about it more and more and focused on trying to do what God wants rather than what is convenient for me, a thought came to me today about Divine Mercy. I had tried in the past to read the book "Divne Mercy in my Soul" by St. Faustina, but was unable to due to PTSD - I could not get past the convent life within the book let alone in my own psyche. But recent events transpired that my dad lent me his copy, telling me that much consolation was to be found in it. And so I began to read bits of it, non-sequentially and with great hesitation. But true enough, I found the consolation I had sought. In prayer I was made to understand that in undertaking the sacrifices of giving up my online leisure activities, I would undertake the study of Divine Mercy and the practice of it towards my fellow human beings. This meant not only a change in daily activities and regimen, but a whole change in my way of thinking and behavior patterns. For by myself, this is impossible - but with God's grace and an open and contrite heart, it is entirely possible. To practice Divine Mercy would mean to learn and practice humility, true obedience to God, and pure Christian love and compassion. Up to this point, I had masked the practice of these virtues with naivety, passive-aggressive behavior, and empathy.
Even as I wait for Lent to begin by the calendar of the Church, I am reading a little more of St. Faustina's diary. It's one thing to hear the coined phrase that 'psychologically we all wear masks' - it's another thing entirely to not only realize personally how and when we do so but to take off that mask and see what's really underneath. And yes, to make the step of not throwing that mask back on because we are frightened by what we see but to keep it off to watch the change we want to made in ourselves... That is a big step indeed, spiritually, emotionally, and psychologically. I want people to see God in me and that can only happen if I open myself up to the truth of who and what I am and do. By embracing the truth, I hope in the Lord to be set free of my false self and illusions, and in doing so to become a truer image of God.
The first few years after I came home from the convent, 7.5 years ago, I was under the illusion that I was truly humble. Well, humility may have been there, but with PTSD I could not and did not recognize that my reactions and behavior sprang from traumatic shock as I tried with great difficulty to readjust to my new life. Others in my family have pointed out the impact my coming home in such a state had on them. Until recently in dealing with a cousin's personal and family problems I did not grasp or understand the deep impact it really had on them. When I realized how much I affected them in my mannerisms, what I said or didn't say, and how my behavior upset them at times causing flares of frustration, anger, and pain just as I experienced as I was trying to help my cousin deal with her own problems... It was so overwhelming to feel I imposed so much on people who were there for me and promised their assistance how and whenever I needed it. I had tried to limit 'imposing' on their kindness, but in retrospect, I realized just how far people could tolerate out-of-control anxiety on a constant basis. When I learned the truth firsthand, I realized within me was the seed of humility, but the compost pile of garbage from my past piled on top of it had hindered its growth. After all those years of 'service' to come home with nothing but emotional baggage - and then to realize all those years of service were so flawed in practice, it was a wonder that any good came of them at all. And I realize that only God could take something like that and turn it into good when you place it in His hands.
As I have been pondering what to give up or sacrifice for Lent, it has been a spiritual journey of insight since I began thinking about it a month ago. Lent begins early this year, in the middle of February. By the end of this past week, I thought giving up Facebook this year (again) would be good, as I desired to offer to God all spare time I wasted on frivolous online activities. Then it occurred to me that I spend as much time on YouTube, and it would be just as beneficial to give that up as well. As I prayed about it more and more and focused on trying to do what God wants rather than what is convenient for me, a thought came to me today about Divine Mercy. I had tried in the past to read the book "Divne Mercy in my Soul" by St. Faustina, but was unable to due to PTSD - I could not get past the convent life within the book let alone in my own psyche. But recent events transpired that my dad lent me his copy, telling me that much consolation was to be found in it. And so I began to read bits of it, non-sequentially and with great hesitation. But true enough, I found the consolation I had sought. In prayer I was made to understand that in undertaking the sacrifices of giving up my online leisure activities, I would undertake the study of Divine Mercy and the practice of it towards my fellow human beings. This meant not only a change in daily activities and regimen, but a whole change in my way of thinking and behavior patterns. For by myself, this is impossible - but with God's grace and an open and contrite heart, it is entirely possible. To practice Divine Mercy would mean to learn and practice humility, true obedience to God, and pure Christian love and compassion. Up to this point, I had masked the practice of these virtues with naivety, passive-aggressive behavior, and empathy.
Even as I wait for Lent to begin by the calendar of the Church, I am reading a little more of St. Faustina's diary. It's one thing to hear the coined phrase that 'psychologically we all wear masks' - it's another thing entirely to not only realize personally how and when we do so but to take off that mask and see what's really underneath. And yes, to make the step of not throwing that mask back on because we are frightened by what we see but to keep it off to watch the change we want to made in ourselves... That is a big step indeed, spiritually, emotionally, and psychologically. I want people to see God in me and that can only happen if I open myself up to the truth of who and what I am and do. By embracing the truth, I hope in the Lord to be set free of my false self and illusions, and in doing so to become a truer image of God.
Friday, February 1, 2013
February 2013
February is often remember for the past: Black History month, President's Day, birthdays...and some other significant holidays like Groundhog's Day and Valentine's Day. I'm sentimental about Valentine's Day; not quite a romantic, but it means more to me than it ever did in all the years of my life. It's one thing to grow up giving out cards in class to every peer in my class, especially when I detested them - finding the appropriate thing to say was never easy. It's another thing to be grown up now and not have a special sweetheart to appreciate the day all the more. True love, pure love...bliss and happiness. At least for me I can still celebrate it somewhat because February is the anniversary day that I got my scottie Giacomo in 2005. He's six years old - middle aged now, and I find myself wanting to spend ever more time with him because I don't know how long God will let me have him. As a devoted dog lover and avid supporter of rescue groups, everyday pictures of malnourished dogs, abused and neglected dogs makes me wonder about the state of our society on its most primal level. I sent a card of sympathy to former President George W. Bush on the loss of his scottie, Barney. As I read through poems of pet loss, the reality that I would be there someday began to disconcert me. I have put out some personal decorations for Valentine's Day that suit my taste - mostly pinks. Ask me today whether I'd rather snuggle with a teddy bear or my dog, I more and more finding myself looking for my little snookie-wookums (Momo - the dog). It won't be lonely Valentine's Day - albeit the first day of Lent after Ash Wednesday. I'll have my scotty dog to snuggle even without flowers, cards, or chocolates. And I am eternally grateful to God for bringing Momo into my life.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Celebrate A Day Each Month
Since this year has started out so much better for me than last year, I look for any occasion to rejoice in God's grace and love. I'm not talking about partying as in drinking or tail-gating, but praising God for all the blessings He gives, both great and small. The ordinary miracles in our lives, like the sun rising every morning, azure skies, friends...all of these are worth celebrating. In the convent, we praised God with prayers known as the Office of the Hours seven times a day. I have my own routine now, after being out for seven and a half years. I got to thinking of the blessings that each patron saint of mine obtains for me. And so I will start with the Infant Jesus of Prague.
It is not so much the actual statue but the devotion that drew me closer to Him while I was just 17. The original statue is miraculous, but despite all the jeweled robes I do not find it attractive. The real inspiration was the visions and inner locutions of a certain Carmelite monk who rescued the statue (gifted to them by a princess) after the monastery was raided and sacked. I can't remember his name, but you can easily look it up. He was very devoted to the Infant Jesus who assumed our nature to make us adopted children of God. Many times it is said with great gratitude that 'the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us.' The poor monk, on recovering the statue from a pile of rubble, saw that the hands of the statue were broken off. He appealed to his superior to get the statue repaired but there were too many other repairs that needed to be made. So he prayed to the Infant Jesus and heard an inner voice reply "The more you honor Me, the more I will honor you." So the monk prayed to the Infant to provide the money since there was no earthly recourse. Mysterious donations of large sums of money began to appear by the statue in the chapel, and finally a sculptor was commissioned to restore the hands of the Infant. After that, miracles of healing, conversions, and solutions to impossible problems began occurring so much that the Catholic Church sanctioned the Infant Jesus of Prague as a patron of the Carmelite Order. And His powers are not limited to them alone.
Such persistence, even doggedness, to promote devotion by one monk for the Infant of Prague gained the monastery a great many blessings, both spiritual and temporal. From the monastery, the devotion spread throughout the order and so throughout the world. When He said 'the more you honor Me, the more I will honor you,' He meant it. Despite a lot of bad memories from the convent, that was one thing they never were able to deprive me of, this devotion which gained for me increasingly greater confidence in God's Almighty power. And everyday I pray a prayer, chaplet, written, or heart whispering, to the Infant to continue to provide for me and my family financially and economically. And I have learned that the amount of devotion showed reflects very much in the blessings bestowed. Whether it is money with which to pay the bills or Divine Intervention that keeps a roof over our heads and our cars running, the Infant Jesus of Prague always comes through. You have only to ask, and it will be given unto you.
It is not so much the actual statue but the devotion that drew me closer to Him while I was just 17. The original statue is miraculous, but despite all the jeweled robes I do not find it attractive. The real inspiration was the visions and inner locutions of a certain Carmelite monk who rescued the statue (gifted to them by a princess) after the monastery was raided and sacked. I can't remember his name, but you can easily look it up. He was very devoted to the Infant Jesus who assumed our nature to make us adopted children of God. Many times it is said with great gratitude that 'the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us.' The poor monk, on recovering the statue from a pile of rubble, saw that the hands of the statue were broken off. He appealed to his superior to get the statue repaired but there were too many other repairs that needed to be made. So he prayed to the Infant Jesus and heard an inner voice reply "The more you honor Me, the more I will honor you." So the monk prayed to the Infant to provide the money since there was no earthly recourse. Mysterious donations of large sums of money began to appear by the statue in the chapel, and finally a sculptor was commissioned to restore the hands of the Infant. After that, miracles of healing, conversions, and solutions to impossible problems began occurring so much that the Catholic Church sanctioned the Infant Jesus of Prague as a patron of the Carmelite Order. And His powers are not limited to them alone.
Such persistence, even doggedness, to promote devotion by one monk for the Infant of Prague gained the monastery a great many blessings, both spiritual and temporal. From the monastery, the devotion spread throughout the order and so throughout the world. When He said 'the more you honor Me, the more I will honor you,' He meant it. Despite a lot of bad memories from the convent, that was one thing they never were able to deprive me of, this devotion which gained for me increasingly greater confidence in God's Almighty power. And everyday I pray a prayer, chaplet, written, or heart whispering, to the Infant to continue to provide for me and my family financially and economically. And I have learned that the amount of devotion showed reflects very much in the blessings bestowed. Whether it is money with which to pay the bills or Divine Intervention that keeps a roof over our heads and our cars running, the Infant Jesus of Prague always comes through. You have only to ask, and it will be given unto you.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Patron Saints
When I was just 13 going on 14, we had moved to Washington state from North Dakota. We decided to choose to go to church in Canada in a little border town just 15 minutes from where we lived. When we were settled in and I went to CCD/Sunday School, I came to find out that the diocese of Vancouver, B.C. Canada confirms their CCD students at the end of my school year which was 7th grade. I had six months to prepare and choose a patron saint. I really didn't have much time to consider all options, but I've heard my fellow Catholics say that you don't pick the saint - they pick you. Well, that seemed to be the case with me, for while I was going through books on saints, I came across Bl. Kateri Tekakwitha. She was Native American, a little-known and unusual saint back then for me. My family has deep Chiricahua heritage, as well as influence of Navajo, Hopi, and Lakota Sioux cultures from where we had previously lived and from tribal-registered friends. So I chose St. Kateri because of that book that fell into my hands.
I kept close to her for the rest of my teenage years in prayer and spirituality and even was allowed the privilege to assume her name for my religious name when I became a Carmelite nun. A year after my confirmation, she appeared to me in a dream - a dream that despite trying to awake from I remained in to receive a message. We went through various social settings I was familiar with together, and found myself in a canoe, paddling around and occasionally encountering groups of people (cliques, really). Though I tried to greet them, they ignored me. Several times this happened and St. Kateri turned to me, opening her mouth as if to say something but something stopped her. It was not until returned to the beginning spot where I first encountered her in the dream and we disembarked from the canoe that she did speak. She said "I will be with you always." And so the dream ended. I kept close to her as a religious, but after I developed PTSD from the dysfunctional convent I was in and later left after five and a half years I did my best to forget my association with her name or devotion. So many times I was asked why I chose Kateri as my religious name since I 'wasn't a Native American'. I tried to explain the spiritual bond but it never sank through those nuns' thick skulls. After everything that had happened at the convent and as I tried to recover, I kept trying to believe that allowing her in my life was more of an interest...something stronger than a whim, but not truly a bond. I repeated over and over "Sr. Kateri Marie is dead" to repress/bypass the associated trauma. But we did have a spiritual bond, even if over the past nine years I haven't been as committed as I was initially.
This year, more than ever, I came to appreciate my name saint, St. Genevieve. It had to to with my recovery from PTSD and medieval depictions portraying her with an angel, chasing away a demon with a candle. This held significant importance for me, because my relationship with Jesus as His disciple, bride or friend, centered around Christ the Light of the World. In fact, this was the religious title I took when I was allowed to make my first vows as a nun. Sr. Kateri Marie of Christ the Light. Christmas was my favorite holiday, but Easter meant so much more to me (as it properly should). The rituals of Easter vigil were the highlight of my year, every year - except Easter 2003...but I won't discuss those details now. On St. Genevieve's feast day, January 3, I spent that particular day more than ever considering my vocation, and strongly wishing I still had that Agnus Dei I entered the convent with. It means more to me than ever before, and though I know I gave it as a gift to someone who needed it, I wished I still had it. Fortunately, I was able to obtain another within a few days of her feast this year.
Then I began to think of all my other special patron saints. St. Jude, who has been as reliable as the Blessed Virgin Mary in answering my prayers, I entrusted my technical college training success to with Our Lady of Grace. St. Dymphna, patron of my sanity; St. Philomena, patron of purity and children of Mary; St. Anthony of Padua, St. Rocce, Bl. JP II, St. Raphael the archangel, Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal, and St. Juan Diego had joined my personal treasury of saints with St. Joseph, St. Therese, my Guardian Angel, Our Lady of Guadalupe, St. Michael, the Holy Infant Jesus of Prague, and Rose Prince of the Carrier Nation since I returned from the convent. I never knew that I had so many friends. But after my experience in the convent with St. Kateri, I have learned an important lesson: whether they reach out a hand in friendship and patronage first, or you turn to them in your hour of need, never neglect them. More importantly, don't take them for granted. Remember to thank God for sending them into your life, as He does every person you meet. As for our heavenly brothers and sister in Christ, thank them constantly for their presence and support, even if you don't always feel it.
I kept close to her for the rest of my teenage years in prayer and spirituality and even was allowed the privilege to assume her name for my religious name when I became a Carmelite nun. A year after my confirmation, she appeared to me in a dream - a dream that despite trying to awake from I remained in to receive a message. We went through various social settings I was familiar with together, and found myself in a canoe, paddling around and occasionally encountering groups of people (cliques, really). Though I tried to greet them, they ignored me. Several times this happened and St. Kateri turned to me, opening her mouth as if to say something but something stopped her. It was not until returned to the beginning spot where I first encountered her in the dream and we disembarked from the canoe that she did speak. She said "I will be with you always." And so the dream ended. I kept close to her as a religious, but after I developed PTSD from the dysfunctional convent I was in and later left after five and a half years I did my best to forget my association with her name or devotion. So many times I was asked why I chose Kateri as my religious name since I 'wasn't a Native American'. I tried to explain the spiritual bond but it never sank through those nuns' thick skulls. After everything that had happened at the convent and as I tried to recover, I kept trying to believe that allowing her in my life was more of an interest...something stronger than a whim, but not truly a bond. I repeated over and over "Sr. Kateri Marie is dead" to repress/bypass the associated trauma. But we did have a spiritual bond, even if over the past nine years I haven't been as committed as I was initially.
This year, more than ever, I came to appreciate my name saint, St. Genevieve. It had to to with my recovery from PTSD and medieval depictions portraying her with an angel, chasing away a demon with a candle. This held significant importance for me, because my relationship with Jesus as His disciple, bride or friend, centered around Christ the Light of the World. In fact, this was the religious title I took when I was allowed to make my first vows as a nun. Sr. Kateri Marie of Christ the Light. Christmas was my favorite holiday, but Easter meant so much more to me (as it properly should). The rituals of Easter vigil were the highlight of my year, every year - except Easter 2003...but I won't discuss those details now. On St. Genevieve's feast day, January 3, I spent that particular day more than ever considering my vocation, and strongly wishing I still had that Agnus Dei I entered the convent with. It means more to me than ever before, and though I know I gave it as a gift to someone who needed it, I wished I still had it. Fortunately, I was able to obtain another within a few days of her feast this year.
Then I began to think of all my other special patron saints. St. Jude, who has been as reliable as the Blessed Virgin Mary in answering my prayers, I entrusted my technical college training success to with Our Lady of Grace. St. Dymphna, patron of my sanity; St. Philomena, patron of purity and children of Mary; St. Anthony of Padua, St. Rocce, Bl. JP II, St. Raphael the archangel, Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal, and St. Juan Diego had joined my personal treasury of saints with St. Joseph, St. Therese, my Guardian Angel, Our Lady of Guadalupe, St. Michael, the Holy Infant Jesus of Prague, and Rose Prince of the Carrier Nation since I returned from the convent. I never knew that I had so many friends. But after my experience in the convent with St. Kateri, I have learned an important lesson: whether they reach out a hand in friendship and patronage first, or you turn to them in your hour of need, never neglect them. More importantly, don't take them for granted. Remember to thank God for sending them into your life, as He does every person you meet. As for our heavenly brothers and sister in Christ, thank them constantly for their presence and support, even if you don't always feel it.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
It's a "God Thing"
Years of rhetoric and every piece of advice that could be shared was given me when I came home from the convent, a broken, barely living human being. I buried myself in school, trying to get through the pain I could not avoid and burying the pain I could in being active in university classes and the WCWA. Suicidal thoughts and wishes gripped me in my weakest moments as an unholy demon tried to take possession of me. It has been a long, very hard, and sometimes horrible journey of recovery, these past seven years. I couldn't be what I thought I could have been - what I did want to be...and after university when the recession hit, I didn't have anything to bury myself in. No schoolwork, no history papers, not even the WCWA after a visit to Gettysburg so traumatized me and then my asthma flared up something awful that I couldn't be around black gun powder smoke. There was no more hiding. I had come home noticeably thin - what doctors and experts say would be my 'ideal weight' - but that weight was a result of weight loss through extreme emotional, mental, and psychological duress. I pretty much maintained a size 8-10 for my 5'2" large bone frame - until university finished, and my goal to work in the National Park Service as an Historical Interpreter was lost in the recession. All I could get was sporadic seasonal and part-time jobs no matter how hard I tried. And over the course of 4 years struggling with major depression, PTSD, and Panic Disorder, having no self-confidence and no sure goal of 'where I wanted to be in five years,' I went from a size 10 to 12 to 14 to 16....to size 22W. Yeah, it runs in the family, but genes were not the problem.
America has an obesity problem, but think about this the next time you see one of us obese women: there is more than meets the eye as to why we are in the shape we are. And until this past holiday weekend of Thanksgiving, nothing was going to change because I didn't care anymore. If I had clothes that fit and a warm home and reassured God was taking care of me, it didn't matter how fat I was, even if I was pre-diabetic and my physical health continued to deteriorate. But something did happen to change all of that - something that can only be described as a "God thing." A "God thing" is a miraculous light-bulb that comes on when there is inadequate 'electrical wiring' to have a light bulb there in the first place. During the weekend, I saw an online special - a snippet from a talk show on health called "Your Unhappiest Age." An intriguing title, I clicked on it to watch what the 'experts' had to say. Apparently due to kids, family commitments, work obligations, etc., a poll taken showed that women reported their unhappiest age at 37 and men at 42. (And I'm only 30.) Then the psychologist went on and said the one thing that broke through the fog that has clouded my process of thinking all these years. She said that exercise was just as effective as anti-depressants in treating depression. Yes, I had known I needed to increase the exercise in my weekly and daily routine to help lose weight, manage my cholesterol and blood sugar...but until she said it, I was not the person to listen to just any one's 2-cents worth on health perspectives. But God's Hand reached down and created a light in the darkness I was in, a darkness no one else had been able to penetrate. Why not be happy for me? Why continue to be unhappy for the misery caused by the convent, the life I lead after leaving the convent (which was a choice I didn't want to make, but saw no other alternative to saving what was left of me)? Why not be happy for my own sake? Not someone else's - not happy for someone else's being. If I was to be healthy, I had to work on being happy. I never looked at it like that before. Why not be happy for happiness' sake because when God created everything, He created it beautiful and good?
Sound a bit off, a bit self-centered? Am I off on a tangent, perhaps headed into a wrong direction of thought? For a long time, I believed I could never be happy if I wasn't healthy. Truth was, I wasn't healthy because I was unhappy. I made up my mind - I was going to work on it. Yes, 3 - 4 days later, life is still chaotic with two weeks of the 2nd quarter left to go for my Medical Receptionist certification. But courage is not a loud roar - well, not always. It is that voice at the end of the day, when all is said and done, saying with firm belief: "I will try again tomorrow." So what if out of the past few days when I have decided to incorporate using my exercise bike while praying my rosary I have only been able to do it once for 15 minutes? It's a start! And I am not going to give up. For every breath I breath, may I enjoy it because God gave it to me because He loves me. When I lose weight, for every pound may God be praised, for I am taking care of that which He entrusted to me to care for; and should I reach my goal of finally fitting back into a size 8/10 or just being able to wear beautiful dresses like those traditional Chinese wrap dresses or a ballgown for the WCWA ball, let the glory go to Him for the beauty He gave me to share with the world. A symbol of His love for all to see who wish to see it. Let laughter come back into my life everyday, and with every laugh a smile to share with those around me - not just a beautiful girl, but a woman of God.
America has an obesity problem, but think about this the next time you see one of us obese women: there is more than meets the eye as to why we are in the shape we are. And until this past holiday weekend of Thanksgiving, nothing was going to change because I didn't care anymore. If I had clothes that fit and a warm home and reassured God was taking care of me, it didn't matter how fat I was, even if I was pre-diabetic and my physical health continued to deteriorate. But something did happen to change all of that - something that can only be described as a "God thing." A "God thing" is a miraculous light-bulb that comes on when there is inadequate 'electrical wiring' to have a light bulb there in the first place. During the weekend, I saw an online special - a snippet from a talk show on health called "Your Unhappiest Age." An intriguing title, I clicked on it to watch what the 'experts' had to say. Apparently due to kids, family commitments, work obligations, etc., a poll taken showed that women reported their unhappiest age at 37 and men at 42. (And I'm only 30.) Then the psychologist went on and said the one thing that broke through the fog that has clouded my process of thinking all these years. She said that exercise was just as effective as anti-depressants in treating depression. Yes, I had known I needed to increase the exercise in my weekly and daily routine to help lose weight, manage my cholesterol and blood sugar...but until she said it, I was not the person to listen to just any one's 2-cents worth on health perspectives. But God's Hand reached down and created a light in the darkness I was in, a darkness no one else had been able to penetrate. Why not be happy for me? Why continue to be unhappy for the misery caused by the convent, the life I lead after leaving the convent (which was a choice I didn't want to make, but saw no other alternative to saving what was left of me)? Why not be happy for my own sake? Not someone else's - not happy for someone else's being. If I was to be healthy, I had to work on being happy. I never looked at it like that before. Why not be happy for happiness' sake because when God created everything, He created it beautiful and good?
Sound a bit off, a bit self-centered? Am I off on a tangent, perhaps headed into a wrong direction of thought? For a long time, I believed I could never be happy if I wasn't healthy. Truth was, I wasn't healthy because I was unhappy. I made up my mind - I was going to work on it. Yes, 3 - 4 days later, life is still chaotic with two weeks of the 2nd quarter left to go for my Medical Receptionist certification. But courage is not a loud roar - well, not always. It is that voice at the end of the day, when all is said and done, saying with firm belief: "I will try again tomorrow." So what if out of the past few days when I have decided to incorporate using my exercise bike while praying my rosary I have only been able to do it once for 15 minutes? It's a start! And I am not going to give up. For every breath I breath, may I enjoy it because God gave it to me because He loves me. When I lose weight, for every pound may God be praised, for I am taking care of that which He entrusted to me to care for; and should I reach my goal of finally fitting back into a size 8/10 or just being able to wear beautiful dresses like those traditional Chinese wrap dresses or a ballgown for the WCWA ball, let the glory go to Him for the beauty He gave me to share with the world. A symbol of His love for all to see who wish to see it. Let laughter come back into my life everyday, and with every laugh a smile to share with those around me - not just a beautiful girl, but a woman of God.
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