After a Long Absence/ On A Path Finally Taken

These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration:--feelings too  Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered, acts Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world,  Is lightened:--that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on, 

~ "Lines", William Wordsworth 

 Greetings, my dear friends.

I apologize for the long absence, but in life things change, and it's entirely possible this blog has come to an end. It has been a labor of love, a labor of defiance at times, and, for long time readers, an obvious catharsis. It is perhaps because of this blog and time away in prayer and reflection that has helped to open another door in my life.

As an update, at this time I am not considering religious life, and believe that door to be closed. I fully believe Our Lord called me to deeply discern that Call, but in the end, He desired only that I say yes, and be willing, even though He has not allowed my own response to be possible. Although I am saddened in some ways, in others I realize it simply means He calls me on to other adventures, and this is glorious for God always knows where our true happiness lies. It means I continue on, the pilgrim that I am, perhaps now going into "special ops" mode in the spiritual sense of the word. By this I do not imply extreme holiness (since I have no where near achieved it), only, rather, deeper adventure, deeper mission, more covert and hidden operations in my heart and soul than can be shared with the great unknown ocean that makes up the internet world.

In this time of absence here, though, I have been working. It was as if a dam broke, and after a couple years of no interest in writing, I have, in just the last couple months, written one book and am half-way through the sequel, perhaps of a trilogy.

A couple months ago while doing some "nothing" reading, suddenly an old idea clicked in my mind and the story and characters have come to life. I have a couple dear friends who are  helping me with this project, providing support and even professional editing assistance, connecting me with resources (including people to interview) for research purposes, and even more amazingly, God has connected me with a very holy priest who also writes fiction (so far unpublished as he has not sought it yet), who has become the kind of friend every Catholic writer needs.

Just today I spoke with him about story development, and he commented on the recently deceased author Vincent Flynn (Rest in Peace) who was a faithful Catholic who lived what he believed. He noted that Flynn allowed the characters to have "free will", and this is a mark in Catholic writing. Writing is of course an art, and as Catholics, if we are faithful, if we allow God to work through us, even in works that are not religious in nature, our faith shines through.

The books I am writing are not "Catholic" in the religious sense. They are simply stories about people, they are adventure, thriller, action, and romance. They are merely human drama....yet, is there anything "mere" about the drama in the average human life? I'm not speaking here of emotional angst, but some of the deepest yearnings of the human soul, which often play out in ways that seem superficial.

As an aside....

This is why we have fiction. Our very souls are laid out nakedly in fiction; it's why we are drawn to it, identify with characters that do not exist, and engage with a story that never happened. One theologian, I believe it was Fr. Thomas Dubay, once observed that our engagement with a story in which that story comes to life in our imaginations, bringing us directly into it, is actually like a state of contemplative prayer. It is NOT the same thing, but it reveals our ability to engage all of our senses and abilities; and if we can do that with mere fiction, it also indicates we can do so even more deeply, more completely, in communion with God.  I would suggest, therefore, that reading good fiction may very well be a preparation for prayer and help us engage more deeply; that is, if we read the right things.

Moving on...

Getting back to the main point of this post, I haven't been writing a religious work, yet I found, when I completed the first draft, that Catholic themes are present. I cannot write what I do not believe. I can create characters who don't share my beliefs, and I can establish themes and content, but in the end, who I am as a Catholic is still imprinted upon the characters and within the story. Themes of sin, of redemption, forgiveness, sacrifice and eternal union arise in ways that are perhaps unexpected.

In writing seriously, I have found that my characters do truly have "free will", for they don't match what I want them to do, but seem to have minds of their own. Characters I'd like to see go down one path, in an interaction with another character choose a different one...and somehow, details emerge about the importance of the deviation from what I, the author want.

I have found, thanks to brief conversations with my priest friend, that I now have the ability to go back in this work of revision, looking with different eyes at where the free will of the characters emerge, for none of them are clones of me. They don't act as I do, they don't respond as I do. Nor do I want them to do so.

My friend today pointed out that this act of writing is an act of co-creation with God, in allowing the characters to develop, to become who they are and not necessarily what I originally envisioned them to be. It is humbling to think of it in those terms, yet his comments hearken back to the philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas, revealing the proof of God's existence as the First Mover. A painting points to an artist, and the brush held by the artist, and in any given creation, God is that artist. A book points to the pen and the author, but then, who created the author?

Any truth points to God, if it is really true.

Whether or not my book will be published, I can't say. Although the first draft of the first book is complete, and I've done a read-through and minor correction with the second draft (typos, minor things), the third draft is in deep progress and will take time and additional research as I await one of my  important contacts to come back into the country to be available to assist with special-ops information. (non-classified) ;-)

It's amazing how many people I've already had to involve in just writing the first draft, and now I understand the litany of thanks given in any published book, for no author acts alone or anonymously.

So with that, dear readers, I thank you for the prayers and sacrifices you have offered me over the last several years, and beg for more in this new endeavor (and always for my Vocation, whatever it may be as I enter middle age).

It's entirely possible this blog is not at an end, however, I likely won't be writing much here any more. I can say that perhaps there will be other updates and other actions of God that prompt me to add another post, but maybe the "Tales of Adoro" are largely at an end since the original purpose of this blog has fallen into oblivion.

Thank you for coming with me on this journey, and, God willing, it will continue albeit in a direction I never really expected.

God bless you all, and thank you. From the bottom of my heart and the core of my soul, thank you.

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

 ~ "The Road Not Taken", Robert Frost

The Caged Bird Finally Sings

It's been years. Years upon years since I last sang.

Time takes a toll on the voice, and for so long, I was actually afraid to sing. Afraid that I'd go back to my "diva" attitude which was actually completely unintentional from the start.

But one day at Mass, the choir was so beautiful and I was so taken up into prayer by that beauty that I knew it was finally time to sing again. As if it were a direct message from God, that day at the end of Mass there was an announcement that they were looking for choir members.  My heart rose and crashed at the same time; I am not available, ever, for their regular practice time. I couldn't join the choir.

In hope, though, I approached the Music Director, introduced myself and explained that I wanted to sing, used to cantor long, long ago, and that I couldn't join the choir. Might she have a place for me?

Just then a friend of mine passed by and we greeted each other. She agreed immediately (never having ever heard me sing) that I could Cantor with her. I urged the MD to "audition" me, insisting I might not be good enough. I know full well I don't have the range I used to possess and I, like everyone else, loathe bad cantors who don't know when to step down.

In our culture of entitlement and "self-esteem", far too many people are doing things they simply don't have the gifts to actually carry out.

My first rehearsal with my friend went well and our voices blended well together. That weekend as we sang together, it was beautiful, if not perfect (on my part).  The sound guy approached us afterwards and said he couldn't tell us apart, and expressed that he hoped we'd often sing together for that Mass.

It was a good start, and I was happy.

Tonight I sang again. But this week's rehearsal in preparation didn't go well and I know well my voice is not up to par. Not yet. For all I know, maybe not ever. But the Music Director didn't seem concerned, and I remained grateful to be able to sing with someone else; a friend who is much better than I am!  I knew that I could back off if I couldn't hit the note. She could.

Unfortunately, we weren't able to rehearse together this week, so I let her take all the solo parts. Even though I practiced them, and in fact, because I practiced them, I realized I simply couldn't do it. She was gracious and offered me these solos, but I turned them down in good conscience, out of a desire that the liturgy be beautiful.

Back in High School when I cantored, I admit I reveled in being a soloist. I loved it! Especially considering that I hadn't learned until Jr. High sometime that I actually had a good voice. To put it to use was amazing! And to receive accolades, however informal, was more amazing still!

All of us grow up, though, and having been away from the Church, and from singing for a very long time, I now come back with a different attitude.

First, I don't have the voice I had then, so there is cause for very conscious humility. (And that is NOT an oxymoron!). Secondly, I now know quite well what the Mass is about and Whom is to be honored, and it ain't me! Thirdly....it's a privilege to be able to sing, to Cantor the Mass. To truly pray, in song, the Mass in leading the other worshippers in those prayers.

I've learned that time takes a toll on the voice, but it tempers the soul, and as imperfect as I am, it is good to know that perhaps I still have something to offer. Maybe it's not that pretty right now, and maybe it never will be. But it's something, it's adequate and thank God that He is giving me the chance once again to sing for Him.

Thank you, Jesus.

Define Irony: Parish Employment and Vocation

I haven't written in a long time about my Vocation because, well, I'm not sure that I have one. Over time I think that's become abundantly clear even to the most casual of readers. Over the last year, although I've wanted to keep the door open, it's one that has been definitively shut.

How do I know?

Because I'm too old, I have way too much debt, and the debt that holds me back isn't educational, but the debt literally created by being paid so little while working for the Catholic Church. I have no hope or even any desire, anymore, of pursuing a Vocation. That's why I haven't written of it. I'm simply...done.

Before you get your undies in a bundle and call me a "liberal", though, or seek to "comfort" me, hear me out because there is irony here, and this is where God reveals part of His hand.  

When I began my employment in a Catholic parish, I was in vocational and Vocational limbo. It fell into my lap and although I had absolutely zero desire to work for a parish, friends encouraged it and even pointed me to the job posting, the only one that gave me an interview. Literally the ONLY one. I even called to speak to the DRE (Director of Religious Education) hoping she'd say that no, I didn't possess the basic qualifications.  Instead, she told me to submit a resume' and cover letter and see where it went. So I did, and when I was bottoming out and ready to give up, they called me for an interview.

I interviewed for the position on the Feast of St. Monica, August 27, 2007.  They called me back exactly five years ago today, on the Feast of St. Augustine, to offer me the job.

I had been praying, incidentally, even before I knew about this particular job, through the intercession of St. Monica and St. Augustine. Because of that, even though I really didn't WANT the job, I had no other options and was at the end of my money. I said "yes" both because of the obvious connections and for practical reasons, even though it was only a 10-month position, with PT hours in the summer.

I thought maybe it would buy me time to find another job, but with an income, no matter how meager, I decided to let God work and see what happened. I had already been accepted to Ave Maria's Institute for Pastoral Theology and thought maybe God would somehow come through in some way.

As it turns out, He did...but not in the ways I expected. 

I suffered three years of coursework while working an irregular schedule, and I am a person who NEEDS structure. As a result, I only graduated Cum laude at the end of the program. I think it's a miracle to have that honor, given what my necessary parish work schedule did to attack my ability to focus on studies, given my own private intellectual needs. (I think I'm borderline ADD). Most of my classmates graduated Summa Cum Laude or above, in spite of their own personal struggles. It was great to be part of such a gifted class of individuals - they taught me so much!

 On topic, though, I can thank a couple of Religious Sisters who came to speak at an event I had to organize, and through their connection to Padre Pio, and through their friendship and invitation, I began to actively discern the Call in the depths of my soul, to seek Our Lord through a Holy Vocation as a Religious Sister. And as a result of prayer, I sought out the contemplative life. Because of many people I have never met and probably never will, I visited three communities, two far from me, requiring airfare.(One was the Motherhouse of the Sisters who got me started). The other was close enough to drive, but that summer, my mortgage was paid by a long-lost friend I had met ONLY because I was working in a parish and we crossed paths at a Youth Event.

It has been the blessed result of my parish employment that both drove and allowed me to pursue God in a way visible to others, and which hopefully, edified them also in their own greatest adventure as a human being.

Yet there is still a dark side. I completed my Master's in Theological Studies, and the grad loans through a secular company, have no mercy. As it was, because I was paid so little through the parish, and not eligible for a raise until I had been there for four years, and because life goes on, my debt has increased. From the beginning, I couldn't even get an oil change without putting it on credit. My car has weird problems and although I paid it off in the last 5 years, just after I did so my car cracked a head. Not a head gasket, but the aluminum head itself, costing me $1800 at an independent shop (far down from the $2700 the Saturn dealership, when it still existed, quoted me).

I've had to buy underwear and socks on credit, and my favorite place to shop is Goodwill these days. Not than anything ever fits and if it does, I still come out looking like I shopped at Goodwill.  By the way...I have always hated shopping with a passion. The reality is that clothing doesn't look good on me, never has, and the only reason I shop is because I'd look worse naked.  Besides, being naked is both offensive to others and just plain immodest, therefore immoral (unless it's proper like, say, in the shower).

Ha! I digress!

So now, 5  years later, I've nearly gone into foreclosure once, was saved by family as a "loan" and now...now...I'm about to lose my job. 

I'm not supposed to talk about it, but in reality, I have been because I need prayer. I know it's time to move on and my parish is "restructuring" the staff, and our own office of four will be losing two. They (and by "they" I know they are quoting the Business Administrator who is PC to the max) say they are cutting "programs, not people" but we all know it comes down to people. Just call it what it is already! We are not stupid and know that the parish, as a result of people in the pews not contributing, means programs and therefore the people running them, are being fired!

That's life. I'm not even angry about it because it's happening everywhere and I'm one of those Catholics in the pew not contributing because I can't afford it, either. I think I gave $10.00 when I got my tax return or when I was anticipating it. Seriously, over the last 5  years, my contribution statements from my own parish have been humiliating. I'm dead weight upon the Church simply because I work for her and haven't anything to give.

So it is I can't blame the people because they don't know how much the parish is suffering, and well, they don't have the money anyway.

 I don't have the guts to go to the Pastor and offer my head. I've prayed about it and I've struggled with it, but I simply can't just quit, no matter how easy they're making it to do so. I have nowhere to go, and really, quitting a church position is exceptionally difficult because the people with whom we bond become like an extended family.  It's impossible to stay aloof. I have to wait this out and let the chips fall...and then protest if they don't fall where I want.

Amazingly, I want my own head to be chopped here. I don't belong in parish ministry. It's not my calling and I knew it even before I applied. I've been mystified for 5 years, exactly, and just hope that in some way my work has been a benefit to the parish as a whole. Some will be thrilled to see me go. Others will be scandalized. Others may leave because they will see the cuts being made (not because of me) as a total betrayal.

I want to go and think it's time. I hope it's my Pastor who fires me so that I can offer all this to him, for he is in a terrible spot and I don't want him to feel badly. I want him to know, definitively, that he is making this easy for me to go and that it's a serious gift from God.

The scripture I  pondered, all the time in reference to Our Lord was, "To Whom will I go? You have the words of everlasting life!".

God knows what He is doing. I have been there for a reason and would not ever have pursued Jesus at such great lengths had I not been called to work, for a time, in this particular capacity within  our Faith. 

The reality is, though, that parish work has also been my greatest obstacle, both in education and in pursuing my Vocation. The place I want to go (Vocational)  has meetings every month, yet I am required to be at work that very same weekend, so I can't take the time off to go. And there isn't anyone to take my place, nor can I demand that my coworkers cover me as they are also otherwise engaged with work and home demands.

I don't feel badly about losing my parish job, but do beg your prayers. Please pray I can find something, and specifically something in the secular world, where my degree will actually do some good. Please pray that God's will be done, and even though I'm old and have given up, please pray for my Vocation. As long as I have breath in me I have vows to give and long to give them to holiness in some specific and sacrificial way.

Thanks for hanging with me, my dear readers and friends. I guess the adventure continues!

God bless all of you! 

Big Bad Wolf

I'll never forget taking my first dog I adopted as an adult to an obedience class. The instructor informed us in no uncertain terms that we have taken wolves into our homes and we should expect them to be...wolves. Not human babies. As strong as the temptation is to want to "humanize" our pets, it's the worst thing we can do, because of course, they don't think the same, they don't "feel" the same, and, well...their genetic makeup is fully canine.

He was right. 

Now that I've had several dogs, both my own and fosters, come through my home, I've come more and more to understand what he was talking about. Especially now.

A couple weeks ago I took in another foster, a mix of a couple of the most beloved breeds, and things were going well - until I took him in to the groomer. His nails were terribly overgrown and he was clearly in pain so I insisted we get this taken care of as soon as possible, and certainly before a pending adoption.

Unfortunately, the grooming didn't go well. I'd warned the groomer that he was sensitive about his nails and she was ready for him. She gave him a chance, he snapped at her so she went to get the muzzle. The groomer approached him with the muzzle, didn't even touch him when, without any warning whatsoever, the dog  lunged and bit her, drawing blood.

She's fine, but the dog's future is in question. I got him into the Rescue's vet this last week to get his nails trimmed, but because of the bite risk, the appointment was nearly as traumatic for me as it was for the dog. Both the dog's placement coordinator and I were careful to caution the staff not even to approach him with a muzzle or someone would be bitten. They prepped the sedatives and took even more precautions to ensure he wouldn't bite when the needle went in. (I think he's fine with needles but when a dog has bitten the logical thing is to ensure it doesn't happen again, especially when the dog is already stressed.)

My foster had to be given drugs twice and STILL had fight in him when it came to the muzzle. He was completely out...but when the muzzle approached he leapt into action. Actually bit the Vet Tech once, forcing him to have to get the "cat gloves" and the hapless (and brave!) VT would have been totally torn up without them by the time they were finally successful.

Indeed, the dog's nails were finally clipped, and the good Veterinarian did indeed deem it to be "medically necessary", even prescribed painkillers for what may be an arthritic knee. She was able to do a good exam while he was out cold (and muzzled), and I'm thankful - because he almost bit me a couple days later when I barely and unintentionally brushed against his bad knee.

So as it goes, my foster, whom I am calling "Aslan" because he has a huge mane and, well, isn't a "tame lion, you know", has a behavioral evaluation tomorrow. All the rescues are temperament tested before they go to a foster, but when problems are identified, they get more intense scrutiny.

Life in the Balance

I grew up hearing from our Mom that if our dog ever bit anyone, she would be "put down". No question. My Mom was raised on a farm and it was unacceptable for a family pet (usually kept outdoors in their case) to bite a human being. I don't disagree with that standard. However, I have come to realize there is room to allow for hope, and that also comes from the same Christian upbringing. While Jesus did not die for animals, he did give we humans dominion over them and the ability to use reason - and training - to properly steward these creatures.

Sometimes humans do horrible things to animals and cause behaviors the animals themselves would not choose if not completely traumatized. Some of those things CAN be overcome. A dog is not a shark; the taste of blood from a bite does not automatically mean that a dog will start biting indiscriminately. They don't have interest in that; they bite for a REASON. Find the reason and perhaps they can be saved.

That is the case with this dog. I'm sure of what happened to him:  his paws and nails were never handled and were totally neglected for care. When it came time that they HAD to be done, they didn't work with him, decided to muzzle, forced the muzzle on (again without training), took him down and hacked off the talons, probably causing pretty major pain. This probably happened more than once, and NOT by professionals, but by whoever owned the dog.

His aggression triggers seem to be limited to any kind of ongoing pain, his nails, muzzle - and anything that would be painful. This is a scary thing. Right now he can't be trusted; even I won't push him if I'm not sure how he's going to react. I'm careful to watch every bit of his body language so as to avoid setting him off.

Tomorrow, I'm taking this boy to the Rescue's Behaviorist for an evaluation. My understanding is that the Behaviorist will trip "Aslan's" triggers with what we know and I guess, push the envelope in other ways as well. She will determine if we can work to desensitize him and give me instructions as to how to go about it.

Years ago I had a dog who was both fear-aggressive (nonspecific triggers) and had major separation anxiety. While it's nice to have had that experience under my belt, and while that past experience helps me to have no irrational fear about the dog in my care now, I claim no expertise. This is very much a learning experience and as this is not my dog but merely a foster, his LIFE depends upon tomorrow's meeting and what I am able to do, with the Behaviorist and the dog going forward.

So...I realize many people have had bad experiences with dogs and may have grown up just as I did, with the equation of "Bite = Death". Please let me introduce this dog to you in the way I see him every day:

"Aslan" is the perfect gentleman inside the house.  He sits on command, is completely housetrained, stays in my room at night and remains quiet even when my usually-quiet GSD barks at something.  I usually wake up to find "Aslan" lying directly next to my bed waiting to greet me. When I do arise he tries to circle and is only hindered by his girth as he's about 30 pounds overweight. (He should weigh 50 - 60 lbs max but weighs over 91 lbs).

"Aslan" has probably lost a couple pounds since he came to me, and LOVES his walks. In the beginning he struggled with the short ones but now tries to lead the way and I have to keep him from crowding and "herding" me on our regular walks. On bad days, as he has maybe a little arthritis in his knee, he lags and may sit - that's become a cue to me to take him home.  For now he's on anti-inflammatories which hopefully will help and I think already have done so!

"Aslan" defers to my GSD (as Queen Bee of this house!) and prefers the floor to the dog bed but still finds his way to the dog-designated futon when it suits him. He's directable and loveable. He loves attention, wants to be petted, knows how to "shake" and takes treats so perfectly an infant could offer it to him without a mother's moment of worry.

The other day I discovered "Aslan" likes it when I sing, but tonight, I learned his favorite song is "Lil' Red Riding Hood", Amanda Seyfried's version. The very moment I began singing he sat up, after awhile started to vocalize every time I stopped, and when I sat on the floor, still singing, he came over, laid his head in my lap, rolled over so I could rub his (considerable!) belly, and then stood only so that he could turn around and sit in my lap to be petted.

This is a wonderful dog and it breaks my heart that he has been so traumatized that his fear has driven him to draw blood from human beings. "Aslan's" nature is to be someone's buddy. He's protective, he's cuddly, and he's obedient.

And his life is in danger; not because of the Rescue or because of me, but because some people in his past have so traumatized an innocent creature to the degree that we may be unable to un-ring that particular bell.

Comparisons

There are some who think the lives of animals mean nothing, or try to compare the lives of human babies to those of animals. There is no comparison. As a Catholic, I know it is both-and. While I give far more weight to the life of a human child, that does not mean that some of us have not been called to the area of Catholic Social Teaching in the area of Stewardship for Creation. I am not a mother, I do not have children. I am Pro-Life and work professionally with religious organizations that promote the end to abortion and contraception.

But in my personal time, because I am able, I find I can help some animals, I have gifts in this area, and right now there is a life in my care. Some human beings in this dog's past put his life in danger through really horrible abuse, and all the work I do with this I offer in reparation on behalf of those who hurt him. I have hope that this dog will respond to training and hope that tomorrow's evaluation will go well. I am assured of support from the entire Rescue.


Everything I do for animals I do even more for human beings, for every service to the former is ordered to the eternal life of the latter.

And since now I know "Aslan's" favorite song, I will sing it to him as often as necessary to tame the bad wolf within him.

Randomness

Thanks to all of you who continue to follow my blog, in spite of such sporadic and non-specific posts.

Let me give you a little humor.

Today, Tim the Director of Custodial Services, visited my realm. I heard him come in and as I was heading out on another errand met him in our "foyer"

Tim said to me, "I'm looking for a missing broom, wondering if you have it here somewhere."

I told him, "Oh, I took it and rode off on it last night."

He turned to walk away, tossing over his shoulder, "Well, ya shoulda rode it back!"

Surprising Revelations

I haven't written in AGES because, well...I just haven't felt like it.

It's always bugged me that various bloggers announce a hiatus, as if expecting an alleged "adoring public" to miss them (us). And bloggers announce every change they make to comments, moderating or not, allowing comments or not. Apparently this is a topic of serious importance in blogging.

REALLY?

We're BLOGGERS. We have a BLOG, not a professional COLUMN. We don't do anything professional in the way of writing and no one actually PAYS us to know our innermost thoughts, so why does "our public" CARE if we take some time off?  (Personally, I think the paid columnists are far overrated, too, but that's a different topic).

I never understood the "I'm taking a hiatus" announcements, and actually, since I've taken my own un-announced hiatus, I've noticed my readership has grown! Seriously, people, if I'd known I'd get more followers by shutting the hell up, I would have shut up YEARS ago, before I said anything stupid! It's not like I've ever had that many comments, and I don't expect my regular commenters to  announce a hiatus from their own commenting behavior on my blog.

Truth: the public doesn't give a rat's ass if we take some fancy-sounding "hiatus".

Now, all that said, let's discuss the topic at hand: surprising revelations.

RECAP:

I started my blog on the backbone of religious discernment and over the years, revealed my heart and soul. Eventually I found where I thought I belonged and it came to a dead-end.  So far, I simply am not free and I'm not willing to discuss, anymore, my innermost thoughts or what is going on with regard to my state in life. Ergo....I have nothing to say.

Until now. 

The other day, at work, a priest I know, one who was helpful to me in various ways when he was assigned to my parish, appeared again. It's been a few years and he remembered me and my parish, but not my name. No problem - I suck at names, too.

When he found I was working for another parish he asked me how I liked it.

I was taken aback - I couldn't lie and I couldn't tell the truth. I felt like a child who had been caught making up a story.

Immediately, I knew I couldn't tell him, in a place where others would hear, that I hate working for a parish and wish I had run away screaming, which is what I want to do every single work day. And if I gave that answer, I know doing so in public wouldn't be wise, for it is guaranteed something would be overheard, taken out of context, and spread to the general public.

Instead I took a breath, and actually, gave the most honest answer politics would allow: I made a face, scrunched it up and said, "I don't know."

I watched the expression on the priest's face, as he was also trying not to react, realizing immediately upon watching my involuntary expression as I'd tried to figure out what inoffensive thing to respond, that his question was perhaps not going to obtain the reaction he'd expected.

Are you confused yet? Good. Join the club.

My "formal" response to his question, realizing anyone  might pass through the public area in which we spoke, was to say that I know I am not called to my current work. Out of the blue, although I haven't discussed it in ages with ANYONE, I told him I'd discerned my Vocation and the door was closed. I knew where I wanted to go, but am not free to go.

He looked askance, no words, so I added the fact that ever since I've worked for the Church, my credit debt has skyrocketed, including student loans, and in the last year, I nearly lost my house. Because I work for the Church.

Ironically...the Church is my greatest obstacle to following Christ.

Except that she is not, because, as I told Father, I have learned a great deal and it is clear that HE has me where He desires, and I will submit to His will in that regard.

I was surprised at myself for being so blunt with a priest whom, yes, I knew in the past, but isn't my Pastor now.  I was surprised at myself, and actually have abused myself since, for I should have prepared for such a question as I know any priest may cross my path as long as I am a parish worker.

It Gets Better

The next day, while I was already kicking myself for being so unprepared and therefore so HONEST in response to a question from a former mentor, I found myself under a microscope.

My friends, know well that the ranking Officer in any parish is the Receptionist. When she speaks and demands, YOU STAND DOWN!

I'd gone to the office to pick up mail and found myself on the receiving end of the Receptionist's glare. She said she needed to speak with me and I should remain until she was done with her current task. Dutifully, I remained, shaking in my shoes. This was not a woman I wanted to cross.

To compare:  A parish worker in any capacity is to the Receptionist as to how a rookie Police Officer is to the Dispatcher:   This is your lifeline and you are to submit to her authority. Period. No matter WHO you are! 

So I stood and waited to meet the Great White Shark of a Dispatcher, uh, Receptionist, and SHE demanded to know why a particular priest was present the evening prior.

As it turned out the Priest who arrived and to whom I had poured my heart (in a limited way) was actually not supposed to be there at all!

It was a total mistake!

Yet I see God's hand, just the same. I see His hand in the priest arriving, one who demanded my honesty, to him, to God, and myself. I know God worked through this priest that evening in our shared goal but I see something greater. Something more important, and it's not something I can speak here.

God is very good and doesn't make mistakes.

I spoke, honestly, with a priest who understands my plight (as he revealed in our conversation), and didn't judge me for my thin veil of revelation: that parish work isn't for me.

I feel so guilty that I so desire to leave Church employment, but there is nothing here for me. I can better use my education as a volunteer, but I can't volunteer unless I leave my paid position.

So there it is. I live a  conundrum and make no apologies for it. What random readers make of this is up to them.

Do I have a Vocation?

Certainly!

Am I free to pursue it?

NO.

So, for now I submit to God's will knowing He knows what He is doing and will not leave me orphaned.

That's all I have, and it is enough.

Catholics and the Press

It's no secret that the Media hates us but if we are to be honest...it's partially our fault. 

Recently I happened to witness an exchange between a reporter and a Catholic spokesman and was dismayed by the image given to the Reporter about an important Catholic devotion, one that is quite central to our Faith. I also saw others try to explain things to a reporter who had no qualms in asking for details and clarification, citing that this was entirely new to him and he truly wanted to understand.

I believed him.Truth and sincerity were in his expression and body language, conveying slight embarrassment.  I also knew that the people speaking to him had their minds elsewhere and let's face it: it's really hard to explain our beliefs about things we take for granted because they have always been our practice and belief.

It must be terribly confusing for "an outsider", e.g.  the secular press, to come into any religious organization or something associated with a religious organization, and obtain details of an event, people, or person involved in whatever story they happen to be covering.

We bloggers are often the first to condemn the Media (yup, I'm right there in that crowd!) and harp at them for interviewing this or that dissident or mis-informed individual. We're always rolling our eyes and cringing when we hear or read a reporter's summary of our beliefs and practices or how it applies to a situation, and then, if the spokesperson of a particular place is quoted, we either tend to condemn that person as a "dissident" or, more likely, the reporter with some other defamatory label usually lumped in with "The Liberal Media."

I don't think that's really fair. 

Now, don't go off on me in the combox about the general fact that the Media as a whole is, in fact, actually quite liberal. Even most liberals agree with that! And they've got plenty to say about the "conservative" media, too, and I'll stand in line to condemn the "conservative" end, also without qualms.

So let's move past that and actually shine the light on ourselves as Catholics for a moment. It's necessary and we do need to take a good, hard look. 

Like it or not, if something is happening involving a Catholic parish, reporters and big trucks with huge antennae are going to show up and stick microphones in people's faces. We don't have to like that fact; few people do, even those who are trying to get a story into the News in some way. It simply isn't comfortable to be a bug under glass. The only people who are comfortable with it are veteran reporters and news anchors in cozy studios.

Let's look at things from a different perspective

First let's consider the Catholic psyche.

We Catholics often grow up in our faith and we are accustomed to our liturgical worship; it is quiet, it is contained, and it is constant. We don't just have the Mass which is infinite and contains everything in heaven and earth, but we have the Liturgy of the Hours (LOH) seven times per day, or for busy people, the Magnificat magazine (which is often a bridge to the LOH). We have Eucharistic Adoration, Processions (a bit more public than our typical form of prayer!), Rosary, various prayer groups and just a general culture of prayer that is inherent in our religion.


The world does not understand this intense form of prayer because it is not available for public viewing. While it may be emotional, it is hidden and is not open to reveal to observers who expect us to react in a different way. In the world of religion, Catholicism is very introverted for our relationship with Christ is so intense that we have no need to announce to others what we are doing and when.

But the world does not understand this and if we are in crisis or if a group experiences a great event that is somehow related to the Catholic Church, the general public is confused. They confuse our regular prayer cycles and think if it appears we do nothing, we in fact, are doing nothing when the opposite is true.

They are, quite understandably, a bit stymied by the fact that Catholics pray so quietly and in a crisis, we don't "rally" like many do, but we bow our heads and bend our knees and do this privately or in the silence of the Eucharistic Adoration chapel. If we don't have such a chapel, we to to the Sanctuary and we do the same thing with Jesus hidden in the tabernacle.  

Then enter the Press, in some form, mostly secular or participants in a different non-Catholic or non-Christian religion...or no religion at all.  

The Press is supposed to be conditioned to be "unbiased" (Journalism 101) but the reality is they are human beings and as such, they are biased. However, let us, for the sake of the virtue of charity, assume the best of these professionals and hope they really ARE trying to be unbiased, especially when it comes to religion.

Yet, the largely-secular Press, by practice at least, comes into a Catholic parish and is suddenly confronted with all sorts of theological terms: Liturgy, Eucharistic Adoration, Transubstantiation, etc.

Now, think of who is called upon to respond to the Press at a given event:  often it's the Priest, and really, dear Father has his mind on many things. Perhaps his explanation to the media is harried and clipped because while he knows he must give this interview, his heart is with his flock and all that needs to be done to serve them in this given event or crisis. The parish business administrator may be called upon to become the Spokesman and you know what? That person may not even be Catholic as his job calls for knowledge of business, not theology. He may give an explanation of a Catholic practice of which he has rudimentary knowledge and may even admire, but if he doesn't share the Faith or have direct knowledge through shared participation in a given devotion, he may get the explanation wrong.

It's also quite possible that the person giving the interview to the Press has his or her mind on the larger community, and out of lack of faith, fears our beliefs are not palatable to the general public, and further, may not have a succinct explanation of it. The reporters need word bites, not long theological treatises. So the spokesman bungle the explanation, or, more likely, hedges the explanation to make it seem like something other than what it is...maybe something more Protestant or more "generic" to the allegedly larger non-believing crowd.

Inherent Catholic Culture

As it is, what I'll call "orthodox Catholics" who tend to prefer the quiet, unobtrusive liturgical prayer that characterizes our culture are not very likely to step up to the mike and speak for us. It's just not part of our collective Catholic personality to want to be in the spotlight. Those Catholics who do, though, unfortunately tend to be overwhelmingly blustery and condemning.  Or perhaps they step up out of a sense of duty or parish role and do the best they can with what they have and just pray it all goes away quickly.

Now, when it comes to the blustery types, common to what the world wants to call we "conservative Catholics",  if I were a Reporter, I'd run far away, quickly, and never darken the door of that parish ever again. I'd certainly never call up such people for an interview. Who wants to be lectured-to and condemned as "liberal media"? Why even risk that?

We so often see that some of the more "socially-active" parishes have much of the media spotlight, and we know that those same parishes for some reason tend to be missing the proper theology to back up their explanations, too. But because the personality of those parishes is more extroverted, they are also more press-oriented and so the Media, as a whole, will naturally gravitate towards them. If you were a member of the Press, wouldn't you look for comment on a Catholic topic at a place where you were more likely to be well-received?

Heck, I would!  And, having worked with difficult people in many places, yeah, I'd call the nice witness before I'd call the one I knew was going to be a problem to me personally in the fulfillment of my job!

Here's the thing, my dear friends...we need to do a serious examination of conscience in our relationship with the Press and we need to see where we are at fault...and what we can do to change it. And really, it has to start with we bloggers because, at least online, we are the face of the Church. And we're scaring the secular  Media away. That's not going to help our cause.

Here are my suggestions for good Catholic PR: 

* If you are called upon to be a spokesperson for you parish or our Catholic-related event and need to use terms like "Eucharistic Adoration" or "Liturgy of the Hours" or "Vespers", for example, you need to have a concise definition fresh at hand, use the actual terms for our practices, and understand that our terms may be new to the reporter who visits us.

* Don't shy away from theological terms - such terms invite questions and questions invite answers which tend to develop friendly relationships. (Keep an eye on evangelization y'all. Maybe not that reporter, but if he or she gets it right because you took the time, it can go a LONG way!) 

* Be open to the reporter's requests for definition - have it handy! Write it down on a card you can hand out, even!  (Hey! Media-ready flash cards! I get dibs on the copyright and patent on that idea!) 

* Don't try to evangelize the reporter. *cough*  They're used to that and expecting it because of the fact they're visiting a church. If you don't do it, it will throw them off and you're more likely to help them get your comments right because they'll relax and stop worrying about how to politely turn down your invitation to their Bible study!  ;-)

* Be patient with the reporter. They're just trying to get a job done, they were sent to you by someone over their head and may not even want to be there. Give them the benefit of the doubt, be gracious, and know that this is part of your job, too, even if you're "just a volunteer". Or "just a random guy".

* Stop painting the Media as a whole with a broad brush condemning all. "The Media" is made up of human beings and they have editors who make certain demands. It isn't the reporters who are "in your face" who have the final word on a story: it's their editors. And probably other people, too, like investors. I don't know. I'm not a journalist. Thank God! (No offense to Journalists!)

UNCONCLUDED CONCLUSION

I guess, ultimately, what I'm trying to say is that if we want to change the state of the Media in the United States, we need to learn to be more friendly TO the Media and stop expecting them to acquiesce to us. We complain they seem to have this or that dissident theologian who has long been discredited, but really, if we don't throw out a welcome mat, they're not going to come pounding down our doors and asking us to comment or explain this or that detail.

We don't have to compromise our Faith; we just need to do better at explaining our beliefs. 

What I witnessed recently renewed my hope in the Press, and I think there are many who would really appreciate a good definition of terms, would be happy to have a knowledgeable Catholic on hand for questions and research, and truly, want to do a good, ethical job of getting the story right.

Maybe, for once, we should give them a chance and recognize that we are our own worst enemy and only we have the power to turn the tide in that regard. 

How to Foster a Puppy

Well, it wasn't part of my Advent plan, but a last-minute thing came up, and as it turns out, I'm fostering a puppy.

Yup. A puppy.

Yesterday afternoon when I was asked to do this, and told it was a "six-month old shepherd mix" I pictured the first dog I adopted as an adult: a 60 lb nearly-grown puppy. Well, much to my surprise, last night when the bundle of joy was introduced to me I found about a 25 lb small puppy who could properly be named "Jaws."

So! For all you dog lovers out there, I thought I'd provide a helpful "how-to" in case you, too, are interested in fostering a puppy!

Without further ado....

HOW TO FOSTER A PUPPY

1. Pick up the puppy, get dog food, make sure you have a crate of some type, some squeaky toys, and treats.

2. Drive home.  Pull over on the way and remove the seat belt from the puppy's mouth. Carefully re-enter traffic and continue driving home. When you arrive, be sure to introduce your dog to the puppy on as "neutral ground" as you can manage.

3. If safe to do so, leave the puppy in the car while you run to get your dog, let her go potty, and then go to the car to get the puppy.

4. Open the car door while holding your dog's leash firmly. Scramble to half-catch the puppy as he tries to explode from the car, barely manage to grab the leash while gritting your teeth against the pain of rope-burn.

5. Untangle the leashes.

6. Watch the dogs as they are introduced - does the resident dog seem too intense? Hackles up? Baring teeth? Or just sniffing cautiously.

7. Remove the puppy from the astonished resident dog's head.

8. Untangle the leashes again.

9. Go for a walk. Make sure the male puppy doesn't pee on the resident dog. Ensure the puppy doesn't consume resident dog's poo. (Sorry, necessary warning!) Try not to step in said poo while untangling leashes again, and try not to fall in said poo when leashes are tangled around one's legs.

10. Return home. As resident dog is "in charge", make sure to support the alpha by removing her leash first no matter how annoying the puppy is in inhibiting you from doing this. Once resident dog is free and no longer entangled in either leash, drop the puppy's leash and let it drag for awhile just in case you need to snatch him back outside or away from something. Give him freedom to sniff around to get to know his new surroundings. Just watch him like a hawk.

11. Take the shoe away from the puppy. Hand him his squeaky toy.

12. Introduce the puppy (gently!) to the kennel. Go outside to bring the car in and get the rest of the puppy's toys from the car.

13. Let the puppy out of the kennel. Let the dogs "romp" a bit if it seems to be going well.

14. Take the piece of paper away from the puppy and replace it with a chew toy.

15. Remove the puppy from the couch.

16. Go into the kitchen to get the dog food ready.

17. Return to the livingroom at the sound of a very loud YIPE! followed by the resident dog slinking into the kitchen with her ears back. Ask who bit whom?

18. Take the blanket throw from the couch away from the puppy. Replace it with one of his chew toys. Watch him squeak away happily at it. Praise him enthusiastically.

19. Go back into the kitchen. Kick the dogs out of the kitchen. Realize the resident dog is trying desperately to get away from the puppy. Allow the resident dog into the kitchen and put the baby gate up. Watch the puppy sitting outside the gate wagging his tail hopefully and looking up at you with big puppy eyes.

20. Feed the dogs their dinner, return to the livingroom with a movie to watch. Sit on the couch with the resident dog who is still trying to get away from the puppy. Watch the puppy invite the resident dog to play. Watch the resident dog bare her teeth in warning because she does not want to play. Watch the puppy persist. When ignored, watch the puppy first bite the resident dog's tail and then her paws. Watch that not be a very popular course of action from the perspective of the resident dog.

21. Remove the puppy from the resident dog's presence and place yourself in between them so as to run interference.

22. Rewind the movie several times as you have not been able to actually watch this scene yet.

23. Realize sitting on the couch is not helpful so sit on the floor on the dog bed against the couch with a squeaky toy and try to contain the puppy. Rewind the movie again.

24. Watch the puppy as he roams and seems to be "sniffing" for a spot. Take the puppy out. Remove the leash from his mouth. Realize he doesn't want to go "out". Return inside.

25. Rewind the movie again. Sit back down with a toy and the puppy. Try to give the resident dog a lot of praise and attention too.

26. Watch the puppy sniff around on a rug and squat. Yell "NO!" and grab the puppy's leash. Throw a paper towel over the soiled spot and take the puppy out, praise him when he finishes going potty outside. Bring him back in. Remove the leash from his mouth. Try not to play tug-of-war in doing so.

27. Go get "Nature's Miracle", soak up as much of the mess out of the berber carpet as you can, spray the spot with the cleaner, soak it up, repeat. Take a shoe away from the puppy. Return to cleaning the rug. Put the cleaning implements away. Take the soiled paper towel away from the puppy and deposit it in the garbage. (The paper towels, not the puppy!)

28. Return to the movie. Rewind it again. Play "fetch" several times with the puppy.

29. Accidentally get into a "tug-of-war" game with the puppy. Make sure you win!

30. YIPE loudly when puppy accidentally bites you while you are winning the tug-of-war game you didn't intend to play.

31. Sit down at the computer to write about "how to foster a puppy".

32. Find it endearing that he is sitting on your feet while chewing on a proper toy. Hear a crunch and remove the teddy bear's eye from the puppy's mouth. Return to typing.

33. Realize the puppy is investigating computer wires. Push the puppy away and block the area with another object. Give the puppy a toy. Return to typing.

34. Hear another crunch. Remove the other teddy-bear's eye from the puppy's mouth.

35. Pet the puppy because he is really really cute! Remove your shirt sleeve from the puppy's mouth. Tell the puppy to get a toy. Remove your pant leg hem from the puppy's mouth. Tell him again to get a toy.

36. Realize you ARE what the puppy considers to be a "toy". Stand up and get a proper chew toy. As the puppy comes at you with a a wide open mouth ready to bite you again, stuff the toy in his mouth and watch him squeak away happily. Go sit down and rewind the movie.

37. Realize it is late. Take the puppy  and resident dog outside to go potty, put the puppy in his kennel and go to bed.

38. Get up in the morning, immediately get on the cold-weather gear and get the resident dog's leash on. Approach the kennel, leash in hand. Catch the puppy as he explodes out. Entirely miss him. Chase him off the couch. Take the couch pillow away. Try to catch him to put the leash on. Intervene when puppy pounces on resident dog who does NOT like being pounced upon. Try to catch the puppy. Take the couch pillow away again. Put it out of reach. Finally get the leash on. Untangle the leashes. Open the inner door. Untangle the leashes again. Praise resident dog for being so patient and quiet. Go outside with the dogs. Try not to slip on the ice when being pulled in several directions at once. Untangle the leashes again...

40. Welcome to life with a puppy!  (Don't worry, they grow out of it.....!)  ;-)

{ADDENDUM}

41. Notice how resident dog is getting snippier and snippier alternated with trying desperately to get away from puppy in active mode. Realize how this is not a good thing for either dog.

42. Contact dog's adoption representative to update and request he be moved to a more appropriate home.

43. Pray and wait for some hapless foster to take said adoption rep up on the offer to bring home the cutest puppy EVER!

44. Continuing working on maintaining peace in current home while scrambling to keep the puppy busy....

Foreclosure Fiasco

It ain't over 'till the fat lady sings and I ain't singin' yet.

Truly, I don't even know where to start and I have no intention of recapping (here, anyway), every conversation I've had in the last couple weeks with my mortgage company. Suffice to say I am outraged. Never in my life have I ever dealt with such unethical business practices. If I had, I would have switched companies immediately. But herein lies much of the problem; we consumers do not have that ability when it comes to mortgages.

Oh, sure I could refinance under a different lender. Right. With $85,000 in negative equity in a house now worth even less than the negative equity? Right. Sure. That'll happen.

Let me hit a few high points for you:

1. First the mortgage company wouldn't work with me because I called them BEFORE I had missed a payment. I called IN ADVANCE knowing that I was hitting financial trouble and asked for a solution in good faith.

2. They gave me only one option: a 3 month forbearance. I wanted to make payments or partial payments. They told me no, then when I pressed the issue, I got a reluctant "OK but you have to call this number and do it over the phone."  Me: "But won't there be an additional fee for that?"  "No, not while you're in a forbearance."  OK, fine, I made some partial payments, again, in good faith, and EVERY TIME I CALLED I had to reassert why I was making a payment, what I had been told and that there shouldn't be a fee. It was a battle EVERY TIME.

3. At no point was I ever informed that my payments, which were being withdrawn from my bank account, were not being applied to my mortgage.

4. At the end of my forbearance period I received a letter stating that my monthly payment had not changed and then asserted I was nearly $3k in arrears. I was not told not to make my October payment with the payment coupon they sent to my house with the admonition to "remit $920 to this address."  I did what a reasonable person would do and made my regular payment. No, wait..I actually made a bit more than my regular monthly payment. Again in good faith.

5. I spoke with the company to advise of the payment being sent and they told me they would apply it to what was in arrears and any future payments would be taken in order. That's when I got the foreclosure notice.  And the letter said I had until November 5, but on the phone, they told me November 4.

6. My family member sent me a check to help and I called the bank to make that payment. I had to go through the entire re-hashment of the entire mess. I called informing them immediately that I would like to make a payment to bring my account current and gave them the amount. They tried to tell me I only paid $750.  Um...WHAT?!

7. Then they informed me about the "holding account" and asked why I hadn't made my October payment. WHAT!?

8. Then they informed me that they'd received my payment and sent it back and that I would be responsible for October late fees even though the payment had been received on time. WHAT!?  They said it was my fault. WHAT!?

9. Then they forced me to pay $17.00 in fees to pay the amount to make my account current. I could not make my October payment at the same time because the money had already been taken from my account.  (yes, really)

10. Today I called to make my October payment and rehashed the same dang thing AGAIN. Several times, in fact. Because my account is current but October's is merely "late", I tried to pay online, then through the "SpeedPay" option which has a fee but a lesser fee. No. I had to call the collections department and my only option was to pay them via phone with another $17.00 fee.

11. And that's when I was informed of the "Appraisal Charge".  Um...what appraisal might this be? I was informed that was done in August without my knowledge but I was responsible for the cost. No, I said, that is part of the company's overhead, cost of doing business. Why is this being passed on to the customer? No choice..I have to pay it anyway or my account would not be brought to bear.  Oh, and what does this appraisal consist in? She tried not to answer my question but I forced the issue in no uncertain terms. They talk to neighbors and look at my house to see if I'm living there. How can they tell if they don't talk to me? What neighbors did they talk to. Really? How do they know anything by doing an "appraisal" like that?

12. So I pay the extortioner just so I can stay in my home and finally get them to concede to not charge me the "late fee" for October.

13. We finish the call with me paid up fully on my home, and in fact, beyond fully to date since they've now deprived me of a few utility bill payments I'll have to delay to December now. So much for Christmas gifts, family.   And then she says to me, "Why were you behind on your October payment?"

14. That was it. I went off, and right through the roof and I let that woman hear ever bit of my very directed rage (without profanity, mind you. I'm quite proud of myself for that particular restraint.)  I informed her that I had, in fact, as I told her, made my payment which they SENT BACK. I informed her that her company needs to communicate better, that they need to provide better payment options and in fact, if they are limiting options, need to inform the customer of the same. I informed her that had I not been sent that coupon that a reasonable person would believe indicated regular payments should resume on paper, I would not have made a payment that would be rejected. I informed her that it is THEIR FAULT ENTIRELY that I was behind on my October payment and in general, their entire process is  incomprehensible and clearly deceptive.

And then she told me the company would take "my feedback" into account.

15. I hung up and immediately began making inquiries as to which department in the State of MN I needed to contact in order to lodge a formal complaint against this mortgage company for deceptive, manipulative, and predatory business practices. A friend put a call into someone he knows at the Attorney General's Office to see if it's there, or if there is another department to contact. Or even multiple.

Here's the thing, y'all. I've worked in the business world. Many people hate auto insurance, and yeah, I get it and I've had bad experiences there, too, both as a customer and as a rep. But one thing I knew on the job: I was there to serve the customer and often had to bend over backward to help them out of some jam, even if the jam was their fault. Our different departments communicated easily and if I couldn't see some information, I could obtain it with a quick phone call and help the customer that way. Or if need be, directly transfer the customer to the person who could help them.

The mortgage company? No. Not interested in helping. In fact, clearly drooling over the idea of flipping my home in a neighborhood that already stands quite empty. Folks, if I move out, NO ONE is moving into this place. It'll remain just as empty as the others surrounding me.  They did everything they could to make it impossible to pay my loan, and in the end, I actually had to pay them in order get them to accept my payment to them!

This is not ethical! And it wouldn't be happening if consumers had more rights and could hold these companies accountable as we do other businesses.  Don't like your auto insurance - switch companies. Don't like your bank where your checking account is held, cancel the account and open one in a different bank.

Don't like your mortgage company - oh, well, sucks to be you. Even if you can refinance under a different company, there is NOTHING to prevent them from selling your loan right back into the black hole you left. As a consumer, you have NO rights which is why these companies don't help their customers: they get paid the same whether the customer stays in their home or lands on the street. There is no competition and every single customer is over a barrel. How is this NOT racketeering?

Now, I won't be quitting my job and becoming a hippie in order to hang out downtown any time soon. I'll continue going to work and trying to pay my bills, as I always have. I'm glad to have a roof over my head. But I will stand up and be counted to any department that will hear and register this complaint, and I will sign my name to it and hope to God every other person out there having to deal with this crap does the same thing.

For now, I have a home. Thank God for my family scraping the bottom of their own barrels to help me; one of them actually skipped a few bills this month on my account. I didn't know that until the check was cashed and signed over. I didn't know.

This is ridiculous. I just have no more words.

/rant

PS: God bless my family!

We Are All Called to Death

Recently I learned that the father of a dear friend had finally passed from this world into eternity after a long battle with cancer.

It wasn't unexpected and when I was asked if I could take time off work to attend the Wake, I asked for the date and time of the funeral, immediately pledging I'd attend both. I did this without reserve, even though mentally I was already rearranging my work schedule. What would I have to give up? What would I have to change?  I had a catalog in my head with regard to my personal life: what would I have to give up? What arrangements had to be made before I could go?

Let me be honest:

I didn't want to go at all. I didn't want to make those arrangements, I didn't want to take vacation days from work especially for something I didn't want to do, and really...I just didn't want to go.

My friends, I don't enjoy funerals. They are awful, they are terrible, they are sad, and I say this because every funeral I attend reminds me of the night I saw my Dad for the last time...in the casket. I remember the weirdness of the Protestant-with-secret-Masonic-ritual-afterburner rites, the cheapness of it as he had no money nor did we, so couldn't even afford a funeral in a Lutheran chapel. With every funeral I attend, I remember the grief, of the discomfort of the folding chairs, my mother staring at me constantly with her cat's eyes ready-to-pounce expression as I cried very natural grief. Then we were called forward from some odd reason to come to the casket for one last time to stand there and publicly grieve and then turn and FACE the audience while the Pastor or random person presiding over this show (whoever he was...I still have no idea) said some words and then we were finally allowed to go back to our seats so that we could stop being a public freak show of sad people.

But that was my weird experience. Had my Dad been Catholic, it probably wouldn't have been so bad. Part of what I experienced in his death was the absolute trauma of the alien-ness of the service, devoid of anything I'd ever understood a funeral to be, and the fact that after the funeral he was cremated but not buried until spring. I believe his remains were brought to a mausoleum but I have no idea if he was just tossed unceremoniously into the ground come spring or if someone was there to prayerfully lay him to rest. I have no idea.

Every funeral since then has reminded me of that; we tend to be marked by the funerals of those we love the most. 

So you see, even though I have a Theology degree and understand the theology of redemptive suffering, and I believe in the Resurrection and look forward to it myself, that doesn't make funerals any easier.

It took me aback, therefore, when my brother and I were asked by the grieving family to bring up the Gifts of bread and wine. I wanted to refuse, but remembered as a child when our family was asked to do this at a Sunday Mass. Mom was very excited and said to us with shining eyes, "This is a great honor!"

I didn't understand that, but we did what we were told (or invited, rather), and returned to our pew.  I've never forgotten those words, though, or the action, even though the import was totally beyond me at the time:: to bring up the gifts at Mass is a GREAT HONOR.

So it was that when my brother had asked me if we could/should do so at today's funeral Mass, I said "Yes."

No hesitation.  Not outwardly.

Interiorly, I didn't want to go to the funeral. 

My dear friend had confessed that she wasn't at all sure what condition she or her  brothers would be in during the funeral, and the moment I heard that, I knew she was asking for very real help. I couldn't forget standing before people at my Dad's funeral....I knew that I could do this for her, and in her and her brother's names. And, in the theology of the Liturgy, I knew I could bring the gifts forward in the name of all, the symbol of the offering of all.  I could to at least that out of love for my friend and her family, and her dear, dear father.

Still, something struck me during the Mass, and I pray I never forget it. 

In the last few days, New Advent has run many articles about funerals and death and dying. I've clicked on every one. Even though I did not know the deceased very well (for my friend is the fiance' of my brother, so my brother is their considered family member, not me), the words in every article seemed to speak to our situation.

I was convicted when I read one article citing funerals as an "inconvenience" and in the end, the author was blown away by all the people "inconvenienced" to come...and how much that meant to her when she saw those mourners paying respects to her own loved one.

Today, during the funeral Mass, I pondered both my experience as well as those I've attended as a mourner, as a friend, and I realized that indeed, one of the reasons I dislike funerals is because of their utter inconvenience.

They always happen mid-week, at odd hours, and one must take either a half or full day from work, if not more. One must often travel out of town, and make arrangements that go beyond those required for daily tasks.

I didn't want to go to the funeral today, or the wake last night, but I went, and it hadn't been in my mind to refuse; I went because I love my friend and her family, even though I hadn't seen her father for years. That didn't matter: I went because she is my friend and I know what it's like to lose my father. She's a new member of a horrible club and needed the support of fellow club members.

During the Mass, I pondered this reality. I was ashamed, to the depths of my soul, for not wanting to be there. I was ashamed, for I knew how important it was, for it means a great deal to a grieving family that others love their loved ones...and them. One of the best ways to show love it just to BE there. Presence says far more than words will ever express. Presence is eternal. Ink on paper, words on the wind...those are easily lost.

It was Divine Providence that my brother and I had been asked to bring the gifts, for I could not help but ponder the significance of this liturgical action. Usually during the Offertory, I bow my head and pray, trying to offer myself, my intentions, prayers for those I love...everything...in union with the Sacrifice of Christ. Today I was called upon to do something more physical and as my brother is not a practicing Catholic I had to help him also, to know where to go, when, and what to bring up. As it was I still flubbed it a little (I started to offer what I had before what my brother had as I'd forgotten to think about the order of reception! But the priest was gracious and is used to distracted mourners.) I felt bad...I could have better directed my brother, I could have been more aware...I could have reminded him to walk with me and not behind, etc.

Today, I was reminded that I don't have all the answers, and even when I am in "my element", I am still lost, I am still confused, and I am still but a sheep in need of a shepherd. I am a soul in need of a savior. I'm glad my brother got to offer his first, for it was so proper on so many levels.

Often God's lessons in humility are gentle, and hidden, but always so loving that we cannot miss the point.

Our Lord reminded me today that we are all called to death. 

While indeed, yes, we do all face death, it is our little deaths in life that matter the most. We are all called to walk where we do not want to walk, to bow our heads in deference when we want to lead, to be silent when we want to speak, to suffer confusion when we most do not want to be confused.  We are all called to mourn not when we would prefer, but when God calls our loved ones home. We are called then also to the service of those who mourn the greatest, and offer ourselves to them in their simplest needs. In practical ways, in friendship, in service, in representation, and in presence.

We are all called to that. We are all called to lay down our lives upon the altar and live there in the shadow of the Cross, knowing that it is only there that we can understand the resurrection and eternal glory of Christ.

Simply to attend to a death, we must die to ourselves. We must put our own lives aside to give comfort to the lives of others, and pray for the eternal life for the one who has been called into eternity.

Yes...this is our call. In life we are indeed in death, for we cannot live eternal life unless we are willing to die, over and over again, every day and every minute, all for the sake of Christ our Lord.

Please pray with me for the father of my friend:

Eternal rest grant unto him O Lord, may your countenance shine upon him, and may he and all the Holy Souls in Purgatory rest in peace. Amen. 

Thanks Be To God!

Thank you, my friends, for your prayers!

Today I received a call from a family member - a couple are pitching together to help me in this crisis, at least with regard to the house.

The foreclosure is going away!

I don't yet know how I'm going to keep from going into default on my student loan but on that front, there is a little more hope and I can probably "buy" a little more time. Please keep the prayers coming!

Many have suggested I place a Paypal button on my blog, and I may yet need to do that, but given the phone call today, I am thankful to be able to hold off. Thank you for your offered generosity - I am very touched by so many so willing to help. Whereas I may still need that kind of help one day, for now the hand of the bank is going to be stayed at least with regard to the most critical issue - the roof over my head.

This afternoon in the Adoration Chapel I prayed for all of you who have been praying for me and I hope you are all deeply blessed by God. I know many of you are undergoing other kinds of trials right now, so be assured of my prayers on your behalf.

Thank you, Jesus!

I Knew it Was Coming

My friends, I need to request your prayers.

Yesterday evening as I settled in to watch Kitchen Nightmares, a nightmare of a whole different sort came to my door in the form of a ringing bell and certified letter. I didn't even need to look at the address; I knew what it was as I signed for it.

It was my foreclosure notice. I have until November 5 to come up with $1800.00 in addition to my regular monthly payment of about $930.00.  I will also owe $200 on one of my student loans that was under a forbearance.

Right now I'm praying for a miracle. It's possible that I own something that can be sold, but probably not likely to happen in the time period I've been given.

I know that I can live in my house for a year under foreclosure, but my hope is that I can stop the proceedings by somehow coming up with the cash to pay the amount I'm behind. It seems like so little, doesn't it? Yet to me, it's a greater fortune than I've ever seen.

For those unfamiliar with my story, the reason I am behind is not for willfully skipping payments, but the fact that over the summer I was down to 25 hours per week and no other income. During that time my lender granted me a forbearance and I paid about half of my regular mortgage in that time period.

I am trying to work with the bank but they offer few options and the fact remains: I must pay this debt and I intend to pay it.

Please pray for me.

The Mystery of the Open Door

For the last several days, it seems like every time I've come home from work, I've had a door open that wasn't supposed to be open. Or perhaps a makeshift "baby gate" that has been tipped over by a very guilty-looking German Shepherd.

I'm used to her antics in trying to access some baby-gated areas and usually, no harm done so it's not a huge deal (as long as it's not the kitchen!).  Open doors, though, are a different matter entirely!

I had actually been attributing the recent open rooms to my own failure to properly close the doors, and again, neither the bedroom or bathroom had any damage or obvious disturbance, so I didn't worry. After all, my dog isn't a puppy anymore although she DOES on occasion get into things and make a mess simply because (GSD owners say it with me!) ...she's a GERMAN SHEPHERD!

Until last night, anyway, I'd been attributing open doors to my own failure to close them, and this is the cue that I need to give you a little back story.....

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time, little new homeowner Adoro adopted a German Shepherd, age 1.5 years, from the local Humane Society. The paperwork and the staffer there told Adoro that her new pet was very very smart and had a long history of an uncanny ability to open doors she was not supposed to open.


Adoro learned this very quickly the first time she tried to kennel her dear GSD, only to come home 45 minutes later to find the kennel door ajar and the dog standing outside of it with a happy waggy tail and a big happy doggie grin. 


The next time Adoro left, she reinforced the kennel with flex ties at all points, even the door, thinking that as she would be gone for only about a half hour, this would be a good test of the new "security" system. 


When Adoro came home, the kennel was completely intact! Yay! The door was still closed and tightly tied shut!


Unfortunately, the German Shepherd was AGAIN outside of the kennel, staring at her, doggie-grinning and happy-wagging. 


Hmmm.....


Well, Adoro gave up on the kennel, at that point realizing that to continue might actually cause her dog to be strangled if she was trapped in an escape attempt and Adoro did not arrive home in time to stop the tragedy. So it was that she invested in a baby gate for the kitchen to prevent counter surfing (for some reason the dog did not desire to jump over the gate), and pseudo-gate the steps at the bottom to prevent the dog from going upstairs. 


Over the years this worked, until the German Shepherd did begin leaping the stair gate. In place of that, Adoro closed upstairs doors, especially after an incident in which her dog had injured herself during the day and cost Adoro hundreds in veterinary bills to prevent her dog from bleeding to death when the clotting factors were thrown off by the injury. 


That system worked very very well  unless Adoro forgot to close the door or simply didn't latch it properly. 

Until....now...

And that's where the story continues to the nearly present day.

Keep in mind that the doorknobs in my house are the round sort that tend to need to be GRIPPED in order to turn and unlatch.

Well, I had begun to wonder about the open doors, wondering if in fact, there was a "mechanical" problem with the mechanism - was it not latching properly even though I had pulled and heard the "click"?

Then last night, I came  home to find that my bedroom door was open and a child-size scapular I bought at the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City in 1994 was lying on the ground, the string in shreds and the miraculous medal lying neatly among the mess.

When I stopped to stare at it in confusion, my German Shepherd circled my feet, ears back, tail tucked with the tip wagging as she "apologized".

I picked up the pieces. None were wet so it happened hours ago. The string appeared to have broken through stress. There was no damage to the door or the knob. The dog was playing "guilty" all over the place, especially when I had the evidence in my hand.

Thankfully, only the string was damaged - the two main pieces seemed fine and perhaps can be used again.

You see, this scapular is one that maybe I had worn (I don't remember) but as it is so beautiful and comes from such a place, I put it on my doorknob as an act of devotion - both to preserve it and to remind myself of Our Lady's protection, her intercession, and of course, what it means to be devoted to Christ.

I guess my dog isn't really into sacramentals even though I've done my best to raise her as a Catholic and she seems to enjoy it when I pray the Liturgy of the Hours with her.

But still.- I couldn't figure out what the broken scapular had to do with the open door! And of course, WHY the scapular was broken!

Yesterday a storm had passed through, and as the years have gone on, I've noticed that my dog reacts more and strongly seeks my company when the thunder cracks. I wondered if perhaps she'd nudged the doorknob in hopes of finding me, or maybe to get as close to me (via my scent in my room) as possible during the storm, and the door just happened to be forced open at her insistence, the knob turned just enough.

Today changed that theory, but first a little more to the story: 

You see, a couple years ago my dog wandered into the upstairs bathroom one evening and apparently closed the door on herself. She didn't make a peep, but because she was often in my room staring out the window doing her GSD-thing, it wasn't uncommon for her not to be with me in the main part of the house.

Well, having not seen her for a few hours and wanting to feed her, I called and she did not come. I knew she was not outside (no fenced yard so she was never outside alone). I went upstairs, saw the door to my room closed and recalled doing that. But I knew she wasn't in my room because I'd ushered her out before closing the door. But why was the bathroom door closed?

I opened it and she exited somewhat sheepishly as I greeted her. I remember being confused; the doggie Houdini-extraordinaire hadn't made a peep up there and hadn't torn the door apart in an attempt to get out!

I thought that perhaps she'd forgotten about her door-opening skill after nudging the door closed during routine sniffing and decided to just wait it out.

Well...no. I was wrong. 

She just hadn't had the proper motivation at the time as she was quite content that evening, apparently, to lay down on the rug and take a nap until I'd opened the door.

Today when I came home, once again I found the bedroom door standing ajar and the dog acting guilty in her rush to pass me in hopes I wouldn't notice that, in fact, I didn't actually have to open the door myself.

I stopped, horrified, staring from the floor to the doorknob. Was my only other scapular from that shrine destroyed, too?

No, no...the ground was bare. I looked at the knob. No, there it hung, although it was a bit more tightly wound. I reached out to grasp the "tag" with the embroidered picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe, feeling the gold threads under my fingers. I tugged gently...and saw the knob turn. The string was just taught enough to rub and pull the knob to the side, releasing the latch!

As the door opened, I rose my eyes to my dog, perched at the window, staring outward, ears forward and twitching according to the sounds reverberating against those huge radars. She stood at the window I always left slightly open in fair weather to let the fresh air waft in, and there she could percept, as well, all the sounds of the neighborhood including the dog the neighbors always allow to roam off leash all day long....

Mystery Solved!

CASE CLOSED!

RESOLUTION:

* close window even while gone
* remove scapular from door and leave nothing to act as "doggie pull-chain"
* more interesting toys if actually affordable?  (donations accepted!)
* get a different breed  NEVER! GET BEHIND ME SATAN!  German Shepherds are as close as a canine can get to being human - must continue to nurture in accordance with St. Thomas Aquinas's hierarchy of Creation as this is clearly an animal present with Adam in the Garden! Must learn to be more like the dog whose thought process is very logical!

OK then!

A New Stage

It's no secret that I've been suffering from writer's block.

Part of it is the fact that because I work in a parish, sitting down on my off time to write about religious topics feels like work. And not work I really care to do, especially when I'm supposed to be getting away from work.

I've been seriously considering bringing this blog to a close simply because I don't think I have anything else to say. It's all been said or is perhaps being said better by someone else.

Still...this blog has been a wonderful outlet for me over the last several years, and I've met many friends, learned many things and I admit it's still a bit of an attachment. So, instead of hanging it up I'm switching gears for awhile.

That's right...I signed up for NaNoWriMo for the first time.

Perhaps, I thought, if I can put my focus into a non-religious topic, perhaps I'll find my Catholic muse again, and my motivation.

Or, perhaps, once November hits, because I'm supposed to be working on a novel, I may be struck once again by great topics for the blog.

Who knows? In any case, expect more erratic posts about random topics of interest to me (if not by anyone else) and, if you REALLY want me to post something, feel free to post your own random questions to spark my motivation.

After all, one of the things I love to do is answer sincere questions about our faith by people seeking to grow deeper in their relationship with Christ.

Until my next inspiration.....

The Calvary Cometh

I spent yesterday in the hospital with my Mom. First waiting while she was being prepped, then waiting with her in pre-op.

The nurses, techs, and practitioner were all amazing and I was very impressed. While the time dragged on as we waited together for the procedure room to come available, I developed a new hobby: watching the IV drip. 

It's fascinating. I also counted the high number of ports. It's almost as exciting as watching paint dry. In a phone conversation with my brother that put Mom to sleep, we discussed the epic IV dripping with great excitement and animation.

Then without ceremony, they came to take Mom away and banish me back into the exile of the waiting room where I fired up my computer and tweeted about IV drips and drops. It was only 10:30 so I wasn't ready for lunch, and they'd told me it would be anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and a half. No problem...I'd wait.

To my surprise, they called me to go to the consulting room only 40 minutes after they had wheeled my mother away to surgery. Was this good or bad news? Was the consult the type of "this is what happened and we need to do something NOW" or "good news she's fine"?

The volunteer who escorted me to the lonely and isolated  but comfortable "consultation room" told me the surgeon would be out in 5 minutes. Nope, he wasn't. I waited. And waited. And my uncle called on my mother's phone and I explained I'd know more...um...10 minutes ago? He asked me to call him back after I'd spoken with the surgeon. No problem.

Sure enough, the surgeon came out and delivered good news and with a diagram to prove it. He explained that they hadn't found anything so no medical intervention actually needed, contrary to our expectations! Thankfully I returned to the less-lonely waiting room and a staff member helped me carry my mother's things to post-op.

As I walked into the room Mom said, "Well where were you?" with this terrible, wide-eyed expression suggesting I had abandoned her.

"Um...in the waiting room."  She immediately relaxed.

"Oh." and then she forgot all about it. Quite literally.

The initial plans were for Mom to remain in the hospital overnight and then go home in the medical transport van that had brought her there. Unfortunately, the hospital was releasing her, deeming an overnight stay (in spite of an arterial stick) to be "unnecessary". Why was it "unnecessary"?  Because insurance wouldn't cover it.

So we had to scramble for a plan because she couldn't take the van home unless someone could ride with her. But we had no one to ride with her and stay with her overnight - we had not planned for it as they'd assured us, apparently, that Mom would be in the hospital overnight!

Oh, my. So it was decided that I would drive her to my brother's home, she would stay there and we'd figure out from there how to get her back home this week.

That's not what happened.

Last night I spoke with Mom as she called me in a panic over some directions from the doctor, which I explained was not part of her care plan since they had not put in stents. Oh, ok. Thanks.

All seemed well and I went to bed. My phone rang sometime around 2:30 am or so. I answered after staring at it in confusion but no one was there. I think I tried to call back but don't really remember. I knew it was my brother but figured perhaps he'd called me accidentally while checking on Mom.

I went back into a troubled sleep, to be awakened at 6 am by my brother, calling again. This time I managed to actually answer the phone.

He explained Mom had gone to the hospital via ambulance at about 2:45 or 3:00 am and was being admitted - she now has pneumonia.  During that 6 am conversation, he had to disconnect but later emailed me the room information. When we finally spoke again I got the crazy events that had led up to the 911 call.

I admit I had to chuckle a little bit over some of it - the repeated conversations with my very confused yet childlike mother, and my brother's surprise that, when you call 911 for a medical emergency you don't just get an ambulance, you get a BIG RED TRUCK! And a squad car. Yup - you get the calvary!

My brother had been very unsure about calling for an ambulance but I'm glad he realized the necessity of it. I won't go into details about the events that took place at his house; suffice to say he did the right thing and clearly, Mom is where she needs to be.

At this point we don't know what else will happen, how long she'll be there, or if they'll be able to identify some others of her medical complaints, of which there are many. Thank you to all my readers who have been praying for my mom, and please continue praying - clearly, we aren't out of the woods yet and don't even know what is coming next.