The Sign Around My Neck Says Welcome

I realized the other day that it had been five years since I really bought make-up. Y'know, went into a nice store, got a lady to help me, et cetera. Thanks to Tom, I had a gift card burning a hole in my pocket and on Saturday got the chance to head to ye olde Sephora shoppe and see what damage I could do.

(As a side note, man, has that place changed. Granted, I don't think I've been in a Sephora since...2007...but still, wow. Also everyone there was fourteen. How can fourteen-year-olds afford $60 foundation and $45 blush brushes?) 

I had a list of things I was looking for and asked for help. The lady I asked was only a floor manager, who then assigned me a makeup artist - like I said, very different from the last time I was there. The guy who came over to greet me was a very sassy, immaculately-coifed gay man. I explained what I wanted and he was very helpful, showing me a few options, explaining the pros and cons while being conscientious about price points. Suddenly, in the midst of our consult, he stopped me and said "Oh, I love your medal. That's the Blessed Mother, isn't it?" Yes, of course, it was - he recognized Mother Mary on my royal blue medal I bought in Sacré-Coeur, years ago, while on pilgrimage. I explained where I got it, how long ago. He pulled out from his black button down a lovely medal of St. Jude - "he's my guy!" he said emphatically, patting his heart. We went back to the point at hand, connection made.

As I was dallying around the brushes, I was offered a free facial. I agreed, despite not really knowing what a facial was. "Just 30 more minutes, OK?", I fired off to Tom, occupied a few storefronts down at the playground with the kiddos. The lady doing my facial was very kind and we got along great. She was chatting to me about her six children and her grandkids, life, Filipino food, and her boyfriend - who she hates calling her boyfriend because she's a mature lady and it sounded like a teeny-bopper term. Tom walked down as we were finishing up, whereupon Zuzu clambered up into my lap to tell me she was 'a queen!' To which I replied (as is standard in our house), "But who is Queen of Heaven and Earth?" She grinned big and cried "Mother Mary!" My facial lady laughed and said, "hmmm...guess you guys are Catholic!" Turns out she was too, and we chatted about our love for our faith and its firm rules. I had to run, everyone was hungry, so I said goodbye and rushed back.

Back to my real life.

I was struck by the fact that both of these people had a connection to the Church, a connection that was real and living.  I don't know whether they would call themselves Catholic, but I do know that despite both of them having an situation that we would not call 'normal' within the Church (a gay man who had a boyfriend, a mother of six with a live-in boyfriend), they were holding onto their faith in some way. The truth is that when someone has a true experience of Love within the Catholic Church, it stays with them - it stays with them and often they hold onto it, no matter what else changes or sways - and I believe it stays with them because they know the Church is home. The Church is home for everyone - the Church holds herself out to be the place we can all come, every single soul on earth, and find refuge and love and hope. You do not have to know the protocol; you do not have to be perfect; you do not even have to be Catholic. The Church is your mother and she will love you as you are - even when her love looks like rules about not leaving your socks on the floor.

I was so glad to be reminded of these truths by these encounters that were sparked by my medal. The truth is, I don't wear my medal every day like I used to - I like to switch it up, wear different items and oftentimes, no jewelry at all, since lots of little hands do lots of grabbing at me all day long. But I should wear it everyday: wear it as a sign that we, the Catholic Church, are waiting to welcome you, people of the world. Every day, in every country on earth, we are still here and we are waiting, and we always will.

Sunday Morning Musings, Vol. 2

I hope fall is coming to my L'Orangerie...a walk this morning at 9:30 gave me good breezes and sunshine that wasn't quite as harsh. No hint of a crisp breeze, but that's not what we'd get here anyway to signal a "season change." Please forgive my weather obsession here; I think it's my way of missing all the places I cannot be (Alabama, DC, Orlando).

My nose is perma-clogged, apparently another lovely side effect of pregnancy, so sleeping is a bit more daunting - I'm up frequently and have a hard time getting back to sleep. As Mr. O left early for work this morning, he sweetly said "please go back to sleep; you're sleeping for three!" (including himself in the number) Isn't it wonderful to love and be loved? When I reflect on all my smallness of soul and my battles with my own selfishness, I am amazed by the love of my husband - and by the God who planned it all, who knew what was coming even while I was asking for other, poorer substitutes.

Yesterday, I had two particularly grace-filled experiences. Although we thought we'd missed it, we rushed to a nearby parish - and the Father was there, waiting in the confessional. Thank goodness he was! I needed that soul-cleansing and he was such a lovely Dominican confessor; the perfect combination of a detailed exhortation to rid myself of a particular sin and a humble penance.

Then, last night, we had a lovely dinner with friends and a great priest, Fr. John Gallagher. He inquired of me what, as a convert, made me comfortable with Mary. I thought and thought; I clumsily referenced my pilgrimage to France and my relationship with Mr. O, who has such a great devotion to her. But I talked myself round to a central point: marriage and pregnancy. That has made all the difference in the world. In the Protestant traditions that I was a part of, being anti-Mary made sense, because I had no link to her - she was a perfect model of virginity, motherhood, spousal love, and homemaker. As Protestant traditions divorce the family from the center of their churches, embracing divorce and contraception, Mary must necessarily be bumped aside - she can have no place in a church where the family is not honored, as she is the center piece of the Holy Family. As the family breaks down, and motherhood is no longer revered, she must be a footnote to the story of Christ; her greatness is necessarily devalued because the hearth is devalued in our own world.

Leighton "Mother and Child" 

But being Catholic and then creating my own family suddenly gave me fresh insight and a hunger for Mary: I saw the sacredness of this vocation, and the need in all people for a home with a mother. Afterall, "she [Mary] is more mother than queen!" (St. Terese of Lisieux) - and Christ was formed at her knee. I have realized the gift it is to keep a home, to encourage others to come and rest in it, and I have seen the destructive power of a home that is not a place of love, prayer, and service. The more society puts the home and family in its proper place of reverence and respect, the greater Mary will be honored!

"Never be afraid of loving the Blessed Virgin too much. You can never love her more than Jesus did!" - St. Maximilian Kolbe

The Ebb and Flow of Happiness

Like any sane person, "Christmas" (really, Advent through Christmas Day) has been my favorite time of year since my life began. In my family, just like Thanksgiving, it's celebrated with food, but also decorating and shopping and decorating and getting more time with my huge, messy, constantly feuding family. I love that unlike a lot of other holidays, Christmas has maintained its traditions, even if those who celebrate it don't know the meaning behind them: it's hard to buy trees to display in your house with colored lights at any other time; at no other time in the year do we give gifts to everyone we know (thank Goodness); and people go to church.

Midnight Mass at St. VdP Church in Kansas City, MO; can my church look like this, please?

In years past, Christmas was the happiest time of the year. I looked forward to every single bit of it: the baking and eating of Christmas cookies, fudge, and rice krispy treats, buying the Christmas tree with my Daddy, clandestinely wrapping presents with the door closed in my parent's room, the big parties we would go to or host ourselves, and seeing the Nutcracker at the Bob Carr Theater in Orlando. 

Ok, so this is the Nutcrakcer as done in St. Petersburg, but it's the same concept, right?

But this year, this year it's different. At moments when I feel the greatest joy, I start to spontaneously well up with tears. It happened a lot at the in-laws during Thanksgiving: while browsing through a Christmas store where there were lovely decorations or while setting the table with my MIL's beautiful china. I thought I was just homesick, but it happened this week while we were at Christmas party doing a sing-a-long to "Joseph's Song" and last night while I was arranging fresh greens on our bench that serves as a mantle. Something plucked my heart strings and there I was, fighting back the blurring of the lights while my husband blithely watched "A Muppet Christmas Carol." 

I really loved Bettina and Belinda this year more than usual - probably because I am only now realizing how much daughters really do parrot their mothers!

Maybe it's because, as much as I hate to admit it, I have been hoping, ever since we got married, for a big announcement at Christmastime. I have wanted to identify with the Blessed Virgin's anticipation more than ever before, and every month that I realized it wasn't yet to be, I kept thinking "that's ok, because maybe this way I'll get to tell my parents on Christmas and that'll be so exciting!" And as Christmas draws nearer, I realize: I might not be telling my parents this year. My time to be a mother may not be here yet; it may still be a long way off. And although I can go through my day without ever thinking about it, all these Christmas traditions make my longing a bit sharper. My family, though for most of my life fairly non-religious, has always been (in practice if not in preaching) pro-life. I have nine nieces and nephews and each one was hailed with excitement and anticipation. I know that my family is longing to celebrate with me too, that they are eagerly awaiting my news as much as I am - and I want a child as much for my family, my husband, his family, as for myself. 

Isn't this what everyone wants? 

Yet this is the life of the Christian: we are not guaranteed happiness. Happiness, as other emotions, may come and go, often independent of our desires or conscious thoughts. And though I may not feel quite as happy this Christmas season as I would had my desires of the moment been granted, it does not diminish my much more deep-seated joy at the Incarnation. Thank God, my salvation does not depend on my feelings or upon me getting my way: I can be holy and do God's will whether I ever become a mother or not. This Christmas season more than any other, I am grateful for Mary's sacrifice - maybe she wanted a different life for herself, maybe she wanted to marry Joseph and have many (non-Son-of-God) children - but she chose to say yes to God's will, to be theotokos. It reminds me that although my life may not be what I always thought it would, that doesn't meant it will be devoid of the joy of service and love. 

For that I am supremely grateful.