The Clothes Rant

Every now and then, a topic of discussion comes up that crawls under my skin and stays there. One of them is attire for Mass.

I came back to the Church at 17, and at that time I owned maybe one pair of dress pants. I wore jeans to Mass every weekend, thankful just to be there, grateful that God loved me just as I was.

As I got older, I started to make a conscious effort to dress more formally for Mass. I wanted to look my best for God. The jeans stayed, but t-shirts gave way to blouses and sandals or boots.

But today I sit in the pews and I worry.

~*~*~

In the Catholic circles I navigate now, discussions about clothes always turn to "suitability" and "appropriateness."

And it becomes a string of one-upping: who wears jeans, who says jeans are unsuitable, who wears dress slacks, and who wears a full suit or a skirt, saying that's the best way to honor God.

There's always someone who throws in the line that we should dress as though we were seeing the President. That one is my favorite. Now where did I hang that bridesmaid's gown ...

Underneath at all, there's a current of condescension: if you don't do these things, you're not being reverent. You're not making an effort. You're not giving God what He deserves. You're not good enough.

After a while, as you sit at Mass with these voices in the back of your mind, it can almost break your spirit.

Weeks later, you pull on your best blouse and dress pants, look critically at the curvy form in the mirror, and think, "Well, at least no one will think anything of me today."

Feeling safe at last, you head out the door.

~*~*~

This is the place I find myself these days, somewhere between endlessly frustrated and outright defeated.

I have always had the heart of one who sought to honor God everywhere I went and in everything I did. That internal state remains the same regardless of what I'm wearing.

But I am getting older now, and the college student label no longer "excuses" me. I find myself bending over backward about one too many things, if only to prevent cracking under the pressure of becoming a Godly woman. I do what I have to do in order to be accepted and to feel like I'm satisfying the church culture around me.

I want to shout instead to the women in dresses and the men in suits that they're not good enough, either; that they are no holier or more beloved in the eyes of God than I am, despite our efforts.

I want to embrace the girl I've seen the last few weeks in chains with green hair, sitting in the front pew and going through the Mass like she means it. I've seen people nudge each other and whisper about her.

The week we lost power in a terrible storm found me walking into Mass wearing a concert tee and short shorts — we didn't have any water to do laundry and it was all I had clean. People stared at me. Feeling humiliated, I wanted to turn around and walk out.

Instead, I thanked God with so much joy for something I so often forget: God is holding nothing back from me. Not from me or from anyone else there, for that matter. We give Him our broken hearts and He gives us everything.

Maybe I'm too progressive. Hell, maybe I just don't understand.

But for right now, for this place in my life, I am trying. I confess that there are days I just want to hear, "Yes, you are beautiful, and yes, you are good enough."

The God of all creation says that about me!

I want that to be the only thing that matters.

The woman of my dreams?

I watched an interesting video tonight by Catholic speaker Sarah Swafford on the idea of emotional virtue. It's a simple term she coined that means to control and harness our emotions in a way that lets us grow in virtue.

I'm not going to leave that video here tonight, though. Instead, I thought it would be good to do a little freewriting. So much is going on with me right now (hence my long absence – mea culpa!), and a lot of it is too jumbled for my usual posts here. Tonight, I just feel like writing, even if I don't have any "wisdom" to share.

Swafford said that the first step to being virtuous with our emotions is to have a goal in mind. "Ask yourself: who do I want to be? What qualities do I want to develop? Who is the woman of my dreams?"

Her premise was that in order to find the man of your dreams (moral, kind, strong, etc.), you have to become the woman of your dreams. If you have low standards for yourself, you'll attract guys with low standards and vice versa.

I already have the best man I could have hoped for (yuck, excuse the mush! ;)), but that's no reason to stop striving to grow. If anything, I find myself wanting to work harder.

So, here goes:

Who do I want to be? 

I want to be brave.
I want to be emotionally strong.
I want to be joyful.
I want to be classy and elegant.
I want to be gentle and nurturing.
I want to be self-assured.
I want to be modest -- inside and out.
I want to be secure in my identity as a woman.
I want to feel comfortable in my own skin again.
I want to accept with grace who I am.
I want to concern myself only with what God thinks of me.
I want to put others first.
I want to be selfless.
I want to be firm and courageous in the face of opposition.
I want to persevere.
I want to work at my goals with a peaceful and confident attitude.
I want to trust God fully for all my concerns and needs.
I want to embrace what God has given me, and be accepting of what He hasn't.
I want to live in the present moment with hope for the future.
I want to be a shelter for my future husband.
I want to be a reflection of God's love to the world.
I want to make a difference.
I want to love like Jesus.

That's the ideal version of myself. That's the woman of my dreams. Isn't she beautiful?

You'll notice I purposely avoided negatives ("don't, less, instead of") when making this list. It was tough to speak positively without criticizing my flaws, but if I hope to make progress in this, I need to talk about (and to!) myself the same way I want to treat others – with compassion and respect.

I guess it's important to see the progress I've already made, too. I've come a very long way, that's for sure, especially in the last year. Little by little, I'm becoming the woman of my dreams. I just need to keep at it and be patient.

What would your list look like? Feel free to leave a comment or write a post of your own. :) Have a great week, folks.

This is not the end.

While my official job title involves work as a health reporter, I also work a few evenings a week on the copy desk, proofreading pages for the next day's newspaper.

A few weeks ago, I read this column by syndicated Washington Post columnist Esther J. Cepeda. It's short, so I encourage you to read the whole thing, but just in case you don't, here are the highlights.

Recently, all signs have pointed to the fact that a lot of people -- especially those of us with the unbending egotistical belief that we have what it takes to be among the few survivors of a cataclysm -- are sort of pining for "the end."  

How else to explain the zeal with which news of the bizarre Miami tragedy, in which a naked man attacked a homeless man by stripping his clothes off and then mauling his face, spurred rumors of a coming zombie apocalypse?

It's very true that the news has been exceptionally dismal and bizarre in this post-9/11 world. And Cepeda writes that some people took comfort in the possibility of the Mayan calendar predicting the Apocalypse this December.

After all, when things are this bad, they can't exactly get much worse, right? At least if the world ends, the violence and turmoil we're experiencing will go with it.

Poverty, war, injustice, abuse, divorce, abortion, infidelity ... they've always been with us. Read the Old Testament if you need evidence. Cepeda continues:

It seems like everything's going to pieces anyway, so why not entertain the possibility that the end is near? It's comforting. How else are we expected to cope...?

To those who lack faith, it's very easy to despair. Without faith, there's no way out of this. We are helpless and there's no hope, never mind an explanation of why this is happening.

But for those with faith, the truth is simple: this world isn't home. This isn't the way things were meant to be. We are called to something much greater. These things are written on the hearts of every person, theist or otherwise.

That's how I would answer Esther Cepeda. We cope because we believe this is not the end, and that there are better things in store.

More than that, however, we also believe that redemption is possible here and now. It takes a lot to change a society, but it begins with one heart at a time. Hearts can change.  Sometimes, all they need is someone to remind them.

Unfortunately, Jesus said it best: "The harvest is ready, but the laborers are few."

Clearly, we still have work to do. Let's get out there and do it.

An invocation to the Sacred Heart

I'm finally starting to wrap my head around devotion to the Sacred and Immaculate Hearts. It makes sense, especially considering that St. Margaret Mary Alacoque was draw as my patron saint for the year 2012.

O Heart of love,
I put all my trust in Thee;
for I fear all things from my own weakness,
but I hope for all things from Thy goodness. Amen.

"We're all phamily here, right?"

Back when I was in high school, it was still a little odd to say you had friends on the internet whom you'd never met before.

But for me, I've had faraway friends almost as long as I've been online. The first batch came from the virtual pet site Neopets. I still have all the letters that my friend Lieren and I exchanged from the time I was in 7th grade up through my early college years. 

In high school, I fell into the fandom of a wonderful novel-length story posted on FictionPress.com. I met Courtney then; she was older than me, and both of us were practicing Pagans at the time. She was there for me when I got saved, and I shared her joy when she made the same decision a few years later. We cried together when she learned she was pregnant in my senior year, and celebrated when she delivered healthy twin girls.

Then there was ExWitch, where I made many lasting friends, including the man who became my first serious boyfriend. We were together for 3 years, and while it didn't work out, I can say honestly that I wouldn't be who or where I am now if not for the time I spent with him. 

So it felt like the most natural thing in the world, then, when I piled into my boyfriend's truck with all my stuff and headed to Pittsburgh two weeks ago, a place I'd never been before, to meet some of the folks from Phatmass for the first time.

It wasn't weird. Not for a second. If anything, being with them felt like being home.

Here in the flesh were people I had laughed, cried and prayed with for five years, in some cases. The only difference was this time, we were finally in the same room. 

Living Catholicism with every drop of my strength is sometimes a very lonely road. I came to Phatmass just two weeks before I finally went back to the Sacraments. When I did, they were there. And they've always been there, every step of the way, teaching me and lifting me up and sometimes carrying my cross when I was too broken to do so alone.

One of the places we went together was St. Anthony's Chapel, which contains the largest collect of relics from the saints outside the Vatican. Before we left, I knelt at the old school communion rail to pray, and shivered. I was keenly aware that all the saints were there with me, praying with me.

I felt it again at out last Mass together at St. Paul's Cathedral, overwhelmed with gratitude that God could connect so many lives from all across the world.

We've always called ourselves phamily. Sitting around the table eating and drinking (and drinking more) together, it became more real to me I can express. "Wherever two or more are gathered in My Name..."

I love you, guys. See you next year!

A Little Visitation

It's been an insane, surreal couple of days. Unfortunately, I don't mean that in a good way.

I spent the long Memorial Day Weekend vacationing in Pittsburgh at the first-ever Phatmass Phamily Reunion, which I'll write about some other time. It was a wonderful trip full of new friends, fantastic food, and plenty of grace.

As it turned out, I needed that grace in spades this week. When I got home, I found out that my grandmother, who's been ill for almost a decade, had taken a sudden and very serious turn for the worse while I was away. She remains critical in the hospital tonight, and combined with the injuries from a recent fall she's not well at all. Please keep her in your prayers.

The "hospital rhythm" is something my family is very good at. Every few years as my grandmother's illness exacerbates, we sink back into a flow of hospital visits, odd meals and odd moods. It's gone on for so long that in some sense, it almost feels normal.

But I never get over the hospitals, the nurses, the fall risk bracelet or how sad she seems there. Her pain makes me hurt. And I am the sort that tries to run from and ignore and drown my pain by any means necessary.

Needless to say, then, visiting her in the hospital is a very difficult thing, especially now that I'm older and can choose to go on my own.

My boyfriend suggested we visit her the other night, but I blanched at the idea and brushed it aside, saying I'd see her Saturday when I visited with my Mom. But after he went home that night and I laid in bed thinking about her, I felt neglectful and a touch guilty. So the next day, I told my boyfriend of my change of heart and we trudged down to the hospital.

Seeing her was fine – it's the hospital setting that I find difficult. I chattered with her aimlessly for 20 minutes or so, eager to avoid the empty, awkward silence that likes to descend on me when I don't know what to do.

From that difficulty, though, came something profound.

I made her laugh in that 20 minutes. And I brought joy to her face and, I'm sure, to her soul. Real joy. The kind of joy that God breathes into us and wants to show us every day.

It hit me like a ton of bricks when we left the hospital room, that sense of rightness in my gut. I had forced myself beyond my comfort zone of selfishness to truly give of myself to her. And the results made not just her day, but mine.

As we walked to the parking lot, I smiled at the people we passed. And they smiled back. I gave them a reason to smile.

That's how simple it is to bring God's joy to the world. On this feast of the Visitation, I always find myself reflecting on the joy Mary brought to Elizabeth's heart when she came.

God's joy is everywhere. All we have to do is open ourselves to sharing it, just like Mary did.

Staring at the Sky

I had a wonderful Ascension Thursday this week. My Grandma was kind enough to take me to Mass, where I got to see one of my best friends from college.

The readings gave me so much to think about, but for now, I just want to focus on one verse.

"Why are you standing there looking at the sky?"

The question is posed to the Apostles who just saw Jesus ascend into heaven by a man dressed in white garments, likely an angel.

This scene is one of many that I can picture vividly in my mind. I find so much genuine humor in Scripture, especially when the Apostles are involved. I love them – they are stubborn and clueless, just like me. ;)

But I digress.

It's easy to imagine the array of emotions cycling through their heads immediately after Jesus ascended. Only six weeks before, they watched their Lord and Savior suffer an agonizing death at Calvary. That same Jesus who had healed wounds and changed hearts after performing countless wonders was torn from their lives.

And then He rose from the dead, defying everything the Apostles knew about our world. Jesus was back – transformed, glorified, and ready to continue His mission.

After the glory of the Resurrection, to see Jesus leave would have broken my heart all over again.

Can you see the shock and confusion on their faces yet? How about their pain, their disappointment, their feelings of betrayal? I can.

He rose from the dead, and He has gone away again, saying in no uncertain terms that we cannot follow, not yet.

In that moment, the magic finally ran out.

That's why the angel showed up: to remind them of their hope and their vocation.

"What are you doing, you idiots, staring at the sky as though something were about to fall from it? Jesus has gone to the Father to prepare a place for you. And until He calls you home to that place, He has given you a mission! Don't just stand there! Get out there and do something!"

I like to think that's what was really said.

Questions from a Round Peg

Today, I was blessed to be in the right place at the right time. A dear friend is struggling with a call to a beautiful vocation. He can't reconcile in his head who he is now, and who it is God is calling him to be.

I know his struggle. It's one I have every single morning when I look in the mirror.

Who am I and where am I going?

I know where I'd like to be. The distance between here and there, now and then, suffocates me.

I'm too stubborn. Too bitter. Too jaded. Too...

Too much of a round peg in square hole, generally speaking.

I was okay with that until recently.

Suddenly, I have a future and a bold, brave, wonderful calling on my heart. This tiny mustard seed I've kept locked away, safe from the elements, is finally ready to do something.

But I'm not good enough. I'm just not good enough. And I'm not sure what to do about that.

I know who God says I am. I know who I want to be. But will the rest of the world accept me?

...Since when have I cared what "the rest of the world" thinks, anyway?

Is there room for me and all my quirks in this Church? Can I be an example to others without taking on some cleaned-up, saccharine plasticized image of womanhood that just isn't me?

I've always been my own woman. And I never want that to change, that's all.

Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make my heart like unto Thine...

The Next Five Years

I want the next five years to be different.

I want the next five years to be...

Less about mourning what I have yet to do,

But more about what God has already done 

And is doing now –

Not only in my own life,

But in every life,

Every heart,

Every soul.

I want the next five years to be...

Less full of worry for the future,

But more full of trust in what God has planned for me

And those I love –

Knowing that everything we went through yesterday,

And endure today,

Is all shaping us for tomorrow.

I want the next five years to be...

Less built on a faith of laws and rules and obligations,

But more built on the rock of God's unending love for us 

And for this whole world –

His presence in our suffering,

His compassion in our failure,

His joy in our triumph.

I want the next five years to be...

Less about

Time

Talent

Treasure

Image

Ideals

Duties

Deeds

Despair

And more about

Growing

Giving

Hope

Happiness

Perseverance

Peace

Laughter...

Love.

I want the next five years to be about love.

And that's all I want.

The Last Five Years

It's hard to believe that tomorrow afternoon will mark five years since I came back home to the Church.

Hard to believe because it feels both like ages ago and yesterday. My soul has blossomed into something I never anticipated – something strong and free and beautiful.

And yet...

Taking stock of everything this week has left me in an odd state. I gave up so much for this faith, for God. I have been pruned and tempered and humbled and tried in more ways than I can even begin to count. I have been brought to the limit of my strength and then pushed beyond it.

There were a lot of moments I wondered if I would ever see this milestone, honestly.

In those moments where I was broken and isolated, my prayers evaporating into the air unacknowledged, it was so easy to ask myself if any of this matters at all.

I found myself longing for a time when it didn't matter, when my mind wasn't constantly occupied with unanswerable questions and inconsolable worry.

God was always there for me, yes, and the tide is slowly turning. My paternal grandmother is back in the Church; I have many dear friends in the faith; and this year I've been blessed with a wonderful man who believes just as I do, that every moment should be joyful and full of His light.

...But in the last five years, I confess that I've let much of that goodness go to waste, drowned in my penchant for worry, judgement, and despair.

I may have "made it" five years, but my attitude isn't one of celebration. Mostly, I'm just glad that I survived this long.

You know something? That's a damn shame. It took me five years to realize that while God has set me free of so much, transforming my mind and soul in the process, the real gift of His love for me, for this whole world, has yet to reach my heart.

And now that I've realized it, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to let Him change that.

To be continued ...