Month: April 2014

Holy Thursday or Mass of the Lord’s Supper

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A lot was going on today.

There was a prayer service this morning, and surprise, Father J called me up for a special blessing. I do not like the center of attention place, but I really like all of the warm-hearted and good wishes that I’m being given. When I turned to go back to my seat, one of the women in the front (who I don’t know), grabbed me and hugged me. There is a lot of hugging.

In fact, as an aside, the only group who hugs more than this church is the posse!

While on my errands, I received a call from my going-to-be-godmother who is also the parish office manager to say that Father J had a revelation.

This worried me.

It should have.

He wondered why I wasn’t having my feet washed at tonight’s mass.

My first reaction was, “NoNoNoNoNo…”

I do NOT like people touching my feet. They’re dry and very ticklish and let’s just leave it at that. Basically I only take my socks off to take a shower.

I was told that I didn’t have to, but it was one of those you shoulds but you don’t have to, and I’d still have to do it next year, so I said, ‘whatever he wants me to do,’ which has been my usual response to most things that I know I can get through but don’t want to say yes. (Like Wales and LARP and an emergency c-section, but I digress.)

I’m already carrying the oil of catecumen in the processional, and I am supposed to announce it. It needs to be very loud. At rehearsal, they made me say it three times because my voice is too timid. If they let me type it on tumblr, I could have gotten it in ALL CAPS, bolded and italicized, and it would have been perfect.

And then of course, I’m carrying a glass jar of oil that’s been blessed by the Bishop for the parish for the entire year. No pressure there on not tripping and throwing it through the air like Daffy Duck.

One of the things that has surprised me about all of the things asked of me for the ritual of becoming Catholic and observing Easter has been how non-plussed I am about everything.

“Are you nervous?”

“No,” I say, and surprisingly I’m not.

I’m more nervous about meeting tomorrow’s train than anything I’ve been asked to do.

I’ve gotten a tiny surge of anxiety and in my mind asking myself, ‘you want me to do what?!’ but it’s fleeting, and I nod my head and smile and I mean it.

I have been given a certain grace to accept what I need to do or maybe it’s that it’s like an obstacle course. I jump through the hoops to get to the prize, and of course this prize is being in communion with Jesus Christ.

Once it was there in front of me, it was there. No doubt. No question that I believed and this was the right thing and if you ask anybody there is not one thing in my life that I can say that about.

If you asked me what’s for dinner, I’d answer, but it would be with a question mark – a kind of ‘is that okay’ at the end that I have never said or felt with joining the church officially.

Telling people made me more anxious, but once the statement was out of the way, the decision was right, and I always knew it.

Tonight, all of us oil and banner carriers were standing in the back waiting for our cue when I noticed a smoky wisp at the front of the church. I didn’t smell incense, and thought at first that it was that dust that you see in a ray of sunlight, but I realized that it was indeed the incense, but it wasn’t a smell, it was the way the incense rose. I watched it climb slowly, steadily and I promise you it was in the shape of a Jewish star. (Also called a Star of David, and it is through David’s line that Jesus is born.)

I could feel myself getting emotional. It was only the most recent moment of clarity.

While Father J was washing feet, he seemed to say something to make the person more at ease. We laughed, and he poured the water over my foot.

I’m pretty sure they put ice cubes in it. I have never felt water that cold and my foot jerked. I’m lucky (or was he the lucky one?) that I didn’t kick him in the face.

It was a humorous moment, but when he laid his hands on me, the humor went away and a most incredible feeling came upon me, I want to say ‘washed over me’, but that seems a bit cliche, although that’s what it was. He dried my foot and leaned forward to kiss it and looked into my eyes and said, “G-d bless you,” and it was a moment much like the one earlier with the incense.

If in my mind thngs don’t make sense, there is no rationale or reason to it, these moments of clarity, of faith, of knowing give so much calm and comfort and warmth.

After that we venerated the altar, eucharist was given and we walked and sang as a group to the parish hall for the host to be kept for adoration and tomorrow’s mass.

The kids were a little antsy, but one more mass for them. We have lots of cleaning and grocery shopping to do tomorrow. (Good Friday fasting is much different than Yom Kippur fasting.)

As I said, there are things I’m anxious and nervous about, but I think it will be okay; I hope so anyway.

At this moment, I feel content, so i’ll post this and go to bed.

Grumbles, Grumblies, Grumblr

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Today’s homily was about grumbling. The Grumbles. Grumblies. Father J may have looked directly at me, but that may also have just been my guilty conscience. He was saying that we should have less grumblies. The Grumblies are those things that pick at your brain and land on your very last nerve, like typos or posts with your instead of you’re, captions that don’t match the picture or any number of things like leaving the toilet seat up or the tea kettle turned the wrong way.

If you follow my blog with any regularity, you all know that I am a grumbler. I grumble. I grumble a lot. Sometimes, well, no, that’s not fair; it’s always warranted, at least in my mind, but sometimes all it needs is an outlet. I post here. It gets ignored. I’ve actually cut back on the grumblies; I was becoming Peter and I did not want that. I do not want that. There are times that I need the comfort and the hugs and the shoulder to lean on, and asking for it is just too hard.

Another problem my grumblies have is in the need to get them out; it’s not always the best idea to name names. However, when not naming names, the problem is often misinterpretation as to the subject of the grumblies. Another downside is the common feeling that whatever is bothering me isn’t what’s been word-vomited and that leads to the assumption that it’s passive-aggressive. I will tell you a secret: It is almost never passive-aggressive.

I do know how it sounds, but sometimes, truly it is just the truth coming out and there is only one way to say it, like tearing the band-aid off, but in my world, I don’t want to hurt anyone, so I hem and I haw and I stall and stammer, and grumble here and grumble there, and talk circles around the real matter-at-hand that in the end no one knows what the problem is, but everyone is all pissed off and there is a new conundrum, and no one knows how that happened. But I guarantee, with 85% accuracy that I was not being passive-aggressive.

You know, there’s stuff that’s been going on for many, many weeks. Only a handful of people know what it’s about, and I would hazard to guess that even they’re in the dark because I don’t talk about it. I don’t have anyone to talk to about it. So I grumble.

I want to fix things. I want to say things, so I only say half of what I wanted to say – dipping my toe in the water as it were and I end up with my foot in my mouth. I apologize and try again with more words, with explanations that are so wordy and twisty that a contortionist would feel at home in my sentence. And I do it again, and I hope that all I get is my own foot in my mouth as opposed to someone else’s foot up my ass.

I stay quiet when I should speak out, and a mole hill becomes a mountain. And I grumble. And no one listens. And at some point it comes to a head.

In this particular case, today’s instance is more complicated than when I usually do this. There’s baggage. There’s misunderstanding. There are private issues that I can’t grumble about. There is consideration that I need to give, but sometimes it bothers me that I feel as though no consideration for my issues is given to me. I’m expected to step back, to take the deep breath, to wait, and for the most part, that’s okay because I try to know where that expectation is coming from, but some days are harder than others, and this is one of those days.

The stress is piling on with family and teenager and what’s for dinner and mother in law (who is truly the easiest person to get along with in the world), sorting out my sister’s schedule, Easter and church and wow, it’s next week already, and I have more appointments and yesterday’s doctor’s visit was a bit more intense than I planned on and now I’ve got more appointments for blood work and tests, and today I hit a wall.

I could feel the misplaced snark, but not snark, more like it’s nasty cousin, and the anger that had no place, and I needed to just shut up, which I did. Mostly. But it’s pent up, and instead of a full blown volcanic eruption, I released little currents of steam, drips of hot lava and tumblr grumblrs.

I’m not even sure if it helps me.

I know what I want.

I want someone to read my mind. To tell me what I’m thinking and that it will be alright, and I can ask anything again and say anything and it will be alright, and normal is a horrible word, but I want normal, even if normal is a little different. I want it back. I’m trying so hard not to be a jackass that I’m being a jackass, aren’t I?

Babble, babble, grumble.

I’m reading Ashley Judd’s memoir and I’ve said this week, in some places, it is just too much. Too much emotion, too much spirituality that is too familiar and so a bit heartrending, too much pain. I think of how lucky I was, and am, and so much of the emotional upheaval and depression from her, I feel, and I feel as though her recovery tools might be helpful for me, so I might try a couple. Parts of it I’m finding intense and stressed. I could use a massage after this book.

Tomorrow is Wednesday, but more than that it’s a New Day and I have a chance to try again. Maybe I’ll get up the courage to send a message, to ask the question, to say the words.

In the meantime, I will have Mass, which is a balm on my heart, and I have my Memoir Workshop and before this weekend I will ask someone for a hug. Not anyone off the street, but I will walk in and ask someone for a hug, and that will get me through for a short bit.

It will be alright, right?