GGS

Ash Wednesday

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This is my first post since beginning Lent.

This morning I realized that this is my first rite since deciding to become Catholic. I’ve been going to Mass, but I’ve never participated in any sacraments. And I’m actually not allowed to because I’m not baptized. However, I was told receiving ashes is not a sacrament.

But it is a rite.

And in realizing that it is my first one, this is actually a big deal for me.

It stops being ‘hanging out in church three days a week, sometimes four’, and solidifies my commitment to Christ. It is almost (or really past) time to start telling my family about my decision. Except for who is reading this, I’ve only told my best friend, my priest, my therapist and my husband (in that order). My family is not very religious, but I still worry about their reaction. Part of it is not only a step forward in my faith, but also in my continuing journey. Asserting myself positively as I become more myself. Asking my family to accept me as I grow and change.

As part of that first step, I was nervous walking into the gathering space. There was no room for deep breaths. The door opens and there are people waiting for you, and then I start to have a little panic thing going on. I don’t know what to do.

The Father greeted me with hello, and I respond with a good morning, and then go on to receive my ashes. I don’t know what the woman said to me. She smiled, reached her thumb out to my forehead, and said something. I think I thanked her, although I’m not sure if you’re supposed to do that. At least, no one laughed at me.

Once she touched my forehead, though, I no longer felt weird.

I belonged.

I was in the right place, doing the right thing, and I could feel it.

Mass went as usual, but it felt big.

Important.

Some days the Mass does feel that way. You can feel, literally feel the Spirit upon you and those days feel Big.

Today was one of those days.

There’s music, but it’s somber.

There are no Alleluias. Father told us yesterday that those were the last ones until after Lent.

The Deacon is back from his holiday.

All of the vestments are purple. Having a young daughter, I always think of purple as a happy color, but adorning the church and the Christ on His Cross, it is dark and muted and thoughtful, and not at all happy.

There’s penitence, and apologies, but certain words evoke certain images, and every time for me, when I hear penitent, I hear Sean Connery’s voice, and then Harrison Ford:

“A penitent man. Kneels before G-d!”

And then the Father uses the phrase, ‘a Lenten Pilgrimage’ and I smile broadly. That is what I called it yesterday in this very space, and I know that I am traveling in a new direction. I have everything I need, and I am ready.

I bow my head to receive the prayer.

And thus begins my first Lent.

Lenten Pilgrimage

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After doing my own reading and talking to my close friend, I’m going to approach Lent as a pilgrimage of sorts. In that way, it goes along with my view that the last couple of years were and are a path that I’m following until I end up where I belong, wherever that is.

As a non-Catholic for my whole life up to this point, I’ve thought of Lent as that part of the year most like Yom Kippur. Time to atone your sins and with Easter renew your year, much like I do at that time of the year in the Fall or most people do in January at the New Year.

I’ve come to find that it’s much more than that. Of course, it’s whatever each individual decides to do for themselves, so please don’t take this as a directive that now suddenly I’ve attended Mass for less than a year and I’m some kind of expert. I only know my own observations and what my friends’ have told me, not to mention any specific questions I’ve had answered, either through asking or Googling.

As a child, I was under the impression that Ash Wednesday and Good Friday are fast days, and that meat isn’t eaten on Fridays during Lent. I am planning on observing these dietary restrictions with the addition that I will also eliminate bread during most of the week of Passover. This year is definitely a transition for me; I also remind myself that Jesus himself was celebrating Passover at His Last Supper.

I’m abstaining from two things for the next forty days (although I think it’s slightly longer than that). Diet Coke (and all soda really, but that’s the only one I drink) and the bakery scones I’ve been enjoying too much. I’m replacing the Diet Coke with water and green tea. I really don’t like green tea, but I’ve been reading that it counteracts some of the bad things that aspartame does to your body, so I’m going to try it out. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll drink my usual black tea and water.

This is an extraordinarily difficult thing for me to give up. Except for an occasional morning tea or lemonade in the summer or Starbucks drinks, ALL I drink is Diet Coke. I would guess that I average about 28 12 oz. cans in a week.

The only advantage I have is that they’re decaffeinated, so I won’t have the pleasure of going through a caffeine withdrawal. Been there, done that, wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

I won’t be replacing the scones with anything. Part of that is to save the money and part of that is to lose the weight I’ve gained in the last couple of months out of the blue. Both saving the money and losing a bit of weight will be advantageous for me come October.

I also want to use this time for my writing. It was suggested that I trade one hour of Tumblr for one hour of writing, but I don’t have the willpower to do that; it would just make me miserable every time I ‘cheated’, so it’s not going to be a 1:1 ratio.

However, I will commit to writing certain things for the next forty days and hopefully keep it up as we go through the rest of the year.

The first thing that I want to write about on a daily basis is my faith journey, whether that’s this past year and how it’s brought me to this place or what I’m feeling on that day during the Lenten season. There are so many days that I have a monologue in my head about the faith and spirit that I’m feeling and I never get them down, so I’m hoping that this will help me get it out. I also have my Mason Jar project continuing through the year. There are still a couple of things that I haven’t put in it yet, but that’s separate from Lent.

The second thing I want is to be more consistent in my blogging. Whether it’s non-fiction blathering or Fan Fiction and Meta, I want to be posting, if not daily, then consistently, so it’s expected, both by me and by my readers. I’ve had my blog nominated for a couple of new blog awards and my essay about writing was recommended in January. These are great things, and make me very proud of what I have done, but with new readers comes higher expectations, and my expectations for myself should be higher than the reader. I want to try and live up to that.

I think what that means are at least two writings per day: one related to my faith and one for general writing.

Most importantly, I’m not dreading what’s expected of me this Lenten season. I’m looking forward to it; the challenges, the commitments, the creativity, the walk with Christ.

My Journey Towards Faith

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I’ve spent a lot of time on Tumblr writing about my new found obsession, Supernatural. This show really has everything – good music, complex characters, a cast that loves their jobs and more pop culture references than you could possibly name, not to mention the puns.

I may eventually share those essays here if there is a want for it, but my friend, who encourages me in all things, and especially writing knows exactly which buttons to push to get me off my ass and before I knew it, I had over 5000 words in three essays about the show, the characters and my predictions for the future of the all of the above.

In addition to that taking up much of my time, I kind of had a relapse with my depression. I wasn’t more depressed or down, but I could feel that I fell off the wagon. I think I’m back on as long as I stick to my routines that I have really grown accustomed to, and more than that, comforted by.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned here what’s been happening in my religious life. A quick overview would be that I was raised Jewish, and followed all of the holidays, more so when I was a kid, but I’ve tried to give my kids the feel for the traditions that I grew up with. As far as faith, I’ve never been very religious in that way, although I knew most of the Bible stories, and believe in them.

Last year around this time, I kind of fell apart. It was about two months after an official diagnosis of severe depression and other things were happening in my life that would be inappropriate to discuss on a public blog, but I found myself at our local Roman Catholic Church. I knew I would be welcome, and so I wandered in to pray by myself and catch my breath so to speak. I did this several times whenever I was ‘sent’ there through the various signs (truly neon) that were sent to me on certain days and I followed those feelings.

Eventually, I began to attend the daily Mass three days a week, and I am still doing that today. Over the course of this last year, I discovered the Scriptures and the Word of G-d, and the role Jesus Christ has played in religious mythos and history of the Catholic Church (and all of Christianity, of course). At some point, I understood what was meant by ‘coming to Jesus’ and being ‘saved’. It was so clear in so many things that I was witnessing, both emotionally and physically. My head took a bit longer, but my heart knew what was to come in my life. I was lucky to have a very strong, supportive friend as well as a very supportive priest, regardless of any decisions I made in regard to remaining Jewish or converting to Catholicism.

At the very end of last year, New Year’s Eve in fact, I sat down with my priest to discuss my desire to be baptized. This will happen next Easter (2014), and while there will be bumps on that road that I will have to deal with, I know it is the right one.

The one question that has come up (from a family member) is whether or not I believe in the Resurrection. I don’t always have to see things to believe them, although I am extremely cynical in my ways. I do believe in ghosts, however, and if those manifestations are real, there is no logical reason that the Resurrection is not. So, yes, I do believe.

The reason I bring this up is that Lent begins on Wednesday, and since this is my first year attending church, for myself, I have decided to observe Lent, even though technically I’m not required to, and I will also follow the Jewish holidays that I would have normally celebrated including Passover next month. I don’t expect any of this to be easy. The point actually is for it to be a challenge – a kind of pilgrimage as part of the new path that I’m on.

In addition to giving up a couple of things, I will be adding writing and meditation to my Lenten journey, which will both focus me creatively and bring me closer to G-d.

I drink a lot of Diet Coke. It’s practically the only thing I drink, so I’ve decided that soda is what I will be giving up. I drink non-caffeinated, so there shouldn’t be any kind of physical withdrawal, only a psychological one, but because of the negative effects of the aspartame (I was told twice this week about them, both from my best friend and my brother), I will be adding green tea as well as regular tea and water. I am also giving up my favorite bakery scones, which is good both for diet and pocketbook.

However, Lent isn’t just about giving up things; it’s about adding G-d and Faith into your life and that is my intent, not only adding Faith, but adding my Dreams to this reflective time.

I’m going to cut back on some of my social media and prioritize things because last year at this time I checked out of my life. I wasn’t there for my friends; not for my kids; not for my husband, and to give credit where credit is due, he took on a lot more than he should have been expected to and with less complaint than he was entitled to. All of our problems aren’t gone, but I’m physically better; I’m mentally better, and the support system I have seems to be working for me. We still need work, but that is also part of my Lenten pilgrimage.

Thank you for giving me such great encouragement to this writing experiment. I’m happy that you will join me as I (hopefully) increase my writing output with quality, timely and entertaining posts. I’m enjoying hearing from many of you. Any of your suggestions on format and topics/prompts are always welcome.

Strands of Silver

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My son wanted to know why my hair was all of a sudden silver. Well, Mommy can’t afford her ‘real’ color.

And yes, my hair is not grey; it is definitely silver. And that’s not vain. And it’s been turning silver since I was about 17 just like my Dad.

The thing is, I like the silver. I really do.

But……..

When I was dating my husband, we went to a Halloween party and I dressed as Poison Ivy, so I decided to dye my hair red for the party.

I looked at my (short) red hair against my brown eyes and sallow, yellowy skin and I realized that I was supposed to be born a redhead, and I have been ever since (a couple of decades now).

It makes me sad when I pass by a mirror and see the silver shine and sparkle because that’s just not me.

It’s not vanity or age; it’s just not me.

It’s very much the same feeling I get from Wales. Having not been born there or having any kind of Welsh heritage, I still feel ‘from there’. It feels as though I’m being given the feelings and images of who I’m supposed to be and I just need the courage to take those steps.

I’ve been to Wales and it is embedded on my soul.

As for my hair, sure I’ve never let it revert back fully to silver until now. People tease me thinking I dye it to ‘cover the grey’ but that is so far from the reason that it truly pains me when it’s pointed out.

I am sad that I can’t afford something so small that feels so good; that lets me be me.

My hairdresser helped me pick a cheaper over the counter dye until I can go back to her, so I will hope for the best and dye it back tomorrow.

Because while I do love the silver, I’d rather be me. Redheaded me is a different person, and actually perhaps reverting fully back to silver and starting my color over again is a good metaphor for my life and what the rest of this year is going to look like.

Crosses

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I bought my first religious ornament this past Christmas.

Mother and Child.

It doesn’t say or imply Mary and Jesus, but really? A Christmas ornament called Mother and Child? It’s not even trying to be subtle.
I wanted it for that reason and because being a mother (a Mommy) is so much of my identity.
It’s not always in the same order or in order of priority but it is always

Mother
Friend
Writer.

Not sure which order, in fact, the order changes importance on a daily basis, so really it’s all the permutations. They’re all important, and on some days, one comes before the other two.
And then they trade places.

I also started wearing a cross on my charm bracelet. I’ve never worn a cross before. I know a lot of people do, even in a non-religious way. They appear on a lot of clothes and accessories, journals, posters, etc. They’re everywhere, but I’ve always felt uncomfortable wearing them.

Once I made the decision to be baptized (in another year or so), I kind of started looking for a cross, not intending to wear it though; just thinking about it.

I’ve always loved Celtic crosses, but avoided them. I do have Celtic jewelry, but never any crosses.

When I was looking for a rosary for a friend of mine at Christmas, I was trying to find something for him that I would have liked. I dismissed this as one of those gifts you get for someone else, but hope they have so they give it back and you can keep it. 😉

(Seriously, don’t give it back.)

I did get that out of my head. It was really only in passing anyway. At the time, I wasn’t interested in getting myself a cross or any kind of religious jewelry.

While I was looking for charms for my daughter, however, I did look for crosses. Most of the ones I found were a bit much: large, heavy metal, very black, skulls, not quite my style.

Not until I found this one. The four ends look like a triquetra and they’re all wound and braided together from one piece forming a very simple, very lovely, Celtic looking cross.

It blends my new Catholicism with the Celts of old-the Cistercians I enjoyed reading so much about during the time of Llywelyn Fawr. He was a generous patron of those White Monks of his time.

I will probably get another after I’m baptized, or ask someone to get me a special one, but for now I have this reminder of what is still to come in this new year and beyond.

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Faery Snow

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I love snowflakes. Pictures of snowflakes. Books. Those paper cutouts of snowflakes. Sponge painted snowflakes on blue construction paper. My kingdom in the SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) is Concordia of the Snows with a snowflake badge.

However, I hate snow.

The anxiety that comes with the first snow is about the same as getting on an airplane and to get me on one of those takes half a Xanax and a talisman. The cold; the ice; the wet; the slip sliding around the streets. I think I stopped driving after the first snow since around 2004.

I used to walk to school in the snow. Really. I student taught in in a little town in upstate New York, and lived too close to drive. It would have really been absurd to drive, so I walked the rural roads, crossed the bridge over the kill and for a few weeks I was Abraham Lincoln.

I drove back to college from student teaching in blinding and drifting and blowing snow to see a boyfriend. Love, and an old car, makes one stupid.

Fire drills at 2am in the snow. Who pulls a fire alarm at 2am in the snow? Freshman, obviously. Freshmen with a death wish.

The only snow I remember with fondness was the faery snow in Edinburgh, Scotland. It was the worst snow in more than a decade. Started out locked in the hostel at York, hours upon hours of train delays, flights cancelled, but Edinburgh snow in January………brilliant.

Light.

Fluffy.

Shiny.

Sparkly.

Faery snow.

I spent the evening with Peter. He had never seen snow being from Australia and it was the best thing. People who’ve never experienced the bad of an upstate winter like ice storms and Red Cross Shelters – they all love the snow.

Especially if they’ve never seen it.

He had the bright eyes of a four year old, almost twinkling as much as the falling flakes under the lampposts below the castle. Everything is better with a four year old. Or a twenty year old who’s never seen snow.

This snow feels different.

It tastes different.

It grabs the soles of your feet and slides you down the street. You don’t really slip – faery snow’s not there to hurt you, only to enthrall, entangle, entwine you with the web of the faerie’s call.

Sometimes It Takes a Lifetime to Find Your Voice

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(Note: This was originally written for my family who had begun to complain on Facebook about my ‘political’ postings and opinion pieces. I re-read it and kind of still liked it, so I’ve included it here even though I’m working on a newer version as I continue to find myself.)

For someone so quiet it may seem strange – my posts, my links, my commentary. I’ve always been quiet; listening silently, agreeing or not, but remaining silent and mostly following. Even though I felt this starting in education and parenting because of my kids, I’ve been online for almost four years, and it’s created an even greater voice I didn’t know I could have. That’s probably why I go kicking and screaming to each new social media, but I still go, looking for the one that fits; the one that will give a meaningful platform to my words.

I don’t know how someone goes from silently watching and taking notes hoping for change other than speaking out; for something, whatever that something is to being an actual activist. That was always a word I was afraid of, but the reality is that is what I feel like. The old cliche of “if I don’t, who will” has never felt more true.

As I said, it started by questioning teachers and administrators, and school nurses when I felt my kids were not being treated in the way that I thought they should be treated. My excuse was that I was old and cranky, and people would laugh, but it’s laughable that I needed some kind of excuse to do what was best for my kids.

I came very naturally to It Gets Better and The Trevor Project. Children should not be killing themselves. They should be playing and going to the mall and fighting with their parents about their computers, Xboxes and cell phones.

The Human Rights Campaign and Marriage Equality and Transgender Remembrance happened for me when I saw something first-hand and knew it was wrong, but didn’t know how to fix it. For me and for others, a lightbulb goes off and it’s always been there in front of you, but you’re too afraid to see it or too afraid to speak up or you remember times you’ve made mistakes from not understanding and then you do understand; some of it anyway. Besides a personal story that is not mine to share (more than one actually), I’ve also realized that my ‘tolerance’ was validation for someone else’s life, and the people living the life don’t need my validation or approval; just my love and support.

I started speaking out against domestic violence and abuse in all its forms when my closest friend was shot and his roommate, who would have been my friend eventually was murdered.

I’m starting to talk about and link to the topics of mental illness. Just the phrase ‘mental illness’ has negative connotations and everyone shudders and hugs and finds the pill to make it go away. But mental illness isn’t always illness and it isn’t always negative; sometimes it’s just different.

I’m also starting to post about Autism. My interest began with my own children and looking for warning signs, and reading about vaccines and other causes, but knowing more people and interacting with them and seeing different sides of a word opens it up to talking about it.

These things, whatever you want to call them – causes, projects, undertakings – they’ve come to me naturally and speaking out is hard; it’s the hardest thing I’ve done. I don’t want to embarrass myself or my husband and kids by either saying the wrong thing or speaking too loud. I still care what people think of me. I still don’t like a spotlight on me. I really don’t like the center of attention, especially if it’s extremely positive or extremely negative, but as hard as it is, it is still easier than what the people I link to are going through.

It may look a bit like follow the leader, but if I didn’t believe it, I wouldn’t do it or talk about it. The one thing I found from this summer was that I was in my element with mapping and media lists and urgent cares and updating the website. I’d like to do it for something that’s not a grieving process, where I won’t feel guilty for enjoying the parts that are enjoyable; where I can help people and still do it for me, too.

And I want to write about it. There’s an essay coming about college and careers and writing and a long talk in a far away place, but for now this is what I want; what I need. And this is who I am.

At 45, I expected less change, but as physically lazy as I can be, all I see ahead are continuing changes and reaching out and touching the edge with my fingertips and pulling up and moving slowly forward, but never back; and then writing about it.

It scares me.

Activism. Living my life. Writing. Something.

Happy New Year!

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It’s catch up time.
🙂
I’ve read all of the wonderful comments left for me by all of you. I’ve responded to all of them except for the essay Unrequited Love, which I will begin answering this afternoon.
I am so appreciative of the response to not only that piece, but to some of the others that are published here.
I also have a Facebook page for those of you who are on Facebook, although I’m still working through how to use it with this blog.
I have another post this afternoon that is similar to Unrequited Love in that it talks about some of my philosophy and needs for speaking out and writing, but I am still working on one that explains ME better.

I think the two main things that I’ve been focused on and will continue as a theme in my life this new year are my ongoing recovery from depression and anxiety and my religious/spiritual awakening. Both are subjects that most people shy away from, hide in the dark and don’t discuss. My aim for both, but especially the subject of depression and mental health issues is to bring it into the light as I have been brought into a lighted part of my life. I also speak about the journey I’m on.

So thank you for joining me on this journey.

Kb