spirituality

Continuing My Education

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Whether we know it or admit it or not, life is a constant series of learning new things. More and more of us are redefining what getting an education is. It used to be over 60s were considered a non-traditional student. Then, housewives who were trying to break back into the work force. Then the second careerists were non-traditional, and then the youngish ones who made bad choices or were waiting to have enough money.

Now, all these groups and more are less non-traditional and more changing with the times. Schools are needing to adapt through course requirements, including credit for practical experience and travel and life lived to new financial aid options, although this will always financial information even though parents are paying less and less if any of their child’s college bill.

When I started college, it was expected that I’d go. As much as I wanted to write, I was encouraged to go into something practical. I was pre-law. There was never any question about paying for school. We never even talked about it. My parents paid from that moment through all of my formal secondary education. I was stuck on a trajectory that I would have liked to have changed.

I’ve will be spending the better part of this week in a classroom, expanding my knowledge, meeting new people, meditating in nature, contemplating my journey so far. Spring Enrichment with my Diocese is still new to me, but it si also comfortable. I have my notebook, my pen, my camera and I am ready. There is something kind of spiritual about being in a classroom, especially hearing new things about religion and its place in history. Imagining myself there is something I’ve always reflected on my readings, whether they be Scripture or historical text. I’ve since discovered that this form of contemplation has a name: lecto divinia. I had always called it daydreaming. 😉

This week’s immersion  into so many Catholic ideas and opinions give me the thoughts that not only do I belong but I can continue to grow as a spiritual person while learning something new.

Yom Kippur

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I kind of failed Rosh Hashanah this year. I mean it’s still my responsibility to model for my kids and teach them how to observe. I feel as though I’m failing them in this area. I am also not ready to give up all of my traditions, and Yom Kippur is one of those thoughtful observances that gives you a mandatory stop and take inventory of where you are, where you’ve been, and we’re you’re going.

Yom Kippur is a little different today. For me, it’s less about what you can’t do, but what you can; what you do.

Fasting isn’t the absence of food; it is the presence of G-d as reminder of not only my failings of the past year, but also where I’ve succeeded.

Lighting candles for my parents. The reminder of where I’ve come from, how much I miss the every day, and it tells them that they are not forgotten.

Not working. No writing has always driven me crazy, but it has also afforded me the opportunity to slow down and think; to meditate. I am “forced” to something else.

My usual Yom Kippur activity is reading. Harry Potter was one of my Jewish holiday books and look at all my life has changed because of that beginning of that New Year. Overall, wonderful things from deep friendship to finding parts of me and knowing that are still parts missing; left to find.

This year’s book is Jesus: A Pilgrimage by James Martin. I know, an unusual choice for Yom Kippur. I’ve wanted to read it for some time. It was a gift from my godmother, and I look at the spine nearly every day and thinking I don’t have the time, I go back to my Kindle.

Yom Kippur will give me the time.

It is a whole day where I can read, pray, meditate, pray the rosary, light candles and no one questions the whys or the wherefores.

It is the one day out of the year where I don’t have to explain my actions.

It simply is.

Why are you….?

Because it’s Yom Kippur.

The simplicity of not apologizing for who I am or who I am becoming is part of my day’s meditation.

I do ask guidance and forgiveness for those I’ve wronged even with the best of intentions. Enlighten me how I can do better and I will do my best to try.

I will let my faith continue to guide me.

I will question what I don’t understand.

I will defend the wronged.

I will be the friend I’m supposed to be.

I will be the person I’m supposed to be.

Reflections for this Holy Week

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I wanted to write something for the reflection for my church’s blog on March 26th (yesterday), but the words aren’t coming as easily as I had expected (or wanted) them to. I chose today’s date because it was one that was very significant to me.

One year ago today I began attending daily Mass during the week. It kind of came about accidentally, but in the last year, I’ve discovered that nothing is accidental.

Every day that I attended, I discovered something new about the Lord, the church and myself.

For one thing, I became calmer. I wasn’t looking for it, but it was a definite change in my mindset.

It began on my drives to church in the mornings. They had the effect of washing away the troubles and the bad part of the last night and the morning. I wasn’t trying to get rid of it, but my mind would clear itself and when I arrived at the church door, I was ready for whatever message was coming my way.

For another thing, more likely than not there was a question in my mind, a struggle, something that I needed help with and had nowhere to go, and nine times out of ten, the answer was there in the Mass. If it wasn’t in the Gospel or the Responsorial, it was in the homily.

As a child and young person growing up, I wasn’t Catholic, so the few times I would attend church for friends, for weddings or funerals, it was awkward. I was awkward. I understood nothing, I never knew when to stand, when to sit, when my eyes should be open or closed. How did everyone know what to say and when? I was uncomfortable whenever Jesus was mentioned.

However, from my first day here at Mass, I wasn’t awkward. I wasn’t looked at strangely. I was welcomed. I felt welcomed. My questions were welcomed. No one cared that I wasn’t Catholic, and they went out of their way to explain anything to me that I asked about. I was allowed to explore my faith and myself and the pieces of the church that I had never seen before or been exposed to, and discovered much more than a place to rest my depression or simply a place to go.

I still didn’t know what to do, but it didn’t matter. I stood when the person in front of me stood, and sat when they sat. When they turned to shake my hand, I shook theirs, and in that moment of touch, it was like a bolt of lightning. I felt my face alight with a smile and joy filled my soul and I looked forward to that touch every day; the connection as our eyes met, our hands met. I would close my hand and keep that touch in there for as long as I could. It gave me energy. It gave me hope. It gave me promise and purpose and love. And I held it close.

When I would forget, I could just close my hand and it would be back again.

One year ago I took refuge in the pews of the church, usually empty save for me or the occasional visit by the grounds keeper. Before I began attending the Masses, I would just sit and read the daily prayers in the Missal. I was lost and at a loss and just in the sitting and talking to G-d, I found something. I hadn’t realized it at the time; it took several months to realize how important my mornings with G-d meant to me and how they changed me in a positive way.

In the year since that first day, I have found many more readings that fit into my daily life and give me guidance and a hand to hold when I’m feeling alone.

Mass is not an obligation to me. I look forward to the Mass. And I’m never alone.

I have this deeper understanding of who Jesus Christ was and is and where He fits into my life. It is more comfort than I think I have ever felt.

 

The beginning of today’s Psalm reminds me of why I started coming and why I come nearly every day:

In you, O LORD, I take refuge;
let me never be put to shame.
In your justice rescue me, and deliver me;
incline your ear to me, and save me.
R. I will sing of your salvation.

 

 

Your Work in Me

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“Jesus, I welcome your work in me this coming year. I want this year to be a time of growth in my journey with you.”

I’ve been attending church services for almost one year now. I started the actual Masses during Holy Week. There was never any intention to join the church. I just needed a place to sit quietly and think. I knew that I would talk to G-d. I hesitate to call it prayer; it was a simple conversation. True, it would be a one-sided conversation: I’d do all of the talking and hope that Someone was listening. It was the one place I could say, or think, anything and there was no judgment, no scorn, no bad things.

Whenever anyone came into the church while I was there alone, they left me alone. On occasion someone would ask if I needed anything, if I was waiting for anyone, I’d get a wave or a smile, but no one ever asked why I was there. No one ever asked me to leave. To be honest, that was the primary reason I chose a church for my thinking: I would be welcome.

The first time I spoke to G-d here, He answered with the church bells. It was perfect, and all of the scared things, all of the hurt, all of the anger just went away, and I cried.

There were so many more moments like that, and every time I was ready to lose faith, another sign, another answer came to me, and I went on for a few more days, finding comfort in the stability, the steadiness of the daily Mass.

I wasn’t quite alone any more.

Things would happen at home or I would be upset and certain that this was my last day, and the Gospel would be read, and it was the exact answer that I needed for my exact problem.

There was a ray of light hitting a pew, an extra strong scent of incense while I was reading a passage, the smell of the candle wax melting. Sitting in my ‘usual’ pew, I glanced up, not anything special, just a slight lift of my head, and I would have sworn that I could see Wales. Upon closer inspection, through that one particular window that you could only see from my seat at just my height was the trunk of a tree and green leaves hanging heavy, dripping water with bright sunlight coming from behind it through the spaces where the trunk split. I took a deep breath and my lips curled up.

It was Wales.

So I stayed.

The quotation above is something that I didn’t know I was looking for. I’ve heard people talk about Jesus, and the moments when they felt the pull. I’m cynical but open minded and I’ve never really been a believer in that sort of spiritual stuff. I do believe in ghosts, but Jesus, Son of G-d, that’s a bit much.

When I was called, when I knew, it just happened. It wasn’t getting hit by lightning, but it was profound and I could feel it. Once I decided that I would be baptized, I wouldn’t wait; I needed to speak with the Father immediately, as soon as possible. I knew that it would be a difficult concept for my family, and most of them still don’t know, but I have the support of my best friend and my church family (and all of them would have supported me either way – no one ever asked me about conversion; they just enjoyed what I was getting out of the Masses).

When I read that quotation, it is exactly what I’ve been looking for.

I’ve been much more spiritual; much more calm and thoughtful, and forgiving. I feel G-d on my shoulder and I do pray now – actual prayer in addition to the conversations I still have with G-d.

I will keep that quotation in my notebook, and remind myself of how far I’ve come, not just in other parts of my life, but in the spiritual part, the faithful part. It makes me stronger, it makes me more confident, it makes me smile because I feel it so deeply; I feel the love and the support and it centers me and reminds me to take those moments to think; to think and then do in all parts of my life.

I look forward to the upcoming year. I’ve looked forward to observing Lent, and missing out on my Diet Coke reminds me of the other things in my life that I should be thinking about. I’m writing more, which was one of my intentions for my Lenten Pilgrimage. I am feeling my faith and living my faith and after becoming nearly a completely different person in the last two years, this faith, and my journey with Jesus Christ is like putting on a comfortable sweater, tucking into a cup of tea and a good book or a friendly voice on the phone.

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.

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

Christmas Eve Mass

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I’ll start with the end first. When I was leaving the Mass, I saw the church lights shining through the stained glass on the front of the building; the Virgin Mary. I posted the photo after the service. Sitting in the car, I suddenly remembered driving past this church last Christmas Eve and seeing the same stained glass window, lit up, bright and colorful, shining in the dark. It was a surprise in the night sky and I hadn’t realized that there was a Mass going on; all I could see was the Virgin Mary, brightening one of my dark days.

I drove past the church all year since then, paying attention at night to recreate that scene from Christmas Eve, to find that feeling again, and every night I was disappointed. Until Christmas Eve. The first time, I’d only been in that church once before. I bought a Mass card for Brittany and in May attended that service when they said the special remembrance for her. Over the course of time in 2011, I would come back on occasion, when the need arose, and just sit in my car, staring at the big green tree, so much in the traditional shape of the Tree of Life, watch the branches blow in the breeze, and cry. And then I would go home, still not being able to explain to my family (or myself) why Brittany’s death affected me so much.
Christmas Eve went away. The stained glass window went away. The Tree, my special Brittany memorial tree, went away. Brittany never did, though.

I had been depressed, alone and lost. Sometime in the weeks before Holy Week, I would come to the Church and sit in the pew several times while there were no services. I don’t know what sent me there; I just knew when to go, and I would sit alone. Just me and G-d. He listened. And I listened to Him. And boy, did He have a lot to say! Lights and smells and sounds and Scriptures that read my mind. Friends He sent me with messages and songs and love. I’ve never known anyone to talk so much without saying a word.

I started going to Mass that Tuesday of Holy Week.

In the weeks that followed Easter, I went to the nine o’clock Mass three times a week unless I had a prior commitment or an appointment. I was the youngest one in the church. These were the people who had been going their whole lives; pious, the true believers, the devout.

In April, the Deacon let me take the Missal with me to my mother in law’s, so I could read on the days that I wouldn’t be able to attend Mass. A couple of weeks later, C. directs me to take the free book, The Word Among Us. It has all of the liturgies for the entire month. It has the Gospels. It has the daily responsorials. It has the meditations. When I asked the Deacon to borrow the book, I began to cry.

I carry the book with me, and I hide it. No one would understand this. I read it every morning that I don’t attend Mass.

The priest returns from Rome and his first Mass back is May 7th. Today is the first anniversary of Brittany’s murder, and I want the closure of a Mass. I am upset. Where is my priest? I don’t even belong to this church and I’ve become possessive about which priest is going to do the homily. He begins to speak and after talking about Rome, which is so much like my Wales, he speaks a bit about the Holy Spirit, and something he says reminds me of Brittany and why I am here in the first place. I begin to cry. Again. I’m also glad he’s back from Rome. I’m going to like him.

His homilies are soft spoken and humorous – he is very humorous and good natured – but they are also firm. He doesn’t need to tell you what to do with your life, your vote, your heart; he tells you what Jesus did, and then you do what you do with that in your mind and you can feel what he’s trying to say. He’s not beating you over the head with any kind of should and must, but continuing to welcome warmly with a “let me tell you what I believe; what do you think?”

In July, I meet with him. I have a stupid question, and I say that to him. “I have a stupid question.” After he hears it, he agrees with me; it is a stupid question. He doesn’t quite call it that, but we laugh and he gives me twenty minutes, letting me babble, asking me questions about myself and my family and why I’ve come here and not anywhere else. He’s a nice man. I tell him he’s not what I expect of a priest and he laughs at that also. He is not insulted. He is a cross between Father Mulcahy and Sheldon Cooper. I don’t tell him this.

I never paid attention to Jesus as a child or really up until the point that Job sent me to the church to meditate on one or two desperations. I pay attention now. There is a life size Jesus nailed to a wooden Cross in the chapel. I’ve never gone up to it, so I really don’t know, but I think He’s life-sized. Sometimes, I will have a thought of agreement or a question about my own faith and I can feel him looking at me.

I look back, but He hasn’t moved.

So many things between then and now that stand out in my mind.

A few weeks ago, the priest, Father J. came over to me in the parking lot, put his arm around me, and asked, “Are you Catholic yet?” I laughed and I think he thought he made me uncomfortable, but the only reason I may have seemed uncomfortable with the question is because I’ve become more comfortable with Jesus. I could never say his name in prayers at all, and if I spoke about him in passing through my life or as a topic of conversation, I’d cast my eyes downward as if I weren’t supposed to talk about Him; to keep Him hidden from my life.

The question hit a little too close to home, but of course, he couldn’t have known that. I’ve never expressed a desire to convert.

I have been thinking about it, though. I’ve only barely mentioned it to one person, and I’m still trying to have a conversation about it. To my logical mind, it seems the next natural step.

I mean why am I still going to church? What does it mean to me? Was it just a place to hang out while I waited for me to piece my life back together? Why the church and not the temple? That question is actually easy.

I knew they would welcome me.

And if not overtly welcome me at the beginning, I knew that they would not turn me away. I know that I can speak to the priest as a convert, as a non-religious person or as a Jewish person. He would see me, and he would support me, and I know this, not because he said it, but because I just know it.

Most of my life I’ve had that simplistic view. The very literal, whatever will be, will be. I worry. I angst. I get terrified and I fret. But I always fall back on everything will be alright.

And overall, that is Father J’s message. Every sermon. Here is what Jesus did. Here is a story from my childhood or someone I know. Here is what they did. Here is what I’d recommend. Now, go forward, and with Jesus’ help, everything will be alright.

You don’t have to believe it. You don’t have to say it out loud. But it will be alright, and I’m here to help.
Back to Christmas Eve.

The church was packed. Every seat filled. Every space for standing filled. I’m given a program and I greet the Father. He is surprised and happy to see me. He takes my hand and squeezes it. I think this is the most intimate thing that can be shared with someone not your lover. It’s only the second time I feel this surge of love from someone, agape love. He leaves his greeting space and finds an usher, telling him that I must have a seat. I insist that I do not need a seat, and I greet the usher. The look on his face says what I am already thinking, has the priest even looked into the sanctuary?

I put my hand in front of me in a stop sign motion so the Father can’t see and I tell the usher, no, it’s fine, there are others who need to sit. The usher laughs and puts an arm around me, thanking me for understanding reality. A second usher has missed this exchange and has convinced a man to give me one of his saved seats.

I am in the very last pew. The church is dim. Lights are off, but there is a light over the altar. There is a nativity scene that I can’t really see. All the altar cloths are now white, changed from yesterday’s purple. There is a large Christmas tree covered in white lights above the choir, who are singing one carol after another. There are wreaths with white bows filling every empty space on the walls that don’t have statuary. There is such a sensation of true Christmas and I feel the emotions surge up from my soul.

The procession began, and the choir began to sing Silent Night. The churchgoers joined in, as did I. This is the first time I’ve sung this song in its entirety, including Jesus’ name in the song about his birth.

This is a very musical service, and I love it. I’m very busy looking around, pleased that I know the Mass well enough that I don’t have to wait for the others to give me my cues. I know when to stand, and am thankful when the Father tells everyone that because of the numbers, we are to remain standing rather than kneel (which I still do not do).

Many people leave after Communion, although the church is still quite full. When the Mass is ended, I approach the Deacon, shake his hand and wish him a Merry Christmas.

I wait patiently behind an older man to speak to the Father, just to briefly wish him a Merry Christmas. I am happy here. I am surprised by my level of comfort. I reach out to shake his hand, and he doesn’t hesitate, he puts his arm around me and pulls me into a hug. I inhale deeply of the feelings this brings on, and I almost burst into tears from the emotion of it all.

I’ve decided to meet with him after Christmas.

This is such a difficult decision; I don’t even know if it is actually a decision as much as an exploration and I hate how much like a politician that sounds like. I feel as though all of these spiritual feelings are a betrayal of many. How will my family react? As it is, it’s causing marital issues. My parents are gone, but I still feel them. I wonder if I’d be so adrift is they were still here to guide me.

I’ve been trying to talk about so many of these feelings with someone, someone who can talk me through it, to be my soundboard, to be my advisor, to hold my hand, the only one I can actually speak to about this.

But this desperation, this loneliness doesn’t matter as much as Christmas Eve Mass, which was magnificent on so many levels, not the least of which was spiritual. It was the first time I celebrated a Christmas Mass; the Mass of Jesus’ birth; the beginning of his life on Earth. It’s so profound; so big; I almost can’t fit it all in my heart.