Growing up with a gay dad...

I am giving my account of my relationship with my father, who was openly gay.  I am not speaking of all gay men, nor am I exaggerating or making up stories about my experience.  I have to start with this, because I know many get defensive when talking about homosexuality.  I used to be one of them.

In college I would proudly declare how I had a gay father, who "came out" when I was a toddler (my parents divorced when I was 2).  I would explain how I was a normal, straight, educated young woman who lived part time with my father throughout my life, and his lifestyle had absolutely no affect on me whatsoever.  I went to some of the gay bars with my dad to see his friends.   I'd bring my own friends, some of which had never been to a gay bar and maybe wouldn't have gone without me.  Once it was apparent that homosexuality was becoming more 'acceptable' in society, it made me feel good.  It wiped out all of those public condemnations I heard directed toward gay people, which I immediately took offense to because of the relationship with my father.  Now that I look back, I can see that I was hiding a lot of emotional damage under a false image of being, "enlightened".

I never told anyone about all of the counseling I went through as a child.  Or the heart ache and confusion I endured.  It wasn't due to what "others" had to say about it.  It really wasn't that at all.  I heard my mother bad mouth my father when I was growing up, and it wasn't just about him being gay (even though his multiple partners over the years was criticized), but how he had "left us", or how selfish he was.  No one in his family spoke ill of him. Even when my dad would bring boyfriends around to family holidays or get-togethers, my devout Catholic grandparents never said anything negative (in front of me anyway).  Neither did his brothers.  I was taught in Catholic school that marriage is for a man and woman, who create children together.  My teachers knew of my dad, but never mentioned it, or treated me any differently.  So, looking at any kind of outside criticism of my dad's lifestyle, I would have to say that from what I saw, the criticism was very minimal.

Even though I primarily lived with my mother, I was always closer to my father.  He had an amazing personality, and always gave me lots of attention when I was with him (which was every other weekend as a kid, and 3 different times where I lived with him full time for 6 months or more).   He had several boyfriends when I was a child and I always got along well with them.  They were very nice men, who were very respectful toward me. I really don't think I understood my father's relationships until I was about 8 years old.  Before then, I saw them like good friends who slept in bed together, but I was confused when they'd embrace or kiss (which really wasn't frequent).  I understood that men and women did these things, but it was done because they had a natural drive to procreate.  I started asking my mother questions at a young age that she couldn't answer.  Things like, "Why does daddy have a boyfriend like you, mommy?"  Or, "What do I call daddy's boyfriend (as in 'dad')?"  I don't remember what my counselor told me, but I remember being less confused.  I never remember anything negative being said about homosexuality in all of my counseling as a child.

I remember thinking many times that I was fortunate to have a father who will never have any more children.  I didn't want to "share" my dad with siblings, since I was an only child and pretty accustomed to it.  I was, however, grateful to know both of my parents.  My mother was engaged for awhile when I was 7 years old, and I was not willing to have a "new" dad.  My parents divorced when I was very young, yet it was not something I ever "got used to".  It was very damaging and hurtful to live through. I knew my parents disliked each other, but I remember thinking as a child, "Well, they should have thought about that before they got married".  Having parents live apart was not easy, but trying to understand my dad's lifestyle as I got older was just as difficult.

There were several times in my life that my dad was single.  I did live with him at one time while he was single for about 6 months, and I have to say, that this was probably one of the happiest times in my father's life. During this time, we traveled together, he stopped going out so much, he worked out at the gym, ate healthy and seemed at peace.  I found out later (in my 20s) that this is when he found out he was HIV+.

Once I was a teenager, my dad started to become more open about his life.  As a child, I saw a lot of the superficial aspects of his relationships.  I'm not speaking for all gay men, but I will say that my father, as well as many of his friends (if not all) knew how to portray a very modest version of what their lifestyle was.  On the outside was the appearance of two men who "loved" each other.  They went to family events together, lived together (of course) and acted like a "couple" (yes, imitated a real heterosexual couple, by taking on male/female roles-my father was the feminine role in all his relationships).   My dad started to explain to me how they had other "friends" as well, and how they were so tolerant and loving that they allowed their "boyfriend" to have other "boyfriends" too.  They also explained how it was alright to "try new things", including drugs, as long as you knew where it came from.  The image I once had of my father started to tarnish, but I still loved him so much that I needed to make sense of it all.  I started to look at the adults around me.  My mother had many boyfriends and never remarried, and I had other family that divorced.  For some reason, that stuff didn't bother me as much.  Instead of staying away from what my dad was doing, I decided to embrace it, as to better understand it.

In my late teens I finally saw what my dad was really doing.  At the time, he was so immersed in the lifestyle that he no longer tried to hide anything.  I lived with him again when I was a senior in high school and when I'd get up to go to school in the morning, he and his boyfriend would just be getting home from partying all night.  My dad worked 2nd shift, so he'd sleep for awhile when he got home.  I never understood why he chose to do all this.  He had a great job, a boyfriend, a nice house and a daughter who really loved him.  Why did he need to be doing any kind of drugs?  Why did he need to go out drinking all night?  Why did they need to go pick up other men?  They brought home a kid my age once, that creeped me out.   That's when I decided to move out on my own.

Once I was in college, my dad went downhill quickly.  Every time I was visiting, someone was coming over to pick "something" up (I prayed it was only marijuana).  My dad looked horrible.  He was sickly thin, his face was emaciated.  He never called me, I called him after I had not heard from him in months.  I was really worried about him.  One time I had to go pick him up from a party on the lake, about an hour away from me.  When I picked him up, I realized it was this huge resort out in the middle of no where.  He showed me the flier for it.  It was a huge  party for gay men (there were hundreds there).  They had lots of alcohol, a DJ, pool/spa, motel rooms, and a big barn.  If you haven't seen or heard of these parties, I can summarize them as "disturbing".  I'm sorry, love the sinner, hate the sin, but I don't know how I sucked it up and seemed generally interested in knowing what went on there (even though deep down I was sickened).  A friend of my father, who spoke to me poolside while I waited for my dad to gather his things, explained it (I'm very happy my dad wasn't the one who filled me in).

The resort was full of gay men, who knowingly come to these week long parties to do a lot of drugs, drink a lot of alcohol and have sex (many publicly)  with each other.  I'm not exaggerating.  There were a lot of men there.  A lot of rooms.  I wanted to get out of there.  At this time I knew my dad had HIV as well, yet he still knowingly participated in this stuff.  If you are brave, look up, "barn parties".  It's absolutely disturbing.  Yes, they are adults and can make choices, but many of these men, who knowingly have HIV and other STDs put others at risk.  There are also married straight men who come to these.  So, it affects many, many people.  There are many of these places all over.  I know it's big in Australia (my dad has been there) and Miami, FL.

My father became very ill when I was in my early 20s and was hospitalized.  At this time I realized my dad had another man living with him (as well as his boyfriend he had for 5 years).  It was obvious that my dad's boyfriend was with this man, and they've moved on, since my dad was now so sick.  I went to visit him frequently, and after a couple of weeks, he recovered enough to go home.  He started driving to Chicago to get new HIV medications, which made him even sicker.  He was too tired from the medications to work anymore, and had to retire.  He was only in his early 50s, yet he had the body of a 90 year old man.  I felt so helpless, yet could do nothing.  He wanted to continue living with his boyfriend (and his boyfriend).  I moved to Arizona the next year.

After a few months of living in AZ, I told my father I was getting a divorce (after being married 4 years).  He came out to see me.  He took a shower at my home and the tub was disgusting after.  I don't think he had showered in awhile.  He was unaware of what was going on around him.  I honestly was surprised he made it to see me (since he had a 3 hour flight).   I let him rest; he was used to staying up all night and sleeping all day.  We went out to eat a few times.  It was so sad.  This was no longer my dad.  He was dead already.  There was no turning back.  His lifestyle had destroyed him and creating a living hell on Earth for him.  He never complained, but you could tell he was suffering (and had been for some time, but this was worse).  When he'd call his boyfriend, they'd be having a party at his house.  I felt bad for him.  I offered my home to him, but he couldn't stay.

I went back for Christmas to visit.  We watched TV together for awhile and ate some Chinese take out.  He gave me the biggest hug when I left.   That was the last time that I saw him alive.  That March I received the phone call from his boyfriend that he had passed away.  He passed out (after taking meth) in his hot tub and drowned.  In a way, I knew he was no longer suffering, which gave me some relief.

I pray for him every night.  I know he was severely depressed and lost.  I remember him telling me that he didn't believe in gay marriage, because it's a Sacrament in the Church.  Toward the end, I really think he understood the mistakes that he made.  I believe he was no longer participating in that life of destruction, but was living with the depression from the realization of what he had done.  My dad is an example of where this lifestyle leads.  The life expectancy for gay men is VERY low (look it up).

Even after his death, I still supported homosexuality.  Once I came back to the Catholic Church God opened my eyes to see it all for what it truly is.  I could now honestly look back on my childhood experience with the gay lifestyle and say how damaging it is for everyone; the gay man, his family, his friends, his society.  I'm sure there are many gay men who don't participate in the things my dad has.  I haven't met one.  I have heard more about celibate men who struggle with same sex attraction than I have of those who live in a monogamous relationship.  I still love my dad, or I wouldn't be praying for them.  I wished I would have known sooner, so I maybe I could have spoken to him lovingly about it all.

Please say a prayer for my father, and his friends who have died (who are many) from HIV, drugs, and alcohol.  As well as those still living.

My dad's ex boyfriend from when I was child is someone I keep in contact with.  He has written a book about the gay lifestyle, and has received many threats from it (he has left the country for a period of time because of it).  This group is not one to mess with.  It is very important that we keep in prayer at all times, because they will fight with no regard for others.

A Visual Expression of our Faith

Which of these would you choose to give glory to God?

    This Catholic Church (in Austria)             or

This Catholic Church  (Notre Dame)  

   

     This Catholic Church                      or               

This Catholic Church

  This?????? Ok, this is liturgical abuse and shouldn't happen anyway       Or

This 

    This (unconsecrated hands on the Eucharist)                  or 

This  (Pope Emeritus required those to receive on the tongue while kneeling)

No disrespect to those who attend Churches like those on the above left, but I prefer the Churches on the right.  There were excellent symbolic reasons for why Churches were a certain way and the Mass was celebrated the way it which it was.  In the past there was an understood respect for those attending Mass; in dress, signs of reverence and frequent Confession to assure no mortal sin was present before receiving the Eucharist.  I'm not judging the intentions of those who built these modern Catholic Churches, but why on Earth does it need to look like a Pizza Hut?  The beautiful traditional Catholic architecture was so grand and expensive, not to flaunt the wealth of the Catholic Church, like some Protestants like to declare, but to give glory to God.  The Parish my family attends was completely paid for by Polish immigrants who gave everything they had to built a Church.  The expensive statues they purchased enriched the lives of several generations who came to worship there.  What greater gifts could we give our Lord; our life (service), our prayers and a beautiful home for the Blessed Sacrament.

There are many ways in which we can return to tradition.  I am not a priest, but Vatican II did give the laypeople more "active participation" in the liturgy.  Alright then, I will participate by supporting traditional practices of the liturgy.  We can't just tear these modern buildings down, but we can make changes, such as the following...

1.  Put the tabernacle back to the center of the altar.  This really bothers me.  Instead of the tabernacle being in the center of the Mass itself, a priest's chair sits there instead.  Wow, this seems pretty disrespectful, even though it may not have been intentional (even though I suspect that in some way it is).  The Mass is not about us, it's about God.  Why tabernacles were tucked away in a side chapel, away from the main sanctuary is beyond my comprehension.

2.  Statues!  I can't say how blessed I am to attend a Parish where I receive the Holy Eucharist on my knees directly in front of a statue of Jesus.  Being able to look up at this incredible statue does wonders for me spiritually.  Other statues of Mary and the Saints throughout remind us that they are praying with us, and that the altar is the closest thing to heaven on Earth that we experience.  It helps us to pray with them and gives us comfort when we remember their lives here on Earth.

3.  Altar rails.  Praise God that our pastor is working on putting altar rails back in our Parish.  When they are available, more people kneel.  If they kneel, they are more likely to receive on the tongue.  When this happens, it is less likely that the Holy Eucharist is desecrated (by those walking off with it, by particles remaining in the hand, by multiple unconsecrated hands touching the Eucharist).  Many buildings aren't set up for altar rails (there isn't room), but having kneelers available may help with those who would like to kneel.

4.  Eliminating "Eucharistic Ministers".  If only consecrated hands are supposed to touch the Holy Eucharist, as St. Thomas Aquinas had written, then this is what should happen.  If Communion takes an extra 20 minutes, so what?  Why are we in such a rush?  We are in the presence of our Lord and shouldn't be in a rush to leave anyway.  Use that time for prayer, since no one stays after Mass to do so anyway.  If consecrated hands are the only handlers of the Eucharist, lay people will show more respect and reverence.

5.  No more altar girls.  EWTN answers on altar girls.  The more altar girls, the less boys (if you use girls at Mass, you aren't using boys, common sense).  It's tradition.  The more boys exposed to the priesthood and the Mass, the better, because these are potentially future priests.  I was an altar girl as a child, and I did learn a lot about the Mass, but I now feel as though I took an opportunity away from some of the boys who could have served.

6.  Churches should start putting up signs like this:

The Church shouldn't have to tell people how to dress.  Parents should teach their children how to dress respectfully and model this for them in their daily lives, not just in Church. Of course, it is apparent that this isn't happening.  Parents are the primary educators of children, but when they are lacking in religious education and so much so that they become a distraction to others during Mass, the Church needs to step in.   Now that prom dresses have evolved into nothing more than a fancy-looking bathing suit, it's no wonder why immodesty is creeping into the Church.  Modernism is destroying our Church physically and spiritually.  The way we dress affects the way we act and the way others perceive us as well.  It is also sinful to dress immodest, so the Church should correct this if it's happening at Mass.

I'm just a lay woman.  I know I have no right in correcting priests and bishops unless they performing serious liturgical abuse.  I can offer input, if asked.  The more of us lay Catholics that understand the traditional liturgy and express a desire for Parish to revert back to these practices, the greater chances of it happening.  It has to happen from the ground up and with lots of prayer.  If the Parish you are attending causing pushing you toward a spiritual decline, or is robbing you and your family of a true, Catholic Mass (because of liturgical abuse), you should go elsewhere.  The closest Parish to my family is 5 minutes away, but we drive to a Parish 10 minutes away because it offers the TLM, which we prefer.  Our Parish also has a beautiful, reverent Ordinary Mass as well.  Support these Parishes the best you can.  They really need our prayers and service.

Here is a great article from EWTN that explains Pope Emeritus' views on traditional liturgy: Beauty in liturgy

Our Road to the Traditional Latin Mass

I was very blessed to have come back in communion with the Catholic Church in a Parish that showed a great deal of reverence for the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.  I can attribute my consciousness of my poor dress, attitude and respect for the Blessed Sacrament to my pastor, who always was so humble and modest (he wore a cassock 24/7), and showed the upmost respect and reverence for the Mass.  There were also many  in the parish, who also displayed these same qualities.  When the priest and the laypeople show reverence for the Mass, it will bring non believers to believe.  What I mean by this, is that those who may have lacked the faith to believe in the true presence of Christ in the Holy Eucharist find it easier to believe.

The previous parish I had attended years before, in my opinion, did nothing to suggest that the Eucharist was the true presence of Christ himself.  Blessed are those who believe, of course, but sometimes miracles are hard to comprehend for us humans.  When Holy Communion is performed as something like an assembly line, where people receive and then walk out the doors to leave (I remember doing this as a kid), anyone can give Holy Communion (not just priests of deacons), very little time for prayer is given (someone is singing the entire time, and when they're done, the mass is over and people immediately leave) and the precious blood is given, but only the first two rows receive it;  how on Earth could someone who has some doubt about the true presence become a believer?  The entire Mass has lead up to this climax, only to have it rushed through and not taken seriously.  

Most Catholics do not know anything about the Mass before Vatican II.  I've heard some of those old enough to remember the Mass and when asked about they'll say, "Oh thank goodness we no longer are forced to wear tissue on our heads if we forget a head covering" or, "Now we can understand the Mass".   Yes, it was silly for women to pin tissue on their heads, but this displays a lack of knowledge for WHY these practices were done.  It seems like all these "inconveniences" gave more attention to one's comfort than to what is actually happening at Mass.  I admit that I was poorly catechized, but praise God I educated myself on the Holy Mass.

God is truly present in the Blessed Sacrament.  This is a good explanation of the Eucharist in Scripture: The Eucharist in Scripture .  Because of this, we must not must show respect and reverence.  I am meeting the King of kings, seeing Him face to face, and actually consuming his flesh (yes Protestants, we eat His flesh).  Why would I show up to see the Lord wearing what I wore to bed, my beach attire, or wear something that distracts those around me from His Holy presence?  Why would I not fall on my knees, not just out of adoration, but in a feeling of unworthiness?  Once I really, truly believed and KNEW that it was really Him, and really understood the Mass, I wanted to bring my best for Him.  I wanted to know what he expected of me and I wanted to perform.  

My modesty in dress has come from a personal devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary, as well as from guidance from Catholic theologians and Saints...

Prophecy of St. Nilus (5th Century) 
"After the year 1900, toward the middle of the 20th century, the people of that time will become unrecognizable…..People’s appearances will change, and it will be impossible to distinguish men from women due to their shamelessness in dress and style of hair."

Our Lady of Fatima-1917 
"Wars are a punishment from God for sin. … Certain fashions will be introduced that will offend Our Lord very much. … More souls go to Hell because of sins of the flesh than for any other reason."

Padre Pio from the book "Prophet of the People" by Dorothy Gaudiose 
"Padre Pio wouldn’t tolerate low-necked dresses or short, tight skirts, and he forbade his spiritual daughters to wear transparent stockings. (nylons) Each year his severity increased. He stubbornly dismissed them from his confessional, even before they set foot inside, if he judged them to be improperly dressed…His brothers observed these drastic purges with uneasiness and…fasten(ed) a sign on the church door: ‘By Padre Pio’s explicit wish, women must enter his confessional wearing skirts at least eight inches below the knees. It is forbidden to borrow longer dresses in church and to wear them for the confessional.’ "

St. Matthew (5:27-28) 
Words of Our Lord "You have heard that it was said to the ancients, ‘Thou shall not commit adultery.’ But I say to you that anyone who so much as looks with lust at a woman has already committed adultery with her in his heart."

If I am going to meet our Lord at Mass, I really do not want to offend.  To me, this means that I cover my body and my head.  If my priest in AZ can wear his cassock all day in 115 degree Phoenix weather, I can suck it up for Mass.  If I suffer, I can offer it up in prayer.  Dress Code used to be enforced in parishes, but since there has been a lax of this enforcement, it seems like halter tops and shorts are permissible.  It is not.  It offends God.  "Times have changed" is not an acceptable excuse.  When your cleavage is distracting men at Mass, you are committing a sin by leading others into sin.

Once I started dressing more modestly at Mass, I noticed that I acted differently (no surprise, that's why uniforms in school work for discipline).  My veil and my dress reminded me of the purpose of being there; a submission to Him.  Once I understood this, I wanted to understand what else I could do that would please Him.  I noticed others kneeling for Holy Communion, or genuflecting.  I started to remember taking Communion on the tongue for my first Holy Communion as a child.  I started to want to know what I was "supposed" to be doing.  

I started researching Church teaching on this, as well as speaking to my parish priest.  I discovered that it began to be permissible to receive Holy Communion in the hand in the late 1960s, so this was a new thing.  There were many in the Church clergy who warned that allowing this would lead to a lack in reverence to the Holy Eucharist.  Of course they were right.  After this discovery, I started to realize that the way we approach the Eucharist today is not the norm, historically speaking.  Reading what St. Thomas Aquinas has said on this topic has only deepened my desire to receive on the tongue and to avoid "Extraordinary Ministers of the Holy Eucharist".    

"The dispensing of Christ's body belongs to the priest for three reasons. First, because . . . he consecrates in the person of Christ . . . Secondly, because the priest is the appointed intermediary between God and the people, hence as it belongs to him to offer the people's gifts to God, so it belongs to him to deliver the consecrated gifts to the people. Thirdly, because out of reverence toward this sacrament nothing touches it but what is consecrated, hence the corporal and the chalice are consecrated, and likewise the priest's hands, for touching this sacrament. Hence it is not lawful for anyone else to touch it, except from necessity — for instance, if it were to fall upon the ground, or else in some other case of urgency" St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica (III, Q. 82, Art. 3).

Communion-in-the-hand.org  has some more information regarding receiving Holy Communion in the hand and reverence for the Blessed Sacrament.  

Once I started dressing modestly, veiling and receiving on the tongue, while kneeling, I started having a new problem.  I started to judge those who did not (I went to Confession several times for this... it was bad).  I started to get quite angry, and I even wept at Mass when I saw such disrespect for the Holy Eucharist.  They didn't even know better (hey, I probably did worse in the past), but it was a distraction. I never said a word to anyone about it, nor did I act in any way uncharitable toward them.  Also I had gone to neighboring parishes and got dirty looks a few times .  I also went to Mass at parish that didn't have kneelers, but I knelt anyway; no one else did (not even for consecration).  Christ was nailed to a cross for us, but we can't kneel for a few minutes?   This deeply offended me.  I came across a few priests who looked confused when I received Him on the tongue.  I met a fellow Catholic in my theology classes who was told once by a priest to "get up" when she knelt for Communion.  

I started to read about the Traditional Latin Mass.  This Mass embraced all these practices that I held close to my heart, and I wouldn't be distracted by others since they all did what I was doing.  I also knew the priests holding these Masses would also be supportive of the practices I believed to be of great importance.  When we moved back to Michigan (when I was pregnant with our 3rd), after bad experiences at the regular Mass, we started attending a Latin Mass downtown on Sundays.  My husband began to grow in love for the Latin Mass, and now it's the Mass he prefers to attend.

The first time that I attended Latin Mass felt awkward.  I went alone, since the noon time offered for Latin Mass is not a good time for the kids to attend (naps).  There is always Confession before Mass at our Parish and the line is long.  It's quiet, everyone is dressed well (men in slacks or suits, women in skirts and veils),  the priest faces the tabernacle, and you have NO idea what is going on (everything is in Latin, except the homily)!  There are only altar BOYS (no girls), and there was about 12 of them who were wonderfully choreographed to genuflect and move together.  There is also incense... lots and LOTS of incense.  I didn't know there was a missal to follow along, so I tried to follow along by watching everyone else.  There were large periods of silence where I had no clue what was happening.  Holy Communion was beautiful! Only the priest (or priests) distribute.  Everyone lines up on the altar on your knees and the priest goes down the line (you receive on the tongue).  You only receive the Precious Blood for special occasions like weddings, first Holy Communion, etc (like what used to be done, you don't need both species to receive the fullness of Christ).  

The second time I went I was more prepared.  I read more about the Mass ahead of time and I took the time of silence to be in a state of prayer.  I was so used to being entertained constantly (the Ordinary Mass is chaotic after going to a TLM), so it was hard to just relax and absorb it all in.  High Masses have chant (low mass does not, and it more quiet), and once you learn these chanted prayers, you can pray along silently (or even sing along if you aren't shy).  The prayers just feel so much more intense in Latin.  It flows so beautifully and feels as though I am continuing the traditions that Church had practiced for years (Latin in the liturgy began in the third century).  

I did notice right away that the way the TLM (Traditional Latin Mass) was orchestrated that there were many benefits...

1.  No matter where you went to Mass (in the world), you would understand.  If everyone prays in the same language for Mass, going to the TLM would be the same (except for the homily, which is in the vernacular).

2.  The center of the Mass is God.  The personality of the priest won't "make or break" a parish, because he is leading us in prayer to God, not facing us.

3.  Extreme reverence in the distribution of Holy Communion.   Only consecrated hands touch Communion, so there is no disrespect to God in this way.   Everyone also dresses modestly, following traditional forms of dress.

4.  The Mass is for God, not to entertain us.  Even though, I admit that I really love hearing our pastor give homilies, so I am very entertained in his aspect.  There isn't any contemporary music that will "move" us in a way of entertainment.  Yes, it's good to sing to God, but save this for outside of Mass.  This is a good article about bad liturgical music.

5.  It's tradition!  Isn't that what the Catholic Church is all about?

Now, I am not some sedevacantist (like the SSPX) who believes the Ordinary Mass should be abolished, or shouldn't have begun in the first place.  I have seen the Ordinary Mass be done with reverence and beauty.  I also claim to be Catholic, therefore I must follow what the Church teaches.  The Church permits both forms currently, therefore one is not above the other.  Unfortunately there are many parishes with the Ordinary Mass that contain a number of liturgical abuses, which lead their parishes away from the faith.  Hopefully, through education, especially in catechism classes, Catholics will be better prepared to attend Mass in the future.  As a catechism teacher, we always spend time in class discussing modesty and reverence at Mass.

Here is a great guide for those new to the TLM, which includes a directory of where the TLM is offered: Newcomers

Here is more information on the TLM, written by the Institute of Christ the King Sovereign Priest

My Summer of Purification

My husband, PJ and I were now married in the Catholic Church.  We had our first child a little after our first anniversary, and 9 months later we were expecting our second.  I was still teaching social studies (world history) at the middle school and coaching cheerleading.  PJ lost his job while I was pregnant with our first, but started working from home while staying home with the baby.

Not my team, but my girls did stunts like this.

Stunts were probably my favorite part of cheer.

I enjoyed my job.  I was told that I was good at what I did.  I had a well structured classroom and great classroom management (aka discipline).  I enjoyed teaching about world religions and I always came up with strict rubrics to be sure ALL of my students not only passed my class, but actually learned something.  I was known as a strict coach, where the younger girls had a healthy fear to listen to me and my veteran girls had a great deal of respect for me.   I didn't agree with middle schoolers wearing short skirts to school (and it was against dress code for "normal clothes"), so the girls were never allowed to wear them to school on game days.  Instead, we had custom shirts made that they'd wear with jeans.  I had high expectations and wanted them to be positive role models.  The girls had to keep a C or higher in all their classes to participate.  They got one warning and then they were kicked off the team.  My girls were very respected at school and whenever we had try outs we had over 60 girls show up each time (I had 16 uniforms).  They may not have enjoyed my toughness when I was there, but a year after I stopped working several girls started to contact me via email to beg me to come back because the cheer program was going downhill.

The decision to stay home was a tough one, but it was something that I absolutely had to do.  I spent a year working while my first was a baby, and everyday I hated leaving him.  I struggled to breastfeed while working and this was something that caused me a great deal of stress because it was important to me.  I knew he was home with daddy, but I saw how fast he grew and I didn't want to miss out on anymore than I already had.  I felt like a bad mother by being away.  I loved my job, but with children at home I could no longer give 100% to the kids at school and that wasn't fair to them either.  PJ would still be working from home, but he kept so busy that he no longer had the time to do anything but work.  On my last day of work (I was 6 months pregnant) I cried throughout the time I was there.  I knew nothing about babies.  I was great with middle and high schoolers.  Would all the schooling that I had go to waste?

 I also felt very lonely at first.  It's hard being around two little ones all day long that aren't old enough to communicate.  I also didn't know many stay at home moms around where I lived.  My first child was very active, but always played by himself well.  My second child was such an easy baby and was always happy, yet I still felt inadequate as a mother.  I isolated myself for a few months.  I didn't go out, unless it was to get groceries or to church.  PJ and I were going to Mass weekly, but we'd take turns; I'd go on Saturday evening alone, and he'd go to the 8am mass on Sunday.  We'd go with the boys occasionally, but having a young baby and an almost 2 year old makes it difficult to make it through Mass.

A few months after second child was born, I started having issues with depression.  Some of it was caused to the rocky relationship with my mother.  We had moved her to Arizona before our first was born and I tried my best to have a good relationship with her.  She'd come and baby sit a couple times a month so we could go out for a couple of hours.  We'd give her gas money and were always grateful for her to come.    This didn't last too long though, and her need to control my life and my children's required me to push back, and it would lead to having to listen to a verbal assault on me.  This happened several more times and only seemed to escalate.  When my second was about a year old, PJ and I had to eliminate contact with her completely.  She became and unsafe person for my children to be around, and she was causing me too much anger.  She criticized many of our choices as adults and as parents.  My husband was very supportive of me, and even though I know that he had enough of my mother, he was careful never to speak ill of her.

After being home for about 6 months, I considered volunteering at our Parish.  I knew I had to get rid of this "rut" I was in, and I knew some of my depression was due to me quitting my job.  I contacted the Parish office and I was told that the Confirmation classes needed some help.  They preferred each teacher have an assistant, so that there were two adults in the room at all times (there were 6 classes split between two times of kids-yes, lots of kids, so they needed lots of teachers, and little room to do so as well).  I started assisting a class one night a week.  It worked out great; the baby would go to bed (so I could nurse one last time) and then I left.  The teacher, E, was great.  She had grown children herself, and was very caring and motherly to the kids in class.  I really enjoyed the discussions in the class and I'd always leave wanting to look up information on the topics from class.

One night, toward the end of the class, the youth group leader and a few of it's members came in to talk to the class. This group continued throughout the summer, unlike the other classes, so they gave an invitation to any students and teachers who would like to join them.  Even though I enjoyed helping with the Confirmation class, I felt like I needed to wait until the following year to begin to commit to anything.  Even though this seemed logical to me, I felt God asking me to "suck it up" and talk to the youth leader about helping.  A couple of weeks later, I started regularly attending the high school youth group meetings.

Much of the desert has a beautiful landscape, but there is also an abundance to dust and dirt

If you've never experienced an Arizona summer, you don't understand the full meaning of the word, hot.  Our Parish had little room to accommodate 50+ kids that would show up for the youth group, so many times we'd meet outside, in the Church, or in the offices and cram them all in.  Even though some times we were really hot, even inside because of people going in and out of the offices, kids still showed up week after week.  There were some AMAZING leaders/teachers, who I became good friends with.  The topics were wonderful (always true to Church teaching), and I learned quite a bit.  Our pastor was also incredible.  He was always at everything and available to answer questions.  We always had lots of prayer, lots of teaching (on very important topics on morality), discussion and food.  It wasn't too long before I started teaching classes.  This was the summer that lead to a complete change in the way I lived my life, but how I viewed the Church, especially Mass.

I remember going to church as a group with the youth one evening and as we waited in silence to pray.  I opened my Bible to  1 Corinthians 11.  I was drawn in and this piece of Scripture consumed my mind for weeks.  There was a lot there.  I kept going back to read and re read for days.  I already believed in the true presence in the Eucharist, but the rest of the writings of St. Paul kept me questioning what he was telling us to do.  I started to research what Catholic theologians have to say.  That night at at church was the beginning of a transformation in the way I dressed and carried myself as a wife.  Soon after, I asked PJ to start praying the rosary with me at night.  We were already praying together, but it was just a couple simple prayers before we went to bed.  Praise God for sending us this amazing gift of the Rosary!  God spoke to me and changed my heart over many things during these nights in prayer together.  I was afraid of complete submission to him, but he alleviated all of these fears.  

These are the some of the abrupt changes that I made within weeks..

1.  I started wearing a veil to Mass.  After much research, I determined it was tradition for a woman to cover her head and I thought the veil (mantilla) was beautiful.  I didn't know anyone else at the time who wore a veil and this was actually one of the most difficult changes for me.  Satan attacked me spiritually for a long time (I was very nervous, worried I'd cause a distraction, or offend someone- making others thing I'd judge them for not wearing one).  PJ was very supportive (I was worried at first that I'd embarrass him).   This is one of my favorite blog posts about it.

2.  I started wearing skirts to Mass.  This wasn't so hard.  Since I dressed up for Mass anyway, and it was always warm in AZ.  After a couple of months I devoted myself to maxi skirts because of my love of the writings of St. Padre Pio, who had high expectations of modesty.  I eventually started wearing maxi skirts anytime I would be in the presence of a Catholic church (teaching class, going to a church event, etc).  It makes me feel feminine and is an outward acknowledgement for me that I accept my role as a woman.

3.  I got over my fear of conceiving another child.  I had 2 c sections and my OBGYN was very negative about me having more children.  My second was 9 months old and we were not following Church teaching in regards to birth control.  I accepted that the pill and many other forms of birth control caused early abortions, and we never used them in our marriage.  We found other ways to avoid pregnancy, not knowing how serious it was.  We now had to change to a NFP method, but only for very serious reasons.  I was very afraid for my health, and clung to this control, but after much prayer about this, I learned to trust God.  I found out that I was pregnant a month later with our third child, our first little girl.  We used NFP after our third until she was about 10 months (when I've gotten pregnant before).  Since she is almost 1 now, we wait and see... (and no, I'm not pregnant right now). 

4.  I started going to Confession regularly.  I really made sure I understood the types of sin and try to do an examination of conscience more frequently.  I also tried to take my firstborn to daily mass occasionally while my second napped (the beauty of having a work at home husband).

5.  I stood up for the Church publicly (on Facebook mostly, but also in one on one discussions) on issues of homosexuality and abortion (birth control included).  I not only read a ton of theology on both of these issues, but God finally granted me the graces to fully understand and accept them 100%.  I finally recognized that God wants the best for us, gives us a guide to protect us and wants to keep us close to Him (by the Holy Spirit being carried in the human vessel, which must be a holy place).   I spoke about these issues in the youth group, and also focused on modesty for the young women.

6.  I started seeing my body as a vessel for the Holy Spirt and the Eucharist.  Not only did my soul need to free clean (free of sin) out of respect for all that is Holy, but I needed to educate myself on how best to treat my physical body.  Thanks be to God for my husband who was already doing these things, and we were able to live this way together.  We started eating more organic, watching what we put in and on top of our body and taking care of our bodies.  

7.  I applied to the Diocese of Phoenix Kino Institute to further my religious education.  They offered a two year program that focused on Church history and theology.  The diocese sent their future deacons through the same classes.  Here I would meet many wonderful, faithful Catholics and hear some incredible lectures by some very educated priests and laity.  I had a desire to learn as much as I possibly could.  We are so blessed to have so many wonderful theologians and doctors of the Church in our Catholic Faith.  St Jerome once said, "Ignorance of Scripture is ignorance of Christ".

8.  Secular music is out of my life.  I can't believe that this came to my mind last.  This was a HUGE change.   The teacher that I worked with for Confirmation classes recommended a Christian station one night when we were listening to the youth band play outside for a gathering.  I had thought about my music choices before, but I started to feel like a hypocrite listening to Lady Ga Ga driving out of the Church parking lot.  I don't think all secular music is bad, but a lot of the popular stuff is.  I didn't want anything dark or sinful entering my subconscious while driving.  I gave it two weeks- listened only to Christian music.  The first few days were tough, since it was new to me.  When the two weeks were over, I never stopped listening.  Two years later, I now only listen to Catholic artists and traditional Catholic music.  It's a way to keep me more holy.  We have also gotten rid of cable and only watch movies on Netflix.

I'm sure there are many more, but these are probably the most prominent examples of the changes I had made that summer. I made these changes because I believe God called me to do so.  PJ has been right beside me, and started going through his own conversion of heart around the same time.  I think he may be going through another one right now. 

Unfortunately, when we no longer do what the secular world likes, you're going to loose some friends. I did.  Some of my friends I've known since middle school, who were offended by the way I live my life chose to end our relationship.  My own mother mocked me.  I did gain some new friends, however.  These have been some of the best friends I've ever had and support me in my faith.  John 5:19 is such a comfort, because I know that as long as I please God, if those hate me for it, He knows and is there for me.


John 5:19
If you were of the world, the world would love you as its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you.

The beauty of new life...

PJ and I belonged to the United Methodist Church for about a year before we got married.  We got to know many people at church events and always looked forward to Sundays there.  The service consisted of several "modern" Christian songs, readings from Scripture, preaching from our pastor (who was a woman in her mid 30s) and the Lord's Supper (at every service).  The Methodist's statements on morals also fit mine.  They were open to homosexual relationships, fine with women's choice (be it abortion or birth control) and always had missions to help the poor.  I had no plans on leaving and felt quite comfortable there.  Little did I know, God wanted me elsewhere.  The only area in which I had a more "Catholic" view, which I had not had up to this point, was being open to life in a marriage.  I believed at the time, that if we were not open to life, we shouldn't get married.

I've spent a ridiculous amount of money on these things...

Hey, at least we no longer use rabbits.

Two months after our wedding, I found out I was pregnant.  We were so overjoyed and excited.  We waited a week (until it was confirmed by a doctor) and had to tell everyone.  Unfortunately, two weeks later I woke in my bed to feel an odd presence come over me.  It rushed over my body and then I felt it leave.  I felt empty all of a sudden, like I lost something spiritual.  I knew exactly what happened.  My baby had just passed.  The next day, I started to miscarry.  It was quite painful and lasted over a week.  Fortunately, I didn't need any medical interventions.  I was upset, but not discouraged.  I had been told it took several years to my mother to conceive, so I assumed that maybe the same would happen to me.

Two months later, I found myself pregnant again.  This time we waited for an ultrasound and confirmed a viable heartbeat before we told anyone.  I wasn't too nervous about the pregnancy and I felt pretty good physically.  I had a few scary moments with severe cramping, but after going in to have everything checked out I was assured the baby was fine.  I was teaching and coaching full time, and was able to keep up with everything I did quite well.

A few weeks into my pregnancy I started to find an emptiness in going to church.  I wasn't sure if pregnancy was making me emotional, but I started to cry during the Lord's Supper every Sunday.  I really started feeling an intense urge to go to a Catholic Church, but I felt like I couldn't.  I didn't know what to do.  I knew that I was still considered married to my ex husband in the eyes of the Church.  What about my father, who passed away a year before?  Would I be dishonoring him?  I felt so lost and even angry at myself for not being happy where we were.  I wondered if PJ would be upset.    When we started going to church together, PJ was pretty turned off by organized religion and getting him to go to the Methodist Church was something he had done out of love for me.

I was about 20 weeks pregnant when I told PJ that I needed to call the Catholic Church.  I wanted to sit down with a priest and discuss things.  He assured me that he was fine with that, but he had no intention of becoming Catholic, but if it was something I needed to consider, he'd support me.  I called up the local Catholic Parish and set up a time to meet with a priest.  I was extremely nervous, but I had no doubt in my mind that this was something I had to do.  God was leading me there.  If I kept going to the Methodist church, I felt like I would be ignoring what God was asking me to do.

I entered the Parish office, which was inside of a trailer.  The church itself was a double wide trailer next to the office, but the altar was done beautifully inside..  It had been a mission, but grew quickly.  They were in the beginning phases of collecting money for a larger, permanent church.  I sat with the one of the priests (there was two at this parish) in the office, who was maybe 10 years older than myself, who was from Nigeria.  He asked me why I was there.  I explained that I needed to come back, but I didn't know why.  That there were so many teachings of the Church that I didn't agree with, or understand.  I started to cry.  The priest was very comforting and started to ask me questions.  He guided me through my concerns, explained that I needed to get an annulment and that I was welcome at Mass, but could not receive Holy Communion.  He asked if we'd attend an RCIA class, that was just beginning to be held one night a week.  I left not as confused as I came in, but I was afraid.  I knew that PJ may never step foot in that church.  Is it worth it?  Will my kids grow up going to the Catholic Mass with their mother, but not their father?

Not only did I have new human life within, but new life brought by the Holy Spirit.  Once I opened myself up, the Spirit took completely over me.  Even the largest doubts I had about things started to become insignificant in the larger scope of things in my heart.

I asked PJ if he'd attend a class with me.  I told him that I would like to baptize the baby Catholic, who we now knew was a boy and my due date was on the exact date in which my father had died (talk about loosing life and bringing forth new- this just overwhelmed me).  He said that he'd never convert, but he'd like to know more about what I was getting into.  I told him I'd go to every class with him if he went, since there were a lot of things I wanted to learn as well.  I started the annulment process.  It was VERY difficult to  put together, and I had to relive through everything all over again.  It's an emotional process, but it was good to hear a priest say that it seemed obvious based on my story that the annulment should go through.

PJ demonstrated immediately that had great Bible knowledge.  During class discussion, which included about 6 other couples, PJ was always ready with an answer to many of the questions on Scripture.  We went to Mass together, and even though I couldn't receive Him I always felt revived after being in that Holy place.

There were so many times at Mass during this time that emotion just overwhelmed me.  I could feel His presence and I just had to thank God that he brought me back.  The Mass was so beautiful and I had to give it the respect and adoration it deserved.  I just knew that I needed to submit myself.  I was also so sorry for the choices that I had made.  There were many things I didn't understand, but I said to God, "I know this is THE Church.  I know this is what YOU intended.  I will do whatever you ask and accept what you teach, but please give me the wisdom to understand.  I still don't understand everything, please teach me.  I will never, ever leave you again."

Our priest saying Holy Mass at our Parish in AZ

A month before my due date, we went to RCIA.  This was the class where the catechumens had to determine if they were converting on Easter Vigil.  I didn't ask him how he was feeling, but I was interested to see how he'd handle staying, "no" to the priest.  While in class, the priest asked who was continuing with their journey and everyone put their hand up.  I was very surprised.   He came to this class FOR ME, but he wouldn't just convert if he didn't have to (which he didn't).  I knew he was doing it because he truly believed.  We both started to become quite excited about our journey.  PJ started becoming very interested in the Catholic faith and wanted to learn as much as he could.  He was impressed by the beauty of the Mass and the traditional Church architecture.

Our first son was born and three weeks later Phil became Catholic.  The Vigil was overwhelming for me.  It was such an amazing time in our lives.  There was still a little worry in the back of my mind.... my annulment.  My husband is now in communion with the Church, but I am not.  It would be another difficult 6 months before I'd hear anything back from the tribunal.  Not being able to receive Holy Communion during this entire time was so hard, but it was a way in which God worked in me to bring about reverence, adoration and gratefulness toward the Blessed Sacrament.

Once I was confirmed and we had our convalidation, we went into full force to live out the faith in our daily lives.  Changing the way we lived out lives wasn't always easy, but it always drew us closer to God.

Psalm 51: Miserere

Have mercy on me, God, in your kindness. In your compassion blot out my offense. O wash me more and more from my guilt and cleanse me from my sin. My offenses truly I know them; my sin is always before me. Against you, you alone, have I sinned; what is evil in your sight I have done. That you may be justified when you give sentence and be without reproach when you judge. O see, in guilt was I born, a sinner was I conceived. Indeed you love truth in the heart; then in the secret of my heart teach me wisdom. a purify me, then I shall be clean; O wash me, I shall be whiter than snow. Make me hear rejoicing and gladness, that the bones you have crushed may revive. From my sins turn away your face and blot out all my guilt. A pure heart create for me, O God, put a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me away from your presence, nor deprive me of your holy spirit. Give me again the joy of your help; with a spirit of fervor sustain me, that I may teach transgressors your ways and sinners may return to you. O rescue me, God, my helper, and my tongue shall ring out your goodness. O Lord, open my lips and my mouth shall declare your praise. For in sacrifice you take no delight, burnt offering from me you would refuse; my sacrifice, a contrite spirit. A humbled, contrite heart you will not spurn. In your goodness, show favor to Zion: rebuild the walls of Jerusalem. Then you will be pleased with lawful sacrifice, holocausts offered on your altar

JMJ+

Some background of my childhood...

I'm not sure if God has lead me here for my own therapy, to organize all of my thoughts, create a timeline of my progression in my faith, or for someone to read.  Maybe it's all of these things.  Nonetheless, I have felt called to write about my journey in the Catholic faith.  I am a work in progress, as we all are, but I have promised God to live according to His will.

This first post may get long, but I am going to try to summarize my background.  I'm going to keep this fairly anonymous for now, to make sure any of my stories won't negatively impact anyone.


My Childhood
I was born in the early 1980s in Grand Rapids, MI.  I have 3/4 Polish ancestry and 1/4 Lithuanian (my maiden name is Lithuanian and was always complicated for everyone to pronounce).  I was born with a birth defect, which required major surgery at 4 years old.  My mother was raised in a Catholic home with 3 siblings and attended public school.  My father was also raised in a Catholic home, with 3 brothers and attended both public and Catholic schools.  My parents married young and had me several years later.  I was raised "Catholic", but only attended Mass on holidays with my mother.  Most of my childhood Mass attendance was during the school day, while attending Catholic school.  My parents separated when I was a baby and eventually divorced. I am an only child.  I attended Catholic school for elementary, and public for middle and high school.  I have a degree in group social students, with secondary education certification in the states of Michigan and Arizona.

The inside of the beautiful basilica I attended while going to Catholic school

As a very young child, my mother was the manager of a restaurant and I had a nanny come and babysit me until I was old enough for preschool.  She was engaged to a man a couple of years after the divorce, who was also living with us.  My mom's health started to fail and she became a nanny, so that she could be off her feet more and be home for me a little more since I went with her.  This only lasted a short time, and by the time I was 8 years old, my mom no longer worked.  My "future" step dad, who my mom was engaged to, had problems with alcoholism.  These issues, accompanied with my mother's strong desire for control, lead to a lot of conflict between the two.  Unfortunately, domestic violence occurred for some time until they finally "broke up".  I still remember hearing this abuse, and I still get very anxious around those who raise their voice, or if I see any kind of violence.

I never remember having a really close relationship with my mother.  At times she seemed preoccupied in many other things, so I grew to become very dependent on myself at a young age.  After a brief time after divorce, she started dating a new man and we moved in with him.  This relationship only lasted a year.  My mom got "sick" (not sure if it was mental or physical) and I moved in with my father, and 6 months later into the homeless shelter my mother was living in.  After living in the shelter, we got into government housing (I was around 11 years old at the time), where we lived until I moved out at the end of high school.

In my teen years, I had a great animosity toward my mother and showed her a lot of disrespect.  Much of this stemmed from my anger that would develop when I would hear her badmouth my father.   It also was from the fact that she had not worked in a long time, so sitting around home all day gave her the time to analyze my life a little more.  There were times when she got a little extreme in her expectations of me.  I had to be "perfect'.  Much of this pressure was good for me, and it was done at the right time (the teen years are a rebellious time).  Through all of this, I was a good student.  I had straight As in my middle school honors classes (I was even "Student of the Year" my 8th grade year) and took honors/AP classes in high school.  I was a cheerleader, in student counsel, and was just very much involved in school.  It was really my way to never have to be home.

Some of the other forms of my mother's control only drove me further away from her.  She began loosing her patience with me as I aged, and her form of discipline consisted of yelling, degrading and outward signs of her anger toward me (she never physically harmed me).  Her depression was affecting all of her relationships around her.  We really had not spent any kind of "quality time" with each other since I was a young child.  She struggled to get out of bed in the morning, and sat and watched TV all day, talked on the phone all evening.  She had no desire to go anywhere or do anything for several years.  Her only interest in me came about when I would do well in school, which was a good motivation for me to do so.

My father moved out before I can remember, even though I know he returned for a brief time before the  divorce.  From what he told me, he started to lurk around the "gay scene".  He started dating men, but wasn't "open" about it for a few years.  He held a job at General Motors, where he worked for 30 years.  He was a hard worker, but very dependent on romantic relationships.  He wasn't around much when I was young, but as I got older, I grew close to him.  He was a very positive person, who never spoke ill of anyone.  He did let me down many times by not showing up to pick me up when he was supposed to.  He was always late to everything and struggled with panic attacks throughout his life.  

My father started becoming "ill" when I was around 10 years old.  I found out later that this is when he discovered he was HIV+.  Throughout my youth I spent almost every other weekend at his home.  We went on vacation out west together (he was single at this time) and I really enjoyed being around him.  He was a lot of fun!  We loved to go rollerskating, skiing, biking and even tried ice skating a few times.  He also could give me things my mother could not, not just attention, but clothes, toys, etc.  My mom was living on welfare and child support, so she couldn't always spend much on things for me (her smoking habit took a lot her funds).  If I needed something, my father was the, "go-to person" and he was always generous when I asked.  He had a couple of boyfriends who I really liked.  I never had any issues with my father's lifestyle growing up, and I believe I was more negatively affected by my mother's.  I did notice that my father was much happier when single.  Whenever he was in a relationship, he started drinking more, having more anxiety, and blowing family and friends off.

When I turned 18, without warning, I suddenly felt suicidal.  I was driving to a basketball game at school I was going to be cheering at and felt the desire to drive into opposing traffic.  When I made it to school, I broke down in tears and explained to my coach I had to go home immediately.  I packed up some things while my mom was at school for the game and I went to live with my father and his boyfriend.  I went into counseling immediately and was being treated for PTSD and depression.  I struggled with this throughout my early 20s, and it led to some poor decisions on my part.

At this point, I was a senior in high school, had good grades, was accepted into all of the collages I applied to, was on homecoming court, had many friends, and was now living with a parent who I considered good friend.  You would think I would have been the happiest young woman alive, at last.  This was the beginning of a very dark time for me.




Into Adulthood

After having suicidal thoughts and moving out of my mother's apartment, I started therapy.  It was nice to talk to someone about everything, but honestly it didn't help much.  I started skipping school, skipping cheer practice and just wanted to sleep all day long.  If I did go to school, I'd come right home and go to bed.  I no longer had thoughts of ending my life, but I no longer wanted to "live".

My father worked the night shift, so I didn't see him much.  His boyfriend was always home in the evenings, but there was just something about him that wasn't quite right.  I never became friends with him, or got to know him.  On the weekends, they'd both be gone.  Several nights a week they'd go to the bar after my dad got out of work and come home early in the morning.  They were huge into the party scene.  My dad had always gone to bars and had lots of friends around, but this late night partying, I thought, must be some mid life crisis he was going through.  My dad started loosing weight (he was always thin, but had always worked out to build muscle) and looked awful.  At this time, no one knew he was HIV+.  I found out later that he was out partying a lot, but some weekends they drove to Chicago so my dad could see a doctor there who was prescribing new HIV medications.

I felt lonely and broken.  My friends from school were busy with their own lives and I didn't want to bother them with my issues.  I never had a really close friend that I felt like I could share everything with.  I didn't think anyone would understand.  I was afraid that if I did share what I was going through that I would scare them away.

One day, while I was in my high school library I decided to send a few emails out to a few people.  One of them was a recent ex boyfriend, who was working full time and went to community college locally.  This ex boyfriend had some control issues when we were together before and I ended the relationship because of his many insecurities.  He emailed me back the next day and asked if we could get together sometime.  I craved the attention and distraction from my life, so I agreed to meeting with him.  We started seeing each other several days a week and it became daily throughout that summer.

My first year of college was tough.  I lived on campus, even though it wasn't a desirable thing for me to do, it was better than being stuck at my dad's (still not "feeling" connection with his boyfriend).  I got a job in Grand Rapids while living in Allendale on the GVSU campus.  My classes were horrible.  I tested out of writing classes, but the other general education classes I had to take were so boring (also things I already learned).   If I was in my room, I was on my computer chatting, or listening to music.  I was never into TV, and I didn't need to study for my classes.

Unfortunately, within the first few months of my freshman year my grandfather and my aunt passed away.  My other grandfather had just passed away the year before.  Already depressed from the poor relationship with my mother (we never talked much after I moved out) and the distance from my father (who was too busy having a good time), it was too much.  Death surrounded me.  I was at the point of just giving up on everything again.  I started smoking cigarettes heavily, driving tons of caffeine, eating fast food and sleeping in as much as I could (my earliest class was 10am).  The only distraction from everything was my boyfriend, who would drop everything at a moments notice to come see me.  It wasn't so much of a romantic relationship (like when we dated before), but almost like a best friend relationship, and we were both addicted to each other's company.  Another bonus (or I thought) was that he brought a new distraction, alcohol.  

By Christmas of my freshman year, I wanted out of my dorm.  I had not made any new friends, and it was a good 40 minute drive to see my boyfriend.  I wanted to continue school, even though I found it boring, but I wanted to move back to Grand Rapids.  But, there was a problem.  Where do I go?  I really felt uncomfortable at my dad's house, even though it was a safe place to go, but for some reason I didn't want to live there again.  I could never live with my mom again.  We were now on speaking terms, but I did not enjoy her company and there was still a lot of resentment toward her.  I didn't want a roommate,  I was uncomfortable with sharing living space with friends.  I had a job, but there was no way I could afford things on my own.  My tuition at school was covered by scholarship and grants, and some of the left over money went to my cost of living at school.  The following year I wouldn't have enough to cover housing on campus, so I would have to come up with more money, or move out anyway.  I decided the best thing was to do was move in with my boyfriend.  We already saw each other every day, and he even offered to pay for an apartment (Wow!  Someone to take care of me!).  I didn't think it was a big deal.  I grew up with my mom living with a couple different men and my dad did the same.

I thought I had the solution to creating my happiness.  Only did I find out that I just made things worse...

Moving In

I never lived in one place for a long period of time while growing up.  The home my parents bought together was sold when I was in kindergarden ( a few years after their divorce) and my mother and I moved to the west side of Grand Rapids.  We rented two different homes during this time within walking distance to my school.  We later lived with my mom's boyfriend an hour away. Then, I lived with my father after, and later my mother and I moved to the homeless shelter.  The most stable home was our small apartment through government housing, where we were placed after the shelter.  I lived there from 7th to 12th grade.

Moving to a new place was always exciting.  When I moved in with my boyfriend in the middle of my freshman year of college, I was a little nervous about living with him, but I was also excited to have our own place and a little more privacy than when I lived in the dorm.  We got along great and agreed on basic things, so sharing space didn't seem to be a problem.

As soon as we moved in, I felt like something was horribly wrong.  I played it off to my boyfriend, like I was fine, but as the weeks went by I became more depressed.  I started drinking with my boyfriend and by myself.  I got a job at bank that summer working full time, and there were several times where I had to call in because I was sick from drinking the night before.  My boyfriend also started having the same control issues he had with me before.  After one incident of loosing his temper and putting a hole in the wall my good friend started to feel concerned for my safety.  I assured her I was fine and always defended him.

A few months after moving in together, he proposed to me.  I was hesitant, but I accepted.  I was already feeling guilt about living together.  Even though I grew up with my parents having live-in romantic interests, I remember the days in Catholic school, where I heard that men and women live together after they marry.  I felt it was the only honest thing to do.  I did care about him and if I wasn't for him, I wouldn't even have a place to live!  Also, the positive remarks from friends and family were quite uplifting to me.  Everyone was excited about a wedding and I started getting excited to.  Now, I had to figure out where we'd be married.

I grew up with fond memories of the Catholic Church, and I always felt a connection with God during the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.   I used to choose to pray the rosary with some of the nuns at our school during lunchtime, instead of going to recess.  I was an altar server, and was pulled out to do funerals quite often, since I was always ahead in school and could afford to be absent.  I don't remember ever praying at home with either of my parents, but I would pray by myself.  I used to pray the rosary for friends and family.  Once I started going to public school in 7th grade, I had less opportunities for Mass (my mom only went occasionally for a Saturday Vigil).  The little faith and education of the Church that I had started to fade into a distant memory for me until there wasn't much left.

I have always had a soft spot in my heart for religious sisters.

They taught me my faith when no one else had.

My new fiance and I began attending the closet Parish to us.  Immediately I felt God's presence again, like I had as a child.  I joined the choir and went to Mass every Sunday as well as the Holy Days of Obligation.  My fiance was raised Catholic, but also had limited education and never had Confirmation (neither did I).  We started meeting with the priest about the wedding, and I remember these meetings being short and limited.  Just vague, basic questions were asked.  Birth control was never brought up (I was on the pill and never even knew until a few years ago that the Church was against it).  We were asked if we wanted children, we answered, "eventually, just not right now".  We met with an old married couple who talked to us about finances and basic household courtesy for each other.  When I look back at our "marriage formation", I get quite frustrated.  If the people working with us in marriage prep would have dug deeper and made sure we were properly catechized on marriage, we probably wouldn't have been married.  We were never confirmed, or was ever recommended to go Confession (which was offered in a brief time slot once a week anyway).  The last time I had been to Confession was in elementary school.

Planning the wedding went well, but it wasn't something I focused the most of my attention on.  I started enjoying spending time at church and I was trying to make "good" of things in my life.   I started having more guilt about my choices.  I really did not feel connected to this man, but he loved me and would do anything for me.  We were getting along pretty well and his control issues faded over time (but the damage had already been done).  I felt as if I had no "right" to deny marriage to my fiance, since we were already living as if we were married.  This was a choice I made, and now I had to live with it.

The day of our wedding was very difficult.  I remember being in the dressing room and crying.  I played it off to others as nerves, but deep down I was so confused.  I kept telling myself, "God will make this better if I do the right thing", which I thought was go through with the wedding.  My dad paid a lot of money for the reception, hundreds of people sat in the church waiting, so there was no backing out now.  The day was a blur.  We went home that night and never touched each other.  We flew to Mexico the following day for our honeymoon.  I drank heavily every day of our vacation.  We never returned to Church when we returned a week later.   I think I felt too ashamed to go back.  That I lied to God.  That my life was still sinful.

I started "church shopping".  Due to my embarrassment of my choices and improper faith formation, I thought leaving the Catholic Church was an option.  A new conflict inside of me also started to emerge; my father's lifestyle and the teachings of the Church.



The End of a "Dark Era"

After a couple of years into college, I finally started to enjoy going to class.  I decided to major in social studies, which included classes in history, geography, political science and economics.  I started to become very interested in politics.  It was a way to keep me occupied and engaged in something I felt was important.  My entire family (grandparents, aunts, uncles, mom, dad) were Democrats and vocal about it.  The main reason for their party affiliation was because many of them were in unions at General Motors.  I joined the college Democrats and even canvassed in the presidential election.  I enjoyed reading books by Michael Moore, Studs Terkel, and books like Freakonomics.  I excelled in my history and economics classes and I loved going to class to hear lectures in these areas.

College students tend to make up a great deal of volunteers for party offices.

Phone and door to door canvassing kept me busy when I wasn't in class.

While I started embracing the Democratic Party, I started analyzing my faith.  Having lived in government housing with my mother, who was physically disabled and grow up with a father who was openly gay pushed me into a position to favor the party's social platform.  I believed at this time that one should be able to know what's right and wrong based on their life experiences.  I became very vocal about the right to gay marriage, socialist ideas and very anti war.  I embraced it and surrounded myself with life minded individuals.  I was also working as a model for over a year, which I embraced.  I started to become very vain and obsessed with my appearance.  I was also surrounded by the fashion industry, which embraced many selfish lifestyles.  I started going to bars with friends more often.  I liked any attention that I received from men, and I dressed accordingly.  A major reason why I dress the way I do today is to make reparation to God for the way I had dressed during this time in my life.

I started looking into different churches and what they had to say about some of these political issues.  I attended a Presbyterian church several times with my father growing up, since the pastor at this particular church was very welcoming to the gay community.  When I looked more into it, it wasn't an option for me.  My husband and I went to Mass at different Catholic churches with our families on holidays, but we never went back to going to church weekly at all.  The only church that seemed to match my "values" was the Methodist church.  My husband didn't seem to care one way or the other, so we just stopped worrying about it.  We had never prayed together at home before, and our faith wasn't really apart of our daily lives.  The only times I prayed is when I wanted to ask God for a favor.  When I didn't get what I wanted, I backed off for awhile.

We made it three years into our marriage when things really started to go downhill for us.  Even though there wasn't too many fights, or any major control issues for either of us, we started pulling away from each other.  I was not attracted to him in a way that a wife should be.  From the beginning everything was forced, and it eventually broke me down.  I finally asked to separate and he stayed a friends house briefly while I chose to go into counseling by myself.  I could never picture myself ever having children with this man and if I did, I would have had to physically force myself to do so (if you get what I'm saying).

While I was in counseling I was also going through a lot of other changes in my life.  I was substitute teaching part time, coaching competitive cheerleading, starting my student teaching  and just learned that my father was HIV+ (and had been for over 15 years).   A lot was going on, but I told myself that this time I wasn't going to let all these things ruin me.  I was determined to work through my feelings.  I was blessed to have a wonderful counselor who worked with me for almost 6 months before my husband and I started marriage counseling.  The marriage counseling didn't do much for us.  It was really because there was no marriage to save.  We had been living in a complicated relationship from the beginning, but I still had hope that maybe it would get better.  

I graduated from college in 2006 and I got a job offer in Arizona.  My husband and I were still on good terms, but still emotionally separated.  We thought we could give it a try somewhere else.  If it didn't work out after moving and starting over, it was really over.  Within a couple of months we signed papers for divorce.  I helped him pack his things in a U-haul and he moved back to Michigan.  It couldn't have ended better; we were on good terms and at peace with things.  Of course it was sad.  No one wants to get divorced, it's a horrible thing that I still have to live with today.  

I now had an ex husband at 25 years old.  Even though I know I absolutely did the right thing, I felt quite ashamed about it.  Little did I know that my entire life was changing, for the better.  It was going to take some time, and many times of doubt, but once and for all I would gradually let God in.  

A Complex Love Story

When I first moved to Arizona I met a man, PJ who was from Grand Rapids through my husband.  PJ's family had gone to church with the family of another man who worked with my husband in Grand Rapids (if that makes sense).  When my husband announced we were moving to Arizona, he was given PJ's number and told to give him a call, so he could show us around or recommend a good place to live.

The beautiful landscape in AZ

We got together with PJ a couple of times.  We never shared the specifics of our relationship, he assumed we were happily married.  PJ seemed like a really nice guy, but he focused a lot his life on work.  He joked to us how he had not dated in a long time, only a hand full of times since high school (he was in his late 20s).  He was a little shy, but once he opened up he held a great conversation.  The 3rd or 4th time we met up with PJ, something odd happened.  My husband got up to use the bathroom while PJ and I were talking to each other (I don't even remember what we were talking about).  For a moment I made eye contact with PJ and I felt completely paralyzed.  The words, "I am going to have this man's children" immediately entered my mind.  When my husband returned, I excused myself to go to the bathroom.  I felt sick.  I had been around this man several times before and I didn't think anything like this about him.  He was a good looking guy, but I see lots of good looking guys all the time.  I was married!  What was wrong with me?  I was embarrassed for myself, but I couldn't get this intense attraction I had to this man.  At this moment I knew that my relationship with my future ex was indeed completely over.  I composed myself and returned to the table.  We finished our meal and left.

A few nights went by and I couldn't stop thinking about what happened.  I was alone in my room on my laptop (my husband slept in a separate room on the other side of the apartment we were living in) and I looked up PJ online.  I found his profile and decided to message him to say hi.  After I did this, I started questioning myself.  Is this ok?  I am just being friendly, but my husband is in the other room and I'm trying to talk to someone I have recently discovered to have a very deep attraction to.  I felt the urge to talk to my husband about it.  I didn't fill him in on everything, but I asked if it was weird for me to talk to PJ.  We were already separated, but that was so recent.  Should I really be talking to other men when I had such a horrible history of making poor choices with relationships in the past?  My husband assured me that it was fine and that it wasn't weird.  It wasn't like PJ was a good friend of his.

I decided to pray about it.  I had prayed for such selfish things in my life and that's usually the only time I had gone to God.  This time, I asked for guidance.  I had gone through college, through bars, fashion shows as a model, and around so many different men; I never felt this way, toward ANYONE. And most of all, I hardly knew this man!   Maybe I was afraid of being alone?

PJ messaged me back and we started a conversation the next night.  I told him about what was going on with my marriage and he seemed surprised.  I let him know I was interested in hanging out with him sometime, just the two of us.  PJ said that he couldn't do that.  Since I was still married, it would feel awkward and it wasn't right.  I understood and I was willing to wait.  We still continued to message each other online.  I waited a couple of weeks (really waited long, huh?) and I asked him again if he'd consider meeting for dinner.  This time, he asked if my husband would be alright with it.  PJ talked with my future ex husband and he was given the "ok".

Once PJ and I started hanging out, the relationship grew quickly.  We determined that we had many things in common and we really enjoyed each other's company.  Once my ex husband moved back to Michigan a month later, we saw each other even more.  PJ really made my first few months in Phoenix some of the most memorable times of my life, up to that point.  We started to only desire to be in each other's company.  Every night he'd come to my apartment, where I'd make him dinner.  On the weekends, he'd take me out and show me different restaurants around Phoenix.  After a couple of months, we moved in together.  This is something I now look back on and wished I would have waited, since it would have made our wedding much more special.

Only after a few months of dating, PJ proposed to me.  There was no hesitation to say, "yes".  Unfortunately, one day while on break at school, I noticed a voicemail on my phone.  It was my dad's  boyfriend.  He told me to call him as soon as possible, so I did.  In a shaky voice he said to me, "Your father passed away this morning, I'm so sorry".  I was in shock.  I wasn't really sad or upset for the first 24 hours.   I went straight home after letting my principal know, booked a flight to GR and PJ came along with me.  How awkward for PJ.  He met my entire family for the first time, including my father, at my father's visitation.  My ex husband was also there for support (since he had gotten to know my dad so well over the years).  Some of my aunts and uncles were confused to meet my new finance and see my ex husband there, but since pretty much every member of my family had been divorced at least once, they had nothing negative or awkward to say.  PJ was amazing through it all, and was always there for me in the following weeks and months when I'd mourn my father's death. What made things harder was that I was right in my suspicion of my father's boyfriend.  He wanted nothing to do with me after my father died.   My father left him the house and all it's possessions,  but I fought him legally until I got the things I wanted (photos, some of my grandparents' things, my stuff from when I lived there).

I knew things were heading in the right direction with us once we started looking for a church to attend.  PJ had gone to a non denominational church occasionally and asked if I would go that Easter.  I went, but I wasn't impressed.  I convinced him to attend Methodist church (he was hesitant at first) and we found that we felt really comfortable there.  We continued going every week and planned our wedding with the pastor.  Our marriage prep was very well done.  I am very grateful for our pastor taking the time to make sure we were ready.  I really didn't want to rush into things, or make the same mistakes I had made before.  Even though I knew I wasn't making a mistake, it was good to have someone else analyze things on a deep level and come to the same conclusion.  It took awhile for me to stop worrying about what others thought.  I'm sure many on the outside were seeing me rush from one marriage to another.  This is the main reason why we waited a little longer to marry than we wanted to.

PJ and I were married on a golf course by our home in 2008 surrounded by a small ground of friends and family.  My godfather walked me down the aisle (ironic now that I look back on that, since he supported me in Protestant marriage).  Through the grace of God, we entered marriage open to life and ready for what God had in store for us.

The Methodist church we belonged to in Phoenix

Alright.. it took 4 posts to explain some background.  I did a lot of writing today.