Life has been strange lately. Between illness (both my child’s and my own) and work (which I really wish I could tell you all about because it is HILARIOUS!!) and just general tiredness (HELLO, depression!!) I have not felt much like writing, despite the posts that are already written up by hand (because I do that) and that I do not have the energy to type up.

So here is what we have to look forward to (because if I tell you, I will type it…)

1. Letter to Another Married Man

2. Why the First Week of September Makes me Smile (This is a Mind Rot post)

3. Movie Review: Under that Same Moon

4. Getting my Flirt on (A Dirty Vagina Post)

5. Porn = ick (This is a Dirty Vagina Post with guest writer TBA)

6. On a more biblical theme: The Woman who is Worth More than Rubies (Proverbs 31)

7. The Moral of the Day: Do not hate.

There are more. I will try to post these every other day. So stop by frequently and I will do my best to keep you posted… ha ha.

I really wanted to be a pastor. I mean, I really want to be a pastor. But I’m not going to be. The reasons are unnecessary. But reality dictates that in the foreseeable future I will not be a pastor.

I will not wear a collar. I will not have an office in a church and be called Rev. anything. I will not get to preach every Sunday or preside over communion or visit anyone in the hospital. I’m glad I’m not doing some of these things. But some days, and most recently, every day, I feel like I’m missing something of myself that I once thought I had figured out. I was going to change the world, one parishioner, one church, one synod, one region, one religious organization at a time.

And now I’m Catholic. And I like being Catholic. But things that matter to me don’t matter to me anymore. Maybe they don’t matter the same way. I mean, God is female, male, not human, whatever but really… whatever. (Though God is definitely NOT  just male.) Women will not be priests in my lifetime. And I’m kind of ok with that. At any rate, I don’t care to fight for it.

But then what do I do with the yearning? The vocation that says, “Change the world.” With the call that says that ministry of some sort is meant to be a part of my life? How do I discern what I am meant to be when I grow up? I’m studying to be a teacher, but really, that can’t be IT. Or JUST IT.

So as I twiddle my thumbs at another job, that better NOT be forever, what do I do? And how do I become ok with the fact that so many other people get to be what they want to be, fancy schmancy title and everything, and I’m not there yet… AGAIN?

You’d never be able to tell that this kid was sick at the time this photo was taken. But he was. And it was horrible.

The end.

I’m trying to read the Bible in its entirety. Even the uncomfortable parts. Even the “OMG. No He didn’t!!” parts.

However, I am having a hard time getting past the first chapter. Genesis 1:1 -2:1 It’s the first Creation story presented in the Bible. My (soon to be) spiritual director suggested that I read this and think about how God might have felt as God “created” me.

I remember how I felt when I realized my son had been conceived. After the initial, “No, No, No, NO!” which had more to do with how much my life was going to change, I remember a sense of wonder. I remember how much I wanted a child and then how much I wanted this child. As if this child been chosen for me. As if this was meant to be, that no matter what this child was wonderful. I thought of the verse from Jeremiah chapter 1,”Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart…” (v. 5a) or Psalm 139, “For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. ¹⁴I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

And it stuns me that God or anyone would feel that way about me. We all know the sense of joy and wonder that can come with the birth of child. Can you imagine that someone (maybe many someones) felt that way about our births? Those feelings of joy and happiness and delight, because we were created, formed and brought forth.

As weary as I am these days, it’s a hard thing for me to imagine. So I read and re-read the “God saw that it was good…” creation story and I try to imagine being one of those things that God created and God being filled with a sense of wonder and delight and looking down on me and saying, “I have created Laura and she is good.”

Georgia O’Keeffe, American 1887 – 1986
Jack-in-the-Pulpit No. IV, 1930

Do we all have a self-destructive side?

I have a whole self-destructive era. I started making out with many different guys – while dating, then engaged, then married. And I would vow to stop. Because of God, myself, my damned soul, or whatever other crap motivation I could come up with. But I never stopped. And I don’t know if it was a symptom of the relationship I was in or if it was because I was just too screwed up to keep myself faithful. At the time, it was probably a little bit of both. Somehow, with the help of a man and a child, my self-loathing and destructive self seemed to go away.

Recently, though, Ms. Self-Destruct has been rearing her ugly (yet exciting) head. Older, married man might have something to do with it. Don’t get me wrong. I will never sleep with him. I do not even think about sleeping with him now. However it bothers me that he would think that I would sleep with him. Because three years ago? I might have slept with him. I loathed myself that much. And three years ago, I did sleep with an older, married guy. YES, I was THAT skank. But now, I’m not the same person anymore. I’m a better, much nicer person. I believe in love, life and the pursuit of happiness. I know I can have genuine feelings for someone. I don’t want to have sex with just any-body.

But I’m feeling lonely and frustrated.

And scribe won’t return his phone calls.

And I think back to my smokin’, drinkin’, love lots of people days and I wonder if maybe I did have more fun back then. Actually, I know I did have more fun. But I didn’t like myself much back then. And I’m much more ok with who I am now. So I just have to redefine fun.

And scribe needs to call me back.

I believe I know who I am most of the time. I sometimes surprise myself (in a good way) as I mostly expect the worst. Here are a few things about me, on both sides of the good and bad:

1. I have depression. I don’t see a therapist. I should, but I don’t. I don’t take meds. I do better sometimes more than others. This is one of the better times.
2. I am a mom. I don’t know how that happened minus the sex part. The actual being a mom is the surprise. That I feel like a mother and can love my son so incredibly and am continually astounded by him. It’s a scary feeling.
3. About three years ago, I was married and could honestly say that I had not fallen in love. A year later, I had. At least I can say that I loved the father of my child. And now I understand the meaning of monogamy.
4. My marriage made me a worse person. I was a horrible person when I was married. Abusive, crazy, irresponsible, promiscuous, self-destructive. It wasn’t my ex-husband’s fault – it was a great excuse though. I know I am a better person now.
5. I can sing. I’m not that great, but I’m pretty good. I graduated from college with a music major.
6. I love cats and am also allergic to them.
7. I am uncomfortably Christian. It fills me and depresses me all at once. I wish I was a better person and know that even though I’m not, I will be ok. I only wish I was more forgiving.
8. I have great legs. The rest of me is questionable. But I really like my legs.
9. I am an extrovert. However, I can be an extreme introvert when very depressed.
10. I like things that make me look into myself and make me question myself so that I can maybe gather some more insight into myself. Self-awareness is more important than sanity.

There is so much more and I’m sure there are things yet to be discovered.

According to a professor I talked to recently, I should discuss what I am about to talk about with a therapist in Spanish because it happened in Spanish. I like thinking about these incidents in English because it means I can look at it objectively but that doesn’t really work because somehow I can’t get over it. Somehow, since nothing happened, I should be fine. I should get over it and move on.

Women, kids, men, anyone should trust their instincts. When that man, my dad’s boss, suggested I go inside and read because it’s air conditioned, I should have stayed right where I was. But I didn’t because 50-something year old men DO.NOT. come on to 14 year old girls. In my mind, that was impossible. So off I went to read Sophie’s World. The entire time he was trying to touch me, I just kept thinking, “This isn’t really happening.” I avoided his mouth when he tried to kiss me and I resisted when he tried to take me into a corner. I never once said no. All I could think was that somehow I was misunderstanding what was happening. That I was wrong and he wasn’t trying to have sex with me. How could he want to? He was 50 and I was 14. Bless the person who walked into the office looking for him. I walked out and it was over. Nothing had happened. I was angry at myself because I never said no. So ingrained in me was the idea that grown-ups are never wrong that I couldn’t say no because I couldn’t allow myself to think that this man was trying to do something so vile. But I was ok. I got over it. I was fine.

Fast forward 12 years. I am great friends with this family from church. They have three sons. The wife has been having a difficult time since February because her mother has been very sick. She had to go because her mother was having very risky surgery and was gone for about a week and a half. During that time, I lost my job. I talked to her husband the day I lost my job and we agreed to get together the next day as my son LOVES their three sons. He squeals every time he sees them.

Without warning (looking back, there was some warning, but not the obvious kind) he made a very forward pass… a very physical pass. No prior suggestion that the marriage had problems, no flirting, no weird touching. Just a very sloppy full body press and some awkward attempt at kissing me while I AM HOLDING MY SON and using him as a shield. Did I say no? Of course not! Because then it would have been real. I have worked so hard to make friends and to create a community for my son and me and this a-hole wants to mess that up. I somehow managed to walk away from that situation with “nothing” happening but I was outraged… at myself. How could I not say no? AGAIN? How could that make me feel like I was 14? AGAIN?

I still hang out with that family. I did not say anything to the wife. They have three kids, ages 10, 8 and 5. She’s a stay at home mom. I can clearly see the dysfunction in the family now. But this is the kind of thing where they shoot the messenger. So I hang out with them (I am never alone with him) and I smile at church and I feel ok most of the time. And I know that next time I will force the word NO out of my mouth because I am not 14 anymore and it’s really hard to find an affordable therapist who speaks Spanish.

I have always been fascinated with monasticism and prayer. As I have mentioned before, I once had a childhood fantasy of becoming a nun. I’m pretty sure the appeal is in the solitude and organized aspect of that kind of life. While for some that kind of regulation seems boring, for me it feels productive. If I could organize my life that way with the support of a community, I might get more accomplished. These days I have nothing much going on except entertaining a 16 month old who is oh, so close to walking. You’d think I’d get more done.

Anyway, back to nuns and monks. Even celibacy appeals, even now. With my firm belief that celibacy is not a choice but a gift, I wish I had that gift. To be able to channel all my sexual energy and all my real energy towards community living, social justice and loving the world as opposed to loving one person is one of the things I’ll never have. However, I can only hope that I will find someone who will love me – and Tomas – and who I – and Tomas – will love, and that our relationship will enhance and better us so that we can do our part towards community living, social justice and world peace. Oh, and a second kid. (I really, really want a girl!! I keep thinking of putting Tomas in a dress, taking a picture and pulling it out whenever the girl longing pains my heart.)

But because I can’t become a nun, and the world does not function in the measured time of a monastery, how can I live my day so that I take time out to center myself, ground myself enough so that I don’t become paralyzed and lost in my anxieties and depression? I have thought of creating my own hours with my own music and my own prayers mixed with some of my favorite psalms and readings. This might take me a while, but I realized that as my seminary days grow more and more distant, the less I read that inspires me and that motivates me. My passion for social justice has declined because I am no longer around people who are motivated by those things. Not that the people I hang out with aren’t motivated by legitimate things. Family worries and busyness is legitimate. I just wanted more for myself and I have let my seminary failure determine my life and that needs to stop. I need to find the old part of myself that I loved and update her to what my life is now. As I evolve, as God-lover, trendy non-granola semi-hippie and mom, as I figure out what it is that I really want and need (immediately, a shower – in the future, TBD), I will find an end to the run-on sentence that is my life and find some satisfaction and fulfillment even if I’m not happy all the time.