Here we go. I’ve been waiting to figure out what it was I want to write about next because I don’t want to only offer book reviews. I have a few to give but I want to space them out. Tonight, I want to talk to the great wide out there about God. After all, it’s Lent, right? Put on your tall boots, folks, ’cause we’re about to get deep up in here! Pardon my need to be long-winded. I’m not even drinking- I just feel like spilling these particular guts tonight.

Maria said the beginning was a “very good place to start” so why change a good thing, right? I grew up Catholic. I went to church on the weekends with my family, did CCD after school, signed up for the Christmas nativity and so on… I think as a younger child I just knew I was expected to believe so I did. Fast forward to middle school and I found myself at St. Francis Catholic school. I wasn’t forced. It was offered, I wanted desperately to be more interesting than I felt, and I agreed.

Catholic school was actually pretty great for me. My faith grew and my knowledge and love of God AND the Catholic church were at an all-time high by graduation. One small problem had bubbled up though. My dad was sick. I prayed like crazy- and when I say like crazy I mean all the way to a mountain top in Bosnia- for God to make it go away and make everything ok again. He didn’t. Dad died exactly five months after I graduated from high school. I held his hand, witnessed his final breath and was the one who had to give the visiting nurse his time of death. The entire time he was dying, it was me leading my mom, brother and sister in prayers and telling my dad it was ok for him to leave us. I was strong for all of them and for me…but I was devastated. I was betrayed. I was mad and I was through trying to be good. Operation self-destruct was firmly in place within about maybe two weeks of Dad dying. Take that, God!

The next 8-10 years are a series of triumphs and failures that never gave any blame or credit to God, really. I did end up knowing some great people during my self-destructive escapades (ok not all of you were strictly drinking buddies, but were we always sober?) and one of my proudest accomplishments, seriously, was being a “regular” at my favorite bar. I was, at least in my head, a little like Norm on cheers. It may sound sad but I truly care for some of the people I came to know during those days. One in particular is my favorite. That’s right! I met my husband, soul mate and best friend at the bar! To be fair, at that point in my life that would be the only way anyone could get me. He was just in the right place at the right time…he’ll agree with that most days.

My husband and I eventually calmed down on our partying ways a bit…pregnancy (followed by marriage) tends to do that, hopefully. Slowly but surely, the little miracle that came into our life got us thinking about faith and God again. We started going to church with my mom. At first is was kind of just about a set time to see my mom and for her to snuggle our little one. Week by week we came to look forward to it more. By the time baby number two was on the way, we were kind of “all in” at church. We showed up each week, sat in the same spot and visited with the same sweet people. It felt like a safe space to cautiously start believing again. Then, five days after Easter, someone reached into my chest and ripped my heart out again. This time it wasn’t cancer that was taking someone I loved slowly away from me. This time it was a phone call and a car upside down in a ditch that ripped my sister away. I couldn’t blame God for this one. He didn’t ignore my prayers because I didn’t know I was supposed to be praying for my sister to not get drunk and drive in someone’s back yard and flip her car into a ditch killing herself and her friend. I really dropped the ball on that one, not God. And so, in a way I can’t explain, my faith grew from the hurt this one caused. I really leaned on my faith to get me through (or to this point in) my grief. Being haunted by every single thing around you reminding you of someone you don’t get to have anymore can make a person want to change their surroundings. That was the birth of the plan to move from Montana to Texas and become Austin Anne.

Moving to Texas wasn’t such a crazy plan. I love the family I married into and being near them was something our little family was really looking forward to. So we settled in and started the process of making Austin our home. Time to find a Catholic church that gives us the warm fuzzies and/or kindness that our last church had spoiled us with. Three churches later we found one near home that played some of the same music from back home and instantly we got the fuzzies. The priest was fantastic! Who cares if no one smiles or talks to us if we get a great message on Sundays? We do. We care. It started to feel uncomfortable so we went to a ministry fair to find out about groups we could maybe join to meet a few people. It felt a little sterile but maybe we just needed to dig deeper. Between my husband working and me staying at home we didn’t really have time to meet people outside of the church so this was our chance and we really wanted to find “our people”.

Our first and only attempt at one of these ministry options was a “date night” put on by the church for married couples. We jumped at it because they had childcare we could use. I dressed up and even wore heels and the hubs was looking mighty fine too. We were going to charm the pants off these people! I guess it didn’t occur to me that it would be equally important that these people charm us right back….so… an hour and a half later we had spent an hour listening to a lady at our table complain about her son’s school allowing a child to switch gender over the summer and not checking (or notifying?) all of the other parents at the school that this was happening so they could prepare their children by telling them all about this abomination. She was pissed that this family had made it necessary for her to explain to her son that what this other child had done wasn’t part of “God’s plan” for him/her.  We excused ourselves fairly quickly when the program was over. These were not our people. We also stopped going to that church full of people who would sit and listen to that fucking bullshit and not tell her to fuck off. Hag!

We have spent the last five months away from church and slowly I have slipped away from feeling God in me and keeping my open dialogue with Him. I stopped and now I am struggling with how to get it back. I didn’t bother with church during the elections because I do NOT see eye to eye with most Catholics about politics. Hubs and I aren’t sure what’s next. We’ve considered the option of “Catholic Light” meaning the Episcopal church. I know very little about what that actually means or the differences or anything so I immediately feel like even more of an outsider.

A little more soul-searching brought us to the decision to give the church an honest chance again for Lent. Ash Wednesday we decided that meant “Sundays” we would go. I really didn’t want to go today. I dreaded it all day and when the time came I felt so self-conscious it was silly. We got to church and our youngest was an absolute shit. She ended up out in the lobby with her dad. I thought maybe with her gone I could reconnect and have a “come to Jesus” (get it?) prayer and reflection session with just my better behaved oldest next to me. We made it through the sign of peace and I thought we were home free. No I hadn’t heard the readings due to our littlest monster. I was distracted through the homily but surely this could be redeemed with a great ending, right? But wait. Why is no one around us smiling at us? Why when our terror was making a scene did no one offer the obligatory “I’ve been there, sister. Stay strong!”look?  Then I heard “Mommy! I have to go pee!” right as we’re about to go up for eucharist. That is where my patience ended. I gave my husband the look and we got the hell out of there. Was it really giving it an honest retry if we went into it dreading it? Not sure. I guess we can find out next Sunday when we give it a go with no kids. That alone is a religious experience so it may make us lighten up. Seriously, though. These people need to smile…and if they could vote correctly that would be nice too.