I'd try everything to get out of going. I'd fake being sick. Never worked. I tried hiding. Was always found. I even tried watching a mass on the TV one Sunday morning thinking that my parents would allow me to stay home since I had already "attended." Nope. I got two doses of Jesus that morning.
I was so bad about trying to get out of church that when I actually was sick, my parents didn't believe me.
One Sunday morning in winter, my father and I went to church alone together because my mom was out of town. As I went to get out of the car, I stepped on a patch of ice and fell very hard on my a$$. My legs actually slid under the car and I was screaming with pain. Trying to get up was the most excruciating pain I had felt up until that point. (I didn't know about childbirth yet)
My dad walked around the back of the station wagon, took one look at me and said, "Nice try. You're going in!"
He dragged me in for mass even though I was hysterically crying. When we found our seats and I continued to cry from the pain I felt when sitting. He kept giving me that look. You know the one...when you're parents just glared at you because you're making a scene and you know that the second you're not in public, s##t's gonna hit the fan. That one.
Now if you're a Catholic like me, you know how mass goes. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. I'm not sure which was more painful...the standing up or the sitting down. It was horrible.
Finally my father leaned down and looked me right in the eyes and said, "If you're in that much pain, I guess you'll have to just go to the doctor won't you?" Up until then, that's how my parents would catch me when I was faking. I hated the doctor as much as I did church. As soon as they would throw out that threat, I'd cave in, "No, no...I'm feeling better now." But not this time. No...this time I looked him right back in the eyes and said, "Yes! Please, daddy!" He straightened up a bit and looked surprised at my response. This was certainly not the reaction he had anticipated. He had thought I was giving my finest performance to date up until that moment...but now he knew that I might not be faking.
Did he let me leave though? Nope. We still stayed and I continued crying as I stood up and sat down. Stood up and sat down. Up and down. Up and down. Each time more painful than the last.
I continued to cry the rest of the day and night, not even going out to play with my friends. The next morning I was taken in to see Dr Mundee, my pediatrician.
"She broke her tailbone" the doctor said. JUSTICE!! "I told you I wasn't faking!!" I yelled. I laid in to my dad that night like nobody's business. Yes, I hated church but damn...I wouldn't make that much of a fool of myself.
Like all like public school Catholic kids, I had the pleasure of attending CCD classes as well as church. That was a blast, let me tell ya. I swore that I'd never make my children go to these horrible classes when I was a mom...but ask Jackson where he is from 4:30-6:00 on Tuesday evenings. What a hypocrite. But I digress...
I made my way through the Sacraments as a good little Catholic girl should. I think I blocked out most of that because I only really remember one...Confession. First Confession. Nothing scares the s##t out of a kid like sitting them down in front of a priest (who might as well be God in their eyes) and tell them all the bad stuff you've done.
Most people probably don't remember what they first confessed...but I do.
The night before Confession, I was watching Ewok Adventures on VHS. My dad had taped it for me over the weekend and I was itching to watch it.
When my dad used to tape shows, he would stop the recording once the commercials started up and would resume recording when they were finished. He was ahead of his time. It was DVR or TiVo but in the 80's.
This particular recording, however, he forgot to hit record after the commercials were done. He went through I think 2 rounds of commercials and everything in between once he realized what he had done. As I lay on the shag green carpeting in our family room, I all of a sudden sat up when I realized what had happened. Wait a minute!! What happened to that Ewok?!? I looked over at my dad as he sat quietly on the couch and yelled, "What happened?!? What did you do?!?" He looked at me and said, "I forgot to hit record again after the commercials. I'm sorry, honey."
To say that I went nuts was an understatement. You would have thought he killed my dog with his bare hands. I screamed and cried and really let him have it...and then the guilt set in.
As I lay awake in my bed, I felt horrible for how I had reacted. I felt terrible for yelling at my father like that. But wait!!! Tomorrow is Confession!! That'll make my guilt go away!
As our group gathered for our first Confession, we had one of two options: sit face to face with one priest and confess our sins or go in a booth and hide behind a screen so they don't know who you are. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what I chose.
"Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!"
Ahhh...but Father Hearn was on the other side of that little mesh type window. He was the scariest of all the priests in our church. Damn it! I should have chose face to face! I'm gonna get 1000 Hail Marys now for sure!
I crept into the booth and the little door covering the window was shut. Phew! He didn't see me! I smashed myself as far back against the wall as I could so that when the window did slide open, he wouldn't be able to even see my shadow...and then it opened. It felt as if cold air had flown through that little window and had frozen my mouth so I couldn't talk. Father Hearn cleared his throat to let me know I was supposed to say something.
"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. This is my first Confession."
"Go ahead, my child," he said.
"I yelled at my father last night because he didn't record all of the Ewok Adventure. That's my sin."
I swear I heard a chuckle come from the other side of the dark window. He gave me a punishment of 10 Hail Marys and I was off. Pretty sure I made that guy's day with my ridiculous confession.
After I went off to college, I stopped going to church. I'm sure there was one on campus somewhere but hell if I knew where it was. Jesus was the last thing on my mind. No...only holiday masses for me!
And it continued that way after I graduated and "became an adult." There was one exception to the rule...911. I went to mass that Sunday because I didn't know what else to do. I thought maybe there would be some answers there...but I didn't find any. I don't think anyone could at that time...but I gave it a go.
In February of 2002, I suffered what I call a severe depression "crash." Life went black there for a few months and it took a long time to get even a sliver of light to shine in. It was during this time that I started attending services at Willow Creek with my sister.
I'm not sure what it was about that place; the over the top productions (because that's what the service really was),the modern day music or what the pastor was saying...but I actually got into it. Me. Into church. If I really want to be honest, I'd say it was the music. It wasn't the Amens I was used to singing in my own church. It wasn't repetitive. There was no old man with a bad comb over playing the organ. These were people my age and a full blown band playing what sounded like rock music...and it actually got to me.
When I began my training to become a yoga instructor, I stopped going to services at Willow Creek and church was once again pushed to the back of my mind. Honestly, I don't think I even went on all the holidays.
Jackson was baptized in the Catholic church and I remember feeling like such a fraud in there. I felt like I wasn't religious enough to pull this off...the priest would be able to see what a heathen I really am. But guess what...they still baptized him.
When I began dating my husband, the holiday masses started back up again. Jackson was put in Catholic school for Junior Kindergarten so I had to attend a few services during that period but other than that, holidays were the only time I would walk into a church.
It's not that I don't believe in what the priest is saying. I think it's more that I have ADD and just can't sit listening to something that I don't necessarily understand for that long of time. That...and the fact that a certain someone and I are having communication problems.
Over the past few years, since my dad's diagnosis was made, God/Jesus and I have had some curious conversations. I've gone from questioning God as to why he would do this to begging him to make it be a mistake, a misdiagnosis. I've told God that I hated him and then turned around begging him to give the world a cure so my dad wouldn't have to suffer from this disease. I've questioned how a "loving God" could create diseases such as ALS...if he loves us so much, why do we have to suffer?
For each time I've said something negative to God, I've also begged for help. I've asked him to slow the progression down so that I could selfishly have more time with my father. I've tried bargaining..."I'll go to mass every single Sunday if you make this go away. I swear I will." But for each time I've called for his help, it hasn't come. Things would only get worse which would spark my hatred for Him. My dad didn't deserve this. How could He do this to him?
This year for CCD, Jackson had to attend a special Sunday night mass. It was supposed to be a family thing but the hubby had to stay home with the baby so it was just Jack and I. Lucky us...we got to sit right up front in the first row.
I don't know what it was about that night...I wasn't on my "I hate God" kick and I came in with an open mind so I could be an example for Jackson. For the first time ever, I actually cried in church. Not a big "ugly face" crying episode... just a "quiet tears rolling down my cheeks" type thing. To this day, I have no idea why that happened. I walked out of there actually thinking to myself, "Huh...maybe I should do this with Jackson more often."
On Christmas Eve, Jackson and I attended mass together again...you know...because it's a holiday...and I'll be damned if it didn't happen again. What was going on with me? Why was I being brought to tears?
I've come to the conclusion that maybe it was not only the situation with my father that brought on the tears, but also my frustration with God. Why wasn't he listening to me? Is it because I don't attend church enough? Is it because of all the trouble I got into in my younger years? Has he cut the line between he and I so he doesn't get the call anymore? Why? Why us? Why won't He listen?
Then it hit me. Maybe I'm talking to the wrong guy. Maybe he's too busy with war and poverty and hunger that he doesn't have time to listen to the prayers of a heathen. Maybe I need to talk to whoever is next in command. Maybe his kid would listen to me and help my father out. What was there to lose?
And so I did it. I gave a shout out to Vice President of Heaven.
"Hey Jesus, you out there?"
No answer.
I left a message but he still hasn't gotten back to me.
Hey Jesus
Indigo Girls
Hey, Jesus, it's me.
I don't usually talk to you
But my baby's gonna leave me, and there's something you must do.
And I am not your faithful servant.
I hang around sometimes with a bunch of your black sheep
But if you make my baby stay, I'll make it up to you
And that's a promise I will keep.
Hey, Jesus, it's me.
I'm the one who talked to you yesterday
I asked you please, please for a favor but my baby's gone away
Went away anyway
And I don't really think it's fair.
You've got the power to make us all believe in you.
And then we call you in our despair,
And you don't come through.
Hey, Jesus, it's me, I'm sorry.
I don't remember all I said.
I had a few, no, too many, and they went straight to my head
And made me feel like i could argue with God.
But you know, it's easy for you, you got friends all over the world.
You had the whole world waiting for your birth.
But now i ain't got nobody,
I don't know what my life's worth.
I'm not gonna call on you any more.
I'm sure you've got a million things to do.
All I was trying to do was to get through to you, get through to you.
Because when I die and I get up to your doors,
I don't even know if you're gonna let me in the place.
How come I gotta die to get a change to talk to you
Face to face?
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