ella_menno

Does God care about religion?

I am shaking very hard. It is difficult to type.

I spent a long time - years, really - searching for the "true" religion.

In the 8th grade, I was confirmed in the Lutheran church. During my interview with the pastor, I was asked why it was necessary to attend church services.

My answer? "It isn't."

I then explained that according to the religion as I understood it - as I had been taught by Sunday School teachers since before I entered kindergarten - what mattered was a person's personal relationship with Christ. That, to me, meant that there was no need, no requirement for a Christian (or, at least, one identifying as Lutheran) to attend services.

Given the pastor's reaction to my answer ("Of course you need to attend church! Because....um....."), I thought that perhaps I'd better go looking for a religion that made some sense.

From ninth grade through my junior year of college, I studied churches and religions. Read about them, attended services offered by a variety of denominations. And then I studied some more.

After this time, after reading about the Reformation and the (many) reasons for it, I still came to the conclusion that the Catholic church was, truly, The Church Christ Established. The papacy was founded by Christ and Peter was the first Pope; all the moral laws, guidelines, requirements were in place for a reason. Granted, I personally might not understand the reasons: yet I was okay with that.

Again, to my way of thinking: as a parent, I tell my kids not to play in the street. It's a rule, and one I expect them to follow. When they get old enough, they'll understand why, the reason - but until they do, I simply expect them to obey the rule because I KNOW BETTER.

God is my Father; therefore, I will listen to him, even if I disagree with the rule. Which is overly simplified, but was the way I felt about God's authority.

And as I believe(d) that the Catholic church and its administration - the Pope, the Vatican, the bishops - were the true representatives, the human face of Christ on Earth, I obeyed their teachings. Even if one (or several, or many) of the Church's priests and bishops were wrong, or did wrong, or covered up for their brethren who did wrong, I still felt the institution itself - the Church - was right. That it was the "highest earthly authority in matters of faith, morality and Church governance."

I attended Mass. Matter of fact, I was at Mass on Friday (First Friday devotions, you know.) I work at a Catholic school. I send my three children to Catholic school.

And now there is this: A senior Vatican cleric has defended the excommunication of the mother and doctors of a nine-year-old girl who had an abortion in Brazil after being raped [by her stepfather].

Cardinal Giovanni Battista Re, head of the Catholic church's Congregation for Bishops, told the daily La Stampa on Saturday that the twins the girl had been carrying had a right to live.

I can barely express how this makes me feel. Sick, physically sick. Hurt. Embarrassed. Stupid. Wrong. Betrayed. Violated.

Oh, and angry. Very, very angry.

How can I go to work tomorrow? How can I continue to send my babies to a school that is governed by these kinds of people?

How can I call myself Catholic anymore? And why - please, God, tell me why - would I want to?

I am back from watching my sister graduate. As she said, she now has a piece of paper* which proves she is officially more edumacated than am I.

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Apparently, I’m traveling to PA to watch the Stanley Cup on the 31st. Erm. That’s hockey, right?

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So I missed some wank this weekend? I kind of want to know, but then again, maybe I’m better off staying uninformed.

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You know, it’s not like it was tough to cross over SPN with Sandman before the finale, but now it seems all I can think about is different ways the universes could intersect. I would say that I want to write some of these, but that isn’t true: what I really want is to read them.
( You don't have to stay anywhere forever. )

It’s over. It’s over, I tell myself firmly, and I try to make my heart resume its normal rhythm through sheer force of will.

This is stupid, pointless fretting, and I know it. The tornados have long since passed; the weather is clear, calm, peaceful. The thunderstorms we were told to expect haven’t even bothered to show up, like they’re ashamed to make an appearance after the raging and grandiose performance the twisters turned in.

It’s over, and now everything is safe. My children, my babies are here, safe, sprawled all over my bedroom floor. Each of them is asleep, and none of their faces are creased in fear anymore. I don’t have to look at them and lie to them, to have them ask me questions with their voices ("is the tornado going to come this way?”) and their eyes (“can you keep me safe?”) that I refuse to answer honestly - because the honest answer is “I don’t know.”

I hate lying to them. I try not to do it – but there are times it is the kindest, the most responsible thing to do. There are times that shielding them from the truth is the best way to love them. There are times, like today, when they need me to look at them and tell them “I will not let anything happen to you. It’s okay for you to be afraid; I will be brave for you. I will keep you safe.”

Because of course these are all pretty lies. Though I would fight, kill, die for them, I cannot protect them from everything. When it comes right down to it, there are precious few things from which I can protect them. I can lead them to shelter, but I cannot change the path of a storm.

And yet, this time, it passed. It passed us by, it left us untouched – physically, at least. When they wake up tomorrow, this will already have passed into the realm of memory. “Remember the time?” they’ll say. “Remember how scared we were?”

“Yes,” I’ll tell them. “I do remember.” I’ll remember all of it for them, and someday, when they’re old enough, I’ll share all of it with them.

But not tonight. Tonight they sleep soundly, gathered around me, and I take this moment to pause and breathe a prayer of thanks, that we’ve made it through yet another storm.



There are times you sit down to write, and there are times you sit down and words just flow through you. The above words were the second kind of writing.

1. Okay, so I understand why, when I Google "Jensen Ackles," I get "Jared Padalecki" listed as a related search. But why do I also get "Wentworth Miller"?

2. I have officially eaten pizza for three of my last four meals. Clearly, I fail at being an adult.

3. Is it wrong that my sole purpose for going shopping today is to procure frames in which to ensconce all my photos (INCLUDING THE SIGNED ONE) of Jensen and Jared from last weekend?

4. Maybe later on I'll post a list of all those Sandman-related ideas I was talking about yesterday. It's probably a good idea to have them all in one place.

5. Holy crap, I need to think about hauling that turkey (a/k/a "Birdzilla") out of the freezer pretty soon.

6. I'm feeling the itch to write something. Hmm. *thinky face* Perhaps post-bedtime.

I'm not exactly sure where all my time is going. How the bloody heck is it October already?

*sigh*

Yesterday was a prime example of my total and heartfelt dedication to providing myself with excellent nutrition.

BREAKFAST: One leftover piece of pear pie. (YAY!PIE!)
LUNCH: One and one-half tacos supremes.
HEALTHY AFTERNOON SNACK: Root beer whirl.
DINNER: Half a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of gatorade.

[Poll #1007297]

I just updated my profile, if anyone is interested in taking a peek.

(Should I put in a picture of the dog?)

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So. Not September yet, is it?

Wow, so it only took me two and a half hours to get the printer and laptop to work together.

*growls*

Last night, I had a nightmare; I think it was about my husband. I woke up, shook it off, and went back to sleep.

And had another nightmare, this time about my mom. Woke, shook, slept (lather, rinse, repeat?) - this time, it was about the kids.

The next one involved my sister.

And then a couple of friends.

Et cetera.

Tonight, I settled into bed at 10 PM. Within ten minutes, my pulse was racing, I was sweating, I felt queasy, and my brain was working so fast I could hardly process the thoughts as I was having them. Worst of all were the horrible things that kept showing up in my mind, things I don't even want to call "things I thought," because I don't want to claim ownership of them in any way. Terrifying, grotesque things - leering faces whose lips slowly melt away as they scream in horror. Other horrible things I don't even want to write out.

I have to think this is just pent-up anxiety about the last few weeks working its way out of my head. It has to be - it has to be. I can't be going crazy; I don't have the time.

I feel calmer now. Still afraid to sleep, though. Kind of sad, as sleeping is one of my favorite activities...or it was, anyway.