Missing the old country...

Holy Week. Sigh....

Growing up Roman Catholic, there were rules I followed. I don't remember going to Holy Thursday mass as a requirement as a kid, much less Good Friday and we all but never went on Holy Saturday for the Easter Vigil. I think Mom went to some of it but it is not a clear memory.

What is clear to me are my late teens and early twenties when I sang in the choir at St. Mary's in Mt. Vernon. We would practice for months on end to be a part of the Holy Week celebration. It was nothing short of spectacular.

From Holy Thursday and the door left open on the tabernacle as we left the church in silence, to the humble Veneration of the Cross on Good Friday, to the endless scripture readings, lighting of the Easter candle, and spectacular joy of belting out "The Gloria" on Holy Saturday night. The sights, the sounds, the smell of all those magnificent flowers....No one does The Tritium like a Roman Catholic.

Truth be told, we were often slightly hung over for the Easter Sunday Mass because we all went out to celebrate the end of Lent on Holy Saturday night. There was this one time my friend Sue and I...never mind.

I  miss it. I miss knowing what to do on these Holiest of Holy Days. I miss kissing the cross on Good Friday at 3pm and feeling as though the day was perfect if it was pouring rain on such a day of solemn devotion. I once pulled up to the church on the hill as the Dolly Parton song, "He is alive!" was playing and thought I had just heard the most perfect song, for the most perfect moment...ever, especially from a none- RC.

I miss knowing what each symbolic element of the Mass stood for. I miss preparing for the Holy Days with each outfit....being a girl means preparing with a wardrobe: jeans were fine for Good Friday but not so much for Holy Thursday and certainly not for Holy Saturday....and the Easter bonnet was just short of the prep work for Easter Sunday.

I miss the package that is the Tritium and how it called one to look....look at the Cross, the agony, the pain, and eventually the empty grave. I loved the pride of being an extraordinarily good Catholic. I was so proud of it. My faith in Christ was laid second only to being the very best Catholic. Oh how I adored it all. I was very good at something and it was being Catholic.

Of course, there in lies my biggest failure you know. My denomination and all the rules, that I knew and understood by heart, had in fact become my god. The governing body of my faith, made me an excellent member. There was nothing I didn't love about The Church. I never believed that none Catholics were not going to Heaven....they just missed out on the fullness of the faith because they didn't have the saints and the sacraments. They (the left footer, Protestant types) were only getting a half a glass and you had to admire what they were doing with that half glass.

It has been well over a decade ago that I left The Church...maybe I left in the beginning because I wanted other Christians to share my faith with and I was living in an area that I could not find anyone to share Him with...Yeah, that had a lot to do with leaving. As time went on though I couldn't marry The Word with all of the Traditions. I found along the way that while I am excommunicated, so are most Catholics. Both the Council of Trent and Vatican II never reversed the teaching that unless you submit to ALL the teachings of The Church, you are already excommunicated. Think priests should be allowed to marry? You are out. Are you using even none-abortive birth control methods? You are out. Pretty sure you can tell God you are sorry for a sin with out the benefit of the confessional? You are out.

Last time I checked, the thought police and the birth control police of The Church are not standing  in anyones home, looking for a way to kick you out. The Church pretty much works on the honesty system. That system requires The Truth in order to function.

The Truth...there in lies the rub. I can't be Roman Catholic. Once in a while, my kids will wish we were because the traditions are so very beautiful. And we live in NY for crying out loud, just about the entire state is Catholic.

I have known more sold out for Jesus, Roman Catholics than you jan begin to imagine. I've also met some nice conservatives in the Protestant world. There are saved Catholics just like there are condemned Protestants. I've long realized that just because someone says, "Lord, Lord!" does not make them a Christian  in any way. You can go to daily mass and never encounter the living God just as easily as you can do every Beth Moore bible study known to woman and there is no proof you are believer.

So this week, I am like a man with out a country. I feel like an immigrant who longs for the old country, even while I know it is no where I will ever return to. I sometimes fear my children will return, in spite of the hard work it took for me to leave. I wish we Protestants had more ceremony with our Truth. Some of it was so spectacular. I felt like I belonged to a very important Body. Now, I just don't know what to do during the Holiest of Holy days. The kids want to go to the drive in tomorrow night to see Frozen and Captain America...it feels so wrong. But am I any more right to have them put on sack cloth and ashes on Good Friday?

There is not a conclusion to this post....I still don't know what the answer to my longing is, except to rest in Him. He is my all and all. He died on a cross for me? The worst of the worst. Me, a sinner who deserves nothing short of the fires of Hell...He died that horrific death, for me. And because He rose out of the grave...I am alive in Christ. All the trappings are stripped away and I am left with just a God who saved me.

Maybe being left with "just" that is the conclusion.

Everyone needs an Annie. You should so get one....

Dear Frick,

I was just tenderly recounting to my beloved that we don't get our daily chat in anymore. All the years you commuted home we chatted, via cell phone, while I made dinner for first one, than two, and eventually five. We would go a year or more with out seeing each other but we were all caught up for sure! Now I am working full time and you part...what a switch! Not bad, just a new season...it got me waxing poetic about a friendship that has out lasted every social media trend, hair style, and just where jeans land on the hips.

You tell the tale of how my mom painted me as a saint in your CCD class and you expected this goody-two-shoes to have wings and a halo when we met on the public bus to Our Lady of Victory Academy...you quickly found out that my wings were bent, my halo crooked and you were not at all sure which side I was an angel for! For my part, you were a "public" (code we Catholic School kids called public school kids) therefore, I knew you could kick my arse...you could, as I would find out around a Christmas tree many years later, but I diverse. As a public, I had a healthy fear and respect for you...we would so not be friends. That much I knew for sure.

I don't remember how we wound up at the mall together or who talked to the cute guy from Dobbs Ferry High School first but we were friends from that moment on. We found more adventures than I think we should haver...wild for sure, we were! What was the name of that club? Camouflage?

 Somewhere between the things that break up a friendship, be it life, a husband, a job, a kid, an argument...whatever that moment is, that creates a drift that shows one a life is still quite full when a friend is no longer a part of it, never took root in our lives.

Why are we still friends? Mommy B. and Rosey.

Did you know that if I swung by your house and you weren't home, Rosey would sit me in the kitchen and chat with me? She would ask about how mom was, ask me what I was going to do, usually tell me to knock it off about something and remind me that my job was to take care of her. Sometimes you would come home, sometimes I would finish my tin cup of whatever and head home. She showed me what hospitality was...I had rarely seen it before your home. I have never doubted that I was welcome...I still know I am.

 Mommy B ADORED her Annie. Actually, she called you Annie, I just followed suit. She prayed for you and your joy and your life and for Paul when he came along. She prayed for our friendship and your folks and for your sister, Susan, and even for Billy when I was his CCD teacher...she prayed when your Grandmother had to bury her son and told me to ask how we could help, all that time on the vent...she prayed for her Annie. She had a heart well beyond the classroom for you.

We have loved each other, hated each other,  forgiven each other, offended each other, teased each other, and held back each others hair...There is little we have not been big or little about.

We had moms who loved us both...and they were willing to put aside what ever we had done to wound each other...extraordinary woman our moms!

In the last year, you have shown me a part of Mommy B that I didn't understand before. I am so humbled. Thank you...you healed a something I didn't know was there...and I hope that I have shown you what a Savior can do in a life that is wounded. He knew, before a single star was hung or named, that this season would come...He knew and so He gave you a testimony to rest in...that He is God and He knows what He is all about. You have chosen to trust the Greater Hope and for that, He is greatly pleased..  For my part, I could not be more proud of you....nope, just thought about it again, and I am proud of you for sure!

Just heavy on my heart these days girly. Growing up with you has been like having a sister with out the wardrobe drams...well, most of it. I did take those pleated, pin striped jeans that I never gave back and have you seen my turtle neck with the ice cream cones that you borrowed for Halloween in 1984? Never mind...Susan still gets John when I am gone. You get to know that we may be trouble together this side of Heaven, but just you wait to see the adventure we will have together in Glory!

Just call out my name,

Frack



                                                             

Raise your children well...

I've often joked that while fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, a little fear of mom is pretty wise too!

So now, imposing the words, "Most deeply impressed of..." into fear, are my children at least a little most deeply impressed of their parents?

Maybe I have this all wrong and if I do, I suppose the Holy Spirit will clarify for me, but maybe Mom and Dad are not just here to train up their children...Maybe we are here for practice.

Not wanting to take God's Word out of context here but if our children are proven trustworthy in the little things (and John and I are so little in comparison of our God...so teeny, tiny and nothing) then they will be trusted with the big things. I suppose I am saying that as our children have practiced respecting, being deeply impressed of the rules of our home, maybe that translates into respecting, being most deeply impressed of the rules set forth in God's Word.

I was recently explaining to one of the kids that the precepts of God are an awful lot like a fenced in yard...it is a huge yard and with in the confines of that property, you are free. Beyond the fence though there are zombies...walking dead that are there to devour you until you are as dead and walking as the zombies themselves. You may slip in and out of that fence now and again, thinking there is something you really need out there but the truth is everything you need is in the boundaries that were set up for you. Of course the risk you take going beyond that border is walking dead....There is incredible freedom in side that fence...and only death beyond it. Unlike some cable shows that can scare the crayons out of you, the fenced yard is not a prison...it is just the dirt side of Paradise!

I am so using the cultural relevance of the times here folks...don't judge!

Parenting is hard work...parenting aliens (teenagers) is unreal, hard work. I have questioned our parenting here on more than one occasion and am in a season of big, huge, what-am-I-going-to-do, questioning at the moment...maybe that will give my children a better mom and give them a better shot at knowing the Truth. There is no more flawed a mama on the planet than I...for sure. Proof again that my children may not always know how desperately they need a savior...but I do know how much I need Him and because I do, I know they will survive me.

We just passed the eight year mark that my own dad is gone.  In addition to teaching me that things can fall off the back of a truck very easily, Ed taught me that there is nothing I could ever do, ever, that would make it so I was not welcome back home...That is the lesson I have carried on: There is always redemption, there is always forgiveness, there is always reconciliation on this side of the fence....always. Because of The Cross there is no "too far" from our hearts.  Given the number of times that I danced with zombies, how could I ever offer anything less...

Practice precious children on us. "Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you." Exodus 20:12 

Pft...Church? I am busy!

Today was church...but there is so much to do here at the kingdom of Schlusser. This coming week will have four teenagers living under our roof...there had better be cake, or I am in big trouble with the soon to be youngest teen.
Not to mention that after months and months of fixing and cleaning our rental, I need to fix and clean our home. Time is escaping very quickly on me and I have to paint the girls room...we have it half way done and we are still pretending we love the color, don't you know. I have a rug to rip out. I have doors to paint that lovely, not at all lavender but heather gray. I have trim to do....

There are meals to plan and prepare for the week.  I am just trying to write my blog and that almost-youngest-teen is here to discuss the fact that he wants me to go onto Dealdash to buy him an Iphone...okay, he got my point when I stared at him while typing...so glad I got that typing regents after all. Where was I? Right...

You see my point don't you? I am terrible at time management, I have no time and I have a kazillion things to get done. I want my family room back, so the girls room has to be finished...NOW. Church? Seriously, I am just fine with Jesus right now. He will understand. He knows I am commitment phobic or He would have been on me for blowing off prayer meeting this week. He knows that studying the Word and being in prayer for my church while we are in a season of prayer and fasting is time consuming. He would want me to clean and fix...after all, home is sort of a church....I am practically a deaconess here for crying out loud!

"WHAT?" Said in a don't-judge-me-tone...

After telling John I thought I would stay home and him readily agreeing with me (same thing happened on Wednesday night for prayer meeting by the way) I grabbed my cell phone so I could text the oldest teen that we were not meeting her at service...she had planned on skipping out too, after she taught her Sunday school class...'Cause she is very busy too you know.

A text and a voice message from a deaconess at our church, reminding me that the organic grape juice for communion had been set up for us in the copy room...we had discussed the potential for reactions when my kids receive so she addressed it with the church board... I just needed to grab it and bring it back to our seats and place them in the nifty, little communion cup holders we have in each pew. Be blessed, she said, see you in a bit, she said.

CRAP, I said!

Scramble people, this is not a drill! MOVE IT! John to the shower, me with out eye make up...everyone will just assume I was crying...again. Don't worry about pretty people, just worry about getting there!

We made it in record time...three cars to the same place all because I can't count and my nice, new little car won't fit six people. We skidded in side ways to both our parking spots and pews, still pumped with endorphins that would keep us awake the entire sermon.

It was a great sermon...one we all needed to hear. It is a great community, one we need to support prayerfully and in action. I have a blog post to write about sloth...not the one from Ice Age, but genuine sloth. Today reminded me why. I am busy, but so is everyone...so is He. Yet, He has never not had time. Somewhere my integrity of being a believer is wrapped up in my sloth of being a sinner...I am a new creation with some old, busy, poorly planned, habits to break. 

PS we sang one of my favorite hymns today...enjoy the Brad Paisley version there of...

JH...

                                All of life is junior high...

                      What I have learned after two weeks of working in a junior high school:

 

Stomach aches always start when you wake up and get worse by the time math class starts.

Familiarity does not mean respect.

Other parents use the line, "Go to school and see how you feel. Call me if you need me." and don't mean it eihter.

I can love other people's children for seven hours a day but can pray for them much longer.

Just because I hear someone's voice as Foghorn Leghorn, does not mean that is how it really is.

Cramps are still a great excuse to get out of gym.

A disabled child still makes my heart skip a beat...oh the joy!

Getting a case of the giggles during a fire drill is normal...laughter still comes out of the shoulders.

Triple charting is still  silly.

Music makes the day go faster.

First period is really long, last period is longer.

LAST MINUTE is a life style choice.

People don't always like the truth.

Manipulation  is a tool often used...Use wisdom to fight it.

Praying for wisdom is a necessity.

Other people are carrying way heavier loads than I have ever nightmared of...I am blessed beyond compare.

Miracles happen in the nurses office.

Secretaries are demi-gods....if I believed in lesser gods, they would be the ones. Seriously, love them.

Bosses can me normal...who knew?

Don't quit when its really, really bad...the rewards may just be around the next semester!

Grace is sometimes just a hot cup of coffee sitting on your desk early in the morning.

The ridiculous happens side by side with the miraculous.

Laughter is still the best medicine: "A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones." Proverbs 17:22

I love my job!

 

Tangled roots

"The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding." Proverbs 9:10 is probably the very first scripture I ever knew by heart. Mom use to say to me all the time and it just so happens our pastor has been talking about it a lot of late.

 It has been a very hard year.  John and I attended prayer meeting at our church last week...there wasn't a hand clap, foot stomp, or arm waive to be had. Just prayer. There was no show, no where to hide and a community I have been trying to hide myself in for the last year and a half now knows that I am as broken as I have ever been...Being vulnerable in front of brothers and sisters in a tiny room dedicated to nothing but prayer...

Yesterday, our pastor replaced the the word, "fear" (as in Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom) with the phrase, "Most deeply impressed of..." and even though I have heard him say it at least a hundred times, it suddenly struck my heart with a question, "What am I most deeply impressed of?"

I am most deeply impressed of anyone knowing that I am this broken.

I am most deeply impressed of dying in a fiery crash when anyone but me drives.

I am most deeply impressed of being considered a flake.

I am most deeply impressed of being a widow.

I am most deeply impressed of not being able to pay our bills.

I am most deeply impressed with not getting enough sleep.

I am most deeply impressed of our rental not being good enough to rent so we can pay the mortgage....

See a pattern here?

I always miss my mom but I try to make a day it on the fifth of each August and have for the last twenty years.
Twenty years...and I just now understand what that simple statement of faith means. The hand clapping did stop, so did the arm waiving and a foot stomping. I like to think He finds our enthusiasm somewhat endearing...but the deep and tangled roots of my dogma are beginning to give forth a new and beautiful fruit...and while the process is long and somewhat painful, the fruit is delicious.

I am most deeply impressed of my God and that is the beginning of wisdom. Good advice Ellen gave her daughter so long ago.

Wood floors...

Just about every waking hour is being spent at our old house prepping it and getting it ready for a new tenant or Wells Fargo is going to have another house to get rid of. I do not like being a landlord and yet here we are getting ready...UGH! This is not how I wanted to spend my summer.

There was a piece of broken oak flooring in the master bedroom...I lived with it for the seven and a half years we lived in the house. Our last two tenants lived with it...but the next tenant...Nope.  John was determined to replace it. 

But you can't just buy a couple of pieces of oak wood flooring...gotta' buy a case. But you can borrow a sample board for twenty five bucks....if you don't bring it back, they keep your deposit. I was fine with that. Twenty five bucks was worth making my man happy. I would just give up the deposit.

Little problem. The boys at the big-box home improvement store could not figure out how to charge me the deposit. 

Manager, "You are going to bring it back, right?"
Me, "Of course."
Jack, "Mom?"
Me, "Of course."
Manager, "Don't worry about it."

Of course I bring it the house and John dismantles the sample and puts it into the floor....and Jack and I look at each other. John is confused...we fill him in...now what do we do?

1) Go back to store and tell them it got tossed in the garbage! So lie to hide the fact that we stole? Seems like a problem.

2) Don't worry about it...it is just a sample anyway. Sounds like stealing to me.

So what did we do? We went back to store, same kid was on the register, same manager was also working. We explain that we kept the sample and that it was now a part of our floor. We would like to pay the $25.00 fee. 

Manager is annoyed..."Don't worry about it. I don't know anything. Keep your mouth shut."
John and I, "We don't want to steal it. How can we pay for it? 
Kid at register, "I don't think I have ever had a customer insist on paying for something."
John, "That is too bad. Can you do it?"

It took them about ten minutes to figure out how and what to charge us but they finally did.  

Kid at register, "That was something. It really was no big deal."
Me, "The Rule Book says 'Don't steal'...not 'Don't steal bit things but little things are okay.'"
Kid at register smiles.

Integrity is inconvenient. What is the old expression? The world is equally shocked at seeing Christianity criticized and practiced. Nice that we got to shock someone this weekend.