Out of the mouths of babes...

Ryan and I have not really decided yet on how our "faith" should look. We both believe in God (although depending on what day of the week it is we both might describe Him very differently) but neither prescribe to many of the philosophies that go along with individual churches. We were both raised as Christians, he Catholic and myself Lutheran. I like some of the traditions and ideals that go along with certain religions and others not so much. For example, the tradition of "passing the peace" or however you say it has always sent me into a sick to my stomach nervous attack. I hated having to grab the hands of all these people around me...I always tried not to make eye contact. I'm not sure why I don't like it...and still don't as a grown up...but often use it as an excuse for not going to church on a regular basis. I love the community that comes along with being a member of a congregation. My sister has a second family in her church and they support each other more often than a lot of "real" families do.

But, we just haven't found the right place for us to set up shop just yet. So, like many wanderers, we "visit" churches occassionally. This year for Christmas we attended a service at the Basilica, a Catholic church in Lackawanna (about 4 miles from our home). We chose it because it is an amazingly huge and beautiful building. Regardless of your own faith, you can not help but be moved by the love, time, hard work, and sacrifice its builders must have devoted to it. The fact that they believed so deeply that they would build this building in honor of their savior is powerful.

We were about 30 minutes early for the 4pm church service on Christmas Eve. We thought this would be early enough...not so much! The place was PACKED...people literally spilling out the doors. We found two rickety folding chairs that had been placed (strangely) behind a large pillar. From the seats you could barely see what was going on. But, we enjoyed it nonetheless. Leah scampered back and forth between my and Ryan's lap and then to Grandma and Grandpa's pew about 10 rows away. She was, of course, wearing what she proudly calls her "clocky" shoes (because of the sound they make when they hit the floor...which is amplified, it seems, about 200 times when done in a quiet, serene, strict and marble-floored place of worship) which had me cringing and turning bright red with each step. Luckily, it was a children's service so there were plenty of other children in the church being loud and/or unruly...it just seemed like she was the loudest one!

Anyway...not being a regular attendant at a church service, let alone one in which there are so many things to do (kneel, stand, kneel, sit, kneel, pray, sing, chant, pray, kneel, kneel and chant, kneel and pray...you get my drift) she was pretty restless and excited and lost in wonder at all of these great and beautiful things around her. She lit a candle for my mother at an altar, wanted to light 10 more at other altars, wanted to know "why that man is hanging from a cross", what the pictures meant, what the words said on the stain glass windows, etc. It is hard to explain Catholocism to a willing adult, let alone a confused and curious child! But, i did my best to answer her questions and keep her as quiet as possible, until it was time for communion.

I was confirmed when I was a teenager at my Lutheran Church. I have taken the "body and the blood" many times in my life but am never quite sure if I am "allowed" to at a Catholic Church....so I always just skip it. But, when Leah heard the priest say it was time for bread and wine (interesting to me that this was the ONLY thing he said that she actually heard) she thought he meant snack time and immediately wanted to get in line for the treat.

At first, I just said no. But as the barage of questions came, I had fewer and fewer answers and less and less resolve to explain it all to her. Finally, we just told her that it was a special church that we do not go to on a regular basis and we were not allowed to have it. She didn't like this answer. So, she took matters into her own hands and walked to the front of the line (cutting off about 50 confused adults) and stood looking at the woman who was serving the body closest to our seats. She stood there quietly, looking at the woman with hope in her eyes. The woman's eyes darted from Leah to Ryan and I and back again about 30 times...silently trying to get us to get this child, who had obviously not yet had her first communion, to go back to where she belonged and sit down. After a few moments of not getting what she wanted, Leah came back to us, confused but not as upset as I thought she might get.

"Well, I can't have the bread, mommy, but I can get you some wine if you want?" she whispered (somehow at a volume that exceeds her normal non-whisper voice).

"No thank you, sweetie" I said, shortly, hoping that would be the end of it.

"You like wine don't you mommy?" she said.

"Yes, I do like wine, but I don't want any. But thank you for asking." I said, pleading silently for her to drop it.

And then, finally..."Well, if you don't want the wine...I can get you a beer instead!"

I can not be certain, but I'm pretty sure that the lightning bolt demolished a couple of people sitting next to me.

Merry Christmas!

Sad Drops...

10 years ago today, my mother died peacefully at home with family and love surrounding her. Despite the fact that 3,650 days have passed since it happened, I still feel the pain sometimes like it were yesterday.

I can imagine that if I were able to actually re-live the moment when I found her (her body so still, her skin cool; my heart bursting with prayers to see her chest rise just one last time while also secretly wishing that it wouldn't so that we could all be out of our misery) it would be profoundly more painful than the hurt I feel today. Yet, it still hits me like a ton of bricks sometimes and forces me to sit, take a deep breath, consciously remember her, and then go on about my business...a little bit less cheerful than I had been a few moments before.

There was the time that I found myself in the middle of a funeral procession, my car the only one without that magnetic black flag on the roof...traffic all around us stopped in reverence for the loved one lost and in prayer for the survivors whose lives had just changed forever. I sobbed as if it were the procession we were in that day 10 years ago.

Then there was the time that I was driving in my car on a beautiful sunny summer day...marveling at the blue beauty of Lake Erie...feeling all around blessed and loved and at peace with my life and my job and my family..when suddenly a hawk came from out of nowhere and swooped past my car in a way that most people never get the chance to experience. Mom loved birds, and she and I shared a love for birds of prey, and I always think of her when I see one (or a humming bird, blue jay or heron). I had to pull off the road to let the pain come crashing out, wipe my tears, collect myself, and get back on the road again...20 minutes later.

But none have hit me as hard as the most recent.

I came home from work sometime last week and Leah came running to me at the door...an odd expression of excitement (that I had finally come home) mixed with guilt (for what I would soon find out)was painted across her sweet little face.

I hugged her as usual and asked her what she had done that day. She meekly took my hand and lead me into the dining room.

"Mommy?" she whimpered.

"Yes, sweetie?" I asked.

"I did something bad. I have to show you" she whispered, head down.

My heart started racing a little...what could it be? Had she drawn on the walls or the newly installed laminate floors? Had she broken a precious item? Had she fed something to Rusty that she shouldn't have and he had gotten sick?

She gingerly walked a few more steps and showed me. A ceramic Christmas Tree with colorful plastic light bulbs that glow from the small bulb inside sat on the table where I had placed it just a few days before. At first glance, it looked like it always did. Upon closer inspection I saw that the tip of the tree and a couple of the lights were sitting next to the base of it. Obviously broken, but not beyong repair.

Before I could even survey how bad it was, she was apologizing..."I'm so sorry mommy! I didn't mean to do it!".

I immediately switched gears and explained that it was okay, she could help me glue it back together and it would be as good as new. I repeated over and over that she didn't need to be so upset, but that she should just to try to be a little more careful. I was not in the least bit upset or hurt, despite the fact that the tree had belonged to my mother. We put it together, it looked great, and we turned the light back on and walked away.

A few minutes later, after the the exchange had already been forgotten, she came to me again and said:

"Mommy? Are you sad because your mommy died?"

Immediately the tears began streaming down my face and I had to take a deep breath to keep from falling over. I sat down and she climbed into my lap and touched my face and began crying herself. A torrent of "I'm sorry's" pouring from her mouth.

I collected myself, hugged her, and told her "Yes, I do miss my mommy, honey...every single day. She loved Christmas so much so I think of her a little bit extra around Christmas time. I am crying because I miss her, not because I am upset that you broke the tree."

"But mommy" she said, pointing to a tear drop on my cheek "you still have these sad drops! I don't want you to be sad!"

"It's okay to be sad sometimes, honey...the tears will dry up in a minute and I'll be back to normal." I said, voice still shaky.

"But WHY did she die, mommy? I don't understand why anyone dies. Why do they mommy?" she asked, sounding so lost and unsure.

"Well, my mommy died because she was very sick" I muttered. Unable to summon the strength to get into a big mortality talk, I skipped over the other questions and started telling her about the grandmother she had never gotten the chance to meet hoping that she would forget and save those harder questions for another day.

and the sad drops continue...