Scars

"Cause we are beautiful no matter what they say

Yes, words won't bring us down, oh no

We are beautiful in every single way

Yes, words can't bring us down

Don't you bring me down today"

-Beautiful, Christina Aguilera

When you look in the mirror what do you see?  A nose?  Two eyes?  A mouth?  A couple ears?  Maybe some earrings?  Hair?  Makeup?  Glasses?  A blemish?  Some freckles?  A mole?  A beard?  If we moved on to the rest of the body what would you describe?  Legs?  Arms?  Chest?  Torso?  Back?  Is your self image positive?  I am one good looking son of a gun.  Is it negative?  If only I could change this one thing about me?  If  you could change one thing what would it be?  There was a time when I blissfully would have answered that I wouldn't change anything about myself.  Sadly, that was when I was five-years-old.  Too many people have been brutally honest with me and stronger than most things I've heard, I remember those things.  When I look in the mirror I am reminded that my nose is crooked, compliments of a boy in first grade, my ears are unshapely I was told by a boy in middle school, my eyes are a boring shade of blue a girl in high school told me, my chin is weak, a woman I met in elementary school told me, my eyebrows too bushy a boy in college once said, a girl in high school said my hair was frizzy and a bad color, my smile made me look chinese, a boy in fifth grade informed me, my stature not tall or thin enough to be a dancer I was told I forget when.  I would accept all of these with acceptance except I didn't ask for any of these opinions.  When I see myself I see these problems.  I see these parts of myself that I cannot change and sometimes it makes me sad.  It makes me sad because the first thing I notice about myself are these scars. 

I recently came into acquaintance with a young woman who has much the same problem as me- she only sees the imperfections in herself. I see her and I think that she is beautiful. I think she is one of the most beautiful women that I have ever known. I started to write this for her.

In addition to these emotional scars I now can boast physical ones as well.  Soon I will be going in for my fifth mole removal and biopsy.  It's a standard procedure, I remind myself constantly, for any mole that shows the qualities of skin cancer.  That doesn't mean it is skin cancer now, or even that it will be, but that it might be.  It's the possiblity that scares me.  It still distresses me when I meet people for the first time and the look at me.  I'm afraid that all they see are these scars on my face and arm and leg.  I'm afraid that they only see the imperfections that I know exist.  I'm afraid that people will not like me because of this.  I'm afraid they will not like me.  I'm afraid. 

As an excercise in proving myself wrong, in proving that I couldn't possibly be right about all these things, I took a poll of what people thought of me- not who I am, but my appearance, my looks, purely aesthetically, non emotionally.  I tried to be fair and ask women and men, including people who have never met me in person so they wouldn't be swayed by anything in my immediate personality.  I asked them two questions with the request for brutal honesty- 1) Do you think I am physically beautiful? 2) Why? 

As a form of science it probably required a more practical mindset than mine.  As a form of morale- I should've done this years ago.  Earlier I complained about my eyebrows, my eyes, my chin, my ears, my body, my hair, my height, and my smile.  Not one person mentioned my 5'3" as a problem and more than one thought it was ideal.  No one mentioned my eyebrows or my chin.  One guy said my ears were cute.  I had many people that loved my hair, someone said my feet were cute, numerous people loved eyes, my skin, my coloring, more than one (I blush to say) admired my figure, and almost everyone said how much they loved my smile.  And only one person said that I was not beautiful in the stereotypical form of beautiful.  Just think, I have been blaming all my problems on what my physical appearance was.  I blame every screwed up relationship on not being pretty enough, because maybe if I had been he would've stayed, or he would have tried harder.  Every job I didn't even consider that maybe I didn't get it because it wasn't right for me- instead it was because I wasn't pretty enough.  In the past I only ever saw myself as others saw me negatively.  Then the other day I remembered something I once said in college. 

When you come back to God after leaving, as I did, you bring your heart back to God, as a small child brings a painting to his mother.  He says to her, "it's not very beautiful, and it isn't as good as it could've been, but I tried, and I wanted it to be so beautiful for you."  When the Mother looks at her child's creation she doesn't see that it's sloppy, or that it's wet, or that he probably made a mess during its creation, or that she will have to look at that ugly think for months after he puts it on the refrigerator.  She sees it as beautiful as he intended it to be.  That's how God sees us as we come to him.  I'm not as beautiful as I was when He first gave my body and my soul to me, but I want to give it back to Him as beautiful as I can make it.  Maybe I want this because I am a vain, shallow girl and I like being pretty, or maybe it is because I want other people to see God when they look at me, or maybe it is because I know that when I go before my Father some day, He won't see how people have hurt me and He won't see the pain I've been through- He will see me as I am and He won't see my scars. 

Rabies

When you start naming imaginary babies
And you sound a little crazy
And you act like you have rabies
That’s just hormones and not love

When your knees turn to butter
And your heart is all aflutter
And you can’t control your stutter
Then it’s safe to say you’re not in love

When you start to feel all queasy
And your mood swings aren’t so breezy
And everyone says you’re being cheesy
Then what you’re feeling is not love

When you stop being logical
And your Adonis sounds mythological
Then it’s more than likely possible
That ain’t real and it’s not love

When you wanna make like bunnies
And no one else thinks he’s funny
And your disposition is always sunny
Not to worry, that’s just hormones and it’s not love

And the Award for the Worst Day Ever Goes to....

Last night I dressed in tails, pretended I was on the town.
As long as I can dream, it's hard to slow this swinger down.
So please don't give a thought to me, I'm really doing fine.
You can always find me here, having quite a time.
        -Counting Flowers on the Wall, The Statler Brothers

This song may seem insane, and it sorta, kinda is, and it would almost be relevant, had I remembered it correctly.  The lyrics go "As long as I can dream, it's hard to slow this swinger down."  I remember it as "As long as I can laugh it's hard to slow this swinger down."  As I was telling one of my best friends today, as long as I can laugh I'll be okay.  This might now be the most stellar way of dealing with stressful situations, but it sure beats crying... or losing my temper. 

I suppose this really is a far cry from my worst day ever, although I'd be hard pressed to remember a day that was really so terrible longer than six months later.  In some ways I am remarkably thankful for my lack of long term memory.  Maybe it's a blessing in disguise?  Anyways, I digress.  Today I was reminded how much I love children... and how much I despise irresponsible parents.  I could tell you the specifics of any number of situations- to whichyou would most likely laugh, because that's all I've managed to do- but it would do nothing for my acceptance/forgiveness and so I pass over the opportunity to chastise other peoples parenting styles and instead entertain you with some of my thoughts from the day.

As many of you are aware the theme for VBS (Vacation Bible School) this year is "Panda-mania".  I think this is secretly code for "Pandemonium."  Planning for/actively participating in VBS brings us closer to God by putting us through a little hell.  Listening to 83 children singing off key may be likened to Dante's Purgatorio.  God made Texas to bless people- He gave us 102 degree weather to keep them humble.  Never underestimate the power of VBS volunteer Moms in large numbers to over plan everything and forget the obvious with the best intentions.  Being "not responsible" for my three girls is one of the hardest things I have to do there- especially when I see them and WANT to be caring for them.  Being "responsible" for my boys is rather difficult too as I expect much more from them than any other children.  Oh... and I am never ever EVER signing up to help with Bible Camp again... I hope.

By the way- what on earth were they thinking coming up with the name Pandamania?

My Life as a Zookeeper- The "B" word

"It's all happening at the Zoo.  I do believe it.  I do believe it's true." -Simon and Garfunkle song

Some days I jokingly call myself a zookeeper.  After all, half the children's nicknames are animal names- Bear, Bird, Monkey...  I recorded half the things that the children did in the course of a week I would never lack for material.  This weeks short story happened at dinner time. 

I (the god baby who's name starts with "I"- not me) decided that the time had finally come for her to try and eat G's head. ... ... ... ... Now that you are done laughing (cause, you know you were)... Actually she was just waving around her bean and salsa covered fork.  Poor G, who had the misfortune of sitting next to her, got a considerable amount of bean and cheese and salsa in his hair.  I then told him that he would have to wash it out of his hair or I would start calling him (cue the creepy intro music) BEANZO!!!!  This might have been funny and fairly entertaining if G had not immediately turned to his sister and said, "BEANZO!"  I, who had started the whole trouble in the first place started whining.  I (me) informed G that it was a joke and that she was not the Beanzo, but he was the one covered in Beans.  Somehow during this, R started talking about her godmother, Becky.  Becky = Beanzo, or so the kids thought.  This brought R to angst so I told them that they were not allowed to call R's godmommy, "Beanzo".  Apparently wisdom does not come with age because I failed to see the loophole until it was too late.  Soon every one's godmommy, grandmommy, real mommy, and aunt had been called "Beanzo," leaving almost all the children very upset with me. 

Every so often things gets outlawed in this house- the word "Mango" during Jip's teenage years, John Williams is the Man intro, the Animaniacs theme song, the word "hate", lice, and anything originally said by Goofy.  Today I added a word- the "B" word... Beanzo.  And the moral of the story is, don't interrupt your siblings when they are concocting names to call your godmommy- or better yet, don't let thegabbielady speak... ever.  I'm such a bad influence. 

Maybe I am a zookeeper?

Hips

This was written three weeks ago, just before the Roswell trip.  It makes me laugh and even though I don't think I ever intended to publish it, I felt the world could use a laugh. 

I am very proud of my hips.  They are very lovely.  I may not be be a Mona Lisa and I am a far cry from Aphrodite, but I think my hips are lovely just the same.  As Larry the Cucumber loves his lips, I love my hips. 

Today while walking a happy jaunt down the drive way back to the house, secure in the knowledge that someone would be feeding my cat in my absence, and musing on the possibilities for the future, I considered how very aesthetically pleasing and yet practical my hips were. 

When I carry Karina on my hip I walk very differently than when I am dancing with Rebecca.  When Grish jumps on my back I sometimes wish God had blessed me with broad shoulders instead but I love my hips just the same.  How very lovely they are.  I can stabilize a crying three-year-old one minute and dance a very entertaining cha-cha the next, all the while maintaining the beauty that God gave me.  Perhaps I am not the most beautiful of women but I do have very utilitarian, entertaining, and active hips.  And I'm okay with that.

A year in review... and pictures

On May 27th 2010 I arrived in Texas for what I like to call "permanent living."  That was a year ago and since a year is a long time I figure it would be a good time to reflect on what has transpired over this past year.  Now when I think "a year ago I was..." it will always involve Texas, or coming back to Texas. 

Let's see, I tried a few jobs that I hated (*cough cough* Walmart *cough cough*), and I tried a few jobs that I really liked but that broke my heart (the day care center).  You never realize how attached you are to small people until you have to walk away. 

I lost a few friends, some because we lost touch and others because they seemed a bit touched.  I gained some new ones and God so help me I am going to hold onto them like a vice grip.  There are some things in this life that are worth fighting for and they've fought for me.  I pulled the most awesome prank ever with a guy who has turned out to be one of my best friends.

I tried Internet dating and the best thing I can say about it is that it was an experience and there are many guys out there who are cowards.  For the most part I've been single, even though for most of the past year I had a few interests.  I gave up hope on someone that I should've let go of a long time ago. 

I tried out for the dream job that I spent a year trying to figure out if I still wanted and if so, why.  I rediscovered my love for children and teaching.  I have forgotten my love for staying up late.  I still have not gotten drunk and I still don't have a tattoo, and before anyone asks, I haven't added any more piercings either.  I've realized that there are some people who should never be trusted to act sanely.  Brides are high up on that list (I say with much affection.)  My best friend got married.  I got my second goddaughter and my first nephew (through my best friend).   I didn't go to the ER for anything, yet (*crosses fingers*).  I founded the CWC... accidentally of course. 

I got a second-best-friend and a whole new group of people to jam with. I did not get over my fear of horses, or that every guy in my life will be angry with me and stop speaking to me.  I have managed to get several jobs, not because of who I know but because of who I am.  I spent a year without my brother Danny physically watching over for me.

I mentioned earlier that I tried out for my dream job.  What I haven't mentioned is that I'm still waiting to hear back.  A year ago I'd be freaking out- and I guess I still am- but now I realize that it's only a job and there are more important things, like celebrating a year of Texan independence and continuing to be who God intended me to be.

Being a Good Example, part two: Forgiveness

It's the hardest thing we deal with as Christians.  It keeps us up at night.  It's the thing that we battle with years after we say we've done it.  Cause how could you ever forget little girl who in the first grade pushed you over and told you that you were stupid because you wrote your "C's backwards?  Or your best friend throughout all of Elementary School who one day told you that you weren't cool enough to be her friend?  Or that girl from high school who said she couldn't be friends with you because you weren't "Christian" enough?  Or the boy in college who would not dance with you because you weren't conservative enough.  I ask you- how does one forgive that?

Then again how does anyone ever forgive me?  How do you forgive me for saying what pops into my head?  How do you forgive me for the things I intentionally forget to do?  How do you forgive what I think?  How do you forgive?

When I started writing this I was in Roswell, far and away from my computer.  I learned my lesson.  Never leave home without it.  The second day of the Roswell trip was also the 30th anniversary of the first assassination attempt of Blessed John Paul II.  He was shot in the abdomen by Mehmet Ali Agca.  Agca was restrained by a nun and the Pope was rushed into the Vatican and then the hospital.  Months later, Pope John Paul visited his would be assassin in prison.  They spoke privately for some time and afterwards the Pope said,

"What we talked about will have to remain a secret between him and me. I spoke to him as a brother whom I have pardoned and who has my complete trust.″

When I think of this I am reminded of a poem I wrote in college, "You came to save.  You lived to die.  If You forgave, I guess so can I."  Maybe the whole point of forgiveness is that it isn't easy.  It's something we have to work at and sometimes it is a daily act of moving past the past.  So I ask everyone out there to just let it go.  Everyone has something that is holding them back, keeping them from living their life, and causing them physical pain.  I can't say that I am particularly good at forgiving and forgetting, but I know that if I don't try it will eat me up inside.  I can't speak for everyone else, but perhaps the act of trying will give us the grace to eventually succeed.  Give forgiveness a chance, if for no other reason, than to be a good example.

Being a Good Example: Part One

I love being Catholic.  It really is great.  Except when it's not.  I'm not saying that things would be easier if I were agnostic or an atheist, but particularly during Lent, Advent, Easter, Christmas, Holy Days of Obligation, and Days of Penance, lines to the confessional, lines to Communion, paperwork for sacraments, Church office secretaries and paper work, paper work, paper work, I sometimes wonder how much easier it would be to embrace individual expression of devotion over the "order" of the Church office.  And then I cringe and go back to being a good Catholic, shamed with the thought that I actually thought that again.  Cause really, is it so hard?  I mean you only have to...

* Obey the Ten Commandments
* Follow the Beattitudes
* Recieve the Sacraments regularly
* Pay attention during Mass
* Not ponder how funny a priest looks on a bicycle
* Tithe
* Read the Bible, on your own, in your spare time
* Be charitable to the old lady at the end of the aisle who never stops talking
* Remember the things you gave up for Lent
* Take the hand of the small child who just sneezed in his hand right before the kiss of peace
* Don't take the "I can't hear you- I can't see you" approach to the people who want to "volunteer" your time, treasure, and talent
* Avoid kicking the cat down the stairs (or up the stairs, or across the stairs, or anything involving the cat and the stairs) 

And if that is not enough to ask of a perfectly crazy human being, we are also supposed to emmulate the Life of Christ.  Whew!  It's a work out just to THINK about it.  Honestly, it's enough to make a person who is trying REALLY HARD go stark, raving mad!  And THEN- then they have to go and add another thing to the list of things to do. 

"Preach the Gospel at all times.  When necessary, use words." Saint Francis of Assisi


"They will know we are Christians by our love." John 13:35

"Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age." Matthew 28:11-13

Being Catholic means not only being a good Christian (by following all those rules), but also (and perhaps more importantly) being a good example to others.  For instance, I try to go to Confession every couple months, but some days I go kicking and screaming, dragging my heels, praying that something will get in the way so that I won't feel guilty about not being there.  This is not because I feel self conscious about going or that I particularly mind recalling my sins and promising to do better or even that it takes all that much effort- I just feel that there are other things I'd rather do with my time. I know this is wrong because my time is really His time and therefore our time is all for the great glory of Him. And yet, I sometimes wonder why spending time in a cold, musty broom closet is really a glimpse into eternity?  This is a great example of being a bad example. 
 This brings to my point for the day.  I believe that most sin is not a result of direct defiance to God, but rather of extreme laziness.  

"Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak." Matthew 26:41

I am lazy so I shall not tell the truth.  I am lazy so I shall not rejoice in my suffering.  I am lazy so I shall not go to visit Jesus in Adoration.  I am lazy so I will be distracted during Mass.  I am lazy and so I will not read my Bible today.  I am lazy so I will not engage the old lady at the end of the aisle who probably has no one else to talk to today.  I am lazy so I will not attempt to remember the things that I know I should.  I am lazy so I will forget to volunteer my time, talent, and treasure.  (I won't say that my laziness is to blame for kicking the cat, because really, it takes a great deal of effort to get the cat to hold still anywhere near the stairs.)  I am lazy.  I don't like defining myself as such but I am.  And maybe I'm not the only one. 

My point is that perhaps we should battle our laziness?  During this great season of rejoicing we should temper our laziness and instead do what we are called to do as Christians.  Maybe then I will be reminded of what I'm supposed to be doing instead of wishing I was doing something else.  Maybe if we move towards Christ together, we can carry each other to greater things?  Maybe.  I'm willing to try; how bout you?

This is not a time to rejoice

If this post offends anyone or hurts anyone, please accept my heartfelt apologies. It was not my intention to cause anyone pain. I fully understand that for some people, the war on terror will never be over. We all lost something that September day.

Today is not a day to rejoice.  I realize this is not a popular sentiment right now.  After all, it is the day after Divine Mercy Sunday, Pope John Paul the Great is now Blessed Pope John Paul the Great, and hey, Lent is over, so why not be happy?  This brings me to the other news of the day.  Ten years ago our great nation was attacked by terrorists.  This week, their nefarious leader, Osama bin Mohammed bin Awad bin Laden, was killed.  Finally, there is some justice for all those lives that were lost on September 11, 2001.  Finally, there might be an end to the war on terror.  Finally, people can move on, or can they? 
There is a country song that claims that in order to "forget" one must forgive first, but doing either of those is reassuring that you must "relive and regret."  I believe that it is impossible to forget what happened.  I will never forget where I was when I heard, or remember where I was when it happened.  I will never forget the shock I felt when I realized how many souls had died in agony.  I will never forget the men and women who left for war in the Middle East and their children, my friends, who were left behind.  I will never forget.  


Among my sorrow for the innocent people who died that September day, and for those brave men and women who died fighting for me in that war, I also felt something else.  I felt guilt, for praying for those people that no one was mourning.  I felt guilty for mourning the terrorists.  I could not understand what they had done and I doubt I will ever be able to forgive as Christ would have me, but I felt the pain that a life had been, had lived, and had died, held in the clutches of darkness.  I was thirteen years old that day.  Hardly a child but no where near an adult, I prayed.  I prayed that God would forgive those men who had hurt us because I did not know if we could.  I prayed for anyone who had loved them, especially those who did not understand what had happened.  Surely someone had loved them in their life?  My Mother once said that peace would reign when the mothers of al-qaeda loved their sons more than they hated Americans.  Love can conquer hate.  Forgiveness can conquer pain and regret.   


I prayed when Sadam Hussein was executed and I pray again now.  I realize this is an unpopular sentiment but I hope everyone will forgive me.  There is little doubt in my mind that Osama bin Laden has done little in his life that is praiseworthy.  He was a wicked man who has done wicked things.  I fully agree that there is no painful, disgusting, horrible death that would be too evil for him; hung, drawn, and quartered comes to mind.  I believe in capital punishment and I firmly believe that there is no one else who deserved death more, but still I urge you to pray. 

Vatican spokesman, Fr. Federico Lombardi said, "Faced with the death of a man, a Christian never rejoices, but reflects on the serious responsibility of each and every one of us before God and before man, and hopes and commits himself so that no event be an opportunity for further growth of hatred, but for peace." 
Christ came to teach us to forgive, because forgiveness is not for bin Laden's benefit, but for our own.  That which we forgive we are forgiven and that which we hold onto stays with us forever.  I will never forget what he did but let the past become the past.  Pray for his immortal soul, and try not to get too giddy about the idea of his demise.  Why?  Because  bin Laden was made in the image of God, just like you and I, and God loves him just as much as you and I.  Perhaps this is an unpopular belief, but I feel it is important to say.  (And besides, think how much it would bug him if a bunch of CHRISTIANS prayed for him?) 

Hope and Fear

Hope may be the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and inspires you to do great things and moves you to soar as if you are but a spirit, but it is fear that keeps you from moving, that holds you in place, and reminds you that you are indeed human.  I claim to be no expert on either of these, but perhaps some day I will have the wisdom and age to be able to understand at least one of these.  Of late I have been racking up the experience hours in both of these departments. 

Recently one of my friends was in a horrible car accident and miraculously survived.  Unfortunately for a few hours I knew nothing and all anyone seemed to know was that she had gone to the hospital in an ambulance (University students knowledge of gossip is deplorably lacking).  Consequently I spent many hours in prayer, pacing, being moody, and making a general nuisance of myself to anyone who would listen.  Eventually I got enough of the story to find out she was alive and was recovering, but it took most of my resolve not to hop in Bennie and take off for Florida. 

While I was in California we got a call from my two little brothers' college saying there was a gun man on campus and that all students should barricade themselves in whatever room they could.  Naturally, a certain level of panic followed, which was only exacerbated by the fact that we could not get a hold of one of my brothers.  Before I go any further I would like to point out that they immediately sent out a retraction phone call to everyone who had been called because it was sent in error.  What had happened was that there was a threat against the school and everyone was supposed to keep their eyes open and report any suspicious activity.  Just the same, none of us could get a hold of him.  About an hour later he finally turned his phone back on and allayed our worst fears.  He was in the chapel, praying, and like a good little Catholic boy he had turned his phone off.  Part of me wishes more people could be like him but part of me wishes that he hadn't turned his phone off this particular day.  He was quick to point out that there are worse places to die than praying in the chapel.  I refuse to respond to his comment because that was one of the longest hours of my short life. 

I'd like to say that almost losing these people (in my mind) has given me a whole new perspective on life, and that I now treasure everything so much more, but it hasn't, and that scares me worst of all.  I still go on with my life dictated by fear.  I'm afraid to do something for fear that I will do it wrong.  I'm afraid to not try because maybe I'll do something right.  I still recall those hours with anger and sadness and I fully admit that I'm still a little afraid.  I'm afraid of what could've happened.  I'm afraid of what might happen.  I'm afraid of what will happen, that eventually everyone I love will have to say good-bye.  And yet, I still hope.  I spend much of my time hoping.  I hope that if someone I love goes I will be able to accept it and appreciate it for God's divine will.  I hope that if I am taken that I am ready to go and that I have lived as I should have.  I hope that if my life or the life of someone I love is ever endangered and there is something I could do about it, I have the courage to do what is necessary and not beat myself up about it afterwards.  I hope that I will do as God desires me to and that if I get to heaven I am not alone in there and that God forgives me for every single time I let fear hold me back.