The End, Part I: I Am An Independent, Prideful, Fearful Failure

This school year I enrolled four of the six school aged kids in the local public school. It was not an easy decision. It was a very difficult few weeks. I had to face and admit my own failings and the consequences they have for my children.
busFor the last couple of years I have been on survival mode, just trying to keep from drowning with the responsibility and demands of raising a large family, homeschooling, being pregnant alone with eight other children, the emotional roller coaster of a marriage in crisis, financial struggles, and illnesses.

My whole life I have been the responsible one, a hard worker, a “law abiding citizen” as my father would say. I accomplished a lot on my own, I graduated college in three years, married my high school sweet heart, traveled the country and spent time overseas. I had beautiful baby after beautiful baby, ran my home efficiently even on a very modest budget. I appreciated what I had, and didn’t feel I was missing out on the things I did not have. As the years ticked by I felt God’s blessings more and more. I had a husband I loved and respected; and kind, intelligent children. We often struggled financially but we had a roof over our heads and our bills were always paid even if sometimes late. We did not need to depend on government hand outs, we lived without many luxuries most people consider necessities in order to afford to remain open to life, to keep me at home with the kids and to give our children a quality catholic education. Homeschooling too was a wonderful experience. I loved watching my children grow and discover the world. They enjoyed learning and were children of strong gentle character. I was succeeding. God blessed me with everything; many children, home, health, faith… I was proud of our accomplishments, but they were not a complete picture of our lives.
drownI was overburdened, responsible for too much and often for things I did not control. Complaining was not an option because I was so blessed with all these wonderful things, it would have been ungrateful of me to say it was too hard, too much work. If it needed to be done, I was just going to have to find a way to do it. If I wasn’t the perfect wife, mom, friend, daughter, Christian, I would not be loved, I would not be wanted, I would be abandoned.

This was the dirty little secret no one knew…no one saw…no one except my husband. I was overwhelmed, and scared. Having his own poorly healed wounds too, he knew something had to change but didn’t know what. We knew something wasn’t working in ourselves, each other, and consequently us; but couldn’t understand the why and what. (I won’t talk about my husband here. This is a part of MY side of the story.)

While I was happy with my life and loved my family with all my heart I was not joyful to be around. I was always disappointed with myself, too busy trying to do everything I felt responsible for, too tired to “see” the very people I most wanted to know and please. I avoided people and things that reminded me of the skeletons and ghosts hiding in the closet or might cast light on weakness. Conflict was avoided at all costs because exposure to weakness or fear would mean risking rejection. It was as if not making eye contact with brokenness would keep it from attacking.

Asking for help was painful. It required vulnerability, dependence, and invited criticism. Needing help felt too much like failing. If I couldn’t handle something it meant I wasn’t competent, prudent, grateful, responsible…I wasn’t good enough. My obsession with being able to handle it all on my own was making me exhausted and miserable, but I couldn’t admit it. I couldn’t say it was too much because it would mean I didn’t appreciate what I had. It meant I would have to risk dependence. A shackle from my past was the unhealthy lesson that if I wasn’t perfect, if someone felt as if I needed them or depended on them they would see me as pathetic and weak, they would abandon me. It was not a conscious thought. It was a festering childhood wound that hadn’t healed right.

My needs couldn’t be as important as taking care of my family, being responsible, not burdening others. After all God had given me so much it would be wrong to complain about having too much work or being tired. My difficulties were challenges; other people had to deal with real sufferings. Who was I to say my responsibilities were too heavy to carry?

I was miserable wearing the mask of a super strong successful independent woman. I wanted to be happy, I wanted to be grateful, I wanted to be able to succeed at all the opportunities I was blessed with, especially raising a large family and homeschooling. I appeared on the outside to be succeeding. Deep down inside I knew I was not. This ugly truth crept out in unhealthy ways. I was too proud of an image and too scared to admit failings and these truths were killing me inside.
shatteredThen a bomb went off in my life almost two years ago and everything rapidly began to unravel. Surviving was the only thing that then mattered. While on survival mode I was still refusing to admit needing others (misguided lesson=dependency leads to abandonment); refusing to admit how overwhelmed I was (misguided lesson=not appreciating blessings will have them taken away); and refusing to admit I was failing (pure pride here) I was still digging a whole. A poorly placed whole under my own feet and even worse the feet of my children.

After years of trying to hold it all together my greatest fears were happening anyway and there was nothing I could do but watch it all crumble.

Part II coming soon.

Traveling With Pet Bugs

While driving to drop off three of the kids to camp, my husband opened the window to flick out a beatle that he found on his arm.

Laura (8): Why did you open your window?

Dad (much older): To let out a bug.

Joanna (3): Oh, that was my pet bug.

Dad: We’ll pick him up on the way back.

Joanna: Ya, he wanted to play outside.

Written Voice

Writing is a high. The molding and forming of words to release emotions, thoughts, dreams, pain…it is my outlet, my way of sorting out the manure before it defiles my soul.

For so long I willingly allowed my voice to be muffled. It was of obedience to a God whose ways will always remain beyond my ability to grasp, of necessity to survive and protect those I love most. In patience I have sat in the dark, drowning in perpetual silence. It has come to an end. It has come also to a beginning. A metamorphous took place that I had not understood was happening. At times I am overcome with fear wanting to crawl back into the dried cocoon. In there it was all theory, it was incomplete thoughts, understanding without having to implement, it was scholastic rhetoric, idealism, faith with little works. The cocoon isn’t an option. It was a safe and necessary home, without which death and no opportunity for rebirth would have been the end.

In this new life, the haven I glance back at no longer will provide shelter and transforming grace. It has rightly dried and crumbled. I sit here now, drying my wings, feeling them stiffen with strength. The soft beckoning breeze is calling me to flight. A new freedom, a more full perspective, a deeper understanding, all gifts of willingly accepting the purgatory. Soon, very soon…

Knowing My Worth

Have you ever read the book or seen the movie, The Joy Luck Club? I have not read the book but I am going to make it required summer reading for myself.

I saw the movie in another life time, back when I was young, when I knew I wouldn’t be hurt because I had chosen someone who really loved me. Back when in innocence and arrogance I thought I was loved and treasured. I can relate to too many of the sufferings now. I understand the depth of the pain being told. The movie has always stayed in my head, parts of it playing in my memory through out different events in my life or those I love. One of my favorite quotes in the movie was spoken by An-Mei:

“I tell you the story because I was raised the Chinese way. I was taught to desire nothing, to swallow other people’s misery, and to eat my own bitterness. And even though I taught my daughter the opposite, still she came out the same way. Maybe it is because she was born to me and she was born a girl, and I was born to my mother and I was born a girl, all of us like stairs, one step after another, going up, going down, but always going the same way. No, this cannot be, this not knowing what you’re worth, this not begin with you. My mother not know her worth until too late – too late for her, but not for me. Now we will see if not too late for you, hmm?”

It is not to late for me, tonight I remembered my worth.

Go watch or read or both…

“The heart is the place of decision, deeper than our psychic drives.”

2563 The heart is the dwelling-place where I am, where I live; according to the Semitic or Biblical expression, the heart is the place “to which I withdraw.” The heart is our hidden center, beyond the grasp of our reason and of others; only the Spirit of God can fathom the human heart and know it fully. The heart is the place of decision, deeper than our psychic drives. It is the place of truth, where we choose life or death. It is the place of encounter, because as image of God we live in relation: it is the place of covenant.

Catechism of the Catholic Church

What’s in Your Trunk

We downsized in the goat department this weekend from four to two goats. The goats didn’t really like the van ride but the kids thought it was funny. Please excuse my partially clothed Maggie…she has been into the “stripping off everything” stage and we are all tired of fighting with her about it.

goats-in-trunk

Our Faith Washing Machines

The unknown filter in my washer featured a couple of posts ago got me thinking about faith and the things that we try to wash through it.

Our faith washer is used to make sense of our lives, to straighten things out, make them clean and wearable. We bring to it our load smelly and stinky and let faith wash us clean rinsing away all the junk we accumulated living life and following our own will.
laundrywomanUnfortunately, we often throw things into the machine that really should be tossed out. Of course the obvious red crayon makes a mess, but we recognize that and learn our lesson right away. But what about the smaller things, less colorful and noticeable? We assume that since those things seem to have come out clean with our laundry or were rinsed away easily enough it is okay to keep them in our pockets. Since the machine seemed to handle it we become lax in our sorting and more and more junk is thrown in the load and yet we still expect our laundry to come out clean.

What we don’t always understand is that there is a filter in the machine that is collecting the junk and after time those little things we assumed were washing away or coming out clean build up and our washers start to show evidence of the clogging effect even if we fail to recognize the association.

We notice the machine seems to be taking longer to give us what we want (clean soul laundry) and when the cycle completes the clothes just don’t look, feel, or smell as clean as we once remember. We become dissatisfied. We start to question the effectiveness of the machine in handling our load.

Eventually the machine finally can no longer function properly with all the junk we unknowingly built up in the internal filter. We now have several options.

1-   Trash it:  We can throw the machine out deciding it is pointless and we must have incorrectly remembered it as once working for us. We are then covered in our own filth but figure it is what life dealt us so we settle on a dirty life. At first we are even happy for it seems to lighten our load with nothing to have to wash anymore. We are indignant when it is suggested we may feel better if we tried using a machine again and accuse the washer user of unfairly judging us. After all we did give the washer a try it just didn’t work for us. Of course we need a new crowd to hang out with, other non washer users, this way we don’t have to notice how dirty we actually are becoming. This life wrought with disease eventually will destroy us.
washer_replacer-300x2612-  Replace it:  We can replace it. We seek out other washer replacers who support us as they too are wanting a new machine. We are thrilled with the capabilities of the new machine and convince ourselves our old one never worked this well. Since we don’t understand why the other machine stopped working and we still have the same laundry habits this new machine eventually doesn’t work for us either. From machine to machine we go never really understanding why none of them work well for us or last. We think we understand all about the machine for having tried it, but we really don’t know all the cool features or how the machine runs because we never open it up, we never studied it before moving on to the next one. We may even eventually opt for number one, trash it.

3-  Seek Solutions -Read the owner’s manual, research and/or call an expert:  The Bible manual may provide the answer as it explains about filters and what is acceptable to bring to the machine. Research may explain troubling aspects of the manual or give relatable examples of the problem to help us more clearly understand. If we struggle with the interpretation of the manual, and can’t seem to find clarity with research, we may call in help.
repairIf competant and if we give them full access to our machine and enough time the expert will point out the truth filter, explain its importance, and show us how to properly maintain the machine and clean the filter so that it continues to work well. We may even learn unrelated things like what detergent works best in our machine cleaning our laundry even better then before the filter clogged.

Caution:  Some self proclaimed experts may lead us astray and tell us it is a lost cause, replace it; or worse may have an agenda of their own and charge us more then we can afford for the repair. A second opinion won’t hurt unless we are really only searching for an excuse to do what we feel like trying; either option 1 or 2, so as to not have to put forth effort in the reading, research or maintenance work necessary in option 3.

Reminder: If our washer is slowing down, not cleaning as well as we would like, or has just quit working for us, we should look deep into the machine. We may find a filter of truth catching those little habits, thoughts, baggage, sins,… that just don’t wash and need to be cleaned out and diligently sorted out of our life permanently to keep our faith running smooth and our laundry clean.

Warranty:  A misinterpretation of the manual or an incompetent expert may cause further damage to the machine, if this happens it isn’t too late to call the ultimate repair man, the author of the manual, the creator of all machines to help us get things fixed and washing well. No job to big or small. All parts covered.

Guarantee: If we chose option one or two and regret it that same repair guy
Untitled-6 will deep clean us if needed, teach us how the machine is built and set us up with our original machine now restored. We may even become repairmen ourselves. No limitations and but the guarantee expires upon death.

Rebate: The analogy works for marriage too.

Wednesday Night Mass

candle-200x300Shortly after we moved here four years ago we began to attend Mass on Wednesday evenings. It was an incredible blessing. There was something so special about sitting in the church surrounded by many of the people that were essentially the core of the church ministries. It occurred to me one evening sitting there with my husband and children that we were part of the church’s future. We were going to be the next generation to help fill the positions in the ministries that serve the community. The idea scared and excited me all at the same time.

When chaos entered our lives and my husband left, Wednesday night Mass did too. It was too painful to sit and watch the older couples I once thought we would become hold hands and pray together. The reminder of the empty space in the pew and our family was too much for me.

Last summer the kids and I went to daily Mass while a visiting priest was here and able to offer the opportunity. The effect of those Masses profoundly changed me. In many ways it was a peak of spiritual battle for my family and I already see just how important it was for the children and I to take part in the blessing. Even though daily Mass was positively changing my family I still couldn’t bare the idea of going to Wednesday night Mass without my husband. Until Father Arnaldo returns this spring we won’t have daily Mass and I have become more and more aware that I need more time in His presence then just Sundays.

Last Wednesday with what I can only assume was the Holy Spirit’s prompting I decided to symbolically reclaim my family’s role in the future of the church and take back a bit of my life that satan tried to destroy. We went to Wednesday night Mass. It was wonderful even if the babies made it exhausting.  It was a very real way to tell evil it wasn’t going to take the faith of myself or of my children in its attempt to destroy our family. Later that night I told a friend my thoughts about the Mass situation and the wanting to still have my kids know they were the next generation the church was depending on.

On Saturday the babies were very fussy and a couple of the kids were complaining of stomach aches. I told the children we were not going to be able to make it to Mass on Sunday. They were disappointed and Paul told me he had been asked to light a candle during Mass (he couldn’t remember why and I didn’t even know he had been asked). I felt bad, it seemed important to him and he has been especially struggling lately with feelings of loss. While I would miss it, I was determined to somehow get him there. My wonderful older children came to the rescue of their brother. Lucas and Amelia both said they had no problem being dropped off at church so I could stay home with the wee ones and Paul could still light his candle.

Sunday morning I woke up to a lot of laughing and running around.  If the kids felt well enough for all that raucous then they were well enough to attend Mass. So off we all went. Woohoo! Turns out that Sunday was the ministry fair. During Mass a candle was lit for the past members who served in church ministries by one of the original members of the parish. A second candle was let by a current ministry member for those serving now. Then, by name, my son Paul was called to the alter to light the candle representing the “next generation” to serve in the ministries.

Of course I cried.

God is good!

Washer Repair

washer-150x150I had been slacking on laundry for three days. With nine kids that is a very long time. The laundry pile was taking over the house. With much grumbling (just one of those days) I started the first load. Half way through my first load in the washer the machine started to beep. The dreaded error code message was flashing. With the aid of the Use and Care Guide I determined the cause to be the machine was not draining.

Step One:Think to self, hmm…this is going to be messy.
1) Detach the hose leading from the drain to the machine.
2) Take it outside and flushed it out with the hose.
3) With clean hose in hand take now muddy self back inside , reattach hose, and turned the machine on again.
4) Nurse baby to sleep.

Ten minutes later…error code again. Hmm…time to call dad (better known as grandpa in this home).

Step Two:Dad suggests flushing the drain pipe with the hose. Hmm…really going to be messy now.
1)Assign son one to turning the spigot on and off.
2)Assign son two to stand in the backdoor way and relay to son one when mom says to turn said spigot on and off.
3)Be genuinely surprised and pleased the laundry room isn’t flooded when the task is complete.
4) Turn machine on and test. The machine seemed to be running.

Step Three: Occurs to self that if the hose leading from the machine to the drain pipe was gross, and the drain pipe was gross then the drain hose in the machine is probably gross too.
1) Google machine and drain issues.filter_housing-150x150
2) Make mental note that according to do it your self help site the pump isn’t hard to replace. You never know…
3) Discover that there is a filter in the machine.
4) Read how to open machine and access said filter.
5) Make hungry kids food.

The machine completed the first load without further problems. Woohoo.

Step Four: Gather a few towels, screw driver, courage and determination.

filter_junk-150x1501)
Open bottom of machine and unscrew filter housing.
2) Become disgusted at what is there. 
3)
Call son one so he can share in the disgust find.
4) Take pictures for blogging. 🙂
5)
Clean filter, replace, close machine.
6) Change stinky accident done by two year old.
7)  Be very glad machine is working because of #6 above

Thank you God for the all the blessings that allowed for the happy moment(electricity and the miracles keeping it on, grandpa,  kids with dirty clothes, still up internet connection, etc.).

Step Five: Blog story.
   1) Down load pictures and type.
   2) Start the third load of laundry. 🙂