Whew.  Just found this in my drafts folder.  I'd forgotten all about it!  Oddly enough, another person recently lamented the same problem, so I think it's due to be published.  

A week or so ago, a friend of mine messaged me about a concerning trend she regarding the spate of divorces we were experiencing amongst our group of friends (of which mine is included). She vocalized my sentiments which was a complete surprise!  I thought I was taking particular issue with the trend on account of my personal situation.

She said, "I think some well-meaning ladies are a bit too eager to encourage others to leave their husbands or file for divorce... it makes me nervous how readily it is recommended."

See, our group of friends were venting about marital issues and instead of encouraging one another to seek counseling or calm reflection away from the immediate anger of a situation, the rallying cry was "Leave him, you'll be better / safer / happier without him."

It's not like these women were complaining of being beaten with 2x4s every night or of being emotionally manipulated to the point of mental breakdown.  It's not even as though the complaints ranged from neglect of children or blowing off financial responsibilities.  So why, then, would we be encouraging separation?  

Divorce and separation should not be so cavalierly recommended as an option.  This coming from a woman who is currently awaiting her own annulment decree, remember.  But living in this throwaway culture of ME ME ME, it begins to make sense why the common response seems to be a thoughtless "Leave him, you'll be better off alone."

Because when you're not attached, you have no responsibility to another person.  And if children are involved, you can have a built-in excuse to shirk responsibility to them as well.  Take my ex, for example.  He liked the idea of being a dad (and having little mini-Johns to idolize him), but when he found out there was more to it than that, he recoiled.  When we discussed the terms of childcare upon separation, I didn't even have to fight him for custody.  He handed it over willingly because it was what he wanted all along - the freedom to be a part-time parent.  He loves them, sure, but on his time and terms. 

On weekends he doesn't have the kids, they don't hear from him.  No "Hey, how are the kids doing?" and no calls at bedtime to see how their day went.  Even in the midst of poor Nate being incredibly ill, there were crickets abounding.  The truth of the matter is that John cares; I know he does.  But he cares on the clock.  Once he's "off the clock," the kids are no longer his to worry about.

That problem of selfishness (because make no mistake... that's selfishness) pervades our culture. It's why children are seen as obstacles to happiness rather than joys in and of themselves. Hence abortion, hence massive debt, hence euthanasia.  Anything or anyone standing in the way of YOUR personal happiness is nothing more than a string needing to be snipped.  

And therein lies the breakdown of society.  We're so focused on doing what we want when we want to that the consequences are ignored entirely.  "I want to have sex free from consequence" and boom, abortion.  "I want the same fancy car my neighbor has!" and boom, credit card debt.  "I want to go on a trip to find myself" and boom, more debt.  "I want to be able to go out and see my friends whenever I want without feeling guilty that my spouse is home with the kids alone" and boom, divorce.  

Obviously this is an oversimplification of problems that have a myriad of causes, but "Me" Culture is a driving force behind this spate of careless advice.  "You do you" or "It's okay to put yourself first" is offered like some sort of psychological manna from heaven when really, when put into context, it actually means "It's okay to ignore your responsibilities and ignore the pain you're causing other people for no purpose other than your own temporary gain."

*Sigh*

It's just sad that this is the sort of advice that's just being handed out like candy by people who simply don't have the experience or the wisdom to know better.  I will always be an advocate for marriage and spousal unity, but it seems my voice (and those like it) are getting increasingly swallowed up by the throngs calling for pity-parties and irresponsibility.  

I think that's why it was especially good to hear from this particular friend.  It's also why I'm posting about it (finally... months later).  It let me know that while my voice is tiny, it's not alone.  That really does make all the difference.  <3

Today marks the start of the most bittersweet week of the year for me.  I'd say my heart is caught between crushing grief and appreciative joy, but that's not true.  I've been struggling hard against anxiety and anger the last few weeks, and since this week leads up to the culmination of those emotions, I'm more upset than I am happy.  I don't actually feel happy at all.

Myla's anniversary is this week.  My niece's 10th birthday is today.  Nate's birthday is Friday.  His party is Saturday.  And this weekend marks the last that I won't have to send him off with Vince to his father.  

I've gotten so much flack for planning Nate's party late this year.  People are complaining that it's inconvenient, or they have other plans, or I should've been more proactive about finding a better venue.  The truth of the matter is I probably SHOULD have done all of those things.  The problem, however, is that I couldn't.  

I physically couldn't bring myself to make any plans for Nathan's 1st birthday party, because instead of it being the celebration it should be, in my mind, it's simply marking the fact that I will have to give him up every other weekend to the man-child who didn't even want him to begin with.  To the person who actively made my pregnancy with Nathan so incredibly hard.  To the person who frankly doesn't deserve either of the children I've given him. ​

Every time I tried to think about a party for Nate, my heart would shatter.  The fact that I was able to put anything together at all is a miracle, because each decoration I purchased, each favor I checked out and each dessert I ordered was like a punch to the gut.  I didn't want to be celebrating the end of my weekends with Nate, but that's precisely what it felt like I was doing, and it made me so incredibly angry because yet again, the selfish, irresponsibility of John has negatively impacted me.  Not him, because he bears no consequences for his immaturity.  As usual, I'm the one who bears the burden of loss.

But no one else recognizes that.  To them, it appears I'm just an unorganized mother who left the birthday details until the last minute.  

On top of that, Myla's anniversary is Wednesday.  I was in Babies R Us this past weekend and I was assaulted with sadness that I wasn't buying cute little dresses for Myla, who would be 2 years old by now.  Instead, I'm "celebrating" her 3 year anniversary of becoming a saint.  And again, no one in the world cares about this loss but me.  She was never anything more than a frustrating speed bump for John and to the rest of the world, not even a clump of cells.  She was nothing, and that hurts, too, because my daughter was not "nothing."  She will never be "nothing."  But because the rest of the world can't stomach the taboo of miscarriage, she will remain tucked away in the "nothing" category meaning my feelings and grief and frustration are meaningless and unwelcome.  

​But I'm struggling SO HARD to recognize that there are blessings here.  Myla's a saint, after all. That's all a mother can truly wish for her children.  And Nathan is a year old.  My miracle child is a year old.  I was blessed with newborn smiles, tottering first steps, messy spaghetti faces, coos, giggles, and milestones that were denied to me for so long.  What's more, I have a year's worth of memories shared between brothers with a lifetime more to come.  Seeing how much Vincent and Nathan love each other... there is no greater joy for me than that.  There really isn't.  My heart overflows with gratitude when I see them play together.  God is good.  Life is terribly, terribly hard, but God is so, so good.  

So here I am.  This week is already proving incredibly difficult.  There are moments I feel as though I can't breathe from the anxiety.  But there are also moments in which I feel my heart gain traction over my thoughts as it recognizes the silver linings God has placed amongst the storm clouds.  

St. Myla Therese, pray for your momma.  Pray for your brothers.  Pray for your wayward father. Ask the Blessed Mother to get me through this week.  Love you, sweetie.  

My younger sister, Maria, is a much better person than I am.  She always has been.  She's got our grandfather's patient gentleness.  So when she chided me for not calling John to wish him a happy Father's Day, I wasn't altogether surprised.  

However, I WAS surprised by the other folks who went out of their way to remind me that Father's Day was coming and I should make every effort to let John know how appreciated and valued he is as the father of my children.

Funny - where were ANY of these people as Mother's Day approached?  'Cause this was the pathetic excuse for a message I got- by text- after dinner... an afterthought so he could say he messaged me should someone ask what he did. 

After long debate with who, exactly?  And how was there even a debate?  I guess he considers "better judgement" to be not acknowledging me in any way (which is likely given that's his typical MO anyway - Mother's Day or otherwise).  

And the half-assed apology at the end is nothing more than his attempt to alleviate responsibility for not having said something sooner.  The entire message is a train-wreck from start to finish.  A simple "Happy Mother's Day" would've saved everyone an awful lot of eye-twitching.  But apparently even acknowledging that I'm a good mother is not something he's capable of doing without insult.  

So when these folks kept bringing up Father's Day and cautioning me to coddle him despite his complete and utter selfish, destructive and thoughtless actions over the last year (not just regarding me, but the boys as well), it was all I could do not to scream.

I didn't need them telling me I should do something to acknowledge him as their father.  Ya know why?  Because I'm not a terrible person.  I recognize that it's not actually "better judgement" to ignore, or worse, insult him on a day meant to celebrate him.  

So I did the same thing I did last year - RIGHT AFTER the whole divorce thing blew up.  No one was telling me to remember John then because no one really knew about the divorce.  I didn't need anyone telling me how NOT to be a self-centered, arrogant jerk.  I didn't need anyone saying what they all seem to think they need to say now (yet suspiciously NOT to John).  

Just like last year, I got some craft stuff together and helped Vincent make something for his father.  Last year it was a coloring book filled with prompts like "I love Daddy because..." where Vince would fill in the sentence and draw a corresponding picture.  That thing took a full MONTH to complete.  This year, I dressed both boys up and got pictures.  With the pictures, I had Vincent paint and glue together a plaque for him (and you can imagine the thoroughly entertaining mess the paint made).

Just like in years past, I helped Vincent (and now Nathan) put together something for their father (and Pop).  I took an active role in TEACHING my sons that their father is someone worthy of respect and appreciation.  I taught them (and will continue to teach them) that it's important to set aside time for the people they love by making thoughtful gifts.  

And while it might not seem like a big project, it probably took us about 6 hours over the course of two days to finish painting these suckers.  Vince was especially proud of his Minecraft Creeper face.  Can't say I blame him.  It came out mighty fine.  Ha ha.  

Anyway, the point is, I didn't need any of those people reminding me to be a decent person.  I'm more than capable of that, myself.  And on top off this gift, I also allowed him to take both boys overnight so he'd have them all day Sunday.  I drove all the way down to Ocean City (and back) so he and his family could enjoy them for Father's Day.

So did I send him a pathetic, passive-aggressive message on Father's Day via text message like he sent to me for Mother's Day?  No.  Because I never was, nor will I ever be, that sort of person. My children need to learn what "Honor Thy Father" means, and it's my job to teach them.  

And so I do, and so I shall.  Reminders from the peanut gallery are unnecessary.

Because I am resolved to give what is necessary... not what is deserved.  

I was talking to a friend of mine last night.  He's happily married (going on 6 years) and has two children with his wonderful wife (both friends of mine from college).  

Anyhow, he was asking about Nate, my 7 month old.  Poor kid has been feverish the last few days and things had taken a nasty turn yesterday morning.  He asked if John was sticking around to help out with Nathan because of how bad his fever was.  

I was actually confused by the question.  Why would John stick around?  I could handle Nathan well enough on my own.  

He explained, "No, I'm not implying you can't take care of Nate.  I'm saying that if he were my son, I'd stick around to help out because I'd want to do what I could to make things better."

I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Meh.  He probably doesn't think there's anything left for him to do and he did bring the Motrin I asked for."

He then said, "Is he at least coming early tomorrow?"

I actually laughed out loud and said, "No.  There is absolutely zero chance he'll be here early."

Again, I was confused by the question.  Why would John come early when I could take care of Nate?

However, at 3AM it hit me why my friend had been so appalled that John shirked his responsibilities in such a manner.  Somewhere in between Nate puking all over the bed, floor, me, the cat (sorry Lucy) and waking up Vince with his inconsolable sobbing, I could've used a hand (or 10).  Having not slept and struggling to properly care for this poor, sweet baby who couldn't get comfortable was just not working out well for anyone, Vincent included.  

Had John actually recognized that his place was with his family, he would have been able to put Vincent back to bed, help clean the mess, possibly soothe the baby while I cleaned the mess, or any number of things.  But John doesn't view family as a priority unless it's his "turn" to do so. 

Problem is, parenting is not babysitting, but that's precisely how John has always treated it.  It's infuriating, because you cannot cut up parenting like that.  It's not always a 50/50 thing, but he nickels and dimes and will hold grudges until the field is made equal in his mind.  

And stupid me, it never occurred to me just how incredibly asnine this has been.  So many times in the past I've simply made excuses for him as to why it was okay to treat things in this manner.  "Oh, he just wants to take Vince to play basketball and it'll be good bonding for them."  "Oh, John has a dodgeball game to attend, I'll watch Vince, no problem."  And when I'd suggest doing things together as a family, I'd always go out of my way to understand why he just couldn't do them.  "Oh, he must be tired from working all week" (COMPLETELY ignoring the fact that I'd been doing the same), or "Oh, he hates being outside in the heat, so it's okay that he skips out on the Children's Garden this time..."

My God, it's like I had Stockholm Syndrome.  I made excuses and extended sympathy instead of calling him out for his selfish, juvenile behavior.  Worse, I WAS STILL DOING IT!  

So when he came over the other morning, I ripped into him.  He was taken aback and angry with me for blowing up the way I did (and in truth, I probably could've come up with a more diplomatic way of addressing the situation).  That being said, I frankly didn't care.  

Because ya know what his response was to me?  Complaints.  About how tired HE is and how hard it is from HIM to travel back and forth.  About how hard juggling work and parenting responsibilities is for HIM.

Oh shut your face.  

He's seriously so far out of touch with reality that I'm amazed he's made it this far in life.  

Guess even Stockholm Syndrome has its limits once you realize what's actually going on.

Busted Halo did a wonderful video that's been going viral along the Christian blogosphere.  I found it through Michelle at Liturgical Time.  You, too, can see it if you follow her link.

Anyway, for as much as I enjoyed the video (and I did - especially the music!), I was bummed they left out Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday.  I mean, I understand they're not considered "as important" as the other days of Holy Week, but they're still part of Holy Week and deserve at least an honorable mention, right?

Trying to view Holy Week as only Palm Sunday and the Triduum is like viewing a puzzle with several missing pieces.  Sure, you can probably make out what the picture's supposed to be, but you miss details and information that make the image clearer and more beautiful.

Monday was the cleansing of the Temple - it's what put the Sanhedrin on high alert since the Romans (now present in higher numbers in the city to keep the peace during Passover) saw Christ not only messing with the Jewish folks, but all the Gentiles who gathered in the court of the Temple to exchange goods / services.

Tuesday was full of parables and prophecy. Tuesday was, in my opinion, the day that the Pharisees finally decided that Jesus MUST be dealt with before the week's end (due to the Render Unto Caesar response). This was when they finally realized they'd never get the best of Him, and had to find a way to kill Him.

Wednesday was the day we remember Judas' actual betrayal. It's also when Christ's death / burial was predicted through the actions of the woman with the perfume.

Each day does, after all, bring us one step closer to the Foot of the Cross.  Monday reminds us that we must focus on spirituality and a proper last minute cleansing of our own temples (bodies) so we are ready to accept the Sacrifice of Christ.  Tuesday, cautions us to always be ready for the return of Jesus lest we be caught unprepared.  Wednesday... it's like our last moment during Lent to anoint Jesus with our humble offerings - the charitable acts, fasting, and mortifications completed throughout Lent.

Those three days are of such importance. I wish Broken Halo had mentioned something about them. But ah well... there's only so much you can do in 2 minutes, and they certainly picked the highlights! 

​

I can understand why this might be in the rubrics, but I wish it wasn't explained away as "Good Friday is more important than the Annunciation."

The Annunciation celebrates a deeper truth than Angel Gabriel giving Mary the heads up about Jesus; it celebrates the Incarnation which was a direct result of Mary's Fiat.  Christ became incarnate specifically so Good Friday could happen which is why having the Annunciation fall on Good Friday is so poetic.

Folks are always so surprised when the Feast of the Annunciation rolls around every year.  After all, it always falls during Lent, and who wants to think about Baby Jesus when they're focusing on the Crucified Christ?

Sometimes, it's very hard for us to reconcile that those two Persons are, in fact, the same.  And yet, it is true.  Christ became incarnate within Mary precisely so He could grow up to meet the Cross on Calvary.  Thus, the Annunciation (also celebrating the Incarnation) is inextricably linked to Lent.  We would do well to remember in our meditations the great Sacrifice that began with this very Feast.  

Mary's Passion, too, began here.  After all, when she consented to bear God within her, she wasn't just consenting to become a mother in a way she didn't understand.  She was also consenting to the immense suffering she knew would come with such a request.  While she may not have known her Beloved Son would be so cruelly murdered, I have little doubt she understood that He'd be the Sacrifice which would ransom humanity.  

Indeed, we know Our Lady was raised in the Temple.  She would have known the Old Testament scriptures through and through.  In fact, she is many times pictured with scrolls or kneeling / standing behind a pulpit with prayer meditations.  Thus, because of her intimate knowledge of Scripture (the non-incarnate Word of God), it would be easy to surmise that she had a pretty good idea that once incarnate, the Word would fulfill the many passages that prophesied His Passion and Death.

This connection is one of the reasons I love John William Waterhouse's painting of the Annunciation so much:

Here we see Our Lady on a prayer rug with the Scripture at her left.  Angel Gabriel approaches, but instead of being dressed in a flowing white robe with golden wings, we see him in purple!

Purple, folks... the color of both Advent and Lent (keenly joined thematically through the Annunciation).  Purple, as I always tell my students, is the color of sacrifice.  Why?  Because way back when, the dye for making that color was so expensive that only the very rich could afford it. Hence why the Romans were always dressed in purple - to signify their power.  

To scrimp and save for such a color would require intense sacrifice.  This is why purple has historically been reserved for (and indicative of) royalty.  It's also why the Church chose to utilize this color for Advent and Lent, our times of penitence through sacrifice.  

Anyway, Angel Gabriel isn't just bringing Mary joyous tidings of Divine Motherhood.  Instead, he is bearing such awesome news with equally awesome humility as the glorious honor is an equally heartbreaking burden.  (***Fun Note: In the Jewish language, the word "honor" is "kabad/kabed" which actually translates to something akin to "glorify and burden." So thinking back to the 10 Commandments the Jews were given, #4 - Honor thy father and mother - takes on a whole new meaning.  I detailed how Jesus could possibly reconcile these two through His treatment of Our Lady here.***)

Waterhouse's stunning portrayal of Our Lady is just so incredible.  She has her hand over her heart, her other hand on her head, and this look of gentle contemplation on her face.  This must be the moment just before her "Fiat."  She's processing what Angel Gabriel has said, and Gabriel, along with all of Heaven, awaits her response with bated breath.  

Will she take up the obedience that Eve let fall?  Will she consent to hand her very body and soul to God for the Salvation of humanity?  

And with that glorious, humble response, this heavenly messenger no doubt fell to his knees in adoration as the Holy Spirit overshadowed her, enabling Christ to become incarnate within her sacred womb, the first tabernacle of His True Presence:

In Filippino's painting, we even see a cross that seems to take form within her robe over her womb as if signifying Christ's incarnation.  Again, she is surrounded by books and the red of martyrdom as if again hinting towards her own Passion.  What a beautiful, humbling Feast.  So yes, it has its place in Lent (and not just because it falls 9 months before Christmas).

***Also, another fun aside, in Waterhouse's painting, there is a spindle and distaff of yarn next to Our Lady.  Symbolically, the spindle and distaff represent the present life and the spiritual life. The spindle, ever spinning, is indicative of life on earth while the distaff moves up to remind us of the heavenly plane.  I can't be sure, but I can't help but wonder if Waterhouse wasn't suggesting that Our Lady is the pure white thread connecting humanity (through her Fiat) to Heaven.

I really do love me some Sacred Art.  

This photo showed up in my Facebook feed courtesy of their "Share a Memory" feature.  I laughed when I saw it because I had been thinking how nice it'd be to leave the winter winds and head for the Caribbean (where this picture was taken).  So there I am sitting at my computer desk looking at myself looking back at me with Norah Jones' "Come Away With Me" on repeat in my head.  

Oh Gina... how I'd love to go run around on Bahamian beach at night with you!  Unfortunately, I won't have money or vacation time to do that for quite a while!  And that's okay.  We'll figure something out, you and I.  We always do.  Summer's almost here, after all.  We won't have to travel too far for sunshine and sand!

Anyway, I shared the photo to Facebook with a similar musing.  One of my fellow teacher-friends messaged me and said something along the lines of, "Gina, you're so beautiful in that picture. John's such a fool for walking away."

I know she was trying to be helpful, but my first thought was, "You think he left because he thought I wasn't pretty enough?!"

I recognize how silly that thought is, mind you, but that's how I first read it.  It frustrated me, because it almost negates the fact that he didn't just walk away from me.  He walked away from our family.  Sure he still sees the kids, but he's no longer the presence he once was and he certainly won't be the presence for Nate that he was for Vince.  It was never about walking away from me - it was about walking away from US.  And by us, I mean the boys and I, and I mean John and I.  US as in family and US as in married couple.  

All that I gave up and pushed aside, and this friend thinks he walked away because John didn't recognize how pretty I am?  *Shakes head*  Trust me, folks, it runs much more deeply than physical attractiveness.  John's decision to walk away has much more to do with immaturity and selfishness than it does my looks.  I could be a bombshell walking around topless carrying craft beer and he still would have complained that I wasn't good enough.  My looks had nothing to do with it.  Me being a bombshell and carrying craft beers wouldn't have helped him recapture his 20s.  It certainly wouldn't have fixed his frustrations with friends and family.  It wouldn't have helped his lack of fulfillment with work, and no... it wouldn't have helped him recognize the depth of his vocational calling.  Again, my looks had very little to do with John's decision to chase after the unicorn of a "perfect marriage."  Heck, *I* had very little to do with John's decision. 

After all, I did all the things a good wife is supposed to do.  

• I made a concerted effort to learn about his various passions - poker, movies, music, wrestling, MMA, and yes, even dodgeball.  Not once did he ever show an interest in things that were important to me.  Instead, he'd belittle my interests as pointless, stupid, or boring.
• I welcomed his friends as my own and went out of my way to get to know them and love them.  John couldn't tell you the first thing about my friends because he never cared to make any effort to include them in his life.  Quite the opposite, in fact.
• I took every opportunity I could to make time for his side of the family while balancing time with my own.  Him?  Yeah... let's not even go there.
• After my miscarriage, he treated me SO horribly that I actually began to question my own sanity.  I carried such a terrible, lonely grief - completely alone - and when he finally had proof that I wasn't making it all up, I didn't lord it over him or make him feel bad.  Instead, I spent those long, crushing months trying to understand HIS feelings and tip toe around HIS outbursts so that when he did finally recognize the truth, he didn't have to feel ashamed or embarrassed by a (well-deserved) "I told you so."
• During my treatment for cervical cancer, he wasn't there.  Didn't ask questions, didn't want to be bothered with the details, and actually guilted me into coming to work the day of my procedure so he could have me explain re-certification procedures that I'd put into place before leaving that business to work for the Archdiocese.  I never once made him feel guilty for these things.  Instead, I again shouldered it ALL on my own, chalking it up to him being uncomfortable having serious conversations.  I didn't want to press him for support because he frankly couldn't handle himself let alone me.  So as usual, I shoved my own emotions aside so he could work through his.
• Kids.  He was supposedly so worried about finances and whatnot that he didn't want to be saddled with another one after Vince.  Though this nearly destroyed the very life of my soul, I bowed my head and trudged on under the weight of that cross because he was my husband and I was willing to sacrifice even my most precious dream to keep our family intact. 
• For all the movies, games, tournaments, etc that he's involved himself in over the past decade, I've supported him whole-heartedly.  I've cooked for crews, edited plotlines, taken photos of special events, and made sure I was with Vince so he could focus on other things. I never called to complain of his absence (though there were times I'd call to make sure he was still alive because, ya know... he can't communicate).  I wasn't a nagging wife who felt insecure if he wasn't beside me all the time.  

So yeah.  I gave, and gave, and gave, and at the end of the day, none of it was good enough for John who STILL believes that I didn't do enough or try enough to make him happy.  The truth is, he's simply projecting his failures onto me.  He has failed at being a husband on so many levels and in so many impressively careless ways that it's a miracle this marriage lasted long enough to create Nathan.  It wasn't a miracle, though.  It was my patience.  It was my rock-solid faith in the Sacrament of Marriage.  It was my trust in God's Plan, even at my own expense.  It was my pride... the pride that blinded me to the fact that the marriage I fought to save never existed to begin with.  

So no.  That picture up there?  Yeah, it's a nice one.  But me looking nice is not what makes it a shame that John walked out.  John took it while we were on vacation in the Bahamas.  However, John didn't take it because he thought I looked particularly nice (a courtesy, by the way, he has never paid me - not even on the day we married).  He took it because I asked him to.  I was walking towards the water, and I was so happy and adventurous that I wanted a memento of it.
I wanted to be able to look back and see the joy and rush of romance as I thought on the memory of that night.  

In truth, I can see that plainly on my face.  I was right to ask him to snap this shot.  But John wouldn't have seen it.  He probably still wouldn't see it.  The sad truth is, John has never seen me for who I am.  He will never appreciate who I am nor what I've done for him.  While I strove to recognize even the smallest things he did (because I am forever the optimist and will cling to any semblance of good in a person), he refused to acknowledge anything but the worst in me.

So this picture - it wasn't for John.  Not then, and not now.  It was and is for me.  This beautiful young woman still exists inside me, and eventually, there will be someone who recognizes, knows, and appreciates her.  Not just part of her.  Not just the imagined potential of her.  Just HER.  And that will be enough.

I was really touched by the amount of people who wrote in asking about Vince.  Some of you were concerned that I hadn't updated in a while, so here I am!  This update is for you.

However, it's also an update for all those parents who, like me, had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad SERIES of days.  This entry is proof that all those Alexander-esque days are but embers of ash from which things like THIS arise:

That's right!  Vincent is reading, and not only is he reading, he's reading well and he's PROUD of himself for doing it!

He catches himself a few times, but he presses on.  I apologize that the camera starts to shake, but I was crying as he made his way further into the story.  He tried to stop when he saw me get the camera, but I pressed him on and he WENT!  

And as I watched him, threads of emotion crocheted together and spilled out of my heart like a colorful scarf that invisibly crept around his smile to pulled it jealously into my memory.  

This boy that has been labelled defiant... hyperactive... aggressive... impossible to teach.  He's been labelled a nuisance... a frustration... a "THAT boy."

Seeing him claim victory over this story made me want smack those people in the face with this video.  Repeatedly.  

And then if this video wasn't enough to make a mother's heart explode, he goes and tops it with by bringing my soul the closest it's ever been to seeing Heaven.

You see, Vince decided to raise money for the American Heart Association for Lent.  He did it with his school, and he was PSYCHED.  On the first night we got the paperwork, I sat him down and explained everything.  He surprised me by asking empathic questions about children with heart defects and their parents who obviously struggle seeing their children in pain.  It moved me to witness his heart grow to encompass the mission of the charity.  

So together, we made his special homepage.  We chose pictures and a message and then posted it to Facebook.  Within a few hours, he'd beaten his first goal of $250.  Within a day, he busted through his $500 goal.  Finally, by the end of the campaign, he'd helped raise $1,125.  

This kid... he and his brother have my heart.  They are my Heaven - as is their sister who is praying us up!  

So to those parents who have felt the struggle, know that it is but the ash from which your child - a glorious, divinely created person- will burst forth as a phoenix.  

<3 <3 <3

I had to leave Vince in an after school program for the first time since he started school in September.  He's actually been asking to do go to this program since he found out some of his classroom buddies take part in it, so I was hoping he'd have a good first go at it.  

I got a phone call within a half hour.  

*Sigh*

The entire way there, my mind was a mess of anxiety. Thankfully, I was already en route to pick him up when I got the phone call.  However, what if I'd still been at work?  What would I have done if I needed to leave early to get him?  I'm still new at the office, and while I know they're all understanding of a mother putting her kids first, there's only so much of that which they can be expected to tolerate before wondering why I don't have a "Plan B" in place.  

Problem is, there is no "Plan B" for a child like Vince.  Why, you ask?  Well, this program is a perfect example why.  

John is away so he's not able to pick Vince up.  Both sides of the family are either working or live too far away to help.  Ditto for friends.  Thus, my only recourse was the program, and I got a call 30 minutes in telling me that they were unable to accommodate him on account of his special needs.  

So like I said, luckily, I was already en route to pick him up.  However, what happens on Monday when John is still away?  I'll be working which leaves Vince with no where to go for 2 hours but the school program.  Problem is, the head of the program doesn't feel comfortable with him being there because she's not staffed to handle him (a situation for which I do not begrudge her).  Do I leave early - AGAIN?  Do I risk eroding confidence in my bosses that I do actually think my job is a priority or do I just force the school to take him anyway and make their lives (and Vincent's) absolutely miserable?  

And then I worry about next year.  Inevitably, I always wonder about his future.  He's got an incredible teacher now, but she is his for kindergarten only.  
And given how far she's gone to learn about Vince's condition and work with him at his level, I know in my heart that she's a diamond among even the prettiest of gems.  There will be very few teachers willing to do what she has done for Vince - to see him as I see him.  
And that breaks my heart, because it takes a special teacher to reach a special kid.  With all his struggles with motivation and confidence, it's only going to get harder when the teacher doesn't have the capacity to do what Mrs. Sweeney has done.  

And then I travel further into the future and worry about how I'm going to be able to handle him as he gets stronger and more self-aware of his unique challenges.  He's recently started hitting himself - a characteristic trait of Autism.  When he's frustrated, he'll begin slapping his head over and over... almost like he's trying to jar his brain into doing what he wants it to do.  

And now I'm crying because I know that one day I'm not going to be there to stop his hands from reaching for his head, and even if I am, he's going to be strong enough to push me away.  Worse, he might even be self-aware enough to figure out how to extricate himself from my presence so he can self-harm away from perceived judgement.  

Unless you're the parent of a special needs kid, you really just don't "get" how all-encompassing this is.  Every time I get a phone call from another parent or the school, I instantly get a knot in my stomach that they're calling to complain about what a nuisance Vince is because they've become overwhelmed / disgusted / frustrated by his various challenges.  I brace myself when I do pick him up, because I know that no matter how good the day was, something went awry and needs to be addressed.  When I get home from work and ask how his day has been, I have to make sure I don't let my fear of what he's going to tell me creep into my intonation.  And finally, when I talk to folks who ask about how he's doing, I scramble to come up with the easiest way to either side-step the conversation or downplay the difficulty because I can barely soothe myself let alone the anxiety of other people.  

God, this is so hard.  And I don't even care that it's hard for me; I care that it's so hard for Vincent.  No child should struggle as hard as he does and still feel inferior that his best tries are not good enough.  ​And he's starting to feel that way.  I can tell he's starting to feel that way because he's beginning to verbalize it, which, ironically, is a huge accomplishment for him.  

​*Sigh*

I know that God's got a plan and will take care of Vince in the end, but I hate having to see him go through this, and I hate feeling like a failure because I am not smart enough to know how to help.  I feel angry that I've constantly got to consider putting Vince (and even Nate) into less than ideal situations so that I can keep all my priorities from shattering on the floor.

It's a constant juggle, and it's felt VERY pressing as of late.  All throughout January, the boys and I were rotating illness.  I forced myself to go to work even though I should've stayed home because I knew I'd need to take time off for the boys and they needed it more than I did.  I also knew that Vince had an upcoming field trip that I needed to chaperone because - again - they don't have the staff to handle him, especially off-site.  

Which, I just realized, the stupid trip falls on the date of a meeting I'm supposed to be running. Ugh.  There wasn't a conflict before, but now there is because the meeting had to be moved on account of someone else.  

*Sigh*

Lord, I hand it to You.  I've only got two hands with which to juggle.  Send some angels to help keep these plates spinning, and please strengthen Vince's guardian angel to be a real light for him.  Please keep his teachers in Your sight and send the Spirit to give them a greater understanding of Your Love for Vince.  If only others could see him as You see him... oh what a blessing they'd know he is!

Nope, this is not a replica of the Ark of the Covenant.  Can you guess what it is?  The little pin at the top might give you the hint you need.

It's an enormous base to what I assume must have been an incredible monstrance.  This base features scenes from the Gospels (most notably the Last Supper and the Multiplication of the Loaves).  The "paws" that hold up the ark portion seem to be those of a lion, and I don't know that you can really see them, but framing each scene are a pair of cherubs.  The entire thing is gold-plated.  Shiny, right?

In this gallery that housed this, I found all sorts of liturgical goodies:

This is one of the chalices Pope St. John Paul II would have used.  It has four Polish saints engraved around the base (including St. Stanislaus who is pictured above).  To give you an idea as to how big the actual bowl of the chalice is, take a look at the one that follows after it.  A beautiful chalice in it's own right, that one is less than half the size of the first!  Even the patens give you an idea of the size difference.  The other chalice was given to the Vatican by Pope St. John Paul II and has an image of the Last Supper around its bowl.  Fitting, no?

Next up we've got a few interesting artifacts:

And this is a gilded Roman Missal.  Imagine carrying this to and from your daily Mass.  Ha!

The next gallery was devoted to the missionary work of the Church.  There were a few things in here that caught my eye:

The two images above are from a letter to the pope from a local Chinese bishop.  This bishop wrote to the pope on red silk (which was typically reserved for messages sent to the Chinese Emperor).  I can't even begin to imagine how long it took to craft such an exquisite letter on fabric.  I just kept wondering if he had to start over and over again because of "typos."  It was such a long letter!  I imagine it was about 2 yards long, and each "character" only about the size of a nickel.  

There was also a gorgeous blue tapestry that I knew wouldn't come out nearly as beautiful on my phone:

The exhibit also featured something akin to the Hall of Presidents.  Instead of presidents, however, it was a gallery of popes.  While I love sacred art, I don't believe that portraits of popes constitute sacred art, so I breezed through this area with barely a glance.  That being said, I did enjoy the closing room which focused on modern saints like JPII and Mother Teresa.  

In addition to these paintings of Pope St. John Paul II (the one on the right which I just love), there was an impressive statue of Mother Teresa that likely served as the model for the familiar ones we've seen of her cradling a small child.  I took a few photos because the details were just so striking:

In this same room was a votive lamp which, if you look closely, features the Holy Spirit and other symbols of our Faith.  The Theotokos is also present at the base, and the quartz stones that surround the triangles are so surprising!  It was a gift to Pope St. John Paul II.

Finally, since this entry is getting a bit long, I'll end with the very last piece in the exhibit - a bronze cast of JPII's hand.  And me putting my hand into it.  Special appearance by a gorgeous bracelet made by Cam over at A Woman's Place.  :)  

Vincent's class does something called "Star of the Week."  Every week, a new student is chosen to be the Star, and a bulletin board is dedicated to photos of the student, the student's family, things the student likes, etc.  

It's going to be Vincent's turn very soon, so I asked him what sort of things he wanted to bring in to decorate the bulletin board.  He mentioned Minecraft and Pete the Cat, and of course pictures of Nate and his cat, Zoey, but he also asked for something that I could not give him.

He wanted pictures of Myla.

It always amazes me how often he thinks of his little sister.  He'll bring her up out of the blue while we're driving and during story-time before bed.  In the middle of eating a sandwich he might ask if she's eating lunch up in Heaven, or while I'm bathing Nate he'll ask who gives her baths in Heaven.

These questions make my heart smile and sigh at the same time.  

I told him that while I didn't have any picture of Myla, we could include her name somehow.
Also, I do have a few things for her that I've kept in a special music box that he might be able to use.  I've been trying to figure out ways to softly incorporate her in ways that wouldn't solicit questions because he's in a kindergarten classroom.  I wouldn't have included her, myself, but since HE asked, I'm trying to figure out how to best do that.  

It's a blessing that he feels connected to Myla in such a way.  I'm so grateful that his little heart recognizes his sister in ways the rest of the world does not.  In ways their father does not.  God bless my perfect little boy.  

And today, as I was dropping Nate off at daycare, a mother brought in her little girl who is about the age Myla would've been.  Probably still stinging from my memories of her, I had to fight the jealous urge to pull that child onto my lap.  I wanted to nuzzle her neck and breathe in her hair and know what it'd be like, for even a moment, to have my little girl with me.  

​Anyway, this is how love and grief work.  You can be going about your day when a little love creeps in to punch a hole in your heart.  Even though you flinch from the pain, your heart sings a song of thanks that you have someone you love enough to miss.  And that grief makes you a better person, because you want with all your heart to live your life right so you can meet again in Heaven. 

Oh Myla.  Mommy misses you every day and can't wait to hold you up in Heaven.  Kiss Grandmom Ida and Nanny Lena, Grandpop Rizzo and Uncle Chris.  Cuddle up to the Blessed Mother and ask her to protect your brothers here below.  

​<3

Again, she's right.  

However, it's not that I am too stubborn or too strong-willed or too confident in my own strength that's keeping me lodged firmly in place.  It's actually the exact opposite that's keeping me in place.  I'm stuck.  I've given up.  I am too weak.  I have no confidence in my ability to make the moves necessary to forgive him because the scorn and repugnance I carry have created a thicket of thorns that has completely ensconced me.  

Have you ever seen a sheep stuck in a bush or gate?  While I was in Ireland, it was common. Sheep got stuck EVERYWHERE it seemed.  Some would kick, buck and bleat, but others (likely those that had been stuck longer) sorta just chilled in place.  They knew that, eventually, someone would find them and free them.  

I'm like the latter sheep.  There's no point in bleating, kicking or bucking.  I haven't any strength left to try, anyway.  The only thing I've strength to say is "Alrighty, God, you know where I'm at. Come get me."

And He's coming.  He sent Our Lady ahead of Him to soothe me.  He sent the Holy Spirit to sustain me.  Soon, He'll arrive and pull the thorns from my wool.  At this point, He's the only one able to do so.  

That's why I seem so content to remain in the state of sin.  However, that's like saying the sheep is content being stuck in the briar.  I don't LIKE being trapped, but I recognize that no action on my part is going to make it better.  So all I can do is trust that my Shepherd is coming for me and wait to see how He manages to free me from the thicket. 

As a complete aside, this incredibly gorgeous painting was done by an anonymous student in a German art school around 1917.  It's an oil on tin painting.  Isn't it absolutely magnificent?!

A woman in my Catholic Moms group mentioned that her daughter (who self harms) has recently channeled her compulsion to cut into picking at her nail polish instead.  To celebrate her success (and to motivate her to continue channeling her feelings in this manner), I purchased a bunch of polishes in different hues and finishes.  

That got me thinking...

This young woman chose to pick at her polish instead of cutting herself in the same manner that a smoker might choose a stick of gum over a cigarette.

Is it possible, then, that other young women (who are statistically the highest at risk for self-harm) would benefit from raking (using your thumb to scrape away sections of nail polish)?

The Franklin Institute has been hosting the Vatican Splendors exhibit for the last few months and I was finally able to check it out this weekend!  Included throughout 11 galleries are more than 200 pieces of Church history.  

I will be honest that I wasn't super psyched by the majority of what I saw, but I did enjoy a few gems that they thought to include.  

First up on the docket is this replica of a tomb decoration.  Wanna take a guess as to what it's depicting?

If you said the Magi, you get a cookie!  Indeed, this is an image depicting the 3 Kings delivering their gifts to the Child Jesus who sits on His Mother's Lap, offering what appears to be a wreath. Given the fact that this was used in tomb decoration (and a wreath, even back then, symbolized eternal life and glorification), it's not surprising that the Child Jesus would offer this Gift to His servants.  

Anyway, the fact that this artifact exists dispels the notion that the tradition of the Magi is a modern invention.

The next piece is depicting St. Peter's crucifixion.  The detail is pretty stunning:

Those are two small children (and a collared dog) watching the crucifixion unfold!  Granted, that would have certainly happened given the public spectacle of it all, but it made me so sad to think of the violence we still subject our children to (even though it seems more sanitized these days).

After making my way through the early tomb art, I found myself surrounded by reliquaries.  This part was pretty epic because I got to one of the most intricate reliquaries I'd ever seen before, and it belongs to St. Teresa of Avila:​

Wow, right?  And my stupid iPhone does it very little justice.  I believe it is made of bronze, gold, and enamel.  It's just magnificent, is it not?  The one for St. Hildegard wasn't nearly as pretty, but it was definitely just as ornate and certainly made with more gold than St. Teresa's:

There was also a cope that belonged to St. Charles Borromeo:

There was a large portion of the exhibit dedicated to explaining the architectural changes St. Peter's Basilica went through under various popes (which was interesting).  I didn't take too many photos of that stuff because for as interesting as the tug-of-war was between the brilliant minds of Michelangelo, Raphael and Bernini, I didn't find the actual trinkets of building materials / tools to be much to look at.  

That being said, I did find some gorgeous paintings to share with you!

I was excited to find this one because I had just done some research into another similarly dressed painting by a Flemish painter by the name of Jan the Elder (hat tip to Dymphna for sharing the original!).  

What's interesting about these paintings is that they were many times collaborations between artists.  One who specialized in nature would paint the garland while one who specialized in figures would paint the interior scene (or vice versa).  I thought that was a pretty cool concept given that most painters prefer to have their work solely their own.  

Anyhow, this one was painted by Daniel Seghers and it depicts the vision of St. Philip Neri.

This next one is just too magnificent for words.  It's my 2nd favorite painting in the entire exhibit and I'm still left a bit heady from it!

It's a Resurrection piece, but instead of depicting Christ as the confident victor over death, it portrays God the Father coming down to His Son and helping Him up.  If you notice, Christ's Body is pallid and still encumbered by death.  His eyes are still closed and He leans against His Father, having no power to move on His own.

But in truth, there is a very deep theological truth here.  Jesus certainly has His own power over death, but His power lies in His complete and total trust in the Power and Plan of His Father.  God, in turn, repays that trust with His Divine Strength.  

And the way this artist chose to paint the Father... almost as a mountain!  His cloak billows behind Him, making Him appear twice as large and the alb is brown like the land.  It's all just so incredible.  It's such a tender, loving moment between Father and Son that even the Holy Spirit (always present) takes a backseat.  

Anyhow, I'll leave you with that for now.  I took well over 200 pictures, though, so expect one or two more of these before I'm through!

Because I've only recently begun posting things to my blog, it's easy to forget that I've actually been mulling over all of this for almost a year.  John brought up divorce when I was halfway through pregnancy- that was back in the beginning of March; it's January now.  That's given me 10 months to process things.  

So while it might appear as though I've bounced back remarkably fast, I've had the same adjustment curve as most other people, I'm sure.  

However, there is one thing that's missing from my divorce story that seems to be a part of so many others; my story does not contain fear.

What do I mean by that?

I am part of a group of women who are either going through or have gone through the divorce and annulment process.  It's a place to ask questions, vent, and share circumstances with others who know what you're going through.  One of the common themes within this group is an almost suffocating sense of fear.  These women are worried about how they will provide for their children. They fear being alone for the rest of their lives.  They are scared of being social outcasts or learning how to manage life as a single parent or any other number of things.

Me?  I don't understand this fear, and I thank God for the gift of Faith that has made me immune to it.  

One of these women asked how it was possible for me to remain so certain that things would be okay.  Once I explained myself, it seemed to resonate with the group as a whole, so I'm going to share it here in the hopes that it gives someone else comfort, too.

There's an old lullaby I've always sung to my boys called "Hush Little Baby."  I'm sure you all know it.  I've sorta made up my own lyrics since I couldn't recall the original:

What's this got to do with divorce?  

Nothing, really.  But what does it have to do with mockingbirds, diamond rings or looking glasses? The entire lullaby is one giant "Don't worry, I'll take care of you" mantra.  In cartoon form, it looks like this:

God is my Father.  I OWN Him as my Father.  I make no apologies for that.  In return, in the midst of any hardship I face, I imagine Him singing the above song to me, only He takes the place of "Mommy."

I truly believe that John was my mockingbird.  I know in a previous entry I said marrying him was a mistake, but that's not quite true.  It might FEEL like a mistake, but I believe that God meant for us to marry (much like He means for us all to get back to Heaven).  He doesn't set us up to fail, but we're sometimes so good at it that despite all His Grace, we choose to fail anyway. Unfortunately, John chose to turn away from God's plans (not intentionally, I don't think, because he doesn't believe there is a God to plan anything).  Since things did not work out the way God had hoped, He'll simply up the ante with something even better.  At least that's how I view things.

The same thing happened with my job.  My last one was a diamond ring, sure, but it no longer fit along the path my life was taking.  Instead of freaking out about it, I simply said, "Alright, God, figure it out."  As usual, He did, and this job is even better than the last (and the last one was pretty hard to top).  

In truth, the same thing happens with EVERYTHING in my life, so why in the world am I going to fret over the tiny, torn-up teddy bear in my hands when I know God's got something better in store for me?  With every fiber of my being, I trust in God's goodness.  I know this divorce is not something He wanted for me.  I also know I did nothing to cause it.  As such, I trust that God will sort things out so that the end result is even better than what I thought I'd lost.  

Does that make sense?  

I'm only able to see my life here and now, but God?  God's got the big picture available to Him.

Right now, my life looks like this:

To God, it looks like this:

Us humans can only see a little at a time, and what's worse, we tend to focus on the negative stuff!  God, on the other hand, has a much, MUCH bigger picture in mind that has way more joy than sadness.  

So no.  I have no fear when it comes to divorce or really any other aspect of my life.  Why would I?  I don't claim to be steering the ship, 'cause I know who is, and He's a significantly better Captain than I.  

So to those who worry about things, just remember that God's no red shirt.  He really WILL take care of things, and He'll take care of them in ways that will astound you.  Own Him as your Father, and He will own you as His child.

After all, what proper father lets his daughter get the short end of the stick?  ;)  

Any time I've asked you fine folks for advice, you've always given me new ways to approach a difficult situation, and I appreciate that you're willing to share your wisdom and experience with me.  Thus, here I am again, and of all the things I've asked advice on before, I feel that this is the trickiest and most sensitive thing to navigate.  

You guys know I love my in-laws.  I've written about them plenty of times throughout the years because they play such an integral part of my life.  However, courtesy of the divorce, those relationships inevitably have / will have shifted, and I'm not entirely sure how to handle the dissemination of important information.

There are two things I'm up against right now.  The first is the apparent secrecy of the divorce, itself.  

There are still family members that are unaware of the situation.  This is due to a combination of factors - chief among them John's refusal to be bothered having the conversation.  However, there are others who are refusing to say anything (and asking John not to say anything) because they're holding out hope that we'll reconcile.  

This has created a plethora of awkward situations for me.  A PLETHORA.

Since I'm not sure who knows and who doesn't know, I'm constantly walking on eggshells with people.  Example:  an uncle who actually works with John (WORKS with him!) still has no idea. Given the fact that he sees this uncle on a daily basis, you'd think that somewhere in the span of 10 months he'd've said something.  So I messaged this uncle asking for his help with a Christmas project for my FIL (this uncle's brother).  Instead of responding to me, he responded to John because he innocently thought John would know about my gift idea.  That's when I realized this uncle didn't know about the divorce and I couldn't actually press forward with my gift idea because that'd inevitably reveal it to him.  

This situation has arisen not just with the uncle, but with aunts, cousins, and even friends.  It's incredibly frustrating because there is absolutely NO WAY for me to know who knows and who doesn't know because John refuses to tell me who he's said anything to.  

With the friends, I was hit with multiple situations that were both embarrassing and hurtful, so I took it upon myself to simply e-mail them en-masse.  I can't do that with John's family because I fear my in-laws would be angry with me for doing that.  They'd likely view it as me being catty or childish or bitter when in reality, I'm just trying to extricate myself from the awkward situation where I say something that's apparently not supposed to be said.  ​

Frankly, John should have had these conversations with them already, but instead of being an adult, he chose to only tell a few cousins hoping that they would take the information back to their parents (his aunts / uncles) so he wouldn't have to have the conversation with - ya know - actual adults.  In fact, he couldn't even be bothered to tell his own sisters.  After me basically cornering him into telling his parents (who likely still wouldn't know had I not insisted on it), he allowed THEM to have the conversation for him.  When I suggested it was time he tell his aunts and uncles (whom we're very close with and who are all awesome people), he responded with, "F*ck them.  Who cares?  They don't need to know anything."  

*Facepalm*

Yes, because the people we interact with on a routine basis won't be even the least bit curious as to why we're no longer together or why they're not seeing the kids as much as they used to. Let's just leave them in the dark to sort it out for themselves instead of simply being honest.

And yes, those were his ACTUAL words.  About his own family.  I'd never in a million years say that about his aunts and uncles.  They've always been so kind, so generous and so wonderful to us.  Hearing him just flick them away as if they were nothing actually made me angry for them. But what can I do about that?  Nothing.  So I made a call to his mother who agreed to tell them, herself, because at least SHE could treat them with respect.  Ugh - I'm still annoyed about that.

Anyway, fast forward a few months.  I had invited a cousin to a wine-tasting event.  Since several of my personal friends would be there as well, I wanted to make sure that at least THIS cousin was aware of the situation so she wouldn't be shocked if she heard one of my friends mention something in passing.  John said he'd handle it.  

But I still wanted to give HIM the chance to have the conversation, because if I were to be the one to initiate it, I'd inevitably been seen as if I was trying to start trouble.  Again, some folks are trying to contain the information because they're (rightly) ashamed of it and don't want the rest of the family catching on in the hopes we change our minds.  They want to control how and when this information comes out, but have absolutely no regard for the fact that I'm caught in the middle walking a tightrope I CAN'T SEE.  I'm doing my best not to step on toes, but it's impossible given the fact that I don't even know whose toes are near me!

Anyway, I e-mailed this same cousin about a new wine-tasting event since she wasn't able to make the original one.  I'd given John more than enough time to speak with her, and I'd reminded him twice more to talk to her since I'd be trying to plan an outing.  He promised he'd talk to her.  ​

Anyway, I figured he hadn't said word one to her, so I very gingerly mentioned that we were in the process so she wasn't surprised to see that John's stuff wasn't at the house.  I apologized copiously in case she was finding out through an e-mail instead of in-person or through a phone call, and I left it at that.  

When I didn't get a response even a day later, I knew something was amiss.  *Sigh*

So my question to all of you (ESPECIALLY if you've been through this process):

HOW DO I HANDLE THIS?  If it were up to me, I'd just matter-of-factly say "John and I are in the process of a divorce.  I still love you so much and want you to be part of my life and the lives of my boys.  I still plan to attend family functions with them so long as I'm allowed.  If you have questions, feel free to ask, but beyond that, please don't feel as though you need to act or feel awkwardly around me as my relationship with him has no bearing on my love and respect for you."

When I suggested to John that he (or I) just do this, I was met with such nasty resistance you'd think I was suggesting he take a bullet.  He responds with "Who cares?  I don't feel the need to tell the world" or "I don't care if you say something."

Problem is, he does and so do his parents.  I don't frankly care about upsetting John, but I don't like the idea of disappointing his parents.  How do I navigate this?  I feel 120% damned if I do, damned if I don't.

Which brings me to problem #2 which is basically just symptomatic of problem #1.  

How do I disseminate information regarding my sons to these folks?  The answer SHOULD be "John's responsible for telling his family," but as the below example so painfully makes clear, that's not going to happen.

A few weeks ago, Vincent went through two separate psychological evaluations for his school's IEP.  John took him to one of these sessions (I was unable to attend).  This meeting was on a Monday.  Since I was unable to attend, I followed up with the psychologist, myself, through a phone conference so I'd know precisely what the diagnosis was.  I spoke with the psychologist on Friday.  Between Monday and Friday, John offered absolutely NO information beyond "that doctor was a jerkoff." 

When I spoke to the psychologist on Friday, he told me that he was able to definitively diagnose Vincent with Autism.  They don't call it Asperger's anymore, but that's basically where he falls. After getting all of my questions answered, I called John because I now understood why he hadn't said much about the evaluation.  I wanted to make sure he was okay processing the diagnosis and I wanted to answer any questions HE had because it was obvious he frustrated and scared by the word "Autism."  

After answering his questions, I made a mental note to myself to contact his mom to answer questions I'm sure she'd have as well.  Since I'd be working throughout the weekend, I wanted to catch her BEFORE she flew back down to Florida.  So that afternoon, I called her to touch base. She'd been with John all afternoon, so I assumed he'd mentioned it to her.  I said, "Ma, since I'll be working all weekend, I wanted to reach out and answer any questions you had about Vince's diagnosis."

I could tell from the confused silence on the other end that she had no idea what I was talking about.  I felt like a jerk in that moment, because I realized John hadn't yet said anything to her. At that point, however, there was no turning back, so I said, "Ma, John took Vince to the psychologist on Monday and was given an Autism diagnosis."

That didn't go over too well, and I felt bad because it likely would've gone over better had she KNOWN why I was calling.  Ugh.  I still feel bad about that.  

Anyway, fast forward to the following week.  I think it was Tuesday or Wednesday.  I found a great article about Autism that I posted to Facebook with something along the lines of "For anyone not aware, Vince got this diagnosis last week and this article does a good job explaining it."

Mind you, my entire family and close friends knew about the diagnosis within just a few hours of me finding out.  So posting to Facebook didn't seem like that big of a deal.  Plus, John had known about it from Monday, his mom knew on Friday, and he works with his sisters / father.  Given Vince's diagnosis has nothing to do with our divorce, I didn't think it was something necessary to hide.  And it's not like it's a cancer diagnosis that you'd want to gingerly tell people about.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I got several messages from in-laws who were upset with me for posting the Autism article.  I likely looked something like this upon reading those messages:

And I responded in kind.  

How, exactly, was I supposed to assume an Asperger's diagnosis of MY OWN CHILD was a secret I needed to keep?  Why, exactly, did I need to check with ANYONE ELSE about what I post about MY SON?  And how on earth is it MY FAULT that JOHN did not have this conversation with anyone?  Am I supposed to go around to each one of his family members henceforth to ask permission to share things regarding my own child?  Am I supposed to just assume forever that John's never going to have important conversations with anyone and that they're all just OK with that?  

And while I want to just throw up my hands and say "Not my monkeys, not my circus," the fact remains that they are my monkeys.  I love those monkeys, and I frankly love the circus, so I do feel as though I owe it to them to find some sort of workable solution that both ensures they get important information about the boys in a respectful way, but removes the responsibility from me since it's really not my place to pass it along to them anymore, especially since I'm not even sure who knows about the divorce and who doesn't.  

Again, I'm caught between a rock and a hard place.  How do I extricate myself gracefully and with as few bad feelings as possible?  Because again - when you get right down to it, I love these people and do not want to foster bad feelings.  I just don't know how to get around it when I'm constantly in danger of saying the wrong thing / doing the wrong thing because I don't know the whole situation, but I do know enough to make things explode.  

So seriously - thoughts?

At this juncture, the best I've got is to have a heart-to-heart with his mom because she seems to be the only one willing to talk about this situation with other people.  But I don't feel like it's fair for her to constantly be the one to have her son's conversations for him.  However, it's not like I can say, "Ma, for the love of God, stop enabling your son to be a coward.  He should be having these conversations himself."  Besides, she's got a lot on her plate already and I'm sure she, too, has a lot of "damned if I do, damned if I don't" feelings about this entire mess, too.  

*Sigh*

So yeah - anyone able to offer solutions?

I had an event on Saturday that had me scrambling up and down the center aisle of a church a dozen times.  I was trying to wire a projector / laptop / screen /speaker combination for a presentation that was being made, and there was some serious fine-tuning that needed to happen. 

As I was making these preparations, I noted how I was rushing up the aisle to get closer to Jesus in the tabernacle only to run back down the aisle and further from Him to retrieve another piece of equipment.  This shuffle back and forth felt like an interactive metaphor for my relationship with Him as of late.  I feel like I'm constantly flitting back and forth between being close to Him and casting myself away from Him.  Finally, when everything was settled and ready for the presentation, I was able to take a moment and just sit with Him in the empty church.  I didn't even bother talking to Him.  I simply wanted to focus on the fact that God - the Creator of the universe, the Father, Savior and Animator of my soul - was present within the tabernacle that was just yards from my seat.  

Heady.  

I promised I'd make more of an effort to waltz with Him rather than twerk at Him.  

Isn't that an incredible thought, though?  God is just waiting for us in the tabernacle - a prisoner out of love for His children.  One could ponder in awe of that for eternity.  

Guys, I'm not perfect.  Far from it.  A friend of mine recently posted this cartoon, and I swear it's actually my biography in Cliff's Notes form:

Much like everyone else, I'm a work in progress.  I'm a horrific mess of jagged edges, chipped gilding and faded paint.  I fully anticipated being a giant letdown when I wrote about my impending divorce.  In fact, I lamented to a group of friends (CathSo shoutout) that I didn't even deserve to blog anymore because I felt like an utter sham.  Katherine from Having Left the Altar (at least I'm pretty sure it was you, Katherine!) responded with something along the lines of "If only perfect people preached, the world would be silent."

A little while later, Fr. Herb from down in New Orleans wrote to me saying "Satan will try to tell you ugly lies to keep you from writing.  Do not allow yourself to be persuaded."

Then, a letter from my best friend's SIL showed up in my inbox thanking me for my blog - even if she did originally think I was a "crazy religious lady."  To know that this blog, in all it's dirty honesty, has helped someone on their spiritual journey... it emboldened me to push forward even though I knew the backlash would come. 

So here we are.  I've undressed my heart, it's wounds are visible and some of you have justifiably recoiled.  One message, in particular, has been gnawing away at me.  It read:

This person, mind you, is doubly hurt because she's been a follower for several years and has messaged me for further conversation.  I guess my failing was a personal betrayal of sorts because she'd viewed me as a beacon of hope that a successful match could be made between a Catholic and an atheist.  

Readers, I have always made it painfully clear that my marriage is NOT the stick to measure anything by.  That point aside, I'd also like to state that I'm not suddenly a believer in divorce.
It's not like I arrived at this decision on a whim.  John has brought up divorce dozens of times. Each time he's brought it up, I've fought against it because I believed that on some level, John loved me.  I believed that even though he didn't necessarily mean all his vows, he did mean to love me as best he could for the rest of his life.  That was enough for me, and because that was what I believed validated a marriage, I did everything in my power to salvage it.  

I've been successful each time.  

So what makes this time different?  Why did I not fight?  Why have I made the decision that seems to have disappointed so many?

Because this time, he said it while I was carrying his child.  He said it with absolutely no regard for the drastic effects it had on both my health and Nathan's health.  

That is not love.  Any person capable of doing such a horrible, dangerous thing is not capable of real love.

Thus, I scheduled the appointment for the divorce attorney not because I believe in divorce, but because I recognized in that moment that my marriage never existed. 

As I stated before, had I not done this... had I just kept my head down and waited until after the baby was born, John would've fallen back and given up on divorce altogether - he's done it countless times.  However, it was time to break the cycle.  
​
Am I saying that proudly?  Heavens no.  Of course I'm not proud of that. That's like saying I'm proud of stopping at a red light.  I said it because it's the truth; I did it because it was the right thing to do.  But am I proud of it?  Oh please.  Pride is a luxury one cannot afford where divorce and annulment are concerned.  

I've just given up attempting to swim the ocean for someone who has never been willing to step over a puddle for me.  I befriended all of his friends; he is not friends with even one of mine.  I watched his TV shows, read his books, listened to his music; never once did he bother with suggestions I made.  I participated in his movies, his poker tournaments, his food competitions, his sports; never once did he participate in any of my hobbies.  I went out of my way to bond with his family and get to know them - even extended family; it's doubtful John could even name my 1st cousins, and he certainly never went out of his way to spend time with my side of the family.

No more, folks.  I'm not giving up on my marriage; I'm acknowledging that my marriage never was.  A civil divorce is simply the first step.  

So please don't think I'm suddenly a divorce proponent.  I've fought against divorcing John in the past because I believed that there was a valid Sacrament to fight for.  If you want to look for pride - THERE IS THE PRIDE.  I didn't want to admit I'd made a mistake in marrying him.  Alas, I did, and while I have three children I'll be forever grateful for, the fact remains that he was not ready (nor fit) for marriage, and I was too arrogant to accept that.

So yes, I'm admitting the dirty truth of the matter.  No, I don't do it with pride.  I do it so others who are struggling find solidarity.  I do it so folks who thought I was an example of how marriage could work between a Catholic and one abrasive to Catholicism will STOP seeing me as such.  I do it so I can remain honest before you and the Lord so that someday, somewhere, for someone, good can be drawn from this.  

So if you are disappointed, by all means, be disappointed with me.  Just make sure you're disappointed for the right reasons.  

I had my biggest parenting fail a few weeks ago.  I am still reeling from how guilty and terrible I feel for it.

I legit lost my head with Vince.  Big time.  

I don't really spank / hit very often.  Usually the threat alone is enough to correct behavior.  I do, however, tend to yell.  I get very loud with Vince, but usually it's simply an attempt to get him to focus on my voice because he has such a difficult time prioritizing sounds.  

This time, however, it was because I was angry, tired, frustrated, upset and weak.  Not only did I yell at him, I got in his face while doing it.  He just sat in his chair, backing away from me, looking incredibly upset as he took the verbal backhand without a word.  When I finished my verbal tirade, I sent him upstairs because I was frankly disgusted (likely with myself more than with him).  

To be honest, I don't even remember what he'd done that finally made me blow a fuse.  Not that it matters - he's six.  It's not HIS fault I lost my temper; it's MY fault.  So after giving myself a couple minutes to calm down, I went upstairs to apologize.  I found him on his bed crying, and I 120% deserve to carry the heartbreak that caused me for the rest of my life.  Immediately, I pulled him onto my lap and said, "Vincent, I'm so, so sorry.  Mommy never should have yelled at you like that.  I love you so much, and I hurt you, and I'm so sorry.  I don't ever want to hurt your feelings like this.  That was very, very wrong of me.  I'm so sorry."

And do you know what he did?  He wrapped his arms around me and sobbed harder.  His tears and snot were wet against my neck, but I didn't care. I rocked him back and forth to soothe the heart I'd broken.  I told him over and over again how sorry I was.  I told him that I was wrong to yell like that.  I told him that I wanted to help his heart feel better because I'd been so mean to hurt it.  

He looked up at me and said, "It's okay, Mommy."  But he went right back to sobbing.  I asked him, "Why are you crying?  Is it because your heart still hurts?"  He shook his head no. So I asked him to tell me why.  He said, "Mommy, you're gonna go to Hell.  I don't want you to go to Hell.  You have to go to Heaven with me."

It was as if I was hearing God, Himself, warn me of just how terrible my sin was.  And I truly believe yelling at him in that manner was a mortal sin, especially because of how much it hurt Vince.  

So I promised Vince that I would do better.  I promised him that I'd do my very best never to yell like that ever again.  In truth, I think I'll be able to keep that promise - even when he's 14 and slamming doors in my face.  I don't ever want to be the cause of his little heart breaking ever again, and I certainly don't want to cause myself to miss out on him in Eternity.  

It also made me realize that I have to keep working at forgiving his father, because if Vince would shed tears thinking about a Heaven without me, he'd shed them thinking about Heaven without him, too.  

*Sigh*

I am not worthy of this little boy.  By the grace of God, may I one day be the mother he deserves.  Until then, I pray the Blessed Mother will make up for all that I lack.  

Because even plungers need forgiveness.  

So you folks know I'm struggling - hard - with this whole forgiveness thing.  It's been months, and I've only recently acknowledged that the idea of forgiving him is even negotiable.  Outside of Our Lady, two things have been instrumental in pushing me towards forgiveness (something I have not yet given, I admit): one is Heaven, and the other is Hell.

Heaven's been reminding me of my own need for forgiveness.  Christ not only forgave me, He died on the Cross to hit home the point.  And He still - STILL - reaches out with forgiveness in spite of the litany of sins I've committed a litany of times.  He offers me mercy so that I am free to offer it to others.  

Hell, on the other hand... how does Hell help me forgive?  Do I think I might go to hell if I don't forgive?

While I do believe that I'll find myself there if I don't forgive, that's actually not the driving motivation.  The driving motivation is the fact that JOHN might find himself there one day.  After all, he openly despises the Church.  He broke every single one of his wedding vows.  He treated me in a way that is beyond abhorrent, and he's done something that will leave an indelible hurt in our boys that will follow them all their lives.  Given the importance of family and the sacredness of Matrimony and the duty parents have to properly form the children entrusted to them, these are very grave matters that will demand justice at Judgement.   

And that is what motivates me to keep up the fight to forgive.  

When I think of John standing before the Throne of God and having to answer for these things, I honestly shudder.  John, himself, will see what he's done and may well want to cast himself into the flames (since the soul chooses Hell, not God).  Would my forgiveness lend him a word of mercy - a word of hope - when he most needed it?  If I was able to forgive him, could God, too?  

Of course God can forgive all things, but only if the person has faith in His Mercy.  Will my example be what he needs to instill that hope at Judgement?  It certainly won't right now, because I haven't been a very good example.  

For as much as his very presence makes me want to spit bile, I do not want to see him in Hell. The Holy Spirit has painted quite the picture for me of what that Judgement would look like, and in those moments - when it feels like Life or Death - I know I'd immediately stand between John and God and plead his case.  In that instant, I'd be the hero, 100% without question.

But I can't be an instant hero; God wants more.  In this situation, I need to be the scrappy workhorse who bites the bit and shoves forward, one tiny inch at a time.  Forgiveness, in this circumstance, cannot be instant.  It needs to be given, over and over, so that John really learns what it means to know mercy.  He doesn't deserve it, but nor do I.  

So while I can't go with him to Judgement, my forgiveness can.  My mercy can.  My example can. And those things, together, could give John the faith he needs to trust that God's mercy is enough to wash away even his sins. 

Logically, I'm there; I've just got to find a way to do so in practice, not just in theory.  Faith might make forgiveness possible, but it certainly doesn't make it easy.

Oh Catholicism.  This is why you're such a hated religion.  In theory, You're awesome.  In practice, You're like swimming through a wood chipper.  

​You are the Love that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things... even unto the Cross.

As I was putting away groceries tonight, John (who no longer lives here) mentioned that he noticed I'd gotten a particular sauce to use when making chicken.  He started telling me that he'd gotten the same ones and started to suggest something else because he'd gotten good results.  

I put my hand up and said, "Just stop.  You couldn't be bothered to have these conversations before; I'm not going to start now."

He was taken aback, but he shut his mouth and left.  

This isn't the first time he's tried this nonsense.  Just weeks after giving his treatise on why he thought divorce was his only option, he went into ridiculous detail about some sort of bowel problem he was having as if I'd have any care in the world about it.  I said to him, "Exactly why are you telling me any of this?  And who, precisely, will you start telling since your personal issues have absolutely no bearing on me whatsoever?"

More recently, he tried to start a conversation by mentioning The Hunger Games and asking if I'd seen it yet.  I rolled my eyes, but remained civil.  He didn't actually care if I'd seen it or not. He knew for a fact I hadn't.  He just wanted to make small talk about something as if I cared to discuss anything with him beyond the basic care of my children.  

It's as if he doesn't register the fact that he not only ended the marriage by his actions; he ended the friendship.  I don't view him as a friend - not even remotely.  Friends don't do what he has done. GOOD PEOPLE don't do what he has done.  I view him as one might view a plunger.  Yeah, it's useful, but you tend to keep it out of sight and when you DO have to have some sort of interaction with it, you gingerly grab it with two fingers because no matter how clean it looks, you know it's full of crap.  

So yes.  It seems as if I married a plunger.  I have no desire to continue a friendship with a plunger.

And while I realize I'm called to look beyond his utter stupidity and see a child of God through the muck, I can't.  Not right now.  He absolutely nauseates me. I'm civil, but I am not going to play the "Hey, we're still friends" game. We're not friends.  I don't necessarily know that we will ever be friends.  That bridge has been burned. No longer am I going to make excuses or blind myself to how selfish and juvenile he is.  

And that, readers, is why I am the one who actually did the legwork for the divorce / annulment. In truth, things would have remained exactly the same had I not gone to the lawyer.  In fact, I saw my lawyer in March, two weeks after he lashed out (while I was carrying the child he lied about wanting).   It was only after my constant prodding that he finally realized I wasn't backing down and went, himself, sometime in August (maybe even September).

After all, he's not the only child of God here, and no child of God deserves a plunger for a spouse. Once I recognized that, I haven't looked back.  Sure, I mourned for what could have been, but more importantly, I recognized what never was - a sacramental marriage.  I entered into the union with every intention of living out my vocation; he didn't.  So this time, he got no pass.  He wanted to play the divorce card?  I'd force him to see it through and I have.  I deserve better than a lifetime of his backpedaling into childhood.  The length of our marriage has been me attempting to pull him forward into adulthood.  I've been understanding of his weaknesses, his failings.  I've celebrated his triumphs and his steps forward.  I've tried to help him as best I could to become a better person, because that's what marriage is supposed to be.  However, it's always been a one-way street.  And while it's certainly a hurtful and heartbreaking realization, it's a freeing one, because I know that this marriage is not going to be the proverbial millstone.  Since I truly don't believe it was a marriage at all (given John's willful neglect of every.single.vow. he made), I can move forward with someone who can teach my sons what it means to treat a woman with love, respect and honor.

​I'm saying this because I know several readers have used my situation as proof that marriage can work between people of varying religious backgrounds.  I've urged you NOT to use me as an example because of how difficult it's been.  In the end, it's not only proven difficult; it's proven to be an absolute failure.  

This failure is not on my part.  After all, I've put up with every conceivable indignation in an attempt to live my vows faithfully.  It was only upon recognizing that those vows were never made in good faith by him that I cut my losses.  As I said, had I not gone to the lawyer, John would have put the divorce card back in the deck as he's done in the past.  The problem is, he allows it to be in the deck at all.  If marriage is to truly work, that card needs to be burned. Once I realized he'd never do that, I understood that my marriage never had a chance.  

So my point is, even if you think you are capable and wiling to go the extra mile and take on the burden of a situation such as mine, your will alone is NOT ENOUGH to prevent a mess such as this.  Free Will is a gift given to BOTH of you, and it takes two people to make a marriage succeed. I foolishly believed that my strength would be enough... that my willingness to put up with the intolerable was enough.

In the end, it was not enough, because a marriage needs TWO people to work at it.  It can't be one-sided, and that's precisely what mine has always been.

I've been blessed with several truly incredible friends in my life.  ​I'm going to talk about one of them today.  

He and I go back almost 15 years now.  He is second in longevity to only one other person - my other bestie, Mary.  Theresa, if you're reading this and trying to do the math, I actually met him a full month before I met you.  *Grin*  

Anyway, this particular friend has been a consistent source of humor, intelligent conversation, and sincere comfort all throughout our relationship.  We "officially" met during auditions for a Christmas play (which would find us portraying brother and sister), but we'd actually met about 6 weeks earlier at the start of the school year.  My brother, Ray, called out his name in the courtyard, causing him to cast his eyes back towards us.  He adjusted his school bag and white sweater (notable because almost every other student in the school wore garnet) as he turned towards us and sheepishly waved "Hi."  

We've come a long way since that half-hearted hello.  I've always known what a blessing he is in my life, and I've always voiced my appreciation for our friendship.  However, he recently said something that was like a burning arrow straight to the center of my soul.  It actually rendered me speechless, and I've been thinking about it - almost nonstop - since he wrote it to me exactly 3 weeks ago.  

We've spoken since, but I haven't really addressed it because of how deeply it affected me... how deeply it still affects me.  

He read my blog entry about the divorce (something he's known about for quite some time) and sent me the following message:

Hey there,

Got to read your post.  Pretty bold of you to share all this.  One thing really got my attention:

                   October 2015:  Lord, You keep at me with this whole forgiveness thing.  It
                   makes me incredibly mad that You want me to forgive this POS when he doesn't
                   even see anything he's done as remotely wrong.  He. Doesn't. Deserve.
                   Forgiveness.  

                   And here You are telling me I don't, either.  And You're right.  I don't.  But I miss
                   You in the Eucharist.  My yearning for You has not yet outweighed my disgust for
                   him, however.  Therein lies my Purgatory.  Will my desire for You burn out before my
                   disdain for him, or will my desire for You grow to engulf and obliterate the misery he
                   created?  My heart wants You, but my brain demands blood.  Wait for me in the
                  Tabernacle.

At the very least - you haven't done anything.  Please do not feel as if YOU are not worthy here.   You're supposed to be upset, enraged, etc.  You need the support of it.

I'm no priest, but I suppose I could be called a theologian.  There is nothing theologically keeping you.  Murder him (like I want to) then I suppose you'd be unworthy... until confession.

Pope Francis said in Evangelii Gaudium:

The Eucharist “is not a prize for the perfect but a powerful medicine and nourishment for the weak.”

Don't be afraid of that nourishment.

And don't be afraid to talk to me, k?  Even when you want to talk, we have to spend 30 minutes of you asking me questions about my life, as if you needing to talk about something is selfish.  It's not.  Call, text, facebook, GChat, snapchat, Instagram, etc. me any hour, K?

His very simple message (containing no patronization, no "it'll be okay" BS, no ridiculous memes of "you're so strong, you don't need him" memes that tend to litter the feeds of divorced people) contained two things that I didn't know I needed so badly to hear:

1) You need Jesus.  You absolutely, 100% need Him in the Eucharist, so go get Him.  Now.

2) Not only is it okay for you to be upset / angry / murderous, I FEEL IT WITH YOU.  

I don't think I can overstate how much that solidarity means to me and how I appreciated that he understood how much I actually needed the steel of those emotions!  So far, the majority of people who know about the divorce have steered so clear of any mention of how horrific John's actions have been that you'd think they approve.  Knowing that there was someone who understood and was just as repulsed and angry and indignant as I was made me feel so much better.  It was like "Ah, thank you!  Thank you for sharing this burden with me, because I am suffocating under the weight of guilt that does not belong to me."

For those of you who watch The Big Bang Theory, I felt like Penny after she'd discovered online gaming.  I'd gotten so immersed in the battlefield of surviving divorce that I didn't realize just how badly I needed outside help.

Reading his message, I honest-to-God had a lightbulb moment of "Wow, I'm super jacked up and no amount of blogging therapy is going to fix this.  He's right.  I need the Eucharist.  I need my friends."

And in truth, I suddenly recognized how much these friends have buoyed me these last few months.  Theresa has checked in on me more times than I can count.  JK has rallied her prayer warriors for months (years, really).  Mary has offered sound psychological counseling.  Brett and Sam have voiced their dismay, and God bless them, Hugh and Kim have hugged me from afar in New York.  And of course, this one.  This one.  Dear God, this one.  

​To all of you...

So yeah.  I needed to finally get around to processing my appreciation for that message.  It's not often I get heart-tackled by an e-mail, but that's precisely what happened.

To this person - if you pop back here to see this - I hope you know how much I love and appreciate you.  The Holy Spirit was with you somethin' fierce while you were typing that, and I still feel a bruise where those words smashed through me.  But they were necessary.  So thank you.  

<3

P.S. - Yes, you're a theologian.  You paid good money to be able to call yourself that.  *Grin*