I've seen this meme pop up all over the place before New Year's.  So many people allowed themselves to get caught up in pandemic nonsense, fear, and media coverage that they legitimately missed several years of living; they simply existed.

I know of several people who did exactly this... at least a handful who STILL act like the world is ending.

It just makes me so sad, because the last few years have been some of the most amazing for my family and I.  They could've been amazing years for these other folks, too, but they allowed fear to drive them whereas I'm content to pass that responsibility off to God.

Chris and I are both essential workers and never fell into the routine of hiding away in our home.  We are both very goal oriented, and we set our sights on moving him home, getting married, and starting a family.

We did all of that and so much more.  We're currently expecting our 4th son (due in just a few weeks), we both began new jobs that bumped us into a new tax bracket, we visited friends from all over the country, we took a road trip with the boys and introduced them to some amazing museums and fun along the east coast, and we never once allowed the nonsense of COVID to slow us down.

We spent time with family, we made time for friends, and we built relationships within our community while making plans for the future and working towards making those plans a reality.  So many other people felt and STILL feel stuck, watching the world move on without them and feeling angry that they, too, haven't been able to walk forward.

​It's a shame... it really is a shame.  This is the cost of fear.  People like this legitimately handed over YEARS of their lives and countless hours of anxiety/worry for the guise of "safety" and the mirage of "compassion."

Meanwhile, people like myself, my husband, and countless other "essential workers" soldiered on.  We went into the office, we did our jobs, and we ensured others were taken care of.  And since we were doing that in our professional lives, we saw no reason that our personal lives should be any different.

More than a few people were irritated with us for this mindset.  They accused us of being selfish- of "killing grandma" or not caring about the immunocompromised.  I would always roll my eyes at such accusations, because such sweeping allegations were wholly void of reality.

My nephew is immunocompromised.  My mother, too.  My very job depends on my natural predilection for generosity and compassion shown to others.  I, much more than those who beat their chest for bravely hiding in their houses while minorities and vulnerable communities did the heavy lifting of keeping society afloat, actually grappled with the very real damage pandemic restrictions/stupidity placed onto others.  

While they could schedule telehealth appointments from their smart phones, the population I worked with couldn't actually afford a phone to begin with.  How could they see doctors?

While they kept in touch with friends and family through technology, the population I worked with had no access to any sort of computers/tablets due to even the libraries shutting down.

While they ordered take out and delivery, the population I worked with was stuck eating PB&J on the regular because they did not have the money nor the ability to break out of the food desert they lived in.

While they placed order after order on Amazon to pass the time, my population, again, had no money with which to place those orders nor the technology with which to do so.

And while my population WANTED, very badly, to work, they could not because every opportunity was shut to them.

This is the sort of thing that made me so angry during the height of the pandemic and why I went out of my way to attend rallies against mandates that continuously overstepped the bounds of both legislation and logic.  I was blessed to have a steady paycheck because of my status as "essential."  I was DOUBLY blessed to have a husband who was ALSO considered essential, so our income was never hurt.  Being in that cushy spot would've made it VERY easy for me to just bow out and let those bearing the brunt of things handle that fight, but that's not how justice works.  That fight NEEDED to be fought by every available voice because the government and those in power were WAY out of hand (still are if I'm being honest).

But I digress.  I'm so glad that we never waited for permission to live our lives and to ensure our boys were able to live theirs.  My favorite memory of us, as a family, bucking the idiotic mandates in place was each of us tearing down the caution tape surrounding an outdoor playground.  We had gone on a family walk around the neighborhood and were hoping the powers that be had finally reopened the park.  When we got there, the caution tape was still up and they had let fallen branches and weeds crawl all over everything.  Chris and I just looked at each other and went "Forget this" and we gave the boys the go-ahead to start pulling everything down.  Chris and Vince pulled the giant branches off the jungle gym while Nate cleared away the weeds and tape.  I was super pregnant at that point, so I videotaped it for posterity.  It was a good lesson for the kids that "an unjust law is no law at all."  As Thomas Jefferson said, "If a law is unjust, a man is not only right to disobey it, he is obligated to do so."

Anyway, after the boys had cleared the playground, families from the high-rise apartment complex across the street saw what we were doing and came down to play.  It was AMAZING.  Everyone kept asking why it hadn't been done sooner.

The reason is because no one was brave enough to step forward to be the first.  Chris and I want to teach our boys to always be brave enough to step forward, and we lead by example.

That was from back in 2020.  All those families who lived DIRECTLY ACROSS THE STREET allowed fear to hold them back from enjoying their own neighborhood park.  How much longer would they have allowed fear to hold them back had we not stepped forward to say "Enough!"?  

And this is just one of a million different instances.  I know of two couples who pushed off weddings because of COVID.  My own family tried to pressure me for the same (you'd think they'd know better by now... ha ha).  But I wasn't going to give up all that goes with marriage (kids, building our lives together, etc) just because I was told I was supposed to be scared.  

Incubus had it right in "Drive."  We gotta continually ask ourselves how much we'll "let the fear take the wheel and steer."

The answer should be "as little as possible."  

And this is why I appreciate my Faith so much.  I truly believe that God provides and has a plan for everything.  Thus, why on earth would I worry about anything but living the life He so richly blessed me with?

​God is good, folks.  In all things, God is good.  Trust Him to steer you right.

In prior years, I've posted about my slightly insane collection of nativities.  Some people collect books, some people collect coins, and still others collect Funko Pops (no judgements, Pat).  Me?  I collect nativities.

Now when I say "Nativity," I'm not just talking about the full stable, shepherds and wisemen.  I also include those pieces that are Joseph and Mary cradling baby Jesus.  Basically any statue, painting, toy or puzzle that celebrates the birth of Jesus is a nativity in my book.

An abbreviated (VERY abbreviated) selection of my nativities.  Not pictured are my two ultra large creches that could easily take up two dining room tables (which is why they're not pictured... there's just no where to put them!):

Pure magic!  I was so surprised and so appreciative that my husband had thoughtfully picked out such a sweet gift.  I was doubly excited that God rewarded my self-control after all.  Ha ha!

But seriously - I love me some nativities.  But more than nativities, I love how incredibly wonderful my husband is.  Whereas my ex used to get genuinely (and irrationally) angry at my love of nativity art, Chris not only understands my maternal appreciation of this intimate Christmas moment, but indulges me because he enjoys how much happiness it brings me.

God is good, folks.  Always and in all things.  Happy Birthday, Jesus!

What started out as a super easy pregnancy took a nose dive a few months ago.

For the record, I absolutely adore children. That being said, I ABHOR being pregnant.  The women who run around all glowy and saying, "I love being pregnant" instantly get side-eye from me (my own sister included).  Ha ha.  It just doesn't compute given all the physical challenges that come with growing a human for 9+ months.

Regardless, this particular pregnancy really tried giving me a run for my money:

• I developed ocular migraines (something I'd never experienced prior)
• Exhaustion levels were THROUGH THE ROOF (or I guess through the floor)
• My blood pressure went from normal to "Are you smoking weed before coming in for every visit?" low
• Almost had my gallbladder removed (still might have to do that)
  • Was given morphine and way too much Tylenol which freaked me out because I was worried about the adverse effects on Luca
• Had an emergency root canal because of an unknown abscess that turned into a bone infection
• Failed my glucose test
• Switched providers because my old one suggested I abort Luca at 11 weeks because there was something "off" about the NIPT test
  • For the record, he was perfectly fine; the NIPT just needed to be redone
• Picked up a bad viral infection that had me in bed w/ a terrible fever and chills for almost a full week
• Picked up RSV that had me coughing so hard I actually broke my ribs (well, one is broken, the other is fractured)
• Was so dehydrated that I was going in pretty much daily for IV fluids to help build back the amniotic fluid I was losing
• Lost all my pregnancy weight PLUS some
• SPD (Symphysis Pubic Dysfunction) reared early because my body apparently gets overly enthusiastic about having babies
  • This means sleep, which is already at a premium due to Nico refusing to sleep through the night, is at best a fairytale

I could probably go on, but suffice to say that this pregnancy has been relatively miserable, especially when you throw in the fact that I'm working full time and juggling three other children who rely on me.  

That said, I recognize that this is a season.  I was lucky enough that I was able to bond quickly with my other three children while they were growing inside me.  This time around, I struggled with guilt that I didn't have that same experience with Luca.  Logically, I understood that this happens, especially when you have a zillion environmental forces working against you.  I knew that the moment he was born, everything would be fine and so I gave myself the grace to trust in the future.

However, everything changed yesterday when I went in for my growth scan.  Because of all the health problems I had gone through, my docs wanted to ensure my fluids were back to a normal level and the high fevers/treatments for gallbladder hadn't had any impact on Luca's growth.

As soon as she put the wand to my belly, his heart popped up on the monitor.  I'm not kidding.  That was the very first thing she happened upon as she got her bearings, and I could see it beating strong and fast on the screen in front of me.  She didn't even have to tell me what I was looking at - it was like I was looking at my own soul.  My son's heartbeat flickering on the screen, and I felt like I could see ALL of him.  It's hard to describe, but all the "grinchy" feelings I have had this whole pregnancy immediately fled.  It was as though my heart grew so large that is pushed everything out except my love for him.

Then she started looking around for his face and we came upon his profile.  We weren't disappointed!

Seeing how much he'd grown since his last ultrasound... I almost couldn't believe it.  Even with him being my fourth son, it was still a sacred, mystical moment that boggled my mind.  But there he was, in all his juicy-lipped glory.  We were able to make out the fuzzy hair he already has, he gave us a BIG yawn, sucked his thumb for a spell, and did his best to push the wand out of the technician's hand.  He was even kind enough to give several full-sized kicks that stretched him off-screen!  It was incredible!

He's measuring about a week ahead and all his vitals are solid.  And from the profile shot, I can already see a lot of Nico in him which means Daddy's gonna have another twin.  Ha ha!

But it's just so incredible to me how my entire outlook did a complete 180 upon seeing him.  All the pain, illness, exhaustion, and anxiety of the last few months were instantly gone- extinguished by the immense love and gratitude I felt.  The bonding that I didn't think would happen until I held him in my arms came flooding to me all at once.  It was overwhelming and apparently I'm still riding that oxytocin high today.

As I always say, folks, God is good.  He truly, truly is.

PS - Shout out to my bonus bestie, Meg, for pointing out the "Grinch" connection.  It perfectly encapsulated how I felt this whole time.  Ha ha!  

​I've brought this up a million times, and I'm going to keep pointing it out because our Church (for as much as I love Her) is *TERRIBLE* at communicating/handling anything revolving around sexual abuse. ​

Recently, the Pope announced the beatification of Bl. Isabel Cristina Mrad Campos. Unfortunately, the VAST majority of reporting on this fact highlighted her martyrdom as opposed to the virtues she espoused during her life.

Most articles highlight what I red lined above and to survivors of assault, this reads like a slap in the face. If it wouldn't be a breach of confidentiality, I'd share a screenshot of a thread on this very post that shows victim after victim struggling to come to terms with the inadvertent lesson being taught by this manner of framing:

• It would have been better for me to murdered than survive my assault.
• Sanctity is not something I can hope for because of what was done to me.
• My 'purity' is more important to the Church than my survival, even though I have children who
  rely on me.

We have GOT to stop framing holy women like this. For God's sake, there are *STILL* people arguing about Our Lady's perpetual virginity 2,000+ years later. There are *STILL* people arguing about St. Joan of Arc's virginity (was she or wasn't she raped?). There are *STILL* people who treat St. Maria Goretti's story as strictly about purity when the true crux of her example rested on mercy and forgiveness, even unto torturous pain akin to the Cross.

Can you think of any discussion around male saints like this (aside from St. Joseph whose discussion only exists in periphery to Our Lady)? Can you think of ANY male saint whose virginity/purity is called into question with the same aggression as any number of female saints I could throw out?

You can't, ya know why? Because it doesn't happen. Because the Church doesn't frame male saints in the same way it frames female saints. That is a HUGE problem because it diminishes women to one, singular facet of their being when, as these female saints' lives can attest, their virtues are so much more than "chastity." Campos, herself, was devoted to the Blessed Sacrament, was going to medical school specifically to help impoverished children, and was well known to provide aid and comfort to the elderly.

She is a saint due to how she LIVED, not how she died.

Also, I have yet to see ANY evidence that Campos' murder was related to anything beyond yet another bruised male ego (which is the source of every male raping a woman since the dawn of time). So unless we're claiming that every woman who dies at the hands of angry, entitled men is automatically a saint for trying to protect herself from his violence, we should be focusing on those things that DID make her a saint.  Or are we suggesting that women who survive their assault only survived because they didn't try hard enough to protect their bodies?

Seriously - the Church has got to do a better job understanding how Her communication around sexual assault can (and must) be improved.

May Blessed Isabel be forever remembered and celebrated for the heroic virtues she lived every day and inspire many new generations of saints.

I've worked in the nonprofit world, professionally, for more than 10 years.  I've worked in the for-profit world as well, but nonprofit work has always called out to me, demanding my attention.

For the last year+, I've worked in an emergency shelter for adults in one of the "most dangerous areas of the country."  It's hard work, but it's incredibly rewarding.

Most days, I genuinely love my job because I can see- in real time- the transformative effects of how my staff approaches breaking the cycles of poverty, homelessness, and addiction.

A few months ago, I was privileged to attend a graduation for gentlemen who had gone through a course we offered that focuses on building up men into better husbands, providers, and fathers.  One particular man (I'll call him Joe) stands out to me:

I think of Joe's story all the time.  He's since moved on from our shelter and into a place of his own.  We were able to help him with job placement and a housing voucher, and he's been sober for about 5 months now.  His story is repeated in others every day here, and it's amazing to see.  The work we do doesn't just transform the individuals we serve; it transforms their families, friends, and colleagues.

Unfortunately, not all stories end like Joe's; I really wish they did.  Today, I walked in to see several of my coworkers standing around a computer screen looking through security footage.  This isn't entirely odd- there are often incidents that need to be tracked or cataloged given the area in which we serve.  However, I could tell by the atmosphere of our normally jovial lobby that something terrible had happened.

One of the people we serve- I'll call him Michael- had been hit by a car.  Unfortunately, we didn't capture the accident on camera, but we were able to see the aftermath of police cars and ambulances that raced up the street, just off-camera, that responded to the scene.  It took us all day to locate him.  We called hospitals, morgues, even the police station, but due to HIPPA regulations and various policies (and the fact that we aren't considered guardians or family), we weren't given any information.  Luckily, one of our social workers had backdoor access to the hospital that we were able to locate him at.  News was grim; Michael was pronounced dead on arrival.

Michael had a history of addiction and serious health concerns.  Poverty prevented much of his ability to see to those health concerns, and he walked with a cane.  However, he was always very pleasant and polite, greeting me every day with a "Good mornin', Miss Gina" and "How's that baby of yours, Miss Gina?"  He'd also poke his head into my office now and again to ask me if I'd wanted to share lunch or a snack.  He didn't have much family left as he, himself, was approaching being a senior citizen.  He reminded me of a sweet grandfather who simply got dealt a bad hand and was doing what he could to make the most of it.  It kills me that he died steps from our shelter and none of us could do anything about it.

And to add insult to injury, I opened my inbox to find a heartbreaking SOS from two sons who were trying desperately to find information on their mother.  It turns out that she had been deceased since October, but could only be identified recently through fingerprints.  They were trying to piece together her last months and hoped we had come into contact with her.

Upon seeing the name and photo of their mother, of course we recognized her.  I will call her Linda.

I struggled a lot today with myriad emotions.  Obviously there is intense sadness, but there's a lot of anger and despair as well.  My whole staff was feeling it.  These are really hard pills to swallow, but they're the reality of nonprofit work, especially nonprofit work that deals directly with the most vulnerable members of society.  We work so hard trying to prevent these tragedies, but the truth is, no program can magically make these systemic problems vanish.

It would be so wonderful if we could.  Alas, we are but humans.

I was driving back from the bank, just thinking about the conversation I had with Linda's sons.  I had to remain calm and compassionate for them... an anchor in a storm no child should find themselves in.  And so I stuffed my emotions away until I was in my car where I could rage without causing more harm.

Because when this happens, I can't help but think of all the other Lindas and Michaels that we could not save.  I tick them off, one by one, and castigate the world (but really myself) for allowing their stories to end without applause.  I walk arm-in-arm with Despair, and I allow him to lead me, for a time, to the Sea of Futility.  I contemplate leaving... walking away... because how can I look myself in the mirror when I have failed so many?

And yes, I do take each loss personally.  How can I not?  I am directly tied to the success of our mission, and our mission is to transform lives.  Each loss brings about intense introspection: Could I have partnered with another business to secure funding for extra social workers?  Did I miss an opportunity for partnering w/ police to increase safety around the facility?  If we had just done more training for CPR, Narcan, or even DV awareness, is it possible we could have caught warning signs sooner?

And as always, the Holy Spirit quietly alights on my shoulder and whispers the names of those who have benefited from our programs.  Chris.  Pat.  Kim.  Ernie.  Doris.  Tai.  So many more.  Countless others.  And their faces slowly come into focus, turning the Sea of Futility into a Sea of Hope.  Their faces blot out the dark, inky waves and visions of their happily ever afters cause Despair to flee.  I'm instantly reminded of the Starfish story, and while I can't "save them all," I can save some and to those individuals (and their family and friends), that's enough.

But I'd be lying if I said days like this were easy.  It NEVER gets easier.  It's ALWAYS gut-wrenching and makes you second, third and hundredth time guess yourself.

Regardless, I came back to the shelter renewed and made sure my staff was also reminded of all those who have found their happily ever afters here.  It is so important, especially on days like today, that we combat the despair with stories of hope.  Thankfully, the Holy Spirit is really good at that sorta thing, and we spent the afternoon sharing our favorite "success stories" with one another.  We did not do it in spite of what happened to Michael and Linda... we did it as a means of honoring their memory and the memory of all those we lost.

May they be at peace, and may those who work within the nonprofit world- taking on untold emotional, psychological and spiritual warfare- be blessed with that same peace.

God is good, folks.  I've been keeping busy with work, family and a few little side projects and it's taken me away from blogging, but I needed to pop in to yet again sing of God's faithfulness.  You will never be able to outdo Him in love, people.

This past year, I've seen my oldest son grow 3.5" taller than me (!!!), my middle son develop into a true social butterfly, and my youngest blossom SO QUICKLY into his daddy's little twin.  My husband has excelled with work, I've gotten comfortable in my newest role, and together, we've created so many wonderful memories for ourselves and our boys.  

God is so good!

And it turns out He wants to keep raining blessings down on our little family.  In June, Chris and I found out we were expecting again!  Chris' face upon realizing there was another little one on the way... my heart still melts.

I should probably print this out and post it somewhere.  This was the very moment he realized I was pregnant.  It's impossible for me to look at it without falling in love with him all over again.  His response to children is lightyears different from John's.  When John found out about Vince, he was annoyed (I still have the video of him stomping off, angry).  When he found out about Nate, he claimed he was "fine" but clammed up for 20 weeks only to say he didn't actually want more children and instead wanted divorce. 

Chris on the other hand... you can see from his face how overjoyed he is to be bringing another child into the world.  He is SUCH an amazing father to not only Nico, but Vince and Nate as well.  He genuinely enjoys spending time with them, answering their endless science-y questions, and exploring the many facets of boyhood with them.  He enjoys the family trips we take, and he never pushes off his responsibilities.  He is a fully active parent and it's never something I have to coax or drag out of him.  He just IS these things, and I can't articulate how much I appreciate that.  

Anyhow, we are expecting our newest baby in February.  So far, our peanut is healthy and wonderful in all the ways.  The pregnancy hasn't been terribly hard this go around, but I'm definitely showing much sooner than in previous pregnancies.  I know that tends to happen the more children you have, but even I was surprised at how quickly I developed my little bump!  Not that I mind.  I love showing off the blessing I carry.  It was a grace denied to me for many, many years.

Vince and Nate are hoping for a baby girl this time around.  Poor Vince has been wanting a sister since before Nate was born.  Nate, I think, is hoping for a girl because he still looks to Vincent for cues in most things.  *Grin*  Nico, being so young, doesn't realize he's already a big brother!  I cannot wait to see that relationship.  He and this newest baby will be close in age- something I always wished for Vincent and Nate.  They'll have a built-in best friend.  Again, God is good.

So what about the title of this post?  What is my decade-old prayer that God has answered?

You might just be thinking that God answered my prayer for more children, and you'd be half right.  God has ABSOLUTELY answered that in a big way!  I had honestly resigned myself to having Vincent for so long, and rejoiced when Nathan arrived because he was truly a miracle of miracles!  Then Nico... geez.  God is beyond generous with me.  And now our newest baby... having a husband who is not only open to life, but actively excited about having as many as God will allow... they're overwhelming blessings.

But there's a much more specific prayer that my heart had uttered almost 10 years ago exactly.  It can be found here, in my archive.  

That's right.  Ten years ago this month, I ran into a father with two sons: Vincent and Luca.  ​Something unspeakable stirred in the depths of my soul upon hearing Luca's name... an impossible knowledge that Luca (not that Luca, but A Luca) was meant to be mine but had been cruelly denied to me.  

​As I said in my "Darkest Secret" entry, I believed I was the mother of children I would never meet.  And while that was a terribly heavy cross to bear, I never once turned away from it.  I embraced it as best I could and trusted in God's Providence.

Ten years later, and He answered my soul's prayer.

In February, we will welcome our fourth son into the world- Luca.  God is SO GOOD.  My heart couldn't possibly be happier!  

And what's doubly crazy is that Chris and I arrived at the name Luca separately.  We were listing off "Italian names" for both boys and girls when we came across "Luca."  Immediately, I was transported back to the moment I wrote about in the blog.  I didn't say anything for a moment, because I was too busy feeling all the emotions that almost-forgotten memory brought back.  Chris, though, quickly said "I like that one!" and it went to the top of our list.

This weekend, we received confirmation that we were expecting a son... Luca.

Luca.  I still can't get over the myriad miracles God continues to bless us with... this most recent one ten years in the making.

God is good, folks.  Impossibly, unfathomably good.  Trust Him.  In all things, trust Him.

Update: Poor little Squidward (who is still actively leaving comments on this blog that are all going to spam) has been successfully flagged by Twitter as engaging in abuse and harassment.  He's still on Twitter, but moved himself here.

As all cowards do, he tried to hide his misogyny by deleting comments, changing his name and his header/profile photo, but I have the receipts.  #SorryNotSorry

Squidward did end up contacting my work, and, God bless him, my boss laughed at how ridiculous his assertions were.  Squidward thought he'd be able to scare me into backing down, but each idiotic move just makes the circle of people who know he's pathetic grow larger.  I also alerted my husband's company who noted, as military vendors, they'd take care of the issue if we'd like, but why waste resources on cowards?

Just the same, my husband suggested I file a police report, so I did.  I said to the officer "I realize you can't do anything about this, but my husband wants a paper trail in case he needs to shoot someone this week."  The officer laughed and said, "Noted."

Chris has been excitedly polishing his newest toy all weekend, but we all know Squidward is impotent; I am wholly unconcerned, especially given how quickly he turned tail and tried to hide the evidence.  Ever since Twitter flagged him, he's only left messages on this blog (and since my settings now send him directly to spam, he's not having much luck there, either).  

Again, ladies, don't fear sad little boys like Squidward.  As soon as you shine a light on the roaches, they scatter.  Keep shining your light and if need be, ask friends to amplify.

Being a woman, dealing with fragile male egos is something I'm well-versed in.  Every now and again, however, the perfect specimen of Incel comes across your feed, and you realize you're about to be treated to a plethora of amusement.

Enter @yona_stan.  For easy reference, we're going to call him Squidward.

My friend had been innocently commenting his experience to a nun on Twitter when Squidward accused him of lying.  I simply pointed out I knew my friend IRL and could vouch for him being a real person who did, in fact, share a true experience.  At this point, I didn't realize I was dealing with a man. Squidward's photo, after all, was the image of a woman and the bio listed info about a female poet.  I shrugged and went about my day.

When I got back, I saw that Squidward had spent hours (HOURS) combing through my old tweets to leave ridiculous comments. I also saw a LITANY of direct messages from this person (I think I'm up to 50 or 60 at this point) calling me a "whore," referencing my divorce, and making all manner of ridiculous statements.  I then saw my e-mail (which is linked to my blog) and was treated to dozens of "blog comments" and several form entries from this same individual.

​See just a sampling:

And here's a screenshot of the wall of DMs he kept sending to me.  I couldn't even tell you how many there are at this point as I'd been ignoring them and sending the e-mails directly to spam.  But it's all the same garbage that always gets sent out by guys who think their opinion matters more than it does.  It's a giant temper-tantrum centered on the fact that he is impotent.  LoL.

THIS was when I realized Squidward was a man.

After all, this is what men with bruised egos do.  Normally, I let the stupidity roll off because I don't typically have the time or desire to engage, but every now and again, I decide to have some fun knocking these weirdos down a few pegs.

I called him out for being a man using a woman (who I later found out was a dead poet) as his profile photo.  Not as if hiding behind a woman's photo was enough to disguise the stench of desperation wafting off him, because women deal with petty little boys like this all the time.  We can recognize clowns without a second glance precisely because each and every one of them resorts to these same idiotic tactics each time their little egos are bruised.  

I spoke to my original friend (a man) and sure enough, Squidward didn't bother sending him any messages.  That's because Squidward knows that friend is a man.  Squidward won't play in the sandbox with men.  Squidward is scared of men. 

​Instead, he chooses to attack women, and he does it like every other incel has ever done in the history of incels: he first attacks her appearance.  When that doesn't work, he attempts to attack her character.  When that doesn't work, he attempts to scare her.

Little Squidward followed the textbook to a tee.  First he started in with the "You're fat" nonsense (grammar, as expected, was wholly incorrect).  He immediately reminded me of a guy from college who, after I turned him down for a date, told me I was fat.  This photo was taken about 10 minutes after I turned the guy down.  I'm legitimately the skinniest person in the picture.  LoL! 

Anyway, what Squidward and other incels like him fail to realize is that attacks like this will never, ever work.  Why?  Because in order for their words to carry any sort of meaning, they, first, have to carry some sort of meaning.

Squidward is meaningless.  He's a random little boy on the internet who can't spell, can't articulate logical arguments, and can't handle a woman.  He presents as someone who legitimately has never had a positive interaction with a woman in his life (must be his winning personality).  Instead of doing what normal people would do and shrug off the thread and move on, he became so enraged that a woman would dare to call him out that he legitimately spent HOURS and HOURS of his life trying to make me care about him.

Then, when even that didn't work, he spent God only knows how many more hours combing through this blog leaving comments and messages pretending to be various people (my brother, a colleague, Chris, Chris' colleague, etc) all in an attempt to scare me because he knew "private details" about my life.

Alas... all it did was make me laugh. 

Squidward Super Sleuth thought he could intimidate me because he can read information I have readily posted?  Ha ha ha ha ha!

My name is no secret.  My husband's name is no secret.  Google exists.  It's not like I run around hiding away under a dead female poet's photo (*ahem*).  So him posting these things in an attempt to make me feel unsafe only made me laugh at how ridiculously obsessed he'd become with "putting me in my place."

Oh... what a sad, sad little Squidward.  

He even went so far as to cite my place of business and title as if it would bully me into fearing him:

For anyone wondering, I work for a homeless shelter.  Great place filled with some amazing people. Pretty sure any one of the people we serve here would have no problem taking out the trash on my behalf.  The folks I am privileged to serve come from places of genuine strength and honor.  They've fought the demons of addiction, mental illness and gang violence (some for years!) before finding themselves again here at our shelter.  

The idea of a sniveling little Squidward showing up to make problems here?  Ha ha ha ha ha - oh Lord above, this guy is funnier than Dave Chappelle!  

My husband, also, had a good laugh at this.  Chris is a very large, muscular and no-nonsense man.  He works hard, trains hard, and takes his role as protector seriously.  He almost got giddy at the idea of someone presenting himself for target practice. LoL!

Alas, we all know what happens with Squidwards.  They vent their hot air into the atmosphere feeling confident that they've squashed another female who dared make him feel like the insignificant loser he is.

​So why am I sharing this?

I'm actually sharing it because of a recent situation springing up with Nicole Arbor and Black Rifle Coffee Company.  I won't bother w/ details, you can see the stupidity for yourselves in the link above.  Suffice to say she spent years in fear of people like Squidward.

I am here to tell you not to.  Squidwards are a dime a dozen and only know how to bark, not bite.  The best way to deal with them is to publicly call them out and laugh at them for the clowns that they are.

Men like this are not men; they are boys parading as men (and in some cases, like dear Squidward, they're not even parading as men but as dead female poets who, had she known him in real life, would have recoiled in horror and likely would've eternalized him as the reviled subject of one of her poems).

Women, do not be afraid of men like this.  Stop allowing them to say and do these abhorrent things.  We so often take the abuse and silently move on, but the best disinfectant for germs like this is sunlight.

Put the little incels on blast, because at the end of the day, they have absolutely no power over you and it drives them bonkers.

PS - since I've already gotten about 100 notifications while putting this blog together, I know you're still visiting, Squidward.  I will doubtful ever think of you again, but I do hope the penthouse you've set up for me in your brain, rent-free, is a nice one!  *Grin* 

My name is Gina DiMarco.  Ray Cline was, is and forevermore will be my father.  For good, for ill... for pride and for humility... I and my siblings are a product of who he was and who he wanted to be.

The temptation to wax poetic about those who have passed is strong; however, while my father did not espouse many virtues, he respected honesty, and it is vital that we are all honest about that for which Purgatory exists.

I say this fully recognizing my own eventual need for the grace of Purgatory.  For the uninitiated, Purgatory is that grace-filled place where a soul awaits the promise of Heaven.  Think of it as a shower-station for your soul.  Sins are expiated here, burning away in the same way gold is purified through fire.  Catholics believe that through prayer and fasting, we can participate in the saving power of the Cross, helping Holy Souls in Purgatory reach their final destination.

Thus, may whoever is given the task of eulogizing me speak not of any positive thing I may have haphazardly done in this world; rather, may they focus on every grievous fault that would prevent my entrance into Heaven.  I want the entire world to know precisely how sinful I am so that those I leave behind understand the desperate need for prayer I will have upon my death.

Friends and family, my father needs our prayers.

Born in 1954, he was the son of Evelyn and Raymond Cline.  He had an older sister, Linda, who, I'm told, welcomed him with glee.  Unfortunately, his mother- who clearly loved him dearly- passed away when Dad was about 12 years old.  This loss profoundly altered the course of his life, something he was reticent to admit.

He didn't have the best relationship with his own father, especially after his mother passed away.  Dad found himself on the wrong end of a jail cell more than once throughout his adolescence.  One time, as a teen, he remembered being in a jail cell and wishing for his own death.  He saw no point in life and demanded to know why God would allow him to live in a world that was so void of meaning.

God, much to his frustration, didn't seem to answer him, and he continued on with his self-destructive patterns, almost daring God to prove He cared.

He fathered a baby- my half-sister Jeanne- when he was still a baby himself.  He ran- hard and fast- from his responsibilities as a partner and father.  Years later, he met my mother, a young school teacher on a field trip with her students.  Dad, working at Clementon Amusement Park at the time, was smitten and passed along a note to her through one of her students.

My mother's example called him to something more.  She and her family exemplified the stability and hope he never had but so desperately wanted.  He immediately fell in with my grandfather who recognized a broken young man in need of a mentor.  Now for those of you who don't know my paternal grandfather, the man was and is a saint.  He was probably the first true example of what Christian love looked like for my dad.  Dad made a LOT of mistakes in his life, but he always wanted to do right by Grandpop.

Once, when he thought he was alone, I overheard him call out to Grandpop in exasperation after Grandpop had passed away.  Grandmom wasn't doing well, and he said "Dad, could you just help her (meaning Grandmom) and Celeste?"  Celeste is my mom.  Not long after he said that, we got the call that Grandmom had passed.  I remember being so taken aback, because it was the very first time I realized my father wasn't an atheist.  He not only believed in an afterlife, he actively prayed to Grandpop - even if he didn't realize that's what he was doing.

It was a shocking revelation, because up until that point, I thought he believed all religion was a farce.

He stumbled into this faith through my mother, and for all the turmoil of their marriage, the Sacrament did do the job of bringing him closer to Christ, albeit kicking and screaming.

I could write a treatise on the marriage of my parents, but that's not my story to share.  Suffice to say that for all their struggles, my mother was heroically faithful to her vows and my father, for his part, while failing a million times, always tried to provide for and protect his wife and children.  In his own way, I know he loved us.

He worked for SEPTA for 30+ years.  He knew his health insurance there was unparalleled and would take care of Mom as she battled cancer.  When our house was broken into, he adopted a "scary" German Shepherd, Sean, to become our guard dog.  Turned out Sean was a lover, not a fighter, but the point is, my dad tried.  He always tried.

In total, my mother gave him five children: Evelyn, Ray, me, Maria and Shannon.  While not perfect children in any capacity (except maybe Evelyn... she was always on the straight and narrow), when we were younger, we all had stars in our eyes for him.  I can remember us all lining up for kisses before work, smelling his aftershave and feeling the stubble of his beard as we fought for extra kisses as he walked out the door.  I remember learning to make his coffee with cream and sugar so that I'd get to bring it down to him in his little cave in the basement.  I make my coffee the same way to this day.  I remember fishing and getting water ice, campfires and "shin digs" at the trailer, and I remember summers spent up in the Poconos.  While my mom would take my siblings and I to the pool or beach, my dad would stay back at the house, painting.

He wasn't an artist, mind you.  He was painting the rafters.  He was painting walls.  He was painting the doors.  He was removing seventy thousand wicker baskets from seventy thousand nails and trying to figure out where they all went after the paint had dried.  I later realized, when I was much older, that this was how Dad afforded a nice, week-long vacation in the Poconos every summer.  He would do hard labor so that we could play in the sand.

Words of Affirmation, Physical Touch, and gifts weren't his love language, friends, but acts of service?  Acts of Service were his bread and butter.  Quality Time was a close second.

And then there was his sense of humor - he loved making people laugh.  Normally, he'd crack a wholly inappropriate joke at a wholly inappropriate time, and rather than laughing at the joke, you'd laugh at the mischevious look on his face.  Well into his sixties and he still had a boyish rapscallion look about him when he'd drop a ridiculous joke.  

He also loved technology.  He introduced us all to computers before computers were even a thing.  Floppy disks, back when they were still floppy, were coded with little games that taught us how to point and click the mouse.  My brother, the savviest of us, birthed his fascination with all things technology-related right then and there.  He now owns and operates an incredibly successful IT company thanks in no small part to my dad's early days of fighting with DOS.

He also loved all things military.  He was endlessly transfixed by fighter jets, tanks, specialty rifles, submarines and drones.  He and I would watch hours of History Channel specials highlighting various battles or showcasing declassified military secrets.  He also loved shows like MASH and Mail Call for the same reason.

And speaking of television, his guilty pleasure was anything and everything paranormal-related.  Some of my earliest memories involve me sitting on his lap watching Unsolved Mysteries- Robert Stack's voice still haunts my nightmares.  But he could tell you all about Area 51, the Bermuda Triangle, hauntings in Gettsyburg, and conspiracy theories about how aliens built the pyramids.  I don't think he actually believed any of them, but it tickled him to entertain the possibility.

Finally, and most recently, he's been into restoration videos on YouTube- mainly of old cars.  I think there was something personally therapeutic for him in these videos...

A vlogger would find a broken-down rust bucket in the middle of nowhere, haul it back to his garage, and painstakingly cut away decades of neglect, sanding away chipped paint, rusted edges and missing rivets, slowly rebuilding each piece until, weeks and even months later, it was revealed in pristine form- like it was brand new.

And there's something to be said for seeing such a transformation like that, right?  We all feel broken down and forgotten from time to time, and I know, especially towards the end, that my father keenly felt this.  To see these cars brought back from the dead so to speak... to see them given a second shot, fully restored to their former glory... I can't help but wonder if dad was living a little vicariously through those videos.  I know, in my heart of hearts, that Dad wanted to change for the better.  He never wanted to be the victim of his own vices- who does?  But change is incredibly hard... even harder when you feel it pointless... and in the end, he remained stuck in his ways.

Luckily for him- and for all of us- God is the master craftsman.  He can take each one of us and buff away the things that weigh our souls down.  He can clear the mud, the sin and the hopelessness away, revealing the people we were always meant to be.  Even in the last moments of life, He awaits our acceptance of His love for us, and yes, even in the last moments of life, He can remake us whole in His Image should we consent to it.

And so, I pray, it was for my father.  It is my fervent hope that, in his last moments, he was given the grace of recognizing the Divine Love that drew him into this world almost 70 years ago.  In those last moments, I pray that he finally understood that yes, he WAS loved, he WAS precious, and he WAS able to find healing and unconditional acceptance in the arms of his Creator.  And I pray that, in God's mercy, we will rejoice together at the gates of paradise.

I ask, friends, that THIS be your prayer not only through this service, but each time you think of my father.  Ask that God, who is not bound by time nor space, grant my father the grace of perfect contrition and perfect knowledge of God's unconditional love so that he never despairs of God's mercy.  May we all be granted such grace.

​Thank you.

I posted this to FB yeterday:

I was happy to see some interest on this post!  Folks were curious to know more about where I got this information, if I had more information, and if I'd be willing to share that information!  I love it!

Since folks who don’t know me are now invested, a little bit about how I come about knowing things like this: I have an insane process when it comes to Sacred Art and stories in the Bible. It’s an insatiable curiosity, really, and it tends to force me down fascinating (if time-consuming) paths.  I don’t stop researching until I feel my curiosity is sated.

My blog is replete with these expeditions, so feel free to peruse.

Anywho, that all being said, this journey started with The Life of Saint Joseph, written by a nun (Sr. Maria Baij).  For the sake of transparency, this book, while stamped with a Nihil Obstat and Imprimatur, is not considered dogma and the faithful are not bound by anything in it.  That said, it started me on the path to researching more about Herod and the Holy Innocents, so bear with me!

The Life of Saint Joseph only briefly mentions Herod and his plans to kill Jesus. I thought it interesting, given how detailed and foot-noted the book is, that this particular event was almost seen as a footnote itself.  It felt wrong, somehow, and I couldn't put my finger on it.  Thus began the quest to learn more...

I sought out a few articles/documentaries on Herod, one of which was, I think, The Real King Herod.  Believe it or not, this documentary actually seems to dispel the notion of the Massacre altogether, but again, bear with me.  Lots of what was raised by this documentary led to me to accounts from Josephus (a 1st century historian who happened to be Jewish).  

Fun fact about Josephus- this dude mentions NOTHING about the Massacre.  Nothing.  This threw me for a loop, because he was Jewish.  You'd think a Jewish historian would mention the slaughter of a bunch of babies, right?  In his defense, he also doesn't mention much about Jesus who, hindsight being 20/20, was pretty darned important, but we'll get to that in a minute...

So I turned to where I always turn when utterly stumped (and I recommend you guys all do the same).  If you ever want to understand something that just doesn't quite make sense in the Bible, talk to a Jew.  Being our Big Brother in Faith, it is impossible to truly understand the Catholic Faith without grasping the Jewish Faith as well. 

So off I went to read what Jewish scholars had to say about the Massacre.  I specifically sought out Messianic Jews (Jews who believe that Jesus is, in fact, the Messiah).  While it was many years ago that I did this, I can pretty much guarantee these are the folks I would've gone to: Rabbis Jacob Neusner, Eugenio (Israel) Zolli and David Rosen as well as Eitan Bar.  I can't definitively say which one of them led me to the following information, but I guarantee it was one of them that put the pieces together for me.

Big piece of the puzzle for me:  Why is Matthew the only one who mentions the Holy Innocents?  According to one of the guys above, it was likely because of who he was and the lens he was writing under.  He was a Jewish tax collector who had access to records detailing births and deaths and would have noted the similarities in Jesus' story and that of Moses (whose peers were also killed off by Pharoah).  He would've been the one most aware of the fact that two Bethlehems existed in the ancient world (they still do, today, actually).  He also would've been privy to the Jewish significance of Bethlehem of Judea being the birthplace of King David and the importance of establishing the lineage of Jesus to King David.

The slaughter of the innocents did not happen all across the Jewish world.  Herod specifically asked the Wise Men WHERE Jesus was to be born, then gathered all his scholars (priests among them) where Scriptures indicated He would be.

This part is important and was something the documentary pointed out to me.  Herod had to ask Jewish scholars what the Scriptures said about the coming Messiah.  Any Jew would have known that Scripture (Micah 5:2, in fact) said that Bethlehem would produce the Eternal Messiah.  Matthew quotes it, himself, in 2:6.  HEROD WASN'T ACTUALLY JEWISH- not ethnically, anyway, which is why he was detested and basically went crazy trying to prove himself a legitimate Jewish king.  He was Arab and so was constantly under threat of losing his authority.

Again, if you watch the documentary, while it poo-poos the idea of him slaughtering the innocents, it absolutely highlights documented cases of him murdering anyone who threatened his power, up to and including his own wives/children.  Augustus Caesar, himself, remarked that it was safer to be Herod's pig than son (a joke because Jews don't eat pork). 

Moving on, the documentary notes (again, with historical evidence) that Herod was well-known to have a silver tongue.  He was very creative at finding palatable solutions to serious problems.  For example, when his BFF Mark Antony (who put him in power) was ousted by Octavian, Herod very quickly made his way to Rome to pledge his loyalty to Octavian.  Did Herod actually care about Octavian?  Of course not.  Herod just wanted to keep his head in-tact, and he used his brilliant strategic mind to ensure he kept it.  He won Octavian to his side and not only was forgiven for being in cahoots with Antony, his lands were EXPANDED.

So it should come as no surprise, then, that Herod was capable of putting together a strategy like the one I listed above that would have people unwittingly participate in the murder of their own children.

Annnnyway, in my continued search for more details on the Massacre of the Holy Innocents, I came upon visions from Blessed Anne Catherine Emmerich (I'm linking you to her vision of the Slaughter, so be prepared, ok?).  Again, take this with the same grain of salt as mentioned above with The Life of Saint Joseph.  Emmerich's visions have been collected into a book that contain the Nihil Obstat and Imprimatur noting it free from doctrinal error, but as they are considered private revelations, the faithful can wholly disregard them if they so choose, even with her being a beatified (not yet canonized) saint.  

This was the first explanation of the Slaughter of the Holy Innocents that FINALLY made sense to me and answered the plethora of questions I had surrounding the "how" and "why" of things.  The little bread crumbs that had led me to this point were all necessary, because in order to recognize the validity of Emmerich's vision, I needed to first understand the historical facts behind the players (Herod, Matthew, Josephus and even the historical location of the event).

• Herod was absolutely capable of this, both in strategy and in action.  Dude was a horrible, horrible person.
• Matthew, as a Jewish tax collector and biographer, was cognizant of the biographical information around Jesus and the Scriptural significance of, well, everything, so it makes sense that his gospel would include this information.
• Josephus, the Jewish historian, was writing for a Greek/Roman audience which was largely supportive of infanticide, anyway, so including an event like this (with figures ranging from less than 10 to over 25,000) was probably not considered something of importance at all.  And according to one of the men above (sorry, I don't remember which), Josephus got most of his information about Herod from Herod's own BFF, Nicolaus of Damascus.  It's doubtful Nicholas would have freely offered such information to a historian.
• The visions of Sr. Baij and Blessed ACE are complementary to one another, though neither was aware of the other's existence.

Now obviously, no one is bound to believe ANY of the above information in order to memorialize the Holy Innocents.  We, as faithful Catholics, believe that these events took place because the Church has, through Scripture, Tradition, and Magisterium, confirmed the Holy Innocents existed and were cruelly sacrificed by Herod and his son (also Herod).  HOW they took place was always a bone of contention for me, and after scouring the above resources for what was probably a total of several months, the above summary is what I arrived at.

The only thing my summary differs on is number.  Sr. Baij does not list a number, and Blessed ACE lists two numbers over 700.  Again, taking visions with a grain of salt (especially Blessed ACE's whose numbers are often symbolic in nature), I went back to the historical evidence of populations back in the time of Jesus, and most historians seem to agree the number was anywhere from a few dozen to 200.  Given that both Herods continued to seek out children in the years the Holy Family was in Egypt, I feel confident the actual number is between 200-300 (but hey, I could totally be wrong).

So to those of you wondering how I came about this summation, I hope that clears it up for you!  You're welcome to do a deep dive like I did.  If you do, please report back because I love hearing from folks much smarter than I!

<3

PS - Welcome to the page.

This is a fun story I was reminded of tonight...

I am a serial monogamist.  When I am in a relationship, I am committed and have zero eyes for anyone else.  I do not date around - I'm pretty sure it's physically impossible for me.

After my divorce, I spent a solid chunk of time refusing to date.  I needed to sort myself out and I couldn't do that with random men floating around.  When I did decide to start dating again, I had clear boundaries and codified a plan to follow for weeding out would-be suitors.

One of those would-be suitors, Rick, made it far enough through the plan to be considered a "boyfriend."  So when a prospect hits that milestone, all other would-be suitors go straight out the window.  It's just how I work.

So Rick and I had been dating for maybe a month or two when a colleague of mine (let's call him Steve) invited me out to dinner.  He and I worked together- very well, in fact- and I genuinely enjoyed our relationship.  We both had similar senses of humor, and while he was much more reserved than I was, his values aligned with mine and we challenged one another to excel in our given tasks.

Anyway, Steve invited me for dinner one night, and because I already had dinner plans with Rick, I suggested we do lunch, instead.  At the time, it didn't occur to me that Steve wanted to do anything beyond catch up.  I've got plenty of colleagues (male and female alike) who have met up with me for lunch/dinner.  So I put him in the books for lunch knowing I'd still have enough time to get home and dressed for dinner with Rick.

Steve picked the place to eat and it turned out to be a cute Italian place between both our homes.  About halfway through our normal banter, I noticed he was being more shy than usual.  The word "bashful" popped to mind, and I suddenly realized I was on a date.  He then said something that confirmed we were on a date, and...

...I cannot tell you the mortification and guilt I felt in that moment.

Looking back, it's super funny now because I didn't do anything wrong, but Ms. Serial Monogamist was suddenly juggling two men on the same day and I felt like the biggest hypocrite in the universe.

As soon as I realized that lunch wasn't just lunch, I did my best to casually wrap things up as amicably and quickly as possible.  I didn't want to make him feel embarrassed or anything, so I didn't mention my dinner plans with Rick later, but oooooo boy.  There's not enough limoncello in the world to make that experience less awkward.  Ha ha!

I made it clear I wasn't interested in anything more than friendship and to this day, we remain good friends.  He's a great guy and I enjoy his company so much.  He and Rick ended up becoming buddies, too (oddly enough), but I never mentioned what happened to either one of them.  It's not like Steve knew I was dating Rick at the time, and there was exactly zero reason to share with Rick what had erroneously happened before our dinner.  

Anyway, that happened.  Best part?  My current husband has met both Steve and Rick and gets along splendidly with both of them.  God is good, friends.  What could've been a train wreck of embarrassment turned out to be a funny story of how blind I can be sometimes.

​Whomp whomp.  LoL!