My Universal Family

I resisted the urge to tag this post with something like outer space, extraterrestrial, or aliens, although it would have been funny. On the other hand, it may have brought some traffic I didn't want. When I say I have a universal family I mean it. 

If you look up the word universal, you might get a definition like this: Of, affecting, or done by all people or things in the world or in a particular group. You will also see that one of the synonyms for universal is catholic. That is what I am talking about. I belong to the universal or Catholic Church, and my family includes over a billion people at any given time. 

My exposure to my "family" was for a long time limited to the people I knew in my parish, relatives and maybe a few I might encounter along the way. On a few occasions I would be made aware of our universality: attending Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York, a retreat at Christian Brothers with our youth, watching the coverage of John Paul II's visit to the U.S.  

About 2 years ago, I discovered a new way to connect with my family: Catholic media. I started listening to the Catholic Channel on XM. I connected with people on Facebook and Twitter though one of the shows on the channel. I joined Facebook prayer groups. All of a sudden, I have a network of people outside of my local parish to share my faith with and it is awesome. They keep me accountable, they make me laugh,  and they share my triumphs and sorrows.

We all come from different places, we are different ages, we have different vocations, and we may even speak different languages, but we have one thing in common: we all belong to that universal church and share Jesus at every Mass. 

American Idol memorial?

In a week or so, the 11th season of American Idol will begin. In a week or so, my husband and I will be watching it. We will watch until the winner is announced.

I have heard people talking about how boring it has become, or maybe how cheesy it has become, but we watch it for a different reason than probably any other viewer in the entire world. We watch it in memory of our Lauren.

Lauren was here for the first season, which ran from June 11-Sept. 4, 2002 as a summer replacement. She saw the 2003 shows, and we were in the midst of the 2004 season when she passed away. She did not see who won that year, although she had her favorites. She really loved the show.

The next year, when AI returned, we decided to watch it for Lauren. And we have watched every season since. In a strange way, it brings us closer to her. It is, of course, only one of the ways we remember her. But we think about her when the show is running, wondering what she might think about the silly antics of the host and judges. Who would she chose as the winner? What would she think now that Simon and Paula are gone? Thinking of that brings us joy.

To some, it might seem silly, but to us, it is just one of the ways we remember our sweet girl.

The Samaritan Towel

Mama loved that towel. It sat in a place of glory along the back dash of her baby blue 61 Ford Fairlane and we were not allowed to touch it. Even on cool summer nights sitting in the back seat when she drove with all four windows down. We better not touch that beach towel.

It was all different shades of blue set in a mosaic pattern. Blue like her eyes and like her car. Her favorite color. For some reason, she thought it dressed up her car.

Mama was a waitress in a small, but popular diner in Spartanburg. In those days, waitresses wore starched white uniforms that made them look like nurses almost. Mama never left the house unless her uniform was bright and clean, her hair was all in place, and her make-up was immaculate. She looked like a million dollars when she left for work every day.

One day as she drove along Hwy 176, she was past Pacolet, and approaching Glendale when she noticed a figure lying on the opposite side of the road. People were passing him by and not stopping. Not being able to stop in time, she turned around and went back to see if he was ok. When she got there she realized why no one was stopping.

There was no blue on the man lying there. Only the brown of his chocolate colored skin and the red from the blood that had soaked through his clothes from the wounds. She knelt down and realized he was still alive. In a flash, she decided what to do. She ran to the car, grabbed the beloved towel and covered him with it. Telling him to hang on, she ran across the road to her cousin's roadside stand and called the police and ambulance. She called her boss and told her she'd be late. Then she went back to wait with the man. Her towel was no longer clean and blue, and her uniform no longer starched white.

Once the ambulance came, she turned back, went home changed clothes and went on back to work. As the months went by, she never worried about her towel anymore. We did wonder what happened to the man.

That could have been the end of this story, but it wasn't. A few months later, there was a knock at the back door. When I went to the door, there was a family standing there. The lady held a beautiful chocolate cake, and the man held a towel with all different shades of blue set in a mosaic pattern. The two kids looked scared to be there. I called for Mama to come.

The man started to thank her, and Mama stopped him short. "Our friends come to the front door," she said. When the man started to protest, she repeated her statement and closed the door. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the front door and there they stood. She invited them in, and made a pot of coffee for the adults to enjoy with their chocolate cake. The kids all had milk and cake.

I never knew the man's name. I never saw him again that I can remember. The only thing I remember is that my mama loved that towel, but not so much that she would not stop to help a stranger, no matter who he was.

My personal debt crisis

All this talk about the debt crisis got me to thinking: to whom do I owe a debt?

Of course, the first "person" to come to mind is God. Actually I owe a debt to the first, second and third person (of the Trinity). He has been so good to me. In addition to having parents, siblings, and an extended family who loved me, I ended up with a wonderful husband with whom I share the vocation of marriage, and two great kids. I am about to gain a lovely daughter-in-law that is a gift from God to our family. I have a network of loving friends who bring me joy every day. God has been so good to me. I owe him a debt of gratitude each and every hour of every day. Too many times we take the things He gives us for granted and we forget to thank Him for those things. We just end up taking them for granted.

The debt I owe that I find most important is the one I owe to Jesus. He gave Himself and gives Himself to me every day. He loves me enough to say, "Take and eat, LaJuan" even though I know in the bottom of my heart that I am certainly not worthy. Just in the last year have I fully began to realize the significance of the Eucharist and what it truly means to me. I guess it is better late than never. But that is how He rolls, isn't it? He loves us anyway, and gives Himself to us fully whether we appreciate it or not. I just love Him so, I cannot fully express it. But He knows my love is true.

The new missal changes or would you like some cheese with that whine?

This Advent, some changes are coming to the English speakers in the Catholic Church. We will begin using the Third Edition of the Roman Missal. In this edition, the English has been translated to be much closer to the original Latin, and we (and the celebrants) will be learning some new parts to the mass.

I will preface this by saying that I am no Catholic scholar or theologian. My understanding is that when they translated the Missal from Latin to the vernacular, we ended up with what I like to refer to as the "Kum by Yah" version. It's a wee bit soft, compared to the real translation. It's ok, but it's just not exactly right. I'm not saying that we have been saying something wrong, I just think we are going to be saying it better in relation to the Mother Tongue of the Church. So here we are saying things our way when the rest of the Church is saying it the right way? How is that Universal again?

I love the folks who like to complain about it. You know them. They are probably in your parish, among your friends, or even in your family. They are flapping their gums in Catholic Facebook groups and on blogs. They say things like, "This is not going to be easy," or "This doesn't make sense to me. Why do we have to go backwards?" (We're not going backwards, we're going back. Big difference.) They say, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." (It is broke and they did fix it.)

How about those Irish Bishops who are just flatly refusing to comply. Really? So, when you guys went to Bishop School, you just missed the class on obedience? (Catechism 101, fellas). I'll just bet you expect your priests to be obedient to YOU, don't ya?

Then there are the folks who whine and ask, "Why do we have to learn something different?" Or, "I am comfortable with Mass the way it is. I don't like it." (You don't get a vote)

Hey, it's not like you are a member of the Church founded by Christ himself or anything. Oh yeah, and last week when you were at Mass, your priest (and mine) was in persona Christi and he offered you the Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of Christ in the Eucharist.

Personally, I don't want to be "comfortable" at Mass. I want to jump for joy when I receive the Eucharist! I want to speak to the Lord using the same words as the rest of the Body. So, teach me 10,000 new words and I will learn them all gratefully.

"Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed."

And with your spirit.

The trouble with blogs and Justice for Caylee

When I started this blog, I had the idea that all I would write about was my experiences around losing my daughter and in the process, I would help grieving parents. I didn't think it was ok for me to write about anything else. I got to thinking about it long and hard, and mentioned it to my friend Matthew (a fellow Christian and Beatles fan), who also writes a blog. He reminded me that it was ok for me to write other things. Its a blog. I thought about what he said, and realized that no matter what I write about, I am still "wounded faithful" and still a grieving parent.
So I need to write as often as I can, and maybe some days I will just write about something else besides my experiences around losing Lauren. I think I can still achieve my goal yet exercise those writing muscles that have gone so long without being stretched.
What I wanted to talk about today is the Casey Anthony case. For me, and so many others, the death of that beautiful little girl at the hands of her mother, or someone else, is almost too much to take. The fact that the Anthony family waited 31 days to report the baby missing speaks volumes to me. The fact that the story of what happened to Caylee has changed several times speaks volumes to me, too. I think that all of the family is involved in this horrendous story in some way, and authorities should slap the cuffs on George, Cindy and Lee Anthony for, if nothing else, being accesories after the fact.
Here is what I think happened: I think probably Casey wanted to find a way to keep the baby quiet so she could do whatever it is that she does, and so she figured out how to make or buy cloroform so she could knock Caylee out and go out and have a good time. She overdosed Caylee (whether on purpose or accidentally is of no consequence to me) and then the family went into a panic. How do you explain that to the police, huh?
First she said the nanny took Caylee. Did Elizabeth Smart's parents wait 31 days to report Elizabeth missing? Then they said Caylee drowned accidentally? So you don't call 9-1-1 immediately to see if she can be revived? Wow, really? The Anthony family apparently thinks the people of the United States are as dumb and dysfunctional as they are.
The bottom line is this: this beautiful little girl is dead and deserves justice. Maybe Casey Anthony didn't mean to kill her, but I really believe she did it. I hope the forensics and everything else will prove that and she will be taken out of society. I am not advocating the death penalty, but I don't think she needs to live freely if she is guilty.
They suspended court on Saturday for a "legal matter" and who knows what that was? Let's see how this thing turns out.

That empty feeling

One of the challenges I have found being a grieving parent is the profound emptiness I sometimes feel. My friend Mel put it best when she said, "We now all have a Lauren-shaped hole in our hearts that no one else can fill." I thought, "Yeah, that's right."

I mean I can be in a room full of people and still realize that empty feeling. I know Lauren is not there, whether I am with a room full of people I love, or a room full of people I barely know. I followed Ole Miss to back-to-back Cotton Bowls in 2009 and 2010 where there were literally thousands of people yet I felt that emptiness inside.

I struggle with this a lot. I wonder if the Lord understands my feeling of emptiness, when I am supposed to be filled up with Him. Is He angry at me for not recognizing that He is my all and for still feeling sad? I don't think so. I think He knows why I feel that way. I think He understands. He wept for his friend Lazarus like we weep for our lost loved ones. Yet, Christ raising Lazarus from the dead brings us the hope of resurrection and reconciliation with our loved ones.

The closest I come to complete fulfillment is during the Eucharistic celebration. At that moment of awe, I feel a sense of completeness that eludes me almost all the rest of the time. I am happiest at that moment, I think.

I will add one caveat to this post: In no way am I shortchanging the happiness I feel spending time with my husband, son and future daughter-in-law. I probably did not have to say that, but I will say it anyway. I love them with all my heart. But I loved Lauren too, and our separation is painful for me.

I know now that I can give this suffering to Jesus. He shares it with me.