Irreverent Eloquence

My "Life Plan" circa 1995.        If you didn't know it already, I am a planner. I love making decisions and mapping out the how and when I will arrive at my destinations in life. My mom recently unearthed this beauty of a project that I must have done for school, I'm guessing in about fourth or fifth grade. I clearly did not have many goals at the time...finish school, drive a minivan, score a glamorous diamond and a full family then coast through life to my death at age seventy-six or so.         Now I don't want to judge my younger self too harshly. After all, what more could there be in life than that, and how else to portray it all except for shiny and sparkly and smiling? What would it look like now? If I had to redo this project in this year, 2014, at age 30? If I had to predict where and how my life would go, when it would end, could I do it? Would I cut out cute photos of my dreams going forward and what would they include?...

       I have been lax in my pursuits of faith this week, struggling with an undercurrent of the blahs. If I am honest with myself, I do not have the energy to do what must be done, to work for belief. Tonight I am back on track, having not let my mind wander far from cultural differences and language barriers, and definitely not too distantly from deities. I've been reading a few books lately about education, specifically renewing a fervor for educating girls in Pakistan and Afghanistan. Maybe some of you have read these books, Three Cups of Tea  and Stones into Schools ?        The topics have touched on things I hold dear- education, female empowerment, and opening oneself up to cultural experiences. It has made me curious to say the least about the people in general, who seem a world or two away from the life I live, but also about the religion, Islam, that most of them practice.        I will not profess to be mor...

       I launched this week my worry over faith. In my Grief I have been privy to many takes on the afterlife, mostly from my Christian peers. I have my son painted as an angel, most definitely in Heaven, and for others that must be some kind of relief. I'm not sure that it affords me the same feelings.        After being raised a dutiful Catholic I have not taken to the dogma of religion as I was taught. Not that I'm much of an independent thinker on these issues; I merely am unsure that I subscribe to the teachings one and all of my Church. I am intrigued by other religions certainly, but I find myself most drawn to nothing. Not atheism really, more likely agnosticism.              Have you thought it out? The whole existence of God? I think about it a lot, read about it, dissect the theories and cannot for the life of me make heads of tails of it. How could we not be created by something or someone Divine...

Shall I start with what I am already supposed to know and believe? If I want to examine my own Humanity before diving into another culture or religion, I'll begin with this: Roman Catholic faith.         I was baptized, reconciled, celebrated my first Holy Communion, Confirmation, was married and have had each of my daughters baptized all in the Catholic Church. I attended religious education from the time I was 5 years old all the way until 15. I can't tell you now the last lesson in theology I attended but I feel like I have a fairly decent handle on what my Church preaches.      What stuck in my mind when my son died though, was this: I don't know if Griffin goes to Heaven.         What is your instant reaction? Of course he does!? When I think back to what I have been taught through the years it gave me pause about his fate after death. I was baptized and I baptized my girls all to take away Original Si...

        Do you think God says, "I'm sorry?" Seriously. I'm reading up on Grief and doing my Grief work. I'm following others' blogs and seeing all over that it will make sense in the end, this loss. I have this wonder then, if that's really the case, if when we flit on up to Heaven and get our personal encounter with God, if this Being will peer into my eyes and utter those words, "I'm sorry."        I've uttered them enough this year myself. I shake my head and mournfully tell my family, my friends, my health care team how sorry I am to have them bear witness and carry our pain. We apologize to one another and forgive ourselves for the choices made that cannot be changed. I hear from well-meaning folk that this was all in someone else's plan, that we cannot blame ourselves and how this death will serve some purpose.         "Love means never having to say you're sorry." Is that how it will be for God? That in my en...

       What a dreary day in May, a month I usually love and really enjoy. The rain started lightly enough this morning, a drizzle filtering in through the clouds, the sky a drab tone of gray from the start. I was content to lounge in bed a little longer, my husband taking my kindergartener to school and my other girls enjoying a slow rise, leaning back on my large pillows and snuggling in for an episode or two of morning cartoons.         I closed up the windows to the house, didn't want the cool air to suck the warmth from my home, didn't want to let in the damp to wet the windowsills. I told the girls to play outside but only as far as the empty garage so they wouldn't be coming in muddy, asking me for towels and a change of clothes. The rain abated for a few minutes as we walked out to the truck this afternoon, loading in to pick up the oldest from school. A deluge targeted us soon after, though, as the wipers swished full bore to cl...

       I'm missing that characteristic I think. Melodrama is something I watch on screen and would love to perfect. Not that I haven't tried it out once or twice, in a frenzy of high emotion and unsettled nerves I have let loose some tirades.        There are a few I can recall distinctly. Once, I was so mad at my fiance (now husband) that in the heat of the argument, I yanked off my engagement ring and flung it furiously across the room, pelting him in the chest. That might have been followed by my stomping out of the room to pout, I don't rightly remember. I'm sure I have slammed doors with the best of them, sworn a blue streak, and I have mastered the art of the eye roll and sarcastic retort.        What I'm really meaning to display is not deeper, just a few shades darker really. Like a dusky hue in my personality, the capability to ooze emotion in every action, each movement precise and timed to perfection, all culmina...