We have attended our current church for twelve years, and in that time, we've found its atmosphere move from joyful and enjoyable to depressing. We thought that if we volunteered, we might get more out of the service, but that hasn't necessarily happened. I love our church, don't get me wrong, but something has been missing for nearly three years now. Today, I realized what it is: music.
Our lead cantor has a lovely voice, but all the music she chooses is slow and sad. She can turn the most joyful music into a dirge. For example, "Go Tell it on the Mountain" is a joyful and upbeat song about the birth of Christ. No one would ever know it by attending our church and hearing it played and sung. Our music is funereal, which is truly too bad, and it's no wonder others are leaving the parish to join others, most likely in search of happines rather than gloom.
I walked out of our visited church today happy and uplifted, the way I once felt when we began going to our current parish. I'm sure our priest has something to do with the doom and gloom tone of our parish; he isn't the most uplifting priest I've ever heard. Nor is he a fiery priest. He just...is. In fact, our spiritual life at our church seems rather barren and cold, much like our priest. After the Sandy Hook tragedy, our priest offered no words of comfort or solace the following Sunday. Nothing. Nada. Zip. He continued with his usual sermon rather than deviate and console us. Granted, we are thousands of miles from the scene of this current tragedy, but many of us have young children and needed some solace.
I've always considered church as a place of reconciliation, peace, love, comfort, joy, so imagine my frustration that our church is no longer offering those to me. The logical person would forgo this current parish and find one that ministers to needs better, but I'm often illogical. I'll stay; we have invested too much time and effort into our current parish. However, whenever I can, I will most certainly attend our neighboring church, one that offers joyful, soul-enriching music and a happy,
life-loving priest. Our current priest only has three years remaining at our church; I can outwait him.
I can also do what our Catholic church tells us not to do...listen to gospel and other Christian genres to remember joy in our church music.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
#Missing friendship
At 18, I made friends with a brassy, bad-ass, bossy 17 year old girl. At first, I couldn't stand her, but as weeks passed, I began to appreciate her--as her personality was the antithesis to mine. I wasn't bad-ass, nor was I brassy, and I was only bossy at home with my brother. The two of us seemed an unlikely friendship, but she was the best friend I have ever had.
What drove us apart, honestly, was her husband. We spent a year without one another because her boyfriend (soon husband) and I detested one another. I found him controlling, mostly to make up for his lack of self-worth. I thought--and still think of him--he was a loser. A guy with a dead end restaurant job. A stoner who found God. He blustered and talked a good talk. But really, he was an asshole. I, and to his credit-limited though it is-and her husband tried to get along, tried to pretend our natural revulsion for one another didn't exist. Finally, after he moved her 45 minutes away from me, from their church, from her mother, we were sitting in my car in a parking lot, while she cried about how she didn't know who she was anymore, how he had overpowered her confidence in herself as well as her life, I began to realize how detrimental I was to her.
We tried to get together, we really did, after she moved. But her husband would call her repeatedly, asking when she was going to be home to take care of their children because he had plans. Or she would cancel because her husband made plans and couldn't change them. And I understood that I was not welcome in her life, at least from her husband's perspective. He did everything he could to make our times together limited and frustrating, and I knew I couldn't cope with him any longer. Each time I was around him, I wanted to lash out and hurt him the way I felt he was hurting his wife. Each time I kept my mouth shut, knowing my friend would pay the consequences-at least psychologically-for my transgressions.
Eventually, between a new baby, graduate school, a full time job, and my feelings about my friend's husband, I ended the friendship. I knew by removing myself from her life, her husband would back off her too. They are still together, and I'm pretty sure life is better without me in it.
However, especially now with my mom dead, I miss female friendship. It's hard for me to make friends, and obviously to keep them, and it's hard for me to trust women. Women can be cruel and competitive. Women are untrustworthy. That's what made my friendship with Shea so special; she wasn't anything of those things with me. I could trust her with my life.
I miss having someone to call and hang out with. I miss shopping with a woman; men don't always understand that it's about the experience rather than the money spent. I miss going to movies with a woman, crying and feeling better when the movie is over. I miss having lunch with another woman,complaining of our husbands and children, yet knowing how much we love them. I miss finding inappropriate cards for another woman, knowing she'll get the joke. I miss being myself with another woman. I'm always on guard with others, except my husband, and it would be nice to truly be myself with another woman without fearing she'll hate me.
As for my friend, the one for whom I mourn my loss, I know we'll never be friends again; too much has happened between us for this to happen. I wish I could find another friend, one with whom I can share my hopes, dreams, fears, and frustrations. Honestly, I miss friendship.
What drove us apart, honestly, was her husband. We spent a year without one another because her boyfriend (soon husband) and I detested one another. I found him controlling, mostly to make up for his lack of self-worth. I thought--and still think of him--he was a loser. A guy with a dead end restaurant job. A stoner who found God. He blustered and talked a good talk. But really, he was an asshole. I, and to his credit-limited though it is-and her husband tried to get along, tried to pretend our natural revulsion for one another didn't exist. Finally, after he moved her 45 minutes away from me, from their church, from her mother, we were sitting in my car in a parking lot, while she cried about how she didn't know who she was anymore, how he had overpowered her confidence in herself as well as her life, I began to realize how detrimental I was to her.
We tried to get together, we really did, after she moved. But her husband would call her repeatedly, asking when she was going to be home to take care of their children because he had plans. Or she would cancel because her husband made plans and couldn't change them. And I understood that I was not welcome in her life, at least from her husband's perspective. He did everything he could to make our times together limited and frustrating, and I knew I couldn't cope with him any longer. Each time I was around him, I wanted to lash out and hurt him the way I felt he was hurting his wife. Each time I kept my mouth shut, knowing my friend would pay the consequences-at least psychologically-for my transgressions.
Eventually, between a new baby, graduate school, a full time job, and my feelings about my friend's husband, I ended the friendship. I knew by removing myself from her life, her husband would back off her too. They are still together, and I'm pretty sure life is better without me in it.
However, especially now with my mom dead, I miss female friendship. It's hard for me to make friends, and obviously to keep them, and it's hard for me to trust women. Women can be cruel and competitive. Women are untrustworthy. That's what made my friendship with Shea so special; she wasn't anything of those things with me. I could trust her with my life.
I miss having someone to call and hang out with. I miss shopping with a woman; men don't always understand that it's about the experience rather than the money spent. I miss going to movies with a woman, crying and feeling better when the movie is over. I miss having lunch with another woman,complaining of our husbands and children, yet knowing how much we love them. I miss finding inappropriate cards for another woman, knowing she'll get the joke. I miss being myself with another woman. I'm always on guard with others, except my husband, and it would be nice to truly be myself with another woman without fearing she'll hate me.
As for my friend, the one for whom I mourn my loss, I know we'll never be friends again; too much has happened between us for this to happen. I wish I could find another friend, one with whom I can share my hopes, dreams, fears, and frustrations. Honestly, I miss friendship.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Christmas
So Christmas is now two days away. Presents are wrapped, tree decorated, anticipation building...but it's hard for me to understand the idea of the Christmas miracle.
Honestly, the "Christmas miracle" idea must be a Hollywood notion because I've yet to experience it. There's also supposed to be "magic" this time of year, but again, I've yet to experience that. All the different movies, television shows, and even "feel good" stories we hear about don't seemingly appear in real life. Instead, real life consists of eating more than we should, stress, anger, and disappointment.
Obligations surround so many of us during the Christmas season. For years, I've loved sending and receiving Christmas cards and letters, but for the past two years, I really haven't cared. I've loved shopping for the perfect gifts, preparing our house to host our families, and cooking Italian food for Christmas Eve. Now, it seems like more of a hassle rather than a pleasure to do any of these things.
As a child, the season was filled with magic as wonderful smells emanated from the kitchen where my mom was making cookies, fudge, and other delectable treats. One day during the season was devoted to watching my mom and my nana make traditional Italian cookies...tortidi and scalidi. While they were making the cookies, they were also baking homemade bread and rolls. Our jobs involved rolling dough and listening to them talk.
Christmas Eve was devoted to our family celebrating with lasagna, meatballs, sausage...all yummy dishes. My brother and I were relegated to the living room and parked in front of the TV while everything was prepared. After dinner, my dad had to do something with us until we were ready for games of gin, coffee, and cake. Finally, as we were about to burst, it was time to open gifts. Naturally, Santa came throughout the night, which was exciting. Plus we went to church, and then it was time to have everyone over again for turkey or ham, and a full feast of potatoes, veggies, and pie.
I keep remembering those magical Christmases rather than anticipating the current Christmas. I wish for all those who loved me then were around now. I want my son to have magical Christmases like I did, which is why we play with Elf on the Shelf, email Santa, and try to fulfill his desires. I want him to remember some of our traditions, like driving around, looking at lights at other people's homes or watching the Parade of Lights.
Christmas magic, while a fabrication of Hollywood, would be nice to have this year. I would love a miracle, like finding my Christmas spirit. I want to enjoy it rather than cry through it.
Honestly, the "Christmas miracle" idea must be a Hollywood notion because I've yet to experience it. There's also supposed to be "magic" this time of year, but again, I've yet to experience that. All the different movies, television shows, and even "feel good" stories we hear about don't seemingly appear in real life. Instead, real life consists of eating more than we should, stress, anger, and disappointment.
Obligations surround so many of us during the Christmas season. For years, I've loved sending and receiving Christmas cards and letters, but for the past two years, I really haven't cared. I've loved shopping for the perfect gifts, preparing our house to host our families, and cooking Italian food for Christmas Eve. Now, it seems like more of a hassle rather than a pleasure to do any of these things.
As a child, the season was filled with magic as wonderful smells emanated from the kitchen where my mom was making cookies, fudge, and other delectable treats. One day during the season was devoted to watching my mom and my nana make traditional Italian cookies...tortidi and scalidi. While they were making the cookies, they were also baking homemade bread and rolls. Our jobs involved rolling dough and listening to them talk.
Christmas Eve was devoted to our family celebrating with lasagna, meatballs, sausage...all yummy dishes. My brother and I were relegated to the living room and parked in front of the TV while everything was prepared. After dinner, my dad had to do something with us until we were ready for games of gin, coffee, and cake. Finally, as we were about to burst, it was time to open gifts. Naturally, Santa came throughout the night, which was exciting. Plus we went to church, and then it was time to have everyone over again for turkey or ham, and a full feast of potatoes, veggies, and pie.
I keep remembering those magical Christmases rather than anticipating the current Christmas. I wish for all those who loved me then were around now. I want my son to have magical Christmases like I did, which is why we play with Elf on the Shelf, email Santa, and try to fulfill his desires. I want him to remember some of our traditions, like driving around, looking at lights at other people's homes or watching the Parade of Lights.
Christmas magic, while a fabrication of Hollywood, would be nice to have this year. I would love a miracle, like finding my Christmas spirit. I want to enjoy it rather than cry through it.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
#Guns, #schools, and #mental illness
This past week's school shooting once again brings gun control and school safety to the forefront of Americans' minds. We shout for restrictive gun laws or banning guns as a whole. We demand teachers carry guns and we have metal detectors at the entrances of our schools. We pull our children from public schools and put them in private schools or choose to homeschool because they'll be "safe." After a few weeks, and until the next mass shooting occurs, our lives return to normal, and we no longer address this issue of violence. What is missing, however, from this argument is the root cause of mass shootings.
The reality of mass shootings has little to do with guns. Yes, easy accessibility to assault rifles and other rapid-fire weapons allows for more people to get injured or die in a shorter amount of time, but we are unwilling to examine the root cause of this problem. What makes these young men, more often than not white, upper middle class, highly intelligent young men, want to go into public space and murder as many innocents as possible before they take their own lives? What in their consciences says this behavior is okay?
No one seems willing to explore the root of the problem. Is is mental illness? It is true that mental healthcare is expensive and out of reach for a majority of people who need it. It is true that funding for mental health programs has decreased over the past few years. It is also true that those who most need institutions where they can be diagnosed and treated are few and far between, plus they cost more than most families can afford. And it is also true that mental illness is stigmatized; no one wants to admit to having depression or other forms of mental illness. We seem to suffer from a malaise that allows us to pretend everything is fine when it is not.
Nor does anyone want to explore and address the amount of violence children experience in their own lives from early ages. How many children watch rated R horror movies, listen to music with violent lyrics, and are allowed to play violent video games. Even cartoons rated for 7 year old children, like "Ben 10," are filled with violence. Violent TV shows outnumber nonviolent shows. It seems as though there are two or three violent dramas available on network TV each night, many beginning at 7 pm. As a parent, finding a nonviolent yet entertaining television show/cartoon is difficult. I don't want my son watching the type of violence that appears on shows like NCIS: LA or CSI. He doesn't need to know about blood spatter or how to kill with a semi-automatic weapon.
At what point will we, as a society, wake up regarding this issue of mass shootings? Guns are the devices these mentally ill people use to murder large numbers of people. I am not a member or a supporter of the NRA, but I agree that restricting guns doesn't help. Giving teachers guns won't help either. Neither will arming the individual citizen. When we are ready to discuss the issue of mental illness and our violent culture, maybe we will be able to halt these senseless killings.
The reality of mass shootings has little to do with guns. Yes, easy accessibility to assault rifles and other rapid-fire weapons allows for more people to get injured or die in a shorter amount of time, but we are unwilling to examine the root cause of this problem. What makes these young men, more often than not white, upper middle class, highly intelligent young men, want to go into public space and murder as many innocents as possible before they take their own lives? What in their consciences says this behavior is okay?
No one seems willing to explore the root of the problem. Is is mental illness? It is true that mental healthcare is expensive and out of reach for a majority of people who need it. It is true that funding for mental health programs has decreased over the past few years. It is also true that those who most need institutions where they can be diagnosed and treated are few and far between, plus they cost more than most families can afford. And it is also true that mental illness is stigmatized; no one wants to admit to having depression or other forms of mental illness. We seem to suffer from a malaise that allows us to pretend everything is fine when it is not.
Nor does anyone want to explore and address the amount of violence children experience in their own lives from early ages. How many children watch rated R horror movies, listen to music with violent lyrics, and are allowed to play violent video games. Even cartoons rated for 7 year old children, like "Ben 10," are filled with violence. Violent TV shows outnumber nonviolent shows. It seems as though there are two or three violent dramas available on network TV each night, many beginning at 7 pm. As a parent, finding a nonviolent yet entertaining television show/cartoon is difficult. I don't want my son watching the type of violence that appears on shows like NCIS: LA or CSI. He doesn't need to know about blood spatter or how to kill with a semi-automatic weapon.
At what point will we, as a society, wake up regarding this issue of mass shootings? Guns are the devices these mentally ill people use to murder large numbers of people. I am not a member or a supporter of the NRA, but I agree that restricting guns doesn't help. Giving teachers guns won't help either. Neither will arming the individual citizen. When we are ready to discuss the issue of mental illness and our violent culture, maybe we will be able to halt these senseless killings.
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