We all are in need of healing. I want to tell you a story of suffering and healing; a story of how Scripture brought me back to God. Two years ago, my husband and I journeyed towards first-time parenthood blissfully unaware of the challenges bringing a child into the world could hold.
I am not the Catholic woman who has had it all together. I am the type of individual that holds too many opinions, who is too loud, feels too deeply, and is constantly trying to get this “faith thing” right. I think that before social media, I knew I was somewhat an outsider in general, but it was once I joined that I felt that thought was perpetuated even more -- and not just by me, but by others, as well.
Growing up, most of my Catholic experiences were with groups of people who looked like me and talked like me. I attended Spanish masses often, my youth groups were mostly Hispanic, and the Catholic school I attended was a mostly Hispanic and Black Community.
Even though I was raised in a Christian home, I believed the lie that a person’s worth was tied to their productivity. Our culture is competitive and the world conditions us to believe that our value lies in our accomplishments. In 2011, two significant events would reveal the truth about human dignity. First, my two-year-old son Seth was diagnosed with Autism. Second, I made the decision to become Catholic.
I don’t always share my gifts. Sometimes I let them be just for me - for me and my time with God, or for the times I need to relax and recharge. But sometimes I know that what has been on my mind and heart needs to be released. It needs to express itself in some way specifically so that it can be shared. Those are the times my love for art, dance, and writing is transformed and my gifts are placed at the service of others.
When I said my wedding vows, I didn’t know what relevance “in sickness and in health” would soon hold in my life. The morning of my wedding, I distinctly remember noticing stiffness in my fingers. It only lasted for a little bit and I didn’t dwell on it too long (Afterall, I had more important things going on that day.) But it was the first time I remember noticing anything different about my body…
I don’t know if the experience at that church was the origin of my religious obsessive-compulsive issues, but it has always stood out in my mind as a piece of the puzzle. I think I was born naturally inclined to seek control, and so a mixture of fear and a desire for control propelled my faith forward as I grew up.
When I graduated from college, I moved home with no job and no plans. I knew that I wanted to do a year of service but I didn’t know what exactly that meant for me. I applied to a service program and was given the choice between several different service sites working with all different populations.
I wanted close friends so badly because, as an only child, I never had a sister of my own. I had supportive family relationships and friendships, which more than made up for not having siblings. But, instead of receiving their love as a gift from God, all I could see was the hole left in my life by the sister I'd never had.
I knelt in the last pew of the little adoration chapel, reflecting on my Wednesday workday and trying to motivate myself to pray the Rosary when a middle-aged Hispanic woman entered. She shuffled past me, dropped to her knees in front of the monstrance and lifted her hands.
Dear sisters,
I was in second grade when I wrote down my first story. I remember it well, the feeling of the plush green carpet beneath my feet as I made my way into my father’s wood-paneled study. His massive leather-topped desk held my wide-ruled notebook paper and sharpened #2 pencil. I scooted the desk chair up as far as my eight-year-old legs could manage and I began my work. Thirty minutes later, it was done: a sketch and accompanying short story titled “The Adventures of Hamburgerman.”
God speaks to each of us in the language He has written into our hearts and learning to listen to His voice and let our hearts speak to His through creative artistic expression is a joy-filled and life-giving dialogue. The beauty we co-create with our Lord is not a masterpiece to be hung in a gallery, but the masterpiece of our own broken hearts and lives becoming whole and radiant with His infinite colors and Light.
So what is the truth of what it means to be a Catholic woman today? The truth is that our vocation is not found in one single decision in time. Our vocation is not proven through what we went to school for, our ability to hold a job, or where we live. Our vocation is not necessarily one thing. Our vocation can change with the seasons. Whether we are married, single, or a religious, God can call us all over the place, to a number of different careers or workplaces; we should not be convinced that one path is the only path.
If you fail, falter and grieve, you are human, and the gift of your humanity is that, through His suffering, we can be redeemed – and be made just a little stronger –to continue our mission.
This is the important thing, I think: longing for Heaven must be felt. We must allow this thirst for our true home to grow in us. There is real pain in this world, but there is also real beauty. It is our sacred duty to hold these two things in tension. We must be like Mary at the foot of the Cross, contemplating her crucified Son. We must be like Anna beholding the risen Son, and let the glory of God radiate through our broken bodies, lighting the way home.
As I cried in my bathroom, I told God how sick I am of fighting against my body. I told Him how exhausted I am of trying to love myself only to fail. I told Him how I didn’t understand how I was good even in my overweightness. I told Him how frustrated I was that I didn’t feel comfortable dressing in the clothes I wanted to.
I got out of the shower and stared at myself in the mirror once more. Suddenly, God said:
“You are so, so much more than the clothes you wear. There is so much more to you than that.”
The Church can manage your hunger. The Church asks you to come, to ask, to walk bravely forward with your palms turned upward, cupped and ready to receive the good gift.
If you’ve lost a child, I need you to know that you’re not alone. Our grief has woven together and we’ve found ourselves a part of this club that no one ever wanted to join. And it sucks, it’s okay to say that. It’s awful and messy and frustrating and ugly — but we’re here together, we’re not alone.
My faith was characterized by busyness: read my Bible, volunteer at youth group, journal, go to church, teach my children Bible lessons, read something spiritual, lead a Bible study—and I was exhausted.
And while I landed my first management role, my husband and I found out that we were expecting our first child. When I told my employer that I was expecting, he dropped his drink and said, “What did I do wrong?”