Of Life and Death, How will you be remembered?

22 May 2012 4 Comments

by Hiland Rose in Everyday Victories and Random Thoughts, Victory Stories from YOU!

I received difficult news this morning.  My husband’s Great Uncle has died.  This isn’t really a surprise for any of us, he was ninety-three and had suffered a massive heart attack around Thanksgiving last year.  My husband and his whole family were close to him.  He was one of those people that you almost forget will die one day.  He was sharp as a tack, wise, witty and full of life.  Talking to him, you kind of forgot how old he really was because he was so relatable.  He was in the background of every family get-together on my husband’s side of the family as long as I have known him… his presence was quiet, but if you took the time to seek him out, you would find a gem of wit and wisdom sparkling in his eyes.

The news gave me pause.  He and his wife gave others hope.  Sometimes it was through monetary gifts, sometimes a hug or dinner, always,their arms were open.  They would give a leg up to someone who needed a boost to get going on a better path in life.  I am sure that his wife will continue this but the two of them together were really something to behold.

My husband’s Great Uncle gave so much, he died surrounded by his children with his wife at his side, he did not die in a state of bitterness, and he was not alone.  He released himself to God’s will and was welcomed home.

When I go, that’s how I would want to go.  I want to know that I did everything I could, that I loved with all my heart and that even if it wasn’t perfect, I gave everything I had and did my best to live the way God asked me to.

How will I be remembered when I am gone?  Part of me wants to hide in the back ground, to not be seen or known until I am not there to be known.  I am not a fan of the lime light.  I don’t expect the church to be packed (I can count my true friends on one hand ;)   but will those who come to my funeral know how much I loved them?  Will my children be able to say, “If we knew anything, we knew our Mom loved us.” ?

Most importantly, when I stand before the throne of God and see Jesus face to face, will He know me? Will he say “Welcome Home!”?

I don’t think about it much, not enough really.  My stints between confessions can be pretty long and sometimes I’d rather minimize my faults and blame those around me for my failures.  I have a lot of work to do… but if I keep that question ever before me, “How will I be remembered?”  I think it’ll keep the priorities in order.

Victory? It’s in the little things.

15 May 2012 3 Comments

by Hiland Rose in Everyday Victories and Random Thoughts

I am an “working” mom.  I have two jobs, the one I clock in for Monday through Friday, and the one I come home to.

I live in a world where my heart is divided and my purpose is clear… the means by which it is executed don’t necessarily fit my plan for my life, but that is where Grace comes in.  I keep running across books by women who “gave it all up” to come home and raise a family… I know so many wonderful stay at home moms, it’s hard not to feel guilty about what I can’t be right now.  I am a woman divided.  I have screamed about it in the quiet of my bedroom at night when the kids have gone to bed and my husband is at work. I have argued over and over with my will and God’s plan.  I don’t know what is the best path for me right now.

The sacrifice is the same, the consequences are equal, the pros and cons are dead-even when I consider my options.  I can continue as I am and remain exhausted, and stressed out because I can’t do everything I want to do for my kids and take care of the things a woman is supposed to be able to take care of; or I can try and start a business in a difficult economy and put my family at risk even more financially, while I am home to take care of all the stuff my  family needs, while still being stressed out and exhausted.  I can’ afford to quit right now.  I can’t afford to stay in the job I am in.  So there is my dilemma.  This is what I lay before the feet of the Holy Family, and this is what I have asked for roses from St Therese for, this is what I pray about and complain about daily and God has chosen  to be silent on the issue.

Why?  When I take the time to move past my self-pity and annoyances, I find myself pondering this simple three letter question word.  That subtle whisper, the voice of Truth speaks when I settle my thoughts and I find that the victory is in the little things.  God is not going to lift this cross from my shoulders,  He is going to give me what I need to carry it with dignity.  I have to learn to find contentment in the moment He gives me.  I have to rely on Him for this breath, this task, this mundane or asinine  assignment.  I have to find joy in the brief pleasure of my nineteen month old’s bath time, the excitement in my five year old when she pronounces the letter “L” properly.  I have to take a moment and thank God for my body, and the wonder of the fact that it still functions after 6:00 PM.  I must find a way to praise him for the dishes and laundry waiting for me when I get home, (We have food to eat and clothes to wear)  I have to.  Not because God needs this from me, but because through it God shows his undying love for me.  He wants me to be with Him and that means that He wants me to grow passed this.

Believe me, my life is far from perfect.  I haven’t quite got the hang of praising God for the crud I am scraping off of my baby’s high chair or the mysterious way the laundry doubles every time my son cleans his room but I am learning. ”Career” mom isn’t really a choice any more for a lot of us.  It has become a necessity for so many.  Hang in there ladies, God knows the desire of your heart.  Please pray for me and I’ll pray for you too.

Blessings!

The Hiland Rose

My open letter of forgiveness…to the Ex-es

12 Apr 2012 2 Comments

by Hiland Rose in Everyday Victories and Random Thoughts, Letters of Forgiveness

Ok, so we near the end of the week, and I finally have the guts to post a letter.  (sheepish grimace) or, more specifically two.  These were bridges I burned, never to be mended.  God knows who they are and I know He watches over them.  I doubt they would read this blog but all these years have not dimmed the effect they had on my life…

To Shadow,

We started out like some kind of forbidden romance novel… You were dark and moody, troubled and lovely. I was straight-laced, passionate and so green….You taught me what it meant to love without regard for myself… you taught me that love was not enough.  We had a unique connection, the ability to communicate on a level unusual for most teenagers.  You came from a broken home, you learned marriage was troubled, you learned that abuse was manly and that in order to have what you wanted, that violence was an option, you were taught by your father that you were only worth what your fists could do for you.  You were taught that a woman had to cow to keep peace  You were told that you were worthless, that you were stupid.  You fought for your manhood and struggled to keep your sanity.  I learned to read your drawings, the story of your life, there in black and white Ink on a huge sheet of drawing paper in seventh hour art.  I asked you what it meant, what your story really was, and for three years you told me, breaking my heart and learning to rise above it all.

Please forgive me for the rebellion that drove our relationship before the end.  Please forgive me for not seeing that you were trying to be someone else, to please me.  Please forgive me for not recognizing that you could not be who I wanted you to be, and that I could not love you enough for a marriage.

I forgive you for your jealousy.  I forgive you for your inability to let me go before seeing someone else. I forgive you for holding the failure of our relationship against me to the point where you refused an opportunity at reconciliation at a mutual friend’s Super Bowl party.  I loved you and I wanted only the best for you, I forgive you because there was a deep friendship bond there that could have remained.  I pray for you and your wife, you both hurt me but I forgive you and hope you both found the happiness you so desperately wanted.

God bless,

Your former Angel

 

To the Cali Boy,

You were the one that devastated me, that taught me that the boundaries could indeed move, and that sin was a sinister force that would tear my soul in two.  Our meeting was one that was an opportunity for both of us, a potential for greatness and one that could have resulted in a holy and blessed friendship had selfishness not entered in.

You were a seeker, but only with half your heart.  Your intention was to keep things easy-going, fun and casual while being exclusive but non-committal.  I was looking for a potential spouse, adventure and to shed the good girl image that had me labeled as an ice queen, unapproachable and somehow too good to be taken for anything but a teacher or nun.  We had everything in common save the most important thing.   I was Catholic, you were spiritual, claiming no creed or religion, but bent where the wind blew.  You introduced me to a different world, one of sensual experiences, loud music and the potential of pleasure (so I thought) without consequence. You saw nothing wrong with it, you did not see that what you offered me was empty, you knew nothing better.  You opened my eyes to the monster within me, the beast that needed collared and tamed, you wanted me to let her run free.   You and I shared a love of beauty, art and nature.  I saw God everywhere, you were not interested beyond how far this would allow me to go with you.  I thought I could love you, even said the words, tried to justify our actions in it, but found that I sinned.  I could not make this go away and I could not tell you because you did not understand.  You would not understand.

I showed you my world, introduced you to the Mass, showed you why my Faith meant everything, but in the end, my desire for you, your ability to confuse my mind by suggesting I might be too closed, by “soothing” away my bad days, I let it overwhelm my conscience.  I made the choice to swallow my birthright, to internalize my doubts and allow you to become more important.  You promised pleasure without a union.  My actions with you did not back up my words.  The hypocrisy and guilt overwhelmed me… I broke it off without explaining why.  I called,  I did it over the phone, I cried, muttered something about marriage never being in the picture and hung up in tears, your words, “Why didn’t you tell me there was a problem, we could have worked this out…”  ringing in my head… Then I remembered another conversation, the one that should have ended our relationship, that night, instead of two months later….You took down a christian youth leader  in a verbal battle, in front of his students! You bragged about it to me.  I had looked at you and said, “When are you going to do that to me?”  You said it would have to be sexually, that was my weakness…I don’t think you realize how close you came to doing just that.

I learned from you that I was not strong enough.  I learned from you that I had been doing lip service my entire life, when it came down to it I failed, big time.  You did me a great service by moving on so quickly.  You let me see that I had a long way to go, and I learned what it was that I really wanted for myself.  I couldn’t live with the guilt, I found myself tempted to suicide… By the grace of God and a friend who knew me well, things got better.

Cali boy, I ask you for your forgiveness, I did not explain why I broke up with you because I couldn’t admit it to myself that we were in sin. I couldn’t continue down that road with you and hold my head up high.  I could not live a double standard.  I was a coward.  I am sorry.  Please forgive me for not sticking by my guns, for staying when I should have gone home, for allowing you access to my body when I should have said “no” more clearly.  I did know better, and allowed my desire for the immediate overcome my hunger for the eternal.  Forgive me for settling for something surface and comfortable when I really hungered for something so much deeper.  Forgive me for not leading you to Christ, for leading you on instead.

I forgive your manipulation, your selfishness that made me an object, an end to a means.  I forgive the fact that you wanted what everyone else around you seemed to have, I forgive you for pushing for an intimacy that I had told you I could not give, and would not give outside of Marriage.  I forgive your immaturity and inability to commit at the time.

I pray for you, I hope you did eventually marry and find a wonderful woman who could be a light for you.  You were a beautiful soul, I hope and pray to meet you again on the other side when we have all made it to Heaven.

Many blessings,

Tigger

 

 

 

Me and Mary Magdalene

02 Apr 2012 1 Comment

by Hiland Rose in Everyday Victories and Random Thoughts

I was lucky enough to have a really wonderful first grade teacher.  She is one of a very select few that I would attribute my successes through education to.  Her name was Sister Latisha Anne, she was soft spoken, elderly and short.  She would sit us down for the religion part of our instruction and read from this huge bible story book.   It was my first encounter with the Saints, and especially with St. Mary Magdalen.  Sister used to speak of the Saints like they were her near and dear friends.  Her familiarity with them left an impression on me that went deep.  Mary Magdalen was the woman who washed Jesus’ feet with her tears, she was so sorrowful for the life she lived before meeting him.  She dried his feet with her beautiful hair, in this bible story book, she was painted with wavy chestnut tresses below her waist, she was dressed in brown and greens with big jewels and gold cuff bracelets.  Her story sparked something my six year old heart.

As I grew older, I heard her story repeated in the gospels. She was Mary Magdalen, the harlot turned disciple, the woman who broke the jar of perfume over Jesus’ head.  Some think she may have been martha’s sister who sat at his feet and chose the better part.  She was the first person blessed to see Jesus after his resurrection, but only after she had walked with Our Blessed Mother and St John to Golgotha and watched him die.

Mary Magdalen is one of my heroes.  I fell in love with her because of the depth of contrition in her heart at first, and then because she was one of Jesus closest friends.  I so wanted to have been in her shoes, to see his miracles, to have heard his voice as he taught… She was the one who could not let it go, she had to see him one last time…so she went to the tomb and in her grief stricken state mistook Our Lord for the gardener and begged him to reveal where he had put Jesus body.  Like that day, so long ago when she first wept at his feet, I am sure he lifted her chin and made her look at him… I hunger for that intimacy, It burns inside of me, the desire to be that close to Jesus.

I had been so enamored with her that I even took her as my Confirmation namesake.  I expressed this to a friend of mine once and she looked at me with wide eyes and said “Woah, that’s heavy there.” or something to that effect.  Needless to say at the time, I was seventeen and had no idea what paths this would lead me down.  I laugh now at my presumption to think I chose that name, I think in reality she chose me.

I used to meditate on her story before the Blessed Sacrament when I was single.  It was a time when I wasn’t really living that well.  I had begun to experience a lot of what led her to the feet of Jesus, namely the sense that something wasn’t right, that I needed to make a break with my old life and find that place at His feet again.  I thought about the ridicule and the whispers that must have preceded her slow, hesitant steps at first, then the deafening silence as she began to cry over Jesus’s feet. I thought about the indignation of the Pharisees and those around who couldn’t believe He let her touch Him, while forgetting that no one had offered the minimal courtesy of washing His feet when He had entered the house.  I remembered her humility, and His response to her sincerety and contrition.  I knew I had to follow her example and do the same.

Now, it has been some years since those thoughts were most poignant.  I still strive for her humility and rest in the fact that I can be forgiven.  It was funny, recently I looked her up to see who she was the patroness of.  Turns out Artists and Hair Dressers are the first two patronages attributed to her.  This confirmed the fact that it was the Holy Spirit that guided me to this decision and that she has been praying for me.  (I am an artist and was a hair dresser for a while there)

We are now entering the Holiest and Highest week of the Liturgical Year.  We remember Christ’s Passion Death and Resurrection.  Mary Magdelene was there, she walked the road. She stood with Mary and the women of Jerusalem when all the men had fled save John.   She greeted Jesus first after it was all over and God had been Glorified… I am looking forward to the day when I too can bow at his feet and kiss them for real, to cry tears of joy and to know that I will never have to leave His side.  St. Mary Magdalene,thank you for your example of undying love and for teaching the meaning of penance, pray for us.

Am I a Martyr in Waiting?

28 Mar 2012 2 Comments

by Hiland Rose in Everyday Victories and Random Thoughts Tags: , ,

Last Sunday our deacon gave one of the most pointed and rousing homilies I have heard since I was a kid.  He laid it all on the line, he even made two women walk out in the middle of his homily in a huff… He was preaching from the heart about the elephant in the room, The Mandate.  He put the un-asked, unspoken thoughts I’ve had out there in the open air for us to ponder… Are we strong enough, are we courageous enough to put our Health Care where our Faith is?

What does this really mean?  I don’t consider myself a revolutionary or a rebel with a cause, but we are called to be counter cultural when it comes to the “Culture of Death.”  What’s so sad about this, if the Mandate stands, we are rolling over.  We are saying that our religious and moral convictions are all well and good behind the walls of the parish church, but don’t mean diddley squat in the rest of our lives.

This isn’t about access to health care, this isn’t about access to contraception.  I received a fantastic reply to an email requesting my senators to sign the petition for the Right of Conscience Act from my senator, Doug Lamborn, in my inbox this afternoon.  He’s one of the guys on our side in the Senate.  He mentioned the fact that this is an attack on our religious liberty.  I have to laugh because there isn’t a word about that in the main stream media right now.  The Supreme court is debating this and not a word about the First Amendment has been published.  I don’t get it.  Aren’t there something like  four million catholics in the US right now, and even if it’s only a small percentage of  that who live our faith, why doesn’t it come up?  I think what we don’t hear is even louder than what is being spoken.

So, that brings me back to the reality of what this legislation means to me and my family.  It means that we can not carry insurance in good conscience.  It means that the Government can fine me because I won’t pay for someone else’s abortion (I might as well set money on fire now, as that’s how much good this is going to do)  It will limit my family’s access to health care because our finances are not very good, as we have been living pay check to paycheck for too long with no savings.  It means that if I get sick, or need emergency care, I will go bankrupt.  Any money I save will go back to Uncle Sam to pay the fine.     If I do carry insurance, against my conscience and my beliefs, to be a responsible citizen, it’s going to cost more than I can realistically afford, as the rates will rise regardless.  (Half of my husband’s income goes to health insurance as it is right now.)

There is no easy answer… there really isn’t a way to make this work… Well, there is one.  See, we are in on one of the greatest secrets of the universe, God won’t let us down.  Things always work for the good of those who love God.  If we do everything in our power to obey and love Him, we won’t fail.

This bit of history we are living through right now, it’s happened before. (Take a gander at our counterparts on the other side of the Atlantic)   Even if things get bad, we won’t be forgotten.  It’s time to realize that comfort and success aren’t the goals of this life.  Even if it means financial ruin, even if it means that we shorten our life span by a few years while adding grays to our head sooner than we anticipated.  Our purpose is to make our way to Heaven, and help as many people as we can, to make it along with us.   It could ultimately mean a choice between life and death for our faith, we have to trust that God is waiting for us, loving us and he will not fail us.

We are made to be witnesses to His glory.  Remember the story of Daniel in the Old Testament?  He and three of his buddies were picked out by nobles for service of the king.  Because of God’s Law against eating the flesh of animals sacrificed to idols, Daniel told the steward to only give them vegetables and water.  They were healthier than all of the other boys who ate the rich food that was forbidden to Daniel and his friends.  These three boys were thrown into a furnace for not bowing to an idol of the king, God saved them from death and Daniel from the lions later… God isn’t going to fail us…Remember the Maccabees?  Their Martyrdom was the launch for something greater, the Christian Martyrs throughout history, they didn’t fail the Church grew, Christianity spread and the world changed because of their sacrifices.

All this worry, this frenzy, it is so temporal.  Our souls are eternal, our bodies are not made to last forever… when you have eternity as your perspective, it becomes easier to say, “This too shall pass.”  I pray I will not have to make that decision, I pray that the arguments in the Supreme Court right now will fall in our favor, but if they don’t, I am already looking into alternatives to traditional health insurance.  In the short-term, I will be getting all of our vaccines, our routine exams and blood work taken care of in the next couple of months.  They have declared war.  Our families are the casualties.

Our Deacon summed up his homily by defining courage, it is not about being un-afraid, it is doing what is right, standing tall in spite of fear….

I pray that I am ready.

I am Woman, I am Wife, I am Mother, I am Liberated.

02 Mar 2012 2 Comments

by Hiland Rose in Everyday Victories and Random Thoughts

I hear a lot about women’s health initiatives, a fancy disguise to force contraception on everyone… you pay for it regardless of whether or not you are actually using it.  It amazes me how many people claim to speak for women on this issue.  Judging by the wooden botoxed faces I see spouting rhetoric on the morning news and from the congressional floor (mostly male ones), I wonder does any one remember what a woman is?

I speak for myself, not through some political spin doctor or press agent.

I am Woman, the term comes from the bible, it was the name given to Eve by Adam because she came from “Her Man”.   Funny thing that, regardless of your faith back ground, we are equal to men.  Different but equal.  The balance of Masculinity in Femininity.  There is this fad right now of gender neutrality, I find it amusing. Watching my girls and my son, they were different from the moment they found out they had fingers to suck, toes to wiggle and could reach for things.

We are made different from men and that is ok.  We don’t have to be like men, we have our gifts, they have theirs.  We have one particularly unique trait apart from men.  Put a “b” in there.  Spell it like this wom-b-man,  womb-man.  Sorry, it’s ridiculous, but think about it for a second.  It is the reason we are intrinsically different from men.  It is the reason we have the hormones we do, why we have mood swings, why we crave chocolate and wine and friendship.  Our entire system is designed to support life, to nurture it, in the womb and after birth to adulthood and beyond.  Guys don’t get this opportunity quite the same way, (although I would wish it on my husband once, just once. I joked with him while in transition in labor with baby number five, “You get to have the next one!”)

I am Wife, Help Meet, desire of my husbands heart.  I am the one he chose to commit the rest of his life to.  I am the woman who he comes home to at night, good days and bad.   As wife, I balance my husband.  His strengths counter balance my weaknesses.    Mine compliment his.   We each have our roles.   He is better at the social things, I fix stuff.  He loves games, I love art and crafts.  He loves eighties pop, nineties dance and Hard rock, I love Rock, Hard Rock and a variety of styles he can’t stand. (I can’t stand eighties pop!)  We like to spend time outside in the mountains.  We both like action flicks, we both find most romantic comedies unpalatable and we both enjoy each other’s company as often as possible…We both think we’d be bored without the kids.

I am Mother, in this is my greatest challenge and my deepest pleasures.  Right now I am working full-time.  Soon that will change so I can focus better on this.  As Catholics we see Marriage as a covenant and also as a vocation.  The purpose of marriage is Family.  Family is also known as the Domestic Church, a reflection of the relationship of God and his people, a reflection of the Trinity in the Procreation of children…Mother is an honor I still marvel at.  Mom, she is my first and best teacher.  I can only hope to be that for my children too.  Mother is someone who loves with everything she has, biologically and psychologically.  Why would you want to avoid that?  It isn’t easy, I still wonder if I will ever get it right, but I can not imagine a life without my kids… I see how much they bring with them, how much they have to offer, not just me but the world around them…I will admit, it’s daunting but I can’t see it any other way.

I am a liberated woman. I am not held captive by a pill.   I am not a slave to my husband’s sexual appetite, or to my own.  I am not an object in his eyes.  I can speak my mind, pray and stand up for what I believe in.  I can love with all my heart and not count the cost.  I am not fettered by material obsession or pleasure-seeking.  I work hard.   I am not under the heel or thumb of any man.  I walk hand in hand with mine, his equal, while we have a trail of five little ones behind us through the grocery store parking lot.  Most of all, I am liberated from the slavery of Sin.  During Lent, I remember it more keenly… Jesus’ passion, his death, and resurrection.   I don’t have to save myself, his blood sanctified me, His resurrection defeated death.  I can lean on Him, my greatest hero.   All I have to do is my best, and ask his forgiveness when I fail.  He didn’t walk to Calvary alone either.   Mary, his mother walked with him, suffered with him, and offered her  strength…Mother to Son.

Being a woman is pretty great if you ask me.  (Just don’t ask me when I am dealing with my monthly visitor ;)    Noble even.  I think if we remember who we are (not buying this repackaged hooey being sold as femminism), the rest will fall into place.

Love First…

10 Feb 2012 2 Comments

by Hiland Rose in Little Toes and Big Tummies: All Things Baby

“We must try to stop sinners from bearing more sin into this world. They have not found our Faith yet, so continue engaging in lustful activities rather than promoting love and God’s laws. I am tired of supporting these sinners with taxes that go toward curing the ills their lust causes, and paying to imprison the sinful, disease-ridden, drug-addicted adults their children become. Therefore, I would rather pay for these sinners not to have children now as opposed to paying to support them and the sinful children they bear later. We must stand together and encourage Obama to stop these ungodly sinners who cannot control their loins from creating more sinners. “

I want to thank Arch Angel for posting (his/her) comment on my article.  It sparked something.  The remark was vague, self righteous and targeted at a generation yet to be conceived by people (he/she) doesn’t know and will never meet.”

It got me thinking about something else, nearer and dearer to my heart…. the debate, the war being waged on human life.  It is as old as humanity itself.  With that war comes propaganda, rhetoric and emotional, sometimes visceral responses.  I have some personal experience in the trenches.  Some good, some not.  I have seen more harm done by the rhetoric spouted on both sides of the issue of Choice than anything else.  We get caught up in the propoganda, the battles of words, the gory pictures and the shouting… we miss the opportunities to reach out, to see the woman in the seat next to us on the bus, the waitress at the coffee-house, the customer in the store or business where you work… We miss the chance to plant the seeds, to blossom later.

I started my journey into the pro-life arena as a volunteer for a local out reach.  I was a teenager, about 15 or 16 years old, we held a baby shower at church for the organization to provide supplies and baby clothes.  I was so impressed with the woman who came to talk to us, by her common sense non political way of presenting the mission, that I asked my parents if I could volunteer.  I worked every Saturday for almost a year and a half, mostly sorting clothes and donations but I was really doing something for pregnant women who needed help, for young moms who needed a leg up not a hand out, not just talking the talk and handing out literature.  That was my first taste.

I was still so green and a little self-righteous as was evidenced by my bungling a relationship with a girl who was a friend of a friend who found herself pregnant…. I opened my mouth and out popped,” I don’t condone what you have done, (meaning fornication)  but if you need anything, let me know.”  Not exactly in those words but pretty darn close, much to both our mortification, there was no recovery from that… she lost the baby to a miscarriage later, double whammy.  My first hard lesson, sometimes being right isn’t as important as loving first.

A year later, my boyfriend’s best friend got a girl pregnant.  I remember walking to the church where my mom worked, with my boyfriend beside me… we were talking about our mutual friend and my beau dropped the bomb.  “Her parents made him pay for the abortion.”  I sat down on a brick garden barrier near by and shook.  I felt like my insides would explode.  I looked at him and the tears started streaming down my face.  He was distraught, he didn’t know what to think or what to say, “Maybe it’s better some how, he’s ok, it’s all over.”  All I could do was shake my head, he didn’t get it, he didn’t understand… he regretted telling me but he had to talk to someone.  I never told his friend I knew, he had been sworn to secrecy but he couldn’t do it.  I didn’t tell anyone for years.  I watched this young man throw himself away after that…I watched him self destruct.  He literally went mad.  A rift grew between me and my boyfriend too… I watched my boyfriend fall into a pattern of jealousy and self-hatred that signaled the tendency toward becoming abusive.  We were on again off again for a year after that… he did not value life, or chastity like I did, it blew us apart.

The  most intense experience  was a few months after my husband and I were married.  A friend of mine had been dating someone pretty seriously.  She and I had a casual surfacey kind of friendship mostly.  She was a lot of fun to be around and we used to laugh and have a great time.  She was not of any particular religious background she lived life,  like a modern liberated woman.  I didn’t approve of everything she did but had learned a little bit more about loving the sinner and hating the sin by this time.  She and I met for lunch one day.  Over a salad, she and I had a heart to heart about her feelings for this man.  She was scared, he was getting so serious and she wasn’t sure herself where she stood on the idea of marriage.  Me being a newly wed at the time, I thought maybe things would work out and she just needed some time to think.  I suggested she take that time, to separate herself from him for a while and think it through.  If she was anxious there had to be a reason….

Well, she did have a reason.  They hit the rocks, and after that she found out she was pregnant.  I didn’t see her for two or three months after that lunch.  When I ran into her again, she said, ” I need to talk to you.”  I set up a date for coffee at a local restaurant.  I had no knowledge of what happened yet.  We sat down at the table and made small talk for a few minutes.  She twiddled with her fork, she hadn’t really eaten a bite of pie, then she just spilled it all right there.  She told me she had found out she was pregnant, two days after she decided to break up with the guy.  She had a friend from work drive her to Denver to have the abortion done.  She started to cry, and played back the message her ex had left on the cel phone, he was weeping and apologizing, he couldn’t live without her.   She didn’t get the message until after she got home from the abortion…. She hadn’t told him.  I couldn’t say much.  I grabbed her hand from across the table and cried with her.  I was stunned.  I told her about Project Rachel and a local priest here in town that she could talk to, gave her the number of the church office.  She regretted that decision, she was afraid because she couldn’t go it alone as a mom.  The man, I don’t know if he knew or not but, they got back together and got married.  I attended the wedding, I went to the baby shower for their first-born.  I haven’t seen her in years, life kind of moved on and moved us apart.  I don’t know if she ever sought healing for this wound in her heart, but I do know it changed her forever.  It also put up a barrier around her heart to her husband…  they are still married as of our last Christmas card from them.  There were a lot of challenges for the two of them.  I still pray for her and her family.

I still wonder why she came to me after the fact.  I wept on my husband’s lap that night, (after I attempted to put a hole in our bedroom wall with my fist.)  The pain was intense.  He and I were trying for our first child, why didn’t she come to me before?  Maybe we could have worked something out.  I was so mixed up inside.  How are you supposed to feel?  There was no ivory tower here, there was no literature or medical science here.  There was no logic either.  She responded to fear, this fear was perpetuated in the clinic as they emphasized her right to do this, they gave her the justification, she could donate the parts to science for cures of diseases.  She signed the body of this child over, believing she had made the best of a bad situation.  None of this gave her peace when it was over.  She came to me knowing how I felt about these things.  She came to me because she knew I understood the gavity of her situation and I wasn’t going to poo poo it, or tell her she was right to do it.  I listened, I cried with her and for her baby.  She never told her family. She carried that secret…. she couldn’t carry it alone.  I hope and pray she has faced that choice, that she has accepted her responsibility for that choice… I hope she has found healing.

Often times, in order to have compassion for someone, the only way you can really know what they are going through is to have some experience with it yourself….

Our first miscarriage happened when our son was just over a year old.   I was devastated, I was angry I couldn’t understand why my body betrayed my baby. (As I saw it)  I read the receipt, the doctor explained that  Spontaneous Abortion was a medical term for miscarriage… it didn’t matter.  My body failed this baby some how.  It wasn’t until I spoke with my pastor, a wonderful priest who is very involved in the pro-life movement here in the city.  I asked him through gritted teeth “why?”  His only answer comforted me more than anything, “God just wanted her more.  He just wanted her more.”  Her name is Dionna Irene.

Our second miscarriage happened two years ago now.  This one was more heart wrenching for me…. I am pro-life, I love my husband and kids with all my heart.  This child, she was conceived in one of the most difficult years we had lived through.  I was terrified to be pregnant, we were on the verge of losing our home, our  my husband was losing his mind (later diagnosed with bipolar disorder)  I was struggling to keep my self together mentally because of the burdens weighing on us.  In a panicked moment I regretted my pregnancy, I even prayed that God would take this from me…  I was not thrilled at all to be pregnant,  I did not want another baby, I had no idea how we were going to make this work with no insurance and no hope for better income on the horizon…. we didn’t tell any one for several weeks.  I was already getting comments from family members on my side about our family size and income level.    Two weeks after that test, I felt something was wrong….I remembered this feeling from before…..Micheala left us.  I held my husband, who was the only person who knew, we cried  we prayed… I begged for forgiveness…. I started bleeding the next day.  She, I saw…the tiny kernel of her body, my womb was her sepulchre.  I could not face my parents at first… I couldn’t I wouldn’t… My husband bless him, told me I couldn’t hide.   I  called and told them we lost her, I was asked why we waited to tell them were pregnant.   I got the least comfort from where I wanted it most… I was told that I had four other children, I was told that it wasn’t so bad, at least it wasn’t while I was still building my family, I should have something done to make sure I would not have to go through this again….bitter words.  Hard words from the one person in my life besides, my husband, that I needed comfort from.  I still invited, they couldn’t make it to our private memorial for my second daughter lost in the womb….

I conceived again three months later, our youngest and our fifth born is now 16 months old and adorable… my second born child, was conceived two or three weeks after we lost her sister.

I can understand the fear, the anguish and the desire to run from the consequences, when a woman finds herself pregnant when she really didn’t want to be.  Yes, there are choices…. there are consequences.  I am not downplaying the role of sin, or the fact that women make the choice to give their bodies but not their hearts within the bonds of marriage, or outside of marriage, that men and women fornicate, leading to the destruction of life because of fear or inconvenience.  I know the grief I felt, and still feel,  from time to time,  for what ever reason those two beautiful girls just couldn’t be born.  I can’t wrap my head around the idea that someone could choose that for themselves.  To bring themselves not just the grief but also the guilt, the separation and depression that this causes.  The emotional scars are so deep, and raw, long after the physical ones heal (if they do.)

I just want people to move past the rhetoric.  Being right doesn’t necessarily mean you are doing God’s will…. Being right is a matter of facts, Love goes beyond that.  I don’t do a lot in the public pro-life movement because I am too busy trying to take care of my family and working right now,  but perhaps, this little corner, this place where I am, can by my platform.  I would encourage those of you who read this, to look at your own corner… to see the people around you in it.  Smile and say hello, strike up a conversation and see where it leads.  A statement my Mom is fond of, rings true here, Jesus has to have skin on… meaning we have to be his hands his arms on earth.  We have to reach out, to teach and love, even when it looks impossible.  Mother Theresa, now Blessed Mother Theresa was the best role model I can point to for this… She did not condone, but she still gave everything she had, whether people chose well or not, whether they were right or wrong.  It is my hope that I can do likewise when I am called on again.

Breaking News: Wide Spread Epidemic infecting Americans at alarming rate

07 Feb 2012 18 Comments

by Hiland Rose in Little Toes and Big Tummies: All Things Baby Tags: , , ,

In light of the debate over the Freedom of Conscience act (seeing as the health care bill is being shoved down our throats regardless.)  I pose the following question to the public at large.
Is Parenthood a terminal illness?
I ask this because now, thanks to the actions of our current regime (administration isn’t a strong enough word.), we are going to be forced to pay for preventative treatments whether we want them or not. (Nothing is free folks, somebody’s payin’)  Our daughters are already recommended to be put on contraceptives by the end of their first periods along with that MMR booster and Tetanus shot.  Our sons are advised by their schools to use condoms and barrier methods for prevention of… well you know, along side the sports physicals they endure.  Doctors are looking at women like me with more than two kids asking us what we use for contraception… Doctors.  Yep. I’ll bet if we dial-up the  CDC or look at the most recent printings of the medical journals there’s got to be this big write-up re-defining parenthood and the process by which human beings are pro-created as “ Disease.”
So, if I follow the logic being forced past this little thing called the Bill of Rights, First Amendment etc,  Obama Care is making people like my pastor, my boss, the Catholic Charities and my hospital give people abortive drugs, contraception,  elective sterilization and elective abortion via doctor, for free.  They dub it “preventative” services.  I have also heard the buzz words, “Reproductive Care” (a more oxymoronic phrase, I have not heard.)
So what exactly are they saying?  Are we who choose life, who choose to conceive, birth and raise the next generation of tax payers, sick?  (Crazy? Maybe just a little, but Sick! Really!?)   I ask, not just for the “choir  preached to” who read this blog, but every one who is, was, or intends to be a parent, regardless of what you believe, or which side of the Choice issue you are on.  Your government just told you that Parenthood is a disease!
Here’s a brief description of the preventative medicine we are paying for:
Birth control pill- Prevents pregnancy, although, the hormones in it can be therapeutic for women who suffer from bizarre cycles and painful cysts.  (The exception, not the rule that.)
Abortive fail safe just in case prevention doesn’t work.
Diaphragm– Prevents implantation of baby after sperm meets egg… prevents what?  Pregnancy.  Therapeutic for what?  I haven’t heard of any medical disease currently treated by insertion of a diaphragm.   Healthy for women?  How exactly, is a device that is doomed to fail over time and can potentially cause scarring, perforation and infection of the uterus, healthy for a woman?
Condom-Umm… what does that do again, oh yes!  Enables free love, no responsibilities,  it kills two birds with one stone,  no pregnancy, no sexually transmitted diseases. (Awkward sex life, separation and despair due to life long hedonism and unfulfilled fantasies.  Nice trade-off there.)  Again though, what does this treat?  What condition does this prevent primarily?  Pregnancy.
Elective Sterilization- Medically known as Tubal Ligation- Prevents…. Pregnancy, umm that’s it, just pregnancy.  (I am not in any way referring to hysterectomy and  removal of ovaries due to medical diseases like cancer or tumors, women who are forced to make this choice go on to heal, but grieve for a time.)
Morning After Pill - Abortive, forces a period within 24-48 hours of ingestion, considered prevention of.. Pregnancy. (although in reality it is a termination not prevention of pregnancy)  It is part of the health care initiatives we all pay for now.   What does this treat exactly? Nothing medical.   It causes severe bleeding and possible hemorrhage… yup, sounds like health care to me.
RU486  and others like it  -  Stronger Abortive drugs designed to force the body to shed uterine lining, baby and all, up to 8 weeks of pregnancy, perhaps more as they get “better”  … Administered in two doses under supervision of abortionist and staff (did I forget to mention there should be a medical doctor present in the event something goes horribly wrong?)  Sounds like prevention just moved up a notch to termination or following HHS  logic, Chemo for the “disease” of pregnancy.
Surgical Elective Abortion - Needs no description.  It “treats”  only one thing, it prevents nothing, and horribly maims both mother and child, usually kills the child.
Again I ask, is Parenthood a terminal illness that requires so much preventative treatment?  Are we conceiving tumors that need removed, bits of cancerous flesh that need to be destroyed before they spread?  Are we harboring in our wombs, a viral mass that will break free and infect the rest of the population?  Are we, as those living what we believed to be the vocation of marriage, of parenthood that comes with it, disordered in our desire for healthy children and a healthy prosperous society?  Once we give birth, are we condemned to the long slow decay of  cancerous disease, only to die miserable and unwanted, like lepers in the streets?  Does our proudly smiling President, posing with wife and daughters, see himself as perpetuating the spread of a communicable disease, a plague?  The agenda of Planned Parenthood, theD.H.H.S., and W.H.O. does.
I ask you to behold the brave new (old) vision! That of silent churches, of restaurants where the only people around you are grey and wrinkled.   The streets once filled with laughter are silent, the only life visible, is stooped, pushing along a walker, or carrying a spoiled toy sized animal, starving for a smile, a giggle and shining eyes. I give you the silence of adults, only adults, absorbed in the day-to-day grind, glued to hand held devices, the only friends they need.
Now,  I give you the vision of the future as envisioned by the trinity of Molech,  Mammon and Ashtoreth, grand and glorious!  Old age is banished! Death and decay held at bay by cosmetic procedures from embryonic stem cells, by drugs, and over priced health supplements.  Strong hale men with big umm, you know,- running after toys, and success, consuming pornography, because the women they really want, are too proud to condescend  to their “diseased and disordered animal desires.”  Physically lovely, perfectly “healthy” independent, strong, women parading around half-naked, starving for attention and surgically enhanced,  while their insides are shriveled and their arms ache.  The sounds of blissful love-making blare from tv screens in every bed-room un-heeded, while the people in the room are glued to their electronic distractions.   It’s all in the name of  Choice,  health, convenience and hedonism.  Pleasure is the end that justifies the means.  All for Pleasure, Pleasure for all!!!
So much for Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.

Moving Forward, Looking Back

03 Feb 2012 6 Comments

by Hiland Rose in Victory Stories from YOU! Tags:

I have been vocal on this blog, but not really said much about who I am or where I have been. The subject of Moving, either “figuratively” or physically is one that has so many nuances.  I have been mulling it over for some time.  My life took on a new and meaningful purpose after one particularly important move.

I think for me moving to Colorado Springs was the most intense experience and the one that formed my character the most.  We moved out here when I was 14.  I was practically raised in the church in our old community, the old folk were grand parents, my parents had cultivated a variety of friendships from Marriage Encounter, teaching RCIA and Marriage Prep classes, we were having our parish priests over for dinner and my mother’s Spiritual Director was a Deacon who was also a dear dear family friend.  We didn’t live in the greatest of neighborhoods, the gang violence was getting national attention.  (I guess it really hit home when I watched, while nursing my third child, a re-run from 1994 of Cops, as they panned out  I was looking at the apartments from up the street from where I lived, and the catholic school parking lot across the street from our old house with the command center they were operating from.  My brothers and had ridden our bikes in that parking lot that afternoon)

We were involved in a solid faith community, a well developed catechism program and I had finally gotten out from under the bullies who made my life a nightmare at school.  I was just starting to make some close friends and my parents decided it was time to go.  My dad had been commuting between the Springs and Aurora for five years and had enough.  I journalled a lot that year… I felt like a part of me died inside when they said we were moving, and I couldn’t tell any one at school until the week before.  I started school wishing we could just get it over with.  We moved in October of 1994.

The weather seemed to be an omen for me.  The final day after we loaded everything and headed down was gray, dank and frigid.  If I had not seen the mountains on I-25 before, I would not have believed they were there.  The clouds were so thick and so low, the fog so deep they were invisible.  It rained the entire day.  I held back the tears.  We got to the building where my parents were supposed to sign papers down town, and sat in the lobby for an hour, maybe 2 because the paper work was not right.  The realtor did get permission to let us in and my parents had to go back again the next day.  We got to the house around dinner time, Mom and Dad had snagged a couple of pizzas from a local Pizza Hut and we ate in the empty house on the living room floor.  That was kind of fun but my brothers and I were restless.  We unloaded the truck and I got the first look at the room that would be mine.  It was half the size of my old room, not much bigger than most walk in closets.  It had been a utility room before we moved in, ugly yellow walls and stained and gouged vinyl tiles and no door. (Mom ended up making it really pretty and it became my sanctuary later)  I couldn’t take it any more.  I went out to the front step and wept so no one would see me.  It was after dark, almost nine at night and this was before the major sprawl had developed.  The night sky had cleared.   The wind was fresh and cold, it bit through my hoodie but I didn’t care. I cried out to God wondering how on earth he thought this was going to be good for us.  Then I looked up.  I took a breath of the freshest air I had breathed in a long time opened my eyes and saw the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  I was able to see thousands of stars, and the Milky Way.  I had never seen them before because of the glare of the city lights in Aurora and Denver.  I could see the expanse of space, opening up before my eyes and a shooting star crossed my vision (also a first for me)  It was the begining of several conversions for me.  God did not make my life easy from that point on.  I struggled.

School was bitter.  Junior high is tough for everyone.  I get that.  For me, it was my inability to find a place with my peers that first year.  I must have had ” bully bait” written on my forehead.  I apparently made the wrong friend ( a co-dependant and drama filled relationship to be sure) and was talked to by the wrong guy, and I wasn’t really a military brat because my dad had been out for a while and I hadn’t moved around enough to relate, I wasn’t athletic aside from running well, I was smart and good at school work except for math. I was artistic, but quiet because I was unsure of myself.  I reached out to one particular young lady inviting her to come to my house after school some time and was told, ” You are really nice and all but I am not looking for any new friends right now.”  I was stunned, she was this great Christian, she didn’t have any reason not to like me, she was always so nice so what happened there?  The friends I had made turned out to be either co dependant or using me.  There were a couple of genuine ones later.  The girl who became my best friend, was in a different lunch period than I was.  I gave up on trying to socialize at lunch in my ninth grade year, I’d dissapear to the library or the lab. I had given up on my peers.  I did finally get to go to a dance, my brother walked me to the  school I stood on the wall the whole time and the only guy that danced with me felt sorry for me, it was the last dance of the night… I went home and cried.  I excelled in school, I was inducted into the National Junior Honor Society, I had art and music and potential.  All my teachers talked up my potential.

Church really wasn’t much different than school.  The Youth Group was populated with the kids that made my life hell at school, all of them.   Class was insipid.  No meat. I would approach our youth leader and ask for something more and was told, “I’d love to go into catechism and bible study but you and your brothers would be the only ones who cared.”  I was part of the youth choir but so were the mean girls from school, there was a lot of jealousy when I got a solo part for a meditation.  I was approached by an adult choir leader and joined his group for the nine o’clock mass.  It was a rough start socially but there was something else…God had planted the seeds of compassion in my heart through these experiences and taught me what it means to stand up to peer pressure, even if it means going it alone.

When I was entering High School, my mom got a job as the church secretary, and I found my favorite place to be.  I’d drop by the church when I got out of school to wait for my mom to get out of work and go into the sanctuary.  I would sit before the tabernacle between it and the altar and just be.  I was hungry, but I didn’t quite know what for.  I found it there, satisfaction, peace and ultimately quiet.  I never forgot it.

High school was a proving ground for me.  I learned a lot, dealt with suicide by one of my peers, homicide of another by gang violence learned what it means to be a Catholic in the face of so much opposition, even from adults you trust.  I remained innocent and accepted people for what they were and made some much better friends, and some more dangerous ones…I did really well in most of my classes.  I was accepted in the top women’s choir at school, had several peices of art put into art shows in the district, earned good grades, was inducted into the NHS and even managed to enter the world of romantic relationships. God allowed  a couple of dear friends into my life.  We became a threesome and developed a very healthy friendship in spite of our obvious theological differences.  I was a Roman Catholic, My best friend was a Methodist and our mutual friend was a self proclaimed Athiest.  (Lunch was a fantastic opportunity for apologetics)  I joined “bible club” lead by a dynamic young man (Who also became my brother’s best friend)  and life went pretty well until the end of Junior Year.

I had been at odds with my parents almost from the moment I turned 15.  I hated the lock down feeling that home was, my parents had every reason to worry but the fact that they didn’t trust me to use what they taught me, to learn from my mistakes made my home life unbearable.  I was sick of what I perceived as their desire to control me.  My boy friend at the time was the crux of our rift.    I let my desire for a boyfriend overrule my hunger for a healthy relationship.   He was a good kid, artistic, quiet but deeply troubled.   (formula for forbidden romance 101)    I also was faced with a choice that would alter the course of my life forever and prompt the next Move phase of my life.

I was offered an opportunity through a grant from the school district to take Vo-Tech classes during my senior year.  I was in the top of my class so I was approached by the councelor for college prep, I was an arts student though, that’s where my passions were, that’s what I have always been good at, so there was an opportunity to take a year toward a commercial art degree.  I leaped at that!  I took the paper work home.  My art teacher was already structuring my advanced art classes to create a better portfolio, I was on a list for recruitment to an art school in Ariozona, I was stoked!

 

I showed my parents the forms, they saw there was an offering for Beauty School.  I was crushed.  They would not give me permission to go to the community college and go for a year of art school (the grant is only for one year, I’d have to find a way to pay for the other three for the degree)  They are very practical people, they are very down to earth and logical.  They wanted me to have a job when I graduated highschool and not four years of debt to start out, since there was no money for college, and I had no desire to attend four more years of school for anything but art, I didn’t really have much of a choice.  I found a way to make the best of it.  I started in June that summer, worked full time at the local diner then a pizzaria to make the payments because the grant only paid for 9 months (a school year)  but my course was 18 months.

Senior year is when things hit the fan.  I rebelled, I bucked my parents, and I had the epiphany that none of my success really mattered.  I had to drop out of National Honor Society, because my votech schedual kept me from attending meetings, I had to give up choir because my schedual would have me at beauty school when they would be holding class.    The only thing that didn’t go away was art.  I only needed four credits to graduate, 2 PE credits, a career choices class and a speech/communications credit.  That meant, I was done for the day by third period.  Since I had to carry at least four classes, I took art. I would go to school, at lunch I would go to beauty school but on Mondays, the Beauty Academy was closed (we worked Saturday in the salon) so I had four hours to myself.  I couldn’t go home, my job didn’t need me until after school hours so I spent those four hours in the art room working on some of my best work.

I can see now why God allowed these conflicting desires, one to live my dream the other to honor my parents.  I resented it at the time but obedience is rewarded.  I went through beauty school and simultaniously entered a color pencil piece the the Pikes Peak youth art Exhibition.  They displayed everyone’s work at the Fine art Center down town, it’s a big deal.  I knew I wasn’t going to art school, everyone else, inlcuding the judges who heard I wasn’t persuing an art degree, thought I was crazy.  I didn’t tell any one that I wasn’t allowed to.  I didn’t even tell my art teacher, all I told him was I needed to get on my feet and beauty school would do that better than art school.  I also mentioned that it isn’t the degree that makes someone an artist.  He grinned nodded and dropped the subject.  I took third over all in Drawing at the show.  I couldn’t attend the award banquet because the beauty school had a required up-do (fancy hair do ) competition that night.  Took third in that one too.  Not the best, just the top three.

It wasn’t until I had moved out on my own, and failed the apprenticeship I had been “awarded” (“I was too conservative and didn’t fit with the team” was the line I was fed, story of my life.) bungled my way through a couple of dating relationships, one nearly destroyed me, that the love of my life walked into the salon where I was working.  He was a friend of a friend, who I had met once at a prom, and again the week before, through that friend after my nasty break up.

 

I can look back over all of the experiences in my life that lead to that moment.  I can see how each event that unfolded, in spite of the bumps and bruises, painful lessons and hard knocks I gave myself, that God had been working in them all.  Had my Folks not decided to move to po’dunk little Widefield (which is by no means little any longer and has become quite a bustling community)  Had I not bowed my head and obeyed their wishes, I would never have met my husband or had my family.  I don’t know what direction my life could have taken but it’s not really mine to ponder.  God in his infinate mercy opened a way through even my rebellion, upon repentance, and willingness to finally accept his will come what may, and I have had quite the journey since… perhaps another post, another time.  Thanks for taking the time to read this, I know it’s long.  God bless and Good Night.

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