One topic I usually avoid discussing is religion. My avoidance isn’t really because I don’t want to get into disagreements with people or because I’m uncomfortable with the topic, but because it’s such an intimately personal topic for me. My religious journey, it seems, is ever-ongoing. So why am I writing about it right now? Honestly, I don’t know.

First and foremost, I am Christian. I was “saved” as a child in the Baptist denomination, then belonged to a non-denominational church with a bib overall-wearing pastor while growing up. As a young adult, I fell away from church attendance. The 9/11 attacks, though, brought me (and a lot of other people) to church again. I became a member of the United Methodist Church then and was so happy there.

(Sidenote – my father is big into ancestry and all of our ancestors were Roman Catholic. As a result, I grew up traipsing around the grounds of Saint Meinrad Archabbey. My father had a deep fascination with the Catholic Church despite the fact that he was Methodist.)

Anyway, I moved around a bit as a young adult and eventually had to leave my UM church behind because I left the state. Once I settled again, I met and fell in love with the man who is now my husband. He was staunchly Catholic. There was no budging on this and he made it clear that if we had children, they, too, would be Catholic. Because I always had a healthy respect for the RCC, I began exploring the idea of conversion. This led me to the RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults) and eventual baptism into the Catholic Church. For four years, I was utterly happy within the RCC. I grew in my relationship with God more than ever before. I prayed the rosary, had a special affinity for the Chaplet of Divine Mercy, participated in Eucharistic Adoration, and even developed and ran my own blogging site about life as a Catholic woman and wife.

And then… something changed. I can’t pinpoint what it was, but it seemed to change at the same time for my husband. We were happy in the Catholic Church where I was baptized, but once we moved back to the city I had lived in long before, we became weary. I honestly believe it was because each and every week, the homily, instead of being about topics to help us live our lives better as Catholics and Christians, was all about abortion. Week after week, the mantra was “abortion is bad, abortion is terrible, we must stop abortion.” Regardless of a pro-life or pro-choice stance, it got old. As a married couple unable to conceive, this weekly lecture became tedious. My spiritual well slowed to a trickle and eventually ran dry. So we’d go to a different church, only to have the same thing happen. I was no longer being spiritually fed. I was no longer feeling Jesus in my life. The prayers became nothing more than rote mumblings before they stopped completely. And then I walked away for good.

One Sunday afternoon, approximately 6 months after we stopped going to Mass, my husband said, “So tell me about these Protestants.” We talked for a while and he told me that he’d like to attend a service. Because I know him and what he likes, I took him back to the same United Methodist Church that I’d belonged to ten years before. He instantly fell in love. In no time at all, we were Methodists. I removed my rosary collection, took down our crucifixes, removed our holy water font, stopped my reading of books by Mother Angelica, and we left the Catholic Church. We ignored my mother-in-law’s declarations that we were hellfire bound and found new spiritual life. Three years later, we’re still members of the UMC. I’m free from the things I never really found comfort with in the Catholic Church (confession to a priest, the heavy emphasis on Mary, the heavy focus on abortion at the expense of absolutely everything else going on in the world) and find myself moved to tears by the amazing sermons of our gifted pastor.

I say all the time that I don’t miss anything about the Catholic Church but that’s not entirely true. The music was reverent and beautiful. I was never more at peace than when I sat in total silence for an hour during Eucharistic Adoration. I miss my intense passion for reading all things about the RCC, volunteering with religious orders, and spending time talking to nuns, who are among the bravest and strongest women I have ever met. The thing I miss most, though, is the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. One particular version of it is done in song and it is among the most beautiful prayers I’ve ever heard. Recently, I decided that I was going to start praying this again, whether I’m Catholic or not. The bottom line is that I’m Christian and I find immense peace and comfort when praying it. It calms my tired soul when nothing else seems to work.

So all of this leads me to the video posted below. The Chaplet of Divine Mercy in prayer is too beautiful not to share with those who might find comfort from it, regardless of the church they’ll attend on Sunday.

Chaplet of Divine Mercy in song – EWTN from Ralph J. Pensiero on Vimeo.

A very personal post (about religion)

Seattle, writing, and… Honey Boo Boo?

I’m going to Seattle in one week!!!!!!!!!!!  Those that know me know how freakin‘ excited I am about this trip.  Plus, it’s a business trip, fully paid for by my employer, and I get to spend five nights in the city I’ve been dreaming of moving to for at least two decades.  (I’m also legitimately excited to see the corporate campus.  It’s apparently huge and pretty awesome.  Maybe I’ll run into a certain world-respected technological revolutionary who happens to be the CEO of the company, too!)  I’ve never been to Seattle, no, but the weather and the location have always called to me.  I thrive on wet and/or gloomy days, and Seattle seems to have their fair share of them.  I’ve set several stories, both fanfiction and original WIPs in Seattle, and I hope to do some recon while I’m there to come up with new and original settings for stories. I want to be inspired and be filled with ideas for writing once I get home!  Anyway, those that follow me on Twitter (current Twitter is this, but I think I’m moving over to this one), Tumblr, and Instagram better be prepared for a ton of pictures. (And I know I’ll be putting some on here, too.)  I’m going to be burning up my iPhone snapping shots of every possible thing.  And as of right now, the forecast for Seattle is saying sunny days.  THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE.  I want rain, and I want a lot of it.  For the full Seattle experience, I want to be soaked from the rain.  Got it, Mother Nature???

On the writing front, I have an idea that’s been percolating in my head lately.  It’s a World War II-era story and it’s slowly coming together.  I’ve written a few paragraphs here and there, just little snippets from that moment or this moment as I see them clearly in my head.  Maybe nothing will come of it, but at this point, I’m thankful for any writing inspiration I get!

Anyway, I have a busy week ahead.  I have to wrap everything up before I leave so that I have no loose ends waiting for me here while I’m out there.  I’ll hit the ground running when I get back and then, in mid-April, I get to go BACK to Seattle for another week of training!!!!

Also, we discovered “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo” tonight, and, like most of America, we were unable to look away from the redneck trainwreck.  What. the. hell? We were flipping channels and I saw a toothless man speaking the southern version of American English and they had him subtitled.   Within three seconds, I realized what we were watching.  Within five seconds, we were both sucked in and howling hysterically.  While that family frightens the ever-lovin’ hell out of me, I couldn’t stop watching.  Also, it’s fairly obvious that Alana aka Honey Boo Boo, is, at 7-years-old, the smartest one in her family by a mile. Oy.  Stupid show!

One angst-whore’s dream book…

Hi, my name is Rachel, and I’m an angst-whore.

I love a good angsty romance.  Novels filled with unrequited love/star-crossed lovers/lovers kept apart by circumstance are probably among my list of very favorite things.  Thanks to one of my favorite authors tweeting about a book she loved yesterday, I discovered Within Reach by Sarah Mayberry.

Oh my God….

–I need a minute–

*grasps for composure*

Okay, this book made me bawl for more than halfway through it.  It’s about a man (Michael) trying to recover after the untimely death of his young wife, Billie, and Billie’s best friend (Angie), who is grappling with both the loss of her friend and a newfound attraction to Michael. And then “stuff” happens and it gets more and more complicated.  And then the tears start and continue for page after page and I– GAHHH!!!  I just can’t…

Seriously, if you love angst and romance and smut and happy endings, go read this book!

A somewhat disjointed ramble…

Although it’s technically now Christmas Eve, it’s not officially Christmas Eve to me until I go to bed and wake up again.  In my world, it’s still Sunday.  Anyway, my mind is a disjointed jumble of thoughts and I feel like sharing them.

The “War on Christmas” that Fox “News” keeps rambling about (and I only know about it because MSNBC said that Fox was talking about it) is total crap.  I know that the Fox “anchors” want to pretend the whole world is against their righteous crusade (led by their prophet, Karl Rove), but I call bullcrap.  Well, I actually call bullcrap about that network’s entire existence but as for the whole war on Christmas thing – HORSE PUCKEY!  I’ve been told “Merry Christmas” the past three days by no less than 12 people in the service and retail industries.  Not once have I been told “Happy Holidays.”  Suck it, Bill O’Reilly (well, as soon as you remove your lips from Father Karl’s prostate.)

Tattoos don’t hurt as much as I remember.  The one I got on my ankle 14 years ago, which is approximately an inch big, hurt so much that I remember hyperventilating and almost blacking out.  So it was with trepidation that I entered the tattoo shop today.  The problem was that I had been obsessing about getting a tattoo and, because I know me, I knew I wouldn’t rest until I got it over with.  So I entered with my design in hand, didn’t hyperventilate and really only winced a bit while the needle hummed as it chewed through my skin, and left with this:

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The world of Harry Potter now with me forever?  CHECK.  (Now I’m thinking about getting “Nox” on my other wrist.)

After getting things done around the place, I settled in at my dining room table with my old time radio app and listened to Christmas episodes of “Our Miss Brooks” and “The Jack Benny Show” while I finished my yo-yo table cover.  I needed it done for Tuesday because we’re hosting my immediate family here.  So check it out!  Sitting on the trivet, which is sitting on the yo-yos, is a cool candle holder that I got at my favorite museum, Conner Prairie, yesterday.  It’s a replica of an 1858 Mason jar with a wrought iron candle holder hanging inside.  And in it is a beeswax candle that was made at the museum.  I love the way the whole thing turned out!

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Also, I desperately wish I were writing again.  Inspiration just isn’t there.  I’m heading to Seattle for training in mid-January and now it looks like I have another trip scheduled the week following that trip (meaning I fly home on Saturday and back out on Monday) so I’m hoping to get some writing done while I’m away from home.  Truthfully, I’m hoping my second week of training ends up being in Seattle, too, because then I’ll get to spend a weekend in the city we’re hoping to relocate to in about two years.  Hopefully the training invite will show up in my inbox right after Christmas so I can find out where I’m headed for that second week and get my trip booked.  Can’t believe how much travelling I’m getting to do since starting to work for this huge company.

We’re under a Winter Storm Watch for Christmas night and into Wednesday. They’re calling for between 5-9 inches.  While I know that the projections will change between now and then, I also know that, regardless of how much we get, I’m screwed as I head into work on Wednesday.  White-knuckled drive for sixteen miles at 20mph.  Awesome, Mother Nature.  Thanks.

Okay, I’m off to read, I do believe.  I shall leave you with this lovely view of our flickering fake wood stove.

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And Merry Christmas to everyone (except Fox News!)

 

 

The next two books I’m reading –

Both of these were just added to my Kindle Paperwhite!

The Dirty Life

(from Amazon.com) Single, thirtysomething, working as a writer in New York City, Kristin Kimball was living life as an adventure. But she was beginning to feel a sense of longing for a family and for home. When she interviewed a dynamic young farmer, her world changed. Kristin knew nothing about growing vegetables, let alone raising pigs and cattle and driving horses. But on an impulse, smitten, if not yet in love, she shed her city self and moved to five hundred acres near Lake Champlain to start a new farm with him. The Dirty Life is the captivating chronicle of their first year on Essex Farm, from the cold North Country winter through the following harvest season—complete with their wedding in the loft of the barn.

Kimball and her husband had a plan: to grow everything needed to feed a community. It was an ambitious idea, a bit romantic, and it worked. Every Friday evening, all year round, a hundred people travel to Essex Farm to pick up their weekly share of the “whole diet”—beef, pork, chicken, milk, eggs, maple syrup, grains, flours, dried beans, herbs, fruits, and forty different vegetables—produced by the farm. The work is done by draft horses instead of tractors, and the fertility comes from compost. Kimball’s vivid descriptions of landscape, food, cooking—and marriage—are irresistible.

Rurally Screwed(from Amazon.com)   Jessie Knadler was a New York City girl, through and through. An editor for a splashy women’s magazine, she splurged on Miu Miu, partied hard, lived for Kundalini yoga, and dated a man-boy whose complexion was creamier than her own. Circling the drain both personally and professionally, Jessie definitely wouldn’t have described herself as “happy”; more like caustically content. Then one day, she was assigned a story about an annual rodeo in the badlands of Eastern Montana.

There, she met a twenty-five-year-old bull rider named Jake. He voted Republican and read Truck Trader. He listened to Garth Brooks. He owned guns. And Jessie suddenly found herself blindsided by something with which she was painfully unfamiliar: a genuinely lovable disposition. In fact, Jake radiated such optimism and old-school gentlemanliness that Jessie impulsively ditched Manhattan for an authentic existence, and an authentic man. Almost overnight, she was canning and sewing, making jerky, chopping firewood, and raising chickens. And all the while one question was ringing in the back of her head: “What the !#*$ have I done with my life?”

A hilarious true-life love story, Rurally Screwed reveals what happens to a woman who gives up everything she’s ever known and wanted-job security, money, her professional network, access to decent Thai food-to live off the grid with her one true love (and dogs and horses and chickens), and asks, is it worth it? The answer comes amid war, Bible clubs, and moonshine.

I’m absolutely fascinated with these types of stories, and I’m hoping they’ll both be better than Ree Drummond’s The Pioneer Woman: From Black Heels to Tractor Wheels – A Love Story.  Her memoir just didn’t feel authentic to me at all and after I read it, I found myself turned off by her completely.  I received a recommendation for Rurally Screwed from a friend I know from the fanfiction world and, considering how amazing of a writer she is, I trust her to not lead me astray!

What happened to the magic?

A few weeks ago, I was excited about the upcoming holiday season.  With a new job in a company that is heavily focused on the holidays, I thought this year would be different.  The last few years, I have preferred for December to just skip by and leave me be.  Due to family issues, Christmas wasn’t joyous or even fun; it was simply uncomfortable.  This year, though, I decried my negativity of Christmas pasts and decided to jump in feet first.  I remembered the magic of the holiday season and I wanted it back.  I burned a CD of Bing Crosby Christmas music (because hello?  He OWNS Christmas) and happily tossed it into the player of my car.  I was greatly looking forward to the grand displays of lights that I would easily see since I drive home from work in the dark now.

About five days after my exuberant start to the Christmas season, it started to wane.  I realized that my heart wasn’t in it like I thought it would be.  I wasn’t listening to the Christmas music and paying attention to anything on my drive home besides watching out for drunk drivers.  Tonight, we watched A Christmas Story  (favorite holiday movie ever) and took Roxie for a walk at 2am and I noticed that there weren’t any Christmas lights twinkling in windows or lit trees glowing against the backdrop of gossamer curtains.  And then it made me wonder – where is Christmas this year?

I remember Christmases as a child. From the time I was 8 until age 13, the majority of my holiday seasons were spent inside my parents’ jewelry store.  I remember the Santa’s village that my dad built out of wood and decorated to put in the window.  I remember Mom playing Bing Crosby on the stereo and going to stand out in the street so that I could hear “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” blaring through the outside speakers as I watched the residents of the town bustle by on the sidewalk.  Mom’s big, gorgeous Christmas tree that stood in one corner of the store, beautifully decorated.  The scent of cinnamon candles.  The sound of the polisher as Dad finished sizing a ring that would end up on some lucky woman’s finger on Christmas morning. The sound of crisp wrapping paper being torn from the roll.  My brother and I watching the little mouse that peeked out of the pockets of the advent calendar that hung in our mom’s office, our eyes heavily focused on the number “24” because we knew that was when the magic really happened.

During that same time, we lived in the country outside a tiny town with nothing but a Revco and a grocery store for shopping.  Anytime we needed anything, we had to head to New Albany or Jeffersonville or even Louisville.  I distinctly remember bundling up in my winter coat and climbing into the backseat our Chevy Celebrity for a trip to Service Merchandise or Target or, if we were really lucky, a trip to the mall to go Christmas shopping.  Afterwards, we would wind our way up Floyds Knobs to look at all the Christmas lights and stare out over the twinkling lights of the Louisville metro area. My teeth would chatter with excitement.

And then, Christmas Eve would come and the jewelry store would close in time for us to pile into the car and head to Corydon, where we would gather with my Dad’s family.  “Santa” would always visit, wearing the same threadbare suit my father had originally purchased in the 1960s.  Every year, it was toted out by an uncle or a cousin and we all got a present from his bag.  Every year, the suit looked a little worse.  The material was starting to unravel, the beard nothing but a few spindly threads of white fuzz.  Then, once we’d had our fill of holiday cheer in the form of my dad’s odd family, we’d climb back into the car and make the hour drive home.  By then, it was late.  My brother and I usually slept on the way and went to bed as soon as we got home, but we rarely slept on Christmas Eve.  We always camped out in my bedroom and would force ourselves to get two or three hours of sleep at most, then wake up at 5am and stare at the clock until 6, which was the designated time that we were allowed to wake up Mom and Dad and then dive into the living room to see what Santa brought us.  There was always evidence of Santa, too.  Half-eaten cookies.  A sooty boot print left in front of the fireplace.

So many memories.  So much magic.  

I started this post wanting to know what happened to all that magic but I think, over the course of writing this, that I found it.  It’s not gone.  I haven’t lost it at all.  It’s simply not the same as it used to be, but it’s there.  And in my memories, I find that the magic is still as strong as ever.