Day 125: My 54-Day Rosary Novena (and more about We’ll Never Tell Them)

I finished We’ll Never Tell Them in three days, and although it was very sad, and in some ways, not exactly what I’d hoped it would be, I enjoyed reading it very much.*  As I wrote before, reading about this woman’s life was an opportunity to stop and put my own life into perspective, and yesterday was another opportunity to do the same.

Our car was stolen, life goes on.  It will mean a stack of paperwork, annoying phone calls, and the loss of a few irreplaceable sentimental items, but no one was hurt, we are insured, and this is not going to materially change how our lives operate.**

I have been feeling, I think it’s fair to say, some distance from God.  That happens sometimes.  Sometimes because I throw a tantrum and shut Him out, sometimes because I get lazy and busy with other things, and sometimes I’m not really sure what happens.  Typically, even when I feel that distance, I still feel connected to Mary and to the larger Church community, but I don’t even really feel that right now.

I’m tempted to blame our new parish.  We are new, but as far as I can tell, the other parishioners are insufferable zombies.  One week the Gospel was about how difficult it is for wealthy people to enter Heaven, and somehow the priest brushed that off as not really being the point of the story.  Here there was a great opportunity to ask people in a privileged community to look at their lives and appreciate what they have, and understand that not everyone is so fortunate, and instead it was about something else entirely.  Last week the priest talked for less than two minutes about the readings and immediately moved on to discuss the importance of Catholic education (which I fully support), the evils of the public education system (which I get to some extent), and spent the rest of the time asking for endowment money to support the school (which I get all too much of).  Listen, I have no problem contributing to these things, we believe it’s important, and we do it happily, but there is a time and a place.  People show up ridiculously late – sometimes after the Gospel, presumably because the parish keeps track of who comes and how often, and how much money is contributed.  That’s fine, I guess, because it’s important to participate, but the result is that people show up simply to drop their envelopes and leave.  More than any of that, people are cold and distant.  They don’t talk to each other.  They don’t smile.  They sit rigidly without moving a muscle or making a sound.  Children are expected to be completely still or to sit in the cry room.  It’s weird.  Almost creepy.

I try, really hard, not to make immediate judgments about people or situations, especially when I am the new person.  I was just having this conversation with a group of moms who have moved here from different places, and one of the moms, from Europe, was especially critical.  I know it’s hard to learn how to do things a new way, but we all made the choice to leave where we were to come here, and we are lucky to have that opportunity, so sometimes it’s better to reserve judgment.  Then again, I’ve been here for like, five minutes, so what the hell do I know?  It takes some time to understand why people do things the way that they do them, and there is a cultural element to all of this.  Overall, right now, I love it here, and sometimes life is about taking the good with the bad.  Still, it doesn’t exactly give me the warm and fuzzies come Sunday morning.

Having said all of that, my relationship with God is my responsibility.  I will probably call our former priest later this week to talk about all of this, and he will make me feel better, because he always does, but I know that I’m not putting in the effort.  I try to say a clear-headed “Hail Mary” when I wake up first thing in the morning, and often as I’m falling asleep, but when we go to Mass, I go with an attitude.  It feels like a chore.  The younger kids don’t want to go, I know it will be a battle to try to keep them quiet, and it just feels like…like something I don’t really want to do.  I’m a big believer in “fake it ’til you make it,” so I force a smile and try to think positive thoughts, but it really feels like a struggle.  We have even fallen out of the habit of doing bedtime prayers every night.

I don’t want to feel that way.  I don’t want to feel disconnected, or like I’m just going through the motions, in any part of my life.  I don’t want my children to think that’s any way to live.

Last night when I wrote:

Tonight, I am going to end my post differently.  We have had a long day, but HW and I love each other very much, so I am going to spend some time with him while we think about how blessed we are and thank God that we are all safe and together and everyone else can go fuck themselves.

I fully intended to leave things as they were.  Maybe not consciously or actively pulling away, but a slow retreat away from all things religious.  In time I would come around and things would improve, they always do.  Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…

I had a notification, so I checked Facebook, and there was an article about the 54-day Rosary Novena.  This woman and I are in very different places in our lives, but something about it hit home, and I just knew, this is what I need to do.

I’m not sure I’m going to be able to walk to pray every day, because the little ones would not sleep in the stroller and given recent events walking around alone after the children are asleep may not be the best idea.  It might also be a nice bonding experience for me and the dog.  I will have to think about that.  I am going to do a 54-day Rosary Novena though, starting on November 1.  I’m waiting because there is a cycle that starts that day, and I think it would be helpful for me to follow along with a group.  I also plan to invite our oldest daughter to join me.  For Lent we prayed one decade of the rosary or more each night, and she loved it, but always begged to keep going (maybe in part because we prayed using an app on the iPad).  This is a good opportunity for her to do that, an opportunity for us to do something special together, and I think it will help her prepare for her First Communion.

What this means:  I will probably write about this experience much the way I have written about any other experience, including the 30 day challenge or the 30 day countdown to turning thirty.  I will write about what it feels like, whether I am sticking to the plan and doing it the right way, but I will also write about whatever else is going on, or whatever else comes up, and how doing this fits in with all of the other stuff life throws or hurdles my way.  The posts might be shorter, but I still plan to write every day.

What this does not mean:  I am not going to suddenly turn into some kind of religious zealot.  I will leave that to the evangelicals.  I am not going to suddenly start hating (or stop liking) gay people or start protesting at or threatening abortion clinics.  I am not going to start wearing long skirts and long sleeves or braiding my hair straight down my back.  I am not going to stop swearing or stop thinking about or stop having sex.  I am not going to start lecturing people about how to live their lives and how often they ought to attend Mass.  Doing those things wouldn’t be Catholic, for one thing, and for another, that’s not how something like this works, and that’s just not me.

I have no idea how this is going to work or what it will be like.  I know I have to think of something to ask for, because the first half is about making a petition, and the second is about giving thanks.  I thought about saying it for our children, collectively, or for our family, but that feels kind of generic.  If I pray for one specific child, I have to commit to doing this four different times, and how could I possibly decide who should go first?  Or what if something unexpected happened to prevent me from being able to finish all four?  I have quite enough of that on my conscience without all of that, thank you very much.  Maybe I’ll pray to be relieved of some of my Catholic guilt.  But then I’d just end up feeling bad about asking for that, and be more guilty.  It’s turtles all the way down…

*I enjoyed the topic, and much of it was very well done.  Some of the descriptions were a little much for me, and I think related to that, the pace was a little slow at some points, but I thought there was also a lot to love, including the three-dimensional women characters and an ending that was well-timed.

**I’m putting this in writing so that when I talk to the insurance companies and feel tempted to lose my patience completely I will hopefully keep all of this in mind.