Uppercase Woman

Faith & Trust

The other day at a recovery meeting the leader shared on the idea of trust, and how--for her--being sober has helped her learn to trust people, trust recovery, and trust God.

I found myself scoffing at her and her shining-faced happiness. I thought to myself, "Well, clearly, nothing really bad has happened to her yet." And, condescendingly, "Well, she's still pretty new to recovery, she'll see--it gets harder." Many folks that then shared talked about the connection between trust and faith; I found this equally galling. Even though I know many of them have suffered horribly over the last few years.

I worked hard to listen, though, while shutting up my inner voice. And I realized that I envied them all that simple trust and faith--I miss it. For years I felt very connected to God, and was very grounded in sobriety and I had lots of faith and trust that things were going to be, all in all, OK.

Of course, you all know what happened. Infertility fucking happened. During the early years of that struggle I felt like I was being punished by God. For what? Maybe my previous years of slutty behavior, or for not taking care of myself, or for being fat. I wrestled with this the first few years, but I managed to hold on to just a shred of faith. I could still pray, I could still trust, and I still believed that God was watching out for me.

Then we lost the boys, and that shred of faith turned into a tattered thread, and then it disappeared completely.

I didn't realize that I was still suffering from a lack of trust and faith now until I heard that woman speak about it. I realized then that I was still roiling with anger and resentment toward God. That I don't believe in my heart of hearts that God has my best interests in mind.

I thought I'd gotten better thanks to Tori. Holding her close, smelling her sweet neck, listening to her laugh--I thought that it was there that I saw God again. But that's not really true. Where I once believed in a personal God--one that heard my prayers, one that held me in the palm of his or her hand--now I believe only in a hazy, distant God that could care less about me personally. I believe in the overall flow of the universe; that it's possible to direct yourself into a negative or positive flow of universal energy based on your actions. But prayer is just spitting in the wind--no one cares, and no one is listening.

I don't like feeling this way; I was much happier when I really felt like I was cradled in God's hand, safe and cared for. Shit, who wouldn't? But I feel now that if there is a personal God (personal to me, that is) he or she is kind of an asshole, and full of arbitrary moods and inclinations. A God like that is impossible to trust. It's like trusting an abusive parent. Seductive, compelling, and impossible.

But I've been continuing to behave in a spiritual way, even if I don't feel particularly spiritual. I have continued to go to church (missing the last few Sundays notwithstanding). I go to meetings. I participate in my church's online prayer circle, dutifully bowing my head and praying over for the health and joy of others. I hold hands with everyone at a meeting and mouth the words to the closing prayer.

Basically, I've been acting as if I have faith.

Recovery is based largely on the idea of "acting as if." In recovery, we believe that you first have to change your behavior and then eventually your mind and heart will catch up (somewhat the opposite of most therapy). It worked for me in my first few months sober; I just acted as if I didn't want to use alcohol and drugs so badly that my eyeballs hurt. Eventually, I didn't want to use anymore. So I figure I'll just continue acting as if I have faith until I find myself willing to have a better opinion of God. I don't know when that will happen, or even if it will ever happen. But what else can I do?

Luckily, it turns out I'm in good company. It was with great interest that I heard this last week that Mother Theresa, of all people, struggled this same way. It turns out that her letters reveal a profound spiritual crisis, one that left her bereft and angry. In one letter, she says:

"Jesus has a very special love for you ... [but] as for me, the silence and the emptiness is so great, that I look and do not see, — Listen and do not hear — the tongue moves [in prayer] but does not speak ... I want you to pray for me — that I let Him have [a] free hand."

She gets right to the heart of the matter, doesn't she? I find that I feel the same way--YOU all get to have a kind and benevolent God, but me? Not so much. For me as well, the silence and emptiness is so great. It feels impossible to overcome, no matter how glorious Tori's giggles.

I have no idea how to cross this hurdle. It is so immense and solid. I don't want to be this way--I want Tori to look at me and see a woman that believes the best about the world, people, and God. I want her to be open to the idea of God working in her life, and not stymied by my lack of faith and her father's lack of belief (oh, I still believe--yes, indeed).

But I feel better knowing I'm in good company, that others lived a spiritual way of life even while they didn't believe. I never thought I'd have much in common with Mother Theresa,  much less discover that she's put words in my mouth. But I feel a lot less alone knowing that is true.

Palm Sunday, and I'm a fool *edited*

So, on the way to work this morning, I heard this story on NPR.

And I totally fucking fell for it. I told nine people and then was so incensed that I went to research it to post about it here only to find out it was a hoax.

I should have known. I mean, the sanctioned ring tones were the most annoying things I'd ever heard. Give 'em a listen. I can't believe how annoying they are.

Sometimes I'm so gullible.

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Do you know what we infertiles have been missing? A film festival. Dramalish  turned me on to this. Very fucking cool! I'm working my way through all the films. Enjoy, but be warned; some of these films pack a serious emotional punch. A few left me weeping very hard.

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Speaking of film I'm planning on buying a webcam so I can do audio posts with Tori. How cool will that be? I just need to find a webcam that will work with our EMac (no, it doesn't come with one. EMac, not IMac). Oh, and one that will make me look really, really skinny. I'm a little nervous about it because I'm sure once you all hear my tone of voice, you will realize that I'm not nearly as nice a person as you all seem to think I am.

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I went on a little Tori-related shopping spree recently. I'll have her model these later, but I got her these shoes (oh my god, how fucking cute are those?). I wanted to get her this t-shirt, but I decided to pass for now. I do think it would be an excellent gag gift for my Christian friends. Heh.

Instead, I got her this, this, this, and this.

And I bought this dress I've been dreaming about since before Tori told us she was a girl. I think she'll wear it to her first birthday party.

Nobody should let me have access to a credit card.

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Tori's little unexplained fever decided to explain itself by leaving a bright red rash all over Tori's neck and chest (thanks, anonymous commentor, for pointing THAT out). The "What to Expect The First Year" book (the only parenting book I haven't tossed--by the way, why does the UK version have a less insipid cover?) was helpful for the second time in a week (it also had great suggestions re: finger foods. I would NEVER have thought of meatballs) in providing a diagnosis, confirmed by our pediatrician's office: Roseola. Thankfully, she's already over it.

Our little girl. Getting diseases with names. Yikes.
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How is your day going?

Snowflake Babies, Dominionism, Cultural Marxism and why I should stop reading the news

When I first heard President Bush refer to frozen embryos that are a product of IVF as "snowflake babies," I didn't pay it much mind. Obviously, he was using language to promote the idea that a frozen bundle of four to eight cells is actually a full fledged human being, and can go buy a car or run up a credit card like any good little American (but not a car from Ford!).

But as Maura recently said to me, it's creepy. It's clearly hinting that this administration is considering taking on the infertility industry; maybe they've taken a cue from the Pope.

Maura also sent me a link to this article in the current issue of Harper's. It chronicles the author's trip to the National Religious Broadcasters convention. One thing that stood out about the convention to the author was the fact that so many Christians sects were represented at this convention. Apparently, conservative Catholics, Pentcostal Christians, African-American Baptists and many others have set side their differences to promote the new doctrine called Dominionism. Here is explanatory quote from the article, which may be the most terrifying paragraph I've ever read:

"What the disparate sects of this movement, known as Dominionism, share is an obsession with political power. A decades-long refusal to engage in politics at all following the Scopes trial has been replaced by a call for Christian “dominion” over the nation and, eventually, over the earth itself. Dominionists preach that Jesus has called them to build the kingdom of God in the here and now, whereas previously it was thought that we would have to wait for it. America becomes, in this militant biblicism, an agent of God, and all political and intellectual opponents of America’s Christian leaders are viewed, quite simply, as agents of Satan. Under Christian dominion, America will no longer be a sinful and fallen nation but one in which the Ten Commandments form the basis of our legal system, Creationism and “Christian values” form the basis of our educational system, and the media and the government proclaim the Good News to one and all. Aside from its proselytizing mandate, the federal government will be reduced to the protection of property rights and “homeland” security. Some Dominionists (not all of whom accept the label, at least not publicly) would further require all citizens to pay “tithes” to church organizations empowered by the government to run our social-welfare agencies, and a number of influential figures advocate the death penalty for a host of “moral crimes,” including apostasy, blasphemy, sodomy, and witchcraft. The only legitimate voices in this state will be Christian. All others will be silenced."

For the record:

a·pos·ta·sy   (-pst-s)
n. pl. a·pos·ta·sies

Abandonment of one's religious faith, a political party, one's principles, or a cause.

blas·phe·my    (blsf-m)
n. pl. blas·phe·mies

1. 1. A contemptuous or profane act, utterance, or writing concerning God or a sacred entity.
   2. The act of claiming for oneself the attributes and rights of God.
2.      An irreverent or impious act, attitude, or utterance in regard to something considered inviolable or sacrosanct.

sod·om·y   (sd-m)
n.

Any of various forms of sexual intercourse held to be unnatural or abnormal, especially anal intercourse or bestiality.

witch·craft  (wchkrft)
n.

1. Magic; sorcery.
2. Wicca.
3. A magical or irresistible influence, attraction, or charm.

These would offenses punishable by death. DEATH.

I'd be first up, I'm sure. Let's see: I abandoned the religion of my childhood (Methodist); I've got an entire catagory on my blog called "Dear God: You Suck"; I write about blowjobs, that's gotta be sodomy in some eyes; and I've seriously considered Wicca as a personal spiritual path. So I'm definitely going to get the chair in the new order.

Oh--and did you hear that a judge can decide what religion you practice with your children?

After reading that article, Blurbomat directed me to this one about Pat Buchanan (yes, I've defended him in the past, since he hates the Neo-Cons so much, but no longer) his assertion that liberals have secretly organized a movement called "Cultural Marxism." Here is a quote from the article:

"The phrase refers to a kind of "political correctness" on steroids — a covert assault on the American way of life that allegedly has been developed by the left over the course of the last 70 years. Those who are pushing the "cultural Marxism" scenario aren't merely poking fun at the PC excesses of the "People's Republic of Berkeley," or the couple of American cities whose leaders renamed manholes "person-holes" in a bid to root out sexist thought.

Right-wing ideologues, racists and other extremists have jazzed up political correctness and repackaged it — in its most virulent form, as an anti-Semitic theory that identifies Jews in general and several Jewish intellectuals in particular as nefarious, communistic destroyers. These supposed originators of "cultural Marxism" are seen as conspiratorial plotters intent on making Americans feel guilty and thus subverting their Christian culture.

In a nutshell, the theory posits that a tiny group of Jewish philosophers who fled Germany in the 1930s and set up shop at Columbia University in New York City devised an unorthodox form of "Marxism" that took aim at American society's culture, rather than its economic system.

The theory holds that these self-interested Jews — the so-called "Frankfurt School" of philosophers — planned to try to convince mainstream Americans that white ethnic pride is bad, that sexual liberation is good, and that supposedly traditional American values — Christianity, "family values," and so on — are reactionary and bigoted. With their core values thus subverted, the theory goes, Americans would be quick to sign on to the ideas of the far left."

Um. Ok. And they say the political left is full of whacko consipiracy theories?

After I waded through that article, I went ahead and read the New York Times. Turns out that Indiana is attempting to do the same thing they did in Kansas--demanding the records of Planned Parenthood patients under 14 years old to allegedly investigate sexual molestation of minors. This time, however, abortion isn't involved at all--they just want to monitor the sexual behavior of minors. I was sexually active at 14 (I know, I know--it seems crazy to me now); and I was also a patient of a local Planned Parenthood type clinic. The idea that the state would be allowed to review my records and then call me in for questioning to determine exactly how I was sexually active is just beyond words.

There were some signs of hope, however.

Everyone is all excited about the news that Deep Throat was W. Mark Felt, the number two man at the FBI during Nixon's reign. Charlie and I were talking about it last night and Charlie wondered what made Mr. Felt come forward now; it got me thinking.

Perhaps in light of the recent Newsweek scandal (where a story was retracted because the "anonymous source" changed his/her tune), Mr. Felt thought coming forward would remind people of the important role the press plays in this country--and that anonymous sources are a critical part of that role and can bring down a president.

At least that's my theory. Course, most conservatives think that Mr. Felt is a traitor. But then, most conservatives these days would think Nixon was a liberal.

I'll say it again; this is all breaking my heart. All of this crazy stuff I've linked to has happened in the last WEEK. I love my country, and the idea of making it a Christian Dominion makes me want to tear my hair out.

I'm going to go cry now. At least Jon Stewart is back from vacation.

To Church or not to Church?

So I have a weird collection of stuff percolating about in my head today. Well, maybe not that weird. Mostly things like heritage and culture and identity. Crap that comes up, I guess, when you’re going to be a parent.

I hope I haven’t already written about this. If you’re bored, skip it. I’m just too damn tired today to scan my blog and make sure I’m not repeating myself.

Something I’ve struggled with as an adult is the fact that I have no cultural identity. I’m a typical American WASP—and an American mutt. I’m, from what I can tell from the various family trees, German, Welsh, and British. My husband is German, Irish, and Hungarian, so our children will be an even worse mush of European genetics.

I grew up (as I said the other day) in Albuquerque, New Mexico. We were poor when I was a kid, so my mom and I lived in what would now be called “the barrio.” Brown children, both Native American and Mexican, surrounded me and as I say in this poem I wrote about this subject, I stood out like a tumor, with my pale eyes and sun bleached hair and chronically sunburned nose. All the kids around me were bilingual, and I just felt so left out, dull, boring.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve developed a kind of nostalgia for other cultures. The movie Moonstruck makes me wish I were Italian (yeah, I know, it’s totally a stereotype, and Cher isn’t even Italian). Attending my friend’s baby naming ceremony or another friend’s Bat Mitzvah makes me long to be Jewish. All that history!

A friend of mine from high school is just now exploring her Jewish roots after spending time as both an agnostic and a devout Christian. She suggested I pick something from my heritage and embrace it, but for god’s sake—I’m a WASP! What’s to embrace? Colonialism? Giving Native Americans small pox infested blankets? Killing the Pagans?

I flirted with being a Pagan for a while, and while a lot of the concept of worshiping the Earth appeals to me, the people who practice Paganism, at least the ones I’ve met, are a bunch of annoying flakes. If I hear another suggestion to dance around a fire “skyclad” to welcome a new season, I’ll puke. It’s just being naked in public, people!

My mother was raised as a Methodist, and with the exception of a brief tour of duty in an evangelical Christian church while I was in middle school, my mother brought me up Methodist as well. I know that going to church is not for me any longer, but I’ve found myself thinking a lot about what I did get out of all those days of Sunday School and listening to sermons.

As a kid, I loved Sunday School. I liked my teachers, and I enjoyed the “youth activities” we did, such as having a slumber party/starve-in to raise money for hungry people around the world (we locked ourselves in the church and didn’t eat and played games until we all passed out from hunger—we took pledges from people based on how long we could hold out). I feel like I did learn some things in church about compassion and caring and viewing the world as larger than just me, my family, my town.

Oh, and the singing. I loved being in choir, I loved singing hymns, I loved that silly thing Methodists (and some others, I’m told) sing, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow…” Getting a solo in the church choir was a dream come true, something I strived for, learned to be proud of.

My spiritual center now lies in the rooms of recovery, where we all are free to believe what and how we want. If only we sang! Well, maybe not. Singing alcoholics…hmmm, not so much.

But my children won’t get out of meetings what I do, even if they attend with me on a regular basis and hang out with other recovering adults. They won’t get that sense of the larger world that I got through my Sunday School escapades. And they certainly won’t get to sing.

There are options, in the area I live, for a church-like experience for those of us uncomfortable with Christianity. There are the Unitarians, who as far as I can tell have a fast and loose general belief in God, and are very politically active. There are a lot of Quakers in my town, and the same can be said for them, but they don’t, as far as I know, ever sing.

While I’d love my children to get the positive aspects of this stuff, there were negative aspects too. Like my Sunday School teacher who asked us if we’d heard about a woman being raped at the local library. When we said we had (we were all in 8th grade, and it was BIG news in our area), she proceeded to tell us, solemnly, that the reason it happened was because the woman was wearing a see-through shirt.

There was also the mandate that all the children had to go and say hello to Paul, the quadriplegic, every week before services started. While I didn’t mind, surely he must have hated to have to chat politely each week with a parade of small children. It feels like pandering, now, in retrospect.

The only other thing from my childhood that provided a sense of both community and the world at large was folk music. My mom was a hippie, and a folk singer, and some of my fondest childhood memories are from watching her perform and from all the various concerts we attended, like Buffy Saint-Marie; Peter, Paul, and Mary; and Pete Seeger. I got so much out of those! Besides the fact that these performers were political activists, they always did something special for children, and there was more of that singing in public! I just loved it as a kid.

While I’m sure I can scrounge up some concerts to attend, I’ll have to do it without my darling husband. My mother and I took him to one Peter, Paul and Mary concert and he wandered through the crowds alternately asking, “Who here voted for Bush [Bush 1, that is]?” or “Who’s got the acid?” His parents voted for Nixon, so he doesn’t have a lot of, er, respect for the whole folk music thing. So unless they did up Woody Guthrie, he won’t be joining me at any concerts.

I’m in a quandary about all this stuff. I’d love to hear what you’ve done. Let me know, will ya?