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Advice Overload

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic livingLeave a comment

I’ve discovered a new form of entertainment.

I’ve been reading these pseudo-psychology articles on Google News and Instagram posts full of “how to act” advice. They claim to be written by therapists, spiritual healers and doctors. Although I’m still trying to figure out how Tina Fey fits in that world.

Anyway, these posts, if you’re not familiar, offer the secrets to living and surviving life as best as possible. For instance : 9 Reasons People Don’t Like You. Or 12 Things All Parents Should Teach Teenagers. Or The 3 Reasons You Didn’t Get that Job. 5 Ways to Spot a Narcissist. 45 Things to Get Out of Your Home Decor. You get the idea.

I’m someone whose rocky relationship experiences always have me examining my place in the greater world. The articles would call me an “over-thinker,” as well as a few other less-complimentary things. But I started to notice something after scrolling through a number of them.

They all say the same thing. Regardless of the topic, the message is “Your Doing It Wrong.”

“Your ways of coping, relating, speaking, parenting, eating, decorating, sleeping or just living are outdated. Let these people who don’t know any more about life than you do tell you how you should do this. Even if you don’t like our advice, Be thankful we’re here to keep you from being cancelled. Questioning what “influencers” like us say makes you a bad person. Now go to your corner, sit down, be quiet and live your life the way we tell you to, and you’ll feel better about everything.”

Right. And then everyone across the world joins hands and sings Let There Be Peace On Earth. Not much for my personal growth, motivation or self-esteem there. Just the idea that if we all act the same, live in the same kinds of houses, eat the same kinds of food and keep our blinders on there will be no conflict and the “Karens” among us will feel sooooo much better about you. Sacrifice whatever is important to you to keep the peace. Including your dignity.

I grew up surrounded by people pleasers. I never knew it was ok, and in some cases necessary or prudent, to rock the boat. Even in the worse cases of oversight or corruption or discrimination, there were very few times I remember anyone in my life standing up to the people who push everyone else around. On a larger scale, few people I knew stood up for their legal rights, or really even knew what they were. Fixing bad situations always came at too high a cost.

Avoid conflict in any way possible. I was in my 20s before I knew the world was full of people who would always put their personal gain, weather social, financial, or egotistical, ahead of any hardship or pain it would cause another person. Most people it seems are well aware that when they do something that they know will hurt someone else, no one, including the aggrieved, will do any thing about it. There might be some arguing and tears, but the speed at which such things blow over is quite fast. The person taking advantage almost always prepares for the aftermath.

As a result, even the most mindful among us are pushed to follow the crowd, or “upgrade” their values, pleasures and habits because the rest of the world discounts you if you don’t. Still have granite counter tops and not quartz? Quick, call a contractor. Wearing the wrong cut or rise of jeans? Hurry to a clothing store before someone thinks you’re old! Didn’t get that job? Well, your resume is all wrong and you have gaps in your employment history. Lie next time. Upset because you don’t agree with your neighbor about some issue? Harass them until they move.

The Catholic Church has been talking for years about “meeting people where they are.” Paying attention to where the people we encounter in our lives are on their journeys, and acting accordingly with kindness.

It’s a great idea. But when push comes to shove, we always find a reason not to. None of us it seems are prepared or are committed to accepting people where they are. You’re too old! Too poor! Too wealthy! Too attractive! Too fat! Too serious! Too immature! Too liberal! Too close minded!

Imagine what the world would be like if everyone did everything the same. Liked the same music. Dressed the same. Did the same job. Believed the same things. Had the same experiences. Aside from being a bit creepy, life would be terribly boring.

God had good reason for making us different from one another. It’s to remind us that we always have room to grow mentally and spiritually. Knowing and interacting with people who don’t do things like us shouldn’t be repulsive. We should be learning from one another, and respecting how varied opinions and living make everything better, not worse. In essence, unless someone is committing an actual crime, live and let live. That older woman who still likes her denim shorts and tie-dyed t-shirts is stil a person. As is the religious guy next door who gives out prayer cards on Halloween. And the woman who brings tuna noodle casserole to every pot luck, and the couple that still listens to Milli Vanilli.

Different isn’t our problem. Different is good.

I’ll probably still be reading those articles and Instagram posts and wondering if there’s any truth in 6 Dark Psychological Truths and 10 Reasons Your Not as Smart as You Think, hoping no one is basing their actions on posts that don’t even bother to check their spelling or punctuation.

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You Deserved My Life

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic livingLeave a comment

Families seem to be under a type of public relations attack these days, for a multitude of reasons I won’t get into right now.

Yet sadly, the biggest objection to family life comes from the all-knowing “me.” It seems we’re more interested in personal fulfillment than we are in personal growth and the contributions that growth offers the world.

Today’s people have places to go and people to see. Stuff to buy. Dreams to conquer. There’s no time or money for much else. They may not realize it, but every person who’s ever found themselves pushing strollers and changing diapers once felt the same.

As life progresses and the world turns, we’re forced to face some of the less palatable things that come with being human. All of which are obstacles to the things “me” wants. Things like illness, mental decline, regret, mortality, relationship baggage, personal and professional failures, losing friends and family, and of course, loneliness.

Last week, my family lost one of its most important and respected members. The reason my 88- year old uncle was so regarded by all of us was because he rarely listened to the “me.” Nothing was more important to this man than supporting, celebrating, protecting and loving my aunt and my two cousins. Nothing.

That side of our family is rather small. It’s made up of his family, my immediate family – my dad, mom, my brother and I – and a few cousins and close-as-family friends. As it was, my uncle always included my family in his commitment.

He not only took on raising his two daughters, he endured the addition of his niece and nephew throughout every year. Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July, Halloween, and birthdays, we were all together. I often stayed at his house overnight – sometimes for as long as a week. He shouldered the older ones torturing me, the baby, until I screamed. He tolerated my brother’s dinner-time stories about his “friend” who had done everything at least once, and his ridiculous discussions about things like Ginsu knives. We played hide and seek all over his house, and always needed containers with holes in the lids for catching lightning bugs. And of course there was all of us sniping when we’d had enough of the others. He, almost happily it seemed, faced it all. Anger at our antics was rare.

My Uncle probably never knew it, but he gave sixth-grade me what I considered for many years the best day ever. He took me, along with my cousins (who had been there many times before), to visit a good friends of his who happened to own a farm with a few horses. It was one of the first times I was ever around animals larger than cats and dogs. I got to pet, feed and ride a horse and cuddle her new foal.

I went home filthy. I wrote an essay about it for school. I drew a picture for my art class. It held me over until boys came into the picture in high school. It was one of the greatest gifts anyone ever gave me. And it stuck – I married a farmer. He boards horses.

My uncle, my aunt, father, and grandparents all immigrated (legally) from Communist countries – my uncle from Russia after WWI, may Father, aunt and grandmother from Romania after WWII. They didn’t have easy childhoods.

Here in the U.S. they went to work building the kind of lives that would sustain strong families. The four of us kids never wanted for much. We usually had to wait until a birthday or Christmas, or until the money became available. But my uncle, as well as my aunt, my father and my mother, dedicated themselves to giving us lives that they never had.

There’s a country song in which the singer laments that he’s been blessed with so much in his life that it almost sickens his mind. He tells the person he’s singing the song for, “you deserved my life.”

My uncle deserved the incredible lives he gave his daughters, and the happiness and guidance he gave my brother and I. He, like my aunt and my father, deserved the childhood they toiled to give us. Not the kind that required them to duck bullets at 15, or to watch their mother carried off to the Gulag, or one that required interrogation by the KGB.

They could have been bitter and angry. Like all kids, they deserved bicycles and swimming lessons and Polaroid instant cameras and the toy in the bottom of the Honeycomb box and days playing in a barnyard with horses. They didn’t have those things, but they found joy in giving them to us.

How I wish I could find a way to communicate to those who dont want families of their own, or choose to avoid those they do have (cases of abuse aside), that on the balance sheet of life, the ROI on family dwarfs that of a career and the “stuff” we’ve learned to equate with success. The stuff “me” wants.

To my uncle, the first of the parents in my family we have lost from our lives, YOU deserved all that you have given us, and so much more. I’ll miss you. Always.

Thank you for showing me the kind of person I want to be.

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It’s Not Over Yet

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic living, catholic parenting, Catholic Parents and ChildrenLeave a comment

Funny about parenting. Just when you think you found the special recipe for success, that you’ve got this thing licked, God is there to remind us – it ain’t over yet.

It’s that spring time of excitement. Kids are leaving high school to jump into the “real world.” College, jobs, trade school, travel, etc. They’re grown ups! Everyone has survived. Now we get to sit back and watch the amazing people we created do even more amazing things!

Right? Well, kind of. But not exactly.

It’s one of those things that get glossed over in the parent training we receive from our friends and family, like finding out you know nothing about what they’re doing when you think you know everything. Discovering that perhaps a lot of their problems are of their own making, or how it is they can regularly pull that car into the driveway at exactly 11:59:45 p.m. That they don’t actually tell you the whole truth all of the time. Most of the time.

After the parties, and the cakes, and the celebrating, it turns out they need you now as much as they ever did. Maybe even more.

We think we prepare them. We show them how to study, how to care for themselves, how to operate in the world without adult supervision. We instill values in them, teach them to represent themselves. To coexist with others.

But, we forget one small thing. They are still young, relatively inexperienced, confused people living in a strange world of duplicity and “how-can-this-be-the-way-things-actually-work“ -ism. No matter how hard we struggle to prevent it, our kids still have a lot of growing to do.

A few years ago, I was working as a media contact and spokesperson for a small liberal arts college. The beginning of the fall term always brought inquiries on one party or another where some novice college students were caught drinking underage, or involved in some other “I’m-on-my-own-with-tons-of-people-my-age-and-no-parents” shenanigans. Sadly, this one resulted in a few injuries and a line at the local magistrate’s office.

The reporter, in due diligence, asked me how such incidents could be stopped and what the college was going to do about it. Remembering my own college days, I asked her what she thought we should do.

She admitted she had no answer. But, having a child in college, she assured me that her son didn’t partake in such silly coming-of-age rituals. He was way too busy training and playing hockey for his school.

I smiled behind my phone. Stopping the sophomoric behavior of young people away from home in the greater world is like brokering peace in the Middle East. The problem has existed since the beginning of time, and will likely go on until the end of time.

OK. I’m exaggerating. A little. My reporter friend stopped me in the grocery store at Thanksgiving time. She had gone into her son’s hockey equipment bag to get his laundry and found various empty alcohol bottles and beer cans.

Young people are curious, interested, and determined to find out what’s out there. That’s what makes them young. Believe it or not, no matter if they go to Church every week, attend the most religious school in the world and sign up for every retreat offered by campus ministry, they’re going to find some new pickle to get themselves into fairly soon. Parents, be prepared for just about anything you can’t even imagine right now.

By October, and likely for the next four years or so, the young person you’re sending off with ticker-tape parades is going to need you more than ever before. The challenges for you are now advanced – I lost my scholarship, I want to change schools, I broke my (insert body part) playing intramural dodge ball, my roommate has avian flu, I didn’t get chosen by XYZ fraternity or sorority, the food is awful so I order Door Dash every night, I can’t handle the stress, I think I have a drinking/drug problem, I got an F in physics, I wrecked my car, someone stole my laptop/phone/Switch, I missed my period. And so on.

Yes, parents, we are still needed. For most of our students, we are the only people who can solve these issues. How do I make a doctors appointment? How do you fill a prescription? I need a passport for travel abroad. My computer fried itself. I lost my phone at a party. My roommate and his girlfriend keep hooking up in our dorm room.

At this point, it doesn’t really matter how they got this way – they’re basically still dependent. Unless of course you want to see their grades, medical records, or the financial statement for the education you’re probably paying for. In that case, they’re 18, and nobody is sharing with you.

Seriously though, in cases where you discern they can find their own way without the loss of life, you may find that being there means doing less than they think you should. For instance, they want to pick up a job on campus. But they don’t want to search the campus job openings, or ask someone in financial aid or student life how to go about that. They complain about not being able to make friends. But you can’t join a group or start a conversation for them. And no matter how often they walk past that car wrecked in a drunk driving accident parked on the plaza, they have to learn cause and effect on their own.

It maybe the hardest part of parenting – training an actual adult to be a grown up, without treating them like a high schooler. You’ll worry. You’ll have to stop yourself from making decisions for them. You’ll probably cry a little from fear and exasperation. You’ll scratch your head the first few times they come home on break, and wonder just who is living under your roof.

Fasten your seat belt and hold onto the bar in front of you.

And pray.

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Are We Helping Others or Hurting Our Neighbors?

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic living, our changing worldLeave a comment

Back in the early 1990s a man named Roger Fuhlgum penned one of those little gift books you buy at the card store or at the checkout in a book store. Surprisingly, it was an enormous hit and became a best seller. Fuhlgum called it All I Really Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.

There were few at that time who hadn’t at least heard of the book and many enjoyed the simplicity of its reminders on how to lead a good life. Clean up after yourself. Share. Call your mom, etc. Fuhlgum could certainly turn a phrase, jokingly nudging everyone, including himself, to do better.

Despite the years, and the fact that I was a teen with little attention span when I read it, there’s one nugget of wisdom from that little book that still sticks in my mind. It reads “Trust God. But lock your car.”

I’ve been thinking about this little piece of advice a lot lately. It seems more timely than it did even then. So many of us aim in our own ways to be charitable to those in need or who have experienced great tragedy. Driven by God’s love or an internal desire to boost humanity, so many want to help. Which is wonderful. However, our world today seems to have filled with grifters who desire to take advantage of good hearts, at least as much as decent people aim to help.

You may heard people talking on television or online about “misplaced compassion.” We do this apparently when we are fooled or blinded by what we believe to be the suffering and anguish of other people, when sadly, we’re really being hoodwinking by those who have learned to exploit the kindness of others.

This under current of deception has always been a risk – humans for whatever reason have been pulling one over on nice people forever. We all know a story of an unsuspecting elderly person taken in by a caregiver or neighbor or even a family member, who, basically, robbed them and their potential heirs blind. There are people who lie about dying from disease to make money. Or people sitting on downtown street corners begging for handouts they then go and deposit in a healthy bank account, after driving home to some suburb after a long day.

Do they have reasons for this behavior? Likely. But these cases (which should never be considered a condemnation of everyone in need of our charity) are based in a type of dishonesty that is truly distasteful when those “contributing” to their cause are doing so not from some largess of their own, but from what they themselves live on.

Misplaced compassion has become a hot topic these days, specifically as it relates to immigration and the US boarder.

While there is no doubt that many who are crossing into the US may have a true, solid case for asylum, (they DO in fact come from places none of us would want to live) there is also a great deal of information telling us that a large number are taking advantage of the open boarder to commit violent crime, move illegal substances into the country or traffic humans, most notably children, for illicit purposes.

The duality of migrant intentions has become a dilemma for those who wish to serve Christ and their fellow man. How do we discern who truly needs our care, and who is coming here to sow danger, fear and death among us from whom they seek help? Or for that matter, who will be an asset to our county, and who will be a liability?

The numbers coming to harm us seem to be growing. As a country, we have now experienced numerous needless assaults and murders of our people. Usually explained away as a “cultural difference,” it’s very difficult to believe that there are people in the world who indiscriminately kill and rape – or steal or invade homes or intentionally disrupt daily life or whatever – without knowing these things are evil. Who on this earth, who asks for assistance with their own poverty or political treatment, does not know that tackling an unarmed jogger in a park, raping and strangling her is nothing more than wrong? Causing death and mayhem are not cultural mores. If there is some culture that truly believes these things are part of who they are, we need to start being more defensive in all parts of our lives.

So what are we to do? Is it wrong to turn a blind eye to some while we help others? How can we tell who is looking for a new start and who is crossing the board for a more nefarious purpose? God asks us to show mercy to prisoners and in some cases criminals. But what happens when the harm that comes from doing so becomes much greater than simply turning an evil heart back from where it came?

I don’t know the answers to any of these questions. But I can’t believe God wants us to invite danger to our neighborhoods and towns under the auspice of charity. I’m concerned that many good-hearted people around us are actually encouraging people of any walk of life to enter our country and take advantage of our generosity by seeing only the surface of the problem. Some are actually in southern countries handing out maps and supplies to would-be migrants along the trail. Helping them “catch” trains, find pathways, etc. When these asylum seekers commit violent crimes, should these “guides” and their organizations also be held accountable? Is this really any different than aiding and abetting?

Some may say we should help no matter the cost to ourselves. But should we truly do this when the cost is not necessarily to ourselves, but to another – the little boy down the street, the mother across town – the jogger in the park? Is it possible that in doing something that looks “charitable” on the surface is really a practice in destroying other people’s lives?

Look around – and be careful as to what you consider to be charitable.

Oh, and lock your car.

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Staying the Course

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic living, Catholic Parents and ChildrenLeave a comment

When my oldest daughter was in fourth grade, she came home and told us she wanted to play the trumpet.

We kind of shrugged, imagining the typical situation where a kid begs to play an instrument, “plays” for maybe six months or a year, loses interest and the parents return the rented instrument to the music store, and it’s never discussed again.

She had never showed so much interest in any other activity, so we took her to the informational session at school. One look at that cool brassy slide on the trombone, and she was sold.

A few months later was her first recital (yes, a stage full of fourth and fifth graders with very few lessons under their belt playing traditional standards). Luckily, our music teacher often filled in with some truly wonderful local musicians to help the sound. After the show, one of the musicians, a gentleman with a trombone and silver hair, jumped from the stage and took my arm.

He wanted to know if Sara was my daughter. My husband and I of course answered yes, me thinking, “uh-oh, what did she do?” I knew she could be rather mischievous. The man asked if she had a private trombone teacher. We laughed and told him she’d only been playing a few weeks. He asked if we would allow him to train her. And thus our musical odyssey began.

The gentleman was a Yale-trained jazz musician who taught nearly every trombonist in our local public high school‘s award winning marching band. He worked with Sara until she graduated high school. She inspired her younger sister to take up the saxophone – she now plays alto, bari, and tenor sax.

My girls love music. Period. There was never a thought of stopping. We ended up buying those instruments. Sara’s teacher had her and her sister join a local kid’s philharmonic. It gave them the opportunity to play with other committed young musicians – they were even able to tour Germany and Switzerland a few years back. Their music became tied into their friendships, and ours as well. We met some of the people we love most schlepping instruments, uniforms, and promoting band.

However, in school, the band experience required great commitment, thick skin and a perseverance I never could have imagined. My girls didn’t attend that local high school with the amazing band. They went to private school, where band was considered to be much less than cool. The marching band was small – Sara started with about 30 kids. When my younger daughter graduated, they were down to seven. Seven of the most dedicated young people I ever met.

But again, through the tears, the snubs, the bullying -from both students AND parents – the lack of support from administrators and the athletic program, these girls, and a handful of other very talented kids, refused to give any quarter. They pushed and demanded respect. They got mine. They made me a Mamma Bear for every kid at their school who dared to pick up an instrument and play.

My husband took over transportation for equipment for every game and competition. I begged and pleaded with everyone I knew for money to pay expenses, buy a trailer, etc. And we jumped in the ring, confronting anyone who dared to belittle, overlook or cheat any of these kids, their band or band director. We did things and asked for permission later. We spent our own money to champion these musicians, knowing the joy they had discovered in music. All four of us loved band – as much as we hated it.

While many of their former band mates have left band behind, my girls both loved it enough to take it up again in college. And today, their perseverance and personal pain has turned to complete joy. Band has become what they always believed it could be.

They were able to get on campus and make friends early as freshman, and get the lay of the land. They find themselves in the thick of what’s happening – Division 1 football and bowl games. The NCAA Final Four tournament. Any special event on campus. Trips representing their schools. Their bands are loved and celebrated by their institutions – their performances well attended. They have sponsors and team assistants. Dedicated transportation. Practice facilities. Swag. It’s what pulls them through home sickness and difficult moments.

I can’t help but think about God, and our tendency to step away from His promise of paradise when we encounter trouble or ridicule, or can’t seem to understand our place in His plan. My children have taught me that perseverance – belief in what you’re doing and where God is leading you – does indeed have its reward. Just a few years ago, I could never have imagined the smiles and joy my daughters attribute to music.

They earned all they are feeling now for staying the course and understanding goodness when they found it. Watching the opportunities and accolades that follow them now swells my heart as a parent. And I also get the blessing of knowing every fight, every push, every ounce of support my husband and I gave them in their music was what God intended us to do.

Strike up the band, girls.

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Birds of a Feather

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic living, catholic parenting, Catholic Parents and Children, our changing world, the circle of lifeLeave a comment

Driving through part of the Montezuma Wildlife Refuge in New York recently, my husband spotted a rather impressive bird nest, perched upon a utility tower. It was unusually large – not the kind you bring home after a nature walk – its branches tightly woven into a sturdy, safe home for the newly hatched. He suspected it belonged to a mother eagle of some type.

While we couldn’t see directly inside from the road, it looked empty.

The bird house, if you will, struck me. After a few whirlwind weeks of buying, packing, visiting, and anticipating, we ourselves had just completed the process of emptying our own nest. One daughter five hours east, the other five hours west. To say the least, we were tired. I was also kind of numb.

My girls are both in wonderful places, doing the kinds of things they most like to do. The future looks fairly bright with new life-building experiences occurring quite often. They are in that place now where the lessons come from personal failures as well as successes. Where mom and dad aren’t there to run interference or solve life’s little mysteries. Need something from the grocery? Find a way to get there. Feeling a little under the weather? Find a remedy. Don’t forget an umbrella, or your room key, or what time Psych101 starts or what building it’s in. Get used to napping in a noisy dorm, juggling conflicting deadlines and exerting more effort for those As and Bs.

I’m not worried. It’s time for them to leave the nest and see if they can fly. We’ve prepared them as best we could. Of course I’ll still be praying for them, as will my mother, who has likely already finished 10 novenas. I’m strangely happy for them – but I know I can’t be part of their new adventures. So, some of my prayers are actually for me.

My daughters are the two people I most love to be with. I was enjoying seeing how some of the lessons we tried to teach had been received. Lately, I’d become very taken by their desire for simplicity, illustrated by both not overdoing the dorm shopping. Feeling like we hadn’t spent enough yet (God only knows what else we thought they needed) my husband and I were trolling Target with one of them last week, asking incessantly, “Are you sure you don’t need this or want that?” We wanted to do more.

But there really wasn’t anything left to do. Time was up. If we hadn’t done it in the last 18 years, it wasn’t happening now. This past summer, we started to get results on the kind of job we’ve done. Some good, some not so good. Or more like, there are things we like and agree with, and then there are things we need to step back from, or come to terms with ourselves. These are not our lives they are living. This might be the hardest part of parenting.

In the meantime, I’ll have to learn how to program the tv and fix my own cell phone when I screw something up. I’ll have to go grab that thing I forget at the grocery myself and realize I’m just not going to know anything at all happening in the entertainment world.

Mostly, I think I’ll be a little lonely and have to search for new ways to feel needed. Its as if I’m approaching the denouement (I bet my English teachers can’t believe I remembered that word) of my story, where all of the plot lines start to converge and you get an idea of what’s coming toward the end. Not that I’m anywhere near finished learning and growing and discovering.

I’m just waiting patiently until my two birds are ready to join me in soaring.

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Moving Up in the World

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic living, catholic parenting, Catholic Parents and Children, our changing world, the circle of lifeLeave a comment

Sometimes in life, things we know and understand intellectually hit the reality of our lives when we aren’t specifically focused on their true importance. My family threw a 25th wedding anniversary party for my husband and I today (more on that later; our “real” anniversary isn’t for another month or so) and it truly made me think about my life.

In 1999, there were somewhere in the neighborhood of 225 people at our wedding reception. Today, in a much smaller venue, there were about 55. Twenty or so of those were not at the actual wedding.

Those who were with us today travelled from a variety of distances – some from a few states away – all in various states of physical health. We welcomed two ladies in later stages of life using mobility devices. Some other special people with various maladies that eventually come from a life well lived – cardiovascular, renal, digestive, and cognitive issues. One young lady with a case of poison ivy, and even a very unhappy newborn.

All made an effort to be with us today, not only to celebrate our anniversary, but to be in the presence of others they love and care for, family and friends, for a few hours. The atmosphere warm, welcoming and unthreatening. A temporary bubble against the noise of the world. A kind of sanctuary if you will, where we talked about old times and future plans.

I found myself thinking about all of the others who had attended our wedding, but we’re not present for one reason or another. Amid the “how have you been?” conversations, I was stunned to realize how much life, and the people in mine, had changed since 1999.

Many of those with us then, particularly my grandmother and my husband’s father are now, hopefully, in the Lord’s house, along with aunts, uncles, friends, great aunts and great uncles. Tallying the numbers, the loss in our lives has been great. Yet also today there were our children and others of a younger generation, and newer friends who keep our lives full of love.

We’ve been lucky that many others in our lives are still enjoying their golden years among us – for me particularly, this has made my real age and place in the larger family a bit elusive. With these people around me, particularly my parents, and aunts and uncles who have played key roles in my life, I’ve always felt that I was still “one of the kids.”

Today, it became very obvious – I’m not one of the kids anymore. At 52, with my own health maladies and two children in college, I’m anything but. It dawned on me clearly how age – not only my own – influences our lives and relationships. Many others who were at the wedding 25 years ago, have left our lives for a variety of reasons – death, changes in jobs, household moves, overall busy-ness, and, if I’m being honest, quarrels and bad feelings. The cycle that comes with living a human life.

We – my husband and I, my brother and his wife, my cousins and others our age, are now the “grown ups,” the keepers of family relationships and ties. In today’s ever connected world, this might be an easier thing. But it really isn’t. Of all the beautiful people with us today, I regularly have to look up addresses. I have previous few of their phone numbers and talk to others only via Facebook. This is not a sound way to keep relationships alive.

My children, and their children and their generations deserve to know about the amazing people in their families and how their relatives and friends influenced their lives. They should know the stories of how my aunts sang the most inspired “Ave Maria” at countless churches around the city. How my grandmother hid from the Red Army in a dug out under her coffee table. That one of my grandfathers was a mailman and the other a barber. That they both loved music. The kinds of stories that animate any family tree.

Now, it’s up to us new “grown ups” to lead the way in that, stopping for visits, telling the stories, holding the bar-b-ques, sharing the photos, and remembering the birthdays.

I wonder, in today’s uber-connected world, will we actually be able to this? I hope we find ways.

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A Hazy Shade of Winter

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic livingLeave a comment

“…time, time, time,

see what’s become of me,

as I looked around for my possibilities.

I was so hard to please…”

I always loved that song. Of course being a child of the 80s much more The Bangles’ version than the original Simon & Garfunkel. There was a grittiness in that one that suited my frame of mind as a young woman finishing high school. (It may not be the greatest guitar of all time, but something in that riff resonated.)

Yet it took me years to understand, decades really, what those words were saying.

Time it seems, as if it had been ignored for sometime (and it has been) has been knocking heavily on the doors of my life, much like my Great Pyrenees does when she decides she wants in from outside.

We go through life thinking, wishing and praying life will last and all we love will be sustained as we like it to be. The people we love, the places we call home, the stuff we think is cool, everything that brings us happiness and comfort, we hope will be beside us as long as possible. And yet we know, nothing but God is truly eternal.

I find as I grow into my 50s (when that happened I surely do not know) I’m living in wait of those proverbial other shoes to drop. The last few years have not been kind – in addition to my personal illness and issues, I’ve lost many people I love, who played big roles in my life. My beautiful aunt and Godmother. Two old neighbors, husband and wife, who gave me my first BFF and mountains of support as I grew up. Teachers who I dearly respected. Former classmates who grew up alongside me. The dog who watched over me in sickness. My dad’s dear friend who always said he was my first “boyfriend.” My first true love.

But the shoes, they’re still hanging above me. My younger daughter leaves for college in a month – she who actually takes care of me. My older daughter is now happier at school than at home – she’s become her own ADULT person. My father is 85. He was so healthy I never thought he’d age, and I was certain he of daily 5-mile walks and cross-country skiing machines would outlive me. In the last year the inevitable impact of age has begun to take its toll. My amazing mother needs all the love and support we can give her as she sustains his life.

I’m also slowly losing two aunts and an uncle who were instrumental in my development to age and disease. The people who’s stories, lessons and advice built the person I am are slowly slipping away, leaving me, my husband, my cousins and friends as the older generation of our families. We’re not so young anymore. I forget that.

Time, however, has been reminding me. But God has been reminding me that in remembering all they shared and were in my life, they’ll never really be gone. They live in the hearts of everyone who loves them. That’s hard to buy sometimes. But He’s given me this glimpse. A sneak peak at the restful pasture of sunshine and green grass and trees and babbling brooks that awaits when I’m done ascending and descending the mountains in front of me.

Maybe that’s not the approved, biblical way I’m supposed to see Heaven. Maybe it’s not official “Catholicism” for me to see the people I love with God, waiting for me to drop in. I don’t care. I think God put that in my head to give me courage and strength. And comfort.

I can’t always see it. But I can always hear it, in the voices of all of the people I love who are already there, calling to me and cheering me on. I see you guys. Someday I’ll catch up.

But I still have work to do here.

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The Angel Next Door

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic living, Catholic Parents and Children, our changing worldLeave a comment

Even if you never experienced it, you most certainly have heard about the freestyle, bike-riding, tag-playing, wiffleball bat-swinging, garden hose-drinking, roller skating, out until dark childhood days of us lucky enough to grow up in the 70s and 80s.

I lived in a suburb full of kids my age, and we most certainly did all of these things, and then some. We however, did not have sidewalks, and our street was steep to put it mildly. What we did have was something of a guardian angel.

The world was a lot different when we Gen Xers were kids. The economy was rough. If our dads weren’t in danger of getting laid off, they were often getting pay cuts. A lot of our moms went back to school or directly to work. The “latch-key” kid was born.

This was way before every moment of a kid’s life was scheduled with activities. We did some things – but there was plenty of time to fall into trouble when parents were working, studying, etc. My best friend’s mom didn’t go back to work at that time – instead she inherited about 10 to 15 additional kids. And there was always room for more if someone needed a place to hang.

There were always bikes in the driveway and kids coming in an out the front door. In the winter and on cooler days, there was one of the first big-screen TVs any of us had seen (it was inside a cabinet that opened from the top and the screen popped out), and a library of movies and shows to watch. She was one of the first people I knew to have a VCR (BetaMax, no less). I remember her taping Friday Night Videos at 11:30 p.m., when most of us were in bed, so we could watch the next day. Our area was not blessed with MTV in our cable selections just yet.

In the summer, there was a swimming pool, which kept us all wet and happy and safe in the backyard. There was a cabinet full of extra towels and always extra swim suits for anyone who forgot to bing their own. If the temperature was above 75, our parents never had to worry where we were.

Her daughter was my first BFF. We were inseparable until we went to different high schools. And even then, we still saw a lot of one another. Her patience with two crazy little girls was undeniable – I can still remember her expression when she once caught us making our own snow from a Johnson & Johnson talcum powder bottle, all over a navy blue carpet. We talked and laughed about that one for years. She made us countless grilled cheese sandwiches, and owing to the fact that her husband and brother-in-law ran a local pizza place, there were always plenty of slices of yummy New York style to feed us all.

But it was more than popsicles in the freezer and sodas in the fridge. She truly cared for every one of us, knew who we were, what we were good at, and what kind of trouble we could cause. She answered lots of questions and was always open for someone sleeping over. When one girl lost her mother to cancer at a young age, she was always there to help her and her dad out with the growing girl stuff.

As we all grew into college and careers and families of our own, we all faded in and out of touch with one another and with her, our neighborhood mom. It was always a joy to run into her out and about and to reminisce. She always had a great old story top of mind. More recently, she was one of my favorite Facebook friends. Having her tell me how proud she was of the person I have become was a great compliment I will always hold in my heart.

We lost her this week to illness. I ache thinking of my old BFF holding her hand as she passed. Yet as always, she didn’t want to burden anyone. There won’t be a viewing or a formal funeral. But I’m sure we’re all paying tribute to her in our hearts. Mine for one hurts far more than I could have imagined (I haven’t seen her in over 15 years) and I find myself wondering where we kids would have landed without the safety and warmth or her home and her heart.

I’m sure God has welcomed her into His home the way she welcomed so many of us. I hope Heaven has a big TV, comfy couches, big dogs, Atari, a fridge full of sodas and a giant seashell dish full of penny candy.

Thank you for all you did for us. Find the angels in your life. Cherish them while you can.

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God’s Plan for Our Lives Through Our Children

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic living, catholic parenting, Catholic Parents and Children, our changing worldLeave a comment

As time goes along, and my family grows older, I sometimes believe I get short glimpses of what God intends for us, and the roles we play, not only in one another’s lives, but in those outside of our family.

When I met my husband, we we’re working together in a state agency. I was one of few unattached women in a world full of unattached men. Trying to ignore it all, I initially didn’t register his interest in me. When I did, I wasn’t sure if I welcomed it. We were truly different kinds of people – think Green Acres, literally. I once swore to a colleague that I would never marry him.

God had other ideas. He dragged my once liberal feminist self – kicking and screaming – into the place I belonged in his plan. And everything changed. His persistence landed me on an old farm, living with not only my farmer husband, but with his father as well. Who would have imagined? Certainly not I.

God introduced me to the kind of people I’d never met before – both good and bad. All unforgettable, with lessons to teach me. Old farmers, WWII vets, country wives, avid hunters and fishers, historians, machine mechanics, civic-minded older ladies, cattlemen, vegetable growers, etc.

God brought my husband back to the church – the man who hadn’t set foot in one for years now sings at Mass. It re-ignited a fire in him for his heritage and the amazing history of his ancestors. He took up a fight for a traditional way of living and the people who lived it he seemed to have tired of.

More importantly perhaps, it made us both parents. Which further changed all that had already changed.

Our girls turned us both from looking inside to looking outside. It wasn’t about us anymore – if we wanted it that way or not. We surrendered many things we said we never would – all to provide the best lives for our babies. He sacrificed his homestead. I walked away from the career that cost me so much to build. We lost many friends. There were many tears, many sleepless nights. Many discussions with the Lord about why this was all necessary to raise our children. Yet we knew it was, somehow.

Today, as we prepare our youngest to leave the nest and start college next fall, I’m having those glimpses of God’s plan. I see the women my daughters have become – they’re bettter people than I was at their age. They’re better people than I am now. I’m beginning to see the impact that they have – and will have – on the world. It’s beautiful. And significant. And humbling that God would have ever left these incredible beings in my hands to guide.

I see now that God had a plan when he grabbed me by the hair and led me to the altar, and a small farm full of Black Angus and relics of so many incredible past lives. People I will never know, who have an influence on what I do everyday of my life. I know now that so many of the journeys He leads us on, happy or painful, are fruitful. Maybe not in our own lives, but in someone’s. I see now how my life and my husband’s have impacted the lives of every person touched by the good-heartedness of our girls.

I still don’t know or understand the full plan. None of us ever will I suppose. I worry about and pray for those who don’t carry the love and determination of generations past in their hearts. But I see now, more than when I was expecting or raising my children how important it is that they exist and live their lives. And that we did our best to show them love and that while life can be difficult, it’s always worth living.

I can’t wait to see where the path leads them now – carrying whatever little piece of my husband and I that they cherish and live by in their hearts and minds. Our children, and our children’s children truly are the way we live forever on Earth, even after God has called us home.

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Don’t Make Me Come Down There

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic living, our changing worldLeave a comment

It’s been nearly 114 years since we lost the RMS Titanic in the freezing waters of the North Atlantic. It’s a story that has enthralled humans so much that it’s been told and retold, studied and studied almost non-stop since we discovered her grave in 1985.

Not unlike today, the Gilded Age was a time of great human progress, marked by explosive technology. The Titanic itself was testament to man’s ingenuity and potential – and in the end, also to his complete stupidity. One hundred and fourteen years. Plenty of reminders in between. And yet will still haven’t learned our lesson.

Hubris. It’s an odd sounding word. But there’s nothing funny at all about the ability we humans have to over-estimate our own greatness, and underestimate even the very existence of God.

I’ve been getting a feeling lately that we’ve been working a little too hard to replace God once again with the things we think we have created with our own hands and minds. And we all know – or should know – what happens then. Our toys, and many of us, wind up on the ocean floor, inspiring a sadness that stays fresh in our minds, seemingly forever.

Reminders continue to come at us – we invent and invent, climb to the top of the proverbial mountain, signal to God that we’ve overcome Him, and then worship what we’ve created, like the Israelites and their golden calf.

A modern day Moses should be turning up anytime now, as we insert computer chips into our brains in order to complete our defeat of God and implement our idea of what it means to actually live forever. What could possibly go wrong?

Ironically, while we dabble in all kinds of gee-whiz Artificial “Intelligence,” embedding micro chips under our skin so we can open doors to our homes, bank accounts and vehicles without the (gasp!) inconvenience of carrying keys or cards around with us, we’re also trying to undo the technological “progress” we thought we were making for decades because we’ve decided those creations – like petroleum-based transportation, manufacturing and living – are now killing us and our planet.

If we now have such little regard for the things we’ve created and, sadly, worshipped in the past, how will we be feeling about the artificial world we’re creating for ourselves now through tools like ChatGPT, Google’s Genesis or Grok in 10 or 15 years? Will we have crashed into the proverbial iceberg, and be watching our incredible creation slowly kill off not only the incredible human ability to do and think, but human life itself?

I keep seeing Harrison Ford’s Decker in Blade Runner 2049 sitting quietly in his room full of technological antiques, hiding from the world of androids and “artificial” everything. For good reason, given the character’s experiences in the original movie. Perhaps someday soon, many of us who still value the beauty of the natural world, and still carry a healthy fear of God will find ourselves in a similar place.

In the meantime, God seems to be continually reminding us that eventually, our hubris almost always leads us to pain and suffering. That’s not to say we should not continue to grow and create. We most certainly should. But we need to remember – just because we can, does not mean we should.

As Titanic, and the remnants of our past “whiz-bang” technologies disintegrate around us, they continually point out our repeated mistake of taking things a little too far. Ask the poor souls who lost their lives in the freezing North Atlantic (trying to reach the wonders of our past technologies with an amazing new toy) when their submersible, supposedly tried and true technology, decided to implode. Perhaps God Himself, was showing us once again, that He is undoubtedly still in charge.

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The Inner Super Hero

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic livingLeave a comment

For whatever reason, society is obsessed with “super heroes.” This obsession pervades through all age groups, races, and income levels. For a while, there was no other option at your local cinema but the most recent super movie. And every super hero had a movie. Every Hollywood star wanted to be in a super hero movie. Every kid wanted to be one for Halloween.

Supers have incredible powers. They swing from webs, jump over buildings, fly, shrink to insect size, pick up ocean liners, hold up el trains, read minds, etc. Stuff no real human could ever imagine doing – except for maybe a kid. (Ask me sometime about an old friend who once, as a precocious child, thought if he could get the right jump from the roof with the right umbrella, he could fly like Mary Poppins. But I digress.)

Looking around lately, I have to wonder why we go through so much trouble making believe there are heroes out there to save us from tragedy and injustice with their mutant skill set. It seems we all have super potential if we attempt to find it.

I’ve discovered that the world is full of “super heroes.” Instead of having powers dreamed up from the depths of our imaginations, they conquer by doing the things nobody else really wants to do, even if absolutely necessary. Super potential is all around us – yet not all of us choose to cultivate our inner hero.

My heroes right now are the unpaid, under-appreciated caregivers of the world. The friends and family of the sick who step up to put someone else above themselves in a very uncaring health care world.

When my father became ill at the outset of 2024, our lives changed. My mother cut back on singing in the choir and cleaning the church during the week. Once my father came home from the hospital, her life focused on his care. Helping him get around in the house, making sure he takes the right meds at the right time, making sure he eats, bathes, gets to the bathroom, filling out paperwork, filling out paperwork, filling out paperwork, and so on. And of course keeping him out of mischief of all kinds. (Men of 85 can be as challenging as a toddler at times.)

My brother and my husband trade schedules and take turns getting my dad to dialysis treatments three times a week at 11 a.m., not the most convenient time for people with extensive job and family responsibilities. Treatments take over three hours. It kicks a deep hole in everyone’s day. We all drive to doctor visits, hair cuts, and troll Amazon for all things a renal patient needs at home. We have endless discussions about selling the house, moving to one-floor living, etc. Everyone in our family is making as much time as possible to visit, bring dinner, grocery shop, hang out when mom has an appointment or needs a rest. All of our lives have changed focus.

I don’t tell you this in order to hear anyone say what wonderful people we all are. If anything, these changes show us regularly how incapable we all really are. All of our faults are on display as we try to manage the unmanageable together. We often fail.

I tell you this because now I understand. I understand what an incredible ability it is to be able to fully care for a loved one who is incapacitated in some fashion. To be a super hero to a sick loved one is not easy. Fighting Thanos might be easier.

Having to do the unthinkable for another adult – someone you love or look up to – reminds us all of our own mortality. It requires us to not only consider the health of our “patient” but also their humanity and privacy. It humbles everyone involved – no one wants to help their father change clothes, clean up after himself or give him a shower. But you grasp at the necessary resolve and do what must be done. Quite frankly it’s physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausting if you choose to do it.

There are people out there, with help from professionals or alone, doing this every. Single. Day. All day. For no other reason than that they care and truly love their patient. People who can afford to do this, and people who can’t. People who have a support system or not. People who are healthy and some who are sick themselves. Many of them people we might look down on otherwise, yet they easily out do most of us in this capacity.

A person who selflessly takes on the care of a loved one for an extended period, risking their own health, their own economic solvency, their own relationships, has the greatest “super power” there can be.

I’m not sure my family members are quite on that “super” level just yet, but hopefully we’re getting there. We all have little areas we excel at, and more often, we have circumstances we aren’t so helpful in. My dad was a pretty super guy through his life, always there for us, nurturing, sharing, catching us when we fell. Now it’s up to us to return the favor. I hope we all find our super powers and put them to the best use.

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We Are Family

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic living, Catholic Parents and ChildrenLeave a comment

For some time now, the concept of “family” has been taking a thrashing in the court of conventional wisdom.

We’ve all seen it – a generation of younger people who not only eschew parenting, they don’t really aspire to commit to one another. Women who want self-satisfaction more than motherhood and men who aren’t interested in women who don’t want families. Abortion rates are still high, regardless of the Roe vs. Wade decision, perhaps because many deem children simply too expensive and inconvenient to bear.

Birth rates have been dropping all over the Western world for years now. The divorce rate hit 50% when I was in middle school and hasn’t rebounded in any meaningful way. People in actual families don’t talk to each other, sometimes even when living in the same house.

And perhaps worst of all, amidst the gender dysphoria and trans rights screaming, many people seem to think it’s a good idea for human beings to commit to self-extinction in order to save the planet.

Modern society doesn’t seem to fit well with traditional family life.

Circumstances in my own life – aside from my habit to always be contrary to the larger world – have renewed my belief in the importance and sacredness of family. I believe it’s the key to comfort and contentment in this wild world.

At 50-something, I have become one of the millions out there existing in between parents and children, looking for ways to care for both. Paying for college while maneuvering the juggernaut of elder care. Watching my babies leave the nest to build their own, while witnessing the slow down of those who supported me into my adulthood.

My father, my hero who lived through real Nazis and real Communists, who came to the U.S. legally and built a life with my mother from nothing to affluence, is coming to the end of what seemed to be his inexhaustible energy. For a while now, he’s been slowly stepping away from his place at the head of our family – but now, there is no way to deny that physically, he’s wearing out.

Academically, those of us with aging parents think we know. Sooner or later, we’re all going to have a lot of work to do with personal care, financial settlements, insurance claims, probate, house and yard sales….you get the picture. The truth of it is, much like parenthood, we have absolutely no idea what we’re in for until we’re in it. Every journey is different. No one can really prepare you.

I’m not going to lie to anyone. Elder care is HARD. Even with an army of loving, competent people and caregivers. God knew it would be. In his amazing wisdom, this is yet another reason he placed all of us in families.

In the last few weeks, with my father in the hospital, returning home and now requiring regular outpatient care, I can’t help but wonder what people who have no family, or have family that just don’t care, do in these complex, overwhelming situations. My dad was completely mobile and able to function just a few weeks ago. Now he needs help with things no one ever wants to talk about. My heart breaks for those who have no one they love to watch over them. To do the unmentionables. To help them walk after two straight weeks in bed. To help them clean, eat right, pick up prescriptions, deal with the insanity of health insurance. I can’t imagine the loneliness, fear and personal humiliation that comes with placing your life in the hands of people who are paid to do a job many of them hate.

Families, like individual humans, are never perfect. They disagree on all sorts of things, fight, embarrass one another, take one another for granted, disappoint one another. But family members are tied to us with the strongest of earthly bonds. Family can and should be who gives us dignity and support in the most trying times of our lives.

Granted, there are familial situations that make this impossible. But for most of us, that is not the case. Instead of being different to our families, (do we really have to go to Thanksgiving? We only have to stop for a minute. Tell Aunt Suzie I’m not home, etc) we need to learn more about the people in our families, give them room to be who they are, and learn to understand why they do what they do. Learn to understand what happened in Grandma’s lifetime that crafted her beliefs. Consider that mom and dad often parent in ways kids question because they have more life experience. Realize children have valuable ideas and can be trustworthy. Talk. Reserve judgement where you can. Be less self-focused. Recognize the value of others.

These things are all hard. Being a family is not easy. But by working at it diligently, we earn the benefits of being among people who may not agree with us, but respect and understand us. And are there for us at those most troubling times. Yes, we all have friends and acquaintances who we love and hope will be with us when we face reality. Sadly, more often than not, those people are in and out of our lives and not always by our side in times of need.

When God created families, he gave us the starter kit for our own support network. Everything and everyone we need to work through the jungle of life. But family, like anything, must be cherish, cultivated and maintained.

Too many lose it simply through the unending trials of life. Don’t abandon it of your own free will. Lest you find yourself among strangers in the dark parts of your life.

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Riding the Cycle of Life

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic livingLeave a comment

A few days ago, we celebrated my oldest daughter’s graduation from high school and anticipated her move into college in the coming weeks.

For the last few months, wondering where those 18 years have gone, I’ve been feeling a bit old. Noticing the lines and wrinkles, covering the grays, just realizing I can’t do the work I used to do. I suppose I’m feeling sorry for myself as things change, as I gear up to go through the senior year/college choice process with my younger daughter next year.

Preparing for our grad celebration, I noticed that there were fewer invitations to mail out, fewer names on my list for parties and Christmas cards. I pushed this aside to get things done. But in the midst of ordering cakes, baking cookies, working with my caterer and getting things spiffed up, it kept nagging me.

It caught up at the party, and put my “OMG I’m old enough to have a kid in college” attitude in new perspective.

I come from a large family with many additional friends and extensions. I grew up in the arms of many loving and generous aunts uncles, cousins, etc. They’ve all always been a focal point of my life, we’re we in regular communication or not. I love talking to them, listening to their stories, laughing with them; just knowing they are out there. They welcomed my husband and my children, as well as so many others that have come along, as if they had always been part of the crowd.

But, the husband, the children – not only mine but those of my cousins and the others of my generation – have not always been here. They entered in through the beautiful cycle we call life, through continual family milestones – marriages, births, and so on. And as time goes on, those people it seems have always been here will cycle out.

As my beautiful Sara grew into a college student and our family navigated high school, everything outside that race almost seemed to stay the same. I certain,y hadn’t noticed how much I was aging! But looking around the party, I saw who wasn’t there as much as who was. So many I love so dearly had made the journey home – I hadn’t quite realized the numbers until there was a significant gathering. Their absence was noted more strongly than ever. I missed their voices, their smiles, their personal idiosyncrasies. I missed their hugs and kisses.

Even more, I could so easily see the spring, summer, autumn and winter of life among my guests. While we celebrated the amazing potential of a young woman’s “spring,” I could feel the snow of “winter” in those whose lives seem to be drawing to a close. I’ve been feeling the circle and my age closing in on me, and lately have had a focus on where I’ll be in a another decade. Now I see that the gate is already open, and many more of my loved one will hear God’s call home, just as my daughter is hearing His call to play her part in His great plan.

The circle is renewing itself in my family, with the younger replacing the middle aged and older. I miss those no longer with us, but feeling them so strongly among us is comforting. My husband and brother have become the “family fathers,” taking care of the younger and the older among us. I feel the cold of loneliness coming my way, as I will face the reality of daily living without my children and someday without my parents, aunts and uncles.

Never before have I felt a true understanding of savoring every single moment God blesses me with. I understand from watching the people I love laugh and smile among one another why I need so much to trust in God and his plan for all of our lives. I thank Him for giving me this realization.

Here in the middle between the young and the old is a strange world, where the responsibility is great and the time with both is limited. My girls won’t be young people forever – and I won’t be middle-aged forever. We stretch our wisdom and love in both directions to make the lives of all we love as memorable and special as we can.

Gather with as much of your family as you can soon, and as often as possible. Check in regularly. Drop texts. Reconcile differences. Be interested. Everyone God has placed in our lives is important and their very presence increases the beauty of our own experience somehow. Don’t waste a minute.

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It’s Your Life, Kid.

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic livingLeave a comment

In his masterpiece “The Prophet,” legendary poet and philosopher Khalil Gibran writes about the relationship between parents and children.

To paraphrase his words, our children come through their parents – not from them. We can give them our love but not our thoughts. We shelter their bodies, but not their souls. In the archer’s hand – God’s hand – we parents are the bow, and our children the arrow. They live in the house of tomorrow, which we parents can never visit.

Gibran’s book was given to me by a favorite teacher when I graduated high school. I’ve been finding wisdom in it ever since. I particularly liked this passage as a young person, yearning to break the chains of youth and become my own person. Someone who, on various issues, would have to agree to disagree with mom and dad.

The proverbial shoe is suddenly on the other foot. My oldest daughter graduates high school tomorrow evening. Lately I’ve taken to asking her questions about many things, primarily Gen Z culture issues. I’ve discovered she thinks more about such topics than I ever realized, and has much more experience with the modern world and it’s people than I do myself. For a quieter kid attending a mostly white Catholic school full of affluent kids, she’s had numerous encounters with a diverse world.

I feel that same restlessness in her that I had once. That desire to make a mark. To explore the world without supervision and see if my knowledge matched reality. To be everything I wanted to be. And so, as my mother likely did, I worry. About things I never imagined I’d worry about.

I’ve always worked to foster independence in my daughters. Practical thinking, really. How do I deal with xyz situation if mom or dad can’t help me? Who do I call in an emergency? If I have two important activities at the same time, how do I chose? I refused to clean their rooms or clean up their messes – especially when they became teens. Need that shirt for school tomorrow but it needs washed? There’s the washer. Forgot to study for a test? No I won’t call you in sick.

I’m not sure right now if they learned how to solve their own problems after all. The rooms are still a mess – they learned to live with that I suppose. And I’ve caught them both, more than once, picking up that shirt or whatever from the floor and wearing it unwashed. They learned not to mention that test- just the fact that they were too sick to face school. Like all kids, right?

My oldest daughter will be leaving for college in a few short months. She’ll be a few hours away, on a campus where she will know no one. My husband and I are constantly giving her tips, as if we know anything about attending college in the modern era. Last week, I realized she has probably never had an alcoholic beverage (not a party kind of girl, to my relief so far). I started wondering if we should let her try one so she would be “prepared.” Now I’m worried about myself as well.

Then I realized something. When I went to college, I didn’t know anything about anything either. I had to learn how many credits I needed to graduate. Who my advisor was. What the bursar was for and where there were ATMs that would dispense $5 when you only had $11.50 in your account. How to hitch rides home with upperclassmen, and to lay down and keep one foot firmly on the floor when the room started to spin.

My girl is majoring in art. She’s fairly conservative, but also very loving. She goes to church and prays. I was wondering if that would last. But on our last visit for enrolled students, she found the school’s Catholic club and is already planning on attending the Thursday evening Mass and dinner. A positive sign she’ll be able to face the world of woke academia. Perhaps.

In the end, I suppose when the bird is flying from the nest toward the bright sky, it feels a little like a final exam for parents. Did I do a good job teaching this child the important things in life? Did the lessons and instructions on “do this not that” sink in? Will they go to Church or come home with green spiky hair and multiple tattoos and body piercings? Will they eat a healthy diet and remember to go to class and follow the syllabus?

You could drive yourself insane wondering all there is to wonder. But the best way for the child to internalize all we’ve taught is to let them do it for themselves. As Gibran wrote so many years ago, our children are not ours. They belong to themselves.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Fasten your seat belt and hold on to the bar in front of you. God is in control. We aren’t. And never were.

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Buzz Buzz Beep Beep

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic livingLeave a comment

Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m living out one of Ivan Pavlov’s experiments. And I’m not the scientist.

After buying a new car that alerts me to my almost every move, I started thinking about all of the things in my life that beep or make some electronic noise to get our attention. Stoves, refrigerators, microwaves, trucks backing up, medical devices, clocks, washing machines and dryers, entrances to retail stores and restaurants, watches, home alarm systems, and of course, the father of all beeping, clicking, noisy things, the smart phone.

When I signed up for my first real job as a regional public relations contact for a state agency, one of the first things I received was a pager. I know – it was the mid 90s. I’m old. Anyway, this little beeping box allowed my job to reach me any time of the day or night. For emergencies, right? Some truck wrecked and spilled diesel into a river or stream? A manufacturing plant was on fire? Sometimes. It mainly meant people could reach my any time. Day or night.

I adapted as best I could. I slowly got used to being in a room with multiple people who buzzed or beeped. All. The. Time. In meetings, someone would beep, and everyone would start looking for their pagers until someone yelled out “It’s me!,” and leave the room. People in government start their jobs at staggered times – it wasn’t odd for people to page you while they were hard at work, and you were still in the shower, or driving to the office, or, God forbid, you took a day off.

As I was getting sick of having to live my job 24 hours of the day, cell phones started morphing into smart phones, and here we are. We now even have to ask people to silence their beeping before Mass. In my church just this Sunday, two phones STILL rang during the service. Not only are we losing our personal autonomy and privacy, we’re losing our manners.

All of this amazing tech – even the kind I’m using right now to write this – has conditioned us to jump at every beep, buzz, ringtone, or electronic noise to find out what it is we should be doing. Answering the phone? Did I forget an appointment? Is my blood sugar low? Is a truck backing out near me? Am I parking too close to someone? Did I leave the refrigerator open? Are my brownies done baking? We don’t have to think about our commitments anymore, our phones do it for us. There is no human dignity in the type of cell (no pun intended) we’ve locked ourselves in.

I won’t deny that some of these alarms are good things. They can make us healthier, happier and more in control of our crazy lives. Backup alerts on cars alone have likely saved thousands of lives. But the beeping can also make life seem like one of those 24/7 jobs. Everyone knows someone, or multiple someones, who expect a return text within 10 seconds of sending you one. Or someone who texts you constantly to see where you are, what your doing, or when you’ll arrive somewhere. It’s way past time to realize we have no right to other people’s time whenever we wish to share something or know something. And companies running these devices have no right to know everything about us.

Sadly, our conditioned response to the beeping is ruining our relationships and stressing us out – and we don’t even see it. The noises present us with so many possibilities that it’s nerve wracking. We have to find out why that noise is sounding – is it our boss? Or kids? Spouse? Or worse? Our children can’t communicate with one another without texting. I know young people who are witty, engaging and interesting via text. Talk to them in person, they’re tongue tied. We can’t even remember where to be when unless we set reminder alerts. We misplace our phone and the world screeches to a halt.

And it’s going to get worse. AI is on its way to the mass market. “Experts” say it’ll be common place soon for humans to embed microchips under their skin to open doors and locks on their homes, cars, offices, etc. They already do this in some apartment developments. But even more weird if you believe in God, is the claim that AI will soon allow us to “create” an afterlife for our brains – so that our physical bodies can die, but our minds can live on here on Earth, arguably forever. I’m guessing this happens after the robots take over the world and subject us all to literal slavery? Probably not what Jesus had in mind when he talked about everlasting life. If anything, turning ourselves into disembodied brains doesn’t quite jive with our Catholic idea of human dignity.

During this week of sacrifice, think about setting your phone aside for awhile. Practice some part of life without it. Try leaving it at, gasp, home once in a while. What good is amazing technology with the beauty of the humanity that created it, with all its hills and valleys, goodness and badness, removed from our lives?

I’m certain God will not take kindly to us attempting to usurp his role as creator. And I’m even more certain AI tech won’t lead to a human utopia, no matter what the geeks tell us. It’ll more likely place us all at their mercy, in hell here on Earth.

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Forgiving. But Not Forgetting Just Yet.

On By Rita McConnellIn #clergy, catholic living, LentLeave a comment

I’m probably not what the Catholic Church would call a good Catholic.

Don’t get me wrong – I work to make God central in my life. I pray regularly, raise my kids in the faith, read my Bible, try to find God in everyone I see, and look for ways to be an asset to my community. I believe I owe God all that I have and I strive to strengthen that relationship. And I try – as challenging as it is for me sometimes – to love my neighbor.

But, in the eyes of the religious among us, I’m probably still not a good Catholic.

You see, my experiences with the institutional church, priests, brothers, bishops, nuns, sisters, etc etc etc has in the very least led me to realize that, in the best of times, these “leaders” are broken humans like we non- consecrated believers. In the worst of times, well, quite frankly, they can be criminals.

Forgive my candor. I grew up inside the Church – grade school, high school, college and graduate school, all Catholic. I interned and freelanced for a Catholic newspaper during my professional career. My family is/was devout. I never walked away from the Church. Doubted my faith? Sure, like we all do at some point. But I’m still here – I still love Catholicism as it should be practiced according to our Catechism and it’s beautiful traditions.

What I don’t love is knowing that I literally walked among predators in elementary and high school. As did my brother and my friends. One of those men officiated at my First Reconciliation and First Holy Communion. He was a friend to my family and many others. Or so we believed at the time.

I don’t love that my parents, trusting the Church as they should have been able to, put us to some extent in the care of such persons, never knowing the real threat. I still think of my high school friends who went to class with a man who was convicted of terrible child sexual abuse in another country. And the one dear soul who eventually committed suicide, his abuse as an elementary school student trivialized by the so-called holiest men of our diocese.

I don’t love that the man who baptized one of my daughters was convicted of fraud for stealing from his own church. In their Catholic grade school years, my girls watched as six different pastors led our parish. Two were accused of abuse – one cleared, one found to be in an affair with a woman and defrocked. Another – who was much loved and considered the future of our parish – left under suspicious circumstances. He held Sunday Mass and announced he would be leaving us following that service. None of this helped my girls – or me for that matter – grow in trust of the institutional church.

A few years on, I was unable to find a priest who would preside at my sister-in-law’s burial service because the entire gaggle of diocesan priests was on retreat with the Bishop that weekend. Everyone I called refused to take a few hours on Saturday morning to bless her as she was interred (the cemetery was not far from the retreat center). We finally found a retired, sickly priest, balancing himself with a walker, who agreed to come. An old man, still dedicated to serving Gods people in his late 80s.

Then of course there was the diocesan school superintendent who demanded our kids continue to wear masks during COVID – even AFTER the mandates were deemed unconstitutional in our state. And the “woke” educators we have had to remind that they work in Catholic schools. Ask me sometime about the Wiccans in my daughter’s marketing class.

Enough of that. I could write 20 posts on all of the bad behavior I’ve witnessed among clergy, particularly in the last 10 to 15 years. And of course I would be remiss if I didn’t give equal time to the priests who in their prayers and actions have helped to keep me in love with God. I’m working hard on forgiving those who hurt my faith by praying for them and trying to move on. Some of my own brokenness lies in my inability to forget and in my disbelief when Church leaders ask me why people leave the Church for other denominations.

The point is this. Everyone out there – including these terribly misguided people who are supposed to be leading us home to the Lord – are helplessly human. And human, no matter how you slice it, means broken. Kaput. Imperfect. We are NOT God – only He is perfect.

But we are all worthy of forgiveness and capable of repentance. We just have to ask. Not each other – we are equals in our brokenness and imperfection. Yes – even you religious are human beings. We will confess our unworthiness to God through you, as is our tradition. But I ask that YOU also do an appropriate examination of conscious this Lent, and act accordingly. The power that comes with being high on God’s totem pole puts you in a precarious position, as it is ripe with possibilities for misuse. Use your own brokenness to relate to the everyday believers, and you will regain our trust. And God will strengthen our Church.

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How the Other Half Lives

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic livingLeave a comment

For a few years now, I have been trying to re-enter the workforce in my chosen, albeit over 25 years ago, field. The course of my life over the last 10 years or so unfortunately seems to have made my attempts at best unfruitful, and at worst, near impossible.

It has been quite a lesson in humility for me, as someone who often received accolades from colleagues, clients and others for my professional work and competence. But, age, poor health, personal experience, political affiliation and societal change have great consequence in the marketing communications and public relations field. I’ve been using this humbling experience to grow closer to God, in the sense of “dying to self” and truly learning to trust the path he is leading me along.

But you know what they say about idle hands. In my case boredom led less to bad behavior and more to naps, laziness and isolation. Not exactly the devil’s workshop, but habits that needed to end nonetheless. A good friend told me about an opportunity to work part-time in a local coffee shop. Not exactly the big professional comeback I dreamed of, but I really needed something to pull me into a regular rhythm of life that did not include sleeping in until 10, napping at 1, and again at 4.

I never imagined myself as an adult, let alone as a wife, parent, and multiple degree holder, working an hourly job in a service industry. What I initially thought would be humbling for me, the big old opinionated PR pro, to undertake has become an enlightening and enjoyable adventure, that is indeed, well worth my wile.

Technically, I’m a barista, short-order cook, dish washer, supply stocker, cashier, bus person and other duties as assigned professional. I prefer to consider myself part of a dream fulfillment team and a bringer of happiness, or at least, awakeness (in the classical up an out of bed fashion, not contemporary “wokeness”).

My “boss” for lack of a better word, is an inspiring woman. About four years ago, through the encouragement of her parents, she decided to try her hand at building a small business – a coffee shop she had dreamed she’d open someday. Her original shop filled a gap in a small community and did a respectable business supplying coffee, sandwiches and espresso drinks. It survived, even thrived, despite the daily pitfalls of running a restaurant in the Covid world. I work in her second coffee shop location, amazingly established and built, somewhat slowly but still successfully, within the ridiculous business conditions of the last two years. Her original success in the first location boosted business in the new spot, which has reached early goals in less than a month of operation.

Being part of the staff at this new location makes me an operative if you will in making my boss’s dream come true and her endeavors grow. A VERY small part of that success to be sure, but it’s rewarding to know that every latte, macchiato, bacon and egg sandwich I make is a boost to this remarkable, determined woman’s goals. I’m proud to work for her.

There are lots of interesting, friendly and caffeine-dependent people to meet during the day in a coffee house. The girl who’s almost always there when we open the door in the morning. The guy who does two quick shots of espresso at the end of the counter every morning, like a cowboy would shoot whiskey at a Wild West saloon. The work-at-home professionals who emerge from the townhouses in the adjacent development to get their daily refreshment and dose of humanity. The tech pro who works from our porch on nice days. There is something in handing them their daily cup of joe or mocha or smoothie that brings me happiness as well as it does them.

Working out there in the world, instead of in an ivory tower office building, is broadening my horizons. It’s introducing me once more to society at large. To what people do everyday. To what they really talk about and what they really enjoy. I didn’t know before last month how many people prefer oat or almond milk. I hadn’t realized that the world now pays for $4.09 purchases with credit cards. And I never knew lavender was syrup flavor choice for a latte.

I was never one to be up early – now I’m at work by 7 a.m. My husband is and always has been the cook in our house – now I’m cooking up breakfast for people all over the neighborhood. I used to promote businesses. Now I understand what does and does not go into the daily running of a small business – and it’s certainly not sleep. I’ve even learned more about my children by spending some shifts working with teenagers.

Going from executive to barista is a bit humbling. It’s hard watching former colleagues succeed when no one will even hire you to do what you once excelled at. And yet God it seems knows what we really need in our lives. I needed something to do that was fun, low-stress and social. I found it in a coffee shop – and I’m not even much of a coffee drinker!

Trust God. Follow the path. It’s full of surprises.

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Plan B

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic livingLeave a comment

A few days ago, Americans celebrated Labor Day – in most cases by basically doing nothing. Maybe those of us who can claim to have been gainfully employed in their lives should probably reflect a little more on the whole “labor” ideal in between hot dogs and burgers.

No matter how you feel about the labor and unions in today’s political and economic environment, the early labor movement did bring about some key reforms all workers benefit from today – the 40-hour work week, the 8-hour work day, unemployment benefits, and of course the modern concept of the weekend. But after 125+ years of parades and picnics, it’s becoming painfully evident that the modern world has created new employment-related abuses that will soon need remedied.

My college roommates mom used to tell us, we were doing it the “right” way. We went to college, we worked hard studying and interning, we worked for a while, then we got married, bought the house, had the babies. It was the recipe for happiness – you’ll always be employed if you want to be, you’ll be financially sound, and you can enjoy the best things in life with those you love. Right? Wrong, it turns out.

Our generation branded itself by what we did – our careers and workplace expertise define a large part of who we are, psychologically. As we continued to age in our chosen fields, like fine wine, we thought we’d become leaders, mentors, etc. Until of course our employers found it was more profitable to hire younger workers with little to no work or life experience and train them “the company” way. I know I’m not the only person who went from celebrated professional to unemployable for reasons unknown. And I know I’m not the only one who sees the fallacy – and cold-heartedness – in this kind of business strategy.

As we’ve developed “Human Resources” as a thing, we’ve started treating employees like chattel again. People -regardless of “what they bring to the table” are thought of like raw materials, or fuel that make industry run. Blue or white collar, it doesn’t really matter. What’s that? You have two kids in college and just bought a new home? Sorry, Susie over here costs a fraction of your salary, doesn’t have to use our health insurance very much, and won’t argue with us about the course we’re taking on xyz product. Here’s your severance. Good luck finding a new job.

Today’s resume sorting software kicks out job candidates based on any criteria the boss chooses – age, date of college graduation, years of experience, accolades, you name it. And it searches by age, year of graduation, etc., looking for fresh faces with little substance, who cut the bottom line and do what they’re told. Even lifelong loyal employees at high levels now find themselves on the chopping block just when it’s their time to foster the next generation of workers, improve the way we do things by applying what they’ve learned, and bolster the economy with their disposable income.

At times like these, when jobs are a plenty – but not in the industry you have worked in and studied for decades (at least not for dinosaurs like you), how do you continue on your path? I don’t know the answer. I guess life really does happen while your making other plans.

So…I’ve decided to take a leap of faith. I’ve been job hunting for over five years. I’ve kept up my skills through volunteer work and various projects. But..nothing. No one wants to hire me. Looking around my community, I see a need for workers everywhere. Not exactly in the work I’ve been trained to do, but in the backbone industries that make everyday life work. I’ve decided to go where I am needed.

I’ve put aside the pride I have in what I achieved as a professional, and took an hourly job at a small, fledgling local business. For whatever reason God has, I feel like this is the place He wants me to be right now. I think it’s perhaps part of His plan in getting me to look outward from myself – to “die to self” as the priests say. I haven’t been at it too long, but I’m experiencing a cleansing kind of humbleness. For once in my life, I have no advantage over anyone else. I have to be taught what to do and earn my keep yet again. I’m that upper middle-aged mom working along side college students and high schoolers.

It’s a struggle – but I’m giving it to God. My desire to be useful to society demands that I do this. Who knows? In my attempts to grow as a decent human being, it may become the best lesson I’ve ever learned.

Strangely enough, with all my life experience and fancy degrees, I’m worried I will fail in this simple venture. The answers I thought I’d have for my daughters as they contemplate their own futures and eventual careers are not there. It’s now truly up to them which way to go – I no longer have a college and career success story to share. I’m not sure I can quantify the value of higher education or any other type of post-secondary instruction right now.

I’ve often said it, and now it’s become time to truly embrace it : Let go, and let God. And once again, hold on tight to that bar in front of you.

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I Don’t Think You Heard Me

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic livingLeave a comment

When I was growing up in the Catholic Church, it was quite rare to hear anyone, let alone whole groups of Catholics, criticize clergy and/or the greater institution of the Church. It was considered sinful.

Times have certainly changed. And, while we more lowly in the Catholic congregation may have to drag the elite of the establishment into reality kicking and screaming, this may truly be a good thing.

I’m not talking about changing our beliefs, our catechism, or anything like that. This isn’t about women’s rights, abortion, LGBT, or any other Catholic “rule” some secular special interest group has taken issue with. And it is most certainly not about Catholic devotion to God, Jesus Christ or Mary. What it is about are Catholic leaders behaving badly – as if Catholicism was meant to be some sort of dictatorial governmental body.

DISCLAIMER: I have been a member of the Church since baptism. I have attended Catholic schools through my post-graduate education. My children attended Catholic elementary school and are now in a Catholic high school, which I fully support with my time and finances. God and Catholic tradition are a large part of my family life.

That said…I have had a rather tumultuous relationship with the Church, although I may not have always been aware that was the case. Recently, it was revealed that there were dangerous and active child predators present in the Catholic schools I attended, while I was attending them. One presided over my first Reconciliation and Communion. Students I knew in those years were among their victims.

Additionally, in my current “parish,” “grouping,” or whatever the Diocese is calling our Church family this week, 10 years have brought us seven pastors or “administrators.” After the first was moved to another parish, as is customary, two were accused of sexual misconduct and one was “condemned” by the Church and defrocked. The other acquitted. Another yet was allowed to be driven out by “ranking” parishioners who didn’t like him, and yet another left overnight under curious circumstances.

In a prior parish, the priest who baptized my daughter was accused, convicted and defrocked for embezzling from our church. More recently, my family could not secure a priest for a funeral service because every single priest in the Diocese was required to be at a weekend-long retreat with the Bishop at a nearby resort. None could be bothered to drive an hour back to town to send a Catholic soul home to the Lord. Not one. A retired priest and friend, sickly and unable to walk or stand well, volunteered.

I have been continually dismayed at choices being made – mostly under a cloak of secrecy the FBI would envy – in my Diocese by clergy and top ranking administration. From ending the longest running Catholic newspaper in the country and firing its entire staff after promising each new positions, to hiding in fear from parishioners in need during the COVID pandemic, the Diocese hasn’t seemed very Christian lately. But mostly, I’m aghast at its determination not to hear the voices of its believers, who they seem to feel do not know enough about their own faith to understand how to live it. While this maybe true of some Catholics, it certainly is not of those who regularly pray, attend Mass, support the Church financially and enroll their children in its schools.

I am a strong believer in Catholicism and it’s great traditions – it’s a core part of who I am. I study it. I know it’s history well enough to know these “you will obey me because I’m a priest” and “if I tell you I’ll have to kill you” attitudes are centuries old, and perhaps to some not nearly as troubling as they once were. I’m sure we all remember the Borgias, the anti-pope struggles, the Inquisition, and so on and so forth. But the human stains on our religion do not make its intention and objectives evil or moot. Many Catholics WANT to help, but find that not only are their ideas and opinions on issues unrelated to doctrine unheard, they are unwanted. Curious way to treat allies when the empire is faltering.

The greater congregation of Catholics is not comprised of stupid, uneducated people who need to be lead by the nose to salvation by other humans, ie clergy, who think they know what’s best for everyone. Are these not the same people who abandoned the flock to “on-line, Eucharist-free” Mass during the pandemic when many of us needed the Lord’s comfort more than ever? Were they not those who did not allow us to properly bury our dead out of their own fear of illness? Were they not the ones who, out of political correctness, required us to sign our names before we attended Mass so that they could supply overreaching state governments with lists of people who might have been in contact with someone ill? Are they not the ones deleting FaceBook comments that don’t agree with or question their choices?

I believe our elite clergy need to take a good look into their hearts, and find a way to regain real human contact with those who actually love Catholicism. Many of us are reaching out to them to share how these times and their tone-deaf decisions are impacting our lives. But no one is listening. Their behavior during the pandemic and otherwise shows they are more interested in protecting the Church from lawsuits and criticism than they are in guiding those of us who still remain in rebuilding Catholicism and sharing the true Church with those who are departed or lost.

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Needing a Filter

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic livingLeave a comment

There’s nothing to get you away from the craziness of the world like reading a good mystery. I started reading Agatha Christie, P.D. James and others a few years ago on a suggestion from our deacon, who did the same to escape real life.

Sometimes you find enlightenment in the most unsuspecting places. Dear old Agatha, and her aging detective Ms. Marple, brought me to evaluate one of my most severe character flaw – talking too, too much.

Christie’s mystery “And the Mirror Cracked from Side to Side” tells the tale of a small town woman, who like me, suffers from diarrhea of the mouth. She’s a kind, caring woman at heart, but doesn’t always think about how her actions impact others – or for that matter herself. Her mouth eventually leads to her demise. Interestingly enough, this is the first Christie I solved well before it ended. Maybe I understood the victim much too well.

I grew up with a brother whose personality lit up the world. Not only was he the much loved first-born on my father’s side of the family, he, from youth, was a fabulous story and joke teller. Still is. I wanted to be just like him – with people hanging on my every word, laughing at my great wit. Instead, I just started talking incessantly to get anyone at all to hear what I wanted to say. Nowadays, everyone’s is usually just trying to get me to shut up or cut to the chase. Ask my kids, or my husband. Or ask my brother. He’ll tell you.

My biggest problem is, I actually think out loud a bit of the time, completely unfiltered, discovering where I’m going only as I’m getting there. I do this all the time when driving, for some reason, if someone else is in the car. My girls are really tired of “learning” American history on the way to the grocery store. If you know me well enough, you’ve seen – or rather, heard – me do this. You may have begged me to stop under your breath. Ironically, I once made a very good living guiding others in editing their own statements and saying the right thing at the right time. Kind of like the banker who can’t manage his own money. But I digress.

Reading about the victim in Christie’s book got me thinking. A few years back, my most treasured friend relationships eroded to mud and mess. One in particular spiraled into a series of gaslighting episode I still couldn’t comprehend when it was over – situations that caused me to lose people I truly loved, who I though truly loved me, through lies and gossip behind my back. I’ve looked for answers and solutions to these misunderstandings, only to be stymied by, believe it or not, people telling me it’s not their place to discuss the matter.

Anyway, the victim in the Christie story, running her mouth off, tells a story that makes another person realize the victim was inadvertently responsible for an unforgettable, catastrophic experience that changed the listener’s life. If the victim haven’t been so chatty, she might have lived (and of course there would have been no story!). It got me thinking about those days when I couldn’t understand why everyone I hung with decided I was intolerable. And I wondered, is it possible that in my out loud academic conversations, really with myself and not my listeners, that I had said something unknowingly that was so offensive it created true hate in a once close friend?

I’ve come to the conclusion that it is indeed entirely possible. I have no idea what it could have been, when it could have occurred, or why it would make a friend so angry that they would not confront me, but rather choose to destroy my sanity. But I’m sure it’s possible. It’s humbling when you think you’ve been completely wronged and suddenly see where you might have been complicit in your own demise, so to speak.

Sharing everything with everyone probably isn’t the best course – and it’s going to be very hard for me to stop doing it. I’m haunted now thinking how many times I may have hurt various people in my life by accident. (Just to be clear, I’m not blaming my brother for being charismatic – just my own blind desire to have his likability.) If you might feel I’ve ever done something similar to you, please know it was likely not intentional. There are people I have insulted on purpose, but they are very, very few.

While such relationship nuances is hard to wrap your head around after years of knowing someone, one rule remains moving forward. And I guarantee you it’s going to take me a long while to get there, if I ever find I can. There are uncomfortable things that do need to be said…but rarely in a haphazard or blunt way.

Think, maybe pray, before you speak. You never know how someone might react to your unfiltered words.

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Ebb and Flow

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic livingLeave a comment

Last week, our family went on what will probably be one of our last family vacations.

The girls are older, they want to be with friends, we’re slowing down…it’s the natural pace of things. A 12-hour road trip to the beach isn’t exactly what it used to be. Instead of games and jokes and conversation, it was ear pods, texts, gaming and a little reading for summer homework (yes, this is a thing now).

But even so, we all rediscovered something last week. The undeniable and beautiful results of travel and vacation. We hadn’t been on one for a few years, and the last, we were in Europe with a youth orchestra, wasn’t so much vacation as whirlwind.

I’ve always been a believer in the healing power of the ocean. It’s a power strong enough to soothe even among screaming children, sand in your suit, and night owls carrying on in the wee hours. I haven’t been to the shore in about five years. The last time I went, an unexpected illness kept me from even touching the sand and sent me home early. I was somewhat wary that the ocean wouldn’t deliver its healing this time, amid the angst and lunacy consuming the larger world.

It was a relief to my mind to find that God’s most amazing gifts have retained their power even now. The girls and I were in our suits and on the shore shortly after we arrived, even though it was dinner time and we were all exhausted from the drive. I simply couldn’t wait. And the ocean worked its magic – the minute I felt the warm water on my feet and the sand in between my toes, something began to lift. The ebb and flow of the waves set a rhythm for the week – I could even feel a change in the girls almost immediately. We could have stayed all night just walking in the surf, examining the shells the water placed on the sand.

I don’t know what it is. I’ve been thinking about it for many years. Perhaps it’s the sound of the crashing waves, the shells – some broken some intact – heralding the cycle of life, or maybe it’s standing at the foot of something so immense that even now we don’t truly understand or know it. The ocean symbolizes, deep inside of us, much of what we know in our hearts we need in our lives. Rhythm, routine and tradition. A respect for life’s stages, good or bad, ours or someone else’s. And a reminder to be humble, for we humans who think we rule the world are small and insignificant next to God’s great creation.

As the week went on, we still of course lived in this world, but each of us seemed uplifted. We joked easier, were more considerate of one another, took challenges (like an IHOP restaurant running out of syrup, and a fruitless venture into a nearby port city) with a smile. The ear buds went away to some extent. We forgot to charge things. We ate when we were hungry and slept when we wanted to. My husband the farmer, more of a mountain man than a beach bum, loosened considerably, playing in the waves with the girls as if they were still little and discovering the beach for the first time. And we noticed the ocean worked on others at our resort – a place packed with people of all colors and creeds relaxing alongside one another happily and politely (apparently we can still do this).

There are still things in this world that can unite us through our love for them. Many of them are in the goodness of God’s gifts. Sunshine, sand, cool breezes, rest, good company and the natural beauty of Earth. Truly, we are not so far apart. It is the human-made world that divides us. Step back from it a little, and look in from the outside. Remind yourself that the good outweighs the bad by far, and that humans have indeed come a long, long way together.

We’re home now, and everything we left behind, and even some new stuff, is still here – good and bad. I wasn’t ready to come home – none of us really were. Hopefully we can use what we learned to bring more light and relaxation to our lives, as we gear up for the school year.

The stuff we overlook in our world – all of it, good, bad, natural, man-made, beautiful and ugly – can indeed remind us how to live.

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Where are you going?

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic living, Catholic Parents and ChildrenLeave a comment

Seventeen years ago, I was praying. A lot.

My husband and I wanted a child, but for some reason, we couldn’t seem to have one. I decided the only way to have a child was to change my life. Different job, less stress, better living. And God answered.

After years of hoping hopelessly, He gave us the most beautiful, perfect little girl. We named her Sara, remembering Abraham’s wife, who also begged the Lord for a child. (And there were those cool Fleetwood Mac and Hall and Oates songs…)

But as Khalil Gibran reminds us in his master work The Prophet, our children are not ours to keep – only ours to guide until their wings are ready for them to fly from the nest. We took baby steps this week in preparing our angel for her eventual flight.

We visited our first colleges – chosen by our daughter in hopes they might help her achieve a life dream she’s still forming in her mind. I’ve been dreading this for some time for a few reasons – first, of course, because I don’t want her time living in every day of my life to come to an end. Second, because I’m terrified that when she flies from the nest, we’ll find we didn’t do our job guiding her well enough.

Among more conservative-leaning people like my husband and me, there’s been lots of discussion over the last few years about what’s happening in the educational system. Especially in colleges and universities, where it seems the children we send away to build their futures come home transformed into social justice warriors convinced we – who love them more than our own lives – are somehow part of a problem to be solved.

We’ve seen it happen. We’ve watched friends’ hearts break when their children rejected the values and lessons they toiled to instill in them for years. We’ve seen the jubilation and swelling pride of high school graduation become the weariness and worry that come with poor personal choices, abandoned courses of study, and embarking on fool-hardy activism that results only in disappointment and disillusionment.

I think it’s fair to say that I am more frightened than my teen – who in addition to leaning conservative, happens to excel in the arts of all things. Music, illustration, animation and creativity. She once asked me if she would fail as an artist because she is a Catholic. I imagine the tears of Michelangelo as he overhears that this could even be a consideration.

And so again, I’m praying amid my own confusion. I ask God not to allow our human world to dash our angel’s dreams and cause her to hide her talents for fear of criticism or rejection of her beliefs. And I can’t help but laugh sarcastically, thinking how, among today’s artists, she may truly be among the most avant garde of them all!

Perhaps it would be easier to discourage her from art and music. Even to discourage her from the uber-liberal universe of higher education. But while we may wish to run from what we dislike, our challenge is to guide our children to their personal calling, despite the devils and demons looking to prey upon them. Society has developed pathways to get to certain places – you can’t be a doctor without med school, or build a bridge without superior math skills. I can’t home school a high level quality art program. Only an artist can prepare her for that career.

As Gibran assures us in The Prophet, our children’s lives are not ours to lead. It will be hard for both parent and child, and it may even be painful. Yet we parents must face this nest-leaving, the ultimate test of our abilities to lead them to happiness and fulfillment, while being true to our own principles.

God give me courage to watch her follow the path He has prepared for her life.

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All Boxed Up

On By Rita McConnellIn catholic livingLeave a comment

Boxes.

We all seem to have quite a few of them these days, lurking in the basement, piled on our porches, taking up space everywhere. (Tip: the corrugated kind are recyclable and compostable.)

But shipping boxes aren’t the only boxes cluttering up our lives. Society has created its own boxes, for people and ideas they can’t find a way to use or understand. And it’s invited us to use those boxes to trash every person, idea, trend, action, etc. we can’t make sense of for easy disposal.

These “boxes” allow us to group things we don’t like into bundles (or stereotypes) for cancelation. No matter what “side” we think we’re on, we’re all responsible for “cancel”culture. It started rather gently with the idea that anyone we deemed “toxic” to our personal lives should be jettisoned with no regrets and no explanations. “Toxic” was, and still is, a label with a broad range of interpretation. In many cases, depending on what issues we’re facing in our lives, the people we decide are “toxic” are the ones trying to help us be more reasonable. The societal permission we’ve been given to kill relationships no questions asked quickly became an excuse to get rid of anyone we didn’t like or who challenged us.

Nothing seems to be able to stop the freight train that is cancel culture since it has taken over the public imagination. To a certain extent, it may have made some sense during our rather rabid recent elections in the US. After all, it has much in common with the time honored tradition of what we once called “politics.” Perhaps, however, we took it too far when the press started picking and choosing who they would cover only negatively and what they wouldn’t cover at all to protect others.

But, now we’re boxing up things like Coke employees, the Grease movie, specific episodes of the Muppet Show, math techniques, pancake syrup, and so on and so on…where do we stop? Can we stop? The simple answer is this – we must.

Not only can no human being withstand this kind of criticism – there isn’t a single one of us living or dead – we cannot and should not run away from our mistakes or our history. There are reasons the Germans and Western Europeans leave Nazi concentration camps standing and offer tours. We need those buildings and the stories that happened within their gates to remind us how awful and destructive humans can be, even for what they think are noble reasons. Although such monuments to our evilness exist around us, we still don’t get it – or else there wouldn’t have been Rawanda and Sudan. There wouldn’t be mass killings of Christians in places like Nigeria today. China would not be detaining Muslims and Christians in camps as I write. We wouldn’t allow it.

Stereotyping people – putting them in boxes – and evicting them from society because they question the efficiency of solar power, or like hamburgers, or bike to work, or want their kids back in school – is the start of tyranny. Our government officials themselves don’t need to be tyrants (even though some are) when we are demanding that they do tyrannical things.

In the truest sense of the word, stereotypes don’t exist if you believe God created everyone of us individually and has a true plan for each one. We should be looking at people as people not as special interest groups. There shouldn’t be “too white,” “too black,” “too Indian,” too Asian,” whatever. Society has been socially evolving since humans arrived. There is not a race or ethnicity that has not oppressed another, or one that has not been oppressed. And there isn’t anyone who cannot offer something based on their culture and experiences. It seemed for years we were moving in the right direction. Now we most certainly are not.

It’s not easy to accept the sacredness of all people, and to judge them by their personal actions instead of their finances, jobs, choice in clothing, level of education or religious beliefs, etc. Yet, we are all quite alike. We are all sinners. We are all broken. And we all have the right to our own thoughts and ideas – and should also have the right to learn from one another, debate, re-evaluate, and if it be the right thing to do, change. We all should have the right not to be “cancelled.” All of us – average Joe, politician, celebrity…whomever.

We can’t do this if we keep putting one another in boxes, and tossing them out.