I think this will be the last part of this little series. That's not to say that the story, my story, has ended, 'cuz obviously, I am still here. I am going to keep writing, continue answering "why" and sharing my story. Upon further reflection, I kind of think that this particular story is sort of my testimony. Most likely the foundation.
What is a testimony? A testimony is basically a story of how someone became a Christian. Years ago, I didn't really know the word testimony, but I knew the word testimonial. Which to me meant a recommendation, or an explanation of one's experience with something, particularly a product. So I guess, in a way, the "product" that I am advertising on my blog is Jesus, and this story is my testimonial of how Jesus has "worked" for me. Or something like that. I digress.
Anyhow, here's part four.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ wavy lines of transition ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So, Tim and I bought our lovely little house and moved in the day before Easter, 2010. During that time, I still thought of life in terms of "semesters", and as that spring semester drew to a close, I was finishing a few Master's level courses at the Edwards campus, subbing occasionally, and staying home with Lexi the other days. Lexi had been attending daycare part time at Little Saints, which was located at St. Thomas Aquinas, the high school that Tim and I attended, and that my mother-in-law, Kathy works at. This worked out quite well when we were living with Tim's parents, but after we moved, I began to consider whether it would be a good fit moving forward. The daycare was designed for children and grandchildren of teachers and staff at the school, and it closed at the end of the school day. I was set to begin student teaching that fall. Student teaching is a full time, unpaid gig. I was really excited for the chance to be in front of a classroom, but I was concerned about getting Lexi to and from daycare on time and still being able to put in the necessary hours at my new school.
I didn't have to worry for long. Our new house was right next door to a church called Valley View and I noticed a sign out front that said "It's All Here! Daycare, Preschool, Parent's Day Out". So I called the number on the sign and set up a meeting to visit with the director, Karin. The facility looked great. I loved the fact that there was a lot of space, that they were open from 7am-6pm, and that lunch was provided. Oh, and the fact that we could walk there was extremely convenient. It seemed like a great fit, so we signed up.
Life was looking sunny. Tim had his new job, we had plenty of space in our new house, I knew where I would be teaching at, and knew where Lexi would be. It's amazing how comforted I was by having a plan, having some answers for once. Things had been so hectic, it was nice to actually know what the next few months of our lives would look like.
Some time in July, the wonderful grandparents offered to take Lexi over night one Saturday. Tim and I enjoyed our evening and the next morning, I had a crazy idea. I wanted to go to church.
I think now is a good time for me to back up and lay some background info down. Tim and I were both raised Catholic. We both attended Catholic schools from preschool onward and graduated together from St. Thomas Aquinas. We were married in the Catholic church, the church I had grown up in, that my parents were married in, that my grandpa was raised in. But at this point in our story, about 2 years after we got married, we were not regular church attendees. We went with our families on Easter and Christmas and that was about it.
I had always considered myself a spiritual person, but not a religious person. Which I think was my way of saying that I believed in God, but didn't really want to follow his rules. I recall someone telling me, "Take what you need, and leave the rest behind." I didn't go to mass because I didn't get anything out of it. Some might say, well, that's because you didn't put anything into it! And there is certainly some truth to that, I did not make an effort to become involved past high school. I'd felt close to God in certain times of my life, like on the Kairos retreat I attended senior year of high school (with Tim), and on Steubenville trips I had taken as well. There were times in my life where I saw signs from God, knew what he was speaking to me, and felt his presence very closely. I tried to stay connected to a small Kairos group my freshman year of college, but I didn't fit in. It was time to let go of that particular venue. Once I left high school, I stopped attending mass. I tried a few times, went alone on Sunday evenings, but I didn't feel anything. I didn't really feel God's presence. Rather, I felt guilt. Guilt that I hadn't gone regularly, guilt that I was bored when I was there. I was attending out of guilt.
But when I got pregnant with Lexi and we decided to get married, we decided to get married in the Catholic church. Why? I don't have a great answer, aside from the fact that I didn't really know any other options. I felt like it was the "right" thing to do. So we did. In order to get married in the Catholic church, Tim and I had to attend a weekend marriage encounter as well as some sessions with the priest at the church. The weekend encounter was a mostly positive experience. Tim and I appreciated the chance to talk about different ideas and feelings. But the session with the priest...was hurtful.
Yes, I knew that I wasn't supposed to have sex until I got married. Sure, it was irresponsible. But I had and I was pregnant. I loved Tim and I wanted to spend my life with him. I knew that I wanted to marry him, we'd just moved the timeline up some. But when we visited with the priest, I felt so guilty and so ashamed. He said some hurtful things. He asked Tim how he knew he wasn't just going to find another girl out there with the same qualities I had. Because there were other girls just like me out there, you know. The priest said that, and I cried. He wanted to know how well we knew each other and then asked me what Tim's favorite color was, and vice versa. Because that's important, I guess. He did not come across as a caring or forgiving person. I wanted to say to him, "What do you want me to do? Would you rather I had an abortion?" because what he said made me feel so guilty, like I needed to feel really bad for the sin I had committed. I felt like I was making the right choice, the best choice. I couldn't go back in time, I couldn't undo what had been done. What did he want me to do?
That experience was very hurtful. I didn't feel very close to God at all. I started to feel bitter. Instead of feeling bitter toward just the priest, I felt bitter toward the whole church.Was my mistake so unforgivable? Also, I questioned how well a person who had never been married could know the keys to a successful marriage. But we got through it, and he married us.
When Lexi was about nine months old, we decided to get her baptized. We made an appointment to visit with the coordinator and drove back to the church. The first words out of her mouth were, "Why didn't you have her baptized sooner?" Oh, I don't know, because we are full time students, new parents, living 45 minutes away, juggling about a million changes at once? Because I don't really believe that unbaptized babies go to hell? Because I had been focused on my child's growth issues and eczema problems? Because I am doing the best I can and just now have had the time to look into the process? That's what I wanted to say to her, but instead I felt guilty and just mumbled some excuse. She was very concerned with the fact that we weren't involved in the church and that we lived too far away and that we had waited so long. I wanted to have Lexi baptized at the church I grew up in, because it was the only church home I had ever known. She suggested that maybe we call the Catholic church in Lawrence and talk to them about it. We had visited the church in Lawrence once or twice, but didn't feel a connection. We left the meeting, and I think, honestly, that is the point when I officially left the Catholic church.
I felt guilty, frustrated, and hurt. I felt like I was being turned away at a church, which, in a way, felt like being turned away by God. The people who were supposed to be representing Jesus, a person who ate dinner with sinners, were turning me away, not letting me in, pointing out my flaws. This was probably one of the darkest points in my faith journey. I started wondering if there really was a God, and why he had left me. I took a sociology class at KU and began to wonder if God might just be a way for people to explain what they did not understand. A way for people to comfort themselves about why they existed. I felt empty. I was discouraged and hurt.
This phase of bitterness and doubt waxed and waned off and on for the next few years, until we moved into our house. We did not attend church at all during that time, and I think if you'd asked me if I believed in God, I would have said that I did not know.
Somehow, slowly, my faith started coming back to me, bit by bit. I felt like something was missing. It started with a tiny nagging feeling. Something in me felt that there might be a God, but I didn't really know him anymore. I didn't know myself very well anymore. Looking back, I can say that's because I had changed. I was a college caterpillar turning into a butterfly mom, but I wasn't quite there yet. I was still in the cocoon and I wasn't completely sure what would come out of it.
So back to the present. Lexi spent the night at grandma and grandpa's house and we had the morning to ourselves. I'd had the idea that it might be nice to try out church again. We live very close to a Catholic church, a Methodist church, and several other churches. I was pretty much done with the Catholic church at that point. I continued to substitute teach in them occasionally and would come to have a student teaching experience in one, but that was just because it was something I had known and was comfortable with. (Confession: In order to sub in the Catholic schools, I needed to list a home parish. I actually went and joined a church just so I had something to write down. I have never actually attended church there and to this day, have not.)
Anyhow, I had seen lots of cars going in and out of the parking lot of Valley View, the church where Lexi would be attending daycare that fall. So I asked Tim if he would be willing to join me one morning, and he agreed. For the first time in my entire life, I was going to church because I wanted to. Technically, we decided to go to church because we wanted to raise our kids to have morals and we felt that church was a good place to do that. So while I told myself that we were going there for Lexi, I later discovered that I was going there because God had some work to do on me. He had some big plans for me.
Our first reactions to Valley View were that the "mass" (that's actually just a Catholic term, we found out. it was called "worship) was actually interesting. There was only one prayer that the people said together (aside from the "Our Father" aka the Lord's Prayer) and it changed every week! Wow. I'd grown up with Hail Marys, Our Fathers, Glory Bes, Apostle's Creeds, Hail Holy Queens, and other memorized prayers. I found it refreshing that there was spontaneous prayer. It seemed more meaningful somehow. Another surprise was that people lingered after church to talk to one another. Several people stopped us and asked if we were new, and introduced themselves. It was nice. There was also a woman pastor. And she saw us wandering the hallway and stopped to introduce herself! That was new. She was married and had kids of her own. She had an education background. She was someone I could relate to, and I appreciated that.
Tim and I continued to visit Valley View pretty regularly for weeks. Summer came to an end and I began student teaching in a Catholic school. I was paired with a wonderful cooperating teacher and I learned a lot about teaching. But I began to feel that a Catholic school wouldn't be a good fit for me. I saw our six year old first graders struggle to recite a decade of the rosary each morning (that's 10 Hail Marys and some Glory Bes) and I wondered if they were getting anything out of it. A first grader asked if her dog would go to heaven and the answer was sorry, no, he didn't have a soul. I appreciated that the teacher was great and the kids were learning a lot, but I knew it wasn't for me. Some people, especially family, asked why we weren't just attending the Catholic church across the street. I didn't have a good answer at the time, but looking back, I understand why. For the first time in my life, I really started to analyze my faith instead of just accepting what I was told. It felt good. It felt meaningful. I felt like I was really seeking God for the first time.
I'd convinced myself that I really only wanted to attend church so my kids would know God, but for some reason I began attending a class at Valley View called Alpha. It was basically an introduction to Christianity. (You can learn more about it here if you are curious: http://alphausa.org/Groups/1000047505/What_is_Alpha.aspx) I had a lot of questions about being Christian. I especially had a lot of questions about Jesus. I had always understood the concept of God. He was that big bearded guy that made everything. But what was Jesus all about? For some reason, I really struggled with him. What did it mean that he died for our sins? Was I really forgiven just by being sorry? Just like that? Huh. We went through some other classes and decided to officially join Valley View in January 2011. It was exciting, and I felt in my heart that we were joining something bigger than us.
Right before Lexi turned two, Tim convinced me that another baby was a good idea. He must have caught me in a moment of insanity, because I agreed. We decided that the summer after student teaching was the perfect time for another baby. The kids wouldn't be too far apart, and I could teach if I wanted to. I found out I was pregnant and we announced it to our families on Christmas of 2010. It's funny how different getting pregnant on accident is from getting pregnant on purpose. This time, I wanted to be pregnant. I was excited about it. It was part of my plan, after all. It was socially acceptable.
I student taught at a public school in the spring of 2011 and immediately had my eyes opened. I had grown up attending Catholic schools, where everyone pretty much looks the same, and I'm not just talking about the uniforms. Ninety-nine percent of us were white Catholics with two parents. The new school I taught at was colorful. The kids looked different, dressed differently, and had different stories and family structures. It was almost a culture shock to me at first, as sad as that is. I noticed how different they all were, but they did not. They were all just kids. It was an experience I am very grateful I had. I knew that I wanted my kids to understand that all people are different and that's okay.
Sometime that semester, I decided that I wanted to be home with my kids, at least for the baby's first year. I had the rest of my life to teach. I'd missed Lexi when I was teaching, and I was so excited when I finished my last class and was free to just be home with her and get ready for the baby.
Lydia Jade was born on July 24th, 2011.
This little cheekers would bring me unbelievable joy and immense challenges.
The first few months of being a mom of two were REALLY, REALLY HARD! WHOA! Everyone told me it would be hard to go from one to two, but I had no idea how right they were. Lydia would stay up all night, and then I'd still have to get up with Lexi at 6am. Tim was gone at work all day. I felt frustrated with Lexi because she was being 2. I felt frustrated with myself because I had no idea what I was doing. I cried, a lot. I loved them both more than anything, but wow, what a rough patch.
It was October 2011, and I was tired. Lydia stayed up til midnight and slept in until 8 or 9am. Lexi got up around 6am and Tim left for work at 7am, so he went to bed early. There were hours every evening where I was alone with the baby, watching the Wonder Years or Toddlers in Tiaras in the living room. It was really quiet, and really lonely.
One day, I just got the urge to read the Bible. We had received a Bible as a wedding gift and I had my monogrammed Bible from high school, but I didn't really know where to start. Genesis kind of got weighty after Noah's Ark, if you know what I mean. So I asked a friend if she could recommend a Bible to me, and to my surprise, she said she'd been praying for this for me. Wow. I remember telling her a while back that I wanted to teach my kids about God, but I didn't know how. She, being a devout Christian herself, knew that in order to teach my kids about God, I needed to know him myself. And in order to know him better, I needed to read his book. She recommended the Mom's Devotional Bible and I excitedly ran to Barnes and Noble and bought it, that night. What followed were months of reading the Bible each night when I was alone with Lydia. It's funny but despite 12 years of Catholic schooling, I didn't know much about the Bible. But reading it was comforting. I started with Mark because the index in the Bible suggested that as a starting place. It was full of inspirational devotions for moms. Stuff I could relate to. Understanding for those hard times. Grace. I think I read the devotion about crying babies about 50 times. I started reading the Bible and writing out prayers to God each night. I'd always loved writing. I would write prayers for others, for myself, and I would vent my frustrations and pray for guidance. It felt like I was developing a relationship with God, a real one, where I told him what was on my heart.
A few months later, I began reading The Purpose Driven Life and doing the study that went with it. I was excited by the idea that I had a specific purpose! I remember one night, Tim was sick upstairs in our bed, I was sleeping downstairs in the basement, and the kids kept crying. The house was trashed, the laundry undone. I cried too. I was tired. I hated when Tim was sick, I felt overwhelmed without his help. I felt sick to my stomach and overwhelmed with my circumstances. I picked up my journal and I prayed. I told Jesus that I didn't completely understand him, but I was accepting him. I wanted him to save me.
There were no lightning bolts or burning bushes, or miraculous healings. Tim was still sick, Lydia was still crying, and I was still tired. I didn't feel any major changes. But I consider that the beginning of my life as a Christian. That was the moment that I looked at my life and knew that I needed God, that I couldn't do it without him. That I could lean on him and bring him anything and everything, no matter how big or how small. That I could say sorry and be forgiven and move on. That being a Christian was a choice I would make every day.
So, I guess that's it. That's how I came to be a Christian. There was no giant voice from the skies. No giant signs pointing me in the right direction. There was a baby, some struggling, and some emptiness. A car accident, loneliness, a college level tantrum. Shame and guilt, guilt and shame. But it was all part of God's plan. All of those parts of the story were stepping stones on my pathway. God led me back to him.
I was sharing this with a friend the other day and she commented that a baby was such a sweet, gentle way for God to bring me to him. I'd never thought of it like that before, but it's true. And it's interesting. God has used a baby to save me, to bring me back to him. Two babies actually. One was a little girl born in the hospital, the other, a baby boy in a manger.
He has a plan. And it is sweet.
Never lucky...always blessed.
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