Money, Money, Money

I really do love money.  I love having it and spending it.  I can’t count the times I have blown through cash and then turned around with no memory of where that money went.  Finally coming to a place where I am comfortable living in poverty has been a long journey.  It is not an unnatural place for me to be, however, because when I don’t have money, I spend no time thinking about the things I don’t have.  But the minute I have cash in my pocket, my eyes immediately see all the things I don’t have.  Things I want to have.  Things I seemingly cannot live without. 

God, who is ever merciful, is actively answering my daily prayer that I am not led into temptation.  I have moved into a place in my life where I can peacefully reject all effort of private or personal ownership.  After years of fantasizing, I know now that I will never win the lottery or have a long lost uncle leave me a bucket of cash.  I will never own a house or have a nest egg on which I can retire.  It is a shameful reality that I have shown myself to be untrustworthy, over and over again, to make Godly decisions with large amounts of money. 

I cannot be faithful with hundreds or thousands of dollars, but I can be faithful with five or ten dollars. So I accept what little I have while promising that everything I have belongs to God, to be shared with others as He directs me to. And as God protects me from wealth, He is also protecting my soul.  He knows my weakness and by giving me a desire to seek poverty and share what little I have, He is showing me a path to heaven.

Saints in my Life- Violet-who taught me humility

I am going to blog for a few days about the Saints and saints, woven in and out of my life who have brought me to this point.  My grandmother, Violet, was the first, and maybe holiest woman I have ever known. 

She was married to my grandfather for more than 50 years.  She had 4 children, lost one, and spent her life cooking, cleaning and caring for her family.  My grandmother took me to church.  She would let me lay down on her lap and listen to the sermon.  Everyday, after she cleaned her already immaculate house, she would sit in her recliner and read her black bible until she fell asleep to take her afternoon nap.  She was strict and quiet.  I never understood her while she was alive, but now, having been married for 17 years, I get a little bit of who she was.

My grandfather was a difficult man, I think, for her to be married to.  He was a hard worker and a good provider, but he was not necessarily kind.  He certainly was not abusive, but he was not affectionate or soft spoken.  I don't remember him accompanying her to church except maybe on Easter or Christmas.  As he got older, he became more cantankerous.  I can remember her leaving the table, more than once, in silent tears, because of some offhanded comment he made that stung.  My grandmother never fought with him, at least in front of us.  She took his temper with humility and grace. 

If I ever uttered the words, "I'm bored" to my grandmother, she had two solutions to this problem.  One, she would send us outside to pick up sticks and two, she would have me memorize scripture.  I remember the day she handed me a bookmark with the Lord's prayer written on it.  She said "Do you know this prayer by heart?" and because I didn't, she instructed me to sit and learn it.

Maybe she knew how important that prayer would become to me as I grew older.  I cling to this prayer  every day, reciting it multiple times, and ask God to shy me away from temptation, to protect my soul from that which would destroy it.   I pray that I would have the faith to trust in God for my daily bread and not my own self.

But the lesson I learned most from her was how to survive and flourish in a marriage.  How to hold my tongue and my temper.  How to take my husbands bad days with grace and prayer.  I learned to take my children to church and to make it a time when they are held close in my arms. I have adopted her style of sitting quietly and staring out the window when times are difficult and my mood is edgy. 

I think of her whenever I see a rose garden or a red cardinal. 

It's Time.

Big day today.  It's hard to explain how I am feeling but it's kind of like finally crossing off that one thing on your to do list that you have been avoiding forever. I am taking a step in faith and starting Catholic Worker services in Tulsa.  I am fully prepared, having no money, no specific goals, no location and no recipients.  But even so, I have more resources at my fingers than Mother T., Dorothy or Saint Zita did when they began. 

I have prayed and asked God to keep me in His will so I don't get in the way and screw this up.  I have no intentions of seeking donations, aside from prayers.  I will not use this to make a salary or provide tax right-offs.  This is going to be a place where anyone can share what they have with whoever comes and needs it.  If we have food for 5 people and there are 20 people who need food, then 5 people get food and the other 15 get prayers. We will not be requiring any intake information from anyone at our door (assuming I ever have an actual door).  Help will be given without strings, without questions, without judgement and without expectations of repayment.  Anyone at our door will be Christ and will be treated as such.

This is not a spontaneous act.  This is the end of 25 years of dragging my feet and being afraid.  I am out of excuses.  It doesn't matter that I have nothing and it doesn't matter that I live in the most generous city in the country.  Competition for serventhood is great.  But God has been patiently waiting for my obedience and He is now going to get it.

Pray for us. (and like our facebook page :))

https://www.facebook.com/#!/SaintZitaCatholicWorkerHouse

Outside the Confessional...a memo to our Priests

Last Sunday (Divine Mercy Sunday- rock-n-roll fingers)   my first grade son just couldn't wait one more day to sit down with our priest and confess his sins.  He still has one year to go before his official first confession but Father Matt was gracious and agreed to let him spill his guts.  My son was thrilled as he skipped away from the confessional assuring me that he told the truth and didn't make anything up.  Good to know he didn't lie in confession. LOL.

My protestant friends can sit this one out because I know you prefer to confess your sins privately in the dark of night before you fall asleep (although I will say--ya'll are missing out.  Confession is such a rush.). 

But to my Catholic friends and our amazing priests can we have a private chit-chat?

You teach me and I teach my children about the dangers of dying in a state of mortal sin. ONE mortal sin can send me and my good intentions straight to hell.  Okay, I am on board with ya.  But if this is truly what we believe, then why is confession presented as such an after thought?  What crazy tradition decided that it was sufficiant that it be held only on Saturdays from 4-5pm and 30 minutes before mass?  Am I the only one who understands the urgency of making confession available 24/7 or at least on a weeknight?  If it is 3am and my soul is compromised, I want to know that I can find a priest

You are in that tiny room, so you may not be aware of the long line waiting to speak to you.  We jockey for position with such demand that we probably should add it to our list of sins.  You probably don't see the anxiety and the tears of those waiting and you definitely don't see the disappointment when that little light turns out and we realize we have to wait another week and hope we don't get plowed down by a bus. 

There has to be a way to make reconciliation more accessible and not so competitive.  I know you are busy, but honestly, we, your congregation;  followers of Christ and the Catholic church...we need this.  Please make the time.

Next, I know that you may feel overwhelmed by the pain and suffering you hear, but stay strong.  Don't loose heart and begin to provide counsel based on empathy.  We have best friends and therapists and Oprah to agree with us and give us bad advice.  We need you to tell us the will of God.

I have been married for almost 17 years and over the years I have had several different priests advise me to leave my husband.  Mind you, my husband is not an addict or abusive.  He is not unfaithful.  But, like all marriages, we have had rocky times and I have cried  as I confessed how unhappy I was.  These priests were obviously nice guys who felt bad for the sobbing woman in front of them, but leaving my husband was not the will of God. I am grateful for those priests who reminded me to stay holy, to pray and to offer my tears to Christ but not to leave.  We need consistency not opinions.

Finally,   I want to thank you.  Thank you for your time when I mistakenly use confession as therapy.  Thank you for making confession such a wonderful experience to my children.  All of them regularly ask to go, so thank you for whatever sweet words you give to them.  It is difficult to keep our children from being wooed away to churches with lights and sound systems and ski trips,  but the truth of Christ and His sacraments is enough.  We love our priests.  We pray for you and bake you cookies.  We crave your attention but try to be mindful to give you your space.  We look to you, not just to hear your words, but to get a sense of your own buy-in to our faith.  May God greatly bless you.

Cha-Ching-Are Christians Supposed to Seek Wealth?

Are Christians supposed to seek wealth?


 This question nips at my heels because I really (REALLY) like money.  I don't have a lot of it, although I am payed well for a social worker and I am not complaining.  The questions nags because I have nightmares that I will stand before God for judgment and, after checking my credit score, He will want to know if I refinanced my house as I should have. God will be considering my application for Sainthood while MBA's and CEO's  waltz through the golden gates as God gives them a fist bump, "Well done, good and faithful servant! Way to rock that dot.com bust!" Yikes.

I do wonder about wealth.  I grew up in the grand capital of "non-denominational" "sowing seeds" kind of churches.  The preachers who call themselves deacons or bishops but have no real credentials.  The churches that promise, on God's behalf, a high yield of return on your tithe; the churches that announce the names of tithers and the amount they give to thundering applause.  These churches believe in wealth.  After all, didn't Jesus come that we might have life and have it abundantly?

I am gambling my life's comfort on No.  I drive by insanely large estates and beautiful houses and I feel my stomach squeeze with desire.  I work with some of the best dressed people you could ever see and swallow my embarrassment at how I look.  I cry actual tears because I know my children lack the newest gadget or the right clothes.  I could make more money, work harder, save more.  I could pull my children out of Catholic school and as my expendable income would sky-rocket, I could make a grab for all kinds of goodies. 

I am not snooty about living in poverty.  I am horribly jealous of my friends with their lovely gardens and swimming pools.  I fantasize of winning the lottery and buying my family all kinds of expensive baubles .  I don't seek out wealth because I know that I am weak and would spend it all on myself, despite my commitment to serve the poor. 

An old friend told me a few weeks ago, that Christ only asked that one guy to sell everything he had because the man loved money more than God.  My friend explained that this is this not an actual order to all Christians, just to this one man.  Bummer that this is  not how the followers of Christ interpreted this command.   

 Acts 4:32-35

The community of believers was of one heart and mind,
and no one claimed that any of his possessions was his own,
but they had everything in common.With great power the apostles bore witness
to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus,
and great favor was accorded them all.
There was no needy person among them,
for those who owned property or houses would sell them,
bring the proceeds of the sale,
and put them at the feet of the apostles,
and they were distributed to each according to need.

No One Was In Need!! Are you kidding me? How freaking awesome is that?!?! Consider poverty,  Come along side the Saints we all admire; Mother T. wasn't the exception.  She was the rule for all who follow Christ.

 

Woo Me! I'm a Social Worker

Social Workers refer.  In fact, referring is a cornerstone of our profession.  We know our communities and what it offers to the families we work with.  We have a responsibility to know the scope of services we can provide ourselves and when we need to send the recipients of our service to more specialized care.

I not a picky person about most things.  But when it comes to agencies I trust, I am picky.  I have high standards.  If I send a mother to some agency for service and they treat her like shit, then it rubs back on me. I have even been known to do some under-cover recon when researching a new community resource or one that I have heard negative rumors floating around our community (Tulsa Social Services...This Mean YOU!).

So, community agencies, seeking those all-important Medicaid $$ or needing to up their numbers for a grant proposal...

WOO YOUR LOCAL SOCIAL WORKERS!  We can help. And here is what I am looking for...

• Your building should be easy to locate without using my GPS.
• Your service hours should be clearly stated somewhere on the building.
• I want to see healthy green plants and clean toys in the lobby. I want clean bathrooms. Family Friendly.
• Your receptionist needs to be smiling, pleasant and helpful. Ideally, I want her semi-orgasmic over the idea of helping people. 
• This is just a personal pet peeve of mine, but I really don't like referring to the community recipients as "Clients." Boo this word.
• Minimal paperwork.  I would prefer zero paperwork but I understand you have reports to write.  Just be cautious and sensitive. Only ask what is absolutely necessary.
• Short wait time.  If your appointments are running late, then have your lovely receptionist make families aware so they can plan their day.
• Enjoy your job.  If you don't enjoy your job, get out and go do something else.
• Be creative in helping families.  If you absolutely can do nothing for them, find someone who can.

Remember that good reputations are hard to build and bad reputations last forever.  Try and earn the credibility that your community can bestow upon you at their whim.

Social Work Confessions- What Makes It Worth It.

Social Work is a messy profession, but even among social workers my job is creepy and a little too messy for most people to  be comfortable with. My 8/5 job is spent reading the medical records of babies who have died and interviewing their parents.  Yes, parents cry and yes, I have seen more pictures of dead, decomposing babies than anyone probably should but, honestly, it sounds much worse than it actually is.

Unlike a lot of social work specialties, my job is without a demographic. Infant loss, tragically, can effect anyone.   I get to meet the rich and the poor and the destitute.  These families come from all backgrounds. They are in the city and in the boondocks.  They speak different languages and they express their grief in ways unique to their own culture.  I have seen families collapse on the ground as the pain washes over them and others who barely remember they had a baby at all.  The one commonality is that they all experienced the death of their baby.

Simply put, they are all saints.  They are such a strong group of women and men, who get up every day and take steps forward when all they want to do is lie down and stay down.  They care about other families who are suffering,  families whom they have never met.  And they love their babies.  Some lived for a minute and others for months, but the life was valuable to them and every moment was cherished.

 I had to write today because I met a family this morning that inspired me beyond what I thought was possible.  The parents cried and held each other.  They laughed and took joy in the brief moments they had with their baby.  They opened their door and allowed me to share in their private and most painful memories.  To this family I say: I wish I was not bound by confidentiality because everyone should know you and shake your hand.  Words cannot express my gratitude and I am a different person tonight than I was this morning.  My heart breaks for your loss and soars with your commitment to each other and your community.

These are the days that I just love my job.