Going Home

I am a glutton for self punishment. If I do something wrong I torture myself and treat myself as a criminal. Forgiveness? Not a possibility. I'll be brutally honest here. I conceived the greatest gift and blessing of my life during pre-marital make up sex and every part of me hated myself for it. I did everything wrong and I ruined every last ounce of self respect I had for myself. So in turn I walked away from the only place I felt at home, stopped doing the only thing that truly fulfills me, and isolated myself completely. Leaving Holy Cross and youth ministry killed me. If possible, it was worse than my whole St. Anne debacle. I did nothing wrong to warrant the childish Church politics and betrayal in that situation and although hurt and bitter, I was able to hold my head still up. This? I emotionally balled myself up in shame.

My daughter is my light in a very dark world. She saves me from myself every single day. And as much as I was punishing myself, I knew deep down that I could not afford to punish her for my mistakes. From my experience from St. Anne, I should have known that a Catholic church is simply not uniformly welcome everywhere. The celebration of Mass is constant, but there is a giant difference in being surrounded by a community and being a part of it. I needed Holy Cross, not just for my sake, but for hers as well.

This evening was the first time in eight months that I sat in the pews of Holy Cross, perhaps appropriately on Divine Mercy Sunday. And my daughter and I were literally welcomed with open arms.