The day of a lifetime

I had no intentions of going to the Papal anything, as crowds are Not My Thing, and Bob generally dislikes anything done outside, so we were pretty much in agreement.

But then, on Saturday morning, we started wondering if maybe we should go downtown and just wander about anyway. Something had stirred in us, but I hadn't been feeling well, so we were still very on the fence. We went to morning mass, where I proceeded to say a few uncomplimentary things about our new priest and his way of celebrating mass. Smallish things, but still.

After mass, we decided to "just go and see" if there were still any tickets at the rectory. We were told there were a few left for that day, for the events bridging the World Meeting of Families and the Pope's arrival. Father happened by outside the office door and said, "You looking for tickets? Hold on." To which, he disappeared for a few minutes, and came back with two tickets to the mass in his hand. He said he had done his Pope thing with John Paul II, had even appeared on TV with him when he came to Philly, and was glad to give them to us.

So, yes, as usual for me, foot in mouth disease, though Father didn't know it, And now we had tickets to EVERYTHING. It was starting to feel kinda meant-to-be-ish.

We decided to go down right away, so as soon as we were ready, off we went. We only stopped for some hand sanitizer, having seen the pictures of endless rows of porta-potties as far as the eye could see.

It was very strange to see the Philly streets devoid of cars, but full of people biking, running, walking dogs, even one enterprising guy piloting a taxi-bike. Then we got to what I like to call The Pope Zone.

As my friend, Manny, posted on his day at the Madison Square Garden Papal Mass, we also had to wait in rather long and slow security line. During which people were told they may not take any fruit inside, so folks were either eating up all their fruit (there was a surprising amount of fruit-toters) or giving it away, I was the happy recipient of a lovely banana. But then! A little later, the Fruit Rule was revised to just no Round Fruit. No apples, plums, oranges. Bananas were now okay! The woman did ask for hers back, but it wasn't readily available. We all did speculate on the Round Fruit rule for a while. It passed the time. As Manny also experienced, as we got closer, folks started to cut the line. Nobody said anything. Spirit of the day and all.  Our whole line experience was an hour, maybe hour and a half-ish.

Then we were In. With the idea we might get within sighting distance of seeing Papa leave the Basilica, we went in that general direction, only to find that all the fences and cattle chutes kept us literally corralled into certain areas. We spotted a place right up against the fence a little ways from the Basilica and just parked ourselves there to figure out what we wanted to do. Here was our view:

This one tells better where we were standing, the above one shows the beauty of the Basilica. You can see how people are mostly all hemmed in by fences.

Turns out, we were too late for seeing the conclusion of the mass, so after much speculating, we decided to stay put and hope we were on the parade route, for when Papa would ride around after speaking at Independence Hall, and before the evening's festivities. All we knew about that was that there were going to be musical groups. Beyond that, we hadn't a clue.

Just to illustrate how clueless we really were;  later, a lovely young lady from Pittsburgh, Katie, who was studying at Drexel took up a spot near us. When we mentioned we had tickets, she said, "you know you're not in the ticketed area, right?" Well, no, we didn't, actually. We thought our tickets had been to get through the security line. Haha, and duh! But still, we decided to stay put, and gave her one of our tickets to see the evening part. I hope she got to make good use of it!

While we waited, we were joined by many, many other Papal parade speculators. We had looked up the parade route and thought our chances were good. The police, when asked about anything, always said they didn't know. There were state troopers from all over. The one in front of us was from, again, Pittsburgh. We saw NYPD also. They were good natured, but apparently as clueless as everyone else regarding the movements of the Holy Father.

Here was one lovely addition to our cluster of neighbors for a day:

Yes! A Pope Baby! There was another one that made headlines because the Pope stopped and blessed her, but we liked ours best. People on the other side of the divide would chant Ba-by!Ba-by! so her father would hold her up for pictures. And everyone would cheer. She remained entirely placid throughout the long day. Much more so than some of the adults...

                                   Her name is Daniela Francesca. She stole our hearts.



So, eventually, we heard the speech from Independence Hall begin and end. We were not in sight of any of the jumbotrons, so it was just kind of a blur. Music groups began to play nearby over the loudspeaker. A young girl named Jackie Evancho (13!) sang like an absolute angel. But we were all getting antsy for the arrival of the Holy Father. Time dragged. We spent some time sitting directly on the ground, some children were stretched out on blankets, asleep. But the crowds were really gathering now, and if you gave up and inch of space, it got filled. Soon, I was pressed up against the fence and Bob directly behind. I started feeling kind of claustrophobic and asked him to move back a little, I was sorry I did though, because a group of young (college age-ish I guess) girls wormed up beside us. One reached through and grabbed the railing, causing me to have her elbow planted in my ribs until I moved. I still didn't want to ruin the general bonhomie that was prevalent there by saying anything, but yeah, it bugged me. We had waited upwards of seven hours at that spot. They had just appeared and wiggled their way forward.

It began getting dark, and rows of police-escorted vehicles started going around the circle, so we knew it had to be close. It was fully dark and fully 7:00 before the shouts began that preceded the Pope's procession coming towards us. Of course, both our phones were almost dead, and now Bob had been pushed back away from the fence, so his only view was over my head.

Nevertheless, we readied our phone cameras. He came FLYING by in the lit up Popemobile. Everyone erupted in screams.

Here is how my picture tuned out:

Tragic, isn't it? I don't even know if it is right side up. I like to call it, Flying, Picasso-ish Pope.


Well, thank God, Bob got a good shot. A video nonetheless! A miracle, I tell you!

And yes, the young lady to the right is my unwilling  "neighbor" whose hand and later, fist, appear in the video. And screams. In my ear. She inserted her entire body in a two inch space. So many ways to offer things up ...

But! All the logistics notwithstanding, we were in the same airspace as the POPE! He came within FEET of where we stood! I did offer the day for all my friends and family, and know those prayers and offering were well heard by God on this special day.


We did not hang around, for what turned out to be an incredible impromptu speech given by the Holy Father. Our feet and backs just couldn't do it.  We heard it live from home, though, and it felt as if we were still there. (I  hope Katie stayed!) We did not venture to the mass either, and I am told people waited up to four hours in the lines that day. I am sure it was well worth it, but we enjoyed it from home, still exhausted from the bit we did manage to do.

I still feel it was a divine appointment. I told you all the nuts and bolts, but in the end, this Pope managed to make each one of us feel he did everything for love of each and every one of us. He radiates so much love, and well, purity I think is the word that strikes me. He never looked bored, tired, or like he wished he were somewhere else. Well, except in this meme:

Haha. But really, Aretha, Nessun Dorma? Poor Puccini. My ears!


I think Pope Francis is exactly the right Pope for our time. We may not understand it yet. But this visit made me love him as much as I love Benedict and JPII. And I feel like I can trust him now better than before. I only was hearing about him. This time, we heard FROM him and saw what he did and the love with which he did it.

   If you were anywhere near him or even watched his events, you couldn't help but feel the love.

Philadelphia and the Gates of Hell

I am too tired to even think about writing. It has been a very full couple weeks. More about that another time. Right now, I think this article is important to read and share. Beware: there is graphic description.

Bill Donohue may not be the easiest person to listen to, but he gets his facts straight. It is sadly acceptable sport to do anything and everything to try and defame the Church as a whole. It is acceptable to target innocent priests, extort money, and blanket blame over the whole shootin' match. It is to the point where anyone, no matter how little credibility they have, can accuse a priest, the accusation will stick, and he will not be afforded the same rights or defense as any other American citizen. And it is all socially accepted, even applauded. Anti-Catholic sentiment is as common as cornbread and just as savored. I choose to believe that most who join in do not grasp the entirety of that which they have aligned themselves.

The priests that did commit terrible criminal acts, rightly inspire outrage. They are Christ-Bearers, expected to live at a higher standard. We look up to them as shepherds. But, it is never okay to falsely accuse anyone and see them punished. To see this happening to innocent priests, one has to also see the evil that would like to see the Church crippled. Thankfully, God has assured us in Matthew 16:18 And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it.

7 (early) quick takes (#3) in lieu of Blog Abstinence Friday

one

 Blog Abstinence Friday is something my good friend Joyce over at The Little Way, thought of. Here is how she put it-

In light of the horror that has made Philadelphia the epicenter of moral decay, perhaps you will join me in making this Friday a day of blog abstinence.  We will use the time we normally spend reading our favorite blogs, commenting and posting, in prayer for all the outrages committed against the Sacred Heart of Jesus, particularly here in the City of Brotherly Love.

What do you say?  Will you join me?  We will abstain from reading and writing on Friday, February 18th.  We will offer this small sacrifice in reparation.  Can you get the word out to other bloggers?

To which I said, yes! And if you are a blogger, you may want to join us. And if you're not a blogger, you still can join us! Notice she added the reading of blogs into the mix...any act of sacrifice would be accepted...

two

As far as the Philadelphia Debacle goes, I am rendered speechless. On top of the original report last week, another, further one was released today. One that for some of us in my locale, added another layer of grief. On reading other blogs and comments, I have seen everything from soup to nuts, and all I really know is my head is spinning and I am at a complete loss to say anything. All I know to do is pray and sacrifice. A dear  priest said last Sunday that the Church is being purified.

   ouch.

three

 On Valentines Day evening, my husband and I did something I have never, ever done in all my 49 years. It was equally wonderful and terrifying. I felt so out of place, and now still, after the deed, still feel like an impostor. Other people do this all the time, but for me it has the trappings of extravagance. Not that we didn't need to do it, we did. As much as I am happy about it, I kind of hope I never have to do it again! Here is the result of our foray into the world of people who buy large items.

Both he and I figured we could live in it if it ever came to that. It is nicer than our house, after all.

four

You know you and you spouse are becoming the same person when at the same moment, at mass, no less, you both think that orange juice is going to be needed for breakfast, and feel the need to lean over and whisper about it. 

five

I never really got over the Sick from three weeks ago, and while I am not as ill as our friend,  Mary Catherine, or my daughter, Meghann, it was bad enough that I finally went to the doc and got an antibiotic. A lot of it was realizing I will be singing at the pro life mass we attend (Helpers of God's Precious Infants--Saint John the Evangelist) at 7AM on Saturday morning. After trying to teach the CCD kids a few songs on Tuesday night, I just knew it wasn't going to happen if I didn't do something. So here's hoping that the med will do a semi-miracle by Saturday morning. 7AM isn't my best time for singing to begin with!

six

In doing lots of thinking about this Lent, I am looking forward to disconnecting from TV and facebook, as I have mentioned before. But now I am beginning to think of things I want to do with that time. One is that I want to read about the Church Fathers. (Faith of the Early Fathers Volume 1 by William Jurgens, has been recommended). There was another one I can't remember now... I also plan to go through and clean the house well. The last time I did that was in November, before Meghann and Co. came for their visit. Since then, it's been pretty much downhill. And other things like that, things I neglect due to distraction and lack of custody of my emotions and poor discipline in general. My good friend Marie and I often talk about how we got more done when we worked outside the home than we do now! I also plan to blog more regularly, and improve my blogging ( I hope!). We'll see how all those best laid plans go. And not to forget, amid all our many intentions in prayer-that now we have our Church's purification process to sacrifice for as well. But remember that, as Father Corapi reminds us--No Good Friday, no Easter Sunday; No pain, no gain, ; no cross, no crown! which leads me to ---

seven

 Spring. Lots of bloggers are all a- buzz about it.  Here in Philadelphia, Spring can be an iffy affair. Sometimes we go from winter to summer, like ka-BLAM.  The coats are still laying in the hallway, when suddenly we begin to talk about putting in the air conditioners. I would love if spring and fall were much more drawn out, like, you know, more than fifteen minutes long.  I still have hope, though, for the time when we can open the windows;  and for the time when the feeling of the sun is a welcome one- before it reaches the point when we are retreating from it, closing the curtains and doors against it, and once again having to seal ourselves off from the outdoors.

Wishing you a blessed weekend--see you Monday!

Peace,

Kelly

 

sick-and not the flu this time

If anyone has heard the news out of Philadelphia today, you will know what I am sick about. First Gosnell, now this. If you don't know now, it will only be a short time until the wildfire ignites. I can't bring myself to say it (or type it) out loud.

Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on us!

1. Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart; Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art. Thou my best thought, by day or by night, Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light. 2. Be Thou my Wisdom, Thou my true Word; I ever with Thee, Thou with me, Lord; Thou my great Father, I thy true son; Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.

3. Be Thou my battle-shield, sword for my fight, Be Thou my dignity, Thou my delight. Thou my soul's shelter, Thou my high tower. Raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power. 4. Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise, Thou mine inheritance, now and always: Thou and Thou only, first in my heart, High King of heaven, my Treasure Thou art.

5. High King of heaven, my victory won,
May I reach heaven's joys, O bright heav'ns Son!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my vision, O ruler of all.

a night to remember

And I thought it was going to be a regular Tuesday..kind of busy, but you know, average.
I went with one daughter to a doctor appointment, and another daughter that is taking part in a program in our city called Mural Arts, was going to need to get herself there on a bus this time.

*note- here is the project she is working on, called How Philly Moves. She is painting part of the little ballerina in the white tutu--so when you are driving by the airport on 95, you can think of Rachael. :) okay, little mom brag, done.

So, knowing that Rachael is not quite a veteran bus rider yet, as I got home from the doc appointment, I texted her to check in and see that she arrived safely at her destination.

It went like this-

me-you get there okay?

her-no, I'm late

me-didn't you call ahead and tell them you would be a little late today?

~mind you, while we are having this conversation (me from the computer-I don't own a cell phone), I am slinging food about, as I have to teach CCD and have to get dinner on the table and then bolt~

As I await the next reply, I go back and toss some more chicken in the pan, stir the rice, and the phone rings. It's Rachael.

her-Mom, I'm lost!

me-what!? where are you?

her- I don't know!

me- look at a street sign!

her-Hunting Park Avenue.

me-WHAT?!!! (her original destination is two blocks north of Community College of Philadelphia) Hunting Park and what?

her-(after ascertaining what I was talking about) 18th.

me-(frantically looking at the Septa schedule and map of the area) --go *here* (I'll now leave out all the particulars)--

her--which way?

and so on--for at least 30-45 minutes-until we finally got her on a bus home. And even then I called every couple minutes to see that she was okay, and progressing in the right direction. Don't forget that dinner was busily cooking away--cause I did. forget, that is.

Now I know most of you are not from Philadelphia--and the significance of the areas I mentioned don't really register, so let me fill in a bit.


Philadelphia, like it, love it, dislike it, or any feeling on the scale, is a CITY. It is not a place you can skip down the street unaware of your surroundings, even in the "nicer" areas. Her original destination is in the fringes of a bit of a scary neighborhood, I usually drive her there,and she returns on a bus, but only walks to the corner. Going north from there, it just gets worse and worse, until by the end of that bus route,(which is where she went) it is really a Godforsaken, burned out, drug infested wasteland. One in which I used to have to go through on occasion. ( in a car, windows up, doors locked, cruising through the stop signs and not making  eye contact with any of the locals).

this is the exact corner she was standing on while talking to me-


View Larger Map
and here is where she was walking around--


View Larger Map








Despite the sunny day in the picture, this is not a nice place--especially for a young girl-- let's say of a certain shade--to be walking around alone. 


I was BESIDE myself. I was so close to becoming hysterical, but I knew we needed to get her back on a bus ASAP,and that was our only remedy. Even if I tried to go and get her by car, it would have meant her standing there for some too-long time, as it was REALLY far from us, and rush hour to boot. The images in my mind of something terrible happening to her as I listened on the phone, helpless, were very, very close to overwhelming. I used to live in Germantown, and this was not far from there, and is a place that is declining and I was vividly aware of the danger.


Finally, when she was on the bus home (and I could hear in the background that even there, it wasn't any too pleasant) I called her several times until she was in familiar territory) and went into the bathroom and boo hooed for five minutes--just to let it out. By the time she came through the door and plopped on the couch, we were eating dinner (somehow, it survived)--she didn't speak for a couple hours. I had to run out and teach CCD, which was a mini circus all its own, and by the time I returned, she was better.


I felt like such a terrible mom about that. My daughter walking around the meanest streets in the city, terrified, lost. I thought that she agreed too,but she told me otherwise. Thank God, but I still feel badly. An evening of terror was not really on my radar, and took the wind out of my sails. I didn't make it to mass this morning, it is like having run a mile or something.


Today, she has this class again. I will be driving her.


 

salvation history part three, or, "here's what happened"

Today, I think I am on the downhill side of my cold, so as long as I am considering it as "on it's way out", I am good to go. Just goes to show the power of the mindset-I also am burning an apple cider scented candle, because it is autumn now, even if the Philadelphia weather refuses to reflect it. I for one, am ready for fall- it's my favorite season. As seasons of life go, I think I am in the fall of my own life now, and I am happy to be here, even with all the "falling" going on in my own body. My mind is still operative(mostly), and my heart and spirit, though weathered, are strong.     

In the order of things that happened on my spiritual journey, I cannot leave out one thing, that while not consciously spiritual, shaped much of what came after.

Here is the copy of a speech I gave at a board of directors meeting. It was a group of hospital administrators from the Main Line area of Philadelphia. They open one meeting a year to the public, and the prolife group that invited me  to speak had been there before, and were known to this board of directors. I actually only got to give a portion of this speech-as minutes before we began, we were informed that we only had about three minutes each to speak. (I prepared for a ten minute talk). So I had to mentally skim and slash and decide on the spot how to trim it into something cohesive. Well, it wasn't cohesive or anything else, but I did manage to convey my point, however clumsily.

I will let you read this-it is somewhat graphic, in the sense that I tell you about a few of the more grisly aspects, but I don't think it is any more or less that what needs to be told. It tells my story and also some facts about abortion and PAS, or post-abortive syndrome. Not a made up thing, as detractors would like to claim.  In my next post, I will tell you a little about what twists and turns that resulted from this, and how The Lord led me thorough.

I am here today to tell you the truth about a topic that not too many are willing to hear about or discuss--at least not in a way that removes the candy coating. But there are many mothers, fathers and especially tiny boys and girls that depend upon us doing just that.

 Before we dive in, allow me to provide a little background about myself. I am a wife, the mother of seven living children and the grandmother of one. This alone tells you what I do with most of my time! 

  I am a trained musician, and also work part time at a residence for  homeless women.

  The reason I am here speaking with you today is because of something I did when I was eighteen years old, now a full 30 years ago-that took the life of my first child and shaped the years from then until now.

 I was in the second semester of my freshman year at Philadelphia College of Performing Arts, having graduated high school with honors and awards; I had quite the bright future. I hoped to someday play in one of the country’s major orchestras, and I was getting a good start.

 It was a rough time, though. My father passed away that February, and just a few weeks after that, I found out I was pregnant. My boyfriend of about two years promptly resigned his post, seeing in the situation the ruination of HIS plans and career, so not knowing where to get any support; I went to a Planned Parenthood clinic.

  I came out with an appointment for an abortion. I was feeling pretty scared and alone. I don’t know what I said for myself at that point, but I do know I wasn’t ever offered any other alternatives. I was there, pregnant, scared….sooo, I must want an abortion, right? There wasn’t any discussion about my mental or emotional state, or if I was in the sort of state of mind to make such a life changing decision….Oh, yes...there was another topic of discussion. I was asked how I was going to pay for this?  Having no resources of my own, out came some forms to sign and presto!-problem solved. I guess the state of Pennsylvania picked up the tab, though, at the time, I didn’t know that.

  At that point, frankly, I felt numb. I was not a stupid girl, but this had reduced me to such a fearful state, that, with no information to the contrary, I just kept on with “the plan” I had set in motion. I did hope that afterwards, perhaps I would at least be returned to my previous life and that my mind would begin functioning well again.

 When the scheduled day arrived,  May 3^rd, 1980, I was literally in a fog. I wasn’t at all prepared for what was about to happen. Oddly, there wasn’t anyone around in the waiting room. No friendly nurse or worker to ask questions of--or get a little reassurance. I just was called, given some Valium, put up on a table facing away from the door. When the doctor arrived (I never did see his face, so I was going on blind faith he actually WAS a doctor), the procedure began.  It was a suction abortion, which was standard for seven weeks gestation.  My son or daughter was about the size of a blueberry at this point, heart beating, just beginning to form arms and legs. I didn’t know any of that. The contents of my uterus were forcefully vacuumed out. There was a lot of blood. I did see that, it ended up in a jar near the foot of the table.  The sensations were, while not exactly physically painful, very disturbing and difficult to endure. To this day those exact sensations still leap into my memory unbidden. I went back to my apartment. Though I was still losing quite a bit of blood, to keep up appearances, I went home the next day on the train and went to church. Many people commented on how white I was.

   I was very fortunate to physically recover well. The rest of the recovery was not going to be easy. It came over the course of many years, and in stages of revelation. I never knew what was behind all the breakdown in my life. I did not finish college, I entered in to two failed marriages and a number of other harmful relationships. One of my marriages lasted thirteen years. And even though that time was fraught with abuse, by the year 1999, I had seven children.

  What I found out about abortion came through them. When I heard the sounds of their feet as they ran about the house, that very solid sound illustrated for me that the one I had aborted would have been running right there with them, his or her feet thumping along in rhythm. The smell of their freshly washed hair, or wiping the peanut butter from their faces, told me the truth of what I had done. There was a very real void. It woke me up to reality, and I am grateful to God, who preserved my life and still blessed me with the ability to have my children, despite everything. Incidentally, my children are all reasonably healthy, but there are some disabilities and disorders among them. I would not ever be able to imagine life without each one of them and would not wish them dead because of the extra help they may require in life. I have worked with people that are severely compromised, and even the most profoundly disabled person brings their own special spark into the world, and those of us privileged to know them would not wish that they never had a chance to live.

 Several years ago, I turned on the TV to see the March for Life in Washington DC. I saw women holding signs that said “I regret my abortion”. This struck a chord in me. It was such a bluntly true message, and so brave. Up until this point I had not talked about my abortion to very many people. I found out that they were part of a group called Silent No More Awareness, to which I now belong,  that gathers women who have had abortions to tell their stories, and do what I am doing here now—bring the truths of abortion and it’s effects on women out into the light. There are about 1000 testimonies that can be found on silentnomoreawareness.org. My story is not unique.

  Fortunately, there are organizations, the preeminent one being Rachael’s Vineyard, to assist in the healing of post abortive women.

   After all my many struggles in life, I have found out that post abortive women share many of the same ones. Here are some of them: Emotional deadening; increased tendency toward anger or rage; fear of others learning about the abortion, or a sense of fear for unknown reasons; loneliness or isolation; less self confidence; sexual dysfunction; insomnia or nightmares; difficulty gaining or maintaining relationships; suicidal feelings; increased or beginning use of drugs or alcohol; eating disorders;  and attempted suicide.  My opinion is that many of these symptoms can fall into a category of PTSD, and I can tell you I have and still do experience many of these.

One last point with which I would like to leave you . The key to understanding the truth about abortion is not to close our eyes to reality. The reality is simply this—no woman who has ever gotten pregnant in the history of the world has given birth to anything except a human baby. Don’t become entangled in the diversionary debate over whether or not we are talking about the killing of a human boy or girl. We are.  The single biggest tactic used to advance abortion is this-Keep it out of sight. There is no person in this room who, after witnessing an abortion, would come out in favor of it. Face the truths that more than 40 million human beings have been killed by abortion in this world so far—more than have died in all the wars and the holocaust combined.  And thus far, many of us have silently watched.

  It is so much easier to convince a mother to kill her child who is yet unseen by saying the words,  “tissue” or “part of her body”. While it is true she is the steward of her body and what is happening inside her, how many of the same women would “choose” to kill him or her once they are born and can be seen, felt, experienced?

   All of us in this room are blessed with at least fairly good health of mind and body. We are entrusted with the lives and health of those in need, in this case, pregnant women and their yet unborn sons and daughters. Let’s not continue to operate in half truths and shadowy, slippery language about abortion. Finding out the truth and acting on it is all of our responsibility, for which one day, we will all be held accountable.