As someone who used to be very much not-Catholic, first as a Protestant child/adolescent and then an atheist adult (a very liberal atheist adult), I have had a lot of misconceptions about Catholic dogma in my lifetime.

As a young person, I thought that Catholics worshiped Mary and/or the pope, that all their churches were named after saints (though I had no real understanding of what a saint is), and that it was silly for them to confess to a priest when they could just confess directly to God through prayer.

As an adult, I still thought all those things, and also that Catholics were anti-woman, backwards-thinking, guilt-inducing prudes. Granted, I kind of thought this of all Christian religious groups, but maybe Catholics in particular.

I certainly never felt any malice toward Catholicism, as it seems that some Protestant groups do. It was more like I felt enlightened, and I kind of pitied Catholics with all the rules they had to follow and the guilt they felt if they didn’t. I remember hearing my Catholic friends talk about their “Catholic guilt,” and thinking that was just so sad. It just seemed like Catholicism was weird.

My, how things have changed. Now I’m Catholic. It’s still kind of crazy to me, and yet here I am, happily drinking in as much as I can about this newfound faith of mine. I now know that Catholicism isn’t weird at all, once you understand the reasons behind the dogma. There is so much to learn, and I find it all so beautiful and fascinating.

I really, really love being Catholic.

However, hardly anyone in my family is Catholic, and many of my friends and readers aren’t either. Obviously, I don’t expect everyone I know to fall in love with Catholicism just because I have. BUT, I’m sure there are people in my life (and just out there in general) who still think Catholicism is kind of weird, or maybe even think it’s awful.

So. I’ve decided to start a new series of posts here, focusing on the many misconceptions there are out there about Catholicism (most of which I’ve had myself at one time or another). Starting next week, I’ll do a (roughly) weekly post, each about one common misunderstanding of Catholicism. (Feel free to send me your questions if you have them. You can leave them in the comments section or email them to me at motherhoodandmiscellany at gmail.com.)

If I don’t get any questions, I’ll just write about the things I know are often misunderstood about Catholicism.

** HUGE Disclaimer**

I am not an expert on Catholic doctrine. I have said it before, and I’ll say over and over, I am no apologist. I’m no expert. I barely know what I’m doing. I’m just a Baby Catholic. A brand new convert.

Literally. I’ve been Catholic barely over a month. In the interest of full disclosure and fair warning, you can read an example of my eloquence (read: lack thereof) in explaining the mysteries of our Faith with this post on the real presence in the Eucharist. I’m not going to win any awards with my ability to drop the knowledge in a fancy way.

But, I have learned a lot over the past year, and I have a great love of studying my new-found faith. I know I will learn a lot through writing these posts, and maybe you’ll learn something too. Or at least you can get a laugh at my fumbling if that’s what it turns out to be! If I don’t know the answer to your question (which is a strong possibility), I’ll do my very best to find it (get ready Husband, Super Friend, Godmother. . .). If I get something wrong, feel free to correct me. I look forward to your comments and questions.

Next week I’ll start with a biggie.

A friend of mine has expressed a desire to talk to me about this, and we haven’t had a chance to get into it. So I’m going to just jump right in and write about Mary. Do Catholics worship Mary? Nope. I’ll explain next week.

Last week, or maybe the week before, I read a blog post titled How Abortion Has Changed the Discussion of Miscarriage. I shared it on my Facebook page, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. Reading it helped me understand some of my own thoughts and feelings on the topic. I hadn’t fully realized just how much the dominant view of society had shaped my views of developing life until reflecting on that post. I’ll explain.

Last January, when I had my miscarriage, I struggled with the thought that I was making too big a deal about it in my own mind. I almost never actually talked about it (only two people other than my husband knew I had even been pregnant), but the few times I did, or when I thought about it to myself, it was with comments like, “Well, it was super early. It was just a chemical pregnancy.” I was so sad about the loss, but I felt like it shouldn’t have been as big of a deal to me as it was. And then I didn’t understand why I felt the need to minimize it.

Now I do.

Now I get it. I was confused about my grief because in our culture, discussing developing babies as “tissue” or “cells” is so, so prevalent that the idea of a five-week pregnancy as involving a baby, rather than just a few multiplying cells, isn’t the norm.

At the time of my miscarriage I was still a firm believer in the right of a woman to choose an abortion. I felt adamant that a woman’s choices about her body were no one’s business but her own. I absolutely identified myself as “pro-choice,” even though every time I heard about an abortion, it made me very sad. Unfortunately, I was mentally lazy about understanding what I was supporting. It was easy to nod and agree with slogans like, “My body, my choice” and “Stop the war on women,” but I really had no idea.

It wasn’t until I started researching abortion in the past year and actually learning about what is done during one and how it is done that I began to change my mind on this issue. Our society presents abortion as a matter of fact part of life that everyone should be accepting of and have access to. Nowhere, ever, in mainstream media and culture, is it discussed in terms of the facts of what actually occurs during an abortion.

For example, in its description of the abortion procedure, Planned Parenthood’s website states, “Either a hand-held suction device or a suction machine gently empties your uterus.” Gently empties??? On their website and lots and lots of other sites, words like “tissue” and “pregnancy” are used in place of “baby” (or even “fetus”) and “life.” As in, “The tissue is removed” or “The pregnancy is ended.” No one talks about it as a living being, a baby, that is removed from its source of life.

I am embarrassed to admit that I spent my whole life, that I can remember having an opinion on the subject, as pro-choice, though I didn’t really have much of an idea how abortions really happen. For example, I vaguely assumed that it was always illegal to have an abortion after the first trimester. And I never thought at all about what is done to the baby when it is removed. Because no one talks about this.

So it was taking the time to think about and research the reality of abortion (i.e. this info) that led me to change my position from pro-choice to pro-life. But it never really occurred to me to extend this change in thinking to my own experience. I didn’t realize how my own formerly-held-but-sometimes-still-stubbornly-hanging-around thoughts about developing life, inherited from the dominant voices in our culture, continued to impact my own feelings about the baby that we lost. It actually took me a long time to think about it, in some ways, as a baby.

Over the past year I have pretty much worked out, in my own mind, my conflicting feelings about this. I know that the life that was lost did not physically resemble a baby yet, but if you believe in the Catholic view of human life (which I do), then life begins at conception. And each life contains a soul. Is valued and loved by God. But somehow I still had some lingering hesitation about referring to our loss as a miscarriage rather than a “chemical pregnancy” (which makes it sound sort of fake or less important it seems), or to the lost pregnancy as our baby. In discussing it with a dear friend, I even agreed when she said (in a completely well-meaning way), that the hardest part of my miscarriage was the disappointment over the lost anticipation of a baby. I “Mmm-hmmm-ed” when she said that, and that part was hard too, but in my head I thought, “No! The hardest thing was losing a baby!”

But I didn’t say that because I wasn’t sure if my feelings about it were melodramatic. And I didn’t fully realize the continued impact of our cultural views on conception and developing life on my beliefs about my own experience. I cannot believe how much societal messages had skewed my thoughts about abortion and miscarriage, and how difficult these long-ingrained messages have been to sift through and discard. I suspect this is the case for lots of people.

***

Alllll that said, I want to veer off course for a sec to add that I have been very hesitant to write about this topic. Not really because it’s a touchy subject or a “hot button” issue, but because I cannot think about the pro-life movement without also remembering the people who have been affected by abortion. I’m not talking about just the babies. I mean, yes the babies, but also the not-babies. The mamas and daddies and grandparents. ALL the people.

I know people who have had abortions. I love people who have had abortions. And every time I have thought about writing something about abortion since changing my position on the issue to pro-life, I have decided not to, because of them. I really don’t even know if any of them will read this post. But I do know that if I’m fearing that something I write might be hurtful to those I know and love, I also need to think about how it might affect those I don’t know who might read this. I don’t want anyone who has had an abortion, or has considered an abortion, or has wished for an abortion or a miscarriage, or has wished she wasn’t pregnant, to read this and feel judged or shamed or degraded.

Pregnancy is so huge and emotional and scary and awesome, and I cannot pretend to know what it would be like to be pregnant and not want to be. Someone in that situation must need so much. Support, caring, information, understanding, love. . .

I like to think most of the time pro-life people who are trying to argue their position do so kind of like this:

But unfortunately, it sometimes seems more like this:

And I know it’s because people are very passionate about this issue, about defending precious human life. But the lives of the women who consider or have had abortions are precious too, and if we’re fighting for respect of life, we should be respecting all life.

***

Okay. I digress. The point I’m trying to make is this:

The messages that our society at large advances regarding developing babies are so prevalent, and kind of subliminal it seems. Thinking back, I don’t even know when or how I became pro-choice. I did not get pro-choice messages from my parents or others in my family, so I know I began believing this was the right way to think about the issue because of messages from peers, and society, and who knows where else?

Realizing that I spent years supporting a practice that I didn’t fully understand because the mainstream view of it is presented in as much of a watered-down way as possible, and then that I was minimizing my own grief because of the deep-seated beliefs I internalized from years of accepting the cultural status quo on abortion and the “not-a-baby” campaign, shocked me and then made me sad.

To use sugarcoated descriptions of abortion procedures and their outcomes, when discussing them with a woman considering abortion so that she won’t feel “uncomfortable,” is disrespectful and demeaning to her. And the avoidance of ever referring to a developing life as a “baby” in abortion talk and general discussion is marginalizing the experience of the many families who have experienced the pain of loss through miscarriage, as Becky wrote about in the post I linked above.

I wish our cultural messages about life were different. I wish it was the norm to view every life as sacred from the moment it begins, even when it begins in less-than-optimal circumstances. I know that I will continue to work on changing how I talk about it.

It’s official. I’m Catholic!

I have been trying all day to come up with the words to describe Saturday night’s Easter Vigil Mass. I’m falling short. Of course, it was beautiful. It was amazing. It was wonderful. It was awesome. I can think of many other overly-used words that describe the service, and all are true as these words are all true. But none of them are sufficient. My experience at the Mass Saturday night was indescribable. Truly, I do not think I can put into words what it is like to be baptized, then confirmed, then receive first communion all in one night.

But you know I’m going to try anyway, so here goes.

I laughed. I cried. I got drenched. I got oiled. Twice. It was incredible. Joyous. Emotionally wonderful and exhausting.

There was almost complete darkness. There was a huge fire. There were hundreds of candles. The readings and music were some of the most beautiful I have heard. One woman read an extremely long passage about the Israelites’ escape from Egypt. She sang the whole thing. And this was just in the first hour.

After that is when the big things started for me and my friends.

(The water was supposed to be heated but something went wrong. So it wasn’t.)

I can’t quite say what being baptized was like for me. I alternated between fighting back tears and beaming with joy.

And that was only the beginning.

I chose Rita as my confirmation name. Saint Rita is the patroness of impossible cases. I chose her for many reasons, not the least of which is that a year ago I would have said it was impossible that I would become Catholic. Ha!

The best part of the evening was receiving communion with my husband. Walking up to our priest. Receiving the Body of Christ,

the Blood of Christ,

and then returning to kneel, pressed side by side with my husband in thanksgiving and praise, was an experience I will never, never forget.

We are finally home together, in a place of peace and joy, and able to fully worship as a family. What a tremendous blessing.

When the Mass was nearly over, our priest called me in front of everyone to be interviewed about the experience of conversion. I had learned just Saturday morning that this was going to happen. I stood up and told our packed church that I used to be an atheist and explained a little bit of how I came to my desire to become Catholic. I didn’t share the whole experience (the whole story part one, part two, and bonus part three), but I did talk about how my husband lost his voice for six months and that this was one of the events that prompted my search for God and led me home to the Church.

I was nervous and excited and trembling for most of the evening.

I couldn’t believe it when the Mass was over. It all went by so quickly.

As my husband and my sponsor and I waited in the gathering space in the front of our church for my Mother- and Father-in law, Super Friend and her Super Husband to come out, so many kind people approached me to express congratulations and welcome. Strangers shook my hand and hugged me and told me how happy they were for me.

It was a celebration with many of those closest to my heart. Guess who that is?? ^^^

Yes, my sister, my Super Friend was of course with me last night.

The Godmother ^^

My sponsor is an incredible woman who taught me and inspired me so much.

^^Some of the other people who shared this experience with me. After meeting many of them, my Mother-in-law commented that she can understand why I have said I will miss our Monday-night meetings.

^^ My wonderful in-laws made a long trip to be with us.

And the best of all. My heart:

The best part was sharing it all with my husband.

So may people showed such love and support for me in this process. My family and friends, as well as many of you whom I’ve never even met. Thank you so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

It was an evening of joy and grace beyond words. My heart is full.

I read this verse the other day:

“Blessed are you who are now hungry, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who are now weeping, for you will laugh.” Luke 6:21

It made me cry, and it made me smile (and by the way, check me out, quoting the Bible!!). The verse made me think about how I am blessed even in, or maybe especially in, the difficulties my family has experienced in the past year or so.

It is sometimes difficult to think of my miscarriage or my husband’s vocal cord paralysis as blessings, but without those experiences, I may never have found my way to the peace of Christ. These were and are blessings.

I know that this is true because of another, longer-lasting experience that has challenged me, and my faith, every single day for over a year.

Naturally, I went through a period of mourning after my miscarriage. It still makes me sad to think about what might have been, but I feel at peace about it now. And although my husband’s vocal cord paralysis was difficult and scary, after about seven months, his cord recovered and now seems pretty much as good as new.

But those two things are only part of the story. A very important part, yes, but just the beginning. After getting pregnant and losing that pregnancy last January, I have continued to try to get pregnant again. And I have not been able to. I thank God every day for the three precious children I have. But I still ache to have at least one more.

Late last summer after about six months of trying, I began to realize that we might need a little help to be able to conceive again. I went to my doctor, and have since tried Clomid and then Letrozole. I have tried acupuncture. I have tried much larger doses of Letrozole and have given myself shots of some medicine in the stomach. I’ve had ultrasounds, blood tests, and tested my own pee for various hormones more times than any person should really ever have to.

The fertility specialist we finally consulted in February used the term “dwindling egg reserve” or “diminished egg quality” or something like that. She probably said both of those things. I just turned 38 after all. I guess the old eggs aren’t what they used to be.

Diagnosis? Unexplained secondary infertility.

The months of trying and failing at something that once came so easily to me have at times led me to feel despair. The fact that I cannot control this part of my life that I just want to fix has made me feel crazy. But here’s the thing, the part that is beautiful in all this infertility mess:

Being unable to control my fertility, unable to find a solution, unable to have another baby that I want so desperately, has brought me to my knees.

I said my first prayer during a miscarriage. I began to pray regularly when my husband’s vocal cord became paralyzed. But infertility has helped me to really learn about prayer and depending on God and not being in control.

I wrote about it here. How I spent the first several months of praying about this searching for the right way to do it so that God would grant my request. I found out that Saint Gerard is most commonly viewed as the patron saint of infertility and that some people think Saint Rita and Saint Philomena are as well. I really felt drawn to Saint Rita, since she is also the patron saint of hopeless cases. So I asked daily for the intercession of Saints Gerard and Rita and Philomena. I prayed a Saint Gerard novena and one to Saint Rita. I learned about the Chaplet of Hannah’s Tears, a chaplet specifically for infertility. I did all these things trying to find the magic combination that would result in my prayers being answered.

I thought I had found God. I was desperate and begged Him every day for another baby.

I couldn’t figure out why He wasn’t answering me. I didn’t understand what I was doing wrong. I was kind of a mess.

And then the answer came. I understood. It wasn’t that God wasn’t listening or wasn’t responding. He was giving me an opportunity to learn about trust and faith and letting go of control. He was showing His love for me by teaching me humility and patience.

And with this realization, something beautiful came from the longing and fear and repeated disappointments. I found grace through suffering. I found the ability to pray for another baby while at the same time saying, “It’s okay if it’s not Your plan for me.” I began to pray for God to change my desires if they don’t match with what He wants for me. I ask Him now, every day, to help me to hear Him so I can know if He intends for my family to be complete as it is. To help me to do what He wants, even if it’s not what I want.

And this letting go, this handing it over to God, has given me freedom beyond what I ever could have had without it. For the record, I haven’t lost any of my longing for a baby. I haven’t felt like God is telling me that I should give it up. So we keep trying.

Each time I get a negative result on a pregnancy test I still feel a brief sense of despair. The disappointment is still like a punch in the gut. But instead of wallowing in that place for any length of time, I pray. I shut off the noise in my own head, that voice that wails, “This is awful! I’ll never get pregnant! I’m so unhappy/frustrated/mad/demoralized!” and I just pray. “Okay. Not this time. Now what?”

I still have so much to learn. But one thing I know: There is beauty in difficult. There can be peace in painful. If I’m open to God I can feel it. Because it’s Him.