Confessions of this Gal's Sinful Heart

Last post I wrote about labels and because of my experience in the Miss Teen Pageant I labeled myself "Disqualified".  Unfortunately, that isn't the only label I've owned.  For the last several months there has been a possibility of adopting Lexi's three year old biological sister.  Ever since I knew she was born, I have prayed she would be ours.  Recently that dream has been squelched.  Although it's likely the state will terminate her mother's rights, this baby has a different father than our daughter and the state has decided to allow him to retain his.  So she will remain unadoptable. Before we adopted Lexi I went through a painful process of infertility.  When I received the diagnosis of Poly cystic Ovarian Syndrome, and was unable to conceive I had to put a name to my condition.  I couldn't accept that this was beyond my doing so instead I chose to impose a new and more horrible label "damaged goods"....

Many of us wear labels across our foreheads.   Some are written in washable ink, others are deeply engraved into the skin.   They tell our story.   Some may say, “ ABUSED ”.   Others say “ ABANDONED ”.   No matter what our labels say, in our minds they define us and describe who we believe we are… In the summer of my seventeenth year, I got a letter in the mail.   It went something like this, “Dear Miss Joanne LaSorella, We are happy to inform you that you have nominated you to participate in the Miss Teen Florida Pageant.” I thought, “Me???   Miss Teen Florida?   Is this real?    Maybe some of the jerks at school are playing a cruel “Carrie” joke on me.”   But no, since my town didn’t require a preliminary competition, it was legit.   I never competed in a beauty pageant before.   Even with no experience and little talent I  desperately wanted to participate.   I knew my parents couldn’t afford to send...

I clung to my mother most of my young life and this day was no different. I didn’t want her to leave me and I certainly didn’t want to be there, but my religious education had to begin so she left me in the not-so capable hands of Sister Mary Elizabeth at Our Lady of Angels to begin my weekly CCD classes. Lessons aimed at teaching us about Jesus’ sacrifice and preparing our young hearts and minds to become the brides and grooms of Christ in First Holy Communion. Growing up Catholic I knew who Jesus was. He was the guy hanging from the crucifix on the altar of the church. He was the man I was told that I had killed because of my sins. He was the man I was to fear because if I didn’t believe in Him I would go to Hell. Back then the Catholic Church was different than today. This was the 70’s; nuns were still smacking kid’s knuckles for saying bad words or not memorizing a prayer. A few weeks into my “lessons” a terrible thing happened. A school book from the desk I sat at had gone ...

A few weeks ago a friend was in distress.  She was going through a situation with a fellow church goer who was verbally attacking her for seemingly no reason.  While trying to offer her some Godly guidance she couldn't hear me because she was constantly asking, "Why?"  "I don't understand, why is she doing this to me?"  "What did I do to deserve this?"  She was so focused on trying to analyze the "why" of the situation she was unable to hear what God wanted me to say to her.  We often do the same thing with God.  "Why God why?"  "When God When?"  "Who God Who?"  "What about this?"  "What about that?"  "How could this have happened?"  "Why did you allow this to happen to me?"  We want to analyze this, that and everything else until we completely understand the what, the why, and the how in an effort to avoid future pain, loss and disappointment.  I have been there, d...