Splinters of the Cross

I've been dreaming about what it would have been like to be brought up into a good Catholic family.

There would be children upon children. There wouldn't be enough bedrooms so we'd all have bunk beds. I'd take the top if it had a guard to make sure I wouldn't roll off in the middle of the night. We'd all go to Mass together and extended family would come to our house afterwards and we'd all have potato salad and sweet tea. The kids would get splinters from running around the lawn without shoes. We'd see rainbows through the sprinklers.

But alas, that is not what happened, and that wasn't God's plan. I'd have to find Christ the hard way. Or, maybe even the Jewish way (funny!), through a young Jewish peasant girl who would be Our Blessed Mother.

I appreciate my journey for all that it was and all that it will develop into...but some days I can't help but wish I had grown up with the faith.

I can understand how difficult my parents must have took my conversion...but anything even more extreme, (a slight mention of *maybe* an interest in religious life) has completely sent them over the edge. So tonight, with a plea to go visit a cloistered order..just to visit...nothing else...I found my mother shaking her head telling me I needed help.

But it's okay. I shall move forward. I second guess myself when these things happen sometimes. I need to remember that even though I have an obligation to my parents, and their opinions matter very much, (I love them with all my heart!) I need not second guess my love for God as having troubles in my life and needing "help."

I know that as long as I'm following His will, and accept all that He has given me (even those bitter times that are just splinters of my own wooden cross), I will make Him very happy and that's all that I care about.