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Sparkle (2)
This past Sunday, I told my oldest child that I was thinking about going to church. I don’t go often. She asked me in a very serious voice to be sure to pray for her sister. I was surprised by this and jokingly asked her if she wanted me to pray for her sisters soul. She said, “Yeah mommy.” I asked her why, and she told me that when the girls attended a memorial service for a friend earlier in the week, she was saddened that her sister didn’t seem to know the words to the prayers that are so deeply instilled in me that I can recite them in my sleep; that she didn’t take communion; and that she didn't even seem to remember when to stand, when to kneel or how to pray.
She totally caught me off guard -- I felt like she kicked me in the stomach. Wow… Where did that come from? I didn't go to church on Sunday after all. I have spent the past couple of days reflecting on what she said. Although I am comfortable with my own spirituality and my relationship with God, I am not so comfortable with the fact that I have evidently broken my promise to my daughter’s birth mother.
Twenty two years ago when this precious baby girl was placed in my arms, I was given the most amazing gift. Her birth mother trusted me to raise her child, provide for her, protect her and love her unconditionally. She asked for just one single thing in return… That I raise her child as a Catholic.
From the day we brought her home, she was raised just as my husband and I were raised: in a good, Catholic home. One of her Uncles is a priest and he baptized her within the first month. I took her to church and she learned all of her prayers. She made her first confession and she brought me to tears when we celebrated her first communion. We recognized all of the holy days of obligation and to this day, we say grace every night before dinner. She attended a Catholic pre-school and kindergarten and I taught CCD classes. For years, her religious life was happy, consistent and never questioned.
When she started high school, she started playing basketball. Everything she did revolved around her team, her games and her friends. She loved it. It was the most important thing in the world to her. We supported her, attended her games, and encouraged her to give it her best and most of all to have fun.
As a freshman, she attended CCD classes to prepare for her confirmation which she would make the following year. No problem. When she became a sophomore, the evening CCD classes conflicted directly with her basketball schedule. Big, BIG problem. Here was a kid that ate slept and breathed basketball. She was on the varsity team and there was no question that she was doing what she loved.
I called every church in town to try and find classes that might be held on a Sunday after Mass. Nothing. Every single one only offered CCD class during the week, after dinner.
I sat down with her and told her I was sorry. She would have to speak to her coach as there was no way she was going to miss her CCD classes and not make her confirmation. She didn't argue. She knew my position. She knew about my promise. Her coach however, saw things differently. She needed to be at every practice and every game or she was off the team. Period.
And so it began… The crying, the screaming, and the begging. There was door slamming and foot stomping. There was my precious baby girl, curled-up in a ball on her bed, truly heartbroken. As adamant as I was that she attend CCD, she was adamant that I was ruining her life. It was a complete and utter disaster. Because it’s what I’ve always taught my kids they need to do, it was now my turn and we decided to compromise.
She would stop going to CCD, remain on the team, and attend adult CCD classes when she got out of high school. This was a huge compromise for me. I felt sad that she wouldn't be making her confirmation with all of the other kids her age; and guilty that I was not living up to the promise I had made to her birth mother. I believe that my promise
