Feb. 17th 2009 God And Religion part 3

The years went by after I lost my mother. I ended up living in a small house in Torrance California. My roommate and best friend of all time Steve and I used to go to his Church like all good Catholics do... Around Christmas and Easter every year. We even went one step beyond that, and went to a few "Youth Masses" on Sunday nights. It had a little more upbeat music, and wasn't crawling with half-dead old people.

St. Lawrence Martyr Catholic Church is a beautiful place of worship in Redondo Beach, Ca.

I liked St. Lawrence so much that I married my lovely wife there. I remember that they made us jump through a few hoops in order to be allowed to have our wedding there. We had to meet with one of the Priests, (lucky for us it was the young one, Father Chris, the cool one) and discuss several topics that the church holds firm to. Topics like premarital sex, contraception, and raising children in the Catholic Church.

By contraception, I mean the lack of it. The Catholic Church made it very clear that it is a sin against God for a married couple to use any kind of birth control whatsoever. Married sex is sacred, and to be enjoyed by the husband, wife, and Jesus. That's right... Jesus too...

Father Chris explained to us (while using a dry erase board) how to successfully utilize the "rhythm method", also known as the "Pull and Pray", or "only have sex a few days prior to the monthly time when the Mrs. has to use products with wings" method.. If you know what I mean....

You see, when a husband and wife have sex, it's not just them in the room. Sex while within the bond of Holy Matrimony is always between a man, a woman, and Jesus.

To this day, I can picture J.C. getting it on with my wife and I in a twisted version of a cosmic threesome....

You ever wonder if J.C. wears underwear under his robe... Well I know...

02/16/09 God and Religion

My family had moved up to Northern California shortly after I went into the Marine Corps in 1993. On Feb. 22nd 1994, I got the call that something was wrong with my mother, and that she was in a small hospital in Watsonville, Ca. I spoke with a nurse, and she advised me that they were doing tests and that I should begin making plans to come up there. I bought tickets for the first flight out of LAX the next morning. But before I even made it to the airport, I had received the word that she was gone.

I have never experienced so much grief and anguish. I prayed that it wasn't so. I prayed to God to not take my mom away. But it was no use, she was gone forever.

We buried her in a small hometown cemetery in Mexico.

It would be almost 10 years before I could even talk about my mom without breaking down in tears.

Over time, I was comforted by the fact that she was in Heaven. She was able to watch over me, and be with me always. Not just in my thoughts, but her spirit was actually with me all of the time. She can hear me. I know this because of what she told me when I was young. Believe in God and let Jesus in your heart, and you will go to heaven. With God all things are possible. She was now my gaurdian angel.

One thing that I've always thought was special is that everyday, in some way, she would show her self to me. Not "actually "Show herself", but she would send me signs.

I would be watching a basketball game and notice that there was only one minute and forty three seconds left in the game, 1:43.

The cost of something was one dollar and forty three cents, $1.43.

It was exactly 14.3 miles to a destination I was driving to.

I kept seeing the number 143 everywhere, everyday. This was special because it was a way for her to tell me "I Love You".

I = 1, Love = 4, and You = 3 letters.

I truly believed without even a shred of doubt that she was telling me that she loves me, and that she was in Heaven with God. Mom could communicate with me from the dead.

It was the only thing that kept me sane. It allowed me to continue without her.

Feb 15th 2009 God and Religion

Let's explore my history as it relates to religion.

I was raised by an Atheist father and Catholic mother. We lived in a poor community just a few miles southwest of Los Angeles.

I was guided by my mothers beliefs. She took my younger brother and I to a nearby Catholic church when we were young. She would attend mass, and my brother and I were sent to Sunday School.

We were really young, and I don't remember a whole lot about the experience. I do remember taking my "First Communion". We had to wait in a long line of kids, and when we got up to the priest, he asked me what sins I had to confess. I told him that I was sorry that I was mean to my little brother sometimes. The Priest made me promise to be nicer, and told me that God would forgive me.

That was it. I was going to get to go to Heaven again!

I remember that the Church was huge. It was cold, and echoed every time someone would drop down one of those little knee pads that people used to kneel on. It felt very sad in there. There was the big statue of Jesus on the cross. His eyes looking up, off to the side, and blood coming from the stakes that were driven into his limbs and the thorns stuck into his head.
Off to the side, there was another statue of Jesus' mom (I think). There were always lots of flowers and gifts and candles burning in front of her. I wondered why we had to dip our fingers in Holy water before entering the Church. I never quite understood the Priest. Most of the time we went to the Spanish Language Mass, and with the echos in the room, and all of the big religious Bible words, I was lost.

One night, my mom (Maria) tucked me into bed. She told me that if I wanted to go to Heaven, all I had to do was believe and let Jesus into my heart, and let him live within me. He would protect me, and guide me. If I did this simple act of faith, I would enjoy everlasting life in Heaven.

I did just that.

I didn't understand much about the Christian Faith. All I knew was that Jesus could talk to God for me, and he would let me into heaven if I believed. Now, if I didn't believe it, well, I would go to Hell.

So I guess the choice was simple. Believe in God or else.

As I grew older, we went to Church less and less. My mother worked long hours as a waitress and rarely had a weekend off, so Sunday Mass was almost always out of the question.

I went through school calling myself a Catholic, not really ever understanding what that met entirely.

In high school, I was exposed to a few different belief systems, but for the most part, Christianity was the norm. I dated a girl who was a Methodist. Her family went to church every week, and volunteered their time during church functions. I got involved with their youth group, and we had a lot of fun. One summer we went up to the tip of Northern California and helped make repairs on the home of a Native American family as a part of Habitat For Humanity. We were up there for just over a week, and we stayed on a church campus. We prayed, and fellowshiped, and sang Christian songs together. All in all it was a very uplifting and positive time for me. I didn't really learn a lot about theology or the basic doctrine of the Christian faith, but I did learn how nice it was to have fun, and be with other kids in a positive and productive environment. I had a great time, and it was a part of church! Wow, why wasn't Catholic stuff fun like this?

Even so, I held on to my Catholic identity all through high school. During my sophomore and junior years, I spent a lot of time with friends who were part of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, (aka Mormons or LDS). The school I went to, (El Segundo High) had a large population of Mormons. With a student body just under 800 at the time, I would say that anywhere from 150 to 250 of the students were Mormon. Now, that's just a complete guess on my part. It could be more, it could be less, but the point I'm trying to make is that there were a lot of Mormon kids.

Many of my closest friends in high school were Mormons. I participated in a youth play and musical every year called "Roadshow". I went to all of their church dances, and spent a lot of time with them. Many of these dear friends I still talk to today. Thanks to Facebook and the internet, I can stay in contact with many of my friends from this time.

One thing that I remember is that they never pressured me to join their church. No one ever tried to convert me, or get me to go to Sunday services. There was never any "sales pitch" or witnessing or anything. They knew I was a Catholic, and they were good with that. We were just normal kids and we had lots of fun together.

All through childhood and after high school I had a very loose and non-descript religious foundation. Looking back on it, I was more of a Monotheist than a Catholic. I believed that there was one God who created everything in the universe. This God was able to watch over me, and hear me, and was in control of things all over the Earth all the time.

But that was about it. I didn't really even learn about the Holy Trinity until later. I don't even remember if I knew that God and Jesus were the same person (being).

But I did believe in God, and Jesus. And I asked him into my heart, so I was good. Right? If I were to get crushed by a bus, I would get to go to Heaven. Even if I had to have a little layover in pergatory (which I really didn't understand either).

My Senior year and for a little while after high school I dated a wonderful girl who will always hold a special plcae in my heart. She ws Catholic too, but was a lot like me in that for her, the world didn't revolve around the church. We didn't really get into discussions about faith and doctrine. It was just something that was there, but not an important part of our days.

I ended up going into the Mairne Corps Reserve in early 1993. During boot camp, they allowed us to go to church services on Sunday morings for an hour. My dawg tags said Roman Catholic on them , so of to Sunday Mass I went. Now, I really didn't get much out of these Sundays either. Basically we would sit there as the Priest went through mass. We took communion and prayed for our families back home, and prayed that God would help us throught he rest of boot camp.

And that was it. A lot of crying and homesickness, then back to the barracks where we paid the price for our little vaction from the drill instructors with sweat.

One Sunday, we had Conformation. I "sponsoered" one of my buddies. Don't ask me what that meant because to this day I still don't know, but I do know now that I wasn't "supposed" to sponsor him. I guess, since I hadn't been to confession in like 10 years, I wasn't prepared to sponsor someone. Hell, I wasn't even supposed to take Holy Communion. I found out later that it is a serious sin to take communion without first getting right with God through confession.

Oops. Who knew?

So anyway, after boot camp and several other schools, I went back home to my old life. The Marine Corps had me for about 4 days a month and 3 weeks in the summer. Things were good.

Then one morning in Feburary of 1994, I lost my mom. She died suddenly of a brain anyerisum.

It's an understatement to say that I was devastated. It was a very dark time for me.