I am Catholic.

I don’t talk about my faith too much here.  In fact, aside from number 4 on my 30 before 30 list, I’m not sure I’ve mentioned it at all.  It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it.  It’s just that it seems, well, kind of personal.  I prefer to be one of those people who shows her faith through acts of love instead of running my mouth about it.  Still, as Lent, the most important liturgical season begins, I’m feeling inclined to talk about it, complex as it may be.

I consider myself a liberal Catholic, if there is such a thing.  Growing up, I attended a parish that is not really known for strictly adhering to Roman Catholic guidelines.  (We actually *gasp* didn’t even have kneelers until a few years ago!)  Yes, the core components of the faith are there, but sometimes, a woman would gets us and gives the homily.  Teens are invited to plan their own liturgies and music is joyful and lively.  People are loved and accepted as they are, and there isn’t a whole lot of judgment.  I consider myself lucky to have grown up attending a church like this.  The endless quest for a church closer to home has taught me that most Catholic churches aren’t quite like it. 

My inability to wake up to my alarm clock on the weekends makes me wish I felt inspired by the church that is just a five minute trip, door to door.  However, my desire to feel happier, better, smarter, and more fulfilled when I leave Mass keeps me going back to the parish where I grew up, even if that means an hour (round-trip) in the car on Sundays.  And so, some weekends, I “church shop.”  When I get sick of shopping, I head back home.  When I get sick of the drive, I shop again.  I just hope to get it sorted out sometime soon — all this jumping from place to place has me feeling quite restless.

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