As I sat last night, listening to the drone of promises and incorrect facts during the RNC, something became very apparent to me. I am suffering from sensory overload. Too much information, too many statistics, too much rhetoric, just too much, too much. Couple that with my every day life which is on full tilt and the end result is a woman who could, potentially, implode at any given moment or simply slump into a heap of uncontrollable sobbing – neither of which seems like a plausible solution. So what do I do with all of these issues floating around inside my head like fish in an aquarium? I have come to some semblance of a solution. Let me address one issue at a time, lest I bore you into sweet slumber.
I, simply by virtue of who I am, absorb everything around me. Everyone’s problems become my problem. Everyone’s happiness becomes my happiness. Everyone’s worry becomes my worry. You get the idea. And while I can’t change my DNA, I can make simple – and severe – behavior modifications which will enhance my life immeasurably. My new credo will be, “one and done.” I will address anything that bothers me and, when either there is resolution or I can go no further in trying to find resolution, I will let it go. Yes, Let It Go, Elsa. A purging of sorts so that the problem does not drag me down. Because my brain enjoys nothing more than re-hashing old problems, old issues, unresolved problems. I’m installing the sound of a flushing toilet inside my head and when that sound resonates, everything leaves with it. Hello, Ty-D-Bowl Man. Goodbye, useless stressing and worrying.
First. This issue with my former parish. This is a prime example of something that I need to just let it go. It was what it was, it is what it is, it will be what it will be. It’s that simple. You see, for those who are not aware, there is a wolf in sheep’s clothing leading the parish of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton in the form of a Pastor. A cut throat priest who will do what he needs to do in order to make his black soul shine in the eyes of the Diocese of Wilmington. Which doesn’t take much because said Diocese cut Fr. Roger DiBuo from their own cloth. Specifically, the priest took a hatchet and a blow torch to the Religious Education Program and with no warning or reason, and just burned it to the ground. He fired “middle management” in order to make room for a new program that was, “his.” The program had no form, no structure, nothing tangible that could be reviewed but it was all “mapped out” in his mind. Laughable because the man never had a thought about the parents or children who were the benefactors of the former program, other than the occasional “high-five” to the children returning to class from Community Prayer. You know, the man in the gathering area who was in his shorts. His tee shirt. Sans Collar. Wearing sneakers. Yes, the guy who could be mistaken for the gardener. That’s the one. But in this lesson, I learned something valuable. That not only do the parishioners not care (except for those directly involved in the RE Program, i.e., the directors who were slaughtered and the catechists who were left stranded, teacher’s manual in hand, without a clue as to what or how or where to teach the following year) because the people like their heads in the sand. People don’t want to know. They don’t care. Just keep your eyes forward, don’t waver from the path, following the man who is smiling, and all will be well. But I was made differently. I was made to question. To want an explanation. To not accept “what will be, will be” like some lemming who’s ready to go over the cliff because the other lemmings have done the same. So, I wrote the Diocese of Wilmington. The Bishop and two Vicars. They were received as I had been notified by the office staff. Their response? Nothing. Not a word. Nada. Why? Because the parish runs in the black and that’s all that matters. Oh, ok, got it. So, the christian values spewed forth on Sunday mornings from the pulpit, like venom from a poisonous snake, the “Be the face of Christ,” the “follow the 10 Commandments, always do the right thing, and the What Would Jesus Do?” doctrine only applies to those who take those things to heart. Oh, wow.
So, I leave my story of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton right here. Will I pursue the Diocese of Wilmington more? No. Could I pursue it? Sure. I contemplated writing to the Archbishop of Baltimore to lodge my complaint. But, why? Call the Diocese and request a meeting. Why? So I can be frustrated even more because I know the outcome already? These jokers don’t care. It comes down to whether or not Roger is making money for the parish. Period. If he is, then screw you the parishioner because that boy ain’t going nowhere! I lived. I learned. You see, I am a practicing cradle Catholic. My children were raised Catholic. I have one last child needing to make one last sacrament and that will happen next year at another church. And then I shall blend into the walls like so many others. I go to mass. I leave. Don’t ask me anything. Don’t ask me to do anything. Because I know in my heart, just as sure as I type this, that if Christ himself turned over tables in the Temple because the people were using His Father’s house as a casino instead of a place of worship, I can only imagine what He thinks of the people down here, running His Father’s house like bullies on self-serving play yard or corporate business. No. I want no part of that. I will not participate in that shameful behavior. For my sanity. My peace of mind. Because this is step #1 in just letting it go.