The First Communion

     One of the sacraments that a person growing up in the Catholic faith looks forward to is the First Communion.  While attending mass services as a young child I remember seeing lines of older people and some older youths swaying slowly side to side, penguin-style towards the front to receive the Eucharist.  Those waiting in line and those returning to their seats join in singing to the song that was projected onto the front screen at the front of the church.  I couldn't wait until it was my turn to join in on this procession. 

     Second grade at St. Thomas Aquinas was the time we started to train for our sacrament of the First Communion.  It was a right of passage.  No longer during our Thursday church service did we sit and watch the third graders go up and receive the body and blood of Christ but we were about to join them in doing so.  This somehow made us older, more responsible young children.  We could do something that first graders and under couldn't do.  It was a feeling of a secret club that only those who receive the sacrement could share in on.  We all anxiously awaited for our Sunday to receive this sacrament.

     Mrs. Stingline was our teacher and the other second grade teacher was Sister Angelisha.  Mrs. Stingline was an older teacher but still was wonderful with children.  She would stand up in front of the class with a roll of the host and show us how to hold our hands, one on top of the other with palms facing up.  "This is the body of Christ" which she instrusted us to reply by saying, "Amen".

     The role the bread was in reminded you of a package of Ritz Crackers in its package.  We were informed to place it whole in our mouths and not take bites from it.  She said that at first it wasn't a taste we would like at first but after a while we would get used to it.  One classmate made a yuck face when it was his turn to take the host.  Mrs. Stingline scolded him saying it was very disrespectful to do so to the body of Christ and he would have to straighen up his look if he wanted to have his First Communion.  Those after him knew to hide their distasteful looks. 

     Then it was my turn to line up and fold my hands the proper way and wait for the line to which I was ready to say Amen.  Mrs. Stingline placed the host in my hands.  I looked at the waffer and thought it looked big and I would probaby choke on it.  I placed it in my mouth and to my suprise it all fit.  It stuck between my tongue and the roof of my mouth.  It was like I was tasting styrofoam.  I made the sign of the cross and quietly walked myself back to my seat.  It wasn't the best moment of my life but if this is what needs to be done then it needs to be done. 

     Next we lined up and learned about the blood of Christ or the wine.  While in training we use grape juice.  She said if we weren't comfortable receiving the blood of Christ we could pass but only after the First Communion.  At our church we were told that we shared a cup which the rim was wiped with a cloth after each sip.  Mrs. Stingline would tell us, "This is the blood of Christ" and we replied, "Amen" and take a small sip.  I think we were all thinking the same thing - I hope no one backwashes!

     We all couldn't take our sacrament at the same time.  It was done all throughout the spring Sundays in church.  Our parents and teachers arranged the dates in which our teacher displayed it proudly in the classroom.  On Thursday service after someone received their First Communion those students would rise up when the usher okayed that row of seats to go forth to receive the body and blood of Christ.  They were excited to join in on the older peers leaving the rest of us envious in our seats. 

     Finally it was my turn.  April 21, 1985.  My friend Melissa was joining in with me to receive this sacrament.  I had a white frilly dress with a real daisy corsage and headpiece.  My mom done up hair up in curlers which I know I must of fought her on as I hated having my hair done up.  I had a small white purse to hold a small first communion pockt book and the order of mass.  My friend Melissa, a few others, and I had reserved seating in the front row.  The priest called us up to the front steps for us to kneel on as he prayed over us.  Then he personally gave each one of us Eucharist with real wine.  It was done.  We now are able to receive communion in church.  We instantly felt older.  Afterwards we celebrated by going out to eat either at the Howard Johnson resturant or the Texan.  We returned home and celebrated some more with some presents.  The following Thursday at school during church it was my turn to stand up and walk slowly to the front to receive the bread and wine.  And proudly I did go. 



I (age 8) standing in front of St. Thomas Aquinas Church in Saginaw, Mi.



L to R:  My sister Lisa, my mom, my brother Marc and me.



My good friend Melissa and I.



L to R: Nonnie (my grandmother), my grandpa and me.



    



I was looking at the Children's Catholic Bible which I still have and treasure. 





A Bible Book I received for my First Communion



     I take for granted the training I had to receive eucharist.  We now attend a Baptist church and we don't have a ceremony for the First Communion.  Children go to Sunday school up until third grade then they stay with the family during church after that.  On the first Sunday of the month the church does communion.  I recently had our son with us during this time.  I didn't realize I didn't prepare him for what to expect.  Instead of walking up to the front of the church to receive a waffer we sat in our seats while a platter of chicklet size bread is passed around.  I motion for James to take one.  I looks up at me confused.  I told him to just hold it and listen to the pastor.  The pastor tells us how Jesus wanted us to remember Him by the last supper and that this was Jesus' body and to eat in rememberance of Him.  Then we ate the bread.  James' eyes grew really wide.  James is the type of boy who takes things literally.  "This is Jesus' body?" he asked me nervously.  He ate it but wanted to spit it out.  I told him he had to swallow it quickly. 



     I couldn't help but chuckle.  I explained that it was in memory of and it really wasn't Christ's body.  Then the small cups of juice was passed around.  James was telling me how tiny these cups are.  "Is this to wash down the bread?" he asks.  When the pastor explained about the blood Christ I couldn't help but snicker.  I knew James was going to question that.  Sure enough James looked at me with a worried look.  I told him it was really juice but we are to remember how Christ sacrificed himself for our sins.  He quickly drank up the juice.  "Yum!" he declares, "Can I have seconds?"   I quickly shushed up James and prayed real hard to Jesus to help hold in my laughter during service.  

     As an adult I now understand what communion really means.  It means that Christ gave himself up for our sins.  He is the Livng Bread in which we shall never go hungry again.  The word of the Lord shall dwell in us forever.

Broken Cross Awakening

 I was raised Catholic.  It is in my blood.  My great great great grandfather Peter DeRome was studying to become a priest in Montreal, Canada sometime in the 1850's.  He became ill and fell in love with his nurse, Margaret LaChance and married her in 1855.  I have past relatives who help establish Holy Cross Church in Saginaw, Mi.  I even had a relative, Ruth Pelon (1st cousin 3 times removed), who became a Dominican Nun as Sister Ursuline for the 84 years in Grand Rapids, Mi.  She past away when she was 101 years old.  My mother was once disciplined by her mother for saying the Act of Contrition wrong.  The school was teaching a new way of saying it and her mother was very upset by the fact they changed it.  During Lent we were forbidden to eat meat of Friday and we had to give something up.  During Advent we lit the Advent wreath - 3 pink candles and 1 purple candle...or was it the other way around.  I don't remember. 

Act of Contrition

O my God,
I am heartily sorry for
having offended Thee,
and I detest all my sins,
because I dread the loss of heaven,
and the pains of hell;
but most of all because
they offend Thee, my God,
Who are all good and
deserving of all my love.
I firmly resolve,
with the help of Thy grace,
to confess my sins,
to do penance,
and to amend my life.

Amen.

     I am no longer a practicing Catholic.  I have been baptized, made my First Communion, and received the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  I attended a Catholic school from Kindergarten up to 6th grade then again in 9th and part of my 10th grade year.  It wasn't until my 7th or 8th grade year did I start slipping away from the Catholic church.  God sent me a message loud and clear.

     At the time I couldn't quite put my finger on why I started to slide away from the church.  For me something wasn't sitting right.  I began to question the reasons we do certain rituals and said the same prayers over and over.  I felt like a robot regurgitating what teachers and priests told us to say.  To me it felt hollow.  I don't think I ever opened up a Bible until my 9th grade year and that was more of a history lesson rather than the meaning behind it.  We had Bibles at the house but it was something you didn't need to read.  The teachers told us the stories we needed to learn.  That was all there was to it.  I had no one to turn to to ask why we do certain things.  Everyone I knew was Catholic.  Why do we have to say so many Hail Mary's and Our Father's to be forgiven?  What if I had nothing to tell the priest during confession?  I was a child.  Am I supposed to do wrong things so I could tell the priest something?  What if I lied about my confession just so I had one?  Would that be wrong?  The endless thoughts started to suffocate me. 

     That is when I started to dabble in the occult.  It fascinated me.  I was learning about the lines on my palms, how many children were in my future, how many times I would get married.  I would even ask my friends if they had a hope line because not everyone had one.  I would ask the stars in the night sky for special favors in my life.  When they were granted I felt like the stars were making it happen.  Objects began to have spirits to them.  The four basic elements Earth, Wind, Fire and Water was all that I needed.  I had control of what happened.  Not God, not the church, and not my family.  I remember going to the library and checking out books and learning about different signs, chants and  symbols and how those signs can give me joy, love, fertility, beauty, wits, etc.  It gave me a false peace. How foolish I was. 

     One day it all changed.  I was sitting alone in my room reading some occult books with several candles placed around me.  It was dark but the candles illuminated enough so I could read.  I wanted to feel that power, control, in me.  On the other side of the room came a loud BANG!  It jolted me upright.  I looked over and my crucifix fell off my wall.  This crucifix, that I received on my First Communion six years prior had been hanging snuggly on my wall ever since.  I was not jumping around or making any vibrations to cause it to fall.  It just fell.  An awful chill ran up my spine when I realized what fell.  I ran out of my room lightning speed.  I did what any 13 year old would do when terrified.  I ran to mom.  She found it amusing since she wasn't liking what I was doing anyway.  I couldn't go back into my room until the next day.  I slept out on the couch that night.  I wanted to hide, especially from God because I knew I was disobeying His word. 

     I had my mom go with me into my room the next day.  We went over and picked the crucifix off the floor and to hang it back up on the wall.  When I picked it up the arm of Jesus broke off from his body.  Guilt like I never imagined swept across me.  I broke Jesus' arm.  I caused him pain.  I didn't want it back on my wall.  I didn't want in my room as a reminder of what I did.  Mom disposed of the cross disappointed in me I am sure. 



     Almost instantly I stopped dealing with the occult.  It was like God giving me a stern message that what I was doing was wrong.  Don't get me wrong, I wasn't a Christian overnight.  My walk with the Lord during my adolescence was more like a roller coaster ride than a walk.  I did plently of backsliding trying to figure out what my life had in store and what God wanted for me.  To this day God is still working on me but I have come a long way.

     A few years ago for my birthday my mom handed me a present.  I open up the gift bag and there was my crucifix...with the arm still broken.  Fear quickly came upon me.  Then I took a breath.  I realized I was saved and I shouldn't be afraid anymore.  I looked at his arm.  I was able to swing it around and make it whole again.  Just like me.  I was once broken but through Jesus, He has made me whole.  I keep my cross on my dresser as a reminder for my broken years and now I am now complete with God in my life.  My mom recently asked why I don't hang it up on my bedroom wall.  I told her I don't think I could bare it if Jesus fell down again.  I am not perfect but I don't want my sins to give me a wake-up call like they did when I was 13.



                                                                      

Remembering the Challenger Explosion

     There are times in our lives when an event impacts us so much that when we hear about it, we are transported directly back in time to that day.  We remember small details that would seem meaningless any other time.  It could be a personal memorable moment or a national moment.  One of those moments for me happened on January 28th 1986 - The Challenger Explosion.

     This blog entry is dedicated to those who died in the Challenger. 
 In the back row, from left, mission specialist Ellison S. Onizuka, Teacher in Space Participant Sharon Christa McAuliffe, Payload Specialist Greg Jarvis and Mission specialist Judy Resnik. In the front row, from left, Pilot Mike Smith, Commander Dick Scobee, and Mission specialist Ron McNair.

     I was two weeks shy of my 9th birthday, in the third grade at St. Thomas Aquinas School in Saginaw, Mi.  Sister Sandy was one of the third grade teachers.  A lot of our class discussion that year was about how the space program was on a mission to send a teacher up and teach a class from space.  The teacher, Christa McAuliffe, we learned, was an average person, a wife, mother and teacher, that was selected by NASA to be a part of this historic event.  We were all mesmerized by the romance of the space program.  Many of my classmates wanted to become astronauts, myself included.  We would study all about the space program, first man on the moon, first air walk, how spacecrafts evolved.  Sister Sandy was one of the first teachers who discussed current events in our classroom. 

     It was the day of January 28th, 1986.  The day was like any other day.  I knew many of the adults were getting excited about the launching of the Challenger.  The junior high school students at St. Thomas Aquinas were all gathering together to watch it on TV.  We were a bit disappointed that we wouldn't be able to watch it ourselves.  Our lunch hour was at 11:30 and Sister Sandy excused herself to watch it with the other teachers in the teacher's lounge.  It was common for the students to eat lunch in the classroom and the teacher would go to the lounge before we would head outside to play.  On this day, it was biter cold and our recess was to be indoors. 

     We played and ran around the room and goofed off like what any other third grader would do on their indoor lunch break.  Everyone was enjoying their break.  Sister Sandy came into the classroom and we all scurried to our desks, even though we knew it was still a lunch break but no one wanted to be caught horsing around and getting into trouble.  We could tell she had been crying.  The room got serious real fast.  Something was the matter we just didn't know what. 

     Sister Sandy explained that there was terrible news.  The other teachers and herself were watching the launch in the lounge.  She informed us that something went wrong and the shuttle exploded and they believe everyone on board died.  A numbness filled the room.  It was so quiet that the ticking of the clock seemed loud at that moment.  Lesson plans were put away for the rest of the day.  We focused on talking about the accident.  I think Sister Sandy needed to talk about it as much as we students did. 

     Soon it was time to get ready to go home.  Usually we rush out to the hallways to get our snowgear, boots and bookbags.  Instead I grabbed my friend, Melissa, and told her we need to pray.  Under the crucifix hanging on the wall we knelt down, made the sign of the cross, In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen, and prayed for those who had died in the explosion and comfort for their families.  We followed it by reciting the Our Father Prayer then arose and walked quietly out to the hallway to gather our belongings.  Sister Sandy stopped us at the doorway and wondered what we were doing.  I simply told her we were praying.  She gave us huge hugs. 

     I got off the bus and went inside.  My mom, and my grandparents were already gathered in front of the the console TV.  They watched the whole thing and couldn't pull themselves away from the TV.  I sat myself on the couch and that is when I first seen the pictures of it.  I think I must of gasped by the horror of it all and then the realization that their families were probably in the crowd of people watching right there in Florida.  I couldn't imagine what it would be like seeing someone you loved, either a friend or a family member die like that and they were watching, powerless to help.  How do you walk away from something so tragic like that?  They would of had to scrape me off the stands. 

     Time marched on and as a nation we healed our wounds.  Five years later I was able to go to Washington D.C. for a class trip.  Walking through Arlington National Cemetery I came upon the Challenger Memorial.  I paused for a moment reliving the day all over again.  Their faces etched on the memorial gave tribute to those that lost their lives that day will never be forgotten.