Faith vs. Superstition

On my lunch break I hopped in my car and drove over to St. Maximilan Catholic Bookstore in downtown Elk River. I asked the mild-mannered lady behind the counter if she sold "little St. Joseph statues." She asked if I was trying to sell my house, and then got up and pulled a smallish box out of a drawer behind the counter. I thought, but didn't actually say:

Are St. Joseph statues in such hot demand that you have to keep them behind the counter? I mean, who's gonna steal a little plastic statue?

I told her that I'd heard it works. She said, "Sure, if you have faith and aren't superstitious about it." Uh oh. Am I that transparent? I thought for sure I was busted. She then handed over the box, but I thought I detected some trepidation as she did so.

I took the box and commented on how cute he is. After that I thought for sure she was going to take him away from me. I hurriedly paid $8.50 and got out of there, feeling a bit like a heathen.

I found I couldn't wait to get home and meet the little statue I've affectionately nicknamed Joe.

Here's what I got for my $8.50:

I pulled Joe out of the box and discovered three small sheets of paper: An Introduction to the Saint Joseph Home Sale Practice, A Petition to St. Joseph (a prayer, basically), and the original Prayer to St. Joseph (over 1900 years old!). On the back of that last one was an address to which I could send a donation, should I graciously decide to share my good fortune with the Pious Union of St. Joseph.

I read over all the papers to see if there were any specific instructions I should follow. Finding none, I decided to bury Joe in a vacant portion of my backyard garden. I grabbed the statue, my shoes, and my camera and trekked outside.

It took me a few seconds to decide on an appropriate garden spot for Joe. I decided on the empty carrot bed, as it was closest to my house. I grabbed the garden trowel and dug a hole:

I gently placed Joe right-side up in the hole and covered him with dirt. I even remembered to mark him so I would know where to find him later:

And then, because I really want to try and be faithful rather than superstitious, I stood there next to the garden and recited aloud the Petition to St. Joseph:

Dear St. Joseph, head of the most perfect household, foster father of Jesus and guardian of His mother Mary, I confidently place myself and all my concerns under your care and protection. I ask that, through your powerful intercession with God, you obtain for me all the help and graces that I need for my spiritual and temporal welfare and in particular, the special favor I now ask: the prompt sale of my home.

Good St. Joseph, I know with confidence, that your prayers on my behalf will be heard by God, and if it is His Will, it will be done.

Thank you St. Joseph, for having responded to my call.

Amen.

I don't think any of my neighbors saw me doing this, but if they happened to look outside, they probably think I'm a little cuckoo. Okay, a lot cuckoo.

But hey. You do what you gotta do, right? Here's hoping St. Joseph heard me and decides to send a little mojo my way.

I'll Try (Almost) Anything Once.

I'm not Catholic. My dad comes from a long line of Catholics, even went to Catholic school. Me, not so much. My feelings about the Catholic church have always been complicated, even though I've never understood why. Maybe something about that dream I had as a kid where the Jesus on the crucifix turned into a big bad gorilla, and I had to hide amongst the bikes in the parking lot bike rack to keep from being eaten.

But that's an entirely different blog post.

I'm considering another brush with Catholicism as I try like hell to sell my house. That's right...St. Joseph and I are about to become good friends.

St. Joseph is the Catholic patron saint of family and household. They tell me that if I bury a 4-inch plastic statue of the guy upside-down in my yard, and then pray to him, that my house will sell quickly. Um, what?

Now, I'm not the superstitious type. Nor am I Catholic. I'm having some difficulty understanding how this could possibly work. How on earth can there be any spiritual significance to a mass-produced plastic statue that comes in a kit? I mean, really? But everyone I've talked to swears by it, including a close Jewish friend of mine who says her mom's and her grandmother's house sold after they planted St. Joseph in the yard.

That's good enough for me.

Tomorrow I'm going to swing by the local Catholic bookstore and pick me up a St. Joseph kit. I'll bring it home, bust out the garden trowel, and bury him upside-down in the yard. According to the kit's instructions, of course. And then...I'll pray.

St. Joseph, send some mojo my way.

This Is My New Reality.

I'm sitting here in a camp chair on my empty deck, smoking a cigarette (yep, I fell right off the bandwagon) and drinking V8 V-Fusion straight out of the bottle. It's a nice overcast evening, my beloved kiddos are in bed sawing logs, and I'm reflecting on my life as it is today.

In case you haven't heard, it's a lot different now.

I'm on the path to becoming a single woman again. I won't go into specifics; just know that it has been a long time coming. It sucks, I'm sad and mad and hurt and perplexed and tired and hopeful and optimistic (I got the salad bowl of emotions going these days), but I also know it's for the best. I've spent the last few weeks with my head in the sand, trying to figure out what happened and what to do next. I don't know that I've come even close to figuring anything out yet, but I'm making slow progress.

Shawn moved out a month ago. We have our house on the market and have had 5 showings in six weeks -- way better activity than I expected. We're splitting time with our kids 50/50; one week on, one week off. This is probably the most difficult thing I've done in my personal history. When the kids are gone, I miss them terribly. I mope around for an entire week, not knowing what the hell to do with myself because caring for them is literally all I have done for the last three years. When they're with me, I'm whole again -- but finding out how hard a job single parenting is. I feel like a half-time parent, which breaks my heart.

(Umm, neighbor with the fireworks? You just scared the bejesus out of me. Thank you very much.)

So it's been an adjustment, and will continue to be for a long, long time. Right now I'm not sure I'll ever get used to splitting time with my kids.

Beyond that, though, I'm feeling pretty good about what lies ahead of me. I have a lot of work to do paying off debt, healing, and reestablishing myself...but I'm not afraid. I'm excited to start moving ahead. The only thing holding me back is the house. Once it sells, watch out. :)

I also sometimes wonder if love will ever find me again, and what that would be like. I'm no spring chicken anymore. In fact, I find more and more white in my hair every day. I've been out of the game for so long that I might have forgotten how to play it. How many single guys my age are even out there? But then again, that kind of thinking is premature. I have a lot of healing to do first before I can even think of sharing myself with someone again.

So. This is my new reality. Like it or not, it's what I have to work with. I'm fortunate to have a wonderful support system; without my family and friends' love and support, I would not be able to get through this. I love you all more than I could ever tell you.