The Zookeeper's Wife: A Movie for Our Times

Never in my life have I feared war coming to America. Not during the second peak of Cold War hysteria in the 1980s; not after 9/11. Until recently. The 2016 Presidential election changed that. So much vitriol and hate from both sides. People vowing to take up arms if Hillary Clinton were elected. Attacks on black churches, synagogues, Jewish Community Centers. Indian software engineers being shot and murdered while out enjoying happy hour after work because someone mistook them for being Muslim. Muslim girls who are afraid to wear their hijab in public because of being spat upon or worse. Sometimes, the fear and anxiety the news causes me makes me feel as if I cannot breathe. In fact, I have literally stopped consuming news at the level I did prior to the election. It's too overwhelming.

Still...as a Catholic I cannot look away. I was called to become Catholic because of the Church's focus on social justice. I had never seen a church so reflective of Christ's love and compassion for the outsider, the poor, the lonely and broken. Not to say there haven't been missteps and wrongs committed by the Catholic Church. However, it seems each successive Pope has worked to right many of those wrongs, with Pope Francis going farthest of all. In fact, the Jesuit parish of St. Agnes, recently announced that it is a sanctuary parish, working to uphold the dignity of immigrants. Jesuits are an order of Catholic priests who are called to live out their relationship with Jesus in the real world.

Blessing of the doors at St. Agnes parish in San Francisco: 

Give us the courage to open these doors and the doors of our hearts to all who knock and seek refuge.

It is from that frame of reference for my personal faith, that I often wonder if I would have the courage to stand up and defend my black, brown, gay, lesbian, or trans brothers and sisters who might be attacked publicly? Am I willing to sacrifice my freedom to take in friends who might be undocumented or accused of some crime (that isn't really a crime) if ICE came for them? Am I willing to put myself between a peaceful protester and someone trying to attack him or her? If things got really bad and our government sought to deport, imprison, or slaughter a particular group of people for their religious beliefs how far would I go to fight for their lives?

These are the very questions at the heart of the new Focus Features movie The Zookeeper's Wife, starring Jessica Chastain. It opens on Friday, March 31 and I am eager to see it. Set in Warsaw, Poland during World War II, this is the true story of Antonia and Jan Zabinski. The young couple, only recently appointed to run the Warsaw Zoo soon face the realities of the bombing of Warsaw by the Nazis. Without giving anything away, I can tell you that the Zabinskis very quickly have to choose between the safety of their family and helping Polish Jews who are being captured and sent to concentration camps.

You can see the trailer here.

This is a compelling story for me right now. I have imagined what I would do in a similar situation and the choices are bleak. Obviously, as a Christian – no wait – as a decent human being – I hope I would maintain the courage to act on my convictions and protect anyone in jeopardy. But what if I were faced with someone murdering my child because of what I did. Could I do the right thing then? What if I were killed and my children left alone to fend for themselves? What then?

I fear we may all face these choices at some point, all the while praying we do not. This movie provides a lightsource to allow viewers to examine those hidden places in our hearts where our deepest fears battle for space with our mustard-seed faith. Like any radical act of love in our lives, sometimes doing the right thing means blindly stepping out in faith, trusting that no matter the outcome, by making the right choice, by acting courageously in love of mankind or for an individual or in your love for Christ, you are doing what you are meant and called to do.

I encourage you to check this movie out and to make that a little easier for one lucky reader, I have a $25 Fandango gift card to give away! If you need more convincing to see the movie, check out this review by NBC commentator Hugh Hewitt.

To be eligible to win, please comment below and tell me what you think about the trailer. Does it look good? What are your thoughts on faith and fear? I'd love to hear your thoughts! If you have not already liked my Facebook page, go do that and you'll get a second entry! A winner will be randomly selected on Sunday, April 2, 2017!

Now...Decide what to be and go be it! 

(You Took My) Joy (I Want It Back)

I wish I could go to Slidell and look for my joy. West Memphis, even.

If only it were that easy. My joy ain't in Slidell. And sure as Hell ain't in West Memphis.

I don't know where that shit is. But I think, after weeks of feeling miserable and acting like a bitch on wheels, I know when it started seeping out of my life. Joy, that is.

September 10, 2001. Ten years ago today.

That was the day the tiny cracks started to form in the foundation of my dream life. The day when I realized that I was neither charmed nor lucky or that if I ever had been my luck, very suddenly, had run out.

Oh, it's not that I had such a blessed an easy life up until that point. I was raised by a single mother at a time when that little feat earned you the moniker of Bastard in a shitty little house in what my husband has referred to as a slum. I was mocked for being poor. My mother worked two jobs and I never saw her and nothing I ever did was ever good enough. Oh yes...And she thought I was fat.

Somehow, though, things worked out for the best most of the time. Mostly because I was smart and worked hard. I got through school, got a scholarship, and got the Hell out of Dodge.

Anyway, things worked out okay. Not exactly the life I'd envisioned, but I ended up with a career I loved, married to a pretty cool guy, I converted to Catholicism, we bought our first house, and we were starting what I imagined would be a pretty cool life filled with friends, a family of our making, faith, and more good things than I had ever imagined. I was happy. All the time. Joyful. Optimistic. Loved. Loving.

Right after we moved into our house, I learned that I was pregnant with our first child. We had been married for a year and though it was a bit sooner than we planned, I was excited. And scared. But mostly just excited and trusting that it must be God's will.

Fast forward several weeks and there I was spending a weekend spotting and knowing that I was losing my baby – listening to a doctor tell me over the phone "If you're having a miscarriage – and you probably are – there is nothing we can do about it anyway. You just have to let nature take its course. You're not that far along. It happens."

It happens. Oh. Yes. Death. It happens. All the fucking time.

So, I spent Monday, September 10, 2001 at the hospital having another much more compassionate doctor confirm that I had lost the baby, having over 20 vials of blood drawn, making the logistical arrangements for a D & C scheduled for the next morning, and feeling so hollow from the experience that I simply didn't actually feel anything.

And then, the next day, I started feeling again. Pain. Heartache. A gut-wrenching sorrow that has never gone away. I only bury it until some other horrible thing splits my heart in two again and it all comes spilling out.

Best friends moving far away. Death. War. The death of a friend's child. Worrying constantly about a child and feeling helpless. PPD. Losing new friends and not knowing why. Feeling like I've wasted my life, somehow missed a calling but not having a clue what it was. Always wanting something that seems just out of reach but not knowing what it is. Constantly wishing I could turn back the hands of time and do things differently. Feeling like a failure...as a wife, as a mother, as anything that matters.

It seems that ever since September 10, 2001, there have been innumerable little setbacks, disappointments that by themselves would not matter. Yet, stacked one upon the other they have mounted into a stack of trouble I can no longer carry.

I know that hidden in there are beautiful gems of joy. My beautiful husband. My two perfect little boys. Friends. Music. Books and stories. Nature. My faith in God.

But for some reason, right now I'm realizing that the pain weighs more than the joy. And I'm so tired. I want to put it down. I want to start off again. Fresh and rested and light.

I just don't know how. And I find myself so angry all the time. Angry at all the people who have never had to see or feel or carry the pain in this world. The ones who have it easy. Of course, I know that's not helping my case, but, as my sons would say, stamping their feet, "It's not fair!"

Why does God burden some of us more than others? And what do I do with desire to smack the smug smiles off the faces of those who do have it so easy? I don't want to feel this way. It's not who I am. It's not who I used to be.

I want my Joy back.

I pray that tomorrow comes with the blessings I need to right my ship and find my way, quickly, back to my joy. Father, open my heart and mind to your gifts and protect me from the sorrow and grief, the anger and fear that threaten to consume me. Thank you for the time I sent with my boys tonight, for the beautiful full moon, and the gift of words. And wherever she is, bless my baby girl. Amen.

Catch the Wind

I've been reading a lot lately about raising one's vibration in order to attract more of the things you want in life. For instance, if you raise your level to feel peaceful and happy more often, you'll find more of the things that make you feel peaceful and happy in life.

Life is full of mysteries and knowing that at an atomic/subatomic level there's a lot we don't fully understand, I am happy to accept this idea on faith just like I have my faith in God and Christ.

I've seen people I love dearly manifest both beauty and pain in their lives, their beliefs becoming their reality. For too long I've believed all the wrong things about myself, not because they were true, but because they were the messages I was told daily for over half my life. I absorbed those messages and kept repeating them to myself.

But now, just as Dona Leova told me weeks ago, it's time to write a new story for myself.

In this new story, I win.

Getting Better

A Facebook friend, a woman with whom I attended college, started a Facebook group called, "Everyday I Wake Up Happy No Matter What."

I overcame my fear of joining such a group and dove in. Whether it's true at this moment or not, I want it to be. Because I'll be damned if Life isn't pretty good.

No, it's not perfect. Yet. And it never will be. It's just a journey, with bumps and broken bridges, but with lots of gorgeous scenery and laughter and love to be shared along the way.

I have two amazing sons and a wonderful, sexy and handsome, devoted husband who takes amazing care of his family. And he's also hella talented.

Then there's the fact that I've had two wonderful projects come along lately. One creating a web site for local pet sitter. The other writing an article about a friend's company.

My boys and I spent the afternoon at the pool with some friends. I spent last evening playing Bunco with girlfriends from the neighborhood. Yesterday morning, I took my boys and my friend Lucy-Loo's two sons to the playground and we had a blast.

If I just get out of my head and stop dwelling on what's wrong with Life, what's wrong with me, or what's wrong with those around me, I am able to open my eyes to see all the amazing wonder that is, just waiting for me to acknowledge and appreciate it. And so, as I do, I find more and more good stuff to revel in!

I think it may have taken me several years, struggling with who I am and who I want to be and trying to become SOMEONE THAT MATTERED, to realize that who I am is okay. To know that I do matter.

I'm a passionate and loving wife who works every day to make herself better in some way. A steadfast mother who sees her faults and works hard to overcome them. A loyal friend who longs to grow closer to those in my life. A writer who has once and for all decided to embrace the thing I love and to pursue it with all my passion. I'm flawed, but I'm getting better all the time. Like a fine wine, appreciating my pressurized surroundings and constantly improving with age.

Come Together: Help for Anissa Mayhew

In the span of less than 24 hours I've heard two horrible, heartbreaking stories that make me want to squeeze my husband and babies and hold them and not let them out of my sight.

First, last night I read about a fellow blogger and Twitter Mom, Anissa Mayhew, who had a massive stroke yesterday afternoon. Anissa is a very popular blogger and has three children. Her youngest, daughter Peyton, just celebrated one-year of being cancer free after fighting leukemia since she was 2 years old. How much can one family bear? And why should they have to bear so much. I find this especially horrifying for some reason. I don't know Anissa, but I feel for her as a fellow mother. I know how much I love my husband and my children and the idea of being yanked away from them in this manner is gut-wrenching. I feel so sad for Anissa, her husband, and her babies.

Then, this morning, I heard from another friend about one of her neighbors whose daughter was stillborn at 39 weeks just a few days ago. The baby's umbilical cord became knotted and she died.

It breaks my heart. All this loss and suffering and sorrow. I don't understand it. And I hate it. And to be honest, it all just shakes my faith a little too much.

I won't stop praying, though. I can't. Because it feels like the only thing any of us can do. I know that's not entirely true.

In fact, there is something we can do to help Anissa's family. If you are in the Atlanta area, or if you want to send a gift card to a restaurant, Blockbuster, or something that can help keep her kids occupied and entertained, you can go here for information on how to help.