dancing with scapulars

I grew up in a mixed marriage home. That is, with a marriage between a Catholic woman  and an unbaptized man. My mother was devout, and made no compromises to her faith. My father was devoted to her. He treated her like a queen  and referred to her as a saint. She served him with respect, loved him dearly, and prayed for him daily (perhaps more often than that)
My father agreed that we children would all be baptized and reared in the Church. We were catechized, received the Sacraments at their appointed times, and my father was there to witness and support us. As grandchildren arrived, he made his way back to the church for the occasions of their baptisms as well. He remained a silent supporter for fifty years before he was baptized into the Christian faith less than a year before he died.

I made a promise to myself at a very young age that I would not marry a non Catholic. I didn't want to sit in the pew 'alone' with my children, going solo as I led them on their spiritual and religious flights. I sensed a loneliness in my mother when she prayed, and though she never nagged, never begged nor pushed, and never put my father down, I knew she wanted him with her on her own spiritual journey. I couldn't know that he was with her all along; they were just on very different steps. I made far too many assumptions.
With my resolution to marry only a Catholic, I made this demand on my boyfriend at the age of 19. He satisfied me by being confirmed in the Catholic Church a few weeks before the wedding. I thought I had what my mother had been lacking all those years. I should have been more focused on what she had. I would have noticed that long before my father became a Catholic Christian, he obeyed the one command Paul placed on the men of the church regarding their wives: "love her."

During my marriage to a man who attended Mass regularly, prayed the rosary, was on his knees morning and night and volunteered for the church, I never felt the love of Jesus through him. On more than one occasion, he told me I needed to earn his respect, and if he was not able to love me or make me feel special, I was determined to have his respect.
As time went on,  I dressed more and more modestly. I covered my shoulders. My skirts got longer and I never wore jeans in public. I was careful to behave as a lady at all times. I tucked my scapular in my high neck blouse and did everything I could to 'earn' his respect as his wife. If he didn't respect me, at least the world would see me as "respectable" and see the respect I had for my husband and my marriage.

Near the end of my marriage, he saw me dance. He was surprised at what he saw; we had been married twenty-four years at the time, and he didn't know I danced. I remember being self conscience. Maybe that's why I had not danced in his company in twenty-four years.

The seeds of the love that  Christ has for me were planted long ago by a man who had no [visible] relationship with Christ, by the way he loved his bride. Those seeds lay dormant for many years as I worked at pruning myself more and more until I was cutting off fresh growth. I now know how lucky and blessed I would be if I could capture the heart of a man who could love me like my father loved my mother. I will not be won over by religiosity [again] but by self-giving love.

I'm dancing again. I'm dancing more, and more. I dance to strengthen my body and my soul. I am not afraid to bare my shoulders as I was for so many years.  The body created for me and the soul that is growing within it are a package deal. I am fearfully and wonderfully made inside and out, and I believe that I am deserving of respect because of that and that alone.

And as a reminder to myself and to all who look at me, I continue to wear the scapular.
Even when I'm dancing.