I have been amazed and appalled for years by the attitude the Catholic Church has taken regarding sexual abuse perpetrated by scores of its priests. It is not as if we're talking one or two - dozen - hundred. God only knows how many loose cannons the institution has put in parishes all over the world. The fact that the current pope will not but in general terms even acknowledge the fact that it happened anywhere, period, is personally offensive on an almost indescribable scale. Abuse, whether physical, sexual, emotional or mental is about control. The Church has been about control almost from its inception. Keep the masses in line in order to be in charge of everything from politics to money to property to what goes on in people's homes. Much of what Catholics believe has been either made up or changed over the years until the original mission of the founders has been so lost it's almost as if it never existed. I digress, I know - but I have little patience and less love for the church I grew up going to. At least as it is known today. You don't stop being Catholic when it's all you've known from the cradle. Most of the time anyway. However, they pissed me off fairly early when nobody could give me a good reason why women couldn't be priests. Then there was the speech about sex and sin (none of the Catholic boys I knew were held to this, by the way) and the oldie but goodie about purgatory. Seriously? I'm pretty sure it dawned on my fairly young that we're in purgatory here on earth - if we're lucky. It's not like I didn't try. Like many, I've longed to get past the bull shit and just look for the love. That proved difficult because the, 'unconditional love,' that they talked about came with so many......yeah, conditions. There were so many things a person couldn't do. Mass had to be attended no matter what - and let me tell you it was in our house. I didn't miss Mass the entire time I was growing up more than two, possibly three times.

I lost patience for and interest in the Church gradually over the years, waiting, longing for something to bring me back. It wasn't going to be God, that's for sure. He kept leading me away on a pretty steady basis. It wasn't just the papal eff ups or the ones on a more local level - though some of them were frigging epic. I'll never forget the time my mother and I stood with her parish priest outside my father's hospital room. Dad and Mom had no insurance at the time so when my father became ill, they took him to what could kindly be referred to as a discount health facility. In reality, I'm pretty sure most pet owners would keep their least favorite animals far, far away. The doctors at this place screwed up Dad's meds badly. In fact they overdosed him to the point where it almost killed him. Then, they had to bring him down off the meds - which could have killed him as well. He was at this point incoherant and the doctor kept saying it was either dt's or brain cancer. He wasn't sure which. Mom and I were both in tears as she talked to the priest, seeking comfort and maybe a little help. The priest shook his head and shrugged. No, he said. There's no place in the Church where you could get any financial help. We don't do that. What about Catholic Charities, I asked. Even just financial guidance or advice so they know which direction to go in. My parents have given money to the church unfailingly each and every week even when there wasn't any money to spare and my dad is Methodist. No, nope, he said. I really don't know what to tell you. You know everyone has difficulties. This sort of thing happens to everyone at one point or another. We all have troubles. We stared at the man, pretty much dumbfounded. All I could think of to say was, if we were Mormon, they'd have already written the check. Epic. Let me make clear that this was not a little parish out in the middle of Podunk, Nowhere. It was one of the largest parishes in the Phoenix, AZ area.

I won't go on and on about my grievances regarding the Church. Okay, that's a lie...... They are many and varied. I, like millions of others have been wounded by this organization. Like most of those millions, I could bitch forever. What good would that do? If I believed the dogma, I'd fight to change the Church. The thing is, I don't. Oh, I believe Jesus came and lived to teach us to love ourselves, God and one another. I'm not sure about the virgin birth and have serious doubts about the whole dying on the cross thing (there are many theorists who believe he actually faked the whole thing in order to fulfill the prophecy to the satisfaction of those who couldn't get the message without it). I sure as hell don't believe that the guys who "wrote," the gospels years and years after Christ lived conveyed accurate accounts of his life. It's well known and documented that many gospels were left out of the Bible because they did not send the message the Church officials wanted people to hear. So, all these years later, we, the parishoners are just supposed to follow what was decided for us a millenium and a half ago? If it looks like a sheep, walks like a sheep and you can get wool off its ass, it's probably a sheep. I do not baah.

But again I digress. It's my anger and frustration. It's the hurt. It's the son of a bitch who abused my friends and got away with it. All the Church ever did was make him leave the priesthood. Countless boys, now grown men, were left to fend for themselves in the wake of the wrong done to them by this "man" and the Church. For just as sure as the pope is doing wrong to the victims in Ireland, Germany and Argentina, he continues to wrong those harmed in The United States and all over the world. He represents what is still the most powerful religious organization in existence and he continues to shield those in power from those who would stand for the most vulnerable.

The ironic thing is, the more the Church hides from the reality of this latest atrocity (God, let's not even get into the Crusades), the more its credibility fades. This pope, Benedict XVI, is becoming more like a punchline in a David Letterman monologue than a true leader. If he ever wanted to know what I thought (yes, pure fantasyland, I realize) I would tell him it's simple. When in doubt, look at your bracelet. You know the one that says WWJD?

I keep looking for a reason not to write because that's what writers do. Lucky for me I'm finding lots of them (reasons). First and foremost - rejection. Not by readers. I'd have to have some for that to happen. No, I am speaking of agents. And they're not even really rejecting my actual work. They're just completely uninspired by my query letter. The last rejection notice I got said, "I didn't find myself grabbed by your subject matter." It should have been a very large clue to what I was doing wrong. Instead it knocked me to the mat like I was throwing a prize fight. I've never been good with rejection. My first reaction to it is always, what? You don't like me? What's not to like? Explain it so I'll understand for future reference and while we're at that you can get to really know me at which point you'll LOVE me. Didn't work with dating. Don't think it'll work with getting an agent. Unlike former boyfriends, however, I won't be convinced to give up on agents no matter how many people tell me I'm an idiot and teddy bears with cute saying embroidered on them won't make anyone think of me more often and with affection. The damn agents are stuck with me until one of them finally caves and says, "Yes! I want to represent you more than ANYTHING else in the world!" I believe in my work. Plus, the only other thing I know how to do is retail and that crap will drive me (or my boss) to an early grave depending on which of us is finally driven to load the proverbial rifle.

So, away with excuses and being depressed. To hell with people who don't like my queries. It only takes one yes - a sentiment that if I've heard once I've heard 1000 times. True or not it makes me want to smack the hair right off the person saying it but as it's usually my husband or mother, I'm forced to smile and nod, proving I'm over being down on myself because I can't take hearing how much God loves me when I'm convinced at that particular moment that God could give a rat's ass about anything I do. Also, if I sulk for too long, Mark makes me do naked disco. Don't ask.......

I have to go re-work a story angle now because I saw something in a movie that gave me an answer to a question I had about something in my story that was kind of loosey goosey. Then I have to work on my query again because five of the things have to go out per week. I wonder if the agents would find it more interesting if I embroidered it on a teddy bear?