The Sacred's Clearing: Turning the Photograph Over

Chasing down the identity of a priest in a photo from my baptism is not where I saw myself ever being, and here we are - I am there. It is why I am up right now pecking away at my keyboard with all these thoughts in my head, and they deal more with just that photo and that snap of time. 

The image depicts my first moments as a Catholic child growing up in a world of spinning experiences, and duality. Who baptized shouldn't be a focus, but after seeing the photo and the names on the back, I feel like it is a meant to be moment in my life. 

I haven't struggled with having a faith, I've struggled with society's politics encompassing the most intimate personal relationship a person has with their being. I have a lot of reasons why this struggle has existed, valid reasons and this past year it has been on my mind and in my heart quite a bit. Aging, pain and illness does that to a person. 

When I rediscovered the photo I saw it with older and wiser eyes. I saw my Godparents who I really do not know standing there with beaming pride, the gentle look from the priest as my new Godmother cradles me and I know that baby in her arms was already dealing with health issues, including an emergency episode of not being able to breath a couple of weeks after birth -allergies closed off my lungs. Ever since and until recently I've been pretty much a medical mystery and now I am 58 yrs old. All those years and finally answers come, but between those years I had many incidents health and otherwise, I should not have survived or came close to not doing so.

I relied a lot on my faith, church pews, and those healing stained glass windows of my childhood church, Saint Nicholas Church in Evanston. Then I was a little girl trying desperately to hold on to something I didn't know was called innocence. 

I carried Mother Mary in my heart, her tears and joy. I wondered what that kind of love and grace would feel like in moments of confusion, chaos, and pain. My Grandmother, Bertha, did the same. If I was in her day, a rosary was said together. Usually after school and before my treat of potato pancakes or some wurst staying warm by the pilot light waiting for me. Care, concern, consideration, and compassion. In those moments I was experiencing Mary's love without even realizing, all via Grandma's hope. 

I write these words as I await return calls from a church in southern California. I can't help but to be anxious in the response as when I did look at the photo with older and wiser eyes my curiosity turned over the photo to reveal names. I then needed to know about the people standing there at one of the most sacred time in a Catholic's life. 

I managed to confirm my Godparents and touched base with a grandchild of theirs' but when it came to the priest, things have not been as easy.  The writing of my mother's on the back says Fr. Peyton and no church. We left California when I was 2 yrs old so I have no recall of a belonging to a congregation. 

This all comes on the heels of working through old wounds still bleeding and trying not to allow my new wounds of accepting limitations in healthy and mobility. One scratches the other. Then fear sets it, "is this it?" Is needing to be home and "resting" through pain and healing all that is left? Most days I am in bed as my condition is one that requires me to layflat to avoid more destruction, but at the same time try not to allow my body to waste away - it's an isolation like no other when your spine starts to basically collapse, causing your already faulty connective tissue to break apart which in turn gives no real reliable structure for your ligament and joints - surgery helped pain but now I deal with a CSF leak the surgeon said is too risky to explore.

It's a lot. 

So, the timing of all of this, that photo, my posts and stories over the winter season - it all feels..well, meant to happen, it was meant to be. I was obviously reaching out for that comfort from Grandma, it shows in Berta's Kitchen. And then of course all the chapters about the Sacred and the Scarlet .

When I researched the priests name, the area,, and the era - one name kept coming back, the Venerable Fr. Peyton, aka The Rosary Priest. Of course I thought it has to be a mistake- I kept digging, and digging, and digging. I couldn't find any other priest in the area, with that name - a couple of AI sites, agreed. 

I learned more about him and I was stunned that he could have been a possibility, and looking like a strong one. "No way!" I thought-I took the photo and did comparisons with my own eyes and photos from him as he aged - as he would have been almost 60 by the time of my baptism. Neither I nor AI could confirm nor deny. So now the hunt it on..

Which also means I learn everything I can about him while I search. He has an amazing story of surviving TB in a time when most didn't. And it all went back to his upbringing and saying the rosary with his mother - honoring the purity of those relationships - life breathing. He then spent his life in a huge way sharing that message,  the core -families need to pray together. Simple. It's a bonding moment through vulnerability and hope. The stuff that tighten the twines for the ropes to pull one another up and into light. 

Needless to say I saw echoes of my own childhood and being in his story. Tears flowed. I tried talking myself out of believing it was him, "no way, it's a fluke!" But then it hit me, why would I try to even deny myself of that possibility of a special moment like that- I was an innocent child, why would I not be worthy? Can you hear those debates in my head? 

The kids and I used to pray together. It's been a while. They went through their self-discovery young years fighting demons of ptsd, and I went through my own. In those years, I absorbed a lot of information on other faiths and discovered for myself that they all share one core truth -to hope, to embrace life, and to believe in something greater than yourself -honor creation. Simple concepts that do not need a label and is unique to the heart holding on. 

I run from people shoving their belief system down the throats of others, dictators and kings do that..remember history? It's why there was a resurrection-whether you look at with the eyes of a devout heart or a curious student. 

Maybe it all was supposed to happen like this - maybe the priest in the photo isn't the Rosary Priest and right now I am ok with that -I think the message I heard is remember one another, share your life with others, and come together to be vulnerable and to express those hopes carried within your heart. Everyone can do that and in the name of creating better tomorrows. 

So,if you were confused by all my creative writing and the path it took this past season, well, I guess we've finally reached a clearing and it is all making sense now. 

As always - ignore typos!