Growing Up and The Grotto

Me and Rachel at Silver Dollar City 2012

I've known Rachel since 1st grade. We never cared for each other. Sure, from time to time we would enjoy a laugh at the same slumber party but neither of us thought of the other as a friend. We shared the same best friend and quickly became jealous rivals for her affection. Ya know, weird pre-adolescent girl crap. Then our junior year in High School Rachel and I discovered we'd both grown to have a similar interest - having a fucking good time.

 Rachel was the girl I danced naked with under the moonlight  She was there when we broke into the neighborhood pool and cut up our legs and hands drying to get back over the chain-link fence. From skinny dipping at a Pastor's house to coffee shops in Amsterdam I barely remember to needing someone to help you put on your pants - Rachel and I've enjoyed many fun adventures together. Over the years we've become good friends who love each other dearly. So, when Rachel moved to Portland, OR with her husband Russell I took yearly visits to see them so our adventures could continue. 

During my visit this year we didn't attend any wild parties, or drive around smoking pot, or get wasted and insist on dancing in our underwear. 

There were only two things we had planned:

1. Attending a church called The Grotto

2. Taking care of her newborn daughter. 

Hello Madrid. 

Don't get me wrong...those wild crazy parties were AMAZING. But, so was holding Madrid. 

Babies have never been my thing. I love kids, but I prefer them once they are old enough to walk and eat Cheetos and respond to sarcasm. However, I immediately fell in love with Madrid. Um, just look at her. She is an absolute delight. In fact I think she might be magical. I picture her having magical powers like Matilda - super human book reading and retention, a kind and gentle loving spirit as well as the power to make things move with her mind (both literally and figuratively - she seems that magical.) I felt an overwhelming love for this child as well as a deep need to protect her from the sadnesses and dangers of the world - but not protect like a Mama Bear, instead protect like an bear who wears a lot of flowy skirts, has giant hair and often behaves erratically perhaps mailing a big box of poop to any person who dare break her heart. Holding Madrid I felt like an Aunt and it filled my heart with warmth and love. 

During my time in Portland I needed to find a good church service. On Sunday I was planning to be in Gresham, OR visiting my dear friend Gabby. Driving into Portland would have been time consuming. In my internet research I came across a beautiful outdoor Catholic church called The Grotto that offered Mass every day at NOON. I'd been wanting to visit an outdoor church for a while and the fact this one was the only church offering weekdays services kinda sealed the deal. On Wednesday Rachel, Madrid and I would visit The Grotto. 

From what I can tell, traveling with a child is like camping - you have to bring so much equipment. There are strollers and covers and toys and blankets and diapers and pacifiers and sanitizer and changes of clothes and snacks and water and a first aid kit and a lamp and a ficus and a bullhorn and a.... I imagine mother's walking around with carpet bags like Mary Poppins - fully loaded with everything you could ever need. Ready for every situation. Even nuclear war.

We pulled into the parking lot of The Grotto, Madrid in tow, and found our way to the outdoor worship space. At this church we weren't greeted by welcomers with freshly printed bulletins but instead with a giant visitors center and large framed map. The Grotto was like a tourist attraction - a 62 acre religious tourist attraction. The Grotto was designed to be a place of worship, healing, reflection and closeness with the spirit. They offered daily church services, a spirituality program to increase closeness with The Divine as well as a counseling program to help heal from trauma. 

Arriving 15 minutes early we made our way to the outdoor worship space and took in the sights of tourists from all over the world snapping pictures and praying at the altar. Rachel and I took a seat on one of the bright green benches in the vast outdoor space and waited for the service to begin. Only a few people were sitting down. The Grotto is located at the base of a very very tall rock. Lush greenery surrounds the quiet reflective outdoor space. The deep green trees are tall and full and covering most of the sky. An altar rests inside a cave carved from the rock. Shelves of candles burn on both sides of the altar. From behind the trees you can hear the faint singing of a choir (not live, just a CD). Various water features trickle in the background. A warm breeze blew through the trees. The sun shone through the leaves creating beautiful shadows in the ground. It was quite peaceful.

I watched as people walked into a building. A monk was standing outside greeting people. Uh Oh. Is this NOT an outdoor service after all???  I left a breastfeeding Rachel and went to find answers (normalize public breastfeeding!) and indeed church was held indoors. The amazing outdoor sanctuary was not used for regular weekday mass. What a waste! If we were going to attend service at The Grotto it would have to be inside. Rachel looked at me, "It's your call" she said. I walked toward the chapel where the service was being held. Halfway there I turned around to Rachel and said, "Nah. It's too beautiful to be inside, lets skip service."

Instead we took a walk around the grounds, experiencing The Stations of The Cross - a path with 14 bronzed carvings depicting the timeline of Jesus's crucifixion - or what I like to call The Walk of Guilt. Every monument showed Jesus in severe pain, shamed, abused, and saddened. Every 25 feet there was another image of his suffering. It was supposed to be an emotional reflective experience. The green of the trails. The shaded seating across from each carving. The quiet. The sun shining through the leaves. It was all meant to illicit some deep connection with Jesus, because he DIED for our sins and we are forever in his debt.

To me this feels like manipulation and I don't like it. This tactic of bringing people to Jesus seems ridiculous to me. Believing in Jesus because you feel bad about how much he suffered kinda feels agreeing to go on a date with someone solely because you don't want to hurt his/her feelings. God doesn't need your pity date. I mean it's God for goodness sake. I have a hard time believing God wants our devotion to stem from guilt. The idea of someone staying in a relationship with me because they feel guilty for how much I've done for them doesn't really sound all that appealing. Now, someone devoting their life to me because they really truly love me does sound pretty nice.

Rachel and I took some time to share our beliefs about God, the universe and the afterlife - a subject we'd never talked much about before. Like most of my friends, Rachel is not particularly religious and considers herself an atheist. Though our religious beliefs vary we share a mutual belief in the importance of human connection and the power of love.  After our Guilt Walk we were done. The Grotto was a beautiful place but I was much more interested in eating sushi with Rachel and getting to hold Madrid some more.

During the drive Madrid revealed her thoughts on our religious experience - she wasn't that impressed and she was pretty hungry. Our drive to sushi involved Rachel cooing at Madrid and driving responsibly while my ass hung high in the air leaning over the seat frantically searching for the ever illusive pacifier of peace. My how things have changed. I thought to myself. And I fucking love it. 



It took me forever to write this blog post, because I'm currently on vacation and haven't cared too much about sticking to schedules or deadlines. I've been more interested in snuggling.

Russell snapped a pic of Madrid and I taking
a two hour "blog break". 

Madrid has this amazingly calm presence. She soothes you to sleep. Ugh. I adore her. And I adore bearing witness to the amazing parents my adventurous friends have become.



I'll shoot you straight. Sometimes I think growing up is the worst thing that ever happened to me. It can really be freaking miserable at times. It's hard. It's exhausting. It's expensive. But it's also filled with moments like falling asleep with your childhood friend's baby. And those moments are so amazing they (almost) make up for all the grown up crap you have to deal with. Being able to drink wine at 9 am ain't so bad either. It certainly helps.