I am fifty-one years old. I clearly remember my childhood. Up to kindergarten, I only remember love. I was loved by my parents, my sisters and my brother. I was loved by all of my family’s friends and my extended family (who I knew up to that point). When we went to stores or sports events, older people would say how adorable I was, and people would frequently tell my mother how lucky she was to have me. My brother and sister would bring home special treats for me and take me places, their friends would stop by the house with treats and presents for me. At night Momma would kneel beside my bed with me and we would say prayers and then she would rock me and sing the most beautiful songs to me. Simply put, I felt completely loved as a small child, and THAT is how every child should feel.

When I started Kindergarten, I went to my aunt and uncle’s house because they lived close to the school and my aunt stayed home with her children. Naturally, Momma expected I would be welcome and happy. Weirdly, I had not ever been around my uncle’s family up to this point in my life, and we only lived a few blocks apart. In summary, my Kindergarten year was horrible. I was not loved or made to feel welcome by my aunt, my uncle or any of their children; in fact, I was frequently told how unwanted and burdensome I was. My stomach hurt the entire school year; I was constantly a nervous wreck. Life at school wasn’t better. My teacher was just as verbally and mentally abusive towards me. In fact, one day I asked my teacher if she was friends with my aunt, it truly felt like they shared some sort of playbook.

First grade took me to a different school. I was the happiest child in town – no more going to my aunt’s house. My first day of first grade I made many friends. I sang “Bad Bad Leroy Brown” with a boy who sat at my table, several girls wanted to be my bathroom buddy and when Momma had to come to school to give me new clothes because I got my skirt dirty, everyone told me I had the prettiest momma of all the kids. To complete the greatness of my first-grade year, my teacher loved me. It was a great year, except for one girl who didn’t like me. I was told she didn’t like me because she and I were the tallest kids in most of the school and she didn’t like sharing the limelight. Personally, I detested being tall and I gladly would have been a wallflower, but I got forced into the spotlight because my height made me stick out. Subsequently, that girl was mean to me all the way through high school. If I saw her today, I would cross the street to stay out of her sight.

I say all of these things about my childhood because they made me into who I was/am. My first character trait is loving, because I knew love. As a little girl I was kind, helpful, friendly, playful, funny and I loved music because at home we always had the stereo or a radio on. I loved God and we went to Mass every Sunday without fail but there was no real catechesis in my life, so I was mostly ignorant of my Faith. The only time (when I was very young) that I was mean, was towards a girl, a giant child who beat smaller children up. My cousin and I made ourselves the bodyguards of these smaller children. I know I learned to be a defender from my mother. My mother was a beautiful but brave woman, she was lionhearted with a sarcastic wit. We pulled the car over hundreds of times, to help someone out. If a kid was talking back to an adult ANYWHERE, my mother didn’t hesitate to scare the daylights out of that kid and gain some respect for the adult. I loved watching Momma go into action, she was amazing, I was her biggest fan.

Once I got to fourth grade, I began to pick on another girl, I regret it and in high school I apologized to her, graciously she forgave me. In junior high I sort of picked on a girl; I did it because she was forcing herself into my life and inviting herself to my house, I didn’t want to be that close to her. She was nice and I was her friend at school, but I didn’t want to be “after school friends”. This girl had serious boundry issues. My only recourse was to become someone she wouldn’t want to be friends with.

In grade school I got the nickname, The Big KK. When there was a bully picking on someone, kids came running for me to fix the situation. I often found it peculiar the kids were running for me to make things right when teachers and playground moms were all around. I stood up to bullies because I didn’t like to see injustice. Someone has to handle injustice and if no one else is handling it, I will. I never picked a fight! But, starting in third grade, one boy began picking a fight with me every day after school and the only way for me to get around him was to fight my way out. Eventually it was three boys (though the two others usually just watched) and no teacher at school would help me, so Momma taught me how to fight like a boy and I did what I had to do when confronted with a threat. This went on through my 6th grade year. I tried to avoid fighting, I tried to talk to various teachers and the principle, no one would help me, so I became self-reliant.

When I look back on my youth, I see a sweet girl who was forced to fight and be mean because it was an eat or be eaten world. I reflect on my life, and I see I was very naughty at times, I’m ashamed of how naughty I was but I didn’t want to be naughty. I didn’t want to be picked on and called names and spun around by my long braids. I wanted to play. I wanted to laugh and have fun. I cried myself to sleep a lot. In fourth grade I developed a stomach ulcer because I worried all the time. I often woke during the night with tremendous fear and a sense of evil. I would take my rosary and put it around my neck and beg God to help me. I often reflect on my life and wish I had known my Catholic Faith more as a child. I was not taught how to be truly Catholic, if I had been, I believe I would have made better choices and I would have led other children to be holy. Deep inside I was a good girl, and it took a lot of strength to be a good girl in a world where you only get ahead by being bad.

When I became a mother, I wanted my children to feel loved and never be unkind to others. I wanted my children to know God, to know what He expected of them and to know how to use that to influence their decisions. I made sure the world around my children was good, so that my children would not be forced or tempted to be bad. I thought if I lay the groundwork for my children to be good people who belong to God, they would take those character traits into adult life and not have the regrets I have.

I married a man who was a good little boy. My husband doesn’t reflect on his life nearly as much as I do. But I do know that in his small country school (even today), my husband was friends with everyone, he didn’t get picked on by bullies. One time he hit a kid who stole his vest, we laugh at the simplicity of that one conflict in his childhood.

My husband’s father died when he was very small but his family and rural community gave him the security he needed to grow into a good man. My husband’s sister was sometimes mean to him growing up but from her perspective he was a messy, lazy, annoying little brother. Like everyone, Dave took on bad habits and having little catechises in his own life, he too wasn’t a model Catholic. But we shared our desire for raising happy and holy children.

I remember in second or third grade, lying in bed one night, I thought it was a good idea to pray for my future husband. No one told me to do this, it just came to me. I would often pray for the little boy, who would one day be the love of my life and the father of my children. Today, I see how perfectly God chose Dave to be my spouse and together we have been abundantly blessed with our children and our life together. We have good foundations and like everyone, we have had bad habits to break and a lot of learning to do. We are not model Catholics, but it is our desire to merit Heaven and along the way if we can help others to learn what we have learned, that is a beautiful thing.

Dave and I began dating.  It was pretty serious fast.  I don’t mean physically serious.  We just seemed to know we were right together and others seem to know this, too.   On Sunday’s I would go to Mass with my parents and imagine the day when Dave would be with me.  He seemed to love my Catholic devotion, comparing me often to his beloved grandmother.  However, Dave didn’t show any interest in going to Mass with me.  I asked him one day, if he would like to go, he said, “Not right now, but someday I will go with you.”  I wondered what was going to change for him to be ready.

One Sunday, walking into the church before Mass, I noticed a handsome man I had never seen before. He grabbed my hand and asked if I were staying for Mass.  Duh…  I didn’t know what to think.  It turns out Vince was giving a Parish Mission that week at my church.  That afternoon I asked Dave to go with me.  Dave had no interest in going, so I went alone.

After the mission talk the second night, Vince hurried over to me and asked to speak privately with me in the church.  It was funny watching the people watching us sit together and talk, I was terribly uneasy.  Vince asked me if I would meet him for lunch the next day.  I informed him that I had a serious boyfriend, and I worked an hour away.  He offered to drive where I worked. He begged for an opportunity to meet.  I kept giving him reasons why it wasn’t going to work.  He held my hand the whole time we spoke.  He told me about a child he had from a broken marriage.  He told me how much he wanted to love a beautiful woman and how when he saw me, he knew I was that woman.  My head was spinning.

Finally, without knowing me, Vince told me he was leaving at the end of the week for Alaska, and he wanted me with him.  “Run away with me.”   I was terribly confused.

I believed in fairy tales.  I believed that God had someone in mind for me and I wasn’t afraid to run away with him if it were God’s Providence.  I loved Dave but he didn’t have any interest in Mass, and he hadn’t been verbally forthcoming about his feelings for me.  I didn’t know Vince, but he spent his life at Mass and in Catholic churches.  I knew the Catholic faith was the most important characteristic for my future marriage and on paper it seemed that Vince was “the one”.  Not knowing what to do, I drove to Dave’s house after the talk with Vince.

I knocked at the door; Dave answered.   He looked at me funny, I must admit I don’t hide my emotions well.  “Can we talk?”  I asked Dave.  He took my hand and lead me into his room and closed the door so his roommate wouldn’t disturb us.  I told Dave all about Vince.  I told him all about the running off to Alaska.  Dave was quiet the whole time I spoke.  I began to cry, “I don’t know what to do.  I care about you, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”  I continued,  “Do we have a future or is this all it’s going to be?  I don’t even know how you feel about me or us” I said.  Dave smiled, “If you want to go to Alaska with this guy then I want you to go.  I want you to be happy, so if it means being with him then I want you to do that.”  WHAT?

I didn’t expect Dave to give me up so easily.  I stood there crying.  He laughed a little, “What’s wrong?”  He asked me.  I blubbered, “I don’t want to leave you.  I thought WE had a future.”  He put his arms around me and kissed my forehead, looking into my eyes he said, “I love you and I guess I thought you knew that.  I figured we would get married and have kids but I want you to be happy.  I don’t want to make you stay here if you won’t be happy with me.”  For a guy low on romantic tendencies, he knocked it out of the park on this one.  I kissed him and said, “I love you”.  Then Dave asked if he could go to the next mission night with me.

The next night was so uncomfortable.  Vince saw this man at my side and glared at him through the whole talk.  After the talk Dave approached Vince and shook his hand like the scene from The Quiet Man when Sean Thornton meets Squire Danaher and they shake hands with so much force, trying to prove who is more of a man.  It was really funny to me.  Vince turned to me and said, “Well I guess this means you won’t be going with me.”  I said, “That’s right.”  What an awkward and funny moment that was to me.

A couple years later, after we were married, Vince came back for another mission.  He was so gaggy how he talked about the “scrumptious” women he has met.  Dave was really burned by this macho, womanizer who almost ran off with his girl.  I thanked God for the wisdom to stay!  Looking back, I cannot help but to see how the forces of evil used my weaknesses to tempt me away from that which would lead me closer to God.

Now that Dave was going to Mass with me, we had a lot of conversations about religion.  We both wanted to remain Catholic but agreed that our home parish was not pleasing to us.  We had a priest who had been there 30 some years and a religious sister who acted like a priest.  She gave homilies, elevated the chalice, even stood with Father at the altar and said the words of consecration with Father during Mass.  I didn’t know my faith well, but I knew in my gut this was not truly Catholic.  I left Mass angry every Sunday and I longed to not have that feeling anymore.

Dave and I began to attend other Catholic Masses near us, none felt like home.  Each was a different variation of the weird we had at our home parish.  Soon we began to discuss marriage and I discovered Dave was not Confirmed.  He joined in the class at our parish and prepared for Confirmation.  He chose St. Maximilian Kolbe as his patron saint.  I was Dave’s sponsor.

At Dave’s Confirmation our new bishop spoke more beautifully than I had ever heard from the clergy.  Suddenly we felt hope that being Catholic could mean more than tambourines, holding hands and women playing priest.  Dave and I imagined how awesome it would be to have someone like the bishop preside over our wedding Mass.

At this time, I was the volunteer Youth Minister and I had taught CCD since I was 15 years old.   I was learning things about Catholic mysticism and apparitions which drew me closer to God through Mary, His mother.  I shared these things with my students, and this angered the authorities at the parish.  Eventually the Director of Religious Education (DRE) made me teach class in a common area with other classes, so I could be observed.  This was so distracting I became frustrated.  She seemed to push me a little more each week until I walked out in a huff.  I said to Judy, “If this is how it’s going to be next year, I quit.”  She smiled and very cheerfully said, “Okay!”

So Dave’s Confirmation stirred in us a desire to contact this new bishop who didn’t seem the “Pastoral Team” type.  I wrote the bishop a letter expressing my anguish with the things Sister and Father were doing.  I asked that he not ignore us in our small town and please put a stop to the craziness.  In the end of my letter, I said that Dave and I would be honored if the bishop would marry us, though we never expected such a thing could happen.  I mailed the letter.

Less than 24 hours after mailing the letter, I was home for lunch, the phone rang. It was the bishop’s secretary, Father N.  He said, “The bishop was so impressed with your letter.  He is very happy to see there are young people who care about The Church as you and your fiancé do, and he would be honored to marry you.”  I was shocked.  Fr. N told me that the wedding would take place in the Cathedral and asked me when we were hoping to have the wedding.  I requested May.  He gave me two Saturdays that would work for the bishop’s schedule.  I said I would speak to Dave, and I was given a number to contact Fr. N right away to secure the date.  I was also told I must seek the permission of my pastor for the wedding to take place outside of my home parish.

Dave and I set May 30, 1998, as our wedding date.  I made an appointment to see my priest; he was barely able to contain his furry.  He sneered, “Why do you want to be married by the bishop at the Cathedral?”  I looked out the window at the octagon shaped church as I said, “We want something more…Catholic.”  I was given the permission I requested.  I found out later, Father and Sister were outraged by this and they made it clear throughout the parish office.

Dave and I were expected to do our wedding prep through the Cathedral.  It was rich and informative.  We were taught how the unity candles were not Catholic and would not be permitted.  We were taught that wedding music must be Catholic, so that meant I couldn’t have my brother-in-law play the theme to The Godfather on piano.  Seriously!  We were THAT clueless.  Clueless, but like sponges ready to soak up everything truly Catholic there was to know.  We even attended a Natural Family Planning class.

As the wedding drew near the bishop was called to Rome for an Ad Limina visit with Pope John Paul II.  Now we had no one to marry us.  I was agonizing to Fr. N about the desire for a “pius priest” and then he said, “Well. I’m a pius priest.”  I asked excitedly, “You can marry people?”  He laughed and said, “I’m a priest, yes I can marry people and I would be honored to do this.”  Fr. N said that in order to do this he wanted to get to know us better.  We began to meet almost weekly for dinners.  It was great going into restaurants with a priest and having him lead us in prayer before eating.  This was so foreign to Dave and I but it was thrilling to grow in our faith as we were.

Our wedding was everything we could have dreamed it would be.  Before the ceremony Dave and I went to Confession. I lit candles and prayed.  Canon in D was played as our attendants processed in, Ave Maria was sung before my procession and On This Day was sung as I processed in on my Daddy’s arm.  Dave and I knelt for Holy Communion, and we took flowers to the statue of Our Lady.  It was a very Catholic wedding.  We entered into the Sacrament of Matrimony aware of it’s spiritual value, of our obligations to one another, we wanted a house full of children (5 or 7 we would agree), and yet we were still clueless enough that the Sunday after our wedding we missed Mass.  I remember my mother being very upset with me and I said, “Fr. N said our wedding counted for Sunday.”  She said, “You were married at 11 in the morning, it didn’t count as Sunday Mass”.  I didn’t have any guilt about missing, I didn’t get it.

Dave and I have spent many long hours discussing our Faith.  We are Catholic, born and raised (though imperfectly like most).  As married adults we have come to discover our Catholic heritage as if it has been a well-kept secret and we have a desire to share with others what treasures have unfolded before us.  Dave said, “write a blog”.  I said, “Yeah, right.  I’ve tried blogging.  It was not a success.”  But he was right, a blog is a great way to share with others and not make people feel forced to endure what we have to say.  But what blog name?  I’ve been keeping this in the back of my mind.  Something Latin?  Nah…  Something with a saint name?  Nah…  Something about our journey?  Nah…  Then we had a priest friend over for dinner last night and in talking about how we raise our children, he jokingly called us “Tunnel Diggers”.  We roared with laughter!!!  He said, “You should blog and call it Catholic Tunnel Diggers”.  I looked at him and said, “Yes, I think we will.”  So here it is.  The blog name.

Who are we?  We are normal.  Well, we were normal.  Today’s idea of normal is not the same as the normal we grew up with.   We were born in the same small town.  We were raised on the same highway only 4 miles apart.  My husband was born to young parents, newly married with a sister 2 years older than himself.  Sadly, his daddy died when he was 3 years old.  He was named after his dad and he bears his handsome good looks, this I’m sure has been a comfort to his mother who lost her husband to cancer much too soon.  I was born the youngest of four children to parents married for 20 years.  My siblings were 9, 14 and 16 when I was born, Mom had begged Daddy for one more baby before it was too late.

Dave and I each had loving parents, clean homes, and occasional vacations growing up.  Both of us were raised with construction as our family businesses.  We did not have the spoils other kids had, though we were happy and experienced life to the fullest.  Our parents gave us the very best they were able to give to us.  We love and appreciate our parents very deeply!  Dave’s mother married again when he was a young boy and his stepfather became a good father to him.

When Dave and I were little, we met at church.  In second grade we celebrated First Holy Communion together.  Isn’t that the cutest thing?  But we didn’t fall in love just yet.

Dave went to a country school, I went to school in town, he likes to call me a “City kid”.  We went to the same high school, but he wasn’t on my radar as he was about twenty pounds lighter than me and kind of scrawny.  He says he always thought we would date but my phone never rang, soooo……

Shortly after high school graduation, we ran into each other at an Aerosmith concert.  My best friend wanted to set us up, “You two are perfect for each other!”  She said.  I was hesitant as I didn’t approve of his friends and their extracurricular activities.  My friend always talked about Dave and I.  When I lived in Chicago three years later, she and I ran into Dave at a bar and again I heard her recommendation.  But nothing ever came of it.

Both Dave and I, unbeknownst to each other, were waiting for the perfect person to enter our lives and be worthy of our love.  I wish I had known this because being the only one in my group of friends without a husband or boyfriend began to weigh on me.

From the time I was 20, I entered into one relationship after another (4) that I live to regret.  I was engaged at 21, to a guy unworthy of me but I thought I was out of options.   At this time, I worked at the local bank and I used to wait on Dave, he made me squirm.   Dave was not a little guy anymore.  He was manly!  He was gorgeous and absolutely the nicest man EVER!  He made my armpits sweat in my silk blouses.  haha   I realized if another man made me feel this way, I better call off the wedding.  I didn’t believe in divorce!  Smartest and hardest decision!  Because I wasn’t an aggressive woman, I didn’t seek Dave out after my broken engagement.  I wish I had!

I had a written list of expectations for the man I would marry and around age 23 I lowered these standards on a whim.  The guy was a drug addict, I was furiously against drugs and alcohol abuse.  Strangely, one night Dave ran into this guy and the guy told Dave he “had to go home and kick the *&^% out of Kalah”.  Dave was shocked!  He never thought I would date a guy like this.  A few months later, I clawed my way out.

One Sunday, entering the church for Mass an old Pakistani lady asked if I were married yet, “Oh, Mrs. Brass, I have such bad luck with men.”  She grabbed my arm and urged me, “Say, St. Anne bring me a man.”  I argued that I could never speak to a saint that way, she assured me it was fine.  I went to a Catholic bookstore the next day and easily found a prayer card for courtship to St. Anne.  I prayed it faithfully!  I was also fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays.

Shortly before this Dave had been out with his best friend.  After a night of drinking, they flipped the car on their way home, neither of them was wearing a seat belt.   Dave felt a hand holding him in his seat and he felt the presence of his grandmother who had died a few years earlier.  She was a pious Catholic woman whom he loved very much.  Dave’s friend got a broken nose and several cuts as his body flailed around in the car.  Shortly after the accident, Dave went to his grandmother’s grave.  He prayed for her intercession.  He asked that God send him a good woman.  He asked God what He wanted of Dave, even considering the priesthood although he wasn’t a practicing Catholic at this point.

I was just getting stronger after my abusive relationship ended, when some married friends of mine took me out one night.  As we walked into our local bar.  The first person I saw was Dave, everything else grew quiet in my mind and all I could see was Dave looking right at me.  “What a shame” I thought “He’s such a good-looking guy and so sweet”.  I didn’t approve of something I knew about Dave and now for sure I wasn’t getting mixed up in trouble.  I turned my face, without the usual smile, and walked the other way.  I felt Dave come towards me so I found the nearest person I could latch onto.  Dave, who is normally shy, stood at my side and said, “Hi, Kalah”.  I coolly turned my head, “Oh.  Hi Dave.  How are you?”  In my head I had three questions I was dying to ask before going further but not brave enough yet.  He smiled, “I’m great.  I’ve made some changes in my life this last month.  I bought a house and I’m taking over my grandpa’s business.”  WOW!!!  All of my questions, answered!  How did that happen?

Dave and I spent the rest of the night talking and having a great time.  I drove him home, because his ride ditched.  As I pulled into his driveway, I put the car in reverse.  Dave thanked me and got out.  I went home to wait for his call that week.  It’s a small town, there were phonebooks and I totally expected him to find my number.  But when he didn’t call, I began to second guess myself.  I asked my older brother on Thursday night, what I had done wrong.  He said, “Well, as your brother, putting the car in reverse was the right thing to do.  As a GUY, putting the car in reverse was the wrong thing to do.”  I was determined to see Dave again.

Friday night I asked another friend out in hopes of seeing Dave, I did.  He was just as sweet as the previous week.  Right away, I heard him ask his roommate what he thought of me, he gave Dave a nod of approval.  That night, when my friend wanted to leave, Dave said he would drive me home.  When he pulled into my driveway, I extended my hand.  I was so nervous.  I wanted to kiss him, but it wasn’t right.  He shook my hand.  He told me to call him when I got home Sunday night from a church retreat.  YES!  He wanted to hear from me again.

This is how we began.  We have been very good for one another.  From the very beginning everyone around us knew we were right together.  On our second date, to a mutual friend’s wedding, everyone was asking why we weren’t married yet.  I thank God for Dave!  I have one regret – not staying the course as Dave did with regards to chastity.  But Dave has never made me feel I had anything to apologize for.  He is a patient and forgiving man.

This blog is about us and how God has led us to Him in a most remarkable way.  Remarkable not because of famous people or extraordinary events but simple, common ways.  God is supremely powerful and just.  He is almighty and wonderful.   In God’s mercy, He constantly seeks our love, even though we are most undeserving.  We are His creatures, on bended knee.  Digging tunnels to Heaven…