Speaking Out

TORONTO - I was walking along Queen Street in downtown Toronto with my friend and dwelling on the fact that I had flooded the entire grocery store where I work by leaving the produce hose on. I was scared about what I had to face the next day at work and upset that I made such a careless mistake.

Having just finished four years of university, I know a thing or two about working on Sundays. Often, I would give myself time to sleep in, sleep off a week of classes, tutorials, assignments and incredibly late nights, but then it was time to get up and at ’em for a long day of work. For many young people, church is not even a thought worth entertaining during the school year. “Are you kidding? I have four essays and two presentations to finish by Thursday!”

 

I can remember many times where a cell phone has gone off at the wrong time, but there was this one time I’ll never forget. I was at Palm Sunday Mass and a cell phone rang right in the middle of it. I couldn’t believe it. The person didn’t even turn the phone off because he didn’t want anyone to know it was him.  He had not only disrespected the people around him, the priest and the altar servers, but most importantly, God.

I  was 18 years old when I competed in a regional lifeguard competition. My boss agreed to pay us to compete. However, days before the competition, we were practising for several hours and my teammates were signing in at work for their practice hours. They knew that it was wrong, but they did it anyway. I was jealous because they were making money and I wasn’t so I signed in too, thinking “if I get caught, we’ll all get caught.” Our manager never noticed what happened and we got away with stealing.

As a six-year-old, I always had trouble understanding why I could not have my favourite Mexican candy before dinner. I thought it was unjust that I was not allowed to satisfy my hunger in a manner I saw fit. I felt my freedom was constantly restricted and that my parents did not want me to be a happy child. Back then I believed freedom was doing whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted; therefore I wanted to be free and have my candy.

After his long battle against non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, my father, Robert Paul Murphy, passed from this world on Holy Saturday, April 7.

Spring fever always seems to hit me really hard. When the sun starts to shine a little brighter and the snow starts to melt, I can’t help but get excited. Actually seeing my deck again and not a blanket of white is encouraging each time I look out the window. I love it when I can walk outside without gigantic boots and wear just a light jacket instead of a huge parka. It always makes me smile to feel the sun’s warmth on my face and not have to cover it up with a scarf. I just love spring!

All my life I have struggled against traditional limitations placed on leaders in the Catholic Church. It was always taken for granted that those who wanted to pursue religious lives were restricted to the traditional roles of priests or nuns, but I know I am meant for the married life, so I never thought of becoming a religious.

I was flipping through channels the other night when a new TV show caught my eye. The show was about a group of girls auditioning to be the next Pussycat Doll by singing, dancing and showing off their personalities... whilst being half naked in heels. Whoa!