choose to believe?

Hey hey hey,
SO this semester I am taking a world religions class and although today is only day two, I find myself thoroughly submerged in questions relating to religion, the concept of God and what it all really means to me. It is so stupid that I am tearing up as I begin to type and open my mind to this vast and controversial subject. This topic is a huge one for me and one I am unsure I will ever reconcile with definitive conclusions and/or answers.

I was raised an Irish Catholic girl in a very Catholic family. I will be honest (without going into depth that may get me sued) that my experience is tainted a bit by bad behaviors having everything to do with people associated with the church, but certainly not within my actual church experience. Church for me was always a beautiful time, the sound of my Grandparents on either side of me passionately singing hymns is one of the safest memories I can conjure up from childhood. I will also admit however, that I never had the sense of devotion to Catholicism that my family seemed to experience, namely my Nana and Papa. The word of the gospel is straight from the lips of God in my Grandmother's opinion and there is NO other way. Jesus is our salvation and a Hail Mary will save your plane from crashing or redeem you should you not clear your plate at dinner. I WISH that I had the belief and devotion she has, I have watched her silently mouth the rosary over and over in times of fear and pain and have literally watched the fear and pain fall off of her with all the force of a good car wash. I wish I could find that kind of faith in anything outside of myself....
I make these detached statements, but then tear up immediately (again) as I guiltily feel the well of emotion rising to sting my eyes, I have an overflow of moments that smack of something higher and yet, I just don't know, but I do, but I don't...
The best way I can attempt to explain what I mean, is this.
I have a miracle - his name is Matthew Joseph.... I'll stay brief on this - the doctors said, terminate - the ventricle is blocked, the fluid has accumulated, his future is uncertain but certainly looks grave.
The first thing I did following scream, cry and sink to my knees, was grab my rosary beads wrap them tight around my fingers, Jesus tight in my palm and pray...Our Father who art in heaven...Hail Mary full of grace pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death..... I fell asleep praying and woke praying and continued on this way for weeks and weeks of what to me now, only resembles a numb haze. Every time that I went to the hospital for further tests (weekly) I first visited the hospital chapel where I knelt, hands clasped tight, forehead sunk deep into them and labored through these exact words, which I half spoke, half choked aloud, DEAR GOD PLEASE MAKE MY BABY WELL.
I did not believe he would be well in the end and believed even less, that I would survive his certain death. I quietly and gracefully prepared to die myself, if not in fact my actual life, certainly my emotional life. I was just waiting to say goodbye....I lived this way until somewhere around week thirty when I experienced what I refer to as a "divine intervention" where suddenly the landscape around me became grainy dots like that of an Andy Warhol print or the comics of a newspaper. The only exception to the glowing atoms surrounding me, was the twisted mangled body of a crippled teenage girl in a wheel chair and her loving Father doting on her every breath. I watched them in dismay and wonder as they communicated on a silent level, a language of a love so deep that I could see it glowing around them and emanating from them towards me, inviting me somehow to imagine I would ever be so lucky as to know this kind of intimacy.
I know it is hard to understand, it is even harder for me to describe, especially in short form text. The story deserves the inflection of my choked up voice as I travel back in time and see her again, see them again before me. This form does the experience no justice at all, I promise you. It was life altering for me. A look at divinity, a view of something higher - that someone, somewhere decided I NEEDED to see.
It was that very day that the weight of Matthew's health outcome lifted from me and I realized that because I was his MOTHER, I would know what to do no matter what. If he should be born into the world to die in my arms, well then my arms would be ready to hold him, my voice ready to sing to him, my heart full of love to send with him on his way. Whatever his destiny, I was THE integral component. And, if I were so lucky to have him live and instead face the many challenges of a disabled child, I would be blessed to have that rare kind of love like that Dad and his beautiful daughter...
Did God intervene? I have asked myself that question time and time again, especially when the terrorist attack of 9/11 ruined my first day of rest on maternity leave as I should have been preparing to give birth to Matt but was instead sobbing in horror as I watched the twin towers fall to the ground and with them the lives of thousands of people. The next day 9/12/01, I went to the hospital for my very last ultrasound to measure Matthews head, check circumference and swelling to see if vaginal delivery was even a possibility. As I drove to the hospital, the world around me moved in paces of shock, zombie like....The local firefighters were at red lights with boots collecting money for the fire houses in NYC. I entered the doors of Martha Jefferson Hospital that day in the same mood as everyone else in the country, SAD.
When I got up on the table and had the cool jelly smeared across my mountainous belly, I remember thinking, as Sheri (the tech) placed the ultrasound wand in the mound of gel, this may be the last time I see him safe....or alive.
I could not have been more wrong....
It is fuzzy what happened next - she said "I don't believe this" and I said "what"???? WHAT???

In short, the ventricle in his brain, after 38 weeks of pregnancy had suddenly, without explanation shrunk from completely dilated and covering the entire left side of his brain to within the normal limits and there it was grey matter we had never seen, developed normally underneath all that cerebral spinal fluid. The pressure had not damaged a thing....My boy turned nine and is here healthy as a healthy horse and driving me nuts on a daily basis. Praise God??? My Nana, the devout Catholic, told me God had made room for him, life and death are entwined....
Is that the work of God? Do I believe in God???
Today my professor addressed the class asking, "has anyone thought about where they were before they were born"???
I raised my hand the only whack job in the class and explained that I was evil in my past life I am SURE of it !!! How else can we explain the mammoth acorns that fall from the sky and hit me dead smack in the center of my head when there is no tree above me? Lets not forget the falling birthday squirrel that nearly beheaded me on my 38th birthday....
I have delusions of grandeur that have followed me from my past life as a bewitching evil princess probably responsible for mass murders if not mass seductions. Sometimes I think Marie Antoinette and I are the same and her party habits make me hopelessly bored in this lifetime....Sometimes I speak languages in my dreams that I have never heard before....I do believe that I was somewhere before here and that is most certainly not Catholic or indicative of traditional Christian beliefs...
What do I believe? I read about the "indigenous religions" of Africa and think some of it sounds faintly familiar.... I think it's possible that Hinduism has it all right....Is it about the next life? Is is about this one? Do I want to be nailed down? (wow I totally did not mean to make a Jesus reference there, no pun intended.)
I do know, that regardless of anything, a Catholic church makes me feel super safe and Jesus was a man I can respect no matter what the real deal is. Any man willing to die for a peace loving effort is a hero and worthy of worship. I pretty much worship Dr. King, no doubt
As I age, I find that I am less sure of anything I don't know for sure and really the only thing I do know for sure, is myself....
This class is going to break open my mind, I just know great revelations will come of this, whether they be Aboriginal, indigenous or Buddhist.....
So much to say so much to say..... (maybe music is the only religion I need ha)