Five Minute Friday: Expect

It's Friday and that means it's time for the linkup at the Five Minute Friday blog! Since the last time I linked up with the FMF community, Kate has moved things from her personal blog to a new space that is totally dedicated to FMF. Go check it out! This week's prompt word is....

EXPECT

Friends, it is June. More to the point, it's almost the middle of June. I have been so inundated with the stuff of life lately that I just haven't had the time or mental energy to write in this blog. I don't know why I can't seem to make myself do it. I guess I've gotten out of the habit (not that it was such a firm habit to begin with!). I start posts and then don't finish them. I just looked and I literally have over 100 posts that are drafts. They're just sitting there, waiting for me to do something with them. I don't know what I'm expecting. It's not like they're going to finish themselves or edit themselves. Some of them aren't actually too bad.

Several months back we actually had this prompt word and I had a pretty decent post going with it. I had actually finished it, but it was long and seemed really disjointed to me, so onto the scrap heap it went! Looking back over it, I can see now where it can be cut and not lose meaning or impact. That's what I feel like I'm always chasing. I write so many words and so often, I'm scared of cutting things. I'm scared of just writing without editing too. I don't know what I expect the reaction of others to be to my verbose ramblings. Maybe they'll think I'm crazy. Maybe they'll think I talk too much. Maybe they'll think that I need to just stop writing altogether because I really really suck at it. These are the voices in my head that keep me from writing a lot of the time.

Even when I do write something that feels like it's pretty good, I wind up getting scared to publish it. I've felt this way from the beginnings of this blog and I don't know how to conquer these feelings. I don't know how to change this. I think it's because I expect my writing, my blog, and all of it to be as good and polished and lovely to look at as my fellow bloggers. The thing is, I don't really like polished and pretty all the time because it's not who I am. But polished and pretty gets people to read and to comment.

Baring your soul, talking about uncomfortable things like mental illness, and trying to write in such a way that causes people to think seems to be met with silence and indifference. It makes me wonder who is reading and if they care. Then I wonder why I care so much about that. I try not to care, but here I am, caring again. Here I am second guessing myself. Here I am wondering if when you finish reading this, you will forget this as soon as your eyes hit the last word. Here I am wondering if what I have to say about anything is worth sharing with the world. These thoughts and wonderings and fears are what keep me from writing. I don't want to expect anything of this, but I am only human and we human beings are messy, complicated, and complex that way.

I don't even know if any of this makes any sense to anyone but me or if I should expect it to make sense. I just know that I feel compelled to return to this space and write. I just don't know if I ought to expect anyone to read it.

FMF: Sing

I didn't think I had anything to say about this week's prompt word, but suddenly the first sentence came to me and then I found that I couldn't stop writing. I love my Five Minute Friday community, but on those weeks when the inspiration does actually come, five minutes just isn't enough to convey everything that is in my heart. So without further ado, this week's prompt word:

 

SING

What do you do when you can't sing?
What do you do when your heart can't hear the song anymore?
What do you do when the song that once called you now hurts you with its words?
What do you do when your voice leaves you and the notes are replaced with tears?

The good Christian and Catholic answer would be that you keep singing.

But it's not that easy. It's just not.

It's not that easy when every time your eyes take in the words on the music sheet or hymnal and you feel a knot in your stomach, a lump forming in your throat, a quivering tremble in your normally steady voice, or a white hot anger spreading through your chest. Honestly, sometimes when your the song becomes too painful to sing, what you do is stop singing.

I know. I know. That's not what you're supposed to do. But it happens.

Can I tell you something? Despite whatever message shame and guilt are telling you, sometimes it's 100% okay to stop singing. God understands. He understands the pain and suffering we are enduring and that sometimes forcing ourselves to sing just exacerbates that pain. He's felt the same pain you are feeling -- whatever that may be. He gets it in a way that no one else can or ever will. It's because not only did He feel that ache in your heart when He was put to death for the sins of mankind, but He feels it now. He is with you in your pain. More to the point, when we are suffering, we are closest to His Sacred Heart.

So what do you do when you can't offer a song of praise or worship or even thanksgiving to God? What on earth do you do?

You offer up your sorrows instead. Offer every tear, every heartache, every moment of screaming and shaking anger, and every little bit of you that hurts. Offer that up to Him. You may be asking the question, "well, how do I do that?" The easiest thing to do is to make a conscious decision that whenever you feel all the things that steal your voice, that you will say to Him, "Jesus, I offer these to You." It doesn't have to be any kind of flowery or fancy sounding prayer. Just a humble offering in the midst of pain. Yes, that sounds easy and yes, it's hard to do. It can be especially hard to do if you are angry with Him.

So if you're angry at Him, what then? If that is what you are feeling and you can't bring yourself to offer anything to Him, just offer Him the promise that you won't run away. You can rage. You can rail. You can scream. You can tell Him exactly how you feel and use all the swear words in your vocabulary. All of the above are acceptable because He can take it. Just offer Him the promise that no matter how angry you get, you will keep coming back to Him. That means that you'll continue to do at least the bare bones basics of faith so as not to let the relationship die. Things might be distant for a while and you might be tempted to turn away, but keep turning back to Him. Sing Him the song of your promise to be obedient and faithful even amidst your anger.

I know that if you are hurting -- no matter the reason -- that you may be screaming at your computer screen right now and telling me in no uncertain terms that I'm bonkers or that I don't get it. You may be crying as you read this because you think that there's no way that you'll ever sing again. You may be in such great pain that you are praying that He will mercifully take you from this life. You may have reached a point where you are no longer concerned with singing any song because you are thinking of ending your life yourself. 

I know absolutely all of these pains. I know the anger, the rage, the heartbreak, the deep ache of wanting the pain to stop, the praying that God would take my life, the thoughts of suicide so dark that I couldn't see my way into the next hour, much less tomorrow. I know all of these things so well, my friend. I get it on a deep level.

Actually, I get it right now. I've had a week when the heavy dark cloud has been hanging over me and I just couldn't shake it. This evening, in fact, I felt so overwhelmed by it that I lost my ability to care that I was in the floor, shaking with sobs, and my eldest daughter was watching it all. It was horrible. It's still not so great. My classically trained soprano voice hasn't sung at all this week.

To be honest, I've not regularly sung His praises in the way that I normally love to do, for almost three years. So what have I done? I've continued in obedience and done the bare bones. I've gone to Mass each week and on holy days. I've prayed the blessing over meals. I've prayed bedtime prayers with my children and husband. I've wept so many tears that they would likely fill a rather large vat by this point and many of them as I've been on my knees before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. I've screamed at Him (yes, with profanities on occasion) and told Him how angry I am and that I felt abandoned by Him when I needed Him most. I have, in my own disjointed and imperfect way, tried to continue on in faith and obedience even when I didn't feel anything and even when I didn't want to anymore.

My efforts to that end haven't been fruitless, but I have needed an abundance of help from my spiritual director, Fr. B. and the graces of the sacraments of Reconciliation (confession), Anointing of the Sick, and the Eucharist. Those meetings with Fr. B and the graces I've received through frequent reception of the sacraments have been like a healing balm that works slowly, but steadily. I can't say that my song has returned in full, but I am finding moments when the words and music fill me up with more than pain. I still don't sing as much as I once did, but my voice is returning in fits and starts.

So if you can't sing and it hurts too much, know that you are not alone. He is with you even in your pain and anger and silence. May Christ who knows your pain and hears your silent anguished song abide with you until you can sing again.

*********

If you find yourself at that place where you are thinking of suicide, please reach out to someone. If you need it, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or if you'd rather text to someone, text the word HOME to 741741 and the Crisis Text line will text you back.

FMF: Empty

It's been a while since I've written in this blog in part because we've had a lot going on within our family life of late. I really want to get back into the habit of writing on a regular basis, so with that in mind, here's my contribution to this week's linkup at the Five Minute Friday community. This week's word prompt is EMPTY. Given that we've just been through Holy Week, I've been thinking and meditating on Christ's last week on earth and more particularly, on His death and resurrection. This prompt definitely pointed toward all these meditations for me, so that was the inspiration for this. I hope you find something in it to edify and encourage you. Happy Easter!

EMPTY

I have heard quite a few people ask the question of Catholics, “why do you keep Jesus nailed to the cross?” It's a good question. Most non-Catholic Christian churches do not have a cross with Jesus nailed to it. Their crosses are empty. Having grown up Baptist, I was always told that the reason the cross was empty was because He had overcome death. So if the empty cross is a symbol for Jesus having overcome death, then why do Catholics display and wear a crucifix?

There are a number of reasons for this, but the biggest of these is that having Jesus on the cross in front of our eyes makes it so that every time we see it, we are reminded of His great love for us – that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. You see, it is death that we see when we look at a crucifix. It is an agonising, brutal, vicious, torturous death. It is also a beautiful death. That may sound strange, but think of it this way: not only did His death bring about redemption and the possibility of salvation for all of mankind, but He bore that death with the full knowledge that there would be those who would reject His love. When Catholics look at a crucifix, we are moved both by the agony of it and the beauty of it, because we see Him at His most loving.

One of the other things that a crucifix encourages us to do every time we look at it is to persevere as we carry our own crosses. It also encourages us that He is with us in that journey because He has been there and He knows the pain of carrying a cross. He knows it more perfectly and more fully than we will ever begin to fathom. So when we gaze upon the crucified form of Jesus on a cross, we can draw great strength from being reminded that He is with us, helping us to carry the crosses of life.

Finally, there is one Truth that we are reminded of every time we gaze upon a crucifix and that is this: there is no way to heaven but through the cross. To reach heaven, we must go through the cross. We can't go around it. We can't avoid it. We can't ignore it and pretend that it isn't there or that we don't need it. We need to embrace the crucified Christ because His love for us in that moment is what enables us to reach heaven.   

Without the crucifixion, there can be no resurrection and the resurrection – the empty tomb, not the empty cross – is the ultimate symbol of victory over death. That empty tomb is a promise that one day our own tombs will be empty because we will be raised up, our bodies made perfect because of Christ's death and resurrection, and we will be with Him for eternity, enjoying the beatific vision of God the Father.

So we keep Jesus on the cross – not because we are consumed with His death – but rather because seeing Him there is an unavoidable and constant reminder of just how much we are worth to God. When the world tells you that you are worthless or you feel like God doesn't love you or doesn't care about you, I encourage you to go look at a crucifix and meditate on what you see before you.

That, my friends, is the message of the crucifix. The crucifix in all its brutality with Jesus hanging upon the cross is a message of great love and of great hope. We know when we see it that this isn't the end of the story and so the crucifix points us toward the empty tomb and the resurrection. It gives us hope that our own crosses are not the end of our stories. It gives us hope that with His help, we can persevere to the end, having run the race to its completion and having obtained the prize of eternal life.

Five Minute Friday: Slow

Hey friends! It's been a while since I joined in with the folks at Five Minute Friday. If you're just joining me, know that this is a little longer than the average FMF post and that's because I don't set a timer. Yes, I know, I know. That's supposed to be the point, but I just can't do it that way. So I kinda do it my way. If you're a fast to moderately fast reader though, this should take you five minutes or so to read (so there's your five minutes). If you'd like to join up with this week's posts on the prompt word SLOW, then hop over to this week's prompt at Kate's blog and click on the linkup at the bottom of the page. Without further ado...

SLOW

It's been almost two months since the last time I posted here and I wish I could say that it's because life has been moving really fast or that I've just been so busy that I didn't have time to write, but I can't say that. Life has been, as it happens, pretty slow. The very beginning of the year, from just after New Year's to about mid-March, tends to be a wonderfully slow time of year that follows on the heels of the whirlwind of activity that comprises daily life and the many family and faith celebrations from September to December.

And friends, let me tell you, I need slow.

I have always been a fan of this time of respite and slowed down activity, but this year, it took on a new meaning for me. I didn't really realise it until this past Thursday when I was sitting in Dr. D's office and we were wrapping up our session. It had been a pretty intense session of EMDR and talking and my emotions were pretty close to the surface. I don't recall the exact thread of conversation, but somewhere in the midst of our normal wrap up talk, he commented that he thought I was on the right track with what we were working on. I agreed with him and replied that although I knew it was, it was still hard. He said "Oh yes, I know it is. I think though, part of the reason it's hard is because it feels like your progress is coming so slowly right now, but once we get through processing a lot of these memories, you'll notice that your progress speeds up and goes much faster."

You see, through the past four years I've been wishing for fast. I've been craving for time and progress and everything to just speed up and get me through this pain I feel. It hurts a lot when you're going through severe suicidal depression and PTSD. You feel like it's a nightmare that will never end and because it's so painful and so exhausting, you yearn for the passage of time (and all the normal thing that come along with it, like therapy sessions and tears and the like) to speed up so you just don't have to feel it anymore. Slow is the last thing you want and yet, time moves along like a turtle in a swimming pool of molasses.

What struck me about what Dr. D said on Thursday is that I knew the moment he said it that it was true and that I had already experienced that. Back in November, we took a pretty significant break from doing EMDR (a traumatic memory processing technique) because of the fact that I had experienced a very intense trigger around that time that needed to be worked through. Trying to work through traumatic memories on top of dealing with intense triggers can be far too much all at once, so we stopped the EMDR and to focus on helping me cope with the intense trigger. What I noticed during this break of about 2 to 2.5 months was that my progress did, in fact, speed up. I had more energy, more ability to handle day to day stresses, lessened irritability, and my sleep wasn't nearly as fraught with nightmares as it had been.

At some point in January, once the holidays had passed and things were calmer, we started doing EMDR again. Some of the things I'd seen improve stayed, while others slowed, and still others came to a halt altogether. I found myself wishing that it would speed up again and stop with all the slow movement. I got very frustrated, but kept pressing on despite it. The more frustrated I got though, the slower it seemed to go because I was avoiding some of the things I needed to do for myself to keep moving forward. I wasn't really facing the demons of my traumas and looking them full in the face. I was only really doing the bare minimum because I wanted to get to the part where things speed up again.

When Dr. D mentioned the bit about "processing a lot of these memories" I realised that I not only had experienced this, but that the slowing down that was happening was a natural part of the process. I also realised that until the last couple of weeks, I hadn't been fully embracing that slowness or the process. I can't say what changed and made it so that I began to embrace it again, but in that moment last Thursday, I realised something very fundamental about my healing journey: I need slow.

I need these times of slowness and intense therapy where I look at these things under a microscope and plunge deep into these memories. I need these times when I am pushing forward through molasses and sobbing uncontrollably as I face the traumas of my past anew. I need the slowness of these times to allow me to really find and untangle the threads which are binding my mind in a feedback loop of reliving these memories because that is painstaking, complicated work that requires patience, determination, a great deal of help from others, and a very slow perseverance. I need the slowness of only being able to do the basics of self care and resting a lot so that I don't get overloaded. I need to feel the intensity of the emotions that surface so I can learn how to cope with them and better manage them. I need slow.

So things are slow right now. Things are really intense too. The stuff my brain has been dredging up the last couple of weeks has been so intense that I've felt weak physically and needed a boost of caffeine and food immediately afterward just to be able to drive safely. It's also needed a lot of unpacking after processing, so my sessions with Dr. D have run longer and I've been seeing Pendragon at least twice a week and almost immediately after I see Dr. D each week. You'd think that it would be therapy overload and sometimes it's pretty intense too, but it's keeping me on a more even keel than I think I would be if I didn't have that extra help. The great thing about having these two professionals helping me is that they both have different perspectives and help me find different threads of connection and understanding that I might not be able to find without them. Gray helps too. We often do a little debrief when I come home and very often, things come up that later get addressed with EMDR or in talking with Pendragon or Dr. D.

With all that intensity and slowness, I know I will be glad for a time when we break from things so that progress speeds and breathing is easier, but knowing that this slowness is part of the process and that it is moving me forward is helpful. As much as this slowness is hard, it is forcing me to look at these traumatic memories full on and really feel the impact of them in a way that allows me to understand them and move past them instead of repressing them or hiding from them.

It's very hard work and it's very painful and there are days, like yesterday, when the pain is so fierce that I want everything to end -- but I know that slow doesn't have to mean running away and death by suicide. I know that all this pain and agony as I face this stuff in the slow is shaping me into a better person who is stronger, braver, and better equipped to do the work that He has planned for me as a wife, mother, mental health/suicide prevention advocate, and child of God.

The mountain is steep and the climb arduous, breath-stealing, excruciatingly painful, and interminably slow, but I know the vista that awaits me at the top will be worth it all the more for the journey.

31 Days of Forgotten Fridays

This year instead of trying to come up with something super original for Write 31 Days, I decided to go back to Fridays. Five Minute Fridays, that is. Because of life interruptions, sickness, family issues, and difficulties getting my writing mojo flowing, there have been quite a number of Five Minute Friday prompts that I've not written on or linked up in the past year. There were some of these prompts that I had ideas for but just couldn't manage to get anything written before the next week and the next prompt rolled around. There were other prompts that nailed me between the eyes so hard due to their appropriateness for my life at that time that I found it impossible to write something based on them. There were still other prompts that I just totally didn't even see the first time around because I was so inundated with dealing with life that I completely forgot about looking for the prompt and writing on it.

Because I'm going through quite a lot of late and don't have a lot of mental capacity to write much of anything (just check the gaps in the dates on this blog), I decided to try and use this month to focus on getting myself back into a habit of writing more often. To that end, I made a list of these "forgotten" Five Minute Friday prompts and decided to use those as a jumping off point for my Write 31 Days series this year. As of the writing of this, I am four days into October and haven't yet written any of the days, but I'm going to do my best to get caught up and have the first five days up and published by tomorrow (which is October 5th). 

Those of you who know me from the Five Minute Friday community will already know this, but if you're new to my blog, you should know that I'm a FMF slacker. I don't exactly set a timer and only write for five minutes. I don't always write and publish without editing. I have tried to do things by the rules, but have wound up with tons of anxiety and self-doubt about everything I've written. For my own mental health, I decided to do it my way. I write whatever I want on the prompt and take however long it takes me to write it. I know that means it's not technically a "five minute" Friday, but I don't think anyone minds too much.

I guess that's it for now. I hope you enjoy this little jaunt through 31 Days of Forgotten Fridays!

P. S. I'm hoping to be able to kind of tie all the posts together with a common theme, but if that proves too difficult, I may just write whatever I'm inspired to write.

Five Minute Friday: Five

It's been a while since I've linked up with my friends in the Five Minute Friday community, but for the first time in some weeks, I actually had a decent idea for the prompt. Granted, the idea came to me as I was falling asleep last night, but I managed to remember it, so here it is! 

FIVE

Five Things I Love About Fall

As of this past Thursday, it is officially fall. Where I live, the first day of fall never quite feels like fall, so it's hard to get into the fall state of mind. Even after the official first day of fall, the temps remain summer like in the 90s during the day and dropping into the upper 70s at night. The trees are still mostly clad in green and short sleeves and shorts still abound everywhere you look. That said last Friday night, I saw a graphic from a local meteorologist on Twitter with the comment that after Sunday, we would get to say goodbye to the 90s! The graphic showed the highs and lows for the next week or so and I nearly squealed when I saw that the last day on it had a low of 56! Huzzah! As it is Thursday again today, I can say that it's officially FALL!!! The temps the past few days have been AMAZING! Today was absolutely gloriously gorgeous with clear sunny skies and temperatures that didn't get above about 75. With the advent of these fabulous temperatures, it brings to mind all the many things that I love about this time of year, so without further ado, here are FIVE things I love about fall!

1. Fall leaves - I've loved gazing at fall foliage since I was a young girl. There's something so lovely and magical about how the leaves turn from the greens of summer to the sunny yellows, subdued browns, bright oranges, and flaming reds of autumn. My mother used to say that the trees were exchanging their summer dresses for fall ones. As a girl, I loved to imagine the trees standing front of a mirror trying on their new colours before deciding what to "wear."

2. Pumpkin Spice Lattes - Nowadays, there's pumpkin spice everything. You can walk through the aisles of your local grocery stores and find cookies, cream cheese, cereals, breads, ice cream, cakes, air fresheners, soaps, and even deodorant! The thing that I think started it all is the Starbucks' Pumpkin Spice Latte. The popularity of the PSL is so big these days that it's almost a little bit uncool to say that you like them, but I'm not ashamed. I LOVE a pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks! There's something about them that never fails to help reduce my stress levels and make me feel calm. 

3. Soups and Stews -- I am very happy to eat a bowl of soup or stew or chowder any time of the year, but there's nothing quite like a steaming bowl of soup on a chilly fall day that makes you feel good inside. Some soups and stews -- like chili or creamy butternut squash -- are the kind of thing that just begs to be made and eaten when the mercury starts dropping and I am all too happy to oblige. In fact, as far as chili goes, I am chomping at the bit for things to get cold enough to make it because it just doesn't seem nearly as good when the weather is warmer as it does on a crisp fall night.

4. Snuggly Blankets -- Where we live in the south, summers are spent with ceiling fans whirring and lightweight sheets and covers when you sleep, but I really look forward to when it cools off so I can break out my fuzzy, snuggly blankets. I love to sit on the couch on a cool morning, watching TV with my first cup of coffee with a big fuzzy blanket draped across my lap. One of my favourite memories made in the last four years is snuggling with my youngest, GB, sharing one of those blankets while she watches Daniel Tiger and I drink my coffee. I'm not really a big fan of mornings, but when she snuggles up to me like that, it makes everything -- including the fuzzy blanket we share -- that much better. 

5. More Energy, Less Sweat -- One of the things that I like least about summer is the fact that the heat and humidity do more than just make me uncomfortable and frizzy haired. They are so oppressive at times that they drain my energy to the point that I just don't feel like doing much of anything. The heat of the summer also means that I wind up sweating a lot more than normal which also contributes to the lack of energy. When the temperatures finally cool off, I often find that I suddenly feel like I have a burst of energy that I didn't have before. My favourite thing is when I step outside for the first time after things cool off and can really feel the difference in the air temp, it's like someone has hit me with a little bit of sugar to my blood stream. It's not what I'd call invigorating, but it definitely energises me. I love being able to sleep more comfortably and without waking up feeling slightly sweaty. It's bliss! 

Bonus Thing I Love About Fall: My beloved patron saint, Pope St. John Paul II, has his feast day during the fall on October 22nd! I can't wait to celebrate his feast day in a few weeks!

What are you favourite things about fall? Tell me about them in the comments!

Monday Joys - July 4th, 2016

My friend Tara over at Praying on the Prairie does this weekly post called Sunday Blessings where she recaps her week by counting her blessings. They can be really big things like an answered prayer or small things like a text from a friend. I've long enjoyed reading her posts and have thought about doing something similar but have yet to hit upon a way that I want to do it. Well, today being July 4th and having had a pretty good day, I got sort of reflective in my Facebook status update. As I was rereading what I'd written, it occurred to me that all of the things I had listed were little blessings. That's when it hit me that the way I want to do this is try and list my little joys each week. As I was considering this post, it occurred to me that a good reason to try to start getting into the habit of doing this each week and doing it on Mondays rather than Sundays is twofold:

• Depression and PTSD often make it hard for me to see anything as joyful, even when it is. Doing this each week may help me be more mindful as I go about my week of the times when joy shines into the cracks of my day to day life. 
• Mondays are a day that I dread for a number of reasons. I have hated them since I was a child. Mondays mean that you either have to go to school or work or if you're like me and you're a stay at home mom, it means you're alone with the kids and no adult conversation or interaction. It's often a big downer after the weekend and especially so if you've had a really awesome weekend or are coming off a fun vacation. I guess the thought is if I sort of refocus my Mondays a bit by listing the previous week's joys and blessings, that it won't be quite as onerous.

I can't promise that my list will be nearly as long as Tara's is each week, but I can promise that there will be little joys. So, without further ado, here's the first installment of Monday Joys!

1. A vox from my friend Tara - so good to hear her voice. I've been missing her!

2. A long chat with my first cousin J. We talked for a good two and a half hours! It was like old times and I can't wait to do it again.

3. My weekly spiritual direction meeting with my priest, Fr. B. This week was very hard, but Father was so patient, gentle, and compassionate with me. He also reminded me of some very important things -- one of which is that he's always praying for me, Gray, and our family.

4. Fr. B gave me a second class relic of St. Brother André Bessette! He said for me to "hold onto it", so I'm not sure if he means me to keep it for good, but even if not, I am honoured to keep it for a time. St. Brother André was known for having a gift of healing in this life and his intercession as a saint has been attributed to numerous miraculous healings and cures.

5. A 30 minute long aromatherapy deep tissue massage on Thursday following my appointment with Dr. D for EMDR. My body had been so tense from all the stresses of the week (very rough week emotionally and spiritually) that I needed to have all those knots worked out. I hadn't planned on doing it, but I think my guardian angel must have nudged me in that direction because I suddenly had the idea and knew that I just had to do it. It was AMAZING. After the massage, I had a complimentary steam shower which was such a refreshing thing in and of itself. I actually had a cool shower but enjoyed steam coming from the vents and the combination of that with the massage left me feeling so totally relaxed and calm. It was nice to feel all clean on my drive home too!

6. Panera Bread's blood orange lemonade is, quite simply, THE BOMB. I could drink it several glasses of it every single day. With the mercury in the mid to upper 90s and the humidity so heavy that you feel like you're walking through a steaming oven, it's the perfect way to help you cool off, quench your thirst, and re-energize. Yes, it's a little pricey (about $2.19-2.59, depending on size) but if you're like me and you want more than one glass, it's worth it because the refills are FREE. I highly recommend a big glass of it paired with the Green Goddess Cobb Salad with Chicken for a light and refreshing lunch or dinner when it's too hot to cook or you just want something filling, but not too heavy. I recommend the lemonade all by itself as well!

7. Hamburgers made and grilled by my hubby Gray for our 4th of July repast. I enjoyed mine with sliced tomatoes, sharp cheddar cheese, dill pickle chips, mayo and ketchup. YUM!

8. This afternoon M2 decided to put on one of the digital music channels that comes w/our satellite package. She chose "classic rock" and soon the house was filled with The Eagles, Lynard Skynard, The Beatles, Three Dog Night, and Queen, among others. She and her sisters jammed out and I grabbed our littlest girl, GB, and tried to teach her some dance moves. That evolved into her sisters wanting to dance with me too and pretty soon we were all swaying, twirling, and grooving to the beat. The best was when "Joy to the World" by Three Dog Night came on. SO much fun!

9. As it's the 4th of July, some fireworks were in order. AB had spotted some leftover fireworks from last year in our garage about a week ago and was chomping at the bit to light them off tonight. I stepped out to one of the local fireworks sellers and bought a few sparklers, some cherry snappers (those paper snaps you throw at the pavement), bottle rockets, and a package of really pretty fireworks that came with their own mortar to use for launching them. The girls had fun with the sparklers and the cherry snappers and we all enjoyed the bottle rockets and other fireworks. We also enjoyed the fireworks being set off by our neighbours down the street, around the corner, and about two streets over as they lit up the sky.

10. Dessert tonight was yummy -- store bought apple pie and vanilla bean ice cream. Simple, classically American, and just perfect!

11. Bedtime prayers tonight with my girls were a quiet kind of comfort.

12. Sitting in the grass with GB in my lap and her big sisters snuggled close while we watched the fireworks made my heart swell with love.

13. All the excitement of getting ready to see all my girlfriends this coming weekend at our every other year "retreat." I know these gals from an online community and consider many of them dear friends. It will be so wonderful to see all their faces again and hug their necks and chat and giggle until our voices are hoarse.

14. The blessing of my big brother Chez and my friend Rikert who are always so good to pray for me when I need it. I am so thankful for them both and their support.

15. The fun of the Thursday night Five Minute Friday Twitter party. I wasn't as active this week, but I always enjoy hanging with that community and chatting about our week.

16. For M2 who leaned over after communion on Sunday as I knelt crying (as I frequently do) and said, "Momma, I just had the thought that I should pray for you, so I prayed and asked God to give you some good sleep and no bad dreams. I realised that I hadn't really prayed for you like that before and that I should, so I did. I'm sorry I didn't before now." That caused even more tears as I leaned over, kissed the top of her head, and embraced her in a hug. I told her how much I appreciated that. Her sweet tender heart just bowls me over sometimes and this was definitely one of those moments.

I guess that's all for this week. With any luck, next Monday, I'll be back to do it all over again. Until then...

Just a quick update

This week has been a beast. I'm still alive and kicking, but a lot has happened. I had something for Five Minute Friday that was mostly ready to go, but just haven't gotten back to finishing it. I know that sounds odd given that it's supposed to be an exercise done in five minutes with no editing and using the week's prompt, but I stopped doing FMF like that several months ago. So I take as long as I need to write and edit if I feel it is necessary (although I try to keep it to a bare minimum and only do what is necessary for it to be readable -- inserting forgotten articles, changing verb tenses, etc). This week, that means that I'm likely not going to be completing my FMF entry. Tomorrow (Thursday) is going to be busy for me and I doubt I'll have time to get back to it before the linkup ends.

If you're not too busy, would you send up a prayer for me? I've got a lot going on in the next few days and week and I'm dealing with all of that on top of struggling with my illnesses too. Gray could use a prayer or two as well. Whenever I'm struggling, he invariably is put under a lot more stress as well and it's so hard for him. He's so wonderfully gracious about it though. I love him so much and want to support him in prayer too.

God bless y'all.

Pax Christi,
The Momma

Five Minute Friday: Whole

It's been a few weeks since I've joined up with the Five Minute Friday community, so if this gets a little rambly, y'all bear with me, okay? I'm a bit out of practice. If you'd like to join and write something on this week's prompt word, head over to Kate's blog Heading Home and link up at the bottom of this week's post.

Whole

There are so many things I could write about with this word, but I think I'm just going to kind of ramble and pray that it all kinda melds together into one coherent thought. The first thing I thought about when I saw the prompt word is that I haven't felt whole in a long time. I think the last time I felt really, truly whole was when I was pregnant with our eldest daughter, M2. We'd been married for about six months when she was conceived and I was overjoyed at the prospect of becoming a mother for the first time. Everything seemed right in my world, in my life, and within myself. I was happy and healthy -- physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

I have struggled for most of my life with feeling broken. I've been broken because of bullying, low self-esteem, a lifetime of obesity, emotional abuse, mental illness (my own and that of close family), self-injury, suicidal thoughts and attempts, and spiritual wounds. When I met Gray and our friendship began, I was on my journey to the Catholic Church. As I went along that path, I began to see those spiritual wounds being healed and in Gray, I found a kind of love and acceptance that was a balm to many of my emotional hurts and scars. When we married, I felt a sense of wholeness that I hadn't ever thought possible -- and yet, there remained pieces of me that were broken, although I didn't see it at the time.

Those broken pieces have sharp, jagged edges that continue to cut me apart and tear at my desires to be truly whole. Despite my journey to Catholicism, I've had some of those old spiritual wound scars be reopened in the last three years by circumstances and situations out of my control. Thankfully, Fr. B, my spiritual director, has been helping me -- slowly though it seems to go -- to get at the deeper roots of those spiritual wounds so that I can find not just healing for the superficial tears in my spirit, but a deeper spiritual wholeness.

Emotionally, I am definitely a long way from whole. I've struggled mightily with this task that I felt the Holy Spirit set before me to read and meditate on the Psalms each day and write about it in this blog. Some of that is due to spiritual healing that still needs to take place, but a lot of it is that my brain and body are so tired from fighting depression constantly for the last three years that I have many days that I do good to just be awake and vertical instead of in bed.

I want to be whole again. I want to enjoy my life again. I want to have hope that I can be whole someday. Right now it's not all darkness, but what light I see at the end of the tunnel is a tiny pinprick that is so far away that I cannot fathom the distance. It might as well not be there at all as far away as it is. But that tiny pinprick is what keeps me alive. When I can see it, I can think of the possibility of wholeness. When I can't, then I can't see wholeness for anyone and all seems lost. So I focus on that pinprick of light and keep following my big brother Chez's advice to put one foot in front of the other.

Maybe one day, I'll step out of this dark tunnel and emerge through that pinprick into the light of wholeness. With my luck, that won't be in this life, but will only happen once I've shuffled off this mortal coil. I suppose there is actually truth in that statement. I mean as humans, we're all broken by sin and our broken and sinful world. We may do our best to rid ourselves of sin, but we still fall victim to the sins of others and the messed up way the world works because of the effects of original sin. The only cure for the messiness of our sin sick world and its effects on all of us is Jesus. He is with us, of course, via the Holy Spirit and in the Eucharist, but I don't think this world will get much better until He comes again. So maybe wholeness in this life is something to be sought after, but not to be received until He comes again.

I don't know. I don't have all the answers. I just know what my heart yearns for -- to be fully and completely whole in Him.

Five Minute Friday: Share

I'm linking up with the Five Minute Friday community again today to spend time writing on this week's prompt: SHARE. If you'd like to join the party, come on over to Kate's blog and link up with the rest of the community! Just click here to find today's post and scroll to the bottom to link up your own musings on today's prompt. Without further ado, here are my thoughts on....

SHARE

Some people probably wonder why I share so openly on this blog. In part, it's because I've always loved to share. I was always the girl who happily shared things with others when she was little. I would share my food, share my toys, and share my love through hugs, kisses, and kind words. As I grew older, I learned in some ways to be more selfish. I suppose that's part of growing up in this fallen world, although I'm ashamed to admit that I don't share as readily as I did when I was a child.

I'll admit that I don't share chocolate very easily. I find it very difficult to share my trust. I struggle with sharing my story at times because it's really hard and takes a lot of strength and courage to do so when the story is dark and difficult. I was reminded last night though of why I love sharing. It does something to me inside that I find difficult to put into words.

Yesterday was my 40th birthday and it was a really great day by all accounts. I think part of why it was such a great day is that I did a lot of sharing. I shared some time with an old friend and her daughter over coffee and cake pops at Starbucks and then as we meandered through Target together. I shared my popcorn (from Target) with my youngest daughter for an afternoon snack. I shared my discoveries about my family history and ancestry with my mother in law. I shared the remaining cake pop with all three of my girlies.

I shared birthday dinner with my family -- including a gigantic dish of fried ice cream that was brought out to celebrate my birthday (complete with 5 spoons to facilitate sharing). * As we sat there eating spoonfuls of frosted flake covered vanilla ice cream drenched in chocolate and strawberry syrups and mountains of whipped cream, I reflected on how much I enjoy sharing with them. There is something sweet about sharing moments of joy and a delicious dessert with those I love. I think it's beccause amidst the sharing of tasty treats and time spent together, underneath it all, what we're really sharing -- is love.

And isn't that what sharing is all about? When we share with others - be it joy, time, clothes, toys, or even sorrows -- what we're really doing is showing love. I think that's why sharing appeals to me so much. It's a chance to love on people and that is something that I've always enjoyed and believed that I'm called to do.

In the interest of sharing, I'll share this with you -- while I didn't write this in exactly five minutes, I did actually set a timer today! The little * above is where my timer went off! Until next time...

Five Minute Friday: Morning

It's been a while since I've linked up with my friends at Five Minute Friday, but today's prompt was such a good one that I knew I had to write something on it. I don't exactly do the whole "five minutes" part of it as I'm not good at writing under that kind of pressure, but I love the prompts and reading all the various things people write about. The community are a really great bunch of folks too! If you're interested, check out the link above for more information and to link up with this week's prompt, click here. This week's prompt is MORNING. The following is my take on that prompt in a free verse poetic sort of style.

I am waiting for morning.
Every night, I wait for a day that has yet to come.
It isn't dawn or sunlight or birds tweeting their birdsong
Which makes me wait and yearn.
It is what a new morning signifies.
Hope.
Oh Hope, you temptress you.
I look for morning
Because I am promised that you are found in her embrace.
When the light filters through the trees and illumines the world
I am told that you are to be found amidst that wondrous moment.
So I wait.
And I wait.
I wait for morning.

I am waiting for morning.
Every night, I wait for the scent of dewy grass and cooler breezes.
It isn't the air so pure with freshness or quiet stillness
Which makes me wait and yearn.
It is that I may find new purpose in the morning.
Purpose.
Oh Purpose, how you seduce my senses.
I look for morning
Because I am promised that you are found in her embrace.
When all the world has just awoken and nothing yet dares to stir,
I am told that you are to be found amidst that wondrous moment.
So I wait.
And I wait.
I wait for morning.

I am waiting for morning.
This night, this endless, dark night keeps me waiting.
It is the raging tumult of rain and storms, howling wind, and impenetrable darkness
Which keeps me waiting and yearning.
It is these that pull me into hopelessness and worthlessness in this horrible night.
Hopelessness.
Oh Hopelessness, how you tear me apart again and again.
I look for morning
But you blind my eyes and tell me that I will never find morning again.
Worthlessness.
Oh Worthlessness, how you inject your venom like a drug into my heart.
I look for morning
But you deafen my ears and tell me that I am not worthy of seeing morning again.
In this onslaught and torrent
I am buffeted about, as weak as a thin piece of paper.
I am doomed to the night.

Morning with all her promises does not come.
Night and all his terrors abound.
But there are voices in the howling wind.
Voices that I strain to hear.
Voices that urge me to keep waiting for morning.
I am weak, like paper.
I am tired of waiting.
I cannot wait any longer and the night is fast stealing my voice.

Then strong arms hold me fast in the night.
Compassionate and understanding ears hear my wails of exhaustion.
My head and hands are lovingly tended with prayers and oil.
The voices walk with me through the night.
So I wait.
And wait.
And keep waiting.
And although it is still night
And dawn seems unimaginable and impossible,
These supports give me the strength
To keep waiting for morning.

Five Minute Friday: Weary

This chapter of Psalms gets me every. single. time. It is SO true to the experience of despair and the weariness that comes from fighting a mental illness. It's one I have prayed many many times.

This isn't something that is easy for me to talk about and that's saying something. I talk about a lot of things on this blog that are universally considered hush-hush and things that are difficult at best to talk about with someone you trust -- much less publishing them for the entire world to see. The thing is though, if I don't talk about it, then the likelihood that someone else who is struggling with these things will start talking about it becomes less. Don't get me wrong. It's not that I like talking about depression, self-injury, PTSD, suicide, therapy, etc. It's that I need to talk about these things -- for myself and for the benefit of others who might need to hear it or find some solidarity in my words.

I have been kinda quiet with my writing of late and haven't participated in the Five Minute Friday community much at all in the last several weeks. Just haven't been able to summon the words to talk about bacon (gasp!) or dancing or anything else. This week's prompt though, just hit me where I live in a big way.

WEARY

There's a lot I could say about this word, but as I said, I need to say something that isn't easy for me to say, so here goes....

I struggle with suicide.

Five Minute Friday: Yes

This is my contribution, done in however many minutes it takes me, to the Five Minute Friday community. I don't do it by the rules, but if you want to, go check it out at Kate Motaung's blog, Heading Home. Just click on the link at the top for Five Minute Friday to find out what it's all about. This week's prompt is....

YES

In the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a town of Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary. And coming to her, he said, “Hail, favored one! The Lord is with you.” But she was greatly troubled at what was said and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. Then the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give him the throne of David his father, and he will rule over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” But Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?” And the angel said to her in reply, “The holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God. And behold, Elizabeth, your relative, has also conceived a son in her old age, and this is the sixth month for her who was called barren; for nothing will be impossible for God.” Mary said, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her. (Luke 1:26-38)

I have read this passage of scripture many times. It's one of the texts that is often read at Christmas, because it has to do with the birth of Jesus. So many times as I read this growing up, I saw Mary's part in it as just one of someone who is the recipient of a message. More to the point, I saw it as a command from God that was delivered by the angel Gabriel. That's certainly the point of view that seemed to be preached from the pulpit in my Southern Baptist church, even if not specifically stated as such.

Given the language of the text, that is how it reads, but reading it with Mary as simply a passive recipient of this seemingly commanding message misses the point. It ignores that Mary, like all human beings, was created by God with free will. In my rush to see her as nothing more than Jesus' mother who happened to be specially chosen by God, I ignored this critical aspect of her humanity. I say it is critical because if we assume that she had no choice in the matter, then we negate the many scriptures that speak of man's ability to choose right from wrong -- including the ones in Genesis which tell how our first parents, Adam and Eve, exercised their free will in a way that created a need for Christ to come in the first place. If Mary is simply a robot who cannot say no to God, then she becomes unimportant in the overall story of our redemption.

But she is important and the reason is because she said YES.

There is a vast amount of power in those three letters. People's lives have been spared or ended by them. Nations have gone to war because of them. Sacred bonds have been forged by them. Kings have been created and men brought to their knees by them. They bring both infinite joy and great sorrow in their affirming power.

Mary's "yes" -- which we call her "fiat" in Latin -- brought about the greatest joy in human history. Her fiat made possible our salvation. Her yes enabled our redemption. This is why we as Catholics sometimes refer to her by the title Co-Mediatrix of All Graces. It isn't that she has an equal role as mediator between us and the Father, but rather that she said "yes" in order to bring Jesus into the world to die for us so that the gift of God's grace which mediates our sin before the Father might be possible.

Look at this verse from the passage again:

Mary said, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.”

This is the part where she gives her "yes" to God. She uses the language of submission, but it isn't submission that has come about because she has no choice. Given that all human beings are created with free will, Mary certainly could have said "no." Think of the situation that she found herself in -- betrothed to Joseph and not married. You can imagine that many young women in her shoes might have indeed said "no." But that's not what she does. She instead submits willingly -- "May it be done to me according to your word." -- to what God is asking of her. It is a yes that is borne out of a love for God and a desire to serve Him completely.

It is this total and purposeful surrender to God's will that makes Mary a model for all Christians. It is why Christians throughout the ages have revered and honored her in art, song, and literature. It is why she is often referred to as the chief of saints and why she is accorded special honor above the rest of the saints.

Mary's yes brought Jesus into the world so that we might be reconciled to God the Father and so that Eve's disobedience and her "no" might be undone. Her yes gave Jesus His specific human nature and the flesh that bore our sins, was Mary's DNA in Him. Her yes brought the Word Incarnate into the world through the ordinary means of human conception, pregnancy, and childbirth.

As Christians, outside of Jesus, we can have no better model than Mary on which to base our faith and devotion to Our Lord. If we fully submit ourselves to His will, then He can use our ordinary human flesh and our ordinary human means to bring the Word Incarnate to a world in need.

We need only say, "Yes" to Him.

Five Minute Friday: Alone

This is my contribution, done in however many minutes it actually takes me, to the Five Minute Friday community. I don't do it by the rules, but if you want to, go check it out at Kate Motaung's blog, Heading Home. Just click the link at the top for Five Minute Friday to find out what it's all about. This week's prompt is....

ALONE

I am a naturally gregarious person and thrive when surrounded by friends and family that I love. I even thrive, to a lesser extent, when I'm in new situations with new people. I love getting to know people. I wouldn't say that I'm "the life of the party" but I would say that I definitely know how to mix and mingle in the crowd.

Given those aspects of my personality, you might think that I never feel alone, but I have and I do.

I know I talk about it a lot, but one of the things that makes depression feel so bad sometimes is that quite often, you feel alone in going through it. Obviously, this is the disease lying to you, but it is such a crafty and convincing liar, that you wind up believing it and that can be very bad. If depression can convince you that you are alone and no one else is struggling with it, then it makes it all the easier for depression's malicious twin to settle in whose name is despair.

Everyone feels alone sometimes, but when you feel desperately alone, it can cloud your judgment to the point that your ability to make good decisions is impaired. This is especially true of depression and feeling alone. People who feel that level of desperate loneliness while depressed often wind up wondering why they bother fighting the disease at all and those thoughts may lead to thoughts of suicide or a suicide attempt. People who survive a suicide attempt or a near-attempt quite often express the feelings that led up to that moment as hopeless, despondent, and alone. Hopeless and despondent are hard enough, but combine loneliness on top of it and it's a recipe for a very bad situation. 

While I have felt alone at many times in my life, I've never felt so alone as I did on July 10, 2013. Because I felt so utterly alone, I made a decision that irrevocably changed the course of my fight with depression and my life in the process. It was such an intense feeling of being absolutely and totally alone and with no one who was willing to hear me, see me, or believe me that I simply gave up. I gave into the pressure of a very bad situation and allowed myself to be bullied into something I never wanted to do. The end result was that when it was over, I was so much worse off than I would have been had I felt some kind of support and presence of another person who had my back.

I have looked back on that day many times and asked myself what I could have done differently. There are things I've come up with, but the reality is that I was all alone and, in addition, was very emotionally weak and vulnerable. The reality is that being alone and vulnerable made me collapse when I would have normally stood strong, fold when I would have fought, and allow myself to be manipulated by a big corporate machine when, under any other circumstances, I would have told them where to stick it and walked out. The loneliness of that moment led to me making the worst decision of my life and having to live with the consequences of that decision even some two years later.

Being alone has its positives too. I am largely quite an extrovert. That means that I tend to feel energized when around others. That is true in some respects, but I have a suspicion that my extrovertedness falls very close to the line between extrovert and introvert, because I also feel renewed in energy when I spend some time alone. This is particularly true if I have been spending a lot of time around a lot of people or a lot of time with people who, for lack of a better way to put it, drain me emotionally. When I get away from those situations, I feel a sense of relief and need some time alone or just hanging out with Gray or my bestie Sif to recharge my batteries. A true introvert would probably need to be totally alone, but I'm alone enough with one or two people in a relatively quiet environment. One place that I enjoy being totally alone is in the shower. It's nice to just relax under the hot water and I find that I do some of my best thinking as I'm shampooing my hair and washing the sweat and dirt off the rest of me.

Lately, I've really enjoyed alone time with Jesus. When I go to visit Fr. B for spiritual direction, he almost always hears my confession and then for my penance tells me to spend some time in the church before Jesus in the tabernacle. The first time I did it, I figured I'd spend 10-15 minutes and then leave. I wound up being there an hour and a half. I was amazed as I had no idea that I'd been there that long talking with Jesus and allowing Him to speak to my heart. I prayed and sang and cried and prayed and cried some more. I spent a good long time prostrate on my face crying amidst my prayers.

An hour and a half later as I was leaving I felt like I had left a huge weight there with Him. Even my body felt lighter. I also wound up having one of the most restful, peaceful naps that I've had in ages which was something that I dearly needed as I'd been up most of the previous week or two with nightmares every night and horrible insomnia. Thereafter, every time I go for confession with Fr. B, I spend a good hour at least, if not more, alone with Jesus. I think it might be healing something. I don't know. I would like to think it's helping some.

This way of doing Five Minute Friday is all new to me and I think I like it. I think it is going to work much better for me -- even if I wind up doing it this way, my way, all alone.

Five Minute Friday: Find

As of this week, I'm breaking up with Five Minute Friday.

Don't get me wrong. I love the idea of writing for five minutes on a prompt, not editing your post, hitting publish, and linking up with a community of other folks who do the same. I really do love the idea.

The problem is that I can't write like that.

I have been a part of this community for over a year and thought that despite my inability to keep to five minutes with my writing most weeks that somehow, the "rules" just weren't as important as the spirit of the thing and the community. I had also fooled myself into believing that I wasn't the only one who went over the time allowance and who was really in it for the community. I further fooled myself into believing that if put to the test, I could actually write something that approached coherence and meaningfulness in 5 minutes' time.

I was wrong on all three counts.

Apparently, for certain individuals within this community, the rules are more important than showing grace to someone who just wants to participate and belong but isn't quite proficient at churning out a perfectly crafted inspirational nugget in 5 minutes. I am apparently also one of the very few people who goes over the time allowance with some regularity and who joined up with this thing intending to follow the rules, but wound up staying in it more for the community than anything else. I know there are others (I've talked to them), but given that I was surrounded by about 15 other women at the Five Minute Friday retreat a few weekends ago who all seem to have no problem with this, I think it's safe to say that I found I'm in the minority. Likewise, the five minute free write that we did at the retreat further served to illuminate the fact that when put to the test and the pressure is on, I am a failure at the "five minutes" part of Five Minute Friday.

I thought in participating in this blog community that I had found a like-minded group of individuals who were all in a similar boat with me -- even if not exactly the same boat -- in wanting to be part of a community that gets together once a week and writes together. For me, that's what Five Minute Friday was always about. It's what I thought I had found.

For the most part, I did find that there are a LOT of great individuals who belong to this community. Many of them write things that resonate with me and many write things that don't. I'm okay with that. I appreciate diversity of ideas and people. I've gotten some genuinely wonderful comments on some of my posts from the folks in this community and met a couple of really awesome friends through it too. I am always looking to find members of my "tribe" and I've definitely done that some through this.

That said though, I'm done with the Five Minute Friday rules -- both those that are stated and those that are understood. I'm also done with judging myself and how I do Five Minute Friday.

• No more worrying about time limits (I may not even set a clock when I write). 
• No more worrying about whether or not the small amount of editing that I do counts as "editing" vs "not editing." 
• No more worrying about trying to link up on Thursday night just so I can get toward the top of the linkup list and maybe get more than just one comment from my solitary regular reader. 
• No more worrying that it's Monday or Tuesday or even Thursday afternoon and I'm just linking up with the previous Friday's post. 
• No more worrying that I didn't write a post for the previous week.
• No more worrying that no one will retweet my FMF post when it seems like they've retweeted several other bloggers' FMF posts.

Of course, since I suck and have put so much of my heart into wanting to belong and be accepted by this community and still feel a great amount of pressure to conform to the rules and expectations of this group, I may not linkup very often. I may just write when I feel like it. For the time being, this will be my last Five Minute Friday post for a while. I think I need a bit of time and space to convince myself of what is important about this community and what doesn't work for me. I know these things cognitively, but my heart needs time to catch up.

So goodbye to the old way of doing Five Minute Friday. I'm breaking up with you and all the self-judgment I feel by trying to do it your way. I need to do Five Minute Friday my own way and be okay with that. I need to find my own way. Perhaps I'll see you again in a few weeks.

Five Minute Friday: Try

Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get involved! To link up with all the other entries for today's prompt word, click here.

****

July 2009

"No."

"Why not? Why not try it?"

I look around the office at the book case, the desk, the carpet and window and swallow. There is a fear stuck in my throat and I don't know if I can give voice to it. I look at Pendragon again.

"H-h-hospital. You said hospitalisation program..." I manage to stammer.

"Yes, it's the partial hospitalisation program, " he says. I look down at my lap.

"I don't want to go in the hospital.." I reply.

"It's not like a real hospital. It's an outpatient program. You go during the day and then you go home at night. Actually, it doesn't even look like a hospital." Pendragon tries to explain it more fully for me.

I am wary, skittish, and very afraid. It is early days in our therapeutic relationship and I'm still learning whether or not this man sitting across from me is trustworthy. And now he wants me to stick my neck out and try something new and scary? Something that probably won't work?

"No, I don't think so."  My answers are short and to the point, something that is very unlike me, but it is anxiety creeping in and an unspoken fear that this is something that he will somehow force me to try eventually.

But he doesn't. He nods. "Just think about it, okay? I really think if you give it a try, you'll benefit greatly from what that program has to offer. There's a great program therapist, Samantha. She's really great."

He's hit one of my hot buttons. I stare at him with daggers.

"She???" I query, wondering if I've heard him correctly. He knows how I feel about women and my past experiences.

"Yes, she. Actually, she's a lot like you," he says. Unlikely, I think, inwardly rolling my eyes. Despite my attempt to keep my disgust to myself, he senses it and continues, "No really, she is. Your personalities are very similar. I really think you'd like her a lot. And all that aside, the information is good stuff and I think would be very helpful to you."

I shift in my seat, glancing down at my hands, biting my lower lip as I think. "No, no, I really don't think so."

"Okay, okay, it was a thought. If you change your mind, and decide to give it a try, there's some fliers in the reception area about it and all you have to do is let me know," he answers and turns toward the computer on his desk. I can see by the clock on the wall that our time is almost up.

"Okay," I answer. We make another appointment for two weeks later and he ushers me out of the office.

In the reception area, I pass by the fliers in their little bins on the wall and wander over. My eyes flit over the various group therapy fliers and just as I'm about to walk toward the door, I happen to spy the one marked "Partial Hospitalisation Program."

I freeze for a moment, my breath catching in my throat. Then without another thought, I reach out, grasp one of the fliers and fold it in half with my appointment paper as I walk to the car. I don't know why I took one, but now it's burning a hole in my purse and I feel like I've made some kind of decision, although perhaps only subconsciously. I open the paper and read the information on it. My stomach is in knots and I am tempted to crumple it up and toss it out the window, but I don't. I keep that paper in my purse and look at it several times, reading the information over and over again.

A month later as I am sitting in Pendragon's office for another regular appointment, I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. I am sitting cross legged on the little sofa and am trying to think of how to respond to his usual opening question regarding how I am. With a tremor in my voice and feeling as though I am about to step off a ledge, the first thing that falls out of my mouth is, "Okay, so I've decided I want to try it..."

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Five Minute Friday: Ten

Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get involved! To link up with all the other entries for today's prompt word, click here

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1. Over 2000 years of history, tradition, and Apostolic Authority -- The Catholic Church is the oldest Christian church in the world and is the one founded by Christ Himself on the rock of St. Peter who was the first leader, or pope, of the Church (Matthew 16:13-20)

2. The gift of Holy Scripture -- the Bible was compiled by the Catholic Church and its canon closed by Pope Damasus I at the Council of Rome in 382. This canon includes all 73 books as well as longer versions of the books of Esther and Daniel. This is still the canon used by the Catholic Church today.

3. The Holy Eucharist -- this is the gift of Jesus to the world. It is His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity and we get to take Him into our own bodies as nourishment for our souls! See #10 for more about this :)

4. The Communion of Saints -- which includes both those who are officially canonized, those are not, and those who are still living and striving to live lives of holiness and obedience to God on earth. I love that we have these heavenly friends to turn to in addition to our earthly friends!

5. Mary -- Yes, I know that every Christian church recognizes her in some way, but we as Catholics call her our Mother because she is the mother of Jesus and because He gave her to us as our mother from the cross when He gave her into the care of the beloved disciple John. I love that my girls have not just me, but Mary too! I also love having Mary as my mother too.

6. The priesthood -- a tradition that really dates back to the Jewish priesthood in that these are men who are set apart for God's service. I am SO grateful for the service of our priests. I know they're not perfect, but then again, neither am I!

7. The consecrated religious life -- I love that our faith tradition has a particular way for those who are called to God's service (men and women) to consecrate themselves and devote themselves totally to God. I also love that there's a religious order for just about every personality -- Franciscan, Domenican, Jesuit, Carmelite, Benedictine, Claretians, etc. and within those orders, there are various groups devoted to different callings -- teaching, preaching, nursing, missionary work, and contemplative prayer. Some are cloistered and some are in the community. Some live on farms, some live in urban areas. All are called to follow God and serve Him with the whole of their lives.

8. The Rosary -- some people think it is just a prayer to Mary, but it is really a meditation on the life of Christ. It is one of my favourite devotions and I could write a whole blog post about it. Maybe I will one day!

9. Easter Vigil -- The most gorgeous Mass of the entire year when there are baptisms, confirmations, and First Holy Communions all in one night -- lots of candles, incense, TONS of Scripture reading, and of course, the Holy Eucharist! It's my favourite Mass of the year!

10. The Mass -- I really have no adequate words to express how much I love the Mass. On those rare occasions when we must miss a Sunday because of sickness, I start feeling a bit spiritually weak from not having received the Eucharist. There is a hunger in me to be present at Mass each week that resides deep within me in a place even I do not fully know. I know it must be so because my flesh is weak and there have been many times on a Sunday when I was angry with God and angry with the world and depressed and just didn't want to go. But because of this soul-deep need in me, I went. It was, in part, out of obedience, but I know there must be some love with it too.

There are lots more reasons, but these are just a few that I came up with in five minutes!

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Five Minute Friday: Free

 Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get involved! To link up with all the other entries for today's prompt word, click here.

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Maybe you're tired of me talking about it, but that's okay. I'm good with that. It's my experience and my passion and something I think more people need to talk about. Of course, I'm talking about mental illness and mental health. For this Five Minute Friday, I want to talk about something that is related and something that REALLY needs talking about. I'm going to try to do it in 5 minutes.

Self-injury.

Yeah, it's a kind of scary thing to say aloud. I'll be honest. It's not the easiest thing to talk about with regard to my own experience. So why talk about it today, with this prompt?

Because I'm free of it.


It's something that plagued me on and off from about late middle school through my early 30s. Then I went through an intensive outpatient mental health program and using the education I gleaned from that, the coping skills I learned, and the help of my therapist Pendragon (who helped me uncover the reasons why I did it), I broke free of the stranglehold this habit had on my life.

This August will make six years of freedom from self-injury. And I'm pretty stinking proud of that.

One thing freedom from self-injury isn't: easy. It takes incredible effort and it takes vigilance. Freedom also isn't being free from thoughts and temptations to self-injure. The freedom is in resisting those thoughts and temptations. Every time you resist, you get a little bit stronger. I've had some fierce temptations. I've come very close to losing the fight with those thoughts a few times, especially in the early days.

Eventually though, I got to a place where one year became two and then three and at some point, I realised that when I'm tempted, the part of me that has become stronger with resistance says, "It's not worth it to throw all this hard work away and have to start again at square one." And the part of me that's fighting yet another temptation says, "You know? You're right." And the temptation loses and I win another victory.

I am free from self-injury. If you are struggling with it, know that there is hope for you to find freedom too. If you need a friend to encourage you along the way, email me at the link in the sidebar. I promise I'll listen and be there. You can do it! You can be free too!

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Five Minute Friday: Hope

Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get involved! To link up with all the other entries for today's prompt word, click here.

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I'll be honest, friends.

I don't have any fancy or uplifting words to say this week on this prompt. You see, hope is not my forte these days. It's just not in my box of things to lift me up and make me praise God. I suppose that makes me seem like a really crappy Christian. Honestly, the fact that hope is kind of in absentia makes me feel like I'm worthless as a Christian. I mean, I'm supposed to put my hope in God. Trust in Him because He is the bringer of hope and the uplifter of the hopeless.

Yeah. Just can't do it.

I can't bring myself to say the word "hope" with any kind of meaning behind it these days. My spirit and heart are wounded. They've been wounded for quite a long time. Actually, they've been wounded for two years to this day.

You see, it was on this exact date -- July 10, 2013, that I lost my hope. I was violently traumatized emotionally and the hope that used to reside deep within my spirit was wrenched away in that moment of trauma and I have been unable to find it again.

And believe me, I've tried. I have tried to find that hope.

I have looked for it in scripture, in prayer, in worship, and in the healing graces of the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick (which is for spiritual healing primarily and then physical/emotional healing comes as a secondary benefit) and the other sacraments. What have I found?

Nothing.
Nada.
Zip.

And worst of all -- absolute silence from God.

Because of this, I went a long time where I wouldn't even use the word hope in its more secular sense of something wished for -- aka "I'm hoping for a chocolate cake for my birthday" -- because even that left a sour taste on my tongue. I didn't want to hope for anything because hope could be stolen and destroyed and all without any warning.

I have since resumed using it in its secular sense, but still don't really use it in the spiritual sense. I also don't use it when speaking of my illness because every time I have said that I feel a sense of hope that I'm getting better, I wind up about five steps backward from where I thought I was with my recovery.

I mentioned this prompt on Facebook in small group of women who encourage one another and my comment was: "This week's prompt is HOPE. *facepalm*" One of the ladies in the group who was trying to encourage me said that despite everything that I'm going through that I am "living hope" and that all the things I do to get through each day and deal with this illness are "rooted in hope."

I appreciate the thought, but I think what I'm really doing is living obedience.

A very long time ago, when I was just a little girl of 6 years old, I gave my heart to God. I made a commitment to follow Him with my life. I didn't know what that commitment would entail at age 6, but as I got older, I began to understand that a big part of it was obedience to God's will for me. At first, I thought it was just obedience in things like who to hang out with, who to date, obeying my parents, going to church, etc. As I matured though, I came to realise that it was more than just those sort of big things, but the day to day little things too. At some point in my early adulthood, I realised that He wants my obedience in EVERYTHING.

Living obedience is not always easy in good times, but when life hits us with unexpected stresses, it can be very very hard. So how do you live obedience when you have no hope, feel abandoned by God and feel totally broken and crushed in mind, body, and spirit?

You do as my spiritual director, Fr.B, told me today. Take it one day at a time. When you cannot make yourself remain obedient, you lean on those around you who are faithful to Him to help you. You put one foot in front of the other. You breathe in and breathe out and somehow, you get to another day. 

And I'm not gonna lie. You cry a lot. Seriously, a LOT. You scream at God and beat your fists upon His feet. You cry some more. You consider often just turning your back on God altogether. More crying. You vent your spleen to someone who will listen -- be they friend, family, priest, or therapist. And you cry some more. The crying happens nearly daily when you're in this hopeless place where obedience is the anchor you are clinging to by a thread.

It sucks. It sucks a lot because when you're in this place, it feels as though you will never be doing anything but living obedience. No joy. No meaning. Nothing but monotonous obedience. I wish I could tell you that it gets better. That the hope returns and that the joy is abundant because of the struggle.

But that's not my story.

I'm still living obedience. As I wrestle with myself and my faith amidst all the day to day stresses of married life and motherhood and the overarching noonday demon of depression, I do the little things and big things that He has called me to time and again.

And I cry a lot. But that's okay. Because we have tissues. :) 

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*This was meant to be a 5-minute exercise, but once I FINALLY got started, I had a hard time stopping myself, so I'm more than a little bit over. Just pretend it was 5 minutes, okay? I won't tell if you won't! :)

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