(If you missed it, click here for part 1)
I didn't connect this struggle of faith with hopelessness
until one very dark afternoon while waiting in the carpool line at my
daughters' school. I had been struggling through several very days of
dark moods when my friend Chez, who had been very concerned about me
when I stopped talking to him, called me on the phone as I sat waiting
for school to get out. He suggested to me that what I was feeling with
regard to God sounded like hopelessness and I knew at once that he was
right. I realised when he said it that I had cringed at the sound of the
word and that I'd been actively avoiding using that word. I knew that
the painful, gaping hole inside me was there because of a lack of hope.
You would think that knowing this might help, but it only seemed to make
it worse. I sank deeper into despair and grew more and more
disconnected from my faith and, subsequently, from any desire to continue living.
To
make a long story short, a flicker of light appeared in March of 2015.
That's when I attended a Lenten ladies' devotion at our parish that was
led by our family's beloved friend, Fr. B. After the devotion ended and
everyone was chatting and nibbling on snacks, I went to say
hello to Fr. B as it had been a good year or so since we'd seen each
other. After our initial hellos, he asked how I was. I didn't want to burden him with my troubles, but something in the tone of his voice when he asked the question reminded me that he is more than just a priest, but a dear friend. That reminder of our treasured friendship undid my resolve and any attempt at
trying to pretend I was "just fine" completely crumbled. In a choked
up voice, I told him that things were hard and I'd had much better. He
looked at me with such compassion that I felt myself start to cry a
little bit. He handed me a napkin, gave me a hug, and said he'd be praying for me. That alone was a priceless gift, but then he told me to send him an email and
we'd get together at his parish and pray about it. I did just that and
a week or so later, we met together.
I'll admit that at that first meeting, I
wasn't very keen on the idea of praying at all and told Father as much.
He understood and before insisting that we pray anyway, he heard my
confession and gave me the anointing of the sick. After those two
sacraments, we began to pray -- or rather he prayed. I sat beside
him and as the words of the prayers washed over me, the dam burst and I
bawled like a baby. When Father finished praying, we talked briefly
while I wiped my face and then we walked over to the main church and he
gave me communion before leaving me there by myself to pray. As I knelt
there in the church, a sense of calm stole over me that I hadn't felt
in a very long time. I had promised Father that I would stay for at
least 10 minutes, but somewhere in the midst of that silence, 10 minutes
stretched into an hour without my even noticing it.
After
that meeting, we began to meet regularly, about 1-2 times a month for
spiritual direction and prayer and over time, that increased to weekly
at times based on my need (and his schedule) along with keeping in close
touch by email as well. What grew out of those spiritual direction
meetings was a very slow and very tenuous renewed relationship with God.
In the past year and a half, there have been moments when I have
wondered if what I was feeling stir within me was a spark of hope, but
every time I have felt this -- whatever this is -- it has gone as quickly
as it came, snuffed out by fear, PTSD triggers, or the circumstances of
life. I have longed for hope to return and it has remained elusive and
also something that I simply cannot bring myself to believe that I will
ever have again.
And yet.....here we are and it's time
to choose another word for the year and I'm being nudged by the Holy
Spirit to choose "hope" as my word for 2017. I felt this insistent nudge
about a week or so ago and immediately refused to entertain the idea.
I've continued to feel it since then and every time I have shut the idea
down so fast that if it had a head, it would spin. Nope. Nope. Nope.
BIG old NOPE. Think of Dana Carvey's impersonation of George H. W. Bush
where he says, "Nope, not gonna do it. Wouldn't be prudent at this
juncture." That's basically where I'm at right now.
The
Holy Spirit even went so far as to nudge me to mention this idea to
Pendragon during our last session and to Gray last night. Obviously,
Pendragon didn't push me and neither did Gray, but I know that both of
them would be encouraged if I did decide to take the plunge and make
"hope" my word for this coming year. The thing is, I can't do it because
of how I know it would make them feel. If I chose this for any reason
other than a desire within myself, I think it would be a miserable
failure.
And yet....and yet this nudge is persistent.
Do you know how I know this nudge is from the Holy Spirit? It's because
everything within me -- every instinct, every gut reaction, every fiber
of my being -- is screaming at the top of its voice,
"Noooooooooooooo!!!!" and as much as I want to ignore this nudge to do
it, I simply can't. It's not that it's louder than my own voice, but
that it's just as loud and inexhaustibly, relentlessly determined not to
let me wiggle or headbutt my way out of this.
So here
I am on the edge of 2016 becoming 2017, still resisting and still
scared. I know I need to just bite the bullet, say "Okay" and make the
commitment, but for whatever reason, I just can't. Then why write this
long essay about words and this subject? Because I needed to write it
and because I know that despite not beginning the new year with a new
word, this isn't over yet. It's only just beginning.
In
the meantime, pray for me. God knows that not only did I need to write
this, but that I need to do it too and only He can help me find the
courage to plumb the depths of this virtue and learn how to find it,
embrace it, and allow it to grow in my heart once again.
Showing posts with label Holy Spirit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Holy Spirit. Show all posts
Saturday, December 31, 2016
One Word 365 Recap and Thoughts on 2017
Eleventh Doctor: Vincent, can I help?
Vincent van Gogh: It is so clear you cannot help. And when you leave, and everyone always leaves, I will be left once more with an empty heart and no hope.
Eleventh Doctor: My experience is that there is, you know, surprisingly, always hope.
I'm not gonna lie y'all. It was a rough year for me personally. It was also a year that turned my world upside down in a way that was really difficult (and still is to a great degree), but that will, I think, eventually wind up being positive. The jury is still out on that, but my therapist Pendragon said something at our most recent session on Thursday that he hasn't said in a long time. Actually, he used a word that he hasn't dared to use in a long time -- but more on that later.
A couple of years ago I discovered this thing called One Word 365. Basically, the idea is that you select a word for the year to be a kind of focus word, if you will, that you allow to influence and change you mentally/emotionally, physically, or spiritually. For 2015, I chose two words because as much as I tried, I couldn't shake the idea that I needed to embrace both of them -- write and follow. The first one was chosen because I had just come off the 2014 Write 31 Days challenge in October and I wanted to commit myself to writing in my blog more regularly and keeping up with it instead of just throwing it to the side. In the two years that have been since, I've had ups and downs, but I think I've managed to write at least one entry each month and some months, more than one. That may not seem like much, but it's a start. I chose "follow" as a word because I was struggling spiritually with wanting to follow after Christ. I've spent pretty much my entire life following Christ, but had gone through a trauma so severe that it had shaken my faith to the deepest levels. I wanted a reminder of what I had always done and that I knew deep down that I still wanted to do -- follow Him.
For 2016, I kept my 2015 words and added a third -- move. In 2015, I participated in my first ever Out of the Darkness Overnight Walk and struggled physically much more than I wanted to do. After only completing about 1.5 miles of the total 18, I felt defeated and I knew that although I had emotionally been struggling, I wasn't in the physical shape I needed or wanted to be either. I also knew that I needed to lose weight and make some changes to better my health, so I decided that a good first step would be to start moving more. To that end, I joined a local gym so that I could start walking and lifting some weights and in April, I got a Fitbit tracker to help motivate me to take more steps each day. I can't say that I suddenly became a fitness fanatic, but I did get more steps in this year and as a result, I lost a little weight and got in a little better shape. This year I completed 7 miles of the 18 during the Out of the Darkness Overnight walk and that was with the addition of taking a nasty tumble and mildly injuring myself. So although it wasn't a hugely different year with regard to fitness, it was a better year than the one before it and it is the beginning of a journey that I'm going to continue this year.
Speaking of this year, I suppose it's time to tell you about what happened the other night in Pendragon's office. You see, out of deference to how much he knows I've struggled with it, there is a word that he has studiously avoided using for the most part over the last three and a half years. He knows how much this word has caused me anguish and buckets of tears. He knows how many hours I've spent in his office talking around this word, afraid to even breathe it aloud. Because of that, he hasn't pressed me on it, but during our conversation on Thursday, he went out on a limb and said that he felt like the things I've been learning with my psychologist Dr. D have been beneficial and that the fact that I've been able to use those skills is a good reason for hope.
Hope.
I have to be honest. Just typing that scares the heck out of me. I have been scared for almost four years to have hope. It is to the point that in the beginning, I couldn't make myself utter the word aloud, not even in its more common sense (like "I hope you have a great birthday."), much less talk about it in any depth or use the word in its theological sense. A lot of my reluctance to talk about it has come from the fact that part of the theological sense of it has to do with trusting God. For someone who has trusted God her whole life, that ought to be easy, but trauma has a funny way of changing the most fundamental things about a person in ways that he or she never thought possible.
You see, the trauma that I endured and the PTSD that came about as a result of it also created a deep pit of anger within me and a quite a lot of that anger was directed towards God. I felt deserted by Him in my greatest hour of need, despite having cried out to him amidst the ordeal I went through. It was as though He had vanished completely. The silence was deafening and the sense of His presence which had always been so real to me, was gone so completely it was as though I had never felt it at all. The combination of the trauma itself plus feeling so completely abandoned by God shook my faith so much that for a very long time, I wanted nothing to do with God or even anything associated with God in any way. It got so bad that I eventually began to doubt my faith and struggle with the temptation to turn away from God completely.
(Please click here for part 2.)
Vincent van Gogh: It is so clear you cannot help. And when you leave, and everyone always leaves, I will be left once more with an empty heart and no hope.
Eleventh Doctor: My experience is that there is, you know, surprisingly, always hope.
*****************
A couple of years ago I discovered this thing called One Word 365. Basically, the idea is that you select a word for the year to be a kind of focus word, if you will, that you allow to influence and change you mentally/emotionally, physically, or spiritually. For 2015, I chose two words because as much as I tried, I couldn't shake the idea that I needed to embrace both of them -- write and follow. The first one was chosen because I had just come off the 2014 Write 31 Days challenge in October and I wanted to commit myself to writing in my blog more regularly and keeping up with it instead of just throwing it to the side. In the two years that have been since, I've had ups and downs, but I think I've managed to write at least one entry each month and some months, more than one. That may not seem like much, but it's a start. I chose "follow" as a word because I was struggling spiritually with wanting to follow after Christ. I've spent pretty much my entire life following Christ, but had gone through a trauma so severe that it had shaken my faith to the deepest levels. I wanted a reminder of what I had always done and that I knew deep down that I still wanted to do -- follow Him.
For 2016, I kept my 2015 words and added a third -- move. In 2015, I participated in my first ever Out of the Darkness Overnight Walk and struggled physically much more than I wanted to do. After only completing about 1.5 miles of the total 18, I felt defeated and I knew that although I had emotionally been struggling, I wasn't in the physical shape I needed or wanted to be either. I also knew that I needed to lose weight and make some changes to better my health, so I decided that a good first step would be to start moving more. To that end, I joined a local gym so that I could start walking and lifting some weights and in April, I got a Fitbit tracker to help motivate me to take more steps each day. I can't say that I suddenly became a fitness fanatic, but I did get more steps in this year and as a result, I lost a little weight and got in a little better shape. This year I completed 7 miles of the 18 during the Out of the Darkness Overnight walk and that was with the addition of taking a nasty tumble and mildly injuring myself. So although it wasn't a hugely different year with regard to fitness, it was a better year than the one before it and it is the beginning of a journey that I'm going to continue this year.
Speaking of this year, I suppose it's time to tell you about what happened the other night in Pendragon's office. You see, out of deference to how much he knows I've struggled with it, there is a word that he has studiously avoided using for the most part over the last three and a half years. He knows how much this word has caused me anguish and buckets of tears. He knows how many hours I've spent in his office talking around this word, afraid to even breathe it aloud. Because of that, he hasn't pressed me on it, but during our conversation on Thursday, he went out on a limb and said that he felt like the things I've been learning with my psychologist Dr. D have been beneficial and that the fact that I've been able to use those skills is a good reason for hope.
Hope.
I have to be honest. Just typing that scares the heck out of me. I have been scared for almost four years to have hope. It is to the point that in the beginning, I couldn't make myself utter the word aloud, not even in its more common sense (like "I hope you have a great birthday."), much less talk about it in any depth or use the word in its theological sense. A lot of my reluctance to talk about it has come from the fact that part of the theological sense of it has to do with trusting God. For someone who has trusted God her whole life, that ought to be easy, but trauma has a funny way of changing the most fundamental things about a person in ways that he or she never thought possible.
You see, the trauma that I endured and the PTSD that came about as a result of it also created a deep pit of anger within me and a quite a lot of that anger was directed towards God. I felt deserted by Him in my greatest hour of need, despite having cried out to him amidst the ordeal I went through. It was as though He had vanished completely. The silence was deafening and the sense of His presence which had always been so real to me, was gone so completely it was as though I had never felt it at all. The combination of the trauma itself plus feeling so completely abandoned by God shook my faith so much that for a very long time, I wanted nothing to do with God or even anything associated with God in any way. It got so bad that I eventually began to doubt my faith and struggle with the temptation to turn away from God completely.
(Please click here for part 2.)
Thursday, April 7, 2016
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, April 2, 2016
Psalm 17
I call upon You, for You will answer me, O God; incline Your ear to me, hear my words. Wondrously show Your steadfast love, O Saviour of those who seek refuge from their adversaries at Your right hand. Guard me as the apple of the eye; hide me in the shadow of Your wings, from the wicked who despoil me, my deadly enemies who surround me. (verses 6-9)This passage from Psalm 17 is really the heart of what it's all about. The subtitle that my devotional Bible has for this chapter says "Prayer for Deliverance from Persecutors." As I've mentioned before, I don't have anyone who is actively persecuting me among the human beings on this earth, but there are definitely supernatural forces at work which seek to actively persecute, oppress, and attack all Christians.
It can be a situation where one is tempted to sin. It could also be being tempted to turn away from God totally. It could be some kind of physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual affliction that causes the Christian to fall into despair or just makes it so that they are unable to do the work God has set for them to do. In very serious cases, when a person is already dealing with a non-spiritually caused physical or psychological illness, it could even cause death if the person loses hope and neglects caring for the illness. Satan loves to kick us when were already down.
I've definitely been through that with depression and PTSD. Fr. B told me a few weeks back that he believes that my depression has both psychological and spiritual causes that are at the root of why this episode has hung on for so long. I agree with him completely. Depression is something I've dealt with for 28 years on and off in episodes, but none of the episodes has even begun to approach the intensity, severity, and duration of this one. There have been a number of other things about this episode that have been markedly different from previous ones too and looking back on those moments and symptoms, I can see a spiritual element in them.
As I've mentioned before, there has been some healing going on in both the psychological and spiritual areas of this for me. Spiritually speaking, the very fact that I don't immediately want to throw my Bible across the room upon reading the passage from Psalm 17 quoted above is quite a bit of progress. Passages like that -- that is to say, ones that are imbued with such hopefulness -- have been something that I haven't been able to stomach reading, much less actually believing, for nearly three years.
I'll be honest, as much as I can read it now, I'm still struggling to truly believe that He will hide me under His wings and keep me as the apple of His eye. I want to believe that He does hear when I call on Him, but I'm not totally there yet. There's still a part of me that snorts inwardly with disbelief upon reading passages like that. I am still very much wounded and weak. That's where trust comes in though. I have to trust -- at least cognitively -- that what His word says is true.
I'll admit, I'm still a bit of a hard sell. It's a process that involves lots of tiny steps forward and quite a few backward. Right now, as much as I want to be moving forward in that, I find that I feel as though I'm moving backward a bit. Even if, for now, it's not the direction I want to be going, at least I'm moving and that's something.
Until next time....
Pax Christi!
Thursday, March 10, 2016
A Little Housekeeping
Hi friends! Just wanted to give you a quick heads up that while I'm going to be continuing to talk about mental health and fandoms and the like, over the next few months, I am going to be doing quite a few entries on faith. This isn't a promotion or a series (although it may wind up looking like one), but just to let you know that I'm veering a little bit more toward talking some about faith.
The reason I'm telling y'all this is that I need some accountability. As usual, I spent over an hour in the presence of Jesus in the tabernacle after my meeting with Fr. B this week. I spent it offering prayers for many people I know who have needs, praying for healing for me, and just being silent before His Majesty. When I pray like this, I find that I get little gentle nudges from the Holy Spirit throughout my prayer time directing me how to pray. It's like I'm somehow a bit more open to His leading in the quiet of the church. One of the things that I have felt led to do many times is lie prostrate as I'm praying.
Yesterday was one of those days when I felt led to lie prostrate and pray. As I was praying, the words of the prophet Samuel "Speak Lord, for your servant is listening" went through my head and so I offered that up as a prayer and then lay silent, listening and waiting to see if the Holy Spirit would nudge me or speak to me in some way. And so He did. I don't hear audible words, but the nudge of the Holy Spirit was very, very clear and very very strong. What I felt Him commanding me to do is to meditate on the Psalms each day. Start at the beginning and read one each day. I agreed readily enough and then there was another strong nudge. Write about it each day and put it in the blog. I agreed, although with some trepidation. Still, I agreed, so here I am, about to start.
Would y'all help keep me accountable? This is a big task and I'm, quite honestly, a bit scared. I feel like this is a LOT that is being asked of me, but I've never refused the Holy Spirit and I'm not about to start now. I know for a fact that obedience to His nudges always winds up with me reaping some good from it, so it's to my benefit to be obedient. Please pray for me. I need prayers not only for the task ahead, but also for the strength to persevere. I know He wouldn't have asked this of me if I was unable to do it, but this isn't going to be easy.
Thanks everyone! God bless you!
The reason I'm telling y'all this is that I need some accountability. As usual, I spent over an hour in the presence of Jesus in the tabernacle after my meeting with Fr. B this week. I spent it offering prayers for many people I know who have needs, praying for healing for me, and just being silent before His Majesty. When I pray like this, I find that I get little gentle nudges from the Holy Spirit throughout my prayer time directing me how to pray. It's like I'm somehow a bit more open to His leading in the quiet of the church. One of the things that I have felt led to do many times is lie prostrate as I'm praying.
Yesterday was one of those days when I felt led to lie prostrate and pray. As I was praying, the words of the prophet Samuel "Speak Lord, for your servant is listening" went through my head and so I offered that up as a prayer and then lay silent, listening and waiting to see if the Holy Spirit would nudge me or speak to me in some way. And so He did. I don't hear audible words, but the nudge of the Holy Spirit was very, very clear and very very strong. What I felt Him commanding me to do is to meditate on the Psalms each day. Start at the beginning and read one each day. I agreed readily enough and then there was another strong nudge. Write about it each day and put it in the blog. I agreed, although with some trepidation. Still, I agreed, so here I am, about to start.
Would y'all help keep me accountable? This is a big task and I'm, quite honestly, a bit scared. I feel like this is a LOT that is being asked of me, but I've never refused the Holy Spirit and I'm not about to start now. I know for a fact that obedience to His nudges always winds up with me reaping some good from it, so it's to my benefit to be obedient. Please pray for me. I need prayers not only for the task ahead, but also for the strength to persevere. I know He wouldn't have asked this of me if I was unable to do it, but this isn't going to be easy.
Thanks everyone! God bless you!
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Five Minute Friday: Quiet (or is it Silence?)
I'm linking up with Five Minute Friday over at my friend Kate Motaung's blog, Heading Home. No, I didn't do this in five minutes, but that's because I learned that five minutes is just not enough for me. So I do Five Minute Fridays my own way.
Today's prompt is QUIET and I thought I knew what to write, but it just didn't come exactly. This post is something I wrote but didn't publish a few months back. The prompt word is in the post, although it was initially written using a different prompt word which has the same meaning. Confused? Yeah, I know. Me too, friend. Me too. Want to join the FMF party and link up a post of your own? Check out the links in this paragraph for more info, write your post, publish it, and then go to this week's linkup and add your link! Easy peasy!
So without further ado, my post for this week...
I didn't do the Write 31 Days challenge as I had planned this year, but this post was written using the one of the prompts that my friend Kate Motaung had on her list of prompts for her series 31 Days of Five Minute Free Writes. I didn't write this in five minutes, but the prompt spoke to me and reminded me of a memory which I've recalled below.
2009
There is a hushed quiet here. Not even the fluorescent lights hum. The night outside is long since dark and getting darker as the wee hours approach. I am sitting once again in the perpetual adoration chapel of one of the local parishes in our diocese. It is a 30 minute or so drive from our home, but the distance is worth it.
It is here in this absolute silence that I am finding the strength to stay alive.
I come here to the chapel at this hour -- 10:00pm on Sunday night -- to adore Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, to pray, to pour out my heart to Him, and to drink in the silence of this place which is such a 180 degree difference from the chaotic noise of family life. Over these past several months I have been coming here to renew and re-anchor my spirit so that I can fight through another week. I am a committed adorer. That is to say that I have signed up with this parish and committed to come each week at this time and spend an hour with Jesus. There is a married couple who share my hour, but they too enjoy the silence and while we wave to one another or say a brief, "hello" our words are few and the silence is plenty.
It is here in this place that I come to kneel at His feet and adore Him alone. It is here in this place that He meets me and through the silence speaks peace and love back to me. Each week I drink in this quiet and His voice and His face.
Until tonight. Tonight I come as normal and after the adorer before me leaves, find myself totally alone. The couple who shares my hour are out of town, so it is just me and Jesus. The silence is made complete and in it, despite His Presence before me in the Blessed Sacrament, I am struggling to hear Him or see Him. This week has been more than a fight and I have come to this place with fresh cuts on my skin, my emotions raw and ragged, and a head full of darkness. I have come to ask His forgiveness for what I am about to do. But the words don't come and all that comes out is me kneeling and crying aloud, my sobs and wails breaking the silence. There are no words for all that I feel and all I know to say to Him is, "Please Jesus... please... please... please..." Over and over again, my prayer goes up, begging His mercy on me.
As the hour slowly comes to a close, I dry my tears and gaze upon Him in silence as I wait for AB's godfather to come and relieve me. He is a committed adorer too and has the hour after mine. When he enters, I say hello quietly and instead of answering when he asks how I am, I gaze one final time upon His face as I genuflect and make the sign of the cross and then leave in silence.
The car is quiet but for the thoughts racing through my head. The tears that fell so swiftly during the last hour threaten to come again, but don't. The numbness has set in and I am driving away from the chapel and trying to think of where to go and what I need to accomplish the task of ending my life. I drive down the street, my hands and feet going through the motions independent of my brain. Just two blocks from the church, I approach a red stop light and my foot makes the car stop. As the car stops, I am suddenly thunderstruck by what I can only describe as a powerful gut punch in my spirit.
"Come back."
What? My brain stops racing and my heart begins pounding. I look up and the light is still red.
"Come back to Me."
I swallow hard and suddenly feel as though I can hardly breathe. What??
"Come back to Me."
Lord? No, this is madness. I look up at the light again. Why is it still red? There's no traffic coming the other way.
"Come back. Come back to Me."
I can't, Lord. I can't do this anymore. Please don't make me do this anymore... I gaze at the light in a panic. Still red.
"Come back to My Presence."
Gulp. I am shaking all over, my heart racing and breaths shallow and quick. I am surely losing my mind completely. I'm at a red light, for crying out loud! But the powerful gut punches to my spirit keep coming. The light turns green, but I can't move. I sit there frozen and overwhelmed, my brain's former path toward destruction now derailed and confused.
"Come back to Me."
Okay, Lord...help me Jesus...please... My hands fumble with the steering wheel, but I eventually manage to turn off on a side street and turn around to go back.
When I enter the chapel, I drop to my knees on the closest kneeler and sob aloud, not caring that AB's godfather is trying to pray or that I am meant to be silent. I am so caught up in this moment of pouring my heart out to Him, that I don't even hear AB's godfather get up and come to kneel beside me until I feel his hand on my shoulder. I look up and see that he is praying. He says quietly, "I've been praying for you since you left..." and that unleashes another torrent of tears. He hands me a box of tissues and when I've finished cleaning my face, we pray together in silence and somewhere amidst those prayers, the idea of ending my life fades to a more manageable distance.
After his relief arrives for the next hour, we stand outside the chapel under the silence of the darkened sky and talk about what has been going on with me. He asks if I am going home and I say yes. Then we hug goodbye and he says he'll keep praying for me and for Gray too.
I drive the 30 minutes back to our house, turning over the events of the last couple of hours in my mind. The car is quiet and I find that I am grateful for gut punches that come amidst the silence.
Today's prompt is QUIET and I thought I knew what to write, but it just didn't come exactly. This post is something I wrote but didn't publish a few months back. The prompt word is in the post, although it was initially written using a different prompt word which has the same meaning. Confused? Yeah, I know. Me too, friend. Me too. Want to join the FMF party and link up a post of your own? Check out the links in this paragraph for more info, write your post, publish it, and then go to this week's linkup and add your link! Easy peasy!
So without further ado, my post for this week...
****
2009
There is a hushed quiet here. Not even the fluorescent lights hum. The night outside is long since dark and getting darker as the wee hours approach. I am sitting once again in the perpetual adoration chapel of one of the local parishes in our diocese. It is a 30 minute or so drive from our home, but the distance is worth it.
It is here in this absolute silence that I am finding the strength to stay alive.
I come here to the chapel at this hour -- 10:00pm on Sunday night -- to adore Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, to pray, to pour out my heart to Him, and to drink in the silence of this place which is such a 180 degree difference from the chaotic noise of family life. Over these past several months I have been coming here to renew and re-anchor my spirit so that I can fight through another week. I am a committed adorer. That is to say that I have signed up with this parish and committed to come each week at this time and spend an hour with Jesus. There is a married couple who share my hour, but they too enjoy the silence and while we wave to one another or say a brief, "hello" our words are few and the silence is plenty.
It is here in this place that I come to kneel at His feet and adore Him alone. It is here in this place that He meets me and through the silence speaks peace and love back to me. Each week I drink in this quiet and His voice and His face.
Until tonight. Tonight I come as normal and after the adorer before me leaves, find myself totally alone. The couple who shares my hour are out of town, so it is just me and Jesus. The silence is made complete and in it, despite His Presence before me in the Blessed Sacrament, I am struggling to hear Him or see Him. This week has been more than a fight and I have come to this place with fresh cuts on my skin, my emotions raw and ragged, and a head full of darkness. I have come to ask His forgiveness for what I am about to do. But the words don't come and all that comes out is me kneeling and crying aloud, my sobs and wails breaking the silence. There are no words for all that I feel and all I know to say to Him is, "Please Jesus... please... please... please..." Over and over again, my prayer goes up, begging His mercy on me.
As the hour slowly comes to a close, I dry my tears and gaze upon Him in silence as I wait for AB's godfather to come and relieve me. He is a committed adorer too and has the hour after mine. When he enters, I say hello quietly and instead of answering when he asks how I am, I gaze one final time upon His face as I genuflect and make the sign of the cross and then leave in silence.
The car is quiet but for the thoughts racing through my head. The tears that fell so swiftly during the last hour threaten to come again, but don't. The numbness has set in and I am driving away from the chapel and trying to think of where to go and what I need to accomplish the task of ending my life. I drive down the street, my hands and feet going through the motions independent of my brain. Just two blocks from the church, I approach a red stop light and my foot makes the car stop. As the car stops, I am suddenly thunderstruck by what I can only describe as a powerful gut punch in my spirit.
"Come back."
What? My brain stops racing and my heart begins pounding. I look up and the light is still red.
"Come back to Me."
I swallow hard and suddenly feel as though I can hardly breathe. What??
"Come back to Me."
Lord? No, this is madness. I look up at the light again. Why is it still red? There's no traffic coming the other way.
"Come back. Come back to Me."
I can't, Lord. I can't do this anymore. Please don't make me do this anymore... I gaze at the light in a panic. Still red.
"Come back to My Presence."
Gulp. I am shaking all over, my heart racing and breaths shallow and quick. I am surely losing my mind completely. I'm at a red light, for crying out loud! But the powerful gut punches to my spirit keep coming. The light turns green, but I can't move. I sit there frozen and overwhelmed, my brain's former path toward destruction now derailed and confused.
"Come back to Me."
Okay, Lord...help me Jesus...please... My hands fumble with the steering wheel, but I eventually manage to turn off on a side street and turn around to go back.
When I enter the chapel, I drop to my knees on the closest kneeler and sob aloud, not caring that AB's godfather is trying to pray or that I am meant to be silent. I am so caught up in this moment of pouring my heart out to Him, that I don't even hear AB's godfather get up and come to kneel beside me until I feel his hand on my shoulder. I look up and see that he is praying. He says quietly, "I've been praying for you since you left..." and that unleashes another torrent of tears. He hands me a box of tissues and when I've finished cleaning my face, we pray together in silence and somewhere amidst those prayers, the idea of ending my life fades to a more manageable distance.
After his relief arrives for the next hour, we stand outside the chapel under the silence of the darkened sky and talk about what has been going on with me. He asks if I am going home and I say yes. Then we hug goodbye and he says he'll keep praying for me and for Gray too.
I drive the 30 minutes back to our house, turning over the events of the last couple of hours in my mind. The car is quiet and I find that I am grateful for gut punches that come amidst the silence.
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
Meditating on Advent -- Day 3
Today's Gospel: Luke 10:21-24
"Turning to the disciples in private, he said, 'Blessed are the eyes that see what you see. For I say to you, many prophets and kings desired to see what you see, but did not see it, and to hear what you hear, but did not hear it.' " (verses 23-24)
Have you ever had difficulty seeing or hearing something? I know for me, seeing things is sometimes very difficult because I am severely nearsighted and have an astigmatism in both eyes. It's not normally a big deal though because I have glasses which correct my vision so that I can see clearly. In fact, those glasses are such a big help that I really only take them off when I sleep or when I'm going to shower. Without them, everything is fuzzy -- even if I squint. I am incredibly grateful that my glasses give me eyes to see clearly.
Seeing clearly what God wants me to see is sometimes more difficult. Some things are obvious. Seeing that He loves me, that I'm supposed to love Him with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength, and that I'm supposed to love my neighbour as myself. Those are easiest to see because Scripture plainly spells those things out and all I need do is open my Bible and read. What is hard to see sometimes is how much God loves me and how best to love Him and my neighbour. Sometimes it's hard to see where He is leading me or what His plan is.
I think the reason for this is because I live in the world and I get distracted. Like right now as I'm writing this, my youngest GB is watching Go, Diego Go! on TV and as it's after 3pm, I know my two biggest girls will be getting off the bus soon and charging through the door. Those two things are a distraction to my focus on this blog post. Those are just the little things. The world is so full of problems and pain and I think we often get distracted by all the horrible heart-wrenching things going on and we lose our ability to see Him and to see what He wants us to see amid all the distractions.
One of the things that I think He wants us to see during this Advent is that we need to slow down and wait. Advent is a time of waiting, you know. It's so easy though to get distracted by all the Christmas decorations and lights going up around us, the shopping for presents, the cooking, the card writing, and all the many things we do to ready our homes and hearts for Christmas, that we lose sight of Advent altogether. We lose our ability to see the importance of waiting, anticipation, stillness, silence, and the darkness of the night that came before the dawn of the Incarnation. We are so preoccupied with "Away in a Manger" that we forget "O Come, O Come Emmanuel."
Our modern need to make all of December into one big Christmas celebration blinds us to the disciplines of waiting and stillness and the joy that can be found in these things. There is a phrase that is part of the Liturgy of the Eucharist during the Mass which follows the Our Father that says: "As we await the blessed hope and coming of Our Saviour, Jesus Christ." In the context of the Mass, we are, of course, talking about the Second Coming, but I think it's appropriate in this season of Advent and something good to meditate on a bit.
If we can stop a bit each day, slow down and still our minds, we can have our eyes opened anew to the joy that comes with waiting on the coming of the Word Incarnate. In these moments of reflection, we can have our vision restored so that we may see as the disciples did and hear His Voice calling us while we anticipate His arrival.
"Turning to the disciples in private, he said, 'Blessed are the eyes that see what you see. For I say to you, many prophets and kings desired to see what you see, but did not see it, and to hear what you hear, but did not hear it.' " (verses 23-24)
Have you ever had difficulty seeing or hearing something? I know for me, seeing things is sometimes very difficult because I am severely nearsighted and have an astigmatism in both eyes. It's not normally a big deal though because I have glasses which correct my vision so that I can see clearly. In fact, those glasses are such a big help that I really only take them off when I sleep or when I'm going to shower. Without them, everything is fuzzy -- even if I squint. I am incredibly grateful that my glasses give me eyes to see clearly.
Seeing clearly what God wants me to see is sometimes more difficult. Some things are obvious. Seeing that He loves me, that I'm supposed to love Him with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength, and that I'm supposed to love my neighbour as myself. Those are easiest to see because Scripture plainly spells those things out and all I need do is open my Bible and read. What is hard to see sometimes is how much God loves me and how best to love Him and my neighbour. Sometimes it's hard to see where He is leading me or what His plan is.
I think the reason for this is because I live in the world and I get distracted. Like right now as I'm writing this, my youngest GB is watching Go, Diego Go! on TV and as it's after 3pm, I know my two biggest girls will be getting off the bus soon and charging through the door. Those two things are a distraction to my focus on this blog post. Those are just the little things. The world is so full of problems and pain and I think we often get distracted by all the horrible heart-wrenching things going on and we lose our ability to see Him and to see what He wants us to see amid all the distractions.
One of the things that I think He wants us to see during this Advent is that we need to slow down and wait. Advent is a time of waiting, you know. It's so easy though to get distracted by all the Christmas decorations and lights going up around us, the shopping for presents, the cooking, the card writing, and all the many things we do to ready our homes and hearts for Christmas, that we lose sight of Advent altogether. We lose our ability to see the importance of waiting, anticipation, stillness, silence, and the darkness of the night that came before the dawn of the Incarnation. We are so preoccupied with "Away in a Manger" that we forget "O Come, O Come Emmanuel."
Our modern need to make all of December into one big Christmas celebration blinds us to the disciplines of waiting and stillness and the joy that can be found in these things. There is a phrase that is part of the Liturgy of the Eucharist during the Mass which follows the Our Father that says: "As we await the blessed hope and coming of Our Saviour, Jesus Christ." In the context of the Mass, we are, of course, talking about the Second Coming, but I think it's appropriate in this season of Advent and something good to meditate on a bit.
If we can stop a bit each day, slow down and still our minds, we can have our eyes opened anew to the joy that comes with waiting on the coming of the Word Incarnate. In these moments of reflection, we can have our vision restored so that we may see as the disciples did and hear His Voice calling us while we anticipate His arrival.
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
A Different Experience of Grace
After over a month of not writing
anything, the last thing I thought I'd be blogging about is grace. To
be honest, in this dark sojourn of the last two and a half years, I
have shied away from writing about the subject. I talk about it
occasionally with my sweet hubby Gray and the subject comes up quite
a lot with my dear friend and “big brother” Chez, but I just
can't seem to make myself write about it.
I believe in grace. Actually, I believe
that it is God's gift of grace which saves us. I have had many
encounters in my life with grace, but something about the deep heavy
darkness of so long a trek through depression's valley has soured my
desire to share much of anything with regard to faith, much less, grace. To be honest,
I've been so angry at God and have had my faith shaken so profoundly,
that there were times I wanted nothing to do with Him or the practice
of faith at all. I even considered for a time turning my back on my
faith altogether.
Thursday, July 23, 2015
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
****
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!
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
A Meditation on Psalm 8 and Psalm 139
A Meditation on Psalm 8 and Psalm 139
*inspired by Michael Card's "Starkindler"
What is man that You are mindful of Him?
You have kindled my soul from Your endless imagination and unfathomable power
You knit my bones and formed my being
You counted my days before their commencing.
The stars above me bear witness to Your supreme power,
The music I hear to Your infinite creativity
When I look above me into the vast expanse of space
The sky stretching on and on towards the heavens
Strewn with stars and planets
I wonder, breathless, why You created little, tiny me.
The vast oceans roll into the shore
Shifting grains of sand beneath their waves
While breezes lift my hair
And my skin drinks deeply of the sun's warm rays.
Birds soar upon the currents
And nestle in trees
Which teem with their own life
And the myriad of life which also makes its refuge in their branches.
Each creature, from tiniest insect to the largest mammals
Were shaped in all their complexity by Your fingers
Their courses directed and needs provided for by Your hands.
Grasses, plants, flowers, and every living thing springs forth by Your command
A symphony of beauty
And a tribute to Your Eternal Majesty.
With all of this vast creation, so intricate, elegant, and beauteous,
Who am I that You, the God of the Universe,
The Starkindler
Should sculpt me to reflect Your likeness
Send Love into the world as a perfect sacrifice for me,
And enkindle within this soul You made, the fire of Your Spirit?
Who am I, that You are mindful of me?
Today's post is my first ever link up with this week's #RaRaLinkup at Kelly Balarie's blog, Purposeful Faith. I hope you enjoy it and find it uplifting! Thanks to my friend Tara for introducing me to it via her blog!
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Five Minute Friday: Door
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.
I shut the door to the bookstore bathroom and cowered in one of the stalls. Tears were streaming down my face and anger was coursing through my blood. Confused and heartbroken, I stood there for a good fifteen minutes bawling and trying to make sense of the fact that my boyfriend had just broken up with me. After some time (and blowing my nose), I exited the stall and went to wash my hands and face at the sink. I still had some tears to cry but I'd moved through the immediate moment of crying. In this heightened state of emotion, I made a decision. I decided to shut another door.
I shut the door to marriage.
You see, for several years I had been the recipient of wedding invitations, wedding shower invitations, baby shower invitations, baby announcements, and all of the myriad of things that go along with a life joined to another person as one flesh. I had watched so many friends and acquaintances and even heard about friends of friends who were marrying and having babies and getting on with this stage of life. I had been a spectator in all these moments of joy. My own heart's desire had always been to be a wife and mother, but in this moment of anger and pain, I made the decision that God wasn't going to honour that desire for some reason. I had loved my boyfriend and I thought he loved me. He'd even told me he loved me and that he couldn't imagine a life without me. And then just a couple of weeks after saying that, he changed his tune. He said he only loved me as a friend. I just didn't want male friends any more. I wanted a husband. I was angry at God for teasing me this way and making me believe that this boyfriend was going to be "the one."
So I shut the door. I told my mother a few weeks later that I was refusing to go to any more weddings until such a time as it was my own wedding. I didn't care who was getting married. God wasn't providing anyone for me, so I wasn't going to bear witness to the people he was providing for others.
A year or so later, my friend Sorella invited me to this thing to introduce me to a guy she thought I'd like. I went, although because my door was firmly shut, I didn't have any hope that anything would come of it. I was right. He was nice, but not anyone I was interested in. Then he invited Sorella and me to something the next night at a local Catholic parish -- a young adults' Bible study and "adoration" group. I didn't know what adoration was, but like the idea of other folks my age studying the Bible, so we went.
I wasn't planning on opening that door. I wasn't planning on meeting anyone. I met Gray that night. I wish I could say that meeting him made me open that door, but it didn't. In fact, something about Gray when we first met made me not even want to really get to know him at all. He seemed nice enough, but he was kind of weird and I just didn't know what to do with that. So I kept that door of my heart shut tight -- even to friendship with a man.
Oh, but friends, the Holy Spirit had other ideas! I don't remember exactly when it was, but I remember having the thought that I didn't even really want to get to know "that guy" (Gray) and almost as suddenly as the thought went through my head, I felt a nudge in my spirit. It was gentle, but firm. Just get to know him. Just be his friend. Not audible words, but a definite sense that the Holy Spirit was trying to direct me in that way. My reply was a grudging sigh and an, "Okay, Lord."
And just like that, the door of my heart was pushed open a crack.
Gray and I became friends and that crack grew wider and wider until one day, I realised that the door had been pushed wide and love had come pouring in.
****
I shut the door to the bookstore bathroom and cowered in one of the stalls. Tears were streaming down my face and anger was coursing through my blood. Confused and heartbroken, I stood there for a good fifteen minutes bawling and trying to make sense of the fact that my boyfriend had just broken up with me. After some time (and blowing my nose), I exited the stall and went to wash my hands and face at the sink. I still had some tears to cry but I'd moved through the immediate moment of crying. In this heightened state of emotion, I made a decision. I decided to shut another door.
I shut the door to marriage.
You see, for several years I had been the recipient of wedding invitations, wedding shower invitations, baby shower invitations, baby announcements, and all of the myriad of things that go along with a life joined to another person as one flesh. I had watched so many friends and acquaintances and even heard about friends of friends who were marrying and having babies and getting on with this stage of life. I had been a spectator in all these moments of joy. My own heart's desire had always been to be a wife and mother, but in this moment of anger and pain, I made the decision that God wasn't going to honour that desire for some reason. I had loved my boyfriend and I thought he loved me. He'd even told me he loved me and that he couldn't imagine a life without me. And then just a couple of weeks after saying that, he changed his tune. He said he only loved me as a friend. I just didn't want male friends any more. I wanted a husband. I was angry at God for teasing me this way and making me believe that this boyfriend was going to be "the one."
So I shut the door. I told my mother a few weeks later that I was refusing to go to any more weddings until such a time as it was my own wedding. I didn't care who was getting married. God wasn't providing anyone for me, so I wasn't going to bear witness to the people he was providing for others.
A year or so later, my friend Sorella invited me to this thing to introduce me to a guy she thought I'd like. I went, although because my door was firmly shut, I didn't have any hope that anything would come of it. I was right. He was nice, but not anyone I was interested in. Then he invited Sorella and me to something the next night at a local Catholic parish -- a young adults' Bible study and "adoration" group. I didn't know what adoration was, but like the idea of other folks my age studying the Bible, so we went.
I wasn't planning on opening that door. I wasn't planning on meeting anyone. I met Gray that night. I wish I could say that meeting him made me open that door, but it didn't. In fact, something about Gray when we first met made me not even want to really get to know him at all. He seemed nice enough, but he was kind of weird and I just didn't know what to do with that. So I kept that door of my heart shut tight -- even to friendship with a man.
Oh, but friends, the Holy Spirit had other ideas! I don't remember exactly when it was, but I remember having the thought that I didn't even really want to get to know "that guy" (Gray) and almost as suddenly as the thought went through my head, I felt a nudge in my spirit. It was gentle, but firm. Just get to know him. Just be his friend. Not audible words, but a definite sense that the Holy Spirit was trying to direct me in that way. My reply was a grudging sigh and an, "Okay, Lord."
And just like that, the door of my heart was pushed open a crack.
Gray and I became friends and that crack grew wider and wider until one day, I realised that the door had been pushed wide and love had come pouring in.
 |
| Join in the Five Minute Friday fun and link up over at Kate Motaung's blog! |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)