Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts

Sunday, March 20, 2016

Psalm 10

Today's psalm reminds me so much of the book When Bad Things Happen to Good People by Rabbi Harold S. Kushner. I'll be honest that I haven't read the book, but I remember some years ago that a friend recommended it to me when I was struggling with depression and wondering why I had to suffer when there were so many others around me who were doing all the wrong things who didn't suffer.

I don't believe for a minute that I'm a good person. I'm a sinner. I'm a big, fat, grievous sinner who hurts God's heart on a daily basis. I do my best to avoid sin, but sometimes it finds me even if I'm not looking for it. Anyhow, I am far from "good" but I am trying to be good. Actually, my aim is to be perfect as the Father is perfect (Matthew 5:48). That said, I understand why my friend recommended this book. I imagine that the author probably quotes this psalm or perhaps another like it. Look at this passage:
Their ways prosper at all times; Your judgments are on high, out of their sight; as for their foes, they scoff at them. They think in their heart, "We shall not be moved; throughout all generations we shall not meet adversity." (verses 5-6)
The psalmist is talking here about the wicked. He's accusing God of being so far away that the wicked are not able to hear His judgments upon them and his proof is that the wicked are prospering in everything they do. He goes on to talk about how they persecute and prey upon the poor, curse their enemies and the like and that they have confidence that nothing ill will befall them.

How many times have you met people like this?

To be honest, there is a particular presidential candidate at the moment who seems to fit this bill. Despite all his ravings, outrageous comments, and behaviour that would earn most people a ticket to the hospital in a straight jacket -- he seems to continue to gain momentum and support like wildfire.  I confess that I am dumbfounded at times as to how on earth any sane person could possibly think he is a viable candidate for the office of President of the United States. While I'm not alone in my bewilderment over this, the sheer amount of support he seems to be garnering is frightening and makes me very scared for what could happen if he eventually wins in November. There have been times when I've wondered where God is in all of this. A couple of years ago, I would have likely thought God totally absent and deaf due to my own anger at Him, but thankfully, I've moved past that. These days I am able to say, "Lord, I can't see Your plan, but I trust in You."

The psalmist -- after he's vented his spleen about how awful things are and how the wicked prosper and while those who follow God suffer -- seems to come to the same place where I'm at these days:
But You do see! Indeed You note trouble and grief, that You may take it into Your hands; the helpless commit themselves to You; You have been the helper of the orphan. (verse 14).........O Lord, You will hear the desire of the meek; You will strengthen their heart, You will incline Your ear to do justice for the orphan and the oppressed, so that those from earth may strike terror no more. (verses 17-18)
And that's what it really boils down to in the end. Even if we can't see His plan, He really does see. He really is fighting for those who trust in Him. He really does have a plan and He is working that plan despite our inability to see it. When bad things happen to good people, the most fruitful thing we can do is trust in Him.

It's hard, I know. I've been there, done that, got half a dozen or more t-shirts. It's not your first inclination either. It may not be your second or third or two hundred and thirty third and that's okay. It's okay to be angry and tell Him. It's okay to struggle and wonder where He is in the midst of your darkest hour when He appears to be silent and nowhere to be seen. It's okay to be angry that you're struggling and trying to have faith and it seems like no matter what you do, nothing is changing or getting better. All of these things are a-okay.

Here's the challenge though -- stay the course. When you're struggling and you want to give up on God, keep putting one foot in front of the other. That sounds like stupid and ridiculously simple advice, but the image is powerful. It's something my big brother Chez said to me nearly three years ago. We were having a conversation about how hard everything was and how mad I was at God and how I wanted to just give up altogether and leave this life. After much back and forth, I told him I knew suicide wasn't the answer but I just didn't know how to go on anymore. His advice to me was to just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

After that, every time I struggled, those words and the image they evoke would come into my mind. As with most advice, it's easier said than done, but holding onto that image of just staying the course helped me hold onto sanity and reality many times. I continue to keep doing this because it's only by persevering little by little, breathing in and out, moving forward into the next moment, and staying focused on using my energy to put the foot that is behind to the front that I will ever get where I want to go.

This is especially true of faith. So put your trust in Him and when you can't see His plan or how to move forward in faith, continue to do the routine things you already do -- go to Mass or church services, pray, read scripture, engage in fellowship with your faith community -- so that you stay on the path and stay moving toward Him. Your feelings may tell You that He is far away or that You have wandered far from Him but remember, feelings are not always a good barometer of what is reality and what is a lie. You may feel far away, but He is always there and if you're making a conscious effort to at least do something to persevere in faith, He will reward your efforts in His own perfect time.

You may think I'm full of hot air, but I've been there. I've been there for a long time. In some ways, I'm still struggling with my faith and I definitely still struggle with putting my trust firmly in Him. Be encouraged that if you are struggling violently, you are not alone. The wicked may seem to be winning and God may be nowhere you can see Him, but He is with you -- and so am I. I'm praying for you, whoever you may be. If you need a friend to pray with you or encourage you, email me. Just click the link on the sidebar.

Until next time...

Pax Christi!

Friday, July 10, 2015

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! :)

Join in the Five Minute Friday fun and link up over at Kate Motaung's blog!

Sunday, December 28, 2014

A Letter to Grief

Today's post is a special link-up with Kate Motaung's "Letters to Grief." Go check out Kate's blog and the many other letters to grief written by my fellow bloggers. If you're so inclined, write your own letter and link it up by using the link up at the bottom of the main entry (click on "many other letters to grief" above).

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Dear Grief,

We have been travelling through life together for nearly two years, but it wasn't until recently that I realized it was you. True, depression has been my companion for this same duration, but I had no idea you had come along for the ride. I think you buried yourself in depression's skirts, keeping hidden until Pendragon saw through your disguise. I would never have seen you there without his help.

He says that you are the reason I wear almost nothing but black and this makes sense to me. Colours feel all wrong and black sometimes brings only cold comfort, but it is a more appropriate shroud to console my broken heart.

I have lost so much in the last two years. Is it any wonder as you have been with me, prodding tears and pulling me down and down and down again? You have pricked my pain and rubbed salt in my wounds and I never even knew you were there. Your whisperings have induced oceans of tears and an ache so deep and so painful that I have wondered if I would ever be at peace again.

You have threaded your way through my very veins, enmeshing with my spirit and severing the ties of head and heart that have allowed me to feel the presence of God. That precious gift of being able to feel Him walking with me, holding me fast, comforting me, giving me peace and solace amidst the storm of depression is gone like so much candle smoke in a summer breeze.

No matter how many prayers I pray, tears I cry, or how many times I beg of Him to restore this to me, the miracle never happens. I have wondered many times why this is so and I believe it is because of you. I believe it is because I am unable to fully let you go.

Oh grief, how I want to let you go!

But I do not know how.

You have brought me so deep into your embrace that I am made weak and woozy at times, drowning in the despair which you pour over my head and despite my desire to break free from your clutches, I find myself falling further into you with each month that passes.

I am heartbroken and spent and hopeless because of you. I had thought you a nameless sadness that was keeping me captive, but thanks to this insight, you now have a name other than that clinical moniker, "depression."

I name you -- grief -- and pray that in giving name to you, I give myself enough strength to escape you one day.




Friday, November 14, 2014

Five Minute Friday: Still

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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Here I am Lord. The night is quiet and still and I am here, alone, with You.

How many nights have I been in this wee hours' stillness?
How many of those nights have I waited for You to make your presence known to me?
How many of those nights have seen me with tears streaming down my face in anger and sadness and frustration because You won't come near?

My soul has been so un-still for such a long time. I have wanted to rest in Your stillness, but no matter how often I seek Your face, You are silent.

I have tried to listen in the silence. I have craned my ears, desperately searching for some whisper of You in this dark place. But Your voice is no where to be found. My eyes search for You. My voice calls out for You over and over and over and over. I have begged You from the depths of my being to come and lift me from this place, to let me come close to You again and touch the hem of your garment that I might find healing.

But there is no rest for me. There is no still. There is only silence again and again.

I have searched for you in stillness.
I have been brave.
I have kept my promises.
I have chosen life over and over again when everything in me wanted to swallow down death like water.
I have pursued You even when it was supreme agony for me.
I have followed Your commands and Your desires for me.
I have put my trust in the fact that I know You are there despite my inability to feel You or see You or have any indication of Your presence.

But I am tired. And I need the still, steady peace of Your Holy Spirit to pour over my hurts and bathe every one in Your healing balm. I need Your still hands to bandage my spirit's wounds. I need the stillness of physical, mental, and emotional rest.

I want to believe You still hear me. I want to believe that You still care. But I don't know You anymore. I don't know who You are anymore or where You are or if I will ever fully trust You again.

I want all of these things, but I am still angry.

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Join in the Five Minute Friday party at Kate Motaung's blog!

Sunday, October 19, 2014

Day Nineteen: Dearest Gray

18 October 2014
Saturday

Dearest Gray,

As you know, today hasn't been the easiest of days for me and that what I'm feeling as I type this and try not to cry (not that I don't feel that I can, I just don't want to have to stop now that I've finally started to get a tissue from the bathroom and wipe my nose) is the weight of all of this that I've been writing about of late. These memories that I've been sharing with the world have been even more sharply in my dreams the last several days which, as you also know, has caused you to waken me from nightmares. I told you today that I don't want to continue this writing of this. It hurts so much and I've cried so many tears over it. I told you too that I was starting to feel something akin to hope, only to have it smashed to bits this afternoon and evening. That is the way of this disease though and why I have learned that it is an exercise in frustration and pain to tell myself that I might be getting better or that things might be changing in some way because there is something about saying it aloud (or writing it) that seems to signal an ill wind to come and knock me back down into the darkness again. Two steps forward, two steps back again. Maybe not a whole two steps back, but enough that whatever infinitesimal amount of progress I am making is so miniscule as to be completely unrecognizable to my senses. All that said, my darling, you have encouraged me and lent me your strength and I am trying. As I said, today, I am writing this for you.

Friday, October 17, 2014

Day Seventeen (part 1): Early Morning Blurred Lines

My unconscious mind is roused by a voice calling my name, but I can't put a face to it. "Therese? Therese?...." I am still somewhere betwixt dreams and wakefulness and the heavy sort of confusion of that state clouds my senses. "Therese? Therese, wake up. Wake up, Therese." The voice is insistent and somewhere in my half awake brain, I realise that whoever it belongs to must know me, so I roll over in the bed and automatically reach to turn my CPAP off. My hand grapples with empty air beside the bed and suddenly, a realization hits me. I am not at home. Oh God, it wasn't a dream. Despite my inability to see anything clearly without my glasses, I suddenly know exactly where I am. The voice says, "Therese, you need to go down to the nurse's station for a blood draw." I bristle. My CPAP continues to hum quietly and whoosh with each breath I take. The person belonging to that voice is standing in the doorway of my room and although she is less than ten feet away, I cannot tell that she is a she except for the pitch of her voice. Apparently satisfied that I am awake enough to have heard her message, she disappears. I am not getting out of this bed to go give them any of my blood. Too fucking bad. I lay back down and turn over on the hard foam mattress and refold the thin pillow beneath my head, hearing it crinkle as I lay my head down. I pull the thin waffle weave blanket over my head, close my eyes, and go back to sleep.

Day Seventeen (part 2): Rules and A Visit

I go back to sleep for a while and finally wake up around 10:00am, decide to get dressed, and walk around a bit to see the rest of this prison. As I consider dressing, I realise that there is only one tiny corner of my room where I can dress that is mostly out of sight of the wide open door. I would just close the door, but we are not allowed to close it and if we do, it will lock us inside the room. Ditto for closing the bathroom door. There is absolutely no privacy. Anyone and I mean absolutely anyone -- doctor, nurse, staff, or fellow patient -- could walk by and see me dressing or undressing. It is a degrading, humiliating feeling to be cowering in the corner, looking over my shoulder every other second to make sure the coast is clear and that no one is walking in unannounced.

Saturday, September 20, 2014

Doing Death the Southern Way

Where I live in the Southeastern US, we have four season just like the rest of the country. The difference is that our seasons are Almost Summer, Summer, Still Summer, and Christmas. The upshot of this is that most southerners I know run their air conditioning and/or various electric fans from about late February to early November because it's just so flipping hot. Despite the heat though, life goes on and with it, so does death.

Death in the South isn't just something that happens when someone you love dies (or passes, as we say here). Nope, it's an event. As a child growing up in the South, I have some very clear memories of the unique nature of the aftermath of death in this culture. In the South, the post death protocol is as follows: notification of death, visitation, funeral service, procession, graveside service, and the funeral lunch.