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.

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!

Psalm 15

There are quite a few psalms that echo one another and this is one such psalm. When I first read it, a worship song called "Who Will Ascend" from my years in the Vineyard movement came almost immediately into my head. That particular song is based on Psalm 24, but as I looked at the cross reference notes, I discovered that Psalm 24 is, in part, an echo of Psalm 15:

O Lord, who may abide in your tent? Who may dwell on your holy hill? Those who walk blamelessly, and do what is right, and speak the truth from their heart; who do not slander with their tongue, and do no evil to their friends, nor take up a reproach against their neighbors; in whose eyes the wicked are despised, but who honor those who fear the Lord; who stand by their oath even to their hurt; who do not lend money at interest,  and do not take a bribe against the innocent. Those who do these things shall never be moved. - Psalm 15

The psalmist is most certainly referring to the Temple of the Lord on earth and is writing about the kind of behaviour which is expected of those who present themselves to the Lord in His Temple. Obviously, this can also be seen as a metaphor for heaven. God is, of course, omnipresent, but we are bound by our humanity to one place at a time during this life. Once we die, we exist outside of time as God does and if we have died in His friendship, then we will dwell on His "holy hill" -- that is to say, heaven -- for all eternity.

That said, looking at this list of things, it seems a bit daunting. To walk blamelessly is to live completely righteously. How on earth do we manage that one? I know I'm not nearly as righteous as I want or need to be. To do what is right is another thing the psalmist lists. Do you happen to do the right thing absolutely all the time? I know I don't. To speak the truth, not slander others, to despise wickedness (that is, sin), and to honour holiness are all part of the list and I can honestly say that I have done the exact opposite of those on numerous occasions.

So how do we get to a place where we can be blameless before the Lord when we die? The easy answer is that we must put our faith in Jesus and do everything He commands us to do in His word. The two biggest commands are to love God with all our heart, mind, soul, and strength and to love our neighbour as ourselves. Neither of those is easy, but both are required. We simply cannot neglect them.

But no one is perfect and while we ought to aim for being perfect as the Father is perfect, we will fall short of that mark. When we fail Him, we must confess our failings, repent from our sin, and make a firm amendment to sin no more. As Pope Francis said, the name of God is mercy and when we come to Him, He is faithful to forgive us because of His great mercy. No matter how many times we fall off the wagon, we must turn back to Him again and again and seek His mercy. He, like the father of the prodigal son, sees us when we are far off and comes running to meet us, arms thrown wide to embrace us, forgive us, and celebrate that we are home once more.

To reach God's holy hill is a journey and one where we must daily put our faith in Him anew, confess our faults, and receive His mercy. That daily confession of our faith in Him and making amends for when we stumble is how we learn to see His face more clearly and eventually, with perseverance to the end, receive the prize for which we are striving.

Until next time...

Pax Christi!

A Final Update on Write and Follow

It's just a few hours until the new year begins here and on that note, I thought I'd do a little year-end wrap up and reflection. Last year at this time, I was trying to figure out (as I am now) my "word" for the year. The idea is that you take that word as a kind of reminder to yourself of something you want to do or achieve in the next year or as a reminder of a goal you've been working toward or perhaps something you need to do in order to better yourself. I noodled over it for several days prior to December 31, 2014 and finally came up with my first of what would be two words for 2015:

My goal with this word was to encourage myself to write in this blog and elsewhere more often. In August of 2014, I started this blog anew with the aim of trying to help myself with my depression. I had a goal back then that I was going to write at least some little something each day so that I could develop a habit of writing. Well, that didn't exactly pan out, but through that goal, I found the Write 31 Days challenge in late September and participated in it throughout the month of October. I wrote for 31 days straight about my journey through the darkness of depression and while it wasn't the easiest thing for me to do, it wound up being helpful both in my therapy sessions (gave me and Pendragon lots to write about) and outside the therapy sessions as I mulled over different things and tried to process more deeply some of my experiences.

As 2014 drew to a close, I realized that all that writing had been really beneficial to my mental health in a number of ways. That was one of the biggest reasons that I was drawn to the word "write" as my word for 2015. I wanted to keep that momentum going. I also began sensing that the direction of my blog was changing a bit to encompass more than just my Catholic faith and my vocation of marriage and motherhood. I wanted to continue to talk about mental health topics and even explore my own experiences with depression and PTSD in the hope that it might help others understand those things a bit more. So last New Year's Eve as I was going through the day, I was more or less settled on that word.

And then we went to Mass for the Vigil of the Solemnity of Mary the Mother of God and the Holy Spirit threw a cog into my perfect little plan to focus on "write."

As we sat there in Mass and listened to the pastor's homily, he spoke about how Mary had followed God's plan for her and been totally submissive to His desire that she become the Mother of the Word Incarnate. When he said that, the word "follow" jumped out at me. For the rest of Mass, I couldn't get it out of my head. My heart has always been to follow God wherever He leads and to pursue Him with everything in me, but the past almost 3 years have been beyond hard. They have shaken my faith to its very core. 

My faith has been stripped bare of everything that made me comfortable in it -- joy, hope, purpose, emotional closeness, awe and wonder, inspiration, peace, strength -- all of it. All that was left to me was cold, naked words of scripture, the tenets and requirements of my faith, the traditions of the Church, and a particular grace of an obedient heart (which I didn't see for a long time as anything worth celebrating or being grateful for). I felt abandoned by God and I was fiercely angry with Him for a very long time. By the end of 2014 though, after almost 2 years of this, I knew that I needed to start taking responsibility for finding my way back to God.

When I heard the pastor say "follow" I knew that I couldn't ignore the nudge in my spirit. So despite having already chosen "write" I began to consider that maybe I needed to choose "follow" as my word. I wrestled with it until about 10:30pm that night when I finally gave in and said, "Okay God." That crazy grace of obedience just won't leave me alone! As I acquiesced to the Holy Spirit, I felt a bit sad to leave "write" by the wayside. I thought for a moment that perhaps I'd just resolve to write more anyway and then it hit me: I didn't have to give up "write" as a word for 2015. I could have two words! I admit it might have been a little crazy to take on two words, but I just knew that it was exactly right for me.

So how did those two words work out?

Well, not too badly, I think. I had wanted to write at least 1-3 blog posts each week and while there were some weeks that I didn't even make 1 post, as of the publishing of this post, I'll have 74 posts this year and that works out to 1.5 or so per week AND I managed to write at least 1 post each month. That may not sound like a lot, but that's much more consistent than I've ever been with writing, so way to go me!

As for follow, that one took a bit longer to get rolling with in 2015. I continued to do what I had been doing with regard to going to Mass and confession, but over the spring and summer months, I upped the ante a bit. Our long time family friend, Fr. B, was moved to a parish closer to us (he had previously been almost a 2 hour drive away) and we visited him some in the spring time and then began going there almost exclusively over the summer. When we first visited him, he sensed that I wasn't myself and told me to email him and we'd get together and talk. That was the beginning of several meetings which led to him becoming my spiritual director.

He and I would talk for a bit and then pray together. Many times he would pray over me -- prayers of deliverance, praying the Psalms, or just spontaneous prayer that pretty much always reduced me to a sobbing mess. Our meetings almost always included a chance for me to receive the graces of the Sacrament of Reconciliation (confession), the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick, and the Holy Eucharist as well. Finally, as my penance he would assign me the task of going over to the church (we always started in his office in the rectory) and spending some time there alone in the presence of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. The first time he assigned me that penance, he said, "It doesn't have to be long, just 10-15 minutes. However long you can stay. Stay as long as you want." That very first time I wound up there for an entire hour before I realized that much time had passed. I spent that hour in silent prayer, crying, singing hymns, sobbing as I lay prostrate before the altar, praying and begging Him to heal me, crying some more, and finally pulling myself together before leaving the church.

After each of those meetings and my time alone (always an hour, sometimes nearly two) with Jesus, I would find myself feeling exhausted and just spent, but strangely more at peace than I had been before I came. Little by little, I began to have tiny moments of feeling something other than the stark wasteland of nothingness that I had come to associate with my faith. It would be a brief moment at Mass or something that someone said or something I read that would touch me ever so briefly. These days I still feel that nothingness a lot and to be honest, I still feel angry at God at times (particularly when the dark menace of depression is heaviest), and I still cry buckets at Mass (did that tonight, actually), but something has shifted, albeit the tiniest bit; it is enough that I can sense the change. I can't quite articulate what is different or how it is, but I know that I feel a bit different this New Year's Eve with regard to my faith than I did last year. So that's progress and a very good thing indeed.

What about a word for 2016? 

Well, I've been thinking about it for a couple of weeks and there have been a few that have popped into my head. One of the biggest ones has been to do with my health. The things is, I'm way overweight for my height and age. Actually, quite truthfully, I am obese. I have been for years. Well, my sister-in-law has been on a quest for better health for herself this past year and she has really done well for herself. She's continuing in her quest to move more and eat healthy in the new year and has added the goal of quitting smoking (you can do it, sestra!!!) and I'm so excited for her. I know she's going to have another amazing year of achieving her goals and getting even more healthy.

To be honest, she's really inspired me to make some changes for myself. I may add things as the year goes along, but my biggest goal is going to be to move more -- specifically, to get myself walking on a regular basis. You may remember that I participated in the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention's Out of the Darkness Overnight walk in Boston this past summer. Well, it wasn't nearly as much fun for me as it could have been because I was really out of shape and unprepared going into it. This coming year I'm participating in the walk again. It's going to be in New York City! Woohoo! I have never been there and I'm looking forward to it, but I know I need to be in better shape and better prepared to actually do the work of the walking the 16-18 miles that it entails. So......without further ado, my NEW word for 2016 is.......

To be honest friends, that word is a little scary to me because of what it means to me. It means I've got to get off my duff and really start moving more. But what's a new year without new challenges or a goal or two, right? I also decided that I'm going to hold on to my words from 2015 for another year. I know, I know. You're probably not supposed to do that, but just like last year when I took on two words instead of one, I'm breaking the rules again this year. I'm keeping my old words. I'm just not ready to give up "write" or "follow" just yet. I feel like I have a lot more to do with those words and that a lot of it is going to be in this next year. Not entirely sure why I feel that way, but maybe it's the Holy Spirit? :) Anyhow, that brings my grand total for 2016 to THREE words. Holy cow! I may be a bit mental, but I really think that it's what I'm supposed to do. So, to recap....

Oh, and M2, who is sitting over my shoulder wants me to let you know that she was the one who had the idea for the word "Move" to be in a white font and for the background to be coloured instead of black and white like I had originally planned. I told her she ought to be a graphic designer because she has a good eye for colour and balance. Love that girl!

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.

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

Where I Live

Today is Day 2 in my week-long series using the prompts from the blogger community Blessed Is She!

Where I live the weather is hot from the end of May until the end of September, but even once the calendar flips forward to October, the temperatures still feel far too warm for autumn. This Indian summer paints the days well into the middle of the month and then slowly cools by All Saints' Day to something that begs us to wear a longer sleeve and trade shorts for jeans.

It was in this less hot, but still too warm weather that my friend Liam and I sat outside, talking one Saturday night. He asked my plans for Sunday and for the first time in my life, I hesitated. Church had always been where I lived outside of school and home, with Sunday being the day I looked forward to most. So why did I hesitate? I was tired of chasing God in the same place. The place where I was living looked pale and watery and as another Sunday came closer, I found a dullness within me where desire had always lived.

Liam sensed my hesitation and said, "Why don't you come to church with me?" I asked where he was going and he mentioned another large Southern Baptist church across town from my childhood home. I wasn't very excited about the prospect, but my sense of duty to God kicked in and I acquiesced and rode along with Liam the next morning. The people at this church were nice and very welcoming, but I felt out of place and swallowed up in their numbers. The preaching and music were good, but the message was no different than anything I'd heard before. As we walked to the car, my heart sank and I was much more quiet on the way back to campus, lost in my thoughts.

The weeks passed and although Liam and I tried quite a few churches, none of them seemed to fit me all that well. I resisted going back to my childhood church, partially because I didn't want to answer the "we've been missing you! where have you been?" questions, but partially because I just didn't want to go back. Eventually though, the choices of Southern Baptist churches were getting slim and Liam wanted to look at other denominations. I was terror struck at the idea of moving house altogether. It was one thing to "move my letter" from one Southern Baptist church to another, but quite a different thing to think of changing denominations. So Liam looked elsewhere and the next Sunday, I grudgingly found myself back at my home church.

It didn't last long, maybe three months or so. I never could get plugged into the college group and even though I could now sing with the adult choir, that felt not quite right either. I had been struggling most of the school year with a severe depressive episode and as the spring semester ended, I found that where I lived spiritually was in the Psalms of lament. Liam's roommate, Wood, knew my struggles were hard and one particularly difficult night gave me a long list of scriptures to encourage me and speak to me in this dark night. As I read through those verses, I stumbled onto a Psalm with a footnote saying it was one of the Psalms of lament and I latched onto it and its fellows for dear life.

My dog-eared Bible ceased to be a book, but instead became a life preserver and my temporary place to call home until a new friend helped me find an isle of respite in the storm.

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Join me tomorrow for the next prompt in this series, "Friend" for the next part of my journey!

Beginning

Today I am beginning a week-long series using the #projectblessed prompts from the blogger community Blessed Is She!

In my beginning has always been The Word -- both in terms of Holy Scripture and in terms of the One who is The Word spoken about in John 1:1. I grew up in a Christian home and the tradition of our family was such that I encountered Jesus at some point before I can really remember. Our family were active churchgoers and every time there was some kind of activity for my age group, my parents gladly ferried me to church to participate. Of course, it goes without saying that we were there every Sunday that rolled unless sickness or being out of town prevented it. We prayed over meals and at bedtime and I was encouraged from a young age to read the Bible, memorize verses of Scripture, worship God through song, and love God above everything else. At age 6, I made the decision to follow Him with my life and got baptized in our big Southern Baptist church.

Little did I know, that was just the beginning...

In college, I set out on my own, looking for a new faith beginning. It wasn't so much that I found fault with the faith of my childhood, but rather that I earnestly wanted more than I felt I was receiving at my childhood church home. As I put it at the time, I felt as though I was no longer being spiritually nourished. To be honest, even at that time -- even as I said those words to those who asked why I left my home church -- I had no real idea what I needed to be nourished.

The beginnings of my feeling spiritually undernourished were in high school. At some point in my 11th grade year, I began to realize that God was calling me to be a missionary and as I accepted that call and professed it in front of my congregation, my hunger for God was increased. I was thirsty for the living water that Jesus promised in John 7. I felt parched and dry and insatiable. I devoured Scripture, devotional books, Christian music, and anything I could get my hands on. Throughout this, I listened attentively to our pastor's sermons, making notes and reading over the verses and passages of Scripture he referenced. I listened with rapt attention to my Sunday School teachers and youth minister when they would talk about God. I went to youth meetings and rallies and retreats.

And despite all of this, I still felt a hunger for something more, something deeper than all of this combined. I began to realize too that these lessons I was hearing at church were the same lessons I'd heard my whole life. I felt like I was being fed the same milk of my beginnings in the faith (1 Corinthians 3:1-2) and that I was ready to graduate to the meat, but there was no meat to be found where I was.

I wouldn't have put two and two together if not for a conversation I had with our youth choir director (who was also the minister of music) in my 12th grade year. Each year before our youth choir went on choir tour, one of the prerequisites was that we had to sign up for an appointment to chat with our director. These appointments were designed to get to know the 9th graders, who were just beginning their tenure in the choir, and to catch up with the older students about what was going on in their lives. This was my fourth and last such appointment and as usual, I was looking forward to it. I admired our director and always enjoyed talking to him. When we met for our appointment, he observed that I had been not quite myself over the past year. We talked about things at home, graduation excitement, and my starting college in the fall, but eventually, he said that he knew something was going on that I wasn't saying. There was no pressure to talk, just a gentle invitation. I opened up and told him that part of it was depression (which was very true) and part of it was feeling like I wasn't being spiritually fed at our church. I further told him that really, choir was about the only thing keeping me at our church.

That last bit was SO hard for me to say, but he didn't get upset or tell me I was wrong. He listened and then said something I've never forgotten, "Perhaps, if that is all that's keeping you here, you need to look for another church where you can be spiritually fed." He went on to give me some encouragement and advice and when he was finished, I had tears in my eyes. I nodded and said thank you. He handed me a tissue and said, "Why don't we pray, okay?" and then led me in a beautiful prayer where he thanked God for my life, for my talents, for our friendship, and asked God to guide me in knowing what He would have me do and where He would have me go. I think I was crying even more at the end of it.

In the weeks and months to come, I reflected many times on that prayer and my choir director's comments and advice. I didn't know it then, but that meeting was the beginning of a journey that would take the next 11 years to complete....

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Read the next part of the story tomorrow with the prompt...."Where I Live"