FMF: Empty

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

EMPTY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Five Minute Friday: Share

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

SHARE

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Greatest of These Is Love

After the kids are long since tucked in bed, Gray and I quite often spend time together just talking about one thing or another. Sometimes it's housekeeping sorts of things like, "Don't forget that I have an appointment tomorrow evening with Pendragon.." or "Honey, if you go out tomorrow, we're about out of milk and cat litter." Other times it's conversations about the kids and what is going on with them or something between us that we wanted to discuss in greater detail in private. A lot of times though, we talk about theology, politics, and the state of the world. Those last topics are some of my favourite conversations.

A topic that we go back to again and again and that we talked about earlier tonight is that of Christian charity. What prompted it was the fact that today on Facebook I ran across two rather disturbing instances where someone who was professing Christ was behaving in a way that was less than charitable.

Both of these situations broke my heart.

You might find that a bit of an overreaction, but it's the truth. Whenever I find Christians speaking to their fellow Christians or nonbelievers in a way that is hateful, angry, spiteful, or just rude, it hurts my heart. You see, I love people. I am a big lover of people from way back. I'm a hugger and kisser and an "Oh bless your heart!" and "How can I help?" and an "I love you, my friend!" kind of person. I don't know why exactly, but I've always been this way. My base instinct is to see the good in others and, if they will allow me, help them see it in themselves. All of that is born out of a desire to love others as God loves me. Even when I was a small child, I was this way. When I gave my heart to Jesus at age 6, it became even more important to me to love on others in the way that He loved me. It's just who I am and, for the most part, comes easily to me.

This isn't to say that I've never been uncharitable or that I lack the capacity for such things. Quite the reverse is true. I know there have been times in my life when I have been less than kind and loving. I also know that there have been many, many times when I have nearly bitten my tongue (or sat on my hands as it were) to hold back a snarky or nasty retort and then have let it all spill out of my mouth later on to an understanding friend. I say all of this because I don't want you to think I'm some kind of saint or angel. I'm not. I definitely aspire to be a saint, but I fall short of the mark quite a lot.

So what was our conversation about tonight? Well, it was me recounting the two incidents I'd witnessed and my frustration at the people involved who were so hateful. I told Gray that I just couldn't understand why they would say those things, why they couldn't seem to see how rude and unkind they were being. Without giving you all the details, one of the people was basically bashing an atheist friend of mine over the head with his beliefs about the state of her soul and the other was a group of people who were name-calling over the issue of their belief that the way they worship Jesus is better, more holy, and more perfect than the way another group of Christians worship Jesus. In each scenario, the victims of these attacks responded with great charity and grace and that was thrown back in their face as though they had replied with vindictiveness and vitriol.

I just don't understand that at all. It seems abundantly clear to me that this kind of behaviour is unacceptable for someone who professes the name of Christ. Look at Matthew 22:34-40:

When the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” He said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

Love God and love your neighbour as yourself. How hard is this to understand? It's really not rocket science and yet, I run across many more people than I care to count who seem to forget this when they are engaged in a discussion about faith with someone with whom they disagree. They seem to get so caught up in the whole "love God" that they forget the second half of it which Jesus says is like it -- love of neighbour.

Why is the second commandment like the first? That's pretty simple too. It is a manifestation of the first commandment. If you love God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind, then the natural outpouring of all that love for God is love for your neighbour. It is an active thing that involves good works like feeding the hungry, visiting the imprisoned, clothing the naked, etc. It is also something that involves submitting our hearts, minds, and flesh to His grace to be molded into His will and transformed into the model of neighbourly charity to all we meet. That means being loving, kind, generous, humble in spirit, willing to admit when we are wrong, and choosing our words carefully when we are faced with disagreements with those around us.

Is it easy? Sometimes. But then again, sometimes it's ridiculously hard. That's when God is giving us the opportunity to practice. A lot of times that practice is uncomfortable and frankly, hurts. But you know what? Change often hurts -- especially the kind that takes practice -- but it's what we're called to. We are called to be changed so dramatically that when those around us look at us, they see He who is Perfect Love and Absolute Truth staring back at them. When we are working toward this transformation with sincere hearts and effort, then we fully understand the first commandment. It is then when we fully understand what it means to love God so completely.

I don't know about you, but I want that. I want to be so fiercely in love with God, so conformed to who He is, that this whole "love your neighbour" thing is as easy as breathing. There is something that I feel deep inside me that is hungry for this transformation, for this infusion of grace that changes men and moves mountains. I've pursued this for nearly my entire life because it is who He made me to be and the bottom line is that I love Him and I know by virtue of my creation that He loves me.

I'll admit that sometimes I struggle with feeling His love and sometimes I wonder if I actually do love Him because of the anger I feel at times. I have felt abandoned and lonely and alone and so heartbroken and hurt by His silence that I have wondered if I should turn away from Him and go my own way. But the imprint of His love, given to me by virtue of my humanity, that imprint so long tended, polished, and lovingly cherished, hidden away in the very depths of my being is what kept me trying to love Him despite the lack of everything that I felt and the darkness of my thoughts toward Him. That imprint of Perfect Love made manifest in the Eucharist, the holy oils of Anointing, the words of absolution in Confession, and in the sacramental love shared with Gray is what has saved me from walking away. It is what has saved me from myself in those dark moments when I have used life to inhale death. That Perfect Love is what has continued to draw me forward toward Him despite not wanting anything to do with faith or God or any of it.

I haven't done it on my own though. I've had an abundance of love from the neighbours all around me. In fact, when I suddenly couldn't feel God's love in a direct way (something I still don't really feel), it was the love of neighbours -- Gray, Sif, Fr. B, Chez, Rikert, Tara, and in his professional way, Pendragon -- that touched my heart, encouraged me to keep breathing and moving forward in obedience, and kept me from killing myself on more than one occasion. I have been blessed to have the love of many neighbours, especially online (shout out to all my awesome Board friends -- love y'all!!!) and many of whom did nothing more than pray for me in my hour of need, knowing nothing more than what Chez posted as a prayer request on his blog (Love you, big brother!) You see, I have been the recipent of that "love your neighbour as yourself" love from those around me in such a profound way that it made that Perfect Love of God manifest to me when I was unable to see Him or find Him on my own.

So you see, love of God is important -- the most important thing we can do -- because He is deserving of ALL our love and that includes the gift we give the rest of His creation when we......wait for it.......

.....love our neighbour.

That's all I've got. Peace be with you!

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"

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.

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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!

A Hand To Hold

This is part of my April prompts series from the blog The Habit of Being. Each of the posts in this series will feature the prompt for that post as the post title. While I may sometimes use the current day's prompt, it is more likely that I will pick and choose as inspiration dictates. If you are interested in following along with the prompts or writing some of your own, here's the link to the page with April's prompts: http://thehabitofbeing.com/writealm/

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The nature of life is that we all sometimes need a hand to hold. 

Five Minute Friday: When

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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Times When My Life Was Touched and Changed

When I first realized at age 12 that "sad" didn't quite describe how I was feeling
When my ears first heard the words "my best friend"
When I first felt the swoop of freedom running through my veins at the words "you passed your driver's test.."

When I was afraid I would lose my mind if I could find no one to talk to about my home life
When my compassionate teacher and now dear friend Rikert heard my pain and helped me
When I looked through the window and watched my parents drive away
When I realized I needed help to deal with my depression

If you or someone you know is in crisis, call 1-800-273-8255 to talk to someone about what's going on and get help. This is the National Suicide Prevention hotline, but you don't have to be suicidal to use it. If you're depressed or grieving or lonely, you can call and talk to someone who is trained to listen and offer support!

When I realized that nothing was helping
When I was brave and tried medication for the first time
When I felt the thrill of acting with my peers at college
When my voice professor first praised my hard work and skills
When I began my own journey of faith

Sometimes you need a little humour as you're discovering faith for yourself.

When I experienced the baptism of the Holy Spirit
When I landed in London and began a wonderful adventure
When my depression intensified and my self-injury began
When I withdrew from college to get help
When I worked and dreamed of having my own place in a new city and a new part of the country
When my dreams were dashed because of the lies of others
When a friend tried to hook me up with a guy and wound up hooking me up with the Catholic Church
When I made a new friend who I refused to call by his last name
When that friend and I kissed for the first time
When we became officially more than friends

I love it when he brings me flowers "just because." :)

When my boyfriend took me to visit his family at Christmas
When I was confirmed and received fully into the Catholic Church
When my boyfriend proposed three days later
When I walked down the aisle with my heart full of joy to marry my beloved Gray
When we gave ourselves to each other for the first time
When I found out that I was pregnant (each time)
When I first saw each of our sweet girls

Left to right: AB, GB, and M2 -- dressed up pretty for Easter 2014

When we bought our house
When my M2 and AB started preschool and later on, regular school
When the darkness that had been with me since age 12 descended again
When the darkness got even darker than I'd ever felt
When I had a moment when I lost hold of reality and almost attempted suicide
When I began what I thought would be a helpful treatment for depression
When the people who I trusted violated my trust, took advantage of my emotional distress, and coerced me into agreeing to something I never wanted to do
When my heart broke so completely that I thought I would never stop crying



When I spent 5 days in hell, afraid that I would never see light, love, or God again...

........ when the hell of those 5 days ended and I saw flickers of light and love again



When the nightmares began
When the flashbacks began
When I stood at the edge several times, contemplating suicide, and was pulled back to safety by the words of Gray, Pendragon, my big brother Chez, and my friend Rikert
When I had two weeks of respite in the midst of what has been over two years of continued depression
When I decided to write about my experience and share it with others

If you've ever wondered what it's like to go through an episode of major depression, please feel free to read my 31 Days series. It is an account of some of what I've been through in the last couple of years. Eventually, I may make it into a book.

When I began EMDR to treat my PTSD
When the flashbacks began to diminish
When I decided to take on the challenge of sharing my experience with suicide and raise funds to help prevent suicide and raise awareness

If you'd like to make a donation to help raise funds for programs that help prevent suicide, click here to donate.

When I decided to no longer stay silent about my struggles with major depression and suicide
When I realized that I need to do this walk for suicide prevention for myself as much as to help others.

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

My Little Flower from Heaven -- #ForAlltheSaints

Like most young girls, when I was a teenager, I longed for a boyfriend. I wanted a boy who would care for me and kiss me and hold my hand walking to classes. I wanted that thing that so many of us want -- romantic love. I dated a couple of guys in high school, had a deep friendship with a guy who I think wanted it to be romance, and definitely crushed hard on several guys who I found attractive both for their looks but also their personality and brains.

As I got into college, I found that I not only wanted a guy I could date, but I was looking at guys with a mind toward eventually getting married. Several of my college friends were in dating relationships and some of those led to engagements and marriages. I went to quite a number of weddings in my early-mid 20s. I was a bridesmaid a few times and sang for a few weddings of friends as well. As much as I was happy for my friends, there was a little piece of me that was heartbroken at every wedding I attended. There was always the thought of "when will it be my turn?" or "when will God bring a man into my life to be my husband?" I prayed and prayed and prayed for a husband.