I'm Sorry

I have never known emotional pain like this before.

I am about to give myself permission to totally and completely lose it because of how painful being separated from my husband and children is.

The separation hurts my skin. It hurts my eyelashes. It hurts each hair on my arm. It clutches my throat. It makes my neck spasm. It makes my eyes burn because there are tears that need to come out but too many were spilled yesterday. Are my tear ducts empty? How can I not be crying right now?

Four people who were a family are not a family today. There is my husband, always so angry, always so impossible to please, always so impossible to pacify, who is reeling so hard from the absence of family that he asked me to give him a list of things to change so that I’ll come back.

There’s 9 year old Daughter A who is a carbon copy of her father and doesn’t hesitate to scream at her parents. “I know you two are getting a divorce,” she yelled at her dad a few days ago, “just go ahead and say the word!”

There’s 5 year old Daughter M who is a carbon copy of me. She’s already observing, already scanning for danger and already people-pleasing. And if she still can’t avoid trouble despite her best efforts, she resorts to tears.

And then there’s me. The wife who felt completely demeaned when she was screamed or hissed at. The wife who felt like she could provoke yelling just because the look on her face was wrong. The mother who had horrible guilt for letting her daughters see her cower. The mother who lives in a different house now and knows she can’t come home without fear setting in.

I am a wreck, such a wreck that I can’t believe I don’t blow wide apart leaving a gaping hole where my heart was. And sprinkled in are the oddest pieces of comfort and oddest pieces of woe.

Pieces of Comfort
- 2 friends from long, long ago got in touch with me on the same day
- An older coworker abruptly came into my office, read me a passage about shedding or old skin to make room for the new and told me about her 2 painful divorces
- A younger coworker came into my office to ask me why I was on disability, and I decided to be honest with her. I told her that it was due to an eating disorder and anxiety. Then she confided in me that she was having very bad problems with an eating disorder and anxiety, and we both talked about how dysfunctional relationships seemed to be driving the problems in both of us. I felt a sisterly bond that has me crying tears for her but at the same time bowing my head in gratitude for the fact that she chose to come talk to me.
- A maternal coworker gave me a CD of beautiful hymns arranged on the piano, and when I started playing it in my office, the day’s tears finally did come.
- Yet one more coworker told me that there had been abuse in her first marriage and started to detail it. I’m the only one at work she’s ever told.

Pieces of Woe
- I continue to chase after those empty promises
- Codependent thoughts come at me like a serial killer with a butcher knife
- Everything I see reminds me of what life should have been, could have been or everything I see shows me what life is now.

One of the worst parts of today was when a man I work with just looked at me and said, “I’m sorry.” In two little words he pared everything down to the sheer sadness of it all. Yes. I, too, am sorry.

Ashes Everywhere

I’m having trouble concentrating at work today. My husband’s heart is breaking over our temporary separation, and my heart is breaking for him. I wish I hated him, but I don’t. It hurts very much to see him cry with his head in his hands. I would carry him right now if I had strength for both of us, but I don’t.

Later…

I went to an Ash Wednesday service with two friends. I was able to see the ugliness of all of my sins, the damage I’ve done to other people, the suffering of my family, the way I’ve turned my back on God.

It was almost like my previous post was a prayer to see Satan working in my life, and in church today, I was able to see it. It was horrible. I knew God loved me, but I thought he looked upon me and the people touched by me with great sadness. I sensed the master of lies and saw how empty his promises were.

I took my rosary into the church with me, and as soon as I got there, I saw that it was broken, like my relationship with God is broken. I’ve been praying for contrition. Perhaps this means I have it. I wasn’t going to receive Communion anyway, but I had to leave the sanctuary early because I was crying so hard.

And All His Empty Promises

At my therapy group last night, one of our members was talking about her relationship with a married man. You know the type. He claims he can’t stand his wife but then goes on a vacation with her, he says they aren’t intimate but then she ends up pregnant, he says over and over again that he’s going to leave but doesn’t. My fellow group member knows that she is nothing but the other woman and that her only future with him is as an unpaid paramour. She also feels terrible guilt about how her behavior is damaging the marriage of another woman. And yet she talked last night about how much of a hold the illicit relationship had on her and how negatively it was affecting her life.

“I cannot describe to you how totally unfulfilling that relationship is for me. I know he’s never going to leave his wife, I hate what I’m doing to his wife, but every day I want to get a text or an e-mail from him that makes me believe that he cares about me. So if I haven’t heard from him, I get really anxious and I text or e-mail him. And then there’s just this cycle of anxiety that I go through as I wait to hear from him the next time…”

I had never had the idea before to look at my life to see if anything was unfulfilling. I gave my life a quick glance and didn’t like what I saw: unfulfilling, unfulfilling, unfulfilling. I felt sick and pathetic. How could I not have seen how much time I spent in unfulfilling ways before? And looking at those parts of my life, why was I hesitant to change in some areas?

My favorite part of Catholic baptisms is when the priest asks the witnesses, “Do you reject Satan…and all his empty promises?” and we say that we reject him. When I was examining my life recently, that was all I could think of, that my unfulfilling behavior was driven by Satan’s empty promises.

Empty promises. I have trouble thinking of anything more terrible than reaching eternity, only to realize that I had led my life guided by the evil one, the master of lies. What if I could see the horrific, demonic driving force behind all of my bad decisions? Would I still make them? No. But I can’t see the full terror of the evil one. As much as I want to treat Jesus as my king, I chase after the empty promises.

I want to be saved by Jesus Christ. Part of me wishes that I were a Southern Baptist so that I would know that I was saved already, but the other part of me realizes that I would ruthlessly question whether I was truly saved or not. As a Catholic, I am supposed to become contrite for chasing the empty promises, confess my sins and repent. Right now I’m still struggling to attain true contrition, and I ask for Mary’s help with this nearly every day.

Empty promises. Has life really come down to this? Ever since I found my personal relationship with God in 1995, I thought I had been pursuing Christ’s promises. Mary’s promises. The promises of saints and popes. The promises of prominent Christians in my life. The promises of God my Father.

I can’t handle the thought of being a slave to the beautiful weaver of deception. I prayed a rosary yesterday, and as unworthy as I feel, I will pray another one today. The rosary is my lifeline, and I feel like I am a lost soul. Jesus, Mary, I’m reaching out to you. You can’t let the evil one have me. Give me contrition where I have no contrition. Help me to make a full confession. Help me to change. I cry out to you from the core of my being, where there is no peace of Christ, only turmoil.

M. Nole's Dream List

At the end of my therapy group this week, one member advised a member struggling with codependency to write a Dream List if she's tempted to e-mail or text the toxic man with whom she's involved.

I decided to write out my own list, and I thought it would be hard to come up with a neat and tidy list of even 10 dreams. I started writing, and within 3 minutes, I had gone past the number 30. I will be adding to this, but here is the beginning of M. Nole's offical Dream list.

1. Score well on the LSAT and be accepted into law school
2. Become a very good, ethical lawyer who helps people
3. Write a nonfiction Christian book
4. Get off of all pain medicine and be completely into AA again
5. Be active in Al-Anon again
6. Write a Christian novel
7. Have a popular spiritual blog
8. Devote myself to special Catholic prayers and especially to the Virgin Mary
9. Evolve into a saint
10. Make a pilgrimage to Lourdes or Rome
11. Be someone who does kind, spontaneous things for others
12. Make a charitable gift to honor someone special every month
13. Write a fiction novel
14. Create Catholic folk art
15. Learn to make rosaries
16. Join a good Protestant Bible study class
17. Go to Daily Mass
18. Have true contrition for all of my sins
19. Have my daughters when they become adults) feel like I was the best mother in the world
20. Be involved in a ministry (presently working for a ministry does not count)
21. Belong to a book club
22. Subscribe to an audio book service and listen to new books every month
23. Become a Facebook addict and play with my BFFs
24. Open a Christian art store in Midtown
25. Become a positive thinker
26. Become a humanitarian
27. Give generously to my church
28. Use my gift for spiritual writing to change lives, or even better, to save a life or a soul
29. Expand my for-profit resume business
30. Expand my resume ministry (free resumes to single parents and low-income clients)
31. Be on the board of a charity
32. Make enough money for my children to go to college wherever they can be accepted
33. Look like a million bucks well into my 40s and 50s
34. Lead others to the Catholic Church or to a belief in Jesus Christ
35. Infuse hope into other people with my ability to write fearlessly about my emotional and spiritual struggles
36. Resume my service work of intercessory prayer and pray for someone else's needs every single day
37. Realize when I'm 65 years old that I have lived a full, full life
38. Have every one of my friends to feel that I am the most faithful, supportive friend they have - because it's true
39. Make enough money to get manicures
40. Live in a small but adorable house
41. Take more creative writing classes
42. Write a screenplay for a movie about John Calipari

A Gift For Me

Yesterday I had a realization about the career move that I need to make. Off and on, since I graduated from college in 1997, I have regretted not going to law school. During this period of reflection at my parents' country house I have begun frequently thinking about my "missed opportunity" quite a bit. I have all the traits that good attorneys have; why did I think I wasn't smart enough to get into law school? I didn't even try. I bought one LSAT prep book at 22, thought the test looked hard (um...duh!) and gave up on the idea.

When I saw my psychologist on Tuesday, we were talking about my strengths, and she suddenly said, "You would make an excellent lawyer." I asked her about trying to start a new career in 4 years, when I'll be 40, and she said, "You'll be 40 anyway. Do you want to be 40 with a lucrative new career or 40 on a career path to nowhere?"

BOOM. I'm going for it. I'm going for it! I'm ordering LSAT practice books from Amazon tonight. Sometimes the wonderful Lord makes his will crystal clear, and this insight was like looking at the clearest, freshest spring water in the world.

God is telling me to apply to law school. God has given me something to look forward. Has God ever directed you toward a career in this way? I would love to hear about it if you have a story to share.

Please pray that if it's truly God's will for me to go to law school that I will be accepted. I only want what he wants, and this time, it's almost like he's holding out his hands with a gift for me to take at any moment.

I'm accepting it and saying thank you right now.

He Will Ask

Roughly a week ago, my husband asked me to leave our home. He called my mother and said (I’m paraphrasing based on her memory), “Come get her. I can’t deal with what I have to put up with anymore.”

My mother was not about to make a 70 minute round trip on a late Sunday evening, but by Monday my bag was packed, and my father drove me to my parents’ house in the country. The last time I stayed with my parents, from September to 2008-October 2008, I was on sick leave from work due to anorexic eating and severe anxiety. My visit with my parents was like being rehabilitated at a California spa. I was eaten up with fear and guilt, yet I was lovingly cared for in every way imaginable.

When I went outside on their wrap-around deck, I was touched by the beauty of the pond, the butterflies and the dozens of hummingbirds who gathered to drink my mother’s homemade nectar. In an effort to stop my dangerous cycle of starvation, my mother made me every food I could think of that didn’t turn my stomach, and several times a day I was treated to organic vegetables fresh from their country garden. I was given gourmet coffee in the mornings, almost total control over the television and rides to all of my medical and psychological appointments.

Yet I was miserable. I was humiliated by the fact that I had collapsed at my job from anorexia and had been sent home by the Executive Director, ordered not to return without a letter from my physician stating that I was fit for work. I worried constantly about how my work projects were being handled in my absence. I worried about whether my husband loved me. I worried about whether my daughters were happier with me out of the house or, even worse, if they were indifferent.

As I find myself at my parents’ house again, this time in the middle of a wet, grey February, I feel relief. I miss my husband, but I don’t miss being screamed at. I love my husband, but I don’t miss giving him quick, forced apologies so that my children won’t hear him yelling at me. I want my husband to have the supreme happiness that I have always dreamed of having for myself, but I don’t think that either one of us can have it right now if we’re living in the same home. In other words, being basically thrown out of my house has given me a sense of tranquility that came suddenly, harshly and as a complete surprise.

I have marriage counseling tomorrow. My priest will find out that I am staying with my parents. He will find out that I’ve realized the only way I can recover from anorexia and anxiety is to spend time away from my husband. He will find out that my husband calls me several times a day to tell me that he misses me and ask when I am coming home.

My priest will ask me, “When are you going home?’

And I will sit in his office, nervously pinching myself with my fingernails as I do during every session, and say, “I don’t know.”

Trudging with Despair

I have been quiet for months. My neck problems have still threatened to kill my spirituality. Church is painful, Bible reading is painful, spiritual journaling is painful and posting on my spiritual blog is painful. I may never get better.

Last night a priest (who I believe is a living saint), came to our home to bless our St. Benedict medals, bless our home and do the sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick for my neck and for my husband's emotional problems. I offered my resentments to the Lord and tried to open myself to the love and healing that was brought to me by a faithful servant of God. This priest is going to Italy in a few months to study mystical spirituality - the kind that I have been privileged enough to experience a few times. His coming to our house last night was an unbelievable spiritual gift.

Yet I woke up today angry, hurting and wanting to give up on life. I am tired of being in chronic pain, tired of fighting with my husband, trying to summon up more strength than I really have. I feel like if I fought harder for spirituality in my life that it would help see me through these trials, but I don't feel well enough to pursue more spirituality. My daughter and I walked to Mass last night, and I cannot tell you what a huge step that was for me. Receiving the Eucharist for the third time in six months...a huge act of longing for the closeness of God. And I had gone to confession the weekend before. I received it with no guilt.

Somewhere in this hazy mess of my life with my failing marriage and the money I'm losing and the deteriorating health is the love I have for Jesus, the saints and angels. But will I ever see it again? Will it ever be more real to me again than the physical pain and emotional suffering?

I stopped posting on my blog for two reasons.

1. It has hurt to use the computer recreationally.
2. My spiritual outlook plummeted in November, and I've felt like I had nothing positive to offer the world through prayerful writing.

But something said to me this morning to post again, not to give up, not to let the Evil One convince me that my growth as a believer is finished. It feels like it's finished...it feels like everything good in my life is over. But today I am here. I can't get any lower, so take this useless, weepy, mess of a wife, mother and Christian and do something if you want to Lord. It can't be clearer to me that I don't have the power. Do what you will with me.

I can't believe that I felt like I was pilgrim on a spiritual mission a year ago. I can't believe that I thought God was taking my life and showing fruits and works to inspire agnostics and struggling Christians to dare to believe. I can hardly dare to believe. I don't have the strength to believe.

Jesus, you have allowed me to be in this position. I say again, do what you will with me.

Today is Day Four of my novena to the Blessed Mother. Mary, I say to you also, I ask for your intercession for the healing of my neck, but I ask for God's will, whatever it is.

Divorced

1. Sad but cool fact about my husband; he's in that odd upper echelon of intelligence and will not allow me to people share what his IQ is.

2. Just as Jennifer Connnelley's character in A Beautiful Mind struggled for years over what to do with her highly evolved yet barely functioning spouse, these have been my struggles for years as well. I have watched my husband not make the "popular, eating lunch together crowd" where he worked as minimum wage cashier. I have also seen him have profound conversations with janitors, key copiers and waitresss...usually when he was late to another meeting.

3. Besides working in jobs that were beneath him, he was too scared for apply to jobs in his pay range. Afte he quit cashiering, he simply surfed the internet for the next year and a half.

4. Most of my stress has come from either denying the situation or thinking that he would change. I wanted to be a stay at home mom, but over time I grudgingly returned to full time employment so that we would have health insurance.

5. Now he's had a 15 month long taste of being the stay at home parent and doesn' t like it. He was ranting and raving about how long he spent cleaning today

BUT THEN

He told me that HE felt forced into being a stay at home dad because he thought that the housee would never get cleaned properly without his doing it. I gave him many opportunies to soften his message, but it stands. Basically, even though I dream of being an at home parent and his profession is higher paying than mine, he says he needs to stay at home or the house will always be a pig sty.

I can't express how mad and heartbroken I am. I am actuallly considering divorce. That's how much of his view means to me.

Alone With Him In The Human World

On Sunday I left the house in a rage (my back being full of steroids from the nerve block), and my intention was to take a short walk and invite Jesus to be with me. I could feel the impact of my steps on the concrete sidewalk in my sore back, and I didn't feel my anxiety dissipate.

I tried to focus on Jesus' presence. I didn't feel alone, but I felt alone with him in the human world. Thud, thud, thud. He was with me as I walked, but what did that mean, I wondered. I don't remember what I said to him or asked him, but I think I asked him how much more suffering he's going to give me and if he's going to rescue me any time soon. I think I told him that my life feels like something I can't survive - the physical problems, the tense marriage, the surgery my husband wants to get with all of this going on, the financial fears - and I asked if he was going to help.

There have been times when it's been really, really hard, and it's seemed like he hasn't helped. Even looking back, I haven't been able to see the help. Maybe because for years I feel like I've been underneath an avalanche, and I haven't been lifted out yet.

Today I realized what my dream job (second to novelist) is: internal corporate communications specialist. That's what I'm already doing at the faith-based clinic I work for; it's just not reflected in my title. I realized that I want to get my Master of Arts in Organizational Communication and work for companies trying to make sure the left hand knows what the right hand is doing. I want this more than every other professional job I've ever considered. My current job has shown me that this is where my flair is, and I want to pursue it.

On some days, I'm in too much pain to get dressed. Go to school? Apply for a new job? I can't think past lunchtime.

What will happen to me, Lord? Is this going to let up? If it doesn't, I can't even write a freaking book about it not letting up because of the pain. I'm starting to regret my 13 years without alcohol. Not really, but Jesus - please. Please grasp my frustration with all of this.

Alone with you, God, in the human world. What will I be doing 6 months from now? I really don't know. I love you. It's crazy, crazy love.

Things I'll Do If I Get My Old Body Back

1. Write a book. I won't be such a perfectionist, and I won't write it for anyone but me. But I'll finally write it - something I've been planning on doing for 25 years.

2. Throw away clutter with glee. 3 months ago this would have been a chore. Now it's something that aggravates my neck. I long to do it, but I either can't or know that I will have rebound pain. An odious task has become a privilege.

3. Journal even more than I had been doing. The pen in my hand was like an ignition that took me to God. I will journal every 30 minutes if I want to and won't feel guilty.

4. Put a sound system in my car and take joy rides.

5. Invite more of my children's friends over and not obsess so much about whether the house is clean enough. I can truly understand "good enough" now.

6. Use the public library more and read all of the time. There is so much good writing out there that I can't take advantage of now.

7. Go to 4-5 Twelve Step meetings a week. I already knew I loved them. The hole I've been feeling is painful.

8. Go to church. I love my relgion but have never really enjoyed hour-long services. Still, that's another piece of me that's gone right now.

9. Write freelance articles. It never hurts to try.

10. Buy healthier groceries. My dear husband is buying me groceries that cause me to gain weight. I never thought I would miss going to the grocery store.

11. Fold laundry lickety-split and get it out of my hair. Why did I procrastinate about this? Why did I let it pile up when I wasn't in pain? I don't understand this. I would love to tackle laundry right now if it didn't hurt.

12. Be grateful every day if I don't hurt.

13. Enjoy my children more. I loved them, but was I enjoying them? I didn't realize how many options a healthy body gave me. If I hear, "Mommy's hurting today," one more time I feel like I'll scream.

14. Be a better listener. Talking so much about myself has helped me to realize how much I was already talking about myself. The small stuff really isn't worth talking about. I know that now.

15. Care about my husband's day. Right now I have to pretend I care. There was a time when I really could have cared because I wasn't disabled by pain. I don't know how much I can work on overcoming my self-absorption as I face a life-changing set of physical problems. But when things are returned to a state of normalcy, I am going to take a huge interest in his day-in and day-out experiences. I can't wait.

16. Laugh at myself more.

I write this knowing full well that if I'm healed, I won't do all of this. But this experience has changed my life forever. As a thirtysomething, I had been taking "feeling decent" for granted. I've done a 180 degree turn. I also write this knowing that some of it (such as getting out of my self-centeredness) can be tackled now. Baby steps.

Take away my pain and stiffness, Jesus. As you like, when you like, if you like. I've learned a lot; I know you can see that.

Still Here

I am still here, but my computer time is very limited to due to my neck and upper back pain.

I don't know why God has let me be afflicted with an ailment that affects my spirituality and my attempts be a written expression of his glory. Maybe I'll know someday.

I am still here. I hurt, I stiffen to the point of worthlessness, and I wait. I had a nerve block with trigger point injections on Friday. Please pray that the procedure accomplishes the Father's will for me. Prayers for all of my loved ones and readers.

Leave Now

Yesterday as I was leaving the office I had a feeling that some sort of unspeakable violence was looming. I saw images of blood. In my stomach I felt that there was deep, dangerous anger threatening people I loved.

I wanted to call my husband to check on him and my daughters, but I had a very urgent need to put gas in the car. It was 20 degrees, and for several miles my car had gone past being empty. I put aside my hazy feeling of danger and pulled into the gas station around the corner from my job.

As I was backing my car into the right position for a fuel pump, a man came out of nowhere and sped right behind me, stealing my place. I could not back up anymore, and my car was too far away from the hose. There were plenty of other vacant fuel pumps. There was no reason for him to have sped up to the one I was getting ready to use and take it. But that's what he had done.

I was startled and waited for a moment. There were a lot of vacant fuel pumps, but there were also a lot of customers around, emboldening me. Neither the man nor I got out of our cars. I thought about getting out of the car and trying to stretch the hose as far as it would go. I thought about getting out of the car and glaring at him. I was in a public place. I opened my door, craned my head to look at the man whom I was possibly going to confront, and I saw something in his eyes: he hated me.

Every now and then you encounter a stranger who hates you. You don't understand it, but deep inside of yourself, in your blood and in your bones, you know it. You make a choice whether to enter their insanity and have an altercation with them, or you leave the situation as quickly as you can.

When I saw the man's eyes, a voice inside said, "People can get hurt or get killed in seconds. Get away from him NOW."

I went to another fuel pump, not knowing whether I was scared he would shoot me or stab me or force me into his car. I didn't know if I thought he was on drugs or if he was acting on road rage for something I'd unintentionally done a half mile away. I simply went through the motions of pumping gas on a brutally cold day.

For a moment or so, my pride was in control. I held my credit card in my teeth and brushed my hair out of my eyes, trying to look nonchalant about the act of aggression I'd encountered and the fact that I had walked away from a confrontation. But the more I thought about the look in his eyes, the more disturbed I became. I was aware of the four or five other people pumping gas, but I was also aware that they weren't paying attention to me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the man looking at me as I waited on the fuel pump. The voice came back. "Do not fill your tank up. You already have enough gas to make it. Leave NOW."

As calmly as I could, I pulled out the hose, refastened the cap and got into my car. I didn't wait to be asked if I wanted a car wash or a receipt. I left, and the man left at the same time, driving in a different direction.

Once I was on the road, I called my husband to check on him and the children. Before I told him about my experience, he said he had something he wanted to say to me. An hour before, he had suddenly been struck by so much love for me that he felt he needed to thank God for me. So that's what he did.

Consciousness of God and his love consumed me. Suddenly I realized that I may have been the one who was in danger, and it may have been my husband's prayer of thanks for my existence that protected me. I won't know in this lifetime, but I am almost sure. Prayer is powerful, unselfish prayer for others is powerful and prayer of thanks is more powerful than we can begin to comprehend.

God, I don't really understand what happened yesterday or what it meant, but thank you for giving me people who pray for me, and thank you for this life.

Silenced

I am not still not able to write on paper without triggering or aggravating pain in my neck, and although I can easily type, I try to save my computer-posture strength for my job. I have only been to one 12 step meeting in the past several weeks because of how hard it is to sit in chairs in a group for an hour.

So the ways in which I expressed my spiritual thoughts - journaling, blogging, talking at meetings - are missing from my life most of the time now.

I talk to God, to the saints. I feel like my echo bounces back to me. It always did, but hearing my own voice at meetings and writing about God helped to make our relationship real to me.

This part of the journey seems to be a place where I depend on God more heavily than I ever have but without the spiritual helps I've relied on for years. I hate it even though I believe that I'll learn something that will be valuable to someone else eventually. Even writing that hurt. I vacillate between feeling shock, anger and self-pity over my condition and feeling embarrassment that I think about myself like I have a "serious" ailment.

My neck stiffened up like an iron plate as I typed, as if to back up everything I've been trying to express. I have no voice right now, not without pain.

Not without pain.

Exposure Part II: The Entries

This is what I read at our staff Christmas service:

I keep a spiritual journal where I write about my relationship with God, my struggles with faith and experiences I have on my spiritual path. And when I offered to read a little out of it during this service, I expected B. to tell me that it wouldn’t really fit into the program, but it turns out that what I wrote fits in with the peace candle, so here I am.

Last Christmas was a day filled with gratitude and tranquility. But as of December 23rd 2006, I was stuck in self-centeredness and shallow thinking and thought I was having my worst Christmas ever. I like to re-read the next two entries from my spiritual journal because they show how God was able to speak to my heart and completely change my attitude. So I thought I would share them with you.


Dec. 23rd 2006

I was telling my prayer group what a weird time in my life this is…still adjusting to going back to work full-time, missing my kids being underfoot, being new at a job, moving, having most of our things packed, not having Christmas decorations, not even having a tree and being so late doing my Christmas shopping that Santa’s only bringing my kids piles of educational toys.

I heard someone say that their motto about Christmas is “It is what it is.” I talked about how all of my negative feelings about this Christmas are okay if I give them to God. I need to give my Christmas to God and let it just exist and know that God is with me. I can let this Christmas be what it is and don’t have to agonize over it, make myself rejoice in it or try to control anything about it. My Christmas can exist, I can exist and God is with me.


Here’s what I wrote the next day, December 24th 2006

Christmas Eve. I listened to all of my Christmas CDs today while I packed. I was trying to let go of how empty this Christmas feels, but it was really hard as our own home got barer and barer. Then, when I was listening to a CD of Christmas hymns, I heard Silent Night, and even though I have known this Christmas carol ever since I was a little girl, today was the first time I ever really heard the word “silent.” I thought about that word for a long time, and I thought about what a difference there was between the Christmas songs I’d been listening to all day and my CD of Christmas hymns.

It seems to me that the popular Christmas songs are about how we can enhance the experience of Christmas for ourselves. I don’t mean the obvious, the gifts. I’m talking about all of the things that Christmas songs say make the yuletide gay: chestnuts, snow, parties for hosting, cups of cheer, turkeys, caroling, holly, mistletoe, lights, silver bells, busy sidewalks dressed in holiday style, shining stars hung on the highest boughs.

But the Christmas hymns are different. They are about receiving Christ’s peace. Silent Night. All is calm. God rest ye merry Gentlemen. Peace on earth and mercy mild. All the hymns ask us to do is just to be with God, just to be present. O come all ye faithful. O come let us adore him. Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas day.

So my take on this is that the Christmas hymns are a guide to receiving and meditating on the peace God means for us to have, and the Christmas songs are about how we can wrest as much happiness and sensory delight out of Christmas as possible. There is no need for me to feel that anything about our holy day is lacking. The Christmas hymns tell me that God has already given me salvation and serenity, and all I need to do is to give this miracle my attention.

“Let Earth receive Her King.”

Exposure

Yesterday I had one episode of intense pain and took a painkiller, but otherwise I felt free of them. I had volunteered to read part of my 2006 spiritual journal at my charity's staff Christmas party, and I was nervous all day long. There were two problems: one was that I had written sincerely, so it seemed like I would be letting my coworkers see into my soul. The other problem was that part of me knew that it would touch some people and strike them, and I worried that I wanted to read at the podium for myself and not for God.

Despite my anxiety, I did it. As a preamble to our lighting of the Peace Candle on our Advent Wreath, I read two 2006 journal entries in front of everyone I work with. These will be posted as a separate blog entry right above this one. I told the staff that Christmas Day 2006 was a day filled with tranquility and gratitude, but that as late as December 23rd 2006, I was stuck in self-centeredness and shallow thinking and thought it was my worst Christmas ever. The journal entries showed how God was able to lift me out of my gloom and tell me what a gift my Christmas really was.

People came up to me afterward and told me that they had been moved by what I read. I felt exposed and felt that I had to brush their comments away lest I be making myself too huge. As a few moments passed I started to become able to look people in the eye and thank them when they told me my words had struck to them. One of my friends said, "What you read to me meant so much to me, more than you can ever know - really."

I wondered if my boss would say anything about what I read, and late that afternoon she came into the office to give me my organization Christmas present in it's uniform gift bag. Then she whispered to me, "I loved your story."

"Thank you," I said quietly.

"Will you do some writing for us...please?"

I nodded. "Yes." (Right now I'm a secretary).

"We need anyone who can write as beautifully as you do to be writing for us."

I nodded and said yes again. How peculiar it is to me that in this job that I never wanted to go out and get that God has given me a voice to talk about his glory. How peculiar and marvelous. I love it when I can see God working like that.