Is this what people call an epiphany?

I was reading USA Weekly, a Sunday paper insert. There was a short article about God and what people thought about God.

As you know if you have read any of my previous blogs, this is a touchy subject for me.

So I was reading this article, and these little blurbs from people with their opinions and the outstanding message was that above all else, God is love. And a thought popped into my head: My problem is this - I cannot conceive of God loving me, because I do not love myself, and cannot imagine for a minute anyone else loving me either.

I stood there a moment, paper in hand, and took a few deep breaths. Such a sad state of affairs for me emotionally, but not one totally unknown. I have known for quite a while that I don't love myself. As a matter of fact, I HATE myself. Ever seen the movie "Murder by Death"? There is a line in the movie, talking about a woman who killed herself. "She committed suicide then?" "Oh no, it was murder alright. She hated herself."  That would apply to me if I ever decided to off myself. Self esteem? Me? Harumph. I may have had a glimmer of it back in high school...no, wait. I didn't. I was a bulemic cheerleader who dated an abusive bully for most of high school. After high school then? Oh no, wait. I still didn't have self esteem. I dated a socially awkward but intellectually brilliant guy who was controlling to the point that when we lived together he would pick the lock on the bathroom door just because he wanted to know what I was up to in there. Who would lecture me for eating baby carrots as a snack because I shouldn't be eating anything as a snack. Who wouldn't even give me a sweatshirt one night driving back from the drive in, in a Jeep with the top down and I was cold. Who eventually shredded my heart and then married and had a child when he said he never wanted those things with me.

So...self esteem? Nah. I am not in love with anyone and probably never will be, because somewhere deep in my brain I don't believe A) I am worthy of being loved and B) I no longer want to even try to love anyone.

So why in the world would I be able to believe in a God who loves me? It is a lonely feeling, a desolate place I find myself. I have been trying lately, once again, to reacquaint myself with God. I have been praying nightly to God and my angels, to come to me, to help me. Because this journey I am on? It ain't no walk in the park, and I have no idea what my calling is or if I have one. The terrain of my soul feels dry and brittle and desperately empty of life. Of joy.

So it is at this festive time of year (to borrow a line from Dickens) I find myself struggling to feel the Christmas spirit. No money, no job. No job because I am fighting with a case of severe depressive disorder. Taking meds that some days work and some days don't. The closest I have gotten to feeling the spirit of the season has been tonight. The lunar eclipse fell on the night of the winter solstice for the first time since the 1600s.  The eclipse was at its peak around 2:40 a.m. and I stood out on my back porch. Wrapped  up in a winter fleece and scarf, still trembling because after all it is New England and it is cold enough to freeze a snowman's balls off. My neighborhood was dark and silent. I was apparently the only crazy one who was up and out to see this event. And the silence enveloped me, the wind traveling through stripped branches in the trees. There was some cloud cover but I could see the moon disappearing slowly behind the sun. It was just a moment perhaps but that moment held a holy sort of peace in it. It felt special and magical and I spoke to God quietly, asking him to help make things okay. It is Yule after all, and the wheel of the year continues to turn, we have months ahead of us before the spring returns and the heat of the sun comes back to us. So I said my prayer and I hoped God would hear me. I didn't think I had hope left but it appears I do. So this is my wish this holiday: that all souls feeling lost and suffering find some peace. Find some hope left within them. I am hoping that God truly does love everyone, because if I find a way to believe that, then maybe I can find a way to love myself at last. 

Amen and Merry Christmas and Blessed Be to all.

 

 

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. I hadn't made up my mind even the night before as to whether I would go or not to get Ashes.

Let's face it. I was never really religious. I remember the times I did go to church in my teen years, my mind would roam, I would distract myself with silly and disrespectful thoughts. It was a big joke to me, I didn't feel anything listening to the homilies and gospels. The only part I liked was the incense, the scent of Frankincense and years later I would discover I could easily burn that myself at home.

I was raised Roman Catholic, and my church was beautiful and grand. A huge imposing structure, dark deep red and gold interior, richly hued wooden pews polished and stretching for what seemed like miles. A cavernous church, resplendent as it was cold. It was a place that left you feeling that you should certainly be kneeling in humility before God. There were moments here and there that I would feel a sense of peace there. Mostly when I went alone, unbeknownst to anyone else. There would be no Mass being said, only a few people here and there, mostly old women dressed in black, saying rosaries to themselves. Sometimes when I went like that, I was the only person there, and I would just sit in the silence of that place and THEN it felt Holy to me.

 I did not attend regularly once I did not have to. I did not feel cut off from God. I always felt I didn't need a church to speak to him ,and I still feel that way.

Over the years though, my relationship with the Lord has deteriorated. My faith dwindling down until the barest of threads kept it hanging there.

I have been angry with God for so much, even as I begged to him while my mother was sick with cancer and I felt some of my prayers were answered. 

I remember when she died, I literally shouted up to Him, yelling that I would NEVER forgive him. Not for taking her, but for having her suffer the way she did before He took her. I have been like an angry cat, arching my back , hissing and spitting inside, seething with feelings of anger and injustice at God. For every awful thing He allows to happen. I don't understand how, if He loves us all so much, can He stand beside us and watch our pains and choose to do nothing? Then again, that is what faith is all about. You have to believe even though you don't understand. I am stubborn and my grudge against the Lord has been a long time in fading even a little bit.

Yet more and more lately I have been finding what I will calls "signs" , someone is trying to reach me. Trying to tell me I need to make peace and find a way to heal this rift. For some reason I find myself willing to at least listen. At least begin to be more open. Because I realize underneath the anger there is pain.

So - yesterday was Ash Wednesday.  I have since moved to a new town and so at the last possible minute made my decision and drove to the local catholic church here in town. I was nervous and felt like I must be obvious in my unease.

This church was good in size, if not quite as large as St. Augustine. The interior was painted a light pink with a darker pink trim and border. The ceiling was high and airy and simple - no ornate paintings or carvings, no bas reliefs. The Stations of the Cross on each side of the church were contained in contemporary "frames, and did not fight for the attention of Jesus on the Cross at the altar.

Everything in this church was simple and yet beautiful. Clean and pure feeling, yet somehow felt warmer and more welcoming than my old church.

As I knelt down to pray before the Mass began, I felt tears welling up behind my closed eyes. I felt so unexpectedly raw and vulnerable here. I thought of my mother, and my "break up" with God and the church. I looked around at the sea of faces milling around me and many were obviously regular parishioners here. For some reason that made me feel even more broken and lost.

I spoke to God quietly in my mind. Without flowery language, just a short conversation between us. I was here of my own volition the first time in many, many years. I would try to begin trusting in Him again, giving over my troubles to Him, for keeping them to myself had certainly proved I alone couldn't handle their weight.

I received my Ashes though I didn't take Communion. I have not confessed and still do not plan to. I slipped out quietly while the others were receiving the Holy Wafer.

Driving home, I felt calm and oddly relieved I had gone. It was a step. A small step, to maybe finding a way to some peace.

I still have many questions, I still have many doubts, but I am beginning to feel willing to give a little, to bend in my stubbornness.Only time will tell where this will lead. But this path surely cannot be any less solitary then the one I have traveled for so long now.

 

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