Stained Reflections

Lent has arrived with its quiet dusting of ashes and with the hushed call to repent. I’ve learned to love the season of Lent for its somber silences. Deacon Ron has asked me to expand beyond my prescribed 30 minutes a day silently spent in the church. Some days I can sit quietly but many days I wander the Stations of the Cross or meander through the little shrines. On one of my restless days, I took this photo. Outside was a clear, sunny day and the sunlight was streaming through the windows painting the dim church with brilliant colors. But it was this reflection on the floor that caught and held my attention. The bright colors of the window appear on the marble floor but there they are muted and flecked by the patterns of the stone. God handed me a beautiful metaphor. I love it when He does that. It’s one of the ways I’ve learned to recognize that He shows His love for me in ways I could never imagine.

Like the reflection on the floor, Lent is a time for me to reflect on my spiritual flecks, my imperfections, each having their regrettable and hard-to-forget patterns. That’s a lot of reflecting to do. What I’ve found over time is that there are some areas of my heart that I don’t like to think about. I push these thoughts aside and go on improving what doesn’t need improving. God just waits patiently, knowing sooner or later, something will trip up my denial and I’ll be face-to-face with those pieces of myself that I’ve worked so hard to cover up, much the way I used to try to hide adolescent blemishes with every make-up trick known to women. And just like the make-up, my spiritual cover-ups don’t hide much either. What do I do now? Cry usually. Then rant, rave, write madly in my journals, go back to God and tell Him its all His fault because, damn it, He made me this way.

When I’m finally ready to be honest with myself and with God, I admit that I’ve struggled for years with my Irish temper and my lack of patience. I’m honest with myself about my judgmental tendencies both toward others and toward me (see the Prodigal Daughter and the Gremlin posts). What I’m not so quick to admit is that I am a spiritual spoiled brat. It goes way beyond spiritual naiveté. I’m still looking for a Daddy-like God who will make it all better, make all the bad stuff go away, and make it all nice for me. Now I’m grown up enough to know better and I’ll accept that God doesn’t work that way, but I’m still going to whine about it first.

I’ve worked very hard to at least become mindful of my temper and impatience. I have returned to the Sacrament of Reconciliation because I know I need that reassurance of the Lord’s forgiveness and mercy. I know that He can heal my wounded heart, which often exacerbates my unloving actions. I also know that He can heal those that I have hurt by my actions or inactions, and that relieves me of my guilt.

But no matter how polished my stony heart becomes, there will always be imperfections because like everyone else in Creation, I’m a flawed human being. But that’s just it. God created me to be a human being, not a human doing. He doesn’t hand me a quarterly performance review with an improvement plan attached to it. He asks only that I have an open, honest, loving relationship with Him. When I do, I reflect His love outward towards others. That reflection is muted and flecked by my imperfections but the beauty of His love shines on me anyway and the stains become less noticeable. No cover up required.

Spiritual Fast

When I was a little girl, blogs didn’t exist. The World Wide Web was just an inkling in some programmer’s brain and computers were for huge corporations and the military. In the span of 35 years, the Internet has shifted the world from high gear to light speed. I remember what it was to wait by the phone to wait for my latest crush to call me. There was always that fear that I’d miss the call if I wasn’t home. Gen-Xs like me will remember a time when it took days, even weeks to get a letter from a friend who was at college. When it finally came, that letter was savored. I would read and re-read it to make sure I had absorbed every precious word.

In the 18 years since I graduated from high school, computers have come out of the labs and into my home. I have instant access to my family, friends, and a world of information, all at my fingertips. In the time it takes to brew my evening cup of tea, I can search through several hundred images on Google related to any blog topic. My cell phone is also equipped with email and text messaging. I am never out of touch anymore. There is no waiting by the phone. The phone is always with me.

My calendar has exploded in the past two years due in part to my separation and subsequent divorce. I have rediscovered my freedom and at the same time a deep need to connect with a support system. At the moment, I am part of seven different ministry teams between the parish and school. In addition to that, I have taken on leadership roles in at least two of those. This does not include the time spent writing for this blog, writing my spiritual memoir, my spiritual direction sessions, therapy for myself, therapy for my two sons, nor does it include the time I spend working and being a mom, walking the beach to have some moments solitude and checking my Facebook or exchanging emails each night with close friends.

As life continually speeds up in the world around me, I feel compelled to try to keep up. The speed of it all is scary at times. My days start at 6:30 a.m. and often end some time after midnight. My spiritual director, Deacon Ron, has ordered me into stillness for 30 minutes a day, every day. That was several months ago and while I have gratefully managed to work that time into my schedule, I am still in constant motion for the rest of my waking hours. I wonder - does God want me to move at this pace? Or does He want me to slow down? Am I missing important things because I am so over busy? Too often I’m left struggling to answer Deacon Ron’s favorite question for me – “Where’s God in all this?”

I have to ask myself - What happens to my relationship with the Almighty when God doesn’t move at the speed of life to which I have become accustomed? What happens to my faith in this era of the immediate? Surely the desire for God is no less, but what of patience and trust? The need for instant answers can lead to anxiety and feelings of abandonment when that instant answer fails to arrive in my inbox.

One of my greatest struggles in my spiritual life is accepting that just because God didn’t answer me directly doesn’t mean He isn’t speaking to me. Just because the answer didn’t come right after I asked the question doesn’t mean that the answer is never going to come. Especially when I ask for direction I often find myself craving an Instant Message from On High, the Divine Chat Room, and the Eternal Email.

Then I have to ask, what if…? What if God told me tomorrow that He wanted me to write a book series on the spiritual struggles of Gen-X in contrast to the lives of seven different saints whose lives I have never studied? Then the next day He told me that, in addition, He wanted me to give witness talks to those who have faced the fear of God’s abandonment. And what if He continually added to my to-do list daily without reprieve? Would I be overwhelmed, perhaps even frightened by all He was asking of me.

The direction and answers may be slow in coming, but when they do finally come I need to take the time to savor and absorb it all. Patience is a virtue, I’m told. Unfortunately, it has never been one of mine. My prayer life is one long hard lesson in patience, but it’s a lesson I am determined to learn. I just wish I could Google it.

Cruise Control Christianity

The image of the Good Samaritan is still resonating with me even a week later. As I’ve reflected on it further, it occurred to me that so many of my favorite scripture passages revolve around a journey. The Good Samaritan, The Prodigal Son, The Conversion of Paul, The Road To Emmaus, even the greatest journey of all, The Passion, all occur on the road to somewhere or even to nowhere for those that never reach their intended destination. As always with scripture, I am led to more questions than answers.

Why the road? What is it that is so important about being on the road that the theme is repeated over and over and over? All these characters are traveling to somewhere or from somewhere and I have to ask, what put them on the road in the first place? All this traveling makes sense to the nomadic populations of ancient times but what does it mean to me in the here and now?

That last question really made me think about how I travel the roads in my life. And I don’t mean the figurative two roads of Robert Frost diverging in the yellow wood. I mean the very literal highways and byways that I travel every day to work, to the boys’ school, to church, to the food store and all the mundane little errands that I run on a regular basis. I get in my car, usually alone, and go on my way. Most of the time, I drive with the music on a bit too loud and aside from not colliding with other drivers or pedestrians, I am quite blissfully oblivious to the fellow travelers around me.

In my younger years, I grew up in Ridgewood, New Jersey. Ridgewood, being all of 15 minutes outside of New York City, has very convenient public transportation. My mother didn’t drive when we lived there and really didn’t need to drive. In addition to all those Jersey buses, I have ridden trains and subways in Boston, New York, and Washington. On all of those, even as one who does not commute daily, I was aware of the commuter’s credo: “I will stay in my own little space and you will stay in your own little space and we’ll get along fine.”

How different and alien it is to me to read about the travelers in ancient times. They meet people on the road. They interact with others on the road. The traveler meets a kind stranger. The son meets his father again. The disciples on the way to Emmaus meet the risen Christ. Paul meets God Himself. Jesus meets His mother, has to accept help from Simon, and welcomes the tenderness of Veronica. All that interacting involved real people sharing their stories, sharing meals, getting their hands dirty, messy, and sometimes bloody to help another traveler.

My car is my own private microcosm. This is my bubble of false reality and I like it that way. I can roll up the windows and crank the tunes and blow through the real world at 70 MPH without dealing with any of it. But is that what it means to be on the journey of discipleship?

In my spiritual life I can put myself on cruise control and set the destination on the GPS for Heaven. I can put in my time in all the nice things at church, attending the functions and Masses, interacting with nice like-minded people at a polite commuter-like level. I don’t get too into their space and they don’t get too into mine and we all get along nicely. I have God just outside the windshield, just the way I like Him, where He can’t mess with me too much.

But if I were to look in the rearview mirror I might be shocked to see the Devil himself riding in the backseat of my car. The Devil is just enjoying the ride, telling me “It’s ok. You’re a nice person. You don’t need to get too involved. You have your own life to worry about.”

There is no cruise control route to God. Nice doesn’t count. The priest and the Levite who walked by the traveler were most likely nice men. The road to Calvary was lined with nice people.

I know in my soul that I am called to be a disciple of Christ. I will never be perfect personified, but that’s not what I’m called to be. I’m called to be a broken human being. I’m called not to make the mistakes, but to accept that I will make them in the first place. I’m called to acknowledge them and to learn from them. I’m called to share my experiences with my fellow travelers. Often times that means getting my hands dirty, exposing my own open wounds to others, and stepping out of my little bubble of nice safe solitude to try to offer assistance to my fellow travelers.

I am called to park the car and walk the walk of my Lord. Thankfully, He knows I won’t always choose to do that. It seems like every time I decide to hit the cruise control and coast for a while I either hit a pothole or have a blowout. Then I’m reminded how much I need the sometimes messy interactions of my fellow companions on this journey of life and discipleship.

And as for Devil, he can hitchhike his way straight back to Hell.

Called To Be Neighbor, Not Savior

Luke 10:24-37 Parable of The Good Samaritan

I had the opportunity last night to take part in Lectio Divina, (translation: Sacred Reading) with a group of other women. Lectio Divina is a way of praying with scripture by reading it three times aloud, slowly and prayerfully. The first time, listening for any word, phrase, or image that stands out for me. The second time, listening for any parallels in my own life or what feelings it stirs up it me. The third time, listening for what the Lord is trying to say to me and determining my response is to that.

We focused on the passage, the Parable of The Good Samaritan. Like many of the parables, this one is very familiar to me but as I read it I was startled by the images that stood out for me. I read it aloud all three times and I could see the story unfolding on the pages in front of me. I knew our discussion was to focus on the topic of “who is my neighbor” and how it isn’t just a matter of reaching out to strangers but also to those closest to us. There was an excellent discussion and our sharing was very fruitful, but the images that I am still drinking in were very different.

I’ve always pictured the story unfolding like this:

This poor traveler gets jumped, mugged, beat up, and left for dead. The priest and the Levite don’t want to deal with the ritual cleansing they would have to go through if they attended to his wounds so they just keep walking, pretending not to notice. Then this foreigner comes along and takes over. He administers first aid and takes the traveler to an inn and essentially nurses him back to health.

As I read this story that I’ve known since childhood, I realized for the first time that the Samaritan did not nurse the victim back to health. He bound up the worst of his wounds and found him a place of relative safety. He provided monetary support for his care and went on with his journey. The Samaritan didn’t hang around indefinitely. He went on with his life.

There have been many times in my life where I have felt an overwhelming need to rescue someone, only to have that relationship drain me almost completely. Why? Because instead of binding the immediate wounds and helping the individual find a place of safety, I would stay on trying to heal wounds I had not inflicted and could not truly understand.

Everyone’s place of safety is different. Some just need to be heard. Some need a little money to get on their feet. Some need to be reassured. Some need a way to reconnect with family or friends. Rarely, but most importantly, some need professional help. Those were the relationships that became most unhealthy and even dangerous. But I had always seen it as my good Christian duty to bring these desperate people back to health.

Having read and re-read this parable the last day and a half, I have come to realize that God didn’t call me to save people. He sent Jesus to do that. He called me to offer a hand of support and friendship to those in need, but not to lose myself completely in their problems. I can help someone to the inn, offer prayers in support, and go on my way trusting the Innkeeper to take care of nursing them back to health in His time and by His methods.

Explaining The Gremlin

In many of my earlier posts I have made reference multiple times to the Gremlin in my head. Well, meet the Gremlin. I didn’t draw this but it’s pretty close to the way I picture him. I wish I could capture his voice for you. It’s eerily familiar. It’s soft and low, yet has a screechy quality to it. When it laughs, it has a maniacal cackle that just ripples with derision, delight, and desecration.

I guess most people would picture that whole angel/devil on the shoulder bit. Same idea roughly but this little dude doesn't poof away when I make a good choice. He keeps whispering that I'll just mess that up too. I've had the Gremlin my whole life and from what I've seen, everyone has one to some extent or another. I've just chosen to personify mine more than most people. To be perfectly blunt, it makes it easier to deal with the little bastard.

No, I am not on any meds and I am not schizophrenic. To simplify, I use the image of the Gremlin to come to grips with my own self-doubts and self-punishments. The Gremlin is that nasty, little voice that says things like "You're fat" and "You're a screw-up" and basically questions every move I make. I take a new job. The Gremlin says, "You can't handle it." I'm doing well at the new job. The Gremlin says, "You're screwing it all up and they will fire you sooner or later." I meet somebody and the Gremlin says, "You aren't good enough for him" or "He's soooooo out of your league, loser!"

This same Gremlin talks about other people too. My ex is a favorite topic lately. "He's trying to screw you over stupid," whispers the Gremlin and I will fly off the handle over something minor. I will get my Irish up & get stubborn only to figure out later it was over something that was no big deal and now I look like a psycho bitch from hell. The Gremlin finds that hilarious.

The Gremlin used to have free reign in my head and he weaseled his way into every thought I had. I reacted to every situation instead of responding to it with a clear mind and heart. Through learning to recognize his voice and his motives, I've managed to lock him into a little cage that he doesn't like very much. It isn't soundproof so he's still chattering but it's easier to ignore him now.

If it weren’t for the grace of God, I’d still be listening to his cruel commentaries. I once asked my therapist, “How do I deal with this crazy little voice telling me I’m such a screw-up?” His answer was so simple, “You need to find another voice.” I started asking God to let me hear His voice and to shout down the Gremlin for me. God doesn’t work that way. He won’t shout down the Gremlin, but He whispers lovingly to my heart, while the Gremlin stays locked up in the cage in my mind screaming in rage. More and more I’m learning that anything nasty I think about myself or someone else is probably coming from the Gremlin. I’m learning to ask myself why I’m thinking this way. Am I reacting to something other than what is really there in front of me? And when I need help with the answer, I try to remember to go to God first. Keyword – TRY.

I mean, honestly, would you want to trust the Gremlin for advice? Scary how often I did listen to him. The best advice I’ve gotten so far came at a Healing Mass with Fr. Roy. He said, “You know that voice, not God’s voice, but that other little guy? Yeah, you tell that little guy to go straight to Hell.”

Will You Please Come To Me?

Joel 1
Chapter 2:12-13

Even now, says the LORD, return to me with your whole heart, with fasting, and weeping, and mourning; Rend your hearts, not your garments, and return to the LORD, your God. For gracious and merciful is He, slow to anger, rich in kindness, and relenting in punishment.

As I write this, Ash Wednesday is a mere 30 days away. I used to dread Lent. It was time to remember all the wrongs I had done and feel miserable, guilty, unworthy, and shamed. Now I look forward to that time. The mercy of God is as boundless as His great love.

Since my return to the sacrament of Reconciliation two years ago, I have often found myself in conversation with people who tell me that they couldn’t possibly come back to God. Not to a confessional. Not to a church. To God. It breaks my heart every time I hear it because I remember so well what that pain is like. It is a loneliness, an emptiness, and a longing that cannot be assuaged.

I’ve had people tell me that I have an “in” with God because I go to church or because I pray. Somehow to them that means that God likes me better. Kind of like the perfect older sibling that Mom and Dad always told you to emulate. It took me a long time to figure out that God doesn’t work that way. I didn’t have to measure up. I didn’t have to fix my whole life all at once. I couldn’t fix it. I needed God’s help. I was so far gone, I needed God’s help to see where I needed His help.

I look at this way, when would I be most grateful to see a trained paramedic: when I’m perfectly healthy or when I’ve been hit by a bus? In life, we all get hit by the bus sooner or later. God is the only one who can find the wounds and begin the healing. He can show us what needs healing and then how to mend it. He is the paramedic, the surgeon, the dedicated nurse and the physical therapist we need to get back to health.

As your sister in Christ, I urge you to take the next 30 days and just think about where you are with God. Maybe Reconciliation seems like a leap off a cliff and returning to church seems like trying to swim across an ocean. But maybe, just maybe, spending a little time talking to the Eternal Therapist would ease those fears a bit. If nothing else, it opens the dialogue. It can’t be any worse than lying on the side of road bleeding to death.

I’ve been there. I was lonely and scared and in desperate need of God’s understanding. I finally found it in the Confessional. The silence wasn’t enough to make His forgiveness real for me. I needed to see a friendly face and hear a reassuring voice. There was no judgment, no shock, only understanding and guidance.

In the Diocese of Bridgeport, every parish will offer the Sacrament of Reconciliation on Tuesdays from 7-9 PM. In other areas, call your local parishes for more information.

Think about it. Pray on it. What else do you have to lose?

Soup Kitchen Salvation

I had a wonderful conversation with a friend of mine recently that really made me stop and think about how I see my faith life. He pointed out that most people are “consumers of God” and like most consumers, there are different price brackets.

For the Wal-mart consumers, their version of a relationship with God comes at a very low cost. They lead nice lives and do nice things trusting blindly that someday God will sit down with them, pat them on the head and open the gates of heaven for them.

Then there is the opposite extreme, the Tiffany consumers. For the Tiffany consumers, that same relationship with God comes at a very dear price. They evaluate and re-evaluate their choices in life. They examine every setback and every trial trying to determine its worth in God’s eyes. Their version of heaven is a lofty goal that must be reached through living lives of near perfection. Every mistake is a glaring black mark on the most permanent of permanent records. There are some who secretly fear that this pricey relationship is out of their reach.

So where do I fit in? After giving myself a little time to consider both options I realized that I don’t fit into either category. I fall into a third category - the soup kitchen. I know I have nothing worthy to offer my God and yet I know I am welcome anyway. And I come to be fed at His table. I come because I am hungry for His love and starving for His mercy. There is no demand to fix what very little I have to offer because Jesus has already paid the price for me. I will eat my fill and whatever mistakes I make are already forgiven because He loves me so much.

God is not a commodity that can be bartered, bought, or sold. God is my life’s breath and the only thing God wants is to love me. His love is the only love that can truly satisfy me and thus allows me be more loving with others, even my enemies. Will I get that loving my enemies thing right all the time? Not even close. And that’s okay too.

Think about your own kids and how much you love them. Remember those times when they screwed up or made choices you knew weren't good ones? Did you love them any less? Of course not.

Being in a relationship with God isn't about getting it right or shaping up. And most important, it isn't about later on after death. It's about right now. The Holy Spirit resides in every one of us - that is God. He isn't out there in space somewhere sipping a peppermint latte and waiting for us with a report card of our lives. He's right here, right now, loving us and desiring only to have a cup of coffee and talk about life. And not in some formal, flowery prose written by some saint 500 years ago but just a chat between very dear friends. It isn't about Him being in a position of power over us, rather it is about being in a relationship of communion, co-union with Him. As for the afterlife, that is the ultimate conversation with God, when we will see Him face to face and our own human faults will fall away. Jesus paid the way for all of us and threw open the doors of heaven to all. All God desires is a real, honest relationship with all of His children.

So when it comes to God – are you still shopping around or are you ready to accept the free gift of His love?

Thanks to R. for the inspiring conversation!

Beloved - Be Loved

I have decided to give up praying. It just doesn’t work for me. I have tried every way I can think of and every prayer people recommend to me but to no avail. I have searched the Internet for prayers that may provide what I need. I read books on prayer and of prayers in search of answers I can’t seem to find. I have a number of books on prayer and spirituality on my bookshelves. I have books about healing, emotional wholeness, grieving, finding my purpose, finding my God-given strengths, and being a prayerful wife, and even a book of love letters from my King. I also have books by St Therese, St Catherine of Siena, and St John of The Cross. I have a Bible, several actually, along with books that explore the meanings of the gospels and Catholic history. I have the Catechism of the Catholic Church and a book of common Catholic prayers.

What I don’t have in this little collection of mine is the one prayer book that, to my knowledge, hasn’t been published. The prayer book that has the prayers such as “Now What The Hell Am I Supposed To Do?” and “Hello? Are You Listening To Me?” along with my personal favorite, “Have You Lost Your Eternal Mind?” Maybe I should publish that prayer book.

I have wasted so many years trying to figure out how to communicate with God. How do I do it right? What prayers and what combination of prayers will unlock the magic door to God’s presence? I approached my spiritual direction sessions as marriage counseling. God and I are supposed to be in this relationship together but I’m not communicating clearly and He’s not listening to me. Maybe if I could just figure out what I’m doing wrong it would be better. Maybe I need to learn more about spirituality or about myself or about the teachings of Christ.

I was so busy focusing on figuring out the right way to talk to God that I wasn’t really talking to Him. I had grown up watching my mother praying her rosary when she was struggling with something but no amount of “Our Father”s and “Hail Mary”s would help me. Why? Because the things I needed to say could not have been written by anyone other than me. Only I could say, “Why did you leave me that day in December of 1991 when I cried out to you?” Only I could say, “I hate You for being silent.” No one else could say that for me. I did finally reach a point that I could get past my inhibitions and say those things. More importantly, I could recognize that the painful things that I needed to express were prayers.

Prayers, like God, are not nouns. Prayers, like God, are verbs in that they are an occurrence and mode of being. God is love and prayer is a mode of being in love. So I quit. There are just no more prayers for me. I’m going to stick with being in love with God. I’m going to tell Him exactly what is on my mind and on my heart. He can handle it. After all, God calls me His Beloved daughter. Perhaps a better way to write that would be “God’s daughter, be loved.”

You Want Me To Say THAT To God?!

"Just who do you think you're talking to?"

"Don't you DARE take that tone with me young lady!"

"You WILL NOT raise your voice to me in my house!"

Any of those sound familiar? Most of those were usually preceded by my full name and "get in here". My parents were no different than most of my friends' parents growing up and my experiences of talking to my parents are pretty typical. I still say, "Yes ma'am" when talking to my mother. I try not to swear in her presence. When Dad was still alive, I never would have even considered sassing him. Some things just aren't done. Mom says we all had "some sense of survival". All of that respect for authority makes for a very polite child. That's a good thing right? I certainly want my boys to respect me and being polite is one way to show that respect.

Now take that polite, respectful child and put her in a relationship with God the Father, the Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth. Wow - better be really, really polite and respectful right? The problem is I was so concerned with being proper and respectful that I rarely admitted the things that weighed most heavily on my heart. I could tell God when others had hurt me; when I was tired; when I was sad or lonely. What I couldn't do was tell God when I was angry with Him. How hurt I was by His seeming apathy towards me. I buried those things deep in my heart and pretended not to notice the pain. Some things you just don't say to God. I carried one huge ugly thorn in my heart for years.

I was only 18 when it happened. I was trying to break up with my increasingly abusive boyfriend and he did not take it well. He flew into a rage that led to a particularly vicious attack. He stormed out of my house leaving me sobbing in a heap. I was so very alone and so desperately wanted Dad to be alive again to protect me from this guy. I was screaming from the depths of my soul and my screams of pain were swallowed up by a dark, cold, and unfeeling nothingness. God ditched me and I was never the same after that. I never really trusted God to be there for me again, not completely.

As I told my spiritual director, Ron, this story he asked me where I thought God was at that point. "How the hell should I know? A round of golf and a 3-martini lunch or He took a coffee break or a nap. But all I know is He wasn't with me," I spat back and I was surprised at the hurt and anger in my own voice.

Then he asked me the craziest question I'd ever heard: "Have you ever told God how much you hate Him for what He did?"

"I can't do that! That's just not right," I answered, quietly shaking my head. "Its not right."

And I was stuck. I had been trying to open up the lines of communication with God for months and it wasn't going very well. Now it was becoming clear why it wasn't going well. I was still relating to God as I would to Dad. I was trying to make Him happy and proud. I was even a little afraid of God so I was respectful and polite but that was preventing me from saying things that would offend. Those words left unsaid were poisoning me. So now what?

Since it was the week before Christmas, Ron told me to take some time and figure out what I was going to give God for Christmas this year. Okay, that's a tall order but wait there's more. Then he told me to figure out what I was going to ask from God this Christmas for myself. I really, really, really don't like asking God for anything for myself. It makes me very uncomfortable and Ron knows that.

My spiritual homework made for a very long week. The day before Christmas, I finally decided give God what little trust I did have and He could do with it what He wanted. I asked God to grant me the courage to say all those awful things I needed to get out of my system and was too afraid to say. I really didn't expect much of an answer despite the fact that I was both giving and asking wholeheartedly.

My answer came Christmas Eve at Mass. Fr Tom picked up the statue of Baby Jesus from the crèche and asked us why God chose to come into human form as a baby. He went on to ask those of us who are parents to remember the first time we held our newborns. I could remember looking at each of my sons and knowing I would never be the same again. I was part of them and they were part of me. Which was exactly what Fr Tom was saying. He went on to remind us that no matter how much our kids screw up, we still have that bond. That is how God relates to each of us. We are His beloved sons and daughters. And I looked at my boys and realized that no matter how many times they had screamed at me, it didn't change how much I love them. I have heard "I hate you!" and "You're mean!" and a host of other things on a regular basis and it doesn't mean they don't love me. They just need to let me know that they are angry. And as that realization sunk it, I wasn't stuck anymore.

A few days later, I finally had "the conversation" with God. I cried and screamed again from that place deep inside as I called up all that old pain. "How could you leave me?" I demanded and this time I could feel Him all around me. I begged Him to let me know that He cared. I suddenly found myself unable to move or cry. I felt the heaviness descend and it took a moment to realize that I was resting in the spirit. I had never experienced this outside of a Healing Mass but the sensation was the same. I was aware but unable to move. I felt as though I had been draped with a warm heavy blanket and that feeling slowly seeped into me. A deep quiet peace took over the place left vacant by the anger.

I can picture God looking at me the way I looked at my babies. I can feel that love in His gaze. I now find myself in a totally new place with God. The lines of communication are wide open and nothing is off the table anymore. I can say anything I need to say and hey cool - no lightning strikes!

Meeting God - Again - For The First Time

I am not one for New Year's resolutions. I have a hard enough time accepting myself "as is" without a yearly reminder to fix something about myself. That being said, I stumbled into a resolution this year that just might be what I need. I have resolved to stop trying so damn hard to deepen my relationship with God. Okay now you're probably thinking I've given up or that I've hit one of those spiritual roadblocks that we all hit along the line. And actually it's neither. I am simply going to relate to God from where I am right now. He gets it and more importantly, He gets me, just as I am right now at this moment.

I have been struggling with so many old wounds and so much of that pain came from trying to understand where God had been in the darkest hours of my life. I have been working so hard to "fix" my relationship with God that I was missing out on the one I already have! I can see all the good that God has worked in my life. He's been working overtime for me and yet I still couldn't completely trust Him because there were those times when it felt like He had abandoned me to the darker side of the world and my own bad choices. While my head could see the love, my heart refused to risk being broken again. That inner struggle is exhausting and spiritually debilitating. I have asked for God's help repeatedly to resolve this and He worked around my childish attempts to blockade myself from His love.

The weekend after Thanksgiving, I took my mother to visit her best friend Nancy, who lives about an hour away in northern New Jersey. We all love to read and Nancy gave us a book that her spiritual director had given her to read. That was how I was introduced to The Shack and I have not been the same since. God's hand was undoubtedly at work as I have read it three times now in a month and have given away copies to my dearest friends, my priest, and even my therapist. I have recommended it to dozens of people, even total strangers in the book store. I will not spoil the plot for those who haven't experienced it yet. And that is what this book is - not just a story but an experience. Those that I have spoken with who have read it all relate to it differently depending on their own life experiences but no one was left unchanged by it.

This is a fictional story of an everyday man who experiences a great tragedy. Then a few years later, he receives a note from God asking to spend some time with him. He spends the weekend with God and what transpires changes him forever. Without being didactic, preachy, or cerebral this story cut right to the heart of my pain and helped my begin to heal the relationship I have with God right now. This is NOT a self-help book. There are no discussion questions or journaling suggestions. It's just a simple story and somehow that made it so real for me. Somehow it was more approachable as a story, not a "how to" book.

If I hit the lottery tomorrow, I would give copies of this book to everyone I could. If you have not made a resolution yet for 2009 - make it to read this story. If the imagery doesn't touch you deeply, at least you will enjoy a well written story.

For more information see the website: http://www.theshackbook.com