Everything Old is New Again

The Feast of the Nativity of John the Baptist
This long dormant site is bound for rebirth. My continued disillusion with social media, and long hours of silent time at work have created a desire to write, even if no one ever reads the words I put down. So here we are once again.

However everything is different. When I began this, I was a frustrated young mother of 3, with a husband struggling to find stable work. I effectively ended writing when my world turned upside down, when my mother suddenly died and my dear friend took her life. My kids were little, I was depressed from essentially the birth of the second on.

A glimpse into life now. It got better, so so much better. My kids are older, 2 are adults, one is a lovely, tall teenage boy. I work full time now, doing what I love, and providing for my family. My husband still struggles, and our marriage, though far from perfect, has been 22 years of work. My life is more interesting, more fulfilling in ways I could not have imagined years ago, but, I am also preparing for the days to come when my home does not have my children living in it.

So here we are, in this moment, beginning again and attempting to say a few words, this blog will always focus on the same things, truth, beauty, family, justice, and life, but with wiser, older eyes than it had in its previous renditions. I hope you will join me on the journey.

Challenging Myself

I have always been naturally contrarian. Since birth I am told, so it is not a deliberate thing. Yet, At times I have fought the tendency. Of late, I have completely given up, not just this, but so many things. Life has been tough, overwhelming, not all bad, but new.  So, as many people begin to wrap up with this season, I have decided to take on new challenges. I have decided I want to write again. Why? Because my brain needs it; my soul needs it. I have hit a new stage of life, my eldest is off at University, very very happy, but also succeeding, which means she is not coming home. We knew this in our hearts, but the reality hit quickly. She is able to share her talents and see the world. Amazing opportunities are in store for her, but it is challenging for me to not have her in the same state.

Back to the natural contrarian, It is fall, it is raining and dark, it is time to put on a blanket and hibernate until the cruel Chicago winter is over. I however, have decided to take on a few new things, mostly habits. The first, writing here, at least once a week. Maybe about liturgical living, maybe about the challenges of working as a nighttime postpartum doula. Maybe just about why the trailmix I am eating needs more chocolate and less peanuts, or more interesting subjects, like how the college daughter is converting her peers at an evangelical university. Not sure yet. But, I will be here. Also, doing the Whole 30 for the first time, so I will be here and grumpy.

I hope you will join me, It has been a long time, and I am missing this outlet for me thoughts very much

The Soul Crushing loneliness of the Suburbs

This idea has been on my mind for a few days. I live in a large community, attend a large parish, am involved in many activities but, struggle with loneliness. I have a best friend, we text throughout the day, we see each other once a week, usually, we are both introverted extroverts. But, I feel so horribly alone. My husband works nights in a job he hates, and is not much of a conversationalist, plus with the limited time we see each other, we stick to the most important facts of the household. My daughter is 17, and I do consider her a friend, but, she is leaving for school in the fall, and will be 5 hours way, again limiting us to texts and facetime.

How is such a feeling so possible in today's very connected world. I think it is more possible than ever. True, genuine interactions are so limited. If I did not have my once a week with K, I would lose my stuff. I feel out of place everywhere, but upon reflection, I think that is my pride. We live in a affluent suburbs, but do not live the comfortable life of many in our community. That isolates me. I need to put on the act that we do belong here, and shut people out. They cannot see my real life, the tears over bills unpaid, the worries that a job will be cut, the silence over the fact that my husband hates his job with his whole being, but has few options anymore.

Conversations stick to the surface, kids activities, my job college plans. No deep discussions of theology or art, or politics, no dreaming with friends about growing old, just coffee, wine and weather. The days are long and lonely. The parents of kids friend's are usually older, at a different stage of life, where I still secretly hope for another baby, they are seeing grandchildren start to come.

I have no solutions, I just long for more adventures with someone dear to my heart.

Trying so hard, failing so miserably

It has been a while, how many times have I said that, too many. It has been 4 years since the autumn of hell, and I vowed to reclaim it this year. Vowed and failed already. The darkness of the days creeps into my soul, and holds me captive. I have been trying to move on from the sadness, but each corner I turn, it haunts me in a new way. It has been in the form of job losses, marriage problems, frustration with children and my own disappointment with life.

 I want to reclaim the fall. I want it so badly, it used to be my favorite season, the season of pumpkin and spice, colors and warmth.  I want to experience it all again. I want the joy, but cannot find it, I want everything to line up and to have life just be for a while, rather than moving from one crisis to another. I want to laugh, daily, and not have to run from one thing to the next just to get by, or to have to push others to do anything.

I want to be still, to savor the company of others and to breathe in peace and calm.

A letter to my 13 year old son.

Dear Thomas,
I love the person you have become. I picked you up from Boy Scout Camp today, and you are clearly not the same boy you were last year. Last year, you grunted at me when I asked you questions, you could not tell me the name of your tent mates, and you were pouty in general. But, you were still tiny, and your bright blue eyes still warmed my heart. It wasn't until 3 week later when I saw pictures that I had any idea what you did at camp.

Today, you are the same height as I am, you rested your fuzzy head on my shoulder and told me all about camp. You told me you kayaked the Apple River, you learned how to camp outdoors, there were bats in the education building, Sam was your tent mate and he is nice. You told me you showered everyday, which makes any mom happy. You told me your disappointment in not being able to play paintball due to rank and how you and Eric were setting a goal of getting that rank before the next camp out. You talked and talked and talked, and didn't even complain when I told you that you have to serve 2 masses today. You laughed at the nonsense your siblings put me through this week, and we shared a nice lunch.

I love this. I love that you are growing up. I love that you are becoming a man of honor and respect. I love that you are still happy to cuddle up next to me, though. I love that your blue eyes still sparkle at me when you smile. You are still my baby, though. You are that special child God gave me when I needed a kids like you. I know your brother and sister kid me that you are the favorite, which is not true, but, you are special and so different from them. I need that now as much as I did 13 years ago.

Eagerly Waiting Easter Morn

Sure, we all are, right? It is not just because our family give up meat, and we all really want meat, like really want meat right now. Nope, that is not it. But, that is a part of it.

When Lent started, it was winter in Chicago. There was in insane amount of snow on the ground, and it was cold, really cold. The skies were grey and people were miserable. It all seemed appropriate for Lent. But, now, it is warm, it is green, is is lovely. But, our hearts and souls are still in winter, we are cold and frozen. That is how Lent feels, like a long cold winter. We still say the Angelus all through Lent, which harkens back to winter, to the Nativity.

I crave the warmth of Easter. I ling for the Regina Coeli. I caught myself singing it for prayer the other day, and it literally hurt to stop. "O, Queen Of Heaven, Be Joyful". Be Joyful. Yes, Lent is a time of reserved joy, but it is also a time of self-examination, and that, at least for me, is not joyful. I do not like what I find, I find a perpetually witntery heart. I find coldness, and darkness. But, I rid it through penance, did I mention I really want a steak? I rid it through sacrifice and confession. But, the season asks me to wait, to hold back, to savor the last moments of self-reflection and to find those last things that I need to remove, before I can truly feel the joy of Easter.

I see hints of flowers outside, but the sky is still grey, just as there is a hint of brightness in my soul, but still there is more room for light.

Not the brightest bulb sometimes

Bless Me Father, for I am ultra slow to learn and quite dense in huge head. Thank goodness that is not an actual sin, because I have enough to worry about. That being said, some people understand things the first time they hear it, and others need blinky flashy lights and a kick in the pants to pay attention. I am the latter far too often. 

Take for example a litttle instance I had the past two days. For work, I went to a training on avoiding compassion fatigue, it goes with my nature of work. Whilest at said training with my fellow home visitnig doulas, we discussed how to be happier and how to take care of one self. The presenter is a seminarian in Native American religous studies. Yep, I go to hippie training. Regularly. With hippies, seriously, long skirts, dreads, barefooted, vegan, birth godesses. I take most of these trainings with a grain of salt, and a glass of wine when I get home. This time, was different. I am just weeks away from serious burn-out, so I tried to listen. And, blinky lights were going off all around me.

Why? What did hippie birthy speaker do? She told us to be thankful, to examine our day each evening, heck, she even said use the examen, to live a plan of life, to offer our day, to confide in one person who can hold you accountable, to be still and listen to the higher power, and to praise him (she might have said her, hippie, remember). It all sounded so familiar to my Catholic ears, and to my Catholic soul. It should, I've been hearing it for years at days of recollection, in books, from priests in the confessional and from good holy women. And I lived it, well, for many years. Not of late though. 

I thought that I could simplify, I could do the bare minimum, that it was too strict for my hippie doula self. And, like many things, I was wrong. But, I did not realize I was wrong until this workshop. I realized how much I need my plan of life, my examen, my director, etc. Heck, I need it more now that I am in a compassion based field. But, it never crossed my mind I needed it to be happy. I needed hippie barefoot lady to remind me of the treaure I hold in these things. 

So, I am not the brightest bulb sometimes, but, the one thing she did not address was the need for forgiveness when we fail, and the ability to begin again. So, the confessional and I have a date, as does my delibrate efforts to order my life and prayer. And then, the happiness and peace will return.

Beauty and Dance

As I write this, I am sitting in a Corner Bakery in downtown Chicago, 2 blocks from the Joffery Ballet. On a weeknight. During spring break. In a week I am working downtown several days. Why? Because I love my 15 year old and I support her dreams. It is hard to say, I support her dreams. Her dreams that she might dance, her unrealistic, less than 1% chance that she will succeed, and no one makes money in the arts anyhow but she really loves dance dreams. 

Clare started dancing at 3, like a lot of little girls. She was good, but at 3, who cares. Then at 9 she was still good. At 12 she was working really hard, but was not as good as other girls. At 15, she holds her own, but a lot of girls are better, in honesty, but she loves it. She is passionate, and she is driven. More driven than I ever have been about anything in my life, I'm kinda lazy. That is why, when her classmates are vacationing, my daughter is seeking out drop in classes all over the city. Sometimes she is so bold as to take the train and hoof it to the classes herself, but, not in the dark as it will be when class ends tonight. 

She works harder than I do for anything. Yet, I have to work harder for her to work that hard, it requires multiple jobs, lots of sacrifice and often frustration. But, she loves it. And, it makes her even more beautiful. Ballet has taught her grace in tha face of extreme disappoinment. It has taught her grace in the face of great joy, the kind of joy that wants to brag, but cannot. It has taught her how to work, and how to encourage, it has taught her that her body is a temple. It teaches her every day that that temple will betray you, and that you have to love that temple. It has taught her that no matter what others may say about her body, it is strong and powerful, it is good to her when she is good to it. Ballet has taught her how to laugh, how to smile and how to cry without ever making a sound, but through every limb and gesture. 

We are too poor for her to succeed in the same ways her peers do, private lessons, summer intensives and scholarship competitions are not in her future, but, she assures me that a good story goes a long way, and parents that sacrifice is the best story any director can hear. A mother who can sew has helped, too. Everything she has learned in ballet she is starting to pass onto another generation, through the 5 classes a week she teaches, because, she has also learned, teachers are not always those who danced the best, but are often those who are the kindest, most patient and the best learners. And, bring the beauty of joy to eager hearts.

Through the Storm, Through the Night.

As previously mentioned, there have been trials of late, and by of late I mean the last 3 years. There is nothing that we have not made it through, but emotionally and psychologically, the damage lingers. My sense of hope has ben diminished. I used to be far more optimistic than I am, not, reality surrounds me, and I do not get my hopes up much for anything.

Take for example job interviews. My husband has been out of work almost 3 years, 3 long hard years, unemployment ran out a long, long time ago. When this situation was new, I got excited with every interview, hopeful that this would be the one that would change our situation, to allow us to plan to the future again, rather than just get through the week. But, interview after interview I was let down. Even the few that have lead to job offers are horrifically disappointing. No one hires for full time, they job is irregular, the pay is insulting, or the work is degrading. I have no hope that we will ever not be poor. But, Deb, you say, you have a roof over your head, and food on your table and your daughter still dances. This is true, I can't figure out how we do, but it is true. On paper, none of these seem possible, yet they happen. And I am thankful for these. But, one cannot rely on miracles to pay the bills. 

God has provided, true, and all my hope is in Him, but even that is a mental struggle. He has given honest work for me, but it is hard work, with strange hours and unpredictability. Please do not think I am asking for easy street. All I desire is a return to hope, to peace, and to stability. I desire hope above all things. 

My daughter is dancing to "Precious Lord, Take My Hand" so it is played very often in our home. It has always been a favorite song, but the story behind it was something I learned just a few years ago as I sang a Mass for the loss of a baby. Read it here .The song gives me hope, it reminds me even in my weary days, to persevere on this long journey. Here is the version the daughter is dancing to, my personal favorite.

Reflection

As times changed, I fell away from writing, from reflection. But, my circumstances have greatly changed and I feel that it is time to return to what has always given me comfort, writing. Several friends have requested that I return, but mostly for the Xavier chronicles. While Xavier does provide many laughs, but there is much more to my thought process. This reboot may not be as cheery or as light, as I said, life has changed, but I will try to intersperse the introspection with Xavier's thoughts. I have no idea if there are or will be any readers here ever again, but I ned to do this for myself, to have an outlet.  Let us journey together is that is what is meant to be.

The Simple Joy of Freedom

Sarah is a friend of mine. Her sister, is someone I pray for daily. We are so blessed. Even though my car died this week, even though my paycheck is 6 weeks late, even though I am coughing non-top, I am so blessed and so much better off than most of the world. Thank you Lord for the reminders. Please help this family.

Feast Days and Birthdays

Today is the feast day of St. Maria Goretti, today is also the birthday of a friend of mine that took her precious life almost 2 years ago.I see an irony today, "B" was sexually abused as a child. That abuse, in combination with later abuse, ultimately lead to her death.

I have so much anger still from her death. I saw her 10 days before she died, she came to town to say good-bye. If I had only know, could I have said the words to save her. I knew her when we were teens and in college. Could I have guided her to a place for healing? Some would say I did, she converted to Catholicism as a freshman in college, but that lead her to more abuse. Could I have prevented her from joining that "religious movement" that opened old wounds? That I did try, but she not listen. Could I have been her doula, and prevent the birth trauma that again made wounds open, maybe, but, the past haunted her so much. If only I had come to visit her all the times she begged me to fly far from my family.

The truth is that I could not do anything, even if I tried harder than I had. She was deeply wounded, and wounds were open again and again. She could not make peace, even with the best religious counsel and the best therapy. She her wounds could not be healed, no matter how may efforts her truly loving, and gentle husband made. She was so deeply wounded.

Why anyone ever would hurt a child in such a horrific manor is beyond my comprehension. We see the stories in the papers, on TV and, in the lives of the saints. Today, I beg for the prayers of St. Maria Goretti for my friend, that God is merciful. I beg her prayers for my children, for their protection and purity. I beg her prayers for those who are put into situations that they cannot control and are forever wounded.

The Simple Joys of a Movie

After years of waiting, my sons and I finally saw Monsters University. A movie usually is not a big deal, we see them sometimes. But for my eldest son and I, Monsters, Inc. is a moment in time, it is something we have shared, it has much deeper meaning.

When my son was 18 months old, we were shopping, I was wearing high heels, and carrying him and fell off a curb. I dropped my baby. It was the worst day of my life. He suffered severe head trauma. We knew it was bad, but when we got to the ER and they transferred us to the nearest trauma center, we knew how bad it was. My little guy has always been special to me. He was my first and only 100% natural birth, he bonded with me in a different way, he made me feel alive, until I was hit with postpartum depression. Then, he was the only thing that kept me going, my love for him, my desire to provide life giving milk for him, and his cute fat little face. It passed, but at the end, he was there, smiling, not knowing how he saved me.Now, he was lying helpless in a trauma unit crib and there was nothing I could do to help him.

After many hours of tests, crying and worry, he was to be observed for 48 hours. I was in shock, my baby was not allowed to be held, to be nursed, to be mine. Worst of all, I was reported to DCFS for inflicting a head wound on my child. As if I would EVER hurt this precious baby I adored, but that is exactly what I was accused of. Thankfully, that was resolved, but, it haunts me to this day, for my work I frequently have to have DCFS background checks, and it is on my record. I have to explain to future employers the circumstances of that day. It hurts every time, I usually tear up explaining.

 My baby went home 72 hours after the start of our horror, with the restriction that he needed to sit in the dark and not move. Did mention he was an 18 month old boy?? And a super active on at that. We needed to keep him as unstimulated as possible.I sent my daughter off to family for a week, and bought the only movie we had not seen yet, Monsters, Inc. We spent the week watching it over and over and over. I loved it, it made me cry, like all Pixar films. Even better, it kept the toddler happy and quiet and nestled on my lap.

Now, unlike most movies that we watch ad nauseum, Monsters, Inc.endured. And as that son grew, into a snuggly boy, he would always suggest that movie as his first pick when asked what we should watch. It almost became a joke how often he would suggest it. For some reason, I always let him watch it, and we always snuggled on the sofa. His siblings hate that he always wins that movie, but, for us, it is special, and we still love it. His laugh is so light, so full of life and joy, I secretly let him watch it to hear that melodious sound.

That boy is now a terribly awkward 12 year old. He is lanky, really lanky, he is smart, he is OCD, he is sweet, tender and still likes to cuddle. He still has the best laugh. We have been talking about the sequel since we heard about it. We planned a date, he and I , and we let his brother join us to keep the peace at home.Finally, the day arrives, and I did not have hopes for it being good, but, without giving away anything, it is what he needed right now and frankly, a wonderful movie. It is about a guy who has hopes, but they are unrealistic, it is about making real friends, it is about the underdog coming out on top through hard work. That is my boy. He is so amazingly smart, but he has to work, he gets picked on my his peers, he is never picked first for things, but he has the sweetest heart and an unrealistic hope. It is a beautiful thing. I can't quite explain why Sully and Mike have stuck with us, but like the wounds of that day, they have. I am so thankful..

Wounds that time cannot heal

My brother is in the Army, he has been since July of 2001. He rather likes his life. Today he posted a picture on Facebook of a memory bracelet he has from May 2, 2004, the day most of his unit was killed in Iraq, including his Captain. I know he posted in response to the Captain's wife sharing her last photo of her husband with their children. Heartbreaking. My brother is like that, he thinks of others. He thinks of all the guys who have died around him every day of his life, they walk with him, invisible to sight of others. As a medic, there have been hundreds.

My dad also has his own band that walks with him, He, too, served in the military. It has been 40 years since he said farewell to the Marines, but, he never really left. As he ages, his memories get stronger, and worse. 40 years of repression gets harder to maintain as his body gets older and his mind less occupied by work and raising kids. Every night he has nightmares, and often wakes up with bloody scratches on his arms, from where he was "shooing mosquitoes".

They are the walking wounded. Their minds, bodies and souls bare wounds that time cannot heal. If my brother's life is like my dad's, the memories will only get worse. I pray it is not so, that J-gets the help that was not there for my dad, but, they are strong proud men, it is hard to admit help is needed.

All of this makes me think about the article that is going around about court martials for those who share their faith, including chaplains. When our soldiers are grieving, they need God. When they are tired, they need God. When they are scared, they need God. When they are homesick, they need God. Sometimes, though, like the rest of us, it is hard to see God among the muck of life. Sometimes, He has to be brought to us by others.Now, that could be grounds for the worst punishment that the military can offer. I wish my brother and my dad were more religious, I know in their hearts they have faith, but life has beaten it out of them at times, but I am sure, there have been men who were there to share it when they really needed it.

The Simple Joy of Nostalgia

It has been a LONG time since I have taken to this page. It has been a long year, I will spare you the details, but it feels as if I am coming out of a long winter into spring. The beauty of it all is breathtaking.

I just finished reading Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis. I first attempted to read it twenty years ago, as a high school student, but, I could not. There are many books that for whatever reason, if I do not read them at the right point in life, my brain will not tolerate them. This is one of them. In honestly, I was listening to it. One of the turns my life has recently taken involves me working full time, driving all over the place, and my husband being a full time stay-at-home home schooling dad. This gives me hours to listen to books each week. I was lead to Till We Have Faces while wandering through the audio books at my library, remembering my past efforts, hoping that if I could not escape, ie I am driving, I would get through it. I did. It was wonderful, even though it was hard, I did not "get it" until the end, then, I wept, it was just what I needed.

At the time I first tried to read the book, it was because the band, Over the Rhine, named their debut album after the book. Now, I wanted to know why. This lead to a flood of memories, feelings and joys. I first started listening to OtR when I was a senior in high school, when I was falling in love with my now husband. We fought falling in love, but, you cannot resist the nudging of God. Every song put into my head a overwhelming feeling of love for Chris. Reminding me of the smells, the warmth of the sun, the chill of the nights, the adventures everything 18 year olds feel in love. I am long past that time, but again, God shows us what we need when we need it, I needed the memories. I needed to be reminded why I passionately love him.

Last night we taught an NFP class, we've taught hundreds I think, but our talk that we give on why NFP for us was the best ever. Not because we are passionate about NFP, but because the memories of our early days were fresh, out struggles, our joys, our quirky personalities and why we are married and have kids. We are passionate for each other and the love God has created.

This is another thing that has lacked in the winter of the past year. My heart has been cold, not just to my husband, and my friends, but to my Creator. And now like Orual in Till We Have Faces, my veil has been truly lifted and I am allowed to see the hand of God. The beauty of it all fills me.

Out of touch

It  has been a while, the long winter, though mild, took a toll on me. I am left feeling out of touch. My relationships are different, my life is different. All that was last year is gone.

So many people have disappeared from my life, not just through death, but through neglect. So many friends have drifted in different directions. I’m not sure how to feel about this, other than lonely. I feel out of place everywhere I go. I feel 16 all over again. And that stinks, except then I had April to help me, this time, who is the April in my life? I haven’t figured that out. Who is the wise and gentle friend who gets me through? Who listens to my insanity, and does not judge?

Why we need Saints.

It has been an exceptionally crappy fall for me. My last post highlighted the death of my friend, a few weeks after that, my husband lost his job and at the end of October, my mother very suddenly died. Crappy is the only word for it. It has been hard emotionally and in all honestly, financially.All of this has made family life, especially my marriage very trying. It has led me to really question more than I have in years every aspect of my personal faith.

I have not run and turned heathen, but, my prayer is dry, my soul is even drier, and my sense of hope is long lost in a desert. Today seems especially dark and dreary to me. So many things are not as I would have them, our home is not prepared for the birth of our Lord, I am overwhelmed with my jobs that help us get by and I am lonely. It feels like so many of my friends has left or simply are too busy, which I get.

But, in this darkness, there is a beam of light. It was announced Bl. Kateri will be St. Kateri very soon. Why does this matter to the whiny suburban mom? Simply because she has been my “go to” girl for years. Her family didn’t understand her, neither does mine, she was not beautiful, I hate the way I look, she was often alone, see above. But, instead of sitting in the dark with a cup of coffee, she glorified God and offered him her pain. Yep, I need to stop whining and crying, okay, that may be harder, but I need to Glorify God, no matter what. No matter how much it hurts to have not said “Goodbye” or “I’m sorry” or “I love you” to my mom. No matter how much I hate leaving my kids, neglecting our homeschooling to go to jobs that are disgusting. No matter how frustrating it is that my husband is not my provider or protector right now. I need to Glorify God, I need to give him these things, and let him keep them. I need to ask Kateri to help me, to show me how she did it, and then, I need to give thanks.

Simple Joys and Immense Sorrows

This weekend I lost a friend in the most horrific way, suicide. I had known her since I was 16, I met her the day I met my husband and Br. Maximilan, one of our best friends. We were on a retreat, and she, Br. Max, and my husband were the only 3 people to talk to me. I was shy, had just gotten over the Chicken Pox, and in the past year had suffered a great tragedy. I was depressed, and they gave me hope. That is why it is breaking my heart to think that no one could give her that hope to continue on the journey.

We had many good times, she left to join a cultish religious group when we were on college and we were not allowed to communicate. When she came home, I picked her up at the airport, but she was not the same. Life moves quickly, she married and moved to the other side of the country. We lost touch. I regret this so much right now, more than so many regrets that I have in life.

Thanks to the internet, and facebook, we connected. It was like old times, virtually. We communicated privately online, but that is a terrible way to be a friend. I could not read her sorrow in email, I could not see her tears in chat, and I could not give her any hope.

Last month, we met in person, I think now that she loved my husband and I enough to say good-bye to us in person. That makes things so much worse, to tell the truth, why didn’t we hold her forever, why didn’t we tell her to move back to Chicago, why didn’t we give her hope. I told her things that she didn’t know, painful things. When she got back to California, she attempted suicide for the first time. Did we push her over the edge?

Her husband is a good man, he tried to protect her, but she left one Sunday morning and never returned. She was found in the bottom of a canyon a week later. How can someone leave their 3 little children? How can you lose hope to the point that even your babies are meaningless? I will never understand. I have been at the point she was in the past, about every 6 years I fight a battle with depression, but my children, my husband and my God are enough to give me the glimmer I need. How can there be no glimmer?

I’ve been praying the Psalms a lot, and one thing strikes me again and again, Praise for rescue. I Praise Him for saving me, rescuing me, but I also ask, why not her? What makes her plight different? I know her sorrows were worse, her past was darker, but why didn’t he rescue her, why did she slip into decay? There are just so many things I do not understand, but I trust  in the goodness and mercy of He who rescues me.

I Have Confidence in, Oh, Wait, No I Don’t

I can admit to having absolutely no faith in my ability to do anything. Truly, it is a nothing short of a miracle that I accomplish anything. Take this moment for example, I’m supposed to be writing an essay that will complete my doula training. And, what am I doing, drinking coffee, listening to sappy music and writing on my mostly ignored blog. Why? because I cannot articulate the 1000 words that I need to to get the darned thing done.

I’ve been working on this for months, all I need to do is put 1000 words down on paper, 1000 words that meet pretty strict guidelines, that are supposed to sound like I know what I am talking about. But, as usual, I know in my head what is true, but I cannot express it, because I’m not sure I provide the services that I am describing.

It doesn’t matter how many people tell me I am doing fine, or that they think I am good at what I am doing, I don’t think that, and therefore I cannot attempt to promote myself. I lack confidence.

My daughter on the other hand is a big ball of self-belief. How it is even possible for me to have offspring with so much confidence is beyond me. She is faced with some pretty serious auditions in the next few days, and is handling it all with amazing grace, believing that she is the best. She may not be the best, but her ability to believe that she is often makes up for her lack of a small skill. How did I raise this child? How did she get to be so self assured? I think it may have something to do with my belief in her, her father’s belief in her. We think and know she is great at the things she does and are honest with her, in loving ways, when she is not. I never had that.

We all just want to be loved.

It is just human nature to be desire to be liked. I’m totally guilty of this, I want people to like me. I want them to want to be around me, I want them to want to do things with me. Essentially though, I am still the sixth grade girl hiding in the corner of the gym at a dance because she knows there are people who do not like her.

I’ve run into a few people in life lately who for whatever reason, have made it clear, they do not care for me. Most of them I do not know well. Not nearly well enough I feel for this judgment to have been made. It has caused me to have to soul search, do I have such a strong personality that I send people running the other direction as soon as they meet me? Or worse, have I offended these people in the few moments I have been around them?

Okay, here comes the grown-up, why do I care? Seriously, I left the 6th grade any my Jr. High ways a loooong time ago, like when I left Jr. High long time ago. But still, I care. These people are not the kind that will be my close friends, not matter what they think about me, or time together is so limited. But as our circles intertwine, I want them to have a positive view of me. Again, why do I care. I care because I carry the light of Christ.  It is a burden and a blessing.

I have to project it in a beautiful way, if I am not, that is when it becomes a burden. In my life right now, it is a heavy, large light, something not always easy to carry. My faith is not as strong as it used to be, or needs to be, and I know I’m not reflecting the light well. I worry that my portrayal of the light is distorted and not clear. That could easily put people off. My love is not glowing, my heart is not light, and that, my dear readers, is off putting to me, I can only imagine how it is to others.