Sometimes it is difficult to start the morning in a quiet place-of-mind. Just as I lapsed into a sweet zone, the youngest boy came skipping downstairs. He turned on the ceiling lights and said with morning exuberance, “When you’re done can you…”
Suddenly I felt trapped…my life run by the whims of everyone around me.
“Mom, after he gets on the bus can you meet me at the mechanics to give me a ride to work?”
“These people say “The time has not yet come to rebuild the Lord’s house.”
I am doing something infinitely wrong. I have all the tools to build His House, the books, the space, the saintly blueprints and suggestions – but ‘the time’ has not yet come.
Do I trust that He sees the little one come downstairs excited about playing? Do I trust He understands that she needs a ride to work now, not when I’m done praying? How do I let the frustration of ‘this life is not my own’ go? Do I insist that no one come downstairs to bother me until I say so?
They would not understand how important this time with You is. They’d scoff, (not to my face). They’d shake their heads and grumble, “Who does she think she is? We will just buy him his own computer for up in his room and she’ll neve have to be bothered by any of us again.”
Whose relationship is more important?
Whose relationship should be more important?
Me with my family or me with God? I know the correct theological answer, the answer preached from the pulpit, the monastery and the prayer manuals by famous writers. But my heart says differently.
I want the approval of my family. God can wait.
It sounds so cement-cold to say it. But it’s my heart’s truth.
“Give careful thought to your ways. You have planted much, but harvested little. You eat, but never have enough. You drink, but never have your fill. You put on clothes, but are not warm. You earn wages, only to put them in a purse with holes in it.
“Give careful thought to your ways. Go up into the mountains and bring down timber and build my house…You expected much, but see, it turned out to be little. What you brought home, I blew away. Why?” declares the Lord Almighty. “Because of my house which remains a ruin, while each of you is busy with your own home.”
Then out of nowhere God adds:
“I am with you.”
as if to say “I get it. I understand. But it’s not what I want.”
“Who of you is left who saw this house in its former glory? How does it look to you now? Does it seem to like nothing?”
I remember other days years ago when I woke up singing old hymns, studying proverbs over breakfast, reading the psalms on the hour every hour like a Benedictine monk, moving in the Spirit, praying on my knees, encouraging people, giving to strangers. Day after day moved like a sweet summer river. Birds sang, breezes caught in the trees and His gentle touch was everywhere. Miracles happened. Souls were saved. Bodies were healed. And His house, my soul, was filled with glory. Certainly there were hard times and problems, but there was also lightness and purpose. And there was always a song.
Not now. Not today. I have escaped the house to sit in my car by the river, but the gray cloud follwed me here. I can’t escape myself.
“But now be strong…be strong…and work…”
“The glory of this present house will be greater than the glory of the former house. And in this place I will grant peace.” declares the Lord Almighty”
I’m fighting depression. It comes on when I’m tired.
Last night I lay restless in the dark, sleep just not happening. The hours old, cold coffee I had drunk after midnight most probably had somethig to do with it – but the cup was at hand and I was thirsty. All of a sudden I felt like I was drowning. I could see myself stuck in a water funnel. The waves swished around me as I was being pulled under. At one point I could see only my face looking up and one hand reaching up. And then I guess I fell asleep.
God Calling calls depression the impressions left by fear.
What am I afraid of?
Nothing and everything all at once.
That’s absurd.
God Calling says, “For Love of Me, for the sake of My tender, never-failing Love of you, fight and love and win.”
But the demons are invisible!
The youngest here is an expert at whipping out his imaginary light saber and slaying the invisible. Me? Not so much.
What am I afraid of?
Maybe this isn’t on-set depression. Maybe its indigestion. I’ll take a swig of Pepto and take a nap. Maybe I’ll feel better. This cloud over my head sucks!
NOPE!
I am still trapped inside this unexplained anger, rattling the prison bars with my angry words and thoughts. Every topic of conversation I attempt with my daughter or her eldest son drips of frustration. Why?
I opened The Divine Office app on my phone, to hide inside some kind of spiritual inspiration, an attempt at finding a better path through this afternoon.
“The angel Gabriel said to Mary in greeting: Hail, full of grace, the lord is with you; blessed are you aong women.”
How empty of grace I am right now, how unblessed.
Mary, how did you follow behind his disciples so quietly? How could you watch Him suffer so much and then die? Did you keep a journal? Did you have a best friend to talk to? How did God make Himself real to you at your lowest point? Were you like me or did you hold some special place in God’s hierarchy that pain didn’t hurt so much? Did you ever just wake up and have a bad day?
“It was You who took me from my mother’s womb, entrusted me to my mother’s breast. To you I was committed from my birth, from my mother’s womb. You have been my God. Do not leave me alone in my distress; come close, there is no one to help. (Ps 22)
I saw a video this afternoon of Kiev burning. And my heart receded into my mouth and I screamed, “Then burn down Moscow!”
I keep sinking deeper and deeper in the muck.
They say You were silent on the cross, but I can hear You…
“O Lord, do not leave me alone, my strength, make haste to help me! Rescue my soul from the sword, my life from the power of these dogs. Save my life from the jaws of these lions, my poor soul from the horns of these wild oxen.”
If You turned your head away from Your Son while He was dying, what can I expect You to do for me?
Your only Son died alone.
…And those in the trenches
…And those digging for food on the dump heaps outside of town.
…And those begging for money on the street corners
…those popping pills, drinking booze or dropping bombs
…they too die alone.
So in this mood I search for You.
“And my soul shalll live for him, my children serve him. They shall tell of the Lord to the generations yet to come, declaire his faithfulness to the people yet unborn: “These things the Lord has done.””
My grandchildren will ask “what things?”
Back to you, Mary. What did you know that I don’t? Impart to me That wisdom, that I might not slip again into this bottomless pit.
When I was a child I was obsessed with the movie – The Miracle Of Our Lady Of Fatima. My family and I watched it once a year for many years on a black and white tv in the living room. After watching, I would hide in my bedroom to plead with Mary to come visit me. She never did.
I’ve prayed. I’ve vented. And because I’ve prayed to vent less, I wait for a reprisal because I’ve learned that He does care.
I am angry frustrated and confused. But all my spirit gets is “Wait on the Lord.”
So I googled the phrase.
“Trust in the Lord and do good…”
“Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him and He will do this: He will make your righteous reward shine like the dawn…“
“Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him…”
OK
OK
Peace restored.
Sort of…