"Through Painted Deserts."
I wonder at what Paul said back in Portland, how God is good, how it doesn't do any good to run from Him because what He has is good and who He is, is good. Even if I want to run, it isn't really what I want--what I want is Him, even if I don't believe it. If he made all this existence, you would think He would know what He is doing, and you would think He could be trusted. Everything I want is just Him, to get lost in Him, to feel His love and more and more of his dazzling that He does.
Don Miller
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Ugly Beauty.
Grief. Something I know all too well.
Is it possible to grieve the loss of self? It is indeed.
And for the few people that read this "live journal" so to speak...I ask you for your bond of silence.
In the Fall of 2005 I began to struggle. A heart wrenching struggle. I became mentally sick. I began to have panic attacks twice and sometimes three times a day. And, if you ever had at least ONE panic attack, you would know that the it can sucks all the energy out of you. These panic attacks led to me having sleepless night and days full of fear. So after 9 months of living in Arizona and the last 3 months of those nine in serious exhaustion, my parents took me home.
I found a Doctor and to this day he is my angel. I was diagnosed with a disease. Bi-polar disease.
He told me to get ready, that the next two years will be hard. I was in remission. Just like cancer, one battles a tumor that no one can see, I too, were about to embark on my own battle. A battle that no one can see. A chemical imbalance that to this day I hate.
One aspect of grief is anger. I can go months without this anger and feel as if I'm not taking medicine at all. Sometimes I can become so angry at this disease because memories flood my mind of going through a year of intense mental suffering. This anger that can be so heavy and tiresome. But, then, there is grace given, and I have a moment where I weep. Literally, silently weep and all I do is feel that emotion. Cry at the loss of my old self. The ironic thing is that I don't even recognize the old Mary. Everything before age 20. I look at pictures and it scares me because I can't even relate to that person.
In the past month, I have been in denial. I still take my medicine and there is no full recovery, so I will always have to take pills morning, noon, and night. But I have done my research on other things that can help the healing and better my life. Sleep. whole grain foods. types of alcohol. how much alcohol.that its okay to say no.to be a healthy selfish. And to listen to your Brain.
And to be honest. I haven't listened at all.
And i am tired. So tired. I am not sleeping well. I am not painting. And I haven't been able to say no to things. I think I feel as though I am going to miss out on "life", but really me saying no is giving me life.
And I. I have rejected the word no.
Today is a moment when anger takes hold of me. Because I have to say no. because I am so tired. So tired of thinking. and so tired of being reminded of my cross.
But I am victorious. and Because of this discovery. I have discovered me. And I have discovered the ugly beauty of the art of feeling.
Is it possible to grieve the loss of self? It is indeed.
And for the few people that read this "live journal" so to speak...I ask you for your bond of silence.
In the Fall of 2005 I began to struggle. A heart wrenching struggle. I became mentally sick. I began to have panic attacks twice and sometimes three times a day. And, if you ever had at least ONE panic attack, you would know that the it can sucks all the energy out of you. These panic attacks led to me having sleepless night and days full of fear. So after 9 months of living in Arizona and the last 3 months of those nine in serious exhaustion, my parents took me home.
I found a Doctor and to this day he is my angel. I was diagnosed with a disease. Bi-polar disease.
He told me to get ready, that the next two years will be hard. I was in remission. Just like cancer, one battles a tumor that no one can see, I too, were about to embark on my own battle. A battle that no one can see. A chemical imbalance that to this day I hate.
One aspect of grief is anger. I can go months without this anger and feel as if I'm not taking medicine at all. Sometimes I can become so angry at this disease because memories flood my mind of going through a year of intense mental suffering. This anger that can be so heavy and tiresome. But, then, there is grace given, and I have a moment where I weep. Literally, silently weep and all I do is feel that emotion. Cry at the loss of my old self. The ironic thing is that I don't even recognize the old Mary. Everything before age 20. I look at pictures and it scares me because I can't even relate to that person.
In the past month, I have been in denial. I still take my medicine and there is no full recovery, so I will always have to take pills morning, noon, and night. But I have done my research on other things that can help the healing and better my life. Sleep. whole grain foods. types of alcohol. how much alcohol.that its okay to say no.to be a healthy selfish. And to listen to your Brain.
And to be honest. I haven't listened at all.
And i am tired. So tired. I am not sleeping well. I am not painting. And I haven't been able to say no to things. I think I feel as though I am going to miss out on "life", but really me saying no is giving me life.
And I. I have rejected the word no.
Today is a moment when anger takes hold of me. Because I have to say no. because I am so tired. So tired of thinking. and so tired of being reminded of my cross.
But I am victorious. and Because of this discovery. I have discovered me. And I have discovered the ugly beauty of the art of feeling.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Lay In My Manger
Creating a sturdy home is crucial.
Foundation and Security. Thats sturdiness.
When I was young, every Sunday morning was usually spent in my parents room before getting dressed for Mass. My dad would bring a cup of coffee to his room and right as the clock hit 8AM the cartoons we were watching was then turned to Meet The Press. I have this significant memory of me lying in bed next to my mom. I was about 7 or 8 years old, we were snuggling, and as she was combing her fingers through my hair she says,"I love you so much Mary." I remember looking at her saying, "I love you too mommy." She says back, "but you know who loves you more? Jesus. He loves you more than Mommy and Daddy's love combined." I can recall being so confused and couldn't understand how this Jesus guy who I knew and who is God could love me more than my parents. In that moment I felt a bit of abandonment from my parents, and anger towards this Jesus guy, and yet this comfort in a love that is infinitely greater than the love I receive from my parents.
This memory is one of significance. It was my first encounter with Christ. I began to understand about a life of relationships, forgiveness, love, and protection outside of my earthly parents. Furthermore, this concept of Love. LOVE.
Today. 23 and growing I am still battling this concept of love. That in this Love that's unconditional, I can feel confusion, distance, and at times absence. Perhaps this battle of attempting to understand the concept of Love is Him being Love. The simple, "God is Love. Love is God" is in fact not all that simple. Love to me is a freakin' roller coaster. I desire to love, to be love, to be IN love, to bear love. But love can break, tear, rebuild, destroy. Its a bit scary that today I still am feeling a bit deserted by the Father and His love. Even in the depths of my soul I know his His love for me is endless, but I still can feel so lost and alone. However, His love is continually and ferociously providing security, a foundation, and a sturdy home to rest in. Because. Today. I am tired. so very tired.
Foundation and Security. Thats sturdiness.
When I was young, every Sunday morning was usually spent in my parents room before getting dressed for Mass. My dad would bring a cup of coffee to his room and right as the clock hit 8AM the cartoons we were watching was then turned to Meet The Press. I have this significant memory of me lying in bed next to my mom. I was about 7 or 8 years old, we were snuggling, and as she was combing her fingers through my hair she says,"I love you so much Mary." I remember looking at her saying, "I love you too mommy." She says back, "but you know who loves you more? Jesus. He loves you more than Mommy and Daddy's love combined." I can recall being so confused and couldn't understand how this Jesus guy who I knew and who is God could love me more than my parents. In that moment I felt a bit of abandonment from my parents, and anger towards this Jesus guy, and yet this comfort in a love that is infinitely greater than the love I receive from my parents.
This memory is one of significance. It was my first encounter with Christ. I began to understand about a life of relationships, forgiveness, love, and protection outside of my earthly parents. Furthermore, this concept of Love. LOVE.
Today. 23 and growing I am still battling this concept of love. That in this Love that's unconditional, I can feel confusion, distance, and at times absence. Perhaps this battle of attempting to understand the concept of Love is Him being Love. The simple, "God is Love. Love is God" is in fact not all that simple. Love to me is a freakin' roller coaster. I desire to love, to be love, to be IN love, to bear love. But love can break, tear, rebuild, destroy. Its a bit scary that today I still am feeling a bit deserted by the Father and His love. Even in the depths of my soul I know his His love for me is endless, but I still can feel so lost and alone. However, His love is continually and ferociously providing security, a foundation, and a sturdy home to rest in. Because. Today. I am tired. so very tired.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Beauty at its finest.
This is who I long for:
Romance
Were I some sleeping adam, to awake and find you resting at my rib, to share these things that God has done, to walk you through the garden, to counsel your timid steps, your bewildered eye, your heart so slow to love, so careful to love, so sheepish that I stepped up my aim and became a man, is this what God intended? That though He made you from my rib, it is you making me, humbling me, destroying me, and in so doing, revealing Him.
God did not design us to be alone. For me to be alone. But lets be honest, this blog ends up really speaking to me, teaching me, and guiding me. Tonight, I was alone. I have moments of loneliness and it's like a brick wall slowing building up where I can't see the horizon. Horizon of endless possibilities.
Lets talk about love. I know I've experienced love--Love from my parents, my closest friends, and the Fathers love. I know that love brings a depth of intimacy, a longing, a desire to be desirable. But, I think I'm not sure what Love between man and woman feels like. And that's whats lonely. I believe I have been close to being in love and that's what makes me sad. So close, but no risk taking. Love is all about Risk.
Whoever you may be, Simply take a risk. I know its scary, or you've been hurt, or I might be better looking than you, but lets be gifts to each other.
God risked Himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love, and perhaps then, and only then, understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us.
I love you.
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