Lets Dine.

So, I read this book blue like jazz, by don miller. He talks about how Christianity has become more of just a religion full of rights or wrongs. He invites the readers to challenge themselves to try to view Christianity as a spirituality, as a way of life, and not focus so much on the A+B=C. He shares that in most churches they preach about unconditional love--Christ is unconditional therefore we need to be unconditional. However, he says the issue that almost all Christians adopt is that Christ love is conditional, that there is a formula in the specific community: If you give yourself to the Lord,awesome. If you give yourself to the Lord and don't become involved, not awesome. If you struggle with sin, not awesome. Its unconditional if its only a win win situation, but really people its unconditional if its a win lose or a win win.

One of the reasons I love writing is because I write in my most vulnerable moments. I have fallen in love with my flawed humanity, and seek to live through my struggles and triumphant moments. I think that's why I am going to let people know about this blog because to me Christianity is not about the Highs or the Lows, The Black or White. Its my daily life that is Christian holiness--that some days I want to throw in the towel, screw him and all he has, but the next day return to Him.

I heard this saying once that God will be as honest and real with you, as you are equally honest and real with him. So if your pissed off, be pissed off. If your joyful, tell Him your joyful, if your lonely, tell Him your lonely, if your struggling with deep issues, live in those deep issues with Him.

Christianity, I believe we forget what the core of Christ teaching is: Its about love. How can one turn away from sin, or forgive, or repent if one hasn't experience the depth of love that is Christ? I love the scriptures that talk about Christ sitting and dining with the Tax Collectors, the prostitutes, the sinners, the blind. He sat there, He is a reality in their lives, weeps when they weep, He rejoices and they rejoiced.

For a moment, screw all the rules, all the judgment felt, the hurt, the self-righteousness. Lets be authentic. My writings are written in rawness.
He is my daily reality. This life I'm living, these emotions I feel, the absence of his reality some days...that is Christian spirituality.

So friends, lets love unconditionally and dine in ones struggles.

Your Grace Is Enough.

When I can't paint. I write.

Today is rough. Tired. Anxious. But mostly just a wee bit angry at things. Im frustrated because I can't go back or even go forward. Im here, in the desert place.

Give me a little air. A little light. A little hope.

Because in this desert place, I trust You with a passion.

Sensitivity is beauty.

I have this gift and curse. Its my best friend and worst enemy. Meet Miss Sensitivity.

I can so clearly remember my mother saying, "Mary, you can't wear your heart on your sleeve." Or my brothers coaching me in how to respond to people in certain situations, "Mer, you can't be so sensitive, when someone says something just ignore it." I wish it were easier for me to NOT be so sensitive, but I can't seem to be that confident, brush it off, doesn't care king of person.

I think my insecurity of being so sensitive stems from a much deeper issue. I was extremely bullied when I was younger. This experience of being bulled has left deep scare that I constantly have to battle. I attempt often to remain in truth and remember that I am not that little girl who was misused, tricked, fooled into thinking she was nothing and insignificant. I think the memories hurt the most--the worst one is remembering that I use to ask the teacher often to use the restroom and I would just sit and suck my thumb just to bring me comfort, or at recess I would sit in the stall and hear all the girls giggling or the bouncing of the basketball hitting the outside courts. Or, in the classroom where I was so stuck in my anxiety that I couldn't learn and when I finally moved schools(yay!)I had a reading level of a 4th grader.(seriously)

It really just makes me sad and as I write this my eyes water because I was so misunderstood. I was an honest, kind-hearted girl and it wasn't valued. I am the middle child, and the middle children just go with the flow, so when we were in the car for hours running children around to sport practices because thats what we did or my lunch didn't get a little note, or that my sister was pregnant and my mother was pregnant that was normal to me. My family life was normal, but appeared to others as sad, abnormal, uncontrolled chaoticness.

Today, I am that same Mary, that same Miss Sensitive. Everything I do is in innocent joy and honesty because I love you friends. I love to make sure you feel valued because for a portion of my life I didn't know what that felt like in friendships. So if that means, i pick a flower and give it to you, write you a note, call you at 8am in the morning to go to breakfast even when I knew you were sleeping in because it was your day off. I thought about you. I wanted to laugh and rejoice with you. Its not desperate, its honesty. Because I love you. I love to love you friends.

I think I will always be sensitive because for so long my joy was stolen from me, innocence was not appreciated, and the desire of friendship was something I longed for, for so long. But this is just a layer of beauty that is me. Sensitivity is beautiful.

Uh, Father?

I have this small little side job working at Gayles Bakery in Capitola, Ca. Either I am popular or Santa Cruz is such a small town, but I usually see people I know. Well yesterday was an odd interaction with someone I know. Father Matt. Hmm. I have a love/hate relationship with this man for various reasons. Now Easter just happened and he went on a little vaca, so I have been enjoying 5 o'clock mass without him and hearing and meeting different priests. Well, he pulled ticket number 55 and I called number 55. It was awkward for so many reasons.

He knows who I am. And I know who he is, yet no conversation has yet to happen since he has been the pastor.

Priest should not look as good as he does. It looks like he has a lot of money.

He's tall, was wearing trendy attire. He wore these sleek ray bands, nice slacks, and button collared shirt that was slightly unbuttoned only to show that he has NO chest hair.

I prepare his food to go, and am ready to hand it to him, but I am stuck. Should I say Sir or Father Matt. So I kept saying, your food is ready about 3 times and then a customer elbowed him and he came to the counter.

My point is that no person should feel like it would embarress thepriest to say Father. Right?

scream to no one.

The veil has been removed, her eyes are open, to the lies that have been embedded deep in her soul. Who are you? Who are all of you? So selfish, leaving the fearful to hold on to the next, who's statue is strong, but they crumble, realizing they are poor in spirit. stuck. living a boring life.

Foolishness I feel. Congratulations you've duped me.
Bitterness leave this tongue. Go to where you are.
Rid yourself.
pretending as if nothing is there. Don't be alarmed if Im not there.
I am a concrete girl.
Only the feeling of depletion, the destructive failure, endless rejections.

I will rise, and see you at the end of the aisle.
because you have won the concrete girl.

Ohhh Jesus, you are too kind.

"So often you become discouraged. You do not bear with yourself at all. I, your Jesus, have endless patience with your flaws and weaknesses. You must trust Me to forgive you and overlook these human frailties. I am not like a spy, waiting to catch you at bad behavior. Rather; I am your greatest advocate. I applaud your small attempts at holiness."

LOST IN TRANSLATION

How much more do I need to love you.
How much more do I need to wait.
How much longer do I have to stand on my own.

Not alone from you, but lonely.
How much do I need to love you
before I am satisfied.

A broken record I feel.
Stuck in the waiting room.
Stepping into you, only yet to be another moment,
another moment to see what is to come.
And after endless moments,
you're becoming lost in translation.

Like a bad relationship
I keep coming back to You.
Believing in your promise.
A promise that has almost become empty to me.

But I am here, trying to not lose you in translation.

No love like the Fathers.

I want to blog about this so I don't ever forget. After Easter Mass, my dad puts his arm around my shoulder and whispers in my ear as we're walking outside. It goes a little something like this,

"I relate more to you than I do to john because of our melancholic ways. I love you deeply. Mary you are the apple of my eye. I take deep interest in your happiness, and I will cherish you always."