De Profundis

Out of the depths I cry to You, O Lord; Lord, hear my voice.
Let Your ears be attentive to my voice in supplication.
If You, O Lord, mark iniquities, Lord, who can stand?
But with You is forgiveness, that You may be revered.
I trust in the Lord; my soul trusts in His word.
My soul waits for the Lord more than sentinels wait for the dawn.
More than sentinels wait for the dawn, let Israel wait for the Lord,
For with the Lord is kindness and with Him is plenteous redemption;
And He will redeem Israel from all their iniquities.--Psalm 130

It's been half a year since I blogged and I truly feel like I am coming "out of the depths." Today, as Lent begins, I felt like it was an opportune time to write again, to think again, to share again.

These past half year I've been looking at myself, especially at the role of forgiveness in our lives. During the next weeks, I want to share some of the insights I've gained and some of the ideas that have and are changing my life.

But for today, the ancient words of the Ash Wednesday service will suffice:  

Remember, woman, that you are dust and to dust you shall return.

Healing vs. Curing

Back before my Lent fell apart, I had been spending some time thinking about prayer, healing, and how it unfolds in our lives. Last night, when I couldn't sleep, my mind turned to the topic again.

I think, most of the time, when we pray for healing, we are really praying for a cure, and there is a difference between healing and curing. A cure removes, eliminates, eradicates the illness or problem. The tumor disappears, the depression is lifted, the blood tests return to normal. It is as if whatever was is no longer. We are cured.

This is what we see in the Gospels. Jesus goes among the people curing their illnesses. They get well. It's the same sort of thing that is required for a miracle for saint's canonization. A cure.

But healing, ah, that's a horse of different color as the Wizard of Oz says. Healing doesn't always entail a cure. Of course, it sometimes does, and that's what we are always hoping for, but often there is no cure involved.

In the past couple of days, I've read two accounts of people who believed they were cured. In both cases, which involved cancer, the tests indicated the disease had been conquered and in both cases, less than a month later, the cancer returned with a vengeance and the individual died within a few days.

My first thought was what a cruel trick God had played.  Letting someone thing they were cured and then ZAP, taking them down like a target in a video game.  To be honest, I still sort of feel that way even now. If the disease wasn't going to be cured, why have the tests come back normal? It really doesn't seem fair.

But the other side of the story is that in both cases, the individuals, on their deathbeds, asserted beyond any doubt that they had been healed.  Not cured. Healed.  They said they were now complete, whole, restored to the person God had created them to be. And because they were healed, it didn't matter that they weren't cured.

I'm grappling with this distinction as I continue to battle panic and anxiety. Could I say that I was healed if I continue to wake up in a cold sweat, heart racing and breath ragging all the rest of my life? Even if I felt like I was the person God created me to be?

It would be lovely and pious to say "Oh yes, I would rejoice that I had been healed even though I'm still breathing in paper bags on a regular basis to quell the hyperventilation" but that would be a lovely, pious lie. At least right now it would.

It's clear that we don't get to choose between healing and curing. I'm pretty sure that most of us would choose a cure because it means that whatever is causing us pain and suffering will be eliminated. Choosing healing, on the other hand, may mean that we will continue to suffer, even as the deeper parts of our soul are being restored.

I don't mean to imply that it's always a choice between cure and healing. Obviously people get both. And I'm just selfish enough that I want both. And I'd like them sooner rather than later.  I'm just not sure that God agrees!
 

A Lenten Failure and a Pope's Retirement

I had such high hopes for writing about my journey of Lent this year and what happened?
Well, life seems to have happened. Messy, snarled up, unpredictable life. And all my best-laid plans have gone down the proverbial drain.

Being a good Catholic, I am racked with guilt about my failure...coming so soon in Lent. It doesn't help when I read the profound musings of fellow bloggers and thing, "How do they do that???"

But one of the hallmarks of faith is to get up when you fall down.  So today I'm getting up again and thinking about Lent, and popes, and spring, and prayers.

For the past few years, life itself has provided me with more Lent than Easter. I can remember years when I looked forward to the self-imposed disciplines of fasting and giving something up. Now, in a season of my life when having to give things up -- like dreams that will never come to fruition, hopes that have been dashed forever, paths that can never be walked-- additional Lenten discipline feels superfluous.

In the midst of this, my Lenten failure, came the news that Pope Benedict was resigning, retiring to a life of prayer. Like many people, I didn't know that retirement was an option for a pope. I thought it was a bit like parenthood--you don't get to give up until the day you die and even then, I'm not so sure.

As I pondered the pope's retirement--and my Lenten failure--the thought suddenly came to me that perhaps it wasn't so much that he was retiring as he was starting over. He was giving up (willingly or unwillingly depending on which story of corruption and scandal in the Vatican you read) one chapter of his life to begin another one. "Even at his age, rebooting a life is possible, " I thought. "Until one draws one's final breath, there is always time to begin again."

As I pick up the pieces of Lent, it's a most comforting thought.

Lent Day Three--Prophesies of St. Malachy

Lenten Factoid

Buzzing around the internet and wriggling its fear-mongering text into the hearts of both Catholics and non-Catholics alike are the Prophesies of St. Malachy that say the next pope will be the last pope and after that....JUDGMENT DAY!

While it is certainly possible that the next pope could be the last pope, the Prophesies themselves are decidedly circumspect. The best scholars think they were written in the 15th century to influence a papal election because the are remarkably accurate up that era and then get much more vague. For instance, Benedict is called the "glory of the olive," and the Olivetans are affiliated with Benedictine Order.

For what theologians have to say about it, I suggest this link. 

Meditation

(This is from a book I'm working on on reflections throughout the church year.)

Friends of mine who are in 12-Step programs often talk about “working their program,” the key to their abstinence being to take life one day at a time, sometimes one moment at a time.

In many ways, the same approach is necessary as we seek to balance spirituality and work—day by day, minute by minute, living only in the present moment.

How to do this consistently is, of course, the big question. And it’s a question that is particularly relevant as we begin the Lenten season and the journey to Easter. I seem to achieve being present in the present best when I view all of my work as prayer. I don’t mean praying while working (rosary beads and keyboards seem to be mutually incompatible, at least with my fingers), but rather by considering my work itself as my prayer. In other words, to view everything I do in the workday, as an integral part of my prayer life.

When I think of work that way—as prayer—then no matter what I do, even if it’s boring, dull or unpleasant seems to increase my attention to detail and thus automatically increase the quality and care with which I work. It becomes, not a vicious circle, but a blessed one. As I strive to make my work into my prayer, my prayer becomes my work.

Prayer

O Christ Jesus.
When all is darkness and we feel our weakness
and helplessness, give us the sense of your presence,
Your love, and Your strength.
Help us to have perfect trust in 
Your protecting love and strengthening power,
so that nothing may frighten or worry us,
for living close to you. We shall see your Hand,
Your purpose, Your will through all  things.
Amen By St. Ignatius of Loyola, 1491-1556

Lent Day Two

Lenten Factoid of the Day

The word “Lent” from the Germanic for “Spring” was first used in the late Middle Ages when the pastors began to preach homilies in the vernacular instead of Latin. Prior to that, the season was called by the Latin term quadragesima meaning the "fortieth day" before Easter. Romance languages retain this sense, for example, Spanish cuaresma, Portuguese quaresma, French carême and Italian quaresima.

Lent Day Two

A friend on Facebook commented that Lent seemed a bit superfluous this year since she and her family had been undergoing many trials for the past several months. I could identify.

When you've been walking though the valley of suffering, 

focusing on more suffering for 40 days seems a bit counterproductive.

This time last year, I was aching from the loss of my mother and reeling from having learned that a great deal of money (at least a great deal to me!) had been stolen from her estate. A year later, the pain of the loss of my mother has eased and when I opened her checkbook to get information to pay her final taxes, I was no longer crushed by the sight of her handwriting. However, the theft issue still remains unresolved, although I'm told restitution is not likely. The trial has been post-poned and post-poned again and again until I'm not sure there even will be a trial. Add to that, or more likely because of these things, I have carried with me the burden of panic and anxiety almost every day.

This past year has been one long Lent with no Easter in sight.

 I think the hardest thing has been feeling both paralyzed, unable to do anything other than stare at the wall and perhaps play solitaire on my laptop, and so crazed that my heart seemed to be doing fish-flops...and feeling both at the same time.

So this Lent, what I've decided to do is simply accept those feelings as they come. I'm beginning to learn that when I try to force myself into action while feeling paralyzed, I get tossed into the fishbowl. And when I try to calm down in the fishbowl, I end up become even more frozen. It's a nasty and very vicious circle.  So today, feeling both like the deer in the headlights and the fish in the bowl, I've simply allowed myself to be both. Simultaneously.

At the same time, I have taken to breathing a very simple prayer: God, help me.  That's it. Normally I would add all sorts of explanation to my prayer, as if somehow God wouldn't quite know what I needed unless I spelled it out. But it finally dawned on me that I don't really know what I need. I don't really know how to calm the anxiety or remove the panic.  All I do know is that I need help. Not just once or twice, but over and over throughout the day and sometimes into the night.

I close my eyes and fall into the sense of frozen panic, an oxymoron if ever there was one, and say, God, help me.  If it's the only thing I do this Lent, I think it will suffice.

With that, I leave you with this traditional

Lenten Prayer

God, heavenly Father, 
look upon me and hear my prayer 
during this holy Season of Lent. 
By the good works You inspire, 
help me to discipline my body 
and to be renewed in spirit. 

Without You I can do nothing. 
By Your Spirit help me to know what is right
and to be eager in doing Your will. 
Teach me to find new life through penance. 
Keep me from sin, and help me live
by Your commandment of love. 
God of love, bring me back to You. 
Send Your Spirit to make me strong
in faith and active in good works. 
May my acts of penance bring me Your forgiveness, 
open my heart to Your love, 
and prepare me for the coming feast 
of the Resurrection of Jesus. 

Lord, during this Lenten Season,
nourish me with Your Word of life 
and make me one 
with You in love and prayer. 

Fill my heart with Your love
and keep me faithful to the Gospel of Christ. 
Give me the grace to rise above my human weakness. 
Give me new life by Your Sacraments, especially the Mass. 

Father, our source of life, 
I reach out with joy to grasp Your hand; 
let me walk more readily in Your ways. 
Guide me in Your gentle mercy, 
for left to myself I cannot do Your Will. 

Father of love, source of all blessings, 
help me to pass from my old life of sin 
to the new life of grace. 
Prepare me for the glory of Your Kingdom. 
I ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, Your Son, 
Who lives and reigns with You 
and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever.

Amen.

Ash Wednesday: Beginning the Walk of Lent

 Daily Trivia: Ash Wednesday

·         Ash Wednesday, despite being one of the most attended holy days of the year by Catholics around the world, is not an official Holy Day of Obligation. The ashes used to mark the cross on a person’s forehead are traditionally made by burning last year’s Palm Sunday palms.

 The Journey of Lent

I've been looking over all the wonderful resources online for Lenten retreats. Some of them are truly fabulous!  I know I can't compete with them, but what I do want to share these next 40 days is my own Lenten journey. I Had originally planned to focus on griefwalking, then I thought about healing, but last night, as I reflected on Pope Benedict's resignation, I decided I would simply talk about my own way, in the hopes that maybe it would resonate with someone else.

Anxiety and Grief

What has dominated my life for the past year or more has been at times almost crippling panic and anxiety. It started about the time that I knew my mother was dying. Since it was a long process for her--including nearly nine months on hospice--I was on edge for a long time as well. I never went to sleep without thinking that perhaps tonight would be the night I would get the call. Then when the call did come, I was plunged into the darkest sea of fear and anxiety I had ever experienced. A fear that has had its storms as well as a few moments of relative calm, but a treacherous and troubling sea nonetheless.

At times I thought I was losing my grip on reality, my sanity. Although I faced several difficult issues, including a major theft (which is still winding its way through the courts), financial, health, and relationship issues, I wasn't being pursued by tigers, even though the flight or fight mechanism was stuck in the on position. Then, last night, I was directed to an article written by a grief counselor that said anxiety should be one of the stages of grief. She wrote:

 In fact, anxiety is the most common symptom of grief that I see in my practice. But I also know that it’s often one of the most overlooked aspects of bereavement...

I must have read that statement a half-dozen times before it sank it. My almost paralyzing anxiety was normal! Just knowing that didn't eradicate the anxiety--even as I type this morning, my hands are shaking and my pulse is racing--and I didn't even have any caffeine!

Into the Desert

What does this have to do with Lent?  This year,  I'm not giving up anything per se. At least not i the traditional sense. What I am going to do is look at the relationship between anxiety, grief, healing, and faith.  So to begin, I offer you this prayer from St. Francis de Sales, the patron saint of Catholic writers:

Do not look forward to the changes and chances of this life with fear. Rather, look to them with full confidence that, as they arise, God to whom you belong will in his love enable you to profit by them. He has guided you thus far in life. Do you but hold fast to His dear hand, and He will lead you safely through all trials. Whenever you cannot stand, He will carry you lovingly in his arms.
Do not look forward to what may happen tomorrow. The same Eternal Father who takes care of you today will take care of you tomorrow, and every day of your life. Either He will shield you from suffering or He will give you unfailing strength to bear it.
Be at peace then, and put aside all useless thoughts, all vain dreads and all anxious imaginations.

---

Meditations for Lent

I've been toying with the thought for some time, but now felt the prompting of the Spirit and have decided to commit. (Yikes, commitment.  Yikes.)

I will be devoting the blog to meditations, ideas, thoughts, suggestions and whatever else seems appropriate during Lent.  The goal is to have an entry every day, so that you and I can journey together during this holy season.  Sundays may still just be dedicated to gratitude and prayer scorecard, but we'll see.

I think the overarching theme will be on healing--healing of griefs, healing of relationships, emotional healing, and, to some extent, physical healing. I want to explore what I've learned about healing and what I'm still learning.

Lent is a time for prayer, renewal and hope.  God knows I need all of those these year, so I hope you will join me on this journey.

Blessings on the journey.

The Healing Rollercoaster

Yesterday I reflected on the idea that healing was a bit like watching a flower bloom.
Today I'm thinking it's a roller-coaster.

One day, you are going up an incline, feeling like you are really making progress and thinking that perhaps in the morning, you will feel better than you have felt for weeks or months or even years.
Then the morning comes and you realize that you are plummeting down the backside, racing at heart-pounding speed through all the old familiar, unpleasant sensations.

At least that's how it's felt for me and the anxiety and fear that have accompanied me the past year or so.

It's really rather discouraging. Especially when I've been doing all the "right" things and then, without warning, the familiar sensations of racing heart, dry mouth, and ragged breath surface, adrenalin takes over and it's takes all my concentration to hold still.

I've read what seems like a hundred books and articles about quelling anxiety and while they all offer good advice, there is no sure cure. It is, as I'm coming to realize, a process involving trust and faith. Trust that it can end and faith that it will.

With Lent coming, I've been reading about the value of "offering it up," but this year, I'd rather not offer it up, meaning hang on and suffer with it, but offer it up as in give it away completely and let the Divine Physician renew and restore me from the soul out.