“Candygram”

Hi you guys… sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you, especially since I believe the word “Monday” had been bandied about, but I’ve been otherwise occupied and haven’t been able to reach into myself to pull out anything interesting for your perusal. In fact, I haven’t felt anything interesting for a very long time, except in fits and bursts.

I’ve been lying on my bed for the last few hours, reading and thinking. I’m reading a book about angels, and – as is my wont – have been crying at every story. Each paragraph is punctuated by my plea of “Jesus, please…” I miss the supernatural, as I’ve said so many times before; but I’ve been so dry-dusted by the church that I can’t go down the same paths anymore to find it. I used to play my piano and sing songs to God, but I’ve been so indoctrinated by worship-as-entertainment that I can’t do it without envisioning a very human audience of critics and fans. I haven’t read my bible for ages; I’ve tried, but it means almost nothing to me. I saw an interview with Cat Stevens, now Yusuf Islam, and despaired for myself in the face of his devotion to God. I watched Stigmata again the other night, and if Scott hadn’t been with me I would have wept unabashedly as I did the last time at the feelings it provoked: desire for God, hope that he’s paying attention, and deep anger at how my faith was sullied and crushed in the hands of the church organization.

I’m becoming aware (yet again) of the possibility that this whole arid time may just be a clearing of the way, so that I can experience God anew. One of the verses used by the author of the angel book invoked praise as a means of bringing in the blessings of God – something I’ve heard countless times before – but it’s been so long since I thought that way that the idea seemed novel, like something new I should consider trying. This naivete seems like a good thing to me. I’m asking, “Jesus, please…” because I have no idea what to do. I know I make light about becoming a nun, but in the depths of my heart, I wish, I wish. I’m not even Catholic. I’m not affiliated with any denomination whatsoever. I just really want God.

I’ve lost myself, and have been blaming Scott for it. I saw this clearly an hour ago, when he called me in to dinner. I had been in the bedroom, and when I walked into the kitchen and saw the plate Scott had prepared for me: shrimp fanned out neatly in a pattern, a small ramekin of cocktail sauce, a fat bowl of homemade clam chowder - my favorite spoon; I understood how blessed I am that God has given me this man for a husband. If I want to become nun-like, Scott will let me. He’ll bless me, give me space to grow and hours alone every day, listen eagerly to my revelations, and then make me dinner. (No no – I wouldn’t want to give that up, so let’s just say in every other way I can become nun-like. =o) Scott’s a gift. He’s not perfect, but he is a gift.

Which helps me see that the burden for my own change lies on my shoulders. The nice thing is – the saving grace is – that since I’m helpless to make the actual changes on my own, God will bring the means of making them to me. I just have to want them enough to turn my face in a different direction. Up, probably. And ahead. Just out. Out of myself – and paradoxically, into myself – as well as out of the ordinary, since what I want is more than what I see.

This past week has brought revelation to me. A flint has been struck, and creative sparks are igniting my little grey cells. I started making a necklace last night, using old beads, a thin strip of rawhide, sterling silver wire, and a stone pendant Scott’s mom gave me. It’s still unfinished, but already beautiful. I remembered that I’d been working on a book and felt a little tug in my heart towards it. I grabbed my journal and wrote – yes, gasp! with an actual pen – the truest thoughts of my heart, unedited. I began to remember what it’s like to envision something and then enact it, instead of letting life stream around me while I sit stuck in a muddy creek bed. I began to remember what it’s like to feel whole. Not that I’ve lived whole – ever. Don’t think that. It’s just that I used to feel whole a whole lot more than I do now. It’s a struggle to stay balanced and I’ve definitely been listing too far to one side for far too long.

What I’m leading up to is this: I can’t spend as much time on the computer as I have been because I’m starting to sink, and if I don’t grab the closest available wave and begin surfing towards the next one, I’ll drown. You know; keep moving, or die – like a shark. So, if I post only every few days, you’ll know why. If I don’t comment as often, or even if I disable comments, ditto. If I don’t come visit you as much, same. We can always chat over emails. I’ve made amazing friends and I know you’re not going anywhere…

…but if by some ill-conceived planning on your part you should - I’ll be forced to hunt you down and eat you, securing you in my belly until some fisherman catches me and rips open my dripping carcass with his serrated blade to rescue you. Honestly. Did you think I was going to leave you with a sugary-sweet taste in your mouth? Silly you. I take my leave in true fairy-tale style. Everybody eventually lives happily ever after anyway. I love you all, and I will see you around. Kiss hug. xo