Be Still And Know That I Am God

Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by something beautiful and I pray spontaneously and with joy.

Sometimes I'm crushed by sorrow and I pray through tears.

Right now, I am crippled by fear and I can't seem to pray but by begging, in desperation, repeating the name of a beloved friend as though if God hears me say it enough He will save his life without me having to ask explicitly for Him to do so.

Michael is in the hospital following a massive heart attack and emergency surgery in which he recieved both an LVAD and an RVAD (Left and Right Ventricle Assist Devices). Once he stabilizes, he'll be on the list for a heart transplant.

He's been so incredibly strong, fighting like a trooper, but the road ahead is long and arduous. I'm trying really hard to balance optimism and hope while knowing that the odds aren't good. I'm trying to put this in God's hands while fighting the urge to tell Him I don't trust Him with this one, because if He really knew what He was doing, Michael would be just fine right now.

With Friends Like These

Well, that's not very WWJD if you ask me.

I Am Psychokinetic!

I can control the weather with my mind! Or my prayers!

The temperature today dropped markedly. Coincidence? I THINK NOT.

So instead of telling you the theme letter for the day, I'm going to beam it DIRECTLY INTO YOUR MIND. Sweet!

Dear God

Dear God:

Please, please, make the hot stop.

If this is your way of giving me a little taste of Hell so I'll go back to church, consider the lesson learned. BUT ONLY IF IT COOLS DOWN BEFORE SUNDAY.

Mama don't like to sweat.

Peace out,
City Elf

I Fought God, And I Still Don't Know Who Won

At Mass on Sunday evening*, Monsignor gave a homily about how I wanted to punch God in the face last year after someone I loved died, but that it was okay because I was carrying the cross. Maybe that's not exactly what he said, since he wasn't talking specifically about me, but it was close. I felt like Roberta Flack singing Killing Me Softly.

Seriously, how on earth do priests do that? It's like they look out at the crowd and say, "Oh, hey you, remember that time you felt horrible and it was hard as anything and you wanted to die? I KNOW ALL ABOUT IT. And I thought I'd talk about that to the entire church today."

He was discussing the transfiguration and how everyone, at some point, goes through a crisis of faith. He said sometimes it’s spurred by something that happens to us, like someone we love dies and we get angry at God and we push Him away. That's the time when we “go to the mountain” and see something bigger than ourselves, the time when our faith is made stronger.

I don't know if that's what happened to me, but I know I was (and sometimes still am) incredibly angry with God about the last year of my life. There were times when I didn't believe in God at all, and times when I believed, but only so that I could focus the burning hot hatred in my heart at someone who I didn't think was imaginary. I still don't understand how or why two of the people I loved most in this world are gone. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss them. If acceptance is the final stage of grief, it may be a very long time before I get there. And if acceptance is the mountain, I surely have a very long walk before I arrive.

Despite my mixed feelings about faith and religion and everything, it was an amazing hour of my life to sit in that church, listening to a moving homily and participating in an incredibly beautiful Mass. I highly recommend Holy Family in South Pasadena if you're a Catholic looking for a warm and welcoming parish.

* Yes, I actually attended Mass. Wonders really never cease.

All You Need Is Love

I woke up this morning thinking about what I might do for Lent.

I'm still not sure if I'll attend Mass today, as I tend to get a bit panicky and weepy when I go by myself. (Ah, Catholic guilt and shame, what a lovely combination...) However, I was thinking I want to do something that evokes love the way Jesus does.

I'm not too down with the austerity thing, most probably for selfish reasons, but also because I don't really see the point of giving up Diet Coke or red meat or coffee for 40 days. How does that strengthen my soul? I prefer to do something rather than give up something.

In the past year I lost two people I loved dearly without saying many things I always wish I had. For that reason, I decided to write love letters for Lent.

Most people think of love letters as what one writes to someone with whom one is in a relationship. Not me. I have an entire box filled with letters from my family and friends that I've received since I moved to California over fifteen years ago, and every single one of those is a love letter. In some of my darker times, I would open that box to read something that someone wrote to me years ago that made me smile or laugh and gave me a glimmer of hope and purpose.

My goal is to write one letter each day to someone in my life who I love and who has not heard enough from me about how they make my life fuller, richer, better, and happier just by being a part of it. Some people might consider it the easy way out of Lenten sacrifice, but I think it will be worth it to someone...and hopefully not just me.

The Way I Pray

I was on the phone with my mom on Tuesday morning while I was at the airport getting ready to head up to San Francisco. She's always worried about me and my immortal soul, and as usual, she mentioned to me how important it is that I pray more.

"Mom, I pray every time I get on an airplane," I told her. "It's like this: 'Dear God, now, wouldn't it be a shame for you to strike down all these good people sitting around me just because I'm a bad person? Do you really want to do that? I think it would probably be better if you just waited to smite me until after we land.' Because you know, with me on the plane, it's like a hostage situation for all those other folks."

For some reason, she didn't think that was very amusing.

Perhaps in retribution for my scandalous efforts at prayer, on the flight home I awoke to hear a startling, nerve-wracking alarm sounding over and over. I watched a flight attendant fiddle with something up front, and then the plane banked sharply. "Great," I muttered. "I'm going to die over Burbank Airport." Oddly enough, while I was vaguely frightened, my most overwhelming emotion was defeatist acceptance. ("Well, I guess I had it coming," I remember thinking.)

Obviously, everything ended up fine; the alarm stopped and we landed safely without any further issues. I did call a couple of people to share my possibly-near-death experience, but I think I'll refrain from telling my mom about it just yet.