Confession I

As I've been going around researching prayer, I'm starting to see alot of reasons why humans have a NEED to pray. The first reason I saw is that we may actually have a spiritual need. Other reasons are for comfort, guidance, and for forgiveness. Now for years I never had a need to pray, at least not one that I recognized. I thought I could handle absolutely everything on my own. Any problem I caused, I could certainly solve since I so adeptly help others solve their problems. I've dealt with some pretty challenging situations in my life, and because of those triumphant wins I figured I could just take everything as it came. That was until the bottom fell out of my world before I had a chance to make amends. So why am I being consumed with the overwhelming desire to know God and know how to pray now? I toiled with the idea of posting something so deeply personal, but because holding it in has had absolutely no effect..... here's to giving out a try. Confession number One:

For most of my life I've had what so many people around the world seem to have: daddy issues. That's putting it lightly. I won't air out all the nitty gritty specifics here because a) it's not the time, place, nor occasion b) because my dad's not here to defend or explain himself and c) because once someone vanishes from the planet forever, the list of grievances you have with them seems to vanish just as suddenly... leaving behind a handful of memories that highlight only the good. People always say that, and of course I never believed them. And why would I? Indifference and disconnection is so much easier than forgiveness sometimes.

So suffice it to say that my dad and I had a very difficult, painful, tumultuous, and grudgeful history. He was a constant reminder of why I should give having children a long, hard thought before I attempted it since you can so irrevocably devastate another human's life simply by giving that very life. At the age of 12 I bravely decided that it was easier to forget he was around at all then it was to deal with the emotional ups and downs of being his daughter. The way that I can so easily dismiss people today still hurts and is a testament to how dark the period was when that coping mechanism was developed. Of course completely ignoring him until I was 18 didn't make him go away and alot more hurt during that time led to quite a bit of therapy, a couple of anti-depressants, and a few broken-hearted boyfriends who tried to love me but didn't know how. My dad didn't seem to know the pain he caused and more often than not went around acting like nothing was wrong... which turned the hurt into anger and hatred over the years. So exhausting was this relationship and the wake of tattered relationships between my dad and my mom and sister, that there was a time we actually thought he had died and all I felt was relief. That's not even the confession yet. And that's the thing. I never in my life wanted him to die, but on that night it was something I could accept. That was a long time ago.

Fast forward to the last couple of years. Without us ever having a conversation to hash out all the blows of the past, my dad just started changing on his own. He just started trying to be a better father to me. And there were times when I loved it so much because I needed that from him, but there were other times when I hated him for not trying sooner, for not trying enough, and for assuming all he had to do was say a few nice words and think all was forgiven. Unfortunately, my inability to let go and to forgive him won out more often than not. This was the spot we were in on the night he died in April.

I was coming off of a two week stint where I didn't return a single phone call of his because I was mad at him for the millionth time. He had disappointed me in some [trivial] way (trivial now, at least) and I just couldn't be bothered to call him. And here's where it gets extra painful. He was only calling to tell me about a trip he was on and trying to find out what souvenir I wanted and what books I'd like if he went to a flea market. AND I DIDN'T FUCKING ANSWER THE PHONE. As I type, I can barely breathe it hurts so much. I heard from a voicemail he left that he was sick and I blew it off. I wasn't quite over the stupid issue I had with him yet. I'd deal with him the next week, I decided. And then he was dead. When I got the news I started screaming at the top of my lungs in my car. No pain he had ever caused came within an inch of that moment that dealt the most shockingly, mind-blowing pain I've ever felt in my whole life. Not all of it combined. And now six months later, I'm still dealing with a mountain of grief that I can't even fully access yet because I can't get over the guilt I feel. My dad died alone in a bathroom in a motel room of heart failure without having heard his bitch daughter's voice in over two weeks. It is so hard to type these words but I have to let it out. They're the truth. My dad was trying his best to make things right, but he just wasn't doing it fast enough for my busy schedule and now he's gone. I'm still here, sorrier than anyone could ever possibly be.

There are only three beings in the universe that can offer me forgiveness for this. One of them is dead. One of them is me, and based on previous experience I know that forgiveness from Kim is damn near impossible to come by. The third, and my only hope, is God. So when I pray tonight, I will beg Him with everything in me to forgive me. And if he does, then I'll ask him to help me forgive myself. And then I'll ask him to help me deal with the loneliness left in knowing that the world is so much emptier now that the man that gave me life has lost his.

This is but one of the terrible things I've done. Trust me, I'm starting small.

Episcopalian Reprieve

I didn't make it to any church last week because... well, I just didn't that's why. I chose the Episcopalians this week after a very interesting and funny talk with my roommate about Catholics v. Episcopals. I'm not entirely sure I was able to make out the difference, but I became fixated on receiving a blessing from either. I was entirely sure that I did NOT want communion (I'm baptized Catholic, I can totally receive), but because the idea of placing my mouth on the same chalice as 300 other eager cannibals (the whole body/blood of Christ thing) gives me the eeby-jeebies. As my friend pointed out, Jesus WANTS us to eat and drink him, but I feel pretty weird about that inside. So with my greedy heart set on being blessed without hassle, I chose the Episcopalians.

The church itself was beautiful and very old. There was stained glass, but no dying or bloody Jesus' (this is not the place for you if that's what you're in to). I chose this particular church because I went to a Women of Faith panel a few weeks ago and the female Minister of this church was part of the panel and she really impressed with me with her intelligence and tolerance. Ironic that I went today. Turns out it was her last service here in Baton Rouge as she is moving to Kentucky (of all places). Her first few words hit me! I'm noticing a trend with that. You'll see what I mean.

I've been having a hard time with prayer, right? I don't feel like I'm doing it right. My prayers are stupid, I stutter, I don't know what to call Him, and on and on and on and on. WELL... the message she had for me was this: that first of all, you don't get a report card on your prayers! Wow! I'm not sure if she has the authority to notify me of this, but it sure felt good to hear. She said, simply, there's no A or B or C prayer. All you have to do is be open enough to accept the answer, even if it's new and drastically different than the way you thought it should be. She said it's probably not a good idea to go in with a list of exactly what you want and when. I'm in no danger of this. I've never even given Santa a list of things I wanted. Seriously, demanding gifts of a stranger is tacky whether you've been naughty OR nice. Really, my only prayer is to help me feel like I'm not alone. I think it's pretty simple, but God is taking his sweet time. It's ok though.

The calm hour of peaceful happy I feel in church (except that one church with the cleavage rock band) is better than I'm able to feel any other way in my life. And surely there must be something driving me to try strange, new churches week after week? I'd like to believe there is, but maybe it's just plain boredom or even my adventurous spirit. Who knows? As for the blessing, by the time it was time to receive that or the cannibalistic body and blood of Christ, I was far too humbled. I started to realize how much I'm blessed already. Blessings are defined as a special favor, mercy, or benefit. I have so many of these that I never asked or thanked God for that I felt like a fool for choosing a church solely on the basis of receiving an extra, intangible one. It's funny, but losing my dad and my life the way I knew it showed me how incredibly... blessed... I am for having my wonderful and amazing sisters, my mom, my beautiful friends, my pain in the ass but lovable students, and the opportunity to feel all the love, hate, beauty, anguish, joy, turmoil, anger, solice, solitude and host of other feelings I get to feel that are either lovely and/or agonizing all in one breath. So, no. I didn't stand in line to get blessed by the nice lady minister.

Back to the Episcopalians, I even got to witness baptism at this church. I found it strange, though, that infants are called upon to promise that they'll shun the temptations of the world and follow Jesus. I understand that people standing in for you can take the vow on your infant behalf, but that is a weighty and near impossible task to take on. I was probably a pretty sweet baby, but I feel sorry for the fools who vowed that I'd walk in the "way of the light." Some days I feel I can barely walk at all. Hmmm... infant baptism. I'll have to ponder that this week. Until then, I'll continue practicing my clumsy yet adequate prayers.

Strawberry Shortcake, Faith, and Menstrual Cramps

This post won't be about my church visit this week. I did attend a service this past Sunday just so you know I'm still in hot pursuit. It was a Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses (no cleavage or coffee shops). But since this religious experience is just as much about following my heart, I have no choice but to comply and write about just how badly I want faith. I've mentioned it before, but it is dominating my every thought today.

The only thing I've ever wanted in a way that was remotely close to faith was a Strawberry Shortcake doll when I was around six. I was never big on causing scenes in public (I'd wait till I got home to let them rip), but the day I laid eyes on her was the day I threw the absolute worst tantrum the TG & Y "department store" next door to Piggly Wiggly had ever seen. I have no verifiable proof of this, but just trust me. It was bad. There was kicking. There was screaming. And oh yes, there was definitely some hurling-myself-to-the-ground more than once action. I wanted that damned little doll so much. With her freckles. And her strawberry scented hair. And her hat with the strawberry on it. Oh how I longed to be with her in the comfort of my home instead of behind packaging. Speaking of, I ripped the packaging during my tantrum. That's how I smelled her hair. Sigh.

Alright. Now faith. OH MY GOD I WANT IT SO BAD. Trust me. If it was socially acceptable to do so, I would throw the mother of all tantrums if I thought it would help. Instead, I find myself making shoddy and desparate prayer attempts (usually) while I'm driving. Today was one of my more fervent dialogues with God. It consisted mostly of body-shaking, snotty sobs and the word PLEASE. Did I mention I was driving. It won't be long before they revoke my license. I've never been in this situation before. I feel no connection to God but I DO feel an overwhelming desire to want a connection. Worst of all, I have absolutely no idea how to ask. I've tried the following: "Please give me faith", "Pretty please give me faith", "Please help me to know what to ask you for so that I can have faith", "Please endure these horrible prayers because they're a work in progress and I fully recognize that I have neither the proper envelop nor stamp to get my communication with you into the next town much less heaven". This time I even begged to not be one of the people on the earth who just can't feel "IT" no matter what. I had a dream last night that I saw faith in a store. For some reason, it took the form of a glowing purple orb and when I reached out to touch it, my had went right through it. Sucker.

All I know is that I need God so much. I never thought I would say that. I need there to be one being that I won't drive to insanity. I need to know that someone is there. I need to feel a little peace and quiet in my brain. I can't get my brain to just shut it lately. I'm trapped in a head that is full of relentless bitching... you know... never a kind word, always making me feel guilty, telling me what a mess I made, telling me that I need to stop wasting God's time like I waste the time of so many earthlings. It's a nightmare!

So, as anyone can plainly tell from the tale of Strawberry Shortcake (oh, how I loved her), I am clearly no stranger to desire. Honestly, I've had hundreds of desires this month alone from chocolate to being able to see my dad again. But none of my desires come close to the strongest one of all: a feeling that God is within, around, above, under me along with any other host of prepositions. I'll take Him and his grace/holy spirit/groovy vibe whether it comes in the form of Strawberry Shortcake, a purple orb, or even menstrual cramps. God knows how much I hate menstrual cramps. Now he knows I mean business.