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A Letter to My Representative

noreply@blogger.com (Tara) — Sat, 25 Feb 2012 01:30:00 +0000

Dear Representative:

This letter is to request your support for the Respect for Rights of Conscience Act (H.R. 1179, S.R. 1467). If passed, this act would oppose the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act (PPACA) – a rule by the Department of Health and Human Services mandating religious employers cover contraception and sterilization treatments in their health coverage. This mandate is a direct violation of the First Amendment, which safeguards citizens’ freedom of religion, making your support of H.R. 1179 urgent.

I’ve never written my representative before. Up until now, I’ve been somewhat of a complacent American. When elections are held, I vote. When the economy goes downhill, I gripe like everyone else. Other than that, I’ve always been satisfied with my country, for I’ve always considered myself blessed to live “where freedom reigns.” For the first time in my life, however, I no longer feel free, and that is why I’m writing.

My rights have been violated by the very government sworn to protect them.

I’m not writing to lecture you about abortion, how it defies God’s commandment to not kill. I’m not writing to explain the Catholic stance on contraception, how we deem reproduction a miracle – the creation of God’s very image and likeness on earth. I’m not writing to complain about society, its increasing immorality, or its utter refusal to be responsible for its own actions. I’m not writing to declare the sanctity of human life, from conception to natural death, either.

As a devout Roman Catholic, these are my beliefs, and I’m writing to ask you to defend them. Stand up for my ability to practice my faith, regardless of your ideology. To do otherwise would mean the shackling of my freedom, and (I fear) the birth of a monster intent upon destroying the qualities America was founded upon. Should freedom of religion become extinguished, what’s next? Evil only thrives while going unnoticed. It starts small and seemingly innocent, and before you know it, you’re in too deep.

I hear the term “religious conservatives” being tossed around, as though the group were a sort of disease. I suppose I’m a member of the aforementioned, as I’m mostly conservative and (as you can tell from my correspondence) certainly religious. But since when did loving God, working hard for one’s keep, and upholding His commandments become a crime punishable by law?

If PPACA should come to fruition, religious institutions would be held liable for not providing health coverage to employees. And let me assure you, they would sooner go to jail than risk offending God (I know, as many have told me so). Were I in their shoes, I’d do the same, for that’s the difference between our ideology and society’s. The beauty of this country is we’re able to practice these beliefs, both on Sunday and every day of the week.

I can’t imagine a world any different.

On February 10, President Obama declared a “compromise” on PPACA, stating the insurance companies (not the employers) would fund any sterilization treatments. I mean no disrespect, but people aren’t that stupid. Money does not grow on trees, and insurance companies do not hand out free birth control. For Obama to even suggest such a measure is nothing short of insulting. The employers will end up paying for these treatments, and they’ll do so in the form of higher insurance premiums. Should PPACA pass, Congress will (in essence) be forcing religious institutions to violate their consciences.

Please, regardless of your opinions and beliefs, don’t allow this to happen. Support the religious freedom America was founded upon, and sign the Respect for Rights of Conscience Act. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and God bless you.

Regards,

Tara Baker

(To get involved, please visit the National Committee for a Human Life Amendment, and write your congressman.)

A Matter of Life and Death

noreply@blogger.com (Tara) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 15:00:00 +0000

Have you ever stopped and thought about death? I mean really thought about it. What’s it like in those last moments? Does it hurt when the soul leaves the body, or maybe, feel strangely peaceful? What goes on around you? Do you see darkness, light, souls, angels…hot-purple, fire-flaming swirly things? What really happens?

Is it really the scary thing we fear, after all?

If you’re old (or elderly, rather), death’s not that big of a deal. At least, I don’t imagine it to be. That’s not to say it isn’t still a loss, but you’ve served your time on earth. Hopefully, by that point, you’ve reached sort of a “twilight phase” in your long life.

Hopefully.

When you’re young, on the other hand, death is truly a travesty. Your entire future is mapped out before you, or at least, roughly sketched. It’s this rough sketch that makes it exciting to be alive…so many possibilities, so many decisions to make, so much intrigue. To have them ripped away from you seems too cruel to imagine. It begs to ask “why?”

What’s the point of all this?

A friend’s nine-month-old baby is in a coma right now, and we don’t know if he’s going to make it. He’s been in and out for the past couple months, but things aren’t looking good at the moment. Man, that’s got to be the worst, you know? Not only is your baby likely dying, but you’ve also had nine months to nurture, love, and bond with him. How can your heart not break at the thought of that?

How can it not ask “why?”

The situation got me thinking hard about death, not in a suicidal way, but a contemplative way. I wondered the usual questions: when will it happen, how will it happen, will it hurt? I had to snap out of it, though, because you can’t ponder these thoughts without depressing yourself in the process.

And I was depressed, afterwards! I realized how tiny, insignificant, and helpless a creature I am. My life – my only true possession – can be snatched from me at any moment, without my know-how, and without my say-so.

It belongs to Somebody Else.

But how can I trust this Somebody Else? What’s this Somebody Else going to do with me, my soul? Will this Somebody Else be mean or nice? Will He make death hurt? Does He have a genuine interest in me, or am I just His play thing? Why can’t this Somebody Else just leave me be? Is He really as cruel as the death He makes us undergo? I pondered these questions for a bit, and then I realized something…

The thing that sets Christianity apart from other religions is the fact that its God – its actual, Supreme Being – stooped lowly enough to walk among us, and eventually, partake in our suffering of death. Other religious figures were great teachers who lived and died, yes; but none of them ever claimed to be God. They were not of Supreme origin; they had to die. Christ (Who did claim to be God) didn’t.

To make such a claim in that day and age, He was either a lunatic or telling the truth.

God probed the dark, mysterious abyss of death Himself. He went through the motions we all must undergo: fear, doubt, pain, and expiration. He felt what we all must feel at some point…the complete and utter abandonment of life as we know it. He led the way into the black forest of mortality, confronted the many shadowy creatures it inhabits.

Because God went ahead of me, I know there’s nothing to fear.

Death is still a mystery to me, in spite of His sacrifice, but at least I can trust Him. How can you not trust someone who would die for you? Christ (Who is God) knows how it feels when the soul leaves the body. He knows what you see in those last moments. He knows what it is to fear death, bleed, expire.

God knows what it’s like to live and die.

My conclusion of this didn’t lessen my fear of death, though. I’m still young; I still have so many years ahead of me. I can’t even stand a paper cut, so if it’s gonna hurt, I don’t feel capable of coping at the present moment. Yes, I still fear death to a certain degree.

But I’ve accepted death, or rather, the reality of it. The when, where, and how aren’t up to me; they’re up to Him, and I’ve accepted that, too. The difference is now, I trust Him…I trust Him with my whole life, quite literally. God would not have endured the experience of our death if He didn’t care, didn’t want to relate to us. I know I’m not merely His play thing. I’m much more, and so are we all.

There’s a reason for our being here, no matter how young we die.

Now, I truly see God in the flesh. I see him in the manger – a bundle of fat, chunky, baby flesh. I see Him as a young boy, playing in the streets and getting a boo-boo. I see Him as a man at work, stressed with orders and deadlines to beat. I see Him sweltering under our hot sun, seeking shelter in our thunder storms. I see Creator and creature embracing, becoming one.

I see Creator leading creature through death, and back to life.

So I'm thinking of becoming a nun.

noreply@blogger.com (Tara) — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 15:00:00 +0000

The following is a recycled blog, from the time I was discerning a religious vocation. While I’m no longer considering becoming a nun, it’s nice to look back and remember God’s invitation to know Him better. I’m so happy I accepted.

On Wednesday, I’m meeting with the Director of Religious Vocations. To say I’m nervous would be an understatement.

On one hand, I’m nervous about the boldness of this meeting. What started off as a joke about becoming a nun evolved into serious contemplation, albeit secretive. Now not only am I contemplating sisterhood…I’m actually taking a step in that direction. A small step, yes, but a step nevertheless.

On the other hand, I’m nervous that - once I meet with the Director - he’ll be horrified at my presence, shoo me out of his office, and tell me never to consider the religious life again. I’m unfit, not worthy.

In other words, I’m afraid to learn more about the very thing I’m afraid won’t happen.

Sounds silly, I know, but that’s how the discernment process goes…for me, at least. They say a person needs to be “called” to religious life, as though God has them on speed dial. If only it were that simple. What I wouldn’t give to see the heavens open and hear a voice declare, “Tara, I want you for my spouse. Become a nun.”

This “crazy, nun idea” started almost three years ago, when I first lost my job. I joked with friends that - since I was unemployed and had no love life - I might as well take my vows. We were laughs all around, but somewhere beneath the humor of it all, I felt a tinge of seriousness. I quickly dismissed it, though, for the idea of me becoming a nun made about as much sense as Bin Laden joining the Peace Corps. Not to say that I’ve a terroristic heart, but I like boys, clothes, makeup, concerts, shoes…

I’m a girl, for crying out loud!

But the Lord, indeed, works in mysterious ways. Over the course of my unemployment, He and I have strengthened our bond. I now know that was His intention all along. Creatures seldom look to Him when life is peachy, for we’re foolish enough to believe we can survive without Him. We don’t need Him…until we do. The moment tribulation strikes, we cling to Him like a baby to its mother. For this reason, He sends suffering our way…to remind us that we are nothing without Him.

The more we suffer, the more we lean on Him, the stronger our tie to Him.

It seems, however, He’s gone the extra mile in my case. I can’t explain why or how, because I can’t put God into a jar. Whatever He’s done to me, though, has been powerful. When I was a little girl, I both loved and feared Him. I still love and fear Him, but there’s something more at play. It’s as though He’s wooing me, and at the risk of sounding sacrilegious, I’m falling in love with Him.

I’m falling in love with Love itself.

When my discernment was in its infancy, He was like the little boy who pulls his crush’s pigtails because he knows no other way to get her attention. He annoyed me, to be quite honest, and I kept telling Him to go away. He didn’t. He refused to. His persistence was that of a man in love – a man who would do anything to win the heart of his beloved. With such determination, how could I not rethink my rejection of Him?

But I’m only human, and I operate via the senses. I need evidence – proof that what I’m feeling is what He’s wanting – so a few weeks ago, I asked Him for a sign.

"Please show me Your love for me," I prayed. "I know You do, and I hope You don't feel I'm testing You, but I just need a little help here."

Later that evening, I drove to the church, as the Confirmation class was receiving the sacrament, and we had to rehearse the ceremony. About an hour passed, when we heard bells toll, indicating the Blessed Sacrament was entering the church. I took to the nearest pew, knelt, and immediately noticed a hot pink, heart-shaped gemstone atop one of the hymnals. It probably came from a little girl’s necklace, but at that moment, it signified so much more…

It was the sign I asked for...the symbol of God’s love for me.

But I still have doubts about a religious vocation, and no…they’re not about chastity. A few years ago, the opposite would’ve been true. But I’ve prayed unceasingly for God to help me find a good man, or if not, to help me be okay as a single woman. He chose the latter, for I no longer have the desire to even date, much less marry. It’s not that I don’t like men, but I love God more than any man could ever understand or tolerate.

If anything, it’s the fact that - should I become a religious - I would have to leave Bella, my dog. She could and would stay with my mom, who loves her just as much as I do, but the thought still breaks my heart. I raised Bella since she was a puppy, and to say we’re attached would be the understatement of the year. I’d take a bullet for that dog, I love her so much. While I would hate leaving my family and friends for the convent, it’s the thought of never seeing Bella again that commands tears from my eyes.

What does that say about me?

There’s also the fact that life as I know it would be drastically different, although not necessarily bad. The vow of poverty means abandonment to all things, comforts. No makeup, Facebook, cozy mattresses, rich meals…the list could go on. But at the same time, I find myself longing for exactly this. Only in stripping ourselves of worldly attachments can we hope to live for heaven, for when we remove the “junk,” we leave only room for Him and His consolations.

But I’m getting ahead of myself here. I just need to talk to the Vocations Director, hear him out. After I learn more about the religious life, different orders, and what to do next, I’ll have a clearer mind. At least, I hope so. In the meanwhile, I’ll ponder these words from Thomas Kempis’ Imitation of Christ:

“The nature of thy Beloved is such that He will not admit a rival, but He will have thy heart for Himself alone.”

Heavenly Flowers

noreply@blogger.com (Tara) — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 18:00:00 +0000

It was Valentine’s Day 2004, and I felt crummy. That’s not to say that I was sick…at least, not physically. Emotionally, on the other hand, I was a mess.

That morning, I walked into work surrounded by flowers, balloons, and romantic cards, none of which were addressed to me. Why would they be for me? Single girls don’t get mushy stuff for Valentine’s Day. I found myself longing for the second grade all over again, when the entire class swapped cheap cards with Donald and Daisy Duck on the front, pledging their love for you.

In the second grade, nobody felt unwanted.

Only this wasn’t grade school – this was adulthood, and in adulthood, Valentine’s Day was serious business. Your worth as a woman was based solely upon your relationship status, and being single meant a lousy Valentine’s Day by default. On the flipside, having a special someone meant loads of chocolate, flowers, and possibly a miniature teddy bear or two. In other words, you were cherished, important.

On this particular Valentine’s, I did not feel cherished or important. The woman in the cubicle next to me, however, certainly did. So as not to appear rude, I smiled while she rambled on about the romantic evening her boyfriend planned, but I didn’t hear a word coming out of her mouth. Rather than pay attention, I mentally recited a mantra designed to get me through that wretched day…

“I am single and fierce,” I tried to convince myself.

It didn’t work. I still felt lousy.

Perhaps my disposition would’ve been cheerier had that not been my third Valentine’s Day in a row as a single girl, but it was. For three years, my relationship status consisted of myself and my dog – not a bad combo, but certainly not ideal for a twenty-something gal living on her own. I dated, but I just couldn’t seem to make a connection with anyone. In the Game of Love, I continuously got up to bat, only to strike out once again.

To make matters worse, all of my friends were either dating, getting married, or having babies, and I desperately wanted the same. Their successes in life and love made me feel insignificant, to say the least. It was as though they all formed some secret club, and I lacked the qualifications for membership. Who was I if not someone’s girlfriend, wife, or mother? For the life of me, I could not understand why God forbad me to find love like everyone else, and I quickly grew angry at Him.

That Valentine’s Day, I left work and took that anger out on a bottle of Merlot and a box of chocolate. I sat idly on the couch watching horror movies – my personal protest against the surplus of romantic comedies playing on Prime Time. I may have been forced to join everyone’s love fest in the office, but I refused to do the same on my own time. I was miserable, and I wanted God to know it too.

“Ever since I was little, I prayed for You to send me someone,” I told Him. “Well? Where is he? Why is everyone I know in love, and I’m not? Am I not good enough?”

Just then, through the corner of my eye, I saw a burst of color outside my window. There (on the barren, winter ground) was a patch of wildflowers in every color: red, yellow, orange, and purple. Were it not for the dead nature surrounding them, I wouldn’t have even noticed their presence, but their foreign quality made them magnificent. They were like a mirage in the desert to a thirsty traveler – a sign of life in the face of destitution. They were a miracle that only God could perform.

And that’s when it hit me…they were from God.

For fair measure, I stepped outside and checked around, only to find dry branches and dirt in the vicinity. The sole sign of life was the bouquet planted by my windowsill, and that’s how I knew, understood. In His own, special way, God wished me a Happy Valentine’s Day. He wanted to show me just how much He loved me, which He did by giving me an impossible and beautiful gift.

I finally got my flowers, and so much more.

Persecution in 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Tara) — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 22:17:00 +0000

“If the world hates you, remember it hated me first.” - John 15:18

I remember the first time I experienced religious persecution. I was thirteen years old, and it was Ash Wednesday. My mother – a devout Catholic – insisted we get our ashes at the crack of dawn. This meant I had to walk the halls at school with a smudge on my forehead…and suffer the snickers of classmates, as a result. Kids are, after all, cruel creatures.

The marking might as well have been a bull’s eye.

I exited the bus and searched the crowd for a friend, or even better, another soul stained with ashes. I found no one, save peculiar eyes which pierced through me. Some kids were merely curious; they genuinely wanted to learn the ashes’ significance. Most, however, were joyous at the thought of acting heartless. Like starved lions presented with fresh meat, they wasted no time devouring me.

“You look stupid.”

“Look at Tara; she doesn’t take baths.”

“Hey Tara, you got something on your face.”

Their comments came one after the other, and with each, I lost a piece of my dignity and esteem. I went from human being to freak – the runt of the litter abandoned for being different. The school day (already long by nature) seemed an eternity, and in spite of the long hours, I knew my torment wouldn’t end with the final bell. I knew I would never live this down, for I had marked myself permanently.

My classmates’ torments were so many in number, they are now a blur in my mind. One comment, however, stands out to this very day:

“Why don’t you just go in the bathroom and wash it off?”

It made sense. After all, the cause of my anguish wasn’t a permanent handicap. The difference between peace and pain – having a good day or a bad day – was as simple as a splash of water to the face. Upon arriving at school, I could’ve rushed to the restroom, done the deed, and spared myself all ridicule. Why hadn’t I thought of that before?

Why hadn’t I thought of that before?

Now an adult who’s matured in her faith, I know the answer to that question. I hadn’t thought to wash off my ashes, because I loved God too much to hurt Him. And I loved God too much to hurt Him, because (for some reason) He blessed me with the grace necessary to love Him to such a degree. He gifted me with an immense fear of Him, and this fear has only grown with our relationship. Were I missing this fear – this respect for Him – I have no doubt I would’ve removed the ashes from my brow.

I would’ve given in to the peer pressure.

This world lacks fear of the Lord, and to an astounding degree. Rather than aspire to spiritual greatness, we bask in our natural juices of greed and pride. To aid our selfishness, we turn to advancements in science and technology, which provide us the illusion of control over our lives. God is soon forgotten, for what use is He if we have all the power?

With God out of the picture, we go about our business. We feel free to gorge on carnal pleasures, and we do so to the point of sickness. When our recklessness bears consequences, we whine like spoiled brats, as though we don’t deserve the punishment. If we think of God at all, it’s only to curse Him, or worse, to deny His existence.

We refuse to be responsible for our own actions.

If people feared God, they would think about their choices. They would be aware of His eye, constantly upon them, and they would shudder at the thought of disappointing Him. Nothing in this world – no pleasure, not even death itself – would take precedence over pleasing God, and they would abandon all control to Him.

Instead, we greedily grasp for as much control as possible.

While I hate talking politics, it appears the Obama Administration is determined to choke religious liberty out of the United States. By August 2012, all religious employers will be required to provide health insurance which covers birth control, abortion, and other treatments against reproduction. On Friday (after immense pressure from religious organizations), Obama watered down this rule as a “compromise,” stating the insurance companies – not the employers themselves – would provide all services.

My question is what’s the difference?

Insurance companies aren’t going to hand out free birth control and abortions. The money has to come from somewhere, and more than likely, the money will come from the wallets of these religious institutions. Does Obama really think the American people are that stupid? It’s insulting, if you think about it.

Skim through the Internet, and you’ll read a lot of opinions regarding the issue, most of which slam the Catholic Church for being “behind the times.” In other words, the world expects God to yield to its demands, not the other way around. God is under attack now more than ever, and if you walk with Him, you’re under attack as well.

You’re persecuted.

While I didn’t understand at the time, I now know why God allowed my peers to torment me so. Through the suffering, He was exercising my soul in fortitude – a necessary virtue if you’re to serve Him in this world. He was giving me a taste of things to come, a sample of the world’s natural hatred towards Him. He was instilling within me a love for Him, an assurance that – no matter how ostracized I am – He will always be at my side. No more do I shrink before the opinions of others, for being a contradiction in the world is a good thing. When the world hates you, it means you’re on the right path.

You’re on the path towards heaven.

Love Letter to God

noreply@blogger.com (Tara) — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 00:16:00 +0000

My Lord, I bow before you and humbly beseech your mercy. Please permit me – your sinful servant – to address you, the Holy of Holies.

I often struggle in proclaiming my love for you, not due to a lack of it, but rather, due to the magnitude of your greatness. How can I – a mere human – express in words how awesome you are, how grateful I am to you? I need you like the body needs air, and you fill me. I love you like the flower loves the sun, and you are the spring to life’s winter. You are the source of all that is good, and from you, I draw the love I so desperately seek.

I’ve always drawn from you.

When I was a little girl, you were the father I never had, and to this day, I still feel your constant protection over me. Now a woman, I’ve fallen in love with you, for I see you as you truly are…the prince I dreamt of as a child. You love me in spite of my flaws, and you hold me with your strong arm. Just as a husband longs to please his wife, you bestow upon me countless blessings. Every December 1, you spoil me with warm weather for my birthday, because you know much I detest the cold.

Thank you for that.

Even without these blessings, however, I would praise you, for you are everything to me – King, Savior, Father, Brother, Friend, and Love. You are love itself, the very object I’ve searched for my entire life. And I’ve found it in you. In you, all my questions are answered. And yet, there’s so much more I have to learn about you – so much more you’ve yet to teach me. Just when I think I have all the answers, you reveal more to me, and I am amazed at how much amazement I can feel.

Jesus, my love, please draw near to me. I’m not worthy, my Lord, and I know this. I’m nothing but a lowly servant, and a poor one, at that. My heart aches when I think of the times I’ve upset you, not done your will. It’s difficult living for you in this exile, but for this very reason, I need you all the more. I need you by my side at all times, to protect me. I need your strong arm around me, your sword in front of me. You are Almightiness itself, and every knee must bend before you, even those of the demons which seek to devour me.

All fear you, the One who loves me dearly.

Please Lord, don’t ever leave me. Hold me in your arms as a father holds his child, a husband holds his wife. Or if you must go, do not be far. But no, that won’t do! Even the slightest distance between us is enough for the enemy to strike, for me to fall. I’m weak, my Lord. I do not deserve your love, and I know this. But you desire to shower me with your graces, nevertheless, so I graciously accept. Please, don’t stop.

Never stop, but rather, always remain in me and I in you.

Make me – your servant – into the princess I was born to be, the princess I am. Help me believe this; help me feel my royal heritage, and give me the grace to live as a daughter of the King. Know – my Prince – that you will always reign supreme over my heart. All I ask is that you keep me in yours, as well. Lord, increase my love for you, for I can do anything in this life and the next through charity, the most powerful of virtues.

My greatest fear is upsetting you…my greatest shame, sinning against you. Please Lord, consider not my imperfections, but instead, look only upon my desire to please you. Help me to become your hand maiden – something in this wretched world which brings you joy. I can do nothing without your help, dear God…I can’t even love you. I need your assistance in all things, for I am nothing without you.

Make me good, and make me worthy of your love and mercy.

Out of all the world’s kings, none have ever died for their servants…but you did. You are great because you rule with love, and all of your creatures respond to this love, in one way or another. They cannot resist you, although many try. All living things must return to you, and when they do, they will face your justice. What I most look forward to is experiencing your love, complete and sweet. But for now, my Heart, give me just a sample of your affection for me, for even the greatest pleasures of earth could not compare to the smallest dose of your love.

Amen

Stranger in a Strange World

noreply@blogger.com (Tara) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 01:13:00 +0000

More and more, I feel less and less a part of this world.

As God digs His nails into me, His grip becomes tighter, and He pulls me farther from this exile. While I remain here in body, my mind and heart are elsewhere. I’d dare say they’re in the clouds…literally. My gaze is upon heaven, and my goal in this world is to achieve my eternal reward. I long for the day when – after serving Him faithfully – my Prince will come and rescue me. Even now, eons away, I feel His love for me.

I trust in His love, because He died to prove it to me.

Early in my Christianity, I would’ve yielded to the world, which all-too often demands a sacrifice of one’s faith. In my personal experience, this is especially true when it comes to Christianity, and more specifically, Catholicism. Every day – in one form or another – I’m asked to abandon my religion for the sake of people’s consciences regarding abortion, sex, the sacraments, and other issues.

Were it not for God’s grace, the world would’ve swallowed me up. I would’ve given in to the pressure, for it is only human nature to want to belong. Going against the group means ostracism, and ostracism often leads to exile. With me, however, the opposite appears to be true. The less the world loves God, the less I love the world, and the more I give my heart to Him. I do not fear exile, for in my mind, I’m already exiled. My true home is far away, the Kingdom of Heaven.

I’m a stranger in this place.

I liken the sensation to being awake during the gloaming – that hour when you don’t know if it’s too early or too late. I suppose it’s a matter of perspective – whether you’re just going to bed or just waking up – but that’s beside the point. The point is it’s dark, quiet, and still all around, and every living thing is asleep, save you. You’re isolated, alone, and defenseless against whatever eeriness it is that’s suffocating you.

You don’t belong, and yet, you’re here.

It’s a vast difference from waking hours, when the world is busy with itself. In this setting, you do belong. You go about your business mindlessly, just as everyone else does, unaware of the life that’s passing you by. Your day is run by clocks, schedules, phone calls, and traffic lights. You’re wrapped up in the commotion, for it’s the common thread that unites you to humanity, the world.

You are part of the big picture, albeit a small part.

When you live in God, and God lives in you, you see the world differently. Speaking personally, life has become much simpler – easier – after giving Him control. Who was I kidding? He had it all along; it was merely the power struggle between us which caused me turmoil. Now, things are different. He’s always on my mind, in everything I say and do, and because He’s taken His place upon the throne of my heart, the luxuries of this world no longer appeal to me.

The longer God lives in you and you in Him, the more wisdom He bestows upon you. You’re given a sixth sense, so to speak, which enables you to see the evil all around. How this evil went unnoticed by you in the past, you do not know. What matters is you’re now aware – your eyes are wide open – and you see the darkness abounding, manipulating the world like a puppeteer.

It makes you cling to God even more.

I no longer fear death. That’s not to say I long for it, as life is a gift from above, but no more is it the most dreaded of tasks. No more is it the end of life – this life which, by its very nature, is finite and filled with sin. Now, it is a beginning – a homecoming after a long and tiresome journey. It is a wedding, when Creator and creature kiss, at last. It is the reward for faithfulness towards one’s Beloved amongst endless, daily blasphemes.

It is, as Saint Therese put it, the “endless Sunday."

A Technological Martyrdom

noreply@blogger.com (Tara) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 00:03:00 +0000

I had to delete my Facebook.

At first glance, it appears a harmless form of social media. By the grace of God, however, I saw it for what it truly is…an exercise in idleness.

At least, it was for me. I shudder to think of the hours – days – wasted browsing that Web site, posting statuses and comments (some totally inappropriate), and eagerly reading notifications in response to this material. When I wasn’t scrolling through my Facebook feed, I was on other Web sites searching for material to post on Facebook.

It became an addiction, much like drugs and alcohol. I read an article which stated the average person checks his or her Facebook every fifteen minutes, and I believe this (if my usage was any indication.) The thrill of posting a clever status was only topped by the anticipation of readers’ responses to it. There’s something of a rush you feel upon signing back in, only to see that red emblem in top corner, indication that – yes – someone did take notice and comment.

This brings me to another reason I deleted my Facebook…idolatry (the idol being one’s self, that is). If I said I signed on to Facebook to read about the lives of others, I’d be lying. It was all about me, what people thought of me, and how much recognition I could get from those people. The more red emblems, the better (unless, of course, those emblems notified me of activity on someone else’s Facebook, in which case, I became quite irritated).

What about my status?!

And this, unfortunately, is what we as a species have evolved to – idle creatures that idolize our selves. We sit behind our computers, not to perform work, but to waste time posting nonsense in a desperate attempt to captivate an imaginary audience. When we’re not at our desktops, we carry our Facebooks in the palms of our hands via mobile devices, for we can never be too far away from our instant ego boosts. Technology isolates us from each other, both in miles and in heart, all the while claiming to bring us closer together.

We think we control it, but more often than not, it controls us.

Don’t get me wrong; technology has its perks. I wouldn’t be writing this blog, much less posting it, were it not for technological advances. I’m thankful for the convenience of email and Internet research, largely because my generation grew up without such luxuries. I remember the Dewey Decimal System, for crying out loud! Fast forward to today, and I enjoy a chuckle watching my God daughter (who’s barely a toddler) manipulate her mommy’s cell phone, as though she were born with it in hand.

As with everything in life, technology has its pros and cons.

But also as with everything in life, there are no guarantees. I might not live until old age. If God wills it, I could get hit by a bus. This is, after all, His life…He merely granted it to me. He will take it back when He’s done, or rather, when I’ve fulfilled His purpose. But how am I to do so as an idle creature, and worse, an idle creature that doesn’t seek Him? What will Judgment Day be like for me, should I not try my best – each and every day – to please Him?

“Why did you waste My gifts? Why did you do nothing with the life I blessed you with?” He will no doubt ask me.

What terror will I feel upon answering Him?

I think that’s the problem with technology, or more specifically, Facebook. It creates the illusion of productivity, but in reality, you’re doing nothing but wasting precious time. You click your mouse here or there, drop a comment, send an email, and before you know it, the hour is late. The day is wasted, all under the pretense of accomplishment. What else could you have done with that time? You could’ve read a book, visited a friend, practiced a musical instrument…actually worked at your desk.

You could’ve talked to God, too.

The night before I deleted my account, I prayed the Rosary, and I asked Mary to lead me closer to Christ. She is, after all, the vessel through which God originally came to humanity, and He continues to shower Mary with that honor. So I’m not too shocked at the sudden decision to delete my Facebook, for I see her hand in the action.

If I’m to grow closer to her Son, I must become a martyr of sorts. I must die every day to myself, the world, and the empty promises it offers. I must care less about temporal indulgences, and instead, keep my focus upon heaven. If He is to draw nearer to me, I must empty myself and make room for Him. I know this, because He said so:

“Where your treasure is, there will your heart be, also.”

To love Him more, I must love myself less. That’s not to say I must hate myself, but no longer can I engulf myself in pride, greed, and vanity. Such sins were the downfall of humanity, and they continue to be so for one, simple reason…they consume. They dictate our hearts, and in the process, leave no room for love of neighbor, much less God. It’s time I practiced humility and mortification, spiritual exercises essential for salvation.

This is why I deleted my Facebook.

The Void Within

noreply@blogger.com (Tara) — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 22:51:00 +0000

I’m so angry, I could scream.

While shopping, I got the distinct impression I was being watched and followed. I could see him from the corner of my eye, but I didn’t dare look. I just went about my business – browsing through various items – certain it was only my imagination. At the very least, I would lose him by walking off, right? But it probably was my imagination.

And then I looked up.

I wish I didn’t, for I had just come from confession, and I was enjoying the sense of spiritual peace and cleanliness. It made me feel in harmony with God and those around me, but the sight of him gawking filled me with disgust and anger, and it completely ruined my Zen. I wanted to confront him, get in his face: “What the hell are you looking at!? Don’t you have anything better to do than follow girls around shopping centers, creep!?”

In an instant, my sinless state went down the toilet.

I’m not sure anger is a sin, though. I think, rather, it’s what we do with our anger that can be sinful. Considering I didn’t cuss out my stalker, I think I might still be on good terms with the Lord. It’s the inner turmoil that bothers me, and it’s the inner turmoil that made me want to claw that guy’s eyes out.

Truth be told, I’ve always had issues with men, starting with my absent father and moving on to the men who molested and raped me. All my life, men have flocked to me, but only for carnal reasons. They seek to satisfy their gross, sexual needs by me, but none of them ever seem to want to love me.

And like any woman, all I’ve ever wanted was their love.

So now I’m emotionally scarred, I guess. So much so, the mere sight of a man looking at me sends my stomach churning, for I know what vile thoughts are racing through his mind. If I sound messed up, it’s because (in a way) I am. Believe me, I don’t want to be. I want to love, but I want to be loved, as well. And today’s men (I’m afraid to say) don’t know how to love, for they’re unable to put the happiness and welfare of another ahead of their own needs. They’re selfish, shallow, and couldn’t give two hoots about a woman’s feelings.

All if this is due to their lack of reverence for the Divine.

“For men shall be lovers of self, lovers of money, boastful, haughty, railers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy.” – 2 Timothy 3:2

I apologized to God for the anger I felt, and in my heart, the Holy Spirit responded. He reminded me that anger is not a sin, but I should not allow creatures to destroy my peace. He then gave me a task, difficult in its simplicity. He told me to pray for that man, as the reasons for my anger were the very reasons he needed help. “What human being (if he were fulfilled) would waste his time loitering through stores, following women?” the Spirit told me. “This man is lost, and he needs to be found. He needs to be prayed for.”

I did pray for him…about an hour later, once my temper cooled.

My purpose as a woman – to receive life and love, and nurture both – has been tainted, all because of my past. I’m keenly aware of how evil has attacked my femininity, and every day, I ask God to help me heal. But they’re everywhere –the horny men of this day and age – and no matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to tolerate them. They make my blood boil, my skin crawl, and my soul cringe, and before I know it, I am filled with hate for them.

As a species, we are so confused about our sexualities. Like this man, we hunt one another for various reasons. If the media is any indication, it’s largely sex we crave, but the issue delves much deeper than carnality. Look beneath the surface, and it’s plain to see we are all trying to fill a void. We feel an emptiness – a longing for some unattainable happiness, and because of our human nature, we turn to relationships to satisfy the hunger within.

But what, exactly, are we hungry for? It isn’t sex, although many fool themselves into believing so. No, the desire is deeper than any of us can imagine – so deep, it will only be satisfied upon our death and reunion with God. Our desire is for love, plain and simple. It is love we seek, because it is love which comprises our soul. We were made in the image and likeness of love, for we were made in God’s image, and God is love.

Just as blood fuels our bodies, love fuels our souls.

If we feel a longing for love, it is only because we turned our backs on Him in the Garden of Eden. Because of original sin, we are separated from God, so long as we reside in our flesh. We wander around this earth – this exile – as confused creatures, uncertain about this sadness embedded within our hearts. We wonder why it’s there, but even more, we wonder why nothing and no one on this physical plane can make it go away.

Many people continue turning their backs on God, unaware they are turning their backs on love in the process. They fill the void with temporal, earthly pleasures, and in the process, they replace God with these pleasures. Sex, drugs, alcohol, food, gambling, and relationships – all of these and more take precedence over the Divine, but the emptiness remains. Such will be the case, until we die and are fully united with God.

Such will be the case, until we reach our glory.

God is in the bleachers.

noreply@blogger.com (Tara) — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 18:00:00 +0000

Is there anything more embarrassing than crying in public?

These are moments when you thank God you have long hair to shield your face with. You try to brush off the constant flow of snot as merely a cold, and your body heat goes up at least five degrees from controlling the instinct to bawl your eyes out. The tears that do manage to trickle down your neck are scratched (not wiped) away in an attempt to appear as though your sweater is just too itchy.

I wonder if anyone even buys that whole act.

This is the position I found myself in at mass yesterday. Prior to heading out to church, I got in a ridiculous fight with my mother, and let’s just say that it sent me to a rather dark place. The premise of the fight was about my inability to find a job after six months of unemployment, as though I wasn’t already aware of the dire situation. Yeah – I guess you could say my mother has a knack for preaching to the choir, and for kicking somebody when they’re already down.

There have been times in my past when I’ve doubted God’s existence, but fortunately, He and I have gotten extremely close over the past couple of years. It is for this reason that I know He wanted me to hear the priest’s homily last night, as He seemed to be speaking through him and directly to me about my very situation. As a result, I couldn’t help but become consumed with emotion.

Some people may call this mere coincidence, and they’re entitled to their opinions. I, on the other hand, call it perfect timing.

The speaker was Father Ketter, and the gospel featured a parable (or in layman’s terms, a story) Jesus told about a master and his three servants. In short, the man divided his wealth among the three; two of them invested that wealth and multiplied it, but the last buried it in the dirt for fear of losing it. Upon learning what they did with the money, the master praised his first two servants. The last, he grew ashamed of, and he sent him away.

“What are you doing with the gifts God has given you?” Father Ketter asked. “Every day, you should see to it that you do something beautiful for God.”

According to Father Ketter, this last servant made three mistakes: He compared himself to others; he did not have a magnanimous spirit, and he did not have a healthy fear of the Lord (read chapter 25 of Matthew, verses 14 through 30, to get the gist of this.) This first mistake is one which so many of us make. How many times do we assess our own situations to those of others, or bend our will to accommodate theirs? Believe me – I desire to find employment, but throughout my entire life, my will has never been in compliance with my mother’s…and she still can’t stand it.

“God doesn’t want two Jennifers or two Jareds,” Father Ketter said. “He made each and every one of us unique, and to compare ourselves with others is a great injustice to Him.”

I believe that there is the Divine spirit in all of us, whether or not we want to acknowledge it. It’s this very spirit that instinctually tells us right from wrong, gives us that “gut feeling” when we know something just isn’t right, and fills us with various talents and gifts. This spirit is also the very source of all our life’s passions, inspiring us to do great things with them…to live magnanimously.

This brings me to the servant’s second mistake. In spite of the wonderful gift his master had given him, he found no joy in it. Instead of seeing this gift as the incredible thing that it was, he dug a hole in the ground and hid it from the world. In short, he wasted it, and what master would be pleased with that?

The third mistake made by the servant was not having a healthy fear of the Lord. In olden times, people viewed God as more of a punisher than a father, but Christ came along and changed all of that. So considering that God is not out to get us, it would stand to reason that He’d want us to prosper with the gifts He has given us, right?

Of course, you’re going to find people who will attribute all of the world’s injustices to a vengeful and angry God. Some of them will even use these injustices as ammunition for proving that He does not exist, but I think I’ll save that for another blog. Suffice it to say that there’s evil in the world too.

“I could use sports as an analogy for how we view God,” Father Ketter said. “Do you view God as a big referee in the sky, keeping a careful watch on our every move, and throwing us in the penalty box at the first sign of failure? Or do you view God as a proud parent in the bleachers, sitting on the edge of His seat, just waiting for us to score?”

I like the second idea best.

The Princess Within

noreply@blogger.com (Tara) — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 18:00:00 +0000

At the heart of every woman (no matter how independent) is a princess, who can be found in the chamber of her childhood memories. Do you remember yours? I remember mine. I remember how she loved to whirl and twirl in her dress, fanning out the skirt until her head grew dizzy. I remember the plastic tiara that she never took off, not even at the grocery store. I remember how beautiful she felt, because she was beautiful, and nobody could tell her otherwise.

She was so stunning, in fact, that she could have her pick of any man in the kingdom. There was only one problem…not just any man would do. In her heart, she longed for a handsome, brave prince. While she didn’t necessarily need saving, she did desire a man who would cherish her beauty, inside and out. She wanted to be seen, savored, and adored by him.

She wanted to be as paramount as she knew she truly was.

Whatever happened to that princess? While she may not be forgotten, she certainly seems lost. Maybe she was taken captive by adulthood, and all the pressures that accompany it. Perhaps she was put under a spell by rape, molestation or sexism, forcing her to abandon all hope of ever finding true love. Whatever the cause of her oppression, she remains locked in a dank tower.

Nevertheless, she still lives.

Tied in chains, her regal heart continues to beat. She never stopped desiring beauty, as well as someone to behold it. She remains hopeful that, some day, her prince will come. While you can take the princess out of the kingdom, you can’t take the kingdom out of the princess. She was made for it, and it was made for her.

God has ordained it so.

God’s Feminine Spirit

A woman’s need to feel and be beautiful is not by chance, nor is her desire to be noticed. It is a direct reflection of God’s presence within her. Through her beauty, she entices, soothes and shows love.

Does not God do the same for us?

How many times have you looked at a sunset, only to lose your breath? Is it possible to stare at the stars and not be awestruck? When the wind carries a scent of spring flowers, don’t you stop to savor it? Wouldn’t life be different –cumbersome – without these precious and powerful gestures of His love? Couldn’t one interpret these signs as God saying, “Notice me! See how beautiful I am? See how much I adore you?”

Don’t women want the same from their beauty?

Women wear makeup, not just to feel good about themselves, but also to turn heads. They dab perfume on their necks, hoping to arouse the senses of that special someone. They walk the streets dressed to impress, tapping into their inner princesses. They garnish their curves with sexy lingerie, knowing they’ll have their man’s full attention.

But what happens when his eye strays elsewhere?

Women and God’s Wrath

“Thou shall have no gods before me…And thou shall love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.”

When I was in college, I dated a guy named Alex. The relationship started off wonderful (as most new relationships do), but as time passed, his affections dwindled, while mine remained strong. Not only would he neglect to hold my hand in public, but he refused to walk beside me. More often than not, he marched ten feet ahead, leaving me in the distance. Cuddling was also prohibited.

In spite of all this, I remained his girlfriend.

One year passed, and despite several requests on my part, he still refused to meet my family. Our dates (which were once frequent) grew less and less, and eventually, they ceased to exist. Where Alex did go, I was never invited. If I took the liberty to invite myself, he always had some ludicrous reason why I should remain home. Still, I stayed with him.

Then I saw her.

After a hard day of waiting tables, I came home and found them watching television together, and on my couch. Her name was Jessica, she was blonde, and she looked twelve. She was also getting more attention from my boyfriend than I received in months…and I was pissed.I kicked her out, and showed him the door as well.

“Thou shall have no gods before me…And thou shall love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.”

If anyone understands a broken heart, it’s God. In this, His first and highest commandment, it’s plain to see that a woman’s desire for love is divinely inspired. Through God’s feminine spirit within her, she instinctually uses her beauty to seduce, showering her beloved freely and passionately with affection. When this affection is rejected or unappreciated, she is crushed and angered to the very core of her soul.

The only difference between God and women is that God is unwavering, and He does not apologize. He knows His greatness, and He does not amend Himself for the approval of another. Mankind rejects Him every day, yet He remains secure in His magnitude.

Women, on the other hand, tend to take rejection personally.

When their love is not returned, they wonder what’s wrong with them. They stare in the mirror and examine their bodies, wondering if they’re too fat, flat, or some other nonsense. They comb through their wardrobe, and decide it isn’t sexy enough. They binge eat to comfort themselves after the breakup, only to hate themselves the morning after for being such a pig. They see other beautiful women, and grow jealous or insecure of their own beauty.

They forget that (as God’s daughter) they are princesses.

The Attack on Femininity

noreply@blogger.com (Tara) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 21:37:00 +0000

In October 2006, Megan Meier was found hanging in her bedroom closet.

Prior to her death, she met a boy on MySpace named Josh Evans, and the two quickly hit it off. While she never met Josh in the flesh, Megan grew used to his regular emails, which sent her heart soaring. For the first time in her young life, someone noticed how beautiful, special, and important she was.

Unbeknownst to Megan, Josh was – in fact – a fake character created by Lori Drew, the mother of Megan’s friend. Lori was upset with Megan for starting an argument with her daughter, and turned to cyberspace for revenge. No sooner had “Josh” wooed Megan did he turn on her, stating that “Everybody knows how you are” and “Have a shitty rest of your life.”

Crushed by despair, Megan did the unthinkable. Through the vulnerability of Megan’s heart, her life was ended. She was thirteen years old.

Like Megan, Hope Witsell was also found hanging in her bedroom closet last September.

Intent on gaining the attention of a boy in her class, Hope sent him a topless photo via text messaging. She hoped that – through the use of her body – she would gain his approval. She received a broken heart, instead.

Within days, Hope’s picture reached the inboxes of her entire middle school, not to mention the nearby high school. Not only was her body unappreciated by the object of her affection, but it was mocked and disrespected by countless strangers. The blow was felt deep within her soul, and it was too much to bear.

At thirteen years old, she felt it easier to die.

These are just two examples of evil attacks on femininity, and by “evil,” I mean the real deal.

While it’s easy to blame such tragedies on depression, drugs or other problems, the issue delves much deeper. One flip through a magazine or the television, and you can see that there’s more at play than teenage angst and Zoloft. Society needs to wake up, and it can start by pulling the wool from over its eyes.

I was born well after the Sexual Revolution, but I’m not too young to see how out-of-hand it’s grown. What was once a sacred sanctuary known as the female body has become an object, and a disrespected one at that. By today’s standards, a woman “owns” her body by barely dressing it, only to give it to someone who never deserved it in the first place.

The worst part is that it’s not her fault.

Maybe her father was absent during her childhood, or perhaps she was sexually abused at an earlier age. These problems are common, but they’re just the tip of the iceberg. Add into the mixture an onslaught of pornographic images from the media, and young girls receive the message that their value is determined by a boy’s response to them.

Because of their feminine instinct to love and be loved, they deject themselves.

But are they ever fully satisfied? If the examples of Megan and Hope are any indication, I should say not. These young lives were lost, and for no reason other than they wanted be cherished. Their feminine spirits – given to them by God – were used and abused, and senselessly so.

Evil is real, folks, so stop kidding yourselves. If you don’t, then consider yourself duped. I’m not a prude, and I’m not a Bible thumper either. I’m just an average girl with two, opened eyes, and they’re appalled at what they see around her.

They’re appalled at what they’ve seen happen to her.

As some of you already know, I was raped. Never before had I felt so dirty, ashamed, and dehumanized. One minute, I was just Tara. I was no one extraordinary, but nevertheless, I was a person. The next minute, I was reduced to a numb, inanimate piece of pulp. I lost all of my value.

There’s a reason why they call rape “soul murder,” and that’s because it is. When sex is consensual, your entire being participates – body, mind, and yes…soul. You and your partner are united in a mutual love for one another, making for a powerful and spiritual experience. When it comes to rape, the soul is uninvolved, but not absent. Like an empty shell, your body takes the beating, and your mind sends the foul message to your inner self.

From there, you’re forever changed.

One cannot separate the soul from sexuality; that’s not how God made us. Through our sexuality, we are uniquely male and female, made in His image and likeness. When we come together in love and intimacy, we experience the bliss of becoming one person. We feel what it’s like to be as close to God as humanly possible. Through our sexuality, our soul is nourished…

But it can also become starved.

All around the world, women are being raped. While some suffer the same brutality as I did, many are victimized by their own will, yet at no fault of their own. Through their instinctual desire to be cherished, some women seek love through sex. Needing to feel beautiful, they barely dress their bodies. Wanting to be important to a man, they behave scandalously towards him. In self defense, they lie to themselves, saying that it’s their bodies to do what they want with. Unfortunately, the body isn’t all that’s at play…

The soul is also involved, and it’s become damaged.

What you then have is a viscous and maddening downward spiral, with no signs of an end. Once rejected, a woman’s soul feels the punch, and her esteem dies. Instead of realizing the truth, she furthers her attempt to find love by acting more promiscuously, or dressing even racier.

Still, no dice.

She begins to take the rejection personally, convincing herself that she’s undeserving of love. Something about her isn’t sexy, beautiful or desirable enough, beliefs that can have dire consequences for her life. What she fails to realize is that she was already beautiful to begin with, perfect. In God’s eyes, she is a princess.

In her book, Pure Womanhood, author Crystalina Evert says, “A woman should hide her heart in God, and a man must go there to find it. She should be so hidden in Christ that a man has to see Christ just to see her.”

Can you imagine a world where women knew their worth, and didn’t need men or the media to define it? I mentor teens at my church, and always tell the girls that if they want to stand out in today’s society, they should respect themselves. In doing so, not only will they weed out the boys with little to no regard for them, but they might also teach these young men a little something about valuing women.

The power is in their hands, and in all of ours as well.

Through the Looking Glass

noreply@blogger.com (Tara) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 21:10:00 +0000

I swear…it’s like I’m Alice or something.

I don’t know what God’s done to me. Whatever it is, it’s extremely surreal…like peering through The Looking Glass. It’s as though He’s given me new eyes, eyes specially designed to see the world as it truly is. A curtain has been lifted, and nothing it once covered is at all what I imagined it to be. Some of its good, but what’s bad is really bad.

The worst part is how blind I once was. For thirty-one years, I either couldn’t see the bad in the world, or I closed my eyes to it. The obvious bad (school shootings, abortions, war) didn’t evade me, but oh…the little stuff! Stuff that’s so engrained in our society and minds, we assume it as natural as breathing.

We never question whether we’re breathing air, or toxins.

When God digs His nails into you and refuses to let go, wild stuff happens. I think all He needs is a chance – a crack in a soul’s door – to break in, take over. That’s what happened to me. I have no idea why am the way I am today, why all my blogs have become spiritual. I have no idea why I’ve gone back on everything that once consumed me, why I now speak against it. I have no idea why big is now small, up is now down. One thing’s for certain, however…

It’s amazing…horribly amazing.

Some people say they have difficulty believing in God. I say they just haven’t tried enough, which means to say they haven’t tried at all. They didn’t open the door to their soul, give God that crack He needs to break in. I know this, because I used to be just like them. Then, one day, I just started thinking about Him – casual, accidental, nonchalant.

He must’ve noticed, because He moved me to pray. Praying turned to church Sundays; church Sundays turned to youth ministry; youth ministry turned to Eucharistic ministry. Eucharistic ministry turned to rosaries, a slew of religious reading material, retreats, spiritual friendships, and a heightened awareness that yes…my soul truly does exist. Heck, I’m even considering a religious vocation…all because I thought about Him once.

I wonder if He moved me to do that, too. Which came first: the thought or the inspiration to think? But I digress…

It’s as though He smacked me across the face, grabbed me by the shoulders and asked:

“See what I’ve done to you? Feel my presence now?”

My answer…definitely.

Things I once did out of habit, I can’t do any more, and when I say “can’t,” I mean that quite literally. It’s as though my brain has been reprogrammed, my nature adjusted from bad to better, my instincts changed. Lying, impure thoughts, and impatience have been replaced with honesty, dignity, and endurance. Blindness, apathy, and ignorance have been replaced with sight, empathy, and knowledge. It’s this knowledge that has been most astounding.

It’s this knowledge that has me “tumbling down the rabbit hole.”

I see how profound our sexualities are, how much power they have over us. I see a void in the soul of every human, a void only God can fill. I see us reaching out to each other, for friendship, but especially, romance. We all crave that intimate union with another creature, because God put this craving within us.

Our ultimate craving is, in actuality, for God Himself.

I see how misconstrued this craving has become. I see it in the movies, television and music, which subliminally warp our minds towards impurity. I see it in the pornography, which can be found for free with the click of a mouse. I see it in mankind’s separation of sex and God – God Who designed sex, the sexes, and the creation sex often results in…more people. I see a lack of responsibility in the recreational use of sex, STD’s, deadbeat fathers… But worst of all, I see a travesty, a breakdown in the family…

God’s most living presence on earth.

God’s shown me the state of my soul, too, and this has been quite alarming. It’s as though He shone a massive, divine flash light upon it, and in the light, I was forced to witness what a miserable creature I am. I’ve seen desperation, self-centeredness, dishonesty, lust…neglect of Him. I’ve seen how I can do nothing without His help, least of all greatness.

It’s as though my soul is the attic of my body, and I haven’t cleaned the attic in years. Out of nowhere, I get the bright idea to try. But the more junk I remove, the more bugs and dust and mold I find. Spiders and slugs scurry after being discovered; they’re trying to find a new hiding spot, but I won’t let them.

I now see how much spiritual work I have to do.

I hear His voice; not in the literal sense, but you get the idea. I liken it to a spark, a murmur within my heart. It’s a strange voice that comes out of nowhere and everywhere, all at once. It’s loud in its silence, for it speaks to my very heart.

On Saturday, I went to get my hair trimmed, and there was a family of four ahead of me. The family had a daughter in a wheelchair; I think she was a paraplegic. My wait was supposed to be thirty minutes, but because of this family, it ended up being more like forty five. As natural as blinking, my impatience reared its ugly head.

“Pray for them,” is what His voice told me to do, not in so many words.

So I did. I squashed my impatience, asked God to forgive it, and prayed for that family of four. I especially prayed for the mom, who was up to her elbows in children. I noticed the paraplegic girl kept wiggling her head, so I even prayed for the hairdresser, who was (also) up to her elbows. I prayed for the entire lot of ‘em…

And then I heard him.

The guy who checked in after me heaved a loud breath, pushed his chair back, and stormed out of the place. Where my impatience merely rubbed me the wrong way, his was a downright display of narcissism. Thoughts of what a jerk he was raced through my mind, and then…

“Pray for him,” my inner voice told me. “I put these people in front of you for a reason. Pray for him. Pray for all of them.”

When God looks at people through you, you see them in a new light. You see sensitive creatures – creatures just like you – with aspirations, doubts, fears, and desires. You see the cruelty of life in every wrinkle, frown, and outburst. You see the cruelty of life living, walking and breathing.

You see people desperate for something, but they just don’t know what.

Where I once never cared, now I care the most. When I pray, I don’t ask God for a new boyfriend, promotion, to lose weight…stuff that (if He could) He would roll His eyes to heaven over. When I pray now, the only thing I want from Him is more grace. Grace needed to develop virtue, which (if you gather up enough) I liken to the “credit score of Eternity.” I ask Him to draw nearer to me, help me feel His presence, speak to me, and help me hear.

In the soil of my soul, pull the weeds and plant a beautiful garden. Let Your Holy Spirit be the sunshine which nourishes it, Your Precious Blood the rain which feeds it. Fill me so with Your spirit, I repel the evil which surrounds me. Help me live only for You by turning all the world’s consolations into bitterness for me. Love others through me, and help me die unto myself.

All I have to say is be careful what you ask for.