Tag Archives: Religion

I have an irrational fear

Of dying early. Because well here’s my philosophy.

My life has been.. filled. With great people. Great feats. Adventures and challenges. I had a grandmother who loved me to her dying day, and I was present at her dying day holding her hand and sending her on her way with love. I have learned how to remain close with my family no matter how far away they travel. I have been tested in strength, morals, and I have learned the right love and the wrong. I’ve traveled to Canada and found my inner hippie on a mountain becoming an environmentalist. I went to Mexico to help children, and learned more about my life.

I think that god (or who ever) is filling my life as much as possible because it’s going to be cut short. There’s been so much I’ve learned and so much, done so much. More things than people my age normally go through, work through, see and do. And normally I am 100% okay with my idea of things being cut short. Except. Well. I want a future. I want more. I want things to keep coming. I want this everyday, because today he made my day with a phone call:

I called because I wanted you to know I love you so much and I miss you.

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Religion

I know you he or she who is upstairs. I get that you are in control. I get that as much as I think I’m in control of my own life I’m really not, but things were going pretty good. And I know I complained because I’m not use to the good, but please let this be a really scarey scare and not another big challenge. But if it is well you know how every week I run through my list of everyone I’m worried about and then I ask you for strength. Well. Can you double that order of strength.

Chin up Chest out. You’ll be fine.

More news to come.

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Talking

I decided I just wish I could stop all the bad and bringing up the bad. Likewise I was reminded today at work of the stereotypes I use to fit into just because people didn’t know me. Sometimes I wish I could just go back to where I was comfortable instead of having to visit my same haunts and shit. For real? Wasn’t it long enough?

I guess that’s why every Sunday, all I ask for is strength. At least for myself.

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Mexico Part Three

Connections are meant to be made.

Dear Paco,

I will miss you, please remember me. *Insert tears here* The compassion you show these kids, and the love you have in your life is truely inspiring. Please hold on to that with an iron fist, don’t forget. May you forever be able to make kids smile, and warm the hearts of so many people around you.

Paco was just one of the men I met on this trip that showed me all the good people in this world. Good good people. Paco would have given those kids anything they asked for. Roul who worked in the farms loved those kids like they were they were his own and he wanted to watch them grow and learn.

These people give me faith in people. In the world. In my life.

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Anger

I’m suppose to write an angry letter in the next week, to Steve. As bad as it sounds I’m not angry at him anymore. I’m so tired of being angry I find my anger to be useless. I have rationalized that his maturity level wasn’t there, that he just isn’t that kind of man and for me to ask him to be anything different was a challenge for him. Was he wrong? Yes. Did he hurt me? Yes. Do I hate him for it? No. I am simply upset that I lost so much. Things were taken away from me. I lost my choice. Which might explain why I am so sure to give people’s choices. I’m pro-CHOICE. I’m pro FREE WILL. I am pro – Picking your own life. Because part of mine was picked for me…

I’m going to have to explain one day, to the man I love that I was hurt. Deeply. That my scars are deeper than skin deep. That I suffer somedays greatly, other days none at all. I will have to explain the feelings that went along with it, I will have to hope for understanding and hide my own shame. I lost my choice for any type of love. Now I need a man who will be understanding, forgiviving, and someone who will love the flawed.

I’m going to have to explain one day, to the children in my life about love. I’m going to have to explain good love, and sadly, bad love. I’m going to have to use example that hurt. I’m going to be more hesitant than my husband when my first daughter starts dating. I’m going to look warily at the boy who walks through my front door with out giving me any acknowledgement. I lost my choice for understanding love. Instead I have had to pick through and find the right love and the wrong love. I’ve had to learn this which means one day– I’ll have to explain it.

I’m going to have to listen to the questions someone’s going to have about religion and I’m going to question them myself. I’m going to have to hide my questions to not further their question in some type of alterior being. I’m going to have to depend on my faith in an empty sense, of knowing that I do not know. I lost my choice to follow blindly. Instead I have been questioned to the very being of what I ever believed in. Life, Principals, Morals, and Beliefs.

Every morning I wake up and I have to convince myself that the lable around my neck that says “Broken” isn’t there. I have to find the reason why I am beautiful, not broken. I’m going to have to hide my own fears to let my children believe I am as strong as I let on. I’m going to have to smile when someone gives me compliments and question them quietly. I’m going to have to fight the urge when someone asks me to Marry them and ask, “Why me?!” I lost my choice to believe in myself and self worth. Instead I worry. I humble beyond what needs to be. I question my own worth, and acomplishments.

I am not mad at him… I’m mad at the choices that were made for me. I was robbed.

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Me and “The Jesus” cont.

Well if you didn’t read the earlier post about “The Jesus” you can do so when ever you please, but it’s sunday and for some reason I feel the need to write more about my relationship with me and this “oh mysterious one”.

I sat in mass today and I tried to rationalize to myself why I am there. A lot of the things I can come up with are things revolving around “I would do anything to feel better, to feel comforted, if this means find “jesus” I will.” Then I realize that I am still looking for other people to fix my problems. Then I wonder why I of all people deserve this comfort from god (or whom ever). As it seems to me I am strong, strong enough to fix this on my own. I am blessed beyond belief and I should ask for no more than what I have. When I pray (or ponder to myself) I find that I am always hoping, and wishing well for others. The comfort of my mother, the strength to my father, the happiness to my brother, the direction and acceptance to my sister. I find my family so broken in places the wall is so in need of repair who am I to ask for a little boost?

Instead I can only ask for two things I read somewhere in a book. “Keep me healthy. Keep me happy.” Some weekends its the only thing I can repeat over and over again but even that seems like a stretch of things that don’t need help, or attention. Then I thought about how okay so many people were with the thought of me angry at god. I wondered if he too was just as okay with it. As if he knew I needed him not to help but to blame?

Many times I find myself coming back to my grandma and her warm, small, history filled hands. It was impossible for me to go to mass after I lost her. I lost her warmth, I lost her presence and in many ways I lost the life as I knew it. I feel closest to her during that small hour a week and sometimes it still breaks my heart. I can remember the mass and I can remember the way I felt weeks after that. I can remember being so lost.

I want to know if the only reason I believe is because I can’t cope with the thought of losing her. I want to know if I can believe if I don’t necesarrily believe in my church. Where is my god in this new society? Is it in the lack of comfort that I am finding comfort is our “god” the thing we seem to believe in when all else fails? Is there some god where everyone deserves something? Not only the down trodded, or the ones who are the most failthful, but also the ones on the fence?

Part of me can’t help but wonder if someone knew all along that I’d ask these questions, and again that they are okay with that and a little happy I’m asking them.

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Me and “The Jesus”

*sigh* As I have said in past posts, I am or was raised Catholic. Therefore in my faith we learn things like “god’s infinate wisdom” “god’s infinate love” and so much more. Yet like many other victims of anything or anyone who has lost anyone the question comes up,

Why me…?

In a sense I know the old saying “God only gives you the things you can handle.” Or the even older saying “That which doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger” At points though I’ve wanted to lay down in the street screaming “It’s not worth having the strength! I quit!” In a sense I guess I need someone to blame, and so I chose my god? I wonder why people like Steve exist, and from what I see at this point of view people like him exist to hurt, to tear down, to shake up, and to destroy. I can’t say I wish he never came, he never loved me, and he never pushed me. I can say though that it’s… not fair. It’s one of the most difficult things and deepened so many other wounds I wonder, is this the end of my story?

In other words, will Steve be my demise? Who else am I to blame besides myself, Steve, or what my parents for not teaching me? My role models for not stepping in? Anyone else for not noticing? All of that seems so unfair to all those people. My parents are wonderful people who love whole heartedly and believe in the good of people. My role models are plenty in my life and they have guided me through many things. And everyone else? Why blame them? Why these people close to me don’t deserve blame but god (?) does I’m not sure.

I wonder why I can feel guilty for blaming god and everyone around me, yet I find it next to impossible to give myself the same kind of forgiveness…If I can’t forgive myself how will anyone ever love me enough to also forgive my flaws…
Postsecret

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