will you wait with me?

back in the early fall, I started attending a church. the beliefs of the denomenation gave me hope – they were somewhat fitting for me. but after a few weeks, I started to lose hope again. the church itself didn’t fit me. I started to think – again – that maybe there is no church that fits me, and popular christianity itself no longer fits me. it’s a lonely feeling. and with school getting busier, I just stop going.

the church still sends me newsletters weekly. in january or so, an item in a newsletter was casting for a drama put on by women on Maundy Thursday. I carefully cut out the little paragraph and taped it to my desk. I wanted to go to this, and I wanted to remember it.

even an hour before it began, I considered not going. but I went.

I got there a little late, and the drama had already begun. I chose an empty pew near the rear and settled in. I sat leaning forward, with my chin in my hands.

the play was basically a series of monologues, including all of the important women in Jesus’ life, Mother Teresa, a servant girl, a homeless woman, and Corrie Ten Boom.

I was basically on the verge of tears the entire time. my eyes constantly brimmed with tears, and every so often I wiped them away. I realized after quite a while that my body was tense from the effort of holding back the need to cry. when I realized that one character was corrie ten boom, I cried more. such a hero to me!

the drama was basically about each woman coming forward, promising to support and wait with Mother Mary for Jesus’ resurrection/return, and offering a monologue about who they are and what Jesus means to them. at the end, the women all came to the front of the stage and offered that we all take communion. we all filed orderly, row by row, down to the front, where women were holding bread and a cup of juice. two sisters were singing a song about hope.

I was trying so hard to keep my tears in check, even as I stood in line for communion. when I reached the front, I walked across the open space near the front of the stage to the communion bread, and the sisters reached the last lines of their song. the last word – “peace” – hung in the air behind their voices. it balanced on the melodic piano as it continued on without them, and the word pierced through me. I could hardly contain my tears.

when I broke of a piece of bread, I got only a tiny piece. as I dipped it in the cup, the woman said to me, “peace be with you.” I couldn’t chew for a moment, for the struggle of holding back my tears.

I sat back down in my empty pew as the female pastor gave some last words about the meaning of waiting – the balance of grief and hope. and my body shook slightly. I so desperately just needed to sob and let it all out. but she said, “go out in peace,” and people began to stand, put on their jackets, and file out of the sanctuary. we were supposed to leave now. I was desperate in that moment for the little chapel at hanover – the empty little church, where I could go at any hour and just sob in God’s presence. instead, I was being ushered out of this large sanctuary.

the word “peace” stings through me. don’t they know? does no one in this church know that I have no peace left in me? of course they don’t. they don’t know because I am alone. I am completely alone, and no one knows. they don’t know that I have no peace. that when they say, “peace be with you” that there is nothing. that when they say, “go out in peace,” that I must leave with nothing but grief.

as I left the sanctuary, I saw most of the people congregating in the hall, near the attresses. I walked past them and out the door, alone.

I had recognized that my life is void of happiness right now. I did not even know that I am also missing peace until tonight.

I am so stressed, so tired, so overwhelmed. sometimes, like the past few days, I have disturbing thoughts. there are the thoughts of cutting, as usual, but when things are even worse, I think, “I hate my life.” I think it over and over. there are cuss words in my head – “I fucking hate my life.” one day this week, every time the tiniest thing went wrong, that was my thought. it’s not that I’m suicidal. it’s just disturbing that I am this unhappy, and yet I just keep trudging forward.

I’m in a mindfulness “class” – it’s 8 weeks long, we meet once a week, and we’re given “homework” to practice daily. I can’t do it. I’ve pretty much completely given up the homework. I just can’t set aside 45 minutes or an hour to meditate. when I don’t get home until 11 pm from work, when I have papers to write that keep me up until 4:30 am, when I am weeks behind on reading regular assignments, how can I possibly set aside time for meditation every day?

today the class met, and it was so gentle on me. we did a 20 minute meditation that felt wonderful. I had a good talk with someone else in the group about how I am doing with this stuff. then we did a very short meditation afterwards. he had us think of a moment when we felt open, deeply caring, genuine. it could be standing on a mountain, a moment caring for another persion. he gave an example of listening to the happy sounds of his child eating.

I knew my image would be a small child. and then I remembered that one day, two summers ago now, when I held baby britt in my arms at nap time. I put everyone else to sleep, then gave her her bottle and rocked her to sleep. after she fell asleep, I held her in my arms, rocking in that chair in the dark, surrounded by sleeping babies, and I talked to her. I told her about how I loved her, and I cried as I held her.

I held this image in my mind, and I was crying before we actually began the meditation. when we did begin, the tears slid down my face. we focused on the memory, then focused on our our bodies felt during the memory, and then focused on those feelings themselves, letting the memory fade away. it was absolutely beautiful.

it’s terrible that I wasn’t crying during this maundy thursday service because of the way that Jesus died. I wasn’t crying over grief for him. well, at times, I was. but mostly, I was crying because of my own overwhelming emotions. it’s sad that I wasn’t truly “worshipping,” but was self-absorbed instead. it’s sad, but it’s true, and it’s where I am right now.

well, it’s time for me to get back to my life – go eat dinner, read my mail, start some homework, do some planning for tomorrow.