I struggled with the idea of organized religion. I always have. The idea that people can believe in a book written so long ago by people who weren't actually there to experience what they are writing about. I grew up going to church. I was baptised Catholic as a baby, then raised Methodist. My grandparents brought us to church on Sunday. My parents weren't interested in church, but weren't opposed to letting us go. I spent a lot of time there and went through the whole confirmation process, but once I was old enough to really start thinking for myself, I began to question everything. Then, when I started to have miscarriages I began to question things even more. I wasn't raised to believe that God had a plan for me and that I should trust Him. The more that went wrong in my life, the more I doubted Him. I would only turn to prayer when I was desperate, when I absolutely needed something. Looking back now, I was never asking for anything I actually needed. I always managed to get through what ever I was going through without some miraculous intervention. I thought I knew what my life was supposed to be like, what my plan was. With every miscarriage, my disgust for God only got worse. The devil had a hold on me and was not letting go. Once I lost the twins, the world just seemed to fade away. Everyone kept telling me how strong I was and how amazing I was that I was getting through this. But the worst part about being strong is that no one ever stops to ask if you are ok. You don't complain, so you must be fine. I would wonder if that's what God wanted from me. If he wanted me to be a complainer. Would that be the answer to my prayers? What if I burdened everyone with all of my pain and sorrows? What if at every chance I had I said, well what about me? No matter the circumstance, I just couldn't do it. I couldn't become the person who told everyone how much they were hurting all the time. I couldn't take the sympathy or the looks, when someone walked through my office door or came to my house to visit. I learned fast to put a smile on my face no matter the circumstance. I wasn't going to be that girl who "needed" people. I didn't need anyone. I especially didn't need God. I could handle anything on my own. I internalized everything. I worked through my own problems. I didn't talk to my friends, my family, my husband, anyone. I didn't pray. I didn't meditate. The only thing I did was stay awake at night wondering how I was going to fix this or that or why I did this or why I did that. I never actually spoke about anything to anyone. Most nights I would cry while laying next to my husband. He would sleep and I would cry. He never woke up to the sound of my tears. He shouldn't have because I never sobbed. They were silent tears falling down my face, hitting my pillow ever so gently. I don't know why that would bother me so much. Rather than waking him and telling him how I was feeling, I wanted him to wake up and rescue me from myself. Even though I was pushing everyone away, I was longing for someone to just ask me what was going on, but no one would. I didn't understand it. Did they actually think I was ok? Were they afraid to talk to me about things? Whatever the reason, no one ever suggested that I turn to God. I'm not sure if I would have listened, but you never know. I know I was angry when people shared my story. I didn't want my horrible experience broadcast all over. But that didn't matter. It was so horrible that people couldn't help but tell it. "Did you hear what happened to Michelle?" And the speculations would begin. Was it my fault? Could I have kids? How did I have them? So much curiosity and I hated it. I hated that people cared. I felt like they only wanted to know because they were nosy and they liked to see me fall. I was strong and a hard worker and on top of my game at work and the people at work rallied around me, but I couldn't accept that. I never believed that anyone actually cared at all. Then when I injured my back people had so much to say. You shouldn't take so many meds. What are you going to do about your situation? Are you going to have this surgery? How will you care for your kids? Everyone had an opinion, but no one was living in pain but me. I lived on vicodin. It was the only way to get through my day. The only way I could take care of my kids without crying. Every morning I would wake up and struggle to get my kids dressed just so I could take my son to preschool. I would cry all the way there, wipe my tears and put a smile on my face to take him in, then cry all the way home. I got the stares from the other moms. I can only imagine what they were thinking. But I still didn't accept any friendship. I still wouldn't take any help. The more pain that was inflicted upon me, the more I hated God. I couldn't turn to Him in my greatest times of need. Why did I need Him? He was doing this to me. What would He do for me that I couldn't do for myself? After years of pain, then surgery, then to find out I have all of these other female problems to deal with, I was completely over it. By this time though, I had started to let a few more people into my life. I had become friends with my childrens' teachers and looking back, it was by the grace of God. They sort of imposed themselves on my life. I needed that. I needed them. One in particular has stood by me no matter the circumstance. She too suffered a miscarriage shortly after becoming friends with me, which bonded us quickly. I instantly wanted to care for her and do anything I could to help her. Her sense of humor, her wittiness, her willingness to listen, her love for me and my children, I honestly don't know what I would do without her friendship. She is the first friend I have ever had that I have not been the counselor for. She is my counselor. And I love her for that. God gave her to me. My daughter's teachers this year have been extraordinary. They are both amazing and women and their faith is strong. And most of all my son's kinder teachers were just fabulous. They were what we needed to him through what he was going through. He was sick almost the whole year and they were so helpful and wonderful. They brought something out of him that was truly amazing. So when he was diagnosed with this hydronephrosis and blocked kidney, these amazing women rallied around me like no one I ever knew had before. Of course I had my family, but I also had these women visiting and doing and calling and supporting and most of all PRAYING. Once I started to spread the word to pray, I honestly felt the shift in my heart. That God really was listening to me. I felt so ashamed that I had doubted Him all these years. In my heart I knew He was ok with that. He knew what I had been through and He knew what it had done to me. He was just happy I was finally back. The night I fell to my knees in prayer, I honestly can't stop thinking about. It had never happened before and hasn't happened since. I was overcome with emotion that night and literally felt a wave of purity and passion flowing through my veins. I think it was my cleansing. My own baptism, if you will. I felt reborn that night. I don't know how else to describe it. As I said before, my stomach has been in knots ever since. I can't get my thoughts out of my head fast enough. I have this vision of changing the world and it's perception of the Bible and God and Christ. As I've started to actually read it for the first time, I realize what I've criticized for so long is actually a beautiful truth. They are words to live by. God has actually protected my soul from being completely destroyed. I know my heart has hurt and it has been broken a thousand times over, but it is MENDED. Day by day and stitch by stitch it is mending and I am so very thankful to God for loving me and covering me in His Grace.
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