CHAPTER FOUR-- "Lazarus, come forth!"

Tuesday before my Friday confession started in a black mood.  I felt so upset because I had engaged in my sin again and would not be able to take communion.  Tuesday is always my favorite day in the parish.  We don't have a morning Mass but we do have an evening schedule that has a great variety of experiences starting with a devotion to Our Lady of Perpetual Help followed by the Rosary, Mass, and then Confession.  It's a great night to attend the church!  Unfortunately I knew I would have to "sit out" another communion and it was eating at me.  I wasn't engaging in my compulsive behaviors and because of that I was filled with pent up anxiety and had no way to vent it.  I agonized that I could not meet my Lord at His table and was filled with sorrow.  I was preparing for vacation as a social worker so I was trying desperately to get as many people seen as possible and didn't have time to see if I could get with a priest before the services to go to Confession. I was becoming quite adept at asking for special Confessions and joked about spending "more time in the penalty box than in the game" but it was not a joke.  I always laugh and make light of things when I'm in agony and I knew I was in serious shape.

I came to the church and something in me just snapped.  I was filled with massive dark depression and deep sorrow. I could not shake it and I could not feel God's presence anywhere.  This deep, dark night of the soul wrapped cold fingers of death around my heart and I felt a longing to receive the Lord but knew I could not.  I held back my tears but they were very near the surface and I could not shake the horrible feelings that were coming to a head and ready to burst like a volcano.  

I always struggled with the devotion to Our Lady of Perpetual Help and I have no idea why.  I always got the prayer card but set it aside and would usually listen as everyone prayed.  To me I didn't feel like I identified with her and this was a shock as I have a very strong devotion to the Blessed Mother.  I used to tell myself I should just not attend and come for the rosary, Mass, and Confession but I kept feeling a nagging to be there for the devotion so I always came.  I can honestly admit I never prayed the prayers even once at that time and that is why I never got anything out of it.  You get what you put into Mass and the other devotions and prayers.  When you give a half effort you get half results.  Jesus talks clearly about how we reap what we sow and that is so true.  So I did my usual pouting about the devotion but I was in so much agony over not being able to take communion that I was crumbling.  Tears were starting in my eyes and I knew I could not stand one more day of NOT being able to take communion because of this addictive sin. 

I pictured the Lord standing in front of the church crying and reach out to me and I was crying and reaching out to Him but I could not get to Him because I was evil and could not stop sinning.  I felt I had broken His precious heart and the heart of the Blessed Mother and so as the rosary continued it got worse and worse until I could not pray it. The rosary means a lot to me, as you can tell from my pen name, but that night was the first time I could not keep my attention on the prayers and began to cry softly.  My heart was empty and dark and my mind was racing to "RUN" but I knew I would not let myself do that.

Once the rosary was finished I could stand no more.  I saw Fr D getting ready to put on vestments to say Mass and I knew I just couldn't sit there with my broken heart and handle the way I kept hurting Jesus with my sinning and inability to get myself together.  I left my purse in the pew so I couldn't leave and went outside.  I sat in the car smoking and the sobbing started. I cried like I'd never cried before. I felt I hurt God and that I was better off dead.  I kept thinking that living on this earth wasn't working out for me and I was ready to check out if Friday did not bring the relief I sought.  I never threatened God or got angry, I was far too heartbroken for that.  I felt that I was already dead inside and nothing could save me.

Suddenly I had the realization that I was truly not going to be able to go to heaven. I was not going to make it.  No matter what I did I was doomed to hell and eternal separation from my Lord that I loved so much.  I believed it and that was a horrible, sad, and hopeless feeling.

As I was smoking and crying I put in my Rich Mullins CD.  I looked at the back of the case to see what songs might be good to listen to as I'd just bought it and did not know what was on it.  A song titled, "Hold Me Jesus" drew my attention.  As a child who has no memories of being hugged, rocked, held, or given affection that song seemed perfect.  I was falling apart fast.  I played the song and every single word of it spoke to me.  I could not believe it! It was as if someone looked into my desperate heart and longing to be close to God and wrote down every word of how I felt. I was stunned.  God was working on me in the parking lot. When Rich sang, "Won't you be my Prince of Peace?" I knew that was my heart's desire.  I wanted peace.  I wanted the peace that only Jesus could give to come and fill me.  I wanted to feel good about being a Christian, and I wanted to be a Catholic who can take communion more than 3-4 times in 7 days. 

I came back inside the church once I knew Mass was over and waited in line for Confession. Once in Confession I told Fr D that I couldn't take anymore. I sobbed openly and told him that I had all but given up.  He asked me if I had made an appointment with Fr S for the general Confession and I told him it was Friday.  He said, "Lorrie I think things are going to be much better for  you after Friday."  He had no idea how prophetic those words would prove to be. I finished making my Confession and received absolution, feeling somewhat better but still convinced I was doomed to hell.

It was good I was preparing for vacation as it kept me busy until Friday.  I was depressed and anxious but I obeyed the priest's instructions not to give myself penances and to hold off on everything I was doing and wait for the Confession.

All day Friday I was nervous.  I was having panic attacks but I knew come hell or high water I was not going to miss my 5 pm appointment time.  I arrived at 3 and was going to pray since we have all day adoration on Friday until 6 pm.  I forgot about the Level II Divine Mercy group and they were praying the Chaplet of Divine Mercy.  I love that Chaplet, it's the only time I could feel God's presence but today I was too nervous to pray it. I listened to everyone praying and when it was over the class leader asked if I wanted to sit in on the class. I didn't really feel up to it but it would make the time pass until I could meet with Fr S so I agreed to go.  I love everyone dearly in that class so I enjoyed the discussion and many people knew of my appointment and said they would pray for me at that time.  I didn't tell them what my addiction was but they knew I was struggling and were offering love and support.  It's vital to reach out to others.  You don't have to tell them everything just tell them you're struggling and ask for their prayers.  During class the leader mentioned a woman was coming to pray for her daughter who had struggles and suffering that were overwhelming her.  My ears perked up because that was the name Fr S had mentioned to me.  He had said she had "healing gifts" and I immediately wanted to pray for my friend and meet this woman, who might have something to say that would help me in my agony.  Mass was at 6 and I would be ready for an encounter that was to change my whole life.

I walked the long walk (it's really short, it just FELT long) to Fr S's office and he was in the hallway talking to someone in an office and told me he would be right there.  I was standing in front of a beautiful statue of Our Lady of Grace so I began begging her to help me.  I asked her to pray for me and to use  her intercessions to plead my cause to her Son. I was so upset and so devastated I did not know what to do anymore.

I made my Confession but it was difficult when Fr S asked me "What does God think of you?" when I talked about my struggles with disappointing God. I can honestly say I had no idea what He thought of me but I was sure He was very disappointed and would probably be getting very tired of me.  After the Confession I felt some relief.  We discussed mortal sin and that when one is in the grip of addiction they are not in a state of "freedom" and free will comes into question.  I felt better.  I asked Fr. S to shred that list and he did.  I didn't want to ever see it again.  Then I went to Mass.  Fr. Steve was praying the Mass and talked about saying YES to holiness. It almost seemed like a joke for a compulsive sinner like me to say YES to holiness but I did.  I honestly did and I was feeling better than I had felt in years.  I knew those sins were gone and I promised to NEVER EVER give myself penances again.  I would follow what the priests told me and accept that as God's will for my life.

After we finished praying for a friend everyone gradually left.  I walked over and talked to the woman who led the prayer about how I was struggling with an addiction and that I wondered if I could meet her sometime and talk about it.  She was warm and empathic telling me that this was the best time.  So she told me to go light three candles: one for my friend we just prayed for, one for myself and ..."you know who the third one is for".  I went and lit it for my father and at that moment I felt I forgave him.  It was over, or at least one level was gone.  At that moment I felt no more anger or grief.  I told her about my story and she asked questions, and held my hand.

 She told me my healing was coming in three stages and that "tonight the heaviest layer is coming off".  I was so excited that at long last I would feel something other than depression, sorrow, and regret.  She said that the final layer would be...and then she paused.  She said, "I know this sounds strange but I keep seeing a nativity scene."  I almost burst out laughing and said, "perfect!"  I knew that it all made sense.  My final healing was going to be attending Christmas mass.  I then told her the story about Christmas and we then began to pray.

She described me as having this inner child who was in prison and there was a layer like a thick tombstone over the top of her and that nothing was getting in.  No wonder I couldn't feel God or love or anything positive.  All those things were there and ready for me but they couldn't get through that concrete layer that was in the way of healing my childhood wounds.  She led me through a very involved guided meditation that rescued my child from the prison of pain and unshackled her.  We built a power rescue team that was led by Jesus and the Blessed Mother.  It included St Therese and St Philomena, who I had just stared a 9 day novena to just 48 hours ago.  They surrounded my inner child and called forth her purity, restoring her to her lost innocence. 

She then put her hands on me and I felt a jolt of electricity surge through my body and fill me.  It ran down to my feet and then up again to my head.  I immediately began to speak in tongues.  I felt everything lifting off of me and before I knew it I was being filled again. The power of the Holy Spirit was pouring into me.  All of those good actions of my priests, their care and concern, the love of the parishioners, and mostly the love of God in Christ was flooding into my dying heart and bringing me back to life.  It was as if those good things were in line and waiting and now they poured at once into me and delivered me. 

As we continued with the meditation we ended up at a nativity scene where my little girl got to be the angel in a white dress.  The woman praying for me said, "We should sing a Christmas Carol...what one do you like?" and I immediately came up with one.  "Hark the Herald Angels Sing".  You have to appreciate this scene.  It is August 26th and we are in a dimly lit church around 9 pm and singing a Christmas carol!  It was so amazing.  We sang in perfect harmony too! 

Then she had me take off my shoes and did healing work with my feet and legs and told me to soak them daily for a week and then every Saturday after that.  When we ended the prayer session I knew I would eventually be free of my addiction, the raw urges and nagging thoughts were simply not there that night. I knew that victory would come and for that moment I felt fantastic.

I went home and looked in the mirror and didn't recognize myself at all. The deep lines on my face and under my eyes were gone. My eyes were filled with love and I could see the love of Jesus radiating into the mirror.  I was glowing!

When I got to Mass the next morning everyone was commenting that "something happened" and were rejoicing with me.  Both of my parish priests walked through hell with me and I know they were happy.  It takes special men of God to see the hell you're in and dare to walk into it surrounded by darkness and despair and hold out their hand and say, "Come with me and let me show you the way to Jesus".  I constantly ask God to give me the walk with Him that I see in my priests.

The next day I walked around my apartment singing, crying tears of joy, and praising God for His goodness.  I am free!  I could feel God near me.  It was so wonderful after feeling so dead inside for so many years.

I know that if the three things that happened that day weren't lined up the way they were, I would have not received this miracle.  This confirms to me it was God.  I had to go to that Confession and be freed of those sins.  I then needed that homily on saying YES to God.  Once I said YES to God, then He made a dramatic move toward me and kicked open the door of my prison and delivered me.  If you just say yes and take one step toward God He will run to you!  He wants to be with you, He really does!  If you just accept Him your life will change. I was eager to experience deeper levels of God.  

I thought of the 10 lepers Jesus healed and how only 1 came back to thank Him. I got two little battery operated votive candles and placed them in front of that statue of Our Lady of Grace and wrote a note of thanks and left them for her.  She interceded for me and I love her.  I will worship her Son always. 

"But thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." (I Corinthians 15:57 KJV)

CHAPTER THREE--Agony in the Garden

Sunday June 19th at 6 am my alarm jolted me awake with a start.  I hadn't been sleeping in days from the fear of the demon returning to me and was still wearing my rosary around my neck and dousing my room with holy water in a panicked attempt to quell the fear and terror inside of me.  It had been so long since I went to church and I had no idea what would happen that day.

I dressed and left my apartment and made the drive arriving just before the service at 8 am was starting.  I slipped into the back and sat next to a lady who smiled at me. I was in the very last row on the left and just looked around at the people as they entered and sat down.  I tried to smile but I was exhausted; spiritually and morally bankrupt and had nothing to offer anyone in return.  I was dry and thirsting for my God.

As the mass began I heard all the familiar words and the reality that I couldn't remember most of them broke my heart in two.  Why did I run away? Why was I thinking I could return?  The longing in my heart to experience Mass caused me to cry.  I cried so hard that my tears rolled in rivers down the pew in front of me and soaked the front of my shirt.  I hadn't brought tissues again (you think I would have learned by now) and I was left trying to wipe away my tears with my hands while I ached to be welcomed home.

As everyone went up for communion I knew I could not join them and then my heart really broke.  I sobbed until my whole body shook.  The years of pride and feeble attempts to save myself from my addictions and pain caved in on my soul and I watched in longing as people walked up to receive the Eucharist.  I had to move into the aisle to let people out and then sat down and cried again. An older gentleman across the aisle came over and handed me a cotton hankie, patted my shoulder and said, "It's OK honey.  Just keep it."  I tried to thank him but nothing but a sob came out and I bowed my head and cried for every moment I had wasted in the past 11 years.  As the woman in the same pew returned to her seat she put her arm around me and said, "It's OK sweetie.  It's OK."  She kept her arms around me until we stood for the final prayer.

I waited while people cleared out of the sanctuary and then approached the priest (Fr Se) and introduced myself.  I told  him that I "just want to come home" and he was very understanding.  He talked to me briefly and then I found out he was leaving town for a week the next day so he told me to email him and I could see him when he returned.

After the service I went home spent and still very frightened.  I immediately sat at my computer and typed him a letter reviewing my situation and what I needed to do to come home to the church.  I then went to mass again in Burton at noon and met another priest who was very friendly and told me to call him and he would be glad to meet with me.

On Monday I received an email from Fr S  stating that my situation was pretty simple. I needed to make a full confession and then I could go to mass and receive the sacraments again.  I was so stunned that no one was telling me to go away. I had convinced myself that I was going to be told it was too late and that no one wanted someone who would walk away in a huff and stay gone for 11 years.  God was working in the priests who helped me with my initial fear and trepidation and I was grateful to anyone who would "tolerate" me for in my mind I was the lowest of the low and a priest would probably best spend his time on someone more deserving.  I called the secretary at the Burton Church and scheduled an appointment to see the priest for my confession.  I meandered through my days as a social worker still scared at my apartment and still plagued by feelings of unworthiness and massive guilt.

I went to adoration in Burton and sat for several hours a day and true to form I would be lost in my mind as If I was being lifted from my seat and I was somewhere else. I would come back and 1-2 hours would have gone by.  During those times I would see images of the cross, the Blessed Mother, and would feel peace from my addiction for a few hours.  The compulsions were relieved by Adoration and took away some of the cravings and thoughts.  

On Thursday I went to the church and talked to the priest.  I'm not sure what happened but we seemed to run out of time and I was only able to rattle off a few things off of my list.  He gave me absolution but something inside of me felt like I was missing something.  I needed to read that list and I was convinced that I should immediately start working on penances of my own and cross each one off the list as soon as I completed sufficient penance which was often grueling, self abusive, and excessive.  I started wearing head scarfs and sentenced myself to 6 months of that for one sin on my list. I was reading massive pages from the Bible with no link or connection to the sin and feeling lost and scared.  I began making myself pray the rosary 12 times a day and other bizarre self abusive things to myself in an attempt to "earn my forgiveness" and show God how sorry I was.

My first communion in 11 years was our newly ordained priest's (Fr D) first time praying Mass without anyone with him.  Needless to say I'm sure we will both always remember that day.  It was at the 7:30 daily Mass.  I was so eager to take communion I couldn't wait for Sunday.

 

We cannot save ourselves.  We cannot make ourselves holy.  We cannot free ourselves from bondage to sin and addiction.  Only the grace of Jesus Christ can save us.  We have to trust in Him and obey Him and we can experience freedom.  I didn't know how far down I would have to go.

Many mornings I couldn't take communion. It started to accelerate as I continued to work on my general confession list and make severe penances that were designed to "fix" this problem that was embarrassing and unacceptable.  I couldn't understand why it was getting worse.  I sincerely desired to be close to Jesus. I prayed, I meditated, I read the Bible, why was my sin getting worse?  What was I doing wrong?  I would often have to catch a priest after Mass for Confession as many as 5-6 times a week.  During one Confession I told Fr D that I couldn't take it anymore and was crying.  After we had talked he began giving me absolution and suddenly I heard a voice that said, "Prepare your heart to confess this sin for the last time."  I was flooded with emotion and God really spoke through Fr D in a powerful way that day.  I never knew how much I would need that promise to hold onto until I could surrender and finally be set free of my addiction and sins that were keeping me from feeling the full love of Jesus.

I was taking a Level I Divine Mercy class and began to meet women who each had their struggles and were finding solace in our sharing our stories as we studied St Faustina's Diary.  At that time I was convinced that my leaving the church was ground for excommunication and would read and study Canon Law until 2 or 3 in the morning coming up with crazy reasons why I should be kicked out.  I bought books on the topic and began increasing my penances.  My addiction is stress related so the harder I pushed myself the worse it became. It was a vicious never-ending cycle of misery.  I wasn't happy and I watched others who were at peace and longed for their walk with God.

 I would make myself go all day without food and all night without sleep, reciting rosary decades and punishing myself in an attempt to be rid of my addiction.  I just had to push myself harder. I was exhausted, frustrated, and hating myself.  Every time I slipped back into my addiction I would cry and beat up on myself and grieve the loss of communion and grab whichever priest was praying Mass that day and get right into confession.  That was the right thing to do but the other things I was "adding" to the mix were destroying me.  I drank heavily and resumed smoking.  I wasn't sure what to do.  Here I was being pious and attending daily Mass and nothing was getting better.  I sought Jesus like a man in the desert seeks water and I had no idea where to find him anymore.

I never told either priest about my self abusive penances because these were secret rituals I had to keep to myself.  One morning as I was crying to Fr D in an after Mass confession I broke down and told him I really felt my penance should be to stand in the middle of the freeway with a sign that reads "Hit Me!"   He informed me that he would not be giving out that penance that day.  I wanted Jesus close to me, but my self salvation attempts only drove us farther apart and I refused to allow his love and grace to heal me.  I can clean up this mess myself and then I can give Jesus a beautiful gift of a cleaned up woman.  He deserved that.  I did not see how this made no sense. I was blind to the fact that He was desperately wanting to set me free.  All I knew was that I was a bad Catholic and that I needed to step up the purification process so I could stop doing this terrible sin.  In spite of all of this I was making some friends at the church and attending daily Mass. Even if I couldn't take communion I went because I knew if I stayed away due to this addiction Satan would make sure I never was able to go to church so I had enough wherewithal to attend daily regardless of what state of sin I was in and whether or not I could take communion.   My list of 11 year sins was still there and I read it over and over. 

One bright spot in all this is that I had both priests come to my apartment and do a blessing to rid it of any evil that might be there.  I felt so much better afterwards and cleaned out all traces of occult and immoral possessions and threw them into the dumpster.  It was a very cleansing act that gave me some relief for a time from my anxiety.

I can't say enough wonderful things about the two priests at my parish.  They were always willing to give me confession on a moment's notice, pray with/for me, answer countless emails, talk to me, counsel me, and offer great suggestions.  But they did not know the horrible things I was doing.  If you don't tell them they can't help you properly.  Always confide in your priest about all the steps you are taking in your spiritual walk if you are struggling.  In that way they can guide you if you are getting off track.

After a couple months of this agony I couldn't take it anymore.  Pain is always a motivator for me to change.  After having enough suffering for a lifetime I went into Tuesday night confession with Fr D and showed him the secret "list" and what I was doing to try to make up my own penances and that I was desperate as I couldn't take it anymore.  He was newly ordained and wanted to consult Fr S about this and we agreed he would get back to me.  Since what I told him was in confession I wrote Fr S and Fr D an email detailing what was going on and  giving them permission to discuss the situation. I felt a strong wave of relief as I had been told to stop the penances and I agreed I would await their decision and abide by it. I was told that I was not to add to penances and that I cannot do this for myself.  Only Jesus could help me and that issuing myself penances was not a good thing to do. This is where God bluntly told me that I needed to learn obedience.  It's my least favorite word but essential to my growth.  When we refuse to obey our priests we are disobeying God.  They are sitting in for Jesus and when we decide we were "let off easy" or maybe we go the other way and think they are making a big deal out of "nothing" and we disregard their instruction, we cannot grow as we should.  God honors obedience.  Just as Jesus showed obedience to Mary and Joseph when they found Him in the Temple and later when He demonstrated the ultimate obedience to God the Father by dying for us, we too should be obedient and do our best to follow the teachings of the church and complete the penances  we are told to do (and in my case only what we are told to do). 

It was ultimately decided I would make a general confession of everything on the list and get rid of it once and for all.  I agreed as I needed to read each and every one of those mortal sins and get rid of them.  If we weren't meant to state each of our sins we could simply walk into confession and receive a blanket absolution and  walk out.  Jesus designed confession to be dispensed by a priest and that we should confess our sins so that they can be forgiven. 

Now you think that I had my confession date I would feel better right?  Well I was about to slide into the deepest abyss of all that almost consumed me. 

INTRODUCTION

Welcome to my blog of my journey home to the Catholic faith.  I was born to a Wisconsin Synod Lutheran mother and a Southern Baptist father.  I was baptized Lutheran but basically raised Baptist and Assembly of God.  I became disillusioned with both and when my children were older I became United Methodist.  The death of my son caused an explosion of my faith and it failed me utterly and totally. I later became Catholic as I explain in my story.  After leaving the Catholic faith I practiced paganism and then Judaism so I can pretty much say I covered all the bases. I finally came home to the Catholic faith and this blog is my story of how I finally came home to stay and what happened once I did.

I hope you marvel with me at the way God works in our lives to bring about miracles.  Now I know that many people will say the age of miracles is long over but I see them everyday, in the determined faith of someone suffering, and in those who choose to believe in an age when it's considered silly and/or foolish.  My prayer is that you will refer this blog to someone who may be away from the Church in the hope and prayer that they will see themselves in my story, identify with it, and return to the Church and our Precious Savior and Blessed Mother.  They care for us, they long for us, and they call to us to "come home".

I know the beginning stories are painful to read, filled with darkness, doubt, fear, and suffering.  But like the Bible, I know the ending and it's filled with a massive miracle, hope, deliverance from sin, addiction, and redemption.  So wade through it with me, enter into my suffering and celebrate my deliverance through the power of the Holy Spirit in the name of Jesus who sits at the Father's right hand, one God now and forever!  All glory, honor, and credit go only to God who has freed me from certain death and horrendous suffering. It is only by seeing how bad it was that you can appreciate why my soul sings and rejoices. 

Glory to God in the highest and peace to his people on earth. May God richly bless you as you enter into my life, death, and resurrection...with Christ leading me all the way and His Blessed Mother cradling me in her loving arms.  Many thanks also to St Therese, St Michael the Archangel, St Faustina, and St Philomena who came through in a POWERFUL way.  Pray for us!

Pax,

Rosary Girl

CHAPTER TWO--Lost in the Wilderness

After I left the Catholic Church it was pretty much a free-for-all.  Anything goes and nothing was off limits.  My life descended into insanity.  I became a pagan/witch and the friends I made there helped me for a time as they were supportive of me but I was on the outs with the Church.  I married the man I had lived with and we did not marry in the Catholic Church.

My husband and I were two broken people.  We had nothing to give each other and everything to demand.  Trying to "help"  him with his inability to connect socially or appropriately in public with people and organize his life kept me from having to see how messed up I was.  I was s social worker so I basically married someone I could have as a client for life.  I was working at a county social work job with mentally ill adults and the combination of struggling with my "secret life", the demands of work, and the demands of "fixing" my husband soon drained me to the core.  I resented him and his  neediness. I married him because I would be able to "mold" him but he was resisting my efforts to make him into what I thought would be best for him without bothering to see how he felt about that.  He would often throw tantrums in public and was banned from several places for inappropriate behavior.  He came for a horrible home too and his parents were deceased so there was no resolution for him, no way to confront them and heal.  Judaism became the newest "fad" religion in my desire to find a "cure" that would be new and innovative. I quickly lost interest in things so I grabbed onto learning a whole new set of holidays/rules/cooking/celebrations with gusto.  I gave sermons at the Temple and Shul a few times and enjoyed that immensely.  I enjoyed Passover and Yom Kippur's entire day at the Temple fasting and praying for God's forgiveness.  Feeling guilty is what I did best so having a day to "repent" was perfect for me.

I liked learning the Hebrew blessings and I tried to keep Kosher but I would always end up craving a bacon cheeseburger and would eat it while driving around so that no one would know.  I still can't give those up.  My addictions subsided for a while because I had something else to obsess about and I thought maybe this would be the ticket to freedom for me.  It wasn't and I slipped deeper into addiction. 

Christmas Eve 2009 I tried to go to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve while my husband was gone truck driving.  I walked in and was feeling so horrible about my son "Mr. Christmas".  I hadn't ever been to a Midnight Mass and hadn't celebrated Christmas since 1995.  I wanted to see how pretty it was and listen to the music.  I got squeezed into a pew and that's always a recipe for disaster.  I have to sit on the end due to my claustrophobia and my fear of panic attacks.  Then a man with a cute little girl came in and he jerked her into the pew very roughly and told her to shut up. I was upset and it triggered my childhood memories again.  I tried to tune it out but the tears on her face were eating at me.  That mixed with the memories of my sweet son saying, "Come on Mom hurry up and finish the dishes. I want to pass out the gifts.  Mr. Christmas is ready to party!"  My eyes filled with tears of regret for every mistake I ever made with him.  I relived them in detail in a flash and my heart filled with guilt and a thick black sadness.  Everyone else was all dressed up with their families and happy.  I couldn't have my son and it wasn't fair.  Then I saw a teenager in a Santa hat and I craned to see if it was my son.  Every now and then I would do that and I heard that this is normal.  He turned and it wasn't my son.  The emptiness was growing and engulfing me.  It was aching, silently screaming, and my heart was breaking.  Everywhere people had their arms around their spouses and they were smiling.  I felt abandoned and alone.  Then the flashbacks started again.  A drunk father crashing into the Christmas tree while trying to grab me as I ran.  Panic, sweating, and choking crying followed.  I began sobbing so hard that I disrupted the service.  I couldn't stop the swell of emotion, I tried really hard but the dam burst and there was no stopping the torrent of wailing and sobbing.  I had no tissue and I was crying more and more as my heart screamed into the dark abyss for my son and for my other two sons to all be together just one more time.  I cried for every day I lived without him. I sobbed for the horrific way he died with his head cracked open and bleeding.  I wailed for the way I held his broken body in my arms as they shut off the life support while I sang lullabies to him.  Regret, self hatred, fear, terror, more flashes of putting a bike together with my ex and the looks on the faces of my adorable boys when all three of them saw all the gifts.  I sobbed so loudly the priest stopped talking.  Everyone looked around and I jumped up, grabbed my coat and stumbled over feet to get to the aisle.  I tripped over  the nasty man's shoe and tumbled into the aisle and my purse spilled all over.  I shouted, "Oh no please!"  and sobbed while I grabbed my belongings.  My lip gloss was rolling up the aisle and I was frantic.  I sobbed into my purse grabbing things and getting off the floor with my bad knees.  I kept wailing, "Oh no, please, oh no! Oh Johnny why are you gone?  I can't do this, I miss you!" and no one moved and all was silent, watching my meltdown in shock and disbelief.  I looked up with matted hair mixed with tears stuck to my face, mascara streaming down in lines with my nose dripping and the little girl was standing in front of me handing me my lip gloss.  "Here lady.  Please don't cry.  Merry Christmas."  That was it, my heart tore to shreds and I began to sob for a sweet little girl who would be so shabbily treated on Christmas Eve.  The priest was moving towards me and I saw the little girls red dress and shiny black shoes.  Jesus in the form of a little girl with reddish blonde ringlets.  I hugged her impulsively and said rather loudly, "Don't let anyone tell you that you are not perfect just the way you are." and as the priest was coming up to me and all was still silent I turned and ran.  I didn't belong here. I was a freak show.  I knew I was crap and this proved it.  I spent 3 days in bed after that and prayed fervently to die.  On New Year's Eve I seriously contemplated ending my life at midnight but I just couldn't do that to my sons who would be left behind. 

After years of struggle it was deep in the heart of Michigan winter and our house used fuel oil for heat.  My husband could never keep a job for very long and this year he didn't seem to want to even look. I could not make him understand that all I needed was for him to bring home a very small amount of money and we would be OK.  I would leave for work at 6:30 and come home for lunch at noon and he would still be in bed.  I would tell him to get up and look for work, I'd come back home at 3:30, still in bed.  I lost it and ended it. I was completely empty and had nothing left to give him.  I moved out at the end of January in 2011.  I was done and I knew it.  I had an airline ticket with free airfare on a leading airline so I used it to fly to Dublin Ireland for four days. I was alone and the people there were so friendly and I loved it.  It gave me time to think about my marriage and my life.  I also enjoyed the Guinness.  Sadly when I returned it tasted terrible here ever since.  But for a souvenir I bought a handmade rosary with a St Patrick medal on it.  I love being Irish and my great-grandmother's maiden name was McCarty and I was very proud of that heritage.  I don't know why I bought a rosary but I did and it came back and went into my dresser drawer.

I got an adorable apartment and decorated it in lighthouse theme (I collect them) and enjoyed peace and quiet.  I was lonely but I was determined to get a new life for myself.

As soon as I had no one that would "see me" I began acting out my old addictions again and they skyrocketed.  I felt horrible and guilty and so isolated with no one to help me.

I kept Passover that spring but I was out of interest in the Jewish faith and the houses of worship were quite a drive away from where I was living.  I was feeling "crazy" again and was on too tight of a budget to consider a mental stress leave as I couldn't make it on 65% of my base pay.  I knew I had to tough it out and suffer.

One night I tired out early, which is unusual for me as I am a night owl.   I was wakened (or so I thought) by someone rubbing my back and I forgot I wasn't home anymore. I slowly roused and something sat on me straddling me and I looked up.  It was a full demon...and it was changing shapes from a woman into a man and back.  It was covered with hair.  I asked it what did it want and it said it wanted to be intimate with me. I was in a state of  horror and terror at the same time. I asked it it's name but I never remembered it.  Then I started in on casting it out in the name of Jesus.  It growled and flew onto the floor beside the bed.  I stood over it casting it out in Jesus' name and it hissed at me, "You will  invoke his name but you will not serve him".  It then melted into the floor and I bolted upright in bed.  I was never sure if that was a dream or real and to this day I cannot tell you.

I was up, forget about sleep and it being 3:30 a.m.  I was done sleeping this much I knew.  I flew to the dresser and found that rosary and put it around my neck walking around the house terrified.  I went to work exhausted and freaked out, the demon's words echoing in my ears.  I knew I had to get holy water and fast.  I decided I'd get it at the Catholic Church in Davison.  I washed out a pop bottle and went there.  Adoration was set up.  I carefully walked over to the holy water font and got a bottle full.  I then moved to where the adoration was going on and sat down.  I cannot kneel because of a knee condition so I sat and looked at the monstrance.  I thought it was only for a few minutes but when I looked at my watch 2 hours had went by.  It's always like that in Adoration for me. I go somewhere else, I'm just not there.  I went home and doused the apartment in holy water and cowered in terror barely sleeping for days.

While at the Church getting Holy Water I had a passing thought to "go to a service" at the Catholic Church. I saw a pamphlet which had a website Catholics Come Home. org and went online to check it out.  http://www.catholicscomehome.org/top-ten-reasons.php I immediately felt a strong pull nagging at me.  I went to my Diocese website to find out about churches and mass times.  Even though I had a church just 10 minutes away after looking at about a dozen local church websites I felt that the church in Swartz Creek seemed to have a lot of things going on all the time and I liked the pastor's preaching (he has sermons on podcast).  It seemed like people were all smiling in the pictures.  I didn't remember the last time I smiled.  I realized that after practicing paganism and Judaism I'd probably get turned away but I decided if I begged hard enough maybe I could convince them to let me stay.  So I set the alarm and got ready.  After 11 years I was going to see if I would be allowed to come home.  I truly believed I would be denied but I was scared, desperate, and empty.  I would sit outside and listen through the door if I had to..I knew I couldn't take communion but I wanted to go.  I needed to go. I was empty.

CHAPTER ONE---Running Away From Home

It was a cool day...summer was coming and I was eager to get to mass.  I had no idea that on this day I would attend my last mass for 11 years.

I had become Catholic just two years before after having struggled my way through many experiences/religions/ministries and other failed spiritual experiments.  I equate it to shopping for the perfect dress.  Nothing seemed to "fit" or help me grow in a way that would draw me closer to God.  I lived in constant tension always seeking God but doing things that pushed me further and further away from him.  I had been married to a man who was a fallen-away Catholic but still clung to the identity.  I had three sons in three years.  I had married at 18 and was very confused and in a lot of pain even though my children were the best thing to ever happen to me.

My childhood was riddled with pain and I never felt myself loved, accepted, or understood.  As an adult I repeatedly found myself saying, "They don't understand!  That's not what I meant.  Why can't anyone see the pain I'm in and understand I didn't MEAN it that way?" I was judging myself by my intentions while others were looking at my actions.  I didn't see that they didn't line up and I would become devastated at even the slightest critique of my personality flaws or things that needed to be worked on and improved in my life. I hated myself so totally I could not handle even a slight comment about errors or mistakes and would go into deep depressions if someone "saw through my facade" and dared to encourage me to grow up.  I wore a mask and if it slipped and you saw the horrendously pained child behind the adult I "pretended" to be I became terrified and you had to leave my life and the sooner the better.  I could not handle being seen for who I was, I wanted you to see the illusion and I was an actress that could have won an Oscar for my portrayals of myself as an adult/mother/wife because in my mind I was garbage and I KNEW it.

I attended college when my sons were small and graduated with honors in social work. I attended graduate school but the seminary I attended led me down a path that was unsatisfying and I felt God calling me in a new direction. That direction came at a horrible cost.  My oldest son died on May 20, 1996 from massive head injuries sustained in a car accident.  His friend and the driver was also killed.  He was my middle son's best friend so he lost a brother and best friend in one horrible tragedy.  I was serving in a ministry in the United Methodist Church and was horrified to find that my faith had failed me totally.  I had nothing to sustain my free fall into black depression that left me unable to get out of bed, care for myself, or even want to live.  I spent days lying in bed crying in sorrow because I had woke up and was still alive.  I called it the "morning devastation".  Every day I woke up, remembered my son was dead and caved in crying.  Everything in me wanted to die, to just go and join my son.  But I knew I had two other sons who desperately needed me and I willed myself to exist for their sake. I felt I was useless to them and that increased my guilt and depression.  So I divorced, left the job, and started working at a treatment center as an addictions counselor. 

The first year after my son died was hell.  Our first Memorial Day without him, our first 4th of July without him, you get the picture.  It was horrendous.  My son Johnny was a passionate lover of Christmas.  He loved it so much he told me once, "Just call me Mr. Christmas" and he always handed out the family gifts to everyone.  He often donned a Santa hat and enjoyed being with tons of friends, and was a gifted baseball player.  The first Christmas without him was rolling around and I decided since my kids and I were hurting so much we were discontinuing Christmas.  Cancelled due to lack of interest indefinitely.  No tree, no stockings, no mention of it would be permitted in my presence.  I acted like it made me angry but in fact I felt horrible deep and raw pain and also fear.  I would break down.  I couldn't do it.  One night after crying and drinking too much I got out the nativity set I had.  I set it up on the counter and got a hammer.  I decided I'd had enough of the holiday pressure and I looked at each piece animals, people,  and all the accessories and a huge burning rage built inside of me.  It started flowing out of my body as hot tears scorched my face.  A lifetime without feeling loved or wanted and always losing ONLY the ones I cared about while being left with people who hated me was more than I could stand.  My sons were the only exception to that rule and without them I would have ended my life. I know that. My love for them MADE me keep going.  But at that moment I was enraged.  Everyone else gets to have their kids for the holidays.  They get to laugh, have dinner, sing carols, open gifts and totally take for granted that they were all alive and well.  The injustice of my life blew the lid off the volcano seething in my soul.  I felt a torrent of anger so strong I could hear my heart beating in my ears and I saw red, I literally saw red.  I began smashing each piece of that nativity set into powder.  I was yelling, crying, smashing, and the pain was just flowing into my hand as each piece was pulverized.  After I finished I was spent emotionally and physically.   My hand ached and my head was screaming in pain from the yelling and boiling rage I was in and the realization of the depths of my anger truly frightened me.  I hurriedly cleaned up the mess and acted like nothing happened.  I put the mask back on and proceeded to "ignore" Christmas and avoid the stores until was over. 

After I left the ministry I was in I was totally walled off from God.  I became obsessed with "contacting" my deceased son and experimented with psychics, and all sort of devices to try to "reach" him.  I didn't feel a connection to God so I was trying to do what my childhood taught me to do.  I was relying on myself because surrender and trust in anyone (including God) would be perceived as weakness and weak people didn't make it.  If you wanted to survive you had to do it with your nails dug in and your heart walled off in rage.  Drive them away before they hurt you.  And I did it well.  I mastered the art of alienating people and driving them away.  I knew deep down I was unworthy of good people in my life.  My childhood left me convinced that I was garbage and "no one who truly knows me will love me" so might as well do them a favor and get them away from this tainted woman as fast as possible.  I was "saving them" and sparing myself trusting and caring about someone who would just end up using me or hurting me and why bother? 

If you asked people who knew me I had two reports, those who saw through the mask and cared and those who saw through the mask and shook their heads.  What was funny was that I thought no one saw through the mask.  Life is like that...we all have people who care and those who don't.  Those who cared would have described me as: caring, hilarious, intelligent, wounded, sad, and empathic.  Those who didn't care would have described me as: always having to be the center of attention, angry, defiant, intolerant, sarcastic, and moody.  Both were correct in many ways and there was still this very wounded child in the center of my heart where the emptiness existed and I told no one.  I can't count the number of nights I would fall asleep with a wet pillow, crying because the emptiness hurt like a deep ache and I didn't know what to do to fix it, fill it, or heal it.  I just numbed the pain with alcohol and inappropriate relationships, partying, and raging about the injustices in life.  I would rage about the little old lady who was driving too slow all the way up to the way the government should work because I knew everything.  I railed at God and whoa to anyone who dared mention Him in my presence.  You were going down.

I met someone at a single's dance and we were living together for 7 years.  During that time I had dreams that my dead son would talk to me and tell me to "have masses said for him" and that he needed them.  I had no exposure to that faith at that time so I was confused.  I did not know what to do.  I took as much money as possible and began donating to every Catholic Church I could find asking them to say masses for my son.  I then figured I should attend some of these masses since they were saying them for my son.  I had no idea what the benefit was (if any) but he asked and I will always be his mother and I did as he asked and then some.  While in a parish office giving a donation for some masses and going over the calendar of when he would be on the list I saw a flyer.  It said, "Interested in learning more about the Catholic faith?" and I thought "I sure am".  So I grabbed one.  It was an advertisement for RCIA classes.  I was living in Mt Morris at that time and so I started attending RCIA classes.  There are no coincidences with God and the entire class was filled with people in HORRIBLE pain.  All of us had someone who died and were struggling.  Every week someone melted down and we would stop the class and attend to their pain so that they could work through it and draw closer to God.  Everyone had pretty much had their meltdown but me. I was hiding well behind my thick mask I had constructed as a child and I wasn't divulging any information.

 

It fell off at...you guessed it...at Christmas.  They were having a Birthday Party for Jesus in our RCIA class.  They were also serving my favorite, carrot cake, and I wasn't eating anything that included Christmas.  I was pouting.  A sister of St Joseph/retired school teacher was part of our power-packed teaching team.  She was so gentle and caring.  She came up to me and gave me a card.  She said that each person's card was given after praying which would be appropriate.  She then wrote a hand written message for each person and that was no small feat.  Our class had 12 students so she really put time and effort into this.  I eagerly opened my card for I cared for this woman deeply.  I pulled out a card that had....OH YES....a nativity set on it.  I was stunned.  Inside it she had written, "Sometimes we  need to go back and start over."  I started bawling really loud like a little kid. My heart melted.  The sister came over and they stopped everything as they always did when one of us was having a meltdown.  I told everyone about the smashed nativity set and expected them to recoil in horror but instead everyone (over 25 people) stood in line to hug me, comfort me and tell me I would be OK.  For the first time I willingly let people see the wounded child and she was loved and accepted.  Then the head instructor asked if she could help me with anything.  I blew my nose, wiped my eyes and said, "Yeah I want some birthday cake".  Everyone laughed and the party resumed with me feeling a little embarrassed but better than I had felt in years.  I ate a HUGE piece of cake and tucked that card away in my purse.  God bless you Joanne, you were a nun, and that was something I always longed to be.  I used to pray as a little girl that God would "make me a good Catholic so I could be a nun and go to heaven".  I gave it up after my childhood abuse feeling too "impure" for it and resolved that I was never going to go to heaven.  I appreciate to this day the love that sister gave me and I pray for her.  She was the hands and heart of Jesus to me.   I love you dear sister, I have tears in my eyes remembering you.

I became a Catholic at the Easter Vigil on April 22, 2000.  It was a glorious time and I enjoyed attending mass.  Somewhere along the way the issues that weren't addressed fully lay inside my soul slowly eating away at the progress I would attempt to make.  Due to some incorrect advice I received I was told that it was "OK" to do something that I now know to be a mortal sin.  I am positive he had no idea of how damaged I was in that area of my life and how I would distort his "permission" to do something that would almost cause me to end my life.  I became addicted to this and a few other vices related to it and began descending into darkness.  I had two lives; the dark me and the light me.  I lived in two separate worlds and I sincerely did not want my life that way.  I was living immorally and attending mass while living a sinful life in "secret".  I knew I was an evil person and this just confirmed it in my mind.  I was lost in a maze and couldn't find my way out.   

During that time I had bariatric surgery and lost 150 pounds.  My addiction increased in intensity and became severe as I was engaging in it up to 12 times a day.  Still if I just organize myself better, or repent harder I'm sure I can get this all under control.  It was so futile because I did not see that I could not manage my own shattered life and that surrender is the path to victory.  I still viewed surrender as a sign of being a wimp and a sell out.  Real people took charge, they managed their problems and "got themselves together" and maybe a better day planner, or this college course, or this self-help book, or this priest, or this church, onward the list grew as I sank deeper and deeper into despair.  I began engaging in counting rituals, certain numbers of these prayers, endless novenas and self abusive behavior to "get myself in line".  After all I am a social worker, I know how to fix this, right??  The pain of my childhood swelled until I could no longer control the torrent of my passions, drives, urges, and thoughts.  The further I sank into my addiction the more convinced I was evil, horrible, unlovable and unforgivable.  I was convinced I was getting too far out, like a swimmer who is afraid they are going to drown before they can make it back to shore. I kept rationalizing that the next holy day or a certain feast day was the "last" time but it came and went and I sank deeper into despair. 

All of these things were the hurricane brewing when I stepped into church for noon mass.  The sanctuary always smelled of oil soap and old books. I loved that smell so much and found my usual seat.  The church was full that Sunday.  Statues were everywhere reminding me of what I could never attain, a holy life.  I loved St Therese the most as she was my confirmation saint. I  loved her simple theology and how she lived out her faith...simple but not easy.  I settled in and got my worship resources organized.  I always hate flipping around so I would get all the pages in order so I would be ready.  The sounds of people packing the pews with mumblings and greetings were everywhere. 

That day was one of shocking revelation as the priest of that particular parish making a shocking announcement that triggered horrible childhood memories for me.  I had went to 7 years of therapy for post-traumatic stress disorder and hadn't had a flashback in years.  I was considered in "full remission". I worked hard on my recovery and was proud of it.  But the other addictions were an acting out of the abuses I endured so I was re-abusing myself over and over and becoming sicker every day.  Suddenly the familiar symptoms of a total flashback were overwhelming me.  My heart was racing and I could hear it pounding in my ears, the freaking out feeling, the overwhelming feelings of being trapped with no escape, the flashes of memories and the feelings of sheer and total terror began rushing in like a tsunami wave of destruction.  I barely heard heard him reading his letter as my terror rose and rose and I was having difficulty breathing.  I was shocked...there were small children and teenagers present and these parents had no warning.  Altar servers were there, and a "buddy" as the priest called him who then stood up and started praising him for "being so honest".  My flashback began flooding over me deeper and deeper until I was hearing everything from really far away.  I saw the priest speaking but could hear no sound except my pulsing heart and a high pitched screaming child.  Through therapy I came to know that was my memory of my own screaming.  I heard it then and I knew I had to get out of there.  Tears ran down my flushed face, my hands shook, and my body began to sweat profusely.  The horrifying slide show of memories was playing and each slide brought newer and stronger feelings of horror and terror.  I then had the horrifying realization that I had been alone with that man in a confessional....I had told him secrets/confidences!  I began to freak out and "lose it" and I knew then that it was over for me.  I jumped up, grabbed my purse and made myself walk and not run as I marched from the 2nd row all the way out the door shaking, hallucinating horrible memories, and feeling terror, panic, claustrophobia, and confusion.  I made sure I slammed the door loudly so that I could remember that I was NEVER GOING BACK.  I should have never driven home in that state but thankfully I only lived 2 miles away.  I went into my usual steps I was trained to do...lemon herbal tea, wrapping myself in a blanket, and soft music with my back against a wall so I couldn't be startled.  I would become confused and feel like there was no separation between me and the air and atmosphere so I was afraid my skin would dissolve and I would disappear.  It was horrifying and I had to wrap in a blanket to "hold my skin on".  The waves went on for what seemed like an eternity. I rocked trying to comfort myself holding my rag doll and sobbing.

After 4 hours I was over the worst of it and I slept for 11 hours.  When I woke up I was angry.  I felt like I went to church to worship not hear a confession.  I was confused and I was finished with the church.  What little rein the church had on my addictions was now gone.  What would happen to me?  I didn't care at that moment, I was running panicked into the wilderness of my own sin and had no idea where to go or who would help me.