deep dark secrets

There are a few things I don't like to admit...

I don't often speak up about being Catholic. When I think about why that is I think its because I don't like to fight about religion. Faith, in my opinion, is so very personal that I wouldn't dare to tell someone what they should believe and I find it hurtful when someone tries to tell me that what I believe is wrong. I also hate that people make assumptions that my beliefs are blindly led by the Catholic Church. As much as I find my solace and comfort in the church - I don't agree on every stance the church takes. I also don't want to debate how that makes me a lukewarm Catholic. That might very well be true I guess - but I don't think that is how God will judge me when I meet Him. I suspect He will judge me on my faith and my faith, though nurtured in the Catholic church - would be there if I was alone on an island. I believe in God. I know Him. But despite this utter conviction, I am pretty ashamed that I sometimes keep silent or that I sometimes apologetically answer "I'm Catholic". I love discussing beliefs and faith with people when its met without judgment.

But this weekend when I was surrounded by 300 teenagers who weren't afraid to admit that they believed and that they were Catholic, I was quite humbled. My generational gap is showing I think.

Another thing I'm not exactly proud of is that I am afraid of this problem with my legs and eyes. Sometimes I will dream that I am unable to walk at all, that my legs are dead and the dream will seem so real it will wake me up. I will lie awake in the darkness and fret and worry and bite my lip until finally I get up. I will walk up and down beside the bed to just make sure my legs still work, to reassure myself. I'll do it quietly so I don't wake my husband because it would embarass me. I know that he would be supportive and would try his best to understand - but I hate that even when the illness is silent, it is eating away at me. Sometimes, the idea that I could go blind or that I could lose my ability to walk and never regain it back is so overwhelming, it paralyzes me inside and I shut down.

How do these two things relate?

Well, this weekend at the retreat I celebrated the Sacrament of Reconciliation for the first time in a long time. I've spent the last couple of years, since these health problems started, being angry at God. And instead of ranting and raving like I used to - because at least that is continuing the conversation - I decided instead to punish Him by becoming apathetic. I went through the motions of religion; sometimes just because it was routine, sometimes because I was hoping the routine would stir some real feeling inside me and sometimes to be completely spiteful.

I realize this is first of all, completely immature and second of all, completely useless because I'm pretty sure God doesn't play those games.

So, I stood in line with hundreds of teens waiting nearly an hour for a few minutes of reflection with a priest. I made it to the front of the line and I was running through my head what I would say. Then, the door opened and the light from inside the office/makeshift confessional spilled out into the gym. I took a deep breath and walked inside.

Though the priest is sworn to secrecy about what I said in there, I am not. I admitted to him that I have been angry at God. That I stopped the conversation not by stopping praying but by stopping listening. I told him that I had health problems and it was difficult and I was scared that I wouldn't be able to walk, wouldn't be able to see.

He talked to me about how special the prayers of suffering are and some more perspective about my suffering and suddenly there were tears on my face. I have only cried about this, opened up to how scary all this is - once. It was last year, one year after it all began and I'd had a lumbar puncture and been struck down with the post LP headache that was so ugly. I'd spent four days flat in bed and it wasn't easing up when the doctor phoned and asked me if I was still walking badly - no. Then she said - the lumbar puncture didn't show anything conclusive so she would see me in six months.

I got off the phone and collapsed on the floor in sobs. I was exhausted - tired of being tested without any answers, tired of being questioned, tired of feeling freakish and conspicuous. Tired of being unable to answer people when they ask: what's wrong with you? A year of uncertainty finally broke free and I screamed and cried and threw things. For a few moments, it felt good to finally let myself feel all that - but then I packed it back up and stopped feeling anything.

This weekend I also went to one of the members of the retreat when we were given the opportunity to have them prayer with us. We were asked to be selfish - to ask for prayers for something personal. This is not me normally. I am intensely private with my faith and I have never felt comfortable having someone pray with me. But - in a spirit of setting a good example, I lined up for this as well. I sat down with a wonderful lady whose nametag was labelled 'Ms. Mac' and she took my hands. I told her that I had health problems that had not been able to be diagnosed and that affected my ability to walk and my ability to see. She started to pray and I closed my eyes and my body began to tingle. And I began to cry. Not the raging sobs of a year ago - but silent tears, a release.

Yes - I admitted I'm afraid. I admitted that these problems do affect me, that I'm not as strong as I portray. And I let God back in a little. This weekend was the first time I let myself talk about my fears. I'm glad that I did. I'm grateful for the people who prayed for me, who blessed me.

And I'm not afraid to say it!