Feb 20, 2012

Taken Me a Long Time to Get Back Here

I like confession.  I love it.  It's a useful and beautiful tool we have in the Orthodox church.  There's no penance.  Just, before God, tell me what is on your heart. 

During my most recent confession, my priest told me that this, confession, was actually a requirement for someone in my position, in order to, I don't know how he worded it, but get back "in" because my marriage has ended.  Marriage, he said, is a state of grace, and you are no longer in a state of grace.

Funny, it felt to me like the opposite was true.  In fact, talking to my mom over Christmas, I used that exact phrase to explain why I was doing so well, accomodating, forgiving, forging ahead.  Mom, I'm in a state of grace, I said.

I had gone to confession in April, the day Jimmy told me our marriage was over.  I went to confession as a way of taking full responsibility for my part in the failure, to own up to all that I'd done to drive him away.  In the months that followed, I blubbered, I begged, I took the boys to give him space, time to think, time to miss us.  Nothing changed.

When he moved out in August, I was in crisis.  Overwhelmed by the feeling of rejection, triggering deep insecurities, ones that told me that there was something inherently wrong with me that rendered me unable to love and be loved.  Equally overwhelmed that I had no job, no income, and two little ones to house and feed. 

Thus the healing began.  My home is a more peaceful place, a more beautiful space, and I am thriving.

 I'm going to write about my life here, in this blog named for my daughter.  And it will bring honor to her.  Anything that is pure, from the heart, true, and shares with others so that we all feel a little less alone, honors her.  Honors us all.

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