Well I finally got myself an appointment with a counselor. My first appointment is in 2 weeks. I am actually looking forward to it, a little. I really need help, I need to figure out what is in my brain that is driving me to this repetition of self destruction. I have a lot of childhood issues I need to talk to someone about. My childhood was mostly great with a few dark, dark points. I've hidden those points in the cobwebbed corners of my consciousness because I'd convinced myself they don't matter. Now, I'm starting to believe otherwise. Maybe they do matter. Maybe my feelings do count.
Even if those events have nothing or little to do with my addiction (though they seem like they just may be directly related), it'll be helpful in other ways to work them out I think.
I'm also very nervous. I was so nervous walking in today and making the appointment. I blurted out some speedy introduction (I'll tell you exactly what it was: "I'm a relatively normal person with issues I'd like to work out. Do you offer services for people like me?" it was really fast) and said many stupid things in effort to hide my embarrassment, but as a result, only enhanced it. Luckily, the place I went had no openings in that site, but plenty at another site, so I may never have to see that kind receptionist again.
So that part is over. I think my initial appointment will be difficult. But talking to strangers is easier for me than talking to people I love, at least about heavy issues, so it may not be so bad. I hope I only need it a few weeks.
I hope, with all my heart, that it helps.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
anxiety
I'm still carrying that rock in the pit of my stomach from the last time I ran to the camp of the enemy. I feel so sick. I look at the picture of Jesus at my computer and I feel so sick. I'm sorry for what I've done to You. Even though this always happens, I'm sorry. Even though I've said it before, I'm sorry.
I really don't want to be on time to church today. I just can't believe last Sunday's experience wasn't enough to inspire good behavior. I didn't even think about it though.
It's a massive stone taking up space in my stomach and its releasing a poison through my blood veins through my entire body. And I don't know if I can even talk to my bishop this time. I mean, I will. I know I will; I always do. It's just so much worse this time and I have a little something more to confess that I'd rather not. Ever. To anyone.
I need this out of my life.
I really don't want to be on time to church today. I just can't believe last Sunday's experience wasn't enough to inspire good behavior. I didn't even think about it though.
It's a massive stone taking up space in my stomach and its releasing a poison through my blood veins through my entire body. And I don't know if I can even talk to my bishop this time. I mean, I will. I know I will; I always do. It's just so much worse this time and I have a little something more to confess that I'd rather not. Ever. To anyone.
I need this out of my life.
Friday, November 26, 2010
On Friendship, and Preparation
Proverbs 27:9 Ointment and perfume rejoice the heart: so doth the sweetness of a man’s friend by hearty counsel.
I'm not a friendly person. I take that back. I'm sufficiently friendly. I'm even nice. I'm just not all that personable. I have one good friend, and I'm happy with that. I love her with all my heart, and she is there for me. But . . . she doesn't know about this. It's embarrassing, you know. I've never been the social type. I don't enjoy the journey of making friends. And so, I have very few. The bad thing about that is, I don't have a lot of people to talk to about important things. I'm learning that friendship is important. Relationships are vital. And I'm missing out.
Though I wouldn't delegate him a friend in the way we think of most friends, the above verse applies at this time to a mostly-stranger, but someone who is, because of his "hearty counsel," a dear friend. Here's something he told me today, something that applies to each of you who are reading or ever will read this blog: "You are a choice [child] of God, as such, you are worth so much more than this world has to offer in the ways of joy and happiness, sullied or pure."
He's right. I am worth more than the world's pitiful offerings. I'm God's daughter. Even in the depths, in the rusted chains, of sin, I have great worth. If I could just see that all the time, perhaps, as this friend suggested in a comment, I wouldn't feel the need to treat myself like a worthless particle by participating in vile, destructive behavior.
It's hard to see that worth though, when, as a child, I was shunned by my peers. When, as a child, my feelings were meaningless to my parents, as was evident to me, the child, when I was promptly scolded simply for crying. It's hard to see that worth when, as a youth, only some emotions were ok. Like when someone died, I could be sad. But, even then, I scarcely dared cry in the presence of my parents, or siblings- not for fear of how they'd react, but for fear of how they wouldn't react. I remember at my grandpa's funeral, I was 18, and I was shattered. All my tears had to be so private. And I remember as my cousin passed my grandfather's dead body, she had a public little meltdown. And I was so embarrassed and afraid for her, but then her mom, my aunt, scooped her into her breast and whispered compassionately in her ear, and I was so jealous that it was okay for her to feel however she felt. I've never had the compassionate arm of a parent wrapped around me.
But, that was childhood. I should be over that. Then I got married. And when I cried, he yelled. Or laughed. Or simply ignored. So I stopped crying. Even my best friend aforementioned has never seen me cry. And I'm a girl! :)
I have never been allowed to feel. My feelings have never counted. Never mattered. And so, yeah, it's hard to see that worth in me.
I intended for this to be a short post. Haha. Guess I had more to say than I thought.
And so, friendship is hard to come by; I've been trained all these years to hide and ignore my own emotions. But now I see how much I'm missing. If I had the encouragement of friends, close friends, I could beat this. I mean, I will anyway, with or without, but thanks to the hearty counsel of this commenter, I am learning how sweet it is to have someone rooting for you, someone who's not mocking me for feeling. Friend, I thank you.
And on Preparation:
I'm like the Lamanites in Alma 58. There were tons of 'em. They outnumbered the Nephites by a lot. They wanted to overtake some cities and kill some Nephites and they thought they had this one in the bag. The Nephite warriors were starving. The government had not been keeping up on provisions. So, not only were they fewer in number than the Lamanites, they were also weak. The Lamanites had all the food they could possibly need. So the Nephite leaders prayed. And they were assured that the Lord would, yet again, deliver them. They tricked the Lamanites and defeated them. Twice, really. The first time, the Lamanites were like, mah, it's a fluke. We'll get 'em tomorrow. But they were tricked again.
The Lamanites weren't prepared. They assumed that it would be an easy win. Easy. They assumed that they were ok. They didn't prepare, because a lion doesn't have to prepare to defeat a mouse, you know? The Nephites, on the other hand, despite their glaringly obvious disadvantage, prepared for war. They knew they were severely outnumbered. They knew the Lamanites had strength and energy from food. Yet, they prepared, as if they could be saved, regardless of the unlikelihood, nay, the very impossibility, of such a victory.
I hated these boring war stories in the Book of Mormon till this year.
I want to be the Nephites. I want to go against my enemy and his legions as if I can. I want to go against the sin in my face, with all its power, against all my weakness, as if I can conquer it. I want to prepare for this war as if I can win it. Because I can, I already know I can. It's just that I doubt it every so often, because I don't always remember that I'm worth the fight it will take to get me through, to get me past the overwhelming odds against me.
But I'm tired of being the Lamanites, who don't prepare because they think they're good enough, who don't rely on the Lord because they think they're good enough.
I just now saw that contradiction. I do forget to rely on the Lord because I start to believe I'm ok. At the same time, I rarely believe I'm good enough.
Yeah, I don't get it either. Anyway. I'm still pretty put out about this last incident. It was worse than usual, much worse. I slapped my Savior across the face with this one. Here's hoping it was that "rock bottom" where people turn around for good.
I'm not a friendly person. I take that back. I'm sufficiently friendly. I'm even nice. I'm just not all that personable. I have one good friend, and I'm happy with that. I love her with all my heart, and she is there for me. But . . . she doesn't know about this. It's embarrassing, you know. I've never been the social type. I don't enjoy the journey of making friends. And so, I have very few. The bad thing about that is, I don't have a lot of people to talk to about important things. I'm learning that friendship is important. Relationships are vital. And I'm missing out.
Though I wouldn't delegate him a friend in the way we think of most friends, the above verse applies at this time to a mostly-stranger, but someone who is, because of his "hearty counsel," a dear friend. Here's something he told me today, something that applies to each of you who are reading or ever will read this blog: "You are a choice [child] of God, as such, you are worth so much more than this world has to offer in the ways of joy and happiness, sullied or pure."
He's right. I am worth more than the world's pitiful offerings. I'm God's daughter. Even in the depths, in the rusted chains, of sin, I have great worth. If I could just see that all the time, perhaps, as this friend suggested in a comment, I wouldn't feel the need to treat myself like a worthless particle by participating in vile, destructive behavior.
It's hard to see that worth though, when, as a child, I was shunned by my peers. When, as a child, my feelings were meaningless to my parents, as was evident to me, the child, when I was promptly scolded simply for crying. It's hard to see that worth when, as a youth, only some emotions were ok. Like when someone died, I could be sad. But, even then, I scarcely dared cry in the presence of my parents, or siblings- not for fear of how they'd react, but for fear of how they wouldn't react. I remember at my grandpa's funeral, I was 18, and I was shattered. All my tears had to be so private. And I remember as my cousin passed my grandfather's dead body, she had a public little meltdown. And I was so embarrassed and afraid for her, but then her mom, my aunt, scooped her into her breast and whispered compassionately in her ear, and I was so jealous that it was okay for her to feel however she felt. I've never had the compassionate arm of a parent wrapped around me.
But, that was childhood. I should be over that. Then I got married. And when I cried, he yelled. Or laughed. Or simply ignored. So I stopped crying. Even my best friend aforementioned has never seen me cry. And I'm a girl! :)
I have never been allowed to feel. My feelings have never counted. Never mattered. And so, yeah, it's hard to see that worth in me.
I intended for this to be a short post. Haha. Guess I had more to say than I thought.
And so, friendship is hard to come by; I've been trained all these years to hide and ignore my own emotions. But now I see how much I'm missing. If I had the encouragement of friends, close friends, I could beat this. I mean, I will anyway, with or without, but thanks to the hearty counsel of this commenter, I am learning how sweet it is to have someone rooting for you, someone who's not mocking me for feeling. Friend, I thank you.
And on Preparation:
I'm like the Lamanites in Alma 58. There were tons of 'em. They outnumbered the Nephites by a lot. They wanted to overtake some cities and kill some Nephites and they thought they had this one in the bag. The Nephite warriors were starving. The government had not been keeping up on provisions. So, not only were they fewer in number than the Lamanites, they were also weak. The Lamanites had all the food they could possibly need. So the Nephite leaders prayed. And they were assured that the Lord would, yet again, deliver them. They tricked the Lamanites and defeated them. Twice, really. The first time, the Lamanites were like, mah, it's a fluke. We'll get 'em tomorrow. But they were tricked again.
The Lamanites weren't prepared. They assumed that it would be an easy win. Easy. They assumed that they were ok. They didn't prepare, because a lion doesn't have to prepare to defeat a mouse, you know? The Nephites, on the other hand, despite their glaringly obvious disadvantage, prepared for war. They knew they were severely outnumbered. They knew the Lamanites had strength and energy from food. Yet, they prepared, as if they could be saved, regardless of the unlikelihood, nay, the very impossibility, of such a victory.
I hated these boring war stories in the Book of Mormon till this year.
I want to be the Nephites. I want to go against my enemy and his legions as if I can. I want to go against the sin in my face, with all its power, against all my weakness, as if I can conquer it. I want to prepare for this war as if I can win it. Because I can, I already know I can. It's just that I doubt it every so often, because I don't always remember that I'm worth the fight it will take to get me through, to get me past the overwhelming odds against me.
But I'm tired of being the Lamanites, who don't prepare because they think they're good enough, who don't rely on the Lord because they think they're good enough.
I just now saw that contradiction. I do forget to rely on the Lord because I start to believe I'm ok. At the same time, I rarely believe I'm good enough.
Yeah, I don't get it either. Anyway. I'm still pretty put out about this last incident. It was worse than usual, much worse. I slapped my Savior across the face with this one. Here's hoping it was that "rock bottom" where people turn around for good.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
liar
that's me. happy thankgsiving to me. maybe it's just too hard. maybe i'll never get it. maybe i'm only pretending to try. maybe i'd be happier if i just gave up.
i don't believe any of that.
maybe i will conquer. so. in case that's true, i'll keep trying i think.
i just want to die today. my son said he dreamed we were in a star wars wii game and he stabbed me. i kinda want to be stabbed.
very honestly, i used to cut myself. i told you i'm a mess. i severely lack coping skills. it was a habit of sorts. whenever i felt anxiety i'd release it through the breaking of my skin. it wasn't as bad as some of those people you hear about cutting their wrists. i would barely barely break the skin and just release only a little bit of blood. but it worked. but anyway i was addicted. and i haven't done it in years. and i am 99% certain i will never do it again.
that sad story gives me hope. but right now i don't deserve hope.
i am low now, so low, sick, despicable. and yet, from my God, all I feel is love. Distance, yes, because of the fact I just ran from Him full speed into the darkness of our enemy. But love.
God forgive me, God forgive me, God forgive me! Again.
i don't believe any of that.
maybe i will conquer. so. in case that's true, i'll keep trying i think.
i just want to die today. my son said he dreamed we were in a star wars wii game and he stabbed me. i kinda want to be stabbed.
very honestly, i used to cut myself. i told you i'm a mess. i severely lack coping skills. it was a habit of sorts. whenever i felt anxiety i'd release it through the breaking of my skin. it wasn't as bad as some of those people you hear about cutting their wrists. i would barely barely break the skin and just release only a little bit of blood. but it worked. but anyway i was addicted. and i haven't done it in years. and i am 99% certain i will never do it again.
that sad story gives me hope. but right now i don't deserve hope.
i am low now, so low, sick, despicable. and yet, from my God, all I feel is love. Distance, yes, because of the fact I just ran from Him full speed into the darkness of our enemy. But love.
God forgive me, God forgive me, God forgive me! Again.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Here and Now
The temptation is real. Right now. I will not yield.
I've now given my word the world, though only a few will ever know it. I will NOT yield!
I've now given my word the world, though only a few will ever know it. I will NOT yield!
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Conference Talk
I was just reading "Cleansing the Inner Vessel," a talk by Pres. Boyd K Packer from this last conference. This very talk is the one the caused all the controversy and managed to get dear Pres. Packer labeled a "bully."
Well. This talk is inspiring. Very. But I have some questions about it. Pres. Packer says the Priesthood can heal those who are entangled in sins of immorality, specifically pornography. Is this limited to those who hold the Power? For example: "Priesthood holders carry with them the antidote to remove the terrible images of pornography and to wash away guilt." The part I'm interested in is where it says "remove the terrible images of pornography." How literally is this to be taken? Remove the images from where? Our minds? I've held pornographic images in my mind for, like, a decade. I'm not saying I remember every image I've ever seen; I certainly don't. But many of them never go away. And then they appear in before my consciousness of a sudden, and uninvited, and I hate them! I feel the shame of my sin when I see them during a clean time. Sometimes, they serve as a temptation. Sometimes, as a reminder of who I have become. Sometimes, I am so sickened that I have partaken in this great evil-- the people in these "images" are PEOPLE. They are children of God. And look what they're doing to themselves! It makes me so sad. What must have happened in their lives to inspire them to advertise their bodies in this way? And I know I am no better. I perpetuate it. I am a reason they treat their bodies and spirits so disrespectfully. Shoot, I treat their bodies the same way.
These people have parents. Some have kids. They're people. I'm so sad for them. I'm aware of that striking contradiction. I don't understand how I worry for their souls but I support their damnation.
Anyway. Those images I always thought I would never be able to fully expel. But, here, Pres. Packer is saying those images can be removed. Does he mean from our minds, memories? I WANT THAT! How do I get that? He said "Priesthood holders carry with them the antidote . . ." but what about us women? Can we share in that antidote? How do we get it? I'm not just going to ask a Priesthood Holder if he'll remove the pornographic images from my memory.
But what a great tool that would be, to have those memories banished! Really, how literally is this statement to be taken?
Also: "If one is obedient, the priesthood can show how to break a habit and even erase an addiction." Again, there is no HOW. I know that I have as much right to Priesthood power as any man. I know that. I have seen its effects in my life and I know its power is not limited to men. But what I don't know, is HOW can the Priesthood show ME how to break a habit and erase an addiction. Erase an addiction! Erase it, like an eraser erases pencils markings? So it's totally gone? Forever?
I must know, how can the Priesthood do this for me?
Well. This talk is inspiring. Very. But I have some questions about it. Pres. Packer says the Priesthood can heal those who are entangled in sins of immorality, specifically pornography. Is this limited to those who hold the Power? For example: "Priesthood holders carry with them the antidote to remove the terrible images of pornography and to wash away guilt." The part I'm interested in is where it says "remove the terrible images of pornography." How literally is this to be taken? Remove the images from where? Our minds? I've held pornographic images in my mind for, like, a decade. I'm not saying I remember every image I've ever seen; I certainly don't. But many of them never go away. And then they appear in before my consciousness of a sudden, and uninvited, and I hate them! I feel the shame of my sin when I see them during a clean time. Sometimes, they serve as a temptation. Sometimes, as a reminder of who I have become. Sometimes, I am so sickened that I have partaken in this great evil-- the people in these "images" are PEOPLE. They are children of God. And look what they're doing to themselves! It makes me so sad. What must have happened in their lives to inspire them to advertise their bodies in this way? And I know I am no better. I perpetuate it. I am a reason they treat their bodies and spirits so disrespectfully. Shoot, I treat their bodies the same way.
These people have parents. Some have kids. They're people. I'm so sad for them. I'm aware of that striking contradiction. I don't understand how I worry for their souls but I support their damnation.
Anyway. Those images I always thought I would never be able to fully expel. But, here, Pres. Packer is saying those images can be removed. Does he mean from our minds, memories? I WANT THAT! How do I get that? He said "Priesthood holders carry with them the antidote . . ." but what about us women? Can we share in that antidote? How do we get it? I'm not just going to ask a Priesthood Holder if he'll remove the pornographic images from my memory.
But what a great tool that would be, to have those memories banished! Really, how literally is this statement to be taken?
Also: "If one is obedient, the priesthood can show how to break a habit and even erase an addiction." Again, there is no HOW. I know that I have as much right to Priesthood power as any man. I know that. I have seen its effects in my life and I know its power is not limited to men. But what I don't know, is HOW can the Priesthood show ME how to break a habit and erase an addiction. Erase an addiction! Erase it, like an eraser erases pencils markings? So it's totally gone? Forever?
I must know, how can the Priesthood do this for me?
The Sacrament
So remember that last time I screwed up? Well, I still haven't talked to my bishop about it. To be very honest, I have no idea if I'm supposed to talk to him every single time. But I usually do. I feel like I'm not fully repenting if I'm not confessing. So, generally, I withhold from the Sacrament until I've confessed, and sometimes even after depending on how I feel and what he says.
Usually, I'm late on purpose, so I can miss the passing of the sacred emblems. Or, if I'm feeling the need to be on time, I get there on time but I sit somewhere where it's easier to pass on the Sacrament, like maybe in the foyer if I don't have the kids, or on a smaller pew where people will scarcely notice whether I partake or not.
I admit these things with shame. It doesn't matter what man thinks. Only what God thinks. It doesn't matter if Bro. Jones sees my refusal of the Bread and Water and assumes instantly that I'm a whore. It doesn't matter if Sis. Jackson sees my refusal and assumes that I must be a horrible mother. For one, ours is a kind and merciful church, and these scenarios are so unlikely. Also, even if it was likely, what they think doesn't matter. And I know this. And usually, I accept it.
But, usually, I'm squeezed somewhere between pews and people.
Today, I was a little late, but not late enough to have missed the Sacrament. I peeked into the chapel during the announcements and found a spot in the 2nd pew. I thought I could handle that during the sacrament, except it was right by Sis. Peck and I did NOT want her of all people to notice my unworthiness. But there was another spot behind her. I don't have my kids this weekend so it's just me. So I went to sit behind her, but when I got there I noticed all the remaining space was filled with books and stuff, probably to save it for the rest of a family. So I resigned to sitting next to Sis. Peck. But I found the same next to her. Well the entire front pew was empty. But there I sat, in the empty front pew, directly in view of the primary president who was sitting on the stand(today was the primary program and I am a primary teacher). She smiled at me.
The announcements were done and we were singing the Sacrament Hymn. I almost took off. I thought I would just to sit in the foyer till the Sacrament was over. I felt so exposed! Everyone would notice! I'd be one of the first people to be offered the Sacrament, and I'd certainly be the first to reject it. The humiliation was overwhelming. Every time I don't partake, I'm embarrassed. I'm sad that my actions have led to this consequence. But, never do I remember the humiliation I felt today.
During the hymn, so many things went through my mind. I should just leave. Maybe I should just take the sacrament this time so Sis. Primary President doesn't think I'm an unworthy teacher. Yeah, maybe I'm okay taking the bread and water this time. Maybe I don't have to confess every time. I know I want the Spirit with me and that I can remember Jesus through the week- maybe I'll just take it this time. No, I can't, so I have to go, but, I have to go up to the stand right after the Sacrament anyway for the primary program.
I wanted to disappear.
I did wonder at that time, why I was letting the fear of others' judgment get to me. I worry that their perception of me matters more to me than God's. I told myself, my salvation is NOT in their hands, but in God's. And come what may, I am not worthy today to partake of the flesh and blood of my Savior. And that's what's important. My worthiness, nay, my lack thereof. Not my spiritual appearance, but my actual spiritual health.
And so, when the sweet deacon offered me the trays, I put my head down and my open palm up toward the trays that represented my Savior's offering to me, the offering for which I'd previously shown Him I'm unprepared, and thereby of which I am unworthy. And I quietly wept with so much shame. Shame for my sins. Shame that I was perhaps more embarrassed to be avoiding the Sacrament with eyes on me than I was to have sinned in the first place.
The Sacrament is personal. My attitude, not my actions, made it public. I hope that makes sense.
After I'd made my decision to not partake unworthily, the Lord worked on my thoughts a little, I think. I began to realize that while my ward is awesome, and I love them, I'm just passing through here. These people, most of them, will step out of my life at some point, and I out of theirs, in just the natural courses of lives. Not that they don't mean anything, but we're all just passing through. God is the greater goal. In one year, ten years, a hundred years, the thoughts and possible judgments of those around me on Nov 21 2010 simply won't matter. I'm just passing through.
Even so, passing up the offering of the Sacrament will never be pleasant, and it never should be. It will never and should never be easy. I think I had become a little too comfortable with it, and so for today, I thank my God for allowing me to be in a place so uncomfortable and humiliating and exposed to remind me that being unworthy of this gift is uncomfortable and humiliating, and that I should be so ashamed, but in the presence of God.
It was horrible! It was an awful experience, and I'm so grateful for it, and I hope and pray that I remember it, that I remember the feelings that overcame me then, when I'm faced with desires that may overcome me. I never want to repeat what happened today. I never want to be unworthy of the Sacrament again.
Next week, I'll be worthy. And the week after, and the week after, and the week after. All through December, I'll be worthy. It'll be my Christmas present to Jesus.
Usually, I'm late on purpose, so I can miss the passing of the sacred emblems. Or, if I'm feeling the need to be on time, I get there on time but I sit somewhere where it's easier to pass on the Sacrament, like maybe in the foyer if I don't have the kids, or on a smaller pew where people will scarcely notice whether I partake or not.
I admit these things with shame. It doesn't matter what man thinks. Only what God thinks. It doesn't matter if Bro. Jones sees my refusal of the Bread and Water and assumes instantly that I'm a whore. It doesn't matter if Sis. Jackson sees my refusal and assumes that I must be a horrible mother. For one, ours is a kind and merciful church, and these scenarios are so unlikely. Also, even if it was likely, what they think doesn't matter. And I know this. And usually, I accept it.
But, usually, I'm squeezed somewhere between pews and people.
Today, I was a little late, but not late enough to have missed the Sacrament. I peeked into the chapel during the announcements and found a spot in the 2nd pew. I thought I could handle that during the sacrament, except it was right by Sis. Peck and I did NOT want her of all people to notice my unworthiness. But there was another spot behind her. I don't have my kids this weekend so it's just me. So I went to sit behind her, but when I got there I noticed all the remaining space was filled with books and stuff, probably to save it for the rest of a family. So I resigned to sitting next to Sis. Peck. But I found the same next to her. Well the entire front pew was empty. But there I sat, in the empty front pew, directly in view of the primary president who was sitting on the stand(today was the primary program and I am a primary teacher). She smiled at me.
The announcements were done and we were singing the Sacrament Hymn. I almost took off. I thought I would just to sit in the foyer till the Sacrament was over. I felt so exposed! Everyone would notice! I'd be one of the first people to be offered the Sacrament, and I'd certainly be the first to reject it. The humiliation was overwhelming. Every time I don't partake, I'm embarrassed. I'm sad that my actions have led to this consequence. But, never do I remember the humiliation I felt today.
During the hymn, so many things went through my mind. I should just leave. Maybe I should just take the sacrament this time so Sis. Primary President doesn't think I'm an unworthy teacher. Yeah, maybe I'm okay taking the bread and water this time. Maybe I don't have to confess every time. I know I want the Spirit with me and that I can remember Jesus through the week- maybe I'll just take it this time. No, I can't, so I have to go, but, I have to go up to the stand right after the Sacrament anyway for the primary program.
I wanted to disappear.
I did wonder at that time, why I was letting the fear of others' judgment get to me. I worry that their perception of me matters more to me than God's. I told myself, my salvation is NOT in their hands, but in God's. And come what may, I am not worthy today to partake of the flesh and blood of my Savior. And that's what's important. My worthiness, nay, my lack thereof. Not my spiritual appearance, but my actual spiritual health.
And so, when the sweet deacon offered me the trays, I put my head down and my open palm up toward the trays that represented my Savior's offering to me, the offering for which I'd previously shown Him I'm unprepared, and thereby of which I am unworthy. And I quietly wept with so much shame. Shame for my sins. Shame that I was perhaps more embarrassed to be avoiding the Sacrament with eyes on me than I was to have sinned in the first place.
The Sacrament is personal. My attitude, not my actions, made it public. I hope that makes sense.
After I'd made my decision to not partake unworthily, the Lord worked on my thoughts a little, I think. I began to realize that while my ward is awesome, and I love them, I'm just passing through here. These people, most of them, will step out of my life at some point, and I out of theirs, in just the natural courses of lives. Not that they don't mean anything, but we're all just passing through. God is the greater goal. In one year, ten years, a hundred years, the thoughts and possible judgments of those around me on Nov 21 2010 simply won't matter. I'm just passing through.
Even so, passing up the offering of the Sacrament will never be pleasant, and it never should be. It will never and should never be easy. I think I had become a little too comfortable with it, and so for today, I thank my God for allowing me to be in a place so uncomfortable and humiliating and exposed to remind me that being unworthy of this gift is uncomfortable and humiliating, and that I should be so ashamed, but in the presence of God.
It was horrible! It was an awful experience, and I'm so grateful for it, and I hope and pray that I remember it, that I remember the feelings that overcame me then, when I'm faced with desires that may overcome me. I never want to repeat what happened today. I never want to be unworthy of the Sacrament again.
Next week, I'll be worthy. And the week after, and the week after, and the week after. All through December, I'll be worthy. It'll be my Christmas present to Jesus.
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