(Christianity / Ecclesiastical Terms) Christianity
I am blessed in many ways and yet life has been difficult at times, however without knowing hurting we wouldn’t know compassion. Without knowing pain we wouldn’t know pleasure. Without knowing anger we wouldn’t know forgiveness. Without knowing brokenness we wouldn’t know healing. Without knowing confusion we wouldn’t know clarity. Without knowing loss we wouldn’t know blessings. Without knowing cold we wouldn’t know warmth. Without knowing dark we wouldn’t know light. Without knowing sadness we wouldn’t know happiness. Without knowing sorrow we wouldn’t know joy. Without knowing sin we wouldn’t know salvation, and without knowing hate we wouldn’t know Love.
Maybe its the same with grace. Without knowing lack of grace we wouldn’t know grace.
A few months ago a really weird thing happened to me. It frightened me and left me full of awful wonder (if there can be such a thing), maybe this is what God-fearing is, which I had never understood before then. I wasn’t sure of the meaning of the lesson, though I was sure that there was one. I don’t think that I fully understood but maybe I wasn’t meant to. Maybe I was just meant to feel uncomfortable, sick to the core, and saved beyond measure. And I did.
You see, for any one that has been following my old blog at magsmuse.wordpress.com you would understand that my journey has not been a straight forward one, else ironically it may have been an absolutely surgingly straight-forward one. Cautious, full of wonder, beautiful, heart-breaking, inspiring, playful, desperate, miraculous, fraught, unbelievable, cruel, trying, and in the most normal down to earth + up to Heaven everyday kind of way – Holy.
But not Holy because of me, but because of God. Holy because God refuses to leave my side.
My situation has been a desperately difficult one to manoeuvre and without dredging up the whole of magsmuse – to cut a long story short I am living in a celibate marriage against my husbands will. I am living in a marriage as brother and sister, whilst desperately missing intimacy and Loving with a beloved. I am holding my breath wanting to be released by the man I share a home with, so that I can Love in triune in God. My whole being yearns to be held physically and belovedly in Love. I am also holding my breath – waiting to be let down by the man I share a home with – to be cheated on whilst locked in, because my ‘cohabitatio’ will one day have enough of waiting for the never to change, one day he will be fed up of waiting for the parted sea to unpart. And one night in my holding breath I panicked, not trusting in him or in Him either, or in any future, and in my panic I failed to believe where the said man was going, and with no justification or right what so ever I planned on catching him cheating, and using that as the catalyst for what was to come next. How absolutely Graceless of me.
How low could I have trodden. I knew this was wrong, especially after it was me that signed the cohabitatio paper, (because I felt I had no choice, even though cruelly I had to choose) knowing that it would crucify him, with me watching on feeling just as crucified. So I have no rights to stop him from finding comfort elsewhere if he so wishes, part of me wishes he would, for I was not prepared to give him comfort in the way that he so wanted, myself. Its been hell. Anyhow when I knew I was going to drive to the said place and check whether his car was present or not, a nasty image of carnage came into my head. You see I have to cross over the A12, at what I have always though of as an incredibly nasty dangerous junction, and for a split second I thought supposing I crash the car whilst my eldest daughter is looking after the younger children and the image was there. Of course I ignored it, because my lack of trust and my unjustified feelings got the better of me. And the fear of the junction and the vision of the image although all-powerful did not put me off from the more powerful feeling of being triumphant in my plan.
So on a cold wet hideous wintry night a few months back. I left my oldest daughter babysitting and I drove to the said location. I only got half way there when I happened upon the most atrocious horrific crash at the said junction, one of the worst crashes that I have ever witnessed in my life. As I approached there must have been 20 policemen and firefighters lined up, flashing blue lights everywhere, tape across the road, several rescue vehicles, ambulances, fire-engines, police cars etc, and then 3 or 4 cars including a people-carrier smashed, crumpled and distorted in the most chaotic shocking and sickening of ways. My hands instantly started shaking, I felt like vomiting. It was like I was watching a horror movie, surreal, and yet real at the same time. The road was taped off and the officer told me to turn around. My cohabitatio has a people carrier I couldn’t tell if it were his. I pulled over in disbelief and shock and got myself together enough to drive the alternative route to the destination, knowing I wouldn’t see his car. I prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed for that man, sick to the core all the way. And when I finally approached the road his car was right where it were supposed to be. I of course drove straight past and returned shivering and shaking all over straight back home to my children. I cried.
I prayed for the victims, I am sure lives must have been lost. I felt freaked that I had prophesied the crash. And had thought that it should have been my crash. But instead it happened to somebody else before I had even reached the junction else left my home. I felt so freaked out that suddenly the real crash in hindsight of my vision spoke in decibels, of what I didn’t understand. When he arrived home I told him everything. Rightly so he said I had no right to jealously check up on him and of course he was right. I am unsure what the lesson was but I know that it penetrated right through my bones, right through my world. Any crucifixion of mine was nothing compared to what those families were to face that evening.
The next day I looked up the news on my computer, because it was so freaky and surreal I needed to have proof that it really had happened. The news did not say if there was loss of life. I went to my sister church to Mass and lit a candle the next morning and I prayed for those souls involved in that accident. I made myself tell a trust worthy friend at church what had happened and what I had seen, and what had unfolded, as it freaked me and I needed a witness just by one christian person, and my shame came secondary to needing to share my disbelief.
Not one of my most graceful moments . . . or maybe in irony it was. Because the God of the old testament felt like he was very much present. And the feelings that I had were very much of needing God to desperately save me from the situation, and being ever grateful that he did save me and him from utter tragedy, despite my unworthiness over any other far worthy soul that evening.
This week I stumble over a little more ground and land in a little more grace, but I believe this time it is a little more just. I was to move out of the family home or so I thought, it appeared to be the only option and way forward to make change, I was so tortured. The deadline to accept the room in a house close by approached too quickly. I didn’t have much money, I was not sure how it would work with uni. I prayed and prayed and prayed. I planned on being here before the children woke up in the mornings and do breakfast and take them to school, and then to collect them from school and cook dinner and stay untill bed-time every single evening – until things became clearer. Instead at the last moment still undecided what would be best, and not having managed to convince the man of the house previously, I unexpectedly was given permission upon my proposal to secure some changes to the lay out of my two little rooms should I stay.
From now on it will not be a necessity for others to pass through my room in order to get to the tiny utility/come laundry/come lavatory. With the money I will save from renting, I have myself paid for some re-wiring, which amazingly was done just today because the electrician that came to quote had a spare afternoon. The plumber is coming to move the washer and dryer to a corner of the kitchen next week. (Sir does the laundry himself and he does it far better than I do) and now it can be done in the farmhousey kitchen. This means that now with the space created by moving the machines, I can finally move my clothes downstairs to the only space available. This means my room no longer is a freeway, and I might even put a lock on the door, so that in my absence my sanctuary remains my private sacred little sanctuary. Soon as I can I shall change the little Essex sliding window into an Essex sliding doorway, overlooking and opening out on to the wild rambling courtyard garden.
I have no idea how I have pulled this off.
All I know is that I thank God. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You.
For a little more grace bestowed for now at least.