Lost

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bishaj

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I know this must be a strange first post, but I found this website as I was searching for places that could help me find inspiration and peace in God.

My life has never been easy and in the last couple of years I have struggled with depression and my faith has been shaken. The depression is easily explained through an abusive childhood and guilt over leaving younger siblings behind as I grew up and was able to leave. However, understanding why I feel this way isn’t a magic bullet to feeling better. It just leads to more frustration at how I feel. I am in counseling and on antidepressants,but I feel as if they aren’t working that well.

There was a time when going to church instantly restored my ‘connection’ with God. Now I feel nothing but doubt. I spend hours daily pondering what happens after death. I am terrified that there is nothing, even though I acknowledge that if there is nothing, then it won’t bother me anyway.

I have longed to speak to my priest, but I lack the courage to reach out. I am active in my community and have a somewhat high profile public job and I fear anyone who knows me knowing what I am going through almost more than the feelings themselves.

I feel so lost and I am seeking to find my foundation in God, but my doubts and fears take over it all. I don’t know what to do.

John
 
Dear John,

I hope you feel better. Have you tried a social hobby that would allow you to interact with other people such as joining a bowling team, bible study, or taking an evening class?
 
Let me take you on a journey. Close your eyes for a moment. Relax, and take a few slow, deep breaths. Clear your mind. When you are ready, open your eyes. Now, let’s begin.

You are lying down on what feels like a small, soft bed, made of what feels like straw. Your eyes are closed. The heady, yet comforting scent of a wood fire permeates the room, filling your nostrils with the wonderful smell of heated oak. You can hear the crackling of the fire not far from where you are lying. Still drowsy, you doze for a moment, almost unwilling to open your eyes, but doing so, as a bleary look comes across your face.

As the fogginess in your eyes dissipates, without moving your head, you look around, your eyes flittering this way and that.

You find that you are in a small, stone cottage. The window is open, and sunlight is beaming it’s bright radiance through it. There is no other light in the cottage besides the fire. On the walls, you see healing herbs strung up by bits of twine. The floor is made of stone, and there is a straw mat lying in the middle of it. The door is made of good, solid wood. It is closed, blocking the view of the hot summer day outside.

You look to the side of you, and you see an old man, with many wrinkles on his face. His hair is long, soft, shiny, and a silvery white. The elderly gentleman is wearing a long robe, as though from the time of the apostles. In a very strange way, he reminds you of a gentle, grandfatherly figure, but, somehow, you know that not all is as it seems. It goes much further than this, and you can tell that this man is very, very old. But, oddly enough, you know that you are safe. The gentle, tender smile on his face is further proof of that. Nothing can ever harm you, not while he is here. You know this by the staff that leans against the chair that the old man is sitting in.

“I see that you are awake,” you hear a soft, old voice. It startles you, but you do not move; you do not jump. You just lay there. “It’s okay,” he says softly, “you can get up. You are safe here. No-one can ever, ever hurt you here.”

Sitting up, you stretch you legs, back, and arms, and you feel the sleepiness and stiffness melt out of your body. Straightening your back, you sit comfortably on the small bed. But something seems different. Nothing is wrong here, but something about your body is very unusual.

You look at your hands and arms, your feet and legs. You give a startled cry, and it is the sound of a little boy’s voice, a voice that you thought you left far back into the past, a voice that you thought you had forgotten. You are a child again, about the age of five, and suddenly, you can feel the fear starting to creep into your chest.

“Do not be afraid, Little One,” you hear the old voice say once more, “Do not worry. I am here, and I will help you. No-one can harm you. I will protect you.”

“Who - who are you!” you ask in your little-boy voice. In your mind, you seem so small. You feel so scared.

Until you hear him speak, wisely, soothingly, reassuringly, “My name, Little One, is Shadai, and you have been crying. You have been crying for a very long time.” In a gentle, parental tone, like a wise father who knows that his child is in distress, he says, “I have heard your cry.”

You feel tears coming down your cheeks. You have been alone for a very long time, lost in a very dark place, much like the valley of tears described in the Rosary Prayer Hail, Holy Queen. “Where were you!” you cry out angrily, “Why did you leave me! I want to know! This isn’t fair!”

“My child,” says Shadai, “Come here. Let me hold you. I have something to tell you.” Even though you have spoken to him in such an angry manner, like a loving father, he stretches out his arms and holds them out to you. There is a sad smile on his face. He knows that you are in pain, that you have been hurting for a very long time, and that it might take a while for it to get better. It seems, somehow, that he empathizes with your pain, as though he doesn’t want to see you like this, that this hurts him, too.

You try to wipe away the tears, angry that he can see them. You try to level out your voice, but to no avail. When you try to talk, all you can do is sob. Getting up from the bed, you rush over to his arms, and weep.

He scoops you up and holds you tightly, as you sob into his chest, "Where were you?! Why?! Why did you leave me?! Where did you go?!

Shadai holds you tightly, as he sits you in his lap, and rubs your back. “It is not I who left,” he says softly, “It is you. I have missed you, my Little One.”

“I didn’t go anywhere!” you yell, “Where were you?”

“My Little One,” he says in a soft voice, filled with absolute adoration, “you left me. You strayed too far, and you got caught in a valley. You got stuck, Precious One, which is why I came to get you. You have been lost, my Little Lamb. I had to come and find you, bring you home.”

You wail, your screams muffled by the soft cotton that covers his chest.

“Yes,” you hear him say softly, “I know. It isn’t very fair, is it?”

“No!” you wail, “No, it’s not! Why did you leave me? I kept calling you and calling you! I searched everywhere, but I couldn’t find you!”
 
“I can tell,” explains Shadai, “that he has done you much damage, and has caused you a great deal of pain.”

“Who?” you demand, “Who are you talking about!”

“Oh, my Little One,” Shadai sighs, “You were never meant to go into that valley. I have told you, countless times, never to go there. Why did you not listen to me?” His words are gentle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” you cry out, your denial proof of the pain that you are suffering from.

“The Lord of Lies dwells there, Little One,” explains Shadai tenderly, “I warned you about him. It would seem, though, that he is very persuasive.” He stops for a moment, continuing to rub your back, stroking your hair, as you cry, your body trembling. Then, he continues tenderly, almost in a whisper, “It’s not your fault, Little One. I don’t blame you. He offered you a treasure, didn’t he? Something to make you go? You know, that’s his job: to hurt you. And he has made you absolutely miserable. Do you know how long it took for me to find you? You had me so worried! I thought I would never find you again! You scared me, my Child. You frightened me.”

You can no longer speak. This discussion has already made you very emotional. But he is so gentle, and it feels good to finally be able to breathe, to cry. And you know that it will be alright.

“I love you, my Little One,” he says endearingly, as though he longs so much for you to know it, “If I had it my way, I would never let you go. But only you could choose to go out into that valley. I gave you freedom of choice for a reason. However, I know that it was up to me to bring you home, and I have found you, my Precious, Precious Child. Do you know how this makes me feel?”

“No,” you cry.

“It makes me very happy,” he says gently, with a warmth in his voice. He sighs knowingly, “I take much delight in you, my Little Lamb. You are all I think about. When you choose to venture far from me, it makes me very sad.”

“Why did you let him hurt me?” you sob, “If you love me, why did you let me get hurt?”

“I didn’t,” he says knowingly. "Oh, Sweet Child! Don’t you know that there are consequences to the actions you take? Each and every action has an equal and opposite reaction. I remember another one of my children saying this, and his words could not be more true. It astounds me what my children can do, when they have a mind to. Don’t you know that, every day, with every little step you take, you amaze me? Child, this is just one of the many reasons why I love you.

“But the reason you are hurting is because of the path you chose to take. What goes up must come down. So, you shall reap what you sew.”

He sighs, and holds you even closer, saying, “I hate to be the one that has to tell you this, my Little Child, but it is not me that has done this to you. You have done this to yourself. I told you. I warned you: never, ever listen to anything that monster says. It will only do you harm. No good can ever come of it.”

“I’m - I’m sorry!” you stutter as you weep, “I’m so, so sor-ry!”

“I know you are,” he says, kissing the top of your head, “I know.”

“Pl-ease forgive me,” you say, “I didn’t mean to walk away.”

“Oh, Child,” he says, “I know that you didn’t do this on purpose. You would never do a think like this intentionally. This was an accident.” He sighs, “And you are reaping the consequences of it.”

You look up at him, and in a trembling voice, you ask him, “What … what do I do?”

He chuckles softly, gently, “That’s where I come in. You see, I am here to soothe you, to heal you. I am here to make it better.”

You look at him, hopeless, bewildered, as you say, “How?”

“You will see,” he says gently, “In time.”

“I want it now!” you say.

“But that’s not how these things work!” he says out of adoration, “These things take time! But, I hope, that out of all this, you have learned at least one thing.”

“What is it?” you sulk.

He laughs, his voice rich and deep, as he squeezes you in a big,affectionate hug, and says, “That I love you very much. That I want the best for you in this life, and in the next.”

He pushes you away for a moment, and dries your tears. In a very somber voice, he says, “You scared me, Little One. You frightened me. Please,” his voice is soft, wise, but almost desperate, “never run away from me again.”

You look down, then back up at Shadai. You suddenly don’t know what to say. There is only one word that comes out of your mouth: “Okay.”

“Good,” says Shadai in a soft, tender voice, “Now, come here. I need a hug.”

You reach out to him with your small, childish arms, and he reaches out for you, wrapping you up in the biggest, warming, most heart-felt hug that you’ve ever experienced.

You suddenly smell something wonderful. You look over at the fire. There is a pot, stewing something amidst the flames.

“Hmm,” you hear Shadai muse, “I guess lunch is ready.” Your stomach growls, and you hear him laugh again, “Yes, I’m hungry, too.”
 
I know this must be a strange first post, but I found this website as I was searching for places that could help me find inspiration and peace in God.

My life has never been easy and in the last couple of years I have struggled with depression and my faith has been shaken. The depression is easily explained through an abusive childhood and guilt over leaving younger siblings behind as I grew up and was able to leave. However, understanding why I feel this way isn’t a magic bullet to feeling better. It just leads to more frustration at how I feel. I am in counseling and on antidepressants,but I feel as if they aren’t working that well.

There was a time when going to church instantly restored my ‘connection’ with God. Now I feel nothing but doubt. I spend hours daily pondering what happens after death. I am terrified that there is nothing, even though I acknowledge that if there is nothing, then it won’t bother me anyway.

I have longed to speak to my priest, but I lack the courage to reach out. I am active in my community and have a somewhat high profile public job and I fear anyone who knows me knowing what I am going through almost more than the feelings themselves.

I feel so lost and I am seeking to find my foundation in God, but my doubts and fears take over it all. I don’t know what to do.

John
You said "he depression is easily explained through an abusive childhood and guilt over leaving younger siblings behind as I grew up and was able to leave. "

I think what you should mean is "he depression is easily blamed upon an abusive childhood and guilt over leaving younger siblings behind as I grew up and was able to leave. "

In fact your depression comes from being separated from God. Therefore you need to be reconciled to him through the Sacrament of Reconciliation. I would set up a meeting with the Priest to prepare for your confession. Thereafter you will need to attend mass every week and participate in the Sacrament of the Eucharist regularly. Daily prayer and especially the Rosary will also heal your wounds and fill the void which is causing this depression.

However I am not a priest. Hardly any priests have time to talk here on this forum because they are too busy. So I urge you to go to a priest who can advise you.
 
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