I’ve been staring at my computer for quite a while. There are so many things to write about, yet the one thing that keeps popping into my consciousness is my niece and goddaughter, Isabella. She’s being confirmed in a few days and my sister asked me to write her a letter about what faith means to me.
Since I have completely failed in the religious guidance aspect of my godparent responsibilities, I really wanted to think about it and have it make sense to a 14-year-old. My faith is complicated. It’s deeply personal. I wasn’t sure how to articulate it but I gave it my best shot. This is what I wrote:
“My Dear Isabella, you are about to be confirmed. What an amazing time in your life! Congratulations my sweet, sweet niece and goddaughter.
Confirmation is a really amazing sacrament because it is a sacrament you are choosing to receive. You are choosing to invite the Holy Spirit and grace into your life officially, in front of God, family and friends. It’s a big deal. You amaze me by accepting, embracing and making this choice.
I’m writing to let you know what “faith” and “grace” mean to me. You might want to find someplace comfortable to sit because this is going to be a long one.
Faith has changed over the years for me. When I was younger, I went to church because my parents made me. Those hours at church on Sundays were the longest hours of my life. I did whatever I could to pass the time by going to the bathroom, staring at the statue of Jesus to see if he’d blink, and pretending to be praying when I was really trying to get some shut-eye. I dreaded it completely.
But as I got older and began listening to the stories that were being told, I went to church because I was intrigued. I love a good story and I had a priest who knew how to tell Bible stories with gusto. I began to see and hear the messages and understood what the words meant when I said prayers like “Our Father” and “Hail Mary.” It was right about the time I was being confirmed.
When I think about faith I think about my relationship with God. He was always there for me to listen, and many times to guide if I would let him. I depended on him at your age. He was my buddy, my pal, my confidante. I never wanted to let him down. I wanted to be a good person and do good things for him, my parents and for me. I didn’t talk badly about others, I never stole (physically or mentally), I respected my parents and I stuck up for people and for what was right. It made me feel good and I trusted that I was doing the right thing. I talked to him all the time about little things and big things. He was my quiet friend; always there for me when I needed to work something out.
As I grew up, graduated from high school and then college, I checked in with him all the time. We weren’t as close as we were when I was younger, but I knew he was always there for me if I called. He was dependable.
But then, when I had just turned 25, my dad (grandpa) had a stroke. In one breath, my dad as I knew him was gone. My life was forever changed. With my dad’s stroke, I lost someone who made me feel safe and whole. I couldn’t believe that God would allow that to happen. I had been a good person. My dad was a great man. Disappointment washed over me as my God, my buddy, my pal wouldn’t give me my dad back just the way he was.
I didn’t want to admit to anyone that I was so let down; so disheartened. I couldn’t bring myself to church. I couldn’t even talk to God anymore. Why would he take my dad’s vitality? Why was he making my mom and dad suffer? I didn’t understand, nor did I want to.
So, I drifted. Distance grew between God and me. I met my wonderful husband. We married and had two healthy baby boys. I had so much to be grateful for. I was given so many gifts. In these gifts, I reconnected with God. I went to bed every night practically singing “Thank you God for everything you have given me.”
Then my brother Tom died. My big brother Tom – my laughter, my friend, my light – was gone. I felt betrayed. It shook me up. Why didn’t God save him? My family had already been through so much. I had put my trust back in him and he could have given us a miracle, but he didn’t.
I was 35 years old. I wasn’t supposed to lose my brother. We were supposed to grow old together. We were going to hike Mt. Whitney like we had hiked Glacier Point. He was going to take my boys camping someday. We were going to have more adventures together. It was so unfair. I didn’t know how to live without him and I didn’t understand how God could take away so much of my joy, such an incredible human being.
So I drifted again. And in my departure, more despair came my way: Carolyn got breast cancer, I got breast cancer, Andrew developed a heart condition and my other siblings grew apart. I didn’t reach out to God because I didn’t know what to say or what to think.
I fought cancer head-on with determination. I did everything I was supposed to do but felt empty inside. I was surrounded by an outpouring of love but somehow felt alone. I kept myself busy so as not to dwell on it, but once I would let myself think about God, I’d move on, avoiding dealing with my spirituality and what everything meant.
In my determination to get better and get my life back on track, I began taking yoga. I needed to build my strength back up and found the most beautiful place to do it. This yoga studio had heated wooden floors, cloud-covered walls and bamboo windows. It was quiet there; peaceful. In the quiet of that studio, my heart began to heal.
Slowly but surely, I began to get my strength back. I would get up at 5 a.m. to go to yoga and I am not a morning person. I would reach up in a pose and when I reached, I was reaching for my brother and pictured him reaching down to me from Heaven. In those quiet hours, reaching and opening my heart, I made my way back to God.
Yoga was what I needed to find the way. Yoga gave me an hour a day to be quiet and to be with my brother. Yoga gave me my grace back. God guided me there – to a place that I needed the most and I will forever be grateful.
I’m not mad anymore. I’m thankful. My life, my heartache, my happiness and my life story has allowed me to have compassion and understanding for other people. I can relate to people who are going through difficult things in their lives and I can be there to listen. I’ve lived it and many times, I write about it. In writing about my experiences, I can be that one person who understands or relates when someone feels alone. That is God’s grace giving me the ability and the tools to be his window to love, kindness, acceptance and civility. I want to be that person he can depend on to shine his love. I want to be worthy.
Faith is often times tested. Mine was. I lost my way a little. It was all just too much for my heart and soul to handle. But once I began to quiet my life, really look around me and truly see my many blessings, my faith was restored.
I might have left God but He never left me. I promise you this: Throughout your life, he will never leave you either.
God bless you my sweet Isabella. I love you, [signed] Your Tia Boo.”
I can only hope I made sense.
