It's Christmas afternoon, so . . . Merry Christmas! I grew up under several religious influences--and even hated Christmas at one point in my life--so if you don't celebrate Christmas, please accept this as hope that you're having a nice day, and be forewarned that this is a personal, faith-based post.
I don't discuss my spirituality much. I love to talk about theology, and will, often. If you know me or have read my books, you know (or can tell) that the subject fascinates me. I don't treat religion as mythology, but I'll often intertwine the two in discussion and in writing.
Even as a kid, I've always felt like God has me in His hands. Religion has never mattered in that regard. Whether I went to the Kingdom Hall, a church, or was casting spells under the full moon, I never wavered from that trust and prayed for God to carry me when I couldn't carry myself. Well, maybe I can't say never. I mean, we all waver at some point in our lives. But, if I did, I found my way back.
Yesterday, during a panic attack, I realized that I lost my way a bit somewhere.
A lot's been changing and stressing my life recently. My anxiety used to be constant. It nearly kept me housebound. But acute panic attacks were rare. Last year, a major stressor was relieved. My anxiety was still there, but I finally had a baseline. I'd have a few attacks on occasion or generalized anxiety, but nothing like the major panic attacks I've had in the past few weeks.
I don't really know what happens. Yesterday, we went to church and I started feeling not so great when I saw how many people were there, all the people directing traffic, the fact that they needed people to direct traffic . . . and then my right leg stopped working as I tried to walk into the front vestibule and I stumbled. No one tried to help. I caught myself on my cane and got my balance. I know it's beyond my control, but I felt stupid and was embarrassed. So, still having some trouble, I forced myself to keep moving forward, relying on the cane more to make up for my leg.
Tim had gotten a bit ahead of me. Just as I was about to catch up, I planted the cane and was in mid-step with the right leg (my bad MS leg) when a guy shouted a greeting from the right to a woman on the left and they approach each other right in the space I was about to enter and cut me off. That's when I lost it. I stumbled again because I had to stop suddenly and that really messes with me physically. Neither even acknowledged I was there or that I was about to fall. I again righted myself, forced myself to keep moving, and stepped around the woman and then . . . all I could see was Tim being swallowed by a crowd of people closing in and a room of windows shining like a beacon.
Next thing I know, I'm in that room, shedding my coat, shaking and on the verge of hysterical tears, holding my breath to keep a chest heaving sob from escaping. Tim didn't know what was happening and it's really hard, in the moment, to explain something that's just happening. But - I constantly need to evaluate myself and my situations for my doctors. I'm used to evaluating things in the moment and being aware of what is happening to my body. Somehow, while freaking out, I managed to explain, and as the tears spilled over, I sucked down a big breath and a kid came into the room. I turned away and tucked my face down. A woman walked in, saw me, and walked out. The kid lingered. I remember digging for my pills, pausing to remember which one to take, and taking one. And then I remember standing there, willing myself to go into the sanctuary - into a room packed full of people and noise. I couldn't. I couldn't do it.
I tried. A few times. The first time, I knew the medicine was working yet and I barely made it into the hall. I told Tim to go on in and I returned to the bright room, where I sat by the windows and stared up at the open blue sky and the naked the trees to ignore the parking lots full of cars below. A bit later, I went into the sanctuary. I wasn't entirely ok, so I kind of remember searching the room for Tim and his parents, and the ushers asking if I needed help finding a seat. I shook my head in a daze and stared at the backs of all these heads. Everyone looked the same. A guy on stage was talking about finding God and I decided to find a seat. I sat. I got comfortable. I thought, "I can do this."
Something happened. Everyone was standing. Everyone started recited something. I couldn't do it. I don't know how, but I was in the hallway in a chair and then I was talking with an old friend from work. And then I moved to the lobby - with large windows - and I stared at the carpet.
The men across from me were talking about another man's journey to finding the Holy Spirit. It caught my attention and I listened to them for a bit. I don't think I've ever heard guys talk so earnestly like that. It got me thinking about my journey. And that's how I realized that my relationship with God had changed - or, at least, how I viewed it.
As far as the panic attack goes, the meds only took the edge off. I had to take another one later, and then some additional meds when we got home to help with pain and muscle cramps. Soon, Tim and his dad came out to check on me. I tried to go in one more time, but couldn't, and then people began arriving for the next service so I had to move. I went down a quiet hall, more people and more noise encroached, so I moved farther down until I was outside.
All the trees were filled with crows. They were cawing so loudly that their cries echoed off the buildings, off the air itself, and built into a cacophony that rose and fell like a discordant orchestra. I recorded it. It was beautiful. I buttoned my coat and stood there, watching them - hundreds or thousands of these gorgeous black birds. They brought me back to peace, to my center. I smiled. I was calm. I was with the birds and the trees, the blue sky and cold winter air. No people. No cars. No walls. No panic.
For five minutes or so.
I'm not one to stand outside in the cold. But that was an amazing moment. I felt like God had sent it to me. I love crows. They are smart and lovely. They are heavy but glide effortlessly They always capture my attention. I want to take pictures of every one I see. There's one on the photograph I used for the family tree in my series.
In the between time, however, while I was still in the lobby, staring at the carpet, I was pondering my relationship with God. Even then, I knew He had me in His hands, and I repeated that in my head, when my pulse started to race again (and again . . . and again). I thought about my books. And that's where the shift had entered. I use a Christian-based mythology in my Children of the Morning Star series, and my biggest worry has been how readers will react to it. I didn't want to sound preachy or disrespectful. I've had readers who love it, some who hate it, and others who simply see it as part of the story.
But there are other references in the book that only certain people will pick up. I use the symbolism of circles, nature, and other influences of Wiccan or Gnostic origin, and ancient mythologies. The circles in the forest, the grand silver maple, the colors, the numbers, the dates - there's so much to it that spirituality, in general, flows through the books.
I've gotten so lost in working on them, marketing them, making connections, planning, etc, etc, etc, that I didn't realize I was worrying more and more about the Christian element turning people away. So I took a moment yesterday for clarity. Why did I see that as a bad thing? Because I didn't want people thinking it was an in-your-face religious book. It's not. And I know why that bothers me. Coming from such a diverse religious background, I'm not fond of that approach in Christianity. But that shouldn't impact my relationship with God. And I shouldn't be ashamed of the mythology I created for my fictional story or my relationship with God. If it turns readers off, then it's the same as me not reading something I don't like. It's that's simple. Strip away everything but the issue and it comes down to the fact that reading is subjective. Not everyone's going to love everything.
So I won't worry about that anymore. Even most of the folks that weren't fond of my mythos still loved the story enough to finish the book. I'm biased, I know: it's a good story. BUT - not everyone is going to like it. Not everyone will finish it. I know that for a fact. And that's ok. I respect my readers. They get to choose if they like it or not. Somehow I got caught up in my own issues, insecurities, and worries. I've put so much of myself in that book, including my relationship with God, that releasing it opened up my vulnerabilities and I didn't realize it. And then it began affecting not how I saw religion, but how I saw spirituality. I have never been religious. But I am very spiritual.
So, I trust that God has me in His hands. He carries me more these days than He has before. He is with me. And I'm not ashamed of any of that. I love Him. I am thankful to Him, for Him, for His love and His care. For sending crows to make me smile. Perhaps it was serendipitous that it took a panic attack in church, on Christmas Eve, to open my eyes. But I see it now. He is my guiding force.
So, with that . . . Happy Birthday Lord and Merry Christmas to All.
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