You Can't Go Home Again.

I know you're not supposed to talk about what you gave up for Lent (that whole humility thing), but since this is mainly an online diary for me, and I'm one of those types that has to think things through on paper or else I don't think at all, so I need to talk about it.

I gave up the incessant search for a boyfriend. I've given it up several times before to no avail. This Lent, I made that my intention. Oddly enough, it's only increased the amount of boys who want to talk to me. And granted, I am going on dates, I'm not really worried or looking for a boyfriend. Moreover, no boy really catches my eye or interest. Several nice dates, nice boys, but not a one who just makes me laugh, takes my breath away, understands my stupid obsession with silly bands and The Hunger Games.

Moreover, I gave up on boys to discern about my current vocation - about whether I'm supposed to stay in Mississippi or go and leave it all behind. It's looking like my hopes of the missions are just pipe dreams as my job seems to be quickly heading towards full time work, and I might be buying a house with my roommate. Might is the key operating word there. It kinda scares me. What if I'm tied down here forever? Then again, everyone (from MS) who leaves, always comes back here. They get homesick. Would that happen to me? Or would I be ok with the city and not eaten by the wolves? And on an unrelated note...

Tonight, while sitting on our couches, my roommate and I were talking about the blind date I went on and some other petty drama that people are trying to cause with us. Ireland, if you recall, apologized. We've talked a few times since then, and it's so obvious we both want to hang out and pick up where we left off. But how can we? His ex-girlfriend still makes it a point to meddle in my affairs a year later. An entire year later, she still can't let it go. An entire year later, he and I finally talk again. I told my roommate Ireland also sent word that he apologized to her, to which she replied, "I cannot and will not forgive him for lying to me, and for lying to you and having to watch you hurt after what he did." I can understand that.

Still, if I ever see him out, and I'm sure I know the answer to this, but I just want to ask him, "If you could take that night back, would you? If you could take it all back, and let's just start all over again, would you?" I know his and my answer would be yes. But you can't go home again.

Thing is, I still care about him, and I would still date him in spite of everything. I don't know if that's stupid or forgiving. Maybe it's a little of both. But all I know is he's the only person who's made me laugh so hard it hurt to smile. He's the only boy who's waited on me hand and foot. He's the only boy who's ever made me feel like I was special, like I was rare and something to be treasured and treated with respect. And maybe he's a pipe dream too, just like the missions.

Maybe that's what this Lent is all about, learning to let go of things that I hold on to for way too long or situations I can't control. But what's the difference between that and hope? Whatever the answers to these questions are, I do know this: you can't go home again, but oh, how I wish we could.

Problems of Purgatory

I read this today, and Purgatory has been on my mind since my Nana died.

I mean, everyone was consoling everyone in my family with "She's in Heaven now" and "She's reunited with her husband." And so everyone was comforted by these statements because everyone is Protestant.

Everyone except me, that is.

Little Catholic ol' me who boo-hoo-ed the entire funeral because no one could say anything to comfort me. Sure, my Nana's Earthly suffering had ended, but what next? More than likely, she went to purgatory. And purgatory is no Heaven. And in some ways, it might be worse than Earth depending upon how one lived her life.

I don't think she was baptized. So did she go directly to Hell? Surely, a just God would not send a woman who so fervently believed in Jesus to Hell. So did she experience baptism of desire?

If she did, she made it to Purgatory at least. How much time will she have to spend there? Will she be held to the same standards as a Catholic? Did any of her time on Earth, any of her suffering earn her some indulgences since she may or may not have been familiar with the idea of redemptive suffering? Will some of her sins be automatically forgiven and her time lessened if she had a mental disorder that caused her to commit sins?

And who will pray for her release from Purgatory besides little ol' me? Certainly no one else in my family.  And what of my grandfather, an upstanding man, a good father, and a Methodist minister? What of him? Is he in Purgatory too?

But other people can pray others in general out of Purgatory, right?

Very rarely do situations remind me of bible verses, but I can't help but think of 1 Corinthians 13:11
And then I noticed it's the same chapter as popular love/wedding/theological virtues scriptures.

I can't help but feel I'm being told something here, but I can't make sense of it.
Either I'm too tired, too spiritually inexperienced, or too sinful to understand.
Or maybe some combination of the three.

But I used to like the idea of Purgatory before I became Catholic.
Now it really bothers me.
Still, I'll pray for my Nana, and all the dead.

I said no.

So something kinda crazy happened the other day.

I said No.

I said no to something I had wanted and wished and hoped and prayed for a very long time.

While I might be stuck on Heathcliff in some respects, I don't want him back. But with Ireland, it was always a different story. I always wanted him back, even when I saw him in town or at a bar with another girl.

And not only did he apologize to me on facebook, but he texted me as well. I told him there was no way we could go back to how it was. If we hung out, I'd want to date, and I couldn't wager him over my friends. He agreed that he missed me, and if we were around each other, he'd still want to date too, but he realized he can't make me choose between my friends and him. And he didn't want me to, either.

So our conversation ended with no. Even though I wanted things to be different. Even though he agreed he would date me again.

What changed my mind? Following the sense of peace. Just when thinking about dating him again, I just got the sense it would be wrong, a mistake. And when I thought about leaving things as they are, I just knew it was right. And all this felt counter intuitive to my heart. But you can't go home again, right?

So, I said no. And I felt peace.

Plus, remember this guy? I kinda like him. So far, he's everything I like about Heathcliff and Ireland rolled up into one. I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop. But maybe it won't. Who knows.

I guess I'm still pretty much in shock I said no, in spite of myself. Maybe I am getting better at this whole "I listen to God" thing, haha.

I'm holding all the tickets. You're owning all the fines.

Today is a sad day. I know it because I woke up crying, I've been crying for an hour, and now I have Skinny Love on repeat. Indulge me a bit because writing is how I deal with things. If I don't write it somewhere, it never comes out and just stays bottled up inside eating away at my soul.

I was telling a friend yesterday that the common courtesy of "texting a girl the next morning" after you go out on a date freaks me out these days. I feel like I'm being smothered in attention. The most I can give to a guy is a few hours, and then, I'm done. I don't want to see or hear from him for a few days. Anymore attention than that, and I get scared.

I want a relationship, but I don't. I want company and a bond, but I don't want the heartache. The effort. The attention. I want to get married, but I don't want to get married at all. Basically, I've got commitment issues now. I blame it on Heathcliff. I don't blame him for much, actually, but I do blame him for that.

I was telling all this to a co-worker who was asking me about how my date went the other night. You know, the one with the other half-asian, half-white boy. I told her that he texted the next morning, the polite thing to do, and it was freaking me out because I don't want a commitment. She said I had to stop letting Heathcliff have so much control over my current life. Lord knows she's right. I mean, he's certainly not crying over me.

Last night, I revisited a dream I've had before only it was a continuation. Previously in a dream from over a year ago, Heathcliff and I had gotten married and moved into this amazing apartment. In last night's dream, I served him with divorce papers because he had already left me a long time ago and cut off all contact. I went through the entire place taking pictures of the things that belonged to me or my parents, and he agreed to sign the papers. Even in my dream, where apparently I still loved him as much as I used to, watching him sign those papers broke my heart. I was in shock. The one thing on Earth I thought was rock solid was crumbling, falling like grains of sand through the cracks in my fingers.

That was one of the things I told him when I first started dating him and contemplated the move to Catholicism.  "I just want one sure thing in this life. And I know I'm not going to find it on Earth." But among my sure things on Earth, as sure as Earthly things can get, I counted him at the top of that list.

But he let me down in such a major way.

I keep feeling like I won't have closure and be able to move on until I decide what it is I would have said to him after getting dumped because even to the last minute, I was trying to work it out with him. I still don't know what that would be, but I need to find the words, not necessarily for him to hear them, but for myself. Just so that I know.

In the meantime, I'm going to try to dispose of all the tickets and baggage I've got so no one else has to pay fines for crimes they didn't commit or carry luggage they didn't pack.

A Confession of Sorts

How odd.

I almost got my wish today.

I went to Wal-Mart. In the lane next to me, who do I see but Ireland. He darts off an access road. I continue down the main road.

Our cars meet back up in the Wal-Mart parking lot. He pulls a u-turn and leaves.

I stay.

And walk dazed around the store for about thirty minutes.

And I couldn't help but wonder, if this is  somewhat like how Jesus feels about us.

I know Ireland lied; I know he's cowardly. But still, I liked him so much, and weirdly enough, I still care about him quite a bit.

And more than anything, I want him of his own free will to come to me, to say I'm sorry. And then I would say, "that's all I ever wanted. Forgiven, forgotten." And I'd be there with wide open arms.

And while aimlessly wandering around the aisles of Wal-Mart, I thought, I wonder if this is how Jesus feels about us when we sin and don't go to confession.

When we almost get there, but then turn around because of our cowardice, because we're afraid of punishment, because we know what we've done is wrong and we're ashamed.

But on the other side, Jesus is just sitting, just hoping, praying, waiting, wishing to talk to us. He's not angry; he's upset and misses us. He just wants to forgive and forget and move on.

I would think that is somewhat what it is like.