Saturday, June 11, 2022

Reflection on the Past Three Years: A Letter to a Friend

Sevierville, TN

Dear Mrs. _____ ______,

My heart is overfull right now, and I feel like the Lord has stamped your name onto my heart, so with your permission, I’m going to pour it out to you. I may appear to jump around, but I pledge my troth to tie the various themes together by the end.

There is a two-fold purpose in this letter: one is to encourage you, in the midst of the crises of our times; and the second, is to share with you some more personal developments in my own life, and by sharing, gain some deeper clarity in my own heart.

This is the turning, and I don’t know how many souls see, feel, or taste it. Perhaps it’s been on your mind like a wisp of fog hanging over a valley, and you can sense it, but as you focus, it fades away. It leaves only confusion in its wake, and you feel a sense of desolation as you see so many young souls turn away from so many simple truths of love and Lord.

How can the world continue as it is? This misery and sin, this Sodom and Gamorah of film, fashion, story, and universities, must end, at some point. They must realize that these things do not bring them happiness… mustn’t they? How long can a generation seek carnal pleasure, financial success, or the death of their own children?

But they have gone on so much longer than I ever thought they would. The Hundred Years of Fatima is ended, yet where is the reign of Mary’s Immaculate Heart? Did we misunderstand the timeline? What does her Reign look like? Must I change my expectations? When I bring these questions to the Lord, He tells me to wait. In fact, lately, He has ceased to speak to me at all. He only laughs, like there is a great surprise coming, and if I only knew it, I would die of joy, so He says nothing. “Wait and see,” He says, “Wait and see.”

I was just reading The Wind in the Willows, the chapter ‘Dulce Domum,’ which means ‘Sweet Home.’ It’s where Mole returns to his little hole in the ground, and reconnects with the anchor that is his domicile, and if you haven’t read it, I hope this inspires you to read the whole chapter. It is a glorious and unusual portrayal of what home is - even apart from family, parents, or a spouse, just ‘home’.

“But ere he closed his eyes he let them wander round his old room, mellow in the glow of the firelight that played or rested on familiar and friendly things which had long been unconsciously a part of him, and now smilingly received him back, without rancour…. He saw clearly how plain and simple  - how narrow, even - it all was; but clearly, too, how much it all meant to him, and the special value of some such anchorage in one’s existence. He did not at all want to abandon the new life and its splendid spaces, to turn his back on sun and air and all they offered him and creep home and stay there; the upper world was all too strong; it called to him still, even down there, and he knew he must return to the larger stage. But it was good to think he had this to come back to, this place which was all his own, these things which were so glad to see him again and could always be counted on again for the same simple welcome.”

Isn’t that precious? It speaks to me so much right now, because - and here comes a personal detail - I am once again homeless. I laugh as I picture your face, on reading that.

The Flight House Road Trip last year was a short and miraculous trip that gave me the courage and moral resolve to face this new and incredible stage of my life’s journey. Along with my parents and four youngest siblings, we are living in AirBnB’s, with no permanent home. Oh, we’re insane! We’re fools!

The Lord is massively shifting our family’s lives. We left Illinois, which, speaking of Sodom and Gamorah… it really is amazing how much your perspective shifts when you live in a part of the country that does not operate out of fear. Anyway, I’ll start at the beginning, and tell you how I got to where I am now. I promise, it’s a story well worth the telling.

Last year, when I went on the Road Trip, by myself, I had absolutely no idea where I was going. I’d been struggling with health issues for the past year, trying to work full time, build a business with Tim, and serve others. It was actually going very well. I remember you and I talked on the phone. <3 I was realistic about the slow growth of business success, and the sacrifices/front-loading that needed to go into our efforts, so I was absolutely floored by how well we initially progressed in our business. Opportunity after opportunity opened to us, growth and excitement from other creators really excited us, and because of our success, I was convinced that this was where the Lord was calling us.

Apparently, Tim did not feel thus. The week before my birthday, at the end of April, he flew to visit friends in California. While he was gone, I held a beautiful 3-day retreat for women - taking advantage of his absent male presence, heehee - and made some great connections with young women. They all loved it, and encouraged me to have more meetings and events like this. Tim flew home at 11pm on my birthday. We said hello, went to bed, and the next day, my world fell apart.

I had known, for some time, that I was carrying the bulk of the business on my shoulders, a fact I did not at all mind. I had more training as a coach, more entrepreneurial classes under my belt, and more passion for the coaching side of things… and I had encouraged Tim to discern how he wanted to be involved - even if he wanted to be involved. And he had said, again and again, that he would ‘think about it.’ I loved having him on the team, and he was contributing well at the beginning, but of course, did not want him to commit to something his heart wasn’t in, and the past few of months of inactivity from him seemed to show that that was the case.

He wrote me a letter Saturday morning, the morning after my birthday, and gave it to me at noon. It was not a resignation from the business - that was only about 2 sentences inside the letter. It was a letter rejecting me.

He said I was the reason he could not move on in life. That I was smothering him, and making him fail. That I was incapable of finishing projects, and he demanded that I to move out of his apartment by the end of the month.

I do not wish to dwell overmuch on the letter. There was more, but you get the picture.

I was shattered. I’ve never had a boy-friend; never been dumped; now I had. And for me, I think, this was so much worse.

You know how inseparable we were - how much we loved each other. Apparently, resentment had been growing in him, unknownst to me, for years, and I was blind to it. I didn’t realize it at the time, though I see it now, that the Lord was crumbling my idols. Ever since I was a little child, I idolized my little brother. He could do no wrong. His moods were always justified, and my fault. If he felt smothered, I put pressure on myself to give him more space. If he felt resentment, then it was my fault for not choosing just the right words when I spoke to him. And if he did not approve of a life choice I made, I put a lot of weight on that opinion.

The Lord wanted me to be free from such associations. Love is a beautiful thing, but how easy it is to pervert it! It must be free, freely given and freely received. And it must always be allowed to put God and individual callings first. Tim and I were not each other’s callings, but we were putting our lives on hold, trying to find some sense of false fulfillment in the other. I in caring for him, and he in trying to ride my successes.

It’s easy for me, when I share this story, to start trying to justify what I say, because on some level, I’m still in shock, and still want to claim responsibility for what happened.

I had only just started hearing the voice of the Lord - literally a month before this happened, and what incredible grace He gave me in that, for as I read each line of the letter, I heard His voice, more clearly than I ever had before, saying, “That’s a lie, that’s a lie, that’s a lie.” Without resentment, I accepted the truth of the Lord’s words. These were lies, and not reality. Some of the items may have valid points, but I was not to try and defend or justify myself. Only to submit to the situation, to how the Lord wanted to work within it, and not to try to understand how my brother had gotten to such a point.

Over time, the Lord still reveals more to me about my past, my childhood, and my adult life, negative examples of how my brother treated me, to air them out and help me release them. My parents have been able to help me see patterns, actions, and warning signs they had been noticing for years, but which I had been too blind to see. However, the grace of it all is that I have not lost sight or appreciation for any of the beautiful and loving interactions we had as well. The evil NEVER negates the good. In fact, the good shines all the brighter, sometimes, because the Lord is so very present in it. The ugliness of Hell cannot and never does dim the brilliance of Heaven.

Needless to say, I moved out in a month, bought a car, and, packing all my worldly belongings into it, I set off on a road trip. My brother Dennis and his new bride graciously let me store my things in their extra bedroom, and then I started driving across the US to see where I wanted to live.

I had always wanted to get out of Illinois, but had no idea where I wanted to go.

At about the same time, my parents and I started praying, asking the Lord where we should - separately - move. And, separately, all three of us heard ‘Tennessee.’

So I drove to Tennessee.

Turns out, Tennessee wasn’t quite ready for me, but, oh it was beautiful! I saw it, I sent back pictures to my family, and they started dreaming about leaving Illinois as soon as possible.

I was homeless two months, driving from Walmart parking lots (where I slept a few times), to campsites, to friend’s houses, to historical and geographical landmarks.

I had good family friends, for whom I had babysat in Illinois, who had moved to the western tip of South Carolina, the City of Greenville, and they encouraged me to come visit, and stay as long as I wanted. They also had connections with a Catholic Retreat Center in the Blue Ridge Mountains, only an hour north of them, and put me in touch with the people there.

I asked the lady who ran the retreat center if they might need some help, and how long they might need it, and she said, “We could use you indefinitely.” How good God is!

So I moved to the most beautiful place I have ever lived. In exchange for room and board, I lived in the mountains and beside a lake for 10 months, acting as hostess and custodian for the buildings there, meeting holy and inspiring people, and going for days at a time without interacting with another human being.

What a peaceful place for healing, writing, and renewal. The Lord arranged it all, cradling me like an infant in his arms, and I couldn’t have planned it better. My relationship with Him blossomed. Because it was just Him and me, and what better situation is there? There was even a tiny chapel on campus with the Blessed Sacrament reposed. And only an hour away, lived the beautiful Catholic family who loved me like an aunt to their children, and every two months, I drove to Illinois see my family and friends.

I have to say, which I almost forgot to add, that the Lord worked many miracles during those ten months. I was very poor, and wondered, sometimes, if I would have the food, medicine, or gas I needed, when I needed it. I drove on fumes, sometimes. But if I was healthy enough, He got me to Mass. If I was feeling bad from my chronic illnesses (migraines, chronic fatigue, fibromyalgia, and some other issues), and needed to eat more of my food than usual, fearing that I would deplete my resources before my next paycheck, He promised to provide me exactly what I needed. And He always delivered. Sometimes through new friends who invited me to dinner, sometimes through leftovers from a retreat on campus, and sometimes through other random and unexpected ways. It got to a point where it was a sin for me to doubt Him, because the proofs of His goodness were too abundant to deny!

As I was living this new and radical life of trust in South Carolina, my family was living it in Illinois. They were bending all their energies to move out of their rental home in St. Charles, and move to a rental home in Eastern Tennessee, at the end of their lease on March 31st, 2022.

March 31st came. They moved out. And they came to stay for a month at the Retreat Center. :D This was good, because by this point, I had scrapped the very old car I had bought, reduced my work hours (which also reduced my pay), and was stuck in bed with health issues half the week at a time. It was becoming impossible even to make my own food, let alone do work or grocery shopping, and I hadn’t been to Mass in a month.

This had been a gradual descent over the winter, and I kept expecting to get better, but something felt different this time. It wasn’t just stemming from physical problems anymore. For example, sometimes I would experience a new and unusual symptom, and the next day, I would discover that a friend was going through a hard time in some other way, but that symptom was a usual pain for them, and it unexpectedly hadn’t affected them last night, while I was in pain.

After the third time this happened, I decided to have a talk with the Lord about it. After all, I try not to over-spiritualize things, so I often wait a little while before assuming it’s a spiritual attack. I don’t want to give the enemy more credit that he deserves (which is none ;).

The Lord had already promised my mom that one day, she would experience complete and utter healing. (She too suffers from many chronic issues, and has my whole life). We are all watching that prophecy unfold right now before our very eyes as, during this time of homelessness, problem after problem is clearing for her. Praise the Lord!

She asked Him if I, too, would experience complete healing, and though He had answered many questions for her during that prayer session, His response to this was, “She needs to ask me herself.” I had been avoiding the question, because I knew He would speak the truth, but I doubted if I had the graces I needed to hear it. So I was waiting for Him to help me out, and receiving a command from my mom to ask it allowed the graces of obedience to come into play. So, I asked Him.

“Will you heal me?”

That question annoyed Him, and I immediately sensed that I hadn’t been specific enough. “I am always healing you!” He said, frustrated that I might doubt it.

I laughed. “All right, yes, I believe you. Thank you. Let me ask again. These intense, crippling pain attacks that I am experiencing… will there ever be a time in my life when they go away for good?”

I can’t convey the answer He gave. I worded it so that His only recourse was a negative, yet the sensation that accompanied that word, when He gave it, was a full and positive affirmative, that flooded my soul with peace, love, and particular grace. And a sensation, as well, that I had full freedom in this choice. That if I accepted this incredible gift He wanted to give me, He would pour it out like wine over my soul, and it would be a light and easy burden - it would be my path to salvation.

Oh, my friend, it has been so light! Easy - almost never. And sometimes I forget that it is a grace. Sometimes the ease of suffering gets drawn away, and I reside in a darkness of emotional and mental misery… but even that is easier than I ever could have imagined. Because He still is with me, and Mary is with me, and the saints are a chorus of voices reminding me that there is no greater joy on earth than to suffer on the cross.

I suffered for years, ever since I was 15, and I have never known such peace amid my pain. He let me suffer so many years without understanding the redemption that is in everything He asks of us… but now, for whatever reason, our of the graciousness of His love, He has granted me a penetration into the mystery of suffering, and how sweet it is! I understand now why one of the saints, I can’t remember who, declared: If we understood the value of suffering, we would wish to prolong our journey on earth, so we can suffer more.

I’m not sure I wish for more suffering - I haven’t that grace yet - but I understand how such a desire, paired with knowledge, can exist. And I believe that suffering really is that redemptive.

I want to get back to my narrative, but this is taking me back to the beginning of my letter, because we must suffer from sin. It is the only way to attain Heaven. And yet, the cross has made our suffering sweet. It’s a paradox. A glorious one! Even as souls persist in sin, even as they perpetuate their own misery, they live ever in the opportunity to return to the Lord, and the suffering they experienced before conversion will become a redemptive light in the cleansing of their soul. For they were never truly satisfied, but starving, they ate from garbage cans, and how much more will their affinity for The Eucharist expand when they remember the filth of their empty lives?

I can’t believe how much I’ve written you - and all in one sitting, too, isn’t that impressive? But I’m so grateful for your patience as I unfold my narrative. I feel the Holy Spirit pressing me to tell all, so I will finish.

My family arrived in South Carolina at the beginning of April, and we all took a month-long vacation. I thought I would keep working at Heart Ridge Retreat Center while they visited, but the Lord allowed my pain to increase to such a pitch that I couldn’t even walk from one building to another. I had told my parents we would need to discuss and discern next steps with my life. Their dream of a homestead in Tennessee had been building as my dream too for the past half year, but they were planning to rent for a year before purchasing land, so I was planning to live in SC until they had land; now, my health proved that plan impossible.

We had a discussion among the three of us, and we decided to merge my fate with theirs. They had no home, no definite path, and yet my father bravely chose to include one more dependent under his non-existent roof.

My brother Andrew, age 23, was graduating from Wyoming Catholic College midway through May, and it had been my parent’s plan to stay at Heart Ridge until the end of April, then do an extended road trip across the western US, being on the road for a month. My mom has been sensing the coming societal collapse, and wanted the kids to experience the country now, while we were between crises that affected inter-state travel. It was nice to forget about Covid from South Carolina to Colorado. Colorado was the first state on our trip that had signs about it. In Illinois people still wear, and sometimes even require, masks. Not to mention all the vaccine billboards on the highways. Fear is a contagious thing.

Turns out, Andrew had been elected by his class to give the commencement speech, and it was so good! What a blessing to be present, and hear him give it. So many tears! He’s five years younger than me, and I’m so proud of him!

We drove ‘home’ by way of South Dakota (so gorgeous!), Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, and ended in Knoxville, TN. In Wisconsin, we stopped at the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe, where we ran into the associate priest from our brand new parish here in Knoxville (the very first person my parents met when they came to scout out this area of the country), and the family who hosted them for dinner when they scouted the area. We had no idea they would be there, and it was such a proof from the Lord of his unique care of us that, once again, we haven’t been able to doubt His plans for us, no matter how despondent we get.

We are currently staying in an AirBnB outside Knoxville, and my parents are looking at rentals. But I will say this - I believe we will have a homestead in August. The Lord has promised it to me and my mom, and although we cannot fathom how He plans to fulfill such a promise, I can only say that I must continue to trust Him.

And to declare it to you is to render Him more glory when it comes to pass. And it will come to pass, even if it looks different than what we expect. But I will not lower my expectations, because I have learned, over the past year, that He loves to surpass them! And when I lower, I miss what He chooses to give me.

Home has become the Lord. It has become what He chooses to give me.

He is restoring the idea of ‘home.’

As a society, not only have we lost sight of the value of children; not only have we lost any appreciation for the life-long commitment of marriage; not only have parents flung their children off as if they were an anchor preventing them from pursuing the precious retirement plans of their youth… in addition to all this - as a by-product of flipping the world on its ear - society has lost the very simple and precious idea of ‘home.’

Home is the place we are held - home is, foundationally, a slice of Heaven, here on earth. It is Dolce Domum, the Sweet Home.

Maybe this is why I’ve written all this to you, but to me, your family stands as a shining symbol of Dolce Domum. Your Family Paper is only one example, but it demonstrates what home is. The _____ Scoop is not written as an online blog for strangers, posted on Instagram, or read aloud on Youtube; in fact, it would lose its very value if you did that. What I’m about to say may sound negative - because the world views this word and concept negatively - but I mean it as a true compliment: your scoop is too simple for that. It is a simple compilation of simple stories about simple activities; it is a ledger of a self-contained kingdom. Because your home itself is a kingdom. And those to whom you send the stories enjoy a peep not into ‘domestic bliss’, exactly, but into a world apart. It is not an example to others of how to live, but a sample of a home lived well. It stands as ‘The Times’ for the kingdom of your Home.

In so many ways, our family really struggled to have that ‘home’ feel. Others came to our house and felt so loved and received, and we were blown away by the graces they seemed to enjoy just by walking through our doors, but for us, that feeling was utterly elusive. We felt tossed about, ungrounded, never really planted on firm rock. As renters, as homeowners experiencing foreclosure, as homebuyers who never payed off the full mortgage… my parents felt left behind by the world.

Now, ironically, we’ve left the world behind.

One of my brother’s lines in his commencement speech mentioned the call of WCC students to enter into the world and carry their education with them. He said that most are called to live in the world, and as a joke, he added that not all people and able to depart from the world and live on a secluded homestead. How my mom and I laughed with each other when he said that! He didn’t even know our full dream yet! And he’s right. Such a life is a gift.

Yet, we do not wish to renounce the world, but only the ways of it. We wish to provide a space for those who have to live in it to find rejuvenation. Nowhere, in the world, is there a place that feels like ‘home’ to the tossed about, lonely souls of those who are seeking to follow Christ. We wish to provide that.

We will be a secret place, not advertised on social media or youtube. The Lord will send us those who need this place He will give us. We will be a little slice of Heaven, here on earth.

My friend, when I lived at Heart Ridge, I kept telling people that I had found a home. And every time I said those words, the Lord rebuked me. He said, “Your temporary home.” I didn’t know what that meant, other than to imagine that He was reserving the word ‘home’ for when I found my future husband. In some ways, that’s true. But in a broader sense, Home is not a person, it is a reality.

And for the first in my life, as I move from place to place, living on 4 outfits out of a shared suitcase with my sisters, I feel at Home. He’s no longer correcting me. I am home.

I said at the outset that this is the turning, and I meant the turning of the ages. Revelation has begun, and after it unfolds, we will understand it as we never have before.

But not even Catholics believe it.

They say things like, “We have seen bad times before, and the Church always pulls through.” “We can never know the day or hour.”

Conveniently, they have forgotten to keep their lanterns wicked. They have forgotten that moral degradation, on all levels, is more telling than external tribulations. They have neglected the call to keep a watchful eye to the Horizon, and that many small revelations have taken place over the millenia. Their age is not exempt. We have not been forgotten.

Many will perish in this time, but do not despair. You are responsible for no one’s soul but your own, and those of your small children. And even toward them, you owe only guidance, and an example of personal virtue, to teach them to steward their own souls.

The world cannot continue thus, and it cannot save itself. Individually, saints have learned through the ages that their vices are not enough for them, and yet the world thinks it can redeem its own shortcomings. Without the intervention of the Lord, virtue will not return to the land. Without His aid, we swing on the pendulum of lust and prudishness, murder and tolerance, change and conservation.

Mary’s Immaculate Heart is already reigning, and how she desires to enter our hearts. She is preparing us for the final confrontation, pruning the errors of our souls to strengthen us against the winter that cannot be turned back. Never lower your expectations. Expect to hear the voice of the Lord. Ask Him what promises He has in store for you.

I say again, He tells me to wait. There is a great surprise coming, and if I only knew it, I would die of joy. “Wait and see,” He says, “Wait and see.”

Thank you for listening. Thank you for receiving.

In Christ, through Mama Mary,

Elizabeth

P.S. My friend, (In spite of being almost 30, and an adult when I first met you, I always think of you as Mrs. ______), I have to add another proof of how much Jesus loves me. When I began this letter, I really wanted to mail it to you physically, but we don’t have a printer, and getting out of the house, with my health, has been a strain. I knew I had too much to write to have the strength to write it out physically, so I decided to just accept that I would need to email it to you. Then, I paused writing and came out of my room for dinner, and what did my dad have sitting on the kitchen table? A brand new printer. God is good, all the time!

P.P.S. If you would like to write back, you can reach me at…

April 22, 2022

Further reflections on Genre

Sci-Fi is about the hypothetical human condition - how do we behave, what changes, when we learn something new about the natural world?

Fantasy is about the superhuman condition - tapping into knowledge beyond the natural world, and asking how we respond to a larger reality.

- Horror is a sub-genre

Drama is about the human condition - how do we behave in natural, human conditions, both happy and sad?

Romance is about the male/female relationship - how do we respond to the other sex?

February 1, 2022

Magic in fantasy stories - What makes a good fantasy story?

Elements: Hints at truth deeper than apparent reality

Apparent reality is what we see around us everyday: through our five senses, our mind, and our heart, we recognize how the world appears, how society is structured, and how people interact in relationships - all as they appear from a physical and sensual reality.

Genres:

Reality Novels:

Stories about apparent reality portray reality according to one’s senses, emotions, and experiences.

Fables:

Presents things as other than how they appear.

Sci-Fi:

Imagines a different world

Fantasy:

Speaks in stream-of-consciousness, tapping into the subconscious, to portray true but unseen realities.

---

Books that deal with these physical and sensual realities are dramas, mysteries, animal stories, and historical fiction. Fable is more similar to reality stories than sci-fi or fantasy, because fable portrays everything as it truly is, only with the replacement of animals instead of humans.

Deeper truth penetrates to the things we do not see: emotions, choices, and spiritual realities. This includes things like love, free will, and angels. Fantasy stories use various combinations of analogy, imagination, metaphor, and a free-flow of the subconscious to connect with realities deeper than that which we see around us everyday.

No fantasy story is ever a direct metaphor - if it were, it would cease to be fantasy. Direct metaphors limit the fullness of portraying the unknown, because it reduces the imagination back to what can be understood. Fantasy does not aim to show what can be understood, but metaphor does. The purpose of metaphor is to lower the defenses of the reader in regards to truth by telling a story that is apparently about something else, but at the last minute, unveiling the apparent layer to reveal the original, hidden truth. Fantasy, however, is not a layer concealing something beneath - it is a story in it’s own right. Only by accepting the story as it is, and letting it sink deep into your imagination, will you perceive the deeper realities it is portraying.

Magical creatures

No magical creature is a direct metaphor for a deeper reality, although some will symbolize ideas: for example, an imp is impish. Dragons represent evil and temptation (see article on page 130), tree and water nymphs represent nature, and lions represent kingship.

June 30, 2020

The bird kept chirping outside my window, as if in response to my hiccuping sobs. I wanted to pick up paper to write about it, this contrast between something beautiful and lively, and someone so lonely, but the thought of taking action was painful. I knew that to hold the pen would hurt my wearied, trembling fingers; to find a place to write would be inconvenient, and the whole process of looking for a pad of paper was too overwhelming to consider. Instead I was kept bowed, broken, in my chair.

After a while, my sobs cease, but the chirping of the bird increased. He had never been chirping for me in the first place. Nature was indifferent to me, as removed from me as if it could not care that I existed. But although I was removed from it, I cared very much. I wanted to be appreciative – engaging in it – but I was stuck inside, cold, lying in bed… I’m too tired to eat the food I just finished heating up.

But I knew that the longer I waited to eat, the worse I would feel.

There is a series of chapters in the Brothers Karamazov that begin with ‘lacerations at’. They talk about all the places where Alyosha receives pain to his heart - lacerations - that cut him open and tear at his sensitive soul. I would title this episode of my life: ‘lacerations at my brother’s.’

There is a desolation in the realization that a place that you considered a sanctuary is in fact a desert. That a place you thought you could escape to was really a desolate place. I want my weak body to be OK with the fact that there is no table at which to eat, no hot water to bathe in, no couch to sit on, no regular bed to lounge on. I want my body to accept that cast-iron pans are not from the devil, and that large 2 gallon jars of milk are not a cruel invention created by sadistic people.

But you see, it hurts me to hold my whole bowl of soup in my hands and I need a table to put it on. It hurts me to sit in wicker chairs and I need a couch to curl up on. My whole body is in pain all the time, and the only thing that takes it away is a bath of hot water. But the only way I can get it is to boil gallons of water on the stove and carry them across the expanse of the apartment - all the while making myself weaker and shakier, and more and more increasing my pain. The 2 gallon jar of milk is so heavy that I spill as much as I pour into my glass. And the cast iron pans are so heavy and bulky that they are impossible for me to lift and clean.

I wanted to come keep my brother company, but I did not account for all these things that bring me pain. I did not account for the fact that I would be miserable. And the bottom line is, that he does not much care about having me here. He cares more for the friend who just returned from college, with whom he spent his birthday evening, and went to lunch without me. If he really wanted me here, now or at another time, he would do his upmost to make the environment comfortable – ready for me, and for my mother. But that is not his concern. He is living his life, three hours from my home. He left, and perhaps he does not want to be with us unless he chooses to come back, which he does from time to time. Although it is impossible for me to spend quality time with him at those times, for we are surrounded by many people and conversation is not possible amongst the small children. I am alone anyway, and I need to stop being desperate to retain those people who I thought would be there for me - no matter what.

February 25, 2019

Chronic Fatigue in a Loved One - A Letter to the Friends and Family of a Victim of Chronic Fatigue

Who am I and Why am I Talking about Chronic Fatigue?

 11 years ago, my life turned upside down

 At the age of 15, my life came to a halt. I came down with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, but it was not properly diagnosed for several years

 My mom took me to many doctors - DO’s, cardio-specialists, MD’s, pediatricians, therapists, chiropractors, acupuncturists, neural-specialists, and many others, but no one had a diagnosis or a treatment. They all had ideas for how to help, but they were guesses. They all had success stories for their patients, but they had never encountered someone like me.

 On any given day, I struggled with nerve pain, shakiness, dizziness, nausea, double-vision and weakness, and I had to take life slow. Those were my good days. If I did too much in a day or pushed myself too far, I found myself propped up in bed with an agonizing migraine, chronic weakness where it hurt to move, or fiery pain throughout one side of my body - but the sides would switch on a dime. One moment, my left side hurt like I had been paralyzed and could feel it, and the next instant, it was my right side, and the left only had weakness and the echo of pain.

  - But aside from the pain, one of the worst symptoms was the complete uncertainty that came over planning my life. The symptoms were erratic, and on any given day, I might be completely healthy, even running around playing sports or going to dances. But the very next day, for no apparent reason, I would be stretched out in bed, disoriented, and unable to interact with other people. Planning for social engagements or leaving the house became very difficult, on myself of course, but even more so on my friends and family who wanted to see me, and then had to cancel their plans because I was not up to meeting them. Complete isolation would have been the easiest answer, but the loneliness was not worth it. When I could, I pushed myself to go places and do things even when I didn’t know if I’d be able to stay long or have much energy to interact, because the emotional and mental relief of being around other people and having a good time would comfort me in the times when I was alone.

  - My Mother, bless her untiring heart, never ceased researching my condition, and she was the one who finally, unofficially, stumbled on a diagnosis and a treatment. She brought her findings to my primary physician, who was only too happy that someone had found an answer at last, and agreed with my mom.

  - The treatment was called the GAPS diet, and it was one of the horrors of my childhood. At that time I was trapped in bed almost 24/7, and all I had to look forward to in life was mealtime. Now that joy was deprived me. My mother started bringing me fresh-juiced carrot juice, bland broth, and boiled meats and vegetables, and I wasn’t allowed to eat anything else. aside from greatly disliking the food, my health went from bad to worse. Through the gaps diet, my mom discovered that I was even more sick than she realized. We found out that any detox we tried to put my body through caused my body to reject the treatment because the detox was so intense that it couldn’t handle the release of toxins well enough to be able to flush them out of my system. We had to go down to mixing a quarter teaspoon of carrot juice in a glass of apple juice to trick my body into accepting it and releasing a tiny amount of toxins at a time.

  - The gaps diet is meant to give your body the simplest food to digest, essentially giving it a break from all the food that it can’t handle, so that you can slowly bring foods back in and allow the body a chance to tell you what it likes and what it does not. It took four years before my body allowed me to eat potatoes again.

  - The gaps diet was eventually my salvation. It restored me to a state to be able to live my life once again. Once again I was going to family parties, hanging out with my siblings, and doing my schoolwork. I was even able to carry-on a part-time job nannying. I was 18 and I applied to colleges, committed to the idea that I was completely cured, and so long as I was able to follow my diet, I would be fine. At 19, I moved from Illinois to the East Coast for college.

  - Then my mom had a stillbirth. She had had miscarriages before, but a stillbirth was far more trumatic. And trauma is devastating to those with chronic fatigue.

  - I was able to push on for a year and a half, but every summer that I came home I was sicker than the one before, and I was getting worse. At last, after a miserable summer at home between sophomore and junior years, I made the brave decision not to go back to school. I remember sitting with my parents at the restaurant the three of us went for dinner, and crying as I told them I had decided to stay home. It was devastating for all of us. We knew if I could not handle school, I could not handle a full-time job. We did consider that maybe I should work part-time, but even that became evident that I could not do so. Once again, I was confined to my bedroom, and this time it was far worse because I was reliving a nightmare.

  - But my dedication to return to school was strong, and after that time of respite, I returned to school, this time with a wheelchair. I was able to attend classes so long as someone could push me from the dorm room to the classrooms. I put less pressure on myself now to interact in social engagements, or even to show up for classes. My health actually improved over that year, and I thought I had found a way to actively live with my condition.

  - But once I graduated and went home, I once again found life extremely difficult. I was not as bad as before, and I was able to work a part-time job from home, but part time was all I could do – and I felt like I had no future.

  - The worst part about coming home was to find my mother even more ill than I was. During my senior year, she too had to admit that she had chronic fatigue. She had always had problems with fibromyalgia, which I had as well, but now she was getting migraines and finding it difficult to function for any extended period of time. By the time I returned, she was confined to her bedroom. The more we researched the condition of chronic fatigue, the more we realized that this was common. Chronic fatigue is often passed from parent to child, and is most common in the females of the family. It can lie dormant in the body for many years until extreme trauma brings it out. After the death of the baby, the birth and care of another baby after that, and living in a house that was full of mold, her body finally succumbed to the condition that had been mostly latent in her system up to that point.

  - My mother and I found being around each other to be toxic. We both wanted to take care of the other one, and were incapable of doing so. We were not even capable of taking care of ourselves. She was stuck in her bedroom upstairs, and I was stuck in mine, and my 12-year-old sister was trying to run everything while taking care of two invalids. It was a bad situation.

  - After less than one year at home, my 19 year old brother and I decided to move out and get an apartment together. It was hard on him, but easier on me. I had someone who understood how to cook my food and could make it for me when I wasn’t able to, but most of the time I was able to provide for myself since I was home alone the whole day, and that was a good situation for my emotional and mental state. I was even able to go swing dancing once a week!

  - But after a year, my brother realized that I was never going to get well enough to live on my own, but he needed to be in order to pursue his career. I understood that, and I returned home and he moved three hours away to Springfield.

  - In the meantime, my mom had grown so sick, and had had so much time on her hands to research possible remedies, that she had finally discovered a local doctor who dealt with chronic issues like ours. For the first time, we had found a Doctor who had dealt with people like us before. We were in shock - we had never found anyone I knew what to do with us.

  - Since meeting him, we have improved. It’s been two years now, and we are making very slow but steady progress. My sister, the one who was running the house, is now 15 and is beginning to experience the same symptoms that I had at her age. But they are not quite as bad. And we are hopeful that they never will be. We have done so many things over the course of all these years that I could spend hours talking about, but I want to get to the meat of this video. Hopefully my story has helped you to understand that if you have chronic fatigue or if you have a loved one who struggles with it, it’s not something that is easy to solve. It’s not something that’s just going to go away. It’s something we have to learn to live with, to accept, and yet we must never give up. Because there are always answers – whether it’s an answer for relieving the issues or solving them completely, they are out there.

  - I have been at different stages of acceptance in my life. Sometimes I don’t want to hear that there are answers - because I am too tired to think about pursuing them. And sometimes I don’t want to hear that there is no answer - because I am so desperate to live a normal life. But we must find somewhere in between. We must find a way to accept the condition and learn how to live with it, and we must always believe that life can be better than it is.

How to treat it?

  - gentle treatments

  - diet change

  - homeopathy

  - vitamins and minerals

  - gentle detox therapies such as enemas and Epsom Salt baths

  - rest

  - brief, relaxing vacations

  - decreased work load

  - amended approach to life

  - why fighting and living a normal life is not the answer

  - acupuncture

  - chiropractic

  - gentle massage

  - brief sauna or salt cave visit

  - aromatherapy

  - decreasing toxic exposure in the house, using organic materials, and low-toxicity materials, soaps, shampoos, and paints

How will Chronic Fatigue affect my loved one?

  - Moody

  - confused

  - anxiety

  - panic attacks

  - extreme emotional, social, and physical sensitivity

  - forgetful

  - brain fog

  - weak

  - short fuse

  - cannot stand for long periods of time (standing is different than walking)

  - outings will be paid for one or two days later

  - low tolerance of other people

  - low pain tolerance

  - compromised immune system

  - poor sleep

  - food allergies and digestive issues

  - erratic ability to commit to social engagements

  - Time spent alone in their bedroom

  - erratic, unpredictable health

Why is no one talking about this?

  - Those in the medical community are not talking about it because they can’t make anything of it

  - last two years has seen a small rise in the discussion of chronic fatigue, on account of the numerous patients that seem untreatable

  - chronic fatigue defies specialized treatment. It is a whole body problem, that the medical community finds confusing since they tend to specialize in one area or another

  - no victims are publicly talking about it because they have no energy to do so

  - family members and friends aren’t talking about it because they are usually not aware of what’s really going on. All they know is that their loved one is suddenly sick all the time, anti-social, and isolated. Many of them assume it’s depression, the flu, lyme disease... but they don’t know, and are hoping that the doctors find a cure. They don’t understand that the doctors are often just as lost, because your loved one is probably the first victim of chronic fatigue they have ever seen and the symptoms are so widespread that the illness is difficult to identify and classify. and your loved one might be incapable of explaining to you their visits to the doctors, their own symptoms, or the confusion that surrounds chronic fatigue, because they find the topic confusing. They are already suffering from memory loss and brain fog, which worsens when they are in a social activity such as going to the doctor. When they come home, they have likely forgotten half their visit. Also, they are already exhausted, and to talk about something that is so stressful and confusing exhausts them more so that they may avoid talking it completely. If you want someone to step up and talk about this, you have to be the one to do it. YOU are the one with energy, the one who can fight the fight of getting victims the help they need and communicating the problems to the medical community. Chronic Fatigue victims are isolated and alone, but if you care enough about them to watch this video, then they don’t have to be.

What can I do?

  - accept the situation as it is (most important)

  - provide or raise financial aid for doctors and healthy food for the individual

  - give physical aid for meals, cleanliness, and shopping

  - provide childcare

  - give emotional aid

  - pray

  - offer to drive them to necessary appointments such as the doctor, parent/teacher meetings, church or their child’s school play

  - you can’t just say “let me know if you need help.” Because they are always in need of help, and they don’t want to be a burden on you. No matter what, they already feel like they are.

  - offer to help without putting pressure on them to except your help. This is tricky, because asking for help can exhaust the victim of chronic fatigue, but feeling like they need to accept your help can also exhaust them. It is not your responsibility to keep them from having an emotional breakdown, but there are ways to ask that will help them to be happy. Be honest with them that you want to find those ways, and then work together to figure out what they are.

What if I feel like I don’t have the resources to help them?

  - Very few people are equipped to help those with chronic fatigue. Chronic fatigue has various amounts of intensity, and your loved one can be anywhere from living an almost normal life to being completely incapacitated.

There are some facilities that are equipped to take them in and help them, but these are very expensive and not covered by insurance. If you feel like you can financially find a way to send your loved one there, there’s a good chance that it would be helpful. But ultimately, it is on you to help them, because they cannot help themselves.

  - nurse

  - helper or companion

  - cook

  - cleaner (using only natural cleaning ingredients)

  - chauffeur

You are the best solution

  - But remember that ultimately, you are the best equipped to help your loved one, because you are the one they trust. They are most comfortable around you. If you are reading this article, you care about them and their well-being. And that’s what we need most of all. We need someone who we feel like will listen to us and really hear us, who will stand by us no matter how crazy our symptoms get, and who genuinely wants to spend time with us, even when we don’t feel like we are entertaining enough to be around. I cannot thank enough those people who have been there for me through all this. My father, my siblings, my friends from school, and my friends from home, who all stood by me even when I disappeared for months on end, but were willing to embrace me again when I re-entered the world: those people are invaluable, and you have the opportunity to be that person for the one you love. It won’t be easy, but, speaking from experience, it can be a beautiful journey!

February 17, 2023

My master, I am afraid, but I know not of what. What fills me with fear? That I will experience pain? No. That I will have no way to deal with the pain, rather. That you will depart from me, and leave me destitute. How afraid I am of this! How my soul trembles. Do not depart from me. Do not leave me little and small and afraid. Oh Jesus, let me be strong. How afraid I am. How I yearn for you.

Is this the weakening? Will you weaken me by abandoning me? How afraid I am of this! Let the weakness be only physical, and may my spiritual interior remain like a giant among souls. How else can I bear the crosses you give me?

I despise everything. The yarn, the projects, the games, the people, even the idea of marriage, of praying to you, all these things fill me with disgust. I feel that nothing can again bring me happiness. All is sameness, like the texture and taste of dust. Though I hunger, I despise food, and I will not eat, although my body desires it. I feel a mighty sense of desire, but I can center on nothing which my soul desires. Even you, I feel, are only dust. That your presence is not true sweetness. Your mother, too, I feel, is just the same as she ever was.

How I hate to write these things, and I feel the most wretched of all your children. I do not desire to hurt you, but to understand. To know myself, and my sensations. I know that you are allowing these sensations, but I do not wish to acknowledge this. I hate that you are allowing this.

I have the strongest inclination to gorge myself on fine foods, though any examples that present themselves to my mind are foul. I want to throw myself into a bathtub and scrub vigorously, because I feel I must be dirty, and this is why I feel this way. Yet, my body is clean today and there is no purpose to this. If I run away, perhaps this will bring relief, my body suggests to me, but where would I go? How long would I last? I cannot even get up from this bed, nor is there anyone I desire to see. I want to stay here, yet I hate being seated. I am bored, and feel like I am failing, yet when I do things, they do not satisfy. I feel like I surround myself with ideas and inventions, and all are fruitless. There is no life in me. No benefit to my efforts. I am nothingness. Everything I do is the worst of all efforts, and everyone in the world is better than I at any pursuit.

Is this the dark night of the soul? How I abhor, of all ideas, that you will depart from me. You do not allow me to doubt your love and care, yet I despise my worthiness. I despise that you have only this to work with. It is like a great artist was given only a dirty wall as a canvas, and mud as the medium. How beautiful can he really make that? How beautiful can you really make me? I am mud. I am dirty. I am a wall. Spit upon me, this is all I deserve.

Yet I do not even know what has caused these feelings of unworthiness! I can center on no crime, no fault within me that is greater than the crimes or faults of others. I know that, on account of your grace, you have kept me from sin for so much of my life, and so it cannot be these accumulations of sins that causes this agony. Nor, even if I had before been the worst of sinners, I know that your mercy could have washed me clean, and Baptism or Confession would have made me a new child, had such a redemption been necessary. So it is not these things.

Therefore, I am so ungrateful! So destitute, because I have so much to be grateful for, and yet I hate myself, and you, and everything. When you withdraw, I am left with only miserable hatred.

I surrender this hatred to you. In fact, I gift it to you, because it is all I have right now. I do not know what benefit or pleasure you could possibly receive from this, but I offer it anyway. Perhaps your mother, who presents all my gifts before you, will wrap it so splendidly that it looks like joy. I do not know.

Praise your name forever! I will forever praise your name.