I feel the panic rising.
I am in a box and it's slowly filling with water.
The ice attacks my heart and I feel like I can't breathe.
The anxiety always fools me,
disappearing sometimes,
other times it comes out from behind the black curtain,
bowing and taking center stage.
Then I become the puppet and the anxiety is the master,
pulling my strings and I must comply.
The ushers look at me but don't say anything.
I will stand here.
There were no end seats,
nowhere where I wasn't seated next to someone.
I can't do it.
I refuse to leave.
I am here for Jesus and for my friend.
He doesn't know anyone and they don't know the gem that stands in front of them.
He glistens in the son.
I feel horrible,
what kind of cheerleader am I for him withering in the back?
I wait for the announcement,
"If you will notice in the back of the church,
the lady in blue moving back and forth.
She is a friend of the priest and is here today to celebrate his first weekend.
Isn't that great?
A bonkers,
anxiety-ridden
freak
is here
to offer her support?
It's hard to believe he has friends like her."
The Disciples were astonished that he was speaking with this woman.
I feel the heat of a self-induced spotlight
but of course there is no such announcement.
It's just me indicting myself for not being a perfect friend.
I begin to see myself more as a liability to this man
but I am determined to smile at him when he's talking,
so I pull it all inside and pour the secret pain into the chalice in my heart.
The chalice inside is the offering I will unite with Jesus.
This is my body, this is my blood.
I offer it with his.
My feet and back hurt.
Where can I go and escape my fear?
If I go to heaven you are there.
If I make my bed in sheol you are there.
Everywhere I turn it is there, attacking me,
robbing me of my joy.
I won't let it rob my friend of a supportive presence.
Even if I am crazy.
The bigness of my smile at him is inversely proportional to the measure of my anxiety.
I gather it all up.
I saw some daisies to day and my great-grandma McCarty said they are always smiling at me.
They are always happy,
like my friend.
I always see smiles on their centers so I put those in the chalice too.
Smiles through my tears for Jesus,
and my friend,
and Jesus smiles at my friend too.
I stand in the back.
His first weekend at a church that doesn't know him.
They lost the thundering priest.
This softer, gentler man offers love,
and the cross
and the faith
in such a way that you hear him ask,
"Do you say yes?"
and you find you want to say yes.
He makes me want to say yes
so I can feel happy and be gentle.
No one ever calls me gentle.
You hear him make it sound so beautiful.
You want to embrace the cross,
the pain,
the anger,
My God, my God why have you abandoned me?
You want to embrace it all,
the tears no one hears,
the panic,
the hell that is my secret at Mass,
all because he makes my life look beautiful.
He makes me feel beautiful and not a wreck.
He makes me see what I have,
Not how much I lack.
I want to run up front and tell people that this man is amazing,
He is the only person who makes me want to say yes.
I am at the well.
I am the Samaritan woman,
the woman who lived the ugly life.
He knows my darkness and yet he offers me living water.
He makes me want to say yes.
I thirst.
Give him a chance to show you that you are beautiful too.
I don't say anything I just pour it into the chalice.
Sweet with the bitter.
Wormwood and gall,
the sweet tears of our mother mingled into the sadness.
Mother behold your son.
Son behold your mother.
She holds the gentle priest in her hands and smiles.
Into your hands I commend my spirit.
He holds up the host and his hands hold Jesus.
I walk my own via delorosa in the back,
planting my anxiety in quiet corners
like a desperate vine.
My back,
twisted on the stairs coming in,
screams in protest.
I offer my anxiety,
my fear,
the back pain,
my aversion to touch and germs,
all of it to Jesus on the cross.
It all goes in the chalice of my heart.
All my childhood I was forced to let people touch me,
forced to touch them.
I hide in the bathroom.
Never again will someone touch me that I don't want touching me.
Never again will I be pressured to do that.
I only touch my friends.
I hear Agnus Dei and I come in and a man tries to shake my hand.
My little girl says no.
Panic rises and in a quick blurt I say,
"Sorry I don't shake hands".
Father forgive them, they know not what they do.
As we sing a song about Jesus calling us,
my heart begins to break.
The tears are flooding my heart and eyes,
and my insides are all mixed up.
I am here for my friend.
He is starting here and I don't want him to see me upset.
He has to be so tired and so overwhelmed.
I want him to see me smiling,
and I want him to be happy today.
I push away a couple of escaped tears and smile at him with everything I have as I receive Jesus.
I put the rest in the chalice in my heart.
It is finished.
I keep my vigil in the back and wait for most to leave.
I again smile and tease my friend,
he seems to be doing OK.
I wonder how he FEELS.
I wonder if anyone asks him how he feels.
I wonder if anyone asks him if he is OK and if this change has been sad for him too.
Does he have any tears from his goodbyes?
Does he feel alone?
I want to say more but he may be happy and I don't want him to be sad.
I joke with him.
He asks about me and I say I'm OK.
I don't want him to feel anything but sunshine and daisies today.
I will every ounce of peace I wish I could have,
the ache in my back,
the sadness at my germ phobia alienating me from others,
the misery of all of my suffering from all my anxiety,
I push it all into one big ball of love and happiness,
along with all the offered up suffering,
I offer it for all that he may feel that may not be good in this move.
I offer it all up for all his sadness,
exhaustion,
anxiety,
uncertainty,
and gift his heart with my smiling daisies.
I will bear my anxiety alone and any consolation I reject and offer it to God asking him to please give it all to my friend.
I give it like the little dollar in the offering plate.
My last dollar.
It is all that I have give.
What little it is
I pour it over him,
I pour out my chalice of pain offered as love,
I pour it all over his head onto him so that sunshine,
love,
warmth,
and compassion
run all over him and leave pools running behind him as he walks home.
I give it even if it's merely to be left behind as droplets on the pavement,
discarded and unseen.
It can become the footprints of the holy man,
trails of his sacrifice.
Like Aaron anointing his priests,
he will be covered in sweet holy oil
mixed with the redemption of my darkness into a gift.
He will be walking wet like Jesus after he left the Jordan.
Water dripping from the well that he offers me.
I give it all with all the love I have and with all the love of Jesus,
poured out with Christ over him,
all over him,
it runs in streams from the cross
and my chalice,
onto him,
into the earth,
and now I can smile.
It has all been redeemed.
This day you will be with me in paradise.
I am at peace again.
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