Strange, I know, given my hesitation to identify myself as a Catholic or Christian anymore.
*
*
*
*
*
*
I admit, I cried right about here, at the sculpture of Jesus in Mary’s arms.
*
*
I didn’t have whole lot of time to talk to Jesus, because I had to go get my kids from school. I sat next to him a while. I had a lot I wanted to say to him and a few questions to ask.
Maybe next time.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
About Casey
“the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes ‘Awww!’
~ Jack Kerouac, On The Road Again
“given my hesitation to identify myself as a Catholic or Christian anymore.” Me too.
The statues are striking though. So much suffering in the world…
So true.
I’m finding myself having a couple of bad days internally…and I know I want to get back to your last comment, but I’m really unable to at the moment. I’m tired and feeling really foggy-brained right now.
No worries! You do what you need to. I just wanted to throw in my two cents! 🙂
Thanks so much!
Beautiful statues. And in my head a song me and my husband often sing, starts to play.
All my tears with Emmylou Harris. It comforts me.
(Here it is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iHoWQBUo0Kc)
smultron
Where’d you find these? Some are really moving. What touched me most, though, was your reaction under the Cross. It is how all believers should be stirred every time. We just grow immune to the wonder.
Actually, the cross didn’t really touch me like that, but I can see how you might think so, it wasn’t very clear. My reaction was to the sculpture of Jesus in Mary’s arms. Well, I’m assuming it’s his mother, Mary.
At any rate, my mother was extremely emotionally unavailable and psychologically and sometimes physically abusive. The day I left home, my mother’s hand was at my throat with her other hand poised to strike me. I was 24.
I don’t believe I did anything to deserve that. I was trying to protect my older sister from my mother’s tirade about her boyfriend.
I have a hard time worshiping a God who doesn’t seem to have cared about what happened to me or what happens to other abused children. He could stop it if he wanted.
I don’t believe in hell after earth. I believe we create hell for each other ON earth.
That being said, I’m very moved by the poignant imagery of being held by a loving Mother. I have NO idea what that is like.
“That being said, I’m very moved by the poignant imagery of being held by a loving Mother. I have NO idea what that is like.”
Wow.
Casey, I am in no way justifying the abuse you suffered at the hands of your mom: as you have matured in self-awareness and slowly moved toward more healthful ways of handling difficult people and situations, have you come to see that a lot of her behavior and attitude stem from her own failed attempts to cope with pain and (probable) abuse?
Xxxxx
Diana
No, I didn’t think you did.
I love my mother, though she was a very bitter and an extreme narcissist and the only child of a wealthy lawyer. She hated my dad, and therefore, since I was a product of their union, she hated me too.
Here’s just one writing I had about her feelings when I told her I was going to bring my daughters to meet him for the first time three years ago, for my 40th birthday
https://thesprightlywriter.wordpress.com/2012/04/18/my-mother-my-father-my-self/
My mother lives in a 5200 square foot home while I can barely pay my bills in a run down home built in the 70s.
I don’t know what God wants me to learn from all this.
I had to cut the next post in two so I’ll mention your response to the statue in the second half.
That sounds good, I’m looking forward to it,
Casey