Whatever that connectedness is, it will contribute greatly to your resiliency.
For me, the spiritual has more often than not been a traditional view of God and Jesus Christ. I was born and raised Roman Catholic, with all the baggage that can incur. In my young adulthood, I left the church because I got divorced, and, back then, the church of my youth rejected me for this decision. As a child, especially one abandoned by parents and family, my religion was a very sustaining force. I knew God lovedme and that my mama was with God in Heaven. It seems like a very simplistic view now that I am an adult, but it was comforting and sustaining. During my estrangement from the church of my youth, I spent years looking for a spiritual home. Not until my mom Doris died did I find a place where I belonged once again.
Doris died slowly and painfully. Five months prior to her death, her husband fell to the ground and died instantly from a massive heart attack with Doris at his side. His loss was painful for her, but the revelations after his death were yet more devastating. When mom searched his papers and personal effects, she discovered that he had been engaged in a long-term affair with a much younger, singularly unattractive woman. She even found a note from this woman to papa discussing Doris’s poor health and looking forward to her ultimate demise.
Five months after papa’s death, I got an emergency call and hurried home to the hospital in Toledo. I was with Doris thirty-one days as they did one horrible thing to her after another, all the while telling me that she was not terminal. At the end, I threatened to harm anyone that did another thing to torment her. Her only living biological child refused to come to the hospital all the days she was there because, he said, it was too hard on him. Then he showed up at the end to demand that they continue every effort to keep her alive. Fortunately, her doctor convinced him that there wasno more to be done. She died with us all at her side. Circumstances were such that we had to shut down her house and get rid of all her earthly belongings within the week following her death.
When I got home to Alabama, I was exhausted physically and emotionally. I couldn’t sleep, and I couldn’t breathe. Convinced that I was suffering from some sort of bronchial disorder, I went to the doctor, who sent me home with a prescription. I took one pill. After I collapsed on the sofa for hours, scaring my poor husband exceedingly, I looked up the medication in my pill book. The doctor had prescribed a psychotropic medication for anxiety. It might have been helpful if he had explained this to me. I took several of the pills at night over the next few days and got myself back in hand. But there was still an immense void.
My friend Judy Lincoln said I needed to find a church home, and she called Rita Hayes. Rita invited me to the Episcopal Church. It felt as if I had returned home. I was wrapped in the old-time rituals of my youth without the censure of Catholicism. Russ loved the little church, and he and I joined. Churches are humanity’s creation. Jesus Christ didn’t come down here and start a building-fund drive. We humans need to have a place and rituals and community. My relationship with God didn’t change, but I found the comfort of community.
Others find comfort outside the mainstream orthodoxy. There is an aged professor whoseacquaintance I made through my work activities. He is a warm, sincere human being who draws his strength from a close relationship with the earth and with nature. Church, for him, is a large shade tree, under whose spreading branches he sits and meditates. My Aunt Eileen is one of the strongest advocates for true Christian values that I have ever met, and yet, she does not believe in Christianity in any way. She believes in the humanity of mankind, and she has always fought to better the human condition. Her spirituality is deep and personal.
Through the years, teens
For me, the spiritual has more often than not been a traditional view of God and Jesus Christ. I was born and raised Roman Catholic, with all the baggage that can incur. In my young adulthood, I left the church because I got divorced, and, back then, the church of my youth rejected me for this decision. As a child, especially one abandoned by parents and family, my religion was a very sustaining force. I knew God lovedme and that my mama was with God in Heaven. It seems like a very simplistic view now that I am an adult, but it was comforting and sustaining. During my estrangement from the church of my youth, I spent years looking for a spiritual home. Not until my mom Doris died did I find a place where I belonged once again.
Doris died slowly and painfully. Five months prior to her death, her husband fell to the ground and died instantly from a massive heart attack with Doris at his side. His loss was painful for her, but the revelations after his death were yet more devastating. When mom searched his papers and personal effects, she discovered that he had been engaged in a long-term affair with a much younger, singularly unattractive woman. She even found a note from this woman to papa discussing Doris’s poor health and looking forward to her ultimate demise.
Five months after papa’s death, I got an emergency call and hurried home to the hospital in Toledo. I was with Doris thirty-one days as they did one horrible thing to her after another, all the while telling me that she was not terminal. At the end, I threatened to harm anyone that did another thing to torment her. Her only living biological child refused to come to the hospital all the days she was there because, he said, it was too hard on him. Then he showed up at the end to demand that they continue every effort to keep her alive. Fortunately, her doctor convinced him that there wasno more to be done. She died with us all at her side. Circumstances were such that we had to shut down her house and get rid of all her earthly belongings within the week following her death.
When I got home to Alabama, I was exhausted physically and emotionally. I couldn’t sleep, and I couldn’t breathe. Convinced that I was suffering from some sort of bronchial disorder, I went to the doctor, who sent me home with a prescription. I took one pill. After I collapsed on the sofa for hours, scaring my poor husband exceedingly, I looked up the medication in my pill book. The doctor had prescribed a psychotropic medication for anxiety. It might have been helpful if he had explained this to me. I took several of the pills at night over the next few days and got myself back in hand. But there was still an immense void.
My friend Judy Lincoln said I needed to find a church home, and she called Rita Hayes. Rita invited me to the Episcopal Church. It felt as if I had returned home. I was wrapped in the old-time rituals of my youth without the censure of Catholicism. Russ loved the little church, and he and I joined. Churches are humanity’s creation. Jesus Christ didn’t come down here and start a building-fund drive. We humans need to have a place and rituals and community. My relationship with God didn’t change, but I found the comfort of community.
Others find comfort outside the mainstream orthodoxy. There is an aged professor whoseacquaintance I made through my work activities. He is a warm, sincere human being who draws his strength from a close relationship with the earth and with nature. Church, for him, is a large shade tree, under whose spreading branches he sits and meditates. My Aunt Eileen is one of the strongest advocates for true Christian values that I have ever met, and yet, she does not believe in Christianity in any way. She believes in the humanity of mankind, and she has always fought to better the human condition. Her spirituality is deep and personal.
Through the years, teens
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