Howell's Requiem- What I MEANT to Say

Movement 1- Salvator Mundi

Movement 2- I Heard a Voice from Heaven

           So the last blog that I wrote, I received over whelming support. Connection got me through- like I new it would- like I needed it to. I followed Brenee' Brown's advice about courage, (her definition comes from the latin word, cor, which means heart. She says the word basically means to tell your story with your whole heart) and I was proud of how many of my friends (who knew!?!? People I hadn't spoken to in YEARS were unbelievably supportive!! Thank you, thank you a million times!!) stepped up to the plate to offer love and support, empathy and connection.

                 I can't approach this the same way- the main story here isn't mine to tell. I've gotten permission to skim it- but it certainly won't be as specific as I like to be. (I refuse to be one of those stupid, vague, 'woe is me' facebook poster's, or 'wow, I can't believe some people....you know who you are...' bloggers...they drive me insane.) But here is the overview of what is keeping me up at night, making me cry in the middle of classes and generally....taking over my life.

               This is the first time I'm choosing to focus on a song we're singing in my choir right now. It's a shame I'm pretty sure none of them read this blog- because when I tried to make this comment the other day in class, it made no sense at all. We're doing Howell's Requiem, a catholic song, meant for 'repose for the dead.' The writer wrote it for his son who died, very early in life. And it sat in his desk for almost 40 years, because it was just too sacred to be performed. The last movement captures the feeling very well:

I heard a voice from Heaven saying unto me,

“Write, from henceforth, blessed are the dead which die in the Lord,

For they rest from their labors, even so saith the spirit...They rest.”

               There is someone in my life right now who wants nothing more than to rest from their labors. I love this person dearly, and they have designated me as the one person they can really talk to. Usually, I love this role. I've never, ever, ever had this role be so hard for me to play. They are exhausted, they have been asked to carry more than any one ever should, and they are really, just, done. I tell them they should stay- they have only seen the worst life has to offer- please please please stick around for the best. They say no- they say they are tired. They ask why I can't understand- how glorious would it be for them to released? And I cry, and I cry, and I cry. And I watch supernatural for hours on end to numb the pain. And I cry in class. More supernatural to make it stop....And I cry at work..... Tell jokes and focus on the little things to make it stop....And I cry to teachers.... And I go to choir, and as long as all I think about is when to cut off, Eh-tehr-nahm, not AY-tehr-nahm, inflate the vowel so you don't go flat, remember keep it a little forward, dark tone here, bright tone here, listen!...I can get through it. UNTIL LAST WEEK!!! When after hundreds of run throughs, our teacher decided to ask us to talk about the feelings of the song. We'd run the first movement probably a hundred times. It's text says:

Oh Savior of the World-

Oh Savior, who by thy cross and thy precious blood hath reedemed us.

Save us- help us- we humbly beseech thee Oh Lord.

      He asked us to describe this one in a word. We got everything from addiction, to hope, to down trodden, to hopeless....but all I could think about was this situation. My word was “desperation”. This is not a movement of or even for the dead. This is not a movement for the sufferer- this is the movement for those of us who have to watch. Who have to live with their loved ones gone, or witness their loved ones dying a little every day. This is the cry of “Oh Lord.....I'm out!! I have given every piece of advice, suggested every resource, prayed every prayer, cried every tear, I have NOTHING LEFT to give this person- and it isn't enough!!! PLEASE!! PLEASE take it from here.” (Kind of like that moment in “Legacy”- “I can't heal this ox!!!! Please help me!!) When I tried to explain this to the choir....it got jumbled. And teary. And I'm pretty sure awkward for everyone (me included- I don't like crying in front of people. Especially people I'm trying to impress. Which, unfortunately, even 2 months and 2 concerts in- is still the chamber choir.)

       So this is new. This is me, unable to sleep, or relax, or think about anything but this at 2:30 in the morning. And I am open to suggestions- or hugs- or anything else any one is willing to give me at this point. Because I'm pretty sure if I bawl through the requiem on tour, my conductor will throw me out of the choir.  

P.S- I thought about begging forgiveness for ramblings and grammar errors again- and then I realized that I write this blog as an outlet, not as an assignment; and my assignments are lucky if they get checked for grammar errors and coherence- especially my ones written at 3 in the morning.

P. P. S- We sound better than this choir. Come hear us some time! 

Challenging Music of Heaven

         Music of Heaven; Jason Robert Brown

             This is without a single doubt the scariest blog post I have ever written. The topic is beyond taboo- it is just not spoken of. But I am writing this because I believe in the power of connection. Brene Brown defines connection as “the energy that exists between people when they feel seen, heard, and valued; when they can give and receive without judgement; and when they derive sustenance and strength from the relationship.” I discovered the concept of connection when I was given Brene's book, “I Thought It Was Just Me(But it Isn't)”- a study on shame. Another unmentionable topic, the quickest way I can tell you what shame is, is to compare it to guilt. Guilt is “I'm sorry- I made a mistake.” Shame is, “I'm sorry I am a mistake.” It is feelings of worthlessness- it is what we feel when our vulnerability is exploited. Now there are different areas of shame. It runs rampant in image,(I'll be worth something when I'm 20 pounds lighter) it runs in families (when I can be a good mother/make my parents see me, I'll be worth something) and other infinitely personal areas. (Musician shame? It's a thing people. Bomb a solo in front of 32 of your most accomplished peers than come talk with me about shame.) But she also mentioned what she called “religion shame”.

             Brene used the word “religion shame”, because when someone came to her using words like religion, or church, they associated it with negative, shaming experiences. This was opposite of those who used words like, “faith” or “spirituality”, who said their church experience was a huge part of their connective network. I think there are people of both camps in any church. My mother for example- she finds deep connection in her religion. Not just from fellow church goers, but actually from the doctrine of it all. She finds solace in scripture that I've never understood. I've always felt shamed by it- but part of that is that I've never felt very good at the whole thing. Church makes me feel worthless, because I am not any where close to where I should be, to their spiritual ideal, and to my spiritual ideal (which is only slightly different than theirs.) The irony of this is that while in most areas of my life, I can handle shame very well after learning about it. I have a musical support network. I have a physical appearance support network. Teachers, friends, family members, mentors. But I lack a religious support network. Partially because I just won't accept help from people whom I feel like have never been in my shoes. Partially because I feel like I am being judged and found wanting (ha- just like A Knight's Tale) every. single. second I am in that building. So because of this I tend to move against people when I feel religion shame- I tend to attack, to put on the most crusty spiky cynical, angry, angsty, mask I can find. This is exactly what happened in my disciplinary council last week.

           The bishop told me the council would be convened the Wednesday before that Sunday. I didn't think about it again til Saturday night. I had a date, and I couldn't think, feel, or connect to save my life. I woke up Sunday morning feeling absolutely ill from anxiety. Church ended, and I had an hour before my council. I got in my car and just started driving, the opposite direction. I felt like a five year old, running away with nothing but a toothbrush. Fortunately, I remembered the importance of connection. I called a friend who had been through something similar- he was perfect. A god send in that moment. He swore to me that it would be an out pouring of love, that contrary to God giving up on me, this was God releasing me from a contract I just couldn't keep right now. I bawled. I was terrified. It felt like going to a doctors office to get the worst news of your life- but the bad news was your fault somehow. The only way I got through that council was putting on my angry, apathetic face. They talked about my sin, a bit about my background- but mostly about why I did what I did and what they can do to help. It hurt. Bishop knows why. I don't get how the “why” is important. And if I knew how they could help, I would have said something months ago. I know they're called of God, and doing their best. But they said things like “Sarah- you seem like a good girl who wants good things. You're just lazy and not willing to work for it.” “Sarah- so much of what you say is contradictory. You don't make any sense. I think you're just confused.” I showed them my list of things that I want in a husband(the one I put on my blog a few weeks ago.) They laughed. They told me it was unrealistic, my standards were to high, and that is probably why I'm not married yet. I'd never felt so invalidated and worthless in my life. And with every jab, and well meaned critique- I got meaner and more apathetic. I refused to cry. What would it have helped? The bishop said I came off as unrepentant and “hard-core.” I was frustrated. I asked why the bishop needed to see my repentance? It felt like he not only didn't care, but no matter what he said, he didn't believe I could get any better. Why couldn't my repentance just be between me and my savior? I hadn't offended my bishop. Why was this man who I didn't love and who didn't love me (no matter what he says) have to be involved? In the end, they told me I was disfellowshipped, the bottom dropped out of my stomach, I went home and bawled for hours.

           The weeks that followed were an absolute miracle. I've never been so blessed with connection in all my life. People had no idea about what I was going through, but there was an out pouring of love and connection, and compliments, and people supporting me through what they had no idea was one of the hardest times of my life. I think that was Heavenly Father's way of saying “ I KNOW THIS IS HARD PLEASE DON'T LEAVE!!” I acknowledged it, and was very grateful. But every now and then- the shame just pops up. Last night, I desperately tried to explain to a date in one of my classic analogies. “Sin is like a sickness- like a cancer. Most people it's benign, no big deal. An regimen of pills, a shot, a quick laser surgery, and you are good as new. Other people it's more malignant- they have to undergo chemo- a long, painful, private battle, whose results are visible to just about every one. But they get better. It felt like in my case, every radiation, every homeopathic voodoo, every thing had been tried. So they came to me and said “We're going to have to cut out the infected organ/chop off infected limb.” I was terrified. I told them I wasn't ready, that it wouldn't help anything. They assured me that all would be fine and proceeded to remove the problem area. A last ditch effort, all is saved!! Except...I don't feel any healthier. I'm still sick. Nothing is getting better. And there's nothing else you know to do.” I feel like at this point, I'm supposed to either get better, or go away. I'll never be comfortable with the second option, and it seems like the first is never going to happen. After attempting to go to church this morning, there were more tears and just a general feeling of hopelessness, of being a decidedly second class citizen in a building full of people who all have their trials, but certainly nothing like mine.

           Now- why do I write this? Connection. Partially for selfish reasons. You read it and it offends you? Let me know. Let me know what would do in my shoes- as someone who is going through something that is never talked about, but needs connection to process and handle it. You read it and think that stuff like this should never be talked about online in such a public, unerasable forum? (Hi, Dad!) Let me know. You read this and feel cheated because at some point I gave you spiritual advice, and you feel like this makes it of less value? First of all, your wrong. Second of all, tell me about it.(Dear EFY babies- you are 90% of the reason I didn't want to write this. Because I love you all dearly, and I love who I was that summer. I have refused to apologize through this entire process. The people who I have hurt, have hurt me right back, and we are working through it together. But of you all- I would beg forgiveness. I would promise improvement. I would plead for your patience, as I work to get back to being the role model I know I was for you once.) But partly- it's because I so wish I had something like this to read a few weeks ago. Shame runs rampant in isolation and silence. But if you turn to someone who is ashamed and say “You know, I've been there. Let me tell you about my experience. Let me tell you how everything is going to be ok.” All I can do is hope and pray that some day, some one will come across this, and need something that was said. Maybe God can facilitate connection and love even through those of us who aren't in perfect standing with the church :)

PS- Please forgive the rambling and spelling and grammatical errors in this piece. I knew that if I reread it even once, I would chicken out and not post it.