Dark Devotional: Bigger Than Holy Dirt

Original art by the sparkly and crystalline Brian Jocks.

“There is nothing so secular it cannot be sacred.” Madeleine L’Engle

I am not Catholic. Nor do I identify with any of the Protestant branches, not even Anglican or Episcopalian. I do not identify with the Bible or even Jesus. But the God I imagine does most closely align with the Judeo-Christian tradition. She is someone I can get mad at, as the Psalmist does. She is love and mercy and compassion and light and energy. She is big enough for all the world’s religions and beliefs. She is big enough for crystals and energy work and shamanic rituals and medicine wheels. For all the belief systems.

And I am angry with her. After a 16-day hospitalization (the fact that I required higher care was the tipping point), I flew to Albuquerque, New Mexico, and was driven to Santa Fe, arriving at 1 am on a Saturday for a 28-day residential treatment program. The next day we went to Chimayo, a holy site of miracles and healings, with a beautiful representation of the twelve stations of the cross, a statue of Our Lady of Seven Sorrows, and a chapel of sorts with holy dirt.

While there, I knelt, which I never do, prayed “help,” crossed myself for irony, and rose. I even took some holy dirt. Just in case. I don’t know what I was expecting: a non-observant believer of sorts who has been emotionally shut down for 13 years asking for help. A miracle, maybe. I don’t know. Maybe I think God is bigger than She is and thus able to help me. Maybe She’s a He.

But here’s the deal: I need God to be that big, if not bigger than my anxiety and bipolar and fear of expressing emotion. And that’s pretty fucking big. This is how I can pray—without getting inordinately angry:

Dear Mother above and all around,

Blessed be your mysterious name.

May you be here and your will be clear,

As this earth will be our heaven.

Help us please, and forgive us

For the hurt we do unto you, ourselves, and others.

Deliver us from ourselves.

Let us be in our bodies and not our minds.

For you are glory forever and ever, amen.

*****

Annie Williams lives in Mount Hermon, California, is a graduate of Calvin College’s English program, and a barista at Santa Cruz Coffee Roasting Company. She hopes to become a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist. In the meantime, she enjoys the company of a talented psychiatrist, the lovely people at the pharmacy, her brilliant therapist, and an irreplaceable support group of friends and family, all of whom play inextricably important roles in her life with bipolar II. Annie writes honestly about her struggles with mental health and faith at honestmemoir.blogspot.com