Are you there, God? It's me, Rachel.

I always love using that title.

I'm not sure if you know this about me, but, I'm a very practical person. Shocking, I know, given my affinity for ridiculously priced shoes and grandiose ideas of being famous for SOMETHING. But really, I am. That's why I don't own said shoes and I'm still living in Small Town, USA........for the time being. I have found that I am this way in pretty much every facet of my life. Even religion.

Now, I do consider myself a religious person. I am a confirmed Catholic and go to church on a fairly normal basis. I have many friends who are very devout, while also having friends that consider themselves more "spiritual" rather than religious.I also have friends that don't believe in a higher power, which is fine. I totally get it's different strokes for different folks. I was brought up in a household where we were taught to ask questions. Catholicism is ALL ABOUT the free will so we were taught to exercise it to its fullest extent when it came to gaining knowledge. Believe in something, but make sure you fully understand it to the best of your abilities. So, in true family fashion, I was the poster CCD child (CCD, for you non-Catholic heathens, is Sunday School with a fancy name. Also in true Catholic fashion, I don't remember what it stands for). I did my homework, I knew all my prayers and I participated in heated debate. I also told my 6th grade teacher that she was a bad person when I asked if my pets would be in Heaven and she promptly informed me that dogs don't go to Heaven. She clearly hadn't seen the movie and didn't know my dog. I also was thrown out of class in 7th grade because I got into a debate with my teacher as to whether or not I was being a "good" Catholic by not reading this thing at Mass where the congregation was the mob choosing for Jesus to die. I believe my words were, "...but I, as Rachel, was not there and did not make that choice. So I shouldn't have to be made to feel bad about it". I didn't get the memo about the Catholic guilt, so, I was asked to leave. Which was fine because I didn't want any stupid pizza anyway, Mr. H. But, still, I had/have my faith and truly believe that I always will. Even when it is tested, though it may not be up to optimum strength.

I don't know about you, but, I can honestly say that I don't think I've had a true religious experience. You know, the type where you hear/feel the voice of God or a deceased loved one giving you a message or encouraging you one way or another. I've had dreams before, but none of the prophetic kind. And to be honest, they were still kind of confusing and left me with more questions than closure. Which is hard, particularly in my situation. All I've wanted is a message from the beyond or a soothing feeling from God when I needed it most. I don't know if I haven't been listening loud enough or openly enough, but, I don't feel that I've gotten one. I can't tell you how many times I've been sobbing in the bathroom, repeating my Our Fathers or Hail Marys until I can't speak anymore and I haven't felt anything. No warm hand on my shoulder, no burning bath towel in lieu of a bush, nothing.

At first, I wasn't able to talk to God. I remember laying in my bed after I forced myself to take a shower those first few days, and I asked my friend J (she was staying with me) if she thought God would be mad at me if I didn't talk to him for a few days. She assured me that he wouldn't so I didn't. I felt that I couldn't ask him for anything at that moment. I just didn't have it in me. But I came around. And I remember that in conversations that I had with people in the beginning, I would tell them that I wasn't mad at God. That I more-so clung to him and my religion more than ever. I wouldn't say that is true anymore.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not denouncing the existence of God nor my religion itself, so don't freak out! I'm just much more comfortable saying now that I'm frustrated. I wouldn't say angry, because, for me, I know what it means when I'm angry at someone. I'm very absolute with my anger, there is no middle. And I don't necessarily feel that way at God. Frustrated though? Oh hell yes. Because like, God- WTF, BRO?!

I guess I need to explain what prompted this religious confession and confusion. I recently started reading "Eat Pray Love". And when I say recently, I mean today. In the beginning where she is kind of laying out her situation, she talks about her sobbing in her bathroom (By the way, the bathroom seems to be THE place for crying.) and she has her first real conversation with God. She is sobbing and praying for him to tell her what to do. She then describes hearing/feeling "her" voice, in a way that she's never heard/felt it before, telling her to go back to bed. She then explains that she felt that that was God telling her what she needed to hear at that moment. Reading that reduced me to tears.

I've also recently had a conversation with a friend of mine who told me about her brother's passing in the last month. She explained to me the situation and then she told me that she heard/felt her brother's voice telling her that he was okay and that she didn't need to be upset or worried. When I drove home that night, I cried.

A few months ago, my mom told me that she felt Chris around. That she felt specific feelings. I told her that I didn't want to know and I cried.

Noticing a trend?

All of these instances, which should bring me hope and comfort, reduce me to a crumpling, teary mess and are like a serrated knife to the chest. None of it makes me feel good. Why? Because I haven't felt any of it. I have been so desperate for a comforting word or a feeling and I haven't gotten anything. Not that I really deserve it, but, dammit! I deserve it! I've done my best to be faithful and to not be angry at God. I don't want to be angry at God. He didn't do all this crap (granted, I'm sure his hand was in it in some way) but like, c'mon! And then on top of that, a month or so back, I was feeling particularly crappy this one Sunday. So, I felt that my soul needed to be nourished and that I would get my message. Because when I started to REALLY go to church again, every Sunday it was like the sermon was meant for me. It was everything I needed to hear and sometimes, everything I didn't know I needed to hear. So of course, I figured that would make everything better. Well, the Gospels start to be read and it's the freaking story of how woman was created from man and all those other sappy Gospels that they read at weddings. I felt like I had been slapped in the face. And Father D's sermon was no better! I literally cried the entire time I was at church. I didn't need to hear that, at all. And to be honest, I hadn't been back to church since, until Christmas Eve. Which really was no better because that message made me cry, too. AND there was a couple that was in our Pre-Cana class. ALL KINDS OF AWESOME.

Maybe this is partly my fault. Maybe I don't have my heart open enough. But the idea of completely opening my heart, even to God, is terrifying. I'll try just a little and I can literally feel one of side of my heart tearing into the other to keep from being separated. I guess I'm being stubborn and waiting for The Sign to show that God is listening and hasn't forsaken one of his children (I don't really think he has but that was nice for dramatic effect, no?). I now, more than ever, need the reassurance that I'm not alone. I am loved and cared for and that there is a reason.

Maybe that's part of this lesson. To learn what it really means to have faith. That you still have it when it's tested. Ugh....do you know what that must mean? I have to be patient to get the pay off.

Gross. I suck at being patient.

Christmas Card

Hello my lovelies!

I know I'm always saying this, but, I am sorry for the delays in posting. But! That's a sign of a somewhat busy social life so GO ME!

Things have been going well. The holidays have made things a teensy bit crazy but I'm doing okay. I think there have only been maybe two days that I've actually felt sad about where my life is now. I know that sounds kind of bad, especially since I should be sad about who is missing from my life. But I'm still angry. I'll probably be angry for a long time. And as unhealthy as long-term anger is, it's been making this process easier. I'm not clutching my "What Should Have Been's" and what we had any more. Trust me, my self-deprecating humor and penchant for making those around me uncomfortable with my jokes is still here. I mean c'mon, how could you NOT joke about my situation? I'm one locked-up-in-the-basement situation away from a complete Lifetime movie. And yes; I fully expect Neve Campbell or Jennifer Love Hewitt to play me. Dopplegangers say whaaaaaaaaaaat?!?!

Those of you who are friends with me on FB and follow me on Instagram have already been informed, but, for those of you who don't know, I got cast in a show! I play Nora in "Brighton Beach Memoirs" at Port Tobacco Players! This is my first speaking role since I did "A Midsummer Night's Dream" in 2006 and I couldn't be happier. This show is amazing, the cast is amazing and the management staff is amazing. The show opens January 25th and runs until February 10th. Expect lots of shameless promotion and demands for YOU to come see it. Did I mention I have to speak in a Brooklyn Jewish accent? Priceless.

Now, I'm sure you saw the title of this post and are perhaps curious as to what Christmas card I am referring to. Given how things have gone for me this year, you might be expecting that Grandma Crazy Pants sent me a Christmas Card. While that would be appropriate and expected, that isn't what it is. This is my Christmas Card to you.

So many of you have been so supportive and loving through this entire process. And while it isn't over, I can't express to you how much I appreciate each and every one of you. I would have never imagined this for myself but I'm glad it happened. It has given me a glimpse into so many hearts and minds that I would never have gotten the chance to experience had it not happened. You all have such beautiful hearts and I am so blessed to have such a stupendous support system. I wish that I could have written each of you a beautiful note but I probably would get instant arthritis and it would take me about 5 hours, every day, for three weeks. But just know that I appreciate you. I thank you. And I love you.

I hope you have the Merriest of Christmases, Happiest of Hanukkahs, Kewlest of Kwanzas, Rocking-est of Solstices and whatever else you cah-razay kids celebrate. You guys are the tits and I love the shit out of you.