The first thing anyone would say about my mom before she got sick was that she was a mighty prayer warrior. My mom loved to pray. Her forte was intercessory prayer. And she loved praying the scriptures. The way she prayed was the way that I had been taught to pray through my parents’ example and through the church. But truth be told, I always struggled with that way of praying. I looked up to my mom for being able to pray like that and for loving it so much, and I thought something was wrong with me because I struggled to pray like that and it wasn’t something I loved to do. I actually found it boring, and wondered if God was as bored as I was with my prayer life.
My mom was always lauding God for answered prayer, but I never heard her talk about unanswered prayer. There had to have been times that her prayers were not answered, but this was not something that was talked about. And honestly, it’s not talked about in the church that much. When it is, there’s always an idea put forth that God has something better in store if He doesn’t answer your prayer. I have found this to be true only sometimes though.
All this to say, I have a hard time petitioning God and having faith that God will answer my prayer, perhaps due to some unanswered prayer I have experienced through the years and just the way things have turned out. I do still try, but it feels flat to me, almost like I’m asking my cat for something. I have found that prayers of supplication and petition cause me to worry more too, so I generally don’t pray like that. I struggle sometimes with whether this is a lack of faith on my part or if I’ve truly found a different way of praying that is okay.
I do trust God though, and I have a rich and fulfilling prayer life. I have found ways to pray that resonate with my soul and that draw me deeper into fellowship and trust of God; it’s just that my prayer life looks different than the ways that believers are typically taught to pray.
To me, prayer is a way of being in life and with God. Day by day, moment by moment. It is going to God as I am, with all of my emotions and messes and laying them down at His feet. It’s accepting life as it comes, not in a fatalistic way, but with grace and compassion. It’s trusting that God is present. Not that He’s in control, or that He’s working something out for good – those things don’t comfort me, whether they be true or not. My comfort comes from knowing that God is with me. When I sin, He sets me back on my feet and says with compassion, “Try again.” When I am angry, He stays through the anger, until I’ve spent myself and then there is just His love. He gives me space when I’m too mad to look at Him, but He never leaves. And when I turn my face back to Him, I find only compassion. He rejoices with me when I rejoice. The darkest of places is where I have seen His light the brightest, and I know that He suffers with me.
Prayer is being comfortable with mystery and okay with not knowing all of the answers. It’s making peace with uncertainty. It’s holding life loosely, knowing that God holds it firmly. It’s trusting that God is not limited to speaking through the Bible alone, and looking for Him where ever I find myself. It’s knowing that God is within me and that I am His beloved child. It’s hoping in God – not that He will always change my situation, but that He will walk beside me no matter the situation, carrying me when needed, and that one day I will see Him face to face, with nothing veiling His glory from my eyes. It’s holding the sacredness of all things, the spark of God light in all and allowing love to pour forth in order to guide those in darkness to the One who loves them perfectly. It’s holding space and compassion for those in my life, wishing them peace, and knowing that ultimately God holds them too.
It has taken me a while to realize that my prayer life and relationship with God doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s, nor does it have to fit a certain prescribed way of being. I no longer feel a sense of duty when it comes to my prayer practices, and actually look forward to my time focused with God.  For anyone out there who struggles with praying “the way you’ve been taught,” know that there are other ways out there.  Seek God and God will come close to you.  I am a contemplative Christian in practice, but I’m not going to lay out my specific practices, because it’s taken me a while of seeking to find the ways I communicate best with God, and these ways may not be helpful for you.  The last thing I want to do is give you another list of “how to pray” advice.  But I do want to encourage you if you’re struggling.  Don’t give up; keep seeking, and most importantly listen for God.

Silencing Demons

I had a rough weekend.  We are having a pretty challenging time with one of the kiddos.  I found myself at a point where I just felt done.  Done with experiencing all of the anger, frustration, anxiety, sadness and crazy that comes along with this particular situation.  And so I turned back to old coping mechanisms, dancing with my demons, aiming to dull the feelings and attain some semblance of control.

But then Saturday night, I was faced with the Gospel reading for Sunday, and found myself in the story.

Mark 1:21-28 They went to Capernaum; and when the Sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught. They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes. Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, and he cried out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.”   But Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!”  And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him.  They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, “What is this? A new teaching–with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.”   At once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee.

The Gospel story is interesting, because Jesus had not called the man to him, nor had anyone shoved him forward to be healed.   But he cries out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are…” bringing attention to himself, whether he wanted it or not.  He could have just left the synagogue, without speaking to Jesus, but there had to have been something about being in the presence and authority of Jesus that drew the man out.

I relate to the man with the unclean spirit. When I hold hands with my demons, God is always right there, waiting for me to engage with Him, so that He can heal me.  But it can be a struggle.  His presence draws me, and yet, my demons whisper to me, “Why would God want anything to do with you? If anything, he’s here to destroy you. I know who He is….too holy for you!”

And so, with my demons, I hear myself cry out in distrust, “Why are you here?  You’re going to destroy me! I know who You are, but I want to be in control!”

So I’ve engaged with Him, me and my demons, and as the demons continue yelling their lies, God says, “Silence!” and calls me to Himself, away from them.  And in their silence, my feelings rush in and I feel utterly out of control.  He is destroying me – my self-will and fear and shame and addiction and the untrue things I have been told and believed about myself.  He destroys my self-reliance and the control I try to maintain for dealing with the hard things in my life, and that feels like death to me.  But He’s freeing me. I can’t look at Him at first.  But He sweetly calls, “Jennifer, my dear one.”  And I can’t resist the way He says my name, so I look at Him through my tears.  And I find nothing but gentle compassion.

I know who He is – the one with authority over life and death, feelings, and my very breath.

I know who He is – the One who has called me His Beloved, silencing my demons once more.   So, I walk on in recovery and life, hand-in-hand with the One who loves me through it all.

Where is God in Unanswered Prayer?


In some of the early mid-stages of my mom’s battle with dementia, she would have delusions and hallucinations.  She believed that there was a conspiracy to kill her and that my dad was sometimes a part of that conspiracy.   Sometimes my dad would have me come over to their house and I could calm her down.  As the disease progressed though, it became increasingly difficult to calm her.

There was one particularly bad episode in which he called me to come over, and this time I became a part of the conspiracy to kill her.  She paced non-stop, angry and terrified, and nothing me or my dad would say could calm her down.

My mom was one that always drew comfort from God and from the Bible, especially the Psalms.  So, I began reading her favorite Psalm out loud, praying with all my heart that she would calm down.  I just knew with everything in me that God would answer this prayer.  After all, she was such a faithful follower and prayer warrior, I knew He loved her, I was reading from His Word, and I had all the faith in the world that He was going to hear and answer my cry.

She didn’t calm down though.  If anything, she seemed to get more agitated.

God did not answer my prayer.

No one had prepared me to deal with that.  There had always been an answer.  There had always been a reason for things.  This non-answer made no sense to me. I felt utterly betrayed and not for the first (or last) time did I cry out to God, “Where are You?!”

And yet.

My faith was in Him, and not in His answering prayer.  I knew God was real and was there, because He held my faith.  I knew He was there, because I couldn’t walk away.  I was so angry with Him, you better believe I wanted to walk away! I wanted to say He wasn’t real and just be done with Him. It would have been easier to say that He wasn’t there, then to try and grapple with why He wouldn’t hear my prayer.   But I couldn’t.  Because in the very depths of my being, I feel Him.  He’s how I breathe, and while I felt deeply wounded, I knew it would kill me to walk away.

This happened over 5 years ago. And I still wrestle with this situation.  Over the years, I have come to believe that prayer is not about changing God’s mind, but more about shaping who I am in God, and teaching me about who God is.  For me, prayer has become an acknowledgement and seeking of God’s presence, opening myself more and more to Him.  I’m learning to accept situations as they are, although I will still pray for God’s goodwill and mercy.   But I don’t necessarily look for a specific answer anymore.  I just want to walk with God, whatever may be going on.

In light of the ways my prayer life has changed, I was thinking back on that situation, and asked myself, if this happened now, how could my response and prayer be different then it was 5 years ago?  What if I had gone into the situation acknowledging that God was already there, instead of looking for Him in an answer to prayer and a removal of suffering?

Because He was there.  He was there in the suffering.  But we have such an aversion to suffering, and can’t see how God could be in it! I had always been taught to try and pray it away.  But sometimes, bad things just happen.  Sometimes, for whatever reason, God doesn’t remove it.  But we aren’t alone.  Because He loves us, He suffers with us.  He was born out of suffering, into a suffering world, where He touched and walked with those who suffered, and He then experienced great suffering at humanity’s hands.  Our God knows suffering, so we are not alone.

And that day, my mom was not alone.  In love, we did everything we could for her, and my dad patiently stayed by her side, enduring accusations and her terror, until the episode finally subsided.  And there was the evidence of God and His love.  As He suffered with us, we suffered with her.

Do I still question God about that situation?  Yes.  I’m human, and I don’t totally understand the whole idea of suffering, so I will probably always have questions and get angry at God.  But He is gentle and He holds my faith.  My hope is in God.  Not in what He does for me.  Not in His protection.  Not in His blessings. Not in God’s promises from the Bible.  I’m thankful for them, but my hope does not lie there.  My hope lies in God alone.  Because when all else falls away, God remains.




The Feast of St. Stephen

Today we celebrate the Feast of St Stephen.  Yes, the one who was the first Christian martyr, stoned to death for his faith.  Doesn’t quite ring with the Christmas spirit, does it?  What happened to God with us, peace on Earth, goodwill towards men?  I was pondering on this, and then read one of my readings for this morning.  2 Chronicles 24:17-22   Talk about a downer!  It was a passage about how the people of Israel once again left God for idols, God sent prophets to them to bring them back, who they of course ignored, and God gets mad.  So He prophesies through Zechariah saying, “Because you have forsaken the LORD, he has forsaken you.”  Then the people get really mad and stone Zechariah.  As he is being stoned, he says, “May the LORD see this and call you to account.”  Yikes!  I have to be frank, God kind of freaks me out in the Old Testament.  So, I asked Him about it.  What do I do with this God?  Keeping in mind that the people who wrote these histories generally believed that anything bad that happened to them was because God was mad at them and was punishing them gave me a little room to ponder.  The people in Israel seemed to see an angry God, and my reading of the OT leads me to that conclusion too.  Who wouldn’t, when you read that God has forsaken His people because they forsook Him?  Everyone has come to the consensus that we all deserve no less.

But that doesn’t make sense because God was constantly trying to win His people back.  He loved them. He loves us. In fact, He loves us all so much that we found ourselves celebrating the arrival of God in humble human form yesterday.  A God who loves us so much that He was willing to be with us in our suffering and mess, and even suffer Himself, to the point of enduring a brutal death even though He was innocent.  And with love, as He’s dying this unjust death, cries out to His Father, “Forgive them, for they don’t know what they do.”   And so, what we took as an angry God was One that pursued us relentlessly, sacrificing Himself for the love of us.  A light shining in the dark!  God with us!  And now, we see a new way.  God has not forsaken us, even when we have forsaken Him, and He has promised not to forsake us.

St. Stephen points us to this new way in Christ.  He too prophesied and taught about God, and when the people got mad, and began to stone him, he took the way of Christ.  As he looked up and saw Christ standing at the right hand of God, he was reminded that he was not forsaken.  Unlike Zechariah, who called on God to bring justice, Stephen called on God to give mercy and asked that God not hold his murderers’ sin against them. And that’s what we receive in Christ – mercy.  So on this Feast day, may we be reminded of the mercy of our loving God, and walk in step with Him as we offer mercy and love to those around us.


I’m currently in a depressive episode.  I’m on all kinds of medication and doing therapy, and while I do well for a while, it always seems to circle back on me, and I find myself once again in darkness.  I’ve been here for about a week now.

If you’ve never had depression, I just don’t know that you could understand.  It’s not just sadness.  It’s a mind-numbing heaviness that makes me feel like I can’t catch my breath.  Sometimes my body hurts.  Sometimes I find myself really distracted and I have a really hard time focusing.  Sometimes I feel ultra paranoid and think that everyone hates me.  Sometimes I find myself crying multiple times a day, but for no good reason.  Most of the time I have absolutely zero motivation to do anything.  Things that I would usually enjoy or look forward to, I don’t anymore. Sometimes I feel everything and am super sensitive.  And sometimes I feel absolutely nothing and am numb.  Most of the time, I have no appetite and struggle to eat.  Sometimes I want to hurt myself.  Sometimes I do.  Most of the time it feels hopeless, like my world is never going to be okay, and I will always feel this bad.  And when a lot of those things happen together, that’s when I think about killing myself.   If you’ve ever been extremely physically sick, to the point that you thought you were dying (and maybe wished it as a passing thought), this is just a mental version of that – except that no one can see how sick you are, and there’s such a stigma when you do speak out about it.

The thing is, eventually it does get better, and I almost forget how bad I felt, to the point I can turn and judge myself for not getting over it faster, or for not doing more to help myself.  Until it comes back.  And then I remember all over again how very bad it is, and the cycle continues.   It’s really exhausting.  So in between the down times, I’ve been trying to remind myself to accept my depression when it comes along and work with it, not against it.  And of course each time it comes back, I scream and flail against it trying to get it to let go of me.

But not this time.  Well Okay, maybe just a little screaming at first.  But eventually I was able to get quiet and just sit with it, acknowledging that yep, I’m depressed. Again.  But, even though it feels like I don’t have a choice in how I react, I realize I actually do. And so, everyday, sometimes every moment, I’m telling myself to just do the next thing, however small it may be.  And then I congratulate myself for doing it and thank God for helping me.  I’m avoiding things that I know make me feel bad even on good days, (like the news and excessive facebook use), and I’m being intentional about choosing things that usually make me feel good to do instead like read positive books/quotes, write, be outside, pray, meditate, listen to calming music, write some more, pet my dogs and cats, take a brisk walk, yoga.  Breaking down chores and tasks too has helped me to not feel so overwhelmed, and I can take more pride in what I accomplish because in breaking down the task, I realize how many tiny things I do that I usually take for granted.

I’m still depressed. It’s there. All of those positive things I’m doing, hasn’t taken the depression away.   So why work so hard if I could lay in bed, or scroll around on facebook, or just sit in my dark thoughts, or do whatever else it is I do to try and numb out the pain, and feel pretty much the same?  Because I know I would feel worse if I did.  Either way, I have the depression, but I feel better about myself, and it’s helping me not to spiral deeper by making the hard decision to push on and make positive choices.  I can say that I’m actually really proud of myself for all that I’ve accomplished this week, despite feeling so low.  There have been times that I feel like I’m pouring my whole energy into just getting out of bed, or making myself take a walk, or spend time in prayer.  It would be so much easier to just veg out with Facebook, or lay in bed.  But, I have not regretted any of the positive choices I’ve made this week, even when I completely dreaded them and thought that I couldn’t do them.  No regrets.  I can’t say that about facebook or laying around in bed, though.  So my path is set before me, and I will continue to do the best I can, telling myself that this too shall pass, and the sun will eventually come back out.

I don’t know if this will be able to help or encourage anyone else, but I’m planning on rereading this the next time the depression beastie comes around, because the struggle is real.  And I always need all of the help that I can get.  And I’m learning to give myself lots and lots of grace as I ride out these storms over and over, so come what may next time, I will be gentle with myself.  Please be gentle with yourself too, lovely reader, wherever you find yourself this night.

Return of the King

As of tomorrow, I have officially made it through an entire liturgical church calendar year in the Episcopal Church.  We are coming upon the end of “Ordinary Time,” which is the story of God’s people.  It appropriately ends with the Feast of Christ the King, in which we look forward to the second coming of Christ, even as we prepare and look forward to the celebration of the first coming of Christ beginning with Advent and culminating in Christmas.

One of my favorite books is the third book in The Lord of the Rings trilogy, Return of the King.  In it, the King of Gondor returns.  Gondor had been under a steward for a very long time, and the people had lost hope that a true King would ever come to claim his throne.  One of the passages in the book is a saying of lore that one of the wise-women of Gondor speaks: “The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known.”   And sure enough, when Aragorn shows up, he has healing in his hands, and is able to heal those wounded in battle, and call many back from the brink of darkness and death.  Aragorn wasn’t to be known as king by his ability to swing a sword and conquer the enemy, or even in his ability to lead people.  He was known as the rightful king because he brought healing.

This passage has always made me think about Christ coming in His glory and being crowned King.  Not a King that brings wrath and condemnation, that conquers nations, but a King that conquers fear and death and hatred, who is good and loving and who has healing in His hands.  A King who has fought and loved and mourned and laughed and cried and died along with us, but who death could not conquer, and therein was our hope.  A God King – God with us, the One who has carried our sorrows and bears with Him healing and because of this, we can approach our King unafraid and with great joy!

There was great joy in the book when Aragorn was crowned king, because the people knew that he would rule them justly and with compassion and were not afraid.  They knew he would protect them and provide for their needs and they knew it because he brought healing.

When I read about that celebration, I think about Christ being crowned King of all kings, and what great joy we will feel!  Because He will rule with gentleness and mercy.  We will bow our heads before Him, but He will lift us up.  Because He brings with Him reconciliation and redemption and resurrection, and He has healing in His hands.    Come Lord Jesus, Come!

Dancing Despite It All

One of my contemplative prayer practices is to dance with Jesus.  Every day. Twice a day if I can. I have a particular song that we dance to, and a particular place in my mind.  And it brings me great peace and has helped me trust Him more.

Some days, I don’t feel like dancing.  And that’s okay, because Jesus understands when I’m sad and I don’t feel like dancing.  On those mornings/nights He makes the meadowlands and/or stars dance for us.

But last night*, I was mad at Him.  My mama isn’t doing well and it looks like she may have to go to a nursing home at least for a little while until she can get back on her feet.  I don’t like that.  I don’t like that we are having to go through this at all. So even though I told Him that I was mad at Him, and I didn’t really feel like dancing, He insisted that I dance with Him.  He didn’t seem deterred at all by the fact I was pretty angry with Him.

“Why can’t we just sit, and You make the stars dance for us?”

“No, you need to dance with Me.”

“But I’m mad at You!  Why would You want to dance with me?”

“It doesn’t matter. I will always dance with you.” And He held out His hand in expectation.

We started slowly, and I started crying.  How can I dance when my mama can’t even stand?  The thing is, dancing with Christ always delights my soul, and I find myself laughing with Him in joy every single time.  I didn’t want to laugh.  How can I feel joy when my mama is suffering so?

I kept my head bowed for a while, because I didn’t want to look at Him. I can be stubborn when I’m mad.  But when I did finally look at Him, He was crying with me as we danced.  Anger made way for sorrow and grief as we continued dancing.  As we twirled, I noticed that the stars were dancing a long with us, and then during one of the lulls in the music, my mom appeared.  We took her by the hand and pointed her face to the stars.  “The stars dance for us Mama.” And she laughed with joy.  We danced around her as she laughed and pretty soon we were all laughing even as we cried.

Joy and sorrow are not mutually exclusive.  Life is hard right now.  I have found that rejoicing in God, does not mean that I feel happy.  Nor does it mean that my feelings of anger, sorrow, depression, etc go away.  I used to think that being a Christian and finding hope in situations and rejoicing in God meant that I had to feel good in the process. That I had to spout off hopeful Bible verses and talk about how I’m trusting God that everything will work out. Romans 8:28, right?  That I had to be encouragement to others even as I felt like I was drowning – after all, I’m a witness for Christ, yes?   I felt like I had to be strong to show that I was really trusting God and to prove to others that He is good.  Because me being okay in the midst of sorrow proves His faithfulness and is the kind of witness you want to have, right?  That’s not true for me though.   And I’m done with that.  I’m done with trying to fit myself into that box that just doesn’t work.  God doesn’t demand that, nor is it Biblical – it’s Christian culture that has shaped this idea. Rejoicing in God looks like me laying on the floor crying and asking Him why.  It looks like me telling Him that I can’t do it, that I can’t handle things.  It looks like me feeling angry at Him and railing at Him and throwing myself a good temper tantrum. It looks like me taking all of my feelings to Him and feeling them – inviting them in for tea with us and accepting them.  He has never once asked me to deny any of my harder feelings, nor shamed me for being broken with Him.  And therein lies the joy.  That He accepts me as I am.  That He meets me directly in my mess and will sometimes even sit with me in it until I’m ready to get up or until He makes me get up – ha!  He’s there.  God with us.  The joy lies in having a relationship with Him that is so pure and strong, that nothing can break it, even when I feel like my life and everything else is breaking a part.  My hope is in that relationship.


*I actually wrote this a year ago, and for some reason never did anything with it.  My mama ended up having to stay in the nursing home, and is still there.  But God walked with me through all of it, and continued to meet me where I was.



Beloved Broken Girl

Several months ago, I decided to clean my son’s closet.  He used to like to climb inside of it and make himself a cozy little hideout.  However, over the course of time, it got full of so much junk that stuff would tumble out when you opened the door.  He wasn’t able to play in his closet, nor was he able to use the toys in there, because he couldn’t find anything in the mess anymore.  But he was living with it.  Stepping over stuff, pushing even more stuff in his closet to “clean his room.” Little buddy started out helping me, but then he got overwhelmed with it all and just stopped and left.  As I continued to work, instead of the mess getting better, it got so much worse. Occasionally I would look around and would feel overwhelmed with the monumental task in front of me, but I knew where I was going.  About mid-way through, when his room and closet both looked like a massive storm had blown through, Little Buddy and Baby Girl came into the hallway and both just gasped in wide-eyed horror.  Little Buddy screamed, “Mom!  My room is so messy now!  What are you doing?!”

“I’m cleaning, buddy.”

Little buddy laughed in disbelief and said, “I’m leaving! This is too much!”

But I kept at it, and eventually Little Buddy was able to come back and discover that he had a lovely closet to cozy up in.  When he came back in, he was amazed and said, “Mom!  It’s so clean now.  I can go in my closet. I can do this; I can do that!”  He was excited to find toys that he hadn’t played with in a while. And then we cuddled in his closet, because there was room now.

I liken this experience to the path I have tread with God these past couple of years, dealing with my mom having younger-onset dementia, my son having ADHD/HFA, and my struggle with depression, anorexia and self-injury.  My life had been pretty messy for a while, and I was making due the best I could by using my addictions to avoid and deny my pain.  You know, shoving things in the closet and telling myself everything was fine, when there was actually a huge overwhelming mess slowly growing out of control, hidden and just waiting to pour forth when the door was opened.  Before long, it became impossible to shove anything more into that closet, and the mess came pouring out into the pristine room I had been keeping.

I started trying to clean up the mess myself, but it was so overwhelming it seemed impossible that I would ever make even a dent in it.   I went to the hospital twice, and ended up in residential treatment for 6 weeks for my eating disorder and self-injury.  And God met me in all of those places, and we started picking up together.   But even when I got out of my residential treatment, I found that I was still overwhelmed by everything, and constantly wanted to just shove stuff back in the closet and forget about it.  And that’s when God told me to just rest, and let Him take care of it.  I had a really hard time with that.  This was my mess; I needed to clean it up.  My Evangelical background had always insisted that we as Christians should be “doing” things.  If I had problems, well, it was my fault and I needed to pray harder or read my Bible more or be more active in church, which of course added to my burdens. But the thought of just resting, made me feel guilty.  God kept gently prodding me to rest and trust Him though.  And so I finally did, and when the guilt came, He led me to the story of Mary and Martha, where Mary rested at Jesus’ feet and just listened to Him.  And I heard Him say to me, “Jennifer, my Jennifer, you are worried about so many things, but there’s only one thing that matters.  So rest Beloved, and listen to Me.”

So as I rested and followed Him wherever He led, He continued to clean up my mess.  But let me tell you, it got a whole lot messier before things started looking better.  He had to pull everything out of my closet, and had to throw things away that I had long held onto, and that I wasn’t necessarily ready to get rid of.

This cleaning up is taking a really long time.  He’s still digging some stuff out my closet, but for the most part, the disaster area has been cleaned up, and like my son, I stand amazed at what’s available to me now. He has cleared out so much space for me to explore my faith, and room has been made for me to have wonderful fellowship with an amazing body of believers.  There’s also quiet space for me to just be with God.

I have found too that when things start getting messy again (because they do), instead of shoving them back in my closet to quickly rid myself of the garbage, I go to God instead, and hand them over.  He knows exactly what to do with my mess, and I know I can trust Him because I am His Beloved broken girl and He loves me.