I’m struggling.  On the outside I’m trying to rejoice in the season of advent, trying to prepare my heart for the birth of Christ.  I’m singing as cantor at the catholic church and making long overdue apologies.  But God knows how I am daily attacked with thoughts of incompetence, unworthiness, anger, and even suicide.  I know they come from Satan and that they are not coming from me, but when I act them out I am making them my own.  The dog’s in heat and so I’ve been having to keep a really close eye on her every time she goes outside.  When she runs off with the malamute (another female) and doesn’t come back when I call her for fear that her usual playmate was just an alibi and have to bundle up the baby and go around the neighborhood looking for her, I get soooo pissed at her.  When I finally find her I hit her out of rage.  I can’t imagine if I’m still acting on these emotions by the time it’s my kids that are running off.  Who knows what I’d do?

How can I make sure these thoughts from the evil one stay just those, or better yet, keep them away altogether?  Immediately while writing that question I know the easy solution would be to stop immersing myself in so much holiness, stop being so damn deep and just go shopping or some stupid thing.  For the past seven years I have been so impressed by the lives of the saints and am grateful that they have been my closest friends through this trying time.  Satan probably can’t stand that kind of relationship: people of different times supporting each other in a life of Christ.  If I were just more of the world, going to yet another meaningless job every day, going out with friends to unwind, neglecting prayer and the contemplative, in-but-not-of-the-world life; I likely would not be attacked so frequently.  But as we tend to forget, the devil hates everyone.  There is no love there, no alliances, though he tricks many into thinking there are.

I read the passage in Luke this morning about how one must not only hear the word of God, but do it.  The one who does both can withstand any attack, but the one who only hears, withers under these pressures.  “And his destruction is great.”  So does that mean the one standing on the firm foundation doesn’t even feel the blows of the tempest?  It is tough to think that that is the case since so many people throughout time, “of firm foundation” have been certainly spiritually, if not also physically beaten down by evil forces.  But is it good as a mother, for my daughter to see me tormented like this?  Maybe it would be better for her sake to just go bake another batch of cookies than to pray for Syrian refugees.  How many times she has seen me weep!  Lord help me…

© 2015, Amaya Engleking



  1. MJoslyn · June 5, 2017

    I see this was a couple of years ago, but my heart aches reading it. A familiar struggle, the life in this world, mingled with a life seated in the heavenlies with Him. Today I was reminded to be a sheep. Settle down by His side, and just let go. Sheep. Clay. Not a lot of struggle being these things. Just a yielding.
    Peace and Grace to you. Thanks for your candor.

    • Gospel Isosceles · July 7, 2017

      What a thoughtful and loving comment, Mary. Sheep and clay. I feel that since my conversion it is my new nature to be as meek, unassuming. I almost deleted this old post recently because I am ashamed of my rage that surfaces out of seemingly nowhere now that I am a mother of humans and animals. But I’m glad you read this and responded as you did.

      I believe I found your site through a Facebook Home Birth group. Both of my daughters were home births and I’ve written their stories here on the blog. The experiences have been forged into my identity; that’s how spiritually focused they were, straightforward and otherworldly, like a baby babbling to God. Oh, and I see you’re from the Finger Lakes. I’m from the Rockies but spent time as a child one summer on Keuka Lake. ☺️

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