The Theory of Spiritual Insanity

It hit me late this week; why things have been so hellish and why they even started out so badly on Monday. (Which wasn't really the start but was the worst strike).

Every other year, all the diocesan priests head down to Rochester, MN, for a presbyteral council with the Bishops, leaving the care of the diocese in the hands of the religious community priests (Redemptorists, Franciscans, a few others), and a few retired priests who are able to help out.

This means that many parishes don't have Mass at all, because there simply aren't enough priests to go around. My own home parish usually has 3 Masses per day, but during this period of time, that is usually pared down to one or two, meaning many people can't attend as usual. We still have Adoration, and a few parishes may offer communion services (very very rare in this diocese so I'm not sure if any took place), but at my work parish...no Mass. All week.

Usually several of our Adult leaders attend Mass every day of our summer events, and when I'm there for that purpose, I try to attend, too.

This week, it wasn't an option, and the Church remained dark.

Yesterday, Father was back and I was able to slip into Mass just before it began. As I knelt down, a wave of relief flooded over me:  MASS! I sat behind one of our staunchest and most faithful volunteers, knowing she was praying for us and had been, but perhaps was a lone intercessor for most of the week.

We simply hadn't had any prayer support at all and on Monday, it culminated in a vicious spiritual attack, not just involving me, but involving my boss, her events, a youth minister she knew at another parish, one of my co-workers and her daughter - and the weirdness carried on all week long.

The awfulness of the things that happened this week to us seemed so out of left-field, leaving us all, individually, shocked, stunned, and thrown off for the remainder of the week.

My theory is the serious deprivation of Grace normally provided by the several hundred Masses offered each day in the parishes of our Archdiocese, and the thousands of prayers people normally pray during those Masses never took place, for those people were not able to attend. I know, from what parishioners have told me, that during Mass they regularly pray for us and whatever is going on in our programs at the time.

This week...they couldn't.

We should have realized what was coming and asked for for our biggest prayer warriors to ramp it up in any way they could in lieu of the Masses they normally attended. But we didn't think of it.

I don't blame the priests or the Bishop for going outside the diocese; they are handling serious business which they need to be able to do without distraction. And many come back during the week if necessary for funerals, etc, but return to the council when the crisis is over.

That is the nature of evil; it flies under the radar, not quite reaching to crisis level requiring the return of the priest, but it reveals the power of the Mass and the prayers of the faithful during Mass to keep evil at bay.

I pray that what we suffered in our diocese this week was a sign of the holy fruitfulness of the priests' meeting in Rochester this week.

The LORD'S throne is established in heaven; God's royal power rules over all.

Bless the LORD, all you angels, mighty in strength and attentive, obedient to every command.

Bless the LORD, all you hosts, ministers who do God's will.

Bless the LORD, all creatures, everywhere in God's domain. Bless the LORD, my soul!

~ Psalm 103:19-23

How Do We Pray for Enemies? And Why?

MT 5:44  You have heard that it was said, "You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy." But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. 

One of the most difficult things Jesus commands us to do is to love our enemies and pray for those who hate us. Most recently, the "debate", if you can call it that, has been prayer for Usama bin Ladin, the madman behind the mass-murder that was September 11, 2001, among other acts of terrorism throughout the world.

Enemy? Indeed! Persecutor? Absolutely!

Love him? Uh....WHAT!?

PRAY for him? HUH!?

Right. Jesus doesn't flinch at our objections to this teaching, and He gave it with full knowledge of the horrible things humanity did and would do to each other. Yet, He, knowing human nature so perfectly, knew that the only way for us to grow in holiness, to be perfect like our Father in heaven is perfect, would be to cooperate with Grace in order for Grace to change us.

Let us explore a few terms used in this very short passage, so that perhaps we may better understand WHY Our Lord gives us such a difficult commandment.

First, Jesus said to LOVE our enemies. 

He is not speaking here of gooshy puppy-eyed sappiness. He is speaking of the virtue of Divine Charity; the very love of God, the theological virtue we are given at Baptism, that is sealed at Confirmation. Divine Love is not the warped idea of "love" we humans have, but it is a supernatural gift from God to will the good of the other. To have it implies a connection with God that is stronger than our own will, choosing an active desire to conform ourselves to Him even though we may not know exactly what He wills for us...or for those for whom we pray.  We don't merely love others with our own emotions, but with the fire of Divine Charity. It means we can look upon another who has deeply wounded us and still recognize that human being as a willed and beloved child of God.

We do know that it is God's will that all enter heaven, that not a single soul be lost. We therefore pray for others with this in mind, for ultimately, all prayer is about salvation: for us, and for others. Even if we, in our fallen humanity, do not will certain people to go to Heaven.

Say what?

That's the crux of our human nature, isn't it? We are offended and we stop willing the good for another because we've decided, perhaps unconsciously or even subconsciously, that the one who offended us should just rot in hell.

Well...that isn't God's will, is it? Still, He, in His faithfulness to Himself and His creation, allows each and every one of us to choose, for Hell is not a place, but a state of eternal separation from God. God wills our eternal union with Him but He will not take back His gift of Free Will.

Prayer

You have probably heard many prayers end with "in Jesus' name, Amen".

What does this mean?  There are those who misunderstand and think that just the words "in Jesus Name", means that He absolutely endorses what we have just prayed about, and therefore, it must be true.

In fact, to pray in Jesus' Name means that we are praying with the intention to conform ourselves to HIS will...not to bend His will to match our own deformed will.  We do not see as God sees, and often, we pray from a position of self-love, telling God what WE want, without giving thought as to what GOD wills for us.

Therefore, before we say, "In Jesus' Name, AMEN", we should be praying, "Not my will, but THINE be done!"   In that way, we are reminded that we may be desiring something disordered, but we are still, in humility, bowing to God's almighty will, knowing He will bring about our good with our cooperation, even if that good contradicts something we think we really want.

 What has any of this to do with Prayer for Enemies?

A lot.

When we are ordered to pray for our enemies and those who hate us, we are supposed to be praying for their good: their conversion, whether in this life or even when they stand before the Almighty in judgment. We also know that if a soul is not open to God, we desire that their hearts be opened in order to receive the grace we are asking for them.

And you know what? It's HARD to sincerely ask for someone we despise to be blessed with something so great as eternal salvation. It's HARD to sincerely ask for people we can't stand, or hate or want revenge against, to be blessed by God in some way.

It's dang near IMPOSSIBLE!

This is why, when we pray for our enemies, (or any prayer, for that matter), we step aside in humility by intending, "Thy will, not mine, be done", and praying also "In Jesus' Name", for in this way, we are recognizing that we can't forgive, we can't forget, we can't, in and of ourselves, carry that Divine Love we have received to another. It is Christ who forgives, who died for that enemy of ours, and it is Christ who died for us and allows us to struggle to be conformed to Him.

Prayer for Enemies is not Just About Them

It's also about US. Prayer changes US by conforming us to God's will, and the more difficult the prayer, the greater struggle and the greater growth in holiness; if we will allow ourselves to be changed.

Prayer and forgiveness of enemies does not mean "forgetting", but rather, to simply allow God to bring about the good in that person's life (or death), and to purify us by removing hatred from our souls. It is one thing to be angry, it is another to allow that anger to so damage us that we turn into the object of our hatred.

Prayer prevents that. Prayer helps us to see with God's eyes and act with His Love. It conforms us to His will and makes us holy, as Our Father in heaven is Holy.

Always remember: it's never too late to pray for someone. We as humans are bound by time, but God is not, and He knows best how to apply all graces. Grace is never lost. If we are praying for someone we believe to be in Purgatory but they are actually already experiencing eternal beatitude, that Grace from our prayers will be passed to another in accordance with God's will. And yet, we grow in Divine Charity, Faith, and Hope simply through the act of praying for that other - especially if that other is an enemy who has deeply hurt us.

As Jesus said, it is easy to love those who love us. But loving those who hate us calls us to perfection.

Final Thoughts

Because I often explain things badly, I thought I would allow a Saint to speak, and so I leave you with the words of St. Jerome from his Commentary on Matthew:

"But I say to you: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you."
Many who measure God's commands according to their own feebleness, rather than by the strength of the saints, think the things that have been commanded here are impossible. They say that in view of our strength, it is sufficient not to hate one's enemies; but to be commanded to love them, well, this goes beyond what is experienced by human nature. It needs to be known, therefore, that Christ does not command impossibilities, but perfection. This is what David practiced with respect to Saul and Absalom. Stephen too, the martyr, prayed for his enemies who were stoning him. Moreover, Paul desires to be accursed on behalf of his own persecutors. And Jesus both taught and practiced this when he said: "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do."(p. 85)

Grief

I left work a little early today to take care of a few errands before we go into our last long class weekend of our 3 years together.

As we quite literally sit in a classroom for 18 hours between Friday evening and Sunday afternoon, I won't have time to run necessary errands so took that time today.  One of those errands took me to the vet clinic to pick up my dog's annual pack of heartworm preventative. When the tech pulled up the screen to verify my info, I saw displayed there both dogs.

My eyes were immediately drawn to Fire's name, and the big, capitalized, starred letters spelling out "***EUTHANIZED****"

I had to swallow hard for a moment, remembering that day all too clearly. This afternoon, as I arrived during the office lunch hour, I was taken back to that terrible Tuesday afternoon, the raw grief coming back to the surface as I recalled  my sorrowful exit from the empty office during that same quiet hour.

It was a beautiful July day, much like today, it was sunny, and when I returned home, my car was empty. The agonized presence of my greyhound was no longer there; instead I was left in a different kind of agony, one that slowly ebbed away over the following days, weeks, and months.

Fire was the first pet I ever had to have "put to sleep" as the euphemism goes. It was probably the most difficult thing I have ever had to do, and to this day I have no idea how I was able to drive to the vet clinic and then back home.

I didn't expect to run into that particular ghost today, but there it is. It will make my weekend even more bittersweet, for a few days after Fire died, I began my graduate school career. It is a reminder that even in our most joyful occasions, we carry our suffering and together, they form and perfect us in ways only God can see.

Dang, sometimes I miss that big goofy greyhound so much!

Unceasing Desire; Unceasing Grace

This morning as I sleepily drank my morning coffee, I came across a quote from St. Augustine, compliments of Catholic Spiritual Direction:

“But there is another and interior way of praying without ceasing, and that is the way of desire. Whatever else you are doing, if you long for that Sabbath, you are not ceasing to pray. If you do not want to cease praying, do not cease longing. Your unceasing desire is your unceasing voice.”

- St Augustine

It made me sit up and pay attention. I've written before of praying without ceasing, but I've never seen this quote, or this aspect. 

Who HASN'T had that longing for God?  You leave Mass, but really would prefer to just remain, there at the foot of the Cross, having just partaken of the Sacrifice of Christ.  Who hasn't had to leave Adoration, preferring to remain there in the blessed silence of the chapel, alone with Jesus, the only one who understands you, knows you more intimately than you know yourself...and loves you anyway?

Have you ever gone about your day, wishing you could go to Mass, desiring to spend time with the Lord in prayer, longing so desperately to be with Him that you're almost ready to just fall down in the spot where you stand and BEG to be transported to Him? 

Consider Psalm 63:

O God, you are my God, for you I long; 

for you my soul is thirsting

My body pines for you

like a dry, weary land without water

So I gazed on you in the sanctuary

to see your strength and your glory. 

For your love is better than life...

On you I muse through the night

for you have been my help;

in the shadow of your wings I rejoice.

My soul clings to you;

your right hand holds me fast. 

Or

  Psalm 42: 

As a deer longs for flowing waters

so longs my soul for thee, O God. 

My soul thirsts for God

for the living God.

When shall I come and behold the face of God? 

I am constantly struck by the writings of the Saints, and the Psalms and readings in the Liturgy of the Hours.  How human are the expressions, the emotions, the reality of the blessed agony arising from a soul sincerely seeking God! 

Perhaps we can't remain in active prayer all day, but sometimes God grants us the consolation of that deep interior longing, and that longing itself is an expression of His grace.  It's not an emotion, but something far deeper. It is a sense of almost abandonment, yet...even that can't cover it. It's a sense of constantly reaching out for God, knowing He is there, and there is not a void, but a real presence. That longing isn't in vain, but in fact, as St. Augustine explains, is a very real connection to God. It is ongoing prayer, one so deep that it goes far beyond any words we can express, perhaps beyond our own physical presence?  

How often do we go to Mass, and we're not even engaged?  How often do we go to our regular Adoration hour, or pray the rosary...while our minds wander?

At times, it may be for our spiritual good that we are deprived of these devotions, but longing for something greater.  Deprivation of the Sacraments may, in a devout soul, increase fervor for God.  How pleased must God be if we leave Mass, or perhaps are deprived from attending Mass...and long so deeply for God that our longing cannot find coherent expression, but instead forges its own connection to God, leading us ever-closer to Him?  

I'm so grateful for the availability of the Sacraments where I live, for I can go to Confession any day of the week, I have multiple opportunities for Mass, and so that longing for God can be satisfied. Yet, it still remains unfulfilled in some dimension, for as long as we wander this world, we are pilgrims.  Our Lord in His mercy remains with us in the Blessed Sacrament, but until we are called to leave this world, we will have that unfulfilled longing that will only be satisfied when we are sanctified in His eternal embrace.

Our longing for God is an agonizing, joyful grace, and may it ever be present, constantly beckoning us towards greater sanctification.  Amen.

*

The Arrogance of Evil

I've been pondering this thought quite a bit of late. 

We look around us, and it seems the world is falling apart. And it is.  Our very country is frayed at the seams, our neighbors are suffering everywhere we look, and our government has sold us out even before the ink has a chance to touch the paper. 

Those who speak for Christ in calm, quiet tones are shouted down by multitudes. People are defending outright infanticide and claim foul in the most irrational terms when someone dares to point out that an infant born alive, then killed, is, in fact, a victim of infanticide.  Never mind the fact that the baby was born as a result of a chemical abortion and born alive in spite of the intent to kill the dear child in the womb. (Moloch doesn't really like to make these distinctions; it's bad PR for him.)  

Desecration of the Body and Blood of our Lord abounds from all corners, and those who stand up to defend our faith are accused of being "superstitious" and, oddly, "evil," or "narrow-minded" among other obtuse things.  

It would be easy to become discouraged, but to do so would be to dishonor God. 

Things really aren't any worse now than they were 2,000 years ago when Christians were a regular part of the lion's diet or supplemented Nero's greyhounds.  

The manifestation of evil has changed with the times, but the reality has not, and the arrogance is the same. 

This morning, after Confession, I was in the chapel and took some time to look over a booklet I received this week from a religious community I'm discerning.  Upon opening the cover, I found a poem by St. Bernard of Clairvaux, and here is the line that brought me to my knees in gratitude:

"Do not let the consciousness of your sins hold you back, 

for where they abound, grace always abounds more." 

So true. Sin is everywhere. Our own, the sins of others, and we give into that darkness if we despair and become discouraged in the face of evil.  We know we sin, and we know, then, we contribute to the whole around us.  We give participation in evil. 

And yet, we need to take courage and be comforted, because, where there is sin, there is grace...even MORE grace!  

We look around our evil world, and we should take extra care to look for grace. For while evil in its arrogance is loud and offends all the senses, Grace comes quietly, a subtle, gentle infiltration, giving calm, loving directions in the face of fury. 

The Martyrs understood this effect of Grace; it is what gave them courage in the face of evil.

I think back to my dabblings in the occult, and most specifically, the night of the Tarot reading that nearly had real-life consequences.  

I remember facing my interlocutor, and recognizing, without a doubt, who he really was.  I remember his arrogance, and in his arrogance, he didn't realize he'd lost me entirely.  Grace abounded, and surrounded me, creating a buffer from the enemy's temptations.  

That night, I learned several things about true, pure evil, and those are things that I've seen repeated in many ways since then. They play out differently, but follow the same pattern, and it's the same pattern we witness in Genesis. 

For you see, evil does not grow; its growth is stunted.  Evil cannot move on from the Fall; it is forever attached to that moment of Original Sin;  Evil is like a living "Caddyshack from the Dark Side". 

The Beautiful Enticements of Evil

Consider Genesis; the serpent must have been quite beautiful and pleasing to the eye.  We know, indeed from scripture, that Lucifer was amazing to behold.  It would make sense, then, that in the Garden of Eden, before there was sin, the beauty of creation was even more beautiful, and a serpent, having never caused harm before, would be pleasing to Eve's eye.  His voice must have been quite soothing, and quite natural, in order for her to enter into conversation with this particular manifestation of evil.  

Pure evil is usually quite pleasing to the eye and to the other senses.  That's what opens the door.  The one through which Eve entered, and then Adam.  It gave the serpent the chance to offer Eve the forbidden fruit. 

In Genesis, the Fall seems to happen very quickly.  In our lives today, it might take a little longer for the final scene to occur.  There is so much that takes place to build up to that final offering, but it's always there, in one form or another; deception can be simple or complicated, depending on the desired outcome and what is necessary to stymie the victim.  

In my case, it was a friend who brought me into the Tarot readings, he was my personal serpent; what a lucky girl I was! Another warped Eve.  

His enticements were attractive, but superficial.  He tried to cast doubt on things I knew to be true because they had been revealed, and even though I had fallen away from the Church, I still believed them.  But he was interesting, and I wanted to know more. Enticement. 

In the end, he quite literally used the imagery from Genesis; he offered me the proverbial apple in the form of the last Tarot card. He couldn't turn it over; only I could.  I had to choose to take that step. 

Just as Eve's final step was to bite the apple, he said, I had to turn over the card to reveal everything.  It's not enough to just hold the forbidden fruit, for then it can still be dashed to the ground and refused.  Evil has to be SWALLOWED, it has to be taken INTERNALLY before it is "effective".  In other words, it has to be consummated.   Spiritual adultery. 

Everything else is just a series of little things that lead up to the Big One.  (Sounds a lot like venial sins that lead to mortal sin, doesn't it?)  

I knew then that Free Will was an escape from the trap into which I'd so willingly walked.  I looked Satan in the eye and understood that in his arrogance, he could not see that I was not hungry for what he was trying to offer.  And yet, he, too, was bound by Free Will;  he could not overcome this fail-safe provided by God, this fail-safe that empowers our dignity as human beings. 

It was this gift, this wonderful part of my God-given humanity, this Grace that allowed me to see the Ace I held so deeply that it could never be wrenched from my hand:   Free Will.  God's grenade.  

And in exercising this one weapon I had left, there in Satan's lair, I was freed; he was rendered powerless.  Grace abounding shrivels Satan and turns him to dust. 

The same pattern is something we see today.  We see evil everywhere, and many speak for Evil Incarnate, some more so than others. 

But they are just noise. When their voices arise, we must become more quiet in the cacophony.  Not that we stop our defense, rather, that we imitate God more perfectly, that we become more conformed to Christ.  

We maybe cannot fight the masses that arise like sharks with the scent of the blood of the innocents in their nostrils;  but we can let Christ shine through us to those in our presence, and allow HIM to change their hearts.  

We can have courage in the face of Evil, because Evil doesn't even have the ability to mature beyond original sin.  Evil cannot comprehend that Christ has paid the debt and that nothing can overcome the power of the Precious Blood of Our Lord.  

Today, in our country, in our world, we are being wooed by the beauty of evil. We look upon the face of evil, and many have been taken in by the shallow words and the shining countenance.  

We are all like Adam and Eve in the Garden, as the story plays out yet again, this time before our very eyes.  Yet we HAVE grown, we HAVE become more mature, through the Grace of Jesus Christ and His Sacrifice on our behalf.  His very real Love reveals the epitome of hate that speaks pretty words of destruction, beautiful words that make the darkness seem like light.  

Arrogance is Glorified Stupidity

Mark my words now...it won't be long before an "apple" is extended to one and all, and we're told that if we take a "bite", all will be well.  

I don't know the form this will take, and it may take many forms, all at once.  

I have seen Evil personified, and this pattern will NEVER change because it can't. It knows nothing else, even with all its mad intelligence, it can't break the cycle it began, because it cannot be redeemed.  

Have no fear;  the arrogance of evil is also its downfall, for it underestimates those it seeks to destroy.  Read Genesis. Study the signs. Consider the patterns you've witnessed in your own life. And come back...is my experience unique, or have you see it, too?  Have you seen the pattern, and have you eaten of the offered fruit?  Or did God's Grace help you to turn it down?  

Evil is arrogant, and arrogance is only glorified stupidity. It has no common sense, and it knows no law but the one of Free Will, and that one, it cannot violate for it is bound by this as well.  

In summary, here is the lesson we need to learn:  as we witness the evil around us, we need to be watchful, but still take heart.  Grace abounds in these times, and it's Grace that is important, for THAT is what reveals God's plan, and His hand, His defense, and the shelter He provides for us in every single moment.  Arrogance will destroy itself.  Humility is what wins battles, for humility sees Truth and responds. 

As Padre Pio admonished, "Pray. Hope. Don't worry."  

*

Curse for Us, Blessing for Another

I was grumbling about the 10 below 0 temperature this morning, grateful not to be living further north. The black ice on the highways is causing accidents all over the place. My dog and I are taking very short walks...for her because her paws can't take it. And me, well, the ice makes it difficult to navigate while remaining upright.

But there's another way to look at this cold and the snow that is coming again today.

Many of us are really unhappy about this weather, but what about those who benefit from it?

As a skier, I rejoice that the ski areas can make some really great snow in this kind of weather, and in spite of the temps, they'll be pulling in unbelievable business.

All the winter-oriented industries really NEED this boon, especially in this awful economy. I'm guessing that this bitter cold is going to keep a lot of people employed that, if we were having a "comfortable" winter, might well end up in a box outside of Sharing and Caring Hands.

So today, as I drive to work praying to make it safely, and as I drive home on snowy roads, I'm going to try to remember those who are benefitting. Most of us up here, especially who have to drive in the Cities, really HATE this stuff. We're suffering. Maybe this is really creating a wonderful opportunity to "offer it up" for the sake of those who see it for the blessing it is.

Maybe we all need to be more willing to "suffer" for the benefit of others.

God's will is being done; we really have no right to complain about anything.
*

Adoro's Meditation of the Day has been brought to you by bitterly-cold temperatures.
*

Thanks for Noticin' Me

It's been a rough day for a lot of reasons, but this evening I stopped by church on my way home so I could go to Confession. The priest wasn't who I expected; the door sign had one name, but when he began, it wasn't him. But I did recognize the voice and was grateful, for the one who heard my Confession tonight is a wonderful Confessor.

But there was something new...as soon as I knelt down, and he began to speak...in Latin. I didn't understand the words, but I knew what he was saying, I saw the shadow behind the screen as he made the sign of the cross. And this indescribable feeling of comfort, even AWE came over me. I KNEW I was in the presence of God, and even if I can't understand HIM, HE understands me.

For a moment, I couldn't speak...I was actually overcome. And I nearly forgot a major sin. But Father would have waited as long as necessary; there was a sense of anticipation as I paused, trying to remember, as though THAT was the sin he was waiting for. And when I left, I KNEW I was forgiven. I knew it was over.

When I entered the Church tonight, my home parish, I was a prodigal daughter. I did not deserve to be called God's daughter. I knew it. I also didn't deserve His mercy. And I felt it painfully all day; how I needed to be reconciled. There I was, so close to Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, all day long, right down the hall...but I was not united with Him. I'd slammed that door. Sweet, sweet, blessed relief this evening as I left the church, heading home. I was joyful, I was happy, and I was peaceful.

Then I got home, and it all came to a screeching halt.

Literally. My garage door, that is, came to a screeching halt.


The Agony and Ecstasy of home ownership

I hit the button as usual, and that door opened partially...and stopped. I was confused. Had I bumped the button again? I hit it again and the door dropped, and as it did so, I saw it was crooked. When it came to rest, that was confirmed...one side touched the ground, the other did not. I hit the button again, irrationally, willing this problem away. Nope. Same result.

Crap. (That's about the strongest word I use these days. Usually. I think the Grace of Confession helped me stay away from stronger words this evening).

With a sigh, I got out of my car and walked around to the front door, irritated because, not only is this going to cost me money I don't have, but it's garbage night. And not just regular garbage night..it's RECYCLING night.

So first I went into the garage and stared at the door. The problem was easy to spot; the cable on one side snapped. * sigh *

Well, at least it's not the motor. That thing has been "going" for awhile, but today, it's not the problem; everything else is. So, resigned to my fate, I hauled the recycling container and the garbage can through my kitchen and livingroom, out the front door, disgusted. But I couldn't leave the stinking garbage for another week! As I returned to my house, my next door neighbor came out and asked, "Are you having problems with your garage door again?"

"How did you know? Because I was dragging my garbage out through the front door?"

He laughed, and together we walked around to the front as I explained what happened. He came in with me (through my embarassingly messy house), and we went into the garage. He noted the several things that need to be done and recommended one business, cautioning that it would cost me. We tried to release the door so it could be opened manually...but no, it's stuck.

I was already planning on taking Friday off in order to get my homework done as I'm behind and if I don't have that day, I won't be done in time for class in a week. Well, maybe, since I'll be home pouring over books anyway, someone can come and tell me which limb I'll be using to pay for this.

I called a friend, another neighbor who also recently had garage door problems. She is also dating a contractor. I doubt he himself can help, but he's in the right biz and might be able to recommend someone. In any case, tonight I can do nothing about it. So I'm going to suck it up, hope for the best, and accept this as God's will for me in this moment. I don't have to like it. I just have to offer it up.

Apparently this is why God made credit cards. Or someone did (someone who shall remain nameless). My current plan is just to have them fix the door to the degree that I can open and close it manually, and maybe install some kind of lock. Of course, the security in this door is the automated feature, so I don't know what can be done. But I do know that blood can't be squeezed out of a rock, so unless Extreme Home Makeovers (or whatever it's called) descends upon my puny townhome, when I sell this place it's going to be far less than market.

It already is. Or, rather, the market fell. When I closed on my house, I "paid" $133,000, locked in at a 6% interest rate, 30 year fixed loan. Taxes were to come out of escrow. The first year, I got a refund. The second year, an increase...and same every year after. This year, I got a notice showing that it appeared property taxes had fallen, yet when I got my statement from the mortgage company, I saw that I had to pay either $280 or so or my payment would go up $30 per month. WHAT!

I also received the general appraisal upon which taxes are based...my home is estimated at $122,000. And I'm paying more in taxes than I was when I bought this place!

So much for an investment. And if I were to try to sell it, I'd have a bunch to spend just to make it presentable (not that I've worn it down so much, just that I'd have to clean the carpets professionally, repaint, spackle some spots...fix the garage door, the water softner, replace the kitchen sink, replace the central air - that's next to break - replace the downstairs ceiling fan and the electrical fixture in the walk-in closet. And I fear there's more).

I'm seriously regretting this purchase; had I known the actual cost when I bought this place, I would have just gotten another apartment. Because then at least I'd break even. Oh, and in fact, I'd be ahead...my student loans would be paid, my currnt grad school loans would be non-existant, and I'd be able to take simple trips guilt-free as I'd be able to occasionally afford them.

I am grateful for one thing, however; that I didn't allow my Realtor to talk me into an ARMS loan; had I done that, I'd be living in a box right now.

Praise God for these small favors.

Do you remember the Winnie-the-Pooh episode where Eeyore kept trying to build his "house", but every time he did so, something caused it to crash down around his drooping ears? And at the end of the show, FINALLY he got the shelter built and he was lying down for a well-deserved nap, and Piglet came catapaulting through the air, right through Eeyore's house. Once again, it crashed down around him.

Eeyore looked up, sighed and said, "Thanks for noticin' me..."

Yup. That's all I can say, too, I guess.

Participation in the Suffering of Christ

Today I was working, once again, on my paper about prayer and suffering (and all I have left is tweaking and loose ends and a summary, praise God!). And I had an epiphany of sorts.

And there I sat, in tears, completely ashamed of myself, completely humbled, and completely joyful both at the revelation and of the event of being able to cooperate with God's plan of salvation.

Yesterday I wrote of my frustration, of the people who are calling last minute, who haven't bothered to participate in working their children towards their first experience with God's mercy in a direct way, etc. One thing I didn't mention which had rattled me was a woman stating that their biggest conflict was a sporting event about 3 hours away! I wasn't surprised at the "conflict" but I was surprised she was so indifferent as to mention it by name!

(Demon, thy name is Hockey Game...sorry, did I say that OUT LOUD!??)

I told her directly that this is the time that she needs to prioritize and that God should be coming first in her child's life, not sporting events, and that she has to make a choice. I also sympathized to the point that these sports are asking too much of children (they are 7!), but that this is also very important and is a one-time event.

When I left work last night, I was literally in tears driving home.

These people don't get it! They clearly don't take God seriously, and their children are suffering. And of course, my own selfish issues - it's inconvenient to me to have to continue pushing these people through the program. At the same time, it's also a detriment to others who are in need of my time and need me to get certain things done by certain dates. And it's just piling up.

The fact is, of the parents I've had to work with individually, it has been a gift, and I've seen God's hand in that. And yet, now, at "crunch time" I'm still saying "poor me" when I should be praising God that these very can't-be-bothered people have to go through some individualization of the program.These are the very souls that NEED to be addressed individually! And God is using me as His instrument to impart his Word, to impart the importance of the Sacrament, and to help form the parents so they can, in turn, form their children.

I'm starting to think that maybe God should make a whale swallow me, too. Thank God I don't live near the ocean. Just call me "Jonah".

So this afternoon, still frustrated, having had some contact with a parent who feels she should be accomodated for her laziness, and not at all pleased with the prospect of rushing the books or waiting until January to work with Father for their own special Reconciliation date, well, apparently this is a lesson in God's plan for both of us. Or all three of us, if we include her child in the mix.

As I read about suffering, I came across a passage I'd read over and over last spring in Salvifici Doloris. And I considered recently what I'd read in the Old Testament about God being a jealous God, because of how He sees his people (that would be us), and His own pain resulting from Israel's indifference, idolatry, spiritual (and actual) adultery.

I was forced to turn my questions and accusation from God and others to myself; why am I really upset? Is it my own selfishness, my own control-freak-ness coming out? Yes, partially. But there's more. I'm frustruated because these people don't get it. They don't care, and God means nothing to them. The Sacrament is just another "event" in their lives, it has no real meaning, it's extra work in their lives they don't think they need, and it's just a hoop to get through in order to get their kids through the picture-perfect day of First Communion, the photos of which they will put up on a poster board on the day of High School graduation and maybe parse into a DVD on their wedding day.

And suddenly I was realizing that this is the modern-day realization of the Old Testament text of Hosea. And I realized that I was seeing US through God's eyes, and that for some reason, I'm in the role of "prophet", that being the person set to call people back to God, back to repentance.

I don't want to be a prophet. They all come to scary-bad ends. But the role is important.

And to be clear, anyone reinforcing God's love, calling people to the Sacraments, and working to preach the true Gospel message is a prophet.

So all you out there working in RCIA, Faith Formation, Priests, Sisters, Religion Teachers, etc. Congratuations. You're prophets. And I'm guessing you're frustrated, too, aren't you?

Of course you are. And those of you who have been doing this for awhile are likely chuckling at my post from yesterday. Because you know better than I, and you likely realized long ago what hit me today.

My frustration, my stress, my anxiety, all of it, over this coming weekend and the next few weeks trying to get parents to get their kids through this wonderful Sacrament of Mercy is a participation in God's own suffering. I suddenly recognized the bloody face of Jesus, covered with thorns, his eyes tearing up due to the indifference of His people.

God is constantly rejected, and it seems that those who truly love Him and are willing to put Him before their 7 year old's sporting or dance events are few and far between. It's disheartening.

And I'm ashamed because Jesus Himself accepted this suffering silently, not wasting words, not complaining, not lamenting his condition. And he died on the cross knowing that first I abused Him and then when I finally "got it" I abused him some more by refusing to also accept the same abuse of divided hearts in the same silent suffering.

So I have been suffering badly because my last 24 hours has been spent not in accepting God's will and just loving His people as He does, but in crying and complaining.

That is NOT the way to "offer it up."

So today I've been chastized, and all I can do is thank God for that, because were it not for this, I would not understand.

I pray I can go into this weekend now renewed and refreshed with clearer vision and instead of being my crabby self, put on the mind of Christ and let my hands and voice be His, even in the face of those who just don't care.

Grad School News and Booklist

I spoke with the IPT director today, and advised him of my situation; I cannot pay for school, but I don't want to withdraw. He mentioned that loans MAY be available, and had the Program Coordinator look into it and get back to me.

She gave me the info for a specific lender and website, I went there, applied, and have the preliminary approval, even e-signed it. So now I know...I can go to school this semester. Praise God! It is a bit unofficial until I get the confirmation of approval, but as I have good credit and have never defaulted on a loan, there is no reason they would deny me.

I am keeping my Grad School bleg, however, because these loans are not subsidized so I hope to be able to contribute something as I go. The reality is that I'm getting a loan because I can't afford it on my own. And I continue to thank those of you who have been so generous already in your assistance. Your funds will help me buy books.

As promised, I am posting the book list. If you happen to have any of these titles/editions and would like to send them my way either as a donation or as a sale, let me know either in the combox or via email. Please note, I am posting specific editions because some of the titles have multiple versions. If the prof provided the ISBN number, I will provide it as well, in order to be as specific as possible.

Please note: The titles I am listing are not ALL the books required for the classes. I am not listing those resources I already have in my possession.

DOCUMENTS OF VATICAN II

* ONE of the following titles: (all out of print)

1. Trouve', Marianne Loraine, FSP (General Editor), The Sixteen Documets of Vatican II, with introduction by Douglas G. Bushman, S.T.L. (Boston: Pauline Books & Media, 1999)

2. The Sixteen Documents of Vatican II, with Commentaries by the Council Fathers (Boston, MA: St. Paul Editions) - poss paperback is the only version available

3. The Sixteen Documents of Vatican II (Boston, MA: St. Paul Editions) - hardback only

OR, as a last resort:

* Flannery, Austin (ed.), Vatican Council II: The Conciliar & Post Conciliar Documents, Costello Publishing Co; Revised edition, 1987 (Paperback)
ISBN: 0918344395


Of the above, I am praying to find the first one on the list. The prof did note that of the alternate option, there is an inclusive language edition which is not recommended in any way, shape, or form.


FOUNDATIONS OF CATHOLIC SPIRITUALITY

* Aumann, Jordan, Spiritual Theology (Westminister, MD: Christian Classics, 1987).

* Vatican II, Lumen gentium, Dogmatic Constitution on the Church. Chapter V: The universal Call to Holiness in the Church. Boston: Pauline Books and Media
ISBN: 0-8198-1843-7 (( If I can find one of the V2 books, this should obviously be included ))

* St. Alphonsus Liguori, Uniformity with God's Will, Thomas W. Tobin, trans., Rockford IL, Tan books and Publishers, Inc., 1977.
ISBN 0895550199

* St. Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life. John K. Ryan, trans. Preface and Frist part (New york: Doubleday, 1989, [1972]
ISBN: 0-385-03009-6

I actually own Intro. to the Devout Life, but not that edition. I may check to see if mine is acceptable but otherwise I'm expecting to have to buy this book.


OLD TESTAMENT I

* The New Jerusalem Bible, Henry Wansbrough, General Editor. New York: Doubleday, 1985. ISBN: 0385142641 *******REGULAR EDITION ******

* The Holy Bible: Revised Standard Version. Catholic edition. San Francisco: Ignatius Pres, 1999.
ISBN: 089870491x

OR

* The Holy Bible, Revised Standard Version. 2nd Catholic edition. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2006.
ISBN: 978-0-89870-833-2; 0-89870-833-8; 978-0-89870-834-9; 0-89870-8334-6, 978-0-89870-936-0; 0-89870-936-9

(prof note; "it is important the student obtain this edition (NOT the New Revised Standard Version)

* Pontifical Biblical Commission, The Interpretation of the Bible in the Church. Boston: Pauline Books & Media, 1993. ISBN: 0-8198-3670-2

* Pontifical Biblical Commission, Sancta mater ecclesia ("The historicity of the Gospels 4/21/1964) Boston: Pouline Books & Media, n.d. ISBN: 0-8198-3344-4

* Pope Leo XIII, Providentissimus deus (On the Study of Sacred Scripture" 11/18/1893). Boston: Pauline Books & Media, n.d. ISBN: 0-8198-6922-8

* Pope Pius XIII, Divino afflante spiritu ("On the Promotion of Biblical Studies" 9/30/1943) Boston: Pauline Books & Media, n.d., ISBN: 0-8198-5858-7)


I have the RSV-CE, but my ISBN does not match, so I'll be contacting the prof to see if mine is sufficient. Otherwise I'll be obtaining two more Bibles.

Please, if any of you can provide any of these books, or even links where they can be found new or used, let me know. I'm primarily looking for used books, just as I did as an undergrad, but Theology resources tend to have a nasty habit of going out of print quickly, presenting special challenges to both students and professors. Clearly the V2 documents are availalbe at the Vatican II website, but unfortunately, the computer screen gets in my way when I try to highlight special passages, and then I scroll down and lose my space, and thus the highlighter fluid has marked a totally different passage or nothing at all. They, in total, are too long to print out so I am looking to actually purchase the books recommended.

And please, y'all, keep praying for me. I'm happy to be looking forward to beginning graduate school in earnest, even if it's only for one semester. It's all on God's grace, and His grace sometimes arrives in the form of a student loan.

I didn't think a loan was available for those of us off campus, but apparently they are, thank God. It could be a special arrangement the school made with the lender, so clearly I'm grateful.

This is one thing off my list.

And I got another app turned in today and another with the same county for another position. I don't have a chance in the world at the latter, but one never knows until one is either rejected or called for an interview. All in God's hands.

God bless!

Hottest Day of the Year

Traditionally, my birthday has always been one of the hottest days of the year. You'd think that June in Minnesota would be at least reasonably temperate, but no, that's not the case. It's right up there with "moving day" to anywhere - hot, humid, uncomfortable.

My Mom still loves to tell the story of my very dramatic sixth (?) birthday (in Illinois, actually) at which the "candles melted off the cake!". And the seafoam frosting melted, and we were all melting in the intense humidity in pre-central-air or AC days. We had no experience with climate control; we dealt with what we were handed, and we had box fans all over the house that just pushed the hot air around and didn't do anything else. Incidentally, they often served as cupholders, so they weren't entirely useless.

On that auspicious day, Mom also loves to relate how the heat and humidity just continued to build, and they finished my party in a hurry and sent everyone home, just in time, for then a storm hit. To hear her tell it, it was the storm of all storms. While Mom sent us to the hallway closet, she saw a tornado descending just across the river from us, touch down...retract as though it "bounced"...and then we later learned it came down on the other side of the hill that backed our neighborhood. I don't remember any devastation, but I do remember the humid darkness of the hallway closet and the scratchy winter coats as my brother and I sweated, and I held the dog who shuddered in my own shuddering arms.

So many years went by...always hot.

A few years ago when I bought my townhome, some friends came over to celebrate my birthday at my house; we were making pasta. We were experiencing a typical June heatwave, the first in my new home, and I had just discovered that my Central Air didn't work. The repairman couldn't get here until...get this...the following THURSDAY!

So we turned on the ceiling fan, which we'd also have to turn off periodicaly, because it dried the pasta out. As we worked in my cramped kitchen and "dining room", we alternately sweated and dried out pasta dough. We couldn't win. The heat from the oven and the stove rose to make the atmosphere even more unbearable, but all we could do was joke about it and try to keep the dough moist.

But we had wine, and we had music, and we had conversation, and we had picnic blankets, so all was well and we consumed the Italian-faire smorgasboard outside, and only 1 glass of red wine was spilled on my blanket from Mexico...and you can't even tell.

Fast-forward to the present day...

The last couple days up here in Minnesota have been nice, a wonderful break after a very hot week as the dew points fell, but today, true to form, the temps shot up and the dew points rose, and of course, severe thunderstorms raged around the Minneapolis-St.Paul area. I was completely unsurprised.

I learned today that on my actual date of birth, there was a solar eclipse. My Manager at work (who was 7 at the time) remembers going outside with a shadowbox in order to view the phenomena. (Not my birth; the eclipse!)

He sent out an e-mail today to the powers that be and anyone who might care about birthdays in his unit, and said something about the fact that in spite of the fact that the sun was covered on the day I was born, I tend to bring sunshine with my presence. (All together now....awww! And in reality, I do love my Manager...hate the job and the industry, but the people around me are great.) The picture he found to send with the email showed some poor guy trying to blow out the candle on the cake, but it blew up in his face. Hate when that happens! Apparently my Manager needs to come to a birthday party at my house...the candles melt before they can be lit.

Seriously...I think this reality about the "sunshine" has been bourne out year after year, because the sun certainly has shined on my birthday, every year of my life...and with it has come the uncomfortable heat and humidity that cause candles to melt off the cake before they can even be lit!

And yet, so many years, with the sunshine and the heat, there have been storms - big ones - and I have to wonder...should I be taking a lesson from this? If the same thing is happening year after year, while it could be explained as a simple June weather pattern, could it not also be seen as a pattern of God's grace?

We see the fact that the sunniest places of the world also experience the heaviest downpours and the greatest storms, so doesn't it stand to reason, if we look into the spiritual realm, that where God's light shines, the darkness works that much harder to conquer?

I cannot deny, no will I, that God has been very good to me. In so many ways He has "favored" me, but never without a price. For all of us, each of God's favors exact some kind of price, that being a form of growth. We cannot grow without adversity. We cannot grow without water. We cannot understand the sunshine without the presence of storms, and sometimes, the storms come hot on the heels of the sun.

We cannot understand who we are and the amazement that is our humanity apart from the sacrifice of the Cross of Christ. We cannot understand how to bring light to the world until we have had to shine in the darkness around us. We cannot learn to shine until something has tried to extinguish the light we were given.

Everything is a gift; we did not create ourselves, we did not create the air we breathe, and we did not create the sun and the moon and the clouds that cover them. We owe this life to God, and we are called to, in turn, offer ourselves as gifts to those around us. We are called to carry the light to the world, and in order to carry out such a task, we can expect to sweat, we can expect to have to take cover to shelter the flame, and we can expect to persevere through darkness and oppression.

I thank God for all I have been given, even for the heat and the humidity and the storms.

And so far, I have not turned on my Air today, but true to tradition, my box fan is in the window, moving the hot air around. Thank God for box fans!

Now please excuse me while I go find a candle to light....

Living in the Moment

I spent a little time in Adoration this evening, just feeling the need to be with Jesus. My brain has been full of so much, my life is naught but clutter, and I'm terrified of what's just around the bend. I'm going to start Grad school in August, but all that's covered by the scholarship is 1/3 of the 5 credits I'll be taking. What about the other 2/3's and the cost of books? Where's the money coming from?

What of my job? I didn't get the job I thought I wanted, which is fine...God knows best, but now what? I don't even know where to look. Accepting my current position almost 5 years ago has proven to be professional suicide; the last few years has rendered my work and experience completely invalid because I've been off my career path for so long on this useless tangent.

As my current Manager and my immediate Supervisor observed in a recent meeting, my life is taking a very different turn, it's recognized by people around me....but what they don't realize is that I have nowhere to go. I am completely at God's mercy because I can't get myself out of this grave I've dug so deeply.

And then there's this upcoming weekend...I just learned that my brother, his girlfriend, and my Mom are going to spend the night at my house on Saturday, and this place is a complete catastrophe! The spare bedroom doubles as a storage room and some time ago I began a "cleanup" project with the goal of getting rid of stuff. All I did was shuffle it around and discover some of the plastic totes I store it all in is not completely full, and I have paper records that go back about 10 years. I can't just throw it away because it has identifying info on it, and last summer I didn't get a chance to burn it in my friends' fire pit...and shredding this stuff in my shredder would take years of tedium.

I deal with enough filing and tedium at work, thank you. (I'm horrible with filing...my inbox is usually stacked to the ceiling. I "file" by mentally indexing what comes in every day and pulling it out when it's needed...THEN it goes into the file.)

As you can see, I have a problem with living in the present. I'm always off to the next thing. I'm always looking ahead.

I began doing this many moons ago when I was looking to escape the chaos of our home, knowing that salvation laid in planning for the future, having goals, and working hard to reach them. I learned early that I couldn't depend on anyone, and unfortunately, in those years, I really didn't understand that God was there asking me to depend upon HIM, and in spite of everything I did, God still came through for me when it was needed, although I didn't realize it at the time.

I've always been very "driven" and very "goal oriented" and it's so hard for me to take a step back and let God handle things. And where to draw the line between actively carrying out the tasks to reach the unknown goal God has in mind, separating trust in God from the sins of complacence and sloth?

Tonight at Adoration, I came to realize that we are all in a culture of "tomorrow" without learning to have an appreciation for "today" much less "this very moment".

As Mother Angelica has said, Jesus wants us to ask what he wants of us in this very moment, RIGHT NOW, wherever we are and whatever we are doing.

I have such a hard time with this. It's so simple, but I can't seem to handle the present. I'm so attached to the future that I'm tripping over my own feet to get there. Perhaps if I could pay attention to NOW I would see the obstacles in my way.

My thoughts turned to my childhood. I remember those years before school started, or those long summer days when school was out. I remember how the time seemed endless, the moments blissful, even in our boredom, we didn't worry about tomorrow. Certainly, we considered exciting events in the future, but our excitement didn't take us out of fullness of the present. We knew all about stopping to smell the roses.

It didn't matter what time the sun set and rose. I didn't care what the weather was going to be like in five days (unless a big storm was predicted...that's another story). I didn't care about TIME or what was going to happen in the future. I knew that all that was in Mom and Dad's hands, and if there was something I was supposed to do, they would tell me about it. I didn't have to set the alarm to get up in the morning...Mom would get us up. Mom would make dinner, and if she wasn't there, Dad would cook Spam and junket, or pizza and junket, and if Mom and Dad couldn't be there, then there would be a relative or a neighbor or someone else to provide for us. We didn't have to question anything. We could just live and do what we were told and all was well (mostly).

I really wish I could find this kind of faith in the Father in Heaven. I really wish I could learn how to be a child again, and not worry to much. Yes, the tasks I've been given are far more complicated and are time-bound, but within those times, there are many moments...why can't I just live those moments and TRUST in God to provide any additional direction?

I'm still worried about paying for Grad school. (Incidentally, I got the grade on my last paper today...a 98! God is so good, and John Paul II is my patron saint!). With this success under my belt, I am looking forward to further education, knowing I can do this, even if not to that level if carry a greater course load. I'm still worried about where to look for my next job because everything I worked so hard to know is useless.

So for now, the only thing I can focus upon is living in the moment, taking life one second, one minute at a time...because that's the only place where any of us can find Jesus. That's the only place we can come to understand our purpose, by asking constantly, "What is Jesus asking of me RIGHT NOW?"

Tomorrow will take care of itself...the Gospel makes this so clear, but how many of us heed those words?

Our God is a God of Miracles

I believe in miracles because I am both the product and the subject of a miracle.

Shortly after she was married, Mom was told that she would never have children. But, in defiance of the great god Science, she conceived and bore a son, and called him her firstborn. And Heaven rejoiced.

Then, two years later, roughly, she conceived and bore a daughter. Either before or during her gestation, Roe v. Wade passed and so people were embolded to approach her to say unspeakable things. Mom and Dad both suffered from visible genetic defects; Mom was born with only one hand, Dad had Spina Biffeda. So while Mom's belly was swollen with me, she was attacked with great hatred by the culture of death that suggested remorselessly that she murder her child in deference to their preference to live in a world without such imperfection as herself.

I can't imagine the anguish this must have caused my mother. That alone should qualify her as a martyr and speed her canonization.

So then I was born, and Heaven rejoiced. But alas, I was born with a very lazy eye, turned so far inward that as I got older, the doctors told my Mom I would never have depth perception, I would never be able to so much as stack blocks. Mom was devastated, but she opted not to kill me although certain factions of culture would have liked to see such a thing occurr.

I still remember an eye doctor appointment during which I heard the word "surgery". I remember the doctor discussing with my mother how certain muscles would be cut and reattached, the risks (which I did not understand) and the probability for success. The appointment was set for a few days or couple weeks later. It was to be a simple surgery, apparently.

I remember going to Mom's friend's house the day before my scheduled surgery. Mom's friends' name was Barb, and she was about Mom's height, a little older, and she had dark wavy, short hair. She was very friendly and talked a lot. They had a split-level home with blue carpeting and nice furniture. They were nice people and they had a littl girl a bit younger than me and sent us off to play together. That little girl was as blue as the carpet.

Mom explained to me later that she was sick and wasn't going to be in this world for very long. (Many years later I learned her diagnosis; Congenital heart disease. She was a "blue baby"). That little girl actually lived far longer than she was "supposed to."

I remember a certain sense of peace about her, as though she knew she was dying, but it didn't diminish her life. She was just like every other little girl everywhere, but for her blue color and her need to rest a little more often.

While we were there, she and I were called into the livingroom where all the adults were, including some other people I'd never seen before. I seem to remember people exclaiming over us and my lazy eye.

I was a very very shy child, hated to be the center of attention, and did my best to not be noticed. But since my new blue friend was with me, I felt better because they were making much out of her as well. There is solidarity in such things.

The group of adults stood in a circle around us, and I remember Barb praying for healing for us. Other people spoke up, too. I hated being there and I made faces at my new friend to release some tension. She was very used to this so didn't understand my discomfort, and stared back at me soberly. I took a cue from her and stopped, enduring the embarassment of so many people paying attention to me at once.

Shortly after that, and maybe some hugs from our new friends, and promises to return, we left.

I remember holding Mom's hand as we went to the hospital where I was prepped for surgery.

There was a quick pre-op exam, and the doctor stood up and called for someone else. They left the room. They came back, checked again, and told Mom that surgery was not necessary.

I remember walking out with Mom, not understanding my sense of relief, not understanding Mom's wonderment. I was completely oblivious to what had happened.

Mom wasn't.

It was a bona-fide miracle. My condition, which had been monitored since my birth, was not a self-correcting type of condition. I literally needed surgery to turn my eye straight.

But overnight, the condition was corrected to the degree that surgery was not needed.

I actually always thought that Barb and her family and friends were Charismatic Catholics, because sometime around then, Mom had taken us to a Charismatic prayer meeting. I only learned last weekend that they were actually Assembly of God.

I have been pondering this and considering whether this new information affects my perspective in any way.

I've decided it has not. Rather, I am coming to a new understanding of true ecumanism, in fact, the true meaning of it. I do not remember that they were trying to convert us. It seemed there was a great deal of mutual respect for our religious beliefs and theirs, and through their concern for their children, these adults bonded over what was common and addressed God in unity.

I think only a suffering mother can relate to another suffering mother, and those prayers are powerful.

I was healed that day. I found out that about a year later, that other little girl died. I also seem to remember her praying for me with her family.

I am humbled, and I pray that this little girl is in Heaven, praying for me still for I sense that her prayers are powerful.

Do not fear to believe in miracles; they happen every day, to people all over the world.

I am typing these words today not through braille, but through living eyes, a sense of sight Mom was told I would never have. These very words are the result of a miracle.

Thank you, God, for this gift of sight. Thank you, God, for Mom's gift of faith. Thank you, God. for Barb and her family/friend's gifts of faith and prayer, and thank you, God, every day, for the gifts of holy friendship.

The Coming of the Flood

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I originally posted this a year ago, in June 2006, but I have recieved my Mother's account of the story and have added it. She is less long-winded than I am. Those of you who remember this story can just page down and you will find her memory of the event in italics.

When I was a little girl (very little), we lived in a country neighborhood sprawled haphazardly around and on a hill near the banks of the Rock River in Illinois. It was a great place to be a kid in...we had the woods, we had hills for sledding in the winter, and overall, most of our neighbors were great people.

During the winter, we had options for sledding; the biggest hill was between about four different properties, and we had standing permission to use it as long as we didn't damage the buildings or the trees (with the exception of accidentally crashing into trees which can happen on a sled). The other hills were smaller, but treacherous; they were narrow and descended between the trees in the woods.

And we had Frank's Place. He had this grand yard that sported kind of a bowl which led down into the creek. It flooded every spring, and sometimes, if we'd had more rain than usual, it might flood before freezing and then we'd have a layer of ice to slicken up our sledding endeavors. I think my brother managed to get his sled all the way into the frozen creek (or "crick" in local parlance) once. That was quite a feat!

We loved going to Frank's place, and we were careful to ask his permission before doing so as we did not want to lose the privelige of using his awesome bowl for sledding. He always told us not to get hurt, and seemed very gruff, but he ALWAYS let us use the area.

Although I was very little Mom used to let me go without her direct observation because I was with my brother, who was two yrs older, and other children. And in that neighborhood, it was almost guaranteed that other adults were watching and they knew ALL of us. The world was different then, and so the "dangers" to us had less to do with predators and more to do with just being kids.

As spring neared, we were warned not to use Frank's place because it was getting too warm. The river flooded each spring, and when that happened, Frank's bowl became what it was and morphed from a frozen sledding hill into a spring pond fit for thousands of tadpoles and a couple of water moccasins. Ice-out was a dangerous time of year, for no one knew the day or the hour in which the ice would break.

We left home one day, having heard the warning, and our plan was initially to sled on the upper hills nearer to our house. But one of the other kids said that it was fine and we should go to Frank's for we had not much time left. My brother and I resisted (mostly him...I was very shy and prone to keeping my silence. Amazing, isn't it?), but we went because we wanted to experience the terrain one last time, too.

We had a BLAST flying down Frank's hill and across the bottom of the bowl. It was always a race to see who could go the furthest the fastest. As I was the littlest, I was NEVER the one to reach the point closest to the crick, but that didn't stop me from trying!

What happened next has been related to me but I hold only a vague memory of the event. For awhile I denied it but I could not deny the images that continue in my mind to this day or the nightmares that still come to me when they are triggered by similar real-life events.

It was a warm winter day, cloudy, and the snow on Frank's hill was packed from use. We were flying down the hill and across the bottom, when cracking sounds began to echo in the relative silence of the winter afternoon. We ignored the sound and continued sledding. My brother went down the hill, and one of our friends, I think. Our parents were coming, and we didn't want to stop. They had a note of warning, a note of desperation, but as we knew we were where we were not supposed to be, we rushed to get in our last runs...as it was, we were in trouble for our disobedience and we knew it. Might as well make it worth it. So even with parents descending upon us, we went down the hill in defiance of their commands. I do remember turning my head to see Mom coming towards us, on foot, yelling already, calling our names. I remember throwing myself into my orange toboggan so that I could make this last "slide" the best yet.

The problem was that we didn't know what that echoing crack was about. Our parents did. We thought we were in trouble. We were, but we did not understand the reason why and that we were in trouble only because of the presence real danger.

Spring had arrived.

I remember sliding across the bottom and seeing my brother (or maybe his friend?) leaping out of his sled and trying desperately to flee before the wall of water that was coming at us. I remember the boy yelling, telling me to STOP! STOP! TURN AROUND! GET UP! I remember my sled stopping as it met the water and it didn't float...the icy brown water began to come into my little orange toboggan, forcing it down. I was getting soaked.

I couldn't get up. I couldn't move. The water was coming and I just sat there because I couldn't get out of my sled.

I saw adults, parents rushing down the hill, and someone grabbed me and hauled me out of the sled as the water climbed higher. They helped me walk through the water and the snow, out of the bowl that was rapidly filling with the spring flood of the Rock River.

Someone else had reached the boy (my brother, I think) who was in front of me, who had been yelling.

I don't think there was much stopping for any of us once at the top of the hill; I remember somewhat clearly my hand in my Mom's, and she was upset and scolding me, but seemed more concerned than anything. She told me that she had to get me into the bathtub and cleaned off. I did not want to take a bath, but she explained that the water was very dirty, and so I meekly agreed, exclaiming, "Yuck!" from that point on.

I remember that my snowsuit was literally peeled off of me, and as this happened, I proclaimed, "Yucky, yucky! Yuck! Yucky!" and Mom agreed. I was thrust unceremoniously into the warm water of the tub and cleansed thoroughly and when I was dressed in warm clothing, I was still saying "Yucky" as my Mom related the tale to others.

My Mom recently reminded us of this harrowing event. She described how she had been at home and heard the ice crack. Somehow, instantly, she and all the other parents of the children involved *KNEW* that something was wrong. They *KNEW* that we were NOT where we were supposed to be, and NOT A ONE went to the other sledding hills; they ALL converged at Frank's Place just as the bowl began to fill with the spring flood.

The calvary of parents came of of nowhere to rescue their children, and each of them credits guardian angels for the alert. Not a single one of us was lost in the flood, all by the Grace of God.

What follows is my Mom's account of the event:

It must have been a beautiful winter day as most of the neighborhood children were sliding on the neighbor guy's hill. We called it "The Bowl" because the area was a natural depression shaped like a bowl. At the bottom of the hill was a tree. Beyond that is a flat area which leads to the creek that drains into the Rock River under a highway bridge. It is a natural flood plain.

It was getting to be late afternoon as I was beginning ot prepare supper. I think it was mid-February 1979. I felt a vibration with my bare feet about the same time I heard a "CRACK". I knew the ice was going out of the river. I jumped into my boots. I may or may not have reached for a jacket as I ran out the door. Our street was plowed in on both ends that winter so I had to run on top of snow and snow piles. (A neighbor later told me I had run like a deer - not even touching the ground. - That may be because I believe I was "Sent".)

As I approached The Bowl, I saw several children on the hill, some sliding down, some coming up, and three little ones preparing to slide down (ages 3, 4, and 7). I tried to stop them but couldn't. A 4th or 5th grader tried to help the children off the hill as we saw white water blow over and under the bridge into the creek and bowl. As the children slid down the hill I ran after them. The water, the three kids, and myself all met at the tree at the bottom of the hill. As the neighbor boy floated over to me, I reached for him with my left arm, picking him up by the straps of his two-piece snow suit. My daughter jumped onto my back with her arms around my neck. My son grabbed hold of my right arm and held on for dear life.

When I turned to go back up the hill, I couldn't move. The toe of my right boot was under a sled (which by this point was completely under ice cold freezing water and ice.) I asked God for HELP.

Just then, my dad's gentle voice said, "Take your foot out of the boot. Go behind the tree." Just as we got behind the tree the first wave hit, and then receeded. We were under water. Then a few more big waves and the current slowed. The voice said to o"Go left and stay in the lighted path...and go forward with the water and hold when it receeds." At one point I couldn't get footing. The voice told me to move my foot to the left to get footing past the ice. And with forward, hold, forward, hold, we walked up thehill and out of the flooded bowl.

Some weeks later, after we had recovered from our colds, and the water had receeded, the neighbor came and told me there was something he wanted me to see. We walked to the hill and there by the tree was my missing boot, still full of water, under my son's sled. My daughter's red toboggan and the neighbor boys' blue saucer were by the creek near the bridge.

The neighbor told me they hadn't realized that we had gone all the way down the hill. He asked how we got out. I told him, "Only by the grace of God," were we able to walk up the hill and out of the water.

(As a couple notes to my Mom's story: Mom has only one hand. Her left hand never formed so she has no fingers and only a partially-formed palm. That is the arm she used to save one of our friends. Secondly, the "voice" of her Dad came from eternity, for I would have been about five years old and he had died that winter. )
*

I realized upon reflecton that this story is a parable all it's own, and perhaps the Lord will allow me to use it as such, for there is a moral to the story.

We children sinned through disobedience to our parents who were aware of the danger and told us what the danger was, but we ignored the warning and followed our own will. Of COURSE we had a BLAST in our disobedience; disobedience is usually a lot of fun...that is, until there are consequences.

The Consequence came to us in the form of the flooding river when the ice went out. Our forbidden playground flooded, and had things gone differently, we would not have been the only children on the face of the planet to go to our judgment as a result of a flood.

But our parents heard the river cracking, and by the Grace of God, they understood that the fruit of their love was in mortal danger. Each and every one dropped what they were doing, and converged, lead by the Guardian Angels of chidren to the very location of their charges.

Each and every responding adult cast aside their own terror and ran INTO the FLOOD and pulled someone to safety. Each and every one died to themselves so that another soul might live, and in most cases, that was the soul of their own child. (Although not a single child in danger was surpassed).

Each and every one of us children was hauled home firmly and cast into the warm, clean water to be purified. We all received some sort of punishment, although it was mostly a tongue-lashing as the parents considered the flood to have been terrifying enough.

And each and every one of us lived to sled another day; we lived to tell the tale and that, my friends, is Redemption.

I did not realized until recently that this event has affected me. For many years, I did not remember it, and when Mom brought it up, I denied it. But something in the back of my mind kicked me and harangued me and reminded me of the vague, foggy visions of being pulled from the toboggan and the warm bath punctuated by "Yuck!" My own memory of the incident is vague, foggy images, and so I cannot clearly tell you that I remember every piece of what I have told here. But I remember enough, and the nightmares I still suffer on occasion validate the experience.

I still remember a particular nightmare from when I was a child; in this dream, I was in the middle of a field, and all had been wiped out by a huge wave. And while I walked, seeking safety, more waves of mud were coming, although they were small. I knew a larger one was coming and I was afraid. But Mom found me and lead me to a safe place. I still woke up screaming, terrified of the wave to come.

I did not have any such dream like that for a long time, but then when I spent a semester in Mexico and swam in the ocean on the Gulf and the Pacific coasts, for months I had dreams of monster waves coming unnanounced and sweeping us all out to sea. And in those dreams, I was always able to escape the wave,and the certain death if not the terror of the event.

I realize now that the nightmares result from the flood wave which overtook us on that day of sledding.

And THAT, everyone, is what the Catholic church refers to as "temporal punishment", that is; the consequences of sin which we must live out while we are on this earth. We can be forgiven the sin through the grace of God (and sacrament of confession), but God will not erase the debt we owe; and to this day, it seems I am still paying for my disobedience.

This is a parable for for all of us, and if I were to poll every one of you, you would have a story which shares all of the above elements. You could describe your sin; you may still suffer the consequence; you remember the sacrifice and the grace that saved you and you are still here, proving that you have been redeemed to live another day.

Maybe some of you reading this may not be Catholic or even Christian. Maybe someone reading this does not fully understand what I mean by the titled terms or what the Catholic Church teaches. I encourage everyone to do the following:

Write down a moment in your life in which you sinned. It does not have to be dramatic. What is the sin? Taking the toy of another? Disobedience to parents? Lying? What was the consequence of that? Did someone else have to make a sacrifice of some sort on your behalf? Was there some miracle (grace) that saved you from something worse which would have resulted from your sin? And how were you redeemed? How did you happen to survive/learn from your sin and continue on?

We all have stories, and through these stories we can come to better understand the teachings of our faith. We cannot ever escape consequences. But that is not to say that we suffer alone or without understanding of others, and certainly, we cannot survive without God's grace, nor would we have eternal life without the sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

As always, God bless you all, and thank God for the gift of life which you all have received.

I Came Home to Divine Mercy

Divine Mercy is part of my conversion story - a part that wasn't told in that series of posts.

When I was living in the darkness of my sin, working nights, and basically, embracing the total darkness that was my life, a co-worker gave me some books to read while at my post at night: The Left Behind series.

I was seeking God at the time, sensing my separation, sensing his call, but I was at a loss as to what to do. I remember thinking that maybe I should find a priest, make an appointment, and pose my questions to him. But who? What church? Weren't priests too busy to deal with the likes of me? And if I DID find a priest, I was quite certain he would tell me I needed to go to Confession, and I didn't want to and would be at a loss to explain why. I feared being pressured into something I didn't want to do, so I ran from the idea.

And because I had nowhere to go, I went nowhere...or so I thought.

One Christmas, Mom had given my brother and I a CD with the Divine Mercy prayer on it, along with a pamphlet explaining the devotion and how to pray the chaplet. I remember finding the CD and the pamphlet, and I read it over suspiciously, thinking it was too easy. It also said I had to go to Confession...so at first, I tossed it aside. Something told me not to throw it away, though, so I added it to my collection of eclectic things that didn't otherwise have a place in my home and my life.

But as I was reading the "Left Behind" books, I found that I was offended by the outright anti-Catholicism expressed within the pages, including the idea that the Pope became the right-hand man of the Antichrist. I couldn't explain why I was so offended, but it was like someone was attacking my Mother. Attack me all you want...but do NOT mess with my Mother!

I was conflicted, but somehow, these books drew me into an understanding that I had been rejecting God, and I had to make my peace with Him...and that move was mine. I didn't believe in the Rapture, but it did come to me that if God wanted to wipe me off the face of the earth, he would do it. If he wanted to cause the earth to erupt into earthquakes and raining fire, he could do it.

And always, I had the presence of the crucifix on the wall of my livingroom - because it wasn't home without that. Thank you, Mom.

So through all this introspection, I went back to Divine Mercy, not really believing the promises to St. Faustina, but I really wanted to. I needed to believe, and I needed mercy.

But I could not leave the life I was living behind me. I could not, in good conscience, come to Jesus begging for his mercy without a true desire to change. Somehow I understood this, so I put the pamphlet down again.

Then finally, I picked it up, and I found a rosary buried in a box somewhere, and I prayed the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. I apologized to Jesus that I could not go to Confession, but I begged for Mercy just the same.

I think I might have prayed it a few other times, and then put it away again.

I credit Divine Mercy for bringing me home, for it was shortly after these prayers that my struggle to return to Confession began in earnest. I began going to Mass somewhat regularly, almost always receiving communion, but still feeling like an outsider. I always sat in the back of the church, not wanting to approach the Holy of Holies, as though Jesus didn't know I was there!

And he drew me on, even as I ran away...His Mercy continued to endure. I so desired mercy, but I was terrified to approach. I could not trust. My life had beaten all forms of trust out of me, such that I could not even trust God.

Jesus never gave up on me, and he doused me with those rays of Mercy until finally, finally, I came home. In my conversion story I explained some of that experience, the agony and ecstasy of it, but I don't think mere words can possibly convey the reality of this incredible experience of Divine Mercy.

When I bought my townhome, I had bare walls, so I requested art for Christmas and birthday gifts. Specifically religious art. I can't remember if I requested Divine Mercy specifically or whether the Lord put it on her heart, but my Mom gave me a Divine Mercy image which I had blessed on Divine Mercy Sunday a couple years ago. It now hangs on my livingroom wall next to a very realistic crucified Jesus, and I find that I cannot venerate one without the other, for they are one in the same.

I have another picture that combines the Sacred Heart of Jesus (another image I grew up with) and the rays of Divine Mercy. No one can enter my home without seeing these things.

Thanks be to God, the Divine Mercy of Jesus brought me home and to this day envelopes me in all my sinfulness, all my imperfections, and brings me to him with all his Divine Love.

If you are struggling with your faith, if you have been away for a long time, just pray this chaplet...you have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

For those interested, my Conversion story can be found here. Warning: many links!