St. Therese of Lisieux

Like so many, I have long loved St. Therese of Lisieux, and at times in the past she has made her intercession known to me.

I specifically recall one evening, I'd gone to the church for Adoration and decided to go to Confession. I didn't have anything major to confess, although all the sins of my past were weighing on me heavily; I wasn't accepting of God's mercy, I was angry about several things (the new-revert syndrome, as I call it), and was quietly weeping in a corner of the chapel, near St. Therese's statue.

A woman I didn't know came up to me and handed me a little booklet as she whispered, "I came here today to give this to someone, but that person isn't here. I think I'm supposed to give it to you." I thanked her, and, wiping my eyes, stared down at this little home-made much-copied folded-paper booklet of prayers and devotions of St. Therese of Lisieux.

St. Therese and the Priesthood

If I recall correctly, St. Therese had a special love for the priesthood, a special devotion for this great gift Christ had left us, all so that we could be brought closer to Him through His chosen Ministers.

I have to wonder if maybe my own devotion to the priesthood began with my devotion to St. Therese of Lisieux? It is something to ponder, for the Saints never point to themselves; when we involve them in our prayer life, they direct us towards Our Lord, and to towards anything that will deepen our love for Him.

I don't recall what Saint said it, or if it was a private revelation to a saint, but I do remember reading the words, "The greatest way to honor Jesus is to honor the priesthood!" (Could it have been St. John Vianney?)

Ah, but so I've wandered in this post, as I usually do.

Flowers from Heaven

So many people say they have received roses from St. Therese. Fr. MacRae posted a particularly touching story yesterday on his blog, one I needed to read for I needed a reminder of the miraculous. Especially this week.

I've never received a rose from St. Therese. I don't think I've ever actually received roses from anyone, for that matter, although I used to pray for them all the time. While I've received signs of her intercession, it was apparently never God's will that I receive a physical rose, and maybe that's for the best.

After all...flowers wilt and die and God knows I can't keep green things alive.

But I rejoice that others do receive this sign, for even knowing their stories and witnessing their miracles, I take heart knowing that prayers are not spoken in vain and indeed, St. Therese is making good on her promise to shower roses from heaven upon the earth for those who most need such a sign of God's love.

I've been praying for a rose this week, though, admittedly not with much faith. If it be God's will, the Saint will send a rose. If not, my faith (or currently, lacking faith) will not be affected.

The one thing we always have to keep in mind is that our belief, our Faith, does not rest on miraculous signs, but rather, on the Cross and Resurrection. If we are not receiving signs, perhaps it is because we've been called to the Cross, and in the shadow of that, the greatest Sign in history, a rose simply has no beauty to compare to the redemptive sacrifice of Our Lord.

*

Pilgrimage

It takes the entire Church to foster a single Vocation.

A lot has happened in the last couple weeks and I confess I'm absolutely amazed. I knew that coming into this summer, I was being asked to trust God...with everything. With my heart, with my soul...with everything that owns me (the house and bills and debt).

One of the difficulties I face is not wanting to ask for help, especially financial. Having grown up on welfare, I swore I'd never live like that again. I'm perfectly able to support myself. I have worked hard to get a degree, to become qualified (for many things now!) in hopes I'll never have to rely on others again.

And yet, here and there, things have come up that have made me have to depend on others, and in ways that I found most difficult to accept: financially. Those who have helped me in the last couple years will never see and don't know the interior struggle I had within me to accept their assistance.

I have to admit, I still feel guilty about it and in the back of my mind, that "debt" is there. Even if my paperwork-debts are erased, I will never consider myself free until they, too, are paid back.

Dependence

Then, with this summer fast approaching, I had to make a decision: place my trust in a temp agency or other to find me a job that will pay my bills? Or trust God and dedicate myself to finding Him, seeking the Kingdom of God? Could I do both?

I wanted to do both. I wanted to schedule my summer so that I could discern some of the time and work the other part of the time. As it is, I will have my 10 hours per week at my regular job (but for when I take a vacation day when out of town.) So truly, that is being fulfilled.

Yet no other jobs have been "appearing". I did decide to place my apples in one basket, so to speak. Even as my SD pointed out, God was asking me to trust Him. To keep my eyes on Him, and I knew it was time to take a step in His direction.

God has not let me fall; in fact, He is providing in ways I never could have expected, and in ways I refused to request. He has seen my own obstinance, yet in His mercy, has acted through others to provide for my financial needs this summer.

Just today, I received a contribution from someone I know well. I don't want to identify the person/family, but when I spoke to him yesterday and he verified that I haven't been irresponsible with my mortgage payments, he offered to cover it for the summer. Today the check arrived...enough to cover my mortgage for July and August. He asks only for prayers and that I call him and tell him what happens during my visits. And no, he isn't asking for anything but general information.

I nearly burst into tears while on the phone with him, realizing what God has done and how He is providing for me.

My plane ticket and Amtrak ticket are also being covered by a multitude of donors, and I think gas money for my car as I drive later this summer to visit the Cistercians will also be covered.

In doing the calculations, what I need is being covered. My actual, billable needs.

This entire summer, my trips to visit communities are being covered by the Mystical Body of Christ. Not just in prayer (which I need!), but the temporal needs of my life as well.

I have a ride to and from the airport in July. I have some dear friends, a family with small children, who are going to watch my dog. We visited them today with much hilarity and it seems as though it's going to work out well! (I just hope she isn't too much trouble for them!)

I have a Pastor and an SD who support me completely, and a family that maybe doesn't completely understand, but they're willing to help. And in fact, I'll be traveling with borrowed luggage - from my brother! (As brothers go, he's probably thinking, "Anything that will get my sister out of town is a good thing....) :-)

Pilgrim Making a Pilgrimage

Some time ago, one of my co-workers was criticizing (in a charitable way!) the fact that people go on pilgrimages and fund themselves. Never having been on a pilgrimage, I asked her honestly how they're supposed to GET to Rome or the Holy Land or Lourdes unless they fork over the money for the trip?

I can't remember everything, but she indicated that a true pilgrim doesn't arrive at his destination by his own means. Part of the spirit of a pilgrimage is being willing to be dependent upon others. Of leaving home with nothing, and arriving at the destination via the alms of those who saw a need and responded. It's about learning dependence upon God, of being willing to suffer for Him, and maybe in a way, it's a walk to Calvary even when the destination isn't physical Jerusalem.

What she said made sense. A pilgrimage is a spiritual quest, and maybe has different intents, but each of them has to do with finding God, following Him, prayer, and sacrifice.

When I leave next month to find out whether God may truly be calling me, and whether one of these communities is my home on earth, I go with nothing in my pocket. I go with the clothing on my back, and other necessary items in a suitcase borrowed from my brother. The money in my pocket for incidentals won't be the fruits of my labor, but of the labor of friends.

The flight to and from, and the train ticket between destinations comes to me largely compliments of people I haven't even met and may never meet in this life...may I meet them on the other side of the veil.

I know that when I go, I don't go alone. This IS a pilgrimage of sorts, for althoughI'm not going to visit a shrine, but rather, to meet the Bridegroom in a special way. I may find "home" on this earthly pilgrimage, or I may find that my "home" is where I am now. I may find that the life of a religious is where I belong, but that those particular communities are not the right place.

In any case, I go to follow where God is leading, and because all of this is happening, and with the help of so many people, it must be what God wills in this moment.

Yes, it's a bit scary, but at the same time, it's a whirlwind of excitement, and truly, I have that "peace that surpasses understanding."

I truly don't understand how all of this has happened, yet I go, gratefully, and as I seek my Vocation, no matter where it leads, I know that all those who have helped go with me in a special way. The pilgrimage I make is theirs as well.

A few times I've written of going to Holy Communion with the recognition that of myself, I can offer nothing. I am a sinful creature, indebted to the Mercy of Our Lord, and can never merit such an act of salvation. In that, I've recognized my interior poverty and learned that the best way to receive Him was through that very poverty.

And now, I go to meet Him in another way, again, through poverty, knowing I don't merit what I possess, grateful for such a gift.

Thank you, Jesus, for your generosity and for revealing how trust in You is never in vain.

Thank you all, for your own ongoing prayers and other contributions.

Trust is NEVER in vain.

Sacred Heart of Jesus...we place all our trust in Thee.

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The Heart of Christ

This morning I pulled out the next book of the Liturgy of the Hours so that I would remember to begin using it tomorrow, Ash Wednesday.  

I opened it up and happened immediately upon a holy card; a picture of the Divine Child Jesus holding out His Sacred Heart in a gesture of offering.

It stopped me.  There He was…offering me His heart.  He does that every day. It made me think of the miracle of Lanciano, where the Holy Eucharist turned into flesh, which was studied and found to be cardiac muscle.  That is…heart muscle.

Do you realize what that means?  That every time we receive Holy Communion, we are taking the very heart of Christ into ourselves!  We are taking in the offering of love, symbolized by the heart itself…Himself.  Jesus gives Himself to us, fully. The source of blood, the source of life...the heart symbolizes all life, and it overflows with life, that WE might live.

What do we give Him in return?

I find it no coincidence that this image and these connections have been in my mind today - Shrove Tuesday. A day to examine ourselves and determine what we’re holding back from God.

Lent is a time to recognize what Our Lord has done for us, and see if somehow, we can take another step, offer more of ourselves to Him, or offer EVERYTHING to Him, just as He did for us. 

Jesus offers His very heart; are we willing to trust Him enough to offer our own, without reserve?  Completely abandoning ourselves to Him?

A phrase that has been going through my mind a lot of late is from John Paul II’s address to the youth at WYD 2000: 

 It is Jesus in fact that you seek when you dream of happiness. He is waiting for you when nothing else you find satisfies you; he is the beauty to which you are so attracted; it is he who provokes you with that thirst for fullness that will not let you settle for compromise; it is he who urges you to shed the masks of a false life; it is he who reads in your hearts your most genuine choices, the choices that others try to stifle...

And I think to myself…what ARE my most genuine choices?  My choices to sin? Or my choices that bring me closer to God?  To what end am I, as a human being, an adopted daughter of the King, directed?

What is my heart’s desire?  Really?

We can answer those questions during Lent. We can enter this desert, and perhaps allow Our Lord to reveal His heart to us…for us.  And maybe then, only then, will we be able to understand that what we truly, genuinely desire, is what He also desires for us.

Vespers this evening calls us to remember we are children, for in that innocence we will find Our Lord waiting.  Given the way I started my day, and the prayerful thoughts that have come to me throughout the various hours, I find that the Psalm-prayer and Antiphon are no mistake, but words to complete a little square in the quilt God has so artistically placed to represent His lesson for me today:

Psalm-prayer:

Lord Jesus, gentle and humble of heart, you declared that whoever receives a little child in your name receives you, and you promised your kingdom to those who are like children. Never let pride reign in our hearts, but may the Father's compassion reward and embrace all who willingly bear your gentle yoke.

Ant.  Unless you acquire the heart of a child, you cannot enter the kingdom of God. 

How do we acquire the heart of  a child?

All too often, we can't. We've forgotten what it's like to have such trust, such devotion, such abandonment.

So Christ offers us His own heart, seeing our deprivation, and unable, in His innocence, in His love, to allow us to be so impoverished.  In His Divine Childhood, he approaches us and gives us His most valuable possession..and asks us to make Him ours.

Because our hearts are stone, He comes to us gently, and offers us His own heart, beating furiously with the fire of love for us, and asks us to take it into ourselves, and share in His own Divine Life. 

Today, Jesus offers us His heart. How can we look into the joyful and trusting face of the Divine Child and refuse His selfless gift?  How can we fail to respond by offering our own?

*

Lord Jesus Christ, son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner. 

*

St. Blase, We Have A Miracle!

Today is the Feast of St Blase, Bishop and Martyr, and if you go to Mass today, you may receive a throat blessing compliments of this Saint. Legend has it that he saved a child from choking on a fishbone.

Although fishbones aren't the things that tend to plague us these days, he is the patron saint of conditions affecting the throat, and is often invoked for his intercession in things like throat cancer, laryngitis, choking, thyroid problems, etc.

I had a friend who once experienced a healing after she received the throat blessing; she had a node of some sort on her neck and was concerned that it might be cancerous, was going to get it checked. After Mass, after the blessing, she felt a "burning" sensation on her neck, and when she placed her hand on the spot, it was gone. When she arrived home and could check, the node had completely disappeared! (And no, it wasn't a zit.)

Well, for days now, I've been praying to St. Blase, realizing first with dismay that my cold was settling low and that my vocal cords would be affected. Then when laryngitis struck, I began praying I'd be able to speak well enough to give a talk...today. It's the second of two talks I have to give throughout the year, and it's a major event. (Not because it's me, but because of the information it's in my job description to present!)

For the last 2 days, I could barely speak, and so yesterday I worked a half day, sacrificing the rest so I could come home and ensure I wouldn't have to speak. When my roommate came home last night, she realized my Vow of Silence immediately and took care not to even speak to me unless it was necessary, so I wouldn't be tempted to respond! (I did have to write a couple notes for her, but otherwise gestures sufficed.)

Well...it seems I have a voice today! It's not 100%, and I'm still going to do my best not to speak for most of the day, but I think I'll be able to give the presentation tonight.

This is nothing short of a miracle...if you'd heard my voice yesterday, you would realize even the futility of silence.

Please keep praying to St. Blase, though...this presentation ain't over 'till it's over!

HE IS RISEN!

INDEED He is Risen!

I just arrived home from the Easter Vigil at the parish where I work, and it was a beautiful Mass. Although I wasn't deeply involved with RCIA this year, I assisted with the last class and gave a short talk on how to receive Holy Communion, Eucharistic Miracles, and Saints. And that talk was only incidental, as the DRE had asked me to help out at the Vigil, so I was with the RCIA class a week ago for the rehearsal, which lead up to giving a talk, completely off the cuff. (Amazing how that works.)

My other involvement was with the children and a teenager. Officially I'm supposed to handle RCIC (Rite of Christian Initiation for Children) but as they were only being baptized and will receive other sacraments in upcoming years, the DRE handled their preparation. She is in charge of baptism, but I did assist with a couple things. And there was a teenager I met with a oouple times, discussed some things in the books she was given, but otherwise, she attended the RCIA classes with her Mom, who is on the core team. The girl's Mom was received into the Church either last year or maybe the year before, and is just a real holy woman. She is truly gifted in prayer and wisdom, and had well prepared her daughter for the Sacraments. (And her daughter is just one of those sweet, sweet souls. I think Jesus might be calling her, so please pray for her.)

As Staff, I assisted the group in heading over to the baptismal font, and stood in back, but where I could really see what was going on. And I've found that the theology I've learned, the exegesis of Pope Benedict XVI in Jesus of Nazareth prepared ME to stand there, present, for this Sacrament. Knowing and understanding, realizing the weight of this glorious event.

"My" teenager was also Confirmed tonight and received her First Holy Communion, and you know...I couldn't be prouder. Her mother was seated behind me. (I was in an aisle seat for strategic purposes). The girl was seated in front in between her Godparents. So it was that I was right in the middle of her family, and I could just feel the Grace! And no wonder she is so sweet...all those with her were such holy people. God bless them!

The Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC) says that the Sacraments are what they signify. They are not just signs, but they are more than signs. What they indicate, they DO to the soul, to the individual. Tonight, all over the world, New Catholics have been born, and all of Heaven and Earth rejoices over this new life, rising with Christ.

Please pray for all these new Catholics, and all those who are considering entrance into the Church.

It's been a difficult Lent for me, and my human weakness was brought to the forefront, where it remains. But God's grace is ever-present, and His grace has carried me through the Triduum, in spite of my propensity to sin. God's love is so abundant, so incredible, so vast...He is ever-present in our lives.

I experienced a miracle this week, during the Triduum. As of now, I'm not willing to share this miracle, and I may never share it (on the blog). Suffice to say that there are a few who know about it, and I am still discerning the significance. Initially I thought I should keep it entirely to myself, but for a few others who might understand the gift. I have revealed this miracle to a few others, and did so today to a good friend. She has seen similar things, and explained that such a miracle is often for the purpose of conversion, as a witness to God's glory.

True miracles don't really reflect upon the person to whom they happen; they point to God. They reveal God's glory. My friend suggested that this miracle should be shared for the purpose of the conversion of others, for that's something she's seen before. I wasn't going to share what happened to me with my family. I'm not really sure why; you would think that I'd go to my family first. But family can be complicated and I tend not to bring anything to them. My friend's words were a wake-up call.

God gives us signs and wonders sometimes, even in this day and age. I have family members in need of conversion, so tomorrow I will reveal this to them. Please keep them in your prayers; God has a plan, and we should never miss an opportunity to bear witness to His Glory in our lives, especially when other souls are on the line.

If even a single soul comes to Christ, if a single prodigal comes home, all of Heaven rejoices, and so do we all.

O necessary fault of Adam, that has given us so great a Redeemer!
ALLELUIA!

Childhood Disasters and Angelic Salvation

Everyone has stories from childhood, whether of theirs or that of their children.

I told one such story about how my Mother and every other involved parent in the neighborhood converged to save us from a spring flood.

This really was my mother's story as my memory is not so clear, and I have other stories also belonging to Mom which I now take as my own. Each family has their own oral tradition; and so I encourage all of you to absorb what you learn from your parents, or what you learn AS parents, and pass it on. As it is, today, I pass on a couple stories, thanks to Melody's comment which inspired me.

The Nick of Time...

My brother and I grew up watching Tom & Jerry cartoons, and anyone familiar with these characters knows how often they hit each other with common household objects, and how birds and stars would circle their heads after a cranial impact.

Well, around that time our parents had purchased a table and chairs made for children, both of which were kept in the living room, likely because of my "tea parties" to which both Mom and Dad found themselves "invited." I seriously must not have been older than three or four at the time, which would have made my brother five or six.

One day, my brother decided that he would like to see the birds and stars, and although I recall little of the experience, I think I agreed that I'd like to see the creatures around my head. As none of the cartoon characters ever suffered anything other than crossed eyes (which I already had, by nature) and the flying things, well, I agreed to the experiment.

Mom walked into the room just in time to see my brother raising the chair over his head. She stopped him mid-swing as the chair descended towards my tender skull, and took it away from him.

Guardian angel intervention? Quite possible. Quite likely. Can you IMAGINE the headlines that would hit the news today?

And I have yet another story, from around the same time period.

Impossible Salvation

Mom and Dad, as most parents, had a full-sized or queen bed, and it was just WONDERFUL for jumping. Of course, Mom and Dad BOTH had FORBIDDEN us to jump on the bed...EVER!

But one morning, we went into Mom's room and began bouncing. That was fun, but then my brother, being a boy, found the need to up the ante because bouncing wasn't enough. He started to push me, likely expecting me to push him back. But me, being a girl, was completely contented with just bouncing, and saw his pushing as a personal attack.

I think I likely did push him back and told him to stop, but he didn't, and at one point in the skirmish, I remember being in mid-air, being pushed, and I remember the room turning upside-down.

It happened in slow-motion. I saw the ceiling, the wall, the brown dresser, and the green diamond-shaped Berber-type carpeting, and just before my head hit, I stopped. For a moment, I was suspended, not even breathing as I observed the room around me, knowing at even a cellular level that horror had been averted.

My brother was holding my ankles with a strength I didn't know he had...because he had stopped my momentum and my descent in an instant. I remember being able to touch the floor beneath me, and I remember studying the dresser in my upside-down position, my legs straight up in the air, soles towards the ceiling. My back wasn't even touching the bed, which meant that my brother's arms had to have been extended straight out from him.

My brother pulled me back onto the bed, again, with a strength that belied his years. As soon as I was there, I looked around the room, shocked. He was no longer interested in jumping and playing. He was as terrified, if not MORE terrified, than I was in that moment. Neither one of us, though, really understood the full consequences of the action that had been averted.

My brother's eyes were saucers and he was already pleading with me not to cry, not to call Mom, not to tell. He was telling me I was OK, don't cry, don't cry...

And of course, realizing that I'd been upside-down not according to my own will, what did I do but start to cry?

I don't remember the rest. I'm not sure if my brother calmed me down or if I ran away and told Mom. That part is too fuzzy. I do remember him begging me to be quiet, I remember his hand on my shoulder, I remember him telling me that I was fine, and I was. But I didn't know what else to do but cry, and I did know clearly that my dear brother had saved me.

But in looking back, considering I was around 3 or 4, and my brother, 2 1/2 years older, I don't know how he could have saved me. I don't know how he could have halted my descent. I don't think he had the physical strength to work against...well...physics.

There is no doubt in my mind that our Guardian Angels intervened physically to save us both in that instance.

"Can you feel the tips of their wings?"

Mom taught us both, at a very young age, about Guardian Angels. I still remember the afternoons that we laid down for a nap,one of us on either side of Mom. She would speak to us about the angels, and invite us to raise our hands in the air. She told us they were flying above our extended hands, and we should be able to feel the feathers on their wings against our fingertips as they flew.

I stretched my little fingers as far as possible, but never felt the wings touch them. I never felt the breeze created by their flight. But my brother cried out that he could feel it, and Mom endorsed this as she said she could feel it, too. Never once did I ever feel the passing of the angels over us, and finally, one day, I cried because I thought the angels didn't love me. I cried because my arms were too short, and the angels couldn't fly low enough to reach me. And I cried because, once again, the people older than I could experience what I could not because I was too little.

Mom and my brother both sought to comfort me and stop my tears, and finally my brother admitted he couldn't really feel the wings, either, but was only pretending. And Mom admitted the same thing, but told us both that the angels were real, they were really there, even though we couldn't touch them with our fingertips.

The angels, clearly, revealed themselves when it was important, and not when we desired that they do so. They were present when it counted, and although I've never seen my Angel, I am forever grateful for his perfect intervention, no doubt aided by my brother's own angel, and also my Mom's. (They're all in cahoots, you know...)

All of us have stories of childhood disasters, and many of us can see, as adults, the divine intervention that saved us. What is your story? Did it happen when you were a child, or did it happen to aid you in your parenthood?

A Cold Winter's Tale

One more story: Mom tells a tale about traveling with my brother and I in the winter. I believe she and our Dad were still married, but I don't recall how it was that we were alone. And I remember part of this night. We were caught in a Midwestern snowstorm, where there was nothing to stop the wind. Mom was scared, it was obvious, and she was praying, out loud, there in the car with us, for somewhere to go. We'd gotten lost and had to find our way to the interstate.

Out of the snowy winter darkness there appeared a gas station and a diner, and so Mom stopped, grateful, hoping for directions, willing to sleep in a truck stop booth if it meant getting home safely.

We were both very little, and I think I still remember the light, Mom's anxiety, and a very nice lady who welcomed us. She was a "down home" sort of woman, used to catering to truckers, but we were the only guests. She said that "something" had told her to keep the light on in case someone happened by in such a terrible storm. She fed us, she talked to Mom about many things, and did her best to make us all feel at home. And at one point, she told us it was OK to leave, and how to get to where we needed to go. Mom thanked her, and offered her money for the food, but the woman waved her off...it was her pleasure. She'd been paid by being able to help.

So Mom packed us back into the car and we were on our way.

I don't know when this happened, but it was either the next day or maybe within weeks of the incident. She wanted to find the truck stop and the woman who had helped us, and she found what she thought was the spot, but it was closed down and clearly hadn't been inhabited in years. Mom drove to a nearby gas station or other business (I'm not sure) which was nearby and had been closed on the night of the storm. The person there told her that the place where we'd been had been nothing but a ruin for YEARS, and that it wasn't POSSIBLE that anyone had been there the night the down-home lady had taken us in from the cold.

Remind me to get the actual story from Mom...if I can get better detail, I'll tell the story here.

So...what's YOUR story? Com-box is open for business!

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.