Pope Francis strikes again.
Our deacon asked a simple question in his homily today. Basically it was "what do you want from the Lord?" and the challenge to bring that to Him as we received the Eucharist. I was not feeling that great this morning for various physical and non-physical reasons, and so it took me more than an instant to have all my thoughts tumble toward that very basic question.
And long after Mass ended and I was home, I remained pondering that question, trying to make my answer presentable to the Lord. Then I thought, heck, since when have I gone back to trying to package my heart to make it look presentable to the Lord? After all, it really isn't Him I'm trying to tidy up for, it's me. I'm the one who generally can't handle the raw state of my heart. The Lord knows it already, before I assemble any packaging.
But I've also learned that what I blurt out to the Lord in prayer as the raw state of my heart is sometimes not nearly as awful as I first feel it is. If you're not a vegetarian at least, a raw lump of meat might look unappetizing, while a nicely cooked steak might be very enticing. Same thing, only different level of preparation.
So as I lay there, trying to will my head to stop hurting, my phone alerted me to some incoming message, and I read this quote from Pope Francis:
Showing posts with label Prayer request. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Prayer request. Show all posts
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Friday, March 25, 2011
Announcing My Plans for a CD
Today is the Feast of the Annunciation, one of my very favorite of all feasts. The Incarnation of Christ has been the theme of my Christian conversion journey since the moment Christ called me to become a Catholic on December 25, 1991. I am blown away, every time, when I think of the profundity of God taking on human flesh and living the same life I live, minus the sin. That He came to show me how to be myself, the way the Father intended, and to actually make real transformation possible.... blows me away.
It seems a fitting day to publicly acknowledge a recent way that I have said yes to God. Another step along my conversion journey. I am planning to record an album, a little music CD.
I did some recording long ago, when I was writing songs left and right. And I've thought about the prospect of recording again from time to time. But this possibility arose afresh in my mind on Christmas Day last year, amidst a discussion with a friend about digitizing old cassette tapes. I'd long been concerned that the music I recorded in my younger days, all on cassette or giant reel-to-reel, would soon become unplayable, but I hadn't known where to turn with it. I turned to the business my friend mentioned, and then got to talking with said business owner about my dormant idea of recording new music.
It was fun to think about it, but I didn't think too much of it. When I was asked to sing for my daughter's club, a few unexpected powerful moments with my guitar in an "empty" church sent sparks flying in my soul. That led me to writing a new song, something I hadn't done in 16 years. Something was coming to life in me, and I had to start paying attention. I wrestled. I had a premonition, a sense of something a little scary calling my name. I prayed for clarity. Then it turned into a fight. I fought in my heart with why this should possibly be a good idea. It got to the point where peace was elusive, and I saw I had to face and answer whatever this was that was asking for a resolution, even if it was a little scary.
My mind told me that recording more songs was not necessary. It costs money. It's just me. More songs are not going to make any difference in the world. Why should this matter. What's the necessity here.
A tiny little peep in my heart spoke up and said I'd really like to do this. But "liking" didn't hold much sway, faced with all the rational reasons. Yet I had no peace. My husband and I discussed a budget, one of the foremost rational reasons staring me down. And yet I told him I knew there was something blocking my way, something I was needing to address before I could conclude what I needed to do.
Then I had one of the weirdest days in recent years.
It was a Tuesday. My children and I headed off to daily Mass at Franciscan University, and I was feeling scattered and distracted by this unresolved question in my head. I also felt just generally weak and unsure and needy. Before Mass began I asked the Lord again, a bit brusquely, what this insistent question in my soul was all about. Suddenly I remembered a time about a year ago when I similarly felt a strong, compelling call from God to do something. In that case, it was to invite a certain priest to our house for dinner. This isn't something I do easily, and it took considerable courage and about two missed opportunities. The intensity of the tug in my soul to do this was undeniable and unusual. And as it turned out, after embarrassing-to-me rounds of telephone tag, the priest ended up leaving town (he was here on sabbatical) and we never had that dinner. So, in my prayer (with just a hint of accusation) I reminded the Lord of that occurrence. I was so sure I had to do that then, Lord, and what ever became of that?!
About 20 seconds later, the entrance procession began, and that very priest, whom I'd neither seen nor spoken to nor thought of for almost a year, walked right passed me. It was a Twilight Zone moment. But somehow it still felt completely predictable, considering this is my life we're talking about. I didn't really even snap-to until I heard him reading the gospel:
I was very stunned by this occurrence, so of course I came home and posted about it on Facebook. (I just love Facebook.) I was writing while in the midst of making and eating lunch. I had just finished writing about this and began eating my lunch (I feed myself last) when my son burst through the door from playing outside, calling me to come quick because there was an emergency. A woman had fallen and was having a seizure.
I was still a bit dazed and scattered, but because it was my son prompting me I grabbed my coat and followed him to where he had been playing. There, down a hill away from the road, lay a woman, seizing. I went down to her, asked, somewhat unnecessarily, if she needed help. I called an ambulance, the called the woman's home with the number she provided. And then I stood there. The woman was saying she couldn't breathe well, and couldn't see. Every once in a while she started seizing again. I stood there. A neighbor came running down the hill (my son the extrovert told everyone what was happening), began to talk to the woman (whom she recognized as a former neighbor of hers), helped her with her dog she'd been walking, and chatted with her. Another neighbor, a nun, came running down the hill and began to comfort the woman, talking with her. The ambulance arrived. The paramedics began working on her. I was still standing there. The Sister announced that the woman was in good hands and began to leave, so I thought I'd leave, too. My son and other kids who had gathered were farther up the hill, and the neighbor began congratulating me (and my son when I mentioned it was he who found her) on saving her life. Everyone seemed very relieved. I stood there some more. Then I walked home.
One thing deeply disturbed me: I had absolutely no emotional reaction to this happening at all. All the while I was there with the woman, it was as if I was waiting for a bus. I felt no panic and sensed no emergency and no danger at all. The woman's elderly mother called me a week later to thank me, and said the woman had suffered a concussion and two hematoma, along with her seizures, but was better. Other people pointed out to me that my son had not seen her, since she was in a secluded area, she might possibly have died.
By the time I picked up my husband that evening, I was well aware that my ability to react with a normal adrenaline rush was skewed. I knew that I had been impacted, but the normal flow of my response was stuck somewhere. I sensed it was due to erupt sometime later. It was like witnessing "live" what I'd known in my head about my tendency to not process my emotions. It was disturbing and strange. But I told my husband during dinner, "I know this has something to do with this music thing."
That night I went to choir rehearsal, and I joked with my friend, who noticed I didn't seem normal, that I was experiencing PTSD. Still laughing, I told her, "actually, I'm serious, and it's not funny." After rehearsal finished she asked me about what happened, and I began to tell her about the seizing woman. "I just stood there," I told her. "Oh, you didn't know what to do." she said. I started to tell her, no, I knew exactly what to do... My next honest words would have been "It was a traumatic situation, so I clamp the panic tight and suck it down deep, far away from me." But instead, all the clamps began to burst in my soul, and I ran out of the church. By the time I got to the doors, I could barely walk, could barely breathe, and I began sobbing. I made it to my car, and hyperventilated there for a good long while. I managed to drive home, and sat in the driveway and hyperventilated some more. I went inside, ran upstairs and flopped on my bed. My husband came in, and I began to explain what had just transpired. As he held me, I completely went to pieces. The next day my lungs hurt and my body ached from hyperventilating and shaking. I scared my husband pretty good, too. It was as if every traumatic thing I'd ever experienced but never felt was erupting out of the place in which my body had held it, in hopes I'd forget they happened.
It's an intuitive leap to fit this together with my decision about the recording, but a few days later I could see that while the world may not need to hear my songs, I need to sing them. I need to record them and go through what it will take to do so. I'm thinking of calling the album (albumette, really) Unleashed, because it is about living in the healing that God has indeed given me in Christ. It is about embracing the fullness of who God has made me, the fullness of His redemption, and leaving behind cutting off and turning aside and squashing down aspects of my own humanity that I find difficult to deal with.
I am excited about this. If you are so inclined, please pray for me and everyone who will be involved with this. One lesson I faced early on is that I can't pull this off alone -- recording no less than on-going conversion and healing! I would appreciate your partnership in praying this into being. I'll keep you all posted on the progress!
It seems a fitting day to publicly acknowledge a recent way that I have said yes to God. Another step along my conversion journey. I am planning to record an album, a little music CD.
I did some recording long ago, when I was writing songs left and right. And I've thought about the prospect of recording again from time to time. But this possibility arose afresh in my mind on Christmas Day last year, amidst a discussion with a friend about digitizing old cassette tapes. I'd long been concerned that the music I recorded in my younger days, all on cassette or giant reel-to-reel, would soon become unplayable, but I hadn't known where to turn with it. I turned to the business my friend mentioned, and then got to talking with said business owner about my dormant idea of recording new music.
It was fun to think about it, but I didn't think too much of it. When I was asked to sing for my daughter's club, a few unexpected powerful moments with my guitar in an "empty" church sent sparks flying in my soul. That led me to writing a new song, something I hadn't done in 16 years. Something was coming to life in me, and I had to start paying attention. I wrestled. I had a premonition, a sense of something a little scary calling my name. I prayed for clarity. Then it turned into a fight. I fought in my heart with why this should possibly be a good idea. It got to the point where peace was elusive, and I saw I had to face and answer whatever this was that was asking for a resolution, even if it was a little scary.
My mind told me that recording more songs was not necessary. It costs money. It's just me. More songs are not going to make any difference in the world. Why should this matter. What's the necessity here.
A tiny little peep in my heart spoke up and said I'd really like to do this. But "liking" didn't hold much sway, faced with all the rational reasons. Yet I had no peace. My husband and I discussed a budget, one of the foremost rational reasons staring me down. And yet I told him I knew there was something blocking my way, something I was needing to address before I could conclude what I needed to do.
Then I had one of the weirdest days in recent years.
It was a Tuesday. My children and I headed off to daily Mass at Franciscan University, and I was feeling scattered and distracted by this unresolved question in my head. I also felt just generally weak and unsure and needy. Before Mass began I asked the Lord again, a bit brusquely, what this insistent question in my soul was all about. Suddenly I remembered a time about a year ago when I similarly felt a strong, compelling call from God to do something. In that case, it was to invite a certain priest to our house for dinner. This isn't something I do easily, and it took considerable courage and about two missed opportunities. The intensity of the tug in my soul to do this was undeniable and unusual. And as it turned out, after embarrassing-to-me rounds of telephone tag, the priest ended up leaving town (he was here on sabbatical) and we never had that dinner. So, in my prayer (with just a hint of accusation) I reminded the Lord of that occurrence. I was so sure I had to do that then, Lord, and what ever became of that?!
About 20 seconds later, the entrance procession began, and that very priest, whom I'd neither seen nor spoken to nor thought of for almost a year, walked right passed me. It was a Twilight Zone moment. But somehow it still felt completely predictable, considering this is my life we're talking about. I didn't really even snap-to until I heard him reading the gospel:
Do you not yet understand or comprehend?The message seemed very clear to me. I had met that priest and been moved enough to invite him to dinner in the midst of a lot of powerful things God was doing in my life. God does things. He calls. He asks us to follow. Get it? He was saying.
Are your hearts hardened?
Do you have eyes and not see, ears and not hear?
And do you not remember,
when I broke the five loaves for the five thousand,
how many wicker baskets full of fragments you picked up?”
They answered him, “Twelve.”
“When I broke the seven loaves for the four thousand,
how many full baskets of fragments did you pick up?”
They answered him, “Seven.”
He said to them, “Do you still not understand?”
I was very stunned by this occurrence, so of course I came home and posted about it on Facebook. (I just love Facebook.) I was writing while in the midst of making and eating lunch. I had just finished writing about this and began eating my lunch (I feed myself last) when my son burst through the door from playing outside, calling me to come quick because there was an emergency. A woman had fallen and was having a seizure.
I was still a bit dazed and scattered, but because it was my son prompting me I grabbed my coat and followed him to where he had been playing. There, down a hill away from the road, lay a woman, seizing. I went down to her, asked, somewhat unnecessarily, if she needed help. I called an ambulance, the called the woman's home with the number she provided. And then I stood there. The woman was saying she couldn't breathe well, and couldn't see. Every once in a while she started seizing again. I stood there. A neighbor came running down the hill (my son the extrovert told everyone what was happening), began to talk to the woman (whom she recognized as a former neighbor of hers), helped her with her dog she'd been walking, and chatted with her. Another neighbor, a nun, came running down the hill and began to comfort the woman, talking with her. The ambulance arrived. The paramedics began working on her. I was still standing there. The Sister announced that the woman was in good hands and began to leave, so I thought I'd leave, too. My son and other kids who had gathered were farther up the hill, and the neighbor began congratulating me (and my son when I mentioned it was he who found her) on saving her life. Everyone seemed very relieved. I stood there some more. Then I walked home.
One thing deeply disturbed me: I had absolutely no emotional reaction to this happening at all. All the while I was there with the woman, it was as if I was waiting for a bus. I felt no panic and sensed no emergency and no danger at all. The woman's elderly mother called me a week later to thank me, and said the woman had suffered a concussion and two hematoma, along with her seizures, but was better. Other people pointed out to me that my son had not seen her, since she was in a secluded area, she might possibly have died.
By the time I picked up my husband that evening, I was well aware that my ability to react with a normal adrenaline rush was skewed. I knew that I had been impacted, but the normal flow of my response was stuck somewhere. I sensed it was due to erupt sometime later. It was like witnessing "live" what I'd known in my head about my tendency to not process my emotions. It was disturbing and strange. But I told my husband during dinner, "I know this has something to do with this music thing."
That night I went to choir rehearsal, and I joked with my friend, who noticed I didn't seem normal, that I was experiencing PTSD. Still laughing, I told her, "actually, I'm serious, and it's not funny." After rehearsal finished she asked me about what happened, and I began to tell her about the seizing woman. "I just stood there," I told her. "Oh, you didn't know what to do." she said. I started to tell her, no, I knew exactly what to do... My next honest words would have been "It was a traumatic situation, so I clamp the panic tight and suck it down deep, far away from me." But instead, all the clamps began to burst in my soul, and I ran out of the church. By the time I got to the doors, I could barely walk, could barely breathe, and I began sobbing. I made it to my car, and hyperventilated there for a good long while. I managed to drive home, and sat in the driveway and hyperventilated some more. I went inside, ran upstairs and flopped on my bed. My husband came in, and I began to explain what had just transpired. As he held me, I completely went to pieces. The next day my lungs hurt and my body ached from hyperventilating and shaking. I scared my husband pretty good, too. It was as if every traumatic thing I'd ever experienced but never felt was erupting out of the place in which my body had held it, in hopes I'd forget they happened.
It's an intuitive leap to fit this together with my decision about the recording, but a few days later I could see that while the world may not need to hear my songs, I need to sing them. I need to record them and go through what it will take to do so. I'm thinking of calling the album (albumette, really) Unleashed, because it is about living in the healing that God has indeed given me in Christ. It is about embracing the fullness of who God has made me, the fullness of His redemption, and leaving behind cutting off and turning aside and squashing down aspects of my own humanity that I find difficult to deal with.
I am excited about this. If you are so inclined, please pray for me and everyone who will be involved with this. One lesson I faced early on is that I can't pull this off alone -- recording no less than on-going conversion and healing! I would appreciate your partnership in praying this into being. I'll keep you all posted on the progress!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Happy Birthday...
Somewhere in the world today, a friend of mine turned 45. It's strange for me to think of a contemporary of mine actually being that old, in the first place, and strange again for me to think of the fact that I haven't heard from this friend in 15 years.
Once upon a time, my life was deeply impacted by his presence in my life. It was a case of God writing straight with the crooked lines drawn by me and others, but God is expert at things like that. It was because of the way his journey intersected with mine that I learned the truth of a song popular in those days that went like this: Love is sacrifice/To live love/To give love/It means laying down your life/Like Jesus.
He was both instrumental in my conversion to Catholicism and instrumental in my understanding of just how deeply another person could feel alienation from God. His presence in my life taught me to begin opening myself, giving myself to another.
The way I learned to finally love this person was like a wound opening up in my heart, a sort of portal to embracing, in his pain, the pain echoed through the whole world.
Because of this I'll never forget him. Every few years, around May, I check the Social Security Death Index to make sure he's still alive. I always expect that one day I will see him again.
Once upon a time, my life was deeply impacted by his presence in my life. It was a case of God writing straight with the crooked lines drawn by me and others, but God is expert at things like that. It was because of the way his journey intersected with mine that I learned the truth of a song popular in those days that went like this: Love is sacrifice/To live love/To give love/It means laying down your life/Like Jesus.
He was both instrumental in my conversion to Catholicism and instrumental in my understanding of just how deeply another person could feel alienation from God. His presence in my life taught me to begin opening myself, giving myself to another.
The way I learned to finally love this person was like a wound opening up in my heart, a sort of portal to embracing, in his pain, the pain echoed through the whole world.
Because of this I'll never forget him. Every few years, around May, I check the Social Security Death Index to make sure he's still alive. I always expect that one day I will see him again.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Obama Overturns Mexico City Policy
President Obama today sign[ed] an order that will put hundreds of millions of taxpayer dollars into the hands of organizations that aggressively promote abortion as a population-control tool in the developing world. The rest.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
What's On My Mind
The week of prayer for Christian unity: January 18-24. Hope to be back to blog about it shortly.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
What Can You Call a Post Like This...
A lot has happened since my last post.
Wednesday morning I figured I'd gulp deep and dip into my dwindling store of pregnancy tests I bought off ebay. Two lines! That means positive. Part of me, the intellectual, fact-based part, was not completely surprised. But the part that responds spontaneously to joyful news was completely shocked and unable to respond. I think my last go-around with two lines on a test had something to do with that. That and all the rest of my history of struggling with infertility.
By Wednesday afternoon I was starting to accept this reality, starting to really warm up to thinking about the personhood of this new life.
And then late in the afternoon I started bleeding. Just a bit.
So, blah blah blah, all that stuff about bleeding being common, no cause for alarm at least half the time, yada yada, all that again.
I woke up at 4:30 this morning, which gave me plenty of time to coordinate myself to get to my OB's for a blood draw. Of course, I don't get results until tomorrow, and they don't mean anything until I can compare them with another blood draw Saturday.
My children went to visit friends, and another friend arranged to bring dinner by. I napped. I woke up to cramping and a bit heavier bleeding.
An hour or so later, I finally started to believe that the test Wednesday morning had really been positive, and that I had been only lightly bleeding before that. I'm not sure what I believe now. Actually, to be honest of course I do. I believe that this baby too has died or will shortly.
At one point this afternoon, I asked Mary Olivia (baby previously lost) to pray for us. All at once I felt great peace, and I remembered: even though I had chosen the name Olivia after a relative who had recently died, I was later struck by its meaning -- peace. The olive branch of peace. And peace is what came into my life after the incredibly short sojourn of Mary Olivia. I had been very anxious to conceive again before that, but afterwards I began to know peace about it.
I told this baby about all the people longing to see her face, but that surely Mary Olivia would be willing to wait awhile to meet her.
But what can I do. I can state my desire, I can pray, but I can't know. Soon enough I will, and whether we keep the gift of sorrow or the gift of life, there's something there with great meaning, for what life is without it?
Just please pray for us so that for my children's sake we can celebrate the Nativity without me, or despite me being a hormonal mess.
Wednesday morning I figured I'd gulp deep and dip into my dwindling store of pregnancy tests I bought off ebay. Two lines! That means positive. Part of me, the intellectual, fact-based part, was not completely surprised. But the part that responds spontaneously to joyful news was completely shocked and unable to respond. I think my last go-around with two lines on a test had something to do with that. That and all the rest of my history of struggling with infertility.
By Wednesday afternoon I was starting to accept this reality, starting to really warm up to thinking about the personhood of this new life.
And then late in the afternoon I started bleeding. Just a bit.
So, blah blah blah, all that stuff about bleeding being common, no cause for alarm at least half the time, yada yada, all that again.
I woke up at 4:30 this morning, which gave me plenty of time to coordinate myself to get to my OB's for a blood draw. Of course, I don't get results until tomorrow, and they don't mean anything until I can compare them with another blood draw Saturday.
My children went to visit friends, and another friend arranged to bring dinner by. I napped. I woke up to cramping and a bit heavier bleeding.
An hour or so later, I finally started to believe that the test Wednesday morning had really been positive, and that I had been only lightly bleeding before that. I'm not sure what I believe now. Actually, to be honest of course I do. I believe that this baby too has died or will shortly.
At one point this afternoon, I asked Mary Olivia (baby previously lost) to pray for us. All at once I felt great peace, and I remembered: even though I had chosen the name Olivia after a relative who had recently died, I was later struck by its meaning -- peace. The olive branch of peace. And peace is what came into my life after the incredibly short sojourn of Mary Olivia. I had been very anxious to conceive again before that, but afterwards I began to know peace about it.
I told this baby about all the people longing to see her face, but that surely Mary Olivia would be willing to wait awhile to meet her.
But what can I do. I can state my desire, I can pray, but I can't know. Soon enough I will, and whether we keep the gift of sorrow or the gift of life, there's something there with great meaning, for what life is without it?
Just please pray for us so that for my children's sake we can celebrate the Nativity without me, or despite me being a hormonal mess.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Deo Gratias
Tonight's primary reason for thankfulness is that when the drunk driver smashed into Erol's van just as he was leaving work, no one was injured. Several witnesses called the police, having noted the guy's license plate number, and police caught him just a few streets away. It was pretty easy to find him, I guess, what with the front of his car all smashed up. Erol was a mite flustered, of course, but a replacement van arrived, finally, for him to pick up his waiting passengers and head home. One could consider for a moment just how much worse the whole scene could have been.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Please pray for these families
Yesterday, my friend's 21 month old son was found face down in his aunt's pool.
Details. Please join in praying.
Details. Please join in praying.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Baby Factory Open for Business
This development is astonishing. The people of Poland stand in need of our prayers.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Asking Your Prayers
I'd like to ask all you faithful pray-ers out there to tuck my friend Patty into your on-going intercessions. For many reasons and in many ways she needs the prayer support of the Body of Christ right now, and you can read about some of the more tangible reasons in this post on her blog, Abba's Little Girl.
But if you spend some time investigating the rest of her blog you will discover that she is also in the midst of recounting her journey of forgiveness and healing from sexual abuse. It is a supreme understatement to say that this endeavor requires prayer. She bears witness to the power of Christ to transform the worst nightmare. Such witnesses need to be upheld in prayer, so please, my friends, pray for her.
I have known Patty for nearly eight years, having first "met" her via email and phone in 2000 when I worked for Scott Hahn and when she was investigating the Catholic faith. Since that time as I have told her on many occasions, I have felt that I was reading a book that already written, so strongly is Christ's guidance evident in her life. She came from one of the most anti-Catholic backgrounds you can imagine and has experienced not only her own conversion, but that of her entire immediate family. Her story has been published in various places including Suprised By Truth 3, on these websites, and in this most recent recording on Journeys Home with Marcus Grodi (click here and scroll to number 51) .
But if you spend some time investigating the rest of her blog you will discover that she is also in the midst of recounting her journey of forgiveness and healing from sexual abuse. It is a supreme understatement to say that this endeavor requires prayer. She bears witness to the power of Christ to transform the worst nightmare. Such witnesses need to be upheld in prayer, so please, my friends, pray for her.
I have known Patty for nearly eight years, having first "met" her via email and phone in 2000 when I worked for Scott Hahn and when she was investigating the Catholic faith. Since that time as I have told her on many occasions, I have felt that I was reading a book that already written, so strongly is Christ's guidance evident in her life. She came from one of the most anti-Catholic backgrounds you can imagine and has experienced not only her own conversion, but that of her entire immediate family. Her story has been published in various places including Suprised By Truth 3, on these websites, and in this most recent recording on Journeys Home with Marcus Grodi (click here and scroll to number 51) .
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Veni Sancte Spiritus
Have you heard about the 2008 worldwide Pentecost Novena?
“As we give thanks for past blessings, and look to the challenges of the future, let us implore from God the grace of a new Pentecost for the Church in America. May tongues of fire, combining burning love of God and neighbor with zeal for the spread of Christ’s Kingdom, descend on all present.”
Pope Benedict XVI, Papal Visit to the United States, April 19, 2008
“As we give thanks for past blessings, and look to the challenges of the future, let us implore from God the grace of a new Pentecost for the Church in America. May tongues of fire, combining burning love of God and neighbor with zeal for the spread of Christ’s Kingdom, descend on all present.”
Pope Benedict XVI, Papal Visit to the United States, April 19, 2008
Friday, April 04, 2008
World Day of Prayer for Vocations
Click the icon, sign up and participate in the World Day of Prayer for vocations.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Positively Negative
We have a final verdict in: not pregnant. I think I knew that a few days back, but it's always good to know for sure, wait as one must.
I'd sort of like to say "and now back to our regularly scheduled blog" and never speak of fertility trials again. And I might just do that, but obviously not just yet.
I realize again how extremely powerful it is to even think one might be pregnant. This is why those who have been long on the road of trying to conceive pretty much learn to turn off that kind of "thinking" and stick with the cold, hard scientific facts of temperatures and charts, with testing as a last result. The emotional expenditure in wondering can be far too costly when it happens every single month, for years on end. This is, I'm sure, why it took me until my second trimester to really and truly grasp that I was pregnant with my daughter. All that holding back has to get undone.
And now I realize I may just have to do it up again, a bit.
I have to say I'm relieved to know for sure what is going on. I know that God has His plans, His times and His purposes. I trust my life in His hands, and that His will for me is love and mercy itself.
My experience this last week belongs to many others, and I think this is why I bother to share it all here so publicly. It is such an amazing thing, agonizing, really -- that moment of "perhaps my entire history will be completely altered by bringing a new life into the world.... or maybe not!" Our lives can unalterably change at any moment by any number of facts over which we have no or little control, but what power there is in the potential begetting of new life, where husband and wife have, in theory at least, some control over matters. At least control over whether or not to be open to that power being unleashed. How do I convey to my dear fertile readers what it is like to have that power rendered so powerless? I remember the feeling of powerlessness when I was a teacher in Japan, unable to speak and understand Japanese beyond the level of an 18 month old. I watched everyone around me be able to exercise their humanity with each other using the basic tool of speech while I stood there, stammering, or speaking something few understood. It was close to dehumanizing. There is a preciousness in the experience if one has the eyes of faith, and generally it is far easier to appreciate it in hindsight. In the lived experience there is the constant wrestling with the voice that says "I am nothing." One needs a larger-than-life "Christ is everything" in place to endure such a voice.
So with the infertility thing, there is not only this inability to share with others the very human experience of mothering and fathering, but there is also, for Christians, this plaguing sense that the One that I need in order to live is the very One who seems to be thwarting my desire. While this isn't my experience right now, it has been in the past. It is so painful to be angry at God this way. I am convinced that what one needs to do in this situation is to pour out one's heart in a torrent to God. I don't mean just going berzerk emotionally, although that can be part of the necessary equation. Pouring out the heart, in my estimation, means going to the depths of my desire, seeing it, owning it, analyzing it, and resolving to do the work necessary that the desire demands of me. That work probably involves conversion, and may also require some steps of concrete action propelling me toward God's will. Oh, and for me it required many, many trips to the confessional and through the communion procession.
I know that these feelings and experiences apply in other situations besides infertility. Please, say a prayer with me for all the souls faced with obstacles which they feel to be inflicted on them without meaning by God Himself:
I'd sort of like to say "and now back to our regularly scheduled blog" and never speak of fertility trials again. And I might just do that, but obviously not just yet.
I realize again how extremely powerful it is to even think one might be pregnant. This is why those who have been long on the road of trying to conceive pretty much learn to turn off that kind of "thinking" and stick with the cold, hard scientific facts of temperatures and charts, with testing as a last result. The emotional expenditure in wondering can be far too costly when it happens every single month, for years on end. This is, I'm sure, why it took me until my second trimester to really and truly grasp that I was pregnant with my daughter. All that holding back has to get undone.
And now I realize I may just have to do it up again, a bit.
I have to say I'm relieved to know for sure what is going on. I know that God has His plans, His times and His purposes. I trust my life in His hands, and that His will for me is love and mercy itself.
My experience this last week belongs to many others, and I think this is why I bother to share it all here so publicly. It is such an amazing thing, agonizing, really -- that moment of "perhaps my entire history will be completely altered by bringing a new life into the world.... or maybe not!" Our lives can unalterably change at any moment by any number of facts over which we have no or little control, but what power there is in the potential begetting of new life, where husband and wife have, in theory at least, some control over matters. At least control over whether or not to be open to that power being unleashed. How do I convey to my dear fertile readers what it is like to have that power rendered so powerless? I remember the feeling of powerlessness when I was a teacher in Japan, unable to speak and understand Japanese beyond the level of an 18 month old. I watched everyone around me be able to exercise their humanity with each other using the basic tool of speech while I stood there, stammering, or speaking something few understood. It was close to dehumanizing. There is a preciousness in the experience if one has the eyes of faith, and generally it is far easier to appreciate it in hindsight. In the lived experience there is the constant wrestling with the voice that says "I am nothing." One needs a larger-than-life "Christ is everything" in place to endure such a voice.
So with the infertility thing, there is not only this inability to share with others the very human experience of mothering and fathering, but there is also, for Christians, this plaguing sense that the One that I need in order to live is the very One who seems to be thwarting my desire. While this isn't my experience right now, it has been in the past. It is so painful to be angry at God this way. I am convinced that what one needs to do in this situation is to pour out one's heart in a torrent to God. I don't mean just going berzerk emotionally, although that can be part of the necessary equation. Pouring out the heart, in my estimation, means going to the depths of my desire, seeing it, owning it, analyzing it, and resolving to do the work necessary that the desire demands of me. That work probably involves conversion, and may also require some steps of concrete action propelling me toward God's will. Oh, and for me it required many, many trips to the confessional and through the communion procession.
I know that these feelings and experiences apply in other situations besides infertility. Please, say a prayer with me for all the souls faced with obstacles which they feel to be inflicted on them without meaning by God Himself:
Have mercy on me, God, have mercy. My soul flies to you for refuge. I will hide in the shelter of your wings until the time of ambush is past. I will cry to God the Most High, to the God who cares for me.
He will send help from heaven to set me free. He will disgrace those who trample me underfoot. He will send forth his mercy and faithfulness.
My soul lies among lion-cubs that would devour the children of men. Their teeth are spears and arrows, their tongues are pointed swords.
May you be exalted above the heavens, O God; let your glory cover the whole earth. (From Psalm 57)
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Tormented by Hope
Pregnancy is not discussed lightly in this household.
But this week, I've seen the evidence that we are at a much greater place of peace about any pregnancy potential. "Greater peace", of course, is a relative term.
Ok, spill the beans. This week I have been struggling through throwing up, perpetual nausea, bloating, diarrhea, fatigue and irritability. This cycle I started working with my Naturopath with some new supplements based on new lab results. So, the timing of this bit of whatever it has been could very well indicate pregnancy. It is just a shade too early to test reliably. Or, it could mean that I have a stomach bug. I thought it could mean that the supplements I'm taking are overacting, but that has pretty much been ruled out.
It is not poetic to say that I am being tormented by this hope. That position of peace I was talking about works so much more comfortably when there is no potential sign, no discussion of possibility, no imagining of hope, no suffering involved. No patience to be had, no civility to exercise, no life to carry on with regardless. No, dare I say, Triduum to wait through. Just spring the blessing on me without any guessing, or keep it forever away. That I can deal with. Maybe, maybe not: this sucks. This reminds me of my complete, utter, lack of control over God's amazing miracles. And my joy in the face of them. And my longing...
Pray for us, 'kay?
But this week, I've seen the evidence that we are at a much greater place of peace about any pregnancy potential. "Greater peace", of course, is a relative term.
Ok, spill the beans. This week I have been struggling through throwing up, perpetual nausea, bloating, diarrhea, fatigue and irritability. This cycle I started working with my Naturopath with some new supplements based on new lab results. So, the timing of this bit of whatever it has been could very well indicate pregnancy. It is just a shade too early to test reliably. Or, it could mean that I have a stomach bug. I thought it could mean that the supplements I'm taking are overacting, but that has pretty much been ruled out.
It is not poetic to say that I am being tormented by this hope. That position of peace I was talking about works so much more comfortably when there is no potential sign, no discussion of possibility, no imagining of hope, no suffering involved. No patience to be had, no civility to exercise, no life to carry on with regardless. No, dare I say, Triduum to wait through. Just spring the blessing on me without any guessing, or keep it forever away. That I can deal with. Maybe, maybe not: this sucks. This reminds me of my complete, utter, lack of control over God's amazing miracles. And my joy in the face of them. And my longing...
Pray for us, 'kay?
Friday, March 07, 2008
Send a Future Priest to Seminary!
We have the privilege in our parish of serving as spiritual family in a formal way to a group of pre-theology students from Franciscan University of Steubenville. The pre-theologate is a special college track that prepares men for seminary. Our family prays specifically for two of these men. And one of our prayerlings, Allen Alexander, is preparing to graduate this May. He plans to enter the Marians of the Immaculate Conception, the order that operates the Divine Mercy shrine in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. But in order to do that right after graduation, he needs to raise about $20,000.
Please see his website for more details, and pray with us for his needs. If you are moved to make a donation to help him clear his remaining debt and enter religious life, click here.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Perhaps Our Ideal Presidential Candidate for 2008 Died by Abortion
Thirty-five years is thirty-five years too long.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Week of Prayer for Christian Unity
We are in the midst of the annual week of prayer for Christian unity. This is the 100th year this has been observed among Catholics, as you can read about at this site.
The reunification of all Christians is something I mention in my prayer daily. It is one of those desires of Jesus that is disarmingly simple and yet causes deep anguish for many. Some seem to only be able to envision a unity that is false, and therefore reject the idea of working towards any unity, believing that if it really is important to God it will "just happen" some day.
No matter what two different kinds of Christians get together, there is the potential for friction. This isn't just about Catholic and Protestant or Orthodox and Catholic; it is Pentecostal and Evangelical, Methodist and Baptist, Calvinist and Lutheran, and a million other smaller splinters who all seem to find reasons to distrust each other.
There was a famous prophetic word spoken in an interdenominational meeting in Kansas City in 1977: "You bishops, mourn and weep because the body of my Son is broken. You priests, mourn and weep because the body of my Son is broken. You lay people, mourn and weep because the body of my Son is broken." All of our distrust and disunity should cause us to look and weep.
I've written in the past about my own ignorant and misguided rejection of other Christians, especially Catholics. I had a really wonderful experience when I visited Rome as part of my post-Confirmation pilgrimage to the Holy Land. I climbed the Holy Stairs, said to be the stairs Jesus took to his condemnation to death. I had first heard of these Holy Stairs as a child in Sunday School. Martin Luther climbed them on his knees when he visited Rome, and I took this as proof that the Roman Catholic Church wanted only to crush the dignity of human beings into the ground, forcing them to grovel. I understood a bit better by the time I climbed them myself, and with each step I prayed for reunification for each splintered Christian group that came to mind. (I had no clue that there are specific prayers traditionally prayed on each step; I'm sure Our Lord didn't mind me improvising.)
So we pray until January 25, the Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul. Let's pray for conversion of heart for all Christians, that Christ would be all in all to us.
(Read more about Fr. Cantalamessa's experience of the 1977 Kansas City meeting here.)
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Urgent Prayer Request for a Friend
Could you please say a prayer for a friend of mine named Kim, and her baby Isaac? Isaac is due to be born on February 1st, but Kim is going to be induced later this week because she is developing eclampsia. This condition can be life-threatening to both mother and baby.
Please pass the request far and wide to all who can help pray, and I will update as I can.
Thank you so much!
UPDATE: Kim was admitted to the hospital a few hours ago (posted 8:10 pm on Thursday the 20th)
2ND UPDATE: Baby Isaac arrived safely in the world early this morning, Friday the 21st. Kim came through delivery without going into seizures. So, thank you to everyone who prayed!
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