A Day at the Beach

I was listening in disbelief to the chastising words of my home daycare provider. Her disapproving look and tone only added to the churning in my stomach. There are few things as common to the human experience as feeling the sting of rejection or criticism. It is hard to hear less than flattering words about our behavior or character at any time, but particularly difficult when the critique leveled is one that feels unfair or inaccurate. As my husband often said, “Perception is reality;” I have come to see the truth of that statement time and again. Thus accusations that wound the most deeply are ones that seemingly come out of nowhere when the judgment of our actions may or may not reflect the intentions of our heart. Some years ago I was the recipient of the actions of one who misunderstood my intentions. Awaiting Miracle At the time, I was a mother in my late 30s, who was very grateful to have two toddlers. Despite intentional, well-timed efforts to conceive, for a full year, parenthood remained merely a dream for my husband and me. Leaving the gynecologist’s office after yet another visit, I reluctantly accepted what seemed inevitable: our only option now was the use of fertility drugs. Heading toward the car, I remarked dismally, “I guess we should stop at the pharmacy on the way home to get this prescription filled.” It was then that I heard my husband say, “Let’s give God one more month.” What?? We had already given Him a year and had been married nearly two. Our courtship had been slow to bloom. The years had added up until I was now 33 and hearing the steady ticking of my “biological clock.” Now driving home, I supposed I could wait one more month to start that drug… I peered down at the white stick’s center with the now-blue line. Excitement gripped me, and I ran out of the bathroom, shouting wildly, “We’re pregnant!!” 10 days later, I stood in front of my prayer community “family” of faith and proclaimed the good news, knowing that many of these friends had joined us in praying for this baby’s existence. Swinging Pendulum Now, four years later, we had both our long-awaited baby girl, Kristen, and our gregarious one-year- old son, Timmy, and I was listening in disbelief to the chastising words of my home daycare provider, “Miss Phyllis.” Phrases like “rebellion in children needing to be squelched,” Scriptures written out in longhand outlining the consequences of the apparent error of my ways. Her disapproving look and tone added to the churning in my stomach. I wanted to defend myself, to explain how I had read one parenting book after the other and that I tried to do everything the way the “experts” suggested. I stammered about how much I loved my children and was trying with all my heart to be a good mother. Holding back the tears, I left, the children in tow. Arriving home, I put Timmy down for a nap and settled Kristen in her room with a book to thumb through, so I could have some time to process what had just happened. As was my usual response to any crisis or problem in my life, I began to pray and seek the Lord for understanding. I realized I had two choices: I could deny the words of this woman who had been a patient, loving caregiver for my children since my daughter was 13 months old. I could try to justify my actions, reassert my intentions, and begin the process of finding a new provider for my children. Or I could examine what might have caused her to react uncharacteristically and see if there was a kernel of truth in her chastisement. I chose the latter, and as I sought the Lord, I realized I had allowed the pendulum to swing too far in the direction of love and mercy toward my children. I had used their young ages to excuse their disobedience, believing that if I just loved them enough, they would eventually do what I had asked them to. Before the Fall I couldn’t pretend Phyllis’s words hadn’t hurt. They had, deeply. Whether her perception of my parenting was, in actuality true, didn’t matter. What did matter was if I was willing to humble myself and learn from this situation. As the “Good Book” says, “Pride goes before a fall,” and heaven knows, I had already fallen pretty far off the pedestal of perfect parenting that I had set for myself. I certainly couldn’t afford another fall by clinging to my pride and hurt. It was time to acknowledge that the “experts” who write the books may not be the ones to listen to exclusively. Sometimes it is the voiceof experience that deserves our attention. The next morning, I helped the kids into their car seats and drove the familiar route to Kristen and Timmy’s caregiver, Phyllis. I knew I might not agree at times with advice that might be imparted from her in the future, but I did know that it took a wise and courageous woman to risk challenging me for the good of our family. After all, the word “discipline” comes from the word “disciple,” which means “to learn.” I had been a disciple of Jesus for many years, striving to live His ideals and principles. I had grown to trust Him as I encountered His enduring love again and again in my life. I would accept this discipline now, knowing it was a reflection of His love that wanted the best for not only me but for our family. Clambering out of the car, the three of us approached the front door when I paused to read once again the wooden hand-carved sign that was perched at eye level: “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” Yes, that was what Phyllis had done. Just as the Lord does for us every day, if we have ears to hear, He “disciplines those He loves.” Jesus, our Teacher, works through those willing to risk rejection for the sake of another person’s good. Surely, Phyllis was striving to follow in His footsteps. Recognizing that this faith-filled woman intended to pass on what she had learned from the Master for my benefit, I knocked on the front door. As it swung open to allow us to enter, so too, did the door of my heart.

Does your struggles seem endless? When desperation clutches your heart, what do you do? I was sitting in an over-sized chair wringing my hands and waiting for the Psychologist to enter the room. I wanted to get up and run. The Psychologist greeted me, asked a few basic questions, and then the counseling session began. He held a tablet and pen. Every time I said something or made a hand gesture, he jotted notes on the tablet. After a short time, I knew from the bottom of my heart that he would determine I was beyond help. The session ended with the suggestion that I take tranquilizers to help me cope with the mess of my life. I told him I would think about it; but instinctively I knew that was not a solution. Desperate and Lonely At the receptionist desk to schedule another appointment, I rambled on and on to the receptionist about the mess of my life. She had a kind listening ear and asked if I had ever considered going to an Al-Anon meeting. She explained that Al-Anon was for family members whose lives are being affected by someone's alcoholism.  She handed me a name and phone number and told me that this Al-Anon lady would bring me to a meeting. In my car, with tears rolling down my cheeks, I stared at the name and phone number. Having gotten no relief from the psychologist, and with my life in a mess, I was desperate to try anything. I also concluded that the psychologist had already diagnosed me as beyond the help of anything but pills. So, I called the Al-Anon lady. That is the moment God entered the mess of my life, and my journey of recovery began. I would like to say it was smooth sailing after beginning recovery in the Al-Anon 12-step program, but there were steep mountains and dark, lonely valleys to traverse, though always with a ray of hope. I faithfully attended two Al-Anon meetings per week. The Al-Anon 12-step program became my lifeline. I opened up to the other members. Little by little, a ray of sunshine entered my life.  I began to pray again and to trust in God. After two years of Al-Anon meetings, I knew I needed additional professional help. A kind Al-Anon friend encouraged me to enter a 30-day inpatient treatment program. Letting go Because I was angry at alcohol, I did not want to be around any of the “drunks” in this treatment program. During the intensive program, I was indeed surrounded by many alcoholics and drug addicts. It seems God knew what I needed to heal: my heart began to soften as I witnessed the personal pain of my fellow addicts and the deep pain they had caused their families. It was during this time of surrender that I also came to terms with my own alcoholism. I learned that I drank to cover my pain. I came to realize that I too had been abusing alcohol and that it would be best if I refrained from drinking altogether. During that month I let go of my anger towards my husband and placed him in God's hands. After I did that, I was able to forgive him. After my 30-day program, by the grace of God, my husband entered a treatment program for his alcoholism. Life was getting better for me and my husband and our two teenage boys. We had returned to the Catholic Church and our marriage was healing one day at a time. Heart-wrenching Pain Then life handed us an unimaginable blow that shattered our hearts into a million pieces. Our seventeen-year-old son and his friend were killed in a devastating car wreck.  The accident was caused by excessive speed and drinking. We were in shock for weeks. With our son violently ripped from us, our family of four was suddenly reduced to three. My husband and I and our 15-year-old son clung to each other, to our friends and our faith. Taking it one day at a time was more than I could manage; I had to take it a minute, an hour at a time. I thought the pain would never leave us. By God's grace, we entered an extended period of counseling. The kind and caring counselor, knowing that each family member deals with the death of a loved one in their own way and in their own time, worked with each of us individually to process our grief. Months after my son's death, I was still consumed with anger and rage. It was frightening for me to realize that my emotions were so wildly out of control. I wasn't angry at God for taking my son, but at my son for his irresponsible decision the night he died. He chose to drink alcohol and to be a passenger in an automobile that was driven by someone who was also drinking. I became enraged at alcohol in any form. One day at our local supermarket, I spotted a beer display at the end of an aisle. Each time I passed the display, I felt myself rage. I wanted to demolish the display until there was nothing left of it. I rushed out of the store before my anger exploded into uncontrollable rage. I shared the story with our family counselor. He offered to take me to the shooting range where I could use his rifle to aim, shoot, and demolish as many empty beer cans as I needed to safely release the powerful anger that controlled me. Love that heals But God in His infinite wisdom had other gentler plans for me. I took a week off from work and attended a spiritual retreat. On the second day of the retreat, I participated in an inner healing meditation in which I pictured Jesus, my son, and I in a beautiful garden surrounded by colorful flowers, rich green grass, and magnificent trees filled with softly chirping blue birds. It was peaceful and serene. I was overjoyed to be in the presence of Jesus and to be able to hug my precious son. Jesus, my son, and I strolled leisurely hand in hand, silently feeling an immense love flowing between us. After the meditation, I felt profound peace. It wasn't until after I returned home from the retreat that I realized my anger and rage had evaporated. Jesus had healed me of my uncontrollable anger and replaced it with an outpouring of His grace. Instead of anger, I felt only love for my precious son. I was grateful for the love, joy, and happiness my son had given me throughout his much too short life. My heavy burden was becoming lighter. When tragic death strikes a family, every member can be overcome with grief. Processing the loss is challenging, requiring us walk through dark valleys. But God's love and His amazing grace can bring rays of sunshine and hope back into our lives. Grief, saturated by God's love changes us from the inside out, transforming us little by little into people of love and compassion. Unfailing Hope Through many years of dealing with the effects of addiction and the craziness that brings, coupled with grieving the death my son, I have clung to Jesus Christ, my rock, and my salvation. Our marriage suffered tremendously after the death of our son. But by the grace of God and our willingness to seek help, we continue, one day at a time, to love and accept each other. It takes daily surrender, trust, acceptance, prayer and clinging to the hope we have in Jesus Christ, our Savior, and our Lord. We each have a story to tell. Often it is a story of heartache, challenge, and sorrow, with a mix of joy, and hope. We are all seeking God, whether we acknowledge it or not. As Saint Augustine said: “You have made us for Yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.” In our search for God many of us have taken detours that led to dark and lonely places.  Some of us have avoided the detours and sought a deeper relationship with Jesus. But no matter what you are going through currently in your life, there is hope and healing. At every moment God is seeking us. All we need do is reach out our hand and let Him take it and lead us. “When you pass through waters, I will be with you; through rivers, you shall not be swept away. When you walk through fire, you shall not be burned, nor will flames consume you. I, the Lord, am your God, the Holy One of Israel, your savior.”  Isaiah 43: 2-3

Q – My pre-teens are clamoring for a phone so they can get social media, like all of their friends. I feel so torn, because I don’t want them to be left out, but I know how dangerous it can be. What is your opinion? A: Social media can be used for good. I know a twelve-year-old who makes short Bible reflections on TikTok, and he gets hundreds of views. Another young person I know has an Instagram account dedicated to posting about the saints. Other teens I know go on Discord or other chat rooms to debate atheists or to encourage other young people in their Faith. Without a doubt, there are good uses for social media in evangelization and forming Christian community. And yet…do the benefits outweigh the risks? A good maxim in the spiritual life is: “Trust God immensely…never trust yourself!” Should we entrust a young person with unfettered access to the internet? Even if they start out with the best of intentions, are they strong enough to resist the temptations? Social media can be a cesspool—not just obvious temptations like pornography or glorifying violence, but even more insidious temptations like gender ideology, bullying, becoming addicted to the “high” of getting likes and views, and feelings of inadequacy when teens start to compare themselves with others on social media. In my opinion, the risks outweigh the benefits of allowing young people access to a secular world which will try to form them away from the mind of Christ. Recently a mother and I were discussing her teenage daughter’s poor behavior and attitude, which was correlated to her use of TikTok and her unfettered access to the internet. The mother said with a sigh of resignation, “It’s just so sad that teens are so addicted to their phones…but what can you do?” What can you do? You can be a parent! Yes, I know peer pressure is tremendous to allow your kids a phone or device with endless free access to all the worst humanity has to offer (aka social media) – but as a parent your job is to form your children to be saints. Their souls are in your hands. We must be that first line of defense against the dangersof the world. We would never allow them to spend time with apedophile; if we knew they were being bullied we would try to protect them; if something were harming their health, we would spare no expense to rush them to the doctor. Then why wouldwe allow them a window into the cesspool of porn, hatred, and time-wasting trash that’s readily available on the internet without offering careful guidance? Study after study has shown the negative effects of the internet in general—and social media in particular—but still we turn a blind eye and wonder why our teenage sons and daughters struggle with identity crises, depression, self-hatred, addictions, aberrant behavior, laziness, a lack of desire for holiness! Parents, do not abdicate your authority and your responsibility! At the end of your lives, the Lord will ask you how well you shepherded these souls He entrusted to you—whether or not you led them to Heaven and preserved their souls from sin to the best of your ability. We cannot use the excuse, “Oh, well everyone else’s kids have one, so my kid would be strange if they didn’t! Will your kids be angry with you, maybe even say they hate you, if you put restrictions on their devices? Probably. But their anger will be temporary—their gratitude will be eternal. Recently another friend who travels the country speaking about the dangers of social media told me that after her talk she always has many young adults come up to her with one of two reactions: “At the time I was furious with my parents for taking away my phone, but now I’m grateful.” OR “I really wish my parents had protected me from losing so much innocence.” No one has ever been grateful that their parents were so permissive! So, what can be done? First, do not give teens (or younger!) phones with internet or apps. There are plenty of dumb phones still in existence! If you must give them phones that access the internet, put parental restrictions on them. Install Covenant Eyes on your son’s phones—and on your home computers while you’re at it (almost every Confession I hear involves pornography, which is mortally sinful and can lead your son to view women as nothing but objects, which will have huge ramifications on his future relationships). Do not allow them to use their screens at meals or while alone in their bedrooms. Get the support of other families who have the same policies. Most importantly—do not try to be your kid’s friend, but be their parent. Authentic love requires boundaries, discipline, and sacrifice. Your kid’s eternal welfare is worth it, so do not say, “Alas, I can’t do anything—my kid needs to fit in.” It’s better to stand out here on earth so we can fit into the Communion of Saints!    

Whether you know it or not, when you seek truth, you seek God. One warm summer day as a boy of nine, I went for a walk with a couple of friends. One of my friends, who was a little older, brought an air rifle with him. As we walked through a cemetery, he pointed to a bird on top of the church roof and asked if I thought I could hit it. Without giving it a second thought, I took the gun, loaded, and took aim. The moment I squeezed the trigger, a cold feeling of death fell over me. Before the pellet had even left the gun, I knew I was going to hit this living creature and it would die. As I watched the bird fall to the ground, I experienced sadness and guilt, and confusion swept over me. I questioned why I had done it, but I had no answer. I had no idea why I gave my consent, but I felt empty and numb. As with many things in life, I buried the event inside and soon forgot about it. Déjà vu In my late twenties, the woman I was in a relationship with became pregnant. When we found out, we hardly confided in anybody.. I didn’t expect any support or advice anyway, and it didn’t seem that big a deal. I convinced myself I was doing the ‘decent thing’--assuring her I would support any decision she made, whether to keep the baby or have an abortion. For several reasons, we decided to end the pregnancy. What helped me arrive at the decision was the legality of abortion in this country and the great number of people who procure abortions. How could it be that bad? Ironically, raising children of my own was always the biggest dream of my life. We made the appointment with the abortion ‘clinic.’ Going there felt like a simple trip to the chemist to pick up a prescription, so much so, in fact, that I waited outside in the car, oblivious to the magnitude and impact this decision would have. When my girlfriend came out of the building, I at once saw the change in her. Her pale face projected ‘Death.’ The emotions I had felt as a nine-year-old boy shooting the bird flooded over me. We travelled home in silence, and barely spoke about it again. But we both knew something had changed us that day, something tragic, something dark. Freedom A couple of years later, I was accused of a crime I hadn’t committed and placed on remand in HMP Manchester (Strangeways Prison) to await trial. I began to speak to God in my heart and for the first time in my life I began to pray the Rosary properly. After a few days, I began reviewing my life, scene by scene, and I saw many blessings I had received, but also my many sins. When I got to the sin of abortion, for the first time in my life I realized clearly that it had been a real living baby growing in the womb, and that it was my child. The realization that I had chosen to end my own child’s life broke my heart, and while crying on my knees in that prison cell I said to myself, ‘I can’t be forgiven.’ But it was in that very moment that Jesus came to me and spoke words of forgiveness, and I knew there and then that He had died for my sins. I was instantly flooded with His love, mercy, and grace. For the first time my life made sense. I deserved death but received life from the One Who said, ‘I am the Life’ (John14:6). No matter how great our sins may be, I realized, God’s love is infinitely greater (John 3:16-17)! An Encounter Recently, sitting in a London train station waiting for my train, I silently asked Jesus to bring someone on board that I could witness to about him. When I took my seat, I found myself facing two women. After a while we began to chat and one of them asked about my faith and if I had always been a believer. I shared some of my past, including the abortion, and explained that the moment I realized I had taken the life of my own child I came face to face with the crucified Christ, and was forgiven and set free. Instantly the pleasant mood changed. I had hit a nerve and one of the women started screaming at me. I reminded her she had asked for my story, so I was only answering her question. Unfortunately, there was no reasoning with her. She screamed “It isn’t a baby in the womb!” with the other woman nodding in agreement. I sat patiently and then asked what them what makes what is in the womb “a baby.” One answered “DNA,” and the other agreed. I told them that DNA is present the moment a baby is conceived, and gender and eye colour are already decided. Again, they screamed at me to a point where one of them was shaking. After an awkward silence, I said I felt so sorry she had gotten so upset. It turned out this woman had had an abortion many years before and was clearly still carrying wounds from the experience. When she stood to get off, we shook hands, and I assured her of my prayers. Unbound The tragedy of ending an innocent life in the womb is scarcely spoken about today, and when it is, we hear much misinformation and even lies rather than the facts. Choosing to abort a child is not a one-off, done-and-dusted decision, with no lasting negative effects. The pro-choice movement insists that “it’s the mother’s body, so it’s her choice.” But there is more than the mother’s body and choice to consider. There is a tiny, miraculous life growing in the womb. As the father of an aborted baby, I can honestly say that my healing has been a process, which has been ongoing even until this day. Thanks be to God those who seek the truth can find it, if only they open their hearts. And when they come to know the ‘Truth’, the ‘truth will set them free’ (John 8:31-32).

We slide into our pew with one minute to spare, and I have a feeling that Mass is going to be a struggle for our family. By the time the priest finishes reading the Gospel, I’m frazzled and overwhelmed. Then during the Creed—as I am stifling down the urge to shout, “We are not taking any more trips to the bathroom!”—my busy three-year old licks the pew while my seven-year old tells me he is thirsty again and asks what con-sub- stan-tial means. Going to Mass is not always easy. I feel discouraged and even ashamed for not paying better attention at Mass. How am I supposed to worship God while juggling the many demands on my attention? The answer: a heart of simplicity. I used to think the phrase “active participation at Mass” meant absorbing the deep meaning of every single word I hear. But in this season of life, having focus is a luxury. Now as I raise my children, I begin to understand that God does not hold back His invitation or His Presence just because my life gets messy. He loves me and accepts me as I am—mess and all—even amidst the chaos of a hectic Mass experience. If we remember this, you and I can take simple steps to prepare our hearts for God’s supreme gift of Love in the Eucharist. Discover a Short Phrase I am often overwhelmed by the number of words I hear at each Mass. My attention falters, and I struggle to follow many of the spoken parts. If you navigate this challenge too, know that you and I are still called to listen and be engaged at Mass. How? Simplify. Listen for a short phrase that catches your attention. Reflect on it. Repeat it. Bring it to Jesus and ask Him to show you why it is important. Hold this phrase in your heart throughout the Mass and let it become an anchor for your attention while you attend to your family responsibilities. Your open heart is a landscape for Christ’s grace. Gaze With Love Love does not always need words. Sometimes a simple glance can communicate an ocean of love. If words wash over you, engage your heart and direct your love to the Lord by focusing your eyes on a Crucifix or a Station of the Cross. Reflect on the details you see: Christ’s face, His crown of thorns, His bleeding heart. Each detail you intentionally take in draws your heart closer to Jesus and prepares you to receive Our Lord’s immense gift of Love in the Eucharist. Bring Your Heart If all else fails, bring yourself to Jesus as an offering of love. The Lord knows your intentions and your true desires. If you feel frazzled and unfocused by things beyond your control, you can still come before the Lord with a heart willing to worship Him, to receive Him and to love Him. Stir the affections of your heart and repeat “Here I am Lord. I choose you. Transform my heart!” Our Lord rejoices every time we encounter Him at Mass, regardless of our circumstances. Jesus was human—He got tired, He got interrupted. Our Lord understands the mess of life! And even in the midst of it, He wants to give Himself to you in the Eucharist. So next time you go to Mass, give Jesus your willing heart, your “yes” to come before Him as you are. Christ’s love is bigger than whatever family chaos is happening in your pew.

An Exclusive Interview with Antonia Salzano, mother of Blessed Carlo Acutis by Graziano Marcheschi, the Contributing Editor of Shalom Tidings as she speaks from her heart of what it’s being like to be a Saint’s mom. At age seven he wrote, “My life plan is to be always close to Jesus.” By the time he was fifteen, he had gone home to the Lord whom he had loved throughout his short life. In between, is the remarkable story of a remarkably ordinary boy. Ordinary, because he was not a standout athlete, nor a handsome movie star, nor even a brilliant scholar who finished graduate school when other kids are struggling through junior-high. He was a nice kid, a good kid. Very bright, to be sure: at age nine he read college textbooks to teach himself computer programming. But he did not win awards, nor influence people on Twitter. Few outside his circle knew who he was—an only child, living with his parents in northern Italy, who went to school, played sports, enjoyed his friends, and knew how to handle a joystick. Un-remarkable but Extraordinary As a very young child he fell in love with God and from then on, he lived with a singular focus, with a hunger for God that few ever achieve. And by the time he left this world he had made an indelible mark on it. Always a boy on a mission, he wasted no time. When people could not see what he saw, even his own mother, he helped them open their eyes. Via Zoom, I interviewed his mother, Antonia Salzano, and asked her to explain his hunger for God, which even Pope Francis described as a “precocious hunger”? “This is a mystery for me,” she said. “But many saints had special relationships with God from an early age, even if their family was not religious.” Carlo’s mother speaks from her heart openly about having attended Mass only three times in her life before Carlo started dragging her there when he was three-and-a-half. The daughter of a publisher, she was influenced by artists, writers, and journalists, not popes or saints. She had no interest in matters of faith and now says she was destined to become a “goat” rather than a “sheep.” But then came this marvelous boy who “always raced ahead—he spoke his first word at three months, started talking at five months, and began writing at age four.” And in matters of faith, he was ahead even of most adults. At age three, he began asking questions his mother could not answer—lots of questions about the Sacraments, the Holy Trinity, Original Sin, the Resurrection. “This created a struggle in me,” Antonia said, “because I myself was as ignorant as a child of three.” His Polish nanny was better able to answer Carlo’s questions and spoke with him often about matters of faith. But his mother’s inability to answer his questions, she said, “diminished my authority as a parent.” Carlo wanted to engage in devotions she had never practiced—honoring the saints, putting flowers before the Blessed Virgin, spending hours in church before the cross and tabernacle.” She was at a loss about how to deal with her son’s precocious spirituality. The beginning of a Journey The unexpected death of her father from a heart attack led Antonia to start asking her own questions about life after death. Then, Father Ilio, an elderly holy priest known as the Padre Pio of Bologna, whom she met through a friend, set her on a journey of faith on which Carlo would become her primary guide. After telling her all the sins of her life before she confessed them, Father Ilio prophesied that Carlo had a special mission that would be of great importance for the Church. Eventually, she began studying Theology, but it is Carlo whom she credits with her “conversion,” calling him “her savior.” Because of Carlo, she came to recognize the miracle that occurs at each Holy Mass. “Through Carlo I understood that the bread and wine become the real presence of God among us. This was a fantastic discovery for me,” she said. His love of God and appreciation of the Eucharist was not something young Carlo kept to himself. “The specialness of Carlo was to be a witness,” she said, “...always happy, always smiling, never sad. ‘Sadness is looking in toward the self;’ Carlo would say, ‘happiness is looking out toward God.’” Carlo saw God in his classmates and everyone he met. “Because he was aware of this presence, he gave witness to this presence,” she said. Nourished daily by the Eucharist and divine Adoration, Carlo sought out the homeless, bringing them blankets and food. He defended classmates who were bullied and helped those who needed homework assistance. His one goal was “to speak about God and help others get closer to God.” Seize the day! Perhaps because he sensed his life would be short, Carlo made good use of time. “When Jesus came,” Antonia commented, “he showed us how not to waste time. Each second of his life was glorification of God.” Carlo understood this well and emphasized the importance of living in the now. “Carpe diem! (Seize the day!),” he urged, “because every minute wasted is one less minute to glorify God.” That’s why this teenager limited himself to but one hour of video games per week! The attraction that many who read about him instantly feel toward Carlo characterized his whole life. “Since he was a young boy, people were naturally attracted to him—not because he was a blue-eyed fair-haired child, but because of what was inside,” said his mother. “He had a way to connect with people that was extraordinary.” Even in school he was beloved. “The Jesuit fathers noticed this,” she said. His classmates were competitive kids from the upper classes, focused on achievement and success. “Naturally, there is lots of jealousy between classmates, but with Carlo none of that happened. He melted those things like magic; with his smile and purity of heart he conquered everyone. He had the ability to enflame the hearts of people, to turn their cold hearts warm.” “His secret was Jesus. He was so full of Jesus—daily Mass, Adoration before or after mass, devotion to the Immaculate Heart of Mary—that he lived his life with Jesus, for Jesus, and in Jesus. A Foretaste of Heaven “Carlo genuinely felt God’s presence in his life,” said his mother, “and this completely changed the way people looked at him. They understood there was something special here.” Strangers, teachers, classmates, a holy priest, all recognized something unique in this boy. And that uniqueness was most evident in his love of the Eucharist. “The more we receive the Eucharist,” he said, “the more we will become like Jesus, so that on earth we will have a foretaste of Heaven.” All his life he looked toward Heaven and the Eucharist was his “highway to Heaven... the most supernatural thing we have,” he would say. From Carlo, Antonia learned that the Eucharist is spiritual nourishment that helps increase our capacity to love God and neighbor—and grow in holiness. Carlo used to say “when we face the Sun we get a tan, but when we stand before Jesus in the Eucharist we become saints.” One of Carlo’s best known accomplishments is his website chronicling Eucharistic miracles throughout history. An exhibit developed from the website continues to travel the world from Europe to Japan, from the US to China. Besides the amazing number of visitors to the exhibit, numerous miracles have been documented, though none as significant as the many it has brought back to the Sacraments and the Eucharist. Process of Subtraction Carlo is beatified and his canonization is assured, pending the authentication of a second miracle. But Antonia is quick to point out that Carlo will not be canonized because of miracles but because of his Holy life. Holiness is determined by the witness of one’s life, by how well they lived the virtues—faith, hope, charity, prudence, justice, temperance, and fortitude. “Living the virtues heroically”—which the Catechism of the Catholic Church defines as ‘a habitual and firm disposition to do the good’—is what makes one a saint.” And that’s exactly what Carlo strove to do. He tended to talk too much, so he made an effort to talk less. If he noticed himself overindulging, he’d strive to eat less. Nightly, he examined his conscience about his treatment of friends, teachers, parents. “He understood,” his mother said, “that conversion is not a process of addition, but of subtraction.” A profound insight for one so young. And so Carlo worked even to eliminate from his life every trace of venial sin. “Not I, but God,” he would say. “There needs to be less of me so I can leave more room for God.” This effort made him aware that the greatest battle is with ourselves. One of his best known quotes asks, “What does it matter if you win a thousand battles if you cannot win against your own corrupt passions?” This effort “to overcome the defects that make us spiritually weak,” observed Antonia, “is the heart of holiness.” Young as he was, Carlo knew sanctity lies “in our efforts to resist the corrupt instincts we have inside us because of Original Sin.” A Chilling Insight Of course, losing her only child was a great cross for Antonia. But fortunately, by the time he died, she had already found her way back to her faith and had learned that “death is a passage to true life.” Despite the blow of knowing she would lose Carlo, during his time in the hospital the words that echoed inside her were those from the Book of Job: “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” (Job 1:21). After his death, Antonia discovered a video Carlo had made of himself on his computer. Though he knew nothing of his leukemia at the time, in the video he says that when his weight goes down to seventy kilos, he will die. Somehow, he knew. Yet, he is smiling and looking at the sky with his arms upraised. In the hospital, his joy and peacefulness belied a chilling insight: “Remember,” he told his mother, “I won’t leave this hospital alive, but I will give you many, many signs.” And signs he has given—a woman who prayed to Carlo at his funeral was healed of breast cancer without any chemotherapy. A 44-year-old woman who had never had a child prayed at the funeral and one month later was pregnant. Many conversions have occurred, but perhaps the most special miracle “is the one for the mother,” says Antonia. For years after Carlo’s birth Antonia had tried to conceive other children but to no avail. After his death, Carlo came to her in a dream telling her she would become a mother again. At age 44, on the fourth anniversary of his death, she gave birth to twins—Francesca and Michele. Like their brother, both attend Mass daily and pray the Rosary, and hope one day to help further their brother’s mission. When his doctors asked if he was in pain, Carlo replied that “there are people who suffer much more than me. I offer my suffering for the Lord, the Pope (Benedict XVI), and the Church.” Carlo died just three days after his diagnosis. With his last words, Carlo professed that “I die happy because I didn’t spend any minutes of my life in things God doesn’t love.” Naturally, Antonia misses her son. “I feel Carlo’s absence,” she said, “but in some ways I feel Carlo much more present than before. I feel him in a special way—spiritually. And I feel also his inspiration. I see the fruit his example is bringing to young people. This is a big consolation for me. Through Carlo, God is creating a masterpiece and this is very important, especially in these dark times when people’s faith is so weak, and God seems to be unnecessary in our lives. I think Carlo is doing a very good job.”

When grief comes crashing down on you… As I gazed at my daughter’s innocent face while she nestled back to sleep, my heart melted. I felt a sudden heartache and wept for her as I drew her closer and kissed on the forehead. In her brief seven years of life, she had overcome so many health challenges, with multiple hospital stays. The trauma we underwent was fresh in my mind, especially the day we received the grave diagnosis of permanent brain damage. My heart broke for her as I considered all that she would miss out on. I thought, I was much stronger emotionally, but I was not. According to the Swiss-American psychiatrist, Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, there are 5 stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. Our first reaction to grief is denial. In shock at what has happened, we don’t want to accept the new reality. The second stage is anger. We feel angry at this intolerable situation and anything that has caused it, and even irrational anger towards the people around us, or God. As we seek to escape our new reality, we enter the third stage: bargaining. For instance, we may attempt to make a secret deal with God to postpone the crisis and the related pain. The fourth stage is depression. As the reality slowly sets in, we often feel sorry for ourselves, wondering why something like this could happen to us. The feeling of depression is often accompanied by self-pity and feeling like a victim. Acceptance comes in the fifth stage as we come to terms with the cause of the grief and begin to focus on the future. Unexpected Relapse Once we have reached the acceptance stage in dealing with our grief, we move towards resurgence. In this phase we take full control of ourselves, our emotions, and the situation and begin to think about what we can do next to move ahead. In response to my daughter’s medical condition, I had transitioned through these stages and I felt that I was in the resurgence phase: able to maintain my emotions to keep motivated through each day, while sustaining a constant faith and hope in God’s plan for her life. But I had recently experienced a sudden, severe relapse into grief and despair. I felt shattered. My heart grieved for her so much that I just wanted to scream; “God, why does my child have to suffer? Why does she have to live such a difficult life? It isn't fair that she is suffering? Why does she have to spend her life struggling and being dependent on others for so much?" As I held her close to me, I let my tears flow. Once again, I couldn’t accept the hard realities of her life and I sobbed through the night. It seemed that I had retreated back into the stage of denial—all the way back… The Full Picture However, in the midst of this sudden surge of grief, I prayed for her, remembering Jesus on the Cross and the agony He had endured. Was it fair that God sent His son to die for my wrongdoings? No! It wasn't fair that Jesus shed His innocent blood for me. It wasn't fair that He was ruthlessly mocked, stripped of His clothes, whipped, beaten and crucified on the Cross. The Father bore this painful sight for love of me. His heart grieved, just as my heart aches when I see my child suffer. He endured this so that I could be accepted, forgiven and loved. God truly cares about my pain and understands how I feel. This insight enabled me surrender to His sovereign plans for Jennie, knowing that He loves her even more than I do. Although I don’t have all the answers, and I can only see half of the picture, I know The One who sees the full picture of her life. I simply need to place my faith and trust in Him. I finally fell asleep, consoled by His love. I woke with renewed hope. He gives me just enough grace for each and every day. I may emotionally relapse from time to time, but God's mercy can carry me through. With Him by my side to give me hope, I have faith that I will always return to resurgence by seeing my pain in the light of His glory! I pray that you may also find His strength and assurance in the most painful and bewildering moments of your lives, so that you may experience His deep and abiding hope. When you are weak, may He help you bear your burdens and see your suffering in the light of His glory. Whenever the question, “Why me Lord?" enters your thoughts, may the Lord open your heart to His loving mercy as He bears the load with you. “Weeping may remain for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning". Psalm 30:5

Question: I have two young children, and I worry about how to keep them in the Faith. In our world that seems to be growing more secular by the year, is there any way I can instill the Catholic Faith so deeply within them that they will stay Catholic as they grow older? This is indeed a difficult situation for so many parents, as our culture is often openly hostile to our Catholic Faith. How to keep them Catholic when it seems that the deck is stacked against them? Part of the challenge is that God’s grace is a mystery. A hundred people can hear the same talk or homily, and for some it will change their lives and others will find it boring and meaningless. In my own family, I have a brother who identifies himself as an atheist—both a priest and an atheist from the same family, with the same parents and upbringing! So, we must acknowledge that grace is a mystery—but we are also convinced that God loves your children more than you ever could, and He is doing everything possible to win their hearts and lead them to salvation. With that said, there are some things that parents can do to help kids encounter Christ and stay faithful to Him. Although I do not have children, I have worked with thousands of kids and teens over the past seventeen years of youth ministry, and I have seen a few successful strategies that families employ to keep their kids faithful. First, make Sunday Mass a non-negotiable. I remember my parents taking us to Mass on vacation, and they would never allow one of our sports games to interfere with Mass. The Mass-going example of a father on his children is especially critical. There’s an adage that says, “If a mother goes to Mass the children will go to Mass, but if a father goes to Mass the grandchildren will go to Mass.” My dad used to make special trips to our boy scout campouts to take me and my brother to Mass, and then return us back to the campsite when Mass was over! It made a huge impact on me and it taught me that nothing, absolutely nothing, came between us and Sunday Mass. That was the real cornerstone of our family. If you are ever on vacation, you can visit www.masstimes.org which lists all the Masses in the entire world—so whether you are in Paris or Buenos Aires or Disney World, you can still find a Sunday Mass! Second, pray together as a family. My family used to pray the Rosary on the way to Mass, and we had special devotions around the Advent Wreath. We would attend Stations of the Cross together during Lent, and my parents took us to Eucharistic Adoration frequently. Although there were times I complained about being dragged into these things, they also introduced me to a personal relationship with Christ, one that has stayed strong to this day. Also, never forget to pray and fast for your kids—daily! Third, keep sin out of your home. If you allow your kids to have a smartphone, put a filter on it. Make sure the TV shows and movies they watch, the music they listen to, and the books they read are wholesome. Although your kids may complain, parents should be more concerned about their kids’ eternal happiness than a quick temporary pleasure of watching a bad movie! Another good thing to do is to make your home a sanctuary. Fill it with crucifixes, holy pictures, statues of the Saints, and books about the Faith. The old adage is true: “Out of sight, out of mind.” The more we can call to mind eternal realities, the more we will stay faithful to them. Fifth, surround your kids with a good Catholic community, both peers and adults. They need good friends who have similar values, so perhaps have them join a youth group or go to a Catholic summer camp. They also need adult mentors who love the Faith, so befriend other good Catholic families. Invite your parish priest over for dinner. Get together for a party with other parishioners. When I was younger, my father sometimes took me to his men’s group on Saturday mornings, and I will never forget the impact of seeing these men—men I knew and respected and liked, who were plumbers and lawyers and sports coaches—praying and singing and passionate about Jesus. It made me realize that it was cool and normal to have faith in the Lord! A related question is where to send your child to school. The answer is quite simple: who is changing whom? If your child goes to school and brings the light of Christ there, then it is a good environment. But if your child starts to adopt the values of the world, then perhaps it is time to switch schools. Sadly, many Catholic schools do not provide a truly Christ-centered environment, so be careful even if you choose Catholic schools. Finally, the best and most effective way to pass the faith on to children is to be a parent who is seeking the Lord in their own personal life! My father has always prayed the daily Rosary from before I was born, and both my parents comfortably discussed their faith life at home. I could see them studying the Faith on their own, reading books about Saints or spirituality. As the old saying goes, “Faith is more caught than taught”—and our actions speak louder than words. That does not mean we are perfect, but we do have to be sincere in seeking the face of the Lord in our own hearts. None of these are guarantees, of course, as our kids have free will and are able to choose whether or not to follow the Lord. But in doing these things, we are giving them the foundation, and allowing God the opportunity to win their hearts. It is His grace alone that keeps kids Catholic—we are only conduits of that grace! Never forget that as much as you love your children, God loves them infinitely more—and desires their salvation!

It was supposed to be a good old-fashioned birthday party. What we weren’t prepared for was God surprising us with His present! Birthdays are a big deal in my family, not just because there is yummy cake and an abundance of presents. It is because we get to celebrate the day that God blessed the world with a new life.  It is the day God chose to bring this unique person into our lives.  I have always thought that was something worth celebrating and I wanted to pass that value onto our children. It was important that our children knew they were not only loved by my husband and I, but more importantly, they were planned and loved by God! From time to time, we would give our children a good old fashioned birthday party.  We would hold the event at our home, complete with vivid decorations, party hats, noise makers, games, prizes and presents.  Then we had top it off with ice cream, a homemade, decorated cake and parting goodie bags.  Their parties were not necessarily extravagant, but they were well thought out and took many weeks to organize.  While all the parties we planned were fun and special, there was one party in particular that none of my family will ever forget. It was the party when God surprised us with His own present! Birthday Galas Our third son turned 12 years old in the latter part of May 2002.  Our children were raised in northern Massachusetts, so by the time May appeared, everyone longed to be outdoors enjoying the spring weather. Our son was an athletic boy and with his input we decided on an outdoor basketball themed party  Everything about that party was revolved around that theme, including a real game of basketball to be refereed by a couple of basketball playing, whistle blowing adults.  The invitations were sent, uniforms were created, the basketball-themed cake was baked, food was prepared and the balloons were blown up. Although the decorations were ready, we planned to put them in place the next morning before the wonderful bunch of spirited boys arrived Having orchestrated a number of these birthday galas in the past, the evening prior to the celebration, I felt very confident that everything was in place and ready for a wonderful, festive, energetic day until...a tiny thought way, way, way back in my mind began to steadily creep forward until the horror of it bubbled out into a disturbing question aimed straight at my husband. “Honey, what is the weather supposed to be like tomorrow?”  The question hung in the air, like a lingering stench. We both knew that if anything but blissful sunshine and cool breezes were forecast, the outcome of the party would be at stake. These were the days of slower internet and we still relied on The Weather Channel for our forecast.  My intense stare and panicky breathing set him fumbling for the TV remote.  His face went ashen. Then he turned slowly to me. Carefully enunciating every word, he announced that steady rain was predicted for the entire day. I gasped! I had planned every single detail of that party and scheduled every event down to the minute, but I had forgotten to factor in the unpredictable, spring, New England weather! What was I going to do? Sweaty Palms It was 8pm and I did not have a plan B for tomorrow morning. The interior of our house was not at all set up to handle all those energetic boys. Suddenly, a thought crossed my mind. I could get on the phone and call every possible facility in the area that might have an indoor gym, explain my situation and humbly beg to use their basketball court for a couple of hours. However, the late hour meant that either no-one answered the phone or the gyms had already been booked for weekend events.  I had called every location I could think of, with the exception of one gym. This one gym belonged to the local elementary school which my children had attended. On several occasions, the Principal and I had certainly not seen eye to eye and I did not cherish the idea of humbling or indebting myself to her.  However, it was clear that there were no other choices.  It was a small town, most people knew each other and fortunately, I had her personal number.  As her phone rang, my pulse raced, my throat tightened and I verified that women can indeed have sweaty palms.  She answered. As I explained what I wanted and why, there was a significant pause on the other end of the line. Finally, she said she would check to see if the custodial staff could let me in, but she would not know until after 9am the next day.  My mind raced. I felt unable to relax without knowing, right then and there, that a successful Plan B had been orchestrated. The party was scheduled from 11am-2pm, so there was not much time to alert the party-goers of a change in plan if she did not call until after 9am.  However, her tone warned me that I needed to be cautious in pressing the issue if I wanted to successfully appeal to her.  Repeatedly and humbly, I thanked her before hanging up the phone. We rechecked the weather forecast numerous times that evening hoping the unpredictable New England weather would fare in our direction, but there was no sign of hope…until…another, more positive thought popped into my head.  “Perhaps this might be an extremely good time to pray.  After all, wasn’t God in charge of the forecast?”  Oh, I prayed and prayed and prayed.  The party was only to last from 11am- 2pm, so I desperately pleaded with God for a break in the rain for those 3 hours. The next morning started with drizzles and overcast skies.  I had 3 more restless hours to wait before I would hear back from the school principal.   My other options had run out, so I dejectedly continued to pray, not in faith, but in desperation.  “Please Lord”, I begged. “Please don’t let it rain between 11am and 2pm”.  The adrenaline was the only thing that held back the flood of tears behind my eyes.  The phone remained silent as the clock steadily ticked past 9am. I asked my husband, “Do I call her or wait a bit longer?”  Before he could reply, the welcome ring of the phone echoed through the stillness as we held our breath in anticipation.  My voice shook as I tried to calmly answer the phone, I am sure I tripped over every syllable in greeting her.  Without much ado, she told me we could use the gym for the party, but we were to clean it as if we had not been there.  I wanted to thank her profusely, but she cut the conversation short and abruptly told me to be at the school gym around 11:15 am, where we would find the doors unlocked. A Surprise Gift My mental wheels began to turn, because there was now a solid Plan B to orchestrate.  Although I still hoped and prayed that the steady rain would stop for those 3 hours, we had to move forward with the alternative plan for the day ahead of us. It seemed like only moments passed before it was time for the boys to show up.  We were as ready as we could possibly be under the circumstances.  Ten minutes before the first car pulled up, I peered out the window, and could not believe my eyes! I called my husband and directed him to look out and confirm what I had seen. We stood there together and speechlessly gazed at the sight before us.  God had answered my prayers.  It had stopped raining, just as I asked and just in the nick of time. However, an uncommonly odd thing happened that we could never have anticipated.  Although it had stopped raining, unpredictably, it had started to SNOW!!!!  I am sure I heard God laughing and laughing.  We stood there in momentary awe and wonder.  We had never seen it snow that late in May in all the years we had lived in Massachusetts.  We laughed at the sight, but could not linger on its meaning as the boys were starting to arrive for the party. Surprisingly, the Principal herself met us at the gym and told me she would work in her office for a couple hours, until the game was finished. Everyone had a great time then helped us clean the gym so it looked even better than we had found it. We thanked the Principal and brought everyone back to our home for cake and presents. Before we knew it, 2pm came round and the boys’ parents began to slush up the snowy driveway to collect their sons.  However, God was not finished with His joke and was about to present His grand finale. He made it clear that He had heard my prayers because at exactly 2:10 pm, the unforeseen snow turned back to a steady rain.  The tears that I had held back earlier came flooding past my eyes. Had God been attending our party?  Had He shown that He answered my prayers by not allowing it to rain between 11:00 am and 2 pm?  Had God been the orchestrator of Plan B, not me?  Was it God who provided a place for us to have a great party while giving me a lesson on humility?  Did God have a sense of humor?  The answer to all those questions and more were YES, YES, YES, YES and unequivocally YES!!! God teaches lessons in layers sometimes. When I look back, there were so many mistakes made when planning that party.  However, God used my weaknesses to gently but humorously realign my thinking and conduct. Everything I do is accomplished through God who gives me strength. (Philippians 4:13*)  Initially, almost everything about that day seemed to be accomplished through my own strength and pride. I never even thought to invite God to that party or into the planning process. How shameful I felt when I reflected on the role my Creator had in bringing our son into our lives.  He should have been the first invited guest and as it turned out, He was by far the most welcome guest.  God answered my prayers, not in exactly the way I imagined, but in a clear manner, leaving no doubt that He intended to teach me something. God taught me that He’s always with me—listening, providing and wanting to be a part of the lives He created. He bestowed graces of humility, forgiveness and gratitude upon me in answer to my prayer. That party turned out to be extremely fun and memorable for everyone.  After all was said and done, it did not rain between 11:00 am and 2:00 pm, just as I asked in prayer.….. Instead, God brought His own present: SNOW!!!  I am going to say it again…... God has a sense of humor!

You may be feeling lost and alone. Take heart, for God knows exactly where you are! Alone in the shower, I could scream and not be heard. The water pelted the top of my head as anguish wracked my heart. My mind imagined the worst, a tiny coffin and a loss too great to bear. My heart ached, as if squeezed in a vice. It was more than a physical pain but I felt tortured with an oppressive sinking feeling. It pervaded my being. Nothing could alleviate the pain and no-one could comfort me. Suffering is part of the human condition, unavoidable. A particular cross is fashioned for each of us to carry but I didn’t want this one. I whimpered beneath its weight. “Please God, give me a different cross, not this one. I can’t carry this one. I will take any pain, disease, anything, but not this, not my son. This one is too big. I can’t, please,” I begged. Nausea swept over me. I vomited and then slumped to the floor of the shower, sobbing. My ‘No’ was futile. Surrender was the only path forward. Spent and exhausted, I prayed, “If you won’t change this cross God, please give me the strength to carry it . . . (the image of a tiny coffin flashed into my mind again) . . .  no matter where it leads. Help me. I cannot do this without You.” My sweet, little boy had been admitted to the hospital in a serious condition. For eight days I lay next to him in his hospital bed. His spirit was undaunted by his illness but he no longer looked like himself. Bright pink and purple blotches spotted his cheeks, ran across the bridge of his nose and over his arms and legs. The medicine that would offer him a reprieve bloated his face and body. When he slept, which was hardly at all, I sobbed myself to sleep. Prayer, distraction and rocking his frail body were the only contribution I could make in his battle to survive. I read to him and drew cartoons on a magna doodle he had been given before he was hospitalized. It was therapeutic for both of us. Although I had never been able to draw before, in my efforts to give him some small joy, I suddenly found that I could draw with ease. Finally, he was released from the hospital with a treatment plan, hope and a prayer for remission. Our new normal set in. My mom suggested that I explore my new ability to draw. We took an art class together at the local fine arts studio. The art teacher asked to bring in a picture that moved us. I chose a Christmas card depicting the Blessed Mother holding the Infant Jesus. The art teacher thought because I lacked experience and training, I should draw something simpler, like a flower. I turned my stool to face her, declaring , “My son should be dead but he is alive. Jesus and the Blessed Mother are all that matters to me. They move me.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, I had no idea about your son. I am sorry. Just be sure to watch your values.” I was confused. “What do my morals have to do with my picture,” I asked. “Light and dark values,” she said gently. “Oh, okay,” I said, somewhat embarrassed. I turned to my easel, closed my eyes and prayed, “Come Holy Spirit, help me draw a picture that will help others love and need Jesus and Mary the way I do right now.” As I drew, I relied on the strength, love and wisdom of Heaven to carry me through. My desire found expression in my art. Each new piece was a prayer and a gift from God. One morning, as I left the church after Mass, a visiting priest approached me, saying “When I was at your sister’s house, I saw the picture you drew of Christ and the angel in the Garden of Gethsemane during His agony. It moved me deeply. Your sister told me about your son and how you unexpectedly discovered your ability to draw in the midst of your anguish. Your art is truly a blessing born of suffering, a gift.” “Thank you.” I replied, “It is. Looking back I feel that this artistic gift was a foreshadowing.” “Why? What do you mean,” he asked. “Drawing taught me to see everything differently. I discovered that the contrast of the dark and the light in a picture creates depth, richness and beauty. Without the light, the darkness in a painting is an empty abyss. The darkness of suffering is like the darkness in a painting. Without the light of Christ, suffering threatened to swallow me into the depths of despair. When I finally let go and surrendered my pain and my circumstances to Jesus, I fell into His loving arms and submitted to His plan for my life. Then Christ, the Master Artist, used the darkness of my suffering to tenderize my heart making room for faith, compassion, hope and love to grow within me. The light of Christ illuminated the darkness and brought untold blessings from our trials for my son, my marriage and our family.” “Now I understand. It really is true. Art imitates life and suffering united to Christ brings great blessings. Praise be to God,” he exclaimed. “Amen,” I agreed.