Encounter

Soon, I realized I am never alone when I face the crosses in my life…

Returning to my seat after venerating the Cross at our solemn Good Friday commemoration, the choir’s haunting yet lyrical chant provided a background for my own prayer. In the stillness of the moment, I found myself observing other congregants expressing reverent devotion. Some were genuflecting with their eyes cast down, others were kissing the burnished wood, yet others were pausing in adoration of our Savior.

A young father followed his son as they approached the Cross. At three, or maybe four years old, the boy walked forward agreeably in line, then suddenly balked. It’s clear he was not willing to go any further. Was it fear that stopped him? The realization that all eyes would be on him, watching how he responded when it was his turn at the foot of the Crucified One?

When the father looked down, he saw his son’s hesitation, and quickly whispered a few words to the child. The boy nodded his head and within seconds, they clasped hands and walked together side by side. Approaching the Cross, the father dropped to one knee, lowered his head, and bowed respectfully. Brushing his lips across the smooth surface, he rose and returned to his pew, his son snuggled against his side.

A Glimpse Into the Past

Emotion welled up within me, and my chest soon started heaving. I was unable to hold back the tears. Remembering myself as a parent of young children, it meant everything to me that my children would come to know the love of Jesus as I had as a young adult. He had changed my life, and I didn’t want my children to miss one moment of awareness of the joy of following Jesus that I had experienced again and again once I came to know the comfort of His presence.

Watching this parent caused me to wonder if I had offered my children this gift with as much acceptance as this young man demonstrated to his child. Did the fervent desire for my children to encounter the Lord in their youth cause me to present opportunities more as an expectation than the invitation that had been offered to me so freely and full of grace?

This loving dad’s response to his son’s discomfort revealed no insistence on obedience nor any discipline threatened. Instead, his son’s apprehension was met with loving concern and understanding. It was clear the boy knew he had a choice to approach or not, and if he did, he wouldn’t be doing it alone. He would be accompanied by the outstretched hand of the very one who loved him most in this world. Together, they would walk toward the Cross.

You Are Not Alone

In that moment, I recognized that I had been given a portrait of my adult life. There was never a time when I was by myself, alone in facing a cross, hardship, overwhelming obstacles, or real suffering. Jesus came near each time, put His hand in mine, and walked with me to and through it all. Often, His Holy Spirit reveals His presence or words to me; other times, one of His followers becomes the vessel through which His face is revealed. He uses every step in my life to lead me to the next, making them more and more sure-footed over time.

When my feet become dusty or encrusted with dirt from the journey, Jesus gently washes them. He left us an example while using a basin and a towel with the disciples at the Last Supper, offering nourishment at the table even to the one who would deny Him. As the substance of bread was changed into His body then, it continues to be so today. By consuming His body and being consumed by His heart, we experience a metamorphosis, a transformation. The substance of who we are gradually begins to reflect Jesus more and more over time as we allow His Spirit to dwell within us. So, we ponder and pray…May it be so in me, Lord; may my life reflect the power of the gospel of Jesus. As the prophet Isaiah says: “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!”

I strode past the pews, opened the door, and committed once again to walk in the way of love I’d just seen demonstrated by this father and son. The words of a song from long ago lilt through my mind…

I have decided to follow Jesus. (x3)

No turning back, no turning back.

Though none go with me, still I will follow. (x3)

No turning back, no turning back.

The cross before me, the world behind me. (x3)

No turning back, no turning back.

This song is based on the last words of Nokseng, a martyr from the Garo tribe of Assam in India, as his family and then he himself died. Today, it is the song of the Garo people.

Learning to drive was a repeated big hurdle in my life. This incident changed that for me!

Ten years ago, God connected me with my husband-to-be for the first time. I was living in Sri Lanka at the time while he lived in Australia. Filled with the new energy that falling in love brings, I signed up with a driving school to prepare for driving in ‘the land down under’ once I moved there. Having never driven before, I was anxious yet determined, and by the grace of God, I obtained my driving license on the first attempt.

Starting Small

Soon after moving to Australia, I signed up with a local driving school and purchased a second-hand car to keep up the practice. The first mistake I made was to let my husband attempt to teach me. You can well imagine how that turned out!

My own fears kept pulling me back no matter how much I learnt. I would do alright until a car drove up behind me and this would make me nervous, as though I was under scrutiny and in its way—a very illogical fear for someone in their late twenties. Taking lessons from a driving instructor didn’t help either. I became hesitant to practice and my car slowly gathered dust while I tried to convince myself that driving was not for me. To get to work and back, I took two buses and a train each way but could not bring myself to drive. I sold my car.

Reluctant to Give Up

This way of life was clearly not working for us, so I decided to try once more. It was now 2017 and I signed up with a new instructor. There seemed to be some improvement.

However, during my first driving test, it was all butterflies once more. My instructor was quite cross, and while the examiner left to assess my score, she said I would certainly fail. Disappointed and with a heavy heart, I walked into the driving center to receive the verdict. The examiner said that I had passed! Shocked and in disbelief, I thanked God with all my heart.

My husband was overjoyed as well, and based on my newfound confidence, we purchased a second-hand car again, very hopeful that it was going to work this time around. It started well and then slowly but surely, it all started creeping back in—the nervousness, the fear, the hesitation. A little over six months, and I had lost all confidence again. I sold my car.

My patient husband believed I wasn’t doing justice to my abilities, so he not only prayed for me but also kept believing in me even when I couldn’t find the courage to.

Knock Knock

Years rolled on…In 2020, we were participating in an online inner-healing service. The moving service was nearing its end, and I hadn’t felt anything specifically until then. It must have been my husband’s prayers that moved Heaven for when the priest was praying for healing of inner wounds, I had a vivid memory of playing bumper cars in a theme park. I must have been about six years old and had been very eager to try this out. Picking out a little pink car, I hopped in and was happily driving it when suddenly, I felt the car behind bump into mine repeatedly. Although this was part of the game, I felt attacked and now in that present moment, reliving that gripping fear and uneasiness which was exactly how I felt while driving! I remember being anxious to have my father get me out of there as soon as possible.

This was a memory that hadn’t occurred to me even once in all those years since the incident. Our Lord Jesus Christ was healing me of the root cause of the problem. It was also a profound statement to me that God our Father had created me with the ability to drive, which is what I had been questioning constantly. Eager to get back on the road, I drove a long way with my husband and the liberation was evident. I had improved immensely and was no longer bothered by the car right behind me.

One would think this was the final jolt I needed to turn our life around. Incorrigible as I was, and since my driving practice was not persistent, I was still not at my best. With our newborn filling up a large part of my life, my priorities had shifted. The little city apartment we lived in was unsuitable for raising our little one. A suburban life would be more in line with the upbringing we wished to provide him with, and we could make this move if I could drive around with ease.

Santo Niño to the Rescue

My mother-in-law was visiting us at the time. An ardent devotee of the Infant Jesus of Prague, she gave me a Novena to the Infant Jesus, and I said the prayer daily, pleading for a miracle.

One first Friday soon after completing the Novena, we were looking for a church to celebrate Holy Mass in honor of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. All the churches we visited were closed until we finally arrived at one that was not only open but celebrating the feast of Santo Niño* (Holy Child).

The special Holy Mass and celebrations were filled with reverence and love for the child Jesus. The end of the celebration was marked by the choir playing a powerful, resounding drumbeat that filled the atmosphere. Every strike of that drum pierced my soul and I felt all those fears take flight. A new courage and hope took its place. My confidence no longer being in my own abilities, but in what Jesus could do within me. God’s steadfast love had been running after me in spite of my shortcomings and it was about time I surrendered all to Him.

Completing a new set of lessons with a driving instructor, we packed up and moved to the suburbs. My father and father-in-law helped me with ironing out the last few kinks in my driving and my mother prayed for me. Fast forward seven years since obtaining a license; I am now driving daily with ease. Cruising along a five-lane stretch of the freeway at 100 kilometers an hour is a constant reminder to me of the unfathomable power and mercy of our God. All glory, honor, and praise be to Jesus for taking the steering wheel and turning my family’s life around.

“I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.” – Philippians 4:13

* The Santo Niño de Cebú is a miraculous image of the Infant Jesus venerated by the Filipino Catholic community

This atheist lawyer on death row wants to shout out a profound truth to the world!

It was April 2013. I was facing the death penalty for capital murder.

I had been what most Americans would call successful—a board-certified family attorney, elected Justice of the Peace, Captain in military service, law school honor graduate with a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice, and an Eagle Scout.  But, was I? Truth is, I was terribly lost. I thought those accomplishments were mine. I had spurned religion and felt that only weak people fell for those delusions. My heart was closed to the idea of a higher power.

After my arrest, I had many questions related to my criminal charges, living conditions in jail, health issues, and all the things happening outside. But there were no answers. I was held in total isolation. No T.V., no phone, no radio. I was not even allowed to speak with or see any other prisoners. Within a month or two, my thoughts turned toward the spiritual. One of my attorneys was Buddhist, so I asked him for some books. I studied Buddhism for about 14 months. Although I did reach a certain level of inner peace, it felt incomplete.

Getting Out

When I was moved one county away to begin trial preparation, I was subjected to oppressive physical observation 24/7, for six months. One evening, they asked if I wanted to go to ‘Church,’ which sounded like a great idea just to get out of that cell for a bit. So I attended the services with some local Christian volunteers for a few weeks. The man running the program noticed that I did not have a Bible. He told me I could get a Bible from the book cart, so I did. I was also sent off for a Bible study course.

While reading and studying the Gospel according to Saint John, I was overwhelmed by feelings and thoughts that ‘this is the Truth I’m reading.’ I also heard that wonderful, still-faint voice, telling me that this is the Truth. And I believed!

After that moment, I began completing all the Bible studies I could find—hundreds. When I arrived at Texas Death Row, I had many more questions. By that time, I had seen and experienced the divisions within Christianity. Many of the Bible studies I came across had some very different ideas and teachings. They each had their own expert scholars who claimed to be led by the Holy Spirit. But they couldn’t all be correct, could they? How would a person choose? I studied and prayed. Soon I realized the simple answer: ‘Trust in Jesus!’ Who did Jesus trust? The Gospels clearly show that Jesus trusted Peter most of all, choosing him to be the steward of His Kingdom on Earth, the Church. What Church is that?

Take-Away

After more study, research, and prayer, I began to learn about the Catholic Church. What did I learn?

The True Church of Jesus Christ must be one, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic. The Roman Catholic Church, I found to be the only Church that fully met each and every requirement, hence the one and only true path to full communion with Jesus Christ. Saint Peter, along with his unbroken line of successors, acts as the steward of this Church, until His final return. In order to fully obey our Lord Jesus Christ, we must submit to His authority and Divine Will in all areas, including the Church He instituted.

After all my searches for truth, after heeding my soul’s “yearning for my Creator,” as Saint Augustine says, I have finally found peace in the Catholic Church. I have since entrusted myself to the love of Jesus that I experienced here. And this has given me more joy and peace than all the wealth and power amassed over the years.

Peace, Love, and Joy to You All!

Father Jerzy Popiełuszko was on his way back to Warsaw after offering Mass. Three security services officers stopped the car, took the car keys, and dragged him out. The officers brutally thrashed him, locked him in the car’s trunk, and sped off with him inside. The driver ran to the local church to inform the authorities of the incident. Meanwhile, Jerzy started shouting and almost managed to open the trunk. Upon sensing the danger, the men immediately stopped the car to close the trunk, but he escaped and ran into the woods. They followed and finally caught him, then drove to the Vistula River’s reservoir where Jerzy was securely tied up. Clothes were stuffed into his mouth and nose was plastered. After tying his legs to a bag of rocks, they threw him into the reservoir. This was the second attempt at his life within six days.

This Polish priest was ordained on the 28th of May 1972, right in the thick of the Communist regime. His first Mass picture read the memorable words: “God sends me so I can preach the Gospel and cure the wounds of the painful hearts.” His priestly life was indeed a witness to these words.

He supported the oppressed and preached sermons that interpreted the existing painful political situations through the prism of the Gospel, soon becoming one of the prime targets of the government. Interrogations, false accusations, and arrests happened numerous times, but even in his last sermon, his call was to “pray so that we are free from fear, intimidation, and above all, thirst for revenge and violence.” And with this, he valiantly walked to his martyrdom without fear or anger!

Ten days after the incident, on October 29, his hardly recognizable body was recovered from the river. On November 2, as this young warrior was finally laid to rest, around 800,000 people came to bid him adieu. He was solemnly beatified in the presence of his 100-year-old mother in 2010, and was remembered as “a priest who answered to the signs received from God and for years, matured for his martyrdom.”

May this martyr, who firmly planted Catholicism in his homeland, inspire us to be on fire for the Kingdom of God, not only in death but also in life.

I didn’t know their language or their emotional pain…How could I connect with them?

Thursday, February 22, 2024, is a day I will never forget. At 05:15 AM, along with several of my colleagues in Catholic Social Services, I awaited the arrival of 333 refugees from Ethiopia, Eritrea, Somalia, and Uganda. Egyptian Airlines was entrusted with flying them from Entebbe, Uganda, to Cairo, Egypt, and finally to their Canadian entry point, Edmonton.

Suddenly, the doors at the other end opened and the passengers started walking toward us. Not knowing how to speak their languages, I felt extremely vulnerable. How would I, as one so privileged to be born in Canada, one who has never spent a moment in a refugee camp, be able to greet these exhausted, hopeful, apprehensive sisters and brothers in a way that would say: “Welcome to your new home”…? I asked one of my colleagues who speaks five languages: “What can I say?” “Just say, Salam, that will be enough”.

Suddenly, the doors at the other end opened and the passengers started walking toward us. Not knowing how to speak their languages, I felt extremely vulnerable. How would I, as one so privileged to be born in Canada, one who has never spent a moment in a refugee camp, be able to greet these exhausted, hopeful, apprehensive sisters and brothers in a way that would say: “Welcome to your new home”…? I asked one of my colleagues who speaks five languages: “What can I say?” “Just say, Salam, that will be enough”.

Extending a Hand

After everyone was lined up in the Customs Hall, our team went downstairs and began passing out bottles of water, granola bars, and oranges. I noticed one older Muslim woman, perhaps 50-55 years of age, bent over her trolley, trying to push it. I went and greeted her with ‘Salam’ and smiled. With gestures, I tried to ask if I could help push her trolley. She shook her head: “No.”

Six hours later, outside the Customs Hall, people were sitting in different cordoned-off areas; only 85 would be remaining in Edmonton and were waiting for family or friends to meet them and take them home. Some would be boarding a bus to be taken to other cities or towns, and still others would be overnighting in a hotel and would fly to their final destination the next day. For those who were being bussed to other cities in Alberta, a four to seven-hour trip awaited them.

The elderly Muslim woman I had seen in the Customs Hall, I discovered, was to fly to Calgary the next day. I looked at her and smiled, and her whole face was radiant. As I approached her, she said in faltering English: “You love me.” I took her hands in mine, looked into her eyes, and said: “Yes, I love you and God/Allah loves you.” The young woman next to her, whom I discovered was her daughter, said to me: “Thank you. Now my Mom is happy.” With tears in my eyes, a heart full of joy, and very tired feet, I left the Edmonton International Airport, profoundly grateful for one of the most beautiful experiences of my life.

I may never encounter her again, but I know with absolute certainty that our God who is the embodiment of tender, compassionate love was made visible and tangible to me through my beautiful Muslim sister.

In 2023, there were 36.4 million refugees seeking a new homeland and 110 million people displaced because of war, drought, climate change, and more. Day in and day out, we hear comments like: “Build walls,” “Close the borders,” and “They are stealing our jobs.” I hope that my story will, in some small way, help people understand the scene of Matthew 25 better.

The righteous asked Jesus: “When Lord, God, did we do all these for you?” and He replied: “Whenever you did it to one of these little ones of Mine, you did it to Me.”

Crosses came in one after the other, but the Lord’s mercy never failed this family!

I gave birth to my firstborn ten years ago, and we were overjoyed! I still remember the day; we were so glad to know that it was a baby girl. I couldn’t thank the Lord enough for His blessings upon my family. Like every mother, I dreamt of buying cute frocks, clips, and booties for my little doll. We named her ‘Athalie,’ meaning ‘God is exalted.’ We were praising God for His beautiful gift.

Little did we know that our joy would soon be turned into a deep heartache or that our prayer of gratitude would soon be replaced with petitions for His mercy for our precious baby.

At four months old, she became severely sick. With multiple seizure attacks, she would cry for hours and couldn’t sleep or feed well. After multiple tests, she was diagnosed with brain damage; she was also suffering from a rare kind of severe childhood epilepsy named ‘West Syndrome,’ which affects one in 4,000 children.

Repeated Blows

The diagnosis was too shocking and heartbreaking for us. I didn’t know how I could face the storm. I wanted my heart to be numb to the emotional pain I was going through. Many questions ran through my mind. This was just the beginning of a long and painful journey that I was never prepared to take. My baby girl continued to suffer from seizures for almost two and a half years. Doctors tried multiple medicines, painful daily injections, and numerous blood tests. She would cry for hours and all I could do was to ask for God to bestow His mercy on my child. I felt helpless for not being able to comfort her in any way. Life felt like a deep and dark pit of agony and despair.

Her seizures eventually subsided, but she suffered global developmental delays. As her treatment was progressing, another shocking news rattled our family. Our son Asher, who was having speech delay and behavioral issues, was diagnosed with high-functioning autism at the age of three.

We were on the verge of losing hope; life felt too overwhelming for us as new parents. No one could understand or feel the pain we were going through. We felt lonely and miserable. However, this period of loneliness and the painful days of motherhood brought me closer to God; His Word provided solace to my weary soul. His promises, which I was now reading with a deeper meaning and fuller understanding, encouraged me.

Spirit-led Penmanship

It was during this difficult season of my life that God enabled me to write faith-filled and encouraging blogs for people going through challenges and suffering similar to mine. My articles, birthed from my daily devotions, shared the challenges of special parenthood and included my life experiences and insights. God used my words to heal many aching souls. I am truly grateful to Him for turning my life into a useful vessel for His love.

I would say that the despair of our daughter’s sickness solidified our family’s faith in God. As my husband and I ventured onto the unknown path of this unique parenthood journey, all that we had to cling to were the promises of God and the faith in our hearts that God will never leave nor forsake us. What once appeared like heaps of ashes began to turn into beauty of strength as God extended His grace, peace, and joy to us during the most heart-wrenching and dark season of our life. In the loneliest moments, spending time at His feet brought us renewed hope and the courage to move ahead.

Answered Prayers

After years of treatment and unending prayers, Athalie’s seizures are now controlled, but she continues to have a severe form of cerebral palsy. She can’t talk, walk, see, or sit by herself and is completely dependent on me. Having recently moved from India to Canada, our family is currently receiving the best treatment. A substantial improvement in her health is making our lives more colorful.

Asher is out of the spectrum, and he has caught up completely on his speech. After many schools had initially rejected him because of his inattentiveness, I home-schooled him till grade five. Though he shows a few traits of ADHD, by God’s grace, he is now enrolled in grade six in a private Christian school. He is a book lover who shows a unique interest in the solar system. He loves learning about different countries, their flags, and maps. Though life is still filled with challenges, the love of God is what makes us parent our children with love, patience, and kindness.

As we continue to embrace the hope we have in Jesus and travel through this unique path of special-needs-parenting, I believe that there are times when we have answers to our prayers right away, and our faith works and produces results. In those times, God’s strength and power are revealed in what He does for us—the sure answer to our prayers.

On other occasions, His strength continues to shine through us, enabling us to endure our pain with courage, letting us experience His loving mercies in our difficulties, showing us His power in our weaknesses, teaching us to develop the ability and wisdom to take the right steps ahead, empowering us to tell stories of His strength, and encouraging us to witness His light and hope amidst our challenges.

I told my best friend: “The Church could really use someone like you in this broken world…” Somewhere, it resonated deep.

My best friend and I met three years ago. We didn’t become very close right away because, for starters, Dave takes a good while to warm up to people, and more importantly, people here in prison are a lot more guarded than those on the outside. Over time, however, that all changed, and Dave has since become my closest ally.

Not long after I met Dave, it became clear to him that I was very serious about my Catholic faith. I had a Crucifix and pictures of Saints hanging on the wall of my cell. I watched and participated in Mass on television, and to be honest, I brought the topic up quite frequently. At first, Dave didn’t make any comments or show much interest in my faith; he would just politely nod his head and move on, but something was telling me that I shouldn’t let that hinder me from sharing all about what I believed and telling stories about the miracles and peace that I’d received directly from being Catholic.

Returning to the Roots

As time progressed and I became closer to Dave, he began to open up a little bit more about his own faith. He told me he was a Christian but he hadn’t really been to services in years, partly because he had been locked in a cell for so long, unable to move around the prison compound. But as I dug deeper, I found out, to my astonishment, that Dave was actually raised as a Catholic. Not only that, but he had received all three Rites of Initiation! I immediately began to ask him question after question and learned a lot more about him and his faith journey.

Of the many things I discovered, one really stood out. To this very day, Dave has had a fascination with the Catholic knights of old. Because of that, the favorite church he had ever attended was a Catholic church that was round in shape, reminiscent of the Knights Templar churches. I could sense through this fascination that there was still some interest in the Church, even if it was just a small one.

Talking to Dave about a possible return to his roots was not as promising, however. Let me be clear—he was never rude or aggressive, but he didn’t seem to have any desire for the Sacraments. He was resigned to his habits, and they didn’t include Catholicism, and unfortunately, the Church had all but forgotten about him.

A Glimmer of Hope

As the months went on, Dave would ask little questions about the Church. Nothing big, just showing a bit more interest as time ticked by. Of course, I didn’t want to make him feel pressured, so I patiently and prayerfully continued my mission to bring him back to the Church. I could sense that there was more of a glimmer of hope than before and I would sometimes say to him: “You know Dave, the Church could really use someone like you in this broken world.” He never would answer me, only musing over my words silently, but for Dave, a lot is said in his silence.

A few weeks ago, a group of Catholic deacons came to visit with us in our cells. They brought Communion for Catholics, and literature for everyone, and went from cell to cell asking if people would like to pray with them. Sometime after they left, Dave came to my cell and told me about how one of the men had surprised him because they spoke about a particular round shaped church the man was a parishioner of. This happened to be the very same one Dave had gone to as a kid. He said the man had told him he hoped to see him there one day. The next thing Dave told me was a big surprise:

“You know, I’ve been thinking about it, and I might like to go back to the Catholic Church.”

I was dumbfounded. I’d been waiting for this type of interest for literally three years, and I knew it was possible it would never come. I’d prayed for it time and again. I didn’t know what to say. After a prolonged silence, I asked him: “Would you be interested in receiving Communion again?” He said he was.

The Open Door

At 15, Dave was charged as an adult and sentenced to life in prison. He is now 48. When he went to prison as a mere child, he tried to fit into a world of adult criminals. There’s been plenty of violence and bloodshed in his story. Most people who go down his road are so jaded in the end that it seems nothing can bring them back, but now, Dave was interested. Praise God!

Last week, Dave received Communion for the first time in 33 years. He had never once received Jesus in prison, though it had been available all the time. He had been forgotten in the system.

Due to the impossibility of receiving the Sacrament of Reconciliation, he did not go to Confession first but was allowed to receive Communion circumstantially. He is in a maximum-security cell block and has the highest security risk rating, so they have trouble allowing a priest to visit one-on-one. So, he made a thorough examination of conscience and an act of contrition and will make a Confession at the first opportunity.

Never Forgotten

There are innumerable forgotten people all over the world. There are men, women, and even children in your own community who need someone to just be a friend and share their love and the faith Christ has given us in His Church. Let’s continue to spread the Good News.

If you have been away from the Church and Her life-giving Sacraments, there is an open invitation for healing starting with the Sacrament of Reconciliation. The first step back into fellowship with God and His Church is confessing our sins, but remember, while we are certainly confessing our sins to God, even more so, God is using this time to confess to us in a very special way, His forgiveness and love. Nothing is too big to be forgiven, and nothing is too great to stand in the way of God’s healing; the door is always open to forgiveness and mercy.

Contact a local church or parish priest and make plans to attend the next scheduled Sacrament of Reconciliation. Be sure to show up a little early in case others are waiting as well. You’ll be glad you’ve made this step, and the Angels and Saints in Heaven will rejoice at your homecoming.

Little had I expected when I began this efficacious prayer…

“O Little Thérèse of the Child Jesus, please pick for me a rose from the Heavenly garden and send it to me as a message of love.” This request, the first of three that compose the ‘Send Me a Rose’ Novena to Saint Thérèse, grabbed my attention. 

I was lonely. Lonely in a new city, longing for new friends. Lonely in a new life of faith, longing for a friend and role model. I was reading about Saint Thérèse, my baptismal namesake, without warming up to her. She had lived in passionate devotion to Jesus since she was 12 years old and petitioned the Pope to enter the Carmelite monastery at age 15. My own life had been so very different. 

Where’s My Rose?

Thérèse had been filled with zeal for souls; she had prayed for the conversion of a notorious criminal. From the hidden world of the convent of Carmel, she devoted her prayer to interceding for missionaries spreading the love of God in far-off places. Lying on her deathbed, this holy nun from Normandy had told her sisters: “After my death, I will let fall a shower of roses. I will spend my Heaven doing good on earth.” The book I was reading said that since her death in 1897, she had showered the world with many graces, miracles, and even roses. “Maybe she will send me a rose,” I thought. 

This was the very first Novena I ever prayed. I didn’t think much about the prayer’s two other requests–namely the favor of interceding with God for my intention and to believe intensely in God’s great love for me so that I might imitate Thérèse’s Little Way. I don’t recall what my intention was and I had no understanding of Thérèse’s Little Way. I was focused solely on the rose. 

On the morning of the ninth day, I prayed the Novena for the last time. And waited. Maybe a florist will deliver roses today. Or maybe my husband will come home from work with roses for me. By the end of the day, the only rose that had crossed my doorstep was printed on a card that came in a pack of greeting cards from a missionary order. It was a bright red, beautiful rose. Was this my rose from Thérèse? 

My Unseen Friend

Once in a while, I prayed the Send Me a Rose Novena again. Always with similar results. Roses would show up in little, hidden places; I would meet someone named Rose, see a rose on a book cover, in the background of a photo, or on a friend’s table. Eventually, St. Thérèse came to mind any time I glimpsed a rose. She had become a companion in my daily life. Leaving the Novena behind, I found myself asking her intercession in life’s struggles. Thérèse was now my unseen friend.

I read about more and more Saints, marveling over the variety of ways these men, women, and children had lived a passionate love for God. Knowing this constellation of people, whom the Church has declared with certainty are in Heaven, gave me hope. In every place and in every life, it must be possible to live with heroic virtue. Holiness is possible even for me. And there were role models. Lots of them! I tried imitating Saint Francis de Sales’ patience, Saint John Bosco’s attention and gentle guidance for each child in his care, and Saint Elizabeth of Hungary’s charity. I was grateful for their examples that helped me along the way. They were important acquaintances, but Thérèse was more. She had become my friend.

A Jump-Start

Eventually, I read The Story of a Soul, Saint Thérèse’s autobiography. It was in this personal testimony that I first began to understand her Little Way. Thérèse imagined herself spiritually as a very little child capable of only very small tasks. But she adored her Father and did each little thing with great love, and as a gift for the Father who loved her. The bond of love was greater than the size or success of her undertakings. This was a new approach to life for me. My spiritual life was at a standstill at that time. Maybe Thérèse’s Little Way could jumpstart it.

As the mom of a large and active family, my circumstances were far different from Thérèse’s. Maybe I could try approaching my daily tasks with the same loving attitude. In the littleness and hiddenness of my home, much as the convent had been for Thérèse, I could try to do each task with love. Each could be a gift of love for God; and by extension, of love for my husband, my child, the neighbor. With some practice, each diaper change, each meal I placed on the table, and every load of laundry became a small offering of love. My days became easier, and my love for God grew stronger. I was no longer lonely.

In the end, it took far longer than nine days, but my impulsive request for a rose set me on a path to a new spiritual life. Through it, Saint Thérèse reached out to me. She drew me into love, to the love that is the communion of the Saints in Heaven, into practicing her “Little Way” and, most of all, into greater love for God. Ultimately I received far more than a rose! 

Did you know that Saint Thérèse’s feast is on October 1? Happy feast to the Therese-namesakes out there.

Appreciation…we seek it from so many places, but Deacon Steve is in search of it from a unique place.

It was my sister’s wedding day. I came out of my closet after a three-week coop up looking like a skeleton, almost half-dead. I had been away from home for about six months, caught in a web of repeated drug usage and self-destruction. That evening, after an eternity of separation from my family, I spent time with my father, my cousin, and some of my brothers. 

I missed the love that we had as a family. I didn’t realize how much I needed that, so I spent a couple of days there, getting to know them all over again. My heart started yearning for more of it. I remember begging God so many times to save me from the life that I had entered into, the life that I had chosen. But when you get sucked into drug culture, it can be really hard to find your way out of that darkness.

Despite trying, I kept sinking downward. I would sometimes come home covered in blood from fighting; I was even put behind bars several times either for fighting or drinking too much. One day I hurt somebody really bad and ended up in prison for aggravated assault. When I came out of prison a year later I really wanted to break this cycle of violence.

One Step after Another

I earnestly started trying to change. Moving from Dallas to East Texas was a first step. It was hard to find a job there, so I ended up going to Las Vegas. After a week-long search, I started subcontracting as a carpenter. One Christmas day, I was going through the middle of a desert. We had a huge generator about the size of a semi-trailer. I fired it up, and started working out there…I was the only person in the desert. Driving every single nail in, I could hear that sound echoing for miles. It was so eerie, being there alone in the desert when the rest of the world was celebrating Christmas. I wondered how I could have just forgotten how important this day was to me. I spent the rest of the evening just reflecting on what it meant for God to have come into our world—to save humanity. 

When Easter came around, I went to church for the first time in a really long while. Since I was late, I had to stand outside the Church, but I felt this deep hunger for what God wanted to give me. After church, I returned to Texas, went to a bar, and danced with a young lady. When she offered to take me home to spend the night though, I refused. As I drove back my mind was racing. What really happened to me? I never turned down any opportunities that came my way. Something changed that evening. I started to have this growing hunger, and God began to do some pretty amazing things in my life. He got my attention and I made a decision that I wanted to go back to Church. 

I went to the local Catholic church for Confession for the first time in at least 15 years. I was living with a married woman at the time, still using drugs, getting drunk on weekends, and all the like. To my utter surprise, the priest heard my Confession and said that I needed to repent. This offended me because I was expecting him to tell me that Jesus loves me anyway. 

Soon after, this woman left me for her husband, and this shattered me. I recalled the words of the priest and came to the realization that my sexual impurity was something that was keeping me away from an intimate relationship with God. So one Sunday morning, I went to the cathedral in Tyler. Father Joe was standing out there on the front porch. I told him I had been away from the Church for 20 years, and that I would like to go to Confession and start coming back to Mass. I made an appointment with him for Confession. It lasted for about two hours, and I poured my heart out.

Fire that Spreads

In my first year back in the Church, I read the Bible from front to back twice. My heart was on fire. Attending the RCIA program, and reading the books by church fathers, I got very immersed in learning as much as I could about the Catholic faith. The more I learned the more I fell in love with the way God built His Church and gave it to us as a means of coming to know Him, love Him, and serve Him better in this life so that we can spend all of eternity with Him in Heaven. 

My dad had retired early. He had been very successful, working for a computer company in Dallas. So when he retired, he began his retirement life at a local bar in Dallas. Slowly, as he realized what he was doing to himself and saw the changes happening in my life, he too moved out of Dallas. He began recommitting himself to his Catholic faith and one day, he lovingly told me: “I’m proud of you my son.” 

That’s what I want to hear when I die and face judgment. I want to hear my Heavenly Father say the same thing: “I’m so proud of you.”

My friend and I were strolling along the streets when we heard people shouting behind us. An angry bull was charging wildly along the road in the distance, as terrified people screamed and scampered away. “Let’s run!” I screamed, but my friend calmly replied: “If we start running, it will definitely chase us.” After a few moments, no one remained between us and the bull. “That’s it. I think we should run!” I yelled to my friend, and we both took off. We ran with all our might, but we didn’t make much headway. Some good-hearted people were attempting to capture the bull. Gasping for breath, I waited for a moment, hoping that we were safe at last. Unfortunately, the chase continued.

At some point, I remembered to pray. 

Then, I just stopped running. I stood there, staring at the bull charging toward me. When it was just a few inches away, it halted. We looked into each other’s eyes. We stood there, face to face, for a few seconds. I scarcely dared to draw a breath. Then, suddenly it bolted in a different direction, leaving us shaken. 

I always wonder what happened at that moment. Who could have stood between me and the bull? I had indeed felt a powerful presence protecting me from harm. 

Many of us are perpetually fleeing in fear of something. We rarely face our fear and confront it with the powerful presence of God. We easily become enslaved by pacifiers like alcohol, drugs, shopping, pornography, or even over-commitment to career goals. 

Plunging frantically into hedonistic pleasure or overwork to suppress our anxieties may momentarily distract us from the pain of unhappy childhoods, unpaid loans, disagreeable bosses or workmates, drunken spouses, unpleasant homes, or personal failures. But it destroys our ability to build healthy relationships. Afraid to turn to the right or to the left, we let ourselves bolt in panic. How can we heal our hurts without causing further damage and find relief?

“I lift up my eyes to the hills—from where will my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”(Psalm 121:1-2). When you are troubled by torments of any sort,  stop running aimlessly and ask for Divine assistance. Look neither to the right nor to the left, but look to the Lord above to find the best answers to your problems. 

Rome, Saint Peter’s Basilica, meeting the Pope…could life be more eventful? I discovered it can be.

My conversion to the Catholic faith came about during my trip to Rome, where I was lucky to study for part of my degree. The Catholic university I attended had organized a couple of audiences with Pope Francis as part of the trip. One evening, I was sitting in the Saint Peter’s Basilica, listening to the Rosary being prayed in Latin over the loudspeaker while I waited for the service to begin. Though I didn’t understand Latin at the time, nor know what the Rosary was, I somehow recognized the prayer. It was a moment of mystical immersion that eventually led me to entrust my entire life to Jesus through the intercession of Mary. This began a journey of conversion that culminated in my Baptism into the Catholic Church a year later, and a love story that ensued shortly afterward.

Discovering Moments

I found myself slowly building the foundations of my relationship with Jesus, unknowingly imitating Mary in the process. I knelt at His feet in prayer as Mary might have done at Calvary, seeking to deepen my connection to Christ. I continue this practice today, studying His face, His wounds, His vulnerability, and His suffering. More importantly, I meet Him every day to console Him because I can’t bear the thought of Him being alone on the Cross. By meditating on His Passion, I find I can more deeply appreciate the significance of the Living Christ, who lives in us today. 

As I devoted myself to this practice, I felt Jesus waiting for me in my daily prayers, yearning for my faithfulness, and seeking my companionship. The more I held Him up in silent prayer, the more I began to feel a deep sorrow and grief for the price Jesus paid for my life and the lives of others. I shed tears for Him. I imprisoned Him in my heart and consoled Him in prayer, mirroring Mary’s tender care for her Son. The realization of the sacrificial love that led Jesus to the Cross stirred deep maternal emotions within me, compelling me to surrender everything to Him. Through the grace of Our Lady, I offered myself completely to Jesus, allowing Him to transform me as our relationship blossomed. 

Offering it Up

When I experienced a great loss two years ago, I continued this daily practice, though the focus of my sorrow shifted. The tears I shed were no longer for Him but for myself. I could do nothing but fall at the feet of Our Lord in my absolute distress and despair, as selfish as I felt. It was then that God showed me how redemptive suffering can be shared not just by witnessing His sacrifice in prayer, but by entering into His Passion. 

Suddenly, His suffering was no longer external to me, but something so intimate that I became one with Christ on the Cross. I was no longer alone in my suffering. In turn, it was He who held me up in silent prayer, He who grieved for me and shared my sorrow. He shed tears for me and opened His heart where I retreated and became His prisoner. I was held captive in His love.

Trodding the Uneasy Path

Imitating Mary leads us directly to the Heart of Jesus, teaching us the essence of true repentance and the boundless mercy that flows from His love. This journey may be challenging, requiring us to share in the burdens of Christ’s Cross. Yet, through our trials and sorrows, we can find solace in His comforting presence, knowing that He never abandons us. By following Mary’s example, we invite her to guide us in deepening our connection with Jesus, our Lord and Savior, and sharing in His redemptive suffering. By doing so, we become living martyrs for the pain and suffering of those who have not yet met Christ, and in the same process, we ourselves are healed.

As we emulate Mary’s maternal love for her Son, we draw closer to the essence of His Passion and become vessels of His healing grace. Through offering our own sufferings in union with Christ, we become living witnesses of His love and compassion, bringing solace to those who have yet to encounter Him. In this sacred process, we find healing for ourselves and become instruments of God’s mercy, spreading His light to those in need. Likewise, we learn to embrace the crosses in our lives with courage, knowing that they are pathways to a deeper union with Christ. 

Through Mary’s intercession, we are guided toward a profound understanding of the sacrificial love that led Jesus to give His life for us. As we walk the path of discipleship, following in the footsteps of Mary, we are called to offer our own sufferings and struggles to Jesus, trusting in His transformative power to bring healing and redemption to our lives.