Encounter

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.

In July 2013 to be exact, my life turned around. It wasn’t easy to digest, but I am glad it happened

I am a cradle Catholic. I grew up in a small town in central Italy, near the Abbey of Monte Cassino, which was founded in the sixth century by Saint Benedict and hosts his tomb and that of his twin sister Saint Scholastica. My grandmother was truly instrumental in nurturing my faith, but despite attending regular Masses with her, receiving all the Sacraments, and being active in my parish, it always felt more like a custom or duty that I never questioned, rather than a true love of God. 

The Shock of it!

In July 2013, I went on a pilgrimage to Medjugorje during the annual Youth Festival. After three days of participating in the festival program, with Confession, prayers, testimonies, Rosary, Mass, and Adoration, I suddenly felt my heart almost exploding. I was totally in love, the ‘butterflies-in-my-stomach’ kind…and I started praying all the time. 

It was a new feeling—I suddenly had this physical perception of the size of my heart (which I know is about the same size as my fist) because it felt like it was about to explode out of the love I was inundated with. I could not describe this feeling at that time, and I still can’t today…

An Illogical Madness

So can you imagine somebody living a regular life, compromising between being Catholic on the one hand and having a worldly secular life on the other, suddenly encountering Jesus Christ, falling in love with Him, and following Him with all their heart? It felt like madness at that time–and sometimes, it still does! 

I am a scientist and an academic. I have a very logical and matter-of-fact mindset in all I do. My boyfriend at the time didn’t understand what was going on with me either (he said I was being brainwashed!); being an atheist, I didn’t expect him to get it.

Even the reason I joined that pilgrimage was not clear to me—my mum and my sister had been there before and encouraged me to go. The Church hasn’t made a final statement about Medjugorje’s apparitions and revelations, so I went there without any pressure to believe or not believe in it, only with an open heart. And that’s when the miracle happened. 

I can’t say I am a better person now than I was before, but I’m certainly a very different person. My prayer life has deepened as Jesus has become central to my life. A lot has changed since that encounter with Jesus through Our Lady, and I wish everyone could have the same and even better experience of God’s great love and mercy. I can only say to everyone: open your heart and surrender to God, the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

The Mexican Revolution which began in the early 1920s, led to the persecution of the Catholic community in that country. Pedro de Jesus Maldonado-Lucero was a seminarian at that time. Once he became a priest, despite the risk, he stood with his people. He tended to his flock during a terrible epidemic, founded new apostolic groups, reestablished associations, and ignited Eucharistic piety among his parishioners.

Upon discovering his pastoral activities, the government deported him, but he managed to return and continue serving his flock, in hiding. One day, after hearing the confessions of the faithful, a gang of armed men busted his hiding place.

Father Maldonado managed to grab a reliquary with Consecrated Hosts as they forced him out. The men forced him to walk barefoot throughout the town, as a crowd of the faithful followed him. The city mayor grabbed Father Maldonado’s hair and dragged him toward the city hall. He was knocked to the ground, resulting in a skull fracture that popped out his left eye. He had managed to keep his grip on the pyx until this time, but now it fell out of his hands. One of the thugs took some Holy Hosts, and as he forcefully stuffed the hosts inside the priest’s mouth, he shouted: “Eat this and see if He can save you now.”

Little did the soldier know that just the night before, during the Holy Hour, Father Maldonado had prayed that he would happily give his life for an end to the persecution ‘if only he would be allowed to take Communion before his death.’

The thugs left him for dead in a pool of his own blood. Some local women found him still breathing and rushed him to a nearby hospital. Father Pedro Maldonado was born into eternal life the next day, on the 19th anniversary of his priestly ordination. Pope John Paul II canonized this Mexican priest in 2000.

From being a healthy Uni-student to a paraplegic, I refused to be confined to a wheelchair…

In the initial years of University, I slipped a disc. Doctors assured me that being young and active, physiotherapy, and exercises could make me better, but despite all effort, I was in pain every day. I had acute episodes every few months, which kept me in bed for weeks and led to repeated hospital visits. Nevertheless, I held on to hope, until I slipped a second disc. That’s when I realized my life had changed.

Angry at God!

I was born in Poland. My mom teaches theology, so I was brought up in the Catholic faith. Even when I moved to Scotland for University and then to England, I held onto it dearly, maybe not in a do-or-die manner, but it was always there.

The initial phase of moving to a new country wasn’t easy. My home had been a furnace, with my parents fighting among themselves most of the time, so I had practically run away to this alien land. Leaving my difficult childhood behind, I wanted to enjoy my youth. Now, this pain was making it difficult for me to hold down jobs and keep myself financially balanced. I was angry at God. Yet, He wasn’t willing to let me go.

Trapped at home in acute pain, I resorted to the only available pastime—my mother’s collection of religious books. Slowly, the retreats I attended and the books I read led me to realize that despite my distrust, God really wanted my relationship with Him to be strengthened. But I was also not totally over the anger that He wasn’t healing me yet. Eventually, I came to believe God was angry at me and didn’t want to heal me so I thought maybe I could trick him. I started looking for a holy priest with good ‘statistics’ for healing so that I could get healed when God was busy doing other things. Needless to say, that never happened.

A Twist in My Journey

One similar day in a prayer group, I was in so much pain. Fearing an acute episode, I was planning to leave when one of the members there asked if there was something I would like them to pray for. I was having some trouble at work, so I said yes. As they were praying, one of the men asked if there was some physical illness that I needed praying over. They were way down on my ‘healing rating’ list, so I didn’t trust that I would receive any relief, but I said ‘Yes’ anyway. They prayed and my pain was gone. I returned home, and it was still gone. I started jumping and twisting and moving around, and I was still okay. But nobody believed me when I told them I was healed.

So, I stopped telling people; instead, I went to Medjugorje to thank Our Lady. There, I had an encounter with a man who was doing Reiki and wanted to pray over me. I refused, but before leaving he gave me a goodbye hug which left me worried because I recalled his words that his touch has power. I allowed fear to take over and falsely believed this evil’s touch was stronger than God. I woke up the next morning in excruciating pain, unable to walk. After four months of relief, my pain returned so acutely that I thought I wouldn’t even be able to make it back to the UK.

When I returned, I found that my discs were touching the nerves, causing even more drastic pain for months. After six or seven months, the doctors decided that they needed to do the risky procedure on my spine that they had been keeping off for a long time. The surgery damaged a nerve in my leg, and my left leg was paralyzed knee-down. A new journey began there and then, a different one.

I Know You Can Do it

The very first time I arrived home in a wheelchair, my parents were terrified, but I was filled with joy. I loved all the technological stuff…every single time someone pressed a button on my wheelchair, I was excited like a kid.

It was over the Christmas period, when my paralysis started regressing that I realized the extent of damage to my nerves. I was admitted to a hospital in Poland for a while. I didn’t know how I was going to live. I was just praying to God that I needed another healing: “I need to find you again because I know you can do it.”

So, I found a healing service and was convinced that I would be healed.

A Moment You Don’t Wanna Miss

It was Saturday and my father had initially not wanted to go. I just told him: “You don’t want to miss out when your daughter is healed.” The original schedule had a Mass, followed by the healing service with Adoration. But when we arrived, the priest said they had to change the plan as the team that was meant to lead the healing service was not there. I remember thinking I don’t need any team: “I only need Jesus.”

When the Mass started, I did not hear a single word. We were sitting on the side where there was a Divine Mercy picture. I looked at Jesus like I had never seen Him before. It was a stunning image. He looked so beautiful! I never saw that picture anywhere after that. All through Mass, the Holy Spirit was enveloping my soul. I was simply saying in my head ‘Thank you’ even though I didn’t know what I was thankful for. I wasn’t able to ask for healing, and it was frustrating because I needed healing.

When adoration started I asked my mom to take me to the front, as close to Jesus as possible. There, seated up front, I felt someone touching, and massaging my back. I was getting so warm and cozy that I felt like I would fall asleep. So, I decided to walk back to the bench, forgetting that I could not ‘walk.’ I just walked back and my mom ran after me with my crutches, praising God, saying: “You are walking, you are walking.” I was healed, by Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. As soon as I sat down, I heard a voice saying: “Your faith has healed you.”

In my mind, I saw the image of the woman touching the cloak of Jesus when He was passing. Her story reminds me of mine. Nothing was helping until I reached this point where I started trusting Jesus. The healing came when I accepted Him and told Him: “You are all I need.” My left leg had lost all its muscles and even that grew back overnight. It was very significant because the doctors were measuring it before, and they found an astounding, unexplainable change.

Shouting it Out

This time around when I received the healing, I wanted to share it with everyone. I wasn’t embarrassed anymore. I wanted everyone to know how amazing God is and how much He loves all of us. I’m no one special and I haven’t done anything special to receive this healing.

Being healed also doesn’t mean that my life became super-comfortable overnight. There are still difficulties, but they are much lighter. I take them to the Eucharistic Adoration and He gives me solutions, or ideas on how I can deal with them, as well as the assurance and trust that He will deal with them.

Adversities mark our lives on earth, but why would God allow that?

About two years ago, I fronted up for my yearly blood test and when the results came back, I was told I had ‘Myasthenia Gravis.’ Fancy name! But neither I nor any of my friends or family had ever heard of it.

I imagined all the possible terrors that may be ahead for me. Having lived, at the time of diagnosis, a total of 86 years, I had incurred many shocks. Rearing six boys was full of challenges, and these continued as I watched them build their families. I never gave into despair; the grace and power of the Holy Spirit always gave me the strength and trust I needed.

I eventually depended on Mr. Google to learn more about ‘Myasthenia Gravis’ and after reading pages of what may happen, I realized I just had to trust my doctor to help me through. He, in turn, put me in the hands of a specialist. I went through a rocky road with newer specialists, changing tablets, more trips to hospital, and eventually having to give up my license. How could I survive? I was the one who drove friends to different events.

After much discussion with my doctor and family, I finally realized that it was time to put my name down for acceptance into a nursing home. I chose Loreto Nursing Home in Townsville because I would have opportunities to nurture my faith. I was faced with many opinions and advices—all legitimate, but I prayed for guidance from the Holy Spirit. I was accepted into Loreto Home and made up my mind to accept what was on offer. It was there that I met Felicity.

A Near-Death Experience

A few years ago, there was a 100-year-flood in Townsville and a reasonably new suburb went under water with most houses inundated. Felicity’s house, like all others in the suburb, was low set, so she had about 4 feet of water throughout the entire house. As the soldiers from the Army Base in Townsville took up the task of a massive cleanup, all the residents had to find alternate accommodation to rent. She stayed at three different rental properties during the next six months, simultaneously helping the soldiers and working towards making her home livable again.

One day, she began to feel unwell and her son, Brad, called the doctor on call, who advised on taking her to the hospital if things did not get better. The next morning, Brad found her on the floor with a swollen face and immediately called the ambulance. After many tests, she was diagnosed with ‘Encephalitis,’ ‘Melioidosis’ and ‘Ischemic attack,’ and remained unconscious for weeks.

The contaminated flood waters she had waded through six months ago, it turns out, had contributed to an infection of her spinal cord and brain. As she floated in and out of consciousness, Felicity had a near-death experience:

“As I was lying unconscious, I felt my soul leaving my body. It floated out and flew up very high to a beautiful spiritual place. I saw two people looking at me. I went towards them. It was my mother and father—they looked so young and were so happy to see me. As they stood aside, I saw something amazing, a stunning face of Light. It was God the Father. I saw people from every race, every nation, walking in pairs, some holding hands…I saw how happy they were to be with God, feeling at home in Heaven.

When I woke up, I was so disappointed that I left that beautiful place of peace and love that I believed was Heaven. The priest who was tending to me all throughout my time in hospital said he had never seen anyone react as I did when I woke up.”

Adversity into Blessings

Felicity says she always had faith, but this experience of imbalance and uncertainty was enough to ask God: “Where are you?” The trauma of the 100-year-flood, the massive clean-up afterwards, the months of setting up her home while living in rental properties, even the nine months in hospital of which she had little memory of could have been the death of her faith. But she tells me with conviction: “My faith is stronger than ever.” She recalls that it was her faith that helped her deal with what she went through: “I believe I survived and came back, to see my beautiful granddaughter go to a Catholic High School and finish Year Twelve. She is going on to University!”

Faith believes all things, heals all things, and faith never ends.

It is in Felicity that I found the answer to a common question we all may face at some point in life: “Why does God allow bad things to happen?” I’d say that God gives us freewill. Men can initiate bad events, do evil things, but we can also call on God to change the situation, to change the hearts of men.

Truth is, in the fullness of grace, He can bring good even out of adversity. Just as He led me to the nursing home to meet Felicity and hear her beautiful story, and just as Felicity found strength in faith as she spent endless months in the hospital, God can change your adversities into goodness too.