Encounter

I was introduced to Our Blessed Mother at an early age. I fondly remember the many processions held in her honor at Saint Lawrence O’Toole Church in Walkerville, Montana. The sisters would patiently gather us in the church to form a procession in honor of Mary, followed by the recitation of the holy rosary. Each child was directed to recite either the Our Father or the Hail Mary or the Glory-Be until we successfully prayed all five decades of the rosary.

As a child, I instinctively knew Jesus’ mother was a very special person to be honored and respected. As an adult, I got away from saying the rosary or even thinking very much about the Blessed Mother. However, my mother always prayed the rosary, especially during times of great sorrow and sickness in our family. She seemed to know Our Lady was interceding on her behalf.

It was not until many years later when my mom was diagnosed with a terminal disease that I began to pray the rosary with mom. During this time of great uncertainty and fear I began asking Our Blessed Mother to intercede for us. On one occasion I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Our Blessed Mother had interceded on our behalf.

Mom was in a Great Falls hospital in Montana receiving her chemotherapy treatment when, suddenly and without warning, her heart began to fail her. The doctors and nurses rushed her into ICU and frantically began to work to get her heart properly working. She was hooked up to all kinds of monitors and machines. I was scared; I feared the worst. Thankfully, the medical team finally got her heart stabilized. I was so exhausted, the nurses encouraged me to go back to the motel and get some rest and I reluctantly agreed.

I sat in my car, which was parked in the parking lot of what was then the Columbus Hospital, and the tears began to flow. I asked Jesus to wrap His arms around her and keep her safe. I looked out at the nearly empty parking lot and I saw this glowing statue of Our Blessed Mother. She was so beautiful; I immediately felt at peace and knew she was watching over us.

The next morning when I arrived at the hospital, I wanted to again look at the statue of the Blessed Mother. To my surprise the only statue I could find was that of Christopher Columbus. I will always believe in my heart that Our Blessed Mother was there in the hospital parking lot that night, helping me through the difficult time.

My mom faced her illness with so much courage and inner peace. It was as if Mary was holding her hand, comforting her during her final days and leading her home to Jesus.

In the years since Mom died, my loving devotion to Mary has grown. I recall the words of Saint Bridget of Sweden: “The demons are every anxious in their pursuit of souls. Yet, they quickly abandon their prey merely at the name of Mary.”

Mary is my “top-of-the-line” prayer warrior and I want her in my corner every moment of every day.

Why do some people have faith and others do not?

What if I personally do not feel like I have faith?

To answer the first question: sin. Sin is the reason why some people do not have faith. “But wait!” you cry, “I know a lot of really good people without faith and a lot of really mean people who have faith! How is sin related to all of this?” Here is how. We were originally created in union with God. Once sin entered the world, that union was ruptured. Among other things, our intellects were darkened and we could not understand what we were originally able (before sin) to grasp. We all inherit this “fallen-ness.” So, in a real way, sin has taken its toll on all of us; sin is why we sometimes do not clearly see God. Even closer to home, sin is also what keeps ME from God (not just Adam and Eve, but ME).

Never forget: faith is a gift.

No one earns it. No one gives it to himself. God gives a person faith. The second point is this: God gives this gift to everyone. God does not choose to give it to some and not others. This is the point that Jesus made in the Parable of the Sower (Matthew 13). In the parable, God gave the gift of faith (the seed) everywhere. But it was the recipient’s response that was crucial in bearing fruit or losing the gift. God’s giving the gift is absolutely necessary, and He has made all the arrangements; if a person is open to faith, it is theirs. But that is the crux: we must receive it and live it out. If a person sincerely does not believe in God, it is most likely because they do not see the “proof” of God. That is legitimate. You would think that if God wanted us to believe in Him, He would have made it a lot easier. On the other hand, I personally think there is plenty of evidence for God’s existence. Maybe God does not just want people to “believe” in Him. I think we sometimes act as if God has nothing better to do than get a bunch of people to believe in His existence. What if God wants something more than our “belief?”

If you are struggling to believe in God, I have this advice: pray. Start living as if God was real. Ask God (in prayer) to draw you closer to Him. Ask God to reveal Himself (on His own terms) to you. If you want the gift of faith, all you have to do is sincerely ask for it. Again, this means you have to begin by actually praying. Now, this is the moment (the moment of choosing, the moment of taking the risk, the moment of making the decision to act and not just having wishful thinking) when most people get off the boat. It is easy to go on and on and “wonder” at God’s existence. It is easy to study the arguments and argue the points. Until a person comes to this point—the point at which a decision is made to engage the will as well as the intellect—he/she will never have faith.

This is crucial. Because “faith” is much more than “belief.” Simply “believing in God” never saved anyone. If all one had to do was believe in God’s existence or in Jesus as the Son of God, then Satan would be saved. James writes about this in his letter, “You believe that God is one. You do well. Even the demons believe that and tremble” (James 2:19). Faith is so much more. According to the “Catechism of the Catholic Church” (“CCC”), having faith is when a person “completely submits his intellect and his will to God. With his whole being man gives his assent to God the revealer. Sacred Scripture calls this human response to God, the author of revelation, “the obedience of faith” (“CCC,” 143). Faith is related to “belief” but the kind of faith that saves a person is more like “trusting obedience.” With that in mind, does it make sense why I said that some people do not have faith because of sin? At its heart, sin says, “My way”; at its heart, faith says to God, “Your way.” Like love, faith is a decision, not a feeling.

If you do not feel like you have faith, do not worry. Be practical. Look at your life. Are you striving to be faithful (obedient) to God? Do you pray every day? Do you feed yourself with Scripture? Do you go to Mass each week? Do you try and love the people around you who need love? When you fail, do you go to reconciliation? If yes, you have faith. If not, now is the moment to begin. Start by praying at this very instant. Do not wait. Do not hesitate. Do not put it off. Begin now.

My heart can still feel the ache of singleness. My eyes well up with tears and I feel the pain of what used to be. It was a long road of sadness, anger, uncertainty and loneliness. It seemed like I was always discerning God’s will and discovering more about who I was becoming. There were blessings of joy and beauty. For 16 years I longed to have my deepest desire fulfilled. In college, I cried with friends telling them of this ache. I have journals with pages of sorrow. There have been so many prayers.

Unless you have traveled the road of singleness for quite some time, it may be hard to truly understand what it is like. It was never about just getting married or going with just what I wanted. It was about what God wanted for my life. Coming to realize that is one thing; it is another to want what God wants and to embrace it with joy!

I prayed often for God to take my desire for marriage away until the time was right. It hurt to have such deep desires with nowhere to go with them, especially when I believed they were from God Himself. I prayed for my heart’s desires to be His desires. I laid down my desire for marriage time and time again. This all took place during dating, break-ups and singleness. I discerned whether or not marriage was the vocation to which God was calling me. I have always enjoyed Mass and sharing the Gospel message. Parts of religious life are very beautiful, but I did not feel a call to that life. Was the single life for me? I enjoyed many parts to that life and I faithfully served God. What about marriage? Little by little, I laid down my will for marriage and focused on becoming a happy, healthy woman. Laying my life and future down to the Lord (completely) was one of my most painful experiences. I believe that once we make a decision after discerning for some time, God brings peace. Once I surrendered, I learned that what will be will be when it will be. I embraced each day being present in it, rather than living in the past or in the future. We are not truly living if we are not in the present. When I got busy living, I was not so focused on what I thought was missing from my life. Instead, I was busy being happy and growing in many ways.

I started taking care of myself by putting things into my life that made me my best self. I also took out things. I learned to move on from a relationship that was never going to bring marriage. I learned to love again, but guarded and with confidence in who I was becoming. I discovered how to be OK with alone time and I eventually embraced it. I ate right and exercised. I learned what a healthy dating relationship was. I better balanced my personal and work time. I set weekly goals that focused on building confidence. I said good-bye to men that brought me extreme joy and frustration because they were not God’s plan for me. I turned down a wedding proposal and a future seeing a clear vision of who my husband should be. I closed a chapter in my life with someone who was “perfect,” but could not love me according to God’s plan for marriage. I have been working on embracing life and God’s plans for my vocation since 2011. I looked at it as a mountain climb. In order to get to the top, I had to go through the tough stuff—the healing, forgiving myself and others, taking new risks while being afraid, moving on, letting go, laying down my life and trusting God. I realized that I could not skip or take shortcuts to get to where I was going. As Robert Frost said, “The best way out is always through.” I love the person I became and the person I am becoming as a result of the “going through” and embracing God’s plan for me each day. Hard? Yes, but worth it.

A Practical Note:

Please pray for the single and the pain they suffer. If you ever need to offer words to someone struggling with their state of single life, it is always best to walk with them rather than give advice. There are so many bad “words of wisdom.” Be there. Listen. Offer an “I’m sorry you’re hurting and going through this.” Pray with and for them.

I grew up in Dublin, Ireland, in a traditional Catholic family where we all went to Holy Mass on Sundays. However, the faith was not very deep; rather, it was something we did out of routine.

When I was about twelve, my parents separated. My prayer to God was for them to get back together. After a year or two, it was clear that they would not be doing. So, I concluded that God did not care about me since He did not answer my prayer.

I still believed He existed, but I stopped believing that He was a God of love. Turning my back on Him, I attempted to create my own happiness through alcohol, boys, nights out, popularity, etc. These led me down a path that was further and further from whatever God may have planned for my life.

I was left feeling isolated, yet I continued searching for happiness in worldly things, completely unaware that they could not fulfill me.

This continued for a few years, but a big turning point came in the sixth year, after a typical night out of heavy drinking and bad decisions. I woke up the next morning realizing that I was feeling utterly lost, that I kept falling into the same bad situations. Something had to change, but I did not know how. I only knew that I was longing for something more meaningful in my life. At the time, I was in a relationship that made any real change quite difficult. He had become my focal point of happiness, yet the relationship was not based on the true meaning of love.

One day, my Dad’s uncle visited us. Devoted to the Catholic faith, he lived to lead others closer to the Lord. The Holy Spirit used him in a very powerful way.

He asked me if I would like him to say a prayer with me. I politely said yes, but was not taking it too seriously. However, I experienced such a presence of power and authority, as well as Supreme Love, gentleness and peace. It left me feeling powerless, but very contentedly so. This was the grace of God that came into my heart through the power of the Holy Spirit. In retrospect, I recognize this moment as the beginning of my journey back towards our Lord. The Holy Spirit ignited a small but powerful spark in me.

Not long after this, my Dad arrived with a book for me, “Through the Eyes of Jesus” by Alan Ames. I cannot recommend this book enough.

It tore away all the lies and misconceptions I had about a far-off God. It opened my eyes to the reality that God is love and that Jesus truly loves me beyond all understanding.

As I continued to read this book, I found tears streaming down my face, my heart burning with something unrecognizable—Jesus’ pure and unconditional love. I yearned for more of this love of God. I was hungry for His truth.

However, one huge block to this remained for me—chastity. I was still in a relationship and was torn between human “love” and this newfound pure love from God. My boyfriend could not understand this change and had no belief in God. This was heartbreaking for me. I longed to be free to love God with my entire heart, not just part of it. I wanted to live in line with His Church.

The Lord listened to my prayer. He knew how weak I was and how not being in a state of grace made it incredibly difficult to take that big step. On Saint Winefred’s feast day, my Dad was at her shrine praying for me. That very weekend my boyfriend and I broke up. Painful as this was at the time, it set me free.

By now I was ready to accept the Church’s teaching in all its fullness and change my life in whatever way necessary. In confession a wonderful priest explained to me why the Church teaches the message of chastity. He told me about a group in Dublin that met weekly and prayed for purity. My initial reaction was a definite “no.” I was willing to practice chastity but I was certain that I could do it on my own—our Lady knew better.

Several months later I was with a group in Medjugorje for the youth festival. They were normal, fun young people who loved the Lord like me. They told me that they were involved in this prayer group in Dublin called Pure in Heart, which prays for purity. Back in Dublin, I went along to hear a Pure in Heart talk and was blown away. It was a message I had thirsted to hear. I began attending the weekly prayer meeting, which was pivotal in continuing to live chastity.

Having finished my undergraduate degree, I am now blessed to be working for Pure in Heart, which teaches the truth and beauty of human sexuality. I am on the mission team that travels around the country bringing this life-giving message of true love to secondary-level students. I am passionate in sharing this message as it profoundly changed my life in so many ways. It is teaching me what love truly is, how to receive love from God and others and how to truly love in return.

I pray that one day every soul will hear this message and choose real love, not the counterfeits for which the world is trying to make us settle. Chastity has shown me that only God’s love can truly fill the void within our hearts. When we are affirmed in His love for us, we can then love others in a beautiful and ordered manner that never robs them of their dignity.

By attempting to imitate Christ’s love we begin to see God working powerfully in our lives. We see God in every human being who is made in our Creator’s image and likeness. What does God mean to me? He is my everything, the Love we all seek.

There are things about childhood that you relive in your dreams. Maybe it is therapeutic for the mental issues we all have. For me, the long walks of my youth around the dikes of the camp where I grew up are a composite of long, friendly dreams. When I am lucky enough to have one of these dreams, I invariably awake in a sort of time daze, not sure if I am still between three and 16 or if the sad truth is that I am “grown up” and here in “normal” central Ohio.

When the bird banders came in the spring, I helped them set up their nets. Sometimes I even got to help them band the warblers that come through in a swarm of yellow, hurrying to their nesting grounds in northern Canada. My dad took me duck hunting a few times and, like any good daughter, I watched him skin at least a few hundred muskrats. One of the best adventures of my childhood happened in junior high, at that gray hormonal point in every person’s life when nothing is right with the world. No one understands you, strange things happen to your body and in my case my dad got remarried. My new stepbrothers, in spite of being goons, were wonderful for expanding my creativity, especially when it came to seeking out havens for myself. In our summer wanderings after sixth or seventh grade we happened upon a fallen willow. From the looks of it, lightning had struck it right down the middle. Rather than just falling and rotting, the six-foot base of the fallen tree listed to the side and kept on growing. It made a huge bridge, with nooks and crannies on the ground.

The tree house was hidden from view because of the overgrown path and brush. We managed to clear a path, although it took at least a week of solid clearing. We used the branches from the brush we cleared away to mask the booby traps we built into the path … to keep people away, of course, and to lure our unsuspecting friends. There was a kidney-U-shaped pond beside the tree. The tree was at the closed end of the U and though the pond often dried up in the summer (another great place to explore, with deep cracks and critters), it made for a much-need escape for me and my inevitable book. I used to go there—with books, with homework, with problems—and sit in the muted green. When I visit it in my dreams, I always think of praying, though in my adolescence that never occurred to me. Back then, I was pretty sure God could not hear me and if He could He was busy with more important stuff. After a time, my stepbrothers tired of the tree and so did I. Before long, family situations changed, we moved and the tree was forgotten in all but my infrequent dream visits. I found other refuges as I got older: school activities, educational pursuits, romance.

Sometimes my refuges were hiding places—from the weight of my problems, from the stress of my life, from the things I did not understand. Sometimes my refuges were places of comfort, places I went to let my hair down and be me, though I was often trying to figure out just who, exactly, “me” was. Sometimes, in the flurry and bustle, my refuges were times of peace, sanctuaries of silence, places of rest. I moved away and grew up, only to find that, in the loneliness of my soul, something was missing. I did not know what it was, but it seemed to be linked to a young man and his Sunday-morning habit. As I sat with him in Mass, holding his hand and fighting back the overwhelming desire to cry (and losing most of the time), I sensed that same feeling I felt back in our fallen tree. It was peace and silence and safety. I could hide from the things that disturbed me and settle in to be myself.

Once upon a time, there was a refuge in the Garden of Eden—it was paradise and it was perfect. Before the loss of innocence, there was peace. Now, living in the midst of our fallen world and my fallen self, I find my refuge is a glimpse of heaven. I go to her, my refuge and I snuggle in her lap. Her cool hands brush my hair off my forehead and she holds me. She does not talk. She does not distract me. She lets me be. When I am ready, she points me to her Son, whose arms have always been open, waiting. She understands that settling in, being myself, is not comfortable. I do not like what I see. I have sinned and fallen short; I have fallen, just as Adam and Eve did, again and again. I think of my early days of attending Mass and my childhood tree house when I hear Mary called refuge of sinners. I think of how my children run to me first when they are hurt and I imagine Jesus running to Mary, to feel the solace of her strong embrace and the comfort of her soothing words.

Did Joseph also go to Mary in his doubt, to find refuge in her unwavering faith, her ongoing assent to the divine plan? The disciples found her a refuge, from the three years of Jesus’ ministry to Pentecost to the present day. Jesus took on our sin—my sin—and died. What higher purpose could His mother have than to act as a refuge to the very ones he offered his life to save? Jesus wants us to have His mom for comfort, just as He did throughout His life.

In my sin, I always expect a place like prison, dark and cold, gray and unwelcoming: a punishment. Sinning makes me think of hell instead of repentance. Through my repentance in confession, I come closer to God. When I cooperate with the great graces God has waiting for me—and which His mother so gently and often points me toward—I can grow past my sin, past my imperfection, past my faults. Coming back to God, the ongoing conversion story of my life, makes me a better Christian. In being a better Christian, I am more like Mary, my refuge and the refuge of all sinners. She stands there, offering comfort, encouragement and peace. She reminds me that it is not about punishment or suffering; it is about God’s will.

Miscarriage. Pregnancy loss. Enduring pain. Endless sleepless nights filled with longing and regrets. Whether the pregnancy was planned or unexpected, miscarriage brings about a myriad of emotions that take months and years to resolve and heal, and many, especially mothers, never forget. Whether or not the unborn child was eagerly planned and waited for, or an unexpected surprise, the pain of losing a child to miscarriage can be extremely intense and all too often minimized or overlooked by those close to them who do not understand the pain they are going through.

I experienced my first miscarriage a year after my second youngest child was born. This pregnancy was unexpected and definitely not planned. To further complicate matters, I had been medically advised to wait eighteen months after my previous birth before trying to conceive again due to serious complications that had occurred during delivery. I was not happy when I found out that I was pregnant and in my ignorance told a friend that ‘if God planned on sending me anymore children after this one, I was going to change my address and not give Him the forwarding information!’ A few days later, I would end up deeply regretting and repenting of these words I had said.

As I was terrified of both mine and my unborn child’s safety, I immediately called my doctor’s office and was given verbal reassurance over the phone. A few days later, my husband and I met with the doctor who assured us that with careful monitoring, he was very optimistic of a positive outcome for both the child and myself. Relieved, we went for blood tests to check my hormonal levels and became excited about the pregnancy. That night, I started bleeding, and the next morning we learned my hormonal levels were incompatible with a viable pregnancy. As we had just found out that I was pregnant, we were both surprised at the amount of emotional pain we felt. I went to the store, trying to pretend that everything was normal and that this would pass over, but instead ended up breaking down into tears in front of a sales associate. Thankfully, she was sympathetic and supportive, but the next several weeks went by in a painful blur. Every time I saw a pregnant woman or newborn, I was reminded of my own loss and was filled with grief. We named our child after her grandparents as we felt in our hearts that she had been a girl. I went to confession about what I had said earlier, and the priest reassured me that the miscarriage was not my fault, my child did have a soul, and that she was in heaven with God. Deep within my heart, I feel her purpose was to open both mine and my husband’s heart to remaining open to life rather than being afraid of it, and when that was accomplished, God called her home to Him.

A few months later, we lost another child to early miscarriage. As we had been given medical permission to begin trying again, this pregnancy was planned and very much wanted. There were complications right from the start, so we were not as surprised by this miscarriage as we were with the first one. This did not ease the pain that we felt however, and as we buried him next to his sister at a family’s grave site, my body contracted in longing for him and we both wept in sorrow.

The months went by, and it was only the responsibilities I had in caring for my older children that made the days more bearable and easier to handle. As we watched our children play, we both felt a deep sense of loss, that there was an emptiness that would not go away. We were both grieving, in different ways, and as the months went by without conceiving again, the grief seemed to intensify rather than lessen. We were older, and started wondering whether or not we would be able to have another child again. I prayed that the desire to have another child would be lessened, but instead it increased.

Several months after we lost our second child to miscarriage, I found out I was pregnant again. This time the pregnancy test came out with a strong, solid line, compared to the weak, faint lines of the previous pregnancy tests. We were cautiously excited, especially after we made it past the time where we had lost the previous two babies. An ultrasound was scheduled, and we eagerly looked forward to seeing the first glimpse of our unborn child. It was not to be at this visit. While a gestational sac was seen, no fetal pole or heartbeat could be detected and we were devastated. More blood tests were ordered and it was discovered that while I had low progesterone, the HcG levels were high and rising, although not in the typical pattern expected. I was placed on progesterone supplements and we spent an agonizing week waiting for the next ultrasound. This time a moving fetal pole was detected along with a heartbeat, although it was considerably low for gestational age. We cried tears of joy at seeing our child, and began to hope that the outcome would be different this time.

Two weeks later, I started spotting and in a panic, called my doctor’s office. She reassured me over the phone, stating that this could be normal, especially as I had a history of spotting in other pregnancies. To help put our minds to ease, she scheduled an ultrasound for later in the day. My husband met me at the doctor’s office and as the results were inconclusive, we were sent to the hospital where the imaging machines are more advanced. It was there that we saw the still form of our unborn child, no longer moving, without a heartbeat, and I cried out in anguish. We went home and spent the evening consoling each other. Two days later, the cramps began and the pain was so intense it felt like going through labor. My husband took a few days off so he could care for me and our other children. A week later, the bleeding had not subsided, and it was discovered that I had retained part of the placenta. I was scheduled for a D&C the next day, and I fought my husband on going. He firmly told me that unless I went through with the procedure, there was no way that I would be able to become pregnant again. That was about the only thing he could have said that would have motivated me to go. The hospital staff was warm and caring, but when I woke from the surgery, I wondered if I would ever feel normal again.

The weeks passed by and while we did seek medical consultation about the repeated miscarriages, we decided not to pursue any further fertility or hormonal treatment due to our ages. After three miscarriages in less than a year and a half, we seriously doubted whether or not I was able to carry another child to term. We prayed about it and made the decision to remain open to life, but were not really expecting anything to happen.

A few months later, I was in church praying and I told God I thought I was ready to become pregnant again if it was within His will. In retrospect, I am certain God was laughing, as unknown to us, I was indeed a few days pregnant at the time! I repeated this to my husband later that day, and he grasped my hand and we prayed for acceptance of whatever God’s will was for us. Two weeks later, I was in tears and crying out for our Blessed Mother’s intercession when I realized I probably was pregnant again. Although I very much wanted to be pregnant, I was terrifed about the possibility of going through yet another miscarriage. This time we did not take any pregnancy tests as we were very well aware of what the symptoms were, but a week later, I started slightly spotting. Blood tests were ordered and again my progesterone levels were low. This time, however, the HcG levels looked a lot different, and I was feeling like I had when I was pregnant with my children I had carried to full term. We refused the progesterone supplements as we were concerned they caused complications with the previous miscarriage. More blood tests were ordered and none of the doctors liked the HcG rise. I was told everything from ‘there is no way you are still pregnant,’ to ‘there is a strong possibility of this being a molar pregnancy, due to the HcG rise. I went in for an ultrasound at six weeks, bracing myself for the worst. The ultrasound was done in the same room that I had found out I lost Elizabeth a few months earlier, but this time the results were different. A healthy baby with a strong heartbeat was detected and for the first time, we began to feel hope the outcome would be different. Four weeks later, I was hospitalized with severe morning sickness, and another ultrasound was done in the hospital. I was amazed at how much our baby had grown, and my doctor reassured me everything was looking well, and that the likelihood of miscarriage at this point was very small. There are no words to describe the relief we felt! I was so happy about being pregnant that it was difficult to complain about the severe morning sickness and other discomforts of pregnancy.

The weeks and months went by and we remained hopeful, but knew that because of previous complications with my last delivery, the upcoming birth was high risk. My doctors remained optimistic that with careful monitoring, everything would turn out well. We both rejoiced in the new life I was carrying and appreciated the beauty of it in ways that we had not done before. The older children were becoming very excited and enjoyed feeling the baby kick inside of me, who in turn responded to them! I knew that due to my age and history of miscarriage, this would likely be my last pregnancy, so I tried to hold onto every moment of it. I eagerly looked forward to seeing our new baby, but yet, it was difficult to give up being pregnant as I enjoyed the unique feeling of having new life growing within.

Our son’s birth was a planned c-section to help avoid complications that might otherwise occur. I was both scared and excited as I entered the delivery room, and a few minutes later was able to watch most of his birth. He was placed directly on me for several minutes under heated blankets in the delivery room, and we both cried tears of joy and gave thanks to God for his safe arrival. I was still grieving the loss of our other children, especially Elizabeth who I had lost less than a year before, but the sense of emptiness, the deep longing for new life had been filled. Our son did not replace the other children we had lost, but it did help both of us to let go and move on.

Miscarriage is something that happens to so many families, but yet is so little talked about in society. Well meaning individuals do not know what to say, and so often as the pregnancy has not yet been announced or showing, very few people know what the parents are experiencing. For those who have experienced miscarriage, the pain is very real and every years later, the parents, especially mothers as they are the ones who carried the child, have not forgotten. Frequently, guilt does set in for the mothers, as they wonder if they did something, exposed themselves to harmful foods, did heavy lifting, etc that contributed to the loss. The feelings of ‘what could I have done differently to prevent this from happening? ‘are extremely prevalent and can last for a long time. The majority of the time, there is very little that the mother could have done to prevent the miscarriage, but it takes time and the patient, caring support of others, to come to peace about it. The three precious little ones we lost will always be etched upon our hearts and I look forward to the day when I will finally be able to hold them in my arms in heaven and tell them how much I love them. As hard as it was with losing them, we will always rejoice in the fact they came into existence and were with us, even though it was for only a short time. Going through all of this did help us to realize how precious life is, how every day with our children is a gift from God, and ultimately how our children belong to God and not us. Life — A precious gift from God, to be cherished at all stages, no matter how brief or how long it may be.

Throughout the accounts of the nativity story we encounter God working the extraordinary amidst the ordinary. During a recent advent, I found myself accompanying the shepherds in their journey—beside the sheep in solitude and silence.

“Now there were shepherds in that region living in the fields and keeping the night watch over their flock. The angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were struck with great fear. The angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.” Then suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying: “Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to those on whom His favor rests” (Luke 2: 8-14).

The life of a shepherd was simplistic, the daily tasks at hand were few and one day could easily flow into the next. Yet, a lack of attentiveness could put the whole flock at risk and without a shepherd the sheep easily lost their way. The needs of the flock were to always supersede one’s own, and this included the need for community to which we have become so accustomed. Due to a very transient lifestyle, company was but only occasionally found with fellow shepherds along with the animals they watched and for which they cared. Moreover, as they could not consistently observe the ceremonial rituals of purity prescribed by Jewish law, shepherds were considered among the lowliest of professions. Gone were the early days of Israel, as with King David, where their responsibility was respected; instead, they were included among the marginalized in Jewish society.

While certainly not a life easily undertaken by those who craved conversation or comforts, it did offer its own unique recompense. Under a blanket of stars and away from the hubbub of the city life they had time for quiet moments and reflection. I have often wondered if they, while aware their social standing, also recognized the value and purpose in their life’s work.

Even if they had, they most definitely did not expect to have been called out to receive the most magnificent angelic proclamation of the birth of the Messiah. With not one but a host of angels, breaking through the stillness and the darkness, hope was born that night. As Luke truly stressed, God moved from Heaven to earth—to the peripheries to reach all of humanity. Undoubtedly aghast at their divine invitation and despite any misgivings they may have had, their unexpected response was to make way for Bethlehem. Oh, the trepidation the shepherds had to have initially felt from the sudden marching orders and the impending arrival to a city, given their unkempt appearance!

Surprisingly, instead of a stately palace or grand estate customary to a King or “Lord,” they were welcomed by the small stable surroundings. Who is this king, that He would choose this as a birthplace, as a seat of governing, a site of lowly stature? Could it be that He has come for us also … and what does this mean for our lives? The peace the angels spoke of had to have meant more to the shepherds than an absence of physical conflict, yet resonated an inner peace of finally resting in God’s grace.

Consider: Do I believe that Jesus was born for me? What does this mean in my life, particularly for those times I feel alone, persecuted or marginalized?

There she is, just moments after getting the news that she is miraculously pregnant and, that too pregnant with the Son of God who is going to save the world. This girl of about sixteen decides to head out on her own to travel on a dangerous, nearly ninety-mile journey. Does this make any sense? No, it does not. She should be taking it easy and have a stress-free environment and someone—perhaps her husband, Joseph???—should be around her at all times. She should go directly to the doctor and get the best medical attention. Better yet, a doctor should be coming regularly to her house. Throw in a few security guards and some special home cooking. Why is she putting everything, including our salvation, at such risk? Why does she head out into such dangerous conditions when she is carrying heart. There is something about our hearts that never fail and it is this: whatever we carry in our hearts that is what carries us in life.

We have different levels in our hearts, from the more superficial to the most intimate, a place deep inside us where God can live. We carry things in our hearts because they carry us in our life. My first car was a 1984 Chevy Monte Carlo. It was maroon and big and I loved it. It cost me $300 and moved like small aircraft carrier while spitting burned oil out the tailpipe at people who tailgated me. It carried me around and took me back and forth to school so I was able to finish my master’s degree.

I have a little musical instrument called a charango. It is a cousin of the ukelele. Wherever I go I like to carry it in my arms and play it. It is not because it gets me attention. It is because it has carried me in my solitude so many times late at night and still does when I am alone in Ecuador.

Now all of that is great, and we have a lot of things that carry us in life. Money carries us through life, so we like money. Friends and family carry us through life and we carry them inside us. Work, sports … well, you get the point.

Only God can carry us through death. See, that is why Mary can go alone as a young girl on a dangerous, life-threatening journey, carrying God inside her. God is carrying her. He can carry her through everything, even death.

Last time when I was in Ecuador, one of the local men, a founder of the neighboring village in the mountains, got cancer in his foot. The doctors told him that the only option for him to survive would be to amputate the foot. He said no.

He moved down from the mountain and his wife and youngest daughter began to take care of him. I was able to visit him. I brought my charango and tried to learn some music from him. He would brighten up; Get his guitar off the wall and go on playing it. Not only was he the founder of the community, but he was a great guitar player, as well. When he was a young man, he played at the annual fiestas all night, playing more than 200 songs from pure memory, without repeating a single one. Almost no one in the community plays instruments anymore, so we had the idea of bringing some kids to his house to learn guitar and these songs.

Only a few months later, his condition worsened and he could not play anymore. The cancer quickly spread and by the time he could put his trust in God, it was too late to amputate the foot. He passed away on Easter Sunday morning.

At the funeral, there was no music. No one talked about his life. His wife felt lost and abandoned, the adult children did not know what to say. A weight hung over the family. He left his family, the music, his community—all for his right foot. His foot had carried him his entire life. But, it could not carry him through death. The church puts the feast of the Assumption as a holy day of obligation, because it puts in front of us the event of Mary literally being carried by God through death itself into heaven. We have a day dedicated to the reality that if we have God in our hearts, if we let Him delve deep in our hearts, then surely He will carry us through everything. Even death.

Mary set out and traveled to the hill country in haste to a town of Judah (Luke 1:39).

How do you put years of discernment on a single piece of paper or within a single write-up? As I was praying about it, the reality of its simplicity struck me: God called and I said, “No,” until Mary softened my heart. Well, actually it was more like, God called and I said, “No.” God called again and I said, firmly, “NO!” God asked yet again and I said, “No! Marriage, Lord, marriage.” God drew me to Himself, got His mom involved and asked me once more and I said, “Well … maybe.” God, in His infinite patience, asked a final time and I answered with a resounding, “Yes!”

The first time I heard God call me was in the fifth grade. Our English class was learning how to write business letters. For our assignment we were supposed to write a formal letter to any company in which we could see ourselves working “when we grew up.” I thought for a while on it and realized that the only thing that sounded interesting and exciting to me was being a religious sister. So I wrote to a missionary sister who graciously responded to me. As part of the assignment, we were to share any responses we received with the entire class. I remember feeling embarrassed as I read her response out loud. That was enough to snuff out the desire to be a sister (I was a very sensitive kid).

Throughout grade school the idea of being a sister was always in the back of my mind. I still heard God’s gentle voice calling me. But at that age, I did not want to confront it and so I dealt with it by saying flat out, “No.” Then, as a freshman in high school, my mom, sister and I took a pilgrimage to Medjugorje. Now Jesus was pulling out the big guns and getting His Mom to help Him in His “little scheme.” He knew I had a soft spot for her and He played that card well. While in Medjugorje I felt, through Mary, the tug of the Lord growing stronger, asking me to devote my life to Him. My response was, “Sounds great, Lord, but I can devote my life to You without wearing a habit.” But Momma Mary softened my heart and helped me to be open to the idea of a marriage to Her Son. I went on through my high school years with this idea very much in the forefront of my mind.

Being the stubborn person that I am, I told God that I was not going to commit until I tasted the dating life even though I knew in my heart of hearts that it would not bring me the fulfillment or satisfaction I desired and that it would not make me truly happy. Humoring me, God sent a very holy young man into my life. Through a youth group program I met my first real boyfriend, Anthony. He was everything I wanted in a husband (God covered His bases, making sure I would have no doubts): he was a gentleman, generous, self-sacrificing, not passive, considerate, mature, respectful to me, always upholding my dignity, funny, desired to be a saint, and challenged me to be holier. As a cherry on top, he was cute as well. While we dated I felt a separation between my heart and my body. It did not feel right. Something was off. It was like my mind and my heart hit a fork in the road and went in opposite ways: my heart was going toward religious life and my mind toward marriage. In my stubbornness I was attempting to lasso my heart and pull it over to the side my mind was on. I took it to prayer and (rather stupidly, since I knew the answer) asked God what was going on. He made it very clear to me (He is so patient with us) that in order to feel whole and in order to be at peace I was to give my entire life to Him, to be a bride of Christ. With that imagery, to be Jesus’ bride, I said, without a doubt and with such joy, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Now I will not say that I did not have any doubts later or any struggles along the road. Heavens…no! How could there not be when society sees you as a strange person because you are not following the norm and getting married? I still struggled with the desire to date. I found it hard to be wooed by Someone who is not tangible in the form you want Him to be or present to you physically in body. I struggled with telling people and admitting out loud that I wanted to dedicate my life to Jesus by being a Sister. But God remained faithful to me and He kept renewing His proposal to me in various ways. He knew my heart and wooed me in ways no earthly man could. I had so much love and support from family and friends which encouraged me, kept me focused and strengthened me in times of temptation, By the grace of God I had the perseverance and commitment to remain faithful to my call throughout grade school and high school. Now, twelve years after that initial call in the fifth grade, I have joined this religious community where Jesus is continuing to woo me and pursue my heart in ways I never thought possible. In turn, I am growing so much more in love with Him!

In 1986 the Sea of Galilee receded during a drought, exposing an ancient fishing boat, 27 feet long by 7.5 feet wide. It was taken to a nearby kibbutz where it was carbon dated. As it was proved to be approximately 2,000 years old and designed to carry between 12 and 15 fishermen, the locals called it the “Jesus boat.”

When a group of tourists were being shown the boat, a young man asked if he could touch it. The archaeologist on duty explained that it was not permitted. However, when he admitted that he had touched the boat himself in the course of his work, the young man immediately touched him, and his fellow pilgrims followed suit. It all happened so naturally and spontaneously and in turn demonstrated a deep belief that something precious can be communicated by touch.

It is a conviction that the heart of the Gospel story, begins with a very special touch—the touch of God. When the “finger of God’s right hand” touched the Virgin Mary, she conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit so that the love of God Himself was made flesh within her womb. As He grew “in wisdom and understanding” under the influence of the love that had conceived Him in the first place, He was able to communicate to others something of what He had received by His own sacred touch. It enabled Him to heal, make whole and even rise from the dead. Although He was moved by compassion to help people in their physical need, the power of His love that could be seen by all, symbolized a far deeper spiritual power—one that could bring not just physical but spiritual healing along with inner transformation. This spiritual power was handed on to the first Apostles so that they also could hand on to others what they had received from the Lord Himself.

The love that had been received by Jesus in the fullest possible way on the first Easter day was passed on to the Apostles and used by them and their successors—as a sacred and holy touch to be handed down to successive generations. This is why touch is so important in the rites of Christian initiation. It means that the love of Christ that was communicated to us at baptism has been literally handed on for almost 2,000 years. In short, the priest whose hands were laid on us at Baptism had received the sacred touch himself from the Bishop who ordained him, and he had received it from the Bishop who had ordained him and so on in an unbroken line that goes back to Jesus Himself. Through this sacred touch we are given the very love of God that can be transposed into an ever more perfect way of loving that reach out from us to others.

The loving touch of married couples then becomes the means by which the divine is communicated through the human to each other and then onto their children. The power of this love is dependent on the selflessness with which it is both given and received as their lives unfold. There is no other sacrament that so embodies the mystery of the incarnation as the sacrament of marriage, to which most of us are called and in which the majority of us are first formed.

I only came to understand this properly myself when my mother died. Every morning before the funeral, my father woke me up with a cup of tea, sat on my bed and began to tell me a story that I had never heard before. It was a love story— the story of my father’s love for my mother and her love for him. He told me that they had received help and understanding through the first major crisis in their marriage from a childhood friend, Dom Aidan Williams (Abbot of Belmont Abbey from 1940 to 1948).

By the time I was born, my father said he had entered into what he could only describe as an emotional limbo land where the feelings, the emotions, the passions that had once been so important in their relationship seemed to have all but disappeared. My mother seemed to find herself in a similar plight. Dom Aidan Williams was a deeply spiritual man who was able to show my parents that their love had not come to an end but to a new beginning. Love, he taught them, can never be judged in this life by feeling, but by giving—by giving even when you do not feel. In fact, giving without asking for anything in return is the most perfect expression of love. This is the highest form of loving possible on earth. This is the meaning of the Cross—it is a symbol not just for Christians but for all men and women who want to enter into the fullness of life. Only through a spiritual dying to self through selfless giving can a person open himself or herself fully to love, without which life has no ultimate meaning. He showed them how, with the best will in the world, the most idealistic of men and women will always come to an impasse in their spiritual journey, when the poverty of their own imperfect love suddenly becomes a barrier to receiving, in ever-greater measure, the love they want to receive without measure.

As they came through that first major crisis in their married love, my father discovered, in the months and years that followed, how a new dimension gradually began to open out in their life together. Precisely because they had suffered and sacrificed together they became surer and securer in each other’s love. There were moments when they were bonded together more perfectly than ever before, when they were united in mind, heart and body in an experience that bordered on the ecstatic—an experience that is completely unknown to the person whose idea of love never rises above the purely physical.

This new understanding of their married love did not mean that all their troubles and problems were over—far from it! What it did mean was that because of this new development, all the troubles, all the problems which they did have to face, could be faced because they could be faced together, with an inner strength from God, whose love they had ministered to each other.

They met Dom Aidan later when he was posted to Sant’Anselmo, Rome, as the Procurator General of his Order. He told them that the way they had been living out their married life has been an inspiration to him and many others—so impressed by the way they had lived and loved each other, and brought up such a fine family. He explained to them a theological theory close to his own heart, more common in the Eastern Church than in the West—the theory of “physical redemption” that had been developed particularly by the Greek fathers, the short of which is that redemption, or salvation, is brought about by touch, the touch of God. Christ is the touch of God, whose physical presence sanctified a world of matter and form, of flesh and blood, by entering into it. Then through touch, He communicated the love that filled Him to others, who would go out and—by their physical presence, their touch—would communicate to others what they had received.

This then, Dom Aidan explained, was the meaning of the laying on of hands that has characterized the Sacraments from the beginning. Love is communicated by touch. This is the tradition that literally hands on the faith that is not a body of facts but a body full of love, raised up on the first Easter to enter into all who would receive the touch of life. The Apostles, already touched by the Holy Presence, were penetrated through and through on the first Pentecost and went out to communicate what they had received to others. The hands, then, that touch and transmit the life of God to you at baptism were themselves the recipients of a touch that can be traced without break all the way back to Jesus.

Dom Aidan explained to them how the physical and intimate loving that was at the heart of their married life was a profound continuation of this process, and not just a continuation but a celebration, in which the love they both received in the sacred touch of baptism was progressively brought to perfection. Not only did their physical marital loving bring Christ’s life to take birth again in each other, but it overflowed to the children who had been the fruit of their loving—a love that was now literally embodied in their sons, who in their turn would communicate to others what they had received from the touch of their parents.

Forgiveness is at the heart of the teaching and ministry of Our Divine Saviour and yet, as the song goes, “sorry seems to be the hardest word.” Why is it that many people have such great difficulty going to confession when the TV and radio chat shows endlessly indulge audiences with the often less than-edifying lives of their rich and famous guests? “Celebrity gossip” they call it. It is as if there is a built-in human need to tell our story, warts and all. This is why confession is sometimes understood as a natural Sacrament. Even the non-believer knows that for any relationship to last it is necessary to be able to say, “I am sorry.” Yet, how quick we are to excuse ourselves! “At least I am not that bad,” we might say. Perhaps you have heard the story about the penitent who said to the priest, “Sure, I have no sins to confess” to which the priest wryly responded, “Well, in that case, do you know what you have to do? Go out into the Church and take the statue of Our Lady down from the pedestal and let yourself stand up there instead, and we will all light candles in front of you!” By all accounts, this is a true story.

“But, I do not like going to confession!” Ah, now that is a bit better! At least it is a more honest approach to the question. Confession is humiliating. Well, if that is so, then, perhaps, as Saint Teresa of Calcutta says, “humiliation is a path to humility.” Maybe herein lies the answer. Pride blocks me from grace and mercy. Pride fools me into thinking that I have not committed any sins. Pride, that original sin, darkens my intellect and weakens my will, prevents me from coming into the light of God’s grace. Is this not what Hell is all about—refusing to come out of my own selfish world—remaining in the dark? How miserable is that?

This explains why the only sin that cannot be forgiven is the one that is not confessed. This is “the sin against the Holy Spirit”—the denial of mercy. There is no such thing as a sin that cannot be forgiven, but God will not bestow His unfathomable love and mercy upon us unless we ask for it. Love cannot be forced upon someone who does not want to receive it. God’s grace is always there—all we have to do is ask.

Perhaps this also clarifies why Jesus instituted confession by way of a personal encounter with Him through the priest. In this way, it demands authentic humility. Not only is it extremely therapeutic to “tell” my sins to another person, thus unburdening myself, it allows me to honestly face up to them, to begin to account for myself, to obtain good counsel and seek to make amends. Like the doctor, I am not there as a priest to embarrass or make penitents feel guilty—our merciful God has already built that into our nature to prompt us to confess. All I want to do is heal in the name of Jesus. But how can I heal you, in His name, if you will not come, or you do not show me all your wounds?

Did you ever notice the interior effect of a good confession? Just as a ray of morning sunlight in the window catches the plethora of dust and motes in the air so, also, a ray of God’s grace enlightens the soul to see so many areas in need of attention. We begin to see things differently when we are open to the light of God’s grace. Seeing others in that same light, it becomes easier to excuse and even forgive where previously we had so easily found fault. The words of Jesus take on a new meaning for the enlightened soul: “the measure in which you forgive is the measure in which you will be forgiven,” so, also, with the other fruits of frequent confession—healing, peace, strength and growth.

Deliverance from evil brings physical and spiritual relief. Letting go of some hurt or some addiction brings real bodily relief. How much lighter we feel in spirit when we have honestly shown our wounds to the divine physician in this grace-filled sacrament!

Jesus is the author and source of peace. At the Last Supper, He told His disciples, “My peace I give you, a peace the world cannot give.” The world longs for peace. In hearing those words of absolution, “I absolve you …” the heart of Jesus reaches out to your heart. Going in peace, we praise afresh the Divine Mercy, “Jesus, I trust in you.”

Is there any sincere Catholic who is not battle-weary against the world, the flesh and the devil? This fighting of the good fight is impossible without supernatural help. Regular confession gives us real strength and stamina to continue running the race to the finish. When our wills are more closely attuned to the Divine Will, there is an assurance there. The truth sets us free. Others will begin to notice the difference it is making in us. They will want a share in this joy that comes by living the Gospel.

Like any beautiful garden that demands constant weeding and cultivation, so also the life of the soul demands regular attention. Fortnightly or monthly confession turns over that soil. The beautiful flowers of virtue, which take time and patience to cultivate, will bloom by God’s healing grace in the soul of those who are faithful to this sacrament. Who does not like to stop and admire a beautiful garden? Such are the lives of the saints who, by regular weeding and fertilizing, were enabled to bear such great fruit and become part of the Lord’s rich harvest.

Put it off no longer. Now is the time to allow the Lord to lavish His gifts of grace upon you. Drink from the fountain, bathe in its waters, come and be healed!