Encounter

Through the darkest valleys and toughest nights, Belinda heard a voice that kept calling her back.

My mother walked out on us when I was around eleven. At the time, I thought that she left because she didn’t want me. But in fact, after years of silently suffering through marital abuse, she couldn’t hold on anymore. As much as she wanted to save us, my father had threatened to kill her if she took us with her. It was too much to take in at such a young age, and as I was striving hard to navigate through this difficult time, my father started a cycle of abuse that would haunt me for years to come.

Valleys and Hills

To numb the pain of my father’s abuse and compensate for the loneliness of my mother’s abandonment, I started resorting to all kinds of ‘relief’ mechanisms. And at a point when I couldn’t stand the abuse anymore, I ran away with Charles, my boyfriend from school. I reconnected with my mother during this time and lived with her and her new husband for a while.

At 17, I married Charles. His family had a history of incarceration, and he followed suit soon enough. I kept hanging out with the same bunch of people, and eventually, I, too, fell into crime. At 19, I got sentenced to prison for the first time—five years for aggravated assault.

In prison, I felt more alone than I had ever been in my life. Everyone who was supposed to love and nurture me had abandoned me, used me, and abused me. I remember giving up, even trying to end my life. For a long time, I kept on spiraling downwards until I met Sharon and Joyce. They had given their lives to the Lord. Though I had no clue about Jesus, I thought I’d give it a try as I didn’t have anything else. There, trapped inside those walls, I started a new life with Christ.

Falling, Rising, Learning…

About a year and a half into my sentence, I came up for parole. Somehow in my heart, I just knew I was going to make parole because I’d been living for Jesus. I felt like I was doing all the right things, so when the denial came back with a year set off, I just didn’t understand. I started questioning God and was quite angry.

It was at this time that I was transferred to another correctional facility. At the end of the church services, when the chaplain reached out for a handshake, I flinched and withdrew. He was a Spirit-filled man, and the Holy Spirit had shown him that I had been hurt. The next morning, he asked to see me. There in his office, as he asked about what had happened to me and how I was hurting, I opened up and shared for the first time in my life.

Finally, out of prison and in private rehab, I started a job and was slowly getting a hold on my new life when I met Steven. I started going out with him, and we got pregnant. I remember being excited about it. As he wanted to make it right, we got married and started a family. That marked the beginning of probably the worst 17 years of my life, marked by his physical abuse and infidelity and the continuing influence of drugs and crime.

He would even go on to hurt our kids, and this once sent me into a rage—I wanted to shoot him. At that moment, I heard these verses: “Vengeance is mine, I will repay.” (Romans 12:19) and “The Lord will fight for you” (Exodus 14:14), and that prompted me to let him go.

Never a Criminal

I was never able to be a criminal for long; God would just arrest me and try to get me back on track. In spite of His repeated efforts, I wasn’t living for Him. I always kept God back, although I knew He was there. After a series of arrests and releases, I finally came home for good in 1996. I got back in touch with the Church and finally started building a true and sincere relationship with Jesus. The Church slowly became my life; I never really had that kind of a relationship with Jesus before.

I just couldn’t get enough of it because I started to see that it’s not the things that I’ve done but who I am in Christ that’s going to keep me on this road. But, the real conversion happened with Bridges to Life*.

How can I Not?

Even though I hadn’t been a participant in the program as an offender, being able to facilitate in those small groups was a blessing I hadn’t anticipated—one that would change my life in beautiful ways. When I heard other women and men share their stories, something clicked inside of me. It affirmed me that I was not the only one and encouraged me to show up time and again. I would be so tired and worn out from work, but I would walk into the prisons and just be rejuvenated because I knew that that was where I was supposed to be.

Bridges to Life is about learning to forgive yourself; not only did helping others help me become whole, it also helped me heal…and I am still healing.

First, it was my mother. She had cancer, and I brought her home; I looked after her for as long as she stayed until she passed away peacefully at my home. In 2005, my father’s cancer came back, and the doctors estimated he had at most six months. I brought him home too. Everybody told me not to take in this man after what he did to me. I asked: “how can I not?” Jesus forgave me, and I feel that God would want me to do this.

Had I chosen to hold on to the bitterness or hatred toward my parents for the abandonment and the abuse, I don’t know if they would have given their lives to the Lord. Just looking back over my life, I see how Jesus kept pursuing me and trying to help me. I was so resistant to feeling what was new, and it was so easy to stay in what was comfortable, but I am grateful to Jesus that I was able to finally completely surrender to Him. He is my Savior, He is my rock, and He is my friend. I just cannot imagine a life without Jesus.

Are you quick to judge others? Are you hesitant to help someone in need? Then, it’s time to reflect!

It was just another day for me. Returning from the market, weary from the day’s labor, collecting Roofus from the Synagogue school…

However, something felt different that day. The wind was whispering in my ear, and even the sky was more expressive than usual. Commotion from a crowd in the streets confirmed for me that today, something was going to change.

Then, I saw Him—His body so disfigured that I turned Roofus away from this fearful sight. The poor boy gripped my arm with all his might—he was terrified.

The way this man, well, what was left of Him, was being handled must mean he had done something terrible.

I could not bear to stand and watch, but as I began to leave, I was seized by a Roman soldier. To my horror, they commanded me to help this man to bear His heavy load. I knew this meant trouble. Despite resisting, they asked me to help Him.

What a mess! I did not want to associate with a sinner. How humiliating! To carry a cross whilst all of them watched?

I knew there was no escape, though, so I asked my neighbor Vanessa to take Roofus home because this trial would take a while.

I walked over to Him—filthy, bloody, and disfigured.  I wondered what he had done to deserve this. Whatever be it, this punishment was way too cruel.

The bystanders were yelling out ‘blasphemer,’ ‘liar,’ and ‘King of the Jews,’ whilst others were spitting at him and abusing him.

I had never been so humiliated and mentally tortured like this before. After taking only about ten to fifteen steps with him, he fell to the ground, face first. For this trial to end, he needed to get up, so I bent over to help him up.

Then, in his eyes, I saw something that changed me. I saw compassion and love? How could this be?

No fear, no anger, no hatred—just love and sympathy. I was taken aback, whilst with those eyes, He looked at me and held my hand to get back up. I could no longer hear or see the people around me. As I held the Cross on my one shoulder and Him on my other, I could only keep looking at Him. I saw the blood, the wounds, the spit, the dirt, everything that could no longer hide the divinity of His face. Now I heard only the beating of His heart and His labored breathing…He was struggling, yet so very, very strong.
Amid all the noise of the people screaming, abusing, and scurrying about, I felt as though He was speaking to me. Everything else I had done till that point, good or bad, seemed pointless.

When the Roman soldiers pulled Him from me to drag Him to the place of crucifixion, they shoved me aside, and I fell to the ground. He had to continue on His own. I lay there on the ground as people trampled over me. I did not know what to do next. All I knew was that Iife was never going to be the same again.

I could no longer hear the crowd but only the silence and the sound of my heart beating. I was reminded of the sound of His tender heart.

A few hours later, as I was about to get up to leave, the expressive sky from earlier began to speak. The ground beneath me shook! I looked ahead at the top of Calvary and saw Him, arms stretched and head bowed, for me.
I know now that the blood splattered on my garment that day belonged to the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world. He cleansed me with His blood.

*** *** ***

This is how I imagine Simon of Cyrene recalling his experience of the day he was asked to help Jesus carry the Cross to Calvary. He had probably heard very little of Jesus till that day, but I am very sure that he was not the same person after he helped the Savior carry that Cross.

This Lenten season, Simon asks us to look into ourselves:

Have we been too quick to judge people?

Sometimes, we are too quick to believe what our instincts tell us about somebody. Just like Simon, we may let our judgments come in the way of helping others. Simon saw Jesus being scourged and assumed that He ought to have done something wrong. There might have been times when we let our presumptions about a person come in the way of loving them as Christ called us to.

Are we hesitant to help some people?

Shouldn’t we see Jesus in others and reach out to help them?

Jesus asks us to love not only our friends but also strangers and enemies. Mother Teresa, being the perfect example of loving strangers, showed us how to see the face of Jesus in everyone. Who better to point at for an example of loving enemies than Jesus Christ Himself? He loved those who hated Him and prayed for those who persecuted Him. Like Simon, we may feel hesitant about reaching out to strangers or enemies, but Christ calls us to love our brothers and sisters just as He did. He died for their sins as much as He died for yours.

Lord Jesus, thank You for giving us the example of Simon of Cyrene, who became a great witness for following Your Way. Heavenly Father, grant us the grace to become Your witnesses by reaching out to those in need.

Judging others is easy, but often enough, we go totally wrong in our judgment about others.

I remember an old fellow who used to come to Saturday night Mass. He was much in need of a bath and clean clothes. Quite frankly, he stunk. You can’t blame those who didn’t want to be subject to this awful smell. He walked two or three miles every day around our little town, picking up trash, and lived in an old, run-down shack all by himself.

It is easy for us to judge appearances. Isn’t it? I suppose it is a natural part of being human. I don’t know how many times my judgments about a person were totally wrong. In fact, it is quite difficult, if not impossible, to look beyond appearances without God’s help.

This man, for instance, despite his odd personality, was very faithful about participating in Mass every week. One day, I decided I would sit next to him at Mass regularly. Yes, he stunk, but he was also in need of love from others. By God’s grace, the stink didn’t bother me much. During the sign of peace, I would look him in the eye, smile, and greet him with a sincere: “Peace of Christ be with you.”

Never Miss This

When I entertain judgments about a person, I miss the opportunity that God wants to give me—an opportunity to see beyond the physical appearance and look into the person’s heart. That is what Jesus did to each person He encountered on His journey, and He continues to look beyond our yuck and look at our hearts.

I remember a time, being many years away from my Catholic faith, I sat in the Church parking lot, trying to muster enough courage to walk through the doors to attend Mass. I was so afraid that others would judge me and not welcome me back. I asked Jesus to walk in with me. Upon entering the Church, I was greeted by the Deacon, who gave me a big smile and a hug, and said: “Welcome.” That smile and hug were what I needed to feel like I belonged and was home again.

Choosing to sit with the old man who stunk was my way of “paying it forward.” I knew how desperately I wanted to feel welcomed, to feel that I belonged and I mattered.

Let us not hesitate to welcome each other, especially those who are difficult to be around.

As a teenager, I did what every teen tries to do—I tried to fit in. I had this feeling, though, that I was unlike my peers. Somewhere along the way, I realized that it was my faith that made me different. I resented my parents for giving me this thing that made me stand out. I became rebellious and started to go to parties, discos, and nightclubs.

I didn’t want to pray anymore. I just wanted the whole excitement of putting on makeup, dressing up, daydreaming about who’s going to be at the parties, dancing all night long, and most of all, just ‘fitting in there.’

But, coming home at night, sitting on my bed all by myself, I felt empty inside. I hated who I’d become; it was a total paradox where I didn’t like who I was, and yet I didn’t know how to change and become myself.

On one of those nights, crying by myself, I remembered the simple happiness that I had as a child when I knew that God and my family loved me. Back then, that was all that mattered. So, for the first time in a long time, I prayed. I cried to Him and asked Him to bring me back to that happiness.

I kind of gave Him an ultimatum that if He did not reveal Himself to me in that next year, I would never return to Him. It was a very dangerous prayer but, at the same time, a very powerful one. I said the prayer and then totally forgot about it.

A few months later, I was introduced to the Holy Family Mission, a residential community where you come to learn your faith and know God. There was daily prayer, Sacramental life, frequent Confession, daily Rosary, and observation of the Holy Hour. I remember thinking, “That is way too much prayer for a single day!” At that point, I could hardly even give five minutes of my day to God.

Somehow, I ended up applying for the Mission. Every single day, I would sit in prayer in front of the Eucharistic Lord and ask Him who I was and what the purpose of my life was. Slowly but surely, the Lord revealed Himself to me through the Scriptures and from spending time in silence with Him. I gradually received healing from my inner wounds and grew in prayer and relationship with the Lord.

From the rebellious teenage girl who felt totally lost, to the joyous daughter of God, I underwent quite the transformation. Yes, God wants us to know Him. He reveals Himself to us because He faithfully answers every single prayer that we raise to Him.

Caught in a spiral of drugs and sex work, I was losing myself, until this happened.

It was night. I was in the brothel, dressed ready for “work.” There was a gentle knock at the door, not the big bang by the police, but a truly gentle tap. The brothel lady—the Madame—opened the door, and my mother walked in.

I felt ashamed. I was dressed for this “work” that I had been doing for months now, and there in the room was my mom!

She just sat there and told me: “Sweetheart, please come home.”

She showed me love. She didn’t judge me. She just asked me to come back.

I was overwhelmed by grace at that moment. I should have gone home then, but the drugs would not let me. I sincerely felt ashamed.

She wrote her phone number down on a piece of paper, slid it across, and told me: “I love you. You can call me anytime, and I’ll come.”

The next morning, I told a friend of mine that I wanted to get off heroin. I was scared. At 24, I was tired of life, and it felt like I’d lived enough to be done with life. . My friend knew a doctor who treated drug addicts, and I got an appointment in three days. I called my mom, told her I was going to the doctor, and that I wanted to get off heroin.

She was crying on the phone. She jumped in the car and came straight to me. She’d been waiting…

How it all began

Our family shifted to Brisbane when my father got a job at Expo 88. I was 12. I was enrolled at an elite private girls’ school, but I just didn’t fit in. I dreamed of going to Hollywood and making movies, so I needed to attend a school that specializes in Film and TV.

I found a school renowned for Film and TV, and my parents easily gave in to my request to change schools. What I didn’t tell them was that the school was also in the newspapers because they were infamous for gangs and drugs. The school gave me so many creative friends, and I excelled in school. I topped a lot of my classes and won awards for Film, TV, and Drama. I had the grades to get to University.

Two weeks before the end of grade 12, someone offered me marijuana. I said yes. At the end of school, we all went away, and again I tried other drugs…

From the kid who was laser-focused on finishing school, I went on a downward spiral. I still got into University, but in the second year, I ended up in a relationship with a guy who was a heroin addict. I remember all of my friends at the time telling me: “You’re going to end up a junkie, a heroin addict.” I, on the other hand, thought I was going to be his savior.

But all the sex, drugs, and rock and roll ended up getting me pregnant. We went to the doctor, my partner still high on heroin. The doctor looked at us and immediately advised me to get a termination—she must have felt that with us, this child had no hope. Three days later, I had an abortion.

I felt guilty, ashamed, and alone. I would watch my partner take heroin, get numb, and be unaffected. I begged him for some heroin, but he was all: “I love you, I’m not giving you heroin.” One day, he needed money, and I managed to bargain some heroin in return. It was a tiny bit, and it made me sick, but it also made me feel nothing. I kept on using, the dose getting higher and higher each time.

I eventually dropped out of University and became a frequent user.

I had no idea how I was going to pay for almost a hundred dollars’ worth of heroin I was using on a daily basis. We started growing marijuana in the house; we would sell it and use the money to buy even more drugs. We sold everything we owned, got kicked out of my apartment, and then, slowly, I started stealing from my family and friends. I didn’t even feel ashamed. Soon, I started stealing from work. I thought they didn’t know, but I eventually got kicked out of there too.

Finally, the only thing that I had left was my body. That first night I had sex with strangers, I wanted to scrub myself clean. But I couldn’t! You can’t scrub yourself clean to the inside out…But that didn’t stop me from going back. From making $300 a night and spending all of it on heroin for my partner and me, I went to make a thousand dollars a night; every cent I made went into buying more drugs.

It was in the middle of this downward spiral that my mother walked in and saved me with her love and mercy. But that wasn’t enough.

A Hole in My Soul

The doctor asked me about my drug history. As I went over the long story, my mum kept on crying—she was shocked by the fullness of my story. The doctor told me that I needed rehab. I asked: “Don’t drug addicts go to rehab?” He was surprised: “You don’t think you are one?”

Then, he looked me in the eye and said: “I don’t think drugs are your problem. Your problem is, you have a hole in your soul that only Jesus can fill.”

I purposefully chose a rehab that I was sure to be non-Christian. I was sick, starting to slowly detox when, one day after dinner, they called us all out for a prayer meeting. I was angry, so I sat in the corner and tried to block them out—their music, their singing, and their Jesus everything. On Sunday, they took us to church. I stood outside and smoked cigarettes. I was angry, hurt, and lonely.

Begin Anew

On the sixth Sunday, August 15, it was pouring rain—a conspiracy from Heaven, in hindsight. I had no choice but to go inside the building. I stayed at the back, thinking that God couldn’t see me there. I had started to become aware that some of my life choices would be considered sins, so there I sat, at the back. At the end however, the priest said: “Is there anyone in here who would like to give their heart to Jesus today?”

I remember standing in front and listening to the priest say: “Do you want to give your heart to Jesus? He can give you forgiveness for your past, a brand new life today, and hope for your future.”

By that stage, I was clean, off heroin for almost six weeks. But what I didn’t realize was that there was much difference between being clean and being free. I repeated the Salvation prayer with the priest, a prayer I didn’t even understand, but there, I gave my heart to Jesus.

That day, I began a transformation journey. I got to begin anew, receive the fullness of the love, grace, and goodness of a God who had known me my whole life and saved me from myself.

The way forward was not one without mistakes. I got into a relationship in rehab, and I got pregnant again. But instead of thinking of it as a punishment for a bad choice that I had made, we decided to settle down. My partner said to me: “Let’s get married and do our best to do it His way now.” Grace was born a year later, through her, I have experienced so much grace.

I’ve always had the passion to tell stories; God gave me a story that has helped to transform lives. He has since used me in so many ways to share my story—in words, in writing, and in giving my all to work for and with the women who are stuck in a similar life that I used to lead.

Today, I am a woman changed by grace. I was met by the love of Heaven, and now I want to live life in a way that allows me to partner with the purposes of Heaven.

I am still in awe of Reverend Sebastian’s account of a miraculous escape from deadly danger. Surely you would be too, as I share it here in his own words.

It was the coolest autumn night of October 1987, nearly 3 AM, and I had an hour left before boarding my flight to London. I decided to head to the airport lounge and grab a cup of hot coffee, which helped me shake off my sleepiness. I had taken some medication for a slight fever, but the effect was already wearing off. So, I took another one, and as I boarded the flight, I requested the air hostess, who introduced herself as Anne, for a free row in the middle so that I could get some rest during the long flight. My priestly collar must have touched her because when the seatbelt sign was turned off, Anne approached me and led me three rows back to where four seats were unoccupied. I then arranged the seats like a small couch and settled in.

Disturbing News

My comfortable slumber was broken by the erratic movements of the aircraft. My eyes shot open; the cabin was dimly lit, and most passengers were either asleep or glued to the screens in front of them. I couldn’t help but notice the swift movements of the cabin crew as they hurried along the narrow walkways between the rows of seats.

Assuming that someone was ill and needing assistance, I asked Anne, who was passing by my seat, what was happening. “It’s just turbulence, Father. Everything is under control,” she replied before quickly moving forward. However, her panicked eyes suggested otherwise. Unable to sleep, I walked towards the back of the plane to request a cup of tea. A crew member ordered me to return to my seat but promised to bring me the tea later. I sensed that something was amiss. As I patiently waited for my tea, a male crew member approached me.

“Father Sebastian, there is a fire on one of the engines, and we haven’t been able to contain it yet. We have a full tank of fuel, and we’ve been flying for almost two hours. If the fire reaches the fuel tank, the plane could explode at any time,” he paused before looking me directly in the eyes. My body froze with shock.

“The captain has a special request—please pray for all 298 souls on board and for the fire to be extinguished. Both captains know that we have a priest on board and have requested that I convey this message to you,” he finished.

Taking his hands in mine, I replied: “Please tell the captains to remain courageous, for Jesus and Mother Mary will protect us from this dangerous situation, just like how Jesus saved His disciples from the stormy sea. There is nothing to worry about, and the Holy Spirit will take control of the situation from this point forward. They will be guided wisely by Him.”

I heard a weary voice in front of me asking if the flight was going to explode. It was Sophie, a woman in her late years whom I had met on the plane earlier. She had overheard some of our conversation and had become hysterical. Crew members warned her not to make a scene; she calmed down a bit and sat next to me, confessing her sins to me 30,000 feet high.

Holding On

However, I had great faith in Mother Mary, who had helped me overcome similar situations before. I took my rosary and began to pray, closing my eyes and reciting it with utmost devotion.

Mid-flight, I was informed that the captain was trying to make an emergency landing in a non-busy airport and that we needed to hold on for another seven minutes. Eventually, as the situation was still not under control, the captain informed the passengers to prepare themselves for an emergency landing. John, the crew member who had spoken to me earlier, informed me that the fire had reached gate 6, leaving only one more gate till the engine. I silently kept on praying for the safety of everyone on the flight. As the situation continued without improvement, I closed my eyes and continued praying, finding strength and courage in my faith. When I opened my eyes, the plane had landed safely at the airport, and the passengers were applauding.

Relief at Last!

“My dear friends, this is Rodrigo, your captain from the deck!” He paused for a moment and then continued. “We were in an extremely dangerous situation in the past hours, and we are good now! A special thanks to the Almighty God and Father Sebastian. He was praying for all of us and gave all of us great strength and courage to overcome this situation and…” he paused again, “we did!”

John and Anne walked with me as we were greeted by the crew and dignitaries at the airport terminal. I was told that a replacement aircraft would arrive soon and that all passengers would be transferred to the new plane in an hour.

After the harrowing experience on the flight, I couldn’t help but reflect on the power of prayer and the importance of trusting God in any situation. I remembered the words from Mark 4:35-41, where Jesus calmed a storm on the sea and asked his disciples: “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?”

As we boarded the new flight, I felt a renewed sense of gratitude for the miraculous escape and a stronger faith in God’s protection.

*****

Father Sebastian has since shared his story with many people and encouraged them to put their trust in God during difficult times. He reminds them that with faith and prayer, they, too, can overcome any storm and find peace in the midst of chaos.

The burdens of life can weigh us down, but take heart! The Good Samaritan waits on you

In the past few years, I have traveled from Portland, Oregon, to Portland, Maine, literally crisscrossing the country, speaking and leading women’s retreats. I love my work and am often humbled by it. To travel and meet so many faithful women on their knees, seeking the face of the Lord, is one of the greatest graces of my life.

But earlier this year, my work came to a halt when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, my second bout. Thankfully, we caught it very early; it had not spread. We weighed our options for treatment and settled on a double mastectomy. We had hoped that following that surgery, no further treatment would be required. But when they got a good look at the tumor under a microscope, it was determined that my recurrence rate would lower significantly with a few rounds of preventative chemo.

With a heart full of dread and pictures of me nauseated and going bald running through my head, I called the oncologist and made an appointment. Just then, my husband walked in from work and said: “I just got laid off.”

Sometimes, when it rains, it is monsoons.

Mayday, Mayday

So, with no income and the prospect of overwhelming medical bills about to assail our mailbox, we prepared for my treatments. My husband diligently sent out resumes and garnered a few interviews. We were hopeful.

Chemo, for me, it turned out, was not too nauseating but terribly painful. The bone pain had me in tears at times, and nothing alleviated it. I was grateful that my husband was home and could help take care of me. Even in the moments when there was nothing he could do, just having him nearby was a great comfort. It was an unexpected grace in his having been laid off. We trusted in God’s plan.

The weeks went on. My hair decided to take an extended vacation, my energy waned, and I did what little work I could. No job offers came in for my talented husband. We prayed, we fasted, we trusted in the Lord, and we began to feel the strain of the season.

Struck to the Core

This year, my women’s prayer group is praying through the masterwork Divine Intimacy by Father Gabriel of Saint Mary Magdalene. One Sunday, when I didn’t feel l could carry these burdens another step, his reflection on the Good Samaritan struck me to the core. You recall the beloved parable from Luke 10 when a man is robbed, beaten, and left on the side of the road. A priest and Levite pass him by, offering no aid. Only the Samaritan stops to tend to him. Father Gabriel reflects: “We, too, have encountered robbers on our way. The world, the devil, and our passions have stripped and wounded us … With infinite love [the Good Samaritan par excellence] has bent over our open wounds, curing them with the oil and wine of His grace … Then He took us in His arms and brought us to a safe place.” (Divine Intimacy #273)

How keenly I felt about this passage! My husband and I do feel robbed, beaten, and abandoned. We’ve been stripped of our income, our work, our dignity. We’ve been robbed of my breasts, my health, even my hair. As I prayed, I had a strong sense of the Lord stooping over us, anointing and healing us, and then taking me into His arms and carrying me while my husband walked along with us, taking us to a place of safety. I was flooded with tears of relief and gratitude.

Father. Gabriel goes on to say: “We should go to Mass in order to meet Him, the Good Samaritan … When He comes to us in Holy Communion, He will heal our wounds, not only our exterior wounds, but our interior ones also, abundantly pouring into them the sweet oil and strengthening wine of His grace.”

Later that day, we went to Confession and Mass. We had a beautiful visiting priest from Africa whose reverence and gentleness washed over me at once. He prayed for me in confession, asking the Lord to give me the desires of my heart—dignified work for my husband—and to heal me. By the time it came for Communion, I was weeping on my way up to meet the Good Samaritan, knowing He was carrying us to a place of safety—in Him.

Never Pass Me By

I know this may or may not mean my husband gets a job, or I get through chemo without too much pain. But there isn’t a doubt in my mind, heart, or body that I met the Good Samaritan in that Holy Eucharist. He would not pass me but would stop and tend to me and my wounds. He was as real to me as He has ever been, and even though my husband and I are still feeling beaten, I thank the Lord for being so present to us as the Good Samaritan who stops, tends, heals, and then gathers us up to a place of safety.

His safety is not the world’s safety. To stand and wait in the midst of this “attack,” this robbery, is some of the hardest spiritual work I have ever been invited to do. Oh, but I trust our Good Samaritan par excellence. He is waiting there to carry me—to gather up anyone who feels robbed, beaten, and abandoned—and, through the Blessed Sacrament, set his seal of safety upon our hearts and souls.

No matter how bad the tough times, if you hold onto this, you will never be shaken.

We live in very dark and confusing times. Evil is all around us, and Satan is doing his best to destroy society and the world we live in. Looking at the news for even a few minutes can be very disheartening. Just when you think it can’t get any worse, you hear of some new atrocity or wickedness in the world. It’s easy to get discouraged and to lose hope.

But as Christians, we are called to be a people of hope. How is that possible?

I have a friend who is originally from Rhode Island. One Father’s Day, his kids got him a hat with a picture of an anchor and Hebrews 6:19 embroidered on it. What was the significance of that? The Rhode Island state flag has an anchor with the word “hope” written on it. It is a reference to Hebrews 6:19, which says: “We have this hope, a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters the inner shrine behind the curtain…”

The book of Hebrews was written to people suffering great persecution. To acknowledge that you were Christian meant death or suffering, torture or exile. Because it was so hard, many were losing faith and wondering if it was worth it to follow Christ. The author of the letter to the Hebrews was trying to encourage them to hang on, to persevere—that it was worth it. He tells his readers that hope based in Jesus is their anchor.

Solid and Immovable

When I was in high school in Hawaii, I was part of a program that taught marine biology to students. We spent several weeks at a time living and working on a sailboat. In most of the places we sailed to, there was a dock or pier where we could tie the boat up securely to the land. But there were some remote high schools that were not located near a harbor or bay that had a dock. In those cases, we had to use the boat’s anchor—a heavy metal object with some sharp hooks on it. When one drops the anchor into the water, it hooks onto the bottom of the seabed and prevents the boat from floating away.

We can be like boats, tossing and floating about on the tides and waves of daily life. We hear about a terrorist attack in the news, shootings in schools and churches, bad court rulings, bad news in your family, or natural disasters. There are a lot of things that can shake us and make us feel lost and full of despair. Unless we have an anchor for our souls, we are going to get tossed about and not have any peace.

But for an anchor to work, it needs to be hooked onto something solid and immovable. A boat can have the strongest, best anchor available, but unless it is hooked onto something secure and firm, that boat will be swept away by the next tide or wave.

Many people have hope, but they put their hope in their bank account, in the love of their spouse, in their good health, or in the government. They may say: “As long as I have my house, my job, my car, everything will be fine. As long as everyone in my family is healthy, all is well.” But do you see how shaky that can be? What happens if you lose your job, a family member gets sick, or the economy fails? Do you lose your faith in God then?

Never Swept Away

I remember when my dad was battling cancer for the last few years of his life. It was a stormy, turbulent time for our family as with each new checkup, we alternately heard good news or bad news. There were trips to the ER, and he was even airlifted once to another hospital for emergency surgery. I felt very tossed about and on shaky ground as we watched my dad suffer and get sicker and weaker.

My dad was a strong, devout Christian. He spent hours each day reading and studying the Word of God, and he had taught Bible studies for years. It was tempting for me to wonder where Jesus was in all of this. After hearing another bad prognosis, with my soul feeling wrenched by this latest stormy report, I went to a church to pray.

“Lord, I’m losing hope. Where are you?”

As I sat there quietly, I began to realize that I had been putting my hope in my dad’s recovery. That’s why I was feeling so shaky and insecure. But Jesus was inviting me to put my hope, my anchor, in Him. The Lord loved my dad so much more than I ever could, and He was with him in this difficult trial. God would give my dad what he needed to run his race well until the end, whenever that was. I needed to remember that and put my hope in God and in God’s great love for my father.

My dad passed away at home a few weeks later, surrounded by love and much prayer, tenderly cared for by my mom. He died with a gentle smile on his face. He was ready to go to the Lord, looking forward to seeing his Savior face to face at last. And I was at peace with it, ready to let him go.

Hope is the anchor, but the anchor is only as solid as what it is connected to. If our anchor is secure in Jesus, who has gone through the veil ahead of us and is waiting for us, then no matter how high the waves get, no matter how wild the storms around us are, we will hold steady and not be swept away.

On a scorching afternoon on the streets of Calcutta, I met a boy…

Prayer is an undeniable, central, and key part of every Christian’s life. However, Jesus emphasized two more things which clearly went hand in hand with prayer—fasting and almsgiving (Matthew 6:1-21). During the seasons of Lent and Advent, we are specifically called to commit more time and effort to all three ascetic practices. ‘More’ is the important word. Whatever season we are in, radical self-denial and giving are a continuous call for each baptized believer. Around eight years ago, God literally made me stop and think about it. 

Unexpected Meeting

In 2015, I had the great privilege and blessing of fulfilling a lifelong dream to be with and serve some of the most in-need brothers and sisters worldwide in Calcutta, India, where the poor are described not only as poor but the ‘poorest of the poor.’ From the moment I landed, it was as though electricity was running through my veins. I felt such immense gratitude and love in my heart to be given this amazing opportunity to serve God with Saint Mother Teresa’s religious order, the Missionaries of Charity. The days were long but absolutely action-packed and grace-filled. Whilst I was there, I did not intend to waste a moment. After a 5 AM start to each day with an hour of prayer, followed by Holy Mass and breakfast, we set off to serve at a home for the sick, destitute, and dying adults. During the break at lunchtime, after a light meal, many of the religious brothers I was staying with took a siesta to recharge their batteries, to be ready to go again in the afternoon and on into the evening. 

One day, instead of having a rest in the house, I decided to go for a walk to find a local internet café, to contact my family by email. As I turned one of the corners, I encountered a young boy aged around seven or eight years old. His face expressed a mixture of frustration, anger, sadness, hurt, and tiredness. Life had already seemed to have begun to take its toll on him. He was carrying over his shoulder the biggest transparent, heavy-duty plastic bag that I had seen in my life. It contained plastic bottles and other plastic items, and it was full. 

My heart broke within me as we stood silently examining one another. My thoughts then went to what I could give this young boy. My heart sank, as I reached for my pocket, realizing that I only had a small amount of change with me to use for the internet. It added up to less than one pound in English money. As I gave it to him, looking him in the eye, his whole being seemed to change. He was so lifted and grateful, as his beautiful smile lit up his beautiful face. We shook hands, and he walked on. As I remained standing in that back street of Calcutta, I stood in awe as I knew that the Almighty God had just personally taught me such a powerful life-changing lesson through this encounter.

Reaping Blessings

I felt God had beautifully taught me in that moment that it is not the actual gift that is important but the disposition, intention, and love from the heart with which a gift is given. Saint Mother Teresa beautifully summed this up saying, “We cannot all do great things, but we can do small things with great love.” Indeed, Saint Paul said, if we give away all we have “but have not love,” we gain nothing (1 Corinthians 13:3).

Jesus describes the beauty of giving, that when we “give… it will be given to you; good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For the measure you give will be the measure you get back.” (Luke 6:38). Saint Paul also reminds us that “Whatever a man sows, that he will also reap” (Gal 6:7). We do not give in order to receive, but God in His infinite wisdom and goodness blesses us personally in this life and also in the next when we step out in love (John 4:34-38). As Jesus taught us, “it is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35).

As an only child, I had this ‘baby fantasy’. Every time a cousin was born, I prepared with great ado, trimming my nails and washing up well so I could touch the baby. Waiting for Christmas felt the same as I was preparing to receive baby Jesus into my heart. Once in college, during the Christmas Mass, a thought struck me: this adorable baby Jesus is soon going to mount up to Calvary and be crucified, for Lent was just a few months away. I was perturbed, but later, God gave me the conviction that life is never without the cross. Jesus suffered so He could be with us in our sufferings. 

I did not fully grasp the sublime meaning of suffering until my little Anna was born premature at 27 weeks of pregnancy and all the complications that followed—severe brain damage, epileptic seizures, and microcephaly. Sleepless nights and constant cries, there wasn’t an easy day from then on. I had a plethora of dreams and aspirations, but with my little one needing me so much, I had to forgo all of it. One day, I was brooding over how my life had become home-bound with Anna, now about 7 years old, stretching across my lap and slowly gulping some water little by little. In my mind, there was a lot of noise, but I could distinctly hear angelic music, and the words were repeated, over and over again: “Jesus…Jesus…this is Jesus.”  

With her long arms and legs, and her slender body sprawling over my lap, it suddenly dawned on me—there was a striking resemblance with the Pieta, recalling how at the foot of the Cross, Jesus lay silently on His mother’s lap. 

Tears flowed and I was brought to the reality of God’s presence in my life. When pinned down with the cares and worries of life, I sometimes gasp for even the most menial tasks, but then I remember I am not alone. 

Every child God gives us is truly a blessing. While Anna depicts the suffering Jesus, our 5-year-old son wipes the drool from Anna’s face and promptly gives her medicine. He reminds me of the child Jesus helping his father and mother with the daily chores. Our little 3-year-old daughter never tires of thanking Jesus for even the most trivial things, bringing to mind how the child Jesus grew in wisdom and love. Our one-year-old cherub, with his little cheeks, plump rounded hands and legs, resembles the sculpted baby Jesus, bringing to mind how Mama Mary nurtured and cared for the little one. As he smiles and turns in his sleep, there’s even a glimpse of baby Jesus gently sleeping. 

If Jesus hadn’t come down to be amongst us, would I still have the peace and joy I experience every day? If I hadn’t known His love, would I experience the beauty of seeing Jesus in my children and doing everything for them as I would for Him?

Life throws hard punches at everyone, but have you ever wondered how some people are never defeated?

For every expatriate working in Saudi Arabia–the annual vacation is the highlight of the year. I too was looking forward to my trip back to India, which always took place around Christmas.

There were just a few weeks left for the trip when I received an email from my family. Nancy, a close friend of ours, had called them to say that Jesus was asking for special prayers for my vacation. Of course, I added it to my daily prayer list.

Nothing eventful happened during most of my stay. The weeks at home went by quickly. Christmas came and was celebrated with the usual gusto. After a month and a half of fun-filled days, my vacation days were almost over. Nothing extraordinary occurred, and the message was slowly forgotten.

A Hard Punch

Two days before my return trip, I decided to start packing my bags. The first item on the list was my passport, and I could not locate it anywhere! Then came a numbing realization: I had taken it to the travel agent that morning to confirm my flight, and it was still in the pocket of the jeans I had worn. However, I had earlier thrown these jeans in the laundry basket without checking the pockets!

I ran to the washing machine and opened the lid. The jeans were whirling around. I pulled them out as fast as I could and pushed my hand into the front pocket. A feeling of dread spread over me as I pulled out the wet passport. 

The official seals on most of the inside pages were damaged. Some of the travel stamps were displaced and, most distressingly, the ink on the Saudi entry visa was smudged too. I had no idea what to do. The only other option was to apply for a new passport and try to get a new entry visa upon arrival in the capital city. However, I didn’t have enough time left for this. My job was on the line.

My Battalion to the Rescue

I laid the passport open on my bed and turned on the ceiling fan, hoping to dry it out. I told the rest of my family what had happened. As usual, we joined together in prayer, entrusted the situation to Jesus, and asked Him for guidance. I also called Nancy to tell her about the mishap. She started praying for us too; there was nothing more that we could do.

Later that night, Nancy called me to say that Jesus had told her His angel would see me through to Riyadh! Two days later, finding strength in prayer, I said goodbye to my family, checked in my luggage, and boarded my first flight. 

At the Mumbai airport where I changed flights, I joined the line for the immigration clearance at the international terminal. Feeling a bit anxious, I waited with my passport open. Thankfully, the officer barely glanced down before absent-mindedly stamping the page and sending me off!

Filled with divine grace, I felt at peace. After the flight landed in Saudi Arabia, I continued to pray as I collected my baggage and joined one of the long lines at the immigration checkpoint. The line moved slowly as the officer carefully examined each passport before stamping it with an entry visa. Finally, it was my turn. With my passport opened to the proper page, I walked toward him. At that very moment, another officer walked up and started a conversation with him. As he was immersed in the discussion, the immigration officer stamped my passport with the entry visa, barely even glancing down at the pages. 

I was back in Riyadh, thanks to my guardian angel, who had “led me through the fire” at just the right moment. 

Guardian—Now, Then, and Always

Undoubtedly, the trip boosted my relationship with my guardian angel. However, Jesus underlined yet another lesson for me: I am being led by a living God who foresees every puddle in my path.  Walking hand in hand with Him, listening to His directions and obeying them, I can handle any obstacle. “When you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it”’ (Isaiah 30:21).

If Nancy had not been listening to God’s voice, and if we had not been praying as instructed, my life might have swerved off track. Every Christmas since then, every trip back to my home country serves as a fond reminder of God’s leading providence and protective embrace.