How Quarantine Changed My Life
As the weeks rolled by with my husband working from home, putting us together 24 hours a day, I found myself once again feeling like a volcano about to erupt…Little did I know then how quarantine would change my life…
It was the spring of 2020 and Covid-19 had spread throughout the country and much of the world. It was a time when quarantine changed my life. We were adapting to new phrases like “social distancing,” and “sheltering in place.” And connecting to others was limited to the use of technology. Thus, a friend of mine encouraged me and some other friends to join her for an online Bible study, pandemic-style. After watching sections of a video and reading portions of the book that accompanied it, we’d text our thoughts and comments to one another.
In the first chapter of the study I came across the word “forbearance.” Despite having been a student of Scripture for years, I realized this term was not a part of my lexicon! It was not unfamiliar to me, as I’d come across it throughout the Bible, but the word forbearance seemed better suited to another time in history. The author described this virtue as the ability to hold back one’s power, even if one has the authority to use it, for the greater good that may not be evident to the one seeking relief. She offered a metaphor to explain: imagine God having two arms, both powerful. While stretching out His right arm to exert power, He at times uses his left arm to pull the other hand back, so as to prevent its strength being wielded.
I shared this insight on the group text. One participant responded that “He cares enough to allow me to struggle and find deeper understanding and connection to His heart.” I’d seen this very thing in my life over and over through the years. The 40 years I’d worked in healthcare seemed to parallel the 40 years the Israelites wandered in the desert. Grumbling and complaining marked each of our respective journeys yet the Lord continued to provide for my needs and those of the Israelites and taught us obedience which resulted in patience, one of the “fruits of the Spirit.”
Over time, patience has become a habit and I rarely express irritation or anger verbally anymore—at least outside the doors of my home! While I had made progress even within my home, I still found it to be the place that triggered my darker angels. Although I was blessed with a good and loving husband, his switch to working from home due to quarantine required an unexpected adjustment to being together 24 hours a day.
As the weeks together wore on, I found myself once again feeling like a volcano about to erupt. I tried to suppress it, but when for what seemed like the hundredth time Dan knocked a full glass of tea, ice cubes and all, onto the end table, I exploded and ran to grab towel. When I later apologized, I remembered what my husband told a representative from the Big Sisters organization who had called for a spousal referral to determine my suitability as a volunteer. In response to my curiosity about the content of their lengthy conversation he replied, “I said lots of nice things about you. They did ask me if I thought you were a patient person. I told them you are very patient…with everyone but me!” As we chuckled together, both recognizing the truth in his statement, I realized that in the area of patience, God isn’t finished with me yet.
Since retiring, I had adopted a routine of walking in the neighborhood each morning. The exercise kept my thoughts focused as I poured out my heart to the Lord each day. I confessed my impatience, asked forgiveness, listed my husband’s good qualities, and thanked God for him. What I couldn’t seem to do was exercise forbearance! I obviously wasn’t exhibiting the dictionary’s definition of “patient self-control, restraint and tolerance!” One morning, after another frustrating day of my husband working from home, I laid it all out as I prayed. “Lord, I have tried every way I know how to pray about this. I surrender to Your work in my life; make me a truly patient person with everyone, even my husband. I’ve done what I can; now I ask You to do in me what I cannot do in myself.”
As the day ended, I happened to glance at the stack of devotionals on the end table. One of the books maybe sixth or seventh from the top caught my eye. I hadn’t opened it in some time, and didn’t even remember what it was titled. Still, I was drawn to it. It was called, “Biblical Homilies,” by Karl Rahner, a noted German theologian. I opened the volume to where a bookmark lay and laughed at the title on the page: “If You Can Put Up With Him, So Can I.”
Fr. Rahner cited 1 Peter 3: 8-9: “Finally, all of you be of one mind, sympathetic, loving toward one another, compassionate, humble. Do not return evil for evil, or insult for insult; but, on the contrary, a blessing, because to this you were called, that you might inherit a blessing.” I read the sermon that followed:
“This harmony and concord, then, is interpreted to mean that we must be united in prayer. No doubt the letter of St. Peter refers to a general disposition to get on with people.” This idea is obvious enough. We know only too well what a trial we are to each other.” (I paused…how did Fr. Rahner know what was going on in my house?!) “We are so different from one another: we have had different experiences, we are of different temperaments, of different origins, we come from different families, we have different talents and different jobs to do—small wonder if it is difficult for us all to be of one mind. We have different views and we understand each other imperfectly. And being so very different from other people we well may grate on them, unconsciously weary them with what we are, what we think, what we do, what we feel. Mutual harmony and comprehension, being of one mind, is difficult for us. Now we can only live together and bear with each other, bear one another’s burdens, if we do our best to be of one mind, if we are self-effacing and self-possessed, if we can hold our tongue even when we are right,” (now I was sure this priest had been peering at me through the window these last weeks!) “if we can let the other man be himself and give him his due, if we refrain from rash judgment and are patient.” (There was that word again!) “Then it becomes possible, at least in a rough and ready way, to be of one mind. We may not achieve empathy together, but we can be of one mind in Christian forbearance,” (FORBEARANCE!!! The word I never examined or considered until a week or so ago!) “each bearing the other’s burden. This means that I bear the burden the other man is to me simply by being himself, because I know I am a burden to him simply by being myself.”
I already knew I couldn’t change anyone but myself, and that didn’t seem to be going so well either! Seeing it spelled out so clearly, as given, brought the pieces together. Dan always worked hard to show me he loved me, despite my frailty. He lived the law of love for me. I looked online to find references to “forbearance” in scripture. Turns out, there were different translations of the word, based on the culture and time when each was compiled—Long-suffering, patience that endures, great-heartedness, even “developing a willingness to stick with things”. My response toward Dan felt like “long-suffering,” while his toward me looked much more like “great-heartedness.” We had found very different ways to incarnate the same virtue.
I remembered the definition of forbearance I’d heard in the bible-study video: the ability to hold back one’s power, even if one has the authority to use it, for the greater good that may not be evident to the one seeking relief. It was the same lesson I’d learned through years of practicing physical therapy—calm responses made greater difference over time. Without taking time to comprehend what was driving a patient’s resistance to treatment, there would be no progress. Once they knew I understood them, my patients’ transformation would begin. Their progress was well worth my extra effort.
I saw now that God was asking me to hold back my power–whether my tongue or my thoughts–for the greater good of our marriage. I had been “seeking relief;” but couldn’t see how it would come. With this realization, quarantine changed my life—by bearing the burden of the one to whom I had promised to be true, in good times and in bad, to love and honor all the days of my life, just as he did for me. How would I practice forbearance? Glancing at a picture of my husband, I knew: the example was right before my eyes.
Karen Eberts is a retired Physical Therapist. She is the mother to two young adults and lives with her husband Dan in Largo, Florida
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God sends no one away empty-handed—except those who are full of themselves I once heard a Taekwondo master tactfully correct a young teenage boy who was looking to be his martial arts student: “If you would like to learn martial arts from me,” he said, “you need to pour out the tea in your cup first, and then bring back the empty cup.” To me the master’s meaning was clear and concise: He didn’t want a prideful student. A cup full of tea has no space for more; no matter how good what you try to add is, it will overflow the cup. Likewise, no student can learn from even the best of masters if he is already full of himself. As my eyes followed the young man walking away in indignation, I told myself that I would never fall into that prideful trap. Yet a few years later, I found myself bringing a cup brimming with bitter tea to God—my Master. Full to the Brim I was assigned to teach religion to PreK to second grade students at a small Catholic school in Texas. I received that assignment from my religious superior with bitterness and discouragement. For me, the reason was quite understandable: I had completed my Master of Theology degree, because I wanted to become a college professor in Sacred Scripture, and later, a sought-after public speaker. This assignment clearly did not meet my expectations and required so much less of me than what I thought I could give. In tears I fell prostrate onto the convent’s chapel floor and lay there for a long time. How can I bring myself to teach a bunch of little children? How can I benefit from working among kids? Indeed, my teacup was full to the brim. But even in my pride, I could not bear to walk away from my Master. The only way out was to beg Him for help. The Master saw me through and through and was ready to help me drain my teacup so he could fill it with more tasteful tea. Ironically, he chose to use the very children put in my charge to teach me humility and empty my cup of pride. To my surprise, I began to realize that the children were budding, little theologians. Regularly, their questions and remarks gave me greater understanding and insights into the nature of God. A question from four-year-old Andrew brought a surprising result: “How can God be inside of me?” he asked. While I was organizing my thoughts and preparing a sophisticated theological answer, little Lucy replied without a moment’s hesitation, “God is like air. He is everywhere.” Then she took a deep breath to show how like air God could be inside her. Trained by True Master God not only used the children to help me empty my cup, but also to teach me ‘martial arts’ for my spiritual battles. While watching a short video about the story of the Pharisee and the tax collector, little Matthew broke down in tears. When I asked, he humbly admitted, “I bragged the other day that I had shared my ice cream with my friend.” His words reminded me to remain on guard against the sin of pride. By the end of the year, I had learned that as I emptied my teacup, God was filling it with Himself instead. Even the children told me so. One day, Austin sneakily asked, “Sister, what is the Bible?” Not waiting for an answer, he pointed at me: “You are the Bible,” he said. I was a bit shocked and confused but little Nicole supplied the explanation, “Because you are all about God,” she said. It was through the children that God poured new tea into my cup. Many of us go to God asking Him to teach us how to fight our spiritual battles without realizing our cup is too full of pride to have room for His teaching. I have learned that it is easier to bring an empty cup and ask our master to fill it with His own life and wisdom. Let’s allow the true master to train us and give us exercises for our life journey and for the battles we will inevitably fight. He may surprise us and use little children, or others we think little of, to teach us, but let us remember that “God chose the lowly and despised of the world, those who count for nothing, to reduce to nothing those who are something, so that no human being might boast before God” (1 Corinthians 1:28-29).
The Christian writer Tertullian wrote that “the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.” A sterling example of that truth is the third century martyr, Cecilia. Her name is recited daily in the canon of the Mass, and she remains to this day as one of the great Saints of the early Christian era. Hers is an inspiring yet bloody story. Despite having vowed her chastity to Jesus, her wealthy parents arranged a marriage with a young suitor named Valerian. You can imagine the young man’s surprise when, on her wedding night, Cecilia informed him that she had not only taken a vow of chastity but that her virginity was under the watchful protection of her guardian angel. Amazingly, her husband agreed to respect her vow and even promised to embrace Christianity, but he had a condition: he wanted to see her guardian angel. Her counter-request was that he travel to the third milestone on the Appian Way and there receive baptism at the hands of Pope Urbanus. After emerging from the waters of baptism and returning home, Valerian did indeed see the angel sitting beside Cecilia. Eventually, her husband’s brother Tiberius was also converted,and the brothers regularly buried Christians who were murdered almost daily by the local Roman prefect. Eventually they were arrested and imprisoned for refusing to offer sacrifices to the gods, but they managed to convert their jailer before losing their lives in martyrdom. Not long after, Cecilia herself was arrested and condemned to death. She miraculously survived a night amidst intense fire meant to suffocate her. Then an executioner struck three separate blows to her neck in a failed attempt to decapitate her. Left bleeding, Cecilia survived three days, preaching all the while to those who gathered round her and who collected the blood that flowed from her wounds. Her relics, and those of her husband, brother-in-law, and the converted jailor, are kept in Rome’s Church of St. Cecilia. Her body was found incorrupt when it was exhumed in 1599 and because on her wedding day she sang hymns to Jesus in her heart, Cecilia is the patron saint of musicians. We celebrate her feast on November 22.
With over 40 years of experience he had accomplished great feats; but interestingly he found true joy elsewhere When I was 11 years old, a bad leg injury from a motor vehicle accident led me to choose my career. After multiple reconstructive procedures I began to say, "When I grow up I'm going to be a plastic surgeon.” I feel blessed that I was able to fulfill my dream of mending lives. When I tell people that I’m a plastic surgeon many are curious about my cosmetic surgeries, but they rarely ask about the reconstructive procedures I perform. The chief difference between the two kinds of surgeries is that most cosmetic surgery is a “want" while reconstructive surgery is a “need". Surgeries in the “need” category are procedures for maxillofacial trauma, skin cancer, burn care, skin grafts and flaps, complex wounds, hand surgery and others. However, in third world countries like Mexico and the Dominican Republic, many patients desperately need and want reconstructive surgery. Sadly, either because they don’t have money or because there is no reconstructive surgeon available, their needs go unmet. To help such patients, I went on medical missions to both countries to volunteer my services with a loving heart. I dealt with two cases there that I would probably never have encountered here in the United States. The first was a woman so poor that she had never owned a pair of shoes. Therefore, the big black mole on the top of her foot was easy pickings (and peckings!) for her chickens. It typically bled, often became infected and always hurt. She begged me, “Por favor Doctor, quiteme este lunar” (Please Doctor, remove this mole). In less than 30 minutes her problem was resolved. A simple but real medical need. She was so appreciative that she hugged me and thanked me profusely. The second patient was a 16-year-old boy with a very wide cleft lip that left his prominent front teeth always exposed. He told me there was a girl in school he really liked but he was too ashamed and embarrassed to ask her to be his girlfriend. In about 2 1/2 hours I was able to change his life. When he was coming out of anesthesia, he looked in a mirror and saw a huge smile with no teeth showing. At his follow up visit, I had to ask, “Que dijo la muchacha?” (” What did the girl say?”) He responded with an emphatic, "Dijo que Si!!!" (“She said yes!”) Like the other seventy or so patients on whom I have operated, these two patients were extremely appreciative. But I also found true joy of my own by mending lives with a loving heart—seeing their smiles, their tears of joy and receiving those warm hugs. My experience frequently reminds me of what Jesus says to His disciples in Matthew 20:28, “the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve". I thank the Lord for blessing me with skills to mending the lives of those most in need.
Fear can paralyze us. Fear about family matters. Fear about health. Fear about career. Fear about the future. Many of us carry around such fears. One day I felt so full of fears that I could feel them weighing me down. My jaws felt tight, my throat felt dry, and I could feel my entire body tense up. I felt helpless, as if the challenges that lay ahead of me were an enormous mountain blocking my way forward. “LORD, HELP ME!” I shouted from the depths of my heart. In my distress, I sobbed out all my fears to the Lord. In answer the word, “Remember” resonated through me. I hunted around for a pen and paper to write down the words pouring out of me, one after another: Remember the miraculous way the Lord God Almighty granted you your first job. Remember the time you called out to the Lord for help, and He responded immediately. Remember the beauty of His creation that surrounds you everywhere. The floodgates opened up. Every memory etched gratitude to the Lord deeper into my heart for His never-ending faithfulness and goodness. And I continued to write. Remember how the Lord answered your prayers and granted you virtuous friendships. Remember how He brought the right people into your life when you needed them most. Remember. Remember. Remember the faithfulness of the Lord, Sherin! The more I wrote, the more I recalled His faithfulness and presence in my life. After writing three pages worth of these memories, I paused and reread all that I had written. I realized how quickly I had forgotten His steadfast love for me when I was faced with new challenges. Filled with deep gratitude, I wanted to hold onto these memories of His faithfulness. So, I grabbed my cell phone and took photos of the pages I had filled and I set it as the home screen on my phone. Every time I picked up my phone throughout the day, I was reminded yet again of His faithfulness. Doing so brought a sense of peace and reassurance that no problem is too big for my Lord and my God. This greater trust in the Lord induced a state of calmness and stillness as I went about my daily tasks. The Voice Message Two or three days later, I unexpectedly received a voice message from a good friend who had no idea of my recent prayer experience. He mentioned an old Christmas card that I had written to him six years ago and pointed out a single line I had written in that card. “The Lord Remembers. Daniel 14: 38”. The Lord remembers? What is my friend talking about? I was clueless. I went straight to the source—my Bible, quickly flipping through the pages to Daniel 14:38. “And Daniel said, ‘You have remembered me, O God; and have not forsaken those who love you.” Daniel 14:38 The timing and content of my friend’s message left me speechless. In the depths of my heart, I felt as if the Lord had responded to me through my friend’s voice message. The message was clear. My Lord remembers me too, just as I try my best to remember Him and His faithfulness.
It was a cold and snowy afternoon several years ago, when I felt like going to Adoration. My own parish didn’t have Perpetual Adoration yet, so I drove to a parish that did. It has a small, very intimate chapel where I loved spending time with Jesus, pouring my heart out to Him. My hour was almost over when I heard two people talking in the back of the chapel. I was disconcerted and distracted by their insensitivity regarding a homeless man in the narthex, so I decided to leave. My hour was almost over anyway. As I left, I passed through the narthex where the man was sleeping so soundly that he didn’t even stir when I paused to say a prayer over him. I felt relieved that the doors were unlocked for Adoration so he could find shelter. He appeared to be homeless, but I didn’t know for sure. What I do know is that I was moved to tears by my concern for this man. I could hardly contain myself as I wandered outside where a statue of the Sacred Heart reminded me of Christ’s loving concern for every person and His abundant mercy. I begged the Lord to tell me what to do. In my heart, I felt the Lord telling me to go to the nearby store and pick up a few necessities for this man. I thanked Him and immediately bought a few things that I thought the man might be able to use. All the way back to the chapel, I hoped the man would still be there. I really wanted to give him what I had purchased. When I arrived, he was still sleeping. I quietly set the bags down near him, said a prayer, and began walking away. I had almost reached the exit when I heard someone call, “Lady, lady”. I turned around and replied, “Yes”. The man was now awake and approached me, asking if I had left the bags for him. I replied, “Yes, I did.” He thanked me saying how thoughtful that was. No one had ever done that before. I smiled and said, “You’re welcome”. The man was coming closer and I felt as if I was in the presence of Jesus. I felt so much love in my heart. Then he said, “Lady, I will see you in Heaven.” I thought I would burst out crying. His voice was so kind and loving. I was compelled to give him a kiss on the cheek. We said goodbye to each other and went our separate ways. Outside, I couldn’t stop crying. I cried all the way home. Even now, I am moved to tears when I remember that afternoon. That cold, snowy afternoon, I realized that I had indeed met Jesus in that beautiful man. Now, when I look back, I imagine Jesus saying to me, “It’s Me, Jesus!” with a big smile on His face. Thank you, Jesus, for reminding me that I can meet you in each person I encounter.
I was 65 years old and I was looking into changing my life insurance policy. Of course, they required some lab tests. I thought, “Okay, I’ll go through the motions.” Up until then, every lab test I had ever taken, had been normal, including chest x-rays, EKG’s and colonoscopies, all normal. My blood pressure was 126/72 and my BMI was 26. I exercised four times per week and ate a fairly healthy diet. I felt good and was totally asymptomatic. All my lab results came back normal…except my PSA, it was 11 ng/ml (normal is less than 4.5ng/ml). Three years earlier it had been normal. Bummer! So, I went to see my PCP. During the rectal exam, he found my prostate enlarged and indurated. “I suspect cancer, I’m going to refer you to a urologist,” he said. Bummer, again. Eleven out of eleven prostate biopsies were positive for cancer. My Gleason score was 4+5 which meant that it was a highgrade cancer and could grow and spread more quickly. So, I underwent a radical prostatectomy, radiation therapy and hormone therapy with Lupron. Ooh those hot flushes! Ladies believe me when I say, I know what you’re going through. Bummer once again. So why only “bummer” and not “I don’t believe it, it can’t be, I’m going to die. God is punishing me”? Well, let me tell why. Before my mother’s kidney failure required at-home peritoneal dialysis, my parents traveled quite a bit, especially to Mexico. When daily dialysis brought travel to a halt, they spent more time working on puzzles, reading and studying their Bible. This brought them much closer to God. So, when her doctors told her there was nothing more they could do for her, she was okay with that. She told me, “I’m tired, I’m ready to be with my Father. I am at peace with family and friends, with myself, but most importantly, I am at peace with God.” A few days later, she died peacefully with a smile on her face. “I am at peace with God”. That’s what I wanted. I no longer wanted to be just a Sunday-Mass Catholic. It was then that I started on the path that has led me closer to God: reading and studying the Bible in both English and Spanish, praying, saying the Rosary, giving thanks for my blessings, and volunteering as a Catechism teacher. Soon, I hope to finish my internship as a volunteer hospital chaplain and I am about to complete my spiritual guidance course. So, yes, having prostate cancer is a bummer, but that is all it is, because I am at peace with God.
Christopher was waiting for his Dad to pick him up from church. He was brooding over what his Catechism teacher had taught about the Black Mass and satan worshippers who mistreated Jesus by mocking and desecrating the consecrated Eucharistic host. He had never even heard of a Black Mass before and felt sorry for Jesus. In his innocence, Christopher tried to concoct a plan. Suddenly his attention was caught by a lizard which had self-amputated its tail and shed it in order to distract the predator, a brown spotted bird. Christopher noticed that the severed tail was wiggling and spinning and the brown spotted bird, continuously picked at the tail without realizing that the lizard had actually fled. Looking at this Christopher thought, ‘what if Jesus quit from the Blessed Sacrament? What if Jesus was able to escape from the satan worshippers, just like the lizard? What if Jesus could remove His presence in the Blessed Sacrament so He would not have to suffer? If Jesus quit, then the consecrated bread would just become ordinary bread. That way, satan worshippers, or those who participate in Black Mass, would not be able to humiliate Jesus. Later that day, when his Dad came to pick him up, Christopher ecstatically detailed his new found plan for Jesus. “Dad, why can’t Jesus just quit from the Blessed Sacrament? That way, he wouldn’t have to suffer, right?” Christopher asked. For a moment, his Dad was silent. This was a bizarre question and his father had never thought about this before. “My son, Jesus cannot leave the Blessed Sacrament because He is true to His word,” his father finally said. “The priest uses the words of Jesus when he blesses the Eucharist. When Jesus says: ‘This is my Body which is broken for you for the forgiveness of sins’, he has given a promise. He will never go back on His promise. So, for humankind, He will suffer any humiliation. Jesus suffered and gave up His life on Calvary to save mankind two thousand years ago. He is still suffering today.” Do we realize how much Jesus is suffering in the Blessed Sacrament because of our sin, ignorance and lack of respect? Let us pray for the conversion of those who participate in Black Masses and all other sinners. Let us also pray that the whole of humankind will respect and love Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament.
You might be familiar with the centurion who pierced the side of Jesus as the Lord hung on the Cross. According to some traditions and legends that soldier was named Longinus, a name that first surfaces in the apocryphal gospel of Nicodemus. The soldier is not named in the canonical gospels. According to the legends, after enduring wounds in past battles, Longinus was cruelly mocked by his fellow soldiers for his near blindness. At the moment he pierced the Lord’s side, blood spattered onto his eyes. Immediately his sight was restored. In the Gospel of Saint Mark we hear him exclaim, “Indeed, this was the son of God!” Tradition also tells us that Longinus left the army, took instruction from the apostles and became a monk in Cappadocia. There he was arrested for his faith, his teeth forced out and his tongue cut off. However, Longinus miraculously continued to speak clearly and managed to destroy several idols in the presence of the governor. The governor, who was blinded by the demons that escaped from the idols, had his sight miraculously restored by Longinus. As Longinus was beheaded, some of his blood splattered onto the governors' eyes and the governor was instantly healed. Saint Longinus is one of the first martyrs of the Church. His spear is one of the many relics associated with Christ and can be found in one of the four pillars over the main altar of St. Peter’s Basilica.
Saint Francis of Assisi once had a great fear and abhorrence of lepers. He confessed that the sight of a leper was so repugnant to him that he refused to even approach their dwellings. If he chanced to glimpse one in his travels or pass by the leprosarium, he turned his head away and blocked his nose. As he became more serious about his faith and took on Christ’s admonition to love others as you love yourself, he became ashamed of this attitude. So one day when a man afflicted with leprosy crossed his path, he overcame his feelings of horror and disgust and, instead of turning away, leaped off his horse, kissed the leper and pressed money into his hand. But when Francis remounted and looked back, he could not find the leper anywhere. With dawning excitement, he realized that it was Jesus whom he had kissed. After gathering some funds, he went to the leper hospital and gave alms to each one, kissing their hands with reverence as he did so. What had formerly seemed distasteful to him—the sight or touch of a leper—was transformed into sweetness. Later Francis wrote, “When I was in sin, the sight of lepers nauseated me beyond measure; but then God Himself led me into their company, and I had pity on them. When I became acquainted with them, what had previously nauseated me became the source of spiritual and physical consolation for me.” Today, we often see people around us who are stricken with spiritual leprosy. Mostly we try to keep away from them, but we fail to realize that it has crept into our own hearts as well. So instead of judging and pointing fingers at others, let’s cleanse ourselves off the crippling mind and hardness of heart. In the first place, God bestowed His grace and mercy upon us though we are broken and wounded. Let’s reach out to others with this mercy and compassion which we received unconditionally.
On a recent bushwalk, my daughter was afflicted by a bad mood just as we had clambered up to a spectacular cavern. While we were all marvelling at the natural beauty, she kept her gaze steadily downward, refusing to look up. It seemed illogical to deny herself a single glance at the grandeur surrounding us, only to stare at the dull earth beneath her feet or clamp her hands over her eyes lest a single glimpse should tempt her out of her mood. Upon reflection, it reminded me of the times when I am so immersed in the anxieties and workload of everyday life that I fail to appreciate the treasures God has placed before me—the wonder of a child’s smile; the warmth of the sun on a winter morning; the meal lovingly prepared by my husband; or the amazing sunrises and sunsets that God paints in the sky every day. How often do we distract ourselves from our cares with an overload of banal screen time? Endless varieties of movies, series, reality TV shows, sport, social media and computer games compete for our attention. Yet there never seems to be enough time for prayer, family activities and home duties. We so often lament that we don’t have enough time to interact with friends in real life. Yet even our time with friends or family is often centred around a screen, or everyone has a screen in hand. Perhaps it is time to turn off the screens, pull out the earphones, and cast our eyes upwards to embrace the glory that the Lord offers us every day. Let us give thanks to God and invite him into our daily engagement with the real world surrounding us.
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In the interiors of Nigeria, sans adequate resources or assistance, this priest witnessed unbelievable supernatural interventions He was no stranger to fights. 6’2 with a black belt in kickboxing, he had a very colorful past before becoming a Catholic priest. But sensing divine direction, when he took on the assignment as the Superior of the Somascans in Usen, Nigeria, Reverend Varghese Parakudiyil got into what he calls the ‘ultimate brawl’—a direct war between good and evil in everyday life. He had indeed moved into the hotbed for Juju, i.e., African witchcraft. The local witch doctors were highly regarded throughout the continent for their ‘powers.’ Among their clients were many prominent figures, including important political figures and even some local Christians. But, “where sin abounds, grace abounds still more” (Romans 5:20), and Reverend Varghese surely experienced the power of God like never before. The very mention of the name of Jesus freed the afflicted from evil spirits; there was divine protection for Christians which the combined curses of the witch doctors could not penetrate, and many other powerful displays of divine power. But one incident of supernatural intervention stands apart. All that I Have It was in October 2012, just a few weeks after Father Varghese had moved to Usen from India. One day a lady walked up to him, and after greeting him, she lifted up the portion of her dress over her stomach. To his horror, she removed a patch of black plastic sheet stuck on her stomach and uncovered a hole as big as an orange next to her belly button. The hernia operation needed to heal her would take 400,000 nairas, something she could not afford: “Can you help?” she asked. The Reverend recalls that he was really broke, so he told her that he was not in a position to assist her. But, more as an act of dismissal, he encouraged her to get the operation done somehow... As she slowly walked away, Reverend Varghese felt like seeing his own mother (who had passed away recently) leaving. Helpless and with a heavy heart, he whispered one of his sincerest prayers for her. The Supernatural Clone The Sunday before the New Year, a lady accompanied by her two daughters came up to the priest’s dwelling, carting a big bunch of bananas and a bag full of fruits and vegetables. Kneeling, she rubbed her palms together—a gesture that expressed either extreme gratitude or apology—and offered him the bananas and the bag. The priest was puzzled; though she looked strangely familiar, he couldn’t recognize her. “Don’t you remember me, Father?” she asked. As she uncovered her stomach, he realized that it was the same lady who had come to him for help before. Now, she looked totally healed, obviously through an operation, because the suture marks were still visible. When she thanked him, the priest was at a loss, unable to understand what he had done to warrant that gratitude. “Because you paid the bill,” said the confused lady. Totally baffled by her comment, he asked her to elucidate. Following their fateful meeting, the lady had apparently got herself admitted to a hospital in Benin City for the hernia operation and hoped to be back home in time for Christmas and New Year celebrations. When she told the hospital staff that she would pay after the surgery, for some strange reason, they consented. Once the surgery was completed and she was taken back to her room, she told them she would go back home and sell her land to pay the bill. Understandably, they would not let her leave without paying. The next logical step would have been to hand her over to the police. But a little later, a nurse came into her room waving her bill and told her, “Praise the Lord, your parish priest just came and paid your bill. You can go now,” she added: “the Oyibo (as non-African foreigners are called), the tall one.” Unexplained Mysteries For Reverend Varghese, it was a wallop like nothing before! There were no other ‘Oyibo’ priests in the Benin City diocese at that time. “It wasn’t me,” says Father Varghese, “If it was some other priest who paid the bill, praise God. But I believe that it was my guardian angel who did it.” He is still unsure what gave the woman the nerve to get operated on without the money. Did she think that somehow the priest would manage to pay her bill? Or did she feel that being jailed was a better option than the suffering she was undergoing? Humbled by these and many other experiences that convinced him of the Lord’s enduring providence, Reverend Varghese continues his ministry with zeal. He is presently handling dual roles as Superior at the Somascan mother house in Italy and as the Director of the International Novitiate. “Definitely not as action-packed as Africa or India, but this is God’s assignment for me now,” he humbly remarks.
From being a faithful Muslim praying to Allah three times a day, fasting, almsgiving, and doing Namaz, to being baptized in the Pope’s Private Chapel, Munira’s journey has twists and turns that might surprise you! My image of Allah was of a stern master who would punish my slightest error. If I wanted anything, I had to buy Allah’s favor with fasting and prayer. I always had this fear that if I were to do anything wrong, I would be punished. The First Seed A cousin of mine had a near-death experience, and he told me that he experienced a vision of plunging through a dark tunnel, at the end of which he saw a bright light and two people standing there—Jesus and Mary. I was confused; shouldn’t he have seen the prophet Mohammed or Imam Ali? Since he felt so sure that it was Jesus and Mary, we asked our imam for an explanation. He replied that Isa (Jesus) is also a great prophet, so when we die, he comes to escort our souls. His answer didn’t satisfy me, but it began my search for the truth about Jesus. The Search Despite having lots of Christian friends, I didn’t know where to start. They invited me to a Novena to Our Lady of Perpetual Succour, and I started attending the novenas regularly, listening carefully to the homilies explaining the word of God. Although I didn’t understand much, I believe that it was Mary who understood and eventually led me to the truth. In a series of dreams through which the Lord would speak to me over the years, I saw a finger pointing out a man dressed as a shepherd while a voice called me by name, saying, “Munira, follow Him.” I knew the shepherd was Jesus, so I asked who was speaking. He replied: “He and I are one.” I wanted to follow Him, but I didn’t know how. Do You Believe in Angels? We had a friend whose daughter seemed to be possessed. They were so desperate that they even asked me for a solution. As a Muslim, I told her that we have these Babas they could go to. Two months later, I was astounded when I saw her again. Instead of a thin, puny ghost of a figure I had seen earlier, she had become a healthy, radiant, robust teenager. They told me that a priest, Father Rufus, had delivered her in the name of Jesus. After several refusals, when we finally accepted their invitation to join them at Mass with Father Rufus, he prayed over me and asked me to read a verse from the Bible; I felt such peace that there was no turning back. He spoke about The Man on the Cross—who died for Muslims, Hindus, and all mankind throughout the world. It awakened a deep desire to know more about Jesus, and I felt that God had sent him in answer to my prayer to know the Truth. When I came home, I opened the Bible for the first time and started reading it with interest. Father Rufus advised me to seek out a prayer group, but I didn’t know how, so I started praying to Jesus on my own. At one point, I was alternately reading the Bible and the Quran, and I asked Him: “Lord, what is the Truth? If you are the Truth, then give me the desire to only read the Bible.” From then on, I was led to open only the Bible. When a friend invited me to a prayer group, I initially said no, but she insisted, and the third time, I had to give in. The second time I went, I took my sister along. It turned out to be life-changing for both of us. When the preacher spoke, he said that he’d received a message, “There are two sisters here who have come searching for the Truth. Now their search has ended.” As we attended the weekly prayer meetings, I slowly started to understand The Word, and I realized that I had to do two things—forgive and repent. My family was intrigued when they noticed a visible change in me, so they started coming too. When my dad learned about the importance of the Rosary, he surprisingly suggested that we start praying it together at home. From then on, we, a Muslim family, would kneel down and pray the Rosary every day. No End to Wonders My growing love for Jesus prompted me to join a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Before we went, a voice in a dream told me that although I held fear and anger deep within me, it would soon be released. When I shared this dream with my sister, wondering what it could all mean, she advised me to ask the Holy Spirit. I was puzzled because I didn’t really know who the Holy Spirit was. That would soon change in an amazing way. When we visited the Church of Saint Peter (where he had that dream showing him all the animals that God now permitted them to eat (Acts 10:11-16)), the Church doors were closed because we were late. Father Rufus rang the bell, but nobody answered. After about 20 minutes, he said, “Let us just pray outside the Church,” but I suddenly felt a voice within me saying: “Munira, you go ring the bell.” With the permission of Father Rufus, I rang the bell. Within seconds, those huge doors opened. The priest had been sitting right beside them, but he only heard the bell when I rang it. Father Rufus exclaimed: “The Gentiles will receive the Holy Spirit.” I was the Gentile! In Jerusalem, we visited the Upper Room where the Last Supper and the Descent of the Holy Spirit had taken place. As we were praising God, we heard a roar of thunder, a wind blew into the room, and I was blessed with the gift of tongues. I couldn’t believe it! He baptized me in the Holy Spirit in the same place where Mother Mary and the apostles received the Holy Spirit. Even our Jewish tour guide was astonished. He fell to his knees and prayed with us. The Sprout Keeps Growing When I returned home, I was longing to be baptized, but my mom said: “See Munira, we follow Jesus, we believe in Jesus, we love Jesus, but conversion...I don’t think we should do it. You know there will be many repercussions from our community.” But there was a deep desire within me to receive the Lord, especially after a dream in which He asked me to attend the Eucharist every day. I remember imploring the Lord like the Canaanite woman: “You fed her the crumbs from Your table, treat me like her and make it possible for me to attend the Eucharist.” Shortly afterward, while I was walking with my dad, we unexpectedly arrived at a church where the Eucharistic celebration was just beginning. After attending the Mass, my dad said: “Let us come here every day.” I feel that my road to baptism started there. The Unexpected Gift My sister and I decided to join the prayer group on a trip to Rome and Medjugorje. Sister Hazel, who was organizing it, casually asked me if I would like to get baptized in Rome. I wanted a quiet baptism, but the Lord had other plans. She spoke to the Bishop, who got us a five-minute appointment with a Cardinal that lasted two and a half hours; the Cardinal said he would take care of all arrangements to be baptized in Rome. So we were baptized in the Pope’s Private Chapel by the Cardinal. I took on the name Fatima and my sister took on the name Maria. We joyfully celebrated our baptismal lunch with many cardinals, priests, and religious over there. I just felt that right through it all, the Lord was telling us: “O taste and see that the Lord is good; happy are those who take refuge in him” (Psalm 34:8). Soon came the Cross of Calvary. Our family experienced a financial crisis that people in our community blamed on our conversion to Christianity. Astonishingly, the rest of my family went the other way. Instead of turning their backs on us and our faith, they also asked for baptism. Amid adversity and opposition, they found strength and courage, and hope in Jesus. Dad expressed it well, “There is no Christianity without a Cross.” Today, we continue to encourage each other in our faith and share it with others whenever we have the opportunity. When I was speaking to my aunt about my conversion experience, she asked me why I addressed God as “Father.” God, for her, is Allah. I told her that I call Him Father because He has invited me to be His beloved child. I rejoice to have a loving relationship with Him Who loves me so much that He sent His Son to wash me clean from all my sins and reveal the promise of eternal life. After I shared my remarkable experiences, I asked her if she would still follow Allah if she were in my place. She had no answer.
Blessings were abundant: friends, family, money, vacations—you name it, I had it all. So how did it all go so wrong? I didn't really have a wonderful storybook childhood—tell me someone who has—but I wouldn't say it was terrible. There was always food on the table, clothes on my back, and a roof over my head, but we struggled. I don't just mean we struggled financially, which we definitely did, but I mean we struggled to find our way as a family. My parents were divorced by the time I was six, and my father turned to heavier drinking than ever before. Meanwhile, my mother found men who were into the same drugs and habits as she was. Though we had a rough start, it didn't stay that way. Eventually, against all statistical odds, both of my parents and my now stepfather, by the grace of God, got sober and have stayed that way. Relationships were rebuilt, and the sun began to rise in our lives again. A few years went by, and there came a point when I realized that I had to do something productive and different in my life so that I could avoid all of the pitfalls of my childhood. I buckled down and went back to school. I got my barber’s license and worked myself into a nice career. I made plenty of money and met the woman of my dreams. The opportunity eventually arose, and I started a second career in law enforcement in addition to cutting hair. Everyone liked me, I had friends in very high places, and it looked as if the sky was the limit. So how'd I end up in prison? Unbelievably True Wait a minute, this isn't my life…this can't be real…HOW IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?! You see, despite everything I had, I was missing something. The worst part of it was that I knew all along exactly what that something was, and I ignored it. It's not like I didn't ever try, but I just couldn't give God my everything. Instead, I lost it all…or did I? This is how it is: Whatever sin you're holding onto will eventually work its roots deep down into the core of your soul and choke you out until you can't breathe anymore. Even seemingly insignificant sins demand more of you, little by little, until your life is upside down, and you're so disoriented that you don't know which way is up. That's how it started for me. I began giving in to my lustful thoughts somewhere around middle school. By the time I was in college, I was a full-fledged womanizer. When I did finally meet the woman of my dreams, there was no way I could ever do what was right anymore. How could someone like me be faithful? But that's not all. For a while, I tried to go to Mass and do all the right things. I went to confession regularly and joined clubs and committees, but I always kept just a little bit of my old sins for myself. It's not necessarily that I wanted to, but I was so attached, and I was afraid to let go. Time went on, and I slowly stopped going to Mass. My old sinful ways began to fester and creep back into the forefront of my life. Time moved fast, and pleasures swirled all around me as I threw caution to the wind. I was high on life. On top of it all, I was very successful and admired by many. Then it all came crashing down. I made some terrible choices that left me serving a 30-year prison sentence. More importantly, I left behind people who loved and cared for me with a lifetime of pain. You see, sin has a way of convincing you to go further than you've gone and making you more depraved than you once were. Your moral compass becomes confused. Worse things seem more exciting, and the old sins don't cut it anymore. Before you know it, you've become someone you don't even recognize. Fast forward to the present day... I live in an 11x9 ft. cell, and I spend twenty-two hours a day locked inside of it. There is chaos all around me. This is not how I imagined my life would turn out. But, I found God within these walls. I have spent the last few years here in prison praying and seeking the help I needed. I have been studying Scripture and taking lots of classes. I've also been sharing the message of God's mercy and peace with all the other inmates who will listen to me. It took an extreme wake-up call before I finally surrendered to God, but now that I have, my life has been totally different. I wake up every morning thankful to be alive. I am grateful every day for the shower of blessings that I receive despite my incarceration. For the first time in my life, I experienced peace in my soul. It took me losing my physical liberty to find my spiritual freedom. You don't have to go to prison to find and accept God's peace. He will meet you wherever you are, but let me warn you—if you hold anything back from Him, you may very well end up being my neighbor in prison. If you recognize yourself in this story, please don't wait to seek professional help and guidance, starting from, but not limited to, your local parish priest. There is no shame in admitting you have a problem, and there is no better time than NOW to get help. If you're in prison and you're reading this, I want you to know that it's not too late for you. God loves you. He can forgive whatever it is you've done. Jesus Christ shed His precious blood to forgive all of us who come to Him with our pain and our brokenness. You can start right now, this very moment, by recognizing that you are powerless without Him. Cry out to Him with the words of the tax collector: "O God, be merciful to me, a sinner" (Luke 18:13). I leave you with this: "What profit would there be for one to gain the whole world and forfeit his life?" (Matthew. 16:26)
Are there doors in your life that refuse to open, no matter your efforts? Know the secret behind those closed doors through this heartfelt experience. Opening the door to the Cathedral of Saint Jude, my husband and I found our seats amidst a large crowd gathered for the funeral of a woman I had met long ago when I was only 20 years old. She and her husband were the pastoral leaders of a Catholic Charismatic Prayer Community at the time. While she and I had not been close personal friends, she had touched my life in significant ways when I was involved with this dynamic faith-filled group. Her middle son, Ken, was now Father Ken, and that day was also the 25th anniversary of his ordination to the priesthood. Scanning the congregation revealed many familiar faces from both my past and present. Father Ken’s touching tribute to his mother and the loving eulogies by his siblings reflected the impact the prayer group had on their own family, as well as many in attendance that day. Their words prompted memories to course through my mind—of how the Holy Spirit used this community to change many lives, especially mine. Dragged into Love I had been raised by two very devout Catholic parents who attended Mass daily, but as a teen, I only grudgingly participated in the life of the Church. I felt resentful of my father’s insistence on family Rosary every night and saying grace not just before meals but after as well. Attending the Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament on a Friday night at 10 PM didn’t bode well for my social status as a 15-year-old, especially when my friends asked what I had done over the weekend. Being a Catholic, for me then, was just about plenty of rules, requirements, and rituals. My experience each week was not one of joy or fellowship with other believers but rather one of duty. Still, when my sister invited me to join her at her college’s weekend retreat the fall after I graduated from high school, I agreed. My small town offered little in the way of new experiences, and this would definitely be out of the norm for me. As it turned out, this retreat would set the trajectory for the rest of my life! Between the warm camaraderie of the participants, as well as the huge smile that covered Father Bill’s face when he shared about the Lord with us, I saw something I had never seen in my home parish, and I knew that was what I truly wanted in my life: JOY! Near the end of the weekend, during the quiet time outdoors, I offered my life to God, not knowing exactly what that really meant. Hopeless Cases Less than two years later, my sister and I moved from the east coast of Florida to the west, first due to her job and later, because of my acceptance to a college in Saint Petersburg. Our efforts to find a place to live within our means were thwarted time and again due to the unwillingness of numerous apartment managers to rent a one-bedroom unit to two girls—even though we had shared a bedroom our whole lives and were sisters! Discouraged after yet another refusal, we stopped at the Cathedral of Saint Jude to pray. Knowing nothing about this Saint, we spied a prayer card and discovered that Saint Jude was the ‘patron of hopeless cases.’ After a bumpy search for affordable housing, our futile situation seemed to qualify as a hopeless case, so we knelt down to invoke Saint Jude’s intercession. Lo and behold, after arriving at the next apartment complex on our list, we were again greeted with the same hesitance. However, this time, the older woman looked at me, paused, and said, “You remind me of my granddaughter. I don’t rent one-bedrooms to two women, but...I like you, and I’m going to make an exception!” We came to find out that the nearest Catholic Church to our new home was the Holy Cross, where a group called 'Presence of God Prayer Community' met each Tuesday night. Had we been able to rent any other apartment, we would not have been led to this group of joy-filled people we soon came to call 'family!' It was clear that the Holy Spirit was at work, and His presence was revealed time and time again in the 17 years I was actively involved in the group. Completing the Circle Returning to Saint Jude’s, the celebration of life that day was not only of our long-ago pastoral leaders, but it was also very much my own! Remembering my brokenness as a young adult and the loneliness and insecurity I felt at that time, I marveled at how the Lord had changed my life. He used His Spirit and His people to heal me emotionally and spiritually, filling my life with deep and rich friendships that have stood the test of time. He helped me discover the gifts He had given me—the community offered me a place to serve in various ways until I realized that my natural abilities, like that of organization, could be used for spiritual purposes. After several years, I was invited onto a new Pastoral Team whose dynamic leader mentored me by example. Through his encouragement and support, I developed leadership skills that resulted in beginning new ministries to serve the 'household of faith' in the prayer community and the 'least of these' outside the doors of the church. When a new parish began nearby some years later, I was asked to join the music ministry there, and with the Spirit’s prompting, I also participated in various other ministries. Bringing in all that I had learned and experienced over the years, I was able to set up many events that offered opportunities for healing, conversion, and growth within our parish community. For the last 14 years, I have been blessed to organize a women’s fellowship group begun by myself and a friend, who, like me, was changed by the love and care of Christian communities. I have found all of God’s promises in the Scriptures to be true. He is faithful, forgiving, kind, compassionate, and a source of joy deeper than any I have ever thought possible! He has provided meaning and purpose in my life, and with His grace and direction, I have been able to partner with Jesus in ministry for over 40 years now. I didn’t have to 'wander in the desert' for those years, as did the Israelites. The same God Who led His people by the “pillar of cloud by day and pillar of fire by night” (Exodus 13:22) has led me day by day, year by year, revealing His plans for me along the way. A song from my prayer group days lilts through my mind, “Oh how good, how wonderful it is when brothers and sisters live as one!” (Psalm 133:1). Looking around that day, I saw clear evidence of that. The Spirit at work in Father Ken’s mother brought much fruit from the seeds she planted, both in her home and in our community of faith. That same Spirit then brought forth a harvest from the seeds planted and watered in my life over the years. The Apostle Paul said it best in his letter to Ephesians: “Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the Church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen!” (3:20-21)
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