Right Direction

My husband was given a death sentence; I did not want to live on without him, but his firm convictions surprised me. Five years ago, my world came crashing down when my husband was diagnosed with a terminal disease. The life and the future I envisioned were forever changed in an instant. It was terrifying and confusing; the most hopeless and helpless I’ve ever felt. It was as though I had been plunged into an abyss of constant fear and despair. I had only my faith to cling onto as I faced the darkest days I’ve ever known. Days of caring for my dying husband and days of preparing to face a life completely different than what I had planned. Chris and I had been together since we were teenagers. We were best friends and nearly inseparable. We had been married for over twenty years and were happily raising our four children in what seemed like an idyllic life. Now he was given a death sentence, and I didn’t know how I could live without him. In truth, part of me didn’t want to. One day, in a moment of brokenness, I confided in him that I thought I might die of a broken heart if I had to live without him. His reaction was not as desperate. He sternly but empathetically told me that I had to keep living until God called me home; that I couldn’t wish or waste my life away because his was coming to an end. He confidently assured me that he would be watching over me and our children from the other side of the veil. The Other Side of Grief Chris had an unshakeable faith in God’s love and mercy. Convinced that we wouldn’t be separated forever, he would often recite the phrase: “It’s just for a little while.” This was our constant reminder that no heartache lasts forever—and these words gave me boundless hope. Hope that God will guide us through this, and hope that I will be reunited with Chris in the next life. During these dark days, we clung to Our Lady in the Rosary—a devotion we were already familiar with. The Sorrowful Mysteries were recited more often than not because contemplating the suffering and death of Our Lord brought us closer to Him in our own suffering. The Divine Mercy Chaplet was a new devotion that we added to our daily routine. Like the Rosary, this was a humbling reminder of what Jesus willingly endured for our salvation, and somehow it made the cross we had been given seem less heavy. We began to more clearly see the beauty in suffering and sacrifice. I would mentally repeat the small prayer: “Oh, Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, I place all my trust in You” every hour of the day. It would bring a wave of calm over me whenever I felt a rush of uncertainty or fear. During this time, our prayer life deepened tremendously and gave us hope that Our Lord would be merciful to Chris and our family as we endured this painful journey. Today, it gives me hope that Chris is at peace, watching over and interceding for us from the other side—just as he promised. In these uncertain days of my new life, it’s hope that keeps me going and gives me strength. It has given me immeasurable gratitude for God’s endless love and tender mercy. Hope is a tremendous gift; an inextinguishable interior glow to focus on when we feel broken. Hope calms, hope strengthens, and hope heals. Hope takes courage to hold onto. As Saint John Paul II said: “I plead with you! Never, ever give up on hope. Never doubt, never tire and never become discouraged. Be not afraid.”

Whatever the situation you are going through, God will make a way where there seems to be no way… Today, my son Aaric brought home his dictation book. He got a red star with a ‘good’ remark. This might not be a big deal for a kindergartener, but for us, it is a celebrated achievement. The first week of school, I got a call from his class teacher. We dreaded this call, my husband and I. As I tried hard to explain his communication skills (or lack thereof) to his teacher, I remember confessing that while I cared for his big sister with special needs, I had fallen into this pattern of doing things without being asked. As she could not utter a single word, I had to guess her needs. The same mode was turned on for Aaric, too, in his early days. Even before he asked for water, I would give it to him. We had a bond that didn’t need words, a language of love, or so I thought. How miserably wrong I was! Not much later, when his little brother Abram turned three months old, I had to take those heavy steps again to see the counselor at school. This time, it was about Aaric’s poor writing skills. His dear class teacher panicked when she saw him drop his pencil on the table and stubbornly fold his hands as if to say: “I won’t write.” We dreaded this, too. His little sister Aksha was an expert at scribbling at the age of two, but Aaric wouldn’t even hold the pencil. He just didn’t fancy it. The First Step After receiving instructions from the counselor, I visited the principal, who insisted that we undergo a thorough assessment if his communication continues to be weak. I couldn’t even think of that back then. For us, he was a miracle baby. After what we went through with our firstborn and three miscarriages, Aaric had defied all odds. He was born full-term, unlike what the doctors had predicted. His vitals were normal at birth. “He’s a big baby!” exclaimed the doctor on bringing him out through a C-section. We watched him grow step by step with almost bated breath, praying nothing would go wrong. Aaric soon reached all his milestones. However, when he was just one year old, my father mentioned that he may need speech therapy. I brushed it off as being too early to diagnose. The truth was, I didn’t have the strength to face another problem. We were already worn out with all that our firstborn was going through. Anna was born preterm at 27 weeks. After many grueling days in the NICU, she was diagnosed with severe brain damage at three months and had epileptic seizures. After all the treatments and medications, our now 9-year-old daughter still battles with cerebral palsy and intellectual disability. She is unable to sit up, walk, or talk. Countless Blessings There’s a limit to holding off the inevitable, so six months ago, we reluctantly took Aaric to get an initial assessment. The ADHD diagnosis was hard. We struggled to accept it, but we still put him through speech therapy. At this point, he was only stuttering a few words. A few days back, I mustered the courage to go to the hospital with Aaric and get a full, thorough assessment. Mild autism was what they said. As we were going through the process of assessment, several questions were asked. To my surprise, my response to most of these questions was: “He wasn’t able to, but now he can.” Praise God! By the power of the Holy Spirit living in him, everything is possible. I believe that praying and blessing him every day before going to school has made a difference. The change was radical when he began to memorize Bible verses. And the beauty is that he recites those verses just when I need them. Indeed, the Word of God is living and active. I believe the transformation is ongoing. Whenever I feel low, God surprises me by making him say a new word. Amid the tantrums he puts up, and when everything seems to crumble down, my little girl, three-year-old Aksha, simply comes up and gives me a hug and a kiss. She really knows how to comfort her mama. I believe that God will surely intervene and heal our eldest daughter, Anna, too, for nothing is impossible for Him. Change is already visible—the number of times she goes into epileptic seizures has gone down tremendously. In our walk of life, things may not be going as expected, but God never leaves nor forsakes us. Just like oxygen that is essential yet invisible, God is ever present and provides the life we need so badly. Let us cling to Him and not doubt whilst in the darkness. May our testimony reveal the truth of how beautiful, wonderful, and loving our God is and how He transforms us to say: “I was …, but now I am ….”

Would my life ever return to normal? How can I possibly continue my work? Brooding over these, a terrible solution popped into my head… I was finding life extremely stressful. In my fifth year at college, the onset of bipolar disorder was hindering my efforts to complete my teaching degree. I had no diagnosis yet, but I was plagued with insomnia, and I looked frazzled and unkempt, which impeded my prospects of employment as a teacher. Since I had strong natural tendencies toward perfectionism, I felt so ashamed and feared that I was letting everyone down. I spiraled into anger, despondency, and depression. People were concerned about my decline and tried to help. I was even sent to the hospital by ambulance from the school, but doctors could find nothing wrong except elevated blood pressure. I prayed but found no consolation. Even Easter Mass—my favorite time—didn’t break the vicious cycle. Why wouldn’t Jesus help me? I felt so angry with Him. Finally, I just stopped praying. As this continued, day after day, month after month, I didn’t know what to do. Would my life ever return to normal? It seemed unlikely. As graduation approached, my fear increased. Teaching is a tough job with few breaks, and the students would need me to remain level-headed while dealing with their many needs and providing a good learning environment. How could I possibly do this in my current state? A terrible solution popped into my head: “You should just kill yourself.” Instead of casting off that thought and sending it straight back to hell where it belonged, I let it sit. It seemed like a simple, logical answer to my dilemma. I just wanted to be numb instead of under constant attack. To my utter regret, I chose despair. But, in what I expected to be my last moments, I thought of my family and the type of person I had once been. In genuine remorse, I raised my head to the heavens and said: “I’m so sorry, Jesus. Sorry for everything. Just give me what I deserve.” I thought those would be the last words I would utter in this life. But God had other plans. Listening to the Divine My mother was, by providence, praying the Divine Mercy Chaplet at that very moment. Suddenly, she heard the words loud and clear in her heart “Go find Ellen.” She obediently set aside her rosary beads and found me on the floor of the garage. She caught on quickly, exclaiming in horror: “What are you doing?!” while she pulled me into the house. My parents were heartbroken. There’s no rulebook for times such as these, but they decided to take me to Mass. I was totally broken, and I needed a Savior more than ever before. I longed for a come-to-Jesus moment, but I was convinced that I was the last person in the world He would ever want to see. I wanted to believe that Jesus is my Shepherd and would come after His lost sheep, but it was hard because nothing had changed. I was still consumed by intense self-hatred, oppressed by darkness. It was almost physically painful. During the preparation of the gifts, I broke down in tears. I had not cried for a really long time, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. I was at the end of my own strength, with no idea where to go next. But as I wept, the weight slowly lifted, and I felt myself enfolded in His Divine Mercy. I didn’t deserve it, but He gave me the gift of Himself, and I knew that He loved me the same at my lowest point as much as He loved me at my highest point. In Pursuit of Love In the days to come, I could barely face God, but He kept showing up and pursuing me in the little things. I re-established communication with Jesus with the aid of a Divine Mercy picture in our living room. I tried to talk, mostly complaining about the struggle and then feeling bad about it in light of the recent rescue. Weirdly, I thought I could hear a tender voice whispering: “Did you really think I would leave you to die? I love you. I will never forsake you. I promise to never leave you. All is forgiven. Trust in my mercy.” I wanted to believe this, but I couldn’t trust that it was true. I was growing discouraged at the walls I was erecting, but I kept chatting with Jesus: “How do I learn to trust You?” The answer surprised me. Where do you go when you feel no hope but have to go on living? When you feel totally unlovable, too proud to accept anything yet desperately wanting to be humble? In other words, where do you want to go when you want a full reconciliation with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit but are too scared and disbelieving of a loving reception to find your way home? The answer is the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God, and Queen of Heaven. While I was learning to trust, my awkward attempts did not displease Jesus. He was calling me closer, closer to His Sacred Heart, through His Blessed Mother. I fell in love with Him and His faithfulness. I could admit everything to Mary. Although I feared that I could not keep my promise to my earthly mother because, on my own, I was still barely mustering the will to live, my mother inspired me to consecrate my life to Mary, trusting that she would help me get through this. I didn’t know much about what that meant, but 33 Days to Morning Glory and Consoling the Heart of Jesus by Father Michael E. Gaitley, MIC, helped me understand. The Blessed Mother is always willing to be our intercessor, and she will never turn down a request from a child wanting to return to Jesus. As I went through the consecration, I resolved never to attempt suicide again with the words: “No matter what happens, I will not quit.” Meanwhile, I started taking long walks on the beach while I talked with God the Father and meditated on the parable of the prodigal son. I tried to put myself in the shoes of the prodigal son, but it took me some time to get close to God the Father. First, I imagined Him at a distance, then walking toward me. Another day, I pictured Him running towards me even though it made Him look ridiculous to His friends and neighbors. Finally, the day came when I could picture myself in the arms of the Father, then being welcomed not just to His home but to my seat at the family table. As I envisaged Him pulling out a chair for me, I was no longer a headstrong young woman but a 10-year-old girl with ridiculous glasses and a bob haircut. When I accepted the Father’s love for me, I became like a little child again, living in the present moment and trusting Him completely. I fell in love with God and His faithfulness. My Good Shepherd has saved me from the prison of fear and anger, continuing to lead me along the safe path and carrying me when I falter. Now, I want to share my story so that everyone can know God’s goodness and love. His Sacred Heart is welling up with tender love and mercy just for you. He wants to love you lavishly, and I encourage you to welcome Him without fear. He will never abandon you or let you down. Step into His light and come home.

When struggle and pain linger, what keeps us going? My 11-year-old son patiently sat on the examination table while the doctor tested his muscle strength as she had done so often before. Over the last eight years, I had watched her examine his skin and test his muscle strength, and each time, a panic ripped through me. After finishing her exam, she stepped back, faced my 11-year-old son, and gently uttered the words I had dreaded: “Your muscles are showing signs of weakness. I believe the disease is active again.” My son looked at me and then hung his head. My stomach twisted. She put her arm around his shoulders. “Hang in there. I know that, over the years, flare-ups haven’t been easy for you. I know they are very painful, but we’ve managed them before, and we can do it again.” Breathing out slowly, I leaned against the desk next to me to steady myself. She glanced back at me. “Are you okay?” “Yes, the baby is in a weird position, that’s all,” I said. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit down? With a painted-on smile, I murmured, “No, I’m good, thank you.” She turned back to my son. “We’re going to try a new medication.” “Why, he did fine on the old medication,” I said. “He did, but heavy doses of steroids are hard on the body.” Why did I ask questions when I really didn’t want to hear the answers, I thought. “I think it’s time to try a different medication.” My son looked away and rubbed his knees anxiously. “Try not to worry. We will get this under control.” “Okay,” he said. “The medication has some drawbacks, but we will meet what comes.” My heart pounded in my chest. Drawbacks? She turned to me, “Let’s get some blood work. I’ll call you in a week to come up with a plan.” After an anxious week, the doctor called with the test results. “My suspicions have been confirmed. He’s having a flare-up, so we’ll begin the new medication immediately. He may experience some difficult side effects, though.” “Side effects?” “Yes.” Panic set in as she listed possible side effects. Were my prayers being answered, or was I losing my son, bit by bit? “Call me immediately if you notice any of these,” she stated. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I shared the news with my husband, and said, “I’m not okay right now. I’m hanging on by a thread. The kids can’t see me like this. I need to cry it out and get myself together.” He put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye, and said, “You’re trembling, I should go with you. I don’t want you to go into labor early.” “No, I won’t; I’ll be all right. I just need to get myself together.” “Okay. I’ve got everything under control here. It’s going to be all right.” Surrendering… Driving to the chapel, I sobbed, “I can’t do this anymore. I’ve had enough. Help me, God. Help me.” Alone in the chapel, I stared sorrowfully up at Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. “Jesus, please, please...stop all of this. Why does he still have this illness? Why does he have to be on such a dangerous medication? Why does he have to suffer? This is too hard. Please, Jesus, please protect him.” I closed my eyes and pictured Jesus’ face. I drew in a deep breath and begged Him to fill my mind and heart. As the torrent of my tears waned, I recalled Jesus’ words in Archbishop Fulton Sheen’s book, Life of Christ. “I created the universe, I set the planets in motion, and the stars and the moon and the sun obey Me.” In my mind, I heard Him say:, “I am in charge! The effects of his medication are no match for Me. Let Me have your cares. Trust in Me.” Were these my thoughts, or was God talking to me? I wasn’t sure, but I knew the words were true; I had to let go of my fears and trust in God to care for my son. I breathed in deeply and breathed out slowly, intent on releasing my fears. “Jesus, I know You are always with me. Please wrap your arms around me and comfort me. I’m so tired of being scared.” Answer Arrives… Suddenly, arms wrapped around me from behind. It was my brother! “What are you doing here?” I asked. “I called the house looking for you. I figured you might be here. When I saw your car in the parking lot, I thought I’d come in and check on you.” “I was asking God to wrap His arms around me when you came up and hugged me.” His eyes opened wide. “Really?” “Yes, really!” As we walked out to the parking lot, I thanked him for coming to check on me. “Your hug reminded me that God reveals His presence in loving actions. Even as I suffer, He sees, hears, and understands. His presence makes it all bearable and enables me to trust and hold onto Him, So, thank you for being a vessel of His love to me today.” We hugged, and tears welled up in my eyes. I felt touched to the core by an overwhelming sense of God’s loving presence.

He struggled with his son’s addiction and eventual death due to an overdose. How did he survive? Even though I was baptized,  I was un-churched growing up. My mother and father had some serious unresolved issues with the Catholic Church, so we never went to Mass, and I was never catechized. However, I had a yearning for some kind of spiritual connection, and I gravitated towards popular biblical films such as The Robe, The Ten Commandments, Ben Hur, A Man Called Peter, and The Greatest Story Ever Told. They presented God in a very intriguing way, and I gradually developed a hunger to know Him on a personal level. During the ‘60s, folk singer Jim Croce sang Time in a Bottle, intoning, “I’ve looked around enough to know that you are the one I want to journey through time with.”  I really wanted to ‘journey through time’ with Him, but I didn’t know how to connect with Him.  The Winding Path As a junior at Abraham Lincoln High School in San Francisco, I came to know an Irish Catholic family who were really into their faith. They said an evening rosary (in Latin, no less!), attended daily Mass, and strove to live a life of discipleship. Their religiously observant life was mysterious and beguiling. Through their example, I eventually decided to become fully initiated into the Catholic faith. My parents, however, were not pleased with my choice. When the big day arrived for my Confirmation and First Holy Communion, we had a donnybrook of a family fight. Tears, angry words, and recriminations reverberated throughout the house. I remember saying, “Mom and Dad, I love you, but I adore Jesus, and I want to be confirmed. The Catholic Church feels like my spiritual home.”  So, I left the house and walked alone to Saint Thomas More Church near Lake Merced, where I received the Sacraments without my parents’ blessings. Soon after, I came across a reference from Matthew’s Gospel in which Jesus said, “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of Me…” (10:37). I knew exactly what He meant. The Highway Off-ramps I wish I could say that I continued to make such a deep commitment to Jesus as I entered adulthood. My initial conversion cloaked a rather superficial attempt at dedicating my life to Him. I started on the ‘Jesus Super Highway’ but kept taking these off-ramps as I chased the usual suspects of the goods of the world: the acquisitive pursuit of wealth and security, professional success and accomplishments, hedonistic pleasure, and, above all, control. Like the Tom Wolfe character in Bonfire of the Vanities, I really wanted to be the master of my universe. How did Jesus factor into the calculation? I basically expected Him to come along for the ride. I wanted to relate to Him on my terms. I wanted Him to validate the self-referential lifestyle I was forging. Circling Back This illusory tower built to accommodate my imperial ego came crashing down 30 years ago when our family was struggling with our son’s drug addiction. The hard fact is his addiction, and eventual fatal overdose precipitated my free-fall into a very dark, empty place. I felt that I had fallen into a very deep pit where nothing worked: my son was not coming back, and the sense of loss was overwhelming. I became totally disillusioned and realized how worthless the goods of the world are in addressing our deepest hunger for intimacy, communion, and fellowship. I pleaded with Jesus to rescue me from the deep hole of darkness, anguish, and abandonment. I begged Him to take away my suffering and put my life back together again. While He didn’t “fix” my life, He did do something better: Jesus came into the pit with me, He embraced my Cross, and let me know that He would never abandon me, my family, or our departed son. I experienced the loving mercy of Jesus, the Suffering Servant who continues to suffer with His People, the Church. That is a God whom I can fall in love with.  Jesus reveals the face of God to us. As Saint Paul writes in his letter to the Colossians, Jesus is “…the image of the invisible God” (1:15). Therefore, we have all that we need to be happy and joyful right here, right now. In Jesus, Who is the sole mediator between Heaven and Earth, everything fits; nothing is outside His circle of love—our Lord Jesus Christ calls us into a deeper relationship with God, with our brothers and sisters, and with all of Creation.

Get to know the greatest power in the universe that is capable of transforming you...and the face of the world  In 2019 our Parish completed a church renovation that added a gathering space, pews, elevators, and bathrooms that made our church more accessible and welcoming. But three years after the renovation, it seems that few parishioners know about the most transformative addition of all: The Perpetual Adoration Chapel located in our church basement. The Best Time on Earth Tucked between our new Teen/Senior room and a busy staircase is a beautiful, intimate, sanctuary set aside for Eucharistic Adoration. Catholics believe Jesus is truly present—Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity—in the Holy Eucharist. Eucharistic Adoration is our worship of the Eucharist outside of Mass. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week anyone can enter this intimate space to spend time in adoration of the Eucharistic Lord displayed in a beautiful monstrance on the altar. Saint Teresa of Calcutta once said, “The time you spend with Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament is the best time that you will spend on earth. Each moment that you spend with Jesus will deepen your union with Him and make your soul everlastingly more glorious and beautiful in heaven, and will help bring about an everlasting peace on earth.” Bring about everlasting peace on earth? Who wouldn’t want to do that?! And yet, most days I am just trying to be a better mom. A Strong Companionship Over the past year, Eucharistic Adoration has become an essential part of my relationship with Jesus and of my effort to parent with greater love. For “if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing” (1 Corinthians 13:1). The Adoration Chapel is where I go when I feel far from Jesus. It is where I deal with the daily struggle of accompanying my family on the path to sainthood. I once saw a sign outside a church that said, “Come as you are; you can change inside.” That’s how I feel heading into Adoration—no need to dress up or make special preparation. Even if it’s been a while, I enter the chapel and pick up where I left off. My adoration time is a lot like the one-on-one time I spend with the people I love most. Just like “date night” with our spouse or having that long talk with a good friend anchors those relationships, Adoration builds trust with God and develops the kind of companionship that is comfortable with silence and presence. What does one do in Adoration? My routine varies. Sometimes I pray the Rosary, other times I meditate on a scripture passage or spend time journaling. We tend to try so hard to find God that we don’t allow Him time to find us. So, most often, I simply put myself in the Lord’s presence and say, “Lord, here I am. Please guide me.” I then lift up situations or “knots” I need help with and pray for anyone for whom I promised prayer that week. I usually leave the chapel feeling strengthened, at peace, or nudged in a new direction. Spending one-on-one time with our Lord makes our relationship more intimate. When you hear a family member coming down the stairs, you know who it is from the sound of their footsteps. That familiarity results from the amount of time we spend with family members and gives us a deep sense of knowing and appreciating each of them. Adoration fosters that kind of familiarity with God. Consider spending time with Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament by visiting an Adoration Chapel. Whatever your situation—if you haven’t been attending Mass regularly, if you need to lay struggles at the Lord’s feet, if you want to become a more loving parent, or if you just need to step away from the chaos of your day and step into the sacred silence of Adoration— no matter the need, you are always welcome into the Lord’s presence. Regular time in adoration will shape us as Christian disciples and as parents. As Mother Teresa tells us, it may even “bring about everlasting peace on earth”.

 It was my Dad who led me to discover the greatest Father of all My Dad went home to be with his Heavenly Father on June 15, 1994. Even though he is no longer with me physically, his spirit lives on in my memory. The lessons he taught me throughout my life have helped me to become the person I am striving to be today. He instilled within me a deep respect for all people, young and old alike. Like many things in my life, I had to learn the lesson of respecting people the hard way. I recall the day; I began to talk back to my mother and even stuck out my tongue at her. My Dad was within seeing and hearing distance, and needless to say, I got a spanking and a good talking to about respecting Mom. Now some might say, it was just a childish gesture to stick out your tongue, but to Dad it was very disrespectful and needed to be confronted. I learned my lesson well to respect Mom and other adults in authority. My Dad was a hard-working, underground miner who worked in the copper mines in Butte, Montana. He believed in hard work and supporting his family to the best of his ability. Mining was dangerous work. He was injured several times in his working career. In 1964, he was injured in a severe mining accident, ending his mining career and his ability to work again.  This was an extremely difficult time for him and our family. He struggled to cope with the fact that he could no longer work and had to go on disability pay. For a man who was a dedicated provider, husband and father, this was devastating. Dad began to drink a lot, trying hard to drown his troubles in a bottle. However, over a period of months, something began to happen to Dad within his own heart. He quit drinking and began to read the Bible. My Dad, who had only a fifth-grade education, painstakingly began to read and absorb God’s Word into his heart. Day after day, hour-by-hour, he studied and meditated on God’s Word. God changed my Dad’s heart. He began to live each day, with the love of God in his heart. He enjoyed life to the fullest despite enduring many heartbreaking times, including the loss of a daughter in a car accident when she was 18. My folks were blessed with four grandsons and one granddaughter. As a Grandpa, he had no favorites. Each grandchild felt as if he or she was the apple of Grandpa’s eye.  Even though the mining accident took away his ability to work, it turned out to be a wonderful blessing for all of us. He had time to spend with each grandchild and give them his full attention and love. Dad taught each of his grandsons how to drive his old Datsun pickup many years before they could legally drive. His mining accident left him with a very noticeable limp which his grandsons all tried to imitate by walking just like Grandpa. It was quite a sight to see Dad and his grandsons walking down the road together—all with obvious limps. They all looked up to Grandpa and wanted to be just like him. He had lots of patience, but best of all, he was took the time to be with each of them, enjoying every moment of the experience. As a married woman with children of my own, many times I would go to my Dad for advice and encouragement. He would listen with his heart, trying not to judge, but would always encourage me to pray and trust in God to work things out. Through his example, I began to read the Bible too. I have so many precious memories of my Dad. But the most important thing he instilled in me was to place myself daily in the loving presence of my Heavenly Father so I could learn from the greatest Father of them all.

We were all shocked and shattered when my brother announced he wanted to become a priest. It was not just that he wanted to become a priest, but he wanted to become a Cistercian priest. That meant that once he left home, he would never return. My mother was totally bereft. She was proud that her son wanted to be a priest, but why, oh why, did he want to become a monk as well? She did not know what to do, but fortunately, she did know who to turn to. She turned to Gus, a friend since childhood. He himself had left home to become a priest and a monk and was at the time the Abbot of Belmont. The Meaning of Motherhood Gus told her that a mother only really fulfils and completes her motherhood when her love is so great that she allows her child to both choose and follow his own chosen vocation in life, whatever that may mean. He told her this was the sacrifice Mary made when she allowed the Son she had given birth to go His own way and respond to the vocation to which He had been called. My mother felt much better after talking with Gus, or Abbot Williams as he was then. After all, he was a priest and a monk himself and so was able to console and encourage her better than anyone else. Although my brother had been accepted as a prospective monk at Mount Saint Bernard’s, the Abbot asked him to finish his studies in Paris, where he was studying at the Sorbonne. Naturally, he was delighted he had been accepted, because he thought his handicap would have prevented him from becoming a priest—one leg was shorter than the other as a result of polio when he was six. A Terrible Accident Unfortunately, my brother had a terrible accident on the way to his final examinations. Partly due to the iron calliper on his leg, he slipped down the escalator on the Metro, hit his head and was killed instantly. He was only twenty-two. I was seventeen at the time and called out of the school study to be told of the tragedy. When I got home it was to find my mother all but inconsolable. She had already come to terms with the sacrifice she had been asked to make when he chose to become a monk, now she was asked to make another, more complete and final sacrifice that she never thought for a moment would ever be asked of her. Once again, she turned to Abbot Williams for spiritual help. Like Mary, My Mother Became a Priest Abbot Williams told her she was now being asked to be the priest that her son never became. He told her Mary had been a priest and the greatest sacrifice she made was the sacrifice of her own Son. All of Mary's life revolved around selflessly giving her all for the dear Son she had born. Everything had always been for Him and then she had to give absolutely everything, even Him. This was the most perfect and complete sacrifice any mother had to make, and she made it as she stood there at the foot of the cross. My mother never forgot what Gus said to her. It did not take away all the pain, but it did give meaning to it and made it bearable. What helped most was seeing that the sacrifice she had to make was exactly the same sacrifice Mary had to make on Calvary. A Lesson Learned from My mother There is only one true priest and that is Jesus Christ, who made the most perfect sacrifice anyone can make, the sacrifice of Himself. We are priests to the degree in which we share in His priesthood. Throughout His life He offered Himself unconditionally to His Father and for the people His Father had sent Him to serve. We share in His priesthood when we also offer ourselves to the Father, in, with and through Him and offer ourselves to the same family of man He came to serve. That is what my Mother came to see and understand more clearly than anyone else I have known, not just in the way she thought, but in the way she acted. It was a lesson she had to learn at the most painful moment of her life, when she had to share in the sacrifice of Christ in exactly the same way as Mary had. Lessons learned in such moments are never forgotten. They indelibly stain the memory and determine the way you think and act for the rest of your life, for better or for worse. In my mother’s case it was for better not worse, as it was for Mary. For both of them it meant that through their terrible ordeal their motherhood had somehow been refined and deepened to the benefit of other children who looked to them for the motherly love that was always given without measure. I for one know this because I have experienced it for myself and still do. As I look back at the past, it is the more dramatic demonstrations of my mother’s self-sacrificing that stand out in my memory. However, the more I reflect the more I see that her whole life was a continual selfless sacrifice for her family, just as the life of Mary had been. Every day of her life and every moment of her day was given for her children, in a hundred and one different ways, through which she exercised her priesthood, as Mary did in her life on earth. It was little wonder that her three sons all wanted to become priests; after all, they had been living with one all their lives! Selfishness and Sacrifice When the family went to Mass together each Sunday, they saw my mother totally absorbed in what they took all too easily for granted. Their selfishness meant they had too little to offer while she was offering a thousand and one acts of self-sacrifice, made for them during the previous week. This meant my mother received to the measure of her giving, for it is in giving that we receive, and she received in ever-greater abundance with each passing week. This gave her the help and strength she needed to go on giving in the forthcoming week, go on sacrificing for the family that took her all too easily for granted. Without any formal theological education, my mother discovered for herself that the Mass is not only a sacrifice, but also the place where we offer ourselves in, with and through Christ to the Father and something further. It is also a sacred sacrificial meal where we receive, from the One through whom we have offered our sacrifices, the love that He is endlessly pouring out on to, and into, all who are open to receive it. Motherhood was for her, as for so many other selfless, self-sacrificing mothers, a way of participating in the central mystery of our faith. If her daily dying united her to the dying of Christ, it also opened her to receive the love that raised Him from the dead on the first Easter day, empowering her to share what she had received with the family for whom she had given everything. The son she always mourned may never have become the priest he desired, but she more than took his place. The priesthood she exercised would not only inspire her own family but other families as well— families who are still inspired, as I am, by her shining example that will never tarnish. My Brother’s Death Was Not In Vain The death of my dear brother affected me deeply, but his death was not in vain. It inspired me in such a way that I have spent my life writing about him and using him to spread the profound spirituality that attracted him to the monastic life, to inspire others as well. I have spent much of my life writing three major spiritual works. The main protagonist in each work is the hermit, Peter Calvay, who is entirely based on my brother, Peter Torkington. In my imagination, instead of entering the Cistercian order, as he had intended, I simply transferred him to the Outer Hebrides, where he became a hermit. Then, as his spiritual life deepened, he began to help others. If Peter had become a monk his spirituality would have been monastic. However, living as a lay-person enabled Peter to develop for himself a profound lay spirituality based on the spirituality that Jesus Himself lived with His disciples, through whom this spirituality was bequeathed to the early church. This is, of course, of particular help to a modern reader trying to live the Christian life while outside the context of the religious life, like yours truly. If these books help you, as they have helped more than 300,000 readers over the years, then my brother’s death will not have been in vain, nor will the simple spirituality we both learned from our mother.