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Today I met a man. He has got to be a foot taller than me. He has quite a few pounds on me as well and I am no longer the perfect size six I so want to be! I met this man at a grocery store about twenty minutes from where I live. Actually, to be more precise, I met him in the parking lot outside my grocery store or, to be even more accurate, I met him as I was leaving the parking lot.
You see this man was actually sitting in the median between the entrance and exit of this particular shopping center. He sat on a scooter-/walker-type thing holding up a sign that read, “Disabled veteran. Need help with gas, food, kids.”
I pulled up in the lane next to his chair. I did not make eye contact. Seeing “those people” often makes me want to cry. The problem of poverty is so overwhelming! How could we ever hope to combat it? Even Jesus said the poor will always be with us. I am a struggling single mom of five boys. What difference can I make?
I slowed as I pulled up to the red light. I was the only car waiting, and I was glad to pass this nameless man sitting in the median without having to stop by his side, without having to look at him. I reverted to childishly hoping that if I did not see him maybe he would not see me.
Childish. Foolish. Selfish. Me.
I waited for the light to turn green. I thought of the turkey I had just asked the cashier to put back. I could pay for it another day. We are still on a tight budget and I buy only what I can pay cash for.
I thought of the donations I had just made leaving the grocery store to the Stuff the Bus campaign which would donate food to Catholic Charities. The bag I handed over was not much, but I had literally just donated a canister of oatmeal, a box of pasta, and a bag of brown sugar. The brown sugar was not on the requested food list, but I felt like a bit of a rebel buying it and smiled, hoping it might help some family make Christmas cookies together this season. I had done enough, more than many would.
If the veteran in the median needed help, he could go to the front of the store where they were stuffing that bus. I was on my way to Adoration. My rosary beads were in my pocket. I would say a prayer for this disabled Vet, this nameless man, but what more could I do? I had done enough.
I watched the light turn green. But while I was playing the Pharisee, patting myself on the back for all the good I do, another voice was speaking gently to me, calling me, telling me to go to the man whose eyes I would not meet. I pulled into the intersection and turned my vehicle around, heading down the entrance ramp. The man should have stayed on my left, but he had picked up his chair/walker and began shuffling his way toward the parking lot.
I drove toward where he met another man standing by a little, beat-up vehicle. The new man popped the trunk as I pulled into a space a few yards away still unsure of what I was to do. I sat awkwardly in the car, fidgeting, stalling and feeling a bit like a stalker as the two men talked and occasionally sent curious glances my way.
I was uncomfortable. They would think I was stupid. I was sure of it. What kind of high and mighty person did I think I was approaching them? And for what? I had already spent all my cash. I reached into my car’s ashtray. There was $3 I had saved for emergency milk money. I had one more in my pocket: $4.
That is all I had today. I wondered about the two suspicious men. What if they were scammers? What if they used the money for alcohol or drugs or something worse? What if they did not really need it? What if …?
The what ifs threatened to take over but there was a quiet, gentle, “What if…?” I heard as well. What if the man did really need it? What if he did really need money for food, gas, kids? What if he is not a scammer?
I thought of the rosary beads in my pocket, the ones I was about to use at Adoration. They were a cheap plastic set I had found the day before in an old pocketbook. I had other rosary beads. Did I need them? What good were they doing in my pocket?
I opened my car door, fought down the uncomfortableness in my belly that told me I was foolish, and listened instead to the gentle, quiet voice. “Go.” I approached the man from the median without knowing what to say. He was still seated and I put my hand out and touched his shoulder, “Thank you for your service,” I said as I would to any of our nation’s veterans.
His eyes softened and a spark lit inside. He put his hand out. I took it and we shook introducing ourselves. He was not unnamed at all. He was Anthony Monroe. Big Anthony’s hand was dark, smooth, cool and massive. It enveloped mine quickly and held mine with a tenderness that belied the giant man’s great size, stumbling shuffle and stuttered speech.
We spoke for a few minutes. I told him I was a single mom of five boys on my way to prayer and that I would pray for him. I wished I had more to give him as I pressed the $4 and my plastic rosary beads into his hand. All doubt about Anthony washed away. I shook the other man, Peter’s hand. I could not read him when I looked into his eyes but hoped he was good to Big Anthony. I stepped back to talk with Anthony again. He told me he had four children. I did not stay long enough to learn more. I did not stay long. I left these two men who were so different from me in the parking lot, placing the chair and the sign in their trunk, Big Anthony leaning heavily on the car as he walked to his door.
I drove off and entered the little chapel up the road. I knelt before our Lord and began the Sorrowful Mysteries of the most holy Rosary minus the beads I had planned to use. I wiped away tears as they fell.
I am guessing there are some who would say I was stupid for approaching two men I do not know. I value myself enough as a creation of God to know I am expected to be careful, to treat myself well, avoiding unnecessary risks and respecting the dignity the Creator gives each of us. But it was daylight and the parking lot was populated.
I am guessing there are some who would say I was naive and probably just got scammed and I know it is possible. The $4 I contributed is not going to make or break any addiction while I can hope that some part of the love I tried to show might if it comes to that.
I am guessing there are some who would think I must have felt good about myself for leaving my comfort zone and making a little donation, but I felt no pride for having reached out. Instead, I found sadness, overwhelmed with disappointment.
I knelt before the Cross praying the mysteries, reflecting on the first decade and Jesus’ time in the Garden. I did not think of how beautiful a garden should be but how it was such a place of pain for our Savior. At the fourth decade, I reflected on Jesus’ carrying of the cross and of how earth should be such a place of beauty yet is often such a place of suffering. I thought of how heavy are the crosses so many bear.
I thought of Big Anthony and how, in my nervousness, I talked when I should have listened. I had pressed the $4 and my newly found rosary beads into his cool hand, but I should have stayed longer. I should have listened to his stories, taken some of his burden and invited him to join me in prayer, if nothing else.
I thought of our veterans and how so many are hurting and alone. I thought of how much a single mom has to be thankful for that would not be possible without the sacrifice of those willing to give me opportunity and freedom. I thought of the trouble in our nation and how divided we are. I thought of how much good we could do if we looked into each other’s eyes, shook hands and realized each of us is named and called by God.
I thought of how we look at one another with such suspicion, presuming others guilty without first seeking to know them. I thought of a Facebook friend who suggested we exchange news feeds so I could see her liberal view and she could see my conservative view. I had not written her back yet because I knew exchanging news feeds would not be enough. I was thinking of asking her to spend time with me and allow me the gift of spending time with her instead.
Today, I realized that spending time with others needs to go far deeper than what I had thought of proposing. We are called to be the hands and feet of Jesus. We are called to live the Gospel and make a difference in this world. That is impossible when we see first with suspicion: when we see the veteran in the median as a scammer, a drug addict, a threat, when we choose the worst attributes and cast nets over the masses.
I do not know if I made any difference in the lives of Big Anthony or Peter, but they made a difference in me. I am grateful for the few minutes in that parking lot and for how my views have deepened my certainty that we are called to reach out to one another. I am most grateful for the gentle whisper that told me to “Turn around. Go.” What a gift it was for me to get to meet these men, two children of God. How I wish I had been a better representative of His love for them.
The next time I pull over to speak to a homeless veteran or another of God’s children, I will be more prepared. I may not have any money or may decide not to offer it even if I do, but I must offer to listen more, speak less and thank God for all His children. Listen for Him telling you to “Turn around. Go.” Seek out those who are different than you, those who are struggling and those who need to be shown true love. Offer God’s love both in prayer and in concrete ways.
Big Anthony and Peter, wherever you are tonight, I am praying for you now and hope to listen to your stories when we meet again in Heaven one day. Thank you for a few moments of your time today.
Kerri Lynn Bishop © is a single mom of five boys. Bishop hopes to reach out to other divorced and hurting Catholics and let them know that there is Hope and Love in the Catholic Church. Today, she and her five sons work for everything that comes their way, but they are also successful, happy, and faithful. They enjoy camping, sports, and (highly competitive) board games. Reprinted with permission from www. SingleMomSmiling.com.
Loneliness is the new normal worldwide, but not for this family! Read on for this incredible tip on staying connected always. I recently became an empty nester. All five of my children live hours apart from one another, which makes family gatherings few and far between. This is one of the bittersweet consequences of successfully launching your children; they can fly pretty far sometimes. Last Christmas, our whole family had the happy occasion of visiting with each other. At the end of those three joyful days, when it was time for goodbyes, I overheard one sibling say to another: “I’ll see you in the Eucharist.” This is the way. This is how we stay close to one another. We cling to the Eucharist. And Jesus binds us together. We certainly miss one another and wish we had more time together. But God has called us to work in different pastures and to be content with the time we’ve been given. So, in between visits and phone calls, we go to Mass and continue to stay connected. Feeling Alone? Attending the Most Holy Sacrifice of the Mass allows us to enter into a reality that’s not bound by space and time. It’s the stepping out of this world and into a sacred space where Heaven touches Earth in a real way, and we are united with the entire family of God, those worshiping both here on Earth and in Heaven. By partaking in Holy Communion, we find that we indeed are not alone. One of Jesus’ last words to His disciples was: “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20) The Eucharist is the immense gift of His continual Presence with us. Naturally, we miss loved ones who are no longer with us; sometimes, the ache can be quite fierce. It is in those moments that we must cling to the Eucharist. On particularly lonesome days, I make an extra effort to get to Mass a little early and linger a little longer afterward. I intercede for each of my loved ones and receive comfort knowing I am not alone and that I am close to Jesus’ Heart. I pray that each of my loved one’s hearts are also close to Jesus’ Heart, so we can also be together. Jesus promised: “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to Myself.” (John 12:32) Incredibly Close One of my favorite lines during the Eucharistic Prayer is this: “Humbly we pray that partaking of the body and blood of Christ, we may be gathered into one by the Holy Spirit.” God gathers what once was scattered and draws us into the one body of Christ. The Holy Spirit at Mass has been tasked in a particular way with uniting us. We absolutely need God’s help to be in true communion with others. Have you ever been in the same room with someone, but yet it felt like you were a million miles away? The opposite of that can also be true. Even if we are miles apart, we can feel incredibly close to others. Ultimate Reality Last year, I felt particularly close to my grandmother at her funeral Mass. It was very comforting, for I felt like she was right there with us, especially during the Eucharistic prayer and Holy Communion. My grandmother had a strong devotion to the Eucharist and strove to attend daily Mass for as long as she physically could. I was so grateful for that time of intimacy with her and will always treasure that. This reminds me of another portion of the Eucharistic prayer: “Remember also our brothers and sisters who have fallen asleep in the hope of the resurrection and all who have died in Your mercy: welcome them into the light of Your face. Have mercy on us all, we pray, that with the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God, with Blessed Joseph, Her Spouse, with the Blessed Apostles, and all the Saints who have pleased You throughout the ages, we may merit to be co-heirs to eternal life, and may praise and glorify You through Your Son, Jesus Christ.” While at Mass or Eucharistic Adoration, we are in the Real Presence of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. We are also joined by the Saints and Angels in Heaven. One day we will see this reality for ourselves. For now, we believe with the eyes of faith. Let us take courage whenever we feel lonely or are missing a loved one. Jesus’ Loving and Merciful Heart is constantly beating for us and yearning for us to spend time with Him in the Eucharist. This is where we find our peace. This is where our hearts are fed. Like Saint John, let us rest peacefully on the loving breast of Jesus and pray that many others will find their way to His Sacred Eucharistic Heart. Then, we will be truly together.
By: Denise Jasek
MoreMy 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.”
By: Mary Therese Emmons
MoreWhen a terrible loss led Josh Blakesley into the light, music from his soul became a balm to many bleeding hearts. Growing up in the small town of Alexandria, Josh was a carefree child. He grew up listening to his Dad’s music; two elder sisters with a great music collection was a bonus that nurtured his musical taste. Without professional training or theoretical inputs, in an age with no internet and YouTube, Josh had what he would later call ‘a side entry’ into the world of music. Starting on the drums and simultaneously learning to sing, he was enamored by the likes of Don Henley and Phil Collins, following their legendary works through magazines and books. With his mother, though, Church was a non-negotiable matter. Thanks to her insistence, he went to Mass every Sunday. But he would leave God there and live the rest of his life on a totally different plane. Diving Deeper They met in Spanish class when he was 15, and unlike any other 15-year-old, she took him along to a prayer meeting. This was new and different from anything he had experienced before. Teenagers his age were coming together to worship the Lord. This worship experience was modern and engaging…with music, talks, and skits by people his age! He was intrigued, but he wouldn’t have kept coming back every week if Jenny hadn’t asked him to. Several months later, Jenny was hit by a drunk driver and killed in an accident. Her loss was a huge blow to the entire community. As he struggled with the grief of losing her, it triggered a realization that life here is finite, and there must be purpose in it, a reason that we are living. From that very moment, he began a journey, searching for answers to the questions that fascinated him…‘What is the reason for me? What is the purpose of what I’m doing right now? Why has God put me on this planet? What’s my role while I’m here?’ He started diving more into why we were here on this planet. In realizing that his gifts were from God, and in searching for a purpose in the use of these gifts, he realized that he wanted to give back to God and return the love. A Bolt of Realization He started playing music for Mass and getting involved in the liturgy. As he puts it: “There has been a faith part to my music and a music part to my faith as well. Those are still ingrained. I pray through music a lot”. And it is this experience of prayer that he tries to hand over to his brethren through writing and playing music. The “awesome and overwhelming” experience of leading people into worship and hearing them singing along makes him whisper so often: “The Lord is moving right now, and I don’t have to work.” Bridging the Gap Josh is now a full-time singer, songwriter, producer, music director, husband, and dad. Even while leading the music at Mass every Sunday, Josh knows that Mass can happen without music—what a musician does at Mass doesn’t bring Jesus any greater into the room; He is there regardless. What a musician can do is “elevate the worship of the faithful by bringing some extra beauty through music.” This indeed, is one of his life goals—to try and bridge that gap and bring quality music into the liturgy. But he doesn’t stop there; in addition to adding beauty to the Sacramental experience, he goes another mile to bring God to the people. Right from His Heart As a Catholic musician, Josh writes songs for the Mass and writes from the heart. Sometimes, when it comes out, it might not be out rightly Mass-material, but what comes out is still a tribute to God for the gift of music. He relates that his song Even in This was such an experience right from his heart. The Church community he was part of had just lost a teen, and seeing them go through the pain, the tragedy, and the devastation took him back to his own experience of losing a dear friend in his teenage years. Diving into the pain, he wrote that even in these darkest nights, God is with us. In the ‘valleys of pain’, in the ‘shattered, broken things’, in the ' hurt you cannot hide’ and the ‘fear you cannot fight’, he reassures his listeners that though you cannot see God, “You are not alone.” This is one message Josh wants to repeat to the world: “God is moving with you.”
By: Josh Blakesley
MoreWould 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.
By: Ellen Wilson
MoreThrough the darkest valleys and toughest nights, Belinda heard a voice that kept calling her back. My mother walked out on us when I was around eleven. At the time, I thought that she left because she didn't want me. But in fact, after years of silently suffering through marital abuse, she couldn’t hold on anymore. As much as she wanted to save us, my father had threatened to kill her if she took us with her. It was too much to take in at such a young age, and as I was striving hard to navigate through this difficult time, my father started a cycle of abuse that would haunt me for years to come. Valleys and Hills To numb the pain of my father’s abuse and compensate for the loneliness of my mother’s abandonment, I started resorting to all kinds of ‘relief’ mechanisms. And at a point when I couldn’t stand the abuse anymore, I ran away with Charles, my boyfriend from school. I reconnected with my mother during this time and lived with her and her new husband for a while. At 17, I married Charles. His family had a history of incarceration, and he followed suit soon enough. I kept hanging out with the same bunch of people, and eventually, I, too, fell into crime. At 19, I got sentenced to prison for the first time—five years for aggravated assault. In prison, I felt more alone than I had ever been in my life. Everyone who was supposed to love and nurture me had abandoned me, used me, and abused me. I remember giving up, even trying to end my life. For a long time, I kept on spiraling downwards until I met Sharon and Joyce. They had given their lives to the Lord. Though I had no clue about Jesus, I thought I'd give it a try as I didn't have anything else. There, trapped inside those walls, I started a new life with Christ. Falling, Rising, Learning… About a year and a half into my sentence, I came up for parole. Somehow in my heart, I just knew I was going to make parole because I'd been living for Jesus. I felt like I was doing all the right things, so when the denial came back with a year set off, I just didn't understand. I started questioning God and was quite angry. It was at this time that I was transferred to another correctional facility. At the end of the church services, when the chaplain reached out for a handshake, I flinched and withdrew. He was a Spirit-filled man, and the Holy Spirit had shown him that I had been hurt. The next morning, he asked to see me. There in his office, as he asked about what had happened to me and how I was hurting, I opened up and shared for the first time in my life. Finally, out of prison and in private rehab, I started a job and was slowly getting a hold on my new life when I met Steven. I started going out with him, and we got pregnant. I remember being excited about it. As he wanted to make it right, we got married and started a family. That marked the beginning of probably the worst 17 years of my life, marked by his physical abuse and infidelity and the continuing influence of drugs and crime. He would even go on to hurt our kids, and this once sent me into a rage—I wanted to shoot him. At that moment, I heard these verses: “Vengeance is mine, I will repay.” (Romans 12:19) and “The Lord will fight for you” (Exodus 14:14), and that prompted me to let him go. Never a Criminal I was never able to be a criminal for long; God would just arrest me and try to get me back on track. In spite of His repeated efforts, I wasn't living for Him. I always kept God back, although I knew He was there. After a series of arrests and releases, I finally came home for good in 1996. I got back in touch with the Church and finally started building a true and sincere relationship with Jesus. The Church slowly became my life; I never really had that kind of a relationship with Jesus before. I just couldn't get enough of it because I started to see that it's not the things that I've done but who I am in Christ that's going to keep me on this road. But, the real conversion happened with Bridges to Life*. How can I Not? Even though I hadn’t been a participant in the program as an offender, being able to facilitate in those small groups was a blessing I hadn’t anticipated—one that would change my life in beautiful ways. When I heard other women and men share their stories, something clicked inside of me. It affirmed me that I was not the only one and encouraged me to show up time and again. I would be so tired and worn out from work, but I would walk into the prisons and just be rejuvenated because I knew that that was where I was supposed to be. Bridges to Life is about learning to forgive yourself; not only did helping others help me become whole, it also helped me heal…and I am still healing. First, it was my mother. She had cancer, and I brought her home; I looked after her for as long as she stayed until she passed away peacefully at my home. In 2005, my father’s cancer came back, and the doctors estimated he had at most six months. I brought him home too. Everybody told me not to take in this man after what he did to me. I asked: “how can I not?” Jesus forgave me, and I feel that God would want me to do this. Had I chosen to hold on to the bitterness or hatred toward my parents for the abandonment and the abuse, I don't know if they would have given their lives to the Lord. Just looking back over my life, I see how Jesus kept pursuing me and trying to help me. I was so resistant to feeling what was new, and it was so easy to stay in what was comfortable, but I am grateful to Jesus that I was able to finally completely surrender to Him. He is my Savior, He is my rock, and He is my friend. I just cannot imagine a life without Jesus.
By: Belinda Honey
MoreAs a teenager, I did what every teen tries to do—I tried to fit in. I had this feeling, though, that I was unlike my peers. Somewhere along the way, I realized that it was my faith that made me different. I resented my parents for giving me this thing that made me stand out. I became rebellious and started to go to parties, discos, and nightclubs. I didn't want to pray anymore. I just wanted the whole excitement of putting on makeup, dressing up, daydreaming about who's going to be at the parties, dancing all night long, and most of all, just ‘fitting in there.’ But, coming home at night, sitting on my bed all by myself, I felt empty inside. I hated who I'd become; it was a total paradox where I didn't like who I was, and yet I didn't know how to change and become myself. On one of those nights, crying by myself, I remembered the simple happiness that I had as a child when I knew that God and my family loved me. Back then, that was all that mattered. So, for the first time in a long time, I prayed. I cried to Him and asked Him to bring me back to that happiness. I kind of gave Him an ultimatum that if He did not reveal Himself to me in that next year, I would never return to Him. It was a very dangerous prayer but, at the same time, a very powerful one. I said the prayer and then totally forgot about it. A few months later, I was introduced to the Holy Family Mission, a residential community where you come to learn your faith and know God. There was daily prayer, Sacramental life, frequent Confession, daily Rosary, and observation of the Holy Hour. I remember thinking, “That is way too much prayer for a single day!” At that point, I could hardly even give five minutes of my day to God. Somehow, I ended up applying for the Mission. Every single day, I would sit in prayer in front of the Eucharistic Lord and ask Him who I was and what the purpose of my life was. Slowly but surely, the Lord revealed Himself to me through the Scriptures and from spending time in silence with Him. I gradually received healing from my inner wounds and grew in prayer and relationship with the Lord. From the rebellious teenage girl who felt totally lost, to the joyous daughter of God, I underwent quite the transformation. Yes, God wants us to know Him. He reveals Himself to us because He faithfully answers every single prayer that we raise to Him.
By: Patricia Moitie
MoreCaught in a spiral of drugs and sex work, I was losing myself, until this happened. It was night. I was in the brothel, dressed ready for “work.” There was a gentle knock at the door, not the big bang by the police, but a truly gentle tap. The brothel lady—the Madame—opened the door, and my mother walked in. I felt ashamed. I was dressed for this “work” that I had been doing for months now, and there in the room was my mom! She just sat there and told me: “Sweetheart, please come home.” She showed me love. She didn't judge me. She just asked me to come back. I was overwhelmed by grace at that moment. I should have gone home then, but the drugs would not let me. I sincerely felt ashamed. She wrote her phone number down on a piece of paper, slid it across, and told me: “I love you. You can call me anytime, and I'll come.” The next morning, I told a friend of mine that I wanted to get off heroin. I was scared. At 24, I was tired of life, and it felt like I'd lived enough to be done with life. . My friend knew a doctor who treated drug addicts, and I got an appointment in three days. I called my mom, told her I was going to the doctor, and that I wanted to get off heroin. She was crying on the phone. She jumped in the car and came straight to me. She'd been waiting… How it all began Our family shifted to Brisbane when my father got a job at Expo 88. I was 12. I was enrolled at an elite private girls’ school, but I just didn’t fit in. I dreamed of going to Hollywood and making movies, so I needed to attend a school that specializes in Film and TV. I found a school renowned for Film and TV, and my parents easily gave in to my request to change schools. What I didn't tell them was that the school was also in the newspapers because they were infamous for gangs and drugs. The school gave me so many creative friends, and I excelled in school. I topped a lot of my classes and won awards for Film, TV, and Drama. I had the grades to get to University. Two weeks before the end of grade 12, someone offered me marijuana. I said yes. At the end of school, we all went away, and again I tried other drugs... From the kid who was laser-focused on finishing school, I went on a downward spiral. I still got into University, but in the second year, I ended up in a relationship with a guy who was a heroin addict. I remember all of my friends at the time telling me: “You're going to end up a junkie, a heroin addict.” I, on the other hand, thought I was going to be his savior. But all the sex, drugs, and rock and roll ended up getting me pregnant. We went to the doctor, my partner still high on heroin. The doctor looked at us and immediately advised me to get a termination—she must have felt that with us, this child had no hope. Three days later, I had an abortion. I felt guilty, ashamed, and alone. I would watch my partner take heroin, get numb, and be unaffected. I begged him for some heroin, but he was all: “I love you, I'm not giving you heroin.” One day, he needed money, and I managed to bargain some heroin in return. It was a tiny bit, and it made me sick, but it also made me feel nothing. I kept on using, the dose getting higher and higher each time. I eventually dropped out of University and became a frequent user. I had no idea how I was going to pay for almost a hundred dollars’ worth of heroin I was using on a daily basis. We started growing marijuana in the house; we would sell it and use the money to buy even more drugs. We sold everything we owned, got kicked out of my apartment, and then, slowly, I started stealing from my family and friends. I didn't even feel ashamed. Soon, I started stealing from work. I thought they didn’t know, but I eventually got kicked out of there too. Finally, the only thing that I had left was my body. That first night I had sex with strangers, I wanted to scrub myself clean. But I couldn't! You can't scrub yourself clean to the inside out...But that didn’t stop me from going back. From making $300 a night and spending all of it on heroin for my partner and me, I went to make a thousand dollars a night; every cent I made went into buying more drugs. It was in the middle of this downward spiral that my mother walked in and saved me with her love and mercy. But that wasn’t enough. A Hole in My Soul The doctor asked me about my drug history. As I went over the long story, my mum kept on crying—she was shocked by the fullness of my story. The doctor told me that I needed rehab. I asked: “Don't drug addicts go to rehab?” He was surprised: “You don't think you are one?” Then, he looked me in the eye and said: “I don't think drugs are your problem. Your problem is, you have a hole in your soul that only Jesus can fill.” I purposefully chose a rehab that I was sure to be non-Christian. I was sick, starting to slowly detox when, one day after dinner, they called us all out for a prayer meeting. I was angry, so I sat in the corner and tried to block them out—their music, their singing, and their Jesus everything. On Sunday, they took us to church. I stood outside and smoked cigarettes. I was angry, hurt, and lonely. Begin Anew On the sixth Sunday, August 15, it was pouring rain—a conspiracy from Heaven, in hindsight. I had no choice but to go inside the building. I stayed at the back, thinking that God couldn't see me there. I had started to become aware that some of my life choices would be considered sins, so there I sat, at the back. At the end however, the priest said: “Is there anyone in here who would like to give their heart to Jesus today?” I remember standing in front and listening to the priest say: “Do you want to give your heart to Jesus? He can give you forgiveness for your past, a brand new life today, and hope for your future.” By that stage, I was clean, off heroin for almost six weeks. But what I didn't realize was that there was much difference between being clean and being free. I repeated the Salvation prayer with the priest, a prayer I didn’t even understand, but there, I gave my heart to Jesus. That day, I began a transformation journey. I got to begin anew, receive the fullness of the love, grace, and goodness of a God who had known me my whole life and saved me from myself. The way forward was not one without mistakes. I got into a relationship in rehab, and I got pregnant again. But instead of thinking of it as a punishment for a bad choice that I had made, we decided to settle down. My partner said to me: “Let's get married and do our best to do it His way now.” Grace was born a year later, through her, I have experienced so much grace. I've always had the passion to tell stories; God gave me a story that has helped to transform lives. He has since used me in so many ways to share my story—in words, in writing, and in giving my all to work for and with the women who are stuck in a similar life that I used to lead. Today, I am a woman changed by grace. I was met by the love of Heaven, and now I want to live life in a way that allows me to partner with the purposes of Heaven.
By: Bronwen Healy
MoreIt takes courage to start a 1000-piece puzzle and finish it; so is it with life. Last Christmas, I received a 1000-piece puzzle from my Kris Kringle at work featuring the Twelve Apostles of the famous Great Ocean Road (a spectacular group of rock formations in Southwestern Victoria, Australia). I was not keen to start. I had done three of them with my daughter a few years ago, so I knew the hard work they entail. However, as I looked at the three completed puzzles hanging at home, in spite of the inertia I was feeling, I felt an inner drive to meditate on “the Twelve Apostles.” On Shaky Ground I wondered how the Apostles of Jesus felt when He died on the cross and left them. Early Christian sources, including the Gospels, state that the disciples were devastated, full of disbelief and fear that they went into hiding. They were not at their best at the end of Jesus’ life. Somehow, this is how I felt as I started the year—fearful, uneasy, sad, broken-hearted, and uncertain. I had not fully recovered from the grief of losing my dad and a close friend. I must admit my faith was standing on shaky ground. It seemed as if my passion and energy for life had been overtaken by lethargy, lukewarmness, and a dark night of the soul, which threatened to (and sometimes succeeded in) overshadowing my joy, energy, and desire to serve the Lord. I could not shake it off despite great efforts. But if we do not stop at that disappointing episode of the disciples fleeing their Master, we see at the end of the Gospels, these same men, ready to take on the world and even to die for Christ. What changed? The Gospels record that the disciples were transformed on witnessing the Resurrected Christ. When they went to Bethany to witness His Ascension, spent time with Him, learned from Him, and received His blessings, it had a powerful effect. He did not only give them instruction but a purpose and a promise. They were not only to be messengers but witnesses as well. He promised to accompany them in their mission and gave them a Mighty Helper at that. This is what I have been praying for lately—an encounter with the Resurrected Jesus once more so that my life will be divinely renovated. Not Giving Up As I started the puzzle, trying to put together this scenic marvel of the Twelve Apostles, I recognized that every piece was significant. Every person whom I will encounter in this New Year will contribute to my growth and color my life. They will come in different hues—some strong, others subtle, some in bright pigments, others grey, some in a magical combination of tints, while others dull or fierce, but everyone necessary to complete the picture. Jigsaw puzzles take time to put together, and so does life. There is much patience to be asked for as we connect with one another. There is gratitude for when the link is done. And when the pieces don’t fit, there is hopefully a trusting encouragement to not give up. Sometimes, we may need to take a rest from it, come back, and try again. The puzzle, like life, is not covered by splashes of bright, happy colors all the time. The blacks, the greys, and the dark shades are needed to create a contrast. It takes courage to start a puzzle, but more so to finish it. Patience, perseverance, time, commitment, focus, sacrifice, and devotion will be demanded. It is similar to when we start to follow Jesus. Like the Apostles, will we hold on till the very end? Will we be able to meet our Lord face to face and hear Him say: “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:23), or as Saint Paul says: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” (2 Timothy 4:7)? This year, you might be asked too: Are you holding that piece of the puzzle that could make someone’s life better? Are you the missing piece?
By: Dina Mananquil Delfino
MoreAll that Tom Naemi could think of, day and night, was that he needed to get even with those who put him behind bars. My family immigrated to America from Iraq when I was 11 years old. We started a grocery store and we all worked hard to make it successful. It was a tough environment to grow up in and I didn’t want to be seen as weak, so I never let anyone get the better of me. Though I was going to church regularly with my family and serving on the altar, my real god was money and success. So my family was happy when I married at 19; they hoped I’d settle down. I became a successful businessman, taking over the family grocery store. I thought I was invincible and could get away with anything, especially when I survived being shot at by rivals. When another Chaldean group started another supermarket nearby, the competition became vicious. We weren’t just undercutting each other, we were committing crimes to put each other out of business. I set a fire in their store, but their insurance paid for the repair. I sent them a time bomb, they sent people to kill me. I was furious, and decided to get my revenge once and for all. I was going to kill them; my wife begged me not to but I loaded a 14-foot truck with gasoline and dynamite and drove it toward their building. When I lit the fuse, the whole truck caught fire right away. I was caught in the flames. Just before the truck exploded, I jumped out and rolled in the snow; I couldn’t see. My face, hands, and right ear melted. I ran away down the street and got taken to the hospital. The police came to question me, but my big-shot lawyer told me not to worry. At the last minute though, everything changed, so I left for Iraq. My wife and children followed. After seven months, I quietly came back to San Diego to see my parents. But I still had grudges I wanted to settle, so trouble started again. Crazy Visitors The FBI raided my mom’s house. Although I escaped in the nick of time, I had to leave the country again. As business was going well in Iraq, I decided not to go back to America. Then, my lawyer called and said that if I turned myself in, he’d make a deal to get me a sentence of only 5-8 years. I came back, but I was sent to jail for 60-90 years. On appeal, the time was cut to 15-40 years, which still seemed like forever. As I moved from prison to prison, my reputation for violence preceded me. I often got into brawls with other inmates and people were afraid of me. I still used to go to Church, but I was filled with anger and obsessed with revenge. I had an image stuck in my mind, of walking into my rival’s store, masked, shooting everyone in the store, and walking out. I couldn’t stand it that they were free while I was behind bars. My kids were growing up without me and my wife had divorced me. At my sixth prison in ten years, I met these crazy, holy volunteers, thirteen of them, coming in every week with priests. They were excited about Jesus all the time. They spoke in tongues and talked about miracles and healing. I thought they were crazy, but I appreciated them for coming in. Deacon Ed and his wife Barbara had been doing this for thirteen years. One day, he asked me: “Tom, how is your walk with Jesus?” I told him it was great, but there was only one thing I wanted to do. As I walked away, he called me back, asking: “Are you talking about revenge?” I told him that I simply called it “getting even.” He said: “You don’t know what it means to be a good Christian, do you?” He told me that being a good Christian didn’t just mean worshiping Jesus, it meant loving the Lord and doing everything that Jesus did including forgiving your enemies. “Well”, I said, “That was Jesus; it’s easy for Him, but it’s not easy for me.” Deacon Ed asked me to pray every day: “Lord Jesus, take this anger from me. I ask you to come between me and my enemies, I ask you to help me forgive them and to bless them.” To bless my enemies? No way! But his repeated prompting somehow got to me, and from that day, I started praying about forgiveness and healing. Calling Back For a long time nothing happened. Then, one day, as I was flipping through the channels, I saw this preacher on TV: “Do you know Jesus? Or are you just a Church-goer?” I felt he was talking directly to me. At 10 PM, as the power went out as usual, I sat there on my bunk and told Jesus: “Lord, all my life, I never knew you. I had everything, now I have nothing. Have my life. I give it to you. From now on, you use it for whatever you want. You will probably do a better job of it than I ever did.” I joined Scripture study, and signed up for Life in the Spirit. During Scripture study one day, I saw a vision of Jesus in His glory, and like a laser from Heaven, I felt filled with God’s Love. The Scripture spoke to me, and I discovered my purpose. The Lord started talking to me in dreams and revealed things about people that they had never told anyone else. I started calling them from prison to talk about what the Lord had said, and promised to pray for them. Later, I’d hear about how they’d experienced healing in their lives. On a Mission When I was transferred to another prison, they didn’t have a Catholic service, so I started one and began preaching the Gospel there. We started with 11 members, grew to 58, and more kept joining. Men were getting healed of the wounds that had imprisoned them before they ever got into prison. After 15 years, I returned home on a new mission—Save souls, destroy the enemy. My friends would come home, and find me reading the Scripture for hours. They couldn’t understand what had happened to me. I told them that the old Tom had died. I was a new creation in Christ Jesus, proud to be His follower. I lost a lot of friends but gained a lot of brothers and sisters in Christ. I wanted to work with youth, to deliver them to Jesus so they wouldn’t end up dead or in prison. My cousins thought I had gone mad and told my mother that I would get over it soon enough. But I went on to meet the Bishop, who gave his approval, and I found a priest, Father Caleb, who was ready to work with me on this. Before I went to prison, I had lots of money, I had popularity, and everything had to be my way. I was a perfectionist. In my old days of crime, it was all about me, but after meeting Jesus, I realized that everything in the world was garbage compared to Him. Now, it was all about Jesus, who lives in me. He drives me to do all things, and I can’t do anything without Him. I wrote a book about my experiences to give people hope, not just people in prison, but anyone chained to their sins. We’re always going to have problems, but with His help, we can overcome every obstacle in life. It is only through Christ that we can find true freedom. My Savior lives. He is alive and well. Blessed be the Name of the Lord!
By: Tom Naemi
MoreFrom 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.
By: Munira Millwala
MoreI was so busy teaching my kids all about faith, that I forgot this integral lesson… “Wait! Don’t forget the Holy Water!” My six-year-old had decided he was ready to lead bedtime prayers by himself. Shaking the bottle of Holy Water—in case the ‘holy’ had sunk to the bottom—he blessed us and began: “God, we love You. You are good. You love us. You even love bad guys. We thank you, God. Amen.” My stunned silence filled the room. This simple prayer touched my heart deeply. My son had just shown me how to pray with the simplicity of a child of God. As a parent, sometimes it’s hard for me to step out of my ‘grown-up’ mindset. I spend a lot of energy trying to help my kids form good habits and grow in the faith, but often I lose sight of what my kids teach me about loving Jesus. When my son mustered courage and prayed aloud, he reminded me that simple, spontaneous prayer is important in my daily relationship with Christ. He taught me that, despite feeling unsure or clumsy, my prayers still please the Lord. A Real Challenge As adults, the swirling complexities of family life, schedules, and work responsibilities often consume us and make it difficult to simply talk with the Lord. Saint Teresa of Calcutta understood this real challenge and gave some advice to her own Missionary of Charity sisters: “How do you pray? You should go to God like a little child. A child has no difficulty in expressing his little mind in words, but they express so much … Become as a little child.” Jesus Himself showed us the importance of learning from children: “He called a little child to Him, and placed the child among them. And He said: ‘Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of Heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of Heaven.’” (Matthew 18:2-4) How can you and I learn to pray like a child? First, ask God for courage and humility, and invite the Holy Spirit to guide you. Next, find a quiet place away from noise and technology. Begin your prayer with the sign of the Cross and your favorite devotional name for God. I have found in conversation that using someone’s name deepens connection. (The Hebrew name for Jesus–Yeshua–means ‘the Lord is salvation’ so if you are not sure which name to use, go simple. “Jesus” will do!) Securing a Direct Line Now, it’s time to talk with the Lord. Pray out loud, spontaneously, and tell God whatever comes to your mind—even tell Him if you feel awkward or distracted. Still unsure where to start? Thank God for something, ask Him to transform your heart and pray for someone by name. Do your best and be patient with yourself. Your willingness to discover the simplicity of child-like prayer pleases the Lord very much. God delights in His children! So, embrace the invitation to learn from your children. Together you can learn to enter into a deeper relationship with Christ. Pray for courage and humility as you learn to talk with the Lord. Be intentional, and you will discover the joy and simplicity of praying as a child of God!
By: Jody Weis
MoreSilence is difficult even for adults, so imagine my surprise when I was instructed to train kids in that language! Catechesis of the Good Shepherd (CGS) is a Catholic catechetical model developed by Sofia Cavalletti in the 1950s, which incorporates Montessori education principles. One of the pioneering aspects of Dr. Maria Montessori’s work was her cultivation of times of silence for her children. In Dr. Montessori’s Own Handbook, she explains: “When the children have become acquainted with silence … (they) go on to perfect themselves; they walk lightly, take care not to knock against the furniture, move their chairs without noise, and place things upon the table with great care … These children are serving their spirits.” Each Sunday morning, anywhere between ten and twenty children, aged between three to six, gather in our atrium for catechesis. In CGS, we say ‘atrium’ rather than a classroom because an atrium is a place for community life, prayerful work, and conversation with God. During our time together, we make time for silence. The silence is not stumbled upon but purposefully made. It is also not a tool for control when things get noisy; it is regularly prepared for. This is what I have especially learned from these children. True silence is a choice. Practise Makes Perfect In the CGS atrium, we speak about ‘making silence.’ We don’t find it, we aren’t surprised by it. With a regular routine, with intention and attentiveness, we make silence. I didn’t realize how little silence was in my life until I was asked to purposefully make silence each week. This is not for a long time, only fifteen seconds to a minute, two at the most. But in that brief period, my entire focus and goal was making my whole self to be still and silent. There are moments in my everyday routine where I might encounter a period of quiet, but the silence itself was not the goal of the moment. I may be driving in the car alone, perhaps a few minutes of quiet while my children read or are otherwise occupied in another area of the house. After reflecting on the practice of making silence, I have begun distinguishing between ‘found quiet’ and ‘made silence.’ Making silence is a practice. It involves not only pausing one’s speech but also one’s body. I am sitting in silence as I type these words, but my mind and body are not still. Perhaps you are sitting in silence while you read this article. But even the act of reading negates the making of silence. We live in a very busy world. Background noise abounds even when we are at home. We have timers, televisions, reminders, music, vehicle noise, air conditioning units, and doors opening and closing. While it would be lovely to be able to enclose ourselves in a soundproof room to practice making silence in the utmost quiet, most of us do not have such a place available. This does not mean we cannot make authentic silence. Making silence is about quieting ourselves more than insisting on quiet in our environment. The Art of Listening Making silence provides the opportunity to listen to the world around you. By stilling our body, stilling our words, and as best we can, stilling our minds, we are able to listen with greater attentiveness to the world around us. At home, we more readily hear the air conditioning unit working, which gives us the opportunity to be thankful for its cooling breeze. When outdoors, we hear the wind rustle the leaves of the trees or can appreciate more fully the birdsong around us. Making silence is not about the absence of other sounds, but about discovering silence and stillness within your own self. As people of faith, making silence also means listening with the ears of our hearts for the whispering of the Holy Spirit. In the atrium, every so often, the lead catechist will ask the children what they heard in the silence. Some will answer with the things one might expect. “I heard the door close.” “I heard a truck drive by.” Sometimes, however, they astonish me. “I heard Jesus say I love you.” “I heard the Good Shepherd.” We can learn a great deal from making silence. Practically speaking, we learn self-control and patience. But even more importantly, we learn to rest in the beauty of the truth of Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God.”
By: Kate Taliaferro
MoreFrom the time I could talk, Mom mildly lamented that I was a chatterbox. What she did about it changed my life! “You certainly have the gift to gab,” my mother would tell me. When she’d sense a particularly chatty mood developing, she’d proceed to recite a version of this little verse: “They call me Little Chatterbox, but my name is Little May. The reason that I talk so much, is because I have so much to say. Oh, I have so many friends, so many you can see, and I love every one of them and everyone loves me. But I love God the best of all. He keeps me through the night and when the morning comes again, He wakes me with His light.” In hindsight, the little verse was probably meant to distract me from talking and allow Mom’s ears a temporary respite. However, as she recited the sweet rhythmic poem, its meaning provided more things to ponder. As time taught lessons of maturity, it became clear that many of the thoughts or opinions rattling around in my head should be filtered or quieted, simply because they weren’t necessary to share. Learning to stifle what came naturally took a lot of practice, self-discipline, and patience. However, there were still moments when some things needed to be said aloud or certainly I was going to burst! Fortunately, my mother and Catholic education were instrumental in introducing me to prayer. Prayer was simply talking to God as I would a best friend. What’s more, to my extreme delight, when informed that God was always with me and very eager to listen anytime and anywhere, I thought: “Now, this MUST be a match made in Heaven!” Learning to Listen Along with maturity came the feeling that it was time to develop a deeper relationship with my friend, God. True friends communicate with each other, so I realized that I shouldn’t be the one who did all the talking. Ecclesiastes 3:1 reminded me: “For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under Heaven” and it was time to allow God some chatting opportunities while I listened. This new maturity also took practice, self-discipline, and patience to develop. Making time to regularly visit the Lord in His home at the church or adoration chapel assisted this growing relationship. There I felt freer from the distractions that tempted my thoughts to wander. Sitting in silence was uncomfortable at first, but I sat and waited. I was in His house. He was the host. I was the guest. Therefore, out of respect, it seemed appropriate to follow His lead. Many visits were spent in silence. Then one day, through the silence, I heard a gentle whisper in my heart. It wasn’t in my head or in my ears…it was in my heart. His tender yet direct whisper filled my heart with a loving warmth. A revelation took hold of me: That voice…somehow, I knew that voice. It was very familiar. My God, my friend, was there. It was a voice I’d heard all my life, but to my dismay, I realized that I had so often naively drowned it out with my own thoughts and words. Time also has a way of revealing the truth. I had never realized that God had always been there trying to get my attention and had important things to say to me. Once I understood, sitting in silence was no longer uncomfortable. In fact, it was a time of longing and anticipation to hear His tender voice, to hear Him lovingly whisper again to my heart. Time strengthened our relationship so that was no longer just one or the other speaking; we began to dialogue. My morning would start in prayer by giving Him the day ahead. Then, along the way, I’d stop and update Him how the day was going. He’d console, advise, encourage, and sometimes reprimand me as I tried to discern His will in my daily life. Trying to understand His will drew me to Scripture where, once again, He’d whisper to my heart. It was amusing to realize that He too was quite a chatterbox, but why should I be surprised? After all, He told me in Genesis 1:27 that I was created in His image and likeness! Quieting the Self Time does not stand still. It’s created by God and it’s a gift from Him to us. Thankfully, I’ve walked with God a long time, and through our walks and talks, I’ve come to understand that He whispers to those who silence themselves to hear Him, just as He did to Elijah. “Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind, there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.” (1 Kings 19: 11-12) In fact, God instructs us to silence ourselves so that we can come to know Him. One of my favorite Scripture verses is Psalm 46:10, where God explicitly told me to “Be still and know that I am God.” Only in quieting my mind and body could my heart be quiet enough to hear Him. He reveals Himself when we listen to His Word because “Faith comes from what is heard, and what is heard comes by the preaching of Christ.” (Romans 10:17) A long time ago, when my mother recited that childhood verse, little did she know that a seed would be planted in my heart. Through my conversations with God in prayer, that little seed has grown and grown, until at long last, I do ‘love God the best of all!’ He does keep me through the night, especially the dark times in life. Furthermore, my soul awakened when He spoke of my salvation. Thus, He always wakes me with His light. Thank you, Mom! The time has come to remind you, dear friend, that God loves you! Just like me, you too are created in the image and likeness of God. He wants to whisper to your heart, but for that, be still and get to know Him as God. I invite you, let this be your time and season to allow yourself to develop a deeper relationship with the Lord. Chat with Him in prayer as your dearest friend and develop your own dialogue with Him. When you listen, it won’t take long to realize that when He whispers to your heart, He too is a ‘chatterbox.’
By: Teresa Ann Weider
MoreEver gazed into someone’s eyes with unending wonder, hoping that the moment will never pass? "Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks." (1 Thessalonians 5: 16-18) The most important question that people ask is: “What is the purpose of human life?” At the risk of appearing to oversimplify reality, I will say and have often said it from the pulpit: “This life is about learning how to pray.” We came from God and our destiny is to return to God, and to begin to pray is to begin to make our way back to Him. Saint Paul tells us to go even further, that is, to ‘pray without ceasing’. But how do we do that? How do we pray without ceasing? We understand what it means to pray before Mass, pray before meals, or pray before we go to sleep, but how does one pray without ceasing? The great spiritual classic The Way of a Pilgrim, written by an unknown 19th-century Russian peasant, tackles that very question. This work focuses on the Jesus Prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Those in the Eastern rite say this repeatedly using a prayer rope, which is like a rosary, but has 100 or 200 knots, some have 300 knots. Burning Candle Obviously, one cannot be constantly saying that prayer, for example when we are talking to someone, or in a meeting, or working on some project...So how does this work? The purpose behind this constant repetition is to create a habit in the soul, a disposition. Let me compare it to someone who has a musical disposition. Those who are musically gifted almost always have a song playing in the back of their minds, perhaps a song they've heard on the radio, or a song they're working on if they are musicians. The song is not at the forefront of their minds but at the back. Similarly, to pray without ceasing is to pray in the back of one's mind, constantly. An inclination to prayer has been developed as a result of the constant repetition of this prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” But the same thing can occur for those who pray the Rosary very often: “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you; blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.” What happens is that eventually, the actual words are no longer necessary because the very meaning that the words express have become a habit imprinted in the subconscious, and so although the mind may be preoccupied with some matter, such as paying a phone bill or shopping or taking an important phone call, the soul is praying in the background, without words, like a candle that is burning constantly. That's when we have begun to pray without ceasing. We begin with words, but eventually, we go beyond words. Prayer of Wonder There are different kinds of prayer: the prayer of petition, prayer of intercession, prayer of thanksgiving, prayer of praise, and prayer of adoration. The highest kind of prayer that each one of us is called to achieve is the prayer of adoration. In the words of Father Gerald Vann, this is the prayer of wonder: “The still, wordless gaze of Adoration, which is proper to the lover. You are not talking, not busy, not worried or agitated; you're not asking for anything: you are quiet, you are just being with, and there is love and wonder in your heart.” This prayer is much more difficult than we might tend to believe. It is about placing oneself in the presence of God, in silence, focusing all our attention on God. This is difficult, because what soon happens is that we are distracted by all kinds of thoughts, and our attention will be pulled this way and that way, without our being aware of it. Once we do become aware of it, however, we just have to refocus our attention on God, dwelling in His presence. But, within a minute, the mind will be drawn away again, distracted by thoughts. This is where short prayers are so important and helpful, like the Jesus prayer, or a short phrase from the Psalms, like “God come to my assistance, Lord make haste to help me,” (Psalm 69:2) or “Into your hands, I commend my spirit.” (Psalm 31:6) These short phrases repeated will help us to return to that interior dwelling place within. With constant practice, one eventually is able to dwell in silence, in the presence of God within, for a long time without distraction. This is also a kind of prayer that brings tremendous healing to the subconscious. Many of the thoughts that come to the surface during this time are often unhealed memories that have been stored in the subconscious, and learning to leave them behind brings about profound healing and peace; for much of our day-to-day lives is driven by these unhealed memories in the unconscious, which is why there is typically a great deal of turmoil in the interior lives of the faithful. A Peaceful Departure There are two types of people in this world: those who believe that this life is a preparation for eternal life, and those who believe that this life is all there is and everything we do is only a preparation for life in this world. I've seen a lot of people in the hospital these past few months, people who have lost their mobility, who have had to spend months in a hospital bed, many of whom died after a long period. For those who do not have an interior life and who have not cultivated the habit of prayer throughout their lives, these final years and months are often very painful and very unpleasant, which is why euthanasia is becoming more popular. But for those who have a rich interior life, those who have used the time in their lives to prepare for eternal life by learning to pray without ceasing, their final months or years, perhaps in a hospital bed, are not unbearable. Visiting these people is often a joy, because there is a deeper peace within them, and they are thankful. And the wonderful thing about them is that they are not asking to be euthanized. Instead of making their final act an act of rebellion and murder, their death becomes their final prayer, a final offering, a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving for all they've received throughout their lives.
By: Deacon Doug McManaman
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