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Premier Christian Radio in the UK just sponsored a survey that investigated how the COVID crisis has affected religious beliefs and attitudes. There were three major findings—namely, that 67% of those who characterize themselves as “religious” found their belief in God challenged, that almost a quarter of all those questioned said that the pandemic made them more fearful of death, and that around a third of those surveyed said that their prayer life had been affected by the crisis. Justin Brierley, who hosts the popular program Unbelievable? commented that he was especially impressed by the substantial number of those who, due to COVID, have experienced difficulty believing in a loving God. I should like to focus on this finding as well.
Of course, in one sense, I understand the problem. An altogether standard objection to belief in God is human suffering, especially when it is visited upon the innocent. The apologist for atheism or naturalism quite readily asks the believer, “How could you possibly assert the existence of a loving God given the Holocaust, school shootings, tsunamis that kill hundreds of thousands of people, pandemics, etc.?” But I must confess that, in another sense, I find this argument from evil utterly unconvincing, and I say this precisely as a Catholic bishop—that is, as someone who holds and teaches the doctrine of God that comes from the Bible. For I don’t think that anyone who reads the Scriptures carefully could ever conclude that belief in a loving God is somehow incompatible with suffering.
There is no question that God loves Noah, and yet he puts Noah through the unspeakably trying ordeal of a flood that wipes out almost all of life on the earth. It is without doubt that God loves Abraham, and yet he asks that patriarch to sacrifice, with his own hand, his beloved son Isaac. More than almost anyone else in the biblical tradition, God loves Moses, and yet he prevents the great liberator from entering into the Promised Land. David is a man after the Lord’s own heart, the sweet singer of the house of Israel, and yet God punishes David for his adultery and his conspiracy to murder. Jeremiah is specially chosen by God to speak the divine word, and yet the prophet ends up rejected and sent into exile. The people Israel is God’s uniquely chosen race, his royal priesthood, and yet God permits Israel to be enslaved, exiled, and brutalized by her enemies. And bringing this dynamic to full expression, God delivers his only-begotten Son to be tortured to death on a cross.
Once again, the point, anomalous indeed to both believers and nonbelievers today, is that the biblical authors saw no contradiction whatsoever between affirming the existence of a loving God and the fact of human suffering, even unmerited human suffering. Rather, they appreciated it as, mysteriously enough, an ingredient in the plan of God, and they proposed various schemata for understanding this. For instance, sometimes, they speculated, suffering is visited upon us as punishment for sin. Other times, it might be a means by which God effects a spiritual purification in his people. Still other times, it might be the only way that, given the conditions of a finite universe, God could bring about certain goods. But they also acknowledged that, more often than not, we just don’t know how suffering fits into God’s designs, and this is precisely because our finite and historically conditioned minds could not, even in principle, comprehend the intentions and purposes of an infinite mind, which is concerned with the whole of space and time. Practically the entire burden of the book of Job is to show this. When Job protests against what he takes to be the massive injustice of his sufferings, God responds with a lengthy speech, in fact his longest oration in the Bible, reminding Job of how much of God’s purposes his humble human servant does not know: “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth . . .”
Once again, whether they half-understood the purpose of human suffering or understood it not at all, no biblical author was tempted to say that said evil is incompatible with the existence of a loving God. To be sure, they lamented and complained, but the recipient of the lamentation and complaint was none other than the God who, they firmly believed, loved them. I don’t for a moment doubt that many feel today that suffering poses an insurmountable obstacle to belief in God, but I remain convinced that this feeling is a function of the fact that religious leaders have been rather inept at teaching the biblical doctrine of God. For if human suffering undermines your belief in God, then, quite simply, you were not believing in the God presented by the Bible.
I want to be clear that none of the above is meant to make light of the awful experience of suffering or cavalierly to dismiss the intellectual tensions that it produces. But it is indeed my intention to invite people into a deeper encounter with the mystery of God. Like Jacob who wrestled all night with the angel, we must not give up on God but rather struggle with him. Our suffering shouldn’t lead us to dismiss the divine love, but rather to appreciate it as stranger than we ever imagined. It is perfectly understandable that, like Job, we might shout our protest against God, but then, like that great spiritual hero, we must be willing to hear the Voice that answers us from the whirlwind.
© Bishop Robert Barron is the founder of Word on Fire Catholic Ministries and is the bishop of the Diocese of Winona–Rochester. Bishop Barron is a #1 Amazon bestselling author and has published numerous books, essays, and articles on theology and the spiritual life. ARTICLE originally published at wordonfire.org. Reprinted with permission.
From being a healthy Uni-student to a paraplegic, I refused to be confined to a wheelchair… In the initial years of University, I slipped a disc. Doctors assured me that being young and active, physiotherapy, and exercises could make me better, but despite all effort, I was in pain every day. I had acute episodes every few months, which kept me in bed for weeks and led to repeated hospital visits. Nevertheless, I held on to hope, until I slipped a second disc. That's when I realized my life had changed. Angry at God! I was born in Poland. My mom teaches theology, so I was brought up in the Catholic faith. Even when I moved to Scotland for University and then to England, I held onto it dearly, maybe not in a do-or-die manner, but it was always there. The initial phase of moving to a new country wasn’t easy. My home had been a furnace, with my parents fighting among themselves most of the time, so I had practically run away to this alien land. Leaving my difficult childhood behind, I wanted to enjoy my youth. Now, this pain was making it difficult for me to hold down jobs and keep myself financially balanced. I was angry at God. Yet, He wasn’t willing to let me go. Trapped at home in acute pain, I resorted to the only available pastime—my mother’s collection of religious books. Slowly, the retreats I attended and the books I read led me to realize that despite my distrust, God really wanted my relationship with Him to be strengthened. But I was also not totally over the anger that He wasn’t healing me yet. Eventually, I came to believe God was angry at me and didn’t want to heal me so I thought maybe I could trick him. I started looking for a holy priest with good ‘statistics’ for healing so that I could get healed when God was busy doing other things. Needless to say, that never happened. A Twist in My Journey One similar day in a prayer group, I was in so much pain. Fearing an acute episode, I was planning to leave when one of the members there asked if there was something I would like them to pray for. I was having some trouble at work, so I said yes. As they were praying, one of the men asked if there was some physical illness that I needed praying over. They were way down on my ‘healing rating’ list, so I didn’t trust that I would receive any relief, but I said ‘Yes’ anyway. They prayed and my pain was gone. I returned home, and it was still gone. I started jumping and twisting and moving around, and I was still okay. But nobody believed me when I told them I was healed. So, I stopped telling people; instead, I went to Medjugorje to thank Our Lady. There, I had an encounter with a man who was doing Reiki and wanted to pray over me. I refused, but before leaving he gave me a goodbye hug which left me worried because I recalled his words that his touch has power. I allowed fear to take over and falsely believed this evil’s touch was stronger than God. I woke up the next morning in excruciating pain, unable to walk. After four months of relief, my pain returned so acutely that I thought I wouldn’t even be able to make it back to the UK. When I returned, I found that my discs were touching the nerves, causing even more drastic pain for months. After six or seven months, the doctors decided that they needed to do the risky procedure on my spine that they had been keeping off for a long time. The surgery damaged a nerve in my leg, and my left leg was paralyzed knee-down. A new journey began there and then, a different one. I Know You Can Do it The very first time I arrived home in a wheelchair, my parents were terrified, but I was filled with joy. I loved all the technological stuff…every single time someone pressed a button on my wheelchair, I was excited like a kid. It was over the Christmas period, when my paralysis started regressing that I realized the extent of damage to my nerves. I was admitted to a hospital in Poland for a while. I didn't know how I was going to live. I was just praying to God that I needed another healing: “I need to find you again because I know you can do it.” So, I found a healing service and was convinced that I would be healed. A Moment You Don’t Wanna Miss It was Saturday and my father had initially not wanted to go. I just told him: “You don't want to miss out when your daughter is healed.” The original schedule had a Mass, followed by the healing service with Adoration. But when we arrived, the priest said they had to change the plan as the team that was meant to lead the healing service was not there. I remember thinking I don’t need any team: “I only need Jesus.” When the Mass started, I did not hear a single word. We were sitting on the side where there was a Divine Mercy picture. I looked at Jesus like I had never seen Him before. It was a stunning image. He looked so beautiful! I never saw that picture anywhere after that. All through Mass, the Holy Spirit was enveloping my soul. I was simply saying in my head ‘Thank you’ even though I didn’t know what I was thankful for. I wasn’t able to ask for healing, and it was frustrating because I needed healing. When adoration started I asked my mom to take me to the front, as close to Jesus as possible. There, seated up front, I felt someone touching, and massaging my back. I was getting so warm and cozy that I felt like I would fall asleep. So, I decided to walk back to the bench, forgetting that I could not ‘walk.’ I just walked back and my mom ran after me with my crutches, praising God, saying: “You are walking, you are walking.” I was healed, by Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. As soon as I sat down, I heard a voice saying: “Your faith has healed you.” In my mind, I saw the image of the woman touching the cloak of Jesus when He was passing. Her story reminds me of mine. Nothing was helping until I reached this point where I started trusting Jesus. The healing came when I accepted Him and told Him: “You are all I need.” My left leg had lost all its muscles and even that grew back overnight. It was very significant because the doctors were measuring it before, and they found an astounding, unexplainable change. Shouting it Out This time around when I received the healing, I wanted to share it with everyone. I wasn't embarrassed anymore. I wanted everyone to know how amazing God is and how much He loves all of us. I'm no one special and I haven't done anything special to receive this healing. Being healed also doesn't mean that my life became super-comfortable overnight. There are still difficulties, but they are much lighter. I take them to the Eucharistic Adoration and He gives me solutions, or ideas on how I can deal with them, as well as the assurance and trust that He will deal with them.
By: Ania Graglewska
MoreEver experienced what it’s like to be in adoration? Colette’s beautiful account could be life-changing for you. I remember that as a child, I used to think that speaking to Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament was either the most incredible or crazy notion. But that was long before I encountered Him. Years from that initial introduction, I now have a treasure trove of little and big experiences that hold me close to the Eucharistic Heart of Jesus, leading me ever closer, one step at a time…The journey is still on. Once a month, the parish I attended then held an all-night vigil which would start with the celebration of the Eucharist, followed by adoration throughout the night, broken up into hours. Every hour began with some prayer, a Scripture reading, and praise; I recall, during the initial months, the first stirrings of that feeling of being so close to Jesus. Those nights were so focused on the person of Jesus and there, I learnt to speak to the Blessed Sacrament, as if Jesus Himself was standing there. Later on, at a retreat for young adults, I came upon silent Eucharistic Adoration, which felt strange to me at first. There was nobody leading, and no singing. I enjoy singing in Adoration and I've always enjoyed people leading us in prayer. But this idea that I could sit and just be, that was new…At the retreat, there was a very spiritual Jesuit priest who would start adoration with: “Be still and know that I am God.” And that was the invitation. Me and You, Jesus I remember one specific incident that brought a profound realization of this stillness to me. I was at Adoration that day, my designated time had come to an end and the person who was supposed to be taking over from me hadn't arrived. While I was waiting, I had a distinct impression from the Lord: “That person is not here but you are,” so I decided to just breathe. They'd be here any minute I thought, so I focused on the presence of Jesus and was simply breathing. I realized, however, that my mind was leaving the building, getting busy with other cares, whereas my body was still there with Jesus. Everything that was going on in my mind suddenly camped. It was just a sudden moment, almost over before I realized what was happening. A sudden moment of stillness and peace. All the noises outside the chapel felt like music, and I thought: “My goodness, Lord, thank You…Is this what adoration is supposed to do? Lead me into a space where it's just me and You?” This made a deep and lasting impression on me, that the Eucharist is not something, it is Someone. In fact, it's not just someone, it is Jesus Himself. Priceless Gift I think our perception of His presence and gaze plays a big role. The thought of the eye of God fixed on us may feel very scary. But in reality, this is a gaze of compassion. I experience that full-on in adoration. There is no judgment, only compassion. I'm someone who is very quick to judge myself, but in that gaze of compassion from the Eucharist, I'm invited to be less judgmental of myself because God is less judgmental. I suppose I'm growing into this in a lifetime of continuous exposure to the exposed Eucharist. Eucharistic adoration has thus become for me a school of presence. Jesus is 100% present everywhere we go, but it's when I sit in His Eucharistic presence that I'm alerted to my own presence and His. There, His presence meets mine in a very intentional way. This school of presence has been an education in terms of how to approach others too. When I'm on duty in the hospital or the hospice and I'm meeting someone very ill, being a non-anxious presence to them is the only thing I can offer them. I learn this from His presence in Adoration. Jesus in me helps me be present to them with no agenda–simply to ‘be’ with the person, in their space. This has been a great gift to me because it frees me to almost be the Lord's presence with others and to allow the Lord to minister to them through me. There is no limit to the gift of peace that He gives. Grace happens when I stop and let His peace wash over me. I feel that in Eucharistic adoration, when I stop being so busy. I think that in my lifetime of learning so far, that's the invitation: “Stop being so busy and simply be, and let Me do the rest.”
By: Colette Furlong
MoreAdversities mark our lives on earth, but why would God allow that? About two years ago, I fronted up for my yearly blood test and when the results came back, I was told I had ‘Myasthenia Gravis.’ Fancy name! But neither I nor any of my friends or family had ever heard of it. I imagined all the possible terrors that may be ahead for me. Having lived, at the time of diagnosis, a total of 86 years, I had incurred many shocks. Rearing six boys was full of challenges, and these continued as I watched them build their families. I never gave into despair; the grace and power of the Holy Spirit always gave me the strength and trust I needed. I eventually depended on Mr. Google to learn more about ‘Myasthenia Gravis’ and after reading pages of what may happen, I realized I just had to trust my doctor to help me through. He, in turn, put me in the hands of a specialist. I went through a rocky road with newer specialists, changing tablets, more trips to hospital, and eventually having to give up my license. How could I survive? I was the one who drove friends to different events. After much discussion with my doctor and family, I finally realized that it was time to put my name down for acceptance into a nursing home. I chose Loreto Nursing Home in Townsville because I would have opportunities to nurture my faith. I was faced with many opinions and advices—all legitimate, but I prayed for guidance from the Holy Spirit. I was accepted into Loreto Home and made up my mind to accept what was on offer. It was there that I met Felicity. A Near-Death Experience A few years ago, there was a 100-year-flood in Townsville and a reasonably new suburb went under water with most houses inundated. Felicity’s house, like all others in the suburb, was low set, so she had about 4 feet of water throughout the entire house. As the soldiers from the Army Base in Townsville took up the task of a massive cleanup, all the residents had to find alternate accommodation to rent. She stayed at three different rental properties during the next six months, simultaneously helping the soldiers and working towards making her home livable again. One day, she began to feel unwell and her son, Brad, called the doctor on call, who advised on taking her to the hospital if things did not get better. The next morning, Brad found her on the floor with a swollen face and immediately called the ambulance. After many tests, she was diagnosed with ‘Encephalitis,’ ‘Melioidosis’ and ‘Ischemic attack,’ and remained unconscious for weeks. The contaminated flood waters she had waded through six months ago, it turns out, had contributed to an infection of her spinal cord and brain. As she floated in and out of consciousness, Felicity had a near-death experience: “As I was lying unconscious, I felt my soul leaving my body. It floated out and flew up very high to a beautiful spiritual place. I saw two people looking at me. I went towards them. It was my mother and father—they looked so young and were so happy to see me. As they stood aside, I saw something amazing, a stunning face of Light. It was God the Father. I saw people from every race, every nation, walking in pairs, some holding hands…I saw how happy they were to be with God, feeling at home in Heaven. When I woke up, I was so disappointed that I left that beautiful place of peace and love that I believed was Heaven. The priest who was tending to me all throughout my time in hospital said he had never seen anyone react as I did when I woke up.” Adversity into Blessings Felicity says she always had faith, but this experience of imbalance and uncertainty was enough to ask God: “Where are you?” The trauma of the 100-year-flood, the massive clean-up afterwards, the months of setting up her home while living in rental properties, even the nine months in hospital of which she had little memory of could have been the death of her faith. But she tells me with conviction: “My faith is stronger than ever.” She recalls that it was her faith that helped her deal with what she went through: “I believe I survived and came back, to see my beautiful granddaughter go to a Catholic High School and finish Year Twelve. She is going on to University!” Faith believes all things, heals all things, and faith never ends. It is in Felicity that I found the answer to a common question we all may face at some point in life: “Why does God allow bad things to happen?” I’d say that God gives us freewill. Men can initiate bad events, do evil things, but we can also call on God to change the situation, to change the hearts of men. Truth is, in the fullness of grace, He can bring good even out of adversity. Just as He led me to the nursing home to meet Felicity and hear her beautiful story, and just as Felicity found strength in faith as she spent endless months in the hospital, God can change your adversities into goodness too.
By: Ellen Lund
MoreWhen your path is swarming with difficulties, and you’re feeling clueless, what would you do? The summer of 2015 was unforgettable. I was at the lowest point of my life—alone, depressed, and struggling with all my strength to escape a terrible situation. I was mentally and emotionally drained, and felt that my world was going to end. But strangely, miracles unfold when we least expect them. Through a string of unusual incidents, it almost seemed as if God was whispering in my ear that He has got my back. On that particular day, I had gone to bed desperate and broken. Unable to sleep, I was once again pondering the sad state of my life as I clutched my rosary, attempting to pray. In a strange kind of vision or dream, a radiant light began emanating from the rosary on my chest, filling the room with an ethereal golden glow. As it slowly started to spread, I noticed dark, faceless, shadowy figures at the periphery of the glow. They had been closing in on me with unimaginable speed, but the golden light grew brighter and drove them farther away whenever they tried to come close to me. I felt frozen, unable to react to the strangeness of the vision. After a few seconds, the vision suddenly ended, plunging the room into pitch blackness again. Deeply disturbed and afraid to sleep, I turned on the TV. A priest was holding up a Saint Benedict medal* and explaining how it offered a divine protection. As he discussed the symbols and words inscribed on the medal, I glanced down at my rosary—a gift from my grandfather—and saw that the Cross on my rosary had the same medal embedded into it. This triggered an epiphany. Tears started rolling down my cheeks as I realized that God was with me even when I thought my life was crumbling into ruin. A fog of doubt lifted from my mind, and I found solace in the knowledge that I was no longer alone. I had never realized the meaning of the Benedictine medal before, so this newfound belief brought me great comfort, strengthening my faith and hope in God. With immeasurable love and compassion, God was ever-present, ready to rescue me whenever I slipped. It was a comforting thought that embraced my being, filling me with hope and strength. Revamping My Soul This shift in perspective propelled me on a journey of self-discovery and growth. I stopped viewing spirituality as something distant and remote from my everyday life. Instead, I sought to nurture a personal connection with God through prayer, reflection, and acts of kindness, realizing that His presence is not confined to grand gestures but could be felt in the simplest moments of everyday life. A complete transformation did not happen overnight, but I began to notice subtle changes within myself. I’ve grown more patient, learned to let go of stress and worry, and embraced a newfound faith that things will unfold in accordance with God’s will if I place my trust in Him. Moreover, my perception of prayer has shifted, evolving into a meaningful conversation stemming from an understanding that, although His benevolent presence may not be visible, God listens and watches over us. Just as a potter sculpts clay into exquisite art, God can take the most mundane parts of our lives and shape them into the most beautiful forms imaginable. Belief and hope in Him will bring better things into our lives than we could ever accomplish on our own, and enable us to remain strong despite all the challenges that come our way. *Saint Benedict Medals are believed to bring divine protection and blessings to those who wear them. Some people bury them in the foundations of new buildings, while others attach them to rosaries or hang them on their home walls. However, the most common practice is to wear the Saint Benedict medal on the scapular or embed it in a Cross.
By: Annu Plachei
MoreI approached Him for success in my studies, but He didn’t stop there… During my high school years, I experienced a remarkable journey of faith and academic growth. As a devout Catholic, I firmly believed that God's presence was constantly with me, especially when it came to my studies. I remember one particular semester, I was facing a daunting load of exams and assignments. The subjects seemed to pile up, and I felt overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information I needed to grasp. Doubt started to creep into my mind, making me question my abilities. In those moments of uncertainty, I turned to prayer as my source of solace and guidance. Each evening, I would retreat to my room, light a candle, and kneel before my crucifix. I poured my heart out to God, expressing my fears and doubts while asking for strength, wisdom, and clarity in my studies. An Invisible Guide As the weeks went by, I noticed something extraordinary happening. Whenever I encountered a challenging topic or struggled with a difficult concept, I would find unexpected clarity. It was as if a light was being shone upon my path, illuminating the way forward. I would stumble upon helpful resources or passages in books that perfectly explain complex ideas, or receive unexpected support from classmates and teachers. I started to realize that these were not mere coincidences but rather, the signs of God's presence and help in my academic journey. It was as if He was guiding me, gently nudging me towards the right resources, the right people, and the right mindset. As I continued to trust in God's guidance, my confidence grew, and my grades began to improve. I noticed a marked difference in my ability to absorb information and comprehend complex concepts. I was no longer studying alone; I had an unseen companion by my side, guiding me through every challenge and encouraging me to persevere. But it wasn't just about the grades. Through this experience, I learned valuable lessons about faith and trust. I learned that God's help was not limited to spiritual matters but extended to every aspect of our lives, including our studies. I learned that when we turn to God with sincere hearts, He not only hears our prayers but also provides the support we need. Keeping Connected This journey taught me the importance of maintaining a strong connection with God, seeking His guidance, and trusting in His plan. It reminds me that true success is not measured solely by academic achievements but also by the growth of character, resilience, and faith. Looking back, I am grateful for the challenges I faced during that semester, as they deepened my relationship with God and strengthened my conviction in His unfailing assistance. Today, as I continue my academic pursuits, I carry the lessons learned during that time, knowing that God's divine guidance will always be there to lead me on the path to knowledge and fulfillment. In a world where academic pressures can often consume us, it is essential to remember that we are not alone in our journey. As Catholics, we have the privilege of seeking God's guidance and finding solace in His presence all the time. Through this personal story, I hope to inspire others to trust in God's unwavering support, not only in their studies but in every aspect of their lives. May we all find comfort in knowing that God is our ultimate teacher, guiding us toward wisdom, understanding, and unshakeable faith.
By: Delon Rojes
MoreWhat would you do when a stranger knocks at your door? What if the stranger turns out to be a difficult person? He says his name with emphasis, in Spanish, with a certain pride and dignity, so you’ll remember who he is—Jose Luis Sandoval Castro. He ended up on our doorstep at Saint Edward Catholic Church in Stockton, California, on a Sunday evening when we were celebrating our patron feast day. Somebody had dropped him off in our relatively poor, working-class neighborhood. The music and the crowd of people apparently drew him like a magnet to our parish grounds. Unveiling the Truth He was a man of mysterious origins—we did not know how he arrived at the church, let alone who and where his family was. What we did know was that he was 76 years old, bespectacled, dressed in a light-colored, well-worn vest, and was pulling his luggage by hand. He carried a document from the Immigration and Naturalization Service granting him permission to enter the country from Mexico. He had been robbed of his personal documents and carried no other identification with him. We set about exploring and discovering who Jose Luis was, his roots, his relatives, and whether they had any contact with him. He hailed from the town of Los Mochis in the state of Sinaloa, Mexico. Anger, vitriol, and venom spewed from his mouth. He claimed that his relatives had ripped him off and robbed him of his pension in the United States, where he had worked for years, as he went back and forth to Mexico. The relatives we contacted claimed they tried to help him on various occasions, yet he called them thieves. Who were we to believe? All we knew was that we had a wandering, regular drifter from Mexico in our hands, and we could not abandon him nor put the old, infirm man out on the street. Coldly, callously, one relative said: “Let him fend for himself on the streets.” He was a man of bluster, bravado, and gruffness, yet he flashed signs of vulnerability again and again. His eyes would water, and he would almost sob as he told how people had wronged and betrayed him. It seemed like he was all alone, deserted by others. The truth was—it was not easy to help him. He was ornery, stubborn, and proud. The oatmeal was either too chewy or not smooth enough, the coffee was too bitter and not sweet enough. He found fault with everything. He was a man with a gigantic chip on his shoulders, angry and disappointed with life. “People are bad and mean, they’ll hurt you,” he lamented. To that, I retorted that there were ‘Buena gente’ (good people) too. He was in the arena of the world where good and evil intersect, where people of goodness and kindness mixed together, like the wheat and chaff of the Gospel. More than a Welcome No matter his defects, no matter his attitude or his past, we knew we should welcome him and help him as one of the least of the brothers and sisters of Jesus. “When you welcomed the stranger, you welcomed me.” We were ministering to Jesus himself, opening the doors of hospitality to him. Lalo Lopez, one of our parishioners who took him in for a night, introduced him to his family, and took him to his son’s baseball game, observed: “God is testing us to see how good and obedient we are, as His children.” For several days, we put him up in the rectory. He was weak, spitting out phlegm every morning. It was obvious he could no longer roam and drift freely as he was accustomed to doing in his younger days. He had high blood pressure, over 200. On one visit to Stockton, he said he was hit behind the neck near a downtown church. A son in Culiacan, Mexico, said he “engendered me” and that he never really knew him as his dad, for he was never around, always traveling, heading for El Norte. The story of his life began to unfold. He had worked in the fields, harvesting cherries, many years ago. He had also sold ice cream in front of a local church a few years ago. He was, to quote the Bob Dylan classic song, “like one with no direction home, like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone.” As Jesus left the 99 sheep behind to rescue one stray sheep, we turned our attention to this one man, apparently shunned by his own. We welcomed him, housed him, fed him, and befriended him. We came to know his roots and his history, the dignity and sacredness of him as a person, and not just as another throwaway on the streets of the city. His plight was publicized on Facebook by a woman who transmits video messages of missing persons to Mexico. People asked: “How can we help?” One man said: “I’ll pay for his ticket home.” Jose Luis, an illiterate man, rough and unrefined, came to our parish fiesta, and by the grace of God, we tried, in some small way, to emulate the example of Saint Mother Teresa, who welcomed the poor, the lame, the sick, and the outcasts of the world into her circle of love, the banquet of life. In the words of Saint John Paul II, solidarity with others is not a feeling of vague compassion or shallow distress at the misfortunes of others. It is a reminder that we commit to the good of all because we are all responsible for one another.
By: Father Alvaro Delgado
More‘Set a timer for five minutes and thank God for this person.’ I bet you are wondering what on earth I’m talking about. Sometimes, we forget to talk to God about unsettled situations regarding the people God places in our lives. Many times, I forget this. One day, by God’s grace, I chose to do something about the lack of peace in my heart. Several years ago, I was having a difficult time with someone in my life. I’ll skip the details. My problem was that it really bothered me. Have you ever been in a situation like this? I made a decision to talk to a priest about it and went to Confession. After he heard my confession, the priest gave me absolution and my penance. Guess what my penance was? If you said ‘set a timer,’ you are absolutely right! He said: “I want you to spend five minutes thanking God for this person.” Five Minutes Five Minutes? Yikes! Determined, I said to myself, I can do this. I left the Church and went to my car. I set my watch for five minutes, and immediately, I was stuck. Wow, this is really difficult! Slowly, I found little ways to thank God for this person. I checked my watch…ugh, only one minute passed. I continued to pray with all my heart. I want to do this! Again, I began thanking God. As the minutes slowly passed by, it became easier and easier. My five minutes still wasn’t up. Continuing with a renewed sense of determination, I found myself thanking God even for the small difficulties. Inside, my heart was leaping! Praying for this person was really working to change my heart. Why was I so consumed by these difficulties? This is really a good person. Remembering I often remember that day. When I face difficulties with someone, I attempt to apply what I learned from that particular penance. Do you remember the promise made when we recite the Act of Contrition? Those final words before we are absolved from our sins? “… I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to confess my sins, do penance, and amend my life. Amen.” Now, when I find myself ruminating over some difficulty I’m experiencing with someone, I stop, set a timer, and spend five minutes thanking God for them. It always astounds me how God can turn my heart around in such a short time. Jesus looked at them and said: “For human beings, this is impossible, but for God, all things are possible.” (Matthew 19:26) Thank you, Jesus, for the priest who sometimes gives us a difficult but much-needed penance. Thank you, Jesus, for your healing touch. Thank you, Jesus, for each person You put on our paths. Thank you, Jesus, for loving us so much! Five minutes was and is so little time to have received such a great reward: peace of heart. “Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you!’” (John 20:21)
By: Carol Osburn
MoreI was three when my life turned upside down. Nothing was ever the same again, until I met Him! At three years of age, I had a heavy fever followed by a sudden seizure, after which I started showing signs of facial palsy. By the time I was five, my face became visibly asymmetric. Life ceased to be smooth. As my parents kept reaching out to new hospitals, the pain and mental damage I went through became too much to bear—the repeated questions, the weird looks, the effects and aftereffects of new medications every once in a while… Crawling into a Cocoon I was comfortable alone because, ironically, groups made me feel lonely. I was so scared that the kids next door might cry out loud if I smiled at them. I remember the sweets my dad brought home every night to help me drink the unpleasant medicine, which was overloaded with bitterness. The weekly walks with my mother along the hospital corridors for the physiotherapy sessions were never a weekend trip—every time the vibrations from the stimulator hit my face, tears would start to roll down. There were some beautiful souls who soothed my fears and pain, like my parents, who never gave up on me. They took me to every hospital they possibly could, and we tried a variety of treatments. Later, I would also see them devastated when neurosurgery was suggested. For the first time in my life, I felt that I was being lived out somewhere else. I had to do something. So, in the first semester of college, unable to bear it any longer, I decided to discontinue the medicines. Discovering Beauty After I stopped the meds, I had an adrenaline rush to create something on my own. I welcomed a new life, but I was totally clueless about how I should live it. I started writing more, dreaming more, painting more, and searching for colors in all the grey areas of life. Those were the days I started actively participating in the Jesus Youth Movement (an international Catholic movement approved by the Holy See); I started to slowly learn how to open myself to God’s love and feel loved again… The realization of the importance of the Catholic lifestyle helped me understand my purpose. I started to believe again that I am so much more than everything that has happened to me. Now, when I look back at those moments marked by the closed doors, I can clearly see that within each rejection, the ever-compassionate presence of Jesus accompanied me, enveloping me with His boundless love and understanding. I recognize who I’ve become and the wounds I’ve healed from. Reason to Hold on Our Lord says: “Since you are precious and honored in my sight, and because I love you, I will give people in exchange for you, nations in exchange for your life. Do not be afraid, for I am with you.” (Isaiah 43:4-5) Finding Him in my insecurities was never an easy task. While having plenty of reasons to move farther, it was all about finding that one reason to stay. And it gave me strength and confidence to live through my vulnerabilities. The journey of finding my worth, dignity, and joy in Christ was simply wonderful. We often complain about not finding grace even after the struggles we go through. I think it’s all about seeing through the struggles. Expressing honesty in the slightest adjustment in life without any sort of wrath brings light to your life. It was quite a journey. And while He is still writing my story, I’m learning each day to embrace more, reach out without inhibitions, and make room for little joys in life. My prayers no longer hold the constant need for things I desire. Instead, I’m asking Him to strengthen me to say ‘Amen’ to the changes that keep happening along the way. I’m praying that He heals and transforms me from all the negative influences within and around me. I’m asking Him to revive the parts of me that were lost. I’m thanking Him for everything I’ve been through, all the blessings I receive every minute of the day, and for the person I’ve become. And I’m trying my best to love Him with all my heart and soul.
By: Emilin Mathew
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
MoreWhatever 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 ….”
By: Reshma Thomas
MoreAs a radio reporter, I had covered everything from Presidential visits to prison riots, trying to find the lasting meaning behind the news events of the day. It could be exciting, but also heartbreaking—serving as a witness to history. It was a job that I had loved from the very beginning, and I found it tough to let go of my work each day and ease back into life on the home front. It seemed as if there were always stories begging to be covered, and I was on a continual quest to discover the story that would lead to the next award—a recognition that would fill the hole within my heart—the God-shaped hole that only the Almighty could close and bring me true healing. One of the final stories I covered as a secular news reporter was a seemingly simple feature about a service project at a nursing home. It would never make the national news, but it ended up profoundly changing my life in a way that I could not have anticipated. A group of teenagers had been recruited to create a garden at the nursing home. The teens had experienced their share of troubles, and the organizer of the project thought that the physical labor might do their souls some good. The surprising element in this tale was how enthusiastic these young people were to create this garden. They went well beyond the requirements of the assignment, fashioning a floral masterpiece, complete with a waterfall. The garden proved to be an oasis of serenity for the senior citizens at the facility. One resident who was largely uncommunicative had been touched by the kindness of these strangers, and her corner of the world became more beautiful. It occurred to me that these teenagers had overcome their personal struggles and had fulfilled the vision that God had intended. The situation made me think if I was living the life that God intended? Ultimately, I left the world of secular broadcasting behind and began working for a non-profit dedicated to the needs of pregnant women and their children. Ironically, through podcasts, radio, and television interviews, I am still using my voice to bring attention to stories that sing of the power and promise of the human spirit. Speaking from experience, I can now say that life is, in fact, more beautiful when I allow the Master Gardener, the Creator of all things, to plan out my days. I have surrendered to Him and found a peace I never dreamed possible. I invite you to turn to Him and ask Him to direct your path. Once you let the Lord into the secret garden that lies deep within your heart, you would be surprised by the roses you find there.
By: Maria V. Gallagher
MoreAll that we have is a gift from Above, but ever thought what God intended when He gave it to you? By the time I was born as the youngest of three boys, my family was Christian but non-practicing. My parents weren’t Catholic to start with, so on my first day as a freshman at Providence Catholic High School, I remember being scared to death because I had never met a priest or a religious sister. I did not know the first thing about the Catholic Mass but was told to attend all Masses at school. I had to take theology courses, too, but since my intention of going there was their baseball program, I didn’t mind. Searching for Something… As a 14-year-old, one of my biggest fears was being embarrassed in front of my peers–that I’d be asked the most basic question of the faith and be unable to answer. But Sister Margaret, who taught us freshman theology, never put me on the spot. One day after class, she waited at the doorway for me. I had every intention of walking right by, but she stopped me, looked into my eyes, and said: “Burke, you're searching for something.” I tried to walk away, but again she stopped me and said: “Read this.” She gave me my first Bible. That evening, after my baseball practice, homework, and dinner, I went to my room, shut the doors, and started reading the gospel of Matthew from the Bible. It really intrigued me in such a way that this became a habit. Gradually, theology became one of my favorite classes. During the all-school Masses, I'd watch my friends go for Communion and be curious about their reverence for this piece of bread they were receiving. On one of our junior retreats, during the final day of Mass, I had a profound encounter with the Eucharist that made me realize the power of God within me. The priest gathered us around the altar for the Consecration and Communion; I'd never been that close to the altar. During Communion, the priest came to each of us with the Eucharist; I didn’t know what to do. As he approached me and said: “The body of Christ,” my intention was to tell him that I'm not Catholic. But as I opened my mouth, he placed the Consecrated Host on my tongue. I felt at that moment the power of God going through my entire body. Though I now know that for an unbaptized person–for that matter, even a baptized person who doesn’t believe in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist–it isn’t right to receive the Eucharist, the circumstances were such that I received my first Communion by accident! This incident changed my life in profound ways; I started off by studying more about the faith, and by the time I moved to Mississippi, I had become a Catholic who could receive Christ for real every day. The Ebb and Flow Baseball was going well, and the team was often ranked nationally. During my senior year, when I got into the zone, I hit a grand slam which got us to the College World Series. I was named the Most Valuable Player of that tournament. But a couple of errors in the following three games scrapped it all. During the World Series Major League Draft, eight of my teammates were drafted, but my phone remained silent. I was crushed. I came home not knowing what to do. A couple of weeks later, my former high school baseball coach who had become a coach for the Chicago White Sox called and told me about the tryout to play professional baseball. That went well for me, as the next day, I signed a contract with the White Sox. But it didn't go as I had planned. At the end of the season, they said: “Burke, you do everything well and nothing great, we're looking for greatness.” They didn't renew my contract. I kept on trying for a while, but finally, I had to face the fact that it was over. I was 23 years old with just a degree in Math. Someone mentioned that there was a possible career in actuarial science, so I got a job and made a lot of money. But the stress was so low that it got boring, so I quit my job. After completing my Master's from Ohio University, I landed a job with the Kane County Cougars, a minor league baseball team. After four years, I had two job offers on the table–two dream jobs in baseball at the same time! I had just started dating Stephanie, who I'd met at the local church. One night, we were out for dinner and as we were leaving the restaurant, she said: “Let's stop by the Church for Eucharistic Adoration.” Although I had been Catholic for at least eight or nine years, I had never heard of Eucharistic Adoration. She explained that we would be spending an hour of quiet prayer before the Blessed Sacrament. There, I realized that in silence, we encounter God. We started to go every Tuesday night for an hour of Adoration, and I went from being afraid of silence to craving for silence. It became the most peaceful hour of my week. And in my heart, priesthood kept rising to the surface. It was like God was asking me to be a priest; a gentle invitation over and over. My family members, friends, and even complete strangers started coming to me saying they thought I would make a good priest. I felt that the Holy Spirit was working both internally and externally. So, I talked to Stephanie, and she told me that if that was my call, I had to follow it. I had every intention of going to the seminary for a year and then returning to Stephanie. But as I walked through the doors of the seminary, I felt this peace that never went away. It was during May of ‘98, the end of my first year of seminary, when I received a call from my dad asking to go home immediately because my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer, which had spread to the brain and liver. I dropped everything and went home. It was stage four. Though we kept hoping, two months later, she collapsed into my arms while watching television. It was horrific. As I looked out the window and saw my mom's car in the driveway, I imagined my mother coming face-to-face with God. God was not asking her about the kind of car she drove or how much money she made, but instead, something more fundamental, like: “Did you love the Lord your God with your whole heart, mind, and soul, and love your neighbor as yourself?” My mother, even though she wasn't a churchgoer, had taught us about God’s love. Better than Ever I went through a crisis of faith. I even wondered if there was life after death. I was angry with God for taking away the most important person in my life, but as it turned out, God saw me through that. I stayed and was ordained a priest. I thank God that I never made it to the major leagues because the joy and peace that I've experienced as a priest are far beyond anything that I had ever experienced on the baseball field. I have not only been the Catholic chaplain for the Chicago Cubs, but I have also established Catholic sports camps, which are now expanding. It's just one way God allowed me to assimilate what I love in sports and bring it into my ministry. God gives us gifts for a reason, and he wishes for us to use those gifts for His glory, in ways that we never imagined.
By: Father Burke Masters
MoreI had to finally accept that my singing was terrible, but I was not ready to give up, not yet… “If God calls you to be a religious sister, He will give you what you need to become one!” This was one of the vaguest pieces of advice I received before becoming a postulant in the Dominican Sisters of Mary Immaculate Province. However, it proved to be the most practical advice in the first year of my religious life when I encountered a great challenge—my singing voice. Of course, I can Sing! I entered the convent thinking and believing that I had a beautiful voice; a voice that I could use to praise God. And I did use it to participate in the reverent worship that took place daily in the convent’s chapel. I sang the hymns and recited the divine office with all my being and of course, with all of my strength and volume. I thought that I pleased God and impressed everyone during our common prayer time. However, two weeks into the postulancy, my postulant classmate, Phi, revealed to me the painful truth that I cannot sing. With admirable courage, Phi put her hand on my shoulder and sincerely asked me one day: “Do you know that you sing flat?” Although I had taken a music appreciation class in college and had a sense of what Phi meant, I brazened myself: “What is flat?” “You know, it is when your voice goes off key and you cannot sing higher…” Phi tried to explain. Embarrassed, I pretended not to understand her. “I don’t know what you mean.” I walked away from her thinking that she must be jealous of my voice. But this disillusionment did not last very long. One novice sister tactfully dropped a hint one evening before vespers without speaking directly about me: “What strange noise there is in the chapel these past few days!” I felt conscious of her words, but still, I did not accept the truth. My pride clouded my mind. However, another postulant, Karen, encouraged me: “If you can sing, sing loudly. If you can’t sing, sing twice as loud so as to get even with God.” I followed her advice and sang even louder than before to get even with God for not gifting me a lovely singing voice. My community was tortured every time I was in the chapel. What if You Can’t? It was only when I was offered voice lessons instead of the desired piano lessons like the other postulants that I came to the full realization of the truth—I must have sung horribly to have merited these lessons. My pride was deflated. I was dejected. Then, I remembered the advice that was given to me: “If God calls you to be a religious sister, He will give you what you need to become one!” In tears and embarrassment, I went to the chapel and told the Lord that I needed a singing voice good enough to offer Him praises without doing harm to the sisters’ eardrums. I added a twist to this request though—that it would also be a sign of my vocation as a Dominican sister if I could also cantor at the community’s Sunday Mass. God met my request and challenge. But of course, He did not instantly grant me a miracle without having me sweat for it. That would totally spoil me! Yet like an excellent father, He allowed me to experience the pain of voice training and to persevere in daily practice. He also gave me what I needed, namely, time and space for voice lessons and a dedicated and patient voice teacher, Sister Anna Pauline. Through those weekly and rigorous private voice lessons, I gradually made improvements. At the end of the sixth month, I was asked to cantor at the community’s Mass and many times afterward. I will Keep on…Singing However, the definitive affirmation of my vocation as a Dominican sister came as a delightful surprise one day when I was teaching a religion class. While most of my kindergarten students were sitting quietly and listening attentively to my retelling of the story of the Good Shepherd, many were antsy and distracted. I decided to draw their attention to this loving story, so I sang the song instead. Gabby, who was stretching herself out on the classroom rug a little far off from the rest of her classmates, suddenly exclaimed: “Sister, you have a beautiful voice!” Then she moved closer to me. Somehow, my singing captured Gabby’s attention and the rest of the class that day. So, for the rest of my years as an elementary religion teacher, I used that God-given voice to teach my students about God’s love. I am sure that God gave me a singing voice not to puff up my pride but to aid me in my service of His kingdom. My vocation is thus affirmed. If God calls you to any vocation, be assured that He will give you whatever you need—even a singing voice.
By: Sister Theresa Joseph Nguyen, O.P.
MoreLearning to drive was a repeated big hurdle in my life. This incident changed that for me! Ten years ago, God connected me with my husband-to-be for the first time. I was living in Sri Lanka at the time while he lived in Australia. Filled with the new energy that falling in love brings, I signed up with a driving school to prepare for driving in ‘the land down under’ once I moved there. Having never driven before, I was anxious yet determined, and by the grace of God, I obtained my driving license on the first attempt. Starting Small Soon after moving to Australia, I signed up with a local driving school and purchased a second-hand car to keep up the practice. The first mistake I made was to let my husband attempt to teach me. You can well imagine how that turned out! My own fears kept pulling me back no matter how much I learnt. I would do alright until a car drove up behind me and this would make me nervous, as though I was under scrutiny and in its way—a very illogical fear for someone in their late twenties. Taking lessons from a driving instructor didn’t help either. I became hesitant to practice and my car slowly gathered dust while I tried to convince myself that driving was not for me. To get to work and back, I took two buses and a train each way but could not bring myself to drive. I sold my car. Reluctant to Give Up This way of life was clearly not working for us, so I decided to try once more. It was now 2017 and I signed up with a new instructor. There seemed to be some improvement. However, during my first driving test, it was all butterflies once more. My instructor was quite cross, and while the examiner left to assess my score, she said I would certainly fail. Disappointed and with a heavy heart, I walked into the driving center to receive the verdict. The examiner said that I had passed! Shocked and in disbelief, I thanked God with all my heart. My husband was overjoyed as well, and based on my newfound confidence, we purchased a second-hand car again, very hopeful that it was going to work this time around. It started well and then slowly but surely, it all started creeping back in—the nervousness, the fear, the hesitation. A little over six months, and I had lost all confidence again. I sold my car. My patient husband believed I wasn’t doing justice to my abilities, so he not only prayed for me but also kept believing in me even when I couldn’t find the courage to. Knock Knock Years rolled on…In 2020, we were participating in an online inner-healing service. The moving service was nearing its end, and I hadn’t felt anything specifically until then. It must have been my husband’s prayers that moved Heaven for when the priest was praying for healing of inner wounds, I had a vivid memory of playing bumper cars in a theme park. I must have been about six years old and had been very eager to try this out. Picking out a little pink car, I hopped in and was happily driving it when suddenly, I felt the car behind bump into mine repeatedly. Although this was part of the game, I felt attacked and now in that present moment, reliving that gripping fear and uneasiness which was exactly how I felt while driving! I remember being anxious to have my father get me out of there as soon as possible. This was a memory that hadn’t occurred to me even once in all those years since the incident. Our Lord Jesus Christ was healing me of the root cause of the problem. It was also a profound statement to me that God our Father had created me with the ability to drive, which is what I had been questioning constantly. Eager to get back on the road, I drove a long way with my husband and the liberation was evident. I had improved immensely and was no longer bothered by the car right behind me. One would think this was the final jolt I needed to turn our life around. Incorrigible as I was, and since my driving practice was not persistent, I was still not at my best. With our newborn filling up a large part of my life, my priorities had shifted. The little city apartment we lived in was unsuitable for raising our little one. A suburban life would be more in line with the upbringing we wished to provide him with, and we could make this move if I could drive around with ease. Santo Niño to the Rescue My mother-in-law was visiting us at the time. An ardent devotee of the Infant Jesus of Prague, she gave me a Novena to the Infant Jesus, and I said the prayer daily, pleading for a miracle. One first Friday soon after completing the Novena, we were looking for a church to celebrate Holy Mass in honor of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. All the churches we visited were closed until we finally arrived at one that was not only open but celebrating the feast of Santo Niño* (Holy Child). The special Holy Mass and celebrations were filled with reverence and love for the child Jesus. The end of the celebration was marked by the choir playing a powerful, resounding drumbeat that filled the atmosphere. Every strike of that drum pierced my soul and I felt all those fears take flight. A new courage and hope took its place. My confidence no longer being in my own abilities, but in what Jesus could do within me. God’s steadfast love had been running after me in spite of my shortcomings and it was about time I surrendered all to Him. Completing a new set of lessons with a driving instructor, we packed up and moved to the suburbs. My father and father-in-law helped me with ironing out the last few kinks in my driving and my mother prayed for me. Fast forward seven years since obtaining a license; I am now driving daily with ease. Cruising along a five-lane stretch of the freeway at 100 kilometers an hour is a constant reminder to me of the unfathomable power and mercy of our God. All glory, honor, and praise be to Jesus for taking the steering wheel and turning my family’s life around. “I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.” - Philippians 4:13 * The Santo Niño de Cebú is a miraculous image of the Infant Jesus venerated by the Filipino Catholic community
By: Michelle Harold
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