The little life

It is one of those days when I feel frustrated. It's a busy time with dogs and the dogs I have are high maintenience. (I suppose they all are.) I'm getting another dog tomorrow that I'm not looking forward to (I feel guilty saying that but it's true.) And then a few more dogs this weekend. I feel overloaded. And that's just the dog stuff.

The house stuff is overwhelming as well. Because of all the dogs, I have to watch them with play to make sure things don't get out of hand or that one of them doesn't sneak away to go poop (it happens a lot) and so dishes aren't done. I get behind on that, and then we don't have enough silverware or plates for the next meal. Our kitchen is never clean anymore. And the kitchen floor--full of dirty footprints and paw prints.

Laundry--speaks for itself. The kids have been going around in winter clothes because they claim they don't have any clean summer clothes. If they would just look in the hamper, they would find it. I sort their clothes and lay them out on the couch for them to take--and they just sit there--for days.

The bathroom is gross.

The carpets are gross. Full of dog hair.

I just feel so discouraged. I feel like a failure because it's not even trying to keep up with everything, but now the house is a health-hazzard. I mean, truly disgusting. Dead bugs because no one will pick them up and the floors don't get mopped regularly. Dried up throw up from the dogs (if they drink too much water and then play, they throw up) because I didn't get a chance to get to it and then forgot about it. I could go on, but it would take too much time. It is just too much.

Let's not even talk about the bedrooms. Clothes constantly on the floors because no one puts anything away. Nothing in the drawers or closets because it's always on the floor.

Max's diabetes stuff--everywhere. Dirty test strips and random needles.

And then there are the people.

Do you ever feel like everyone is just asking too much of you? This is how I feel lately. There is so much to do, so much on my plate, and yet, someone always has something to ask.

Obviously the kids are the neediest. Even though they are much older and should be more indendent, they're not. They are helpless. The things they ask help with or the problems they get themselves in leaves me shaking my head.

And of course the dogs ask something--all the time. Feed me, potty me, exercise me, play with me, love me. Some are needier than others.

All of this complaining leads to what happened this morning at church. I was feeling the weight of it all and wanting to just leave after Mass. But they had refreshments for the feast of Corpus Christi, and of course the kids wanted to have some. I told them to hurry, and a woman who is part of the homebound ministry came up to me. She asked me what time I wanted to meet her at church when we do homebound together.

Well, we had already gone over this during one of her phone calls with me. I knew she was asking me because she wanted to make sure I remembered. This irks me to no end. I must admit I have little patience with some of the older ladies. They seem so anxious about everything and the constant reminders they give me--like they don't trust me or I'm too brainless to remember things--frustrates me. On a better day, I can usually handle these small annoyances pretty well and even hide my true feelings. But not today. Today I said to her, "Didn't we agree to meet at 8:30?" In my nicest voice, of course. She said, "Oh, yes, I just wanted to make sure you remembered." (See?!?!)

Then she asked me if I was going to call everyone on the list to make sure they remembered we would be coming on Tuesday for homebound.

True, my regular partner had asked if I would do this and I said I would. But in the hustle bustle with vacation and then unpacking, the house is a huge mess, as I said. Add six dogs to it, and things are really chaotic. I'm sure the list of phone numbers are floating around somewhere under the piles of paper and clothes and dog poop, but frankly, the idea of spending time on the phone calling everyone--and adding one more thing to my list, made me say, "Would you mind doing it? I don't know where my list of phone numbers are."

She pursed her lips and said, "Oh. Well. I guess."

I didn't say anything, I guess I could have tried to redeem myself and explain how hectic everything is. But I didn't. It doesn't seem to do much good anyway, because when I try to explain things, people don't get it. They look at me like I'm making excuses.

These older ladies who have all their kids out of the house, all their house duties done within an hour (because they never get behind), and no other responsibilities except for the things they volunteer for, they seem to forget what it was like to be mom, wife and helpmate with financial needs. And today I just couldn't take it.

I tried to remember Jesus who was still present with me and asked for help in being patient with this woman. I made myself smile at her--though it probably looked more like the Joker and it wasn't even sincere, but I know that Jesus understood the struggle in my heart.

Then another woman who I do like very much said hello to me, but I was so on edge that I couldn't even be friendly. I looked towards her and tried to smile but all I saw was: "Maternity Clothes Woman."  This was the woman who assumed I am pregnant and gave me a huge box of materinity clothes that I don't need. There are certain people in my church who assume that just because we have a big family that we are constant need for clothes. I sometimes feel like another Good Will. I found myself dodging her as I worried she would try to pawn off more of her junk on me.

On the way home from church, I asked the kids if they knew what feast it was today and they all drew a blank. When I reminded them it was the Feast of Corpus Christi (I mean, it was the homily for cryin' out loud), I asked them what it meant. No one knew. I got upset because every year we talk about what it means and why we celebrate it. Every year. And every new year, they still forget what it is. It is like this with nearly every feast. And then I felt the pressure of failure of not catechiszing my kids.

I wrote a while ago that I want to be a saint. This is not true anymore. It feels so out of reach, so impossible. It doesn't even feel like it's something God wants me to be. Who am I to think that I could ever be a saint?

And remember, I am not talking about a canonized saint, but simply a person who has attained their holiness to get to heaven. But in my discouragement, I have found it difficult to swallow. I hate to admit this, because I know so many people would jump in with their arguments about how it's all pride and everything...but I can't help how I feel. I look at myself and how easily I fall and I have to laugh. So many people tell me how impossible I was as a child, a teenager and even as an adult. No one has ever had a good memory about me as a kid. If anything, they bring up how difficult I was. And even now, I still have very little people who truly like me. Because of my faults and weaknesses that I can't ever overcome.  I will be in Purgatory forever. So be it.

This is how I feel. But it's not what I truly believe.

In a moment of this discouragement, I gave my dream of becoming a saint to God. I gave my hopes of attaining holiness and avoiding purgatory to Him. I told Him He could have it and I will become as holy as He desires. I won't worry about it anymore. Because I can't do the impossible. I am just too imperfect in so many ways.

Instead, I will give Him as much as I can. Even if it's just simply a desire of what I hope for. When I look back on my day and just see mistake after mistake, I'll look at it as a toddler who just starting to walk and does so with more falls than actual steps. Because parents are just happy over how many steps--not falls--that their baby has taken. They count every one.

I began to understand for the first time that St.Therse suffered in this way all her life, on the brink of discouragement. I say "the brink" because she never actually became discouraged, but she also was very aware of all her faults and weaknesses. I never really saw her in this way before; she talks so much about loving God that she made it sound easy--she even said it was easy. But for this first time, God let me see truly what she suffered and how much she suffered, knowing exactly what she was, and just giving it up, self-sacrificing her pride over and over putting the hope of her salvation in God's hands.

The "littleness" that she constantly refers to of herself is her cheerful way of describing her weaknesses and faults. Instead of complaining over them, she saw that she would always be little. She would forever be the little flower at the feet of Jesus, rather than the beautiful orchids that stood tall that everyone admired.

I have the calling to live the little life. I have always known this but avoided it. But this day, it jumped out at me as an invitation to be part of St.Therese's "army of little souls." And now, even though today has been rough, I have fallen again, been rude to others and have every reason to give up, I read these quotes from St.Therese who constantly is urging me on:

"To draw near to Jesus we must be so little....Oh! how few souls aspire to be littel and unknown..." 

"I am no longer surprised at anything, nor do I grieve at seeing that I am frailty itself; on the contrary I glory in it, and exect to discover new imperfections in myself each day. These lights concerning my nothingness do mre more good, I affirm, than lights regarding faith." 

"When we commit a fault we must not think it due to a physical cause, such as illness or the weather, we must attribute this fall to our imperfection, but without ever growing discouraged."

"I understand very well how St.Peter fell. He dpended too confidently on the fervor of his feelings, instead of relying solely upon Divine strength. Had he said to Jesus: 'Lord, give me the strength to follow Thee even unto death,' that strenghth, I am quite sure, would not have been refused him."

And the kicker--today being Sunday and the feast of Corpuse Christi:

"Do you know my Sundays and festivals? They are the days the good God tries me the most."

Oh my God!

Eye catching title, right??  I did that on purpose, ha.

So I just learned about the Italy bridge collapsing. (Yes, just now, I know. I am not really into the news right now because it is so depressing with the Church scandals.)  And what struck me other than the horror of the collapse and so many people dead, were the words that an Italian man kept saying as he recorded the collapse: "Dio Mio!" which means, "Oh my God".  I thought to myself that even in other parts of the world, in different languages, people are always saying His Name. I guess I always knew this but hearing it (the newscaster kept pointing out that he was saying "Oh my God") made me really see it.

"God" is the most spoken word in the world. Everyone is saying His name countless times, whether in vain or not (though sadly, I admit that it mostly in vain.)  I can't even count how many times in passing I hear someone say "oh my God!"

And yet, so many say that Christianity is dying out. This doesn't make sense to me. How can a so-called "movement" or belief of a God who is supposed to be a figment of our imaginations, constantly be spoken about by so many all over the world?? There is no other "god's name" out there spoken as much as the God we know. No one says "Oh my Buddha!"

I've already said this before in another blog post but as I said, it keeps coming back to me. Aside from the Gospels, miracles and other proofs that we have that God is real---this is what makes me believe more than ever. Everyone says His Name. Even those who don't believe, say His Name.  Everyone says His Name!

It's as though we have a tiny seed in each one of us; a fingerprint left behind from God as He created us. As though to remind us that He exists in each one of us. Like He wrote on the wall of our hearts, "God was here." We belong to Him.

I know that it might be argued that because we constantly are hearing the Oh my God phrase so many times a day that this might be why people say it and why it has spread literally across the world. But this explanation doesn't make sense either.  It had to start from somewhere. And it started with His Name. Why God's name?? Why Him, from so many that either hate Him or just ignore Him?  In moments of casualness and moments of tragedy, we always say His name.

So aside from all those wonderful miracles (and I'm glad we have them), this is all I really need as proof of the existence of God. Hearing His name spoken so many times from everyone is difficult to hear sometimes (I try to make up for it by saying, "Praise be the Name of Jesus Christ!")  but I can't help thinking to myself, "You see?? You do need Him! Somewhere deep inside, there is a place in you that knows you need Him. You say His Name over and over, whether in casual in conversation or not. You do need Him--you just don't know it yet."

"....that at the name of Jesus, every knee shall bow, in heaven and under the earth..." 
(Philippians 2:10)

Technically Jesus

My body has been going through some changes lately; hormonal changes. Though I'm not in menopause yet, I'm in peri-menopause, which in my opinion, is worse than menopause, because you suffer all the side effects of menopause but you still have to deal with your period. (Sorry, male readers.) Peri-menopause and "life" just doesn't go together.

The joys of per-menopause screw with your sanity and emotions, making you feel like some days you are literally going crazy. And I do mean literally. Sometimes I  feel angry but I have no idea why. I'm just angry.. I'm angry at the world. Those days I try to hide.

And sometimes I'm sad but again, I have no idea why. I'm just sad. I'm weepy. I'm angry and sad. Those days I try to hide too. Those that seek me out are warned they don't want to deal with me, but they whine at my door anyway (obviously talking about my kids here.)

Today was one of those days. Angry. Sad. Angry. Sad. The weather did not help. It rained all day. At first, I liked it, it was kind of peaceful. But then it began to feel a little crowded in here with all the kids home on their first day of summer vacation (ok, it's Saturday so they would've been home anyway, but for kids, the first day of summer vacation doesn't matter what day it's on!) And then Otis the dog came to be boarded for the week, along with Baby Ruth (also a dog, not an actual baby) and things really began to feel crowded. I had to do the whole switching dogs out thing and walking in the rain again.

I decided to run to the store and pick up and umbrella so I wouldn't have to get soaked every time I took the dogs for a walk. I picked up a few other things and then went home, only to realize the lady never put the umbrella into the bag. So I had to go back to the store and get the umbrella and then just as I opened the umbrealla to take the dogs for their walk, the rain subsided and the sun began to shine. For real!!

And then my phone began to malfunction. Oh, my hopeless phone, which has been dropped at least five times and has cracks all over the screen, to the point that I can now see wires. I forget sometimes that I no longer bring it out when it's raining, and it began to malfunction all day. It looked like it was possessed by a phone addicted demon; different apps would open and close. Some apps I didn't even know I had would suddenly pop on and then pop off. Every time I tried to use the phone for email or messaging or calling, it would fly apps all over the place or else turn on the key board and start typing all sorts of crazy things (thankfully it never hit "send"). Dennis and I talked about getting me a new phone but now it was imperative. So he told me that I should start shopping for phones and let him know which one I would like. After looking through many phones and finding one that didn't seem too expensive and still had great reviews, I copied and pasted it to my email....and just as I was about to send it to Dennis, the phone suddenly hit "delete"!!

This was the last straw. I threw the phone as hard as I could and it shattered. I am now officially phoneless. Yes, I regret it but at the same time, I don't. It had to be finished off.

At the same time, I knew I had to get myself under control somehow. I was snapping at the kids, grumpy with the dogs, and kenneled them more than usual to try to get some breaks, but nothing seemed to be helping my mood. I was just frustrated because nothing seemed to be going right.

And then, I have no idea why or what prompted me to do this, but I suddenly remembered that some chapels put adoration online and live for people across the world. I logged on and instantly, there was Jesus--in "real time" with the candles flickering, showing me that I was indeed looking at Him in real time, not just a still picture.

At first I felt a little awkward about it but then figured, that people skype all the time, so why not with Jesus? I sat at the table talking to Jesus through the computer and it was as though I were talking with Him the way I do when I see Him in adoration at my own church. And almost instantaneously, the anger and frustration melted away. I felt peace in my heart for the first time all day.

I kept the screen up for a while so that I could "tune in" whenever I was beginning to feel testy again. When I had to close the laptop for a while, I would just open it to see if Jesus was still there in the Blessed Sacrament, and yep, there He was.

I truly hate technology with malfunctioning phones and everything, but I'm glad that we've learned to use it to our advantage too, for the times when we feel we're going a little bit crazy. I bet whoever thought up this idea of putting adoration up "live" for anyone to see would be happy to hear that a hormonal and frustrated mother found solace in finding Jesus in technology.

Spiritual warfare

I've been off of Facebook for almost a week--with the exception of popping on here or there to check on my dog training FB page for any messengers (doesn't happen very often but I check anyway.) It's interesting to me what happens when I take these Facebook breaks. It's almost as though I begin to wake up from something, like I've been asleep. I begin to see things that I didn't notice before.

Another thing is that I go through what I think is spiritual warfare. This isn't a topic that I talk about often as I don't know much about it--but I believe happens to us more than we are aware. Every time I get off of Facebook, a lot of bad things happen. External suffering, like fights in the family, or misunderstandings with friends or elsewhere. Or sometimes internal suffering, and a lot of it. Yes, bad things really come up when I try to get away from Facebook. It's a wonder I don't just stay on.

But at the same time, when I get off of Facebook, some good things happen as well--otherwise, I don't think I would have the courage to stay off of it, with all the struggles that come with trying to make a change in my life. God seems closer, for one. Spiritual favors, as in more insights, and clarity about things in my own life that I need to work on. As though God takes his thumb and wipes away some dirty in my soul to show me the beauty that is hiding underneath, if only I would put the attention and focus in this area of my life.

It's a painful time as well. When you discover new things about yourself--or go deeper into old things that you tried to ignore, it is painful to understand some of these old wounds or weaknesses. God shows me things that have been holding me back. He challenges me to go deeper and be more "real" with Him, get down to business about my vocation and to take it more seriously. It is heavy stuff, these Facebook breaks!

And yet, even with all the increased sufferings and drama, I rather be here suffering through it, then there, with people who don't even realize I have left Facebook. I rather suffer with God than without Him. At least I know this suffering is for my own good. At least I know it's bringing me closer to Him, than away from Him.

I have more time on my hands, that's for sure. I can get more work done. Not too crazy about that. I have more prayer time. I usually pray while I work, and it goes a little bit better.

I am a little more bored; life slows down a little without social media. It gets a little lonely sometimes, without someone to "talk" to, although, I can't say I've really talked to anyone on Facebook, except for a few comments here or there.

I read more. I take more naps, which is nice. I try not to over do it with naps, but it's nice to get in when I need it. The kids find me off of my Chromebook more often. Overall, it's good.

But spiritual warfare. It is there. The devil doesn't like it when you try to make a change for the better in your life or when you think about doing something that is good for your soul. He doesn't want you to be close to God. So all he does is throw distractions at you all day, every day. He reminds you of the boredom. He reminds you of your loneliness. He makes you worry that you will be come too ingrown, that your social media is all you have left. He makes you worry you will be forgotten.

But God supplies you the grace to endure it all, reminds you of His presence, reminds you that He is all you really need to be happy. Takes up that empty space, fills up that boredom with things that you can do for others. Reminds you that you can have a prayer life now. Shows you the people next to you. Helps you realize that you can now listen to tidbit news from your neighbors, or stories from your kids, instead of whatever is trending on Facebook.

Probably more than anything, that He gives you what you were looking for all along--recognition. Not from others, but from Him. That He sees you in a way others don't and probably never will. That He has answered your prayers for a nice day, and you actually had one. That He wants to hear all about your troubles and misunderstandings, when everyone else could care less. And suddenly you feel like you have gotten something back that you left behind long ago:  a good friend.

So bring on the spiritual warfare. It is worth it for a deeper friendship with God.

Our Lady of Hope

Yesterday, while in the Atrium at our church, I saw a picture of Our Lady with a dark sky and blue dress with gold stars. As usual, when I saw this, I felt like I was revisiting something familiar (which I will explain more about later.) I've seen this picture before, in various forms, sometimes on Facebook. Everyone loves the picture but no one knows what the picture is about.

It is Our Lady of Hope and she has quite an interesting story behind her name. First, very quickly, I will explain why this picture resonates with me so much.

When I was in my coming out of my medically induced coma back when I had my heart attack, I relapsed for a short time because of some infections that I had (mainly pneumonia.) I couldn't wake up, although, when people would call my name and tell me to open my eyes (which I tried, but was not really able to do so) and so I would end up going into this dark place which I can only guess was deep in the recesses of my mind. It was not really a dream and yet it was not reality either. So to this day, I hesitate to call what I saw a "vision" since I still can't really explain where I was or if what I was seeing was truly real. I have to take into account that I was heavily medicated and I had many hallucinations (after I woke up.) Ask me someday about the monkey running around my hospital room.

But regardless of dream or reality, I would always wind up back in this dark, cold place. It had stars and a strange sound that I can't describe. The best I can do compare it to is like being in outer space. Except I wasn't floating.

I was sitting, always in a huddled fetal position, because I was scared. I couldn't wake up and I didn't know where I was. I didn't really understand that I was asleep, but I did know that I was somewhere where people couldn't go. And yet, I would hear their voices calling me all the time (my family, telling me to open my eyes.) Automatically, I would obey their calls, because I really wanted to get out of there, but as I said, I was never really able to fully wake up, and so exhausted, I would go back to sleep and wind up back in that dark, cold place.

And then, this woman began to appear to me, except, I could never see her face. She was very tall and filled up the whole sky. She had a dark blue robe with gold stars on it. She never spoke to me but somehow, I wound up inside of her cloak and this is where I stayed, by her feet.

A little bizarre, when I think of it now, and yet, it was very comforting to me at the time, and still is to this day. I didn't know who this woman was, my brain was not really able to form thoughts. I could only feel emotions and cold (I don't think I was covered very well in my bed. They only covered me with a top sheet.)

Anyway, this went on for a long time, where I go when the voices called me--although now, I didn't want to wake up--and then afterward, return to my safe haven. I was warm and comfortable in this place, hiding within her robe, and every so often, would peek out to see if the darkness was still dark (which is it was) and so after a while, I just stayed where I was, resting and comfortable.

It was only until much later that I learned my family was praying to Our Lady making many novenas. When I look at my CaringBridge journal, I see they jotted down their prayer request to everyone, asking our Lady to "cover me with her mantle." And she did!

When I saw this picture years later, it hit me with a jolt that I had seen her before. The dark sky is the same, the dark blue mantle and gold stars are the same. I wanted to know her name--did she have a title? No one seemed to know until finally someone did know--Our Lady of Hope, is her name. How fitting is that! Hope, when everything seemed so hopeless to my family. The doctors were preparing my family for "the worst" and everyone was losing hope. Little did they know that Our Lady of Hope was coming to spend time with me during this horrible time.

My experience has really changed my perspective on patients in comas.  I know now, that it's very possible that they are awake in some way, in a way that people and doctors don't yet understand. I was lucky to be able to remember my experience to tell people, but a lot of coma patients don't remember. For the rare times that I have known someone that has a loved one in a coma, I tell them to talk to them, and for Pete's sakes, cover them with more than just a sheet!

Seeing the picture of Our Lady of Hope compelled me to search deeper to learn the back round of the story. And for those of you who don't know it, here it is!

It happened in 1871, January 17th. A woman appeared in the sky, clothed in a dark blue veil with gold stars, with a gold crown on her head. Only six small children could see her, not the adults. One of the mothers of these children said they should call one of the religious Sisters that they knew to come see the vision, because she would be able to see it since she is "holier than the children." (I love that this didn't happen!)

After this, two small white crosses appeared on either side of her and she held in her hands a large red cross, with the inscription, Jesus Christ, which she looked at sadly.

The in gold lettering, messages began to appear in the sky, which the children read aloud for the adults:

"But pray my children!"

"God will hear you in a short time."

"My Son allows Himself to be moved with compassion."

It was the children that read these messages to the adults, who had all gathered around them. There was a large crowd gathered, with priests and religious included, praying litanies, the rosary and singing hymns.  One of the Sisters cried out, "Mother of Hope, name so sweet, pray for our country, pray for us!" And so the title of Our Lady of Hope stuck.

The red cross disappeared, and our Lady smiled at them. Then a white veil appeared which slowly covered her from head to toe, and she disappeared.

Was it our Lady of Hope that appeared to me and interceded for my family? I'm grateful for their prayers, and touched, to think that they and everyone would pray so hard for me. Even eight years later, I'm moved. This sort of thing doesn't just disappear in time, but maybe, grows fonder.

I apply those messages that she spoke to the crowd in my own situation, when things looked grim, when I was fading away, and doctors were telling my family to start to prepare themselves, that Our Lady of Hope was telling my own family, though they could not hear her:

"But pray my children. God will hear you in a short time. My Son allows Himself to be moved with compassion."

And little did they know, that she stayed with me during that time.

There are just so many bad things going on out there and sometimes it seems that God isn't listening. But my own story reminds me that He is. Sometimes my own lack of "holiness" and my sinfulness stops me from asking for His help but then I remember that He "allows Himself to be moved with compassion." So this gives me hope. I hope it gives you hope too--this is why I wanted to share!
In all situations, and especially with the world today, we have to keep up hope.

Called to forgiveness--again

Yesterday was an opportunity to forgive someone and yet, this person has committed the same offense over and over, and it is getting hard to forgive. I told this person that the word "sorry" was beginning to not mean anything to me. I just didn't have it in my heart to forgive anymore. I felt used, always assuming that I would forgive.

I had a really hard time sleeping last night. When I finally did get to sleep I was wakened two hours later with a bad stomach ache that kept me up. This game me opportunity to think about what I said and my refusal to forgive.

1. If I don't forgive, will Jesus forgive me for my sins?

2. If I don't show mercy, will mercy be shown to me?

3. "Father forgive them, they know not what they do." (Luke 23, 24) Boy, how true is this. Is this why we are so reckless with one another? Do we just really not understand how much we can hurt one another?  This led me to...

4.  Choosing to not forgive is another way to hurt, or punish the offender is a sin.

Still, I was tired of being used as a confessional box. People can't just go to me and dump all their sins there and expect to be forgiven. Can they?

This made me stop and think. Perhaps this is exactly what we're supposed to be. Perhaps we are the nearest "confessional box" that some people will ever get to. Perhaps this is the only way they will see mercy. Called to forgiveness.

If I stop the mercy, refuse the forgiveness, then they won't see love. And even more, how can I expect to be forgiven for my sins? How many times have I hoped to be forgiven?

I remembered an incident that happened earlier that day, when I got very angry at one of the kids. I do not want to get into it; it was not my shining hour. But afterwards, I gathered the kids and apologized for my behavior. I was hoping for forgiveness, which they gave to me.

We talked about anger and how it can be hurtful to others. It leaves us with a gaping wound of regret.
It leaves us feeling worse, not better, because there is sin there, and sin hurts.
And then we talked about meekness and humility and how that is the opposite of anger. Humility is remembering our own weaknesses which helps us to forgive others. We all need more humility and meekness in our lives.

This got me thinking in the other direction:

1. How many times have I offended someone with the same sin that I fall into?

2. How many times have I asked to be forgiven?

3. How many times have I felt nervous, hoping to be shown mercy, even though I know I didn't deserve it?

4. How many times have I been turned away?

The answer to that is zero. Perhaps I've taken it for granted too, used someone to be my confessional box, hoping--even knowing--that this person loves me enough to give me a second chance. Or third, or fourth.

And the biggest of all--if a person offends you over and over with the same offense, it is a weakness. Not a weapon to tear you down. That person--the one I am thinking of--needs prayer, not anger.

I guess I don't need to tell you that I've chosen forgiveness, once again. I'm no hero or martyr for it. I've only forgiven because I know that I need it as well. An increase of humility and love too, that I may choose to keep my confessional doors wide open.

Why I hate funerals but I'm going to as many as I can

Yesterday I got a strange text from our parish priest: "Hi Becky, we are having a funeral for Dorothy this morning at 11:00 if you would like to come. She was a wife, mother and home maker like you. You might find her story interesting."

It wasn't strange that our priest text me--he does that often with me and others. He is very spontaneous, with many "last moment thoughts" which bring on out of nowhere invitations. So it wasn't unusual to receive this text. But to a funeral? And someone I didn't even know?

Fridays are what I call my "day off", it is the only day of the week where I have the house completely to myself, with no one home. I can come and go as I want, or lay around and watch TV without feeling guilty. I can put off housework for as long as I want. Dennis is at work and the kids are at school. So it's easy to become possessive of these days. Not only that, but I had a party to get ready for, celebrating Lucy and Henry's birthdays. We celebrate them together since they both have birthdays close together. I had planned on baking cakes all day and didn't have time for a funeral.

Or did I??

It wasn't so much that I was wrestling with a sense of obligation to our priest--he has invited me to many odd things at the last moment and he understands if I don't show up. It was more that I really hate funerals and I won't go unless I really have to. This means that I better know you well enough to make myself come to your funeral. I do not like dead bodies, I do not like seeing the heavy make up on the body. I do not like seeing sadness, I do not like the awkwardness not knowing what to say. Perhaps I am selfish in that way. But I really hate funerals. I don't even want to be there for my own.

But what made this a bit different this time is that the day before, I was at adoration and saw two pictures on a table of two different parishioners that died recently. "Please pray for the repose of the soul of..." is what it said. I thought this was a great way to remember the deceased.

So I prayed for both parishioners. One that died in a fire and the other that died of natural causes. I had been praying more for the one that died in a fire, since it was such a violent and unexpected death. But for whatever reason, I kept being drawn to the other one--Dorothy--who I knew nothing about and hadn't even realized she died had I not seen her picture. Her name kept coming out on my lips, and at one point, I even got up to stare at this lady's picture and asking her, "why am I so drawn to you??"

And then, I saw the programs laid out on a shelf for her funeral the next day. A strange thought came to me: "Maybe I should go to her funeral."

I dismissed that immediately, because as I said, I hate funerals, and avoid them as much as possible. But I couldn't shake the thought that I should go. After that, many thoughts plagued me: mainly memories of snippets of conversation with my mom, who goes to funerals often, even people she didn't know, because it is an act of mercy. And from another person who I knew (who has since died), that would go to funerals not just at her own church, but others, because she loved funerals so much. This, I thought was crazy. But she insisted they were beautiful. And then last, remembering our priest inviting the congregation to a parishioners funeral. Was this why he did it? Because one of our own died?

It got me thinking in the right direction but I still didn't want to go. I was swayed, however. I decided I would go if the Lord wanted me to go, but He would have to change my feelings about funerals.

And that was when I received a personal invitation from our priest. I guess that was the final push. So I went, even though I had cakes to bake. Admittedly, they're from a box. It's not like I make them from scratch.

It was a good funeral. Father had a nice eulogy about this nice lady who lived a very humble and ordinary life.   She had "meekness and patience", he said. "Meekness is poor of spirit and poor of spirit means that you have the wealth of God," our priest said. Wow, I had never thought about it that way before. It made me want to strive to be more poor in spirit.

And four days before her own death, she too was watching the horrible fire that took the life of a fellow parishoner. She too, was praying. (Me and the kids were praying as well as we watched--I feel very bad now that I took this picture. I had no idea that there was someone still in there.)

I think what struck me most from all of this was a total change in attitude about funerals. I can't say they are my favorite thing but I understand now the duty we have in attending them. And even though it may not always be possible, how important it is to show up for them in support of the family, and as support as a fellow parishioner. After all, one of our own died. A member of our church family. We should be there to give them a proper send off, a final farewell, and to be to close the final chapter of their lives.

Did God want me to be there? I think he did. Not that my being there was anything extraordinary--no one noticed me (although our priest did, looking surprised that I actually showed up). But maybe He wanted me there because it would do some good for my soul, to remember that "burying the dead" is a corporal act of mercy. (I think--I have to look that up.)

And when I got home, I found I had plenty of time to make the cakes, still relax before getting the kids. Somehow my time to myself didn't seem so important anymore.

Over-Sensitivity--what it really is

A short post, as I need to go grocery shopping...my favorite day of the week!

A while ago, I wrote a post about sensitivity. I wish to retract what I said. I was going to delete the post but decided to keep it up, because there is some truth to what I said. But recently, I had a very good confession with a priest where I received a lot of insight about sensitivity.

I do struggle with it but I learned more that what I struggle with is not so much sensitivity but too much self-love, and the sensitivity is merely a symptom of that. I won't really get into much more--I do have to go--but wanted to at least bring this perspective about since I went and wrote that post....

It has been amazing what has changed inside of me since that day. It was sort of a hard thing to see about myself--not hard to believe, but hard to take. I remember the tears kept falling and they wouldn't stop, but they were a healing sort of tears, not the painful kind. Afterwards, it just seemed like everything was different both on the inside and the outside. I felt an inner strength that I didn't feel before and I still do. I don't get into arguments with Dennis as much anymore, I don't feel on the defensive as much as I used to...not that these things have totally faded away; there are still struggles but not as many. More like God has given me a "leg up" and I have to climb the rest of the way but I'm much farther than what I used to be.

So in a way of rewriting that post, I will say that we should continue to work on sensitivity for others, but for ourselves, to think of it as a symptom of self-love. I don't mean we should be hard on ourselves, since things that we are especially touchy about could be a wound from the past. But that we should ask for healing for those wounds. That is what I experienced that day in confession.

Must go now, it's supposed to snow soon! Let's pray that with all these catastrophes that are happening around the world, that people will call out to God for help. It does no good to suffer for no good reason, we might as well get something from it.

All Saints Day

To those who feel discouraged about attending Mass and feeling like it's for nothing, I hear you. I remember feeling like this every Sunday when the kids were little. For seven years, we never sat in a pew. We always were in the Narthex. There were some Sundays that I felt so discouraged about just trying to "get through Mass" We weren't alone. There were other parents with young children also just trying to "get through it."

We haven't had a Sunday like that in quite a while, and I've been spoiled sitting in a pew with everyone else. Able to listen to the homily, able to actually attend Mass.

But then yesterday was a really tough day. Without getting into too much detail, Max had a panic attack. He's had these a few times and there really isn't much I can do to calm him down. I used to try to force him to work through these panic attacks but I've learned that it only increases his anxiety and if I push too much, he runs out of the church in a panic. I worry with his state of mind being in a panic and running into the parking lot and getting hit by a car (although most people are still in the church and it's usually safe.)

And then he had a nose bleed. Blood everywhere. Good grief, does someone just want us to give up and go home?? Because I was very tempted.

On top of that, the other kids were taking advantage of situation and not behaving as they know they should. Again, I will not "tattle" on the kids and dont' want to embarrass them. But it was a frustrating time. Seriously felt so ironic that it was All Saints Day. Made me feel like we were the unholiest of  the holies.

So I spent the Mass sitting on a bench with Max, in a little crevice that we found. Just barely able to hear the priest speaking. I could not make out the garble that he was saying, but it must have been good because every so often, everyone would laugh at something he said.

And then out of the garble of words, I heard one line that came out clearly, and one line only: "Jesus loves you!" This is something our priest says often---every single homily, about 10 times per homily. Over and over. Jesus loves you.

And this was the only sentence that I was able to make out. I repeated it out loud to myself a few times, "Jesus loves me." Max looked at me oddly, wondering why I was saying this over and over. Probably wondering why I was breaking a rule: no talking during Mass.  I looked at Max and said, "Did you hear that, Max? Jesus loves you." He nodded his head but didn't seem to be listening. Again I pressed, "But do you believe that, Max? If there is one thing that God wants us to know, is that He truly loves us."

It was the only thing I heard during that entire homily. I didn't get to hear about the saints, I didn't get to hear about any special stories. I had been looking forward to it. But I did hear the most important thing: Jesus loves you.

Although Max calmed down, I was not able to get him to come out of our little hiding place so I asked someone to give Communion to Max in the little crevice and they complied. I was thankful. I felt so separated from the Mass and from everyone else that I was worried we would be forgotten, but we weren't. It was as though Jesus was saying, "I can see you and I'm coming!" :-)

That whole Mass we spent in a hallway, not really able to follow much. But we stood when we knew the parts to stand and sat when we should sit. We knelt during the Consecration. Because even if we couldn't hear or see, something big was still happening in the church.

I don't think I ever followed the Mass as well as I did that day, stuck in a little hole in the church. I learned a little bit of what the saints went through: to work off of desire and effort to want to be with God. Though I'm far from a saint (so, so far), yesterday made me feel that it's possible to become one. We can become Saints if we desire. God has already given us the go-ahead to do so if we want--He's just waiting for us!

I left Mass wondering what the homily was about. II asked Dennis about it on the way home and he told me that Fr.Gregory told a couple stories about some saints. And you know what he said? He said, "But more than anything, it was mainly about how Jesus loves us."

Ah, the one line I heard was the crux of the message as it always is. I felt gifted that day, to hear the most important thing of all: Jesus loves us! No matter what, no matter where we are in our spiritual lives, saint or sinner, Jesus loves us!

And I heard this with my son as we sat on a bench in our little crevice, Jesus loves us. The most important thing He wants us to know: He loves us.

When we know this, when we truly believe it, we will have no choice but to fall madly in love with Him back. And that is how we will become saints.

My Combat Prayer

Every so often, I fall into these moods that I can't shake. Sad, depressed moods. Irritable. Everyone bothers me. And yet, I don't want to be alone.

I had one of these moods again over the weekend. I felt discouraged with my dog business (or the lack of it), my new empty nest and just life in general. I can honestly say that I gave it all I had to shake the mood but I was completely powerless. Like moving a mountain that I couldn't budge.

And then, out of the blue one morning, this prayer that I had heard before just popped into my head:

"Blessed be God, blessed be His Holy Name..." and that was all I could remember. Funny how this prayer came about when I was feeling anything but blessed. And yet, I couldn't get it out of my head.
Every time I was inclined to feel moody, I would begin saying those two lines over and over. I couldn't remember where I had seen this prayer, although I remembered reciting it a few times before.

On Sunday morning, I passed Lucy a prayer book as I normally do while we are waiting for Mass to start. No sense in just sitting there. Then I got my own rather worn out prayer book. I was still feeling depressed. Mass was the last place I wanted to be. I hoped the Father would have a short sermon. I felt guilty for all these thoughts, but the last thing I wanted was to be crammed into a pew with people.

But even more than that, I wanted to shake my depression once and for all. "Blessed be God, blessed be His Holy Name, blessed be Jesus Christ, true God and true Man..." popped into my head again. Where was that prayer?? It was driving me crazy. I had to find it so I could complete the prayer; even those few lines I had memorized helped me not feel so depressed.

I leafed through my prayer book, back and forth and back and forth. I could not find it. And yet, this was the only prayer book I had. So how did I know this prayer then?

And then, I just happened to look over at Lucy, who was sitting beside me. She too, was leafing through her prayer book (though with more reverence than I had), and as though on cue, she paused on a prayer that caught her eye:

"Blessed be God. Blessed be His Holy Name...."

I couldn't believe it. The prayer that had been stuck in my head and which I couldn't find for days just happened to be right in front of me at the moment I casually looked over Lucy's shoulder! I felt that God must have put this prayer in my heart--and also right in front of me--to help me combat my depression.

Like a good mother, I snatched the prayer book out of a surprised Lucy's hands and tossed her my old one and began to read...

Blessed be God. 

Blessed be His Holy Name. 

Blessed be Jesus Christ, true God and true Man, 

Blessed be the Name of Jesus. 

Blessed be His Most Sacred Heart. 

Blessed be His Most Precious Blood

Blessed be Jesus in the Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar. 

Blessed be the Holy Spirit, the paraclete. 

Blessed be the great Mother of God, 

Mary most holy. 

Blessed be her holy and Immaculate Conception.

Blessed be her glorious Assumption. 

Blessed be the name of Mary, Virgin and Mother. 

Blessed be St.Joseph, her most chaste spouse. 

Blessed be God in His angels and in His saints. 

May the heart of Jesus, in the Most Blessed Sacrament, be praised, adored, and loved with grateful affection, at every moment, in all the tabernacles of the world, even to the end of time. 

Amen. 

The depression doesn't magically disappear after saying this prayer. But the prayer does give me strength to want to listen to other voices, rather than the dismal voice of depression and discouragement. It makes me want to fight depression and fight self-pity. To remember to be patient with things in life, with things that don't always go the way I want them to. To bless God often. Because its' hard to be depressed when you are praising God, isn't it? So funny, this prayer is exactly opposite of how I want to pray when I feel depressed, and yet, it is exactly what I need to pray to fight it.

I call it my Combat Prayer.

Loving the family

Today at adoration,  a list formed in my mind. How do I prioritize my life? What order do I place my roles to others? Immediately, my list went like this"

1. Christian
2. Wife
3. Mom
4. Dog Trainer

But then, with more pondering, it went more like this:

1. Dog Trainer
2. Mom
3. Wife
4. Christian

Not that I try to live my life in that order but it is what is important to me right now. Dog training is still an exciting new adventure and it's hard not to get caught up in it. My kids happiness is important to me so it comes second in my priorities. My marriage comes third because I take it for granted and don't take care of it like I should. And my Christian duties, my attitude, my prayer life, is in fourth place.


Thank goodness for my adoration hours. That, and the Mass are all that keep me grounded lately. When I come back to Jesus each week, it is so hard to get my thoughts under control. They swirl around with to-do lists and reminders and dogs to train, kids to take care of, what we should have for dinner, ect. It is so hard to focus on the little white Host sitting right in front of me.

But by the end of the hour, all I can think of is Him. With the help of the Holy Spirit, of course, who helps me get my thoughts under control. And then I wonder, how could I think of anything but Him? How can I leave this church, where I can escape the chaos of my life for one hour? Do I really need to go back? Can I just hide here forever?

And everything that I previously was occupied about suddenly seems so bland. Not to say my life as wife and mother are not fulfilling, but let's face it, those two roles are hard to play sometimes. It is hard to go back and love.

Which lead me to my second thought. Loving my family. I would die without them. I would never want to lose any of them. And yet, I love them with a selfish kind of love. I love them most when I'm in a good mood, when I feel loving, when I feel I can put up with them. But the times when I can't deal with them, it is hard to love them. It is when I want to escape.

I felt like God was sending me away with an assignment. Not that He spoke to me in words, but this is what I felt He was saying to me: "I only want you to do one thing--love your family, and love them well."

I do not have to run to Puerto Rico and give them clean water and fresh supplies, though that would be easier and rewarding.

I do not have to go to Las Vegas to pray with the families that have lost loved ones.

I do not need to go to Africa to give them fresh water.

All I have to do is love my family, those closest to me. And yet, it is the hardest thing in the world. And yet, this is all He asks of me to do.

Why don't we do this? The ones who are closest to us are often the ones most unloved.

My mission in this life is to love my family the best I can. I don't know when I will die, but when I do, I hope they will know they were loved. I hope they will always know it in their hearts. I hope they will come to recognize God's love for them through me.

It is such a simple mission, to just love your family. And yet, the hardest thing to do. A way to heaven, and how often we escape it and look for another way--away from our family.

My bad luck saint: Joseph Cupertino

When life just seems to give me lemons, I do not make lemonade. I pray to St.Jospeh Cupertino.

Nobody had it harder than him, not even the martyrs. This poor boy was unwanted, unloved, and even those who had a good and generous heart found it hard to love him. He was dull, witless, strange and odd, "stupid" (their words), couldn't seem to learn anything. He had no ambition within him to do anything with his life and compared himself to a mule. Later in life, he even nicknamed himself Brother Ass. On top of all of this, he was sickly with the most annoying and disgusting illnesses. Not enough to kill him but enough for him to be a burden to others. Colds and even ulcers that would ooze and make a mess of him.

He flunked out of school even though he tried his best. He was made to be a shoemaker but couldn't make shoes. He was absent minded and would often stare off into space, trying to remember what he was supposed to do. His parents couldn't stand him and just wanted him to go away, because he was a disgrace to the family. He tried to enter a monastery to become a brother but was rejected by all of them. One finally took him in, but after a while, when they saw that he couldn't seem to do anything right, they kicked him out and stripped him of his garments. On top of this, he couldn't seem to find all of his lay clothes that he had come in, and so he was forced to leave only half-dressed. Dogs came after him and attacked him, ripping his clothes to shreds even more. He wandered the streets but because of his appearance and his strangeness, he was either beat up or ignored. He went to his Uncle who sent him to his mother, and he went to his mother, who was so angry that he was back in her care that she forced the Franciscans to take him back.

And so he was made to be a keeper of a mule, thus came the name Brother Ass. But soon despite his clumsiness, his strangeness and dullness, he found humor in everything, because he learned that everything bad that happened actually had something humorous about it. He took care of the animals, was happy to sleep on his bed that was a plank of wood, and took in the poorest of the poor that approached him. Soon, the brothers were seeking him out, attracted by his grace and love for others.

They decided to give him another try. And again, he failed at everything. And yet, somehow, by the grace of God, he was ordained a priest.

Soon, his "absent-mindedness" became a deep mental prayer where he lost all sight of everything but God. In these "fits" as he called them, the brothers would poke him with pins or burn his hands. When he would come to, he would awaken to find his hands either bloody or burned, although he never suffered pain. He would laugh about this too and say, "You see what my brothers have to do to awaken me from my fits! They have to cut my hand or burn them!"

And then, the most famous story of all, is when Joseph began to levitate. He levitated so often that it wasn't unusual to find him sitting in trees, or to suddenly levitate during a meal. At one point, when a cross was being erected onto a church, Joseph took the cross and flew into the sky and put it on himself.

He had the gift of healing and could cure the blind and make the lame walk. He had the gift of bi-location as well and was seen in many places at once. He had the gift of communing with the animals; he said the litany of Mary with the sheep with them "baaing" in response. In thanksgiving to the nus that lived nearby who he went begging to, he told them he would send a little sparrow to sing their morning and evening prayers with them. This little bird came every morning and evening for many months, as long as Joseph lived in the same area.

And then for some strange reason, Joseph was excommunicated though no one knows why--not even Joseph. He was held prisoner for ten years and during this time, Joseph simply spent it loving God. However, there wasn't much that could be done with his gift of bi-location--though he was held prisoner, he was still seen around the neighborhood.

Eventually Joseph died (after being released for the last six years of his life to the Franciscans), and his only request was that his body be buried in a location where no one would think to find it and to simply be forgotten. Because this was how St.Joseph knew how to live his life, even at the very end.

I failed my test the other day and was so tempted to give in to self-pity. It seems that I fail at a lot of things and sometimes I wonder if God is just "setting me up." But then I think of St.Joseph of Cupertino and  by perspective, no one had it worse than him. I simply can't complain.

More than that, I remember that God lifts up the lowly and this is what He did with Joseph. I guess we all need a saint who had it worse than us, that was "dumber" than us, that was a failure more than anyone I have known--including myself--to the point that even the religious couldn't stand being around him.

Rather sad, but true.

Thank you, St.Joseph of Cupertino, for willing to be that saint, for allowing God to keep lowly in the eyes of the world. For showing us what He will do if we are faithful, if we are patient, and allow Him to mold us in His hands. May we all have the deep humility that you have had, to be disgraced and humbled, at least once in a while.

And finally,  to be lifted up high in His hands, letting the world see what God can make out of us, despite our biggest disappointments and failures. That it's not about us at all--only Him!

St.Joseph of Cupertino, pray for us!!

Waiting for God's will

It occurred to me the other day as I was listening to the kids prayers and their endless lists of "I wants", that I have never talked to the kids about submitting themselves to God's will. Not once! It was as though God tapped me on the shoulder one day and reminded me of this important piece of information; the ultimate key to living a happy life!

Well, I've now rectified that problem and am trying to do better about teaching the kids about discernment of God's will for their lives. Not just a one time lesson, but a lesson that needs to be taught over and over again, for it goes against our own will to let God take over our lives.

I'm finding myself in the same predicament as I am now at a crossroads in my life with dog training. I've completed my work with CATCH and will take the test for certification soon. But for the most part, I can start training, if I want. I've been stalling though, not sure which way to go with this. Do I want to start working with a company like Petsmart or Petco? Maybe a doggy daycare? Or do I want to do this on my own? Or should I want to try to get an apprenticeship and volunteer hours for more learning? There are many ways to go about dog training. It can be a very lucrative business, unlike what most people think. And although I've never been in it for the money, the whole reason why I started all of this in the first place, was to help out with money and still be home enough for the kids.

My whole experience with Marley, the dog from hell, showed me once again that I went about discerning God's will all wrong. I had thought I had prayed for direction but I didn't take time to listen to God's answer. Rather, I "prayed as I went", jumping first for the opportunity to dog sit and make some money, praying, "Lord, if You don't want this, please let me know." (That's my simple prayer for discernment. No bells or whistles for me.)

Well, we all know how my experience with Marley went.

I was so confused because I had prayed for God's will and thought that since the opportunity came my way, it was what God wanted. And yet, it was a terrible experience with so much stress, causing fights about the dog within the family. I couldn't believe that this is what God would want for me and my family.

I had another bad experience with a dog training company (I don't want to mention their name) where I observed a class, thinking that I needed some help with my lack of leadership and timidity that has developed over the months. I sat at the class thinking I would leave inspired about how to be a good leader, and instead, I witnessed two big dog fights that happened during class. Yelps from dogs and tufts of fur went flying into the air in true dog-fighting style, as the trainer grabbed the offending dog and threw him bodily on the floor--not once but twice, since the dog had not calmed down. I sat there, horrified and wishing I had never come.

(By the way, it was necessary for the trainer to be very physical with that dog. The dog was about to rip the other dog into shreds. For his safety and everyone else in the class, the trainer had to be very assertive, "top dog" in order to whip the other dog into submission. It's not how I would normally proceed with my own training, but I do understand why the trainer acted as he did.)

I had thought God had led me to volunteering for this company, but now I know I could never volunteer with them. I've changed too much, I've learned there are other ways of training. I'm not saying that being an assertive leader is wrong--there are times you have to be very assertive. But being a kind leader is not wrong either.

And then I realized that again, I didn't really ask for what God wanted. I just prayed as I went, asking Him to show me if it was right or wrong to proceed. Well, He showed me alright.

I've wondered why I have so many "bad experiences" in my life and realized that when I pray for God's discernment, I don't wait for Him to answer me. I've been too impatient, telling Him that He can "let me know" either during or after the opportunity of a lifetime.

This all clicked in my head during Mass yesterday. I finally prayed as I should: "Lord, lead me down the path that You want. Bring into my life what is necessary and take out what isn't. Help me to learn to sit still and listen. I won't move forward until You let me know."

And as usual, with this prayer came the prayer for patience to wait and let God tell me in His own time.

I told the kids God desires our happiness and has the perfect plan already laid out, if only we will ask Him. But we tend to be too proud and willful to let Him have a say in our life. I am in my forties, and still trying to figure this out. I think of all I went through particularly in my twenties, and how much grief I could've saved myself if only I had took the time to discern God's will for my life.

And so I try to teach the kids to discern early in their life what God wants in their life. What exciting things could He have planned? Marriage? Priesthood? Even Sainthood?

Only God knows.

A Spot of Mercy

We may not always understand each other, we may not always be "holy" and act like it. But we are all called to be merciful. It's what we can do if we choose.

Sometimes it seems that there's never a moment of pause or rest, just ongoing (internal) suffering. But then someone does an act if mercy.. I call that a spot of mercy. Or a moment of mercy. It feels like when just for a moment, you get some shade from the hot sun before the cloud moves on. Or just for a moment, you can rest your feet and enjoy the relaxation before you are called to run again. It's only for a moment, but those moments are the best.

A kind word here, or a moment of understanding (or just acceptance) there. Those are my spots of mercy. I need those spots in my life. I know others need them. Why do we deprive each other from these spots of mercy? Why do we prefer to accuse rather than understand? Even when someone is a jerk to us, why don't we search deeper? What made them so angry, so hurt, to want to hurt back??

A lack of mercy. A lack of relief. Constant pain from one another.

I had a spot of mercy this morning from someone. I was hurting about something very deep and the worst part was that I couldn't talk about it (and still can't.) It is one of those things that people won't understand; one of those things you can talk about only in Confession. It's a burden to suffer like that, to not be able to unburden yourself to someone, to have to carry it on your own.

But then this person called me to see how I was doing. I told her that I wasn't doing very well. She didn't really understand or why I felt so angry inside. I couldn't explain it to her because I didn't understand it myself. But the fact that she cared enough to call, to the fact that she wanted to understand. It was a moment of mercy, where, just for a moment, the burden was lifted. Just for a moment, the burden was shared. It reminded me of how important it is to be kind and merciful to one another. Just to love one another. It's the only thing we've been called to do. One task, and yet, we won't do it.

I love my little book of Secret to Happiness. This man was so imperfect and so good at allowing others to see it. What if he tried to hide it all? We would never be inspired to be good.

From Pope John XXIII

"Since we are called to do good rather than to destroy evil, to build up rather than tear down, I seem to find myself in the right place to continue always seeking the good without looking for different ways of understanding or judging life. Ah, the saints, the saints....How they were practical, fervent and good--above all good!"

Let us be good too--strive to find good in everyone, even in their worst moments. To love them when they are unloveable. To wait for them when they push us away. To forgive them even when they don't say they're sorry. This is love--true love! We have to suffer in this life, but if we loved one another the way we're called to, think of all the spots of mercy we would enjoy!

A "walking on water" moment

²² Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowd. ²³ After he had dismissed them, he went up on a mountainside by himself to pray. Later that night, he was there alone, ²⁴ and the boat was already a considerable distance from land, buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it.
²⁵ Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. ²⁶ When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear.
²⁷ But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”
²⁸ “Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”
²⁹ “Come,” he said.
Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. ³⁰ But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”
³¹ Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?”
³² And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. ³³ Then those who were in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” (Matthew 14:22-33)


Everyone has their "walking on water" moment, and I'm having mine. That moment when we have to set our eyes on Christ, because if we don't, we'll sink.  But we all come to a point in our lives where we must question ourselves, do I truly believe that God is God or don't I? 

I do believe, but I must admit there are times I cry out, "Lord, save me!" because suffering scares me. But then I realize the only time I ever really suffer is when I doubt Him.

After my doubt passes, I too, say, "Truly, you are the Son of God."

It is why we suffer, that we may believe.

Progress

The Blue Hills Collaborative

This has been a great Lent, so far. I feel that I'm making some progress in so many areas. And who would have known that it all started with a Lenten sacrifice to give up Facebook.

Giving up Facebook has given me so much more time.

This is obvious, I know. I think in some ways, though we all say we need more time in our days, we also cringe when we free up some time so that we can get other things done that we tend to procrastinate.

Like the dishes. Oh, those dishes. It's like Purgatory every day.

I remind myself that it wasn't very long ago that we all washed dishes by hand. I know I shouldn't complain. But I do hate the dishes.

Giving up Facebook has made me see the areas that I tend to slack. Yes, the dishes are a big one for me. But more than just housekeeping, I also have been able to see other areas of procrastination, like rosary work.

Rosary work has become such a stressful thing to me. But with the extension of time, I see the areas that I tend to waste it when I do have it. For instance, managing orders and taking the time to do inventory...figuring out which orders need to go out first or what "extras" I need to order for other rosary orders. Doing dishes, managing rosary orders, being aware of how use my time, has helped me to be careful of how I use it.

Which now leads to the phone...

When I complained to Dennis of my never-ending disorganization, he asked why I don't use the calendar on my phone. Too much work! was the first thought that came to my head. But one day, I decided to try to figure it out. Ok, I'll admit it, it's helped a ton. I now get little reminders every time I have an appointment.

School Loans!

This one makes me groan. It is my monthly pest. Doing my monthly payments depends on my rosary sales. And so the pressure is on to keep my rosary business as organized as I can, so I don't fall behind and get customers mad at me (and waste money by shipping everything Priority mail to make up for time.) But interestingly enough, all of this awareness of time has helped me get more focused on financial responsibilities too.

And so this has also led to...

Treating my ADD. I have had it for years, swept it under the rug with the excuse that "everyone has it" and I should be able to handle it if they can. But recently, I was at the library and ran across a book called "Women with ADD".  I paged through it and couldn't help laughing because it was as though it was written for me. I did not end up checking it out, but I did decide to do something about living with it. Just because everyone suffers with ADD doesn't mean I can't get it treated or that I'm weak for wanting to get some help. I admit it's a humbling thing to admit that I want to use medication to help myself. However, it seems to have affected my family more than I was aware, because when I casually mentioned to Dennis that I wanted to look into getting some meds, he enthusiastically said, "That's GREAT!!!" If you know Dennis, you know that he hardly reacts to anything. I have to admit, I wasn't sure whether to be amused or offended by his reaction.

Which then leads to time on the computer...

My new awareness of managing time has made me look at how much "screen time" the kids spend. Learning about "tic triggers" also has educated me that too much screen time can be a big trigger for kids with tics. Combined with daily TV and computer turns, I estimated that we spend an average of--ready for this?--five hours of screen time a day!! Yes, five hours (give or take)!

We are now down to perhaps two hours, if even that. No more TV watching in the morning. No more TV watching in the "in between" times, like meal preparation. Computer turns have been limited to 40 minutes per kid. This was always the case, but it has crept up to an hour or longer per kid, especially in the last month, when we were in the midst of Luke's medical issues.

I won't lie--cutting down on screen time has made my life a little more busy. It means less "alone time" for me and trying to get things done. But we're learning to find things to do and work on independence. And the kids seem to be finding creative ways (aka: messy) of entertaining themselves.

And giving up Facebook, has also given me more time for self-awareness.

It's made me a little more aware of times of loneliness and boredom. Those times when I would like to share on social media a birthday picture, or medical update, or something trivial. Is it something I really need to share? Is it something people are truly going to care about?

It's made me aware that I crave human companionship, human emotions and human empathy more than an emoji or a thumbs-up. It's made me aware that I too, am too dependent on others. Always have been. It's been liberating to be away from all of that.

But more than anything, it's made me more aware of how much I need God. "You weren't meant to go through this life alone" is something that pops into my mind often. How much I need God in my daily trials. How much I need Him in companionship, in loneliness or feeling misunderstood. How much I need Him when I'm trying to do something healthy and good, like cutting down computer time. How much I need His encouragement in place of others.

So much good has happened by getting rid of something "bad" for me. An awareness of time and how I use it and the procrastination that has taken over my life.

This is why I love Lent. It's a spiritual retreat on bettering yourself, simplifying your life, and growing closer to God, who loves you. Forty days of renewal.

Trust

During Reconciliation today, I had an interesting conversation with our priest about trust. I admitted to him that I have a hard time trusting people and keep them at arms length.

"Really?" He said, "That must make it difficult to trust God, then."

This  hit me between the eyes because, unknown to the priest, I have never been able to fully trust God. I've always known this but never understood why. And after my heart attack, it was even more difficult to trust Him. I mean, He let me die. Yes, He brought me back, but it didn't feel like mercy to me. It felt almost like a cruel joke. It was confusing and it still is. It's always in the back of my mind about how Lazarus felt. Did he have trust issues? I mean, four days dead and then brought back to life!

Yet, I love Him. He knows that I love Him at arms length, but I love Him as much as I can.  He loves me unconditionally despite this. He knows I haven't been able to trust Him fully, but He knows why, even though I haven't, until today. Despite not being able to trust God, I have felt His love for me like I am His favorite pet. I often compare myself to Zaccheaus from the Bible. I too, watch Jesus from my branch in my tree, far enough away to not get too close but still wanting to catch a glimpse of Him. And knowing of my fears and weakness, He reaches out His hand to me and says, "Come down from that tree! I'm going to eat at your house today!"

If we can't trust God, how can we trust anyone? If we find that we have a hard time trusting people, then how can we truly trust God? God and neighbor go hand in hand. Trust is universal, an unspoken agreement that you will trust someone even when they turn away from you. Trust that they love you even when you show them the worst of yourself. And trust in God that He is handling your life even when it feels like everything is crumbling around you.

I went to confession today to confess something rather small and came out with something huge. A big mystery to me in my life suddenly has an answer. A revelation why my prayer life has not been able to deepen, why my relationships with others tend to end rather easily and often. A rather painful revelation, but a merciful one. A chance to try to make it right.

 Could it be that God wanted me to know this today? I found myself wondering this as the priest counseled me. Could it be that He wanted to show me what was broken in my relationship with Him? Would He really care that much? I felt deeply touched to be able to see God's love for me first-hand--me way up in my tree, with Him stretching His hand out to me.

For my penance, the priest paused and said, "I want you to say a prayer of thanksgiving to God today."

Me, like a dummy and thinking there was something more, said, "For what?"

"For this revelation He's given you. Because now the healing can begin."

There was more to this confession that I can't talk about. More wounds open. More revealed than I ever knew would be revealed. It was probably the most powerful confession I have ever had. Almost like Jesus Himself came down to say, "Now that's enough of this nonsense. Here's how it really is." And just laid it all out for me.

Gosh darn-it, I never know how to end these posts.

Just something I wanted to share. It was very special. And maybe you have some trust issues too, or maybe you don't.

It's good to know that God loves us so much that He will keep speaking to you even when you are too dense to listen. That is love.

The benefits of being wrong

It wasn't very long ago that I was one of those people saying that I "hated" going to Confession. I didn't like confessing sins and admitting weaknesses and I didn't really understand the point of it.

 These past few months, I've finally grown in this area and I'm beginning to understand what others have seen. The benefits of confessing, the benefits of being wrong and admitting it.

 

That every time we confess our sin, we receive a grace of understanding ourselves and others. And that understanding grows deeper the more often we go.

 

That God reveals our faults to the humble and those who are open to it, while the arrogant remain blind to their faults since they don't want to see it.

 

That, as hard as it is, understanding ourselves and why we do things, why we've been hurting, finding a root cause behind the anger or malicious thoughts or words, that usually there is a wound we never knew existed. And feeling the grace of God heal that wound.

 

That we receive a grace of desire to begin again. I don't usually feel like trying again until I go to confession.

 

That, through confession, we become stronger in our weaknesses. 

 

We become more like the image of God through confession.

 

That through confession, our understanding of God's mercy grows deeper (if we seek to understand.)

 

That our friendship with God grows stronger.

 

That it's probably the only time where we can still seek mercy from God, before being justly judged at death.

I didn't appreciate confession before; I had just thought of it as another "catholic chore" to be done in order to be on the right side of my faith. Thanks to my imperfect nature (haha), I have learned how worthy this sacrament is and how misunderstood it is.

I don't expect to teach anyone that reads this about my revelation of confession--they are the same things I have heard from others about why they go to confession throughout my life.

I just wanted to write it down, put it into words. To say that I get it too. I am grateful for confession. And I'm glad we have it.

Little Improvements: the couch

I have been wanting a new couch forever. But, as I've said before, practicality always wins and bills have to be paid.

It's always been the plan to buy a new couch. Every so often over the years, I would window shop for couches but they seemed so far out of reach. Or else too plain for the price. Or too fussy and fancy. Too white. Too impractical for kids that still draw on furniture or spill their drinks on the couch even though they're not supposed to be eating on it.

This time of year, it's hard to pay the bills with birthdays and Christmas. So you can't imagine how surprised I was when Dennis said he wanted us to get a new couch! So we started looking online for some good deals, and even though there was nice couches out there with reduced prices (especially on Black Friday and Cyber Monday), they just weren't reduced enough for our price range.

And then I happened to be looking on Craigslist one day when I came across a couch for only $200 that was not only in excellent condition, but also exactly the style I was looking for! I excitedly emailed the seller and she told me (almost as I excited as I was) that the couch was still for sale. Not only that, but it was only 10 minutes away from Dennis's work! I'm telling you, I felt like this couch was from the hand of God Himself!

Does God really care about things like couches and styles and all those things we tend to get hung up on? I think He does, because He knows it's important to us. And though He doesn't want us to depend on material goods, I believe that every so often, He treats us with something that He knows that we want, just like parents like to do for their own kids. And He knows that I've been wanting a new couch for a long, long, time! (Twelve years, in fact!)

Let me explain our old couch to you. Don't let these pictures fool you. It's not quite as nice as it looks.

Our old couch was sort of a hand-off from our old house. The last owner didn't want the couch so he left it for us. My mom was ecstatic (she just thought we were the luckiest people in the world), but I looked at that old brown couch with trepidation. It was smelly, covered in dog hair, and full of stains. I didn't want to sit on it. But it did come in handy, I will admit, and it was perfect for our big family. (Though we were only a family of three at the time.) It got a lot of use, and over the years, it became even smellier, covered in new dog hair, and gathered even more stains (flipped those couch cushions over many times!)

Though our new couch is much smaller, it makes our living room bigger and a little nicer looking. Yes, it is used, but it looks brand new and we've received many compliments over it! I can now proudly tell guests to please sit down, without cringing or being worried about what smells will emit with the "poof" that tends to come when you sit down. Yes, I love our new/used couch.



But as smelly and used as our old couch may have been, ironically, none of us wanted to get rid of it. Max especially, who was very attached to the old couch, worked really hard to keep it. So we pushed and pulled it out the door, down the hill (it was easier than trying to take it down the stairs) and through the basement.

 

 

 

It's funny how you learn to appreciate that little things. As much as I love our new couch, I can't get rid of the old one. It may not be suitable for company anymore, but it's always good enough for us.

 

It's given us too many memories to be thrown aside. Birthdays, holidays, movie nights, or just a place to lay down when we're sick.

I'm not the sentimental type when it comes to things--believe me, I'm not. I moved out of our old house without looking back, I can pack up baby stuff without shedding a tear. But there are some things you just can't get rid of.

So you just have to find a new place for it.

Anyway, here is to new memories with new couches and old couches that gave us our old memories. Funny how you just can't seem to get rid of some stuff.

They just seem to grow on you.