Surrender

Full surrender to God.

This just isn't the human ego's way of dealing with things, is it. It ... chafes. Goes against the grain. Feels wrong.

Yet when we do that, even for a moment, we find the release we didn't know we needed. Sure, it might still chafe a bit. Giving up control never feels particularly smooth. And God is still there - in the midst of our resistance, He is still guiding us. Holding our hand. Leading us to the still waters our spirits need.

Our egos need.

"We all are men, in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels." William Shakespeare (from Henry VIII)

Possibly the greatest human writer of all time. Somehow Shakespeare's connection to the human spirit and all its vagaries remains, some 400+ years later, as accurate as it was in the original moment.

"...in our own natures frail..."

Indeed Mr. Shakespeare. Aren't we JUST that - frail. Our very natures are unstable, fraught with contradictions and the imposition of our own will.

Not God's will. But our own.

Because we know best, right? We know ourselves and what we need or want better than anyone. Better than our spouse, friends, parents, siblings...

And we know, as Christians, in our hearts this is not true.

The only one who knows us better than we know ourselves is God. And His knowing may rub us the wrong way, might get annoying, even frustrate us.

And we also know that, when we surrender to that greater knowing, life simplifies. We gain clarity if we open our hearts to God and what He wants for us.

Because in the end, when the day closes and we say our final prayer before sleep overcomes us, what God wants for us and shows us - is always good. Even if we can't see it right away.

God is good...all the time.

Once More

Hello friends. It's been a full year since I posted in this space. SO much has happened. As I alluded in my last post of April 6, 2025 - there was tons going on and not much of it good.

My darling, beloved hubby was diagnosed with cancer in March 2025. The world's rarest cancer - 
Sarcoma. They represent just 1% of all cancers diagnosed each year. And to add to the rarity, Sarcomas have 50 sub-types. 50. Five. Zero. Jim's specific cancer was a Liposarcoma - a fat cell run amuk. Talk about vanishingly rare.

And to make it just that much more traumatic - in a location that 8 Chief Oncologists in 4 different hospitals - had never seen before.

Yeah, we skipped to the head of the line and only saw "Chiefs" during this journey. From a well-respected hospital in Hartford, CT to the world renowned Dana-Farber Cancer Institute to the also world-renowned MA General Hospital. Oh yeah, and I can't forget the world famous Smilow Cancer Institute at Yale New Haven Hospital.

So the very happy news is - he is fine. So far so good, no recurrence and no spread. He will be screened every 3 months for the next 5 years, then every 6 months for another 10 years, then annually for the rest of his life.

Talk about the wake-up call no one wants. And pretty much the ultimate test of our faith. Hubby leaned into that pretty quickly. Surrendered it all to God in an act of breathtaking faith and trust. He stills feels that way, one year later. God had him in His hands and all would be well.

The testing of my faith - continues right to this moment. My ability to trust is nearly non-existent. A childhood filled with abuse and an adulthood marred by ongoing manipulations...will do that to a person.

I am the kind of person who doesn't just have a Plan A - I also have a B, C, and D (at least) for everything. I must anticipate all possible outcomes so I can be prepared.

Except nothing prepares you for when your beloved spouse's life is threatened. No matter how many plans I made, no matter how much work I did to ensure all appointments, tests, etc...were accounted for and solidly set-up, confirmed, and communicated - it was never enough to rid me of my fear.

That I would lose him to cancer. 

Yet despite all my best efforts to plan - every single corner had "other plans" waiting for me. More tests, massive radiation treatment plans, and a surgery that would result in a permanent physical deficit for him.

And again, he showed me what real faith looks like. He never once complained. Oh he cried a bit here and there. He got extremely frustrated with himself. Yet his faith in God's plans for him never wavered. There was no wobble. Just his steadfast belief that God had everything in control.

Me? Not so much.

I prayed all day every day for hubby's safety thru all this. For the surgical outcome to be the best it could be given the circumstances. I had faith enough to pray to God.

I didn't believe though. Didn't believe that he would take hubby thru it and out the other side - if not whole then whole-enough. Safe & healthy.

And here we are - 13 months post-diagnosis, 8 months post-radiation, 7 months post-op - and hubby is thriving. Adjusting to his "new normal". Living his life. His new-found life.

{This new life is FAR better than the first option presented by Dana Farber. The tumor was on the largest muscle in your body - the one that controls your ability to lift your leg from the hip and allow you to raise & bend that leg from the knee. The muscle was so compromised by the tumor that it could not be saved. Full removal was the only option. With the critical nerves involved, Dana Farber advocated full amputation of his leg, at the hip. They even used the words "dire situation" to describe it. (Even a year after that appointment, we are not over the trauma it caused.) Ironically, they recommended a 2nd opinion from MA General Hospital; they doubled-down on their recommendation by saying we needed to "hear it from someone else". We pursued that 2nd opinion and found a masterful surgeon, physician, and human being at MA General. He was stunned at the Dana Farber plan and assured us it would not be necessary. Thanks be to God (yeah, more irony for me) he was right. With a couple of physical limitations, hubby kept his leg and it functions pretty well. As the surgeon said:  You'll walk - it won't be pretty but it will be on your own 2 legs.}

Me? I remain a work in progress. I still pray everyday but it's changed a bit - for God's mercy to heal me, to help me accept that God is in control. And that no matter what happens, God still wants the best for us.

A friend recently said this: Sometimes I think there are 2 options for Purgatory - the one we all know about - you die and go to Purgatory to be purified. The other - you go thru Purgatory in your lifetime and don't face it after your death.

I rather like that POV.

P.S. I shall be starting up blogging again. :-) 

Healed

So...it's been awhile. Lots going on, some of it great and some it not good at all. And we turn to prayer as often as possible. For the good to continue and for God's mercy on the not good.

During Mass last night I was struck, as I usually am, by the phrase we say after consecration:

Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.

These words are taken straight from the Gospel of St. Matthew, Chapter 8, verse 8. Spoken by a Roman Centurion as he pled for Jesus to heal his servant. The idea of a Roman submitting to the will of God thru Jesus is as much an oxymoron today as it must have been for Jesus. Due to the Centurion's humility, Jesus healed his servant.

These words are now the final Eucharistic prayer in the Mass, recited before receiving Holy Communion, expressing humility and gratitude for the gift of Christ.

For me, it is the words "...my soul shall be healed." (In the verse in Matthew this is about the Centurion indicating that if Jesus only says the word his servant will be healed.)

Not might be.

Not could be.

Shall be...

As a Christadelphian I was always told God's mercy and my salvation were something up for debate. In the presence of Jesus on the last day my repentance might not be enough for my healing.

Imagine growing up with that in your head. You had to be "good" and if you sinned, repent as you went thru life. Asking for God's forgiveness. But on judgement day...well let's just say things could go awry swiftly and permanently.

As I studied to convert to Catholicism we spent a class focusing on the Eucharistic portion of the Mass. Prayers, consecration, receiving Communion. We had readings to do prior to each class. For this lesson it was the history of the Eucharist, the origins of the prayers, and our conduct during Mass. When I came to that line...

It rocked my foundations. To the depth of my being - I remember having to stop the study session at home so I could gather myself. I broke down sobbing and couldn't continue.

All my life, up to that point, I truly believed that no matter what I did I might never have eternal life.

And there, in black & white, from the mouth of a Roman and recorded by St. Matthew - was my salvation.

Five simple words. Five short syllables. It was there the whole time. During my time as a Christadelphian I know I heard that reading every year. Not once did anyone call that out for what it is - our redemption thru our faith in Jesus Christ.

I recall feeling - betrayed by my family. Betrayed by all the people I had trusted as a child. They terrorized me with their exhortations and sunday school. They took the words of Jesus and surrounded them with a cloud of fear.

Imagine what that did to me as a child. A vulnerable, abused kid/teenager looking for mercy wherever I could find it because I sure as heck didn't get it at home. 

Imagine what that did to me as 40-something adult. A still vulnerable seeker, trying to heal from all that abuse, praying for some kind of intervention for absolution.

And there it was - staring at me from every Bible I had ever touched or read.

And oh the irony. For a class to convert to Catholicism to show that to me so clearly, while the almighty Christadelphians still believe that everything bad in the world is because of the Catholic Church and believe they have the corner on the market of Bible interpretation.

When no interpretation is required. The words are there - they always have been.

Just like God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit. We are never alone.

Bondage

When we see that word - bondage - it's likely we automatically think of slavery. A stain on any society that kept slaves. And while the word does usually mean being kept in chattel slavery, there is another meaning:

servitude or subjugation to a controlling person or force

It is this lesser-known meaning I've been praying on this past week. Particularly the "force" emphasized.

What could this force be? In the context of my own prayers it represents a spiritual attack on my well-being. I hesitate to say this as I'm not one to go this dramatic within my faith but...

satan

There. I said it.

The evil one. Lucifer. Beelzebub. The Dark Lord. Mephistopheles. The Beast.

So many names for one creature. 

I have come to see, incredibly recently, that I have been under spiritual attack by The Dark Lord. Intent on keeping me servile, it has tied me to the hatred that I bonded to within my own family.

Most everything they did was only for their own benefit. Self-aggrandizement. Charity did not begin at home unless someone could take credit for it. How very - un-Christian. And of course I've already shared what that meant in my family.

Their Christian virtues were irrevocably tied up in hatred. They weren't pro-Christadelphian, they were anti-Catholic (anti any Christian practice really). My mother was anti-<insert ethnicity here>. My father was the same. Equal opportunity bigots.

They hated pretty much anyone who didn't march to their particular drum. And that included people within the family as much as without. Since they weren't very loving, as a child we had no choice but to bond to what they offered.

And so here I am - bonded to their hatred. 

And given a gift without price. An epiphany delivered at Mass last weekend by none other than Holy Mary, Mother of God.

{Now to clarify things for the non-Catholics in the crowd - we do not worship Holy Mary. She is a Saint, not a God-replacement. She is venerated as all Saints are; we pray to her for her intercession on our behalf to Jesus, thru whom we pray to God. That's all. She is very important to the Catholic faith - as she should be to all Christian faiths.}

Back to Holy Mary's gift. In a quiet moment of communal & introspective prayer I found myself praying for my father. For the first time in nearly a decade I spoke his name in prayer in a positive way - and asked for the strength to learn how to forgive him.

Trust me - his sins against his daughter are great indeed. The worst sin a parent can commit on their child. In fact those sins really are among the unforgivable.

And yet, here I am. For the first time in my life recognizing that the kind of forgiveness I need to give him will release me.

Just me. Only me.

In a moment of pure clarity, Holy Mary showed me the chains that tie me to him. The connection that keeps me subjugated to him. To his hate. Literal chains leading to this man who wounded me so deeply I never thought I'd recover from the memories of it.

It was - literally a godsend of coherence in a mind that was anything but.

With this magnificent and quite holy offering, I have finally stepped on a path I haven't really seen for my entire life. The incredible understanding of this kind of forgiveness.

How liberating it will be. Oh yes, Holy Mary showed me that too.

After talking about it endlessly - annoyingly even - my journey in faith has taken on another facet. One that I know will bring me closer to that goal of all goals...

...peace.

Amen.

The Hole

Grief.

It is one of humanity's greatest burdens. In any kind of loss, grief seizes us and holds us fast. It can take many forms - the dreaded "process" - and like a roller coaster we suffer with anger, sadness, depression, shock, and finally - we pray - acceptance. The last of which leads to healing.

And it's not a linear journey, is it? For each of us it is unique and can go back-and-forth; round and round like a carousel with no way to get off.

It is a long process too. Pitfalls await us; they can appear so suddenly that we are at the bottom before we are even aware of what has happened.

Some say grief is the space we hold for the love we can no longer express outwardly. 

I'm not sure I buy into that. To me, grief is the hole left when someone leaves your circle. Depending on the person, the relationship, and the manner of departure, that hole can be a pinprick or a canyon. And healing that hole is part of that journey - no one talks about that part.

How do you heal a hole left when someone leaves you? And it's not just in death that they leave; they can leave in anger, hatred, blame.

When it's anger that prompts a permanent departure - how do you reconcile what you thought you knew with what they reveal about themselves in the manner of their leaving? 

And if we ask God where he was when this was happening to us - how do we open ourselves up to the lessons we could learn if we can navigate our way to acceptance?

I suppose, as Christians, we should take comfort in the many ways God reassures us with his word & promises throughout the Bible. The verse above - written by the ever brilliant, sometimes inscrutable apostle, St. Paul - is one that resonates with me deeply.

Also, this verse has brought me great comfort in years past:

"The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit" -psalm 34:18

Crushed in spirit - that is me. An old grief resurfaced today and revealed that the part I thought was healed, is not. In fact it will likely never heal over. The hole left behind is that canyon - so wide that when the grief comes in, I am flooded with it. It is a searing pain.

And a circumstance where the apology that should come ... won't ever be offered. I am, once again, navigating my way through my old nemesis - forgiveness - with no acknowledgement from the other person for the wrong.

And...grieving someone who is still alive.

I've grieved the dead and that is no easy thing. Grieving the living - I think it's harder. So much harder. 

They still pursue their interests, their passions; all the things we used to do together. And now - I am alone in those pursuits. The things that bound us together are in tatters. The warp &  weft of our lives is undone.

And years later, when that grief spikes my heart, it brings me back to the center of the departure.

Sudden. Quiet. Skulked away like a coward, a ghost, leaving nothing but pain & unanswered questions in their wake.

And so we are here, in this place. Springboarded back into it suddenly, with no warning signs. Just - BOOM - here we are.

And I'm starting to see it all a little differently. I'm noticing that I really have healed so much from this sad situation. The part of me that was stolen by her - leaving that gaping canyon for years - is the part of me that tolerated her cruelty and bullying over the 25+ years we knew each other. Maybe that hole shouldn't be filled in. Maybe I need to let my life grow in around it, make me stronger, braver.

Because I know now that I would never tolerate that again, from anyone.

My perspective has shifted over the past couple of years and I accept this truth:

The peace I feel without her in my life is  worth being the villain in her story.

My experiences today - with all this popping up unexpectedly - are showing me an area of grief I still need to heal. And instead of fighting it - cuz grief really is so messy - I'm leaning into it and letting God take over for me.

He promises that peace that passes all understanding. And I'm feeling today that maybe that peace is within my grasp. All I have to do is let God in.

Don't we all need to do that?

Sneaking

I've spoken about this before. 

This is what I call sneaking back to the foot of the cross to take back the baggage we once left in that place.

Of course our human egos won't leave things alone. We think we can do better - than God?

Really?

There are so many mentions in the Bible about God being our strength, our salvation. Here are just two:

"Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you" - the prophet isaiah, 41:10

"For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline" - 2nd book of timothy, 1:7 

Everytime we pray we are asking God to renew his promises to us. And what do we do in return?

Slink, nay, skulk around behind his back and take up our crosses over and over again.

"But I will sing of your strength, in the morning I will sing of your love; for you are my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble." - psalm 59:16

Do we respond like the Psalmist when we feel like we are in over our heads? And whose fault is that exactly?

Ours because we can't leave well enough in God's hands.

This is, to me, the eternal - and sometimes impossible - struggle between our egos and God's love.

I am in the midst of this struggle right now - and I know I would prefer God's love to my own inadequate considerations.

It all feels like some spiritual warfare is going on within me.

"For though we walk in the flesh, we are not waging war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ..." - 2 corinthians 10:3-5 (underlined emphasis mine)

There it is. The thing we should trust above all else. The thing that satan can't possibly achieve victory over.

Our weapon in this fight is the armor of God.

"Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm." -ephesians 6:13

It is God's love for us, his ceaseless desire to draw us closer to him, his greater strength in the face of evil. It is in these times of struggle against what we know to be true - that we must turn our faces to God.

Literally - raise your face upwards to the sky and allow his armor to envelope you like a second skin.

Covering you without any seams, without any gaps. Let God fill in the spaces of our hearts & souls so we can leave that baggage at the foot of the cross.

And walk confidently on the path of light that leads to God.

Feels like a circle doesn't it. A circle of life with God as our leader.

Circles

Here is a gorgeous morning prayer to start your days:

Dear God,

Thank you for granting me a new day.

Please forgive my mistakes and calm my mind.

Keep me safe today and fill my heart with peace.

May this day bring new joy and opportunities.

God, I love you.

Amen.

Oh yes indeed. This one hits - deep.

Talk about peaceful - one of the naves of the Hallgrimskirkja Cathedral in Iceland.

The safety part - that is a critical part of every day for me. I didn't feel safe, in general, for much of my life. In every way possible - physical, emotional, mind, heart, soul. Once I turned back to God - and every time I increase my prayer life - safety is the peace I feel.

Because to me - safety & peace are the same thing. To feel one is to feel the other.

Prayer always calms my mind. It almost feels redundant to pray and ask for calm. Yet - the calmness that descends when we pray does bring more calm to every area of our lives.

Funny how that works. God wants us to be close to him. The most everlasting peace we can hope for comes from him.

So praying - brings peace & calm to us for those moments. When we center our thoughts on God and let everything else fall away.

And the results of the prayer - bring more peace & calm.

What a lovely, never-ending circle of life.

Blessings

As 2024 comes to a close, I share this prayer with you. From my own beloved parish to your home.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Holy Father, on this final morning of 2024, we bow before you with hearts overflowing with gratitude. From the first day of January to this last day of December, your hand has sustained us, your grace has covered us, and your mercy has kept us. Thank You for the gift of life, the breath in our lungs, and the strength to stand in this moment.

Lord, we do not take this journey for granted. Through the storms and the sunshine, you have been our refuge. In times of joy and in moments of trial, you never left our side. Thank you for victories seen and unseen, for the battles you fought on our behalf, and for the peace you placed in our hearts.

As we close the chapter of 2024, we release every burden, every regret, and every fear. We step into the threshold of 2025 with hope and expectation. Father, let the new year come with blessings that overflow, favour that cannot be denied, and an anointing for greatness. May your hand be heavily upon us, guiding, protecting, and lifting us to higher ground.

We declare that 2025 will be a year of divine alignment, a year where we walk in purpose, where doors open at the sound of your voice, and where opportunities chase after us. Crown the new year with goodness, and let abundance follow us in every season.

Holy Spirit, go before us. Let your presence saturate 2025. Anoint our heads with oil, and may our cups run over with joy, peace, and prosperity. We shall not lack, and no harm shall befall us. May your favour rest upon our families, our homes, and everything our hands touch. Amen.

THE LORD BE WITH YOU;

AND WITH YOUR SPIRIT.

May the Almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Amen

*: image is of the plaza in front of the magnificent Hallgrímskirkja Cathedral in Reykjavik, Iceland.

Kindness

Kindness.

It is the simplest of things yet so many people just can't be bothered. Every interaction we have, big or small, long-term or fleeting - can be permanently marked by how we treat another person.

Since 2022 I have been quietly living my own "Year of Kindness". Trying to do my part to be kind even to those who may not deserve it.

Because, as the saying goes, we are all struggling with something.

This is, however, not to say that we should present ourselves as doormats. No indeed - even Jesus flipped tables when he saw epic wrongs.

This reappeared in a social media feed today - and I thought it was a good time to remind us all that being kind - is the simplest of gestures.

As Christians, it is an opportunity to let Christ shine out of our hearts - letting his light flow. I believe it is the unexpected kindness we gift to someone - all year long - that is our best way of showing people the goodness and mercy of God.

Get Ready to Par-Tay!

And we continue with the rebellion that got its start in my teen years and really ramped up when I went away to college. While this part may not talk about being Christadelphian specifically, I shine a light on how I acted out against all the restrictions I had lived under until this time.

In truth, I see now that God was with me even when I had started to move away from him. He proved over and over that he was watching over me thru my survival of some pretty risky behavior. These times of my life are proof of the old adage - "there but for the grace of God, go I".

Jim and me Sept 1982 - heading out to a semi-formal dance @ college

College, Part 1

The college years were memorable on so many levels. Firstly, and most importantly, I met my future husband, Jim. Secondly, I had the critical away -from-home experiences that all those in their late teens should have. It is a time of deep learning - both how to do things and how not to do things. One of those how not to do things was - party. Party hardy was the motto of my college campus and boy oh boy, did I rise to that challenge.

There is a particular point to the partying that is necessary to explain - seniors had no classes on Thursdays. As you can imagine, with seniors ruling our small rural campus, Wednesdays were the biggest party nights, second only to Fridays. We had a bar on-campus that would serve anyone with a campus ID. So at least we didn’t drink & drive.

Conversely, as a freshman, in my first semester I had an 8:00am class every Thursday. And it was just my luck to be Calculus - my absolutely worst class in every possible way. To face that on a Thursday AM was akin to a form of torture. To face it after a night of partying at the biggest beer drop in the region was a recipe for failure. Which…in the end it almost was a literal failure. I squeaked by that class by the tiniest margin due to some intense tutoring I paid for myself in preparation for the year’s final exam.

Anyway, as a small private college, 95% of the students came from families of financial means. And about 50% of those had bottomless bank accounts - they funded all the parties, bless their wealthy hearts. Truthfully, this cohort of students were some of the nicest people I had met at that time. Generous to a fault, kind hearted, and completely accepting of everyone’s situation in life. 

We also had students who worked on campus to help pay for their educations. Jim was one of those plus he lived at home, being only 5 miles from campus. I was in-between, living on-campus and going home every weekend to work part time. So, Wednesday nights were my only time to partake in the epic number of parties that included free alcohol and, yes, free drugs. 

It was at one of these parties that I engineered meeting Jim in the second semester. By this time my Calculus class was no longer at 8:00am on Thursdays, and it is in that class where I first saw Jim. Let me tell you…love at first sight is a real thing. I had it bad for him. When I learned we had a mutual friend, I pressed that friend to host a party for the singular purpose of meeting Jim.

It was a blind date for him, not for me. We both leaned into this budding relationship, indulging in all the drinking and drugs we could get our hands on in that semester. Plus, the usual activities one engages in while living away from home.

To say I had forsaken my first year of higher education would be a vast understatement. When I say I squeaked by that Calculus class that is really sugar coating it a bit. While I didn’t fail any classes I didn’t exactly apply myself either. I was more dedicated to deepening my rebellion than anything else.

I still had to go home on weekends to work so I was largely controlled by my parents and their expectations. Especially going to church on Sundays. Held fast to the Christadelphian ideals I pushed and kicked at it all whenever I could. But my parents kept a tight rein on my movements, so my opportunities were slim. Even on Sunday evenings if there was a church talk, I was expected to be there then I could drive back to college. I’d arrive at my dorm at 10:00pm, just in time to crawl under the covers and sleep.

Yet I treasured my rebellion. Away from my parents and their abusive control (this went beyond the restrictions of the family’s faith; my parents were physically & emotionally abusive to me as well) I thrived socially, learning how to be independent in the only way a teen still relying on parental funds could be. Thru parties and covert activities. 

Of course, I paid for it all in the end. My first college transcript was a dismal disappointment. I am not proud of that part of my rebellion. I wasted my freshman year of higher education. My parents gave me the gift of a fully funded college experience - with my part-time work paying for gas in my car and any personal expenses on-campus. And I shamefully threw it back at them by getting a final grade which enraged them and humiliated me. I knew I was better than that and made the mature decision to live at home in my sophomore year, working more hours after classes and on weekends.

And I worked on my relationship with Jim. As mentioned previously, he was a little later to embrace the whole thing. But in the end my "sparkling charm" wore him down, poor thing. I regret nothing.

Rebellion

As mentioned about 12 weeks ago I am embarking on writing my "memoirs". Which sounds so arrogant as to be laughable.

Yet, here we are. Me writing it all down, you reading it. 

It's been slow going. Some of that is just the demands of daily life. Some of the slowness is my own procrastination. I want to do this yet the recall of my life, putting "pen to paper", is not the happiest of experiences.

In fact...it is quite painful. And yet I still feel that call from God to do this. And so I pray and continue to dig in.

What If

As we enter into the "thankful" time of year - I am reminded that there is always something to be thankful for.

Never miss a moment to Thank God for all the blessings in our lives. That's the easy part.

The hard part is thanking God for the trials in our lives. Those moments when we might question if God is actually listening.

When we enter that kind of season - life just doesn't seem to go right for us. Stuff breaks, challenges seem never-ending. In the midst of this struggle it is nearly impossible to find the learnings we need to absorb.

To be thankful for these crosses that we bear is the antithesis of what feels right. Our fragile egos can't comprehend that we should have gratitude in our hearts.

All of which reminds me of my most favorite modern Christian song "Blessings" by Laura Story.

'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops?
What if Your healing comes through tears?
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You're near?
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise?

Indeed - what if. 

• If we can set aside our egos long enough to hear God.
• If we allow God into our quiet spaces.
• If we let our vulnerability show.

That's so many "ifs". Yet...we know that our Lord will comfort us. In fact, he does even if we don't ask. 

Yet if we do ask - if we recognize the lessons, the deep healing, that is embedded within our trials - we open ourselves up to his great mercy - his greater love.

And there is nothing more that should make us thankful then the love of God.

Amen.

Our Warrior

Do you ever get tired of the daily grind? The endless demands on your time & energy. Whether that be at work, at home, or elsewhere in your life. Don't you want to set those burdens down?

Of course you do. Who wouldn't?

Well - guess what. We have the most powerful warrior the universe will ever know...walking right by our side, just waiting for us to turn to him and say...

Lord, please help me.

Or some variation of the same.

Don't be shy about it. Shout it out if you need to. Yell, scream, holler - or whisper it so that your words are almost silent. Just a faint breath on the breeze.

God won't think you are angry with him. And no matter how softly (or loudly) you say it - he will hear you. He always does.

He already knows you are overburdened, worn out, your insides mush from being wrung dry on a daily basis. All he wants from us is to turn to him in times of trouble. (Or happiness - to be thankful for the abundance.)

Even if those burdens don't magically disappear - the demanding boss, the financial concerns, the trials of life - giving them to God always feels good.

Because he is our Warrior. 

God's Hands

 This is truth. Abundant truth.

I have powerful testimony that proves this simple statement.

We are going back to 2010. I was at possibly the lowest point of my life. Nothing was going right. So much turmoil. So much sadness.

I had been away from church for about 15 years. No more Christadelphian meetings, no praying, nothing. I didn't stop believing in God and yet...I started questioning everything about him. The personal crisis that started in 2009 had crescendoed to a feverish state of mind.

After a year of intense sorrow, the hubby & I started talking about, of all things, going back to church.

No one was more shocked than me.

Now - we love the city of Boston. It is one of our favorite places anywhere and we try to get there several times each year. In early 2010 we planned a mini-break holiday in that great place. Bougie hotel, great meals, lots of walking and people watching.

And a visit to St. Leonard's Church in the North End of the city. We went there every time we went to Boston to light a candle for Heather Smith. She was the daughter of old friends and she perished on Flight 11 on 9/11/01. Despite not being particularly religious during those years we honored Heather and her parents.

So we went to St. Leonard's during our weekend away. I was more curious about this Catholic church than any time in the past given that we were thinking about going back to church. And the Christadelphian faith was definitely not on the list.

Growing up in a non-aesthetic Christian faith I had no familiarity with Saints. I knew nothing about them and certainly never saw any physical representations of them.

St. Leonard's in Boston is a classic 19th century Italianate church. Built entirely by the Italian immigrants living in the North End, it is lavish with coffered ceilings, gold leaf everywhere, and elaborate statuary all around the church. So many saint statues that they stood, literally, shoulder-to-shoulder.

I had never explored them before but this time, March 2010, I felt compelled to walk up to each one. I felt one of those saints calling to me. One of them had something important to tell me, I could feel it in my bones.

So I began walking around the church, stopping in front of each statue and asking - are you the one? I'd wait a minute or so, then move on when I felt nothing.

Until I came to a distinctly unique statue. Tall, wearing armor and holding a pennant***. Like all the others, I paused and asked - are you the one?

The next few moments are burned into my memory. I can see this like it is happening right in front of me at this moment.

I was pushed - literally - to kneel in front of this statue. There is no doubt in my mind that the hand of God gently forced me to the cushioned kneeler. If there wasn't a kneeler, I'm sure I'd have gone prostrate on the floor.

I prayed as I never have in my entire life. And cried - I didn't know a human being could cry that much in one place at one time.

I have no recollection how much time passed. Hubby just let me do what I needed to do. He stayed near me but didn't speak to me. He respected what was happening to me. He was then, and remains today, my steady loving rock.

Eventually I stood back up, dried my messy face, and sat in the church for a good long time. Just sat there - quietly praying some more.

On the ride home from Boston that evening we talked about what happened. What it felt like physically. And emotionally.

I was exhausted in every way possible. Overwhelmed by the experience and reeling from the very clear message. From God himself.

Go back to church my child. You need me. I need you.

Startling to say the least. The following weekend was Easter. And as we were in our driveway on Easter Sunday, prepared to drive an hour to hubby's parents, we clearly heard church bells. We'd never heard them before in the 20+ years we'd live in our home.

Saints. Kneeling. God's voice. Church bells.

You just don't ignore all that. The weekend after Easter we started going back to church. Our plan was to try the "Big 3" in our country town - Lutheran, Catholic, Episcopal. We started with the Catholic Church for 2 reasons: 1) hubby was born Catholic and 2) God told me to go back to church while I was in a Catholic church.

And so our faith journey began. Because God laid his hands on me.

And it's true - I haven't ever been the same since.

Amen.

*** There is an amusing side-story to this saint statue. In my heightened emotional state I saw this statue with the armor and spear as - female. Research immediately after that visit told me it was - Joan of Arc. Now I knew her story but not the details. So I read everything I could find about her. And ultimately selected her as my Patron Saint when I joined the Catholic Church. Fast forward another couple of years and in speaking with one of hubby's Aunts - discovered that the saint statue I knelt before was distinctly male - The Archangel Michael.

I based my conversion to Catholicism, in part, on the misidentification of a saint statue. To this day it makes me smile at the private joke I feel God had for me. I'm not sure I would have responded so viscerally if I'd recognized the statue as St. Michael. Yet upon a revisit some years later it was so obvious the statue is male...abs under the armor, well-defined legs...and that pennant? It was a spear, going thru the heart of a demon at St. Michael's feet.

Just writing all that - makes me laugh.

Peace (with a little joy thrown in)

Here we are - another week coming to a close. And another wild one it has been. Work continues to confound with the pace. It increases with every passing month. I wonder - is it me? I'm 3 years away from retirement...at least that is the plan. Lately I've been thinking about ducking out a bit earlier than that.

I just don't want to leave hubby having to toil in corporate america without me by his side on our daily commute together. We have done that for over 30 years and it has been such a blessing to us both. We have that guaranteed time in the car to be with each other without interruptions. Many times we have talked through issues, plans, work annoyances. And equally many we have just held hands and sat in the silence.

Truly a deep blessing. So I'm not sure I could consign him to doing that drive alone. But we shall see what happens in the coming year. I need a couple of major surgeries and a minor procedure. Nothing serious and it's all for the good.  And I'm pondering when I engage my doctors to get them scheduled.

The house renovation is finally come to a close. Nearly 8 weeks of disruption, mess, chaos, more mess, more chaos. By this coming Tuesday all the paraphernalia that accompanies such projects - huge dumpsters, POD storage boxes, etc...will be gone from the property. We have, of course, much work to do inside as we unpack and basically move back into half of our home. And after these past 8 weeks, that will just be fun.

So we are here today - sitting in the quiet of my brand new kitchen - seeing the sun come streaming thru the last of the autumn leaves. Beautiful colors of gold, red, russet, mahogany and - yes - even a bit of green yet to change. The wind is a bit brisk so I suspect this is "peak" weekend in New England. Those leaves will start falling at a quicker pace daily.

And the peace that I feel - from the abundance God showed me a few weeks ago, to working thru the vulnerabilities of the past 8 weeks, to this glorious autumn morning. A peace that truly transcends everything. And dare I say it - a bit of joy as well.

Joy because the chaos is finally over. Joy because this renovation is far more beautiful than we could imagine. Joy at seeing a 7 year long dream & plan come to fruition. Joy at having the wherewithal to embark on this dream.

Peace because...well God is by our sides always, isn't he? Guiding us, showing us the way. 

Always turning to God, thru is son, our wonderful savior Jesus Christ, definitely gives us peace. Maybe things don't always go the way we think they should. But we are not in control here, are we.

No we are not.

That is our struggle as human beings. To give control to God thru constant prayer. And beyond that, listening - really listening - to God's voice in our daily lives. His messages are never-ending if we only open up to hearing them.

Because real peace - the kind that I am feeling in this moment - can only come from the blessings of God.

More Abundance

 

It is the most glorious time of year in New England. That special crisp air that has a tang you smell at no other time. The breezes that shower you with the glorious colors of the changing leaves.

Autumn - is finally here. My favorite season.

It's chilly - even with a 70 degree sun the breeze keeps the air cool. You need a cozy sweatshirt to sit out on the deck.

Which is what I am doing right now. Old sweatpants, a worn out t-shirt that is 3 sizes too big and a soft hooded sweatshirt that is soothing & comforting to wear.

Thanking God with each breath in a silent prayer. For the beauty of a fall day, for the Zinnias that keep blooming, for the Moonflowers that are still curled up tight. For our precious birdies - the ones who are here all year round, who give us comfort & solace on even the rainiest day (which will be tomorrow).

I've been feeling vulnerable this past week. A huge house renovation will be complete in about 10 days. It's been a long 6 weeks of chaos and whole-house uproar. This past week has been brutal at work and completely upended at home. Everyday there is someone in the house working on something. It's wonderful - and unnerving - at the same time.

And while it's all good and the people are lovely - it's left me feeling a bit unsafe in my own home.

So today I sit on our deck, listening to the leaves rustle in the wind, hear the birds chirping and I know deep within my soul that God is keeping watch over me. 

As he always does.

Abundance

"Happiness can be found in the darkest of places. All you need to do is turn on the light." 

-Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry

Sunrise from the summit of Mt. Washington, NH

Who knew that peace could be found in words from the legendary Harry Potter ( and from my personal favorite in the series, Prisoner of Azbakan).

Last night, just before Mass began, God turned a light on me and within me in a moment of pure poetry.

With the late afternoon sun beginning to set behind me, God shone a light thru the stained glass windows in the front of the church.

A direction from which no light should shine at that time of night. And yet there it was - a beautiful stream of angelic white light.

And a word whispered into my ear - so faint I had to ask for a repeat - "abundance".

Abundance.

In the midst of years of struggles, emotional pain, betrayals, and general life messiness - this single word has transformed me.

It will need time to settle on me fully -  yet in those 3 simple syllables I find myself turning towards that light. Instead of shunning it - I embrace it.

Hubby and I are starting to plan our graceful exit from the challenges of corporate america. Three short years and we will, with God's will, move onto the next phase of our lives.

It is not missed by me that this message from God serves as a reminder of all that has passed - and all that is yet to be.

While I have had a life marked by abuse until my 20s, then health struggles through my 30s & 40s, then the emotional upheaval in my 50s that is tied directly to the abuses of my past.

And here I am, 61 years old, and finally - FINALLY - I have reached that moment when "abundance" defines the happiness and blessings in my life.

Just a few short years ago it could have defined the abundant horrors & nightmares.

Now ... I feel like it's the right time for me to embrace God's message and really focus on the manifest blessings - and only those.

And because it's Sunday you get a twofer - my Sunday Symphony below was the Presentation of the Gifts song at Mass last night.

I fall on my knees to the father of Jesus,
The Lord who has shown us the glory of God.

May he in his love give us strength for our living
The strength of his spirit the glory of God.

May Christ find a dwelling place of faith in our hearts.
May our lives be rooted in love, rooted in love.

Rooted in love - indeed.

Rooted in abundance & blessings.