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?

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.

Memories

LOVE

GOD is all about love. Throughout the Old Testament God speaks of his love for his people and his desire to hold them close to himself.  When establishing laws for them to follow, God speaks of love many times, most notably in Deuteronomy, 6:5:

Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.

And in Leviticus 19:18:

Love your neighbor as yourself.

In the New Testament he continues with the same message through his son, Our Savior, Jesus Christ. In fact in the Gospels, Jesus quotes the 2 verses above when tested by the Scribes & Pharisees about which laws are the most important.

Love - is the most important.

And here is another verse, in the New Testament, that speaks of love. Boy oh boy is it a doozy.

This is an area I struggle with all the time. So much wrong was done to me in my childhood. Those wrongs - traumas - shaped who I am today. For good or ill. As I navigate my way through the recovery from all that trauma I find myself keeping records in my head.

All those traumas, dealt to me by the very people who should have protected me from any and all trauma. How do I not keep track?

I am aware that embedded in that verse above from 1 Corinthians is the difficult act of forgiveness.

Jesus deals us one whopper of a challenge, through the Apostle Peter:

Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, 'Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?' Jesus answered, 'I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times'. -matthew 18:21-22

Now you and I can do the math (so could Saint Peter). That's 490 times to forgive one person for one wrong against us. Sounds like so much and I'm pretty sure that Jesus didn't expect us to keep count of the times we forgive that one person that one wrong.

I am also pretty sure what he meant was to continue to forgive as long as it takes for you to stop keeping track of the wrong itself.

And that is certainly my achilles heel; I'm certain it's yours as well. Our human egos don't make forgiveness an easy act.

In fact for me it's damned near impossible.

Now I am of the opinion that forgiveness is for myself and not for the person who is forgiven. The former should release me from the burden & pain. The latter would lead to reconciliation - and at least for me, that's not happening.

The tradition at this time of year is to set some goals - resolutions, if you prefer. So I set the first one for 2025:

'I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times'

With God's help, through daily prayer, I will get there if only to release myself from keeping track.

Amen.

Anchor

Anchor - let's define that word to start.

noun - a heavy object attached to a rope or chain and used to moor a vessel to the sea bottom, typically one having a metal shank with a ring at one end for the rope and a pair of curved and/or barbed flukes at the other.

verb - moor (a ship) to the sea bottom with an anchor.

To be specific for our purposes here - to be kept in place with no ability to drift. We are allowed movement in all directions but only from that single point of contact with the solid bottom.

The bedrock as it where. The foundation.

That movement is our free will. We all have choices we make every single day. Some don't allow that movement as we remain close to God. Some allow us to spin in endless circles as we chase our tails.

That is the human-ness in us. We are always a dichotomy. 

We want that closeness, that guidance that comes from God thru Jesus Christ. Yet sometimes we insist on taking things into our own hands - and we all know the results are rarely safe and don't usually allow us that solid anchoring. In fact, some of our choices totally unmoor us, setting us adrift in a sea of confusion and, if we are being honest, torment.

And when we finally give in and turn to God - the anchor is restored thru Jesus Christ. His sacrifice for us is that point, that weight that keeps us in place. We still have free will of course and we will, inevitably, turn to ourselves rather than to God. And back again.

The beauty part of this is that no matter how far we spin or drift from his anchor, Jesus will take us back; God will take us back. Because that kind of love is divine and just can't help itself.

The love of Christ and the love of God - want us as close to them as possible.

Not as humanly possible, but only in the possibilities that God offers.

Which are - endless comfort, endless boundless love.

*: the image above is at Reynisfjara Beach in Iceland; an example of the basalt columns & caves that are unique to Iceland.

Joy

Joy - now that word has gotten a bit of a bum rap lately. So let's take it back to basics with a simple definition:

a feeling of great pleasure and happiness

See also - delight, jubilation, triumph, exultation, exuberance, glee...and so on. You get the picture.

Just one more - rejoice.

Now that one - hits today. As this is the third Sunday in Advent, it is also Gaudete Sunday...based on New Testament Scripture. For example:

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice. Let your forbearance be known to all, for the Lord is near at hand; have no anxiety about anything, but in all things, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be known to God. - Philippians 4:4-6

Rejoice in the Lord...always.

As mere humans just how do we do that? This can be a rough time of year for people - I know it is for me.

The Holiday Blues are a real thing and they have settled on me like a lead weight.

We all have much to be grateful for; so many blessings if we only stop and let those settle on us.

Air in our lungs. Blue skies. Raindrops. Breezes. Sunrise. Sunset. Beautiful birds. A home. 

Whatever our circumstances those are but a tiny fraction of the blessings we experience daily. Yet...when the sorrows of life surface and descend, how do we find God in those saddest of moments?

(In a fit of cleaning & decluttering recently I unearthed an old Advent devotional from 2014 and it has captured me fully.) According to the Christian author and Vatican Prelate, Robert F. Morneau, in this newly discovered book - "Waiting in Joyful Hope": 

"Despite the slings and arrows of life, God's abiding presence makes visible a joy-filled disposition."

And what can we do to recognize this abiding presence?

Simple.

Prayer.

And I mean that literally - simple prayer. Formal prayers are very nice. They are liturgically "correct", however much that might mean to each of us. 

As Fr. Morneau suggests:

"Prayer is communion and communication with God. In this dialogue we experience a "mutual presence" and share our common joys and sorrows."

He goes on to say that if we... 

"...never cease praying, we enter a frame of mind by which we refer all our thoughts and actions to the indwelling presence of God. ... All is gift; all is grace."

Ceaseless prayer isn't about the form of the prayer. In truth, I believe there are no rules about our prayers, not really. God wants us near to him and we can only achieve that thru prayer.

As I am haunted by all the "what could have beens" and "what should have beens" at this time of year, I need to remember that my joy is found within prayer to God.

He is always there, even if my prayers rant & rave about all the "coulda, woulda, shoulda" of life. And this requires a suspension of ego, the acknowledgment that God is in charge.

Not me. Never have been; never will be.

And if you really think about it, there is a freedom in taking that to your heart. To admit that we humans mess things up, that we suffer the "slings & arrows of life" as part of that human experience.

And God is there - always - waiting to take on those sorrows, those burdens, so we can experience his indwelling...

...and feel the true Joy of the season.

Amen.

Footnote: I love that a Vatican Prelate uses a partial quote from Shakespeare - and Hamlet, no less - to bring home our human-ness:

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause.

As is always the case with Shakespeare, there is so much to unpack there. To place it squarely in the midst of a charge to pray ceaselessly, is simple brilliant.

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.

On Being Christadelphian

As I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, I am starting to explore writing about my faith journey. As with any experience it requires context.

There are five overarching areas that I hope to cover:

1. Family Life
2. A Profound Death
3. We All Fall Down
4. I Rise
5. I Fall and Rise Again

As I write that I realize I've just come up with the structure of my journey/book. It will be something that, with God by my side, I can "write into". The more I pray on this the more I'm coming to believe this is the right time for me - to recall some extremely painful experiences, emotional & physical, with the nearness of God. He is certainly closer to me now that he was even 10 years ago. Noting that my faith journey spans nearly 50 years.

I know writing this won't be linear. Which will be helpful because, as I approach anything in section 5, I will need God to tell me when to write what because that is the most painful part of my journey and where I really start to welcome God into my heart.

And so I give you another part of what it meant to be Christadelphian in my formative years.

[Recap from Pt 1] - It (Christadelphian) is a strict faith with unyielding rules and beliefs. Not unlike many others. However, Christadelphians believe in a vengeful God even while believing in a benevolent God who gave us our ultimate savior, Jesus Christ. There is also much hate and bigotry taught in Sunday School. That will become important later. Overall, as I look back on it with decades of distance, I can see how my earliest traumas were a result of this hateful, vengeful faith. My inevitable low self-esteem and sense of unworthiness can be traced, in part, to my activities with and belief in being Christadelphian.

On Being Christadelphian, Pt 2 - A Family of Faith

And so, we were a Christadelphian family. We went to church school & services every Sunday. Attended special talks on Sunday nights. Participated in church events and socials. We were not allowed to join in things like voting in any political election or serving in that capacity. We were forbidden from being police officers and military service was a big no-no. Conscientious Objection was the only appropriate response to a wartime draft. Being unequally yoked, meaning married but practicing 2 different faiths, was strictly forbidden with harsh punishments. 

My father was deeply faithful, once declaring that serving his church was the #1 thing in his life, more important to him than his family. He served in several capacities in our church, including as a leader of church services, public speaker, religious guide and counselor, as well as business and  financial advisor. My mother was more agnostic and went along with my father as all good 1950s housewives did. She did what all Christadelphian women were allowed to do - played the organ, served with all the women in their “womanly duties” as defined by the 1950s and 1960s (meaning cleaning the church building, preparing meals and serving them to hungry Christadelphians, and then cleaning up after them), and lent her considerable vocal prowess (she was a trained Mezzo Soprano opera singer) to Sunday services. As a child and even as an adult Christadelphian I followed my mother’s lead, cooking, cleaning, and ministering as a good little woman. Eventually my brother would lead church services and be a speaker. And so too would my husband. At least for a little while.

Being part of a fringe Christian faith was intimidating as a young child. When you are in school, learning who everyone is, the inevitable question about faith comes up. Until I was 10 years old, I applied my young mind to explaining my faith to any friend who asked what brand of Christianity I observed. I spoke with all the passion and eloquence I could muster to share all the ways in which my faith was better than anyone else’s. You see, Christadelphians also teach that they are the only ones who can inherit the Kingdom of God. And if Christadelphians don’t convert others to our way of thinking, then we ourselves are sinners who will be dealt with on judgement day.

Heavy stuff, especially for a little kid trying so much to fit in. My faith made that extremely difficult to be sure. By the age of 10 I had found a new way of answering the question about my faith – we were Protestants. Period. No more uncomfortable conversations, no more strange looks from my friends and classmates. My parents were extremely displeased to learn this is how I explained my faith. They tried to give me words that a 10-year-old would be able to relate to; I listened and did as I pleased anyway. As I look back, I see this as my first rebellion against the constrictions of a fundamentalist faith.

But I would continue to be an obedient Christadelphian daughter, attending services and events happily (at least as much as I could muster so my parents wouldn't make my life more of a living hell than it already was). I’d like to say I made friends in church, and I suppose I did, to a point. We had nothing in common beyond our church identities. Plus being in a fringe religion it’s not like there are tons of others like you in your town or school. The friends I had at church were only seen at church and church events. My parents took the snobbery of being Christadelphian to an enormous degree, feeling that we were better than all the others in our own ecclesia. They saw us in an elevated status, despite that being 100% against the rules of being Christadelphian. We didn’t associate with all those people outside of church. A position which severely hindered my ability to make friends with a common ground.

Up Next: On Being Christadelphian, Pt 3 - Rebellion

I pray to God to keep me safe during this journey, to be with me with every word I type, to guide my voice to conform to his will for me. In Jesus' name, Amen.