Three days ago, I slowly became aware that for two days, two words had been clanging within me, like a mildly desperate banging of steel pot covers, to get my attention.
Two little words: Look Up.
Obediently, I went to the window to look up at the sky. And continued to keep a sharp eye on it through the rest of the day in case I missed something as great as the glory of angels. There were clouds galore, every shape of it. But it felt them staring back passively at me, eyes narrowed, yielding nothing. Two days later, saying the Divine Mercy Chaplet in my home in the morning, I was in a struggle to reign in fiercely wandering thoughts far removed from the prayer.
In the midst of the lassoing, eyes closed, I saw a dark purple sky illuminated by a big, thin, bright silver Cross.
Giving myself a good shake for it, I dismissed it as something I had conjured up.
That afternoon, the motion of my world stalled when I received news that someone had hurt one of my children. As we struggled as a family to cope with the pain, I received God’s strength and wisdom through beloved friends, themselves wounded and bleeding.
And all through, the words, Look Up, hung like a pearl~silver moon in our pain washed skies.
The howl of gales had dipped a bit the following day. I found myself looking at the coral blush of sunset ribbon~clouds trailing their farewell glories over the tired earth. I looked for the wave of angels in them, anything I could point out to my wounded family, to lift spirits and ease the ache of misery. Intent on its dance, the clouds heard not my plea.
But the very next moment, I felt the trace of the words, Look up. Cross In The Sky.
Again, I peered intently at the sky. And again, the flame~dipped sky smiled and kept its counsel.
It was then that I recalled the Cross I had seen as I prayed the chaplet.
Hesitantly, I began to acknowledge that I had likely seen a vision the previous day. That the silver Cross in the purple sky emptied of stars and moon, was not a figment of my irrepressible imagination. Hours before it happened, I was shown the Cross, suspended high in a sky wearing the purple of grief – to prepare me for the lash my child was to receive, at the hands of an abuser. I was shown the Cross of Light, perhaps to prepare me to know that Light will shine, but only through the pain of the Cross. The Cross was not merely placed in a space before my eyes. It was shown to me, hung high, high up in the sky.
Why? I whispered. Why high?
Today, I visited a blog I last dropped by some weeks back, Truth Himself. My heart caught at its post for the 12th of October: Look Up. And the writer gave me the words for it – Lift up your hearts…. to the Lord. The suffering of my innocent child before me, I wandered over the bitter hours of the day. I thought of the back and forth struggle with dark thoughts of vengeance against the cruelty inflicted on us. While I did not actually leave the Cross to return to my old haunts, batter the Holy Wood I did, as I fought the leanings of my heart, to instead stay true to my new vow:
To not just carry, but to love the Cross.
As the late evening winds bring the breath of distant rain, I feel a little breeze brush the barest of whispers against my spirit. I see the Cross of my vision again. A thin, bright, bright Cross, emanating a Light so sharp it was like the lancing of white~fire through diamonds. High in the sky, It hung Triumphant, well away from the shadow of lies and the flawed reasoning of mortals. Far, far beyond the obscuring wiles of any earthly impediment.
On the anniversary of the final apparition of Fatima, 99 years since the Miracle of the Sun, I understand that coming is a Triumph no soul can deny. It will be a Triumph only through the Cross.
A Triumph lit by the luminescence of love that suffers willingly for the Cross.