Return to the Garden

May He teach you what He desires of you, and may He give you the strength to accomplish it perfectly! If I am not mistaken, this, in a few words, is what I think He chiefly requires of you: He wishes that you should learn to live without support – without a friend – and without satisfaction. In proportion as you ponder these words, He will help you to understand them.   ~  St. Margaret Mary Alacoque

 

          On Wednesday last week, longstanding issues resurrected themselves at home. Deeply hurt and frustrated that even the beauty of time with family and nature couldn’t resolve old habits, I took my heart and placed it in the Sacred Heart of Jesus – because left within me, my heart was sure to fall into the depths of anger and unforgiveness.

          Then, I threw myself at the feet of heaven, asking for guidance.

          Its answer came from the mother~heart of St. Margaret Mary.

May He teach you what He desires of you, and may He give you the strength to accomplish it perfectly!

          Stunned somewhat, I realised this unpleasantness was willed.

He wishes that you should learn to live without support – without a friend – and without satisfaction.

          That broke my heart into pieces, for loneliness and aloneness due to being misunderstood and maligned, has been my cross for a great many years. To see now that even that was willed, was just too much.

          Upon praying to St. Anne and to my guardian angel to keep my tears, within a few short hours, they brought me Jesus’ words,

Love as I have loved you.

          And with that, I resolved to get up and start all over again.

          But even as I went to my day and busied myself in the depths of a beautiful, sunny blue day, I wondered about St. Margaret Mary’s last words,

In proportion as you ponder these words, He will help you to understand them.

           Those words remained before me in the weave of gentle wind brushed hours. Curious as to what St. Margaret Mary meant, I went in search of her, and this I found,

Every night between Thursday and Friday I will make thee share in the mortal sadness which I was pleased to feel in the Garden of Olives, and this sadness, without thy being able to understand it, shall reduce thee to a kind of agony harder to endure than death itself. And in order to bear Me company in the humble prayer that I then offered to My Father, in the midst of my anguish, thou shalt rise between eleven o’clock and midnight, and remain prostrate with Me for an hour, not only to appease the divine anger by begging mercy for sinners, but also to mitigate in some way the bitterness which I felt at that time on finding Myself abandoned by my Apostles,…   ~  Jesus’ words to St. Margaret Mary

 

I will make thee share

Garden of Olives

Without thy being able to understand it

Agony harder to endure than death itself

Mitigate the bitterness

Finding myself abandoned by My Apostles

 

          There is only one hurt worse than all others for me and that is the hurt caused by the family I love beyond all else. And of the many hurts to be endured in a family, it is the hurt of being cast aside in favour of professional work, which cuts deepest. It is not the childish and narcissistic petulance about wanting to always be first in your spouse’s heart. Rather, it is the pain of knowing that whenever it comes to a choice between passion for work and staying close to your spouse’s heart, work has always won.

It is a hurt that falls within the shadow of the Abandonment in Gethsemane.

          Despite knowing what Jesus has to soon face, the Apostles – those closest to His Heart – chose the less troubling option of indifference. They chose the appeasement of slumber.

They choose themselves over Jesus.

          In a marriage, in family life, when we choose ourselves over even the littlest wills of heaven, we once again become the apostles in Gethsemane – because we choose what we want, we choose what stimulates and excites and what drives us. While marriage and family life is every happy and joyful tale we hear, it is also filled with heartaches, struggles and stretches of mundanity. Yet, these are the crosses God weaves into our lives to enable us to walk in His Son’s footsteps – for that is the only road to heaven.

It is the only path to Life.

          By willfully and defiantly choosing external lures and satisfactions, we choose the side of the apostles in Gethsemane. In choosing worldly consolations, we choose another path. We delude by comforting ourselves that this too is just another road that leads to Life.

          But it isn’t and doesn’t. Because that path bears not the footprints of Jesus.

          Despite the resurgence of old cheer within me, a note of sadness has stolen into the glorias of the winds and the sun. No matter how happy I am, there will be many more returns to the Garden of Olives.

          For Jesus has made it clear in His last words for the day. He needs my suffering to

Mitigate the bitterness I felt on finding myself abandoned by My Apostles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Will Trust

I will confess somedays I feel forgotten
Seems like You’re hiding Your face from me
I will admit that I wrestle with my thoughts
Struggle with all of the sorrow deep
How long will You leave me here without answers
Crushed by the words of my enemies

But I will trust Your unfailing love
I will rest knowing You’re enough
I will give praise for through all my days
You have been good to me

You have been good
Ever so good
You have been good to me.   ~  Alisa Turner, Psalm 13

 

          It was an end to a beautiful Easter, which came unexpectedly. After the hours of simple yet utterly happy Easter merrymaking, close to midnight, my Muslim boss texted about a change in schedules and a substantial increase in work beginning the very next day. I wasn’t ready for the change. I wasn’t ready for the platform I needed to use; I could barely wrap my brain around it.

          And I needed to be ready by early morning.

          Finally, stressed and worn trying to make sense of the platform, I went to bed at 2 a.m. And struggled to sleep till well past 3. I recited the Rosary in snatches and it was a recitation in tatters. Awakening just a few hours later, with the awful load awaiting me, I didn’t spend time immersing my spirit in the wild rain tossed hours of dawn. It would have been the most beautiful thing to rest in the sweet hush that only rain can bring. But there was a day already in shambles beckoning grumpily. On and on, I stumbled through, till twilight.

          This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, I told Jesus. Not so soon, not the day after. The fall to earth from the heights of utter Easter joy was a rude shock. It wasn’t my boss’ fault, to be honest. Sometimes, that’s just the way things turn out.

          But it hurt me that Jesus allowed it to happen. And that hurt opened the door of acknowledgement of other hurts I had buried a little. It hurt me that the leaders of my country had scant concern for the people. That even in the shadow of death, kleptocracy and callousness showed no sign of abating.

          Mere whisper hours past Easter Sunday, the hurt which I can normally sling over my back and carry on, bit a little deeper than usual. And heaven’s silence since Holy Week, a silence I had peaceably accepted for a week, drew blood today when it seemed like even my guardian angel had fled, seeking other hearts to watch out for.

          Why, Jesus, why? I pressed heaven gently, not in anger nor anguish, but in the tiny hurt of a child, eyes a little wet from a scraped knee. Why wont You speak?

…I feel forgotten
Seems like You’re hiding Your face from me
…I wrestle with my thoughts
Struggle with all of the sorrow deep
How long will You leave me here without answers
Crushed by the words of my enemies…

          Slowly, I became aware of a tiny, still voice singing the song, Psalm 13 by Alisa Turner. It came from the deepest recesses of my being, from depths even I had no permission to enter. But once I heard the song and recognition fell on my heart, I rushed to it, for that song was heaven’s answer to my seeking.

          And in its gentle words, I saw my Angel’s finger pointing out the path that had blurred for a while.

But I will trust Your unfailing love
I will rest knowing You’re enough
I will give praise for through all my days
You have been good to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Go To Galilee

Do not be afraid. Go tell My brothers to go to Galilee, and there they will see Me.  

~  Matthew 28: 10

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lent 40 ~ In Silence

 

In silence, we wait.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lent 39 ~ Unless

Unless there is a Good Friday in your life, there can be no Easter Sunday.

~   Venerable Fulton Sheen

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lent 38 ~ Will I See My Lord Again?

 

Tonight, I ask the question that burns on many hearts,

Will I see my Lord again?

         For some of us, Easter is an almost certainty. But for many, even the morrow is in doubt.

Will I see my Lord again?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lent 37 ~ Our Arrows

He made me a polished arrow,
in His quiver He hid me.   ~   Isaiah 49: 2

 

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.   ~   Kahlil Gibran, On Children

 

 

          This time of sheltering has been, more than anything, my time with the family, with my husband, with my children. For the first time, despite working from home, I can truly say family has come the absolute first for me. For the first time, my front gate has kept out most of the unsavoury elements of my working life. For the first time, I am minimally aware of my immediate boss’ dark and negative aura.

          But I hate it that Covid-19 has achieved this. I hate that it has to be this way, at this cost.

          Yet, it is what it is.

          Against the backdrop of sorrow and fear, we live in a joy~blessed cloister with our arrows.

          Carved out of this tragedy of a pandemic, is our foretaste of heaven.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lent 36 ~ Listen

 

Morning after morning
He opens my ear that I may hear   ~  Isaiah 50: 4

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lent 35 ~ He Has Heard

 

In my distress I called upon the LORD
and cried out to my God;
From His temple He heard my voice,
and my cry to Him reached His ears.   ~  Psalm 18: 7

 

          An unearthly hush has descended here. Even the breezes caress the leaves in gentleness and silence. Only the birds delightfully chirp on unhindered. The First Friday of the month of April, the month of the Holy Eucharist. Ten days to Easter.

          What silence is this, I ponder and wonder, yet not really seeking an answer, for so very beautiful it is, this silence, this peace. Just being swathed in it suffices. Suddenly, nothing else matters, except being in the moment.

What silence is this?

          Softly, softly, it comes. It is the silence when heaven has heard.

 

 

 

 

Lent 34 ~ Blow the Spirit of My Mother

When the virus reaches the lungs, their mucous membranes become inflamed. That can damage the alveoli or lung sacs and they have to work harder to carry out their function of supplying oxygen to the blood…   ~  The New York Times

And about I guess it was about 3 o’clock in the morning I got to the point where I couldn’t even breathe, and I tell you I felt like I had a man laying on my chest and the weight of this man was so heavy that he was taking my breath. I mean, it was like I couldn’t even breathe. And then all of a sudden I felt this — I felt air blown into my lungs and I know as a believer that God was there with me, and He began to blow air in my lungs and I took a deep breath…the doctor came in the next morning and informed him that he had hardly any fluid left in his lungs… ~  Clay Bentley, Covid-19 survivor

 

I felt air blown into my lungs

 

          5 years ago, on the 2nd day of my Passion of Christ novena, I felt a voice say,

Blow the spirit of My Mother into the realms.

I didn’t understand what ‘realms’ referred to; I didn’t know how to blow either.

          But yesterday, reading that account of Clay Bentley, seeing the words, I felt air blown into my lungs, I suddenly remembered the Voice that told me to blow the spirit of Mary into the realms.

          Like everyone else, I had learned that the Sars-CoV-2 virus which causes Covid-19 can severely damage the lungs, impairing its ability to supply oxygen to the blood.

Step into the breach

          What if there was something I could do to help stricken lungs to heal and function well again?

Step into the breach

Blow the spirit of My Mother into the realms

          And so I’ve begun. I’m praying Hail Marys, offering each one for a Covid victim in need of the Holy Mother’s spirit. I don’t know if it’s what I’m meant to do, but ailing lungs need help.

The Hail Mary prayer is that help. It is the heavenly ventilator needed by so many.

 

Hail Mary, full of grace,

The Lord is with you

Blessed are you among all women

And blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus.