Let us be silent that we may hear the whispers of God.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
DISCERNMENT
Lent 19 ~ The Angel’s Prayer
As in the days when You came from the land of Egypt,
show us wonderful signs.
~ Micah 7: 15
With a number of things weighing heavily upon my heart, I have been trying to trust that everything will work out. Every time I felt the frost of fear come too close, I made haste to place my anxieties in St Joseph’s hands, each time telling him,
Place it in the Sacred Heart of Jesus, St Joseph,
followed by, I trust in You, Jesus.
Then came several hours when no prayer seemed to work and the frost seemed to spear in deeper. At that moment, I remembered one whose aid I had not sought – my guardian angel – I hurried to this brave and noble heart. If God allows it, please give me a sign that all will be well – and let me in some way know that it is from you, I prayed.
About an hour later, seeking something restful and beautiful this Sunday of the laughing winds, I came across a blog, charmingly titled, Small Moments. There, unexpectedly, was a tiny bloom, the sweetest line of all,
Snowdrops are said to mean ‘Hope and consolation’.
~ by Elizabethd, in Snowdrops, from Small Moments
I hadn’t known that. That as tiny as they may be, snowdrops stood for hope, the massive grace that gives life when frost threatens power. In the past, crocuses and daffodils have been spring’s earliest heralds of joy for me and so, I kept an eye out for them even this year. Although earlier today, snowdrops had indeed appeared before me, I had not paid them much attention because I was intently looking out for what was familiar. When our eyes are fixed on something outside of God’s pathways, even if it is good in itself, we can certainly miss out on surprises that contain His word. We can miss following His light to where He wants us to be.
But sometimes, a longer, more rutted path is necessary to get to where God is because He has more things to be revealed. The meaning of snowdrops now held close to my still wobbling heart, I turned to place my thanks into my angel’s hands, tremulously saying once more the prayer, I trust in You, Jesus.
At that moment, deep within me, I sensed someone put a hand out, and in the gentlest of motions, change the words of the prayer to,
Jesus, I will trust in You.
Just like that, hope found life once more by the addition of a single tiny word. In eagerness, I embraced the prayer which I knew my angel had brought.
Praying it in restored hope, the last vestiges of anxiety left me and my heart steadied.
Lent 14 ~ Voices in the Still
These past weeks, despite the rains and wilding winds, the kingfisher’s call has resounded over and over again, bordering on urgency. So caught up in my studies and work, even as I noted the rising intensity of the blue~king’s calls, I could not pay it more attention.
Until today. Having worked through the night and well into dawn, I sent in a submission at 4:30am and for the first time, felt a deep sense of joy and of completion, that I had given my all for this stage. The journey ahead is still long, much more work ahead, but in the oddest way, today I felt as if I’ve truly shut the door behind me at the end of one journey.
Awakening from sleep later, I found the winds busy outside, rushing from tree to tree. Finally, temporarily freed from my studies and work, I could lean my entire heart against their soaring songs.
A peaceful quiet stole into my heart.
It was in that quiet that I acknowledged the something was different about the kingfisher’s trill. Quieten down, listen up was being called out from among the trees with an unfamiliar insistence. As this settled in me, I realised too that the winds were matching this urgency, seemingly united in urging me to take heed.
Then, into this stillness, came 3 voices,
Not much time left
Is it me….. Or are the skies alive of late?
Ireland
His work done, the small blue~caped emissary then fell silent.
Let Me Find You
O Lord, make this Lenten season different from the other ones. Let me find You again. Amen. ~ Henri Nouwen
Each Lent is special in its own way. Each Lent is the grace we need for the seasons of the year. For some years now, Lent has been the time when I leave the byways of life as best as I can, to enter the hermit’s enclave. As always, it is a time of seeking my Master’s heart.
This year is no different – and yet it is. A strange lift comes over me as I contemplate Lent 2023. Today, seeking saints’ thoughts on Lent, I come across this line in the prayer, which for me, best explains this odd rise of spirit. Four little words, and tucked into the heart of that entreaty, a single word that sends a rush of power through me,
Let me find You
Where the Old Ways Wait
Virtue does not consist in making good resolutions, nor in saying fine words, but in keeping one’s resolutions and carrying out one’s good intentions. ~ St. Margaret Mary Alacoque
January has gone, taking with it half of moody February. It’s only now that I’ve had the chance to step back from frantic work and still myself to look up at the skies. What does God wish of me this Lent, I wonder. The week is far from over but I’m already in the next, prising at a door that remains closed.
Do the things you should, St Margaret Mary seems to be saying to me, tugging me back to the now. After a time, I get what she means. There have been some habits and intentions that have fallen by the wayside of life since old November, some by necessity and some by neglect. But now, it’s time to return to them, to pick them up and weave them back into my hours, where they belong. The daily walks. The gentle reading. A Pathway Under the Gaze of Mary, a long waited for book, my husband’s Christmas gift to me and Distilled Genius, the new Susan Branch book also gifted to me by a precious friend. Two special books calling out to me to sink my heart into them, for in them lie hidden words God wishes for me to know for the season that is and that is to come. Tending to a garden gone wild because I could not find the heart for it for ever so long now. The quiet wait by the trees, listening to the winds chatter among the firs, allowing them to lift my spirit to the heart of God.
In the midst of January’s madness a few weeks back, a sign had impossibly pierced my heart.
Of a coming rest in February
Surrounded by mountains and hills that defied levelling, a February rest didn’t seem possible then. But now, a wind has begun blowing, its rushes and whispers sweeping away the mists, uncovering a forgotten path, hidden till now.
Beckoning,
Step by the wayside
Where the old ways wait
The Sign of Children
Many spiritual undertones are concealed in little things.
~ Entry 112, Divine Mercy in My Soul, St. Maria Faustina Kowalska.
This has been the lesson over the past few days. Taught over and over, yet differently each time, it feels as if all of heaven has suddenly come together to impress upon me the signs of the times, the signs for the way forward and the signs of the things to stay away from. From near absolute stillness, there has begun now a sort of insistence, gentle yet with power, telling me that the signs are in the little things. That even as the world shouts and attempts to influence us about events and threats and all manner of future events, God wants my eyes on the little things because that is where the signs will be concealed.
In things which lie underfoot, hidden, obscured among the brambles and chaos of distraction and human insistence.
The first sign came through one of the two most trusted people in my life. I had sought their holy discernment of a dream I had on the morn of Sept 14th, Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. Instead, they hurried to give me their thoughts, as they themselves made clear. For such a holy and devout couple usually given to prayerful consideration of everything, all of a sudden, their personal perspective took centre stage. The result was a body hit that that left me reeling, the tumult of old fears once again attaching themselves to me with glee.
Still, I resisted my own intuition. I’ve been wrong about things many, many times before. I could be wrong this time as well. And so, even as my entire spirit rose in rebellion, I probed the waters gingerly, seeking a sign that said I was wrong and they were right.
It took many hours of pondering and prayer. But I refused to yield to hurt, instead going deep into the heart of my family, the Heart of God in man. There, from its deepest, most pure confines, I saw it. It was the littlest of signs, hidden among the other things that were said. The sign told me to heed the cry of my spirit – and not insistence that was blinded by human frailty – even if it came from people I had always trusted, even if it came from elders of the church.
And the sign was of children.
I was told by the people I trusted that my hands would not be sanctified until I ministered to those in the dark even at the cost of endangering my children.
What sounded the trumpet was that God has taught me many times that my children must be my life. And I have learned some hard lessons when I chose to turn away for a while; in fact, anything that has taken me away from my children has not worked out well. Hence, now, while I will not withhold them from sufferings that strengthen and purify, I will fight anyone who tells me I must put my heart’s loves in danger – supposedly in the name of God.
That was why heaven screamed its warning through the events of the weekend. Because, in effect, I was told I had to put my children in harm’s way so that “the Light” could be shone into dark lives.
Once the truth seized me, I gently made clear my stand, then turned away. It is sad when truth comes to us this way, more so when it involves family. But when we give our lives to God, earthly pillars are bound to crumble and fall. Some of those we trust and respect might fall before our very eyes. Some might reveal to us their hearts. It is a pain I must learn to face and bear, for I know it is in exchange of something far, far greater – complete trust in God and in God alone.
And so, I left the tumult of the weekend, to come into the new week. Give me a sign. A sign as high as the skies, I had prayed many times. And so, it began. The stream of signs didn’t end with the weekend revelation. One after the other, they came, tiny, tiny ones, gently and in quiet order.
Like a little child shyly pushing his play blocks towards me, seeking only my eyes and my love.
Return to the Water’s Edge
Recent days found me knocking on God’s door a little more insistently, seeking His light for the path ahead, for I have been sensing the edges of my spirit drying up a little, curling inwards, tired and weary once more, hence, getting fraught more easily. Initially, I ascribed it to sadness and adjustment required with the oldest two having left home for studies, the never ending work pressure and all manner of workplace and home shenanigans. While there was no major upheaval, not even the slightest trace of tumult, nonetheless, I felt as if I was being splintered.
Unsure as to how to proceed, I finally went before Him in Adoration and threw myself into His waiting Heart. With the past weeks being what they had been, I had fallen away from my daily practice of slipping away to be still with my Jesus. Even as my daily Bible readings and prayers continued, the demands of weeks past had drawn me deeper into the whorls of busyness; soon, I had forgotten how important it was just to be still and to do nothing.
Until today. This being the feast of St Padre Pio of Pietrelcina, my spiritual father, I went in search of some reading with the hope that I would find a door which led to my beloved saint.
Padre Pio was indeed waiting for me – except that his words were not what I had expected.
Il dolce far niente
The sweetness of doing nothing
No lightning bolt of illumination, no word speared through my spirit. Instead, it was the call to the sweetness of doing nothing. To let go and to be freed. To pull away from the highways of this world, to return to the water’s edge.
To watch the changing of the season, the spirit’s summer of cheer and bustle gentling into autumn’s quiet wait.
Lent 22 ~ Key to the Antechamber
Justice comes before charity. ~ St. John XXIII
Something has been on my heart for a while now. The Biblical sifting of the wheat from the chaff. Like many others, I too see the time of now is the time of this great sifting. Perhaps we are not yet at the point of the Great Feast, but something is definitely in motion now. Who will be allowed into the Great Feast, and who will have the door closed against them. A recent word from heaven to someone said,
I am not coming as a Child but as a Power, with the energy of Resurrection. Those who see Me will be those who have My desire in their hearts and wish for a world of justice. This is how I will arrive, to make right what no longer searches for God and for faith that does not function. Be wary, ye whose mission has been division and whose self-righteousness was conceived by hell. Few who view themselves as saviors will have the eyes to see Me in towers of brightness that will split this night.
Those who wish for a world of justice.
The word justice moves me where others have not. The angels who come to do the work of sifting will look for justice? I understand that it will not be in the human sense of the word but as God willed it. But why justice, I wonder.
Because Justice comes before charity.
Because there are times when it is easier to give of ourselves in various ways than to fight for justice? We all want justice and I believe a great many will do what they can to see righteous justice served. But when justice asks that we step into the open and make clear our stand knowing fully well that we might be stoned for it, will we still choose justice?
Searching my spirit for answer, this instead comes,
To enter the Antechamber of the Great Feast, Justice is the key.
Do Not Waver
Jesus said to them in reply, “Amen, I say to you, if you have faith and do not waver, not only will you do what has been done to the fig tree, but even if you say to this mountain, ‘Be lifted up and thrown into the sea,’ it will be done. ~ Matthew 21: 21
Like so many others, I too began to keep a journal to track my spiritual journey, starting it just after a horrific dream on the night of the 5th of July 2015 when I dreamt of something hitting and destroying the bright moon in the dark night sky. After the dream, I felt compelled to note down thoughts and messages and dates – and so I did, diligently, for a couple of years. Then, life got too much and writing in the journal slowed down. Still, there were entries for every year.
Recently though, a beloved family member who has been journeying with me but who did not know of my journal, advised me to keep a record of all the things God has said to me. It gave me pause since my own thoughts had fallen along those same lines these recent weeks: that the journal needed to be re-started. So much is happening that I often feel as if our family is walking treacherous paths, blind, save for the light of our faith. Just when I think we are safe, the ground gives way beneath us, rocks are aimed at us. At such times, I often forget how my husband and I were led to do this, mist clouding the memory of the weave of events experienced and words heard in our spirits that have led us to these moments in where in the dark we must walk.
Today was one such day. Although I am firm in the massive decision my husband and I have made together, suddenly, I could not recall defining moments that have led to this resolve – and that worried me. Were we wrong? So, from the still and silent hours of late last night when the terrain dipped to another level of tension, I have been seeking God’s voice and His alone. I am doing this for you, Lord, I whispered. But help me remember why. Tell me if I’ve read the signs wrong.
In the early hours of this sombre and still, grey morning, I went to place my seeking into the Heart of Jesus. Going to the Shrine of the Divine Mercy in Krakow, Poland via livestream, I pleaded once more, Tell me if I am wrong, Lord. Let me hear Thy voice.
A short while later, the opening lines of a much loved song, prophetic for us in the past, were seemingly cupped in small hands and placed in my inner ears. From the song, Well Done, by the Afters, the lines given to me were,
Well done, well done
My good and faithful one
Tears sprang to my eyes. I remembered the night I had first heard this song 3 years ago. It had been a time of deep anxiety and of looking up to the sky for signs. Shortly after, dawn had broken for us and the joy was indescribable. Now, hearing those lines once more, suddenly, I felt a gentle urge to look up all the lyrics to this song.
As I searched, I came across the verse that birthed the song,
His master said to him, ‘Well done, My good and faithful servant. ~ Matthew 25: 21
Wanting to look up the context of the verse, I was instead led to Matthew 21. Realising my slip, I made to return to Matthew 25, but it felt as if Someone had reached out and held my arm to keep me from going back. So, I went back to Matthew 21, a quiet certainty within me that I was meant to be there.
And so it was. Before me appeared,
Jesus said to them in reply, “Amen, I say to you, if you have faith and do not waver, not only will you do what has been done to the fig tree, but even if you say to this mountain, ‘Be lifted up and thrown into the sea,’ it will be done. ~ Matthew 21: 21
As I read it, 3 words from the verse lit up with a strong yet quiet light.
I realised it was God speaking to me. And He said,
Do not waver
As High As the Sky
Again the LORD spoke to Ahaz:
Ask for a sign from the LORD, your God; let it be deep as Sheol, or high as the sky!
But Ahaz answered, “I will not ask! I will not tempt the LORD!” ~ Isaiah 7: 10 – 12
The passing weeks have been getting more and more difficult. Family troubles. Failing political landscape. Deepening work woes. Even as we laughed and loved as a family, there was no denying the shadows creeping up ahead of us. Navigating one minefield after another this past week, I knew I wasn’t going to hold on for much longer. Times called for an ironclad faith.
My faith has always been anything but of iron.
Sure enough, a few days back, the earth cracked open beneath my feet. I broke, and I broke hard. Searching within me for faith, I found none. Not a grain. In those hours, I touched deep anger, despair. It had been so very long, this struggle to continue to hope, to trust. Each time, God has not left me bereft. He has always filled me.
But sometimes, sometimes, it feels as if what He has given is too little for the times. This week felt like one of those times.
Strangely, even as I stormed the length of anger and fury, I could sense within me an inner calmness. Inside me, an abode or a being, unperturbed by my turmoil, sad yet serene, as if this something or someone knew this needed to be let out, that this terrible length of wild anguish must be walked.
Unwilling to suppress my frustrations, nevertheless, I desperately didn’t want to sin – by turning my back to God, by being ungrateful
I have no faith left, I told God. If there is anything, it’s only what You have given me. I have none of me.
I turned to lessons I had learned in the past.
If you cannot pray, ask your guardian angel to pray for you. ~ St. Padre Pio
I thought of my friends who need prayers, of my own family and our struggles. Deep needs – but in turmoil, prayer is hard to summon.
Angel, pray in my stead.
I awoke the next day, understandably dulled. Mine seemed like a world after a fire has raged to its demise. Ashen-ed white, everything burned to its stumps, hurt and anger was gone. But so was joy and mirth. Strangely though, deep within, that odd peace held strong. I’m alright, I thought to myself in some amazement.
The hours went by, busy ones filled with work and love. Then, I heard a nudge within me.
Ask for a sign
No, I won’t, I countered. I will not sin. Only I wasn’t sure in what way I would be by asking.
Ask for a sign, came the voice again. A sign as high as the heavens.
I refused. But as the hour slipped into the next, I pondered, How could that be wrong? After all the anger and the raving and the ranting, how could any asking be worse than that? So, bending my spirit, I asked.
Give me a sign, Lord. Give me Your sign.
Give me a sign as high as the heavens.
It was well into sunset when I suddenly decided I would forgive all those who were upsetting me. Even if I couldn’t love them, I could venture out of the gate of my heart and forgive. Even if it changed nothing, even if our troubles worsened, I would forgive and carry on with life. Just as I did, my husband mentioned that our car needed petrol. I hadn’t started on dinner yet and I wasn’t in the mood for a drive but suddenly, I found myself running out and getting into the car with him. We had seen some heavy rain earlier that evening, not for long, but enough to bathe the world and freshen it. In the southern sky, the sun was kissing the sky a soft, watery pink.
Turning out of our road, driving down our neighbourhood, the eastern sky rose above us. Suddenly, to our shock, in the sky, we saw wide bands, like the rays of the sun but of alternate blues and pinkish-orange. We are familiar with blue and white rays but we had never before seen these massive sky-pillars of blue and orange-reds, converging to a secret point beneath the horizon.
Divine Mercy rays, said my husband, quietly.
A sign as high as the heavens, I remembered.
I knew science would have an explanation for it – and it does. What we saw were called anticrepuscular rays which occur in the sky opposite to the setting sun, when low-angled sunlight streams through gaps in clouds and are scattered by particles in the air. It is not a rare phenomenon but can be easily missed. For all the sky-watching we were known to do as a family, we had never seen this.
Mercy, I whispered to myself. Seers have spoken of a sign in the sky when the agony of this earth reaches its tipping point. In her apparition in Fatima in 1917, Our Lady spoke of a sign to come in the sky, a illumination that would warn the world. A great white light fell upon St. Paul and soon, he was converted. Whatever the science behind a phenomenon, I believe that if our hearts are moved by it in any way, we must seek God’s voice for us in it. What is He saying to us? What is He asking of us?
The sign that Ahaz was told to ask God for was the sign that God would keep His promise. Seeing those rays in the sky for the first time was God’s sign to me but I am as yet uncertain about what His message is. It came immediately after a painful day made up of many, many days and years even, of emotional and mental suffering, struggles and endless trials. The sign comes as we descend into the sheol of insanity and heartlessness, of discrimination and of torment. It comes when it seems like things can only get worse – not better.
God is telling you not to quit, said my daughter.
As with Ahaz, was this a sign from high heavens that mercy is coming? And that till then, I must somehow hold on…
writingonmyheart 