LENT 1 ~ THE ANGEL’S LENT
My Lent direction came a little early this year – only it took me some time to realise it and to reconcile myself to it. One bright blue Sunday morning, as the winds sang aria after aria around our old home, my eldest son did something he doesn’t normally do – and certainly not on a Sunday. He began to clean his room. And one of the things he cleaned was his tiny St. Michael figurine I had bought him years before. With characteristic tenderness, he held the figurine and probed its contours with a damp cotton bud. I smiled and left him to it.
It was late in the evening, much of the day run its course, when I had some time to my thoughts. From my seat in the living room, I gazed outside at the sun~warmed evening, winds stirring strong the leaves on the trees. Watching those breezes, I felt them lay something by the door of my heart.
The St. Michael’s Lent prayers
And a stillness stole into my heart. It was the second time the prayers had come by this week. The second time accompanied by these unusual winds, singing and singing hymns only the angels knew the words to. Each time the winds came upon me, I would tilt my face towards them and silently ask the same question,
Is it you, St. Michael?
For some years ago, St. Michael had taught me that when the winds blow strong and a quiet comes upon my spirit, that would be the sign of his angelic presence.
In reply to my asking, I almost felt his quiet yet strong affirmation borne by those winds as they brushed against my heart. So, it was him. And he was asking that I say those Lent prayers again.
Still, I hung back. It was only 3 years ago that I had become acquainted with the St. Michael’s Lent prayers. Both times, they had come during deep personal strife, my anchor in the storm of pain. They were indeed prayers for when the whip and lash of the storm is great.
Battle
That very word had resounded several times to me as January quietly folded her heart and passed her life to February.
Battle
Battle
Battle
Now, both the word and the prayer formed side by side before me. It should have sufficed. And yet, my heart sought a final confirmation – because the St. Michael prayers is no simple undertaking. To be said for 40 days, they were for me by far the most demanding of prayers. Coupled with their significance of being battle prayers, prayed when in deep suffering, I was more than a little reluctant. I wanted peace. I was tired of fighting.
At that very moment, my son came into the living room. Quietly, he placed something on the hall cabinet. Daddy will mend it, he said. Turning away from the waning evening marking the skies with its final pinks and tangerines for the day, I saw my son’s tiny St. Michael figurine on the cabinet top. Its sword had detached.
The St. Michael’s Lent prayers are also known as the Sword of St. Michael.
Just like that, it was enough for me.
My Lenten devotions this year is to be the St. Michael’s Lent prayers – but begun on the very evening of my understanding and acceptance. My Lent is to be one of battle.
This year, it will be one of healing too as I sense heaven ask for a decade of the Luminous Mysteries Rosary each day.
As the sun rises from its slumber on Ash Wednesday morn, it rises more golden orange than ever before. My angel’s sign, tender reminder that he walks beside me.
And so it begins, this Lent of 2021. The Angel’s Lent.
LENT 2 ~ CHOOSE LIFE
If, however, you turn away your hearts and will not listen,
but are led astray and adore and serve other gods,
I tell you now that you will certainly perish;
you will not have a long life
on the land that you are crossing the Jordan to enter and occupy.
I call heaven and earth today to witness against you:
I have set before you life and death,
the blessing and the curse.
Choose life, then,…
~ Deuteronomy 30: 17 – 19
About 9 years ago, I made a very difficult decision. I did not arrive at that point easily. Struggling and agonizing, I wanted to choose what was right, but fear and doubt were like storms inside of me, blinding and deafening me. It reached a peak on Christmas Day. On a day when I should have been happy and rejoicing, I was instead quaking with fear over an obligatory phone call I had to make. It wasn’t just this one time. Over the years, such calls had assumed a troubling pattern. Preceded by fear and of being sick to the stomach. Crushing relief when it was over. Despite my torment each time, it never occurred to me that such a dark and debilitating fear is a sign of something very wrong indeed.
But something changed that Christmas Day. We had returned to my husband’s hometown and towards evening, I went out with my husband for a short drive around town with our toddlers and baby. We had taken an old, almost forgotten route, lined by worn homesteads and poor roads. Here and there, we saw people gathered in gentle pockets among old-fashioned flowers and trees, friends and neighbours finding any reason for an evening chat, as children pooled together in the warmth and cheer of simple, country games. People looked up as we drove by, and in their curious yet even gaze, I sensed friendliness, an uncommon acceptance and love.
As we left that little village behind us, I returned to my present, to that dark fear. Suddenly, my heart saw what I hadn’t before: the wrongness of it all. In that little village in our rear view mirror was life as it should be. Even though I knew not a single one of those simple villagers, it was clear to my spirit that we had just passed through a place where, despite poverty and its attendant woes, hearts resolutely chose life.
The minute we arrived back at my in-laws’ house, I made a decision that would forever change my life and that of my young family. I decided I would not make that dreaded call and that I would never call again. It was never a question of sealing my heart against others. It was a decision to walk away from almost 40 years of worshipping at the altar of fear.
If you obey the commandments of the LORD, your God,…
you will live… ~ Deuteronomy 30: 16
Today, for some reason, someone has brought back to me that old evening of 9 years before. So that I would understand clearly what I hadn’t before: that in decisively choosing to reject the idol of fear, I had actually obeyed the first Commandment – I am the Lord your God; you shall not have strange gods before me.
And that when I chose His Commandment, I chose life.
LENT 3 ~ WOUNDED TO SEEK
Pride may go before a fall, but jealousy goes before destruction. ~ Gladys Taber
Disturbed is the heart and mind ruled by jealousy; no peace does it have, no sleep too. And what a suffering it is to be wounded by another’s jealousy.
Which is why I have learned the hard way to flee from people in whom I discern jealousy. With such people, I am never on stable ground. There is nothing I can do to appease a jealous heart. A good day in such company never ensures a fine morrow. So many hours I’ve wasted pondering and dissecting absurd responses and reactions. So many times, I’ve abased myself to heal the wounded vanity of a jealous soul, just to secure a sunny day.
But it never lasted.
These days, I no longer try to make the world a sweeter place for anyone determined to be bound to jealousy; it is an exercise in futility. Yet, whenever the angel knocks at my door and tells me it is time, I need to fight my hurt at remembered pain, and place the soul in need before the God who heals. Who better to seek the healing of jealousy than the one wounded by its venom?
Because we live in hope that one day, some day, such a soul will rise to a day, upon which dawn has broken and darkness gone.
LENT 4 ~ ONLY ON THE HUNGRY
If you bestow your bread on the hungry
and satisfy the afflicted;
Then light shall rise for you in the darkness,
and the gloom shall become for you like midday; ~ Isaiah 58:10
A project of more than 2 years goes into its final days and I’m ready for it to end. I think I’ve given my all and that makes me very happy indeed. The relief is great too – suddenly I seem to have a lot more cheer and energy for home chores and cooking.
Today, those verses from Isaiah come to raise my heart to hope once more. Basking in its warmth, my eyes trace the last verses over and over.
Presently though, I sense a tiny shifting and an unseen finger gently pushes the first verse to the front.
…bestow your bread on the hungry…
I sense someone watching me. Waiting to see if I’m paying attention. If I will be humble and contrite enough admit the truth.
Did you bestow your bread on the hungry? Or did you kill yourself trying to feed everyone?
There’s no hiding from the truth, not when the question pierces so gently, so lovingly thrust.
Did you bestow your bread on the truly hungry? How often did you allow guilt to decide how much to do, how far to go?
When you were so tired, yet kept pushing on, how often was it for the truly hungry? How often was it because you kept hearing, You are lazy, that voice from the past? The past that has no place in this present?
How often did you try to feed everyone?
How often did you let the wolf in?
I answer from my heart, Often enough.
I hear my own voice tell me,
When you go back, feed, bestow your bread.
But only on the hungry.
LENT 5 ~ JUST TURN UP
Just a couple of days into Lent, something began to gnaw at me – I just couldn’t seem to quieten down. With work moving ahead with full force, one project ending tomorrow but others either lined up or well on their way, my hours were already packed. Now, with devotional practices special to the season of Lent added on, I seem to be running, gasping from one port to the other.
Something tells me that this is not the way it should be.
Just before Lent began, I saw the words, Descend into your inner room. And yesterday’s sermon by my priest made clear that Lent is a period of withdrawing from the world in order to bring ourselves face-to-face with God. He spoke of the Desert Fathers and of hermitages and monasteries. Moving away from noise in order to hear God clearly.
Listening to my priest, I understood why I had been feeling out of skip with the season. But I did not have the luxury of escaping to a quieter place or even that of a reduced workload. Being on lockdown meant that the whole family was working or studying from home so there were constant distractions and disruptions. Lockdown also meant that I could not quieten down in church before the Blessed Sacrament. God surely knew all that, so what was I to do to descend into my inner room instead of being suspended halfway?
The answer was unexpected.
Let go, said God.
I was still trying to control my Lenten walk to some extent. In my praying of the daily decade of the Luminous Mysteries for healing, I fret over the people I am praying for, concerned I have missed someone out. As I go about my day, my radar is up, searching for souls who need to be added on for my Luminous Rosary because guilt whispers in my ear that I have no right to stand before God with arms anything less than full.
But God is saying just the opposite. He is saying, Let go. In trying to descend to my inner room, paradoxically, I am also the one stalling my descent. His call for me is only to be obedient in praying the prayers He has given me. It is not for me to meddle in who I am to pray for nor to get distracted in checking if my prayer cart is full, if everyone is on board. Likewise, it is not on me to peck and poke, trying to discern the connection between my Luminous decade for the day and the prayer needs I am praying for. God alone decides where my prayers and sacrifices should go. And if there’s anything beyond that which I need to know, He’ll tell me – but in His time. All He asks for is my obedience and trust. Not much, far less than what I’ve put upon myself.
Just turn up, says my Lord, with a smile in His voice.
LENT 6 ~ JOURNEY
When Jesus went into the region of Caesarea Philippi,
He asked his disciples,
“Who do people say that the Son of Man is?”
They replied, “Some say John the Baptist, others Elijah,
still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”
He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?”
Simon Peter said in reply,
“You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”
Jesus said to him in reply, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah.
For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but My heavenly Father.
And so I say to you, you are Peter,
and upon this rock I will build my Church,
and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it.
I will give you the keys to the Kingdom of heaven.
Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven;
and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” ~ 1 Peter 5: 1 – 4
Whatever Peter proved to be right up to the time of Jesus’ capture and subsequent Crucifixion, to earthly sight, he was no rock and certainly not one to be trusted with the keys to heaven. He wasn’t too keen on dying for heaven and tried to persuade Jesus to this view. In trying to protect Jesus from capture, Peter left Malchus with one ear less but later, vigorously denied the same Jesus he claimed to have loved.
Jesus knew all of this would come to pass; yet, He proclaimed,
And so I say to you, you are Peter,
and upon this rock I will build my Church,
and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it.
I will give you the keys to the Kingdom of heaven;
Because Jesus knew that Peter was a work in progress. That it would be a journey for Peter to go from being an impulsive and tempestuous man to being loyal and steadfast, humble and obedient to the point of death.
Before Lent, in 5 words, God had defined Lent for me:
Descend into your inner room
I misconstrued it to mean that I had to immediately reach the depths of this inner sanctum by the first day of Lent. That is why I put myself under unnecessary pressure. Now, seeing the word Descend clearly and finally, I understand that I have to journey into my inner room. It is not a thing to be achieved in a day. There will be things that I have to face in myself. Things I have to learn to let go of and to heal from. A journey and a process. Some things must come before others, just as it did with Peter. Peter’s whole life was a journey into his inner room. So is ours. Perhaps that is why God said, Descend, – not, Go.
Simon Peter said in reply,
“You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”
Jesus said to him in reply, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah.
For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but My heavenly Father.”
Descending into our inner room is a conscious and deliberate journey towards Illumination.
For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but My heavenly Father.
It is a journey into the Heart of God.
LENT 7 ~ PRAYER FOR THE GREEN
It’s a terrible thing indeed to be ruled by the green of jealousy. I grew up in a home where both my parents suffered from this wound. I remember going out with them, meeting people, the forced polite comments and the pretending over someone’s good fortunes. But I remember also, once we returned home, the roiling that went on endlessly. They seemed to live in an eternal fire. As a result, I learned early on to fear any good news coming from other people because of the effect that would have on my parents. They just couldn’t be happy for anyone. My mother always excused such reactions by blaming her difficult life, how much harder it had been for her than for anyone else and that it wasn’t fair that she had to still endure so much and yet receive so few blessings from God. Inevitably, it would all wind back to me. I was the blockage that prevented God’s blessings from coming through, because I wasn’t sufficiently smart, diligent or pretty to bring her the fame and glory that others had.
This morning, my thoughts went back to that reliable stand-by: that our jealousies should be excused because of our sufferings, because we have far less than others. It is very convenient, isn’t it, to blame personal hardship for our inability to join our hearts to the joys of our friends and loved ones.
But we can’t all have the same kisses from heaven, can we? If we were to argue that we deserve to be blessed the same way others are, then it also means we ought to receive their crosses too. Yet, we grind to a halt there. We want the good others have but none of their pain.
It makes for a very sad and unpleasant life, being chained to this demon that never dies. To look at skies blue and gold and yet not see it. To watch the winds sing their hymns as they play among trees and blooms, but not hear a single note because we live in the demon’s lair where another’s happiness is our worst pain.
Today, I read the words of my friend, Ann, that we pray for those suffering from jealousy. Some days I can. But some days, the remembered pain is just too close. Today is one of those days. Today, I am a little hard of heart. I tell myself I will not be hypocritical and pray a prayer I do not mean for those who have hurt me and who continue to hurt me in this way.
Still, Ann’s words hover gently nearby. How do I love? I finally ask myself.
Then, ever so lightly I sense the angel speak, “You do not have to name them.”
And just like that, the prayer slips forth with ease.
LENT 8 ~ GENTLE WRITING
When I called, You answered me;
You built up strength within me. ~ Psalm 138: 3
For a long, long time, whenever I had been too much in the world and needed to be cleansed and renewed, I would reach for my beloved Anne of Green Gables books. I would begin from the first book and in the months that followed, bit by bit, weave my way to the last one in the series. There’d be a queer ache in my heart as I turned the last pages because it meant I had to return to this world, that the all too brief respite was over, the safe shelter turned back.
Since Covid struck, due to working from home, I found myself with far less time to read. I would begin working at dawn and go on till well past 1 or 2 in the morning the next day. There just wasn’t the time to settle down with a book, much less an Anne book that tolerated no rush, requiring me to shut out the world and lose myself in another lifetime.
But the yearning in my heart for gentle writing was as strong as ever. I ached for a love that was tender and strong, coming from a life lived for home and hearth. I didn’t want writing that depicted bull strength, however much that person lived for Christ. I wanted to be held and soothed, not by banal platitudes, but by a heart that understood sorrow as much as it did joy and love.
Of course, I only vaguely knew what I needed.
As usual, God had just the right balm for me.
If you then, who are wicked,
know how to give good gifts to your children,
how much more will your heavenly Father give good things
to those who ask him. ~ Matthew 7:11
Some time ago, my friend, Ann, told me of a blog, lightly suggesting I check it out. It was the Rabbitpatch Diary. Its mere name sent thrills through me, the illustrations of bunnies and blooms warmed my heart immediately.
But nothing prepared me for the depth of love I found there. Old-fashioned love that spoke most deeply to my heart. Love I had not grown up knowing but which God nevertheless taught me day by day as I got married and started my own little rabbitpatch. As time went by, my love for the writer, Michele Warren, grew as I fell deeper and deeper in love with her gentle, tender mother~heart. I waited to read her posts, her words tripping through my heart like a little brook, washing away the grit and grind of a hard day. A working woman too, she lived the very life I often forgot to seek. In every line she wrote from the depths of gentle love, Michele took me to the Heart of God.
When I called, You answered me;
You built up strength within me.~ Psalm 138: 3
I never imagined that the longing in my heart for gentle counsel would be answered in this way.
But my spirit called and He indeed answered.
LENT 9 ~ YOUR HEART IS MY ALTAR
Dost thou know why I give thee My graces in such abundance? To make of thee a sanctuary in which the fire of My love may continually burn. Thy heart is like a sacred altar which nothing sullied may touch; I have chosen it as an altar of holocausts for My Eternal Father. ~ The Lord, to St. Margaret Mary Alacoque
LENT 10 ~ COME AND REST
In green pastures He makes me lie down; to still waters He leads me; He restores my soul. ~ Psalm 23: 2 - 3
I didn’t live the days of this week too well. Too much work and way too little rest. Thankfully, I was still filled with good cheer and didn’t mar the days with occasions of ill temper or grumpiness. Still, I wasn’t happy. While much had been accomplished, all the ticks on my list on only heightened my dissatisfaction over the way I had lived these Lenten days. I had not read any Lenten reflections. We had not recited the Family Rosary in a long while. I missed a day or two of My Lenten promise to recite one decade of the Luminous Mysteries each day for healing. No exercise, no workouts, no time spent in the garden.
Not good.
Then, yesterday morning, I discovered something interesting for work. With my limitations and slow understanding, learning how to use the apps ate into my hours. Somewhere in the evening, I nailed one, able to comfortably navigate it now. Buoyed on by sheer glee and hope, I rushed through dinner and went to try the second app. I could feel my younger children watching me very carefully, trying to determine if they could safely sneak in some harmless mischief. When I’m in this mood, I become very focused and I was determined to learn how to use this platform before I called it a day. So, it was the kids’ lucky day and boy, did they light the fire. Nonetheless, nothing distracted me. It was midnight, by the time I leaned back in satisfaction.
Just before turning in for the night, something occurred to me and I returned to the app to check it. And found all my effort for naught. Absolutely naught. There was a glitch of some sort and it was beyond me to figure it out.
I’m going to mop the house first thing tomorrow, I thought to myself.
Not to work on it or to get help with it. But to wield the mop and shine the home because something told me this was the end of the road where that app was concerned.
I slept in a bit this morning and then rose to give the house some loving. The deep cold of past mornings had suddenly given way to an intensifying heat. A storm was likely some days away. But the happy singing of the birds and the laughing breezes playing tag amongst the trees had turned the day into gold.
Like liquid incense, that golden joy spilled into my own heart. A smiling, rosy lightness lifted me.
In green pastures He makes me lie down;
to still waters He leads me;
He restores my soul.
Come and rest, said the Lord.
LENT 11 ~ NO GOING BACK
In mid-January, my mother-in-law who lives 2 hours away, suffered a stroke and fell. Apart from the concussion, her speech and memory were somewhat affected. My husband comes from a family of 3 siblings. His older brother lives next door to Mum, his older sister resides in another state, some 4 hours away from us. In the aftermath of what happened, my husband and I felt it would be best if Mum moved in with us. It wouldn’t be too far a move for her and as such, less upsetting. No one else disagreed with us so we began to make plans.
There was no vacant room in our home but we planned to bring a spare bed into our bedroom and make Mum comfortable there. It would require a huge adjustment on the part of all of us. Worrying about how I’d balance this with my work struggles made me deeply afraid of what was ahead. I saw that same fear in my loving children’s eyes too but I soothed them without sugar-coating it. In times of difficulty, I believed that we needed to focus on love. We would do that now too. Focus on loving Mum as best as we can, give her the very best from our hearts and God would take care of us. Granted, we had no clear idea of how we would manage as both my husband and I were both working full time. There were absolutely no care services in our remote town that we could rely on, but we figured that since the stroke had not impacted Mum’s mobility much, with help from our kids who were all studying at home, we could try and work something out. It would not be easy but we are pretty resilient as a family. Even if we messed things up initially, we’d learn fast.
What mattered was that Mum be surrounded by family in a secure and loving environment. I had suffered from fears all my life; I didn’t want Mum to fear being alone or anything. Because coming to live with us was hell enough for her. I had married her favourite son and early on in my marriage, she had made it clear she felt I wasn’t good enough for her boy. Besides, I wasn’t my mother-in-law’s idea of fun. Mum was an extreme extrovert; I went out of my way to avoid most social situations. She had 2 tongues in her, I sometimes had trouble finding the one tongue I had. We were polar opposites and Mum had scant patience with my dull ways. But she was good, old soul and over the years, I learned to not just accept her but to love her too.
But her move into our home was not to be. Without warning, one day, the hospital announced that they were discharging Mum into home care. With equal suddenness, my husband’s older sister who had been silent during family discussions, announced that Mum should be with her. We were concerned that my husband’s sister was taking on too much. Although her children were all grown-ups – unlike our much younger brood – her own husband was a recovering stroke victim as well. But there was virtually no time to talk things through.
What started off as a normal but busy day filled with meetings for my husband, ended very late that night. With suppressed anger and frustration, my husband packed his aching heart away and hastened to do his older sibling’s bidding. After work, he drove alone to the town Mum lived in. Strict lockdown rules did not permit me to cross the district border with him. At the hospital, he dealt with the discharge paperwork alone.
It was late evening when Mum had been securely strapped into her seat for that long drive to her new life. As the waning sun watched over that old town, so many people were returning home. But Mum was leaving the town she had come to live in as a young mother almost 60 years ago. Leaving the house where she held court as queen of the home for decades, the sepia memories of golden days spent with faithful friends. Leaving the graves of her husband, and her beloved baby grandson, the only death that had broken her to tears. Leaving without a chance of bidding her last farewell because her mind was going.
My husband had to slowly and carefully drive his frail mother to the meeting point with his sister at our state border. Mum was understandably not quite herself. She took time to understand things and it took a lot out of my husband to keep his eyes on the road and at the same time make sure Mum didn’t attempt open the car door midway through the journey. All through that long drive, she fiddled with knobs and levers just like every one of our babies had done years before. Still, she asked him nothing, as if the contentment of just being alone with her little boy was all that mattered.
Then, as the purple twilight skies gave way to night, someone must have whispered something in her heart. In a sudden shot of lucidity, Mum told my husband that she didn’t want to stay elsewhere. That she wanted to come home with him. I can only imagine how much it must have cost my husband, a devoted and filial son, to choke back his tears and instead, find the words to comfort his old mother, knowing that she now somehow knew that she was going where she least wanted to go all her life.
To be fair, my sister-in-law was having a very hard day too. As we were under lockdown, the rules were very strict, to the point of being inhumane. My poor sister-in-law had to rush to get a police permit to cross state borders, then, make that long drive to pick Mum up and immediately drive back across state lines before midnight that same day to avoid a hefty fine. After a rushed pick up, the poor woman finally made it home at midnight. My husband came home exhausted too but at least he came home to a hot meal and a loving family waiting to fuss over him and soothe him. While my sister-in-law pulled up to a comfortable home, it was empty save for a husband not quite himself. She had returned to a house with empty rooms because all her children now resided in other states, and she returned to a marriage she had marked and wounded in so many ways.
It felt so sad that it had to be this way but it was my sister-in-law’s call after all of wanting her mother with her. At some deeper level, I could guess at her intent. Facing failure at any age is difficult but it’s worse when you are older, close to retirement age or beyond, because in some families, some aspects of marriage and bonds with kids are cast in stone by now. We can hope for the sun to rise some day and some of us will strive to the end to make that happen.
But some of us just aren’t made to hope, to forgive or to seek forgiveness. Some of us find it too difficult to strive for a better ending to life. So, we try to return to a life lived years and decades ago, when things were much simpler and affairs of the heart less complicated.
For my sister-in-law, that meant taking into her home the mother who had petted and doted on her even into adulthood. Ever the optimist at all the wrong times, my husband’s sister refused to try to understand that even if Mum healed and improved, something in Mum had already been set into motion. There was no going back into the past where Mum stretched herself thin doing everything to ensure ease and comfort for her only daughter.
For a month, Mum was with her daughter and did pretty well. After holding our breaths, we finally exhaled. Mum’s physical recovery was good. My sister-in-law was a tender and loving caregiver, very efficient in her care. Still, we were worried. The nation was under lockdown so some of us like my sister-in-law and I were mostly working from home. But with the lifting of restrictions coming in February and with it a return to full time work for all of us, there would be no one to watch Mum at home when my sister-in-law was at work.
My husband’s sister is a difficult one to communicate with, if I may say so. On good days, everything goes well. But there are days too when this wall comes up that nobody can scale.
That wall was well in place when we tried to discuss Mum’s care going into February.
Suddenly, early this week, with no warning in the almost daily conversations, my husband received a text from his sister saying she had it with taking care of Mum. That she couldn’t go on. And she wanted my husband to come up with something. The change in her was sudden, to say the least – but less so to my husband. This was the way she had always been whenever the going got tough. Her coping strategy was to check out for a period of time and have others scramble to pick up the pieces.
In this case, those pieces was Mum’s sudden mental deterioration from early this week due to another stroke. Mum now required fulltime care but with lockdown, getting a homebased caregiver was not an option. And my sister-in-law had no backup plan in place for what we saw was coming and had tried to warn her about.
We had no care options in our town either but there were good nursing homes in the closest city in our state. Quietly, without letting on to my husband, I did some research. I looked for a facility that would allow us to bring Mum home on weekends, to let her be with family. Her mind was going fast. She barely remembered or recognized people who had been in her life. Whether she was with us or remained in fulltime care, it would not make much of a difference to Mum who would likely never go back to who she was.
But I wanted to try. 3 years ago, one day after Christmas, I had a dream. It was of Mum, living with us and utterly happy and at ease. In that dream, I had been warned by an unseen person that in having to care for her, I would be
Momentarily overwhelmed
What if that time warned of was now? To suffer for heaven knows how long but in the end to receive the joy of seeing Mum happy and well again, finally at peace with the world? I had to at least try.
City rates being what they were, it would cost much to keep Mum comfortable. There would be no chance of either my husband or I retiring early. But on the bright side, I figured that since I was at the losing end of keeping my weight down, maybe having less to spend on food would yield early blessings for me.
Yet again, it was not to be. After a few tense days and many prayers, my sister-in-law instead found a good nursing home just a few minutes’ drive from her home. Their rates were something we could afford. And they agreed to take Mum in immediately.
By evening, Mum had left the house again, intent on her secret journey, shutting gate after old gate to open new ones. All our efforts to hold her back are futile. It’s like she is growing wings.
And day by day, even as her body weakens, her wings strengthen, taking her closer and closer to the sun, one gate, one door at a time.
As I search for the final words for this post, the warm yellow~white winds outside rise to sudden high notes, strong yet gentle is their evening song. For long minutes, I lay my heart against them.
Then slowly, one by one, the winds gather gently. Softly, softly they lay the meaning of their song by my heart.
LENT 12 ~ WHILE IN THE MIDST
I came home on Monday. The snow, followed by days of rain, had turned the yard in to a large mud puddle. There wasn’t a single ray of sun either. The countryside looked drab and untidy . . .so I remembered the irises and the pale blossoms of the peach tree to “tide me over” for a while. The earth is filled with promises, I reminded myself. This sparked a joy in my heart. Suddenly, I took a second look around me and noticed the many shades of silver in the sky. There were all sorts of chestnut and coppery browns and soft greys. Even the puddles were full of life. Soon, lamps would shine through the old windows of the farmhouse and the house would smell like supper.
I chided myself for waiting for beauty, while in the midst of it.
~ Michele Warren, rabbitpatchdiarycom
LENT 13 ~ LIVE IN GENTLENESS
He who does little, but in a state to which God calls him, does more than he who labours much, but in a state which he has thoughtlessly chosen: a cripple limping in the right way is better than a racer out of it. ~ St. Augustine
How true that quote is. And how often I have been guilty of being the racer who labours much but in a state I have thoughtlessly chosen. I am reminded of a time a few years ago when I stubbed my toe and fractured it. For 4 weeks, I was that cripple in the quote, slowly and carefully hobbling down corridors and up and down stairs. I thought of the large amount of work that needed to be done but which I couldn’t in my state. There was no help for it; I could only work as fast as I could move.
Surprisingly, everything got done. For 4 weeks, I worked with calm deliberation, thoughtfully considering my every move and task. No frenzied ticking off lists in my head. No zipping here and there, doing the necessary and the unnecessary. Still, work got done. Meals got cooked. Clothes got laundered and ironed.
For 4 weeks, every minute was lived in gentleness.
Today, for the first time, I catch the morning sun shining its heart right through the trees facing the east. At that perfect angle, the sun’s rays pierce my eyes and my heart. Delighting in this early morning gift, I leave my work to love the sun.
What do You ask of me, Lord? I happily tilt my own heart to the sun. No reply is laid upon my ears as second by second, the gold of morning grows impossibly brighter. Then, just as suddenly as it came to its window in our trees, the sun rose higher, taking its piercing rays to others.
In the ineffable sweetness of parting, I understood the call of His flaming Heart.
Live in gentleness.
LENT 14 ~ DESTINY
You will free me from the snare they set for me,
for You are my refuge.
Into Your hands I commend my spirit;
You will redeem me, O LORD, O faithful God.
I hear the whispers of the crowd, that frighten me from every side,
as they consult together against me, plotting to take my life.
But my trust is in You, O LORD;
I say, “You are my God.”
In Your hands is my destiny; rescue me
from the clutches of my enemies and my persecutors. ~ Psalm 31: 5 – 6; 14 – 16
For years, Into Your hands I commend my spirit, had been the first offering of my day to God. But somewhere last year, I forgot the prayer of my rising – and didn’t even realize it. This morning, though, it was the first vine of prayer that wove its way from my heart to God’s. I smiled to see my old prayer~friend again.
After the usual morning chores, I settled down to work from home. Yesterday had been a full day. Apart from work, optional retirement had been weighing very heavily on my mind because I found out yesterday that some changes at work will be coming into effect soon. A safeguard that has protected me so far could be dismantled. If that does happen, I would have no choice but to seek a transfer or quit my job. A transfer would mean a very long daily commute, wearing me down further; with quitting, naturally, my thoughts went to our finances. We still have some way to go and I was concerned about the impact of retiring even a year earlier. While my musings didn’t agitate me nor make me fearful, it did lodge deep within like thick mud.
Into Your hands I commend my spirit
This morning, when I went to my daily Readings, I was mildly startled to see the same morning prayer appear before me in the Responsorial Psalm. Why was the prayer slipped into my heart today, of all the days? I suddenly wondered.
Then, my eyes fell upon a verse, and it struck my heart like a light bolt.
In Your hands is my destiny
LENT 15 ~ GO OUT AND LOVE
Yesterday, some issues regarding my professional future were weighing on my mind. In my post, Destiny, fellow blogger and my friend, Ann Coleman, commented, “It’s natural to be anxious about something so important. But I do believe we can trust God to be with us through even the worst challenges. And I’ll pray that your work situation works out for the best.”
Something about that last line snagged my frazzled and tattered attention.
And I’ll pray that your work situation works out for the best.
Ann’s touching concern and support lit a spark in me. Of wanting to go out of myself and care for others besieged by work concerns in whatever form. Nonetheless, at that very moment, it was mind over heart, because it was almost night and I was so very worn out from staring at my laptop screen for hours on end.
Still, when God lights a spark, it is lit, no matter what.
Today, I had to travel to the city with my husband. We met a salesperson he had dealings with. Within a few short hours, the 60-something man had let down inner his mask with us, and let slip that he had just undergone a heart procedure. I thought to myself that sales wasn’t the best job to be in if you had a heart complaint. Later on, we observed signs that despite his good work ethic, genuinely genial nature and immense popularity with clients, he didn’t seem to be earning very much.
And yet, he was so giving, even when it would have gotten him nothing back.
As we waved goodbye, something about him tugged at my heart. Well into his 60s and continuing to work in such a cutthroat business when others would have retired, I just felt that something hadn’t worked out in his life. He had a hunted look in his eyes, as if there were forces he was trying to outrun but couldn’t.
Driving home, I thought about this man’s worn heart and remembered him before God.
We were late in leaving the city and so got caught in its after-work traffic snarl. Driving carefully, I watched cars zip in and out, drivers in a great hurry to get home. Deeply exhausted, home seemed so far away. And we had one more similarly draining trip to make the next day.
Despite my state, in the sharply angled evening sunshine, something else began to take over. I found myself empathising with the commuters’ rush to get home. Oddly, it was almost as if I could cut past the layers of metal and noise, and see right into hearts, here and there encountering happiness and good cheer, but mostly touching weariness, worry, frustration or just plain tiredness from a hard day’s work. All stopped at traffic lights after traffic lights, we were sitting in different vehicles, looking different, living differently. And yet, there was a common thread of happiness, worry, fear and tiredness running through each of our lives.
However different we were, we are all bound together by our need of God, to be placed in His Flaming Heart.
Once home some hours later, I contacted our parish priest to make arrangements to attend private Mass with him. To my sadness, I found our priest in great agony from nerve pain. He asked for prayers and so I hastened to do what I could, feeling it was too little against such a great need.
It was past midnight when I sought the stillness to gather my thoughts. While no great mountain did I move in my Friday hours, Ann’s words reminded me that even in our hardest struggles, our hearts must never close in on ourselves. That no matter how gnarled and rutted our own path is, we must take care to never lose compassion for others who are suffering. And yet, that remains a mountain to be scaled – to remain in the moment of others’ suffering, to help them carry their crosses, even as my own weigh me down.
Although so many of our questions remain unanswered, and the road stretches on through the uncertain terrain of life, in choosing to open our hearts to the pains of others, I have learned a great many times, our crosses will not vanish, our own pain might not diminish. The lesson God wrote upon my heart today was that,
The more we hurt inside, the more we must go out and love.
Because it is when we wipe the wounds of others, that we touch the very Wounds of Christ.
LENT 16 ~ THE SONG TO SING
Now the older son had been out in the field
and, on his way back, as he neared the house,
he heard the sound of music and dancing.
He called one of the servants and asked what this might mean.
The servant said to him,
‘Your brother has returned
and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf
because he has him back safe and sound.’
He became angry,
and when he refused to enter the house,
his father came out and pleaded with him.
He said to his father in reply,
‘Look, all these years I served you
and not once did I disobey your orders;
yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends.
But when your son returns
who swallowed up your property with prostitutes,
for him you slaughter the fattened calf.’
He said to him,
‘My son, you are here with me always;
everything I have is yours.
But now we must celebrate and rejoice,
because your brother was dead and has come to life again;
he was lost and has been found.’ ~ Luke 15: 25 – 32
Today, I finally saw what others had long before caught: that the older boy in the parable was likely jealous. And that his jealousy prevented his heart from rejoicing over his brother’s repentance.
I’ve always felt sorry for this older boy/man. It is never an easy thing to slog at something and be contented with small rewards. It is much harder when it is left to us to pick up the slack caused by others; worse when we seem to be left out in the cold while the everyone else fêtes those who have made things difficult for us.
Except that the parable of the prodigal son has never been about a forced and meaningless celebration. It has never been about burying the hurt and projecting a happy we don’t feel, nor about killing the fatted calf for someone who has come home the same he was before.
Anyone who has been scarred by jealousy knows its dark power – as well as the suffering it is capable of inflicting. Jealousy has poor tolerance for good news. Its participation in joy is often short-lived and uncertain. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about a jealous heart, it is that it is extremely short-sighted, not able to see too far beyond its personal borders.
Everything I have is yours
Jealousy will never allow the heart it rules to be convicted of that truth because a jealous heart cannot share sincerely and generously. It will keep careful accounting over anything given. What it gives today, can be demanded back the next day – because it struggles with sharing. So, even when God promises that Everything I have is yours, a jealous heart can only view it with suspicion.
But now we must celebrate and rejoice,
because your brother was dead and has come to life again;
he was lost and has been found.
Nonetheless, God stands very firm – and fair. Even as His decree is that we open our hearts to the good news of conversion, He gives us the Light that will help us to transition from hurt and hardness to love:
Rejoice over repentance
No matter what suffering we have endured, when the dead come back to life and the lost finally found, we must celebrate the return. Not tolerate. Not merely acknowledge. But sing the lyrics of rejoicing until its song is one with our hearts.
Because it is that song which heals the wounded heart. And to be healed of jealousy, no one can sing that song but us.
LENT 17 ~ LIVING SUNDAY
It makes no sense to me to give so much attention to the complications of the world and ignore the genuine and authentic beauty in an ordinary life. The answer to the worlds’ commotion might just be to remember the goodness of the week on any given Sunday. ~ Michele Warren, The Rabbitpatch Diary
LENT 18 ~ THE HARVEST WILL COME
Sow with faith and your harvest will surely come; it will come later on but when it will come, you will reap it endlessly.
LENT 19 ~ LET ME SEE
Open my eyes to see clearly
the wonders of Your law.
I am a sojourner in the land;
My soul clings to the dust;
give me life in accord with Your word.
My soul is depressed;
lift me up according to Your word. ~ Psalm 119: 18, 19, 25, 28
Today work reached in and wiped out everything I had in me, right down to the inner cellars where reserves of strength and hope are stored. Restlessly, I roamed, going from window to window, trying to see something in the skies, in the garden, that would lift and dissipate this dull deadness within. I know what brought this on – skimpy sleep and work overload. I had nobody to blame but myself.
As the hot evening winds gusted insistently about the house against a lowering yellow sun, I washed the car and scrubbed floors even as I leaned my heart against the words of the unruly winds, trying to make out what they were saying, if any of it was for me. But I was wound too tight, and nothing got past the doors of my heart.
Still, you don’t go through 18 days of Lent and not learn something. The harder it gets, the harder you must love. Someone I know is in terrible need. I’ve known something of this kind of worry. It slips deep, snaking its fear through you, rendering you deaf and blind.
It must be prayed against.
Before long, the prayers gentle. Whether due to physical exertion or the moment of need passing, I cannot tell. I hope it is the latter. I don’t want my friend to suffer this fear.
But the tired lifelessness remains.
My soul is depressed
Lift me up according to Your word
I cannot go on, Lord, I just cannot. We need some news, Lord, a sun to lift the spirit from this strange bed it’s lying on. Tell me my prayer, Lord. Tell me what to pray for. From morn, I have asked this, to no avail. It is night now and the winds have gone back to their lands. There is still work to be done, it never ends, just never ends. I poke at it listlessly, labouring over a simple report, but my heart now rests deep in family, in thanksgiving of past miracles.
It is then that I hear it, the prayer for the day.
Let me see.
LENT 20 ~ FIRE WITHOUT END
Jealousy has no limit; it is an evil that continually endures and a sin without end. The lies of jealousy burn hotter in proportion to the increasing success of the person who is envied. ~ St. Cyprian of Carthage
LENT 21 ~ CONQUEROR
I saw this heading to a post yesterday, Gratitude Conquers Envy, and understanding lit my mind.
Almost 2 years ago, I had a dream. It was of the colleague at work who had hurt me very deeply and continues till this day. In the dream, she was at her desk beside me and all around us were odd, yet perfect boxes, almost the size of shoe boxes, tightly packed with brand new books – except that interiorly, I knew that they weren’t books. They were memories of everything I had done for her in our 20 plus years of knowing one another. Memories packed tight into light, perfectly made mud-coloured boxes. My colleague was at her desk, with a pen in hand, writing on each of those boxes.
In thick, black, fancy classic script, she was writing, Thank you, on the inside of those boxes.
And I knew immediately, with neither joy nor relief, that it was directed to me.
Some time after the dream, I went to Confession to a visiting priest to our parish. I confessed about my struggles with anger and my difficulty loving those at work who hurt me. I didn’t provide Father with any details of my work situation; instead, focusing on my sins and weaknesses.
But the priest had looked deep into my eyes, hearing in his heart words I had not given him. And he understood why I was being attacked.
It is due to jealousy, Father had said that day.
That illumination had shocked me to the core, that jealousy could wreck such cruelty.
But today, the memory of that dream lifts another face towards me. That of the Thank you. The power of gratitude to bend a soul to humility. To heal it of every trace of envy and jealousy.
We often take gratitude for granted, assuming it’s a virtue we either have or do not possess. However, I have had one spiritual experience, in church, of being pierced by an invisible arrow of gratitude and thankfulness, to learn that it is also a grace. Some of us might have been born to be grateful and thankful. Some of us lack it. And some of us barely possess it. So, what if God was now asking me to pray for the oil of gratitude to heal jealous hearts?
A few days ago, I had written that those ruled by jealousy needed to make the effort to cleanse themselves of this ugliness. While that is certainly true, I think God is now telling me, No, that’s not all. You can do something else too.
This Lent, He wants me pray a very specific prayer of healing. To pray for the grace of gratitude, that jealous hearts be healed by it.
Because gratitude conquers jealousy.
LENT 22 ~ APPLES FROM MY HEART
Last night I went out, as always to say good night. The night air had a slight touch of coolness. In the sky, I saw the Milky Way. This is rarely visible, so of course I went out to the field to get the best view. There were more than a million stars out and I made a lot of wishes. The familiar scent of apples in various stages filled the air. I stood amongst the fallen apples and under a trail of stars for a good while. . . . and when I was able – I said good night with a grateful heart. ~ Michele Warren, The Rabbitpatch Diary
In one of her latest comments, Linda Raha mentioned about going over the blessings of the day when we go to bed. If it didn’t stick with me as it should have then, it certainly did now.
It is a terrible thing to not be grateful. In my life, some of the most trying people have always been the ones who are incredibly ungrateful. They bite and snark more at life than life deserves simply due to diminished gratitude. In an ungrateful heart, there’s little softness to absorb the hard knocks of life, to soften the blows that must fall upon us in its seasons. So, not only is pain felt in all its depth, I suspect it is also exaggerated because it has too much space to grow. Life with an ingrate can be beyond tolerable. You can be worn to the bone of soul trying to make the ingrate happy and keep it that way for some hours of sanity. Life in a home shared with one is to live in perpetual darkness; to be in the light you have to be away from that person.
But that only makes coming home that much harder. There’s nothing worse than having light touch your soul but then later having to return to a darkness that abhors the light. Some forms of ingratitude is exactly that: a dark that cannot tolerate the light of thankfulness.
Today is Friday and it is my day of atonement and reparation. Today, I atone for all the times I have been anything less than grateful for every little sweetness God has pressed into the fold and creases of my life – and sadly, there have been too many of those instances. It is always the easier option to call someone out for a failing; looking inside and facing up to the same fault is never pleasant.
But that is the special grace of Lent.
Even now, says the LORD,
return to me with your whole heart,
for I am gracious and merciful. ~ Joel 2: 12 – 13
Tonight, Michele Warren’s memories of apple~days stir to life one of my own, of a child long ago, nourished by the sweetness of apples gifted from the heart.
So, to my God I return with a gift I haven’t offered my Lord enough, apples from my own heart.
LENT 23 ~ GOING VISITING
The best remedy for dryness of spirit, is to picture ourselves as beggars in the presence of God and the Saints, and like a beggar, to go first to one saint, then to another, to ask spiritual alms of them, with the same earnestness as a poor fellow in the streets would ask alms of us. ~ St. Philip Neri
I’m going visiting today, first to one saint, then to another, because despite the quiet serenity of the day, nothing spills into the arid gullies of my heart. There’s a dense fog in my head and a sullen spirit rules today. A loving old aunt is seriously ill in New Zealand. My mother-in-law found a bit of her old self – which she is better off not finding. Things are not going well in our country, and not in our workplaces too.
If there’s a time when prayers are most needed, it is now – when it can least be given.
Ask spiritual alms of them
So, I’m going to knock on some doors and ask for help. Beggar I may be but that will not stop me from asking big. At each door, I will ask for a miracle, for us and for others, for needs I am aware of and for those hidden and unspoken of.
So that by eventide, I may return home, knowing that miracles are on the way to all those who need them.
LENT 24 ~ GOD’S NECTAR
Today was a very busy work day and not everything went to plan. Still, it was one of those rare days when I was able to tell myself to stop work by slightly after 4pm. About 2 hours later, I had just snuck back to my laptop again, when my daughter called me outside to look at the sky. The late evening clouds were fuzzy yet shining at the edges with centres that glowed with hidden suns. It was so very beautiful, spilling a happy peace inside me. Suddenly, I wanted to be out myself, with my family, lounging around at the back.
It was a school day and there was still so much to be done. We weren’t outside in the playful yellow-gold evening breezes for very long but it was long enough, I soon learned. I had time to take in the old swing gently sway in contentment beneath our old tree. Time to chat some more and listen to my children and husband as I swept the floors and neatened the space. Under the watchful gaze of those shimmering clouds, slowly slipping into orange ribbons, a sweet, lifting happiness found its way into me and all the tiredness of the day was gone.
Sometimes, it just isn’t possible to spend a lot of time to rest in the way we want to. Sometimes, we hurt ourselves by expecting a long restful drink out of the cup of life and we withhold ourselves when we see that the cup isn’t as full as we want it to be. We deny ourselves that sip, training our sights instead on bigger things – longer time to relax, a fun activity ahead, a big trip.
But ever so often, the angels offer us God’s nectar in tiny flower~cups. If we could just let go of ourselves a bit and lean down, I think we’ll find that a seemingly little bit goes a long way.
LENT 25 ~ SLOW THE HORSES
The latter days of summer are a good time to wash the heavy linens used in winter. A clothes line is quite handy for this. I have a line full of soft blankets now, that were hung in the early morning, when the day was new and the scent of the mimosa filled the air up. Hanging clothes out is a peaceful task – and you are liable to solve a problem or say a prayer while doing so. I have done both. ~ Michele Warren, The Rabbitpatch Diary
One of my faults is that I tend to rush through life. In the midst of doing something, in my mind, I am already chasing down the next thing. I seem incapable of quiet deliberation, focusing on one thing at a time. Maybe that’s one reason why I am often tired.
Today, Michele Warren’s quote and Linda Raha’s post, The Coming of Spring, hold a teaching for me.
Bring presence into everything
To quieten the unruly horses within me, I need to learn to restrain my inner presence to the present moment. To be in the moment and to be deliberate in what I am doing. It will not always be possible, I know. Thoughts are much like clouds, chugging and skitting from one port to another. But giving free rein to wild horses is to run many races in one day and that is never a good thing if it becomes a way of life. In a rush, we fail to notice the little wants and needs along the path of life. We will be too intent on covering the course to savour the little joys hidden along the way. Racing from one duty to the next, we risk training ourselves to always focus on the next thing, missing all that’s precious in the present.
Life is not always about the next thing. Often, it is about how we live the now.
A new dawn slowly begins to light the eastern skies in gold. A busy day is ahead. Already I feel the day’s tension champing at the bit, waiting to be released in myriad ways. Today, like many others, it’s not possible to pare down the list of things to be done nor to reschedule.
But maybe it isn’t about doing as little as I can in a day as much as it is about slowing my inner horses, bringing my whole presence into every little thing I need to get done today.
Maybe it’s to be like the sun, moving deliberately and surely across the skies, in careful measuredness, till his work is done at the close of day.
LENT 26 ~ THE DRYING STREAM
When the devil wants to capture our soul, he first divides our mind by many cares. Some of them appear to be necessary, others appear to be fraternal charity; and as he thus divides it, the stream of compunction is dried up, and when it is dried up the city is captured, and reason perishes. ~ St. Anthony of Padua
LENT 27 ~ IT WILL RETURN TO YOU
You will lose nothing of what you have renounced for the Lord’s sake. For in its own time, it will return to you greatly multiplied. ~ St. Mark the Ascetic
Today, my 40-day St. Michael’s Lent novena comes to an end. And it ends on the 18th day of March, a date very close to my heart. When I first began the novena, I had looked up its end date and upon seeing it, wondered at its significance. Today, this quote comes and its promise lights up the windows of my heart,
In its own time, it will return to you greatly multiplied.
Soon, it will be 14 years since I began waiting for the fulfilment of Philemon 1: 12. Sometimes we do not understand why we wait and look out for something.
But wait we do. That is hope.
LENT 28 ~ FAITH OF THE FATHERS
He believed, hoping against hope… ~ Of Abraham, Romans 4:18
Today, on this feast of St. Joseph, I ask for the gift of Abraham’s faith. May this asking go far, not confined merely to my heart and to those I carry in it, but to every corner of the world, to flowering fields and into shadows. Where hope is new. Where it is unformed. Even where it is strong and growing. Where it is shattered and dying.
Joseph was bequeathed this very gift, and throughout his life, he burnished this faith – not by blind fanaticism – but by the oil of humility and obedience. Not by refusing to ponder or question what he did not understand, but by asking for illumination and waiting for it.
We all have need of this faith, this faith of old, this faith of the Fathers.
LENT 29 ~ HER NAME IS N
Your prayer intercession for N is pleasing to Me because it is an act of love. ~ In Sinu Jesu
After a stretched and harried workday, the last thing I wanted was to make that long drive to the city. The only thing in favour of the trip was that I would have a chance to go to church, my first time since the 3rd week of January when my country went into lockdown again. That I would be able to spend the feast day of St. Joseph in a silent church before my Hidden Jesus, firmed my resolve further.
The hot winds tossed and leapt in the blue skies above the seaside city as I got down from the car. I was so very happy to be back. It has been close to 2 months of hardly any quiet alone time and I was longing so much just to be alone. Entering church and settling down, for an hour, I got just that. No interruptions. Just the muted sounds of passing traffic and the chirping of happy birds in pursuit of living. Quiet and chatty in turns, I laid bare my whole heart to Jesus, even as I listened for His words.
Presently, barrel emptied, I picked up my copy of In Sinu Jesu, allowing the words to thread through me. Soon, it would be time to begin the journey home, to return to all that awaited me, the beautiful as well as the difficult.
Speak to me, Jesus, I prayed, if it be Thy will. Don’t let me go back without hearing You.
Paragraph after paragraph, page after page, words flowed but nothing remained within me. I didn’t pause to try and go deeper either. Several times, I reminded myself that the words I was reading were God’s to the monk – not me – because I didn’t want to imagine that a word was for me. If God wanted to speak to me, He would make His voice heard and I would somehow know it.
But God didn’t speak and yet, my peace was not disturbed. It was one of those rare times when I was fully trusting Him. I read on a bit more and then, saw that it was time to pack up.
Just then, a thought occurred to me. So many lives would have been different had the people known of Jesus and felt His love. And I thought about my colleague from work who continues to make my life a misery due to the jealousy within her. Back in the day when we were close, on occasion, I used to share with her my walk with Jesus. Unlike the others whose eyes would narrow and lips tighten, my friend always listened earnestly. She knew I was not in the business of trying to convert her to my faith. She knew that I respected her faith and that she had nothing to fear from me.
And yet, something in her faith was justifying what she was doing to me, a Christian.
I decided I would bring my friend to Jesus. Shutting my eyes, I imagined her sitting beside me, right in front of the Tabernacle, before Jesus’ eyes. I offered her heart to Jesus. After a few moments, I returned to my book.
Suddenly, without warning, a line appeared and shot its arrow right through my heart.
Your prayer intercession for N is pleasing to Me because it is an act of love.
This monk, N, had been mentioned several times before and my spirit had never been moved. This time though, a jolt went through me. I knew then that this time, Jesus had meant those words for me.
Because my friend’s name begins with N.
LENT 30 ~ MILAGRO
At the Farmer’s Market yesterday, the heat stifling and sweltering, all I wanted was to get out of the sun and go home. So, my husband and I moved about quickly and got the few things we wanted.
On our way out, we passed a small stand where fertilizer was being sold. On a quick trot and totally uninterested, my passing gaze fell upon the brand printed on the bags. Milagro. It meant nothing to me.
Hours later, relaxed and contented, I was vacuuming the house floors, when slowly I became aware of a word being gently repeated in my head.
Milagro
Milagro
Milagro
And with it a light. Milagro is Spanish for miracle.
LENT 31 ~ DAFFODIL HOPE
It is something to rejoice over when spring fairies come back to life again. When my friends write about the signs of spring in the air, in their gardens, in the woodlands, it’s hard not to be sweetened to hopefulness.
This year, one particular flower seemed to be in many places before me – the daffodil.
On a whim, I decided to look up the symbolism of daffodils. What I read smote my heart gently yet strongly.
Daffodils symbolized rebirth and new beginnings.
Some believed that daffodils bloomed when Christ rose from His tomb.
Today was to be a busy work day, not necessarily one I looked forward to. I had very little sleep the night before and the morning at home was a wee bit busy. Yet, later, working alongside my colleagues, I was strangely unaffected by their raucous revelry. Slowly, I chipped away at my work and by the end of the day, everything that had to be done, got done.
But those little accomplishments didn’t swell big for me. I was aware of something else slowly tree-ing within me from afternoon: a mysterious hopefulness. It lifted and lifted, bit by bit, as the bright gold afternoon winds swept higher and higher in some unseen joy.
Shiny, new hope. Hope that is gentle, yet strong. Something that wasn’t there before.
LENT 32 ~ THE SURPRISE
God always answers our prayers.
We may not always expect the response we receive.
~ Philip Kosloski, Aleteia
LENT 33 ~ EVEN WHEN I CANNOT
You have a plan for me
Even though I cannot always understand
Beyond what I can see
I know that I am held within Your Hands
So I will trust in You
And I will lift a song a praise for You
And never ever change
No matter what I am going through
~ Even Here, Rebekah Dawn
LENT 34 ~ MIRACLE OF MOTHERHOOD
The Holy Spirit will come upon you,
and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.
Therefore the child to be born
will be called holy, the Son of God.
And behold, Elizabeth, your relative,
has also conceived a son in her old age,
and this is the sixth month for her who was called barren;
for nothing will be impossible for God. ~ Luke 1: 35 – 37
From yesterday, my heart has been filled with babies. This past year, I’ve truly carried my children close to my heart. For all the times work has taken me away from them, the past 12 months have returned me to them.
But yesterday, babies clung tighter to my heart a little more than usual.
As always, the realization came belatedly.
Feast of the Annunciation
Feast of the Miracle of motherhood
I have been blessed with this miracle seven times that I know of. Some of my children are here with me, my heart’s delight. Some are hidden from sight, my unseen helpers.
And one leads the way.
For a time, I struggled to have children. I know too well that everything the world says is right can instead result in disappointment after disappointment. The sun will never rise unless God grants us His love. Many women have trouble with this comforting truth – that God determines each dawn of life, the journeys each of our children take to come to us.
But it is true. A child comes to know our love only in God’s time.
Today, on this day sacred to motherhood, my prayers are for a dear colleague aching to have a baby after the sorrow of miscarriage. If it be the will of my Lord, through the intercession of Our Lady, may my friend know the miracle of motherhood again. May she be one with the others I place in the Divine Hearts of Jesus and Mother Mary,
Those who sit by the window of life, waiting and waiting,
Those who returned God’s gifts because He asked.
Those who said, Not now, Lord,
Those who turned their hearts away, saying, Never.
Those who loved and who had no choice but to release their loves to others.
Today, I consecrate each heart, of woman and baby, to the Mother Heart that knows the seasons of motherhood only too well.
May today be the Day of Miracles.
LENT 35 ~ THE MEADOW BEYOND
The week has finally come to an end and not a moment too soon. I couldn’t have managed another day. From the light and energy of yesterday, without warning, I swung to the other end of the spectrum this morning: exhaustion, confusion, every gully within bone-dry. I clearly have nothing left to give where work is concerned.
But I have a week off from work and after two brutal months, I sink into this promise with un-shuttered relief. I will close the gate to work and lock it behind me, for
there’s a meadow beyond to skip in
flowers to gather
and apples to share
Glory! Glory! Glory!
LENT 36 ~ CLOSE YOUR MOUTH
It has been a wonderful, delicious two days of being on a break. To have it coincide with Holy Week is a coincidence not lost on me: God wants me silent and attentive. And today, He made sure I got the message.
On a long evening drive today along country roads with the family, I wondered about God’s silence these past 2 days. The last I heard His voice on my heart was on the Feast of the Annunciation when He told me it was time I rested and let Him take over. I agreed. I was truly spent. But I needed to walk Holy Week right too and for that I needed to hear from my God.
So, I began to search for Him and to listen out for His voice. So many, many little things came and went, pressing their sweetness upon my heart. Our family spent a lovely day in the sun out in the garden today. At one point, I heard the plaintive cries of an eagle high up in the sky. Its shadow fell fleetingly upon our front lawn as it crossed the sun’s eyes. Looking up, I saw two of them, swooping and soaring in the happy blue skies, watched by fattened white clouds, their calls bringing an immediate quietening to my heart.
No Word did I hear but peace reigned strong as I cut and gathered gardenias for our Sunday altar. A good lunch and a short but deep rest afterwards filled me with all the energy that had been missing for a time. The kitchen put into order and meal prep complete, we piled into our car for that sunset drive.
Just a few minutes out of town, a huge gold moon rose in the sky before us. The Passover moon, I thought to myself. The Feast of Freedom from slavery and tyranny, it had begun yesterday and would end on Easter Day. Again, a quiet descended into me.
Will You speak to me, Lord? I asked and released the asking into the purple~orange sunset.
Once home, in a quick reading before I went to cook dinner, I felt a faint quickening within as an unexpected word came before me,
Pilgrimage
I understood immediately and jumped to obey. Tell me what to do, Lord, I answered, all quivering-ly eager and ready. But nothing could have prepared me for what came next.
You need a spiritual pilgrimage.
Begin by closing your mouth.
~ Egyptian Desert Fathers
LENT 37 ~ CALL YOUR ANGEL
If you find it impossible to pray, hide behind your good Angel and charge him to pray in your stead.
~ St. Jean Vianney
LENT 38 ~ SO MUST YOU
…as I have done… so also must you do...
~ John 13: 15
LENT 39 ~ GOD, FORGIVE THEM
One with Her Son
from birth till death,
His Body in Her arms
one final time
Was this Mary’s broken whisper,
God, forgive them,
For they know not what they have done.
LENT 40 ~ REVELATION OF HEARTS
…and you yourself a sword will pierce so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed. ~ Luke 2: 35
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