Sink or swim, or walk as it were… (Part I)

From Today’s Gospel - Mt 14:22-33

Peter got out of the boat and began to walk on the water toward Jesus.

But when he saw how strong the wind was he became frightened;

and, beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!”

Immediately Jesus stretched out his hand and caught Peter,

and said to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

        I have a great little app on my phone that has all the daily readings so I can jump ahead to see what’s coming. I find it to be useful to refocus my mind when it’s starting to drift to parts unknown – or known but where it shouldn’t be going in the first place – or known and visited many times before only to my own detriment – or known and only visited as a means of self punishment for sins already forgiven. It always amazes me (because He is utterly amazing) that usually when I do this, the words on the screen speak to me so directly, so overtly and address so perfectly whatever assault of the mind I’m currently having.

        The Gospel for tomorrow is a familiar story (even to this Cradle Catholic) [Note to self: you said you were going to start actually reading the Bible cover to cover.] I’ve heard this gospel many times in my life but, overnight it took on new meaning for me. (Don’t you love it when that happens?) I have a lot of idle time this weekend which can be a blessing and a curse. Last night it was definitely a curse wrought with bad movies, a touch of insomnia and way too much time on the Internet. I read some really great things about prolife activism which unavoidably leads to really horrible things about prochoice activism. I could spends weeks on end responding to all those out there who disclaim the after effects of having had an abortion. I’d love to dissect the studies they refer to as proof that such effects don’t exist and that my current issues only exist because I had pre-existing issues before my abortion. I’d love to debate those out there who claim that abortion is good for women and a necessity or else back to the back alley we’ll go. I’d like to tell them that the horrors of the back alley abortions they thump their fists about are not too distant from the horror of having an abortion in a “legally approved” facility. No, I didn’t die from my abortion – not physically. But, Grace did die and part of me died with her. My youth died. My zest for life died. I walked out of that clinic a changed woman, a changed girl really, never to be the same again and it wasn’t just because I was no longer pregnant and my “problem” had been resolved. 

        So many prochoicers out there love to argue that prolifers don’t really want to help women in a crisis pregnancy. Are we going to adopt their baby? Will we give them money, shelter, food, diapers? I’d like to ask the prochoicers – what are you going to do for those women who you escort into and out of that abortion clinic? What are you offering to provide afterwards? Since you don’t believe there are any ill effects from having had their legally sanctioned abortion – I guess you aren’t there to help them through the years of darkness and despair, bring them back from the edge of suicide attempts, explain their ongoing sexual issues, help to manage the terror of being found out, the grief over the idea that the Holy Mother Church they love might now reject them. I have yet to see prochoicers offer up some post abortion healing and recovery. Maybe there are such people out there – but I doubt they are addressing the real problem.

        I was wrong in my thinking about my Church for a long time, even though I was kind of absolved of my abortion many years ago – I still lived in fear of eternal damnation. Even confession wasn’t going to save me. Today’s Gospel is a reminder of how wrong I was for far too long.

"Immediately Jesus stretched out his hand and caught Peter,

and said to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

        It makes me chuckle a little over the idea of Jesus, standing on top of the stormy water, the Son of God holding out His hand to Peter and Peter seeing Jesus standing ON TOP of the water is still doubtful? What’s it going to take Peter, really? I wish I had that kind of proof! Peter had it right in front of him, literally, and he still doubted. And herein lies the good part – just a little faith is all you need sometimes to keep from drowning. Jesus will never let you drown as long as you have some little spark deep within you. 

        When I find myself going down the old roads to where I’m wondering if it’s all true, is it all real, why am I here, why do I write on this blog, why is the sky blue… that little flicker deep within just needs a bit of fanning to become a fire again. So now, I reach out for Jesus’ hand however I’m able. I pray, I write, I pester my Priest, I go to Mass, I go to adoration, I hug my children, I seek out my husband who knows just what I need and why.

        Most of the time I feel like I’m walking on the water, sometimes I feel like I’m walking in the water a bit with it sloshing around my ankles, but I’m not drowning. Perhaps sometimes we need to sink just enough as a reminder. Kind of like when little kids have swimming lessons – if you’ve ever seen the Plexiglas platforms that are submerged in the deep end, just as a precaution for new swimmers. The instructors let them thrash about a bit but then remind them – just put your feet down – and they can stand because of the invisible platform beneath their feet. It builds their confidence while they learn to swim better.

        When Peter cries out, “save me!” – is Jesus really saving him from drowning or saving him from his “little faith?” I think we all need that from time to time. I find that on my journey – I have those things that I know to be true, core, unshakable beliefs – but I also have doubts that nip at me, thoughts of despair that creep in, thoughts of the baby I allowed to be killed. At those times, when I’m falling back in love with the ghosts of my past – instead of the realities of my present – I hope that Grace is watching me and runs to our Lord and tells Him, please, help my Mom – and He appears once again, hand outstretched, to save me not from downing, but from myself.

Ivan Aivazovsky, 1888

Look at me...

       As I approach the evening hours tonight, I delve deeper into my memories of my Rachel’s Vineyard retreat last year at this time.  Sometimes I can’t believe it’s been a whole year, other times it seems like a week ago, and there remain moments when I feel like I never went at all.  That is when I pray for the graces that I received that weekend to return to me, to my heart and my mind and buoy me until I can plant my feet firmly back on the ground of my truth that thankfully is getting stronger and stronger each day.

       I often will list (and re list and visit the old lists) of the positive and reparative things I’ve done and taken on since this journey begin.  It helps to remind me of the good that has come of all of this.  It helps me in my moments of darkness when the enemy is nipping at my heels and every other part of me that is exposed.  Sometimes, too, the enemy has a way of barging right in on me without warning, bypassing the sneakiness that is usually employed.  But, I remain strong in my faith and say a silent prayer and repeat as necessary.  Reflecting on everything is also a good reminder that this will always be a part of me.  I lost a child and that sad fact will remain with me until the end of my days.  What matters now is how I deal with that fact.

       I left that retreat with a full heart and I remained quite puffed up for some time.  However, I did descend from the mountaintop eventually, and fears and doubts returned a bit.  My cyclical life-long depression returned, luckily recognized and managed quickly.  I was offered and accepted additional Project Rachel counseling and continue with it to this day. 

       Of all the things that I gained on that weekend, the event that changed my life for good was the adoration of our Lord.

      At the start of my healing journey, I had just discovered adoration, not having much experience with it before.  I even Google’d it before a 40 hours adoration that my parish had to see what I was to do there.  I didn’t feel remotely worthy of being in the presence of our Lord in that way.  My belief in the Real Presence has permeated my life through times of devoutness and times of being a lapsed Catholic at best.  I have never believed in communion in the hand because my hands aren’t sacred, but I refrain from receiving differently because of my own insecurities.  The fact remains that I don’t feel that I should be handling our Lord like that.

       I went to my Church during 40 hours and sat way towards the back of the church. I saw the kneelers right in front of Our Lord and oh, how I longed to be brave enough to kneel right there, that close to Him.  I stayed in the back and would glance up occasionally. 

       We are fortunate at our parish that there is adoration once a week, all day.  However, it’s in the Chapel, a much smaller and intimate setting and a terrifying reality for this unworthy servant.  I would always take a seat in the back rows of the chapel.  The kids from school come to adoration for a small time throughout the day, and some of them sit in the front row.  I thought how brave they are!  Of course, my mind set was that they hadn’t had an abortion so of course they were welcome up front!

       One time I had the whole Chapel to myself and I tried to talk myself into moving up closer.  I thought about what would happen if I lay prostrate on the ground before Our Lord.  My luck would be that someone would definitely come in at that moment.  But I thought, just maybe, if I did that I would make myself worthy if I physically threw myself down at His feet pleaded for mercy, mercy that I would actually feel and know to be true.

       All of those times spent at adoration along my journey, I lived in constant fear of being “found out.”  Like a big “A” was blazoned on my forehead.  I wasn’t worthy to be in His presence.  How dare I even think about approaching Him?  Just like that woman in the dust and dirt reaching out to Him – but I never reached out or looked up. 

       Throughout the counseling leading up to my retreat, I started to open the door, ever so slowly, to the idea that I was worthy and that no sin was greater than His mercy, that He actually wanted me there, that He was waiting for me.

       I found that the more I went to adoration, the better I felt.  I started to look for adoration hours wherever I could find them when I had time to go.  [Note to self: we need an App for Adoration Times… Jesus is here! ] Many years ago, churches were open all the time and you could visit whenever you felt the inclination or need.  Now, you have to call the church and talk to the sometimes dreaded parish secretary about getting into church and then most likely have to explain why. 

       This leads me to the adoration that changed my life for good.  We had scripture mediation in the chapel at the retreat and a Marian Monstrance was displayed.  Kind of like the picture I have included.  It’s basically the image of Mary and she is holding our Lord.  They draped some fabric over it to symbolize Jesus’ garment.  People took turns approaching the kneeler and touched the garment and asked for what they needed from Him. 

       This particular meditation was torture for my soul.  I couldn’t move from my seat.  I was 3 feet from our Lord, closer than I had ever been and I was racked with sobbing that I tried to muffle as best I could.  I never did take my turn at the kneeler and the exercise ended.  In His great providence, the retreat leaders said they would have the same set up through the night for “anyone” who wanted to visit later.  I went back to my room, threw out my decimated contacts, popped in some new ones and went to dinner. 

       Late that night after a long talk with a very kind and gentle Priest, I tiptoed up to the Chapel and found it empty except for Him.  I walked right up to that kneeler and shook as I knelt down.  The cloak lie somewhat over the top of the kneeler and I was careful to avoid touching it for I was still in my despair and afraid.  I was afraid to look up.  In the quiet of the Chapel in the candlelight, with the sounds of nature outside, I heard His voice.

        “Look at me.”

       And I did.  I looked up and saw Him, in His mother’s arms.  Mary led me to her Son reminding me that although He was the Word made flesh, He was her son too.  Mary loved and cared for him just like I have loved and cared for my children.  This Marian Monstrance reminded me that even He, at many times in His life, needed His Mom to hold him.  Mary lived her life loving Him and adoring Him. 

       I began to feel that my adoration “from afar” was not what He wanted from me.  I could adore Him in the same way I was learning to love Him.  Mary illuminated His humanity with the fullness of who He was – all at once.  Surely, I could meet Him this way and be this close, and look up and gaze upon His humanity and divinity contemporaneously.  Mary was becoming my model for adoration in that moment.  She was teaching me to hold Him too, within me, close to my heart and to fiercely protect His presence in me. 

       I was able to ever so slowly move my fingers just a bit and hold a piece of that garment in my hand and I felt His mercy reign down over me and through me.  The tears came again and this time I dried them with His garment because I was worthy of His care.  I was worthy of His love.  I was worthy of His mercy.

       Since my retreat, I still go to adoration whenever my busy life as a mom permits.  I’m the one on the kneeler right in front.  I haven’t tried to prostate myself yet but it’s not out of the question.  After Mass, when our Priests are in the back to say Hello, I often will reach out and offer a loving pat on the arm, but I have ulterior motives in addition to wanting to show my love for our Priests.  It allows me to just touch a piece of their vestments, just for a second, as a reminder that I am worthy of the Christ who he represents. 

"Do you realize that Jesus is there in the tabernacle expressly for you - for you alone?
He burns with the desire to come into your heart...don't listen to the demon, laugh at him,
and go without fear to receive the Jesus of peace and love...” - St. Therese of Lisieux

I have been changed For Good...

Lots to think about this weekend and reflect on since it's the one year anniversary of my Rachel's Vineyard retreat.  The Priest at our retreat used this song to demonstrate reconciliation and how sometimes, we are forever changed, For Good, even though it may have been something truly horrible that prompted that change in the beginning.  But with our Lord's infinite mercy, we find infinite grace. 

Who can say that I've been changed for the better?

I have a tiny circle of people that have held my hand and different parts along this journey and I have been changed for the better for having known all of them for whatever reason they reached out their hand for mine and helped me through. 

Divine Mercy in My Soul

Hopefully this weekend I'll get a copy of St. Faustina's Diary.  After the last week or so and with what I have coming up in the next month or so - I need Divine Mercy in My Soul. I have it in my head, sometimes in my heart, I've felt it in my soul.  But, I need some practice in keeping it in all of me so that nothing shakes this most important truth that sometimes is the only thing that keeps me going. 

Yesterday, I got in a kind of debate with some folks about what happens to a woman (or in my case, a girl) after she has an abortion.  It still stuns me that some people think nothing happens to a woman who has an abortion except that one minute she is pregnant and the next she is not.  I'm sick of debating friends and colleagues over "women's rights" regarding abortion - if it's such a hard won right and should be so protected - why is it so shameful?  Why is it so hidden and kept secret?  Why are abortion clinics tucked away behind buildings with the windows covered by cardboard or paint? 

I'm not able to make a strong enough case to change some people's minds, but I'll still try from my little soap box here on the web.