Unexpected Grace

There’s something about sunsets and sunrises that speaks to my heart. I feel moved beyond where I am. I’m reminded that there’s Something, Someone greater. There’s something about standing under the sky watching the glory of our Creator unfold. I think those are moments where the Creator of the universe uses creation to gently, profoundly proclaim his presence. I’m thankful for these moments because we need to be reminded of his presence. Sometimes it seems that he’s somehow not there.

Recently, my dad stepped out in hope. There was a chance that the surgeons could create an internal passageway for liquids to pass. Since he doesn’t have a stomach, this would’ve improved his quality of life. But it didn’t work. We were all a bit stunned when we heard the news. I think we all thought it would happen. Why wouldn’t it? But it didn’t. Where is our Father who created and loves us so much in this?

After they tried the surgery, my mom and I were with Dad in his room in the ICU. At some point, and I can’t remember when exactly, I looked out his window. The sun was setting, and it was stunning! Shades of pink, purple, and blue streaked across the sky and a bright glow of yellow appeared where the sun was fading away.

I stood there, taking in the beauty and peace. For a few minutes I was elsewhere and my heart and mind pondered the wonder of this moment. I just knew the Father was with us. It was an interesting mix of emotions seeing his handiwork outstretched before me while my dad was lying in a hospital bed behind me. It came to mind to take a picture, but I hesitated. Would it take away the sacredness of this moment or trivialize the emotions in the room?  I heard myself say, “I’m going to take a picture of it,” and my mom encouraged me. I held my Smart phone up to the glass and took it. Looking at the photo, I felt a strange and wonderful excitement come over me. What I didn’t see when I was taking the photo was a reflection of my dad in the hospital bed. 

This photo is a gift from the Father, no doubt. It has offered me time in prayer and reflection amidst this confusing time. As I’ve prayed with it, I’ve felt an invitation from the Father to seek for him in the photo, and in moment captured. In this searching, I am first drawn to avert my eyes from the room to the beauty of the sunset, to look beyond. To where there is wonder and awe and hope. In the sunset, I transcend the time and place of the hospital room and reflect on God who is powerful, loving, and trustworthy. If he is, and I believe he is, he’s here. He’s got this.

From the sunset, I reflect on the image of my dad among the colors of the transitioning night sky. I’m asked to accept two realities. One, the reality that is in front of me in the hospital room: my dad, the tubes, the sights and smells of the room that are part of him. Second, the reality that I sense in the sunset but is somehow still hidden. Creation has a way of speaking life and hope to us. In both situations, I feel small and helpless, yet hopeful. And, in both situations, I also see the fingerprints of God.

Even still, I find myself feeling tempted to think that God didn’t answer our prayers, but as I sit in this ‘dual reality’ and reflect, that doesn’t seem to be true. It’s that God is answering these prayers in a different way. From a different perspective, I realize that though it didn’t turn out the way we wanted, grace and peace still permeated the room, my dad, and really anybody who came in the room. The nurses and doctors all had a peace and a joy about them. Grace seemed to surround and emanate from my dad. It’s amazing what prayer can do! Dad’s smile and patience were contagious.

Finally, the purple and the pink of the sky bring me to the season of Advent, this time of year where we wait in prayer and prepare ourselves for the coming of the Christ Child. This year, the Father has offered my family a different way to prepare our hearts to understand the meaning of Advent on a deeper, more personal level. In thinking of Advent, I go to Mary, the Mother of God. From Mary, we can learn to abide, open, and accompany. Like Mary at the Annunciation, we are presented with the invitation to receive the Lord anew and wait on him to bring about what is in his plan. Like Mary at the foot of the Cross, we are invited to wait in patient difficulty with Dad.

Like Mary, we look up and ponder. In this place of the mystery of knowing but not quite understanding we learn how to wait on him, trust him, and let him grace our lives in unexpected ways.

She Did What She Could Do

It’s not uncommon for me to reflect back on my not so great moments with horror thinking, “How could I have done that?! I should’ve known better.” I find myself focusing a lot on the past at times usually with disgust in myself. When you struggle with pride and perfection, shame, self-pity, and unforgiveness try to make themselves out to be your friends. Because of this, I tried to let Lent be a time of offering, of surrendering myself at the feet of Jesus in order to humble the pride that makes me more than I am and renounce the perfection that tells me I’m not enough. It’s a strange dichotomy to find your heart in.

It’s incredible how the Lord speaks to us through his Word. Recently, I reflected on the story of Mary pouring costly perfume upon Jesus. She empties the entire bottle on his feet and dries them with her hair. It evokes such an intimate image to me. This woman lowers her body to the floor to touch his feet and offers pretty much all she has in the material sense. It’s personal and moving.  It strikes even more so within me that she uses her hair to dry his feet. Not a towel or part of her clothing, but her hair. This symbol of beauty and femininity. Essentially, she is offering more than just the costly perfume. She offers herself, her identity. The Lord accepts this gift. He sees the depth of the offering and takes it for the beauty that it is…a gift of self, and offering of love. 

In the book of Mark a sentence stood out. Jesus still defends her actions, but in Mark; however, a sentence is added: “She has done what she could do.” When faced with the fact that Jesus, a man that she loves and cares for deeply, was going to be betrayed, tortured, and crucified like a criminal, Mary did what she could and in doing so offered him a moment of beautiful humanity, humility, and acceptance.

“She has done what she could do.” These words seemed to shout at me from the page. They lingered in my heart filling me with hope, bringing healing, rather unexpectedly. As I sat in prayer reflecting on different events that I’ve regretted or didn’t like what I did, I was able, with the Lord’s grace, to replace, “How could I?!” with “I did what I could do.” This viewpoint helped me to have a different perspective where I could learn from the event, repent and move on in freedom and healing. The Father has reinforced in me a lesson. The lesson of Lent is not that we have to be perfect and do things right all of the time. The lesson, moreover the profound statement, is that we are not perfect, will not do things right all of the time, yet we are offered the opportunity to humble ourselves, look past ourselves to see what the Father has done for us in offering us His Son. Because of the Resurrection, the story can always be restored, maybe not in the way we would want, but the Father can always bring new life and reveal His love, if we enter in.

That’s what Mary did. She entered in. I don’t know all that she knew, but I’m certain that it was very emotional for her. There will be things in this life that happen that we don’t want to happen: we lose a friend, we say mean things, we have a fight with a family member, and we have a loved one fighting cancer. Mary shows us that instead of denying it or beating ourselves up about things, if we accept life and enter into it with Christ, beautiful things can happen. We offer ourselves to him and let Him deal with it. And, like Mary, our act may not look good to others or be perfect, but it’s not about us; it’s about allowing the Lord the space to do what needs to be done.

The incredible arrangement is that, because of the Cross-, the struggle, the whatever we must let die, doesn’t have the final say. There’s Easter. Praise God there is Resurrection! By entering into the process of Christ taking on the Cross and offering our imperfections and we will experience new life because Christ has overcome death and all that is related to it. Because of Christ’s death, we have life!

So often I try to fight it or just deal with it, like letting go and coming to Christ is a sign of weakness or failure. In reality I end up nowhere. It seems the Cross is the best weapon we have in this fight. It is the way to new life. It is still Easter season. There’s still time. Let’s give the best Easter present to ourselves and accept that the Father loved us so much that he sent Christ…that Christ is our Savior. Let us lay down all the regrets, doubts, fears…as much as ourselves as possible at his feet where he can take care of us and then let him take care of us.  It’s all been redeemed anyway. To us, it may seem expensive, but he’s already paid the price.

My Shepherd Indeed

In prayer this morning I come across, “The Lord is my Shepherd; there is nothing I shall want.” This normally peaceful verse doesn’t bring peace but brings up sadness, frustration, and even doubt. It hits my heart very differently today. “Is that true?” I ask myself. “Do I really believe that?” After I sit with this verse some more, I realize that the doubt comes today because while I have been blessed, I find myself wondering where He will lead me. Will I want to go there? What will the journey be like? I don’t particularly like some parts of my life right now…partly because of my own choices, partly because of His leading. He’s lead me to walk away and leave things behind, despite my feelings or what’s in my heart, so I’m hesitant to trust Him and kind of feel stuck.

“There is nothing shall I want…” I want to want this to be true. I want to be able to say to the Lord, “You are all I want. You are enough. I only want to do your will; I don’t want anything or anyone else.” However, I do want. I want things to be different in my life, in the lives of loved ones, and in some relationships. I want to go back in time and change things, say things differently, and stop things from happening. The regret and resentment are palpable. The frustrating thing is that I know that there are people who are in worse situations, and I also know that I cannot do anything without My Lord. Still, there is a disconnect. In this prayer time, I feel the pain of looking at my life and finding some major things happening that I do not want.

I sit in the Chapel for some time with all of this. Eventually, a quiet image of Christ’s face comes. He’s covered with dirt, beads of sweat, and blood in different shades of dark and bright red streaking from the Crown of Thorns that has been placed on His head. I am mesmerized by this stunning and intimate image. Looking at my Lord in this image speaks volumes to me without words.

First, I sense Him saying that He’s with me; He’s been where I am, without sin, of course, but still He understands the experience of seeing things happen differently than what one wants, not being able to change things, and watching bad things happen to loved ones. He also understands the pain of accepting that our Father allows certain things to happen for “all righteousness.”

Second, this is a reminder of Who’s in charge. I’ve crowned myself as queen with my pride, expectations, and desires of how life should be. I feel that I deserve ‘my version’ of Easter for all of the Lents that I’ve gone through. In the narrow view of my ‘kingdom,’ I have left out other and perhaps even better possibilities, as well as the plain fact that life is not about me always being happy and things always going my way, but what is best for my growth towards holiness or that of others. As long as I’m queen, there is no room for a King, even one who became nothing for me.

Lastly, I sense that the Lord is saying, “Follow me.” Even in my shortsightedness and complaining, I’m not neglected. I’m humbled, ever so gently, and then invited. The invitation is both spiritual and physical. The invitation is to enter more deeply into this Lenten journey of allowing myself to be stripped of myself: my idols, my desires, my pride…all of the “I wants” and “I don’t wants”. The invitation is to follow Him to the Cross and to enter His Crucifixion with Him. I ask for the grace to do this.

Ironically, this all starts to settle the disquiet that was in my heart. The choice is mine to become unstuck: I can dwell in self-pity and stew in life not being fair, or I can detach myself, allow this all to happen, and follow Him. I can enter the Garden with Jesus and gain the strength from Him to say, “Not my will, but yours,” and offer all that I grip on to so tightly to Him on the Cross in order that my heart and selfishness be stripped, be humbled, and be pierced, for Love.

It’s like a fog is lifted, and I can more clearly see that He is my Shepherd, and I am indeed His sheep that He is leading through this rocky path to acceptance and surrender. I can also see that I was rejecting everything because I didn’t like what was going on. But, by rejecting what has been happening, I’m also rejecting what He has done through the Cross and what He wants to bring about.

In this short time of prayer, my Father speaks to me through His Word, both in Scripture and in His Son. For now, I feel the fear subside as His Love and peace move in. I have a bit more trust and hope knowing that the Lord is the Lord no matter what I see or feel. I am thankful to have a Father who knows and loves me, who hears my prayers, sees my needs…and offers forth His Son to come and save me for eternity and in little moments like this.

Getting Closer to Mary

"Do not be distressed, my littlest son. Am I not here with you who am your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection?” These are the words that the Blessed Mother spoke to St. Juan Diego so many years ago. Such comforting words! I find comfort in these words, too, because she has been a mother to me all along. I just didn’t have the eyes to see.

Most of my life Mary and I weren’t really in contact. She was like a very kind neighbor who lived down the street. One whom you would exchange smiles with and occasionally talk to, but one you really didn’t know. I heard great things about her though I just didn’t understand her. I respected her and was thankful for her role in bringing Jesus to us; however, that’s where the connection stopped. I saw her as pure, perfect, beautiful; not characteristics that I would give myself. And, I wasn’t a mother, so I just couldn’t see how I could relate to her. I said the Rosary occasionally but didn’t really get anything out of it. So, she and I remained distant.

Then, one day, it started…the process of getting to know the Blessed Mother. It was definitely a process, at times slow…at other times intense, but she definitely placed herself in my life and wasn’t going anywhere. Our first ‘encounter’ was 3.5 years ago in the Miraculous Medal Chapel in Paris. During the couple hours there, I had a growing sense of wanting to know this mysterious, exceptional woman who poured out graces and lead people to her Son. There weren’t fireworks, just an awe and wonderful curiosity. I bought a bag of Miraculous Medals, had them blessed, and handed them out to a lot of people. It was just something I felt drawn to do. No doubt, something happened that day; I received graces sitting in that Chapel. (http://www.amm.org)

These graces continued to pour into my life. Within a month, a new friend came across my path that loved the Blessed Mother in a deeply personal way, like his own mother. Through his powerful conversion and the delight that he had in speaking about her, I got the opportunity to get to know her as a person. She became real to me, and I wanted to know her more, get to know her as my mother, and what that meant for my life. Later, that same friend, explained Marian Consecration to me. It’s a way to give yourself over to Mary, in the way that Jesus gave Himself to her in order for her to bring you closer to Jesus. It was strange, beautiful, yet intriguing. 

(http://www.marian.org/marians/A-New-Day-Dawns-for-Marian-Consecration-4742)

Not completely certain of what I was getting myself into, I went through with the 33 days of prayer. I found that the journey was very Christ-centered and learned about how Mary protects and strengthens those who are consecrated to her. It was intense, but through it, I was able to see what I had allowed into my life that was getting in the way of living in freedom with Christ. I also felt Mary’s presence. Kind of different, I know, but I also know that I was not alone. It was because of her presence that I grew in courage to allow God to do what He wanted to do. Also of note was how I came to know Mary as encourager, intercessor, companion, and confidant…as a mother figure. Mary knows the concerns, fears, and issues we face being human. Like in the Scripture verses about the Wedding at Cana, Mary sees our need and responds by stepping in and bringing them to Jesus. Then, she instructs us as the waiters, “Do as He tells you.” I could see why she was so important to my friend, to so many Saints… and to Jesus!

Since then, I’ve renewed my consecration twice and have been transformed more each time. I have learned to grow in wisdom and see myself as a daughter to a Loving Father, and I’ve been given the tools to continue the journey growing in purity, humility and obedience…like Mary…all for God. It’s kind of like going through the Joyful Mysteries with her each time…receiving the Holy Spirit, allowing Him to grow within us in a daily Visitation in bringing Him to others, and then bringing Jesus about more, giving birth with her continually, if you will.

She who taught Jesus gentleness, strength, and the supportive, receptive nature of the feminine in humanity, has been given to us to teach us the same so that we can be Marian and bring Christ to a world that is starving for nourishment from so loving a mother. What a Gift indeed!