Not Making It… Just Faking It

“I’ve just been faking it, not really making it.”

These words were quoted to me by my father when I was getting ready to leave home and go to college.  They were from a Simon and Garfunkel song.  I was expressing my worries about becoming an adult and how I didn’t think I could do it.  He said he felt the same way when he first ventured out into the world.  At the time, these lyrics truly helped put my mind at ease.  It was comforting to know I was not the only one who felt this way, and I was filled with hope that, in time, I would stop faking it and finally start making it.

Well, unfortunately, almost eighteen years later I am still just faking it.  When I left for college, I could not even fake it!  I got so sick dealing with my undiagnosed diabetes I fled and returned to the safety of my parents home, not even making it a whole year on my own.  When I was diagnosed with type one diabetes, I went into hiding and grasped onto the only things I knew how to do.  I went to college and did my homework, I exercised a lot, and I watched cartoons, the cartoons I grew up with and through which I learned about the world.  My reality was formed by cartoons.  I heard classic literature through the words of Bugs Bunny, I saw friendship portrayed through Hey Arnold and Rugrats, and I saw love through fairy tales.  When I was little, I believed this was what the world was supposed to be like.  Then I went out into that world and discovered nothing was the way it was in cartoons, and I could not handle the world as it really was.  I had to start over, I was a five year old in an eighteen year old body.  I tried to put on a front that I really knew what I was doing, but inside I was playing make believe.

Here I am on the verge of turning thirty-six and I am still faking it.  Everyone around me is setting up retirement funds, starting families and buying houses, filing taxes and actually keeping records of all their deductions, getting jobs (and they are good at them because they are not faking it).  At least I do have my dream job, but I am not good at it.  I think I am playing make believe.  I am getting ready to move to a place I plan to live in for the foreseeable future but instead of thinking about the investment of buying a house, I am looking to rent the smallest apartment available because I want to live with as little stuff as possible.  I have no idea of what I am doing, just taking one step at a time with no plan of how these steps will affect me later.

The one thing I am good at and know how to do well is being sick.  I can even do that on my own.  When my body cannot move because it is so weak, I can still make it to the bathroom, get dressed and function among others.  The safest place is in a hospital.  It is familiar, and I am around people who are just like me, sick, and in those moments all we need to do is deal with our sickness.  I am now at a place where I am not sick and I hate it because once again I have to face the reality that I am just faking it.  Will I never grow up and feel like I know what I am doing or will I forever be that five year old filled with unrealistic dreams of the future that will never be?

The Lord is always knocking on my door and I have always graciously opened the door for Him when I am sick. He enters and gives me a great hug, and I can stand on His feet and let Him dance around the room with me. He can do everything for me and I let Him. When I am sick, it is easy to let Him lead because I do not have the energy to contradict Him, but when I am well I have the energy, energy that I do not want. With this new energy I am consumed by the demands of this fallen world, and for some reason, I place these demands before God. I am scared everyone will see who I am, a child. However, within this truth I can gain strength from Jesus. If I can say out loud, “I am a child of God,” in His eyes, there is nothing to be ashamed of and faking it is okay. I am only living in this world, I am not of this world. If I were of this world, I would be able to make it, but I am not. I will fake it in this world so that I can make it to Heaven.

Hope of Another

There are times when I speak the word of God and feel as though I am speaking gibberish.  I wonder if anyone could understand the craziness emanating from my mouth.  I have been blessed with parents who have been able to affirm what I am saying, but is that enough?  It would be wonderful to hear the same language spoken by another.

Just the other day, a true miracle happened when I stumbled upon a podcast from Word on Fire.  Word on Fire is an organization run by the well-known Bishop Barron.  He had interviewed the popular actor, Shia LeBeouf.  At first, I had no idea what to make of the interview, mainly because it was hard to believe Shia had become Catholic.  I was a big fan of his when I was younger.  I started to enjoy his character Louis Stevens on the show Even Stevens sponsored by the Disney Channel.  I developed a significant crush on him as he grew older and played more roles in the movie “Holes” and “Charlie’s Angels–Full Throttle.”  Unfortunately, like many actors do, he fell on hard times.  It honestly broke my heart and I believed he was lost.  Listening to this podcast with Bishop Barron, it sounded as though Shia believed he was lost too.  He even came close to taking his own life, but then God stepped in.  Shia took on the role of playing Padre Pio in a movie, which was astonishing.

I listened to this interview as I walked through the mall in Augusta, GA.  I thought I must look insane because I had such a huge smile on my face.  Shia was speaking my language!  He spoke of his love for the Latin Mass because the others said in English sounded as though they were trying to sell him something.  He talked about the time he spent with the Capuchin Friars in preparation for his role and the way they took him in and offered him meals and laughter.  I had also been “taken in” by the friars in New York City.  My first Thanksgiving in NYC I was all alone with nowhere to go, so I went to the friars.  There was so much joy in serving a meal to the homeless, I could not believe you could have so much with so little to offer.

Most importantly though, Bishop Barron and Shia talked about how God took Shia’s life from an ego-drama to a Theo-drama.  Shia accepted the role of Padre Pio thinking it would revive his career, but instead God created a greater plan for him.  This gave me much hope because it is exactly what God did for me.  I went to New York thinking I would get a “big break” but instead I found myself giving my life to God and saying yes to His plan while giving up mine.  Miraculously, I discovered God’s plan was going to be much better than I imagined.  God takes whatever He can and uses it for His greater good.  He did that as well with Shia, and it was truly a miracle.

Shia’s story filled me with hope. God can do anything–save lost souls and transform them into people more incredible than they would have thought possible. I am now confident that there are other people who speak my language and completely understand the word of God.

Cruelty

I find myself in the middle of the Holy Triduum.  I have always found the morning of Holy Saturday to be the most terrifying of mornings because symbolically I am completely without God as are all true Christians throughout the world.  Our Savior actually died yesterday on Good Friday, and we all stopped to watch His death.  In the wee small hours of Saturday morning, Satan can infilitrate my dream, my heart and my soul, whispering “Where is your God now?”

Satan was not as direct this year.  Instead, he slowly separated me from my heavenly Father to the point that I lost the ability to recognize myself, and I forgot who I was, a daughter of God.  This act was crueler than anything he could have done early on the morning of Holy Saturday.  His attack began back in November when I stopped attending Mass.  In all honesty, I couldn’t get to church because my ailments did not allow me to sit, stand, or walk for more than two minutes at a time, which made it impossible to even get to a church, let alone participate in a service.  Still, deep in my heart I knew I could have tried harder.  As time went by, I continued to heal; I gained the necessary strength to return to church, but I didn’t because I simply didn’t want to.  My body was physically worn out, and for some reason, every time I entered a church, I felt more exhausted and uncomfortable.  By the time Lent arrived, I knew I had to take drastic measures to get back to church.  Rather than give up something, I vowed to attend Mass every Sunday.  Through the kindness of Jesus, I was able to fulfill this commitment.  Unfortunately, the meaning of the words and the revitalization Mass usually brings were not sinking in and I continued to lack the richness of a God-fearing life.

Now, in the midst of the Triduum, I understand what a sinful creature I am.  A well-known priest spoke about the significance of the crown of thorns during the Passion of Jesus.  He made the point that all the scourging administered to Jesus made sense–it was a typical punishment for prisoners before execution, but a crown of thorns was not.  This was forced on Jesus by the sheer cruelty of the Roman soldiers and Jesus had to endure it because of the cruelty we have done and still do to each other and therefore to Him.  Back at the beginning of the book of Genesis, Satan caused us to sin, and this sin has made us become cruel and envious creatures.  I would like to be able to consider those Roman soldiers and say I could never do what they did to Jesus, but I can’t.  We all have the ability to be that cruel.  I was just a few weeks ago; I had gone through one of my worst weeks of work.  I was subject to extreme cruelty when a customer called me every bad name imaginable, and at the end of the conversation she told me to “go and eat crow” before abruptly hanging up.

I should have gone to Jesus; I should have asked Him to help me handle it but I didn’t.  My sinful nature crept out and I took my anger out on my mother!  Instead of turning the other cheek, I turned to my mother and released the venom festering inside since the beginning of November and probably even before that.  Somewhere along the way I decided to stop listening to God and chose to fall back on the lies of Satan.  They are pretty easy to fall into!

So, here I am once again, awaiting the rising of Jesus Christ from the dead, like Peter waiting to ask His forgiveness and to take me back. We can hear the story of Christ’s Passion over and over and it will always hold significance. However, when you hear the words and place yourself in the story, you see yourself as a person hurting and killing Jesus and the meaning of Easter suddenly becomes so much stronger and more important, especially since it involves the survival of our immortal souls.

Pruning Hurts

Once again, the Catholic Church has reached the point in its liturgical year called Ordinary Time. For most of my life, I have heard priests express to their congregations that we are not supposed to consider this period of time as “ordinary.” Every temporal designation in the Church year has its own meaning and reason, and as followers of the Catholic faith, we should learn and grow during each unique time. One priest related the liturgical cycles of the Church to the natural seasons of the year and the colors that correspond to each cycle worn by the priest and displayed on the altar have special significance as well. Ordinary Time is traditionally green, which spurs thoughts of spring and summer, the opportunity for new beginnings. However, in order to make these new beginnings, there must be pruning. Just like trees, plants and some flowers, we humans need pruning to help us grow.

I have no objection to being pruned, especially by God. I want nothing more than to be continuously prepared and readied for encountering the Lord in new ways. I often forget how much pruning hurts. Pruning plants requires rather intimidating implements like clippers, shears, even chainsaws when shrubs need drastic trimming. This past week I believe my pruning included the use of a chainsaw. I was asked extremely abruptly to let go of what I was not expecting. I found myself crying out to the Lord, “I am out of control! Please help me control myself!” Even as I begged, I knew my words were inappropriate, but I needed to say them. Part of the pruning process requires releasing control over my life to God. In a sense, He pulled the rug out from under me. I was swept off my feet and had no way to get up. I am still struggling to regain my balance. I am still clinging to an imaginary grip on this control I think I can maintain. Eventually I will learn how to let go. I have let go before—each time the stakes get higher, but the more I give up, the more I gain within the Lord’s providence.

This past week I was called to travel farther than I have in a long time. I traveled to a different time zone, and even though it was just an hour difference, my life was thrown into disarray. I was left truly confounded, mainly because I can’t remember being so effected by a time change. It finally occurred to me that during the time of COVID restrictions I never traveled outside my time zone. It has probably been over 2 years since I left it. As a result, I lived this past week as a morning person, which may not seem like a big deal, but I have always been a night owl. I looked forward to the night because that was also my time spent in deep contemplation with the Lord. I got all my “to do” lists completed when the sun went down, and now I am operating on a new schedule where I do not have the sacred time to spend with the Lord or to simply feel productive. Instead of resting in the Lord and believing in the process of change, I fought it every step of the way. Each passing day I fell asleep earlier than usual, telling myself “I will do better tomorrow.” Surprise, surprise—the next day was no improvement.

Despite all my frustration and determination to prevail over the will of God, every time I engaged the Lord in prayer, I heard reassurance. He is pruning me; I need to learn to allow for change that will open me up to encounters that will alter my life. In truth, with all my inner turmoil, all the extra sleep I was getting enabled me to engage in several afternoon activities that I would normally have passed up. One reason I traveled so far was to see my brother and his family. Due to COVID, I had not seen them in over 2 years. So much has changed in their lives and I have missed a lot, but I spent almost every day of last week with them and was completely present in their company. It is remarkable that although my inner self was in immense chaos, my outer self was experiencing great joy. Memories were created this week that I will cherish for a lifetime and this is only the beginning. Just as the Catholic Church is undergoing its own version of pruning and preparing itself for a new beginning, I am blessed to walk along a similar path. There is a new beginning coming. I feel it and have faith in it; I need to let go and allow a different way of life. On my own, I could never achieve this, but with Jesus Christ who strengthens me, anything is possible.

Broken Bread

This past Sunday the Catholic Church celebrated the Solemnity of the Holy Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, also known as the feast of Corpus Christi. The sacrament of the Holy Eucharist, where we receive the true body of Jesus Christ in the form of bread and consume it, is not only sacred, but sets the Catholic Church apart from other denominations of Christianity. Many Christians take communion, but it is generally considered that they are eating bread and drinking wine in a more symbolic way than actually ingesting Christ. Some denominations go as far as to say that communion is receiving the body of Christ “in, with, and under” the forms of bread and wine. However, the Catholic Church is the only one where its members can come and adore the body of Christ in an adoration chapel or in church, sometimes 24 hrs. a day, 7 days a week.

I attended one of the largest Catholic parishes in the nation on the feast of Corpus Christi this year, and unfortunately it was not the most uplifting experience. A large congregation is often not as welcoming to visitors as a smaller parish might be. This is understandable, but I still left Mass feeling somewhat irritated and resisting the feeling that going to Mass might have been a waste of time. It was not until I brought my unsettled spirit to the Lord that I was able to discover the gift I received from this experience. Believe it or not, having such a negative experience only heightened the beauty of the meaning of the Solemnity of Corpus Christi. During the homily, the priest referred to a parishioner who came to adore Jesus Christ in the Holy Eucharist every day. She once approached the priest and remarked, “I don’t know how many people realize what a gift it is to be able to visit Christ in the flesh.”

That parishioner is right; I had not grasped the significance of having the physical presence of Christ in the church constantly. I asked myself why I went to church. Not because of the priest, or his homily, or even the opportunity to commune with fellow daughters and sons of our Lord. As wonderful as those elements are, they are not the reasons that draw me back to Mass every Sunday. The reason I come is to receive Jesus Christ into my soul. When I finally recognized this, I understood it will not matter how negative an experience I might have. Going to church is never a waste of time because I will always encounter Christ.

This realization was verified as I went to receive communion that Sunday. Right before I was to receive the Eucharist, the extraordinary minister suddenly looked alarmed and without any explanation, he left his post and rushed off to the priest who was also administering Holy Communion. It quickly became apparent that they were running low on the consecrated hosts distributed during communion. The priest started attending to every line except mine and for awhile it appeared that my line had been forgotten and we might have to go without. But God never forgets; I was one of the last to receive the Eucharist, and by that time the consecrated hosts were being broken into pieces in order to accommodate all the parishioners. Of course, the size or amount of the Eucharist does not matter. The small sliver of a wafer that I received may have been more treasured in my soul than the normal, full-sized wafer I usually do.

The Church is always in danger of succumbing to human error. This was never more obvious than during that Mass, but God remained in charge. He allows error, but brings greater good out of it. Instead of getting upset that I was seemingly forgotten at the most important time in the Mass, I saw this as a blessing. Jesus physically came to me in that church, and just as He did on the cross, He gave up His body for me. In that broken bread, I received the brokenness Jesus endured through His sacrifice on the cross.

No matter what happens in this world, no matter what happens in the Church, no matter what happens in our daily lives, God will never abandon us. Jesus Christ is now and will forever be with us. This is the promise the Solemnity of the Holy Body and Blood of Christ holds for us.

A Little Bit Longer… and I’ll Be Fine

This was the title of a song composed by a well-known band of brothers, also known as the Jonas Brothers. They became popular while I was in college, right around the time I was diagnosed with Type I diabetes in the middle of my freshman year. I can still remember watching them perform on stage. The youngest of the three brothers, Nick, could play guitar and sing, but he also did some pretty spectacular stunts during the show. At the time I saw the concert, I was extremely weak and unable to even conceive of doing any activity that was physically strenuous again. The effects of diabetes having been undiagnosed for such a long period within my body had broken it down to a basic shell. I will never forget seeing Nick on that stage and thinking, “if he had diabetes he would never be able to do those stunts.”

Imagine my surprise when it was publicly announced that Nick actually had Type I diabetes! What was his secret? How could he have so much energy? The answer was revealed to me over several years by the grace of God. My diagnosis of Type I diabetes might have been the greatest learning tool God has ever blessed me with (and yes, I do mean “blessed”). I learned what living a life of suffering really meant. I woke up every single day grateful that I could draw a breath. Some days were good, but more often, each day was a struggle from beginning to end. It took a long time for me to recover after my original diagnosis, not because of the effects of diabetes, but from my severe fear of the disease. I became a recluse–all four years of college I either went to class or shut myself up at home, terrified to leave the house. Eventually, I did find motivation to get out, and each time I became stronger, but only because God provided the strength and gave me the wisdom to see His influence on my life.

The greatest and most significant moments were the times when my blood sugars fell to a dangerously low level. Most of these occurred in the dead of night. I would fade in and out of consciousness, my thoughts completely scrambled, unable to figure out what was going on. I would lose control of my body; my brain would demand movement, but my limbs would fail to comply. It makes sense that in those moments, I would simply fall into despair. If not for the presence of the Holy Spirit and some guardian angels, I would have done so. Generally speaking, an expert would claim that my recovery from the low blood sugars was due to the immense amounts of sugar my mother and father forced into me to get my blood sugar up. I know the truth, however; only Jesus Christ, my Savior, had the power to command authority over that sugar and allow it to bring my failing body back to life.

Those moments when my mind was almost lost, there was only one thought I could muster and that was of my Savior. I know there is a divine reason for that as well. Low blood sugars are perfect reminders that we do not have control over our lives, and our only hope relies on the mercy of God. I am alive today, not because of the glucose I have consumed to bolster my blood sugars, but because Jesus Christ willed me to be resurrected.

I must admit I had forgotten the strength of my Savior. It had been awhile since I had a low sugar episode until last weekend. This recent episode was nowhere near as bad as the ones in my past, but it was sufficient for me to take note of it. For the past year, I have been struggling with other health issues. My life had become consumed by intense scrutiny as to how I could fix myself. I had fallen into despair because I felt I had tried everything–everything except returning to God. He has not taken away the cross I currently carry, but has given me the strength to carry it, and when I am not strong enough, He will carry me and my cross. When He lifts me up in His everlasting arms, He whispers, “a little bit longer…and you will be fine.”

Saint Joseph

I was born on Saint Joseph’s Day, March 19, in Saint Joseph’s Hospital at 12:17 a.m. In honor of this great saint, each year the first baby born on this day is given the title of the Saint Joseph’s Day baby. I was given that honor the year I was born, and I have a silver “sippy” cup to prove it. Because of this, I have always been told that I have a special connection to Saint Joseph and unquestioningly believed it to be true. For most of my life, I felt I should be devoted to Saint Joseph. During my childhood, I liked to use my birthday for bragging rights; I was proud of my unique title. I had a small sense of being special. However, I never actually took the time to find out about my patron saint. I only prayed to him when I needed a special favor (like getting a job!). There was so much I didn’t understand about his life, and I’m embarrassed to say it took me until now to learn who Saint Joseph really is and why he is so important to the Catholic church.

For the past 33 days, I have been going through a consecration to Saint Joseph. I had done a consecration to Mary, so I assumed I knew what it would be like. Throughout this consecration, my eyes were opened to see the truth of this silent world surrounding this saint that I never knew existed. Father Calloway was the author of the book on this consecration, and he kept emphasizing the theme that this is the time of Saint Joseph. There is a reason we have not delved into the mysterious power of this saint until now. The Church has always been under attack since its foundation, but due to the severe and terrifying changes happening in the world today, it is time for our “silent weapon”, Saint Joseph, to no longer be silent.

Most Catholics are well aware of the messages relayed by Our Lady of Fatima: “The final battle between the Lord and the kingdom of Satan will be about marriage and the family.” I have heard this statement over and over again, but I did not grasp the gravity of what this battle would inflict on the world. Unfortunately, I see it clearly now, and I have seen what we have already lost. I fear for the souls who have succumbed to the lies of Satan simply because they seem so enticing. In short, Satan is playing his role of the serpent once again, luring people to eat the forbidden fruit from the tree of life. We live in a world that no longer believes in gender roles and this takes away the essence of God because God is love. In my opinion, the best stories ever told are stories of true love. Saint Joseph is central to these stories. The most noteworthy men written about in these timeless love stories could all be attributed to the model of Saint Joseph.

I have been searching, asking, begging and praying to find such a man. I never had the words for what I want this man, my future husband, to be. All I knew is that I would recognize him when I saw him. I finally understand why I was always confident of that statement. It is because I will see Saint Joseph in him. I am one day into another year of life and I don’t feel any closer to being united with this man for whom I have been praying. This birthday caused me more pain than I have ever felt before. I have to believe this pain is for a purpose. This pain must have been placed inside me by the Holy Spirit to remind me of what is truly good.

Saint Joseph was so in love with Mary that he devoted his life to protecting every part of her. He was the only person who could see her for everything she was. In order for Mary to fulfill the will of God, she needed Saint Joseph to fulfill his part, which was to be the guardian, the protector, the “terror of demons.” The only reason Saint Joseph could fulfill all these roles was because of his true love.

I need someone to see me the way Saint Joseph saw Mary. I know this kind of love exists, but it is slowly being replaced by a less committed type of love. This is why we all need Saint Joseph to inspire us; this is why I need Saint Joseph now.

What Do You Wish For?

I have been falling from grace recently. My life has not been going the way I had anticipated. To make matters worse, I have given in to the belief that depression is okay. It is “okay” to go through seasons, but they eventually have to end. I finally hit a breaking point: I could either continue to trudge down this depressing path, or I could turn to God and ask Him to save me once again.

Depression is often rooted in selfishness. My depression takes my focus off the Lord and puts it on myself and everything that happens to me, good or bad. Anger and fear enter into my every thought, and my prayers become more like a long wish list of what I want God to fix. I give in to the lie that if God grants my wishes I will feel better.

Fortunately, God does not grant wishes. If He did, the world would fall prey to chaos and despair. This depression also led me to believe the lie that I know what is best and I should take control. When I do take control, however, nothing good comes from it. God knows my heart better than I do because He made it. Everything I feel and desire was placed in me by God and He did this for a reason. Even when my gaze strays away from Him, He will never abandon me or stop making plans for me.

After Christmas, I was able to take a week off from work and go on an adventure. I got in my car and drove around some of the southern states. I sought to hear the Lord’s voice again. He revealed to me before that He speaks to me through my imagination. I needed to renew my imagination; when I am depressed I lose the ability to envision the world with God and His miracles guiding it. The night before New Year’s Eve, I found the courage to go to a movie in an actual Movie Theater. Because of COVID-19, it had been over a year since I had seen a movie in a theater. God was calling me there; He wanted to tell me something. The movie was “Wonder Woman 1984.” I wasn’t expecting much, having seen the first Wonder Woman and not been that impressed. This version was different; it had several high points and I believe it has great relevance in this pandemic time. What struck me most was the relationship Wonder Woman (Diana) had with her love interest. He had died in the previous movie, and was brought back because Diana wished for this, but his return came with a price. Throughout the movie, Diana discovers that no wish is ever granted without paying a price. She may have reunited with her true love, but it would alter her destiny. She was destined to save the world. In the end, she renounced her wish because she could not be with her love and save the world. She sacrificed her desire for love for the greater good.

I know what I would wish for if I had the same opportunity Diana did, but what would be the cost? I already know the cost because through this deep depression, I have been wishing for it every moment of every day, and the cost is my soul along with the desire placed in me by the Lord. The lies of the enemy can grow so powerful and make me forget my true love. God instilled my deepest desire to love Him and to be with Him all the time. If God were to grant my own wish for my more selfish wants, I would never see Him or feel His love.

God gave me a miracle yet again; He was able to push through my depression and reveal His truth. So now, moving forward into a new year, “I renounce my wish.” I do not want to gain the world and lose my soul.

There is Some Good in this World

I have always been a huge fan of the film trilogy, the Lord of the Rings. A statement made by Samwise Gamgee in the second movie, The Two Towers, has withstood the test of time in my heart and continues to echo in my mind. Sam says it at the end of the movie when it appears as though the enemy has won. The lead character, Frodo, has almost given up on everything and is questioning why he was called to perform an impossible task. In this hopeless moment, Sam, who is Frodo’s friend and traveling companion, rallies and speaks words that could only come from the Holy Spirit.

“It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?”…”Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going, because they were holding on to something. That there is some good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for.” Samwise Gamgee, “The Two Towers”

Today the Holy Spirit placed this quote in the forefront of my life once again. This world has undergone some severe tragedies this past year. When I woke up this morning I had no idea what trials I would be facing throughout the day. It began with trying to endure the physical pain that kept me up all night. I’d been a klutz over the weekend and fallen down the stairs in my house. I must have fallen oddly on one leg, which caused extreme pain every time I put weight on it. Then I had to visit the pharmacy to pick up a prescription, only to discover it had to be special ordered and wouldn’t be ready till the next day. These are not “end of the world” tragedies, but they were enough to rattle me and throw off my schedule. In addition, it was the Thanksgiving holiday week, which meant everyone was on the road and driving like maniacs. I came home to attempt to get some work done. My mom borrowed my car so she could run some errands. A little later, she called me, frantic, she had been in a car accident. She was focused on the fear that she had wrecked my car, but I only cared about whether she was all right. It was one of those conversations you hope you’ll never have. The rug is swept out from under you, and you realize everything has changed. My mom was fine and unharmed, and so was the person she hit. It was truly a miracle only the Lord can perform.

Once my mom was safe at home and all the dust had settled, I heard more details. Evidently, when the police arrived at the scene, they thought my mom should go to the hospital. The impact my car sustained should have caused the airbag to deploy, but it didn’t. My mother was able to walk away from the accident unscathed. In this moment, the Holy Spirit allowed me a small glimpse of the beautiful tapestry He weaves in our lives. The Holy Spirit had been preparing for this very accident for months. In the process of buying a car, I had wanted to get a small Toyota Corolla, but wound up with a Honda CRV, which is a safe car but much bigger than I intended to purchase. On the day of the accident, my dad was washing the car my mom would normally have used, their Toyota Avalon. The Holy Spirit was orchestrating all these details in order to make sure that the only car that would keep my mom safe in the accident was my CRV. If I had chosen the Toyota Corolla, or if my dad hadn’t decided to wash their car that day, I might not have my mother alive and well.

To add to the miracle, the police showed true mercy to my mother. She should have received a ticket for causing the accident, but when the officer saw all the trauma my mother had experienced and that the damage to my car was much greater than the other driver’s, he just issued her a warning. This came as a great surprise to me. I have become rather cynical and lost hope that people can be kind in times of stress. Not only was the police officer compassionate, but several other bystanders also offered support to my mother after the accident.

To be completely honest, I have been struggling to find hope lately, and to maintain a light-hearted spirit. There seems to be little to believe in these days, but after this incident, I feel renewed. There is some good in this world, and it is worth fighting for!

Here I Am, Lord

HERE I AM, LORD (lyrics by Dan Schutte)

I, the Lord of sea and sky

I have heard my people cry.

All who dwell in dark and sin

My hand will save.

I who made the stars of night

I will make their darkness bright

Who will bear my light to them?

Whom shall I send?

Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord?

I have heard you calling in the night.

I will go, Lord, if you lead me.

I will hold your people in my heart.

“Here I am Lord!” I said. I have sung this song since childhood. It has been one of my favorite hymns mainly because I always felt as though I could be saying those exact words to God. Ever since I can remember, this has been one of my deepest desires, to be called by name by God to do His will. Although I truly believe I have been carrying out the Lord’s will for some time, I don’t think I have experienced a situation that was so focused and so clearly the evidence of His divine providence until this past weekend.
I was invited to visit some friends who were staying in Boston. They are actually old friends who live in Colorado and I met them while we all lived there. They come to Boston fairly often on business trips. Now that I moved to Connecticut, I could easily drive to Boston to meet them so I eagerly accepted their invitation. I had not seen them in over a year. In arranging the details of the meeting, several choices arose which would determine how the visit would proceed, and based on these simple decisions, I found myself actively answering the Lord’s call without being aware of it. I was only aware that my answers to the possibilities were different than they would have been without the Holy Spirit dictating what they should be.
First, I was presented with the question of whether to stay with my friends or in my own hotel room. Given my personal preference, I would stay in my own room because I like having privacy. However, the Spirit prompted me to accept my friends’ invitation to stay with them; I somehow felt it was the right thing to do. On arriving in Boston, I received a text from my friends asking me to join them for dinner. I was very hungry after a long, hard drive and was just about to grab dinner when I saw this text. For some reason, I once again altered my plans and followed my inner motivation to go outside my comfort zone to spend more time with these friends. We would meet at the hotel and walk over to the restaurant together. I wound up having to wait quite awhile for them to arrive and was becoming slightly irritated. When I finally saw them, their demeanor was not what I expected. As I got closer, it became clear they were all crying. One in particular was shaking and unable to speak; she was having a panic attack. I suddenly went into panic mode myself–what happened to cause this sheer terror in my friend? Her husband, also in tears, was finally able to tell me that her cousin had passed away and it was a shock.
The family was obviously going through a crisis, so I began looking for ways to excuse myself from the situation. I have never been good at dealing with crises, and often felt more “in the way” than helpful. I did not want to be a burden to my friends, so I suggested it might be better for me to find my own room for the night. It was at this moment God called me. I could see His intent through the eyes of my friend’s husband as he humbly asked, “Would you mind watching our daughter?” My friend was still shaking, and her husband needed to comfort her, but he could not take care of her and their young daughter at the same time.
God’s divine plan and His will has never been so obvious to me before in my entire life. It was the first time I ever felt as though I was truly living the words of that favorite song. Whom shall the Lord send? Send me, Lord! And it was He who led me. If I had not said yes to the invitation to stay with my friends, or if I had not said yes to their dinner invitation, I would not have been waiting in the hotel lobby at the exact moment they needed help. I have never been so honored or so humbled to be chosen by the Lord, especially with the task He asked me to perform. He asked me not only to watch over my friend’s child, but His own child as well. This is not a task I would normally consider; childcare does not come naturally to me. The Lord is changing my heart and soul; He is asking me to embrace new challenges. In all honesty, I was not equipped to take care of my friend’s daughter; I was extremely tired and my blood sugars were rather low because I had not eaten, but I said yes to that request anyway. Through that yes, the Holy Spirit was allowed to take control, acting through me to make sure my friend’s child was cared for till my friend regained her composure.
After the initial shock wore off, and we ate some food (which I also went out to purchase), we were able to think through everything a bit better. The rest of the weekend was filled with good conversation and some sight-seeing, but most of all, with love. Our friendship is now much stronger after weathering these circumstances. I will continue to ask the Lord to send me wherever He wants me to go. He just needs to lead me, and after this past weekend, I have complete trust that He will.