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Mediocre Soul Squeaks into Heaven

That’s what I would prefer to be. Truthfully – can I do a little more than the average “good” Catholic and slip into the gates, maybe with a crowd of people, or slide in a side door? I don’t need a big fanfare of welcome. Part of me wants my life to be relatively easy and uneventful. Not too good so I forget God, but not too bad that I really suffer.
That’s pretty lazy. God wants much more than mediocrity from us. I must admit, I sometimes would rather just sit and watch the show of life. I don’t want to join in a la Joan of Arc, banners blazing, suit of armor gleaming… I’m much more of a quiet soul who, while not quite quiet, is more introspective in my path to sanctification.
Recently I have been barraged with demonic temptations. I have been blessed by a priest, gone to confession, blessed again, cried, tried, kept myself busy, asked for prayers, tried to read, tried to pray, tried to do everything to keep me away from my own head… and it’s a struggle. I actually gave in to some sinful thinking just to be left alone in peace because I was mentally tired. I’ve done it more than once. And truthfully, the peace came but at great price. I was left alone by the imagery, the voices, (I’m not crazy…) and the temptations lurking everywhere, but it was replaced with a feeling of floating away from the safety of the spaceship with my spacesuit tether just severed. That feeling of fear and doom loomed in my chest and I was filled with another kind of sorrow – one in my heart instead of my head. So I asked God for guidance, and as He does, he provided me with respite. My parish priest called me to ask if I could help with something and when I hesitated, he immediately asked if I was alright. I took that as my sign from God. Yes, of course he could meet me for confession first thing in the morning.
I word vomited in the confessional. Things came up I hadn’t thought of in years. YEARS. I was alarmed by everything I said. I also knew this wouldn’t be the last time this would happen and I knew I’d be attacked again. Really, I’d rather just live life simply without any of this. I’d rather just live contemplatively in the presence of Our Lord. But I suppose that isn’t how we achieve holiness.
After a few days, the cycle started again. Again I tried to keep busy, tried to fill my head with other things and just really struggled. Confession, Communion, prayer… all very disorganized and haphazard.
Fr. Chad Ripperger has a talk on combatting the devil in a spiritual attack. It’s about an hour long and the first 30 minutes had me nearly slumped over in defeated realization like when you’re the general of the army, you just see all your legions slowly being beaten by the enemy, and there is nothing you can do. I was surprised by own feelings of discouragement. The purpose of these allowed attacks is to strengthen us. We can’t grow strong without lifting heavy burdens. I know this on a level of intellect, but really would rather, as I said, to squeak into heaven. Lazy me. The one part that really struck me, though, was that the devil preys on fear. When he shows you something, tempts you with something, gives you that idea, and you (I mean I) panic and try to fill your head with stuff, business, and any human thing that you can think of, he knows you’re scared and he’s all over that. When our minds are full of stuff that isn’t fruitful, stuff that isn’t helpful, stuff that isn’t of God, how easy it is to be and feel stressed and flustered. Then we get tired and do what I did – we give in to try to get a break from the mental burden of it all.
So after hearing that fear fuels this fire, I immediately knew I was falling right into that trap. The more I thought about it the more I prayed for strength, for endurance, humility, and for the willingness to suffer. (Fr. Ripperger’s suggestions – not mine.) And the more I asked for this, the more I felt like I was standing proverbially tall, backing up to a standing Christ immediately behind me. I could raise my head, stare temptation in the face and say, “I’m not afraid of you.” I felt Christ behind me. I could run and hide in his wounds. I could feel the warmth of His body, His holy breath. And you know what? That demon stood still. For a few days I basked in the glory of Christ, knowing through Him and only Him, could I ever be brave enough to not be afraid of my own head. After a few more days, I was able to even say, “Do your worst.” I wanted to shake in fear at saying that out loud. And I did a bit. I’m often afraid of my own prayers and I regularly give poor God instructions on how I want Him to answer my prayers. (I call it being specific. Anyway.) But I did shake a bit as I said it, and then the power of Christ behind me gave me strength, as I had asked and I was able to say to that demon – “Yes. Your worst is no match for God, who is my strength.”
I really thought the demon would snarl and scowl, or be angry or have any sort of Hollywood style disgusting response, but he didn’t. He just kind of slunk over in mild defeat and maybe a little bit of disappointed admiration. Kind of like when someone beats you at a game and you’re disappointed you lost, but admire their skill. They finally found your achilles heel. It was weird. For a moment I felt sorry for him. He can’t win. He can’t lose. It’s all a lose lose battle. Even in the devil’s win, he loses. And that means there is only God’s great victory. God is and will be victorious. There is much to unpack there. Christ is victorious! Even today. He was, and is, and will forever be.
So empty your head of all that nonsense you’re trying to fill it with to keep you busy, to keep your eyes focused on God. Don’t be lazy. Empty it all out so that only God can fill it back up again. Because you can’t save yourself from any of this. Only by releasing all of your own human attempts and being empty, can any of us be filled with God. And it is only through Him filling us that we can stand firm and say, “I am not afraid of you.”

The Light in the Eucharist

At my parish is once a week from 10am until 7pm, Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament is available.

A few weeks ago I sat in the pew, and the Host from the simple monstrance glowed. It was a golden light, perhaps a reflection of the window, perhaps a perfectly situated trick of the light, but I didn’t move. I didn’t shift. I stared at the holy and blessed Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Our Lord, glowing a golden sun light. It radiated from the center. From the Host itself and perfectly lit the golden sun of the monstrance. It looked as though the Host was the source of the light and not the window. Not the candles on the altar behind it. Not the lights which were dim overhead. The source of light, which forces all darkness to yield, shone forth from the Bread of Life.

Are we called to compassion?

Are we called to compassion? Of course we are.
But let’s say someone does something horrific. A crime that is not even socially acceptable that lands them in jail forever. Let’s say this crime was committed against you. Or worse, someone innocent that you love.
Are we called to compassion for this sinner? We are all sinners, but this one seems bigger. Seems more serious.
It makes sense to want justice. Blessed are they who thirst for justice, they will be satisfied. And in the end, God’s perfect justice will be fair and we will all love His perfect justice.
But do we want this person to repent? Do we hope for a deathbed (or earlier!) conversion? For a receiving of the Sacraments before they can’t anymore? Do we hope that they see the error of their sin, tell God how sorry they are, and be forgiven?
The prodigal son has always been difficult for me. The son at home was faithful the whole time. He didn’t get to party and have a grand ol’ time! And in the end his reward was the same as the son who frittered away his life. And the father rejoiced at his return. I feel like the faithful son. Here I am doing what I’m supposed to be doing (I try to, anyway) and I wonder why our Father is thrilled to see that son come back. But I think I am supposed to be happy too. Maybe that wayward son hurt me. Maybe I don’t think he’s worthy. But neither am I. We are, none of us, worthy. But we are called to want that conversion. Want that mercy. Want that person to return. We should watch for our wayward brother to return, sinful and sorrowful. We should rejoice!
We should never cut them off from the opportunity to repent. God’s justice is perfect. That son will need to repay his debt. He will need to work hard. But God’s mercy of him doesn’t remove the mercy from us. Love is knowing, wanting, and doing the good of & to others. And we are all called to love.

This cross is too heavy.

I stood in the shower crying. No, sobbing. Ugly crying even. I cried out to God again. I had prayed and prayed for him to send me relief. I prayed novena after novena. Saint hopping even. And still the Lord was silent. I had not received any hope.
For months I had been looking for a job. We were living on savings and though we had some time before we ran out, we were eventually going to run out. I had zero prospects and everything seemed hopeless. We had been here before. Laid off and unemployed; pregnant and unemployable. (Illegal as that may be, it’s a reality.) I didn’t handle the first time very well and still God saw us through. This time I had much more peace but sometimes had these breakdowns; mostly in solitude.
So I asked God why. Why this cross? Feeding my children and keeping a roof over our heads are the most basic earthly needs! Why this cross? God – this one is too heavy. It’s too hard! This cross is unfair. I asked God why He chose this one for me and why it continued to be a problem. I kept asking, “Why?” I was maybe a tad demanding. “Tell me why?!?”
So God showed me.
I saw another person’s marriage – someone I don’t know. Two people living in fear of each other and in constant pain. I saw their belittling, their rage, their pettiness. I saw their union crumbling. So much fear and anguish. It was awful! Then I saw another family. A mother crying over her sick child, who would inevitably die. I saw her grief. Her husband’s grief. Her other children’s fear. They were all so sad. So upset. In so much pain.
I felt these two scenarios deeply. I’m not a very empathetic person so this was huge for me. But their pain was sharply felt deep in my heart and I didn’t like it.
“Thank you, God!” I said. I proverbially fell to my knees in thanksgiving. My cross I could handle. My cross was doable! My cross was carefully selected by God just for me!! I was so very grateful for my cross. My tears of fear turned to tears of joy. I kept saying thank you. Thank you! Thank you God, for this cross.
A few days later I saw the meme, “Noah had faith but he still had to build the ark.” So I started to fill my days with applications. Following leads, reaching out to anyone who would listen. Networking. I had 16 interviews in the weeks that followed and no offers, but that’s 16 more than I had when I was sobbing in the shower. God did give me hope. He held out his hand and said, “This cross is just for you. But I will be here every step of the way.”

I will do your penance for you.

A couple of months ago I gave birth to my 7th child. She is a gorgeous baby with dark hair and curls and I recognized her as soon as the doctor held her up for me to see. This was my child.
As the days of having a newborn arrived, so did the lack of sleep, frustration with feeding, and the other family members getting used to a new addition. Everyone was tired. In our house, the saying, “If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy” takes on a different meaning. It doesn’t mean everyone around me has to keep me happy, though that’d be nice. It means I must always take on a demeanor of patience and kindness; otherwise everyone suffers. It falls to me to keep the heart of the family positive and cheerful. I appreciate this task as it keeps me in check when I’d rather be grumpy. (I fail at this task often, but I try to renew the effort daily as well.)
Postpartum depression started to settle in. With the lack of sleep and the ever exhausting needs of the other family members, I started to go into dark places. I am no expert, but I believe PPD manifests itself in different ways. This is how it manifested for me.
I knew I was starting to feel sad. I wanted the dark. I wanted to be alone. I didn’t crave the arms of my children around my neck. In fact, I wanted them to not touch me. (Moms often get touched out, but I was very aggravated by it.) My body recovering from pregnancy and childbirth was a sore subject for me and my husband was not the source of joy or comfort that he usually is. I began to think about how terrible of a mother I am and instead of moving on to what I could do to be better, my mind kept descending down the staircase of self deprecation. I yelled at a child for disobeying. How could I be so callous? I shouted at my pre-teen daughter for (AGAIN!) not doing her chores. How could I be so misunderstanding? I was short with my husband. (Ok, here I admit I thought HE might be the one misunderstanding, but I know I am wrong.) I even went so far as to think my children would be better off without me. We have a .22 in the garage. I could go out back. It would be quick. Maybe the razor in the shower would be better. Praise the Lord that I also kept thinking, “No one would understand.” My son, Grant, is four and he loves his Mommy. He is always trying to crawl into my pocket wanting to be close and snuggling. He would miss me. I kept saying, “Grant wouldn’t understand.” And so I stayed in bed, in my dark place, knowing that this was not normal and I needed help.
I had gone to confession during this time and cried during it. I knew my mind wasn’t in the right place, but I also knew I had enough self control to expect myself to respond to all of these circumstances as I know I was called to. The Reverend Father listened to my sobbing confession and asked me to stay after for some prayers. He took the time to give me a blessing. He even pulled over a kneeler for me to kneel on in front of the Tabernacle.
A month later, my suicidal thoughts had ceased (thanks to seeing my doctor and taking medication) but I still felt like I was short with the kids. I was short with my husband. My temper flared. My anxiety peaked. And my fear took hold of me. You see, I was also searching for a job, being under or unemployed for months. I had moments of fear and grief that were consuming me and I sought quiet places to cry. To pray. To shake in rage. But mostly fear. What if we lose our house? What if the children go hungry? I prayed and prayed for God to show me.
Again I found myself in confession sobbing. I hate crying in front of others. It’s the ultimate humility for me. I might have told the priest that. He was kind and understanding, as always. As I looked at the aging screen through my tears, I poured out all the ways sin had manifested in me during this trial. It’s not pretty. I don’t even think I got specific. But in my brokenness, I again knew I needed help. This time I need God’s help and I craved His grace.
“I’m sorry for these sins and all of the sins of my past life.” I choked it out relieved I could stop talking now. He gave me some advice of allowing medication to help for a time and seeing it as a gift from God. He gave other advice on how to continue on but when it came time for my penance he paused. He sighed deeply and said, “You know what? I’m going to do your penance for you.” I argued with him saying that wasn’t necessary. I know how busy he is and he has much on his mind. I can certainly do my own penance. He insisted and asked for my intentions. He gave me absolution and promised to pray for me.
I can’t express in words how much this act of kindness and mercy impacted me. Never before have I felt so understood by God. Never before have I ever seen God in this type of action. This priest had taken on my sorrow, my grief, my pain. He listened and understood. He took my cross from me, recognizing that I needed help. Because I had some extra time after confession, I asked him what I could pray for. I wasn’t doing my standard three Hail Mary’s, so what could I pray for on his behalf? His answer? A selfless request to pray for courageous priests. And so I did. And I continue to pray for courageous priests in all of my prayers and intentions. I do so because this man, who was in persona Christi did exactly what Christ did for us. He took that cross up that hill and died on it.