On Waiting

I wrote this last night, but I’m just now publishing it tonight.

Something my pastor said recently in one of his homilies made me think. He was talking about waiting — how we are always waiting for something.

He spoke of the idea about how most of our lives are lived in the between times. Well, I call it patience. Isn’t it patience, or the lack thereof, which drives our souls to meddle in a different space or value of waiting? Whatever you call it, doesn’t seem to matter as much as the description of the feeling you get while waiting, I think. He said instead of getting anxious, we could try to see the person or people who are making us wait — see them with different eyes. We can see their troubles and their fears. Maybe their son just committed suicide. Or their wife is sick in the hospital. Maybe they have a sibling who is sick, they can’t pay their bills, etc., etc.

Whatever the reason, the choice is ours, whether we get anxious and impatient, or whether we can look upon our neighbor with love in our hearts. So I began to reevaluate my emotions because I often feel anxious and antsy when I have to wait. I tried looking through these different lenses when I went to the grocery store. I watched people while I waited. And I imagined their sorrows, even their challenges. I was happy the cashier was there working to serve me. And I thanked God, privately, for her service.

Yesterday was New Year’s Day. And I went to a friends house for dinner. I prepared most of the dinner, but she bought a frozen lasagna. And then texted me when she overcooked it. I was a little annoyed. I thought in my head, “Can’t you do anything right?” Then I remembered the plan. What were her fears that day? Maybe she had family issues I didn’t know about. Then I also remembered we are all Gods children. And I gave myself permission to forgive myself too. And that felt nice.

I went to Confession on Saturday evening. I was anxious about it. I said to the priest. “Father, you know the drill. Do I have to say it?” He shook his head yes. So I said it, but it was hard. Harder than usual. He told me to pray the rosary because it was the Solemnity of the Blessed Virgin. Then, something important happened. On my way out, he said don’t beat yourself up over it. And I looked at him. He was sitting there looking up at me with a strong look in his eyes, and he said, “God loves you.” And in that moment, I remembered what I came for. I came to be forgiven. I believe God prompted him to say those words because I needed to hear them. It was definitely a God moment, that moment when you know, you just know something extraordinary is taking place. Had I forgotten that God loves me? Maybe I had.

On the way home, I stopped at a Christmas light display to take a picture. I was praying the rosary and I began to weep. I think the weeping was part of my penance. It’s a strange phenomenon. It didn’t last long, really. Maybe a minute — just long enough to know that I was in God’s presence. It’s always a warm beautiful feeling when God shows us his presence. For me, it doesn’t happen often. But I love it when it does.

God bless you.

Goodnight

Into the wilderness

It occurred to me that I have been in the wilderness now, for more than a month. I began my journey on May 15th, 2021, as a consequence of disobedience to the laws and commandments. The frightening thing is, I had not even realized what I was doing until it was, painfully, too late.

The beginning of my journey was scary, but much more so, it was heartbreaking and lonely. Until, that is, I came to the realization that it was also peaceful. God was not only drawing me into his bosom — where I found comfort in the silence — but even more so, a strangely prominent feeling of clarity.

As I began to journey deeper, I not only understood my transgressions, but also my acquiescence of self-knowledge, self-doubt and even an understanding of others’ selfsame flaws and difficulties.

At first it was a struggle to achieve some semblance of escape from my confusion. My confusion, which I believe hindered my growth, stemmed from blaming others instead of examining myself. But I now see that God left me with those confusing thoughts to assist me in my wanderlust. Not that He wanted to confuse me, but more that he wanted to show me the right path forward. Once I was able to see both sides of the confusion (better stated as the story) I was also more aware that even in my brokenness, I wasn’t fully to blame. We all have brokenness. We all have irrational, selfish intentions brought about by the evil one, and it is up to us to seek out God’s wisdom and direction beforehand in order to persevere along this spiritual path.

Only now am I discovering that I sound like a child who is learning some of the many elementary truths about God, about sin and about life. But I also think it is important to express confidence in my convictions, along the way. Otherwise, what good is the growth?

Why the wilderness?

Please allow me to begin by giving you my personal favorite definition of the wilderness:

“The theological meaning of the wilderness theme ‘is unusually rich,’ with proposed themes ranging from positive divine discipline, to proof of God’s providential care, and the devotion, or lack thereof, returned to him by his chosen people. Cardinal Ratzinger once asserted that the only goal of the Exodus from Egypt is that of worshiping God according to God’s own specifications: Even the land is promised only so that the people would be free to worship, and the law represents an interior or spiritual land without which the physical land would hold no meaning.

“Another theologian points to the development of a relationship between God and his people, the key to which is the development of trust through communication that is facilitated by the solitude and isolation of the desert. The New Testament offers much support for the latter meaning, as the word used for “desert” can also refer to an abandoned or thinly populated area—one sought out by Jesus and disturbed by the tempter, for example—and the New Testament tends to interpret the Old Testament wilderness experiences as times of grace and closeness to God marked by disobedience. Indeed, the wilderness seems to have everything to do with relationship and, I would argue, that worship and the law have just as much to do with relationship and building trust. “ Juliana Weber

My backstory:

I began listening to the “Bible in a year” podcast, with Father Mike Schmitz, in April, or May, after someone sent me the link. I started on Day 128, which meant that I missed 127 days of the podcast. (He started Day #1 on January 1st). As we moved forward, I realized that I was not comfortable, nor was I willing to be trailing along in this very unusual retreat. So, I went back to the beginning and began listening from the start. I knew I would never catch up, and my heart was yearning for more. So, I started at the beginning and downloaded five episodes a day, and added the newly acquired episode to the mix. In essence, I was listening and hearing the Word for approximately an hour-to-two hours per day.

It was only yesterday that I took a little hiatus from my daily routine. I have been mostly skipping daily Mass now for about a month. Yesterday, the Lord literally led me into the wilderness. I took my podacast with me and drove straight in. And this little hiatus is what prompted me to write this blog entry today.

While listening to Exodus, Leviticus, Deuteronomy and other books, it became clear to me that we are all called into the wilderness at some point during our lives — some earlier than others, and some longer than others. I never realized before how many times I had been called, by God, into the wilderness. I know this now, but it is my first clear revelation of this phenomenon.

Meniere’s makes a comeback

This wicked disease has had me down and out these past few days. Ugh, I could hardly lift a finger. I’ve been, for the better part of these days, in bed. The good news is, I’ve slept — a lot — I’ve rested and reflected — a lot. And, there, too, lies my consciousness of guilt.

One saving grace, is the fact that I’m a lector at my church on Mondays and Thursdays. So, even if I’m failing to find a decent footing on the ground (literally) I’m still getting out of bed and making my way to the ambo, to give God’s word to the people of His church. It’s what I do. I can’t help it. It’s part of me now. It has been for a relatively long time. It’s my favorite and first ministry. God called me to this ministry in 2008, and here I am, 13 years later, using the Apostolic Action within my soul to work for Him.

In all this, however, I’ve still got to pray, reflect and listen to God speak to me, in silence. Some days are more successful than others.

Yesterday was Monday. And, though I feel like a failure when it comes to contemplation, I know now, when I’m being moved by the Spirit. I was blessed yesterday, when (an hour and a half before Mass) I found myself in the Adoration Chapel, praying like a poor lost soul. I was recently taught (also through the power of the Holy Spirit) that tears are a form of consolation. Thank you, Father, for the tears. You graced me, even though I did not deserve to be graced.

While trying to meditate and contemplate in the Chapel, I found myself so distracted that I couldn’t pray. I happened to have the book, “Divine Intimacy” with me, and I pulled it out. Opening the book to page 239 (or #84), I read the title, The Divine Seed.

I couldn’t read in my head, so I began to read aloud.

Presence of God — O Lord, I am here before You. Grant that my heart may be the good ground, ready to receive your divine word. (And I began to weep).

“Today Jesus, the divine Sower, comes to scatter the good seed in His vineyard, the Church. He wishes to prepare our souls for a new blossoming of grace and virtue.” The reading continues, but as I read, I could feel and hear the desperation in my own voice, knowing that something was about to be revealed in my heart.

I had always read the story of the Sower but never was able to see, in myself, which “ground” was I. But, in the second paragraph, these words stood out to me. “Then why does the seed not always bring forth the desired fruit? Because very often the ground which receives it does not have the requisite qualities.” I felt the truth in these words. Never had I ever had the requisite qualities. I was always way too lukewarm, way too disobedient, and way too self-disposed to have any of the requisite qualities.

The reading goes onto stake out the path of the Gospel Luke: 8, 4-15 which mentions the “…four categories of people who receive the seed of the divine word in different ways.” The hard ground. Yes, I’ve been there — the stony ground, the ground covered with thorns and the good ground.

In the paragraph about the stony ground, the text made it quite clear to me that I’ve been the stony ground — superficial souls with only a shallow layer of good earth. I continued to read aloud, while weeping, all the while, knowing this was me, and knowing how I’ve sinned throughout my life, while thinking how good am I.

The good earth, which was only a thin layer traversing the byways of my life, was always being “rapidly blown away, along with the good seed, by the winds of passion.” Oh, how I wish I could go back and correct this childish immaturity. Lord God, please forgive me of my transgressions, so I may someday come to know you better and align myself perfectly with your will. I ask this, in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Ordinary or Extraordinary

“It takes the extraordinary to make the ordinary.”

This morning, I woke up to the above quote. I put quotes around it because I’m convinced that someone said it, at least they said it to me, as i was waking up. Surely it didn’t come from my own psyche. And, if it did, I have no idea what it means.

So, since I’m the person who has to know and understand as much as possible in this life, I went on a hunting expedition. I looked it up on Google. I wanted to see who said it? Needless to say, I didn’t find anything with those exact words. Nobody ever said, “It takes the extraordinary to make the ordinary.” Therefore, I had no idea why I heard those words upon my morning awakening.

The fact that it caught my attention, and I remembered it, is saying something too. I normally don’t pay too much attention to my first thoughts in the morning. Today, I did. I felt the touch of the Master’s hand on my forehead (rhetorically speaking, of course). I did not feel any touch today. I didn’t feel a presence of God. It was merely a feeling, or rather, a hunch that maybe God was trying to tell me something. Of what — I do not know.

Maybe God is speaking to me, now, in parables? I about go crazy with research when I want to find out something. At. least that’s how it was in the past. In these days, I show an interest, and do a little research. And, if I do not find anything, well then, onward I go.

Help me, Lord, to discern right thinking and right thought…

Amen.

Give thanks in thought, word and feeling…

I remember the first time I felt the Holy Spirit in my heart during Thanksgiving dinner. It was in 2018, a mere 7 months after my second conversion, which occurred on Divine Mercy Sunday. It wasn’t like any ordinary Thanksgiving.

I’ll call this eggs benedictine, which I had this afternoon for brunch. It is asparagus, bread stuffing, two poached eggs and white sauce. Thank you, Father for this beautiful day, these gifts that only you offer to us through the earth and all its goodness. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.

Amazingly, even after 7 months, I was still full of the Holy Spirit in thought, word, deed and emotion. And, the feelings of fervor were strong within me.

I wrote about all those experiences (on and earlier blog: smarieack@livejournal.com) but those blog entries were sort-of-like newsworthy accounts of what happened to me. I may have touched on feelings and emotions at the time, but it was merely coincidental.

Here I wish to communicate the actual feelings, if I may, and show how these teachings of the Holy Spirit accompany them.

It was early in my second conversion, maybe a month or two later, when I first realized that the Holy Spirit was *visiting me* and would be my personal guide and teacher. I was struggling with some strong negative nameless issues and wondering how I would ever overcome them. Little did I realize God was listening to me and hearing my undirected prayer. He answered me. It wasn’t an answer in words; it was more like a prompting, or a vision. I performed an action and immediately, I saw a blue laser light in my mind’s eye. In case you’re just joining me, I’ve written about the lights in separate blog entry here: https://smarieack.livejournal.com/7133.html .

During this particular visit, I understood that the Holy Spirit was speaking to me in a wordless message, a message that I understood as “Everything is ok. Everything is good. You are my student and I will show you the way.”

And, he did. From that point on, whenever there was some specific learning experience in a book I was reading, or in an action I was performing, I seemed to receive a message (or a prompting) that it was right, just and good. I remember feeling in awe — always in awe — of the revelation. It was always a surprise to me, and I always thanked him without measure.

On Thanksgiving day, in 2018, I happened to be having dinner alone at a nearby Cracker Barrel. The place was packed. The wait was way over an hour, but I had nothing else planned and no where to be. I sat in one of the rockers outside, waiting for my turn. As faith would have it, I was calm, content and mildly curious about what was going on around me. There were families, lots of families, and friends and relatives standing around, waiting for their turns. I remember wondering about them, and watching mildly as they each, in turn, left my line of sight.

Then, my name was called and I too entered the doors into yet another little world. The waitress brought me to my seat, where I was surrounded by more families. I was very happy that day to just be alone with God. When my biscuits arrived, I said my grace and tasted the first bite. The taste in my mouth was upwards of heavenly. It was truly not a taste of worldly pleasure. It was otherworldly, almost extraterrestrial. I remember looking up, and saying, “Thank you, Father, for this gift.” It was unlike me.

I was over-the-top thankful, and extremely happy to be exactly where I was in that moment.

Today, it’s a rare thing for me to not say grace. I do it almost always. I may not have that celestial feeling like I did on Thanksgiving Day, 2018, but I thank Him every day. I give Him praise. Sometimes, I even hold my plate up in the air, like a priest does at the Eucharist. God is always with us. He should be thanked. He gave us everything. We are His servants and He will never leave us.

God Bless you.

Peace!

Personal Letter to Jesus

My confessor told me to write to you, Teacher, to make it personal and pleasing to Your eyes. I knew not what to say. He gave me some suggestions, such as what happened to my car recently. I’ll start there.

The Highway Maneuver:

On Monday, I was headed to Ocala, after pulling out of a gas station in Gainesville. I couldn’t have been on the road more than 20 minutes, when just like that, my engine froze. I was in the fast lane, cruising about 70 mph. But, the odometer gradually dropped at a steady pace. I put my foot to the pedal, but nothing happened. While looking in the rear view mirror, I realized I’d better get off the road. Thank you, Father, for making this an easy transition.

This is where I was stuck, on I-75, for about two hours on Monday. Pretty sky, but not really a great place to land.

Moving from one lane to the next wasn’t hard — It was easy and smooth. I saw some guardrails up ahead and got a little concerned. Should I jam on my breaks and pull over now, or just pull off next to the guardrails. I opted for the guardrails, hoping that maybe I could clear them. Lo and behold, You made it so. Thank you, Master. Your works are merciful and sweet to my existence.

The stop, call, worry and reward:

Once safely on the side of the road, I called my friend to let her know I probably wouldn’t be able to make it, as I my car just died. She was worried, and I had to assure her I was safe and all would be well. After our 15-minute conversation, we hung up, and I called AAA Roadside assistance. That was an ordeal because of Covid, among other things, such as my recently lapsed policy, and the dispatcher not being able to locate my exact coordinates. Thank you, Teacher, for giving me the wherewithal to use my GPS to help him find me. Your wisdom is unsurpassable and sacred, and I praise You with all my heart.

The Wait:

If you, the reader, have ever had to use Roadside Assistance, you know how long the wait is. I don’t think I’ve ever waited less than an hour. After speaking with Frank and getting the ticket in motion, it was all just a matter of time. The sky was crystal clear, but the inside of my car was hot. So, I got out. After walking to the other side of the car with my rapidly depleting phone battery, I quickly took a picture of where I was and posted it on Facebook.

It was a beautiful day. There was not a cloud in the sky. There’s an old sportsman’s saying that goes like this: The bluebirds like to come out an play when there are no clouds in the sky. And, so they call it a bluebird day. Thank you, Jesus for making my day so glorious.

The ride/not ride:

Since Covid changed everything, AAA no longer allows members to ride in the truck anymore. But, the driver was nice enough to drop me off at the nearest truck-stop. I saw some shady characters hanging around and decided not to wait in the front. I walked to the shaded side of the building, where a ramp makes its way from the door to the side. No sooner had I parked myself up against the building and pulled out my phone, when I saw a shadow walking down the ramp.

It startled me, but there he was — Lindburgh, 88 — a big brawny man wearing a stark white t-shirt — came into view. He looked at me and instinctively knew, I guess. He asked why I was there. I pointed to the AAA truck pulling out of the parking lot and said, “There goes my car.” He offered me a ride to Gainesville in his sleek Dodge Charger, and I accepted. Thank you, Rabbi, for putting the right person in my path and the exact right moment. Your gifts do not go unnoticed. I praise you, O Lord, and I thank you.

The end result:

The next morning, I talked to my serviceman, Dave, who informed me that my engine froze. “Ugh,” I thought. “I guess I need a new car.” Not so fast though, the Lord whispered. Dave followed up by saying, “The good news is, it’s covered under warranty.” The KIA dealership later informed me that some models had trouble with their engines, so they just decided to give a lifetime warranty. Yeshua, thank you! You made my day. Praise God! “Take Lord, receive all my liberties, my memory, my understanding and my will. Your love and your grace are enough for me.” (Saint Ignatius Loyola)

Your loving servant.

Moi

God is love…

I must be overly sensitive. Less than two weeks ago, I had cataract surgery. When the doc scraped out the old lenses on the outsides of my eyes with a laser, it left scar tissue. And, now I have crescent-moon-shaped obstructions on the periphery of both eyes. He tells me they will probably go away in about 8 weeks. But still. Not everyone gets it. He says it’s a phenomena of over-sensitivity.

This photo of, a North Central Florida sunset, was taken earlier this year. SA

Yesterday was election day, November 3, 2020. My day consisted of noon Mass at Saint Augustine Catholic Church and Student Center, adoration right after and a Radiology visit at Shands Hospital, for an MRI brain scan. My surgeon wanted to check for tumors in my inner ears. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.

During adoration, however, I was able to go deep into prayer, which for-the-most-part has been hard to come by, in these recent past few months. I prayed for my sisters and brothers all over the world and for the salvation of sinners. I prayed for myself and felt a deep soulful sadness for my past sins. And, I cried. It was getting close to my appointment time. So, I gathered my thoughts and left.

When I got to the Radiology Department, I was met by a young, female tech. She took me back, and this is what happened: First, two young, sweet female techs stripped me of all my clothes, shoes, hearing aids and jewelry, right down to my scapular medal. They put an I-V into my vein to inject dye while being scanned. They said it would go in, at about the halfway point. And, yes I felt it, in my arm and in my neck. And, yes. In the end, I was dizzy when they tried to help me up, thanks to the I-V shot-full-of-dye into my brain.

They asked if I had any last words. lol. I said, “Well, it’s election day, so I’ll always remember it.” Then, they placed me on a tiny, hard, fiberglass bed with a hard plastic box for my head. They handed me foam earplugs and fitted me with earphones. (You know … the kind singers use when recording songs in a studio). Picture my head inside a hard plastic box with these huge earphones on. It was an extremely tight fit. I had to keep getting up to reposition them to alleviate the painful pressure on my ears. It didn’t work. And, since it never did, I just went with it. I couldn’t fathom staying there a minute longer than necessary.

Next, they put cloth over my eyes and fitted me with what-they-called a helmet. It was really a hard, plastic face-mask that went from the top of my scull to below my chin. And, it was less than a half-inch from my face. I was now fully imprisoned and unable to move. They slid me into the magnetic resonance machine and told me it would take about 30 minutes. THIRTY MINUTES! It’s a good thing this wasn’t “my first rodeo.” I would never have survived. But, survive I did. They had music on, and they tried to talk to me, but I couldn’t hear a word. I couldn’t move and thank you, Jesus that I couldn’t see a thing because I’m sure claustrophobia would have kicked in.

So, I chose to talk to God. “Father,” I said. “You have my full attention. Please let me know your will? Your servant is listening?” Immediately, I heard in that tiny voice in my head, the words, “I love you.” Tears streamed down the sides of my face. Yes, I cried. My heart was full, and formed, and painfully joyful and sad all at the same time. God is my confidante, my hero, my Lord and savior, even during times of distress.

Thanks be to God!

Added Note: On Thanksgiving day, November 26th, a friend, a mentor of mine made me realize — after sharing this story with her — that God had a full part in calming me down with his loving words of wisdom. I was on the verge of an anxiety attack when He told me he loved me, and from that point on, I was still and calm and safe. When I came out of the MRI, the technicians said I was very still for the full half hour. I never realized it was because of the grace of God that this happened, until my friend informed me of it. Thanks be to God!!!

Pieces of my soul…

The Dark Night…

About a month ago, I had a short email conversation with the “Science of Sainthood” creator, Matthew Leonard, concerning a video he had recently posted for his “Next Level Catholic Academy.”

I have been studying the Carmelite priest, Saint John of the Cross, for about a year and a half, under the direction of my Spiritual Director. And, I was anxious to hear what Matthew would have to say about the famous “Dark Night of the Soul,” an essential part of the spiritual journey introduced in a book by the same name, by St. John of the Cross, in the 1𝟔𝐭𝐡 century.

(As a matter of reference, I should note that there are three stages in the life of the spirit — the purgative, the illuminative and the unitive ways. The unitive way is the last stage of spiritual prayer, or spiritual life, if you will).

Matthew finally posted his first video lesson on the “Dark Night,” in June. And, he called it, “Preparing for the Dark Night.” After watching the video, I wrote to him and said it “made me cry.” He wrote back, asking if it was “in a good way, I hope.”

Yes, it was a good cry, I wrote, in my return email. Here was (part of) my reply.

My Email — June 23, 2020

“Mostly, I cried because I can relate to the process of the science of sainthood. But, there is more. I cried because (while I’m not proposing that I am anywhere near the unitive way) I have already experienced the “pain,” as you discussed — my soul has been pressing down hard on my body. Also, I have been purged of most of my true senses, or “corrected” — as St. John says — of most of my hearing, smell and taste in the literal sense of the word. I’m pretty sure it’s part of my purification. But, that’s just my personal conclusion. I had been asking God to “teach me how to listen.” As you know, when we ask God to do something, he always answers our prayers if it is in accordance with His will. Well, I think my prayers were answered in this way, so I could “listen” to him more clearly . Wasn’t it you who said that we don’t always experience the three stages in perfect order???”

The night after I watched Matthew’s video, “Preparing for the Dark Night,” I dreamed that part of my soul left me, or separated from me. It was a strange dream. It was me and two other women. The second women walked away with the third woman. And, I was very sad to see her go. The one who walked off, the second woman, represented the passionate part of my soul — or rather, “the downstairs part,” — the part that is susceptible to sin. I may be wrong, but it could be that the third woman represented “the enemy,” the evil part, or “the dark side.”

Seeing my sinfulness…

In a recent meeting with my spiritual director, I learned that the act of sin does not necessarily stem from evil, but from our “brokenness.” I couldn’t grasp that for a long time. I thought “sinfulness” meant only the offenses we make against our creator — unil I asked God, in contemplative prayer, to show me my sinfulness. And, as I prayed in a more conscious setting, I saw pieces of my sinfulness in full detail. I saw sins I committed as a young adult, a “tween.” I saw sins I committed as an adult, sins that I never confessed, sins that were long forgotten, swept away into the netherworld.

Placing the pieces…

My psyche pulled out those pieces of my past that I had stuffed back into the crevices of my mind many years ago. God brought it all into the light. He was giving me all that I asked for. He was showing me to my sinfulness and my sinfulness to me. I had asked for this because I believed it to be one of the roadblocks to my spiritual growth. I confessed my sins tonight, and my confessor asked me how I felt after. I didn’t know. I didn’t have a notion at the time. But, as the night wore on, I felt a loosening of the knotted roots of sin. I felt an easing of pressure. I felt cleansed. If now, I can see who I really am, who I was without any blinders on, perhaps I can one day cross that bridge to the next shoreline.

Fitting the pieces together…

Here lies the spirit and soul of the dead, the (I) who used to belong to this world, the downstairs part of my soul. Maybe she (the part of my soul who belonged to the enemy, the evil one) saw this coming. I don’t know. If my psyche can pull out those broken pieces long enough for me to acknowledge and confess, and albeit, remove; then, maybe there’s hope for me yet. And, if my psyche can also remove those broken pieces fast enough to save my soul — after all, we are all here for a finite measure of time — perhaps one day, I will truly “die to self.” Only time will tell.

Luke: 9, 24: “For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.” Also, Mark: 8, 35.

I believe most people think the passage (above) refer𝐒 to the death of the body. But, I believe it refers more to the death of the evil part of the soul.

“So whoever is in Christ is a new creation: the old things have passed away; behold, new things have come.” 2 Cor: 5,17. And this.

And now, it’s time to sign off. And so, I say, “𝐀𝐧𝐝 with your spirit.” Amen.

God’s loving gaze

A request of my spiritual director

This afternoon, my spiritual director asked me to write about the times in my life, when I felt a strong presence of God. “And,” he said, “take note of how God was gazing on you with love in those moments.” I didn’t have to think long and hard about it. There have been many times, when God has showered me with the gift of his presence. Much to my discredit, for I am a lot like Peter, after the catch of a large school of fish, I say, “Depart from me, oh Lord, for I am a sinful (woman).”

Here are some memories I have:

On the day of my First Communion, I wore a long white dress and a veil. I knew I was about to receive the Lord’s body, blood, soul and divinity. And, I was so happy to have arrived at the alter, along with my classmates. In those days, a railing surrounded the foot of the sanctuary, where we all knelt and waited for the priest to come and place the Body of Christ on our tongues. As I lifted my head and opened my mouth to receive the Lord, I was certain He was coming into my heart and He would be with me until the end of time. I felt the touch of the Eucharist on my tongue. And, immediately a warm glow filled the whole inside of my mouth with God’s loving presence. I remember having that feeing for a long time afterwards. I know I spoke to Him. I wish I could remember what we talked about, but alas, my memory escapes me. Recently, my pastor shared a story about how while he was administering first communion to a little girl, the look in her eyes nearly made him cry, as he recalled his own memory of seeing it. I was awestruck at the image he shared with me. When I processed his story, I too saw and felt the same image of the little girl. Of course I was not there at the time, but I imagined it with my own inner eyes. I felt as close to God then, as I did many, many years ago, during my own First Communion.

Sometime after my own First Communion, and for many months following, I remember being in church, alone with God (it seems this theme has followed me throughout my life). Often, it was after confession, or Mass, when all the other children and nuns left the church. I will always remember the feeling of sheer joy, whenever this happened. I don’t know why I felt that way, and I don’t understand why I still enjoy it. I just know that I do. I don’t believe I ever “really” prayed. I remember just being there, alone with Him and watching Him. Maybe it was a form of contemplative prayer, though I don’t believe I had a name for it back then. I’ll always remember just staring at the crucifix for long periods of time. And, somehow, I could see Him, in my mind’s eye, squirming on the cross. I was kneeling, of course. And, I imagined being on the hill at Golgatha, watching Him as He was dying. I believed He was catapulting me back to the time of the crucifixion, and I was one of His followers. One time, I remember trying to move closer. I wanted to be right up front and center. I was a long way off, maybe a mile away. But, try as I might, the crowd was too big and congested and I couldn’t get any nearer to my Lord.

As I grew older, these memories and consolations slipped away from me, and I grew lukewarm in my seeking God’s presence. I can remember a nun who had befriended me in grammar school and wanted me to pray the Hail Mary three times a day, for the rest of my life. I thought it impossible and disregarded her request for forty years. Then, one day, I had an inspiration out of nowhere (well, maybe not nowhere, but that’s how it seemed). It was in 2017. I had lived most of my life in the ozone. At the time, I was really into photography and got a notion to take a self-directed pilgrimage to all the Cathedrals up and down the East Coast. I never got to all of them, of course. But, my pilgrimage led to a second conversion. I happened to visit a chapel in Pittsburgh, called St. Anthony’s Chapel, where they have the second most number of relics in the world, second only to the Vatican. See the first of those blog entries, with pictures, here: https://smarieack.livejournal.com/2445.html I remember stepping into that church and it literally took my breath away. I happened to arrive at the three o’clock hour (funny how that works — the hour of Divine Mercy). And, there was a Mass. I know God was smiling down on me that day because this is where my second conversion was beginning to take shape.

In the beginning of January, in 2019, I was home one night, and getting ready to lead a Divine Mercy retreat at a little country church in Florida. The pastor wanted us to arrive at Divine Mercy Sunday that year, with a church-wide “consecration to the Divine Mercy.” (As a side note, it just so happens that my Baptism anniversary fell on Good Friday, in 2019). I wanted to prepare for the first of five sessions, and I picked up the Bible. I think I googled the word “consecration,” and John: 17 showed up, but I really can’t be sure that’s how I arrived at this particular passage. I read John:17, in the Gospel of John. This is the “priestly prayer of Jesus.” It was as if I was looking at this Chapter in the Bible with a whole new set of eyes. I know God was shining His laser lights right down upon this book for me that night. When I got to the part where it says, “…consecrate them in the truth,” I literally stopped dead in my tracks and put the book down. I seriously couldn’t believe what I had just read. I was stunned, and awed at the mercy and love of Christ that night. I know he was gazing at me with love.

About this time last year, in June, 2019, I visited a church out-of-county, where they have Adoration five days a week. I had just heard a priest telling us (on the Internet) to reverence the Blessed Sacrament, to spend time with Him, to even go so far as to touch the tabernacle/monstrance. I was taken, so taken with his words, and took them to heart. And, I was so taken with the Blessed Sacrament during that visit, that, in spite of someone else being present in the chapel with me, I boldly arose from my kneeler and walked right up to the monstrance and placed my open palm on the glass where the Eucharist presides. Suddenly, my hand received the Spirit of Christ and began to glow with a strong feeling of warmth and spiritual warfare. I was shocked and surprised and so full of love and gratitude for the Lord’s grace being bestowed upon me that I was literally stunned into a frozen suspension of space and time. When I finally removed my hand and went back to my kneeler, the tingling didn’t stop. It never stopped. I can remember driving home, an hour later, still with he “touch of the Master’s hand” on my own. If I think hard about that hour, I can still feel the tingling on my hand. I didn’t realize it then, but today I know the good Lord was gazing on me with the tenderest of love in His very own eyes.

I could go on, but it’s already late and I must try and get some sleep. If you’re reading this, you know I am awestruck by the many blessings we receive from God on a continual basis. We only have to be open to “seeing” them. It never ceases to amaze me how blessed I am and how important that I keep this forever in my heart. God Bless You. Love God and He will give you peace!

When the Spirit Hides

January was a tough month. I had just come off a whole year of spiritual agony. And, I was “ready” for a new trial. So, in the “spirit of piety,” I asked God to give me a new trial. I put a stipulation on it this time. I asked that the trial not be a physical one, only a spiritual one. God heard my prayer and answered me thus:

Although I didn’t contract the Coronavirus, I did find myself temporarily down for a day with the flu. I know this because on Tuesday, February 18, 2020, I went to bed cold. I couldn’t get warm so I put on several quilts to warm up. I finally fell asleep, but I had a hard time breathing. I remember making the decision to go to the doctor the next day. I’m not sure what happened, but when I awoke the fever was gone. Congested though I was, I still could not breath, and my regular doctor was out of the office. So, a temporary nurse practitioner gave me oral steroids. It didn’t help. My cough was out-of-control.

Aside from the cough, I felt fine. That weekend was my Cursillo Weekend. For those of you who don’t know what it is, Cursillo is a drawing closer to Christ, in a way that challenges your piety, spiritual study and apostolic action. I cried throughout the weekend — I became an emotional wreck. One of my Cursillo sisters said it was because God was “drawing you deeper.” I remember thinking, how much deeper can I go?

At the end of the weekend, we all had to “witness” what the weekend meant to us. I shared how emotional I had been. That was on February 23, which happened to be my birthday. Earlier that day, I had lost most of my hearing. One of my Cursillo sisters said it was because I was, “congested.” She could hear it.

When I got home, I was scared for my hearing. So, I made an emergency appointment with my surgeon doctor. On Tuesday, February 25th, I received my first-ever steroid injection into my eardrum. Yes, it hurt. But, that wasn’t the worst part. Wednesday was Ash Wednesday, and I was looking forward to going to Mass. I never got to go though because I had a vertigo attack and was stupefied for many hours, unable to move.

The Stage Has Been Set

The good thing about the three injections I received over the next two weeks gave me a reprieve from my conjestion and coughing. I didn’t cough for two months. So, all during the lockdown and the world pandemic, I was symptom free. God was good to me.

The panic arising during this very strange time taught us all a lesson — that even in the silence and stillness of life, there are always thoughts to ponder and emotions to regulate.

About a month ago, my spiritual director — knowing that I was living in a relatively dark world — suggested that I may want to write about it, here on my blog. I couldn’t. Time was warped for me. Thoughts were scattered and inconsistent. My spiritual life was suffering immensely and I didn’t know what to do about it. The Holy Spirit was trying to lead me in the direction of home, but I was unable to follow. I knew I was encountering darkness, and I knew I was being tested. But, I couldn’t pick myself out of the muck. I knew the direction I was supposed to take, but I couldn’t grab onto the rope being thrown to me. I knew there were things I needed to let go of, but I couldn’t let go until the feelings that guided my thoughts were sorted out. I was trying to let go, but first I had to discover exactly what needed sifting.

I spent most of my “alone” time, trying to contemplate my raison d’etre. It never came.

Finally, FINALLY I had a heart-to-heart conversation with my spiritual director and the spiritual knots began to unravel. I actually carried the conversation over two sessions, and we’ll probably need more. It’s a beautiful thing when the Holy Spirit gives us the leeway to learn, to be who we truly are. It’s a beautiful thing that God allows us to live in our darkness and yet still loves us with all the power and might of perfection. I’m humbled to still believe.

God bless you.

Good night.