Consolations seem to come in threes. Why? Because something happened again, around 1:30 a.m. on April 2nd. Lately, I’ve been saying morning prayers at midnight. It hasn’t always been this way — only since the United States had an onslaught of CoVid-19 infections, which was near the beginning of Lent. Lent is a 40-day span before Easter, for Catholics to mourn and do penance in solidarity with Christ’s suffering and Passion.
Back to the consolation…
At midnight, I opened my book of “Christian Prayer” and read morning prayers, which consists of Psalms from the Bible, readings from scripture and hymns. It usually takes about 20 minutes. After that, I read from a book called, “The 24 Hours of the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ.” The book highlights each of the 24 hours before Christ’s death, in great detail. When I finished all prayers and readings, it was a little after 1 a.m. I checked my Facebook page.
There on my phone screen was a notification that Pope Francis was about to celebrate morning Mass at the Vatican. So, I watched. Mostly, I just listened: I put my phone close up to my ear, with the speaker on full blast. I had my eyes closed for most of it, but then there seemed to be a long silent pause. I didn’t know what was happening because my eyes were closed. The translator said something, but it didn’t register because I seemed to have already slipped into a meditative state.
Suddenly, I saw a bright white light with spikes all the way around the edges. In the middle of the light, tiny, brilliantly colored starlit points glowed from the center like a rainbow of twinkling stars radiating outward. I saw this image in a closed-eye vision. Then, it went dark. But, immediately, it reappeared as if for a second time.
I opened my eyes, and looked at my phone. There on the alter rested the Vatican’s monstrance of the Blessed Sacrament. I was stunned. The Lord was showing me something much more beautiful than if I had seen with my eyes open. He was allowing me to see Himself through the eyes of God, and THAT, my friends, is where the truth lies.
The Spirit of Christ is alive and well, even in this crisis, in this time of “…mourning, and weeping and fasting.” We cannot ever doubt the existence of God. Nor, can we doubt, even in this time of tragedy and fear, that there is something going on far greater than we can ever imagine. Look for God and you will find him. As my pastor says, he is already looking for you.
“When has God delighted in you?” This is the question my spiritual director (I’ll call him Father Michael, after my guardian angel) challenged me with, during our session on Thursday, March 26th. My, how time changes everything! The question — “When has God delighted in you?”— caught me off guard. As you know, the coronavirus has changed the world. The phone was our only means of communication because, in my county, there is a stay-at-home order.
“For you to read?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. I couldn’t see his face. The only opportunity I had to read his emotions was to listen, albeit softly. (I say “softly” because I have lost most of my hearing since we met last month).
The question about when God has delighted in me was a strange one. It was hard for me to grasp, while also trying to come to grips with the loss of my ability to hear; while also trying to adapt to the new reality of Covid19 and the possibility of catching it; while also processing the rest of our conversation, which took on a whole new meaning. (I may say more about this someday). One thing is sure. He was convinced there were times God delighted in me. Perhaps, even now? Given that my “homework” was to write a spiritual essay, and in light of other events taking place around me, I ended up with a “thought” headache.
First, I had to work through some past emotional baggage — AGAIN. I hate dealing with the past. It rocks my soul and puts me at a spiritual disadvantage. But, maybe he saw it, and wanted me to revisit those negative thoughts. Who knows? Maybe he’ll share it with me one day.
Ironically, I have a little booklet that I read almost daily. It’s called “Living Faith.” Maybe he has it too. But, later that evening, I read the passage of the day. The title?
The Highest Form of Praise…
The last paragraph states, “But we are called to more. We are asked to seek and hear the further, higher call — a word of praise that comes from the mouth of the Father and shouts to the world. ‘This one is perfect and blessed. This one I know by name. This one makes me happy. This one is mine.'” Talk about coincidences…
My first thought/memory was an exterior vision I had when I was 17 years old. I don’t think I ever shared this one on my old blog. I’ve shared this spiritual experience with very few, and only really in the last 10 years. This is what happened: I threw out a fleece. http://www.brandonweb.com/sermons/sermonpages/judges3.htm
I said, “God, if you’re real, you need to prove it to me.” As soon as I thought that thought, I heard a still small voice, telling me to go into the living room and sleep on the couch (I shared a bedroom with my sister). So, I took my blanket and pillow and off I went. Then, I heard the voice again: “Are you willing to die to yourself?” I said yes. And, immediately, I saw a little white tornado spinning from across the room and zip into my body. I know it was the Holy Spirit. (I know it sounds weird, but I cannot tell it any other way). And, immediately I felt at peace. I believe God delighted in me at that time. It only lasted for a little while though because eventually I backslid, for many, many years.
The second time God “delighted” in me was on Divine Mercy Sunday, in 2018. I was at church, during the three o’clock hour, listening to the Divine Mercy Chaplet being sung, which was the first time I’d ever heard it. And I wept. I had a spiritual conversion that day. I think I’ve already written about this one at smarieack.livejournal.com.
It’s possible God delighted in me for much of the time thereafter until May 20, 2019, when I left that church — and my prayer life took a gigantic tumble.
And, I must number with a huge #3 — in this essay — the blog entry below this one, called “The Jesus Song.” God must have delighted in me when I was reading “The Way of a Pilgram,” and seeing my heart pounding in my chest. What an awesome God, we have!
My conversation with Jane…
A day, or two, after my phone conference with Father Michael, I had a phone conversation with my friend, Jane (name changed for protection). She is one of my closest confidants. We talked about some aspects of the conference, and I mentioned my dilemma over this requested essay. We both have a book called “Divine Intimacy,” so, Jane is in touch with some of how I practice my faith. I’ve been studying detachment on a spiritual level for over a year. I shared with her how Father Michael said that detachment is like “doing the will of God at every moment,” and how I thought that seemed impossible. She said, “Well, let me ask you this. Do you think you’re doing the will of God by talking to me now?” I said yes. And that made sense to me. In essence, Jane was trying to tell me that God delights in me whenever I do the will of God, and that could be more often than ever I’m even aware.
She also shared with me what she thought Father Michael might mean by his definition of detachment, while also clarifying that she was not of the same mind. Jane said, “Maybe he means doing the will of God to the extent of detaching from everything in this world and only living for God. I don’t detach,” she said. “I live in this world, and I love living in this world and doing the will of God. So, there’s the difference.”
That made a lot of sense to me. But, the fact that I’m really trying to follow the direction given me by Father Michael, I seem to be reaching for more. Maybe God delights in me for that. Obviously, God is stretching my spiritual boundaries for a reason. Maybe God delights in me more than I realize, more than I know, more than I can put my finger on. Maybe I need to pay more attention, much more attention to reaching that one great Master in the sky — and Divine Intimacy.
Peace!
Added 16 hours later: I have been trying a new way of meditation recently. I close my eyes and pray the mantra, “Maranatha,” which, in Aramaic, means “Come Lord. Come Lord Jesus.” I’ve only done it twice. Each experience was different. Yesterday, when I tried it the first time, I received promptings from the Holy Spirit, showing me his presence within me.
Today, when I did it again, I heard the still small voice of God, saying, “Susan, I love this.” (God calls me Susan, lol, I know not why). I believe He was telling me He was delighting in me. Wow! So many graces and gifts from the Lord. I praise you, O God, and I thank you with all my heart.
It is with great hesitancy I write this blog entry, for reasons I cannot explain. But, it is necessary and fitting to do so. This blog entry is primarily about the song (below) and, a whole lot of explanation to go with it.
BACKGROUND INFORMATION…
It was late 2017 when I first learned about this song. I heard it. I loved it and I learned how to sing it. It was early 2018 that I began to sing it daily, in the little chapel, where I use to go to pray. In fact, there is a life-sized print of the Divine Mercy in that chapel, and sometimes I stood in front of the picture and sang this song out loud, when nobody was there.
Then, in May 2019, I stopped going to that chapel and my prayer life changed drastically. I also stopped singing the song, except occasionally during Mass at the church I now attend.
THE PRAYER OF THE HEART…
This past summer, I obtained a book called “The Watchful Mind,” which introduced me to the idea of praying The Jesus Prayer as a prayer of the heart. However, I used the The Jesus Song as my prayer of the heart out of personal preference because it has the same words as the prayer. And, I found great comfort in it.
In fact, I had gone to confession, while reading this book (probably in August, 2019) and was given the penance to ask God to “have mercy on me.” Needless to say, I went back to my pew and prayed the song, in my head, only to discover that it literally warmed my heart and brought me to tears. The feeling was a real feeling of warmth around the cavity of my heart, so much so, that it surprised me.
But, at the onset of taking a six-week course in Contemplative Prayer, this past October, I turned away from the book because of time constraints. And, I also stopped praying The Jesus Song.
THE WAY OF A PILGRIM — ANOTHER BOOK…
A couple of weeks ago, my pastor mentioned a book called “The Way of a Pilgrim,” during one of his weekly homilies. This book is about a pilgrim who travels throughout Russia in search of the perfect prayer. It has many of the same ideas as “The Watchful Mind” and is based on the same book, “The Philokalia,” an ancient Greek textbook about prayer, written between the 4th and the 15th centuries.
I began to read “The Way of a Pilgrim” this past Wednesday, January 8th, and found it profoundly enlightening, achingly moving and extraordinarily appropriate to my own spiritual journey. I read about 85 pages. On page 72, the anonymous author speaks of an encounter with a blind man who asked the author to “show him a practical method of locating the heart with the mind, introducing the name of Jesus Christ to it, and thus experiencing the joy of praying with the heart.” The blind man had been able to see in the past, so he could imagine with his mind’s eye many material things. The author told him to “…imagine your heart; direct your eyes as though you were looking at it through your breast, see the heart as visibly as you can, and listen attentively to the rhythmic beat.” The author also told the blind man to recite The Jesus Prayer.
Since I was accustomed to singing The Jesus Song, I sang it instead of praying the prayer. In my own mind’s eye, as I looked down at my body, I saw a vivid image of my heart beating in my chest. And, I heard my heartbeat’s loud thump, thump thump as well. This encounter gave me an eerie feeling, almost frightening.
You, the reader, should be told that I am a wuss when it comes to blood and/or bodily organs. I was in pre-nursing, many years ago and dropped out when a cadaver was rolled into our lab for the class to dissect.
MY VIVID IMAGINATION…
So, this vivid image in my “imagination” was a turnoff for me. I squirmed and broke my contemplative-like state. It didn’t exactly scare me, but it was exceedingly uncomfortable and I made a mental note of that. On Thursday night, I conjured up the courage to try again. Once again, I saw and heard my heart beating in my chest as I silently sang The Jesus Song. And, once again, I felt a jolt of discomfort.
I had also met with my spiritual director on Thursday afternoon, January 9th. I told him I was having problems with my prayer life. I think I used the words “confused” and “mixed up,” but it was more in relation to the Contemplative Meditation course I took this past autumn. I forgot to mention to him, the incident with The Jesus Song. Nevertheless, he explained to me that sometimes new prayer is accompanied by a little discomfort, until you get used to it. This made sense to me, and in my mind, I also attributed his words to the discomfort of The-Jesus-Song incident. And that is why I tried again on Thursday night.
CONFESSION, ON SATURDAY…
While driving to confession, on January 11th, I began to pray the Divine Mercy Chaplet. And right from the start, during The Creed, I wept. When I got to church, before confession, I went into the Adoration Chapel and began thanking God for so many gifts of my life. And there too, I wept.
After confession, my penance was to ask God to fill me with the Spirit of Christ. This was a new concept for me. I’m not proud of it, but I had never used the term, “Spirit of Christ.” In my head, I had always used the term “Holy Spirit,” something I had never specifically put together with the Spirit of Christ because I often think of God the Father as the Holy Spirit, as well. Somehow, I was able to separate the Holy Spirit from the Spirit of Christ. This time, though, I walked into the Adoration Chapel, and thanked God for my blessings and asked God to “fill me with the Spirit of Christ,” as directed by my confessor.
Then, in an expectant move, while also thinking I was getting more used to seeing (or imagining my heart) I went into the Prayer of the Heart. But, when I looked down at my chest with my mind’s eye this time, all I saw was darkness. The image of my beating heart was gone. I became confused. Alarmed, I asked myself, “Where is my heart?” Not seeing my heart seemed to exacerbate the whole situation. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t seeing it and this disturbed me because I didn’t recall *actually* asking not to see my heart. I only squirmed at it.
Then, I heard, from that still small voice, a notion something about “Well, you didn’t want it.” This confusion over the lost vision stopped me from reading any further in the book, until tonight. I couldn’t read. I couldn’t concentrate on the words. I think it was a sort-of mental block. I realize, now, that it was not my imagination at all that caused me to see my heart. It was a vision, and Saint John of the Cross teaches NOT to accept visions, nor to grieve over their loss. How quickly we forget what we have learned?
TONIGHT’S QUEST…
As I turned to prayer earlier tonight, I asked God to give me some kind of explanation about what happened in all these events, and this was my answer. I opened the pilgrim book to page 114 and took up where I had left off. But, on page 119, the author met a man who showed him “how to use the New Testament to pray.” In the last paragraph on that page, the man, systematically began to state all the Bible passages in the New Testament, about how to pray.
As I read the next couple of pages, I highlighted all the chapters in the New Testament that he discussed and turned to each one of them, in the Bible. When I got to the place, in the Pilgrim book, where he mentioned Chapter 7 of Matthew, I read the words “…how we can succeed in prayer and why we should be full of hope when we ‘ask, seek and knock.'” In my Bible, there in verse 8, I read, “For everyone who asks, receives; and he who seeks, finds…” This was my answer to prayer. It became somewhat clear to me that this is how I understood in my heart of hearts that I had a moment — twice — when I did not truly want to see my own heart beating in my chest. And so, the Spirit of Christ took the vision away from me. And, now I’m left, once again, in darkness. Answer received.
Peace!
Additional Note: January 14, 2020
As of this morning, I am still having trouble reading and concentrating on the Pilgram book. I have barely progressed past the pages on “how to use the New Testament to pray,” and I cannot seem to concentrate on the Prayer of the Heart.
Sometimes, an unimaginable and painful sorrow grips my heart. And, I don’t know why or where it originates. Something tells me it’s a spiritual thing and not an emotional force. But, I can’t be sure.
It happened today, on the drive home from church. I was looking for my Lord, and suddenly, it occurred to me that I was in an abyss of emptiness. It’s ironic though because this afternoon, on my way out of town, I came to strange realization.
HERE’S HOW IT WENT…
Late in 2018, I went on a nationwide search to find out when, and where my baptism took place. (You can find all those blog entries at smarieack.livejournal.com). In order to discover my baptismal information, which seemed to be a wash at first, I had to locate my First Communion and/or Confirmation certificates, so I ended up finding all three. Regardless, I discovered that I was baptized on April 19, at the age of two months.
My brain likes to put things in neat little ordered compartments in my head, so I looked ahead and pulled up the date, April 19, 2019, only to discover that it would fall on Good Friday. I also looked ahead to 2020 and discovered that it will fall on Divine Mercy Sunday this year.
It was a nice surprise for me, but also kind of ironic, since I was studying the Divine Mercy in late 2018. I was consecrated to the Divine Mercy on December 8, 2018.
HERE’S TO WINDING FORWARD TO TODAY…
On my way to Gainesville this morning, it occurred to me that 2019 was my year of Passion. I walked with Christ on His way to the Cross, beginning on May 20th. I mean, I felt it in the strongest sense of the word. It was a difficult journey, one that almost led me astray. I felt a full death-to-self at many times along this path. But, I also felt closer to Jesus than ever in my entire life. In essence, I’m still in my year of Passion. But, Divine Mercy Sunday this year will begin my new year, though I’m still in the dark about what that will be.
Even though I do not know what grips my soul in such deep almost despairing sadness, I do know that whatever it is, has something to do with my year of Passion.
On Sunday, I looked up at the cloudless sky and switched on the YouTube channel to search for the song, “Seek the Lord” while he may be found. I just stood there, looking up at the sky, listening to the words of this song and thanking God for the blessing of being able to do so.
Here I stand, still naked and confused about my future, but grateful still for my past.
Recently, I read a meditation in the book, “Divine Intimacy” that brought me to my knees. Even as I write this, I want to go kicking and screaming away from this screen and never ever, ever talk about what I am about to say. But, I can’t. I must tell it soon, or it will slide into my mind’s crevasses forever.
A LITTLE BACKGROUND…
About six months ago, I was watching a podcast by a well-known Catholic apologist (I think that’s how you say it) named Matthew Leonard. He happened to mention a book called, “Divine Intimacy.” The way he talked about it made me want it too. So I ordered it and waited, for like a month. Finally, it came and I’ve been reading it every single day. The meditations and prayers of this Carmelite Priest, who wrote the book before Vatican Council II, touched my heart.
Nevermind the little details. Needless to say, I have been trying to follow along the daily messages gleaned from this book on “Meditations on the Interior Life for every day of the liturgical year.” (That is the Catholic Calendar).
BACK TO THE PRESENT…
On Monday, December 30, 2019, I pulled into the church parking lot and switched off the motor. I had some time before mass, so I pulled out the book and began to read. What I saw shocked me. It was from the reading on December 30, called “A Sign of Contradiction,” from Meditation #34. In the last paragraph of the first meditation , the author spells out the “prophesy of Simeon,” who said “directly to the Virgin Mother. And, thy own soul a sword shall pierce.” I honestly can’t say if I’ve ever read this passage before. I don’t recall, but if I did, it may have some impact on why (or how) I saw a sword in my own meditation. This, I’ll never know. But, I can tell you, it literally freaked me out. I pulled up an app for the Jerusalem Bible and read the whole chapter. And yes, there it was in black and white.
I don’t know how I got from the car to the church, or if I just mechanically found my way there. I sat down and the priest came to the alter and looked around the room. There were only four other people attending mass, aside from the priest and the sacristan.
As soon and the priest made the Sign of the Cross, I began to cry. I was grateful that none of the attendees glanced over at me, though I think I was weeping silently. I didn’t stop until just before we prayed the Our Father. This is a time when everyone joins hands, and I needed to make sure my hands were dry. Yeah, that’s me.
I’m still trying to figure out why this passage came onto my radar screen that day. What does it mean? And why was I so affected? A question for my priest, I guess.
This documented journey is not always easy to write. At times, the sharing is more real in life than inside me. And, I’m not sure which is harder. But, I’m sure it’s making an impact on me. Here I sit, ruminating about the past week’s events. I can barely bring myself to say it. I’m in a dreamland, where nothing is real but God’s grace.
Exactly a week ago, I went to Sunday night Mass expecting to feel good because the bishop was celebrating. But, at the onset, he announced that a prominent holy priest had died suddenly the night before. I gasped. My friend (I’ll call her Dee) who was with me, also gasped. And, we could hear shock ring through the congregation. I could no longer participate in the Mass. I lowered my head and cried for most of the celebration.
As the week slid by, I found myself in disharmony over and over again as I realized the impact this would have on the lives of those around me; my friends, my circle of priests who now have to carry on without him. They have to grieve and also take care of their flocks. How is that going to happen? My lack of understanding the dynamics threw me into disarray. I could not comprehend how it would affect my own dear spiritual director, who had previously told me that the deceased priest was his best friend.
Then, Friday came. The Catholic Vigil/Wake took place on Friday night. I asked my friend, Jane to come along, and she graciously accepted. We walked into the church, paid our respects to the dear priest who had gone to the Lord and found our seats. I knew I needed to be as close to the Lord as possible. So, I walked over to the tabernacle to kneel and pray.
A priest who I did not know, was already there, on the other kneeler, praying a rosary. I kneeled next to him and began to pray. But, grief struck, and I began to cry. Tears rolled. I forgot my tissues, so I was continually wiping away tears. I tried to be quiet and considerate but it did not work. The priest — he too began to cry. I could hear his sighs and weeping, and we couldn’t stop. We cried together for a long time. It was a holy string of moments of shared grief that I will never forget. It was one of the most touching healing moments in my life. My friend, Dee, said later, as I shared this story with her that it was the Holy Spirit. He was pouring himself out upon us. Come Holy Spirit, please pour your love out upon all our priests. They all need healing. Please come.
“While searching for God, we cannot find Him unless He wills it. We can understand ourselves by an intuition, but, if God refuses to reveal Himself, we will not find in this intuition any vista opening to the mystery of God. But by allowing Himself to be sought, God has already opened up a path to those who seek Him. It is sufficient for the soul to recognize humbly that it cannot find God without His Light.”
When I began writing this blog, in 2014, I never dreamed I would have gone so deep into spirituality as to make a vow to write about my interior life. But, here I am, doing just that. And, so, I am awake at 1 a.m., because of a call, so-to-speak, to pen a consolation I received 2 nights ago.
I didn’t expect it and don’t know why I was given the great gift of receiving it. But, it happened. And, so I must write it down for future authority. (not sure where that word came from, but <shrug>). In fact, it didn’t even occur to me to write it into my blog until just now.
I shut off the light and closed my eyes. I knew I had to be bold in my prayer that night. For some reason, I was able to achieve deep contemplation. In my prayer, I swam down through the depths of my soul and lingered there. I spoke an indescribable plea to God that went something like this. “Lord, if you find it in your heart to make yourself known to me, even though I know I am not worthy, please let me know you are here.” I cannot write the words verbatim because I don’t really know (or can’t remember) what all I said. I only know it was one of those rare moments, when you know you’re praying the good-fight prayer; the closest thing you can get to true honesty.
Then, I saw, in a flash of white light, a white sword come down upon my head, in the midst of all those words. It only lasted for a millisecond, but in my closed-eye vision, I felt a kind of a wound in my heart, the kind that they sometimes talk about in books. It wasn’t painful to me. It was almost a pang of longing love. And, I began to cry.
This afternoon as I was getting ready for church, I never suspected any out-of-the-ordinary experiences would occur this evening. But they did. I am still in awe and shock of God’s graces and His willingness to do extraordinary things in my life.
Here they are...
I went to confession, which in-and-of-itself isn’t extraordinary. What I said to the priest — and what his response was — is the real story. I confided in him how I had a hurtful experience, which occurred about four months ago. I said that I had forgiven all of the people involved but I was still dealing with the anger and the hurt.
He told me keep my eyes focused on Christ, which I am doing. I responded that wasn’t a problem for me and I am trying to practice this every day.
At the end of confession, I told him that he must give me a penance. He said, “Your penance is to treat them with charity the next time you see them.” I told him it wouldn’t be a problem for me, since I never see any of these people anyway.
I went to the Adoration Room, and prayed the Divine Mercy Chaplet. Mass was starting, so I left and went to find a seat in the church.
On my way there, I realized that the priest who was celebrating the Mass had begun a prayer, so I stopped and stood along the back wall.
Just I as stopped, a couple walked into church and took a seat near me. I glanced over and saw that it was Sue. Do you remember her? She was one of my closest friends, whom I mentioned on my “other blog site” (name was changed, of course). Sue and I are no longer friends, and I grieve that loss.
She glanced around and saw me, just as I was looking away. And, when she saw me, she did a double take, to which I responded with a slight wave of the hand, and she returned a wave as well. Whew, I thought. There was my penance, all wrapped up with a slight wave of hand, all wrapped up in a spiritual bow. Done!
I soon walked behind them and found a seat near the back, in the center isle. (Let’s assume, for a moment, she watched me be seated). I placed the book I was carrying and my iPhone, in the slot of the pew in front of me. (Let’s assume she saw that too).
The priest celebrant directed everyone outside to welcome the Catechumens and Catechists.
On the way back into the church, I saw my confessor holding the door open for me. Well, not just me — the whole congregation. I whispered in his ear that I just saw two of the people who I confessed about. They were here and how apropos this whole surreal event was. I also noticed that Sue and her husband took seats almost directly behind me instead of going back to their original seats.
I was shaken, but I had to return to my seat because I left my belongings there. I couldn’t dismiss the fact that they were right behind me. I was oddly uncomfortable, and I wondered how I was going to “handle” the “Sign of Peace,” which is when all Catholics greet each other with a handshake, during the Mass, and wish each other goodwill and peace. It frightened me to think I would have to look right at her because I had not yet done so, since we parted ways.
During the “Sign of the Peace” I conjured up enough courage because that’s what the priest told me to do for penance. Although frightened, I turned. There was his hand, waiting for me to shake. So I did. With a downward glance, I shook his hand and wished him peace. There was her hand. Coward though I was, I took her hand, shook it and with a flick the eye, I followed her arm all the way up to her eyes. We locked eyes and said “peace.” It was probably the most difficult thing I had to do in almost four months. I cried. Tears rolled and I couldn’t stop them. It was then that I realized I still love Sue and her husband, but I cannot share that love with them. Not in a real way. Only for a moment.
At the end of the service, I picked up my “stuff” out of the slot and left my pew as soon as the mass was over. Instead of going out the back way, which would mean I’d have to walk passed them, I went back to adoration, which was in front of me.
During those few minutes in the Adoration Room, I read from the book “Divine Intimacy” on the subject of Fortitude. I also sang a few songs, which filled my soul with wonder and awe. God’s graces are amazing. Instead of being a “holy instant,” the whole mass and afterwards was a string of holy moments, one after another in unison with Christ.
Eerily familiar and yet strange, I find myself tied up in the same motion (a better word for “writing”) as I was in the last, most recent post. Why do I say that? Because I, again, awoke from my sleep by the sound of a voice. This time though, the voice was as if it came from a young boy, not too low; a bit higher than a man’s voice, but not so high as a girl.
Tonight’s sunset over the horizon…Suzanne Ack.
After being pulled out of that subconscious state between dreamland and wakefulness, I asked myself, “What was he saying?” It wasn’t a mumble. It was more as though far off in the distance. “We adore you. We adore you,” he said. Yes, that was it. He was praying, but more than just prayer, it was worship.
I began to pray. I prayed — “We adore you. We adore you.” Since my dilemma of four months ago, God has been so gracious to me. He prays for me. He prays out of me, in triumph, unity and love. How can a soul be so graced as I and yet still have hurt, fear, bitterness and pain?
I was told to “…unite my suffering with Christ.” And, that is what I have been striving for. Where this will ultimately lead, I do not know. My prayer life has been disrupted a thousand-fold. But, it has also united me with the blood of the cross, the spiritual life of contemplatives, the sound of an angel in my soul and the song of Christ in my heart.
Thank you to all the priests, seminarians, ex-seminarians, women of God, real-life and Internet friends and acquaintances who have given me the strength and courage to carry on.
Last night, I finally got to sleep at around 12:50 a.m. I know this because I wear a Fitbit, which approximates all my sleep cycles. It shows that I went into a short “deep sleep” around 2 a.m., which went from deep, to light to a dream state, to waking up.
Why am I writing about this?
Because it shows progression. I remember hearing a distinct. deep — the deepest voice I’ve ever heard — pronouncing the words, “Let us pray.” We proceeded to pray the “Our Father” together.
And, then I woke up.
In my heart of hearts, I was afraid. I looked around the room for someone. No one was there. But, I feared that I was not alone. I cannot tell you why I was afraid, probably because it was a frighteningly deep voice, one that I did not recognize, one that was deeper than any voice I have ever heard.
Could it be that God has a deep voice? Could it be that this voice was from God, out of the depths of my soul? I will probably never know the answer to this, but I felt compelled to write about this dream/incident before it slips into the sphere of memories lost forever.
