I don't believe anything in life is a coincidence. I am currently reading C.S. Lewis' Screwtape Letters, and am finding his words to be immensely profound. In fact, he was a genius or divinely inspired or both. The "letters" are supposed to be written from one of Satan's demons to another younger, more junior, demon. He is giving him advice on how to turn a human being's heart away from God - or as he calls Him the Enemy. They are fascinating because I see some of myself in them, people I know, and society at large. We all go through periods in life when we purposely turn away from God or we turn away sprung from apathy or ignorance.
As a society, I see signs everywhere of more and more people turning away from Christ and his Church and towards a more muddled type of "spiritualism". People are wanting to pick and choose what they believe. And you can hardly blame the human being for wanting to do this, as we are programmed to desire freedom. We, as Americans, grow up knowing our freedoms and rights and we will fight for them - as our ancestors did. However, when it comes to Christ's Church, there is one...and we are called to submit. That's a tough one for a lot of people, thus the venture into the murky waters of empty promises on behalf of preachers with no authority and new age "spiritualism".
Christ is always calling us. He wants us to be near Him...spending time with Him. How can we if we clutter our lives with the "busy"ness and the noise. Think about how much noise we listen to during a day. It may occur in the form of your job, the traffic outside, your neighbor's lawn care (or lack of it), your pets, your phones, your television, your computer, conversations with friends and family, etc. How can we hear Christ's calling if we are listening to so many other things? There is a bit in the "Letters" about how much Satan has a hard time when we as humans are in a quiet space and are giving ourselves completely over to God...just listening. It is in the quiet that we hear God's answers and we feel Christ near us.
Where else better to be quiet with Christ than in adoration? As Catholics, we are the only Christians on the planet lucky enough to actually sit with our Lord in adoration. His presence is immediately felt the moment you walk into a church or chapel where the blessed sacrament is exposed. The church will be silent. There will be others in there praying. Jesus is wholly there for each of them...and for you. I never walk out of adoration feeling more confused or sad or alone. I always walk out feeling renewed, inspired, and not alone. He is with us and He is always calling us. It is up to us to use our free will to turn to Him and tune out the noise. Demons want us to listen to the noise because it distracts us and pulls us farther away from our Father's home. I ask that every Catholic find out the hours of adoration at your local parish and spend time with our Lord. Spend time in the quiet. Listen. Listen to what's in your heart because God is there. Jesus will be with you in that chapel or church - completely present. What a gift our Church has for us - the followers of Christ. Take the gift this Lenten season. You will not be sorry. In Matthew's account of the Agony in the Garden (Mt 26:36-46), Jesus brings his disciples with Him to watch over Him while He prayed. When He was done praying, He found them all asleep. He said to Peter, "So you could not keep watch with me for one hour?" Jesus is calling you to be awake, to be in the quiet, and to listen to Him.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
What Else Can A Mom Give Up This Lent?
I have been racking my brain for days now over what I would give up for Lent. I would like to say weeks instead of days, but I would most definitely be lying as I've only just been in survival mode the last few weeks since the birth of our fourth child. So, for days I have had a difficult time coming up with my answer. Today was Ash Wednesday and instead of continuing to find that answer, I decided to ponder why I was having such a difficult time. I couldn't remember a year when I had so much trouble coming up with what I would give up.
After picking up my son from his preschool classroom today with my two year old son holding one hand, my preschooler holding the other, and my baby girl strapped to my chest, I slowly managed to make my way into the parking lot and towards my car. Of course just getting halfway there took us easily ten minutes because as any mother of boys knows, you have to let them walk across every curb like it's a high wire act and then watch them jump off with wild zeal while holding your breath that no one will end up in the emergency room. While in the parking lot, I ran into not one, but three friends who all were there to attend the Ash Wednesday prayer service which had just begun at our church. I, of course, denied myself that experience because the thought of being in a quiet church with a five year old who might blurt out that he's bored, my two year old who might scream for no particular reason, and my newborn who might suddenly cry from gas pains or needing to be nursed...well, let's just say it wasn't an option for me today.
My friends made their way into the church and I continued on our journey to the car. By the time we were arriving at our final destination, I saw everyone coming back out of the church with ashes on their foreheads. I must admit, I looked at them all with such envy. "Look at all those people without little ones in tow who can just walk into the church so carefree and receive such a blessing." Well, I thought God surely recognized my sacrifice and I'd try to attend next year. Just then, my friends came out and told me that our priest was still giving out ashes in the church and I could just go in to receive them. It was like you had told me they were handing out the winning lottery ticket inside the church. I made a beeline for the doors, and well, you know how fast I was moving with a little one on each hand and one strapped to the front. We went as fast as we could and by the time I opened the doors to the church, it was empty. My lottery ticket had been given away. Another friend came around the corner and said, "Katherine, Father is giving ashes in the courtyard." We made our way to the courtyard and there he was. He blessed all of us, even baby girl in the front pack. I left our church with my lottery ticket on my forehead for all the world to see. I was a happy girl!
Driving home, I still pondered why I was having such a hard time coming up with my one "thing" I would "give up." And then I thought about my experience just trying to get to my car and then to get our ashes. I realized that mothers constantly give up of themselves on a daily basis. And when we have newborns in the house, it is difficult to even imagine how much more we can possibly give up of ourselves. I have given up my sleep, long showers, eating while sitting, my ability to keep my shirt clean all day, my youthful body, a clean house, and sleeping with my husband in the same bed (as he always ends up moving into the guest room for the first four months of our baby's life). We give our lives to our children and most parents would say (once their children are grown and gone) they'd do it again and again.
Even though we give up much, I am reminded that God calls each of us to be saints. I know there is more that I can do. I think I'll start by doing something nice for my church's office staff and priests, as they did so much for me in preparation for our Walk for Life. I will try to pray at least one decade of the rosary for all the women in the world who are contemplating abortion that they choose life over death and that their minds are turned towards the love their child will bring. I will pray for my family more - especially my parents and sister with whom I have no relationship. I will pray to St.Michael the Archangel for strength. And I will pray that I only show love, compassion, and patience towards my children and husband. Lent is about being in the desert, about living through Christ's Passion. There is nothing I can do to measure what He has done for me. At this extremely demanding and busy moment in my life, I will try to tackle this Lenten plan and adhere to it...as if my life depended on it. Please pray for me.
After picking up my son from his preschool classroom today with my two year old son holding one hand, my preschooler holding the other, and my baby girl strapped to my chest, I slowly managed to make my way into the parking lot and towards my car. Of course just getting halfway there took us easily ten minutes because as any mother of boys knows, you have to let them walk across every curb like it's a high wire act and then watch them jump off with wild zeal while holding your breath that no one will end up in the emergency room. While in the parking lot, I ran into not one, but three friends who all were there to attend the Ash Wednesday prayer service which had just begun at our church. I, of course, denied myself that experience because the thought of being in a quiet church with a five year old who might blurt out that he's bored, my two year old who might scream for no particular reason, and my newborn who might suddenly cry from gas pains or needing to be nursed...well, let's just say it wasn't an option for me today.
My friends made their way into the church and I continued on our journey to the car. By the time we were arriving at our final destination, I saw everyone coming back out of the church with ashes on their foreheads. I must admit, I looked at them all with such envy. "Look at all those people without little ones in tow who can just walk into the church so carefree and receive such a blessing." Well, I thought God surely recognized my sacrifice and I'd try to attend next year. Just then, my friends came out and told me that our priest was still giving out ashes in the church and I could just go in to receive them. It was like you had told me they were handing out the winning lottery ticket inside the church. I made a beeline for the doors, and well, you know how fast I was moving with a little one on each hand and one strapped to the front. We went as fast as we could and by the time I opened the doors to the church, it was empty. My lottery ticket had been given away. Another friend came around the corner and said, "Katherine, Father is giving ashes in the courtyard." We made our way to the courtyard and there he was. He blessed all of us, even baby girl in the front pack. I left our church with my lottery ticket on my forehead for all the world to see. I was a happy girl!
Driving home, I still pondered why I was having such a hard time coming up with my one "thing" I would "give up." And then I thought about my experience just trying to get to my car and then to get our ashes. I realized that mothers constantly give up of themselves on a daily basis. And when we have newborns in the house, it is difficult to even imagine how much more we can possibly give up of ourselves. I have given up my sleep, long showers, eating while sitting, my ability to keep my shirt clean all day, my youthful body, a clean house, and sleeping with my husband in the same bed (as he always ends up moving into the guest room for the first four months of our baby's life). We give our lives to our children and most parents would say (once their children are grown and gone) they'd do it again and again.
Even though we give up much, I am reminded that God calls each of us to be saints. I know there is more that I can do. I think I'll start by doing something nice for my church's office staff and priests, as they did so much for me in preparation for our Walk for Life. I will try to pray at least one decade of the rosary for all the women in the world who are contemplating abortion that they choose life over death and that their minds are turned towards the love their child will bring. I will pray for my family more - especially my parents and sister with whom I have no relationship. I will pray to St.Michael the Archangel for strength. And I will pray that I only show love, compassion, and patience towards my children and husband. Lent is about being in the desert, about living through Christ's Passion. There is nothing I can do to measure what He has done for me. At this extremely demanding and busy moment in my life, I will try to tackle this Lenten plan and adhere to it...as if my life depended on it. Please pray for me.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
My Baby Girl's Hands
Exactly one month ago today, I held my fourth baby in my arms for the first time. I finally held my baby girl...my daughter! I couldn't believe it when my doctor said, "Girl!" I looked at my husband and said, "What?" He said, "It's a girl, it's a girl." I cried so hard I'm pretty sure I should have installed windshield wipers on my eyes because even when they held her up, I couldn't see her through all the tears. I knew she was beautiful...and I knew she was mine.
I think every time a parent holds his or her child for the first time, they just want to study all those tiny details and memorize them - the tiny nose, eyes, cheeks, lips, eyebrows, eyelashes, and every hair on that head. I would close my eyes and try to see all the details in my mind so that I would never forget. As well as memorizing all those facial features, I know I always want to see my baby's hands and feet. They're so delicate; so tiny. Those fingers immediately close around my giant finger as if to say, "don't ever let me go." It is the sweetest moment to feel my baby's hand wrapped around my finger.
My newborn daughter's hands are a carbon copy of my own...only much smaller. My father always used to tell me that the first thing he noticed about me after my arrival into this world was my hands. He said he would hold me and just look at my hands and wonder what on earth I would do with those long fingers. He would dream of all the things I could do with my hands. It's ironic to me that he would love my hands so much because they are his hands - only the feminine version. And his hands were his father's. I remember my grandfather's hands very well. It is one of the things I remember about him most even though he passed away when I was very young. His hands were strong, but gentle. They showed his age and his life's work as a photographer for sure. His compassion and love for me as his granddaughter showed in his deeds - done with his hands. My father's hands looked just like my grandfather's, only the younger version. I loved holding on to my father's hand. I knew he'd never let me go.
So, my daughter has those hands now. I look at them and I see my family. I see myself, my father, and my grandfather. Like my father, I too look at her hands and those beautiful long fingers and wonder what she will do with them. What will she create with them? Who will she hug with them? Who will one day ask for one of those hands in marriage? Will she too look at her baby's hands and see her own?
I have been waiting to meet my daughter for a very long time...actually all my life. I have three beautiful sons, whom I love with every fiber of my being, but there is something unique to the mother/daughter relationship. I always knew she was in heaven waiting to join our family. I knew I needed to trust the Lord and His timing. She's finally here. I finally get to look her in the eyes every day and see a future for her. I finally get to hold her hand and tell her I love her, and I'll always protect her. I finally get to look at her hands and see a piece of myself that she will always have. Perhaps, when she is older and is gardening or writing or praying or cooking or sewing or hugging her own children, she will notice her hands and she will see me. Hopefully, she'll see me and feel in her heart the immense love I have for her, have always had for her, and will always have for her. God gave me this incredible gift. I am blessed. My family is blessed.
I think every time a parent holds his or her child for the first time, they just want to study all those tiny details and memorize them - the tiny nose, eyes, cheeks, lips, eyebrows, eyelashes, and every hair on that head. I would close my eyes and try to see all the details in my mind so that I would never forget. As well as memorizing all those facial features, I know I always want to see my baby's hands and feet. They're so delicate; so tiny. Those fingers immediately close around my giant finger as if to say, "don't ever let me go." It is the sweetest moment to feel my baby's hand wrapped around my finger.
My newborn daughter's hands are a carbon copy of my own...only much smaller. My father always used to tell me that the first thing he noticed about me after my arrival into this world was my hands. He said he would hold me and just look at my hands and wonder what on earth I would do with those long fingers. He would dream of all the things I could do with my hands. It's ironic to me that he would love my hands so much because they are his hands - only the feminine version. And his hands were his father's. I remember my grandfather's hands very well. It is one of the things I remember about him most even though he passed away when I was very young. His hands were strong, but gentle. They showed his age and his life's work as a photographer for sure. His compassion and love for me as his granddaughter showed in his deeds - done with his hands. My father's hands looked just like my grandfather's, only the younger version. I loved holding on to my father's hand. I knew he'd never let me go.
So, my daughter has those hands now. I look at them and I see my family. I see myself, my father, and my grandfather. Like my father, I too look at her hands and those beautiful long fingers and wonder what she will do with them. What will she create with them? Who will she hug with them? Who will one day ask for one of those hands in marriage? Will she too look at her baby's hands and see her own?
I have been waiting to meet my daughter for a very long time...actually all my life. I have three beautiful sons, whom I love with every fiber of my being, but there is something unique to the mother/daughter relationship. I always knew she was in heaven waiting to join our family. I knew I needed to trust the Lord and His timing. She's finally here. I finally get to look her in the eyes every day and see a future for her. I finally get to hold her hand and tell her I love her, and I'll always protect her. I finally get to look at her hands and see a piece of myself that she will always have. Perhaps, when she is older and is gardening or writing or praying or cooking or sewing or hugging her own children, she will notice her hands and she will see me. Hopefully, she'll see me and feel in her heart the immense love I have for her, have always had for her, and will always have for her. God gave me this incredible gift. I am blessed. My family is blessed.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Before I Hold My Fourth Child in My Arms
There really are no words to describe childbirth because it's different for each woman and it's different with each birth. I can tell you that after having a natural delivery (with my largest and first child), an emergency c-section, and then a scheduled c-section, none of it is fun and I always go into the experience with mixed emotions. At the end of the pregnancy, the baby gets so large that it sits on bones and nerves I didn't even know I had. My Braxton-Hicks contractions have run the gamut in severity with each pregnancy - ranging from practically nothing to so intense I thought I was in labor twice (and that was on my third pregnancy). So, I want the baby to come out, but I have loved carrying the baby inside me for so long. It almost feels cruel to deliver. Babies must feel so loved, so warm, and so secure inside their mother's wombs.
I am scheduled for a c-section early Friday morning, and again my anxiety is starting to creep in. I have been nesting like crazy - I think anyone would be okay with eating off of my floors at this point! And what is it about nesting that it becomes almost an affliction at the very end?! I even went out and bought new garden cushions and a very cute ladybug garden thermometer. Like the baby will see any of that and say, "Wow Mom, thanks for spiffying up the house before I came home!" All the baby's clothes have been washed in Dreft. God forbid they should touch anything washed in Tide! My boys have all had their haircuts, I contacted all my oldest son's teachers for homework ahead of time, wrapped up all the loose ends relating to the Walk for Life I organized, and I've been cooking and freezing as much as I can.
So I've physically exhausted all my responsibilities of the house. But what about my responsibility to my spiritual side - the side that really matters? Am I ready to have this baby? Physically, yes. My body says I'm ready and my house says I'm ready. My spirit says it's not so sure. I want to have complete peace with this delivery. I have three boys and I love them more than my own life. I would be lying, however, if I said I didn't care whether or not I had a girl. I don't even know why. My sons are beautiful, smart, kind, thoughtful, and most importantly...healthy. My wish for this baby is that it is 100% healthy. How much richer could I be if I had four healthy children?
I think in a lot of ways, my desire for a daughter is selfishly motivated. When sons are little, their mom is the center of their universe. Once they are men, they will either be husbands/fathers or priests. The center of their universe will definitely not be mom anymore, which is as it should be. Men must become the leaders of their families and devote themselves to their wives and children. Daughters, on the other hand, tend to cling to their mothers more and more as they move into womanhood. I guess it is a feminine bond that can't easily be broken. I would love to have a daughter to share my femininity with - to give her my recipes, to brush her hair, to shop together, to do all the "girly" things together.
This entire pregnancy has been about letting go, though, and completely trusting in God. This baby was such a happy surprise, and we decided early on that we wouldn't find out its gender. I just felt that after my history of fertility, infertility, miscarriages, fertility later in life, and then this incredible gift of life I should completely and blindly trust God. This baby was here for a reason, and I didn't want to mess with God's plan. Every step of the pregnancy has proven me right. I had three ultrasounds and the tech couldn't even see the gender all three times. The baby was either curled up tight like a ball or sitting facing my spine. I reveled in that. It was like the baby was saying, "If my Mom's not going to know, no one will." I always left the ultrasound with a smile on my face and a skip in my step.
As a Catholic, we have the sacrament of Anointing of the Sick at our disposal - which is not only for those who are dying. We are allowed to receive it before a surgery. I received it before my last c-section, and it brought me peace that I can't even explain in words. It was like a wind whipped in through my hospital room and took out any doubts or anxiety I had. I am going to my parish tomorrow to receive the sacrament once again, and I know my anxieties and doubts about surgery, recovery, leaving my children, and finding out the gender will be washed away. Jesus was a healer...and He continues to be so. The next time I write, I will have held my fourth child in my arms, looked into the eyes of my baby... and seen God.
I am scheduled for a c-section early Friday morning, and again my anxiety is starting to creep in. I have been nesting like crazy - I think anyone would be okay with eating off of my floors at this point! And what is it about nesting that it becomes almost an affliction at the very end?! I even went out and bought new garden cushions and a very cute ladybug garden thermometer. Like the baby will see any of that and say, "Wow Mom, thanks for spiffying up the house before I came home!" All the baby's clothes have been washed in Dreft. God forbid they should touch anything washed in Tide! My boys have all had their haircuts, I contacted all my oldest son's teachers for homework ahead of time, wrapped up all the loose ends relating to the Walk for Life I organized, and I've been cooking and freezing as much as I can.
So I've physically exhausted all my responsibilities of the house. But what about my responsibility to my spiritual side - the side that really matters? Am I ready to have this baby? Physically, yes. My body says I'm ready and my house says I'm ready. My spirit says it's not so sure. I want to have complete peace with this delivery. I have three boys and I love them more than my own life. I would be lying, however, if I said I didn't care whether or not I had a girl. I don't even know why. My sons are beautiful, smart, kind, thoughtful, and most importantly...healthy. My wish for this baby is that it is 100% healthy. How much richer could I be if I had four healthy children?
I think in a lot of ways, my desire for a daughter is selfishly motivated. When sons are little, their mom is the center of their universe. Once they are men, they will either be husbands/fathers or priests. The center of their universe will definitely not be mom anymore, which is as it should be. Men must become the leaders of their families and devote themselves to their wives and children. Daughters, on the other hand, tend to cling to their mothers more and more as they move into womanhood. I guess it is a feminine bond that can't easily be broken. I would love to have a daughter to share my femininity with - to give her my recipes, to brush her hair, to shop together, to do all the "girly" things together.
This entire pregnancy has been about letting go, though, and completely trusting in God. This baby was such a happy surprise, and we decided early on that we wouldn't find out its gender. I just felt that after my history of fertility, infertility, miscarriages, fertility later in life, and then this incredible gift of life I should completely and blindly trust God. This baby was here for a reason, and I didn't want to mess with God's plan. Every step of the pregnancy has proven me right. I had three ultrasounds and the tech couldn't even see the gender all three times. The baby was either curled up tight like a ball or sitting facing my spine. I reveled in that. It was like the baby was saying, "If my Mom's not going to know, no one will." I always left the ultrasound with a smile on my face and a skip in my step.
As a Catholic, we have the sacrament of Anointing of the Sick at our disposal - which is not only for those who are dying. We are allowed to receive it before a surgery. I received it before my last c-section, and it brought me peace that I can't even explain in words. It was like a wind whipped in through my hospital room and took out any doubts or anxiety I had. I am going to my parish tomorrow to receive the sacrament once again, and I know my anxieties and doubts about surgery, recovery, leaving my children, and finding out the gender will be washed away. Jesus was a healer...and He continues to be so. The next time I write, I will have held my fourth child in my arms, looked into the eyes of my baby... and seen God.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Love everyone...as SHE loved her Son.
After my second son was born, my husband and I decided he needed a playmate. I became pregnant easily this time; however, when I went for my ultrasound at eight weeks there was no heartbeat. Of course I didn't know this right away because the tech hid the screen from my view, but I knew something was wrong. I left upset but with no real answers. My doctor contacted me and said it might just be too early and that I should repeat the ultrasound in a week. My repeat ultrasound would fall on Good Friday of that year. I went in with high hopes, but a horrible pit in my stomach. I had prayed for a miracle the entire week leading up to Good Friday. I went in for the ultrasound, and this time, the tech let me know that she still could not see a heartbeat. I was devastated. How could this be happening on Good Friday of all days? I sat up and cried many tears inside that examining room. When I turned to leave the room, I looked up over the door and there was a figurine of Jesus - not on a crucifix - but with his arms extended looking down on me. I was instantly comforted. I knew Jesus was there with me that day - that He would never leave me. Easter Sunday was coming and I had hope for the future.
Two months later, I became pregnant again and I was optimistically cautious throughout the entire pregnancy. This baby's hormones were on high though and I couldn't ever NOT be aware of the amazing life growing inside of me. This baby definitely wanted me to know that he was here for good! I was sick as a dog, and once I got over that, I had an appetite like a linebacker!
During that pregnancy, I was still having a lot of problems with my family (as mentioned in a previous posting) and I did a lot of crying, as well as a lot of soul searching. I had not only been unjustly attacked, but then abandoned. I prayed a lot during that time. I kept asking God for a sign - something that told me everything would be okay. When I was about four months pregnant, I had a dream that I could not explain when I woke up. In my dream, I was standing before a very large grotto in a foreign country. Inside the grotto was a large painting of Mary. It was very specific and I recognized the image as familiar. However, in the dream all I could keep saying in my head was, "She's so beautiful." I couldn't take my eyes off of her even though there were many people passing in front of me to get a quick glimpse. It was dark and there were candles lit at the bottom of the grotto. I was frozen - just staring at Mary's face...filled with mercy, love, such beauty. All of a sudden, a wind came over my right shoulder and in that wind I heard a very distinct man's voice say to me "Love everyone...as SHE loved her Son." As soon as I heard the voice, it was like I was being pulled away from the image - out of the grotto - and then I woke up.
I thought, "What did that voice mean?" Was this the sign I had been waiting for in regards to my parents and sister? I did love them. I never stopped loving them. Perhaps, I was still angry with them. I didn't know what it all meant, but I jumped out of bed and did a google search for the exact image of Mary I had seen. I immediately recognized the image as Our Lady of Guadalupe. Okay, now this is where my mind began racing in many different directions. I still didn't understand. She is the patron saint of Mexico. What did Mexico have to do with me??? My husband and I had lived in New Mexico for one year as newlyweds and it was an extremely happy time. I thought perhaps Mary was coming to me in an image that would make me happy - bring back happy memories. I put it on the back burner because I couldn't figure it out. I never forgot the words or the sound of the man's voice - so clear, so distinct, or the feeling of the wind - so forceful yet comforting. I figured God would reveal the meaning of this message when the time was right.
A couple weeks later, I was reading a Catholic blog on the internet, and it was talking about Our Lady of Guadalupe as the patroness of the unborn. I just about fell out of my chair.
"Love everyone...as SHE loved her Son."
It wasn't specifically about my family - although it was in a roundabout way. This was a message about God calling me to do His work. When I vowed to be a soldier for Christ during my second pregnancy, I did not know how He would use me. I had been waiting. Actually, I had been waiting since my first year in teaching many many years prior, but I had been too scared to enter the pro life movement then. This was the answer I had been looking for. I told my husband I needed to get involved in the Respect Life Ministry. Only, I didn't know how or what I could do at that point. I was eight months pregnant, very swollen, and had two other children. So, on the backburner it went once again. Surely God would wait for me. Surely He would let me know, just as He always had, how and when I could become involved. I gave birth to a healthy baby boy...our third son. We named him after Pope John Paul II, who was relentless in his fight for the unborn.
Two months later, I became pregnant again and I was optimistically cautious throughout the entire pregnancy. This baby's hormones were on high though and I couldn't ever NOT be aware of the amazing life growing inside of me. This baby definitely wanted me to know that he was here for good! I was sick as a dog, and once I got over that, I had an appetite like a linebacker!
During that pregnancy, I was still having a lot of problems with my family (as mentioned in a previous posting) and I did a lot of crying, as well as a lot of soul searching. I had not only been unjustly attacked, but then abandoned. I prayed a lot during that time. I kept asking God for a sign - something that told me everything would be okay. When I was about four months pregnant, I had a dream that I could not explain when I woke up. In my dream, I was standing before a very large grotto in a foreign country. Inside the grotto was a large painting of Mary. It was very specific and I recognized the image as familiar. However, in the dream all I could keep saying in my head was, "She's so beautiful." I couldn't take my eyes off of her even though there were many people passing in front of me to get a quick glimpse. It was dark and there were candles lit at the bottom of the grotto. I was frozen - just staring at Mary's face...filled with mercy, love, such beauty. All of a sudden, a wind came over my right shoulder and in that wind I heard a very distinct man's voice say to me "Love everyone...as SHE loved her Son." As soon as I heard the voice, it was like I was being pulled away from the image - out of the grotto - and then I woke up.
I thought, "What did that voice mean?" Was this the sign I had been waiting for in regards to my parents and sister? I did love them. I never stopped loving them. Perhaps, I was still angry with them. I didn't know what it all meant, but I jumped out of bed and did a google search for the exact image of Mary I had seen. I immediately recognized the image as Our Lady of Guadalupe. Okay, now this is where my mind began racing in many different directions. I still didn't understand. She is the patron saint of Mexico. What did Mexico have to do with me??? My husband and I had lived in New Mexico for one year as newlyweds and it was an extremely happy time. I thought perhaps Mary was coming to me in an image that would make me happy - bring back happy memories. I put it on the back burner because I couldn't figure it out. I never forgot the words or the sound of the man's voice - so clear, so distinct, or the feeling of the wind - so forceful yet comforting. I figured God would reveal the meaning of this message when the time was right.
A couple weeks later, I was reading a Catholic blog on the internet, and it was talking about Our Lady of Guadalupe as the patroness of the unborn. I just about fell out of my chair.
"Love everyone...as SHE loved her Son."
Was Mary not a scared and unwed pregnant teen? She answered God's call to be a mother with a resounding "YES!" Mary said yes to life and look what happened to humanity. What if she had said no? The message I heard was a message of love. And in the end, isn't that what Jesus calls us to do? The dream finally made perfect sense.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Walk Was a Success!
Great news! The walk was a huge success. We had over 300 people in attendance, and we raised over $11,000! There were people there of all ages and from many parishes, but most importantly, a third of them were students.
The pro life message has to begin in our homes and with our youth. If they know the facts of fetal development, the methods and horrors of abortion, and the fact that chastity has never stopped being an option, then the hearts of this country will change so that being pro-choice will not be seen as a choice anymore. In fact, the "pro choice" groups make it their mission to bombard women with the message that an abortion is a safe and viable alternative to pregnancy and bringing forth life. In reality, when a woman makes a decision to abort her baby, she feels she has no choice. Women abort their babies in desperation, often under duress of family members.
I was overwhelmed with not only our local walk but with the national March for Life in Washington DC. I have heard reports there were half a million people there. I watched the rally and walk live on EWTN - and it was certainly a sight to behold. So many people...braving that cold...to stand before our nation's capitol to declare every human being has a right to life. The amount of youth that was present at the march was fantastic. There were many youth groups and colleges represented there. I know our Archdiocese brought high schoolers to DC and am looking forward to hearing about their experiences. Franciscan University in Steubenville, OH brought over 800 students, faculty, and staff. Christendom College in VA completely shut their campus down on Monday so that every student would have the opportunity to attend the march. Those are awesome signs for our future as a nation.
Become informed and teach your children. You will never regret telling them the truth rather than following societal norms. You only have one chance to be a parent and before you know it, your children will be grown, living away from your home, and making their own life decisions. The night before our walk, all of my supplies and materials were all over the dining room table. I turned to my fourteen year old son and said, "You must think your mom has lost her mind." He said to me, "No mom, I think you found it."
The pro life message has to begin in our homes and with our youth. If they know the facts of fetal development, the methods and horrors of abortion, and the fact that chastity has never stopped being an option, then the hearts of this country will change so that being pro-choice will not be seen as a choice anymore. In fact, the "pro choice" groups make it their mission to bombard women with the message that an abortion is a safe and viable alternative to pregnancy and bringing forth life. In reality, when a woman makes a decision to abort her baby, she feels she has no choice. Women abort their babies in desperation, often under duress of family members.
I was overwhelmed with not only our local walk but with the national March for Life in Washington DC. I have heard reports there were half a million people there. I watched the rally and walk live on EWTN - and it was certainly a sight to behold. So many people...braving that cold...to stand before our nation's capitol to declare every human being has a right to life. The amount of youth that was present at the march was fantastic. There were many youth groups and colleges represented there. I know our Archdiocese brought high schoolers to DC and am looking forward to hearing about their experiences. Franciscan University in Steubenville, OH brought over 800 students, faculty, and staff. Christendom College in VA completely shut their campus down on Monday so that every student would have the opportunity to attend the march. Those are awesome signs for our future as a nation.
Become informed and teach your children. You will never regret telling them the truth rather than following societal norms. You only have one chance to be a parent and before you know it, your children will be grown, living away from your home, and making their own life decisions. The night before our walk, all of my supplies and materials were all over the dining room table. I turned to my fourteen year old son and said, "You must think your mom has lost her mind." He said to me, "No mom, I think you found it."
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| Praying before our display of 40 crosses - representing the number of babies who lose their lives every day in our county alone. |
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| One of the first signs along the walking route. |
Friday, January 21, 2011
Surrendering
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| These 40 Crosses represent the number of babies in our county who lose their lives every day to abortion. Each cross bears an epitaph - a memorial given by a parent, grandparent, or sibling to the baby who lost its life. They are on display at our parish for this Walk for Life 2011. |
When you make a commitment to do God's work, and you sign up for Christ's army, you don't exactly get to call all the shots. As a former teacher, I can tell you, I would love the title of "General". I'd settle for "Commanding Officer". It just doesn't work like that. This is a promise with the Big Kahuna - The Creator - the Maker of Heaven and Earth. I think He's the General!
Back in September, I agreed to become my parish's Respect Life Coordinator not even knowing what my duties would be. I felt called, and there was just too much overwhelming evidence to support that calling (which I'll go into in a forthcoming post). I couldn't deny it anymore. I couldn't run from what God wanted me to do. I accepted - actually gleefully - even though I was five months pregnant and I was told that our parish would be hosting a Walk for Life for half the county the end of January. My due date was February 4th.
Well, since the calling was too strong to ignore, I saddled up and took off. It is now the eve of the Walk - the eve of the anniversary of Roe v. Wade. All my t's have been crossed and my i's have been dotted. I'm thrilled beyond belief that God has carried out His mission through me. This has been a glorious journey to get to this point - through hills and valleys - always knowing that the outcome would be whatever God wanted it to be. I was just enlisted. I was given the tools to carry out this awesome task. I hope the weather is great, many people show up, and that things run smoothly, but I won't lose sleep over those details tonight. I always knew I wasn't in charge.
p.s. I will post the outcome of our parish's Walk for Life, as well as a picture or two in my next blog.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Signing up in Christ's Army
A year and a half after my second son was born, I found myself sitting in an Easter penance service. Probably because I'm a convert, confession doesn't come easily or natural for me. I am learning, however, that it is one of the greatest and most underused sacraments. Our parish offers a penance service each Easter and Christmas so that you can come, listen to readings, write down your confessions, stand in line to present them to a priest (they also offer private confessions), and after you receive your penance, you can go outside to a small bonfire and burn your paper. It is a beautiful service, and there is something to watching your sins literally burn before your eyes.
It had now been almost twelve years since my conversion, and even though I had felt I was being led, and even pulled at times, I had a strong sense I wasn't doing enough. It went deeper than that though. For some reason, I still had an issue with Christ. I didn't feel close to Him as my savior. I believed in his life, death, and resurrection. I believed his mother Mary was leading me to Him. But was I praying to Him? After seeing the Passion of the Christ, I realized I had done nothing in comparison to what He had done for me.
So, I sat in this service and felt like a coward. I've never thought of myself as a coward in my personal life. I kind of like to take the bull by the horns, as the saying goes. But when it came to Jesus, I was timid. What could I do? What was I doing? And what was I capable of doing for Him? I realized, sitting before the crucifix, that I didn't really have to figure that out. I didn't have to know exactly where God wanted me. So I made a promise that night. I wrote on my paper a few confessions and at the bottom I wrote, "I promise I will be a soldier for Christ, no matter the cost."
Three days later, a firestorm erupted within my family. I was accused of all sorts of things I never said or did. No one was willing to listen to any explanation I could give. I felt persecuted and I didn't know why this was happening. As I've mentioned in a previous blog - My Conversion to the Catholic Faith - my parents have really been Godless for a long time. The occult consumed them, and I watched evil seep into their souls and ooze back out to touch those around them. The first attack came in the form of a phone call from my mother, and I normally would cower to her or my father just to get along. That day, I spoke my peace in a calm rational manner. It was like I was someone else. She didn't listen, but screamed, ranted, and swore at me. I never lost my temper and tried to give explanations to her accusations.
As soon as I hung up with her, I began shaking and crying and I realized then it had been the Holy Spirit with me on that phone - giving me the words to say. I could have never come up with the words on my own. Christ even said to his apostles upon their commissioning that they need not worry about words; that they would come as the Spirit of the Father. I have since not worried very much about speaking the truth. I have learned that the truth really will set you free. It is in seeking truth that we find God and His plan for each of us. After two years of repeated attacks through emails, phone messages, and letter, I ultimately lost my family - parents, sister, grandfather, aunt, cousins, etc. - but I gained a new family. I began to feel, for the first time in my life, that I had a place in Christ's family and I was willing to fight for it.
I began to pray to St. Michael the Archangel to give me strength if I were to be in this army. This was an army that was "persecuted for righteousness sake". I was scared because I knew this would not be easy. I was willing to take on this awesome responsibility anyway. I did not know exactly where God would use me, but as I promised that night at the penance service, I would fight for Him. I would fight for the Son. I would be a soldier for Christ!
"You will be dragged before governors and kings for my sake, to bear testimony before them and the Gentiles. When they deliver you up, do not be anxious how you are to speak or what you are to say; for what you are to say will be given to you in that hour; for it is not you who speak , but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you." Mt 10:18-20
It had now been almost twelve years since my conversion, and even though I had felt I was being led, and even pulled at times, I had a strong sense I wasn't doing enough. It went deeper than that though. For some reason, I still had an issue with Christ. I didn't feel close to Him as my savior. I believed in his life, death, and resurrection. I believed his mother Mary was leading me to Him. But was I praying to Him? After seeing the Passion of the Christ, I realized I had done nothing in comparison to what He had done for me.
So, I sat in this service and felt like a coward. I've never thought of myself as a coward in my personal life. I kind of like to take the bull by the horns, as the saying goes. But when it came to Jesus, I was timid. What could I do? What was I doing? And what was I capable of doing for Him? I realized, sitting before the crucifix, that I didn't really have to figure that out. I didn't have to know exactly where God wanted me. So I made a promise that night. I wrote on my paper a few confessions and at the bottom I wrote, "I promise I will be a soldier for Christ, no matter the cost."
Three days later, a firestorm erupted within my family. I was accused of all sorts of things I never said or did. No one was willing to listen to any explanation I could give. I felt persecuted and I didn't know why this was happening. As I've mentioned in a previous blog - My Conversion to the Catholic Faith - my parents have really been Godless for a long time. The occult consumed them, and I watched evil seep into their souls and ooze back out to touch those around them. The first attack came in the form of a phone call from my mother, and I normally would cower to her or my father just to get along. That day, I spoke my peace in a calm rational manner. It was like I was someone else. She didn't listen, but screamed, ranted, and swore at me. I never lost my temper and tried to give explanations to her accusations.
As soon as I hung up with her, I began shaking and crying and I realized then it had been the Holy Spirit with me on that phone - giving me the words to say. I could have never come up with the words on my own. Christ even said to his apostles upon their commissioning that they need not worry about words; that they would come as the Spirit of the Father. I have since not worried very much about speaking the truth. I have learned that the truth really will set you free. It is in seeking truth that we find God and His plan for each of us. After two years of repeated attacks through emails, phone messages, and letter, I ultimately lost my family - parents, sister, grandfather, aunt, cousins, etc. - but I gained a new family. I began to feel, for the first time in my life, that I had a place in Christ's family and I was willing to fight for it.
I began to pray to St. Michael the Archangel to give me strength if I were to be in this army. This was an army that was "persecuted for righteousness sake". I was scared because I knew this would not be easy. I was willing to take on this awesome responsibility anyway. I did not know exactly where God would use me, but as I promised that night at the penance service, I would fight for Him. I would fight for the Son. I would be a soldier for Christ!
"You will be dragged before governors and kings for my sake, to bear testimony before them and the Gentiles. When they deliver you up, do not be anxious how you are to speak or what you are to say; for what you are to say will be given to you in that hour; for it is not you who speak , but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you." Mt 10:18-20
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Open to Life on Whose Terms?
So what does "being open to life" really mean? Does it mean someone's open to having a baby...really? We all seem to think we're going to get the perfect baby, the gender we want, the personality we want, the perfect birthing experience (whatever that is for each person), and all on our time...when we want.
After staying home with my first son for the first four years, I found myself back in the classroom due to financial constraints. I taught middle school three more years, but this time I got to teach my first love - which was math. The most ironic thing about that first year back, was the inordinate amount of similarity between this class and my very first class. I was thankful I didn't teach them most of the subjects like my first job...this time it was only math. I did, however, see this as a second chance. The cast of characters was so similar, but I was older, a little wiser now from being a mother, and I knew God was presenting this situation to me a second time for a reason.
I loved my students and I loved what I was teaching, but I was longing for a second child of my own. In January of my third year there, I suffered a miscarriage. I was devastated and blamed it on the stress of the job. In March, I put in my resignation and had no intentions of ever going back. I took off the entire next year just to be home with my son and to try to get pregnant. I couldn't get pregnant. Not only did I feel like a failure, but I felt like God had abandoned me. Why was it that I had such a strong notion that God had more children for me, but that He was holding out? Why wouldn't He send me the rest of my children??? I was angry, and I felt desperate. The end of the school year was approaching, I had no pregnancy to show for it, and I wondered if the baby I had lost would be the last baby I would ever carry in my womb.
My doctor advised fertility pills. I remember feeling excited that medicine was coming to the rescue. Surely fertility pills would do the trick. Why wouldn't they? I had been pregnant before. My husband wasn't so keen on the idea; he felt it should be in God's hands - not ours. That sounded like a cop out to me. Why wouldn't I try if medicine was telling me I could? I begged him to let us try. We tried for three months and the only thing the pills got me was a major mood enhancer in the wrong direction - my hormones were on overdrive and I let just about everybody "have it". Difficult would be a major understatement to describe me during those three months!
It didn't work. I was trying very hard to accept God's plan for us as parents of an only child. I had always wanted a large family...this didn't make sense to me and I was sad to my core. I decided to go back to teaching to get my mind off of it. We continued to try with no luck. I wondered if there was something in me or my relationship with my husband that was holding us back. I had always wanted a girl, but could my feelings of specifying the gender and not simply allowing God's plan to unfold be the cause of my apparent infertility. What if the timing just wasn't right? Did God really need me in that teaching position and I would just have to wait? Or would that day never come?
One night, while laying in bed, I began praying...but praying like I never had before. I was exhausted. I didn't want to think about babies anymore. I was brought to my knees and I completely gave up. I told God that whatever his plan was for me, I was okay with that - even if it meant I would be the mother of one child. I had gone through so much, and had hit the bottom, and I really was okay with God's plan for us as a family. I was relieved. I felt like I had been finally freed. Maybe there was something to what my husband had told me before I tried the fertility pills. Maybe there was more wisdom than I knew in the Catholic teachings.
A couple weeks later my son awoke in the middle of the night from an apparent nightmare. Only it wasn't a nightmare that scared him, but something he saw in his dream. He dreamed an angel came down through the ceiling of our house and brought with him four children. He said he was so happy finally playing with other children in his own house and they all got along. He said they all liked the "same stuff". What scared him was that at the end of the dream, the angel turned to leave and take the children with him, and he could see the wings in his back. He said they were large and it scared him. I assured him that night that an angel would never want to scare him. He fell back asleep happy, and I wondered...did it mean something?
Little did I know, I was one week pregnant with my second son.
After staying home with my first son for the first four years, I found myself back in the classroom due to financial constraints. I taught middle school three more years, but this time I got to teach my first love - which was math. The most ironic thing about that first year back, was the inordinate amount of similarity between this class and my very first class. I was thankful I didn't teach them most of the subjects like my first job...this time it was only math. I did, however, see this as a second chance. The cast of characters was so similar, but I was older, a little wiser now from being a mother, and I knew God was presenting this situation to me a second time for a reason.
I loved my students and I loved what I was teaching, but I was longing for a second child of my own. In January of my third year there, I suffered a miscarriage. I was devastated and blamed it on the stress of the job. In March, I put in my resignation and had no intentions of ever going back. I took off the entire next year just to be home with my son and to try to get pregnant. I couldn't get pregnant. Not only did I feel like a failure, but I felt like God had abandoned me. Why was it that I had such a strong notion that God had more children for me, but that He was holding out? Why wouldn't He send me the rest of my children??? I was angry, and I felt desperate. The end of the school year was approaching, I had no pregnancy to show for it, and I wondered if the baby I had lost would be the last baby I would ever carry in my womb.
My doctor advised fertility pills. I remember feeling excited that medicine was coming to the rescue. Surely fertility pills would do the trick. Why wouldn't they? I had been pregnant before. My husband wasn't so keen on the idea; he felt it should be in God's hands - not ours. That sounded like a cop out to me. Why wouldn't I try if medicine was telling me I could? I begged him to let us try. We tried for three months and the only thing the pills got me was a major mood enhancer in the wrong direction - my hormones were on overdrive and I let just about everybody "have it". Difficult would be a major understatement to describe me during those three months!
It didn't work. I was trying very hard to accept God's plan for us as parents of an only child. I had always wanted a large family...this didn't make sense to me and I was sad to my core. I decided to go back to teaching to get my mind off of it. We continued to try with no luck. I wondered if there was something in me or my relationship with my husband that was holding us back. I had always wanted a girl, but could my feelings of specifying the gender and not simply allowing God's plan to unfold be the cause of my apparent infertility. What if the timing just wasn't right? Did God really need me in that teaching position and I would just have to wait? Or would that day never come?
One night, while laying in bed, I began praying...but praying like I never had before. I was exhausted. I didn't want to think about babies anymore. I was brought to my knees and I completely gave up. I told God that whatever his plan was for me, I was okay with that - even if it meant I would be the mother of one child. I had gone through so much, and had hit the bottom, and I really was okay with God's plan for us as a family. I was relieved. I felt like I had been finally freed. Maybe there was something to what my husband had told me before I tried the fertility pills. Maybe there was more wisdom than I knew in the Catholic teachings.
A couple weeks later my son awoke in the middle of the night from an apparent nightmare. Only it wasn't a nightmare that scared him, but something he saw in his dream. He dreamed an angel came down through the ceiling of our house and brought with him four children. He said he was so happy finally playing with other children in his own house and they all got along. He said they all liked the "same stuff". What scared him was that at the end of the dream, the angel turned to leave and take the children with him, and he could see the wings in his back. He said they were large and it scared him. I assured him that night that an angel would never want to scare him. He fell back asleep happy, and I wondered...did it mean something?
Little did I know, I was one week pregnant with my second son.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Mary and Her Miraculous Medal
Not long after my conversion, I became pregnant with my first son. The Carmelite Sisters, who were running the school where I was teaching, put his name in their perpetual book of prayer when he was born. They also gave me a pretty little light blue pendant. It had a pretty image of Mary on the front. I immediately put that medal on a silver chain around my neck and never took it off.
Two years later, I strapped my son in his car seat as I had now done a thousand times, and we set off one morning to return a blanket that was a hideous color of green. I was only one block from our house when a car traveling approximately 50 mph hit my driver's side door at full speed. I don't think either one of us ever saw the other. His little red car was hidden behind a lawn truck pulling a trailer. It happened so quickly, yet at the point of impact, every motion slowed down to a crawl, and I really did see my entire life flash before my eyes. I remember the other driver's car bouncing away from my car in slow motion - which ended up landing about fifty feet away. I remember my head jerking side to side and hitting the driver's side window while the glass shattered all over me. I remember feeling a sting in my right leg.
While this was happening, I heard my son scream from the back seat, but everything went black. I struggled to see out the front window, but I couldn't. Everything was black, yet I saw my life. In an instant, I was four and then twelve and then nineteen and then giving birth and everything in between. I remember in that instant, I cried out to God to please let me live. I remember saying I had too much to live for and begged for my life. The next memory I have was of looking up and seeing six police cars, two ambulances, and a fire truck. There were two paramedics crawling in the passenger side door telling me I would be okay. I turned my head to look at them and they were smiling like the faces of angels. The steering wheel had cracked in two, a piece of the gear shift was stuck in my leg (thus the sting), every window in the car was shattered, and they were pulling me out of the passenger side door backwards.
The first thing I said was, "Where is my son?!" The female paramedic helped me to stand up and assured me that they had removed him from the car before me and taken him immediately to the ambulance still strapped in his car seat to keep him immobilized and safe. She began asking me if I was okay. The endorphins running through me led me to believe that I was. I felt nothing - completely numb! She began to dust me off as I was covered head to toe in glass. Once I came to my senses, I began to feel a burning sensation throughout my body and my head was really hurting. She convinced me to lie down on a stretcher and be taken to the hospital for further examination. As they were strapping me down, she told me I would get to be right next to my son in the ambulance and that we would not be separated. It was the next thing she told me that I will never forget.
She said she had something very important to tell me and that I needed to pay attention. I told her I was. She began with, "You know how I had to dust you off when you got out of the car because of all the glass?" I said, "yes." She said that she has to do that for everyone at every accident where a window has broken. Then she said, "When I pulled your son out of the car, I immediately went to dust him off because I didn't want any glass to fall into his eyes. Only, there wasn't any glass on him...not one piece...not one piece of glass dust. I kept checking him over and over because I couldn't believe it. There was, however, a silhouette of glass around his body. It was like he had been covered in saran wrap at the point of impact."
Covered in saran wrap? When they placed me into the ambulance next to my son, it was a feeling of relief I had never felt before. Just to know my baby was okay and I could reach out and grab his hand. I could touch him. He seemed fine - the paramedics had been keeping him happy.
How could that have happened? Why was I covered head to toe in glass, yet he didn't even have glass dust on him. The paramedic's words will forever stay in my mind. I will never forget the look on her face as she told me. She also happened to mention, "I've been doing this job for twelve years now, and I have never seen this happen." I told her his guardian angel must have shielded him from the impact. She smiled and said, "I think so."
When the Carmelites gave me the pendant, I didn't even know what it was. Again, I was a recent convert and I still don't know all the images of Mary. It looked pretty and it was a gift from them so I wore it. It was a miraculous medal. A miraculous medal depicts Mary as she was seen one evening by a nun. Mary said to her, "Have a medal struck upon this model. Those who wear it will receive great graces, especially if they wear it around their neck." I believe my son and I were protected that day. I had begun a devotion to Mary back when I was teaching, and she certainly sent her graces to us in our time of trouble.
The Meaning of the Miraculous Medal
Two years later, I strapped my son in his car seat as I had now done a thousand times, and we set off one morning to return a blanket that was a hideous color of green. I was only one block from our house when a car traveling approximately 50 mph hit my driver's side door at full speed. I don't think either one of us ever saw the other. His little red car was hidden behind a lawn truck pulling a trailer. It happened so quickly, yet at the point of impact, every motion slowed down to a crawl, and I really did see my entire life flash before my eyes. I remember the other driver's car bouncing away from my car in slow motion - which ended up landing about fifty feet away. I remember my head jerking side to side and hitting the driver's side window while the glass shattered all over me. I remember feeling a sting in my right leg.
While this was happening, I heard my son scream from the back seat, but everything went black. I struggled to see out the front window, but I couldn't. Everything was black, yet I saw my life. In an instant, I was four and then twelve and then nineteen and then giving birth and everything in between. I remember in that instant, I cried out to God to please let me live. I remember saying I had too much to live for and begged for my life. The next memory I have was of looking up and seeing six police cars, two ambulances, and a fire truck. There were two paramedics crawling in the passenger side door telling me I would be okay. I turned my head to look at them and they were smiling like the faces of angels. The steering wheel had cracked in two, a piece of the gear shift was stuck in my leg (thus the sting), every window in the car was shattered, and they were pulling me out of the passenger side door backwards.
The first thing I said was, "Where is my son?!" The female paramedic helped me to stand up and assured me that they had removed him from the car before me and taken him immediately to the ambulance still strapped in his car seat to keep him immobilized and safe. She began asking me if I was okay. The endorphins running through me led me to believe that I was. I felt nothing - completely numb! She began to dust me off as I was covered head to toe in glass. Once I came to my senses, I began to feel a burning sensation throughout my body and my head was really hurting. She convinced me to lie down on a stretcher and be taken to the hospital for further examination. As they were strapping me down, she told me I would get to be right next to my son in the ambulance and that we would not be separated. It was the next thing she told me that I will never forget.
She said she had something very important to tell me and that I needed to pay attention. I told her I was. She began with, "You know how I had to dust you off when you got out of the car because of all the glass?" I said, "yes." She said that she has to do that for everyone at every accident where a window has broken. Then she said, "When I pulled your son out of the car, I immediately went to dust him off because I didn't want any glass to fall into his eyes. Only, there wasn't any glass on him...not one piece...not one piece of glass dust. I kept checking him over and over because I couldn't believe it. There was, however, a silhouette of glass around his body. It was like he had been covered in saran wrap at the point of impact."
Covered in saran wrap? When they placed me into the ambulance next to my son, it was a feeling of relief I had never felt before. Just to know my baby was okay and I could reach out and grab his hand. I could touch him. He seemed fine - the paramedics had been keeping him happy.
How could that have happened? Why was I covered head to toe in glass, yet he didn't even have glass dust on him. The paramedic's words will forever stay in my mind. I will never forget the look on her face as she told me. She also happened to mention, "I've been doing this job for twelve years now, and I have never seen this happen." I told her his guardian angel must have shielded him from the impact. She smiled and said, "I think so."
When the Carmelites gave me the pendant, I didn't even know what it was. Again, I was a recent convert and I still don't know all the images of Mary. It looked pretty and it was a gift from them so I wore it. It was a miraculous medal. A miraculous medal depicts Mary as she was seen one evening by a nun. Mary said to her, "Have a medal struck upon this model. Those who wear it will receive great graces, especially if they wear it around their neck." I believe my son and I were protected that day. I had begun a devotion to Mary back when I was teaching, and she certainly sent her graces to us in our time of trouble.
The Meaning of the Miraculous Medal
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