Nature Will Always Win

Many years ago, I went to a talk given by an elderly and very esteemed and holy priest. I eagerly anticipated absorbing all his wisdom. He started his talk by declaring that ‘nature always wins’ and went on to give examples of how we as Christians get that wrong sometimes. It was a good lecture, but I felt disappointed, precisely because I was one of those Christians ‘getting it wrong sometimes.’ Why didn’t he speak about how we should expect miracles and then tell us wonderful stories of how God overcomes our nature? Instead, he gave us a science lesson, and it wasn’t fanciful or fun.

I’ve thought of his declaration so many times over the years and have become grateful that I was there to indeed hear his wisdom. God works within our nature and not despite it. If we want to see His signs and wonders, we can usually open our eyes to ordinary things in front of us that bear His mark.

Lately, I’ve been in a season of failure and struggle. I am not crushing life; I am not on top of the world. Yes, I have too much to do and too little time to do it. Doesn’t everyone? But that’s probably always been true. 

So what’s the difference between crushing life and being crushed by life?

Discipline! It’s a dirty word and I do try to ignore it, but that never seems to work out well. It’s a form of self-inflicted suffering, and who wants to do that? It can be a sacrifice or a fast; it can be trying to form a new habit or break a bad habit. It is choosing to do the thing that is best, when doing the thing that is good enough or just OK is a lot easier.

I can reason away the need for discipline quite readily. ‘I’m already suffering enough and God does not desire that we suffer; God desires abundance for us.’ But herein lies the tricky little deception that creeps in. Discipline is precisely the way to the abundance that God desires for us.

Discipline is the way to crush life. I know this truth deep down, but still in my humanity I choose to lie to myself sometimes. 

I’d rather be comfortable and seek the path of least resistance than choose discipline all the time. The problem is that each time I choose to do the thing that is not the greatest good for myself, I sow disappointment and even disgust in my soul. I do not sow hope, joy, peace, and freedom. We have a powerful enemy luring us to comfort, but we have a more powerful God calling us to discipline, if only we cooperate. It is through our discipline that He can work miracles through our nature! He designed our human nature and even participates in it and yes, of course it does—and should—always win. We are not victims to it, but rather victors when we exercise control of things we can control and detach from the outcomes and things we cannot control. God wins and we win with Him, when we reach for the greatest good we can.

The more we practice disciplines, the more God can work in our nature and grow us in virtue. This is the path to freedom and it’s worth fighting for, even if it’s the last thing you feel like doing! It’s important to remember that the sacrifices we take on and endure have merit in their own right, regardless of the outcome. Intentionality, sacrifice, and embracing discomfort in each and every moment produces great fruit in our soul. 

We live in the land of comforts and I admit I’m sometimes the first in line to find my rest and seek to work smarter not harder. I have to challenge myself, particularly in the seasons of suffering, to put my head down, work harder, and persist.

“ No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.” Heb 12:11

God is the Greatest Romance

Sacred Heart Cathedral 1994

I often tell my husband how lucky he is that I’m a pretty low-maintenance wife, at least in terms of what I need from him in our relationship. (But, I’m not sure why his reaction is to chuckle at that.) 

Truly, a little goes such a long way for me, especially as I know well the demands and struggles of our duties, day in and day out. I don’t need hours of his undivided attention. Truly! A moment, a gesture, or some small intimacy that says, ‘I see you and you are mine. I’m in this with you.’ A random text, a rub on the back, a kiss on the cheek, a ‘thank you for serving us, can’t wait until date night when I get you all to myself!’ (OK that one is getting greedy, but you get the idea.)

I’m pretty low maintenance and also busy like he is!  To help us stay connected, we started a mini-date routine and now I set the alarm each morning before we have to get the household moving, so we can have some quiet time together. It isn’t a lot, but it sets the tone for our whole day and I cherish those moments with my beloved! But, the other morning, I couldn’t help myself and I hit the snooze button on the alarm, so we slept through ‘our time.’ When I woke up, I realized what I had done, but was still hopeful we could sneak a few minutes together since it was a rare day that neither of us had to bolt out the door with our kids. So, I hurried to our spot eagerly waiting for him to join me full of expectation and joy to share things with him. And I waited. But he didn’t show. I kept thinking, ‘Surely he will be right in,’ but he wasn’t. Before I knew it, time was up and I was sad and let down that we didn’t get a ‘date.’ Duty called and he put it before me. (Of course, I never once communicated my expectation to him, but that’s a different post!)

In my gloom, I immediately thought of my greatest love with God, from whom all love and relationships flow, and how often I treat Him with the same lack of intentionality. How often do I pick up my phone and let duty call in the morning even before greeting Him? Before thanking Him. Before acknowledging the greatest gift and love I could ever know. Sure, He understands. He’s God. And let’s be serious, I need intimacy with Him more than He needs it with me. How often does He await me in ‘our spot’ and I don’t show?

I was disappointed and let down by my husband’s no-show because I knew the day would march on and I would feel more alone and disconnected than usual. The same is even more true for my time with my Lord. Imagine what life would be if we greeted the day with fervor and excitement to spend a few minutes of quality time with the God of every detail of our lives. Everything else pales in comparison. God really is the most low-maintenance spouse of all!

“To fall in love with God is the greatest romance; to seek him the greatest adventure; to find him, the greatest human achievement.” St. Augustine of Hippo

PRESS ON!

One Saturday morning in February in Syracuse NY, my husband, Bill, and I decided to go for a nice, brisk walk! We chose the paved walking path at Onondaga Lake and bundled up, as there were big, fluffy snowflakes gently drifting down that day. 

We drove to the Lake and started our walk just as a fierce wind whipped up and the gentle, fat flakes suddenly turned to angry, pelting, ice bombs smacking us in the face. We did our best to press on, burrowing as deeply as we could into our coats and hoods. After a few minutes I shouted over the howling wind, ‘This is just not fun. What do you think?’ He responded, ‘This is good for us, let’s keep going; we’ll turn around at the restroom building up ahead.’ 

‘OK I’m game, but we can’t even see the building!’ 

We put our heads down and pressed on. It wasn’t a walk conducive to conversation, so we were both lost in our own thoughts. The occasional commentary indicated those thoughts consisted mostly of contemplating the current state of our misery and suffering: ‘This will make everything else we do this weekend feel like a piece of cake;’ ‘My glasses have a sheet of ice on them;’ ‘It’s amazing how God made us so adaptable and resilient;’ and ‘We are strong and can handle adversity.’

My thoughts turned to how much that walk was a metaphor for our spiritual life as well as our physical one. It was the beginning of Lent after all! 

We weren’t too sure how far that building was, but we knew it was up ahead and we knew we would arrive eventually. And when we did and turned around, we would be halfway done with our walk and the worst would be at our backs. As we continued to put one foot in front of the other, we both grew firmer in our resolve to face the suffering and looked forward to the moment we would ultimately claim victory! I could taste the relief of reaching shelter in the car and blasting the heat. I knew once we were warm and dry again, we would feel invigorated. But to gain the ultimate victory we needed to press on through the suffering; it wouldn’t be as sweet if we didn’t earn it all the way!

So many of the storms in our lives of late have felt too overwhelming to keep walking through. I’ve found myself day after day begging for mercy and asking God to take them away. My spirit has been burdened and complaining to the Lord for all that He’s allowing us to bear in this season of our lives. I’ve told Him in frustration many times that ‘I’m getting older, and I can’t handle things as I used to with no problem,’’ but I hear crickets… and the storms don’t let up. 

‘Changes need to be made around here,’ my weak humanity shouts, no begs. If one more person tells me God won’t give me more than I can handle, I might just say something not so nice. (Even though I’ve resorted to offering the same well-meaning sentiment from time to time.) 

Perhaps I need to walk at the lake in the middle of winter a little more often to remind myself there’s relief up ahead! I may not see it just yet, but I can trust that it’s there. A spirit of willing surrender to embrace some hardship for the gain of ultimate victory, can help turn the tide of my outlook on particularly stormy days. 

Indeed, the rest of the weekend was a piece of cake thanks to our altered perspectives. The storms hadn’t changed or gone away, but we were invigorated from just one little walk. Imagine what our greater sufferings are producing in us. Relief is up ahead!

I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. Phil 3:14

Transfiguration Moments

Recently, our family was visiting friends, having such a fun, wonderful time together. We were talking, eating, bonding, and sharing. The kids were all playing, happy and excited to just be right where they were. It was an idyllic visit, so as our departure was nearing, I felt like I didn’t want it to end. We started making plans to get together again for more of this love, camaraderie, and connection, only more and even better the next time! I truly did not want it to end. Even as I desired to stay and somehow hold onto the beauty and fun of our visit, I was smirking at myself on the inside. I was reminded of the scripture of the disciples on the mountain with Jesus at the transfiguration. The disciples were so caught up in the glory and majesty of the dazzling Jesus that they wanted to build tents and stay in the moment saying, “It is good that we are here.” (Imagine telling our friends it was so good to be together, we should build a permanent structure in their backyard at the end of our visit!) There’s something humorously endearing about this Gospel scene. Maybe it’s because no matter how close we get to the divine, our humanity is just so human.

Of course, those dazzling mountaintop moments don’t last. They can’t. They are not meant to. What they are meant to do is reveal something divine to us. Something we don’t see and understand in the regular movements of the daily grind but is there, nonetheless. 

Peter, James, and John were witnesses to this beautiful, intimate moment where Elijah, Moses, and Jesus were conversing. It’s easy to imagine being completely swept up by whatever that conversation was. They clearly felt like they never wanted that moment to end, but then suddenly they were alone with Jesus again and had to descend the mountain.  Just when they thought they had arrived, it was time to come down.

We all go through seasons like this in our own lives, don’t we? In my own life, it seems that as soon as I get into a comfortable routine with Jesus, it’s time for change because a new circumstance or season has descended upon our life. The kids are ever-growing and changing, and so are the demands of my vocation in motherhood and marriage. I have learned that those mountaintop moments better be enjoyed while they last because I’m not meant to get comfortable and stay there. Rather, they are moments and seasons for me to receive and be transfigured, so that I’m not merely descending to end up at the same place I started. I’m descending as a new and elevated creation, even if only in some small way that I don’t yet realize. Often we don’t see our growth in holiness until after the descent, when we can look back and see where we started and how far we have come.

This March 2nd marks 11 years since our firstborn, Anna, died at age 18. I trust God has been writing my victory speech every minute since that terrible day. I may not have ‘arrived’ yet, but I certainly can look back and see how far I have come.  Which makes me think, what if the crosses we bear and the sufferings we have endured are like a great mountain to ascend and will bring us our greatest opportunity to be not merely transformed but transfigured?

In the book by Hannah Hunard, Hinds’ Feet on High Places, the main character, Much-Afraid, traverses many mountains, up and down. The first is the most treacherous climb in some ways, but as she perseveres in her journey, she slowly gains her “hinds’ feet” and scarcely realizes it, as she gains the ability to ascend and descend any mountain lithely. After each painstaking climb and descent, she gains a new stone representing the new and more elevated creation she has become. She finally makes it to the High Places where she is given a new name – Grace and Glory. She has ‘arrived’ after much suffering; she has been transfigured. 

When we are suffering and don’t understand or can’t see the sense and we’re screaming, Why Lord?,  it is a perfect opportunity to pray instead: Transfigure me, Lord. Clothe me with dazzling white garments if even for just a moment. Let me glimpse the Glory that we are all made for. Give me a taste of the Heaven to come, so I can press on toward the goal.

 I don’t want to suffer, or climb this mountain, but neither do I want to remain as I am.

Do a good and perfect work in me, Lord.

And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit. 2 Cor 3:18

She’s With Me Always

Anna’s would-be 29th birthday was January 27^th, which means it’s been 11 years since she’s been here to celebrate it.  Together, we remembered a lot of stories and looked at photographs.  It always feels a bit strange on her birthday because we want to recognize it, but we aren’t actually celebrating it. For myself, I celebrate the day I became a mom and choose to live in that joy as I continue to embrace my vocation of Motherhood.  But honestly, it is just a sad day.  As the years pass, it grows sadder.  We are no longer remembering a girl who was recently here and relevant in the lives of so many people.  She has become remarkably irrelevant to the rest of the world, but as the days pass she becomes more relevant than ever to me.  

Losing her has been a beautiful albeit heavy cross that I’ve been chosen to carry, and it relentlessly requires surrender and death to myself. The temptation to anger, bitterness, and hatred is very real and I have to sometimes work hard at loving others with compassion, mercy, and forgiveness. I know I am growing in virtue as I battle this and constantly strive to practice a painful dying to self. I pray constantly for the grace of humility to serve others and not myself, which is my instinct when I hurt.  I have the loss of my beautiful daughter to thank for this precious and very relevant walk with my Lord. It’s a walk only He can know in its fullness with all its complete failures and glorious successes. It’s a walk I wouldn’t trade for something easier, even though I beg Him daily to just carry it for me. I’m a glutton for this sweet punishment because He is waiting like a proud spouse for his beloved to do something great, and He knows that I can. For Him, I want to. He did it for me already.  He would do it again and, Jesus help me, so would I. 

Why should January 27th feel different than the 26th or 28th? What’s the difference other than a date on the calendar? Nothing has changed from one day to the next. Today I’m sad and yesterday I wasn’t. 

Because today I am remembering what the world once knew, but has now forgotten. I’m remembering what was and for a moment, it leaves me stuck in what is lost. And seriously, so much has been lost. But, if I remember all that God has done for me because she was born and lived, then I can be affirmed in the Hope and knowledge that God is giving me everything. Remember what the Lord has done! The scriptures encourage us to remember God’s faithfulness through all of our seasons and trials, acknowledging that He is there by our side through it all. 

He’s making me new as all things in this world are passing away. He’s giving me eyes to see glimpses of life from a Heavenly perspective and not just this worldly one. He’s teaching me all the time, as long as I’m willing to learn, that what is lost is found again. The temptation to anger, bitterness, and hatred is what ends with true death. Picking up this cross, and accepting the suffering with gratefulness, humility, and love for others is the way to LIFE and Jesus fights this battle for me every. single. day. That is the JOY that dispels my sadness every time I choose it and is the most relevant truth we could ever come to know!

“Remember His wonderful deeds which He has done, His marvels and the judgements from his mouth” 1 Chr 16:12

All ‘the Things!’

I have a mountain of things to do, says every mother everywhere! Lately, I’m feeling overwhelmed and overworked.  There are so many situations and relationships that need my attention.  It seems there’s more to do each week than I can realistically get done. Some of it is my daily work and duties of the household. Some of it is the drudgery of tasks I’ve put off as long as possible, like cleaning out a basement storage room that hasn’t been touched in 20+ years. (Yeah, I think I’m making time for that never.) Some of the things are good, fun stuff like watching my little girls perform in their musical or one of my teens on the soccer field.  Others are tough things, like the recent loss of my beloved mother-in-law and walking with my kids through another goodbye that has broken our hearts. I feel like Dr Suess: one thing, two things, red things, blue things. Things, things, and more things! 

But the desire of my heart in all these things is to do what the Lord would ask of me.  I’m not getting any younger but still, the demands are piling on and so, I can get frustrated, resentful, and sometimes even a little angry. 

I’m praying as best I can through all the things, but have gotten to the point of crying out, “What do You want from me, Lord?” “Why, if You are right here with me, can I not just handle all the things?  How can I be fruitful for You instead of just chasing the end of an endless list?”

“Why does it seem so hard that I don’t want to even try sometimes?” “Why aren’t You doing something about that?”

Of late, it seems that as soon as I set a course, I feel like I’m trudging through setting concrete, which makes me wonder if it’s the right way to go at all. I’m very nearly stuck.“I don’t know how to trust You in this.”

My mantras have always been ‘just keep swimming’ and ‘don’t think, just do.’ I know times like these call for fortitude and perseverance; the only way out is through. But sometimes it feels like ‘the concrete’ I trudge through is an immovable force and alone I am powerless against it. 

A favorite Bible verse says, “In the world you will have trouble but Be of good cheer. I have overcome the world.” (Jn 16:33) But, how do I cheer up when there’s nothing but adversity all around me? What’s cheerful about that? I know the answer – I already said it! 

“You are here with me.”  I know that’s the greatest reason to be cheerful. I know that is the reason for my JOY.  

“You are steady and constant and true. You are with me, Lord.” 

Through all ‘the things,’ and trudging in the ‘setting concrete,’ He is there. That’s enough! If I’m stuck then I’m stuck with Him. Or more correctly, He’s stuck with me. But it’s silly to think of God as stuck, right? Surely not even setting concrete can trap Him.  And I trust Him enough to know He doesn’t want me to feel trapped either. More likely I just can’t see the plan for the way out that He does. “Lord, I hate when I don’t know, can’t see, can’t plan, can’t do, and overcome. I hate feeling powerless, especially when what I truly desire is to serve you, Lord. What’s the plan? What would you have me do here?” Just trust and be cheerful? That won’t get the laundry folded or the dishes done, or the annual blog written…(Hi, I’m still alive!)

So I guess the truth is that I just want to be near Him. I want to be with Him more than all else. He is what feeds my soul. His yoke is easy and His burden is light. The rest is just joyful fruit. “Help me rest, simply knowing You are near – even if I’m stopped in my tracks with my feet set in stone. Melt my heart, if not my feet. Give me the grace of surrender to accept the times You may want to redirect my plans and gently veto my ideas. Let me be in You and You in me, truly one. It’s not the doing for You that feeds my soul, but rather, YOU Lord, feed my soul. The doing is the fruit, not the way. You are the way. And You are ALL, in all ‘the things’!

And when all things have been subjected unto him, then shall the Son also himself be subjected to him that did subject all things unto him, that God may be all in all. 1Cor 15:28

The Road to Victory

God is always writing new chapters. We aren’t meant to stay in one place and I think that’s true in joy as well as suffering. And yet we belong to both always.

Funny thing how God brings us to victory through our suffering even though when we are in the midst of it, we can’t imagine any possible way out. God always has a way out of darkness planned for us. We are an Easter people and resurrection is written in our hearts, becoming something tangible as we grapple through darkness. Victory is what we are made for. I could write words that fill the internet all about the suffering and the lessons and what God has done day in and day out and I still couldn’t give you the answer or the formula for happiness. But I do know that ultimately our JOY is found in the person of Jesus. It’s in a relationship. It’s in the Holy Trinity alive in our midst. It’s not just A truth but it’s THE truth. It is the purest and truest love that exists, which is a love that speaks in the silence, louder than any voice, that you are GOOD and created by perfection for perfect love. You and I were created for this truth and we sure do know it when we find it. The creator sees and knows the greatness in each of us because He conceived it and brought it to life in us. Given freely.

I also know that in order to claim Victory we must respond. It requires that in the darkest, hardest moments, when we can’t possibly see a way out for ourselves, we pause in all our humanness to say ‘I am here Lord and I am listening. I know you are with me and have a plan for this even though I don’t. I don’t understand but I Trust you. I don’t like it but I surrender. If it must be, then YOU be greater in my heart, mind, body and soul.’ And when we try, maybe for the hundredth time, but don’t feel consoled, we must hold the line and keep firmly fixed on waiting and abiding, trusting that Victory is near. In fact VICTORY is already within. But oh, the places we must go before we see it, grasp at it, and trust it.

My heart cries even as it cries out in Joy. I know in fact now what Anna was only just discovering 10 years ago when she found this quote. “You are loved more than you will ever know by someone who died to know you” (Romans 5:8).

1/27/95-3/2/13

The Greatest Truth

I remember vividly in great detail the day my sweet little 3 year-old Mikey was diagnosed with a rare and fatal brain tumor. I was 7 months pregnant with our 7th child and taking Mikey, 18 month-old Andrew, and my giant belly to the pediatrician to check out why his eye was strangely turning in. We had noticed it more and more frequently in the previous few weeks and were growing increasingly alarmed. The events that unfolded that day happened at both lightning speed and agonizing slowness all at once. From pediatrician, to eye specialist, to ER, we faced scan after scan, and test after test. Bill came to the hospital after work, so I could go home and take care of the kids, and the waiting felt endless as I tried to keep busy. I got the kids to bed at 8:00 and paced. At 9:00, I paced some more. At 10:00, I looked at the clock for the thousandth time and paced some more again. Finally, the phone rang at 10:30 and, gently, Bill delivered the news that there was a mass growing squarely in the middle of Mikey’s brain stem. Initial consults by everyone at the hospital that night were grim. My response in that moment was to say, please bring my baby back home as quickly as he possibly could. Finally, blessedly, I heard the garage door open and waddled down the stairs as fast as I could. I reached the bottom and looked down the long hallway just as the door was opening and my little boy burst in. I took a few steps toward him before lowering myself to the ground to brace for impact. And then the moment I had been waiting for all day, the effect of which lives in my soul still – his little body was in my arms giving and receiving so much love that there aren’t words to describe it.

There were a lot of things that were true that night: disease, heartache, pain, suffering, and death on the horizon, but the greatest truth was that breathtaking exchange of pure love. Nothing could touch that.

I may not have understood it then, but anytime we ever get to partake in such an exchange of love, it is a reflection of the incredible love our Father in heaven has for each of us. It is always the greatest truth.

Mikey died 9 months later and so began my own path to growing in deep relationship with God the Father, Son, Holy Spirit, and our Blessed Mother. I so often think of that moment of embrace, mother and child, and I live it still, as the child in the embrace of my Father.

Several years after that fateful day, we once again received a calI that will live in stark detail for all of my days. Afterwards, I remember standing by the ER bedside of our oldest daughter Anna in the wee hours of the morning after the crash, my beautiful first-born baby still and lifeless. I often think of it as my moment on the precipice; it was my moment of greatest choosing. Before me lay the reality of crushing devastation and incomprehensible pain. I could see no human way out of all that. But the divine voice was my greatest reality in that moment. It was a voice speaking truth, “I put before you life and death, choose life.” It was the person of Jesus saying, “In this world you will have trouble, but take heart I have overcome the world.” It was the Spirit whispering in my soul, “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord.” It was my Blessed Mother helping me weep, ‘into your hands, Lord, I commend her spirit.’

God who is Love itself was my GREATEST truth in those moments. He was my first and only choice.

It’s a challenge sometimes in the day- to-day struggles, to look past the difficult realities that often seem to attack from every side, in order to bring into focus something greater. But it is precisely in these moments, we should remember who’s waiting at the end of that hall, on His knees, arms outstretched and waiting.

HE is the greatest truth.

Miraculous Mary

In the summer of 2008, my first-born son Mikey was dying. He had turned four years old in the midst of chemotherapy and radiation for his brain tumor, but we knew he would never see age five. I can’t begin to describe the roller coaster of emotions I was riding as July turned to August that summer, and my baby was slipping away. I can tell you that it was terrifying and lonely. I spent my time with him hoping and praying for an epic miracle because I just couldn’t face the writing on the wall. I knew that once I embraced that cross that I would have to see it through to Calvary. And no mother ever wants to accept that cross…

Without even thinking about it, I sought advice from our Blessed Mother. I didn’t really know her well, but I knew we shared this cross and at the very least I wouldn’t be alone in it. At the very most, I begged her to show me how to accept and abide as she herself had done. In the moments between the terrifying reality and unthinkable future, I sought her counsel and companionship. I had nowhere else to turn. My God and my Savior had yet to take His rightful place in my life and in my heart, because He had yet to reveal me to myself.
But Mary was my comfort. Though she couldn’t heal or fix or save my little one, any more than she could her own son, she was with me through it all. She walked beside me and gave me what she gave her son, the quiet, steady confidence of her trust in the Father. I learned by her example that I wouldn’t perish with each next step. Slowly I walked, one foot in front of the other, one painful step at a time, with my wise and gentle Mother at my side. She didn’t look away or run from the excruciating reality, and that gave me courage to face the impossible. Just as she stayed with Jesus until she held his dead body, I knew she wouldn’t leave me, ever.

August 19, 2008 arrived and my disbelief turned to acceptance, that with each passing moment and Mikey’s slowing breath, there would be no 11th hour miraculous healing that would save us from our ultimate cross. Mary understood that process very well.

Our family was gathered around Mikey’s hospital bed in our home that morning. In truth, I had kept vigil with him through the night, not wanting to miss a single precious moment of his last hours. He had spent his last weeks in this favorite room of our house, the sunroom, full of light and windows with peaceful and serene views of trees and landscape. It’s a space that became intimate when filled with a hospital bed, our whole family, and a million prayers sent to Heaven with hope. Even now, 12 years later, I feel the presence of those prayers like a cozy blanket, sent on behalf of my little Mikey then, and now somehow returned to me.

At about 10 o’clock that Tuesday morning, his breathing changed and slowed. The space between each breath grew longer and I think we collectively held our own breath waiting for the
next one. Until there just wasn’t a next one. Helplessly, we breathed his last with him and barely realized that it was happening. One moment he was here with us and the next moment he wasn’t. The reality slammed with full force and no matter how prepared you think you are for the moment to come, the finality of death has a way of ripping into your soul.
The room had gone silent, the only sounds being the gentle wracking sobs of our 8-year-old and the distant, yet gut-wrenching, wailing of our 7-year-old from another room. In my heart, there was peaceful silence. Mikey’s machines were turned off and there was no more pain, medications, treatments, therapies, or agonizing helplessness and worries. He was free. I sat in the rocker, where I had held him for the better part of his four years, and held him for the last time. He was off the cross and in my arms and Mary held us both.

Our last family photo with Mikey that hangs in our sunroom

Those moments were pivotal for me. Infused with the peace that passes all understanding, I was set free, too. I suddenly understood with a divine clarity that although my little Michael couldn’t come back to me, I could CHOOSE to go to him. His lifeless body brought the greatest conviction, to seek LIFE, that I have ever known. In that extraordinary moment, there was no anger or fear or even sadness, but only a gentle and peaceful assurance that my life had found its purpose and I would be in the greatest of company. How did I suddenly understand this without having a clue of where to begin? I was serenely confident that Mary would be showing me the way.

The family gradually dispersed; Bill to call the undertaker and begin arrangements, my mom to handle logistics of visitors and food and love already piling in. Bill’s mom took the younger girls from the room with the excuse of checking the mail. I guess she had also noticed the mail truck pulling up just as Mikey was taking his final breaths. Strange how life ticks on even in the moments that stand still. Notice the mothers in this scene. They might largely go unnoticed except they carried on life and meaning in the most essential ways. In those moments, and in my memories now, I know I couldn’t have survived that day without them, without the comfort of their steady presence.

Suddenly, the girls started running from the mailbox back toward the house waving a letter. I could see them from the chair in the sunroom where I sat still holding Mikey. They barreled into the room breathless with excitement and said, ‘Mom! Look what just came in the mail!’ and excitedly presented me with the full windowed envelope that clearly contained a beautiful yet sorrowful picture card of our Lady and the words “With Sympathy.” I tucked that awe-inspiring, and yet somehow expected, tender loving message into my heart where I carry it to this day. Mothers often love in miraculous ways!

How did I walk through those following days of preparation for his burial with Joy in my soul and Trust that all would be well? They were agonizing days full of a billion tears after all.

On top of the mercy and grace that was showered upon me from heaven, our Blessed Mother walked beside me, and Mother knows best.

The card she sent in the most important moments of my life

Note the copyright 2008

My Divine Mercy Miracle

By Karen Pullano Edited by Nancy Impelizzieri

One of the stories I love to share when I give talks is the miracle of my own salvation during Divine Mercy weekend in 2008. Of course in the usual way the Lord works, it was a miracle that began taking place long before I noticed. The seeds for it were planted at my baptism; by those who taught me the faith; and by my mother who brought me to the grace of the sacraments throughout my childhood. Much later, the Lord made manifest this work He began in me by way of a tremendous agony in my life. For that, I am eternally grateful.

When Mikey was diagnosed with a deadly brain tumor at the age of three, I refused to accept that he might actually die. My faith in God was shallow at best, but I had faith enough to turn to him in my terror and sorrows. I was terrified of losing my son, and sorrowful day in and day out for all that he had to endure. His childhood was being stolen away and all my dreams for his life and health were increasingly crushed throughout the months of treatment.

As time went on we kept hoping for healing and recovery, but what I didn’t realize for a long time was that as that possibility diminished, my hope in the eternal was growing. We are an Easter people and hope is written on our hearts from the beginning. That hope of course has the face and name of Jesus, but I didn’t understand that then.

Mikey suffered through many rounds of intense chemotherapy after his brain surgery was unsuccessful. Imagine our extreme disappointment when again and again we were told that it wasn’t working. The tumor continued to grow despite the worst poison this world had to give it. After two months of rigorous treatment, the doctors decided to stop. It was the briefest and longest two months of my entire life, as my baby’s life hung in the balance. I used to hug him so tight that I imagined there was no possible way the cancer could survive the squeezing. And in brief moments of pure love and prayer, hope in the eternal was growing. The rest of the time it was ignored as we continued to look to the doctors and the world for the cure that surely must come.

I remember receiving one particular card in the mail that contained a pivotal scripture for me. From Jeremiah 29:11 it read, “For I know well the plans I have in mind for you declares the Lord. Plans for your welfare and not for woe. Plans to give you a future and a hope.” Upon reading this, I was filled with the Lord and the Holy Spirit, though I couldn’t recognize Him at the time. I knew beyond a doubt that the promise was true. I knew the Lord would be faithful and do exactly as He said, giving both Mikey and me a future and a hope. Naturally, I took it to mean that Mikey would be healed. I had no room in my mother’s heart for any other possibility.

So, facing the end of treatment options in March of that year, we brought our first-born son (the 5th of seven children) home from the hospital, to rest and heal from treatment and love him as much as we could while continuing to seek the instrument of his grand miraculous healing. We enjoyed Easter at home together as a family, and hope rose as never before. A new day, the Lord’s day, that He made for us to rejoice and be glad in, had sprung up along with the daffodils in the yard and the buds on the trees promising new life everywhere we looked. That very Easter night, the doctors called and said he should have another chance at treatment since they had detected some response. I knew it! The Lord had promised after all. We eagerly took Mikey back to the hospital that Easter Monday for more toxic chemotherapy. It was a rigorous and near deadly cocktail in and of itself, but it was our only hope.

As was the routine, Bill and I took turns staying with him around the clock throughout that week. On Friday, at about 3 o’clock, I relieved Bill so he could come home to shower and rest. I couldn’t wait to be with my baby even though I knew it would be heartbreaking to be so helpless in the face of his suffering. Imagine my surprise when I arrived and he was sitting up in a chair smiling and talking! Bill felt good about leaving him for a short time and it filled my heart to have some time with this little boy, treasure of my heart. He chattered away telling me his big plans to get Daddy’s keys and drive home in the truck, and play with Andrew and take care of his new baby sister Laura. As he spoke, there was a gleam of life and joy in his little face. (It was years later that I recognized the significance of the 3:00 hour of mercy, and how God showed His great mercy to us on that Friday, in that hour.)

A short time later, the nurses came to get Mikey for a quick procedure. We made the arduous journey down the hall with all his paraphernalia, got through the procedure just fine, and made the slow move back to his room again. Along the way back, out of the blue, he suddenly couldn’t breathe. Instantly there was mayhem. Nurses were running and yelling for doctors and the blue light in the hall was flashing and screeching. Our hospital neighbors all stood in their doorways watching the commotion and I numbly but hurriedly followed the stretcher as we made our way to the elevator and down to the pediatric ICU. Mikey was whisked through the giant double doors and a team descended on him at which point I was stopped by his doctor. Despite the roaring in my ears, I heard her ask if I wanted him to be resuscitated, but somehow the question made no sense. Nothing made sense in those moments. I was expecting a miracle of healing, after all I had been praying so much more, and surely the Lord was pleased with me. But most importantly, He promised! So I answered with the only possible answer I could give and despite her loving protest, I begged her to save his life!

With shaking hands, I called Bill and tried to explain the unexplainable. I called the rest of the family and repeated the doctor’s thoughts, that the tumor in the middle of his brain stem had simply grown enough to shut down his life center. One minute he’s here and the next he’s just… not.

I remember watching Bill arrive. Perhaps he seemed unhurried and at ease to the casual observer. I saw the defeat of a Dad who couldn’t save his son, but more importantly I saw the humble confidence of a son who trusts in his Father. He stood firmly beside me in that trust when the doctor finally returned with the news. Armed with brain scans, she explained that, as they had feared, Mikey was brain dead and being kept alive by the machines. She showed us the scans with the white areas of dead tissue and explained that our next step would be removing the ventilator and saying our goodbyes, not necessarily in that order.

I remember feeling nothing and everything. I remarked to no one in particular that I would never be able to eat again. It felt like my insides just twisted up and died, not that it really mattered. But most of all, I felt such complete disbelief. If Mikey died, then God wasn’t really who He said He was to me. The God I thought I knew lied and let me down. If Mikey died, then my Hope did, too. That was the source of my despair as I stood at his ICU bedside and the priest arrived to give last rites. He led us in the Our Father just as Anna was arriving.

The kids had been scattered at their various activities with family members and had filtered in as soon as they could. Anna was the last to arrive before we could say our goodbyes as a family. The doctors encouraged us to talk to Mikey in case somewhere between life and death he could hear us. So we did and nonsensically I said, ‘Mikey, Anna’s here now, do you want to see her?’ And all of us gathered there, in that moment, saw the slightest nod of his head. His doctor urgently told me to ask again and when I did, his little eyelids fluttered open. There was mayhem as the doctors scrambled to their large screen with the images of his dead brain still visible to us all. They couldn’t make the pieces fit, but I could! This was more like it. Hope unfurled it’s glorious wings. The priest happily joked that he was no longer needed there and led us in a few more prayers before he was on his way. Mikey was not showing signs of breathing on his own, but he was awake and responding and definitely alive!

The night for me was spent keeping a vigil of sorts. How could I sleep when the excitement of what the Lord was doing was palpable within me? I didn’t understand it all, but I was filled with a ‘knowing’ that He is God and we are not. I saw His power and majesty and understood this God of mine in a whole different way. He alone is the Lord of life and death. He is mighty to save and to heal, if it is His will. He has plans in mind far greater than what we can see or conceive. I felt His love and His Favor and was giddy with excitement about this incredible miracle. I knew He wouldn’t take my little Michael away from me. Not yet.

I spent Saturday in a feeling of incredible relief and thanksgiving. I was intimately connected with my Lord in my newfound space of trust, even as the doctors continued to look grim. Mikey still had a massive tumor filling his brain stem and was intubated in the ICU, but I was celebrating! And by evening, he was showing hopeful signs of being able to breathe on his own.

Our family took turns at his bedside, two at a time per ICU regulations, throughout that day and night and it was decided that on Sunday they would try to remove the tube. We made a plan to come to the hospital early and go to Mass in the chapel and then gather together by his bedside for the removal just in case it didn’t go well. Once again, I was so excited at what my newfound Lord and friend was about to do that I wasn’t able to sleep.

I was so sure of the total miracle He would finish in restoring Michael that I was unaware of another miracle He was bringing about in my very own soul.

It would be years before I would understand what the Lord spoke in my heart that Sunday morning when we arrived for Mass. The priest announced that it was Divine Mercy Sunday and I was floored. It was a somewhat new celebration in the church calendar and I had honestly never heard of it before. But on this day, with that announcement, suddenly it was everything. On Friday, in the Lord’s divine providence and mercy, He had restored my Mikey to life in the greatest show of a miracle that could neither be ignored nor denied and I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. After Mass we headed for the ICU. I was ready for His incredible mercy to be made manifest. We entered Mikey’s room not knowing the procedure was done and that adorable little face greeted us with a beaming smile and words to the effect of ‘let’s go’. It was finished. My little boy who died on Friday, was resurrected on Sunday, Divine Mercy Sunday. We could bring him home. And I didn’t know it, but that wasn’t the Lord’s greatest work that weekend.

Although the next months were filled with disease, we had tremendous hope of a total miracle of healing. The Lord had already proved that He could and would, and it was impossible for me to accept the mere reality of impending death. Without realizing it, my hope that had been in doctors, medicine, and treatments, had gradually shifted to hope in the divine and eternal. It was July when the Lord gave me my first glimpse of this.

I was desperate to take my family and escape from reality. In a crazy move, our entourage of 12 boarded a plane bound for the magical world of Disney. Mikey’s wish was to see Mickey Mouse and though he was wheelchair bound and declining rapidly, to the Mouse we went. The plane took off up through the scant clouds and a great peace descended upon my soul as I looked out over the vastness of the earth below. The Spirit breathed truth and life into my prayer, “Lord you have created all this, you have us too in the palm of your hand.” I flew right into His heart that day and barely realized it.

As July turned to August I could feel that Michael’s time was short. My ultimate cross was looming and instinctively I took refuge in Mary’s heart. She had walked this road before me and I begged her to show me how. So gently did she take my hand and guide me, that I didn’t realize she had.

August 19th my sweet baby, my first-born son, the little prince of our hearts, breathed his last and Mary was with me. There was anguish and there was tremendous peace. Instinctively, I knew that he had to go to the Father in order for the Spirit to come, even as I grieved and hated it. He couldn’t come back to me, but I knew Mary would show me how to go to him. Suddenly I wanted nothing more in my life than to find the way. And so I began.

The miracle of that Divine Easter weekend of mercy had little to do with saving Mikey’s life and everything to do with saving my own.