A few listeners have called in to our radio broadcast, Women of Grace® Live, heard Monday through Friday at 11 AM (ET) and available via podcast on our website, www.womenofgrace.com, expressing fear about the direction our current president is taking the nation. Not only is there concern about violations regarding the dignity and worth of the human person from the moment of conception to natural death, but there is a great fear mounting with regard to the vilification of Catholics and Christians in the press and in potential policy. Recent statements identifying pro-life individuals and Catholics as “national terrorists” has frightened many.
In light of these calls, I am offering to you again a blog I wrote following the November, 2008 elections. It deals with fear and trust. I do hope it is of value to you. As always, I welcome your comments.
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On April 19 I was one of four speakers at the Boston Women's Conference, an outreach in the Archdiocese of Boston and held at Boston College. An attendee approached me through the course of the day and commented on my scapular. It is a bit of a dainty affair and features a picture of Our Lady and the Sacred Heart. She asked me if the Women of Grace website contained any information about the scapular. I expressed to her that it did not, but that I would consider adding information about this devotional and sacramental to the site. In the meantime, however, I offer the following article that I wrote about the scapular for an issue of
Canticle Magazine: The Voice of Women of Grace. I hope you find it useful and beneficial, that it clears up any questions you might have regarding the scapular, and that it creates a desire in your own heart to be invested in this holy way of life.
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I love this time of the liturgical year. The readings are filled with the many surprise "visits" Jesus made after His resurrection. Though I can't quite picture Our Lord as a practical joker, it is clear from the Gospel accounts He enjoys the element of surprise.
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After a busy day at pre-school, an hour at the kid's gym, and a T-ball game back at school, my four-year-old granddaughter made her way to the porch where I was busy with a writing project.
She plopped down beside me with the decorum of a ballyard princess and we soon involved ourselves in the very important business of drawing bunnies, rectangular shaped houses, stick-figured children, and various other cartoon delights.
The breeze played with palm fronds, the sky's golden orb began its descent, and my little lady thrust her head into my lap encouraging me for a tickle or two.
"Time for a bath," called Mommy from the kitchen, to which my grandgirl replied in a voice barely audible and muffled still more by a thumb and balled up fist, "I am sleeping in my grandma's lap."
My lips widened to a smile, a tear wet my eye, the horizon lit up in an explosion of orange -- and I experienced sheer joy! Ah, does it get any better than this? The gift of life...
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Recently on Women of Grace® Live, I received a call from a woman we’ll call Sandy. She shared that not long ago she “did something” she deeply regretted. She told us that she had confessed this “something” several times but could not forgive herself. She was sick of heart and this disposition was clearly evidenced in her voice.
First, I asked my listening audience to join me in prayer for Sandy and then I offered her some thoughts to ponder. Shortly thereafter, I received an email from someone who was listening that day. He expressed that he found the advice helpful in his life as well.
The fact is many have suffered, are suffering, or will suffer with the guilt of a sin. How do we look at the mistakes we have made? Can they be stepping stones to a deeper relationship with God rather than chains that bind us to bad decisions? Let me share with you some of the insights I offered Sandy.
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Many traditions have accompanied the celebration of Easter which lasts for fifty days (from Easter Sunday to Pentecost Sunday) and is called the "great Sunday." Following are some of the ones I have found most interesting to discover. See what you think.
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Today is the 2nd anniversary of my husband Anthony's death. It hasn't gotten much easier. Oh, the mind-numbing grief has waned, but I haven't gotten used to him being gone. No way. Does that ever happen I wonder? Just last week while in New Jersey presenting at a women's conference, I had the overwhelming urge to call him and share with him about the events of the day. ZING!
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I recently received this email from my friend, Dale O'Leary. It is well worth reading and sharing with those you know who may be misinformed. Over Christmas I had a conversation with a well-meaning young lady who insisted that condom use takes care of the threat of HIV. As I told her then, and state yet again, not so. In fact, condom use does very little to curtail the spread of AIDS for a number of reasons. O'Leary points these out. Identify those reasons, learn them, and share them when given the opportunity.
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My landscaping was ravaged by the last frost that hit the Tampa Bay area. I've done nothing about it, fearful that we might get one last blast.
Everything outside my windows looks dead. Brown and decaying. It is sad, though somehow strangely right, to have things dead-looking during Lent. It seems liturgically correct.
For me personally, the sad exterior of my home and the liturgical season are more than "strangely right." They are fitting. And perfectly match the landscape of my heart.
The past five Lents have been particularly poignant for me and have settled into my being like another self. Five years ago, during Lent, my son, Simon, was killed in a vehicular accident not long after he returned to the States from Iraq. Two Lents ago, my husband, Anthony, was in the last days of his life. Brain cancer. He succumbed to a coma on Easter Sunday morning and died three days later.
The lens of life turned brown then, like the shrubbery outside of my home.
And every Ash Wednesday, without a conscious thought to the past, brown comes back and paints the inner recesses of my heart in somber tones.
It's a funny thing about those shrubs, though. They don't tell the whole story. My limited vision sees only brown, but another color is working its way through them. Green.
Lent doesn't tell the whole story either. New life is coming. Resurrection.
And my heart's landscape is short-lived, too. Blossoms are on the horizon. Hope.
On my son's grave marker is the passage Revelation 21:5 -- "Behold, I make all things new." And so He does. My God takes brown and makes it shimmer with gold.
Easter is coming.
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I had just gotten to baggage claim after arriving in Orange, CA. I turned on my cell phone to see that a voice message was waiting for me. The name and number said, "Michael Dubruiel." A smile came to my face as Mike has been a long time friend. Editor of two of my books, and acquisitions editor for another, Mike and I have spent many long hours on the phone together. Most recently, Mike was appointed Director of Evangelization for the Diocese of Birmingham.
When I listened to the voice message, however, my smile instantly dissipated. It was Mike's wife's voice I heard, well-known author and blogger, Amy Welborn. I heard what she was saying and yet it couldn't register in my mind. I pressed the button and listened again, and then quickly called her. When I spoke to her in person, Amy confirmed what I feared I had heard: Mike was gone. He collapsed at the gym the morning before. Just barely 50 and with no apparent physical problems.
Amy's blog has it all there for you, including the last article he wrote for publication in the Birmingham diocesan paper. Something worth reading, to be sure. Amy's blog address is
www.amywelborn.wordpress.com.
I have experienced the death of loved ones twice now -- one tragically and unexpectedly, one planned for and anticipated. The surreal experience of it all -- the shock and disbelief, the numbing reality, the misery and sorrow -- are almost impossible to communicate. And yet, for those of us with faith, we know God is present with us, and somehow mysteriously interacting with us in the midst of it all.
I know you will pray for Amy, for the four children left behind, and for the repose of Mike's soul. He would be pleased, I know, if we kept our eyes on Jesus, lived each moment in the grace of the present moment, and did all we could to bring the Faith to others. Mike was/is an evangelizer. He lived it in word and deed. Let us do the same.
May you rest in peace, Mike. And God bless you, Amy and children. We are praying for you.
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