I’ve often wondered if we’re ever truly ready to leave this world and journey to our final home in heaven. Listening to the Palm Sunday Gospel, it hit me that even though Jesus knew this was to be His destiny; He was fearful and begged His Father to take this burden from Him. All the while wondering why He had forsaken Him.
My own father is 95 years old. Other than his four children and eight grandchildren, everyone he has ever loved has passed before him – his family, my mother, and all his friends. He sits crippled, hard of hearing, eyesight fading, alone in his home. The 24 hour care does only that – care for him. There’s no mental stimulation, except for the brief visits I’m able to provide. In my opinion, it’s a life totally devoid of any quality. So I wondered, is he ready to go? Why would anyone want to live this way?
Being the devote Catholic he his, his rosary and prayer book sit by his bed for his daily prayers. The TV is always turned to the Catholic channel so he can listen to the mass. His faith is as strong as any steel beam in the Golden Gate Bridge, never waffling. I was sure there was no fear in his heart for his final moments.
Sitting by his chair one day I asked, “Dad, are you afraid to die?” Thinking the answer would be an obvious one, imagine the shock I received when he looked at me and sad, “I’m terrified.”
I guess no matter how strong our faith in the afterlife with the Lord is, there will be the element of fear in the unknown. The “what if” there really isn’t something waiting for us on the other side? The “what if” all our religious training was just a lie? Were they stories told to soothe a scared child’s soul during sleepless nights when fear of the enormity of the outside world creeps in?
Knowing he is coming to the end of his life journey, I have spent this Lent praying that when it does come, it is peaceful and loving. That he is able to let go and travel home knowing Jesus will hold his hand the entire way and that my beautiful mother will be waiting there for him like in days long gone by with her outstretched arms and happy cry of “Oh honey. I’m so glad to see you.”
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When we do something that causes pain or disappointment to another individual (intentional or not), but the recipient sees his or her way to exonerate our indiscretion, the oppressive weight we feel lifts from our shoulders, thus creating a sensation of relief. Happiness invades our hearts, freeing our mind and body and this allows us to move forward once again. Forgiveness is truly one of the greatest gifts we can bestow on another human soul. So, my Lenten question today is “Why is it so hard to forgive ourselves?”
Self forgiveness has always been a massive wall that has hindered my continued growth. I grew up with a deplorable case of “people pleaser syndrome.” From the time I was young enough to understand that my actions elicited a response from my parents and brothers, I strove to never make mistakes and be perfect. I wanted to make everyone happy and by doing so, I would in turn be accepted and loved. Because of this, my life has been riddled with angst over the blunders I periodically make. I deplore feeling stupid and when that emotion hits the surface, I find my throat constricting and the sensation of choking makes me want to run in the opposite direction and hide. Logically I know mistakes are just that – a mistake. Nothing that was intended and something everyone does. They are everyday occurrences and not the end of the world – but for me, they seem to be horrific.
Recently, a friend reminded me that while Jesus died on that wooden cross to free us from sin, He also suffered that torturous death to release us from our own personal torment that eats away at our core. She suggested that every time I feel weak, lost, sad, lonely, or even stupid, to place those emotions on the cross and let Him carry them.
Over the course of 58 years, I’ve struggled financially, emotionally, physically, and spiritually, but each time, if I lifted my heart to God and begged to find my way, He has never failed me. His answer may not be the one I was looking for, but if I accepted it, I once again found peace and ultimately happiness.
Perhaps it’s time I stopped worrying about whether I please the world or not. If Jesus can forgive me, especially for the stupid things I do, then it's time I learned to forgive myself as I do others. What an amazing gift that will be.
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“What does it mean to be spiritual?” A man on an internet dating site asked. “I see women write that all the time.”
For a moment I had to stop and really think. Like so many others, it can be considered a buzz word just to create a conversation, but what does it truly mean?
Sitting back, I gazed out the window and wondered how do I reply? I consciously know I am, but to put it into words (and do it justice) was going to be a challenge. How can vocabulary express the rich relationship one has with the Lord?
After going through the litany of explanations: striving to connect with a higher force, surrendering one’s ego, helping others, loving everyone including your enemies, being grateful for one’s blessings and knowing God is ever present – it came to me! Being spiritual for me (besides all the fore mentioned) is seeing myself as God sees me.
When we walk in His light, we travel in his never ending love. We are the perfect reflection and expression of His love. By believing this, we view those around us and value them as well because there is beautiful spark that shines within. By seeing myself as He sees me, I’m constantly at peace.
Being a spiritual person makes me strive to be the best I can be by stepping out of my egocentric mind and realizing there is a big, beautiful world that surrounds me daily. Appreciating it, I’m always reminded how life is truly worth living. I treasure all my gifts for I know I am blessed.
When I view myself as I think He does, I feel whole, complete and utterly joyful.
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This Lenten season, I’ve spent hours reviewing my life – where I came from, where I hope to go, and most importantly, how motherhood has shaped my journey.
From the time I was a child, my driving force was to one day grow up and have a passel of little people to care for, guide, and love. In 1981, my dreams came true with the birth of my first daughter followed shortly after by three others. It was a role I immersed myself in with a searing passion unlike any I’d ever known before. Being a mother was what I was truly born to be, but I often wondered if it was the only thing that defined me.
Webster says “definition is the condition of being definite, distinct, or clearly outlined.” For the past 30 years, I guess you could say that this was true of my role in motherhood. With the conception of my children, a deep physical and emotional connection to another human life began. I took on the role of “she bear” watching their every move, protecting them at all cost. I’ve shared their joys and felt their pain. They became the air I breathed, my reason for forging ahead in difficult times, and my ultimate joy.
But as they grew to be teenagers, I learned that there were many factors that went in to being a good mother. It wasn’t just the feeding, clothing, and holding their hands late at night when they couldn’t sleep that was important. Along with instilling moral and spiritual values that are crucial for a deep rich life, I came to understand that in order for them to be free to become who they were meant to be, it was necessary that I develop my own talents that enriched my life apart from them.
A mother should always lead by example and I came to understand that I would not only be short changing myself, but them as well if I didn’t delve into all aspects that went into making me the woman God intended.
So, to answer my own question, “does Motherhood define me?” Absolutely! It’s the culmination of 58 years of love, laughter, history and becoming. It’s because of those four beautiful souls I was blessed with so long that I continually strive to be the very best I can be and in the end, a complete individual.
Today, this fourth Sunday of Lent, I will bow my head and thank God profusely being defined as a mother – a truly wonderful and precious gift.
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