Grace Will Lead Me Home (Adapted From An Upcoming Work)

Today marks one year that we’ve been in our new home.

This time last year, it was Holy Week, and I felt a little odd doing something that was customarily celebratory in nature during the most solemn time of the year. But at the same time, it didn’t feel quite celebratory. It felt more like relief- the kind that envelops you when you’ve been in labor for 20 hours and your exhausted body finally surrenders your baby.

 

It was also a hesitant- yet hopeful- surrendering of the previous three years to a solution I wasn’t quite sure was right. I could only celebrate the fact that my husband was sure. That he was leading us. That he had chosen, and that I was even willing to surrender to that. I celebrated the fact that here there would be no one threatening us, that my children were safe, and that I knew exactly where they’d be laying their heads to sleep in six months.

 

In this last year I have grieved and I have ached, and I have wept, yet I have laughed. The essence of our journey has taken its toll, yes. But there is beauty even in the darkness of our journey. In the breaking. In the bleeding. In the salty tears of heartache and betrayal and fear and angst.

 

And this past year has ceded to a slow, forward movement away from the bitterness and sadness of grief, toward a healing and wellness that only God’s grace can provide.

 

It's ever so small a movement, truly, but I feel it, and I see it:

It’s in the way I catch sight of the old me sometimes- the me that wasn’t always overwhelmed, the me that relished small hands constantly needing their mother, the one that had no concern for tomorrow or where my children would lay their heads at night, or which people in our life would still be there in the morning. I see small glimmers of the hopeful mind I used to have, filled with dreams and plans happily abandoned to the will of God. The one whose creative side found its voice in writing, baking, and painting old furniture.

And sometimes I even feel the joy that had always been entangled with the craziness of our life, and I know it isn’t the pretend happiness I was forced to build on quicksand. 

True joy. Just there….Maybe a little bit further below the surface now, but definitely there.

I’ve been asked how I am still standing. How I can function. How I can move forward after everything we’ve been through. My answer is always the same: God’s grace. I have no abilities on my own. Everything I’ve been able to do these last few years, especially this past one, is because God, in His deep well of generosity, has given me what I have needed to stand, to put one foot in front of the other, and inch by inch, move. Move forward, deeper, further down the path which He set us on those long four years ago. His grace sustained us through so much loss, so much betrayal, so much hardship. Through the dark valleys. Through the storms. Through the unknowing.

God’s grace.

 

A month ago I bought this picture for our living room:

 

When I saw it in the store, something stirred quietly in the depths of my heart. Considering all that we had been through to find our home, and the fact that I was ever-aware of the light of God’s grace working even in the darkness, I knew that picture- the very last one, slightly hidden on the shelf- was meant for me.

 

Of course I know this life is not our true home. This fact has been especially profound in the course of this past year, and really in the overall journey of finding a home. But a house, a shelter, somewhere for us to live out our ordinary days, striving to love God and each other, a place from which to serve, a place to which my husband and working children may return at the end of a weary day- that is what we call home here in this life. That is where we little beings who are chasing after the Beatific Vision, who are just living and loving and growing our families, find the grace of God- tucked into the crevices of the painted walls, the messy floors, the coverlets we lay across our children at night.  

 

That picture spoke of the grace which led me through one of the darkest valleys I’ve ever traversed in this life. Through that valley, to this little home we now call ours- here on the mountain. This mountain, though lackluster at first, has spent the last year singing of God's glory with every new sunrise He paints across her peaks, and whispering of His making all things new at each change of the season. 

It's been a whole year since grace has led us home. 

God is so very good.

 

 

PS. I'd be remiss without a little shout to our realtor, Michelle Leo Hart, for being an angel in our story of finding home. She truly made the process so much brighter than it would have been, especially after the experience we had with another realtor before her. She could never know how deeply grateful we are, and how much her guidance and patience felt like balm to our weary souls. If you live in the Central PA area and are looking for a new place to call home, connect with her! You won't regret it, I promise!

A Story About My Mother, Our Lady of Guadalupe

Let me tell you a little story about my mother...

Today, while clearing out untitled google docs, I clicked on one, and all it contained was this link. It's a link to an article over at Catholic Exchange, about Our Lady of Guadalupe. Although I don't remember it, I apparently had copied the link to the doc and saved it, on March 20, 2018,* in the midst of a painful struggle I was having three months after my seventh baby was born. 

The day she was born was a miraculous day. It was the day I almost died, and it also happened to be the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. With her very tangible intercession, God kept me here instead. 

While I was still recovering from all of the physical and emotional things of that time, I felt so broken. I didn't know if I'd ever feel whole again. I didn't know if God desired my brokenness to be permanent, or if it was just temporary. I was just trying to put one foot in front of the other, care for my new baby and my other six children, and try to remember who I was. That was around the time I must have found that article, gleaned something from it, and saved it for another rainy day. 

Hang onto that, because I'll come back to it.

My mother interceded for me in another way 

At another point in the months that followed my experience close to death, when I was in tears over the endless cycle of illness and grief in which I seemed to be drowning, my mother interceded for me in another way- 

One night, I randomly came across the words that Our Lady spoke to Juan Diego when she appeared to him in the year 1531: 

"Am I not here, I, who am your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not the source of your joy? Are you not in the hollow of my mantle, in the crossing of my arms? Do you need anything more? Let nothing else worry you, disturb you." 

Instantly I had had peace. It was a reminder to me how God allows His mother to be my mother, and not just on the traumatic day my little baby was born, but in those moments of grief and emptiness out of which I could not climb afterward. 

And every day of my life, if I want her.

A message I needed to hear in this moment 

For months now, I've often found myself frustrated, fretfully wondering how I'm going to get back to "normal." How all the broken pieces of me would be restored, as I continue to sift through the shards of life created by the destruction of this past year+. How can I trust people again? How can I ever allow anyone close to our family, close to my children, close to me?  How can I get back to the way I used to be- The way I was before we moved the first time? The person I desperately tried to keep hold of when we moved again? The person I lost sight of as we were moving twice more, heartache and betrayal marring the already-withering landscape of our dreams? How do I heal from one betrayal that traumatized my family in such a profound way? 

How do I reclaim my old self from what feels like an illness I have yet to name, much less heal? 

It's been a long, dark struggle, during which I've frequently cried out to God for answers. 

Today has been a particularly difficult day. 

So when I rediscovered that link, over eight years after I had saved it (and then promptly forgot about it), and I once again read the article by Maura Roan McKeegan, peace seeped in, along with some conviction. The story of a broken statue which she writes so beautifully, conveys a message I needed to hear in this moment of my recovery: 

"Let go of worrying about how the broken pieces of life will fit together again. Instead, simply hold onto to Mary and love her. Then, God will have room to take the shattered shards that seemed hopeless, and from the hollow He can make me whole." 

Although I know God is with me, and that His path for me has already been trodden by His divine feet, I still find it hard sometimes to just keep going without having knowledge of what's up ahead. To not be privy to His plan for how He will restore me sometimes leaves me feeling a little bit anxious. But children do not think like this. Children just keep moving, and in innocent trust, they don't need to know the details. 

This is why Mary's motherhood and intercession in my life is such a beautiful gift to me. It was so random to come across that link which I saved so long ago, on a day when I have felt particularly hollow...  I am always amazed at how much God allows His mother to be my mother. To be with me in moments of despair, darkness and grief. She is so loving and gentle, especially when I am such a baby. She draws me up into her arms, safe within her mantle, so to carry me to the feet of Jesus.  

He gave to us His mother as a gift

When Jesus was dying on the cross, He gave to us His mother as a gift. In His divine wisdom, He knew we needed her, and He knew no one could ever love her more than He did. He allowed her to intercede for us, much like she had for the people at Cana. I cannot ignore the many times she has shown up for me over the last eight years especially, particularly in her title of Our Lady of Guadalupe. God has allowed her apparitions to draw people to Him, the way He converted 9+ million Aztec people to Catholicism through her, in the decade following her apparitions to St. Juan Diego. 

She is our mother, gifted to us by God Himself. If we become like little children, she will take our hands in hers, and gently lead us Home.   

 

*You may notice that the date on the linked article says 12/12/24. I confirmed with the editor that the article was originally printed on 3/8/18 (shortly before I first discovered it), and then reprinted 12/12/24 for the Feast of OLOG.

Overcoming Trauma: To Jesus Through Mary

I hoisted my tired body over the railing of the rickety pack-n-play which shifted and groaned beneath my weight.  Dropping down to lay my number seven on the thin mattress and curling around her, I settled into the familiar - albeit uncomfortable - routine we have had for nap-time since she started crawling: nursing to sleep in the safe confines of the tiny cage.  After a little bit of gymnurstics and other shenanigans, my sweet baby finally succumbed to her sleepy rhythm, grasping at my scapular as she slipped into dreamland. And I began my rosary.

This habit of saying a rosary at nap time has only recently become my routine.  I usually say one each time I lay her down.  It has been a means of drawing closer to our lady, and through her, our Lord, obtaining so many graces as well as consolation and encouragement for my vocation.  Additionally, lately it's been my lifeline as I approach my baby's first birthday, which has seemingly been a time-trigger for remembering the trauma surrounding her birth.  For the past month or so, I realized I was struggling a bit more and became convicted of the idea that I need to be extra purposeful in my efforts to make my way through the after-effects of that trauma. Over the last year, I've tried to use the word "trauma" loosely, careful not to put too much importance on the event or myself, pushing myself to move on and be grateful that I am alive, grateful for the beautiful new little life I was blessed to add to my keep.   But I guess I should just call it what it is.  One doesn't go unexpectedly to the hospital 3 1/2 weeks ahead of a planned homebirth because one is all of the sudden very sick, face the prospect of a c-section after 24 hours of induced labor, almost die from magnesium overdose, and then spend weeks recovering from a rare life-threatening syndrome and whatever damage sustained from the overdose, while her husband spends a week in the hospital being near-death himself, and not be given permission to call a spade a spade....right?

It was traumatic.  And that's ok.

Incidentally, I recently read a quote that said, "other people don't get to decide when you move on from your pain or trauma."  This is profoundly true.  No one should be forcing anyone to just get over something that they've experienced that has impacted their life in a negative way.   People need time to process. They need space to adjust.  They need to be allowed to feel steady on their feet again, be comfortable and certain in their own skin, most especially when something or someone has betrayed them, or they've had a loss, or have faced their own mortality.  They need encouragement, support, love.  I bet there is not one person on this planet who hasn't suffered something traumatic- big or small- in their lifetime, and yet I wonder how many people were afforded the opportunity to walk their path of grief and pain unencumbered by the people in their life, let alone supported by them?  More still, how many gave themselves the permission to do so?

Trauma and grief are topics people don't like to approach, at least not without apprehension.  They are messy, uncontrollable, nonlinear, and- let's be honest- they can be downright scary.   Unaddressed feelings fizzle below the surface of our ordinary lives as we motor about from one thing to the next, surrounded by the blaring message that finding our happiness is what life is all about.  The truth is, that is just one big lie.  It's dishonest.  It glosses over the fact that as broken human beings living in a fallen world, we are subject to much more than the passing phenomenon of "happiness," and are called to much more than its pursuit.  The reality is, we aren't guaranteed happiness.  Those of us who have a propensity toward melancholy or angst are supremely aware of this fact.  No matter how many pills the medical world wants to throw at us to give us the false impression that we are happy, the fact actually is, sometimes- maybe a lot of the time- we just aren't.  Sometimes, what's in our arsenal to battle the darkness cannot be given by prescription or found in a medical journal. (Why I stay away from pharmaceuticals.)

I once wrote about the feeling of standing on the brink of insanity.  A young mother of four small children, I was always at war with myself, battling the darkness that followed me since adolescence, unable to just figure out how to manage my family life, live out my vocation, love my children and husband, without constantly feeling like the darkness was going to swallow me whole.  I had a good grasp on my knowledge of God and His love, was on a decent path to deepening my faith, but was not aware of all the many tools at my disposal.  I look back on that person and hardly recognize her.  My Catholic faith has been such a beautiful gift to me in this walk because it encompasses the fullness of God's truth which offers so many graces rich with His mercy.  I no longer stand teetering on the brink of insanity, and when I find myself possibly inching closer to it, I know without a doubt that I can pick up my rosary and immerse myself in the love afforded to me by a most gracious and generous God, through Mary His mother, by meditating on Jesus' life, death and resurrection.  The promises contained in all the beautiful prayers are such a strong source of tethering myself to the Lord, so that I'm never very far from Him.

I only wish I had thought of adding in a few extra rosaries a day at nap times years ago. Because... I fail all the time in this vocation and often get sidetracked by the trappings of this fallen world, distracted away from my path to holiness, and I need all the extra graces I can get.

One last note....In this longest labor, I have come across a lot of women- mothers- who are struggling just as much as I am with the weight of the many souls we carry through this life.  All of us are at varying stages in our journey, but one thing remains constant at every turn, and that is our ardent desire to not mess up, to do everything we possibly can to have no child left behind as we make our way through this valley of tears.  If you relate to this, I encourage you to pick up your rosary as often as you can; call on Christ to strengthen you, ask His mother, whom He so lovingly and generously offered to us, to guide you on your path to Him.  And pray for your kiddos as well!  Our lady will not fail you.  Deo Gratias!



PS. If you are a non-Catholic, a new Catholic, or even a cradle Catholic struggling with the idea of the rosary, I want to clarify a couple things:

The rosary is a gift given to us as one of many ways in which we can appeal to Christ for His strength and guidance.  The words to the prayers can be found in the Bible.  Just as Christ on the cross told his disciple to take His mother as his own, so, too, do we.  Mary is not dead, so we are not talking to a dead person. She is much more alive than we are, and just like we would ask our sister or friend or own mother for prayers and guidance, we can ask Mary the same. For many, Mary is the only mother they can truly rely on. We can never love Mary more than we love Jesus, and what's more, we can never love her more than He does.  We do not place her above Him, we do not worship her and we do not 'pray' to her the same way we 'pray' to God. In her humility, Mary said herself that she is the handmaid of the Lord, so as such, she is in the position to serve Him by serving us in our daily needs.  Further info and explanations can be found here and here.  Devotion to Mary is NOT required of Catholics, but I believe from my own experience we are sorely missing out if we don't cultivate it. On a more personal note, I didn't used to have any sort of devotion to Mary and in fact felt sort of strange about the high place she held within the Church. However, as I've grown to understand the exact belief (which is widely misunderstood as people do not feel the need to look for the truth), and have developed a devotion, I have witnessed many miracles that God has allowed through her intercession, including the miracles which occurred almost one year ago, on the birthday of my youngest, which happened to be the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe.  To HIM be all glory.