Keeping Our Eyes Fixed on Jesus

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Tomorrow is a day of new beginnings for us! My oldest son begins high school, and my younger children and I begin home schooling.

And I have been feeling afraid. Afraid and overwhelmed.

Luke has definitely been feeling better lately. He has more and more good days, and for each one of them, I give thanks!

But when a hard day, or days, come, they are still so challenging. And our summer has been so full of doctors' appointments, and just the busyness of life, that I haven't yet been able to get a clear picture of how everything is going to work, once our home schooling days begin. I have a rough schedule, but mainly, we're just going to be jumping into it. Taking a leap of faith.

I think part of my struggle also involves grief. After all, a year ago, Luke was running cross country on his school team, and it seemed new doors were opening up for him. Now, those doors have been closed, and we need to find new ones.

I trust those new doors exist. I trust the Lord is holding our hands and guiding us down this path. In my better moments, I am even excited about what this new home schooling adventure holds for our family. I am a mom who loves to be with her kids. And actually, I even love teaching them.

But I also know it will require a lot of me. Certainly the Lord will find ways of filling me, but I suspect this new adventure will require me to pour out all of myself. It will stretch me in ways I am not accustomed to being stretched. And frankly, that usually hurts.

So, how do I face this fear that keeps gripping my heart?

For the answer to this, I have to say that I am so grateful for the gift of the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Yesterday, I shared this fear with our new priest, and he gave me the following suggestion: Look at Jesus as He walked upon the water. What expression was on His face? Fear? Trembling?

Of course not. On our Lord's face, we find confidence, peace, joy, reassurance, and faith.

And He invites us to share in that confidence, that peace, that joy, that assurance, and that faith.

I find it amazing that this is the theme my priest chose to share with me, because as I look back, I see this is the theme the Lord has been sharing with me all along. I wrote about it in my last blog post—how I felt Jesus inviting me to "Step out." That is so similar to Jesus inviting Peter to "Come," when he expressed a desire to walk out to Him on the water.

Peter did step out, and he did walk on water. And then, his faith faltered, and he began to sink. At least I know I am in good company, even when I falter!

And I also know Jesus offers me the same assurance He gave Peter. He did not let His friend sink in the storm and the fear. He brought him to a place of safety.

As I reflected on this story of Jesus walking on the water, and of Peter joining Him (see Mt 14), I realized a couple things that gave me great encouragement.

One: The apostles' boat was being "buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it" (Mt 14:24). Our Lord didn't call Peter to walk out toward Him upon tranquil seas. A storm was brewing; perhaps it was upon them. Dark clouds threated, and there was unrest on the water.

In other words: When the Lord calls us to step out, when He calls us to a greater faith, it will be hard. There will be many reasons for us to look around and say, "But this! But that! This is not practical! It doesn't make sense! I can't do it!"

Each one of those protestations shares one thing in common. For each of them, I am looking at the storm and deciding what its implications mean for my life.

That is not what God calls us to do. As I heard in a homily this morning (which you can listen to here; it is from Aug. 13, 2017), as as I heard the Lord speak to me in Adoration many months ago, we are called to keep our eyes, not on the storm, but on the Lord.

That is where we find confidence, peace, joy, reassurance, faith. Neither the intensity, nor the proximity, of the storm will cause His expression to waver.

He does call us to step out. And as we do so, He wants us to keep our eyes fixed on Him. And if we do so, we will stand firm as well. (That same homily discusses how important regular prayer time is in helping us keep our eyes fixed on Him.)

And two: After pondering this, I decided to dig a little deeper into the Scripture. What had occurred just before Peter asked the Lord to call him out onto the water?

Jesus had multiplied the fishes and loaves to feed the 5000. And then, the Lord sent the apostles out in their boat, while He retreated to a mountain to pray.

I think Peter had the faith to step out on to the stormy seas with our Lord, because he had just seen Jesus perform a miracle! He had just witnessed our Lord feed 5000 people with five loaves and two fish!

What?! To me, this held great significance, because in so much of my prayer time lately, I have been finding the same message again and again in Scripture. The Lord reminds His people—reminds me—that He has led His people through many challenges in the past, and He promises to continue to be with them in the future.

Time and again, I have read these verses and thought to myself, "That is why I have a blog named Kindness Remembered—because He has always been so faithful to me, and because I need to remember these things as I move forward!"

He has been with us in the past. He will be with us in the future. He is with us now. Let us keep our eyes on Him!

I once had a college professor who said that it wasn't hope if we had every reason to believe an outcome would turn out the way we wanted it. That was expectation, not hope.

And now, I believe I can say the same of faith. We're not stepping out in faith if the waters are calm and every piece of practicality we would normally turn to points in the direction of saying, "Yes, this is a safe thing to do and will lead to a positive conclusion."

As someone said to me yesterday, "Aslan is not a safe lion." (She was quoting C.S. Lewis' The Chronicles of Narnia. For those of you unfamiliar with these books, Aslan is a lion who represents our Savior.) In other words, our Lord is many things, but being merely safe is not one of them.

However, when we trust Him—when we cling closely to Him, we are safe, in the very deepest sense of the word. We are standing on the Rock. So let us keep our eyes fixed on His, and indeed, step out of the boat.

Since lately I have been ending posts with a song, I want to share this song today: Come, Now is the Time to Worship. It ties into this post, because it came to my mind after the Lord shared the following reassurance with me in Adoration last week: "Now is the time to trust." Indeed, that is the exact same message He seems to be sharing with Peter in the boat and with all of us, always! Let us trust, let us worship, let us seek to do His will, wherever it may lead us!

Seeing God's Big Love in Little Things

I love it when God uses little things to remind us of how big His love is for us.

I recently was running late while taking my son to a doctor's appointment at a nearby hospital. He was experiencing the extreme nausea that often accompanies delayed gastric emptying, this complicated illness we've been living with since the beginning of this year. Imagine how you would feel if, while you were experiencing an urgent desire to throw up, you had to spend an hour in the car and then sit in a doctor's office. You wouldn't just not want to go--the car ride would be like a torture chamber. When you feel extremely nauseous, you just want to stay home.

So I understand my son's discomfort. But hearing and seeing him suffer causes me suffering as well. That hour of travelling--the time from my house to the hospital, up the top of a very congested parking structure, and through the hospital and on the three different elevators we have to take to get to the office we need--exhausts me, as well. More aptly put, it breaks my heart.

I have to thank the Lord, because most weeks He grants me an abundance of grace, and patience, and peace at this part of my week. Enough to enable me to continue driving forward, despite repeated requests to go home, and sometimes, enough to carry my son into the hospital when he is too ill to support himself. Enough to keep my shoulders back and my eyes forward as I pass people, with a look in my eye I suppose says something like: "This is what we do. We care for our children." I'm certainly not the only mother at that hospital whose twelve-year-old cannot walk in by himself. One of my amazing blessings, however, is that usually, mine does.

Anyway, on this particular day, I was feeling, not grace, but rather, weakness. The appointment was important, and I felt like we needed to arrive on time. Both for my son, and also for myself. I just did not feel like I had the strength to drive slowly and patiently through the parking structure, up the many floors, and across the hospital, all while late--to an appointment so necessary to my son! It's not that I can't handle being late; it's that on this day I just felt so close to breaking.

So I asked the Lord, "Please help us not be late. Please, if there could just be an open parking space available on the lower level, it would help so much. You are the God of time, and I trust You can arrange it so that we get there on time. Please help us."

I also prayed to Padre Pio, who we already love, and who could bilocate, and therefore seemed like a reasonable person to turn to asking for a bending of the laws of physics.

This was not a prayer I would pray every day, just expecting a divine solution to my lateness. Honestly, this is not a pray I would normally pray, ever. But this day, there was something inside of me that felt it was OK to ask for this favor. There was something that made me think God wanted me to ask, and He wanted to answer.

And He did! We found an open spot just feet from the first floor entrance. In the years we have been going to this hospital, I had never seen an open spot that close! Amid much praise to God, I pulled into the space.

The blessings didn't end there, however. Two men with boxes stepped into the building at the same time as us. When the elevator said it was going down, they said they wanted to go up, and I spoke up, saying, "I always just get on anyway, because then at least you have your spot on the elevator!"

They smiled, and agreed. We stepped into the elevator, and one of the men looked at my son, pulled out a wonderful "Hail to the Little Victors" baseball cap, and asked if he would like to have it. That made him smile! And me too--in fact, just the week before, I had been thinking how much I would love to get my son something with the hospital's very catchy slogan on it! What a gift, that our God pays attention to even such seemingly small things!

I told the man, "Thank you! God is being so good to us in so many ways today!"

When we walked into the doctor's office, I finally allowed myself to look at the clock. We were two minutes early! At this point, it wasn't about being early or late. It was about my Father creating an opportunity to shower me with love in a way He knew I would understand and appreciate. It was about my Father letting me know my husband and I are not alone in this.

The appointment was every bit as valuable as I had hoped it would be. And at the end, when my son was able to choose a prize, it was no dentist-office treasure chest toy, like I'd imagined. There were some very thoughtful gifts for the children, and the foot-tall Darth Vader figurine my son chose was an extra-big blessing for my avid Star Wars fan. It felt a bit like his birthday, like we were being showered with love.

When we stopped for food on the way out, since my son had been too sick to eat much earlier in the day, they even had a small meal he could eat. Getting food when we are on the go has become very tricky, and I usually just avoid it. But on this day, it was like blowing out the candles on a cake--the perfect conclusion.

We have been to the doctor a couple times since that day, and while they all have been just as difficult, I thankfully haven't found myself needing to make another such bold request. God gave a gift that day, and it was much bigger than a parking spot or an on-time arrival.

He showed me that when I carry my son, He carries me. He carries us both. And He is mighty indeed.

(After I finished writing this, the song Mighty to Save came to my mind. I hope it is a gift to you today! You can see it here.)

Following the Lord on a New Journey

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I haven't written in so long. I think there are three parts to what I need to say to catch up.

1. "My food is to do the will of Him who sent me . . ." (Jn 4:34).

Months ago, now, I started a still-unfinished post with those words, and continued with, "These are the words on my heart right now. These are the words I am wrestling with, as Jacob wrestled with the angel, refusing to give up until he received the Lord's blessing (Gn 32)."

My son was sick, had been sick, and still is sick. I could sense the Lord asking us to actually shift the direction of our family life, and in addition to not wanting my son to be sick, I was struggling with not wanting to have to let go of the comfortable and affirming parts of my life.

2. Obedience and a "God of the third option."

A close friend of the late Fr. Michael Scanlan told me he often referred to God as "God of the third option." In my recent experience, it is so very true.

Between Luke's illness, his siblings' struggles with adjusting to a new way of life, and the ever-increasing obviousness that I will have to home school Luke and Kate next year, it seemed I would need to leave my job. Twenty hours a week plus a sick child were proving to be too much. How could I hope to add home schooling to the mix?

Sometimes I would find myself crying and—I hate to admit this—I would feel very guilty, because it wasn't always clear whether I was crying because I was sad about Luke, or about leaving my job.

After many visits to Adoration and Luke's doctor's visit at an out-of-state hospital in May, when the doctor gave us a plan that will hopefully help Luke, but may take another six months, I knew I had to act. The one thing I held on to was obedience. I believed the Lord wanted me to do this. It seemed like my increased presence in our home would help Luke and my other children—and Luke's smile when I told him about the plan confirmed that thought for me.

In Sr. Ann Shields' booklet Yielding to the Power of God, she discusses a very similar experience in her own life, when the Lord asked her to change her life in a significant way. At first she did so begrudgingly—until a friend asked her whether she truly believed that the Lord's will for us is what makes us happy.

Sr. Ann came to change her perspective, and much fruit has been borne of that decision. In my own situation, I tried to remember that story, and trust that the Lord was leading my family in this direction because it is for our greatest good. Because He loves us!

Then, when I told my boss, things took an unexpected turn. He asked if I thought I could work any hours and if there were perhaps some responsibilities I could keep.

My husband and I had talked about the possibility of me working a few hours here and there, but it seemed unlikely. We thought I would have to leave completely. This very flexible option, with significantly reduced hours, was more than we could have hoped for! We prayed about it and are giving it a try.

So you see? We thought the choice was between Option A and Option B, but our God is a God of the third option! Praise Him!

(I recently read another story about this idea of trusting that God can help us with a Plan C here. It's beautiful!)

3. Step out.

Now that I've made that leap with work, I have finally been able to make some other leaps—like ordering our curriculum for the year. Again, part of me kept wanting to put it off, hoping that Luke would be better by then.

But it's almost like that's not even the point any more. I've come to think that God is moving us in this direction because of something even bigger than Luke's illness. (How amazing to have a God who is even bigger than your child's illness! That is saying so much, because my concerns for my son go far, far deeper than anything I have shared here. But God is still faithful, especially in the storm.) Honestly, each of these small steps has brought with it a unique kind of joy and a deep peace. I can feel it permeating into our home and our children. We are moving in the right direction.

I had an experience recently in prayer, in which it felt like Jesus was standing before me and holding my hands in His, close to our faces, and squeezing them a bit—kind of like a, "We've got this!" gesture. He is on my team, and we will make it through. It was so comforting.

This week, after ordering the home school books and making many other little decisions that seem hard at first, but which move us a little bit farther down this new path, I was in Adoration, and I felt like Jesus was close to me again. This time, though, our hands weren't near our faces. He was holding only one hand, and He was stepping forward, and encouraging me to follow. I felt like He was saying, "Step out and have no fear, for I am with you."

Later that day, I came across the phrase again: "Step out."

So much is unknown to me about the direction in which we are going, but we are not alone. He is with us. He has a plan more complete and more wonderful than any we could have imaged. And all He's asking us to do now is trust.

And take that next step.

Resting in God, and Trusting His Plan

Hold me like this," my four-year-old son will say, as he rests his head back, so that the bend of one of my arm's holds his head and neck, and his knees bend over my other arm.

I held him like that during those long, long nights when he was a newborn. Although I wanted to sleep, I also didn't really mind walking, and holding him, and just marveling in awe at the whole miracle of his existence—at the gift of his life.

I was tired enough, though, to sometimes long for a contraption that could hold a parent like that—for something to carry me that I could lean into, and rest on, while I still held the child in my arms and helped him fall asleep.

And last night I realized, that is what I have to ask God: "Please hold me like this." Perhaps I was inspired by the end of chapter six in Ralph Martin's The Fulfillment of of All Desire: "The Good News is that the Beloved loves to be leaned on!"

Our eleven-year-old son was diagnosed with delayed gastric emptying, or gastroparesis, a couple months ago. Basically, his stomach doesn't digest food and water in a normal amount of time, and he experiences severe nausea as a result. Eating food and drinking water make him sick.

Perhaps the hardest part of this is that there is no simple solution, at least not that we have found, to help him feel better. And it seems the medical system moves slowly with these type of things.

Our son has been sick for almost four months now, and he had bouts of the illness before that. Quite often, the only thing I can do for him is just sit with him, hold him close, and watch TV. It doesn't seem like much, but he says "yes" when I ask, "Does it help when I sit with you?" So I keep sitting.

Much has changed for all of us in the past four months. We rarely attend Mass together; instead, we go in shifts, so someone can stay home with our son. I've missed so many sporting events and other things I know my children would have liked me to be at. (I know, because as much as they love their brother, and as generous as their hearts may be, they understandably still feel hurt. And they let me know.) I've dropped the ball on permission slips, and lunch boxes, and homework so many times. And usually, when I try to clean, the sound of a child in obvious discomfort makes me forget why I even walked into a room. For as much as I get done, it seems to make more sense to simply sit with my sick son, or play with the healthy ones, so at least someone is getting attention. Those occupations have taken priority, for the most part.

Day by day, we are getting through, and figuring things out. For a while we were seeing small improvements, and we could encourage him to go outside for brief intervals, or he could sit and play Legos. We have all rediscovered a love of Star Wars. These small gains were huge.

But then, a surgical procedure this week put us back to Day One. Although the doctor offered us hope, instead, it seems instead like the clock has reset, and we need to patience and strength to regain our former small, but hard-won victories.

I still have hope, but the hurting child beside me, and his siblings, demand my attention more than the dream of what may be. Today, I have to love him and sit with him, and push the four-year-old on the swing, and help the ten-year-old with her homework, and wonder when we should let the sixteen-year-old get her license, and celebrate the thirteen-year-old's upcoming eighth-grade graduation. Each day holds at least small moments in which my son feels well enough to smile or laugh, and today, that has to be enough.

However, my heart also is broken at the knowledge and slow acceptance that the plans I once had in mind for our future—very good and beautiful plans—seem to be on a path different than the one God is leading us down. I have to look at those very good and beautiful plans, and I have to open my hands, let them go, and grab onto something even more good and beautiful. I have to grab on to God's plan for our coming days, months, years.

I have battled with it, and I still do, but deep in my heart, I sense His plans will lead to a richness mine can only guess at. A verse that has settled in my heart lately is, "My food is to do the will of him who sent me" (Jn 4:34).

If we follow the Lord's path, we will find the nourishment we need. He gave us His own body as food to ensure that would be the case.

Perhaps my son won't physically be strong enough to attend school next year. OK, we will homeschool. God will provide the grace, and I know I, at least, will grow from the endeavor.

Perhaps things aren't working out for my eighth-grader to attend the high school I have been hoping for two years he could attend. OK, thank You, God, for opening doors earlier this year for him to play on a sports team for a nearby school with boys he really enjoys. Thank You for giving him good friends and an activity in which he can push himself to excel.

And perhaps my son who is ill will suffer, more than I ever could have imagined. For this one, I don't know that I can simply say, "OK." But I can say, "I trust in You, Lord." Help us care for him, help us teach him that Your love is greater than his physical ailments or loneliness. Help us love him, help us walk with him, as we know You do. Please, help us.

I am finding myself so tired. And yet there is one child who is ill and other children who also have very legitimate needs. That will not change.

That is why I found so much peace last night, from the image of God holding me, as I truly rested in His arms. It came to me again today, when my son's ailment seemed particularly intense. I can face this moment, Lord, because I can rest on You. I can lean on You. I can draw strength from You. I can trust in You.