Flawed But Perfect

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Life got a little more complicated this week. When I first started my diet, my husband was fine with my cooking low sodium meals and then added his own seasoning, but after the first week came the hints.

“This would be better if it was cooked with salt.”

He came home from the market with salted butter, salted popcorn, and salted ingredients for every meal on our menu.

At first, I was angry. I didn’t yell or say much, but again my body language said enough. After anger came the tears. It’s hard enough to adjust to this new lifestyle and without my husband’s support, it will be even harder.

To comply with his request for salted foods, I’d have to fix two meals every night and wash double the dishes. (I’m the chief cook and dishwasher.)

Well, God let me know what He thought about my attitude.

I opened Our Daily Bread the next morning and found this: Love That Forgives.

Uh oh.

“Bear with each other and forgive each other.” Colossians 3:13.

If I had any doubt he meant my marriage, the next paragraph settled that. The author told the story of a couple who have been married for eighty years. When asked what the most important aspect was for staying together that long, they replied, “Choosing forgiveness.”

The reading listed the different ways we hurt each other through unkind words, a broken promise or forgotten task. 

St. Paul urges us to choose compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience when dealing with each other. I had failed every one. He pounded it into my stubborn brain again with the words, “But above all, these things have charity, which is the bond of perfection.” This is especially important for a healthy relationship.  

My husband is addicted to both salt and sugar. Is it fair of me to expect him to restrict his diet the same as mine? He’s not demanding I eat the same things, only cook two different meals. While I want to huff and sputter, God told me his opinion on the matter. So, with prayer, I’ll forgive what I perceive as a disregard for my health issue, and focus instead on all the things that are right with my relationship.

My husband is kind, affectionate, responsible, romantic, fun to be with, and supportive in many ways. He’s my best friend. Flawed, yes. But so am I. And yet, we are also perfect for one another.

After further reflection, my husband offered a compromise. Instead of cooking two different meals, he’d mix salt into his portion of the low sodium dish rather than sprinkling it on top. He believes this will give him the flavor he’s used to without compromising my diet.

Dear Lord, thank you, again, for showing me the errors of my thoughts and actions, giving me the chance to rectify them before they do more damage. Amen.  

  

Now I Understand ...

Image by kalhh from Pixabay 

I wondered why Judas’ suicide was the greater sin. This quote from St. Catherine of Sienna explained why. Judas displeased God more by his suicide than his betrayal of Jesus because he judged his misery (sin) to be greater than God’s mercy.  

St. Catherine also writes that despair is one of the Devil’s chief weapons, worry being the other. No sin is too great for God’s mercy, except our own false judgment.

None of my mistakes matter once I repent and receive (accept) God’s forgiveness. Yet, I still struggle to forgive myself. After the No Fishing lesson, I’ve gotten better, but I still play the reruns now and then. Why?

I’m worried if I forget about those sins, I’ll repeat them. But it doesn’t have to be that way.

I don't need to wallow in my misery (too often of my own creation). First, I need to remember the situation will not last. Second, changing my focus from myself to others pulls me from my self-absorption. Third, I should not be too stubborn to ask for help.

Most of the time, my misery stems from expecting more of myself than others do, especially my husband. If I ask, he often has a better plan or his willing to help. But my stiff-necked, stubborn, martyr persona rejects the idea, thinking he should know I need help. Sounds a lot like what St. Catherine wrote about, loving my misery more than anyone’s help.

Her words are like a two-by-four right between the eyes.

The next time I want to wallow in any misery, be it over past mistakes or my misguided sense of responsibility, I’ll remember this little gem.

Thank you, Lord, for pointing out another of my misunderstandings and mistakes. Never let me wallow in my misery, rejecting your mercy. Amen.

 

 

The Divine Embrace

© Can Stock Photo / Bialasiewicz

Every year during Holy Week, I relive this experience.

Palm Sunday. I was the only one up, enjoying a rare moment of quiet, and rather than rouse everyone for church, I selfishly decided to stay home and read the scripture.  

The familiar words became intensely personal. Jesus willingly suffered that horrendous death for me, not just for my sins, but in my place. He died instead of me.

 Overwhelmed, I collapsed into my arms and sobbed.

I had to go to church, even if I had to crawl the entire way on my hands and knees.

My husband sat up when I opened the closet and snatched out pants and a blouse.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for church.”

“Now?”

“I have twenty minutes to get there. You don’t have to come.”

“I want to. Just give me a moment.”

“No, you’ll take too long, especially the kids. They aren’t even up yet. There’s no time to fuss with them about getting dressed.”

Ignoring me, he jumped from bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

To my surprise, when I exited the bedroom, everyone was ready. Even the kids. All. Three. Of. Them. A miracle.   

As we raced across town, I recited my usual mantra, “Better late than never.”

We pulled into—an empty parking lot.

I didn’t understand. According to the clock, we were ten minutes late. Where was everyone?

My husband pointed to a sign beside the door. Services had been moved back a half hour this one Sunday only. Instead of being late, we were twenty minutes early. How had I missed the announcement? Stuffing that question into the back of my mind, we shuffled in and sat in our usual pew.

One moment I sat next to my family, the next I stood in a white void, but not alone. Jesus was there. He opened His arms and beckoned me. I ran into his embrace.

I felt muscle and bone beneath His white garment. While the cloth looked like soft linen, the coarse weave, similar to burlap, pressed into my skin. I ignored the roughness and snuggled closer. In His arms there was no sorrow, no pain, no fear, only joy the world could never offer. I wanted nothing, needed nothing.

Unbidden, my sins paraded behind my closed eyelids. Too many. I did not deserve to be in His presence, let alone touching Him. I drew back, hanging my head in shame.

He urged me to look at Him. His eyes held no accusation. He loved me just as I was—flawed and imperfect. It did not matter how many times I failed, only how hard I tried.

My heart filled with joy and I reached for him, but the deep sorrow in His eyes stopped my advance. He directed my gaze toward a huge pit of fire. Black smoke roiled over white-hot flames.

“You will walk through an inferno, not as a result of your sins, but as a natural part of your life. You will endure great pain.”

“I can’t! I won’t be able to bear it.”

His eyes told me I had no choice.

Bracing myself for a horrific blast of heat, I stepped into the pit. His hand reached through the flames and grasped mine. As long as I held onto Him, my faith, the fire would never burn me, and He would be waiting on the other side.

With my next breath, I was back in church sitting beside my family. I touched my cheek. The impression of his garment remained, so did the ecstasy of His embrace. I closed my eyes, unwilling to return to the world.

 Life went on, but not as before. Everything had changed, especially me. The comfort and assurance of that experience followed me through every moment of my day, through all the heartaches and challenges, blessing me with more divine interactions and miracles.

 Thank you, Lord, for loving me enough to die for me, and for the compassion and encouragement you continue to give despite my frequent falls from grace. Amen. 

Debts and Motives

Photo by John Hain from Pixabay

I recently read a quote by Maya Angelou that resonated with my tendency to criticize my past mistakes. “Do the best you can until you know better. Then, when you know better, do better.”

That quote helped me to forgive myself.

This turned my thoughts to debts. Not debts as money owed or gratitude, although there is plenty of that, but debts created from hurting others.

As Jesus taught us to pray in The Lord’s Prayer, “… and forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors…”

Not an easy thing to do.

A meditation a few years ago from Kristen Armstrong in Living Faith, used this example for forgiving others. “A professor explained to me that emotional forgiveness is similar to the loan of a bank. We cease demanding payment for a debt we believe is owed us. We let it go. Even though the debt is no longer owed, the bank will not loan that person money again.”

It’s okay to forgive and not allow yourself to be a victim.

This is like forgiving my ex-husband for his abuse. I forgave him, but that did not mean I should stay in the relationship and allow him to continue to abuse me or our sons.

Years ago I stopped trying to figure out why he abused us. I will never know what his motivations were and trying to guess was a useless endeavor that only led to more frustration, more hurt, and more anger. I could judge his actions, but not his heart. Only God can do that.

“If you must look back, do so forgivingly. If you must look forward, do so prayerfully. However, the wisest thing you can do is be present in the present… Gratefully.” Maya Angelou

It Made Me Angry - Justifed or Not?

My husband and I watched the movie, The Wind That Shakes the Barley, the story of two Irish brothers working for the IRA during the Irish War of Independence in the 1920s. The brutality of the period  made me angry.

After the film ended, I imagined suitable punishments for those who committed such horrendous injustices and senseless cruelty.

It was hours before I could let the anger go.

Later, after some thought, I realized the movie sparked flashbacks of the abuse I suffered from my ex-husband. I no longer have panic attacks, nightmares, or curl up in a ball in a corner, but the anger still simmers. I vowed to never, never let anyone abuse me or my kids again. Seeing brutality executed on others causes the same knee-jerk anger as if it was being done to me or a loved one.

Part of that is justified. After all, Jesus exhibited righteous anger when he turned over the money changer's tables. However, I discovered my error during my morning meditation and scripture reading.

Acts 16: 33: “These things I have spoken to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you shall have distress: but have confidence, I have overcome the world.”

Mary Marrocco in, Living Faith, added this: “He conquered the world by going toward it, not running away from it; by receiving all the violence, cruelty, and hypocrisy the world can spit out and not giving it back. Rather, he gives back love, peace, and forgiveness. Truly, this is the way our world is conquered.”

My fault lay in desiring revenge instead of justice.

This reminded me of another story.

A man stole blankets from a missionary hostel in China. When the theft was discovered, the woman proprietress went about her daily chores unfazed, even cheerful.

One patron, a Chinese man, asked her, “Are you not angry that the man stole your blankets?”

She shrugged. “He must need them more than we do. Besides, God will provide all we need, even more blankets.”

The man, astounded by her faith, converted to Christianity and became a minister.

God sees everything, and one day the perpetrators of hate and violence will stand before Him and answer for their sins. The judge in me rejoices at that thought, but the penitent wants God to forgive me of all my wrongdoing.

God forgives all sin, and we should also forgive the sinner, but that doesn't mean they, or us, should escape the consequences of our actions. According to our laws, prison is the consequence for harming someone else.

The next time my anger rises, I'll seek prayer first, trusting God will guide me as to when to take a stand, when to put up a fight, and when to stay on my knees. Only then do I have a chance for peace in this broken and brutal world.

More Than One Kind of Charity

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During this season of Lent, the readings emphasize forgiveness, compassion, reconciliation, and charity. I feel chastised and convicted of not doing enough, especially charity. I worry about standing with the goats instead of the sheep at the Final Judgement.

My life hasn’t presented earth changing opportunities for charity. Now that my children are grown, should I be doing something else with my life? None of my talents lean toward the life style Mother Teresa led, and then what of my husband? He would not agree to sell everything we have, give it all to the poor, and become missionaries. Is that what God is asking of me?

What about the talents He gave me for painting and for writing? How can I use those to help the poor? Or can I?

My meditation in Living Faith this morning prompted a divine response to all my questions. Author Teri Milfek recalled an irate motorist behind her at a red light. The impatient driver blew his horn at the moment the light turned green. She was angry until she realized she had done the same thing to another driver. Where was her compassion?

How many times have I done something similar? Yet, how did this tie in with my desire to be more charitable?

God filled my heart with the answer. Charity isn’t just giving food, water, and alms. It is also charity in heart and mind, giving the benefit of the doubt, offering understanding rather than criticism, forgiving when we’d rather hold a grudge.

Every single moment of my life can be an act of charity. As Jesus said, “A good man out of the good treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is good: and an evil man out of the evil treasure bringeth forth that which is evil. For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.” Luke 6:45.

Praying for my enemies is an act of charity.

Smiling instead of growling at the impatient driver behind me at the red light is also an act of charity.

Watching the news and not thinking evil thoughts about those creating such discordance and suffering is an act of charity.

Offering money or food to a vagrant without judgement is an act of charity.

Offering my assistance at church for various projects is an act of charity.

Donating my paintings or giving them away, brightening someone’s life in a small way, is an act of charity.

Continuing to write my novels despite the lack of bucket loads of good reviews and sales is an act of charity.

Help me, Lord, to be more charitable from this day forward. Amen.

Closed Hearts

Although  I have encountered some who seem to flit through life without a scratch, their worst experiences being small inconveniences and annoyances (compared to financial crises, health issues, and the deaths of loved ones), most of us have been in that dark place Saint John of the Cross called, the black night of the soul, at least once, if not more.

A dear friend wrote about this condition in her new novella, Ice Melts in Spring (soon to be released). I won’t give away any spoilers, but will say only this, Linda Yezak hit the essence of these dark moments right in the heart, literally.  Her heroine doesn’t see God’s hand in her suffering because anger and bitterness have closed her heart to His presence.  She is spiritually blind. The key to opening her heart? Forgiveness.

The author describes the moment God lifted those burdens from her character, nailing the weightlessness and the joy.

My heart goes out to all those with closed hearts. May they see God's hand in every aspect of their lives, especially the painful and confusing times when life seems unbearable, and their first inclination is to end the pain in whatever way they can.

Lord, please comfort them, give them joy, and most importantly, hope.  Hope for a better tomorrow and a jubilant eternity to come.  Amen.

Dark Places

Research for my series, Lions and Lambs, has taken me to some dark places.

The first book, And Then Came a Lion, took me into the horrific world of pedophiles. I was shocked at how much goes on, especially the amount of human trafficking. I discovered a wonderful organization working with local law enforcement to find missing children. Posting photos of missing children has led to the rescue of thousands.

National Center for Missing and Exploited Children

My second book, Lions Among the Lambs, deals with a serial killer, the leader of a cult belonging to the amoral religion of Palo Mayombe. The crimes and cult details were taken from a true story. I can't imagine people capable of this kind of violence.

Adolfo Constanzo Synopsis

The third book in the series, The Lion, the Lily, and the Lamb, explores the world of psychopaths. These characters are as frightening as the pedophiles, human traffickers, and cults.

Portrait of a Psychopath

Now, the fourth book goes into another series of horrific crimes, Medical Fraud and Health Care Serial Killers. If the other books didn't give me nightmares, this group might.

Michael Swango | Murderpedia, the encyclopedia of murderers 

Farid Fata, Doctor Who Gave Chemo to Healthy Patients, Faces Sentencing - NBC News 

The redeeming theme of these stories (and mine), God brings good out of evil, and good people work diligently to stop them.

After hours of research, it is good to come back to my own world, which is relatively safe from these predators. I am thankful they are a small part of humanity when you look at the billions of people living on this planet. 

God seems to emphasize this during my devotions, offering extra consolation, and hope., which I include in my stories. I want my readers to know God is everywhere, in everything, and not a single thing escapes his notice. 

There will be justice, and forgiveness, at the end of our lives. We who repent will be welcomed into a paradise where there will be no killings, violence, hate, or fear.

The Horror Movie

How often have I lain in bed with a movie playing in my mind? The film repeats a litany of my poor choices, mistakes, things I should have done and said differently. 

These stories go back to my early years, and then slowly, painfully move forward. I see every error in miserable detail. With each scenario, I replay it with different choices. I wisely keep silent instead of speaking out when silence was the better choice, especially regarding what I perceived were personal injustices. Other times I speak the words of compassion to lessen another’s pain, instead of withholding them. 

How could I not see, not understand? I was too wound up in my own personal crises, tragedies, and pain, to see the needs of others.

This morning’s Gospel reading was from Luke 7: 36 – 8:3, the story of the woman who washed Jesus’ feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. I’ve read the story numerous times, but one verse changed my life. It offered the key to stopping the movie, ending its constant replaying, as long as I remember Jesus’ words. 

“And he said to the woman: Thy faith has made thee safe, go in peace.” Luke 7: 50.

God once told me in a vision that my faith would keep the fires of sorrow from burning me. Keep me safe from the flames.

And now, he tells me my faith will keep me safe from my sins, will give me peace. 

Peace. 

Peace from the litany of sins the devil replays in my mind to keep me weak, off balanced, afraid.

But God has freed me through my faith. 

Faith will also give me peace amid the turmoil of our world, the ongoing atrocities, and terrors. Through faith, I can put those problems in God’s hands, and leave them there. It will protect me, save me, even from myself.

My faith will lift me up like eagle’s wings. It will bear me up, raise me up, keep me above the things that frighten me, my sins, my night terrors, and the violence of the day. My body may perish, but not my soul. I am safe, protected by God through my faith. 

I walk through an inferno of fear, despair, and grief, but God holds my hand, saves me from the flames, and the roaring lion, through my faith. Instead of the term “all I need is love”, I say, “all I need is faith”, and God will do the rest.