Pentecost Mission Trip: Day 3

Pentecost Sunday

Sunday morning we slept in a little after such a long drive.  The bell rang at 8:30 to gather for breakfast.  We first gathered in the prayer room for the blessing which began with singing.  It was awesome to wake up and start the day off praising God and giving thanks in song.  Joy overwhelmed me once again as I looked around the room and smiled.  The tears began to well up again.  This group was amazing!

After a quick breakfast of cereal and milk, we gathered back in the prayer room where we read the Sunday readings and gospel in English before walking across the park to the church for Mass.

The church was absolutely beautiful.  Some of the Mexican children came around and passed out "mini-missals" for us to follow along.  I love the fact that the Mass is the same in any language.  Without knowing any Spanish, I knew exactly what was going on all throughout the Mass even though I didn't actually know Spanish.

Emily had passed out at the beginning of the Mass, so after Mass we went straight back to the Mission House while some of the others walked around the town.  We fed her and let her rest for awhile.  When she felt better we headed out for our first home visit with Sidney, FMC's Cajun Missionary, to deliver one of the wheelchairs we had collected and brought with us.  The kids and I laughed as we watched Travis and Sidney try to put the "legs" on the wheelchair without bothering with the instruction manual.

Mmmmm... maybe like this???

Eventually, they figured it out, and the lady was able to sit in it for the first time.  The look on her face and on the face of her daughter who was her caretaker was priceless.  There are no words to describe the joy I felt seeing their faces.  We do not speak any Spanish, and Sidney is just learning, so we did not understand very much of what they were saying as they spoke to us, but we didn't need to know the language to know how grateful these women were.  We knew it in our hearts.  I could feel it in my soul.

Our family (minus Isaac) with the lady and her daughter

We decided to walk back over a little footbridge to the Mission House.  This was the bridge that the young lady would now be able to wheel her mother over to get to town.  My heart continued to grow with joy as we walked the path that the elderly lady would now get to take once again.

When we arrived back at the Mission House, the lunch bell rang.  We gathered for prayer and then sat down to another delicious Mexican feast including homemade tortillas and freshly made salsa!  After lunch, we gathered back in the prayer room (It has an official name, but I can't remember it.) to be prepared for our first evening of "rancho visits." We practiced a few Spanish songs and then split up into groups.  I was asked to give my testimony that night.  I panicked a little not knowing what kind of a "testimony" to give, but then surprisingly I didn't worry about it much on the trip to the rancho.

The trip itself was an adventure to remember.  Our leader was given some vague directions and got a little lost. We ended up riding in circles on an extremely bumpy road in the middle of a private field until the road ended where two Mexican ranchers stood waiting to find out why we were "joy" riding in their field.  Thank goodness our leader looked Mexican, and his first language had been Spanish.  He was able to explain our situation and ask for directions.  The unhappy farmers gave him directions off their property and to the rancho, and we were off again.We arrived at the rancho a little late, but we gotten to know each other and had bonded during our "joyride".  We were now ready to preach and teach together as a team.

The first thing you do upon arrival at the rancho is ring the chapel bell.  The kids took turns ringing the bell for a solid minute.

After ringing the bell, we went out to knock on the doors of the homes to personally invite the people to join us for prayer.  We practiced the words several times.  "Somos misioneros Catolics. Les invitamos a la capilla por oracion." But we ended up letting the Spanish speaking missionaries do the talking this first time.  We were very disappointed to find many of the houses empty and abandoned and to hear that many had to move away because of the poor conditions here.  We were worried that no one would show up.  We gathered back at the chapel and rang the bell once more, and then waited for the people to show up.

We had been told not to worry because we were on "Mexican time" which meant that people do not rush to anything.  They finish what they are doing and come when they are ready.  We were told that everything usually begins later than planned in Mexico.  So what do you do while you wait for the people?  Play on the playground!

Finally, a few ladies started to come up the road, so we headed back to the chapel to ring the bell one final time.  The inside of the chapel was so simple yet so beautiful. 

We greeted each of the women that came with a handshake and a kiss on the check and then began singing some of the songs we had practiced at the Mission House.  No, we hadn't learned them all that quickly.  We had GIANT cheat sheets.

I had no idea what I was actually singing, but I can assure you that I have never been so moved by the Holy Spirit as I was at that moment singing in a foreign language in a foreign country with strangers.  It was so powerful to see and feel the faith of these women.  Next, one of the FMC missionaries gave a teaching on the Pentecost and the Holy Spirit. 

Dana is an awesome person that I quickly grew to love and admire!

Then it was testimony time.  Three of us were going to give testimonies that evening.  I had volunteered to go last, of course.  It was very difficult to speak to a group of women that did not understand what you are saying.  I had to keep stopping to wait for Luis to translate.  Each time I stopped, I lost my train of thought.  If you know me, when I get going (or when I'm nervous) I speak fast and talk with my hands especially if it's something I'm passionate about.  It was very hard for me to slow down and keep still, but I managed to talk about how I learned to "Let Go, and Let God."

I shared about how being the oldest of four and the only girl, I always felt the need to be in charge and take care of others.  I told about how that need to control and "fix" things followed me into adulthood, into my marriage, into my job, into raising kids, etc.  I talked about how I had finally learned that I can't control what others do, how they think, or how they act.  I shared how once I began to let go of all the situations I couldn't "fix" and let God handle things, everything seemed to work better and life became less stressful for me.  I shared how it was then that my life began to take a different path---a much better path for me and for my family.

Next, we invited the ladies to share.  One lady that was visiting someone at this rancho got up to share with us.  She told us that each time she visited this particular rancho something was going on at the chapel---either missionaries showed up for a prayer service or there was a communion service.  She then told the ladies how lucky they were to have the missionaries come to pray and worship with them.  Then she thanked us for the sacrifices we had made to be there.

Afterwards, our leader invited the people to come up to be prayed over.  All of the women began to come forward.  (It's very rare for men to show up.  Please pray for the men.)  We were broken up into two groups.  Luis would come to each group and translate what the women were asking and then the group would pray over them.  Our family was put into a group by ourselves.  I panicked a little.  We had never led prayers over people.  We had participated in Laying of the Hands before, but were never the ones doing the prayers aloud.  What if we did it wrong?  But there wasn't anytime to think.  The first lady was there counting on us to pray over her.

Luis told us what she desired and left.  All six of us laid our hands on this beautiful lady and then the Holy Spirit took over.  The most beautiful prayers poured out of my husband's mouth.  It moved me to tears once again.  (Yes, I cried a lot on this trip.)  Then he looked over at me and nodded for me to pray.  Once again, the Spirit moved in me as the prayers just rolled out my mouth without a second thought.  One after another the ladies came to be prayed over and each time the prayer became more beautiful as our kids began to join in.

The girls then joined another missionary group as a small girl asked for prayers for a stomach pain.  I later found out that my girls jumped right in and led prayers over this sweet girl.

Emily, the little girl that asked for prayers, her friend, & Olivia

Once everyone had been prayed with, the ladies began to leave and make their way back to their homes.  But these little girls hung around hugging all of us especially our girls.  No one was really ready to leave.  There was only one thing that we could do that everyone would understand.....PLAY!

We all headed back to the playground to swing, see-saw, climb on the monkey bars, slide, and GIGGLE.  I have never heard so much giggling in my life.  Smiling and giggling is the same in any language.  We all returned to the mission house a little late, but so full, so blessed, and so genuinely happy. 

Day 4

Pentecost Mission Trip: Day 2

The Mission House

After about 20+ hours in the car, we finally arrive in General Cepeda, Mexico at the Mission House.

We were greeted by the Alvarez Family.  They showed us to our room on which they had hung a very cute little welcome sign for us.

We had been assigned to the newest addition to the mission house-a small "apartment" with two bedrooms, a kitchen sink, and private bathroom.  It was perfect for our family.  It was the room Travis had hoped and prayed for after seeing pictures of the mission house ahead of time.  We had wanted to be altogether in one room.  Thank you, Lord, for small blessings to make us more comfortable.

We unpacked our things and then headed down stairs to look around the rest of the house. 

The large dining room (tables along both sides)

The smaller dining room

The part of the kitchen

The room that we gather in for meetings and prayer

The courtyard in the center of the house

After touring the house, the bell rang for lunch/supper.  We gathered in the prayer room for the blessing and then sat down for our first official meal in Mexico.  It smelled delicious!  FMC hires some of the Mexican missionaries to cook for us the entire week.  We were treated all week to homemade tortillos and authentic Mexican cuisine.  (No Taco Bell!)  I could have lived on the homemade salsa all by itself!

Later, the bell sounded again for evening prayer.  As we began to sing praises, I became so overwhelmed with emotion.  I thought back on all the obstacles we had to overcome for this trip---the discernment process, worried family/friends, fundraising projects, the passport fiasco, the long drive, etc.  I realized that it was all worth it to be "here in this house, with these people, praising God at this moment."  I knew that we had been put to the test and that we had passed.  This was our reward.  I knew that the week would only get better.  I just didn't know how good it would get!

Finally, it was time for bed.  We climbed the stairs to our very hot room and opened the small windows to let some cooler air in.  The girls and I took our first missionary style shower (water on, get wet, water off, soap up, water on, rinse off, water off) as quickly as we could.  The boys would have to wait for theirs.  It wasn't "men's day" yet.   We all crawled into our beds and fell asleep listening to the sounds of Mexican singing and dancing in the streets.  It was so awesome!

  

Day 3

Pentecost Mission Trip: Day 1

The 20+ Hour Drive...

Friday should have been a very chaotic day, but it really wasn't.  I am a pro at last minute packing!  The only trouble we had was trying to fit the car top carrier on our new luggage racks.  Travis finally got it secured and loaded, and we took off east to meet the rest of the group.  About a mile down the road the straps that secured the carrier began flapping against the car creating a most annoying sound.  After about 30 minutes of the irritating noise, we decide to pull over to "strap down the straps."   A friend that lives in that area happened to turn onto the road behind us and stopped to help us and get the kids all rowdy!   (Stop #1)

Our next stop was for gas so that we would have a full tank when we began our journey. (Stop #2)  Then we had to stop and feed the kids.  (Stop #3)  We finally arrive at Our Lady of the Bayou to join the group.  After an hour or so of trying to fit 42 people's luggage in and on top of five vehicles plus the items we collected to bring to the people in Mexico, we prayed together and then loaded up.  Our next stop (#4) was 15 minutes down the road to gas up the other vehicles.  We stopped (#5) 15 minutes later to pick up a few missionaries at a church in Lafayette.  After five stops, we were finally officially on our way as we drove west bound on I-10. An hour later, we passed our road and laughed about being right back where we had begun three hours earlier. 

Albert, an FMC missionary from Poland, rode with us and kept the kids entertained with his sound effects and his funny accent.  After things settled down a little, we decided to say our evening rosary and offer it up for our trip.  Just before we began, Albert received a call that his friend's aunt had died. We offered it up for her soul and her family as well as our trip.  Shortly after we finished praying, just as Albert and the kids had fallen asleep, we stopped for a bathroom break (#6).

Albert found Moon Pies at the gas station which according to him is the perfect food and the number one reason he loves Louisiana.  We returned to the car and listened to him describe how "heavenly" they tasted.  The kids and Albert fell back asleep.  We stopped a few more times for bathroom breaks, gas, and to change drivers during the night (7-10??? I lost count.).  Our last stop before the border and morning was in San Antonio to pick up another young man that was going to join our group.

Around 7:00 am, we reached Laredo, TX where we were going to cross the border.  We stopped for breakfast and then had a "border crossing briefing"in the McDonald's playland. Our group of 42 then prayed together in the playland for a safe border crossing.  As we piled back into the cars, we lost Albert but gained a Spanish speaking young missionary to help with any translating we would need on the rest of our trip.  She instantly became loved by all of our family!

We had been asked to pray for "all green lights".  I had no idea what that meant, but I prayed for them anyway.  As we approached the border, I realized that we literally wanted all green lights.  As we kept closer to the border, I watched the stop lights as each car approached.  Cars that had green lights drove across the border with ease.  Cars that received the red lights had to pull over and be searched.  Not a big deal for us except that it would add to our already long trip.  I quickly repeated a prayer for "all green lights" a million times as we slowly inched our way up to the stop lights.  The first two vehicles in our caravan received red lights.  Then it was our turn. Yep, red light.

The first two vehicles were sent to one line to be searched and were quickly sent on their way.  We were motioned to a different line.  The line that had the "thorough searcher".  The car in front of us was packed just as much if not more than we were, and the guard was taking everything out.  We realized that we were going to be here forever!  I started to pray more fervently as the others in our group were all driving away.  At that moment, the guard in the other lane (the fast one) saw that we were still waiting, so he came over to search our vehicle.  As he opened the back of the car, things began to fall out.  Actually, several bags of toilet paper fell out!  He quickly shoved the stuff back in, closed the door, and sent us on the way. 

We later found out that 4 of the 5 vehicles had received red lights, but that the one that received the green light followed us all into the search line because he didn't know where to go! Praise God that all of us had been searched and waved through very quickly.    The next stop was the Visa building.  We parked and entered and saw very long lines.  According to the missionaries, it was more crowded then usual.  We then remembered it was Memorial Weekend.  We got in the long line expecting to be there for hours, but the long lines turned out to be very beneficial for us.  Due to the number of people, the officials were working very quickly.  The lined moved fairly fast.  They scanned our passports and issued our Visas very quickly without questioning all the minors that had traveled with us without their parents.  We didn't have to try to explain anything to them. 

All 42 of us went through the lines and were checked in and out and exchanged our money within about two hours.  The longest part was checking in our personal vehicles, but we were soon back in the cars and on the road again.  There were several more checkpoints along the highway, but we were waved through them all without any stopping.  We stopped to grab some lunch snacks, and we changed drivers.  Travis napped while I drove for a little while.  But we soon began getting into the mountains.  I had never driven in them before, so at the next bathroom stop, I had to wake up him from his comfortable sleeping position to drive. :-)

This was the first time any of us (our family) had seen mountains, so we oo'ed and ah'ed for awhile.  Poor Alyse, our missionary translator, was probably so tired of hearing, "Wow, look at that mountain!" over and over.  After awhile, our kids did too and went back to napping and watching movies.  Travis and I continued to watch as the landscape changed from dry dessert to dry desserts with gorgeous mountains.  It was so beautiful.  The small "villages" around the base of the mountains made it more beautiful.  I fell in love with the scenery.  Little did I know, by the end of the week, I would love more than just the view.

Click here to read about Day 2.

I Never Want to See Another Cookie

We are now in the final days before our very first mission trip.  My to-do list is getting longer and longer by the minute.  Each time I check one thing off, I seem to add two more things to the bottom of the list.  With all the things I still need to do or take care of, I haven't been able to sleep at night. 

Since I couldn't sleep and baking was on my to-do list, I got up at 5:30 am yesterday and began baking for our FMC Pentecost Mission Trip.  I thought I'd get it all done early in the day, so that I could tackle some of the other things on my list. (Did not happen.)  I started by baking blueberry muffins for my family's breakfast, so that no one would interrupt my baking.  I made my coffee and said my rosary in peace while everyone was sleeping.  Soon, the smells of goodies baking escaped the kitchen and entered the bedrooms (and noses) of the kids.  One by one they came, ate, and stayed to help for a moment or two.  Then one by one the left me alone.

I cranked up my new missionary CD---The Ananias Project on my computer.   What better way to bake for a mission trip bake sale, then while listening to the songs and sounds from missions!  So, I sang, and I baked and baked and baked and baked and....  I baked numerous kinds of cookies, several cakes, different kinds of brownies, and other yummy desserts.

One of the girls periodically came to check on me and lend a hand.  During one of her visits, she watched in shock as I scraped every bit of the cake batter into the pan, not leaving any behind, and then rinsed the bowl in the sink BEFORE licking it.  (It doesn't matter what kind of dough or batter it is, I ALWAYS leave batter and then lick the bowl.)  Later in the day, one of the boys came in and witnessed the same thing.  He to wanted to know what was wrong with me as he snatched the bowl just before the faucet water hit it.  He stared at me with his "Are you crazy?" look as he tried to lick the scraped bowl.

That's when I realized that I never wanted to see another cookie or cake again!  So, I began baking homemade breads to sell.  I baked various kinds of breads until 10:00 pm Saturday night.  Luckily, my mother-in-law was in town and took care of feeding us real food for lunch and supper.  This morning we loaded up the car and headed to the bake sale.  After staring at three tables full of cookies and cakes this morning, it was confirmed--I NEVER WANT TO SEE ANOTHER COOKIE OR CAKE AGAIN!

And guess what I was asked to cut and serve to the kids at youth group tonight? A COOKIE CAKE!

That's What Moms Are For

I love the Spring.  I was the teacher that hated teaching in April and May, not because of all the craziness that comes with the end of the school year, but because of the beautiful weather outside.  I'd much rather have school in the summer and winter and be off in the Springtime when you can actually enjoy the outdoors.

Being a religion and reading teacher, I came up with all kinds of outdoor lessons and activities.  We'd grab our books and head outside to read the week's story.  Or grab our rosaries and head outside to pray.  All while enjoying God's beautiful sunshine!  Now that we are homeschooling, we can simply cancel school on beautiful days!  I'd much rather spend the day outside gardening or just sitting on the back patio watching the kids play and listening to the birds.  In a few weeks, we can spend those extremely hot Louisiana days of summer doing schoolwork inside in the air-conditioning.

Yesterday was one of those days that we spent outside.  Our oldest mowed the grass.  I trimmed.  We cleaned and washed off the carport and patios.  Then our oldest daughter and I headed to weed the garden that had been neglected due to all of our mission trip planning and fundraising.  As we worked alongside each other hoeing and pulling weeds, she screamed every two minutes.  Yes, screamed literally every two minutes.  She is deathly afraid of flying insects.  And rightly so.  She's the one that ALWAYS gets stung or bitten!  No matter where we are stinging or biting insects always find her. 

So, I had two choices:  I could send her in and put her on baby duty like she begged me to do and enjoy my peaceful Spring day, or I could make her remain with me and help her overcome her fear.  It was a hard choice especially after she nearly busted my eardrums several times and ran me over trying to escape a bug.  But I chose the more difficult task knowing that she really wanted to garden with me.  So, I became the "worst mom ever" as I demanded that she remain with me pulling weeds.

I'm pretty sure that all the flying insects in the state of Louisiana came to our garden that afternoon.  She cried.  She screamed.  She ran up and down in between the rows.  It was pitiful and yet a little hilarious.  It was like a scene from a movie.   I tried to make her to understand that they chase her when she runs away and that they would leave her alone if she remained calm.  Finally, as something buzzed our way, I grabbed her arm and held her in place.  She squirmed and cried, but I held her firmly in place.  Thankfully, the bug flew off, and she began to "see" what I was talking about.

Several long hours later (probably just an half hour or two, but it seemed like hours), we were sitting under the tree resting in the shade, sipping our water.  I told her how much I enjoyed our gardening together AFTER she stopped screaming.  She shook her head her slowly and replied, "Yeah, but I'm screamin' on the inside!"  We laughed and then got back to work.  I watched as she froze, held her breath, and then smiled at me as the bugs flew away each time.

On our next break under the tree, she sincerely thanked me for helping her to overcome her fear of flying bugs.  I smiled and told her, "That's what Moms are for."

16 Years Ago...

Sixteen years ago, there were two kids who thought they were in love.  

They had "googly" eyes for one another.  They had a plan. 

They were going to be married forever...................for better or worse.

Today, the two kids are one.
They are more in love than they ever thought possible.

They still have "googly" eyes for each other.
They still have the same plan with a few added revisions. 

And they will be married forever......For Better or Worse.

"Our" First Grownup Talk

Here's the talk "we" (as in me and my husband) were suppose to give last night to the Serra Club about "our" vocation.  I use the word "we" lightly because one of "us" didn't make it to the meeting on time.  He was working late, and his text message said, "I love you!  You will do fine.  I'll be there with you in spirit."  I'm sure last night was the first time he actually drove the speed limit and took his time coming home from work.  (But I still love him!)  So, here's "our" first official talk that "I" gave last night without passing out, throwing up, or dying....

When "we" were first asked to give a talk at the Serra Club, we had no idea what it was.  I was caught by surprise before Easter Mass, and I agreed thinking we were going to speak to a small bible study group about our upcoming trip.  Later, I learned what the Serra Club was and just how many people we would have to speak in front of.  My stomach sank!  I can speak in front of a room full of kids all day long, but “grown-ups” make me a nervous.  But I knew that God was calling us to do this.  He’s been preparing us for a while now for something big, so here "we" are following His lead.  So, here's "our" vocation story....

We had always agreed that our Catholic faith was important and that we needed to make sure our kids knew it.   We quickly became involved with the Youth Group when we moved back to Jennings in 1998 when he finished his Air Force duty.  We felt that that was what we were called to do--to make sure these teenagers were given opportunities to grow in their faith that we didn’t have when we were growing up.  We thought we could help keep them from making the mistakes we had made as teenagers.  This was a lot harder than we thought.  Teenagers don’t listen very well!

 In 2000, we had our first son.  And we were called to a new vocation called parenthood.  It was then that we began to fully understand the importance of our faith.  We were now completely “in-charge” of getting this kid to Heaven.  We began to look at life through “new” eyes.  Things that we weren’t concerned about suddenly came into focus.  The world around us looked more dangerous now that we had this child sent from God.   We knew we were going to need a lot more help from God if we were going to be held accountable for returning this child back to Heaven.  Our prayer life began to change even more so as God blessed us with two daughters in the next three years.   Yes, three babies in three years.  The last one needed lots of special medical attention and that brought us to our knees often. We didn't know it at the time, but this helped our spiritual growth tremendously.  God can always turn the trials into blessings.

We continued trying to follow Christ’s call as best we could as parents in our home, in youth ministry in our parish, and for me as teacher at the Catholic school.   The more we tried to teach others, the more we learned.  The better example we tried to set, the better Christians we ourselves became.  Through our vocation as parents, youth leaders, and teachers, we were drawn closer to Christ and as we grew closer to Him, we realized how much we still needed to grow.  But the one vocation that we had forgotten about over those few years was our vocation to each other as husband and wife.  We were so busy tending to trying to “save” all the kids in our life (our own kids, the youth group kids, my students) that we had neglected our vocation to each other.   Our marriage wasn’t failing or in trouble, just neglected and in much need of some spiritual growth.

This was a huge turning point in our lives.  We began to concentrate more on our marriage.  We attended the Lenten Date night put on by the Diocese.  Through our weekly dates, we realized how much we had “missed” each other in the craziness of life.  We vowed to concentrate on “us” more and getting each other to Heaven and would just pray that the rest would fall in behind us.  Later, we attended a Faith Renewal weekend together---an adult “retreat” with speakers whose message was for us, not the teenagers we were always chaperoning on retreats.  Our weekend together was just that---a spiritual renewal of our marriage vocation.  We slowly began to pray more together as a couple not just as a family.  Our life began to change; our kids began to change; our faith began to change; we began to change---for the better!

We learned that when you put your vocations in the proper order, everything works much better.   We have also learned that when God blesses you the way he has been blessing us that He expects you to bless others, which has recently led us to a new vocation---mission work.  We have always been missionaries---people who bring the good news to others.  In the past, the others have been the youth in our lives.   Since our renewed vocation to married life, he has been calling us to be missionaries in a different way.  He has been sending various random opportunities to both of us as individuals and as a couple to help other married couples in their vocation.   So, for awhile we thought that was our new calling.  We had even planned on signing up for this Couples Cruise Retreat that the Diocese is having later this year.  We were going to try to get better “trained” for what WE thought we were being called to do.  We even saved up some money for it.

But after months of discernment about what God wanted, He has led us to something totally unexpected, but something He had been preparing our whole family for.  At the end of May, we will be heading to Mexico, but not on a couple’s cruise and not alone without the kids!   We will be heading to Mexico with all four kids and other families for a 10-day mission trip.  We had always thought about it, but never thought we could actually do it.  But if He wants it, He will show you the way. 

I recently read a quote from St. Gianna Molla that sums of vocation perfectly to me.  When asked, "What is a vocation?" she answered,

“It is a gift from God, so it comes from God. If it is a gift from God, our concern must be to know God's will. We must enter that path: if God wants, when God wants, how God wants. Never force the door."

It’s hard to know what God wants.  It’s even harder to do what He wants when He wants.  It’s much easier to do the things we want when we want.  We’ve learned that if it’s easy, it must not be from Him.  He is constantly calling us out of our comfort zone---constantly challenging us.  But we’ve also learned that each time we accept the challenge, the reward is much greater than we ever imagined.

This is the point where "our" talk ended and also the moment that I see my husband's truck pull up and park in front of the building.  Perfect timing for him!!!  Of course, he came in, and I gave him a hard time about his timing as did some in the crowd when they told him it was his turn and heresponded, "Ditto.  Whatever she said."  And that's why I love him, he always makes me smile!

A Most Unusual Funeral

A few weeks ago I received an email that really upset me.  It was about a funeral that was going to be held to bury the "unclaimed" dead in a city nearby.  The email explained that there were over 70 unclaimed dead that had never been given a proper burial.  I was so saddened by this email.  I couldn't imagine the number of "unclaimed" dead across our country if we had over 70 just in a nearby city.  How could this happen?

The email was not only asking for donations towards the funeral expenses, but inviting people to participate in their Christian duty by coming to bury the dead or by praying for them.  I quickly sent this email out to everyone I thought could and would help out---either financially or with prayers.  Then I added it to my calendar and shared the email with my husband and kids.  We added these unclaimed and those in other cities to our prayer list.

This email stuck with me for several weeks as I kept thinking about how awful it was for the families of these men and women not to have the finances to bury their deceased or how awful it was for the deceased not to have any family to bury them.  Over time, life got busy and my own problems pushed out the thought of this funeral and the unclaimed.

But in the week leading up to the funeral, our kids' Catechism lesson happened to be on the Corporal and Spiritual Works of Mercy.  When we began reading over the lesson, it hit me that we were going to have the perfect "field trip" to end this lesson.  I checked the calendar to find that we would be putting our learning into action right away.  The Holy Spirit had perfectly planned this for us to "practice what we preach."

Saturday morning rolled around, and Satan did his best to try to foil our plans.  Does he do that to any other family besides ours?  Anytime we try to get out the door to anything "holy," he slips into our house and causes chaos!  But when he does this, I know that whatever we are heading to must be really important to our spiritual growth.  The more chaos, the more I know we are supposed to be there.

We finally end up getting on the road later than planned with some unhappy travelers.  We had missed the rosary for these unclaimed souls, so we decided to say one on our 45 minute drive for those souls and for ourselves and the chaos the devil had caused in our home earlier.  The tears started to flow as I thought of how lucky, yet ungrateful we are to have each other and so many others in our lives that love and care for us.

We arrived at the Cathedral and found an empty pew.  Soon some of our homeschooling friends entered and sat near us.  I thought to myself how wonderfully, blessed I am to have such a great group of friends to help me along on this new journey.  The huge church seemed empty.  I was a little sad by this.  I wished more people would have shown up to honor these people.

I opened the program and began to read the names and ages of all whose remains would be buried that day.  I was overcome with emotion.  There were 93 names on this list.  Thirteen of them were infants with names like Baby Gianna, Baby Joseph, Baby Rita, etc.  Thirteen unclaimed, unnamed babies.  And the waterworks began again.  I had not thought about the fact that I would need Kleenex at a funeral for people I didn't know.  Had I known how emotional I would get, I would have brought in a case!

My eyes dried just as the side door opens and people begin to pour into the church.   They kept coming and coming and coming until the Cathedral was just about filled.  The tears began to well up again, but this time they were joyful tears.  How wonderful that so many people had shown up to participate in their Christian duty---on a Saturday, with beautiful Spring weather, when a huge festival was going on in this town.  Then a group of nuns entered and then another group---Oh, how I love to see nuns in habits! The second group were the Missionary of Charity sisters that we had gone to help out at Christmas time.  Seeing Mother Theresa's sisters again made my heart smile!

Then some of the Knights of Columbus entered in full uniform---swords and all.  I got the chills as I looked at one knight standing across the isle from me.  I am pretty sure I saw the face of Jesus.  He had long hair, a long beard, and the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen.  He even looked up to Heaven and spoke to someone that I did not see.   As I was contemplating this, the Bishop entered.  Wow, buried by the Bishop, what an honor for these 93 unclaimed dead that had been forgotten for all these years!  And the tears came again.

I had assumed that these 93 had been cremated and that this was just a "service" for them.  I did not expect to see caskets rolled in.  So, my heart sank as the first one passed by me.  It was a very small silver casket which contained the remains of the thirteen unclaimed babies.  The tears began to pour.  The next casket was a light brown one which I assumed were the unclaimed women.  The third casket was rolled in and stopped right next to me.  This was a darker one which I presumed to have the unclaimed men. 

The Mass began and as I listened to the readings, the psalm, and then the gospel, I knew exactly why we had been called to be here.  It was exactly what we needed to hear.  As the gospel reading of the Judgement of the Nations began (Matthew 25: 31-46), I looked over at my husband.  He knew too!  This was the passage that had become our Life Theme the past few years without us even knowing it.  The past few months it has come up numerous times.  And here it was for the second time this week.  Confirming the call that we already knew deep down in our hearts.

The homily also was very moving as the Bishop compared a "regular" funeral homily to this one.  He stated how he would normally console the family gathered and share about the good things the deceased had done in his/her life.  He went on to explain that we were family.  That we are all family.  That we are all God's children.  He talked about how we are ALL called to take care of each other especially those that aren't able to return the favor.  He referred to the Corporal and Spiritual Works of Mercy which my kids had just studied and the main reason we were here---to do what we were trying to teach them to do.  They all sat up a little taller, proud that we had come to do our part as Christians. 

The Mass ended, and we followed the three caskets to the cemetery behind the Cathedral.  Veterans and American flags lined the sidewalk to honor those United States Veterans that had been forgotten and unclaimed.  It was very moving to see them all lined up paying their respects to these unknown fellow soldiers.   The memorial that was built to house the caskets of these men and women was beautiful.  The 80 names of the adults were listed on the side of the memorial grave.  The graveside ceremony began and, of course, the tears did too.

Then a veteran called the others in attendance to attention as the trumpet began to play.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my husband, an Air Force veteran, snap to attention.  It was almost too much for me to handle.  There are no words to describe how proud I was of him at that moment---proud to call him my husband, proud of the example he is to our kids.  He had grown so much since that day we said, "I do."  We had both grown so much.  I was so blessed!

By this point, I'm not sure if there was a dry eye anywhere around.  Everything seemed to stand still except the breeze which I knew was the Holy Spirit bringing the peace that I know we all felt.  We then moved to another area of the cemetery to lay the babies to rest in the mausoleum.  As they lifted the casket into that hole in the wall, I imagined those sweet babies resting in the arms of Jesus and Mother Mary.  I knew that they were not "unclaimed" as they had been labeled.  They were claimed from the very beginning as Children of the Most High God.

Just Call Me Doubting Thomas

As in my previous post, Tuesday was "court day".  It's always a stressful day, but I left home feeling on the top of the world.  I knew that I had people praying for us all over the country.  I had told everyone EXACTLY what to pray for---exactly what "I" thought needed to happen.  I knew without a doubt that I would get my miracle.

My joy continued as I arrived at the courthouse and heard the Cathedral bells chime 10:00 am.  I claimed that as a sign from God.  I didn't even lose "my inner joy" as I listened to the depressing stories of those in the waiting room and saw the awful sights I saw.  I still knew that God was going to come through for me and my family.  I prayed for the others to be able to find the peace and comfort that I had.  I smiled at everyone, trying to spread that joy and happiness to others in that room filled with such heartache and pain.

Suddenly, I overheard something from across the room that put a lump in my throat and doubt in my mind and ultimately in my heart.  I knew that what I had been praying for, what I had specifically asked people to pray for, was NOT going to happen that day.  I took a timeout from praying for the others and prayed harder for what I want God to do for me.  More over heard conversations from those involved in our case, led to more doubt.  "Dear Lord, help me!  You know best.  I trust you."

And he did!  I was called out into the stairwell and given some information that confirmed that He had taken care of the situation---NOT as "I" had wanted, but as He saw fit for our situation.  As I went back to my seat, I began to feel that joy coming back over me.  I continued to listen to the others around me and continued to pray for all of us including our own case (just to be safe). 

We were released for lunch, and I left the courthouse knowing that all would be fine.  During my drive to grab lunch, Satan decided to break my spirit once again by putting doubts in my head.  But on my drive back to the courthouse, I saw the Cathedral standing high above the other buildings in the neighborhood.  I decided I had time to make one more quick plea to Jesus.  I entered the quiet Cathedral and said a few short prayers and left there with my joy once again.

The waiting room wasn't crowded after lunch.  There was a quiet, peace in there now.  I sat and continued to soak in my joy.  I had a very reassuring conversation with another foster mom that happened to be adopting her own grandchild.  We were able to share with each other how awesome our God is, how He had blessed us in our times of struggle, and how He had helped our cases.  She was called in for her hearing and came out all smiles.  I knew God would take care of our hearing just as He had done for her.

Finally, we were called in.  I held on to my Holy Family medal so tightly that I'm sure Jesus, Mary, and St. Joseph were smothering.  Everything went as planned, not my plan, but God's plan.  I smiled as I realized that even when I think I know what is best, He actually does.  Thank you, Lord, for always taking care of us and knowing what's best.

But just as court was about to be adjourned, a wrench was thrown into the ring from the "other" side.  They couldn't do this.  Could they?  Well, they could and did.  My heart sank to the pit of my stomach.  I couldn't breathe.  I felt as if I was going to throw up right there in front of the judge.  How could this be happening?  God, where are you?  Why are you letting this happen?

Court was adjourned, and I ran out of the courtroom.  I didn't wait for the elevator.  I ran down the three flights of stairs.  I needed air!  I got to my car just as the waterworks opened up.  Through the tears, I saw the Cathedral standing tall.  Jesus!  I needed to talk to Jesus.  How could He do this to us?  I drove to the Cathedral to ask Him personally, but all the doors were locked.  Are you kidding me? Who locks up Jesus?  I peeked through the crack in the door.  Spotting the tabernacle, I remembered that He had taken care of the other situations.  So, I thanked Him through the crack and left with a small bit of my peace and joy.

I got in my car to head back to town which was probably the most unsafe 30 minute drive ever.  I texted.  I made phone calls.  Each time I repeated the events, I grew more upset by that last wrench.  No matter how much I tried to look at the positive outcomes, that "wrench" seemed to be the only thing I could focus on.  And so the tears streamed in what seemed like the longest drive ever.

I finally arrived at my home parish to find that one of our priests was with someone.  Our other one was on a trip with some of our school kids.  So, I decided to go straight to Jesus.  I knew that this church would not be locked.  I got inside and knelt on the first row in the darkness.  Looking at the tabernacle, I poured out my heart to Jesus.  All my doubts, all my fears, everything!  I am sobbing and crying out, "WHY????? Why would you do this to us?" to Jesus as my purse began to vibrate.  I reached in my purse and pulled out my phone.

It was a text message from Jesus!  Well, not literally, but I'm sure it was inspired by the Holy Spirit!  One of my case workers had sent me a text message explaining what had just happened in the courtroom.  She also said that it was nothing to worry about and explained just what would happen.  She told me that she had tried to "catch" me after the hearing to explain it all to me because she knew I would worry, but I disappeared too quickly.  Fight or flight---I fly!

I put down the phone and turned back to the tabernacle laughing.  I spent the next fifteen minutes apologizing to Jesus for not trusting Him even though I had repeated all morning, "Jesus, I trust in You!"  I asked Him to forgive me for doubting.  I asked Him to be patient with me even though I was obviously NOT patient with Him.  Then I thanked Him for always handling my problems even when I can't see that they are being handled, even when I don't see or understand His plan, and especially when I think he's doing it wrong or taking too long!  He forgave me.  He understood.  He helped me get my joy and peace back.

One of my priests did call me later that night to check on me.  I informed him that I didn't need him anymore that I had gone "over his head straight to Jesus."  He laughed and reassured me that we all have those doubts sometimes.  Later that evening, I realized just how much I had grown that day.  Even in all my doubting, my faith grew leaps and bounds.

God showed himself to me in the midst of all my doubting just as He did for St. Thomas.

My Day in Court

The first thing I heard when I opened my door at the courthouse were the church bells at the Cathedral just a block or two away.  My reminder that God was taking care of this hearing for me.  I smiled and walked across the street.

I entered the courthouse and went through the metal detector.  It beeped, it always does because of the medals on my scapular and necklace.  I showed the guard my necklace and medals, and she let me through.  I waited for my purse to be dug through and reminded myself again to bring a smaller purse with less pockets and zipper compartments next time. 

I made it to the 3rd floor to find a packed waiting room.  Standing room only as usual.  I found myself a corner to stand in as I scanned the crowd for any familiar face.  No familiar case worker was in sight, so I settled into my spot and waited.  Eventually, one of our case workers found me holding up that wall and told me to settle in because it would be a long morning.  I knew this.  I had planned for my day to be long and had already made arrangements for the kids.

A seat opened up on a bench across the room, I waited to see if anyone else wanted it.  No one did, so I moved that way and had a seat.  I began reading in a new prayer book that someone gave my husband.  As I tried to focus on "my" prayers and needs, I begin hearing bits and pieces of other people's stories.  I try to block them out, but as usual I can't.  I always forget about this extra anxiety that always gets added to my court day.

How could I focus on myself when there were so many others there that could use my prayers?  Besides, my God had me covered already.  So, there I sat looking around the room praying for each of these people:
        ~the grandma that is trying to adopt her daughter's child
        ~the lady who sat in jail for two weeks because they had her name wrong on some court document
        ~the teenage couple on the side of me that used the "F" word in every sentence they could utter in-between kisses
        ~the lady with the possibly mentally handicapped kid that the state wanted to take away and put in a home because she couldn't control him anymore
        ~the numerous moms and dads that claimed they had had there kids taken away by these vicious government workers for no good reason at all
        ~the people that were high on drugs and thought no one could tell
        ~the security guards, the social workers, the lawyers that were treated like dirt

The room was still packed.  No one was being called in.  No one had been called in all morning.  Everyone was antsy.  Everyone was stressed.  Everyone was aggravated and annoyed.  Everyone was pleading their case to whomever would listen to them.   And so I listened to their stories and prayed for them, for myself to be less judgmental and more compassionate, and for all the others out there like them.

Then I heard it.  The sound that makes me sick to my stomach every court day.  I put my head down.  I did not want to see it again.  It's too painful.  It got louder, and I prayed harder.  Clank. Clank. Clank.  The sounds of "criminals" linked together with chains got louder and louder and then stopped.  I knew they had made it to the elevator in front of me.  This was the routine I had seen play out each time court day came around.  This was the worst part of my day each time.

My heart ached for these men and women.  I told myself not to look up, but my eyes didn't listen.  As I glanced toward the elevator, my heart sank to the pit of my stomach and tears welled up in my eyes.  These were not men and women.  These were kids!  Oh, dear Jesus!  There were about 6-8 boys in handcuffs and chains being led out of the courtroom to the elevator.  The youngest one couldn't have been much older than my boys (12).  Then I heard someone say that it was "Delinquent Day".

The lump in my throat was as big as the one in my stomach, but neither was as big as the pain I felt in my heart.  I could see the embarrassment, the pain, the hurt, the neglect in their faces.  I wanted to "save" them all!  I just wanted to reach out and tell them that there was still hope.  That Jesus still loved them!  That they weren't "Delinquents" in Christ's eyes!  I prayed for the Divine Mercy of Jesus to pour out on these boys and for God to send each of them their own personal savior to show them the way.

As they entered the elevator, I looked around the room.  Was no one else affected by this?  Did no one else in the room care?  Did anyone else notice that these boys were children of God?  I seemed to be the only one.  And again my heart broke.  And I prayed harder for all these people surrounding me.

After the lunch recess, I sat with the security guard waiting for the afternoon session to begin.  I questioned him about the day to day waiting room crowd.  He informed me that it was pretty much like this everyday.  In my world, I had imagined that this only happened once a week on DCFS day.  Nope.  Everyday.  All day long.  And today wasn't a "bad" day. 

Before becoming a foster parent and having to sit in that waiting room, I lived in my own little happy world.  Yes, I knew there was evil in the world.  Yes, I knew that these things happened in "other" places.  But I had no idea how many kids there were without parents, the number of kids with kids, the amount of grandparents fighting their own kids for custody, the amount of drug addicted parents who had no clue what it meant to be a parent, the number of people who truly did not know they needed help. 

I ask you to pray for these people and all the ones like them in other courtrooms.  Pray for the kids in foster care, pray for their foster parents, pray for their biological parents, pray for their grandparents, pray for those "delinquent" kids that are in jail somewhere when they should be out being kids, pray for all the drug addicted parents who don't know they are addicts, pray for the case workers that are yelled & cussed at on a daily basis, pray for the judges who sit on the bench for these cases. 

This was one courtroom, on one day, in one city, in one state.  I can't imagine what our world will be like in a few years with this going on all over our country.  We have got to pray God back into families.  We can start by putting Him in the center of our own.