It’s harder, these days, to tell that you are walking in the wrong kingdom.  And, as a parent, it is often harder still to tell whether your children are too.  A few years ago, when the culture was not so dark, it was clear when you began to stray out of the light; and into the darkness.  Priests told you, friends told you, even society at large told you.  Today, however, if you question whether you are in the light or the dark – you are told that there is no difference – it is ALL light.  It is all wonderful; different ‘choices’ are just that – different paths, but all leading to the kingdom of heaven.  We now have a ‘just, caring, merciful’ god who will – wink, wink, nod, nod – overlook all of the havoc we have left behind us on earth – no questions asked.  Now ain’t that great!  (Though perhaps not to the ones left in the havoc – but never mind about them…)

And so, even for church going people who try to find the way, it is not always easy to know which kingdom you are walking in.  My husband Bob and I thought we were walking in the right kingdom back when we lived in Connecticut.  Wasn’t God blessing us with abundance?  We stood up, somewhat meekly, to sin – being careful not to hurt anyone’s feelings, of course, because feelings had become the new ‘god’ there.  But nonetheless, we stood up.  We drew the line and made sure our children attended Catholic high schools so that they would not get caught up in the ‘pagan’ world of the public schools.  But little did we know that even the Catholic schools had stopped walking in the right kingdom.    They would bring in gay couples to teach the students how to ‘tolerate’ and learn to ‘accept’ – no questions asked – different ‘lifestyles’.  Two of the teachers were living together in a lesbian relationship.  They were celebrated for their ‘courage’.

And the children took notes…

When I ‘spoke up’ and protested the school’s plans to bring in a hypnotist and magician to ‘entertain’ the students; I received a cold silence – and my children received sudden dislike and criticism by their teachers.  Further efforts by the school to instruct the students in ‘social justice’ – i.e. not hurting anyone’s feelings by stating that things might be ‘wrong’ – ensued.

And the children took notes…

Meanwhile, Bob and I continued on… becoming very busy.  He was gone most days in his job as an airline pilot and I was stressed most days running my law office.  We were both working hard to give our kids the things we had never had – we thought that was what good parents did.  Right?

And the children took notes…

All that note taking began to come to a head when they hit mid to late teen years and began to be exposed to the old ‘sex, drugs and rock’n'roll’ – something our parents, teachers and society told us was wrong; but now something that parents, teachers and society applaud and celebrate – at least in Connecticut.  ’Experimenting’ and ‘finding yourself’ were the new mantras.

Levels of defiance rose.

Bob and I were trying to hold the line – but other parents, teachers and society told our kids that we were unreasonable to draw the line where we did.  ”Children need to experiment!”  ”Do you want them entering adult world completely and foolishly innocent?!!”  (Well… yes!!! – But apparently that was outdated thinking…)

The problem with defiance is that it can lead to disastrous results..  Our oldest daughter, Ashley, after a very rough and rocky road, was finally graduating college.  As a special family gift, we surprised them all with a trip to the Bahamas – our first real family destination vacation in about 10 years.  (Who can afford them with 4 children?!!)  It was a wonderful time.  But then the defiance kicked in.  The results thereof changed our lives.

The whole journey there, I had been warning the children about staying on the resort property.  A college girl had been missing. after going off with a local boy, in Aruba at this time – and it was suspected she would never be found.  I warned them of what could happen if they did the same.

Yet when you are a teenager living in defiance – then warnings don’t apply to  you.  Hence, Ashley and Katie ventured out one night with a boy who worked the ground crew.  The other kids told us of their plans – but we were too late.  They were gone.  I thought to call the police – but Bob asked what they could do?  Two American girls in a foreign country looking for a party – what was the crime the police would be obligated to search them for? And where would they even begin to look?  Instead I began to pray.

We finally fell asleep, and when we woke up – the girls were back, shamefully apologizing and telling us they would never do it again.  The other kids were silent.  Clueless, we took their apologies as heartfelt and breathed a sigh of relief.  What a good lesson (!!) we thought, it turned out ok – but they realized how foolish it had been.  Our prayers were answered!  Unfortunately, we did not find out what really happened until several months later – when the ramifications of it became known.

For Ashley and Katie had gone with this young Bahamian boy to what they thought was a ‘party’.  The people there were all engaging in some kind of pipe passing ritual.  The girls just thought it was pot of some kind – and being up for a party, when they were asked if they wanted to smoke it – they said yes.  Katie later said that the moment she inhaled, she felt something leap into or onto her.  It was choking her.  She began to freak out, fighting this unseen thing to get it off of her.  She apparently made such a fuss that the people there made the boy take her and Ashley back to the hotel – they didn’t want any trouble.

When Ashley and Katie got back to their  hotel room – they woke up Bobby and Jackie – who looked with horror upon Katie.  She had turned deathly white, and her eyes were bulging out of her head.  All night she crouched in a corner, striking out at the air around her and demanding that the kids stop choking her.  They fearfully insisted that there was nothing there – nothing was choking her – nothing was on her.  Nonetheless, she kept choking, coughing, gagging and spitting – constantly clawing out at nothing – to get it off of her.  They can’t remember how long it continued – but they were all terrified.

The next morning, she was fine and with an obvious sigh of relief – they came to us and apologized.  It actually was a sincere apology.  They had had the scare of their life; but fortunately – they thought – it was over…

The problem with walking in the wrong kingdom is that sometimes that kingdom can come and start to walk in us.  We may not even know it – but sooner or later – we begin to figure it out.

But that is for my next blog…

There were many things that slowly brought me back to my faith – and taught me about it.  I consider them all to be jewels on their own.  One such jewel was the time I came to realize that our Mother is still there doing what every good mother should – waiting for her child to call.  I wrote about it in my little book ‘The Road to Tignish Shore’, and I repeat it below…

About a year or so after moving to Florida I discovered that we were expecting another child.  Katie was about 2, Bobby about 3 and Ashley about 7.  My nephew Kyle, in 8^th grade, was also staying with us (the poor thing).  The day I found out, Bob came home and told me that his ship had been picked for early deployment, and workups would begin soon.  He would be gone most of the pregnancy, the birth and the baby’s first few months.  He left for 8 weeks just at the moment my worst morning sickness kicked in.  It had always started at about the 6^th week of pregnancy and continued until at least week 14.  Bob was due to be gone for all of it.  The second day of his absence I laid on the sofa trying to get the nausea under control enough so that I could get up and continue cooking dinner without throwing up all over the place.  To say that I was feeling helpless and discouraged was an understatement…

I laid there close to tears, listening to the children whining for dinner.  Looking up I said out loud “Mary, Mother of God.  I do not know if you are listening, I’m not sure if you can hear or even care.  All I do know is that you were a mother also.  You know what I am going through. And I just can not do this by myself.  There is just no way that I can make it through these next weeks unless you do something.  Please take this morning sickness from me.  I am responsible for all of these children; I MUST be able to care for them through this.  Please, please help me.”  And I listened.  And I waited.  Nothing.  Still feeling like hell, I got up and trudged through dinner.  Sick, and now feeling abandoned and like an idiot for expecting something to actually happen.  Somehow I made it through that night and fell into bed.  The next dawn I woke up to children calling for me and groaned, remembering my circumstances.  Throwing the covers off I sat up, and waited for the first wave of nausea to hit so I could run to the bathroom and get the vomiting over with.  And that’s when I realized.  Nothing.  It was gone.  I got up.  Still nothing.  I walked to the bathroom.  Still nothing.  And yet …..  The tiredness and other symptoms of pregnancy I also had in those first weeks were still there, but the nausea, the crippling part of it all, was gone.  And I realized that Mary had answered my prayer.  She was holding the worst back so that I could do it, so that I could care for my children while Bob was gone.  So that I could have relief.  And as the day, and then weeks, went by without a single moment of nausea, I continued to be amazed, each and every second, at the love, compassion and care of Our Lady, who is Mother to us all.

When I wonder at the firestorm going on in my nation concerning a United States President ordering those of religious faith to violate that faith for….. birth control… I begin to question how we have come to this.  How has a drug that does nothing but prevent a natural part of life, come to symbolize something equal to religious liberties?  Will people die without it?  Will they be maimed for life?  How is this equal to the great and heroic deeds of old?  But when I remember Canaan, it begins to make sense…

The people of Canaan worshipped a powerful god that ruled their lives.  They called him Baal.  When you do a little digging, you begin to realize that just as in Canaan of old, the god of Baal rules our culture.  We simply have a different name for him.  In Leanne Payne’s book “The Healing Presence” she mentions an insight she received from  God about Baal.  Leanne Payne has a worldwide healing ministry.  Included in her ministry are those who come from “permissive and perverted sexual lifestyles“ who are now desperately seeking healing. (The Healing Presence, pg. 233).  She notes in her book:

“Once as I came home after such a conference where there were over two hundred afflicted with compulsive sexual behavior of one kind or another, I was acutely aware of the horror of the battle we are in, living as we all do in an age that has forgotten God and now worships the creature.  Terribly exhausted, I fell in a heap before the Lord, only to hear Him speak, ever so clearly, these words:”

“Order your day.  Organize the hours.  They are precious…  There is no room, no place for the moping, disgruntled prophet….””

It is Baal worship you are facing and battling – the very thing the prophets of old inveighed against…”  

“…Gird up your loins” (prepare for battle, prepare to be used) “and run the race.  You will outrun the chariots of men; you will run in the power that I give.”

“I was amazed at such a word as that, and ran to the Scriptures to see what they had to say about Baal.  I was even more amazed by the amount of material they contained, and that the import of the material had not struck me more forcibly before then….  Do you have any idea how much there is about that idol in Scriptures?  And of the way the people of Yahweh were always either having to withstand a people who served this idol, or were themselves, when backslidden, under its aegis?  He was the god Elijah had his great contest with, for Baal worship was the state religion of Israel under Ahab and Jezebel.”

Baal essentially is the worship of the created, rather than the Creator.  This worship quickly becomes the worship of the means to ’create’ – i.e. sex, and the sexual organs.

As Leeanne Payne quotes Alfred Edersheim (pg. 240):   ”It deserves more than passing notice that the modern denial of God may be reduced to the same ultimate principle as the worship of Baal.  For, if the great First Cause – God as the Creator – be denied, then the only mode of accounting for the origin of all things is to trace it to the operation of forces in matter.  And what really is this but a deification of “Nature?””

“As already stated, Baal was the real deity of Asia, worshipped under different forms (hence the plural: baalim).  Molech was only Baal under another aspect, that of destruction, comp. Jer. 19:5, 32:35.”

Leeanne Payne goes on to note that:  ”Edersheim points out that the idolatry of Baal quickly gets bored with sex, and will go on to demand more and more to satisfy its appetite for flesh until human sacrifice is the ultimate fare…. “

In ancient times, the worship of Baal began with sexual orgies facilitated by temple prostitutes.  This led to the worship of Molech, when those pesky newborn ‘fruits’ of Baal worship were thrown into fires – living – as a way to not only worship the gods, but to get relief from the ‘burden’ of raising an ’unwanted’ child.  Archeologists have uncovered massive graves filled with thousands upon thousands of tiny newborn skeletons.  (One wonders what future archeologists will say of us when they uncover similar skeletons in areas known as ‘medical waste’.  What will they say when they see not thousands, but millions of them…?  Will they note how much more ‘enlightened‘ and ‘educated‘ we are than the Canaanites of old?…)

Indeed, Leeanne goes on to note that:  “(A)n even more horrendous and widespread problem, one that has gained legal status and protection by the law in many places, is the vile sin of abortion.  We, like the Israelites of old, have our Molechs, our ways of feeding our infants to the fires of Hell.”

In fact, Anath, the great goddess of Baal, was known as the goddess of sex and war (violence) (the two things we are told that ’sell’ products in America today).  If you really want to stop in your tracks, listen to her other name: she was called “the great goddess who conceives but does not bear.”  And she, like abortion in our time, was worshipped for that.

Leanne notes:  ”Baal is the god of sexual orgy, and the soul in his service will later, if not sooner, fall under Molech, his other aspect, as well.  This alone explains why in our culture today abortion, and other things too vile to think or write upon, have for many become the accepted order. (page 240)”

How can one avoid the similarities between the god of Baal, and the worship of sex in America and the Western world today?  In my life time alone, we have fallen so far under Baal’s spell and possession as to make commonplace things that the most crusty sailor among us would have never uttered a scant 30 years ago.  And as our insatiable appetite for all things ‘sexy’ and ‘sexual’ has grown – in essence as the power of Baal has grown – so too the destruction that Molech leaves in his wake.  Broken homes due to extra-marital affairs; broken hearts due to premarital affairs; young boys and girls caught up in behaviors they cannot understand but emulate since portrayed as ‘good’; a nation of adults who act like children; a nation of children wounded and betrayed by the adults that were supposed to do only ‘good’ to them – not evil.

I know mothers who consider themselves ‘good’ and ‘educated’ who run out and get birth control pills for their newly menstruating daughters.  Proudly proclaiming their enlightened minds that, (under the deception of Baal), are all too eager to offer up their young innocent daughters onto his altar.  There is more than one way to ‘abort’ a child – agree to wound them in depths unimaginable to prior generations, and through evil that masquerades as ‘enlightenment’ – kill their very soul.

Perhaps Ruth Bell Graham said it best when she reflected that ‘if God did not bring judgment upon our Nation and our sin, then He owed Sodom and Gomorrah a personal apology’. 

Indeed, it is often noted that in the Old Testament, the Canaanites were the only nation that God ordered to be entirely exterminated by the Israelites.  In fact, Deuteronomy 20:10-15 orders them to offer conditions of peace to other nations, yet verses 16-18 refused to let them do the same to Canaan.  All other wars with other nations were only allowed for self-defense – yet the Canaanites were to be completely and totally destroyed – per God’s orders.  The reasons are very sobering ones for our times.  For the Canaanites were destroyed so as to prevent them from corrupting the world (Deut. 20:16-18).  “When a people starts to burn their children in honor of their gods (Lev. 18:21), practice sodomy, bestiality, and all sorts of loathsome vice (Lev. 18:23, 24, 20:3), the land itself begins to “vomit” them out as the body heaves under the load of internal poisons (Lev. 18:25, 27-30″).  Hence, “just as a surgeon does not refrain from amputating a gangrenous leg even though in so doing he cannot help cutting off much healthy flesh“; so too do we see the Lord taking the same action.  With that in mind, perhaps more people of good intention should begin to speak up for purity, morality and faith.  No longer can we say ‘well we don’t agree with that, but we can’t ‘judge’ others’.  For when God’s judgment comes – it will come on us all.

It is not enough to simply cluck our tongues, shake our heads and walk away.  This is a spiritual entity we are fighting against.  We will only defeat it with spiritual means.  Those who are held ignorantly in its grasp are to be fought FOR, not against.  We may not be able to convince – but God can.  Pray, fast, seek the Face and Will of God and begin to move in His power.

For as Modecai said to Esther when she was afraid of petitioning the King for fear of death: “Do not imagine that you are safe in the king’s palace, you alone of all the Jews.  Even if you now remain silent, relief and deliverance will come to the Jews from another source; but you and your father’s house will perish. Who knows—perhaps it was for a time like this that you became queen?” Esther 4:13-14

Esther therefore sent this reply back to Mordecai:

“Go and assemble all the Jews who are in Susa; fast on my behalf, all of you, not eating or drinking night or day for three days. I and my maids will also fast in the same way. Thus prepared, I will go to the king, contrary to the law. If I perish, I perish!”  Esther 4:15-16

Or perhaps, as the Lord himself told Leanne Payne:

“Order your day.  Organize the hours.  They are precious…  There is no room, no place for the moping, disgruntled prophet….””

It is Baal worship you are facing and battling – the very thing the prophets of old inveighed against…”  

“…Gird up your loins and run the race.  You will outrun the chariots of men; you will run in the power that I give.”

Therefore; let us order, let us organize, let us gird up and – let us RUN…

My daughter asked me today what she should do.  The world is growing darker and as a Catholic, she and all of us, are feeling more and more marginalized.  I told her that, as a Catholic, she needs to remember that we are in a win-win life.

Let me explain.  I have a friend who is an addict.  We, on the outside, watch and pray that THIS time, it will last.  She will stay off the stuff, there will be no more arrests, and her family and friends can breathe a sigh of relief and move on to normalcy once again.  But that doesn’t seem to happen.  It doesn’t happen because she is not absolutely, and completely, SICK of her addiction.  It is not awful enough, horrid enough, revolting enough to HER to make her never want to touch it again.  She simply will not willingly give it up.  And so we wait; and so we suffer.

So too America…  Have you turned on a television lately?  I stopped watching television about 25 years ago, and I gotta tell you – when I am out somewhere and see it playing I am absolutely mortified at what passes for entertainment in my nation today.  It grieves me to no end.  And yet people like it.  At work the lunchroom conversation concerns nothing real.  All they talk about are unreal people living unreal lives on television – and yet it consumes their interests and time.  Last I checked – no one seems anywhere NEAR the point of considering the filth on television to be awful, horrid or revolting.  They like it.  And I would guess that they will not willingly give it up.

And so the world gets darker and people wonder why.  Well, perhaps because we have filled our lives with the unreal, and forgotten the real.  Satan is the father of lies – he exists in the unreal.  Jesus is truth, he exists only in the real.  So the more our nation chooses the fantasy world of the unreal; the further and further we will get from the truth – the real, the Christ.  And as people get further from Christ, and as they get more and more caught up in their sin – then those of us who happen to remind them of what their life should be like – will not exactly be appreciated.  In fact, we will become a thorn in their side, something better to get rid of then to think about.

And therein is our win-win.  As the world gets darker, it will not matter if you are ‘conservative’ or ‘liberal’.  The only people who will begin to stand out are those that SHINE with the light of Christ.  In the darkness, people are drawn to light.  They begin to realize that those surrounding them are so callous, shallow, selfish  - and yet those of Christ are so… real.  Their love is real, their honesty is real, their peace is real.  It will draw people like flies.  The darker it gets, the more desperate those people will get and the sicker, more horrified and more revolted they will get of their sin.  And that is when we impact them for Christ.  If we just do what the early apostles did – love - then we will be winning souls for Christ.

Yet lights also tend to get noticed by those who love the darkness.  And those who love the darkness want to put lights out.  So we can expect that more and more attacks will come, more and more persecution, more and more ‘marginalization’.  People who are NOT sick of their sin do not see the sin as the problem, they see the messenger as the problem instead.

But that is the other ‘win’ column.  Nothing spreads the faith like the blood of the martyrs.  NOTHING.  So we don’t need to worry about the future, we don’t need to concern ourselves with changing the entire world – Jesus didn’t even do that in his own lifetime.  He didn’t take out advertisements, he didn’t start a newspaper, he didn’t campaign for higher office.  He simply loved each and every person – one at a time – that God put in his path.

So can we.

And then, when his task was through, he simply walked into the waiting arms of His Father; having offered that sacrifice for all those who weren’t sick enough, weren’t horrified enough and weren’t revolted enough to want to change.

So can we.

In the end, Jesus lived a win-win life.

And so; can we.

Yesterday in Mass, I heard the story again of Joseph and his brothers – and this time it jumped right out at me…

Joseph walked up to his brothers on an errand from their father.  It had taken a long time to reach them, he was probably calling out to them, waving in happiness that he had spotted them.  And then – his brothers grabbed him, stripped him of  his clothing and threw him into a well.

I know that is the story we have all heard but….  think of that.  Think of it as Hollywood would write it.  The innocence, the plotting, the attack, the pain.  The pain.  Later in Scripture, we hear how the brothers sat there eating their lunch, listening to his screams for help, and did … nothing.  Well, they were moved enough to consider the long term consequences of their actions – the guilt that they would have to endure – and so they sold him as a slave instead.  Nice guys.

Again, we know the story, but imagine it as Joseph would live it.  Fetched from the well, relieved that his brothers were only playing a nasty trick on him and then…. bound in chains and dragged away as he watched them turn back to their meal.  No more concerns, not a second thought…  Pain.

These were his older brothers.  He was their ‘baby’.  Did he think that they would go home, tell his father and come to rescue him?  Not likely.  Abused, lost, rejected, abandoned and not a soul who knew – cared.  Do we want to talk pain, and inner wounds?

And, if you follow the story to its completion, you see how Joseph continued in this pain, continued in this rejection and faced it time and time again.  This was not a one shot deal.  Almost everyone he met continued to favor, and then reject, him.  The wife of the king, the fellow prisoner.  Wounds upon wounds.

But this is the part that, for the first time, jumped out at me.  If NOT for those wounds; millions would have starved.  Is there any other conceivable way that Joseph would have ended up in charge of the kingdom – recommending the storage of grain before the drought – had he stayed happy at home?

As Christians, we are often faced with the question of wounding.  Why does God ‘allow’ it?  It comes through His hand, as a mother gives awful tasting medicine to her child to save their life.  So why doesn’t He sweeten the dose?  Well, we respond, we live in a broken world and bad things happen due to people’s free will.  True.  But sometimes, just maybe, the wounds are absolutely essential.  Sometimes, perhaps, we suffer because the lives of others depend on it.  The life of Joseph tells that story.  His suffering was not solely for him.  I would venture that yes, it increased his faith and reliance on the Lord.  BUT, it was not only for him.  His suffering was to save others.  It had a much larger goal.

How do we know that ours does not do the same?  We tend to take it so personally.  ’He abused me, I am learning to forgive.’  ’I was in want, I learned to trust in God.’  ’I am in pain, I am learning the value of prayer.’  Lots of ‘I’s in there.  Maybe we are thinking too small.

Joseph suffered in loneliness, isolation, pain and grief.  That suffering saved millions.  Who knows but ours won’t do the same?  In this sin wrecked and twisted world, maybe, just maybe, our wounds are NOT personal.   Maybe, just maybe, they are absolutely ESSENTIAL in the grand scheme of God’s design…

Shortly after Katie was born in 1990, I was driving down the road in Point Mugu, California doing my basic Sunday errand running.  As a true faithful liberal yuppie, I was driving my recyclables miles away from my home since those were the days before recycling had started and I was a true earth lover who was single handedly ‘saving’ the environment.  I was approaching an intersection on one of those back country roads, listening to the radio blaring and enjoying being away from all the children (Ashley 5 yrs., Bobby 19 months and Katie, a newborn) and Bob.  Suddenly, a strong forceful voice said loudly, right next to me, “YOU WILL NEVER LIVE TO SEE YOUR CHILDREN AGAIN.”  Just like that.  I immediately slammed on the brakes – expecting a tractor trailer to come careening through the intersection.  But there was nothing.  My first instinct was to keep from danger, and so I looked to protect myself before my mind next began to think – “wait a minute- where did that voice come from?!?”  The radio was still blaring on the same song; I was alone in the car, nothing in sight except farm fields as far as I could see.  Blinking and shaking my head, I immediately began rationalizing, “I must have imagined it”, but hard to convince yourself when you just lived through it.  Nonetheless, I shook it off and continued on.  My final errand was the recycling facility – in an industrial park, at the end of a long road.  The drop off point was around in back; you pulled up, got out of your car and dumped everything in.  As I got closer to the industrial park, the hair on the back of my neck started rising inexplicably, my skin started crawling and every part of my instincts began screaming “flee!!!”  But rationality won out, and I pressed on.  The place was deserted, not a building open on a Sunday, the long road was empty – and I pressed on.  Slowly I began to drive through the narrow road around to the back, and that’s where I passed the car full of men.  They looked like trouble.  They were obviously drunk or stoned, 5 or 6 young men, appearing to be migrant workers – but suddenly very excited to see a single young woman drive past them in this abandoned park, miles from nowhere.  They began pointing at me and jumping up and down.  Already nervous due to the Voice in my car, I finally decided to go with my instincts and FLEE.  But there was no way out.  So I made a way.  When I got around the building, instead of getting out of the car to toss my recycling or turning around to try to get past them again, I gunned the engine and drove right through the farm field at the parking lots end.  As I flew out of the field on the other side of the building, I looked back and sure enough, the men were out of their car, which they had used to block off the return road with, and they were lying in wait for me.  As I sped the car out of that industrial park that day I knew one thing – if I had not heard that Voice on that country road that day, I would have “never lived to see my children again”.

You know how some people can set an alarm clock to the gentlest noise and yet it still makes them spring out of bed in the morning?  And you know how other people have to set 5 alarms – all over their bedroom – all on max decibels – just to get them to roll over and WAKE UP?  Well when it came to ‘waking up’ to the reality that this world we see is not all there is; guess which one I am…

When the children were very young, and after I began to question the ‘Good Housekeeping’ version of faith I’d been raised on – I started reading up on angels.  I read that we each have a Guardian Angel, a being that stays with us throughout our lives to help us through it.  Someone that, when we die, we will finally see and say “Oh here you are”, because we will have unknowingly ‘known’ them all our lives.  And so, once again, I prayed that God would show me the truth in all of this.  This was during the time that Bob was gone on deployment.  He left for 6 months the day before Jackie turned one in October.  During this deployment, Jackie went from ear infection to ear infection, always starting in the middle of the night.  The kids were crabby and missing their dad.  Bobby stopped talking to just about everybody and started hitting people a lot.  They fought all the time.  The friends who had assured Bob that they would ‘help’ me out while he was gone actually had full lives of their own and after the first week or so, they moved on with their own busy schedules.  By Thanksgiving I was feeling pretty tired and pretty low.  Bob would not return until Easter time, and already I was fading.  How would I manage?

Those were the thoughts in my brain that Thanksgiving, in Florida, just me and 4 sick, crabby children.  I hung around waiting for family to call, but no one did.  Cooked a full turkey meal, with kids underfoot.  Do you even think they appreciated it??!!  By the end of the day I was sitting at Bob’s desk, paying bills and feeling pretty sorry for myself….  A sad sight to be sure.  I had long since forgotten my prayer about angels, but God had not forgotten about me.

Jackie toddled into the living room and began to walk up to me.  When she passed the tall halogen lamp, she knocked into it and it in turn tipped and tapped the wood shelf on the wall, right above her head.  This was my wood ‘display’ shelf that held my collection of antique glass bottles and ceramic figurines, including my Lladro angel.  The glass bottles were the old fashioned kind, with glass about an inch thick.  They weighed a ton, which might explain why the shelf sprang off the wall so easily.  Now the shelf was directly over Jackie’s head.  Gravity causes things to go down; at least that is my unscientific observation.  There is, to this day, still no natural explanation as to how this shelf began falling, then stopped and slowly traveled sideways in the air until it hooked over the top of the lamp, causing it to hinge downward at an angle.  The falling end came to a stop right at Jackie’s feet with a giant explosion of shattering glass.  There was glass everywhere.  The sound alone caused her to scream in terror.  I leapt up thinking that she was surely pierced through with glass shards.  I grabbed her from the middle of this glass pile and looked all over her body – not a scratch.  Once I realized she was unhurt, my mind leapt to my next thought —  “Great!!!  All alone on Thanksgiving, my glass collection is destroyed and now I have this huge mess to clean up.”  Once I got everyone settled back down and safely in their rooms, I trudged back into the living room to survey the mess.  I had to blink back tears of frustration and discouragement.  Most of the big pieces of glass still lay in a tall pile.  I resolutely got a trash bag and began peeling each piece off.  Everything was just shattered to smithereens.  Big heavy thick glass bottles reduced to shards.  Piece by piece I picked off the pile and tossed them in the bag.  Nothing salvageable.  And then I got to the final heavy piece and when I lifted it up I just froze.

I couldn’t believe my eyes, but there, under pounds of shattered glass was my delicate, ceramic Lladro Angel.  Not a scratch, not a chip.  Perfect.  And clear as a bell the words came into my mind, “for [I] will command [My] angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.  On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.” Psalm 91:11-12.  Tears came to my eyes when I realized that this, too, was the answer to a prayer.  That the God who made the universe took time to send this miracle just for me, just to speak to my heart so I would know that, although I felt all alone in the world, He was there.  The tenderness of His love washed over me and it was something I could not fathom, could not believe.  He loved me??  I didn’t even love me!!!  Didn’t He know how really awful I was?!  And I knew then that just as I loved Jackie even though she toddled around and made messes, God loved me as I go through life doing pretty much the same.  And all this time when I thought it was Him keeping his distance, ashamed and embarrassed at the loser I really was, it was really me – afraid to go home, afraid He would ‘find me out’ and find me oh so lacking.  Oh my gosh, I realized.  He knows me and still He loves me.  St. John, Jesus’ best friend, said it best, “We love because He first loved us.” 1 John 4:19.

It was hard to imagine, but it gave me hope.

“for the earth shall be filled with knowledge of the Lord, as water covers the sea.” Isaiah 11:9

This was my silent protest to the place wherein I found myself a few years back.  I was so tired of, and so burned out by, the intellectual ignorance that passed as wisdom in Connecticut.  I had returned there – to my childhood roots – when my husband stopped flying fighter jets for the Navy, and started flying passenger jets for the airlines.  It seemed the logical place to go; I had taken and passed the attorney bar there when our first child was just 1 and my husband was gone on continual deployments.  3 more children, and frequent cross country moves, quickly followed and 10 years passed without practicing anything other than trying to hold our family together through the difficulties of Navy life.  When the opportunity arose to return to family, and eventually the work force as an attorney, we took it.

What I hadn’t realized was that there had been a lot of changes in the 20 years since I left for college – changes in the culture of New England, and changes in me.  Although I was a ‘cradle Catholic’, that cradle had been among the generation after Vatican 2 – and in a place that prided itself on its superiority and ‘knowledge’.  Church was something we suffered through on Sundays after listening to our mom and dad argue all the way there.  On the way home we got to listen to gossip about everyone who had attended the weekly ‘social event’.  Sacraments were opportunities to go shopping and get really nice outfits.  Being Catholic was basically the same as being a ‘good’ student and ‘nice’ child – no questions asked.  Asking questions meant you were being ‘fresh’ or ‘sassy’, and so our knowledge never went beyond memorizing what actions were necessary to fit into that ‘good and nice’ category.

In fact, no one ever once introduced me to a certain someone by the name of Jesus.

Well, not in person.  There were plenty of pictures of Jesus, and his Mother, all over the place.  Each picture showed them with a very pained expression on their faces.  Knowing how high the bar was in order to measure up to that ‘good and nice’ standard – I could perfectly understand why…

20 years later, I returned to Connecticut as a heretic.   As I noted, I had changed.  During my husband’s 15 years in the Navy, Jesus had taken the opportunity to formally introduce Himself.  Now you have to realize that I was not exactly seeking an introduction.  As far as I knew I would get to meet Him someday.  One day my ticket would be up and – boom – there I would stand in front of Him.  He would be wearing my mother’s frown and itching to tell me how disappointed He was in me.

As you can imagine, I was hoping to put that meeting off for as long as possible.

But he wasn’t; hoping to put it off, that is.

Since I was avoiding Him, he started to show up in the most inconvenient places.  You know what I mean.  Remember the guy in high school that had a crush on you and you had absolutely ZERO interest in him?  Remember how he suddenly started showing up wherever you were?  Remember constantly having to avert your eyes for fear He might come on over and, gasp, strike up a conversation??!!  It would practically ruin your whole day.  It at least ruined all the fun you were having.

Welcome to my life post childhood.

Irritating people would start questioning my beliefs, and highlighting my inconsistencies.  These people would call themselves ‘Christians’.  “HA!  I went to church on Sundays – who were they to tell ME anything?!!”  I just made fun of them.  I was awfully good at it – having gotten my training on all those rides home from Church for years.

But God persisted.  He’s kind of a pain that way.

He quickly figured out that I was just one stubborn cookie.  All this time, He had been protecting me; trying to lure me with kindness.  Being me, I quickly appropriated all his kindnesses as my own strengths and talents.  Wasn’t I special!

I think He may have gotten a chuckle out of that; or a catch in his throat.  He could see that I was a hard one to crack.  Growing up in intellectual New England had caused me to be so full of intellectual pride that I, plain and simply, knew all the answers.  And growing up in my family had caused me to learn that trusting in anyone other than yourself was a very dangerous proposition.  No matter how much Jesus tried to get through, how much He tried to turn up the heat – He was just not getting my attention.  I had become the lord of my own universe; I was the one in Control…

But you know; Jesus knew me, and He knew my one weakness.  However, being a Gentleman, I don’t think He wanted to go that route unless as a last resort.

It was a last resort.

He went after my children.

Now not in a bad way because He ultimately was in control – but in a way that began to prove to me that I WASN’T.  Now how could He do that, you ask?  Well….

How many people do you know have had not one, but TWO, missing children in their lives?  Both kindergarteners; both when their dad is far, far away on an aircraft carrier?

We are not talking “Oh my gosh, he was out of my sight in the grocery store for FORTY-FIVE MINUTES!  I called in the national guard for backup!!  I am still on narcotics and in therapy!!!”

No; we are talking, “Mrs. Fox, um, could you come up to the school please?  Don’t panic, we have assembled the search party and I’m sure Katharine will be found (in the swamps, with the alligators and wild dog packs) immediately.  And oh, by the way, could you bring a picture?  The police are asking for one…”

Times two.  As in, two years in a row.

Katharine was the second year.  The first year, when Bobby was lost (in the swamps, with the alligators and wild dog packs), I was just a rookie.  I didn’t know to call everyone I knew and ask for prayer.  I just figured that my incredible strength and fortitude would be all I needed.  That was before I realized (thanks to Bobby’s almost too-close-for-comfort encounter with the side of a milk carton) that I had ABSOLUTELY zero control over anything.  Let’s face it, if you can’t put your kindergartener on a school bus in the morning and expect him to jump off and come running into your arms at the end of the day – what CAN you count on?

As Cornelius would say in Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer: “Nuthin”.

But can you believe that I STILL wasn’t convinced?  My missing children stories are only 2 of many.  I’ve had doctors ask me to get my husband back home (from port call in Spain, ‘Oh sure doc, no big problem….’) because he wasn’t sure how long my child would ‘make it’.  I’ve had children with broken hands and feet, twisted intestines, bizarre infections, mysterious fevers – even encephalitic shock due to an allergy TO THE COLD (??!!).  Now COME ON!!!  This is getting to be a bit much!!!!

But slowly, I started to crack.

I started going from avoidance to seeking.  Then I went from seeking to searching.  I would throw little challenges out there – “Ok, God, IF you really are there and IF you are really present in my life and IF you really want me to believe in a ‘spiritual’ world – then show me.”

You know, St. Thomas gets a bad rap.  He asked one time – ONE TIME – to be shown the truth and the minute he was; he believed.  Done. Over. ‘I believe – now what?’

And then there’s me (and I suppose most of us).  ”Ok Lord, that was pretty amazing all right… Got anything else you can show me?”

It is truly amazing what you begin to see when you ask God to open your eyes.  Holy cow.  Be careful what you ask for.

I can’t remember if it was the angel(s) first; or the demon(s).  If you look up speechless in the dictionary, you will see my picture next to it.  I’m the one with the mouth hanging open…

And trust me.  If you knew me, you would NEVER in a million years think you could find MY picture anywhere NEAR the word ‘speechless’.

Being me, I prefer the word ‘enlightened’.  I can just hear my husband now – “You would.”

But I digress.

Back to Connecticut.  I arrived there in 1996 as a heretic – and a heretic with a capital ‘H”.  You see, I now actually BELIEVED this stuff!!!  It was one thing to be a ‘catholic’ who followed ‘the way’ of goodness and niceness.  But please – let’s not talk about Jesus!!!  What does HE have to do with anything??!!

Real Connecticut catholics followed ‘the way’ of Good Housekeeping magazine and/or Oprah.  As long as you were ‘nice’, ‘understanding’ and ‘tolerant’ of all opinions and lifestyles – you were good to go.  But hey, HEY(!), what is this talk about sin?!  What is this talk about God’s ‘Word’?!  What is this talk about a ‘spiritual life’?!  We have our lives, and God has His.  We have safely put Him in heaven where He belongs.  God forbid (or, in Connecticut speak ‘WE forbid’) you bring Him into OUR world!!!

A heretic.  Look that word up too – yup, same face.

Which gets me back to my opening line.

“for the earth shall be filled with knowledge of the Lord, as water covers the sea.” Isaiah 11:9

After years of living among these people, being called a ‘religious nut’, a ‘wacko’, ‘intolerant’ and every other thing imaginable – because I believed that Jesus Christ is who He says He is and that He is alive and well and walking with us – I finally got subversive.

I just stuck this little scripture under my ‘signature’ on my email account.  Without saying it, I was saying it – and in essence, ‘it’ was this…

“Ok, so you are clueless now and there’s nothing I can do (Lord knows, I have tried!) to get you to wake up – but guess what?  Does water cover the sea?”  ……………    “Yeah, yeah.  Laugh now, but I got one question for ya.”

“How long can you tread water?”………

Enough said.