Much Suffering

Am reading a book of a victim soul, Marie-Anne of L'Agnus Dei. Will write some on her in another post.

For now, suffering is enough. Right here, suffering, and thinking of the young woman who lived a life so focused in offering herself to the Lord, and later to die in Him at age 24, as a sister of the Reparatrice. Yes, it was/is a religious community avowed to offer prayer and suffering in reparation for the sins of the world--offered all to Jesus.

So while I am having increased physical pain this week, which affects the mind and emotions due to the natural effects of pain, I have pondered this young woman as I read a few pages here and there.

I have called out to her in friendship, as well. Marie-Anne and last night, after midnight, to St. Teresia Benedictus of the Cross (Edith Stein). Yes, I called out to these saints (St. Teresia Benedictus' saint day today); I called out to Mother Mary, also. Then I thought about an old friend who had called two weeks ago to tell me she has terminal cancer. I have been offering to suffer some on her behalf--whatever the Lord might choose in order to help this older person find even slight relief from the cancer that is now in her brain, causing great headaches, and all through her body. Vicarious suffering--might be a bit of what the Lord is allowing my body.

Then there is the magnificent essence of being so alone these days and nights. And of the reality of the aloneness, and of the suffering.

Physical pain brings me to a point of distraction. Peccadillos pop up as fast as the small weeds in the gardens--and even more arise as noticed around me, such as in someone at Mass who is distracting, or controlling without warrant, or this or that tiny annoyance even in being stopped at Wal-mart to show receipt upon exiting. Then the mind ruminates on some of these peccadilloes, and confession eases them, laughter erupts, and later much laughter at self in thinking how another just a week ago thought the Lord would keep a certain sin in my life, while on earth, in order to help remind me I am human. Oh, my! There are many means the Lord uses to remind me I am human, daily, even when I refute one sin after another.

Takes an act of the will to lie in bed and simply, softly embrace the suffering. The physical suffering becomes mental and emotional suffering, and the mind and emotions must be reigned in and disciplined. The source of suffering is located, and the tributaries of that great river are located and more easily portaged than the great river of suffering, itself.

Then the mind can remain open to messages, fleeting though they may be, in assurance that the suffering is being accepted, as offered, for this or that nuance that swims before the inner sight of the soul. When the body does not sleep for the pain, all is well, for the mind tells the body it is resting, and that is sufficient. The hands hold the rosary and attempt the decades, but thoughts again of the friend dying of terminal cancer crawl into the bed of suffering, and thoughts of gratitude flow.

It is the day of the Crucifixion, and the Mysteries are that of Sorrow. Our Lady of Sorrows stands to the right of the bed, on an antique drop-leaf table, orchids surrounding her. She comprehends in the silent solitude of pain that cannot be born by other than ones chosen to bear and to share much suffering.

Morning arrives, and the body rested into a sleep, and the awareness of pain resumes, and along with it, the reassurance of another glorious day on earth. Refreshed enough to embrace the beauty and freshness of whatever God desires in awareness of suffering of others, to pray, to offer oneself in their stead.

[The small willows someday shall form a hedge of bounded cohesion. Each branch, each leaf--pointed in red new growth--seem to be another opportunity of fresh suffering to grace the earth as reminder of Christ's redeeming acts, on-going.]