Catholic Hermit: God's Will Guiding

Someone sent a newsletter featuring a biography of a 20th c. woman, Catholic, mystic named Gabriella Bossis.  My intrigue turned to excitement when I realized this newsletter contained information as to the authoress of a book I'd read--or at least much of it--a few years ago, He and I.  The authoress remained anonymous, per her insistence, when the book was published prior to her death; she had wanted it published after her death but finally agreed if her anonymity maintained.

I did not realize that Gabriella, who had an intimate relationship with Jesus from her childhood and had conversations with Him on-going, had doubts at a certain point as a young woman.  Was this really Jesus with whom she was speaking?  Was this truly Him speaking back, conversing with her?  She sought a professional's advice as to her emotional and mental balance, and at some point she was also reassured by a cleric, of the divine nature of the locutions, of the conversations being with Christ.

The person who sent me the newsletter wrote in a note that it reminded the person of me.  However, I think not, as it seems to me that my conversations with Christ or others on other side are more one-sided.  I do not listen; I am far distracted by negatives of the temporal, of self, of coping with pain or of all that was involved, such as getting in provisions.  Or now, of handling added pain today since the weather shifted.  

I'm distracted by considerations of current relationships.  I'm discerning if God is asking me to "let go"--not in a locution from Him, but in the situations that seemingly are several and in this time period of a couple months or so.  Or even with this pain, when in addition to emotional pain, I am at a point of not having energy to keep reaching in, to keep trying with certain persons, or to even text a third time to inquire why the man who went to bother and effort to shop for and bring food supplies--has not cashed the checks that are just payment for the products and a gratuity for much time spent.

Last night I watched a film of a young man who had been electrocuted.  The documentary followed his life from hospital and through his recovery period, and included a few years after of his struggles which included adapting to handicaps physical and emotional from such an ordeal.  

Part of his gratitude, following, was his expression and acknowledgement of how he did not go through it alone; he had a female friend who stayed with him for well over a year, including day and night in the hospital for a few months and then at his cabin home in Montana.  Hers was a sacrificial love, for they had been romantically involved until he admitted to serial cheating affairs; yet their love became that of best friends, deep friends, of a type that transcends what most people would have after such hurtful emotional and mental pain.  He also had the support ongoing of his family--parents and siblings.  

And later in his recovery, after the female friend moved out as it was time, and when he was being asked to do motivational speaking, the man, Eduardo Garcia, spoke passionately about those of whom he'd not have made it through the ordeal if not for their sacrificial love, support, and tangible help.  He did not go through it alone.  His female friend, Jennifer Jane, had filmed his progress from when she first arrived at the hospital; it began as a means to encourage him, to provide a creative process, and to then later on be something he could look back upon as he would not likely remember the earlier parts of the ordeal.  The film became the documentary Charged, which then led to television interviews and the invitations to motivational speaking engagements.

I could not help but compare my life situation with this young man's, for I was about his age when my "crucifixion" came in the form of injury as a result of a drunk-driving teen causing the car accident.  Yet my situation has continued over the years.  In the first phase, the losses were tremendous, but I had a support network of family, friends, and neighbors, and of some of the members of the Lutheran church of which my children and I belonged at the time.  So I was not at all alone then, other than in deepest ways I was.  But my children were a major part of my purpose to keep going, to survive, to endure.  God had sent me back from death to rear them, and my love of them and of God focused and got me through horrible trials.

Yet I consider the documentary in perspective of my other phases as my life has unfolded 35 years beyond the young man's in the film.  I've had additional crises and trials, major sufferings of non-physical types, in various life phases.  I still had parents, both dad but most communicatively a mother in whom I had a close relationship, and then my spiritual da, the priest whom God provided over a period of 24 years, to help guide and discern, a holy and wise friend, an anam cara.

But in my current trial, this extensive spinal surgery, I feel quite alone as far as a support network goes.  That is one thing the physical therapist noted, in last visit three or more weeks ago--that I'd have progressed better had I a support network from the beginning of my post-operative period.  In fact, she commented that my back situation, in her opinion, would not have been so serious had I not had the circumstances in life leading up to the surgery.  Who knows but God, for sure?  But God has allowed all as it has transpired.

It is true that the stress and emotions of having to get through the pre- and post-operative phase is difficult and adds to the suffering in ways hard to describe.  Yet somehow I think I surely must deserve this. or that God has chosen this for me, as a means for Him to draw me closer into His Will and His Heart.  But like Gabriella Bossis, I don't know for certain; and I do not have anyone to easily ask help in discerning, for my spiritual da is on the other side, and it would be a matter of faith in trusting what locution or sense I might receive from his supernatural input.  I can go by what he might have said when on earth; but in some of the more unusual circumstances, he had come to admitting he did not know, but for me to trust God all the same and that I'd be all right.

My parents are no longer on earth, although my dad did come to me yesterday morning in a dream and was intent on trying to help me as a father would his child, by encouraging me to take art lessons, or to try some creative endeavor possible.  I am pondering his advice and even more so, appreciating his concern and sweet intent of encouraging me in ways of positive outlet and productivity.  

My children, adults now for between 15 and 22 years, are in a different phase and view of me than they were as children and teens.  The Lord is not allowing the physical nor emotional support that was back then, nor any need on my part to persevere and endure for them as they have no need or desire of need.  My existence in this phase is more as a burden,  a frustration, a hassle, one of which the Lord seems content in allowing, and of which I must discern.  It seems best to let go other than to love and pray, for in essence I seem already, for the most part if not all the way, dead except for what inheritance might not have been spent on health and nursing care costs.

So this phase I'm in currently, is not at all as the young man's in the documentary, and that reality stands out to me in stark contrast.  It is as if I've had multiple other trials, with this surgery and lengthy, painful recovery to be like a second crucifixion in its suffering aspects such as I experienced with the 1987 back-to-back spine surgeries.   This crucifixion is far more stripped of human support and of purpose for me to persevere.  However, the Lord has provided for the dire necessities of the past 3 months, through people, most strangers, and not for long--just long enough, it seems, until I can push myself to do what the physical therapist thought a cause for the higher, extended pain.

It is difficult to not look at what is not happening, what and whom the Lord is not providing rather than to live in praise of God for how miraculously He has and is providing.  The neighbors have fallen back; but the Lord has now provided a newly met neighbor for emergency needs.  I'm exhausted with suffering and at low ebb of energy physically, mentally, and especially emotionally.

But I have energy to pray; I have spiritual energy, and that is how it is when we die to this earth.  We have great spiritual energy.  The spiritual is the force of life fully, as the bodily falls away, is let go, forever.

In the time period--aftermath or whatever--of this second, major life crucifixion, my wondering if this is God's allowing.  Or, I ask Him if somehow I need to be trying repeatedly or at all to reach in, especially in situations of which there is strain and strife, or those busy in the living of active lives, or holding hurts or cautions or are simply pre-occupied.  I can only assume this is part of a second crucifixion, a later in life crucifixion, in which the reality of one's existence is at conflict with the temporal world and life of those actively engaged in that world, and the bodily existence has become a burden not only to others but to self.

The mind, heart, and soul must rise to this occasion of another, and perhaps more encompassing crucifixion, and there are great saints to look to for guidance as to how to recognize, accept, and manage the aspects and sufferings beyond physical pain, that are remarkable in such a second or greater crucifixion.  

Jesus' ultimate crucifixion on Calvary encompasses more than one crucifixion, for He endured in His God-Man other forms of crucifixion prior to the one culminating in his physical death to this temporal world in which He died once and for all for our salvation.  Yet I wonder, even now, if He is suffering crucifixions of sort, in His suffering with us in our various crucifixions that provide us with increasing dyings to this world and in separating out in ways that prepare us for leave-taking, fully, in our ultimate crucifixion.

In all that, I know it is the Lord who guides, it is God who allows the circumstances and situations, and of the ways and means of progressing us even in crucifixions and their painful aspects and purposes.  He prepares us for union with Him in ways we may not understand or think we can bear in our minds and hearts, but doubting Him nor our reaching in trying to reverse the events and the realities in others and in situations, does nothing but cloud the good of accepting and of waiting on the Lord for His loving will and direction.

I am consoled by what Baldwin of Ford, Cistercian abbot then bishop, wrote in the 12th-13th c. 

"Those who shed Christ's blood did not do so to wash away the sins of the world...yet without realizing it, they aided the plan of salvation.  The salvation of the world that followed owed nothing either to their might or their will, or their intention, or their act, but came from the might, will, intention and act of God...

"In shedding the blood of Christ, hatred emptied itself out 'so that the thoughts of many hearts might be revealed' (Luke 2:35).  And love, too, in pouring out the blood of Christ, poured itself out that humankind might know how much God loved it:  'not even holding back his own Son' (Rm 8:32).  'For God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son' (Jn 3:16).

"This only Son was offered, not because his enemies had decided, but because He himself had so desired it.  'He loved His own and He loved them to the end' (Jn 13:1).  The 'end' was the death he had accepted for the sake of those he loved:  this was the wholly perfect end, the end of perfect love.  'For no one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for those one loves' (cf. Jn 15:13)." 

No matter what suffering involved in the various trials caused by my own flaws and sins, or by others misunderstandings, flaws, and sins, no matter what is allowed of God and willed of God, or whether I doubt or know for sure, I do know that this second crucifixion after various other difficult trials in my life prior to and following my first crucifixion, I must desire of myself, to offer myself as a thank offering, as a sacrifice of praise, in dying and loving until my "end."  

I must accept all the intervening deaths for the sake of those I love, and to love them to my ultimate, final earthly crucifixion, to the end.  This is what the Lord has meant in the locution when He said:  Be an immolation.

God bless His Real Presence in us!

What It Takes Each Morning

Just to keep going--what it takes!  Mercy, Lord!

A friend emailed a devotion she had read.  I recognize it from the classic book, God Calling.  And, as I recall, having read it a decade or more ago and thoroughly appreciating the messages, it is written by God.  Two older women sharing a home in England, I think, wrote down messages from the Holy Spirit each morning over a period of time.

The collection is profound and not unlike other such messages given to mystics, such as the anonymous relayer of messages given to a woman in the US, chronicled under the title, He and I (or to that affect, might be Him and Me).

God Calling was published in 1920's, maybe?  He and I was messaged in the 1950's or a bit later.  I think the relayers of messages in God Calling were Anglicans; He and I recorded by a Catholic mystic.

I've had the spontaneous weeping episodes this morning, most notably one that was merely triggered by my making a rather healthy breakfast type "cake", with fruit on top, baked.  I used pears this time, which is the recipe standard.  I tend to use whatever other fruit on hand, including the frozen strawberries from last summer's bounty.  My late mother gave me the recipe; it was her memory that started the weeping, and calling out in the silence of solitude, how much I miss her.

Well, that is not going to make a difference in my getting dressed and going out to continue the weeding and digging process to plant more strawberry starts.  But perhaps it makes a difference across the "veil", and that I am expressing love for a person who I respected and still do, even if she had her own flaws, such as a struggle with temper.  Her final year of life was difficult; she was not mentally or emotionally ready to die, but her lungs were quite ready despite never being a smoker.

She had a way of saying pointed statements, and voicing her disagreement, such as how she felt about my converting to Catholicism, or even dismay that I had deep wrinkles (far worse now!) between brows.  My response was to joking laugh that I guess I could razor blade them out; and then I reminded her that I do have a lot of pain, to which she immediately softened and laughed at her own comment.

But I understood my mother.  I knew that even in the superficial externals, she wanted her child--her adult child even--to be the best possible, and to not have those wrinkles and to especially not suffer so.  While even up to the last few days before she passed she made derogatory comments on Catholicism--thinking I had sneaked priests into her room when I had to point out that they were a doctor and a male nurse (she had very poor eyesight in later years due to glaucoma)--I understood my mother.

I think of the times during my daily visits and advocating for her in the assisted care facility (yes, she needed advocate for her care even in the "best" of the facilities because somehow we humans easily sink to less work than more work, even if being paid salaries).  I'd bring along my breviary and read while she was resting.  One day she asked what I was reading, and I said.  She told me I could read the Psalms parts to her, but nothing other.  She was convinced the other was something not good, something made-up by Catholics.

Now, my mother was a highly educated person, but she also had been educated from childhood on that Catholics are awful, theologically misinformed, a cult, and to be avoided.  So I read the Psalms aloud to her, then would read the little lovely prayers silently, then read the next Psalm.  This went on for a few days until one morning she said, "Well, you can go ahead and read the other parts, too, if they are really prayers and other parts of Scripture."  So I did.

One day she told me of a dream she had.  She always knew I had a proclivity to the spiritual realm and a gift for dream interpretation.  She knew I had an inner sense, what she might call more extra sensory perception, as had her grandmother--being shown people, such as those who were going to die or had just died.  (I don't have that consistently, but sometimes.)

The dream my mother told me was that which was of her guardian angel.  Her name is Phyllis, and my mother wanted me to look it up to make sure of its meaning.  It was as we thought: friend, friendship.  The dream had many implications helpful to my mother as did other dreams the Lord gave her, preparing her for her work on the other side.  Knowing she was to have a mission on the other side helped my mother look forward to being useful; and I explained again the death experience I had, and how easy is dying--how wonderful, joyous, refreshing--all going with us other than our painful bodies!

Perhaps that is why now, with the physical pain wearying and at higher levels, harder to manage, I also think of my mother and how I'd love to be on the other side, too.  My dad is in heaven, even--was shown the event when his guardian angel beside him, signaled my dad's passage.  In our time, it was about six months after his earthly passing.  My mother has not been shown to me to be in the fullness of light yet, although it has been about a year since my last vision encounter with a message she had for me.  There are distinct aspects that let me know she is not yet in the fullness of light, but she is on her way.

I received a short, computer message from the one adult child who I figured would want to remain in contact even if far away, even if many aspects of me are not part of her world and not in common with her views, likes, and dislikes.   So it is not that the relationship is no more; it is just altered and being given its rightful function between an adult who happens to have been child in the past. 

But she is a soul and one whom the Lord brought this morning to this nothing consecrated Catholic hermit.  She wanted to relate they arrived, that it is hot, that their temporary housing is very tiny, but that they are looking at some homes in--yes--about a half hour (in this time zone, that is).  I messaged back my love to them, thankful they are safely arrived in their new adventure, and that I will be praying for the right house and a good-deal house, come up on the market for them.

This is the work of this hermit.  Not so much to be a parent anymore, nor a child myself in relation to my deceased parents--other than relatedness as souls are through prayer and love.  This is the work of this hermit, of any hermit consecrated by Christ Himself, called by God to the eremitic vocation.  Pray, love, praise God.  Love God above all things and love others as oneself.

All the issues of earthly, temporal heart and mind, of attachments and disattachments, of familial bonds are not the work of a consecrated Catholic hermit.  Some of our work might be more fervent due to various bonds--such as knowing the person/s on earth who are brought to us in thought or in tangible presence.

But we must always--we consecrated hermits--tend to the work being that of unconditional love, unconditional prayer and praise and even penance.  We should strive to not be more fervent for one we may know than for a total stranger or for those passed on any less than those still alive.

It's not easy to set aside our emotions and thoughts, our memories of this and that, our attachments. But it is the calling of a Catholic hermit, one professed and avowed in consecrated life of the Church to strive for selfless love, selfless prayer, selfless praising, selfless all.

Time to get the pained body out to the weeding and digging. Today am going to dig up a long stretch of thick grass and weeds and transform it into a long, mounded row for planting strawberries.  It's nearly noon here in the desert of massive solitude and silence.  A far distant chain saw is heard now and then, but mostly sounds of birds chirping.  It has taken quite a bit this morning; but it is yet morning by a few minutes, here, anyway, and God mercifully provides whatever other hours until tomorrow morning.

Note to self:  So much of the dragging and nagging emotional upset and weeping has its source in the sickening, silent pain that has gained momentum in the past year in particular.  This hermit is aging and pain raging commensurate.

God bless His Real Presence in us!  Love God above all things and others as ourselves.