Catholic on the Prairie

My journey into the Catholic faith is a glorious part of my life and this is my attempt to capture some of its beauty. 

I grew up in an anti-Catholic environment. I thought Catholics worshipped idols, worshipped Mary, paid no heed to the Bible, added to the Bible to suit themselves and, I knew for a fact, that they drank liquor and danced. The lax morality of drinking and dancing (Haha) in and of itself separated them from my fundamentalist upbringing. Even though I spent almost three decades with this negative view of Catholicism, the next 20 years were marked with a longing for something that Protestantism didn’t offer and an attraction to some things that I may not have known were Catholic at the time. This writing is a recapitulation of some events that happened through the years that pulled me in the Catholic direction, because once I embraced Catholicism, I saw a sacred thread running through my life pulling me in that direction for many years.

Sacred threads:

I met a good, Christian, Catholic family in my young years and was quite puzzled by them. Just the tiny bit of exposure to their ways, intrigued me. Each daughter had a crucifix over her bed and that made an impression on me. Crosses were part of my paradigm, but crucifixes were not. *

In 1992, I was very struck my Mother Mary’s faith and holiness as I read the story of the Annunciation. I even wrote an article called, Mary, a Woman of Great Faith, that was published in a Christian newspaper.

After Gordon and I married – I was 27 – I entered the darkest season of my life. Gordon bought me a paraphrase of St. John of the Cross’, Dark Night of the Soul. It was so deep and profound that I could only read a few paragraphs at a time. I plugged through it and it ministered deeply to me. Upon finishing it, I re-read it. I had never experienced a book like it. It stirred things within me that had never been awakened. I knew St. John of the Cross[1] was Catholic, but I reasoned that he was way before Catholics went off the rails into idolatry.

During the same period, I experienced “Responsorial Readings” for the first time in the Baptist church we attended. These readings delighted my soul. In the same church, we occasionally recited The Apostles’ Creed.[2] I loved everyone, in unison, saying, “I believe . . .” *

Through the ensuing years, I occasionally picked up a Catholic book or article that added to the intrigue. Paula Huston’s, The Holy Way: Practices for a Simple Life influenced me greatly as she told her retreat experiences in a monastery and the customs she adopted having spent time there. I was mesmerized and longed deeply for the faith she saw in the monks. I longed to meet a Catholic like the ones I read about. It didn’t need to be a saint like St. John of the Cross or a monk; a faithful Catholic who deeply believed and lived their Catholic faith would have sufficed. That person was elusive.

The Holy Way, the book that I’d recently read, stirred up a strong desire to sit in a sacred space and just enjoy God’s presence. Catholicism was so foreign to me that I was intimidated to go to a Catholic church alone. Gordon escorted me to the local Catholic seminary to see if they’d grant me permission to spend time in their chapel and attend Mass. The few times I went to the chapel were divine; I wish I’d known who I was with back then. I sensed His presence, but assumed it was “spiritual only”. I didn’t yet know about the “real presence.” (Once Gordon and I walked past a tabernacle with the crimson candle beside it and he told me that Catholics believe the wafers are really Jesus. I thought that was a ridiculous concept and said, “Well, that’s stupid.” I’m sorry whenever I recall that flippant remark.) *

I went to a women’s retreat on prayer at a Catholic retreat center and I had a private retreat twice at a different Catholic retreat center. I spent my time in the library alone, reading and praying. I didn’t understand the significance of the chapel and chose the library because I was afraid I’d get in trouble for doing something wrong in the chapel. It seemed so sacred and everyone did movements (genuflecting, bowing, and making the sign of the cross) I didn’t understand and I sure didn’t know the rules of when to do each movement. Even without understanding why they did those movements, I was struck by the reverence. *

When I homeschooled the kids, I designed a course on saints, with special emphasis on St. Francis of Assisi because he was my favorite and St. Nicholas because I loved his story and wanted the kids to see where some of our Christmas traditions came from. *

We started attending a church that was more contemplative and I loved it. The pastor implemented symbolisms, such as lighting a candle to remind us of God’s presence, and other things of that ilk. Once, to the chagrin of many, he lit incense to remind us that our prayers were rising to God like a sweet fragrance. It blessed me tremendously. *

At a powerful Good Friday service – I’d never experienced a powerful Good Friday service – at the end he invited the congregants to come to the front and pass the cross thoughtfully. I was so internally moved. I loved Jesus and wanted to do something external to express my love. I was so grateful for his sacrifice and I wanted to DO something to show it. I sat there pondering this trying to articulate the inner struggle and what it was I wanted, but I didn’t know. About that time, a lady who had grown up Catholic and converted to Protestantism approached the cross and bowed. She bowed. That was it! That was what I wanted to do. As I approached the cross I wanted to bow but at my moment of opportunity, I allowed my inhibitions to get the better of me. I didn’t bow and returned to my pew sorry that I hadn’t had the guts to bow in gratitude to Jesus who died for me.

Communion had always been a bit of a mystery to me. In my childhood church, it was all but comical. (In 2005, I wrote about my lack of understanding of the Lord's Supper here.) To me it seemed nothing more than trying to conjure up sadness: “Poor Jesus. They killed him because of my sin.” I tried to enter into that, but it was never authentic. I went to a number of churches through the years and none of them gave me any more insight into the Lord’s Supper. At this contemplative Baptist church, for the first time, I got just a bit of insight. One thing we occasionally did there was go up for communion rather than being served in our pews. That so resonated with me. His sacrifice wasn’t cheap, didn’t it deserve my getting up out of my comfortable pew and going forward to receive it? Didn’t he deserve my choosing to receive as my getting up indicated. Going up for communion, as opposed to it coming to me, really impacted me. It cost me something to get up. By walking forward, I identified with him and chose him, I felt.

One Sunday during Communion, I had my first Communion insight ever. As the pastor read the Scripture, “Do this in memory of me,” a light bulb went on and it seemed to be Jesus saying, “Remember me. Remember how I loved the  children. Remember how I healed people. Remember how I had so much compassion on them.” In my prayer journal, I thanked God for the insight and said something to the effect of, “I know I’ve only scratched the surface of what Communion means. I know there is something much, much more than this insight, but it’s the first one I’ve ever had and I’m so thankful.” From then on, as I received the Protestant communion, I always remembered the insight and tried to remember well the Jesus of the Bible. It certainly helped, but I still knew there was something HUGE I was missing. I knew it!

Around the same time, I started reading lots on St. Francis and the Franciscan order. After much deliberation, I tried to join an ecumenical order of Franciscans, meaning it was open to any denomination and to either gender. Twice I tried to join, both times no one answered my emails. This effort was to no avail, but I tell it to illustrate my hunger for something more than I was finding in Protestantism. 

When Deborah started school, I went to work and no longer had the luxury of going to the occasional weekday Mass and quit thinking much about Catholicism. But I grew more and more discontent with Protestantism, although I would have used the word "church" rather than "Protestantism", because it never occurred to me it was a Protestant problem; I thought is was simply a church problem. Catholicism, of course, was not a viable option because I believed all the lies I'd been told. Many Sundays I skipped church to be alone with God. During those times I prayed and read my Bible and got so much more out of it than going to church. Those Sundays were my favorite. It seemed I always got annoyed at church. I very often complained inwardly that it was too people-centric. Everyone who took the stage seemed to think they needed to be entertaining. The announcements had to be clever, the worship leader always had to offer his insights, the minister, then the worship team, the special music, . . . To my way of thinking, the God-focused time was very small. And even that part was sometimes disturbing as I recognized that each minister could believe something different but it was his version of truth. I wondered how one could know who was right, and it seemed like a vicious cycle that couldn’t be escaped. I remember listening to a debate on the end times by two ministers that I respected very much and wondering, “Only one of them can be right, but they both claim that the Holy Spirit taught him. How can we know who’s right and who’s wrong?” *

I remember several times telling Gordon I wish I could find a church where I really fit. I was attracted to different things about different denominations, but there wasn’t one that took my favorite things and discarded my least favorite. I wanted a customized church to my liking. That’s a pretty ugly way of thinking, but it was my way of thinking. And why not? After all, in Protestantism anyone can start their own church and everyone chooses the church they like best.

Once after our Baptist church had an ugly split, it became almost unbearable just to attend. I remember being so  incredibly disillusioned trying to figure out what was needed to get church “right.” Something was missing and I knew it!

More sacred threads:

When Gordon was still a Baptist minister we read articles, did a little research, and concluded there were elements about divorce and remarriage that we couldn’t reconcile with his being in pastoral ministry. We both experienced conviction – he could explain his, I couldn’t explain mine – that our marriage was “off”. (That is my word, because as I said, I couldn’t articulate my conviction.) His conviction led to his resigning pastoral ministry. *

Gordon and I used birth control, but we both admitted way back in our young days that we felt conflicted about it. There seemed something amiss about it. We said we trusted God with everything, but recognized we didn't quite trust him not to give us more children than we could handle. *

Once when eating out I saw a man pray over his meal and cross himself. It was enormously compelling and I wished for a Protestant equivalent. When watching My Big Fat Greek Wedding, the aunts crossed themselves upon hearing “bad” news. Although it was a humorous part in the movie, I recognized a desire to have an instant bodily prayer upon hearing something grave. When I worked at a Vet Hospital and an animal died, I wanted to do something that marked the sacredness of a life ended. Sometimes I secretly made a cross on their bodies with my fingers. Even a dog’s death seemed to merit a holy gesture of some sort since it had been created for God’s pleasure. During those moments, I wanted to be Catholic because I recognized they had an appropriate gesture that conveyed a holy moment.

My pastor offered something that vaguely helped, at least at mealtime. He told me to cup my hands to acknowledge that I come to God empty handed, aware of my need and that everything is a gift from him. It helped, but it was still lacking.

Gordon and I visited a Catholic bookstore and he bought me my first set of rosary beads. They promptly became a part of my evening prayers. I didn’t pray the rosary, but I designed a Protestant way of praying with the beads. I quoted the Creed and the Lord’s Prayer, three “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me a sinner,” and then gave my loved ones at least one bead each as I prayed for them. I recognized how involving my hands in prayer kept me focused in prayer. Later, Gordon visited Notre Dame Cathedral in Montreal and bought me two more sets of rosary beads. I cherished them. Later, his friend went to Rome and asked Gordon if he’d like a souvenir and Gordon requested a set of rosary beads from the Vatican for me. I was thrilled, but still prayed my beads in a Protestant fashion. My rosary beads were accumulating. I had a set in the living room, the bedroom, the office, and in my car. Because I was enjoying mine so much, I even gifted some to other Protestants telling them how they were helping me focus better in prayer.

And then finally, . . . after 16+ years of searching, I met a faithful, committed, holy Catholic. Robin and I worked together and I was attracted to her because she didn’t shy away from mentioning her faith. She had convictions and wasn’t afraid to discuss them with anyone. I had often thought of holy people as people who prayed, read their Bible, and tried to live lives of integrity. Robin went beyond that. She went to Mass daily, guarded her tongue better than most, lived a very convicted life, and quickly stood for her convictions if they were being assaulted. We became friends and started taking our afternoon breaks together. She patiently let me grill her for months. I began to go to Mass with her occasionally and I loved how it wasn’t people-centered at all. I presented her with problems I saw with the Catholic faith and she told me what they “really” believed as opposed to what I’d always heard they believed. She cleared up lots of my confusion. She couldn’t clear everything up for me and tons of confusion remained, but Robin’s conviction of being right was unwavering. 

Gordon, recognizing my sincere exploration, bought me Peter Kreeft’s book, Catholic Christianity. Peter Kreeft is a convert to Catholicism himself, and this book explains the Catechism.  I was enormously blessed by this book and spent the whole summer poring over it, reading it in conjunction with all its Bible references. As I read things that resonated, my heart would pound with excitement. Many questions were answered, others were unanswered. But there was enough goodness, clarity, and beauty that I knew I wanted to learn more. Many of the longings, the dissatisfactions in my church,  the vague convictions that I couldn’t clarify, many questions about passages in the Bible that I didn’t understand, - all the things that created that sacred thread pulling me into The Church – were slowly being addressed and, to my amazement, the answers were found in the Catholic Church.

By buying the rosary beads and books, Gordon was being a sweet, kind, and loving husband wanting to help me grow in faith. He had no intention of facilitating my conversion to Catholicism. I told him I wanted to join RCIA (adult classes for people interested in learning more about Catholicism) and he wasn’t particularly happy about that and he wasn’t at all interested in joining me, as I’d hoped.

My first night of RCIA, I was very excited, but nervous. Still in the hallway on my way to the classroom, I sensed the Holy Spirit so powerfully that I nearly began to cry. Then as we went around the room introducing ourselves, I couldn’t hold it together any longer and I cried as I told what I’d been reading and some of the things that were drawing me to Catholicism. I also told how my journey was “upsetting the apple cart” at home and how if I continued on the path, I knew it would be hard. In my world (my family and friends), everyone agreed that the Catholic Church was way off the mark.

From that night on (it lasts about eight months) RCIA became the absolute highlight of my week. It was vibrant, and I fell in love with the faith more with every meeting. The word I use is "beautiful". The Catholic faith is the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced. I had believed a lie all my life. The Catholic faith, were it what I’d always heard it was, was worthy of the vitriol I grew up with, but I was seeing the lies very clearly. The lies I’d heard all my life were just that, ignorant lies.

[1] St. John of the Cross lived in the 1500’s. Whereas Martin Luther started the Protestant Reformation, St. John was working within the Church for reform. He was imprisoned and publicly tortured by fellow Catholics. As Catholics, we esteem him for being among the faithful who fought for reform in the Church without breaking away from the Church.

[2] This is the Apostles Creed which we say at the beginning of every rosary: I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth. I believe in Jesus Christ, God's only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; he descended to the dead. On the third day he rose again; he ascended into heaven, he is seated at the right hand of the Father, and he will come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.

* indicates that I want to eventually address this topic in more detail.

• Why Catholics venerate crucifixes above crosses
• Liturgy
• The Eucharist
• Reverence and Christ-centered worship
• Saints and why we value them
• Symbolism
• Magisterium
• Marriage and its indissolubility
• Natural Family Planning

Dear Darian,**

When you are consistent in praying the rosary, you’ll experience a spiritual rhythm within the week. Tuesdays and Fridays will take on a more somber tone as they are the days we contemplate the Sorrowful Passion of our Lord. You may begin to look for ways to do penance. I’ve chosen stairs over the elevator, walked to the next bus stop, refrained from tempting snacks and things of that ilk because meditating on the sorrowful passions makes me want to participate in Jesus’ sufferings in small ways, even if it’s just giving up my desires to be on Facebook.

Meditating on the mysteries of the rosary is so powerful. (Don’t let the word “meditate” intimidate you. It’s acceptable, to call it “thinking”.)

Oftentimes I think about the day’s mysteries as I’m drinking my morning coffee and watching the sun rise, while making the bed, or showering. I can’t think of a more solidly Biblical way to regularly “think on things above”[1] than by thinking about the mysteries of the rosary.

Even though I haven’t been a Catholic for a long time, I’ve been a Christian for many years and have had years to build my praying muscles. Perhaps you don’t have a lot of strength in your praying muscles yet. If praying the rosary seems far-fetched, you can begin by just thinking about the meditations of the day. Try to engage your imagination as you think about them. You may be surprised how powerful using your imagination can be in bringing you closer to Our Lord.

Love,

Valerie

**My dear son-in-law, Darian, was the first person I sponsored into the Catholic Church. He was the first in my family to see the Truth I saw. I wanted to help him along the way and started a book called, "Dear Darian."  In it I wrote about things I was learning, especially things I was learning through praying the rosary, hoping it would help him on his journey too. Well, Darian's spiritual life was on steroids and my little essays didn't seem needed as he was reading much greater minds than mine. So, my "Dear Darian," has instead become blog posts. 

[1] Colossians 3:2

2018

• Focused on growth in virtue, holiness, humility and fortitude. I definitely grew in those areas.
• I navigated executrix-ship of Daddy's estate pretty well. Probate closed and my siblings and I are still in good relationship.
• Daddy blessed us financially. Thank you, Daddy. I wish I had thanked you when you were still living, but we all know you were weird about money and may have taken my thanks wrong. I write that smiling because it was so true. Once he hinted to me about the money I was getting and I pretended I didn't hear him because I knew anything I said could backfire. I relived that conversation so many times after he died wishing I had said thank you.
• Doubled my investment in Bitcoin and got out before it plummeted. I'm still sitting on some, but I did withdraw my original investment plus 100%. Was able to give a significant amount to charity and a significant amount to some loved ones.
• Settled into my new, very mediocre job. 
• A month-long 25th Anniversary Mediterranean Cruise. Wow! What an experience.
• Was faithful to my Tuesday after-work adoration commitment.
• Yip, Yip is in production.
• Working on my degree through University of Arkansas. They accepted all my previous credits. To date, I have a 4.0.
• Cleaned up this blog.
• Michael came (gloriously) into the church. He's serious about it; studious and committed to growing in virtue and holiness.
• Rachael and Kyle got engaged.
• Darian and Hannah welcomed Ambrose Basil into the family.
• Stephanie and John Mark are in the process of adopting three kids. Sydnie, Landon, Rylie will bring their children to 8.
• Rachael and Kyle are taking RCIA seriously.
• Hannah is in RCIA.
• Jessica received an inheritance from her grandmother. 
• Maintained my spiritual lunchtime routine.
• Prayerful morning routine. I have lots of prayer in my life.
• Got brow micro-blading done and I love it.
• Continued devotion to Miraculous Medal and Brown Scapular.
• Affection for Saints Anthony, Francis, Rita and Faustina continues to grow. I've had special favors from each one.
• Lots of emotional healing that has allowed me to not easily be controlled and manipulated by a loved one. Thank you, Lord.
• I love Jesus so much more since becoming faithful to the Rosary. 
• Recognition of my vocations of prayer, generosity, and bringing (helping) others into the Church.
• Healed relationship with a special couple in my life.
• Hospice volunteering. I had two amazing end-of-life stories. 1. B. was unresponsive for days, but when I talked to her about the mercy of God, she grabbed my hand. (I expect to see her again in Heaven.) 2. As S. was dying, I encouraged his wife, F., to lay beside him. He had been unresponsive, but when she laid beside him he turned his head toward her and died a few minutes later. 
• Sat with a number of dying patients. I always prayed the Divine Mercy Chaplet for them, remembering what Jesus told St. Faustina about praying it at the bedside of the dying: when they say this chaplet in the presence of the dying, I will stand between My Father and the dying person, not as the just Judge but as the merciful Savior (Diary, 1541).
• Gordon tiled the patio and we put IKEA chairs out there. It made all the difference and it's lovely. I spend my prayer time there every morning.
• Became more appreciative of my guardian angel and St. Michael the Archangel.
• Wednesday Date Night. We always go to Gibsons so our date is longer.
• Divine Office of Readings and Morning Prayer has become part of my morning routine. That's the liturgical prayer for the Church.
• Got a used Toyota Avalon.

It is 2018. I have not done a Thursday Thirteen since 2012. I just reread some of my old ones and was impressed with how they allow a graceful catch up. So, in the spirit of catch up, here we go.

1. After coming back from Arkansas for an extended stay last year, I was hired as a business coordinator at my present job. I enjoyed the work and it looked like a promising move. While we were on holidays in April, everything changed. People were hired and fired with abandon, it seemed. I came back to work at what seemed like a different company. My whole job shifted enormously, and I was basically nothing more than a receptionist – an un-busy receptionist. I began to loathe the job because it was so boring. A few weeks ago, I was brought onto the sales team. I have a very small territory, but I’m enjoying it so far. I’ve always thought I couldn’t sell to save my life, but after six months of being bored silly, I welcomed the opportunity. I’m excited to see what the next bit of my professional journey looks like.

2. I’m back in university – online. I hope to finish in February 2020. It will be 32 years in the making.

3. We have an empty nest and I'm happy as can be about that. Deborah is kind of a come-and-go child. I don’t know how long it will last, but the nest has been empty for a year, with a bit of come and go going on.

4. Stephanie and John Mark are in the process of adopting three children. That will give them a total of eight children. Can you imagine being a family of 10? I actually cannot. But if there is a family that can pull this off, it's them. I’m so proud of who they are. I look forward to getting well acquainted with my new grandchildren.

5. Hannah and Darian welcomed a little boy into their family on July 20. Little Ambrose Basil shares a birthday with his aunt Rachael. He is the chunkiest bundle of love and so cute.

6. His big sister Holly turns two this month. I just realized I’ve not shared anything about her on this blog. I must do that!! She has absolutely stolen my heart and I adore her.

7. Gordon and I have started a Wednesday night tradition of going to Gibsons. When we decided to start formalizing date night, the only criteria was that it be in Gibsons so we’d have to go for a drive to get there, extending our time together. We’ve come to look forward to date night. I always order halibut and Gordon always orders bbq ribs. No, we aren’t creatures of habit, not at all. It’s like going to Cheers where everyone knows your name – but they don’t know our name, they just know what we’ll order. It’s fun!!

8. Rachael and Kyle are getting married in April of next year (2019). I’m proud of them. They have a chaste relationship, they didn’t even kiss until they were engaged. I’m so thankful for the work God has done in Rachael’s life. She’s done a complete 180 since her teenage years. I’m so grateful.

9. Teenage years - just typing that made a lump appear in my throat. Teenage years – will I ever be able to think about them without a lump instantly forming, without my gut suddenly feeling tense, without tearing up? One thing I know and know well, God makes good come out of everything. As Stephanie says, God makes all things right. I know my kids’ troubled years will reap a harvest of good, somehow. I’m anxious to see what it will be.

10. Jessica – she’s another one that I’ve not mentioned here. Jessica is a “chosen daughter”. I met her six months after we moved here. It didn’t take long to figure out that our basement suite was for her and she’s lived downstairs for over two years. She is just “part of the family” I figure she’ll always be – unless some fellow steals her from us. But that would be cool too. She is 42, but she seems lots younger. I’m glad she’s “ours”.

11.Lily Belle. Yet another huge part of my life that I’ve not mentioned. Lily is four and I couldn’t love her more if she were my blood grandchild. She came into our lives right after we moved here when Hannah started babysitting her. Hannah told me over the phone that I was going to adore Lily and she knew what she was talking about. Lily and I became close quickly. Now, as often as her family will share her, I’ll take her. I love, love, love Lily.

12. I know God probably brought us to BC for a myriad of reasons. But the two that I’m most thankful for are Jessica and Lily.

13. Deborah is still in BC, struggling quite a lot. We see her when she’s got nothing better to do. She has a love / hate relationship with us. Sometimes she loves us, sometimes she hates us. I’m thankful she’s still in touch. My greatest fear is totally losing her – literally not knowing where she is. I ask Sts. Monica and Rita, both mothers of wayward children, to pray for her with the same fervor they prayed for their own. And I ask for God’s great mercy upon her.

Dear Darian,**

Jesus sweat blood! Have you ever given that much thought? I never meditated on it prior to becoming a pray-er of the rosary. Again, I must say, if prayed well, the rosary leads us straight to Jesus and to knowing him better. To know him is to fall in love with him and to fall in love with him is to be changed by him. I want to continually be being changed and become more and more like him. I think you do too.

I recently learned that sweating blood is a real medical condition called hematidrosis, in which blood vessels rupture causing sweat glands to secrete blood. It occurs under extreme levels of physical or emotional stress, severe mental anxiety, and acute fear. Recorded incidents include one nearing execution, fear before battle, a sailor before a bad storm at sea, and during World War 2’s London Blitz. Recently I heard of a lady experiencing hematidrosis when she saw the van carrying her husband and children obliterated upon being hit by a truck.

But get this, Darian. The effect of hematidrosis is weakness, dehydration, and skin becoming extremely tender and fragile like a full-body bad bruise. Do you see it? Jesus had not even reached the physical abuse of his passion, yet his body was already weakened, dehydrated, and in pain. Before he was led out of the garden, he had suffered much more than most of us ever will.

“It is evident that before Jesus endured the torture of the cross, He suffered far beyond what most of us will ever suffer. His penetrating awareness of the heinous nature of sin, its destructive and deadly effects, the sorrow and heartache that it inflicts, and the extreme measure necessary to deal with it, make the passion of Christ beyond comprehension.” (Dave Miller, PhD, apologeticspress.org)

Until recently I thought that Jesus’s agony in the garden was fear of the brutality he was about to suffer. He knew what was before him, of course he was terrified. Or was he? I don’t think it was fear at all. “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out all fear.”[1] Jesus had no fear because Jesus loved perfectly. He was in horrific anguish knowing the human condition and knowing that people would reject the salvation he was going to offer them. Jesus 100% embraced the suffering of his passion with no fear.

I’m praying today that we will both live in the holiness Jesus wants for us, that our love for Jesus would become greater, and that all fear in our lives will be replaced with greater love for him.

Love,

Valerie

[1] 1 John 4:18

**My dear son-in-law, Darian, was the first person I sponsored into the Catholic Church. He was the first in my family to see the Truth I saw. I wanted to help him along the way and started a book called, "Dear Darian."  In it I wrote about things I was learning, especially things I was learning through praying the rosary, hoping it would help him on his journey too. Well, Darian's spiritual life was on steroids and my little essays didn't seem needed as he was reading much greater minds than mine. So, my "Dear Darian," has instead become blog posts.

Dear Darian,**

Mel Gibson’s film, “The Passion of the Christ”, greatly influenced my meditations on Jesus’ sufferings. We watch it every Good Friday (and I recommend the same tradition to you). The most powerful scene in the movie, to me, was the scourging. No mercy was extended in any way. Something I never thought of prior to the movie was that Satan was there, stirring up the basest natures in the soldiers. Their treatment of Jesus was beyond excessive because their evil passions were in the hands of Satan himself.

Perhaps they only stopped when they were physically exhausted and could whip no more. Is that not a horrific idea? Our precious, sinless, loving Jesus whipped, brutally. I picture them making a sick game out of who could whip the hardest, cut the deepest, rip the most meat from his body. As Jesus groaned in agony, his groans went unheard because of their raucous laughter and drunken-with-evil cheering. Imagine, the creator of the universe, tied to a pillar, being beaten by men who owed their very breath to him. 

The cruelty, oh the cruelty. Satan and his demons took over the minds of the guards. Every merciful element in their characters was obliterated. A single merciful thought didn’t enter their minds and they put their entire strength into each lash they delivered, trying the win the applause of the others with their vicious brutality. Had their wives or mothers been there, they would have barely recognized their men for their beyond-crazed evil behavior. They were barely human, they were evil personified. They laughed, they scoffed, they mocked each other’s “weakness” in not ripping enough meat. “My turn, stand back, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Once while meditating on the scourging, I imagined my 8-year-old grandson Roman had done a misdeed and was to be severely beaten by cruel authorities. The only way to save him was to take the whipping myself. With every excruciating lash, I had to tell myself, “for Roman. For Roman. If I don’t take it, they’ll do this to Roman.” Only love kept me there. I could have surrendered any time. Only love for Roman kept me there. Was Jesus having a similar battle? Was he saying, “for love of you, Father. For love of your people,” with every evil blow?

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends.[1]

Finally, it’s over and the onlookers are relieved. A guard unties one arm from the pillar and our Jesus falls. As the other arm is still tied, he falls in such a way as to expose some skin that is not shredded. The guards whoop at seeing virgin flesh. With scores of laughter, the beatings begin again, this time on his chest and stomach.

The soldiers are spent and didn’t have an ounce of strength left. They threw the bloody whips down and each gulped some fresh water. Jesus laid in a pool of his own blood and chunks of flesh. He was near death. Only his will to finish the Father’s assignment kept him alive. The guards dragged him to another room.

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.[2]

Neck to head scourge marks. For love of me. For love of you.

Love,

Valerie

[1] John 15:13

[2] Isaiah 53:5

**My dear son-in-law, Darian, was the first person I sponsored into the Catholic Church. He was the first in my family to see the Truth I saw. I wanted to help him along the way and started a book called, "Dear Darian."  In it I wrote about things I was learning, especially things I was learning through praying the rosary, hoping it would help him on his journey too. Well, Darian's spiritual life was on steroids and my little essays didn't seem needed as he was reading much greater minds than mine. So, my "Dear Darian," has instead become blog posts.

Dear Darian,**

I am a coward. Really, I am. I haven’t always recognized my cowardice for what it is. I cloaked it in words like “meeting people where they are,” pretending that first I’d work on the relationship, letting them see me as being “light in the darkness.” That’s noble; I definitely want to be light in darkness, but not at the exclusion of speaking about my faith. But I’m a coward and it is hard for me.

Last October, I participated in the Stand for Life Chain on Teredo Street. It was just for an hour and we stood about 25 feet from each other holding pro-life signs; a peaceful, prayerful protest. I was totally unprepared. I’d never had so much hatred directed toward me. People swore, shook their fist, threw their middle fingers in the air as they shouted, “Go to hell.” They blared on their horns as they yelled expletives. Although it was just one hour, it felt much longer. When I got home, mildly traumatized, I collapsed into a heap of tears.

I dreaded the next Stand for Life Chain for the entire year. It finally arrived last week and I went out dutifully, shaking the whole time. This time I kept my eyes closed and prayed the rosary and divine mercy chaplet the whole time. I heard plenty of expletives and blaring horns, but didn’t see the fists and the hate-filled, angry eyes because I kept my eyes closed in prayer. Just like last year, I was ashamed of my cowardice.

The fruit of the crowning of thorns meditation is moral courage. It’s humbling to come face to face with one’s own cowardice, and this meditation has brought me just there. Several months ago, the Holy Spirit opened my eyes to the virtue of fortitude. As I live in a spiritually dark area where Christianity – and especially Catholicism, it seems – is eschewed, evidenced by the reactions of our peaceful, prayerful pro-life protests, I think it’s clear that we Christians are going to suffer persecution like we’ve not known before, and of course, it has already begun. Christian fortitude will be needed to help us overcome the fear and cowardice of the suffering, danger, and humiliations that lie ahead. I’m not ready to suffer, but I am trying to get ready. One method I’m using to strengthen my fortitude muscles is simply crossing myself after prayer in public. You will have to come up with spiritual disciplines that work well for you, but I strongly encourage you to find a few that do indeed strengthen your fortitude muscles and counter any cowardice tendencies you may have. We must be ready to suffer for our faith and it will be much easier if we implement fortitude habits now.

On the subject of making the sign of the cross, crossing myself has made me more aware of the Trinity in my day-to-day life. When we cross ourselves, we are saying with our actions, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” As we do that, our minds grow more receptive to each member of the Trinity and we are glorifying each of them. Having an intimate relationship with each distinct member is beautiful. Are you remembering to cross yourself often?

As you meditate on Jesus wearing the crown of thorns, ask him to give you moral courage for any “crown of thorns” in your future. I think it’s safe to say that Christians will be offered crowns of thorns soon. Pray always for the courage to accept them.

I love you, Darian, and am praying for you today.

Love,

Valerie

**My dear son-in-law, Darian, was the first person I sponsored into the Catholic Church. He was the first in my family to see the Truth I saw. I wanted to help him along the way and started a book called, "Dear Darian."  In it I wrote about things I was learning, especially things I was learning through praying the rosary, hoping it would help him on his journey too. Well, Darian's spiritual life was on steroids and my little essays didn't seem needed as he was reading much greater minds than mine. So, my "Dear Darian," has instead become blog posts.

We've been blessed again! Hannah and Darian have given us a new grandson. Ambrose Basil joined the family on July 20, 2018, sharing a birthday with his Auntie Rachael. He weighed        . We are so blessed!!

His name, oh my, is his name ever strong! Two saints, Sts Ambrose and Basil, please pray for our little Ambrose Basil. May he become a holy man like you.

St Ambrose, bishop, was St Augustine's mentor. Both men were theologians and left tremendous legacies in the church. I'm believing the same for my little grandson, Ambrose. May he become a mighty man of God.