Month: April 2017

Stoned?

Robin A. Saunders1 Comment

Yep. This week I’ve been walking around in a listless daze; escaping pain with feel-good substances, slipping into a state of lazy self-absorption and ferociously attacking the kitchen cabinets in eating frenzies. At times my eyes have been noticeably blood-shot and I’ve been confronted for dreamily staring out the window, watching grass grow.

With the 40-day discipline of the desert behind me and the 50 days of Easter celebration underway, I realize I’m right back where I was on Fat Tuesday: the mentality it’s all about wanting to feel good. After all, isn’t that what celebrating is about?

Somehow my gung-ho resolution “This year I will become an amazing lover” has, in a weekend, turned into, “Eh, I’m feeling [insert your favorite excuse – tired, stressed, lonely, rejected, etc.], and I deserve [insert you favorite self-reward].”

I began my Lenten journey putting forth a resolute effort to work on reversing my selfish nature and detach from anything that controls me. Inspired by a little tool my children made years ago as they all prepared for their First Holy Communion, I formed a crown of braided salt dough, inserted toothpick *thorns* and placed it as a centerpiece on our kitchen table. The thorns were meant to be removed when someone carried out an act of love.

It worked great for those days in the desert; especially in the food department. Every time I wanted to eat when I wasn’t hungry, or wanted seconds on something yummy, or turned to food to fix an emotional blip, that crown silently spoke, “Robin, so-and-so is in a lot of pain. Can’t you give up that morsel for the grace to be given to them?”  Seeing I thrive when helping others, this reminder was effective.

I asked God to use weight loss as a way to show me just how much I was growing in love – it’s that John 3:30 concept, “He must increase; I must decrease.” I patted myself on the back after discovering the day before Easter I had lost 10 pounds. Woo Hoo! It’s a tangible way to see that denying myself and loving others had paid off. It was difficult journey; there were many times I didn’t want to love, but did so begrudgingly because of that simple crown. I was on a roll – that is, until the crown was removed and the mood turned to celebrating.

I received a blow last weekend that threw me for a loop. My immediate response was to eat. Food is my faithful friend – always offering a metaphorical hug, “Come here, Robin. I’ll make you feel better. It will be okay”.  I didn’t care about loving. My focus was on me and I spiraled downhill, fast. All I wanted to do was feel good and went back to my usual material means of getting there – which, intellectually, I know won’t do the job, but out of desperation and convenience, it’s what I did – it’s what we all do.

First came the Easter candy and sweets. I didn’t care – heck I’m celebrating! Then came the salty-crunchy stuff, (because texture relieves stress). All week I grazed uncontrollably, at times wondering where I got the composure to be so temperate for those 40 days. There was also the wine, which I didn’t have while in the desert but now justified with, “It’s 50 days of Easter, baby!”

Scars from my past manifest in different ways. God has been generous in healing me of many things, though on a rare occasion someone will say or do something to tear open an old wound. The smarting comes back as if I’m experiencing the cut for the first time, and I shrink into a state of self-preservation. Instead of thinking of others, my focus turns to me.

I go through the stages: Anger, resentment, hurt, self-doubt, self-loathing and end up blaming my present condition on experiences from my past which have rendered me broken, and conclude I’ll be like this forever. I’m thankful for close friends who won’t allow me to dance at my pity party for very long. They let me wallow in a few tunes then reign in the reality; usually reminding me: 1) of how much God loves me, and that as long as my heart is right with Him, it doesn’t matter what other people think, and 2) to trust that He will bring something positive out of the situation, even if it’s yucky.

None of us escape life without something leaving a painful, indelible mark. These events, like little stones, create the fortress around our hearts. Little children love unconditionally because they haven’t yet experienced the kind of hurt that puts up barriers to love.

Our painful events also served as sign posts in the road; directing our travel one way or another. I’ve often said, “If that didn’t happen to me when I was young, I probably wouldn’t have had to deal with this all my life.”

God uses all our experiences for a reason. We can either look at them as excuses to explain why we are so broken and justify our position so we don’t have to change; which is pride. Or we can ask Him to heal us from our brokenness and show us how our unfortunate experiences can help others.

Because of some painful early experiences, I’ve made a few imprudent choices; but I believe everything we go through – good or bad – has a purpose. While my vices are a struggle at times, without them I would not have the compassion for others who struggle in similar ways. They’ve also been opportunities God used to grab my attention and showed how much He loves me through His infinite Mercy.

In my mid 20’s, I reached the point of smoking two packs of cigarettes a day. (I can’t believe it either.) My, now, husband – who didn’t smoke – made a casual comment at the onset of our dating relationship that he could never marry a smoker. With great intent I tried for months to quit, knowing it would be best for me – but my flesh was weak. After many unsuccessful attempts going at it alone, I got to the point where I was convinced Mike would either have to love me as a smoker, or I’d have to give him up because I was incapable of change.

At the time I was a new re-vert to the Church and on the path of exploration and learning; faith had not yet developed. Since my new friends encouraged me to “give my vice to God”, I approached Lent that year in desperation. Fat Tuesday I sat on my balcony, chain-smoking five cigarettes in a row, and begged to have this vice taken away, “Lord, you said, ‘For human beings this is impossible, but for God all things are possible.’ (Mt 19:26). As much as I enjoy smoking, I no longer want it getting in the way of what you have planned for me. If Mike is what you have planned and I need to stop smoking, then you will have to do it because I am too weak.”

The following morning I awoke with a determination not to smoke on Ash Wednesday. I was going to do this day by day. It was hard, but I held out. Thursday came and went, then Friday, and even Saturday. I had never been able to go this long! The struggle was difficult enough to require some effort, but there also seemed to be a force helping me along so I could succeed.

Twenty-five years later, I have yet to put another cigarette to my lips. I learned through that experience, as well as being able to conquer other addictions, the key is to not rely on oneself, but to let go of the pride. When we realize we can’t do it ourselves, and need the help of God, He will grant it and we will succeed.

The crown on my table was a constant reminder of the sacrifices Christ made out of love, and it motivated me. There was gratification in being able to pull a toothpick knowing I conquered a little bit of my prideful self. But there was also a great sense of joy attached to thinking my sacrifice may have made a positive effect on someone else. Ah, the joy! It’s for what we all pine. The irony is that when we sacrifice and place our focus on others, we will find that – even though at first it’s difficult – the more we do it, the more joy we get out of it, and the happier we become.

Since this tool was gone and I’ve given myself the green light to celebrate, I’ve somehow turned the gaze back onto myself, and yes, it does have a stoning effect. We become numb to the world around us when our eyes only seek those things which make us feel good.

Years ago I bought two vases and a bag of marbles for a friend. He was fighting a fierce addiction and was getting discouraged because he kept failing to overcome this thing that had a hold on him. He was about to accept this was who he was and was willing to settle for the fact he wasn’t going to change. As God wouldn’t let me settle, I wasn’t going to afford my friend the option of a cop-out. I placed the two vessels in his house where he could see them. I told him that each time he felt weak he was to beg for God’s help then think of a person who was suffering. Every time he resisted the temptation and offered up that struggle to help the other person, he could move a marble from one jar to the other. (Yes, God really does use our acts of love to bless other people!)

In the beginning he laughed. (Sacrifice is a hard concept to grasp.) Day after day, he walked by those stupid marbles – surely mocking me under his breath. One day he tried it; the little victory felt good. The battle was on. Sometimes he would make the choice to resist and plunk a pesky orb into the empty vase, other times he’d cave to temptation. Sooner or later he started feeling the power of little successes. The empty Love Jar filled.

We can be rid of anything that hinders us from being fully alive! We only need to give up thinking we can do it alone, ask God for his strength to help move metamorphic walls of pride and selfishness with acts of love, and allow Him to fortify us with His grace; rejuvenating the crimson sanguinity of our hearts, which pumps life into our being. My friend is no longer hemmed in by the walls of his addiction. Love won and vibrant life was restored.

I gained back four pounds in the last two weeks. I knew it was coming. It’s the result of being stoned: My heart was cold, I gathered pebbles to build a tiny wall, held on to pain, and sought my own ways to feel good. I didn’t choose to love and I didn’t ask God for help. The result: I ended up feeling worse, not better.

I decided to buy two vessels and a bag of stones for myself. They’ve been crafted into a centerpiece for my dining room table to serve as a constant reminder that we celebrate these 50 days of Easter not for self, but for Love – the sacrificial kind Christ has for us, and the kind we are called to have for one another.

This morning I began again to remove the stones from around my heart. It didn’t take long to regain the peace. I’m much happier this weekend than I was last!

Stones

Photo credits: Chris Saunders

 

Our Prayers Don’t Make A Tiny Difference – Our Tiniest Prayer Can Make All The Difference!

Robin A. Saunders4 Comments

In January of 2011, we began a remodeling project in our kitchen/dining room. Everything was gutted and the white walls stood naked, marked only with a patchwork of different colored paint samples. Standing in this empty space trying to decide on a color, I began to think of all the birthday parties and holiday celebrations that took place there, the many guests who sat at our table over the years, and the laughs, tears and even arguments those walls witnessed. This room is the heart of our home. It’s where anyone who enters the front door ends up; and where all are embraced, loved and made a part of our family.

An idea came to me that morning: Since this is also the room where we prayed around the dinner table for many people and their intentions, why not put them on a permanent prayer list? I took out a marker and began writing names and intentions. The kids came in and looked at me like I was nuts. “Yes!” I exclaimed. “You can write on the walls! We are going to fill them with all of our prayer intentions so that every night when we say grace, we can add, ‘And for everyone on our walls’ and they will be included in our prayers for as long as we live here.” They squealed with delight and began writing.

For a week or so, we added names of everyone we could think of. If anyone came over, we gave them a marker and told them that they could add people, too.  The idea was that once the new paint covered the names, they would be sealed into our prayer walls and be a part of this house and our family forever.

About a year after our remodel, I came across a quote by Peter Kreeft, Professor of Philosophy at Boston College. This quote resonated with me and now hangs in my back hallway as a reminder of the importance of even the tiniest of prayers.

Power or evrey prayer

If prayer has the power of which Professor Kreeft speaks, it’s mind-boggling to think what differences we can make in people’s lives and the ripple effect those differences can have in the lives of others.

I visited with a friend from high school recently and we had a discussion on prayer. He told me when someone used to ask him to pray, he’d gladly oblige, but took to the task with a grain of salt. Wes was raised a Christian. “I’ll pray for you” was a natural response to unfortunate news. It’s a way of showing compassion and justifying oneself for doing something for someone in need. Until life threw him a curve ball and he was able to experience the power behind those words, they were nothing but a habitual response, bereft of any real veracity.

Wes lived his faith in his head. He did a great job of going through the motions, intellectually defending his Christianity, checking boxes and making a model appearance. That is until God allowed him to get knocked off his feet and put his faith to the test. (God seems to do this with us when we get complacent. He doesn’t want us to merely walk around wearing a Christian label. He wants to live in and through us, in relationship!)

Almost three years ago my friend was diagnosed with an aggressive form of colon cancer. Life, as he knew it, shredded to pieces before his eyes. God’s mercy was the only thing left on which to cling. He lost everything.

I remember days being on the phone, cheering him on, “You can do this! God never gives us more than we can handle. You must trust there is a reason for everything. One day you are going to use this situation to help others, you just watch and see!” I’d shoot off a heart-felt prayer, he’d thank me and we’d hang up. I’d kneel beside my bed and beg God to allow him another chance, if it be His will.

“Thy will be done.” Those are some courageous words. I recall back when my mother had cancer and we prayed those words. After she died I got mad at God. How could His will be to not heal her? How could He see my family suffer the way we were and not want to alleviate it? After all, we knew the best for all of us would be a complete healing. I thought God failed to answer our prayer.

In retrospect, He used my mother’s death to change course for my immediate family. I am thankful because, while I miss her tremendously, I doubt I would have ever returned to my Catholic faith had it not been for her requesting – on her deathbed – that I go back to R.C.I.A. and make my Confirmation. In my mother’s case, becoming healed was not what was best for me, let alone my father and sisters. Back then I was blind to understanding there could be a better plan in the making.

I took this into consideration while praying for Wes. In our heart-to-heart conversations we talked about death, seeing he had a brush with it a few times. Fortunately, because of those brushes, he came to the realization nothing in life matters except for the relationship between he and Christ.

Over the two years of suffering, he had come to know the love of God through the love given to him from others. Relying on the help of family and friends was an uncomfortable lesson for this man who always liked being in control, but it was necessary in teaching him that we aren’t meant to do this thing called *life* alone.  Not only did he learn it’s easier when we allow the ebb and flow of love given and received in all relationships, but it’s necessary if we are to experience a real sense of belonging and authentic happiness.

My friend also came to know of God’s love through the concept of complete honesty. For once he didn’t make excuses, was forthright in owning up to every sin, and humbly lay prostrate in repentance. He felt God’s unfathomable mercy wash over him like a tidal wave. Again, prayers were answered.

Wes’s tears of despair turned into the greatest tears of joy – even in his time of hardship. My heart burst in elation the day he called, screaming into the phone, “Rob! You don’t get it! For the first time in my life I feel my Father’s love! I know Christ has my back!” After years of going through the motions, he knew – without a doubt – what it meant to have a relationship with Our Lord, and he trusted that no matter what happened to him – whether he lived or died – he would be okay.

In a conversation we had not long ago, he shared there was one day the suffering took its toll. He was done. It was a heavy load to carry. Depression set in, as it does with serious illness, and the thought of wanting to end it all had consumed his thoughts. He just wanted to be with Jesus and stop the agony.

That was the day he was shown the real power of payer: The morning was spent getting things in order. The plan was to drive his truck at high-speed into a section of oak trees at a bend in the road. Within minutes of leaving the driveway Wes received a phone call out of the blue from his brother asking how things were going. Without letting on, he listened to his brother’s words of encouragement. They prayed together and he hung up.

Within a few minutes the phone rang again; this time from his sister, also randomly calling to see how he was doing. Shortly after hanging up with her, a third call pinged his phone with someone else checking to see if he was hanging in there. By now he found himself distracted and turned around, driving back into the driveway. Once inside the house, God sent him one more message on Facebook from a fourth person *just checking in*.  Bewildered, Wes sunk into his big easy chair trying to make sense of what just happened.

None of these people knew how badly this man was hurting; they had no idea he set out to end his life that day, nor did they know he received calls from the others. When asked later, all said Wes had been on their minds so they independently and spontaneously decided to call to find out how he was doing. They were clueless that God was using them as instruments in His hands to answer the prayers of many.

It brings a smile to my face to think He uses us at precise times or places to help others – sometimes it just may be a kind gesture or three simple words, “I love you” that someone needs to hear to be the deciding point in the fork in the road of life.

In Wes’s case, God had a different plan than He did for my mother. He chose to heal him of his cancer. I believe a lot had to do with the fact that he accepted God’s will no matter what. He got to the point of total surrender and was rewarded, generously! God also wanted to show Wes that, in spite of his sinful past and wrong choices, it wasn’t about punishing him with a life of perdition. No, He wanted Wes to know he is loved immensely, his life has purpose, and what he endured could be used for God’s greater good to help others. In my mother’s case, it was through her death that she helped others – mainly her family – for the greater good. We never know what Our Father has in store, but we can trust with certainty that what we are allowed to experience points to something wonderful in the long run.

Today my friend enjoys the gift of impeccable health – his body is stronger and in better shape now, at 51, than it was when I knew him in high school as a football player. He does not take this for granted, but lives every hour with joy and thanksgiving for his new life. He will tell you, while it was hell going through it, he’s glad God stripped him of everything and took him through this process because he’s never been happier.

During our visit, Wes received a text. “It’s a friend who is asking me to pray for them. Rob, I don’t take these requests lightly anymore. Can we stop and pray right now?” To which I replied with a smile, “Let’s do it!” We both bowed our heads, knowing when two or more are gathered in his name, he is in our midst.

While there’s nothing quite like being allowed to witness our prayers answered, we don’t always get to see the fruits of our prayerful labor. Sometimes it can get discouraging not knowing if we are making a difference.

A few years back I was praying for someone for quite some time and wanted to give up because I thought my prayers were being wasted. I went to Mass one particular morning and, exiting the church afterwards, met up with a friend whom I hadn’t seen for a year or so. Without knowing my frustration, Liz said in our quick conversation, “I had this quote pop up on my Facebook feed this morning and it immediately made me think of you. Now that you’re here, I think it’s meant for you to see.” When she pulled it up on her phone to show me, I was moved to tears. I took this *God-incidence* as an intimate gift from above, confirming that my prayers were not prayed in vain.

When God puts love and compassion in your heart toward someone, He’s offering you an opportunity to make a difference in that person’s life. You must learn to follow that love. Don’t ignore. Act on it. Somebody needs what you have.” – Joel Osteen

Whether our prayers be tiny ones like, “And for all the people on our wall”, or ones where we wring our knuckles while kneeling at the bedside, “Lord, give him another chance, if it be Your will”, or whether it’s years of, “Please melt the icy walls around their tender heart so they can come to know how much you love them”, they all are being heard. Sometimes their delay in being answered might also be for our benefit – maybe there is something we are meant to learn from constancy and perseverance. All I know is that if our tiny prayers have the power to make a difference, can you imagine how potent the big ones we pray with our heart must be? Perhaps this is why Jesus tells us, “Pray always without becoming weary”.  (Luke 18:1)