St. Jude

A couple of days ago my head was spinning with a seemingly overwhelming number of problems that I couldn't see an end to or solutions for. I was seriously down for the count. Beaten. Later that evening an ad appeared in the margin of my Facebook page, an ad for St. Jude. My mother loved St. Jude, swore by St. Jude, so, out of curiosity - or maybe desperation, after all, St. Jude is the patron saint of hopeless causes - I clicked the link and ended up at an option to post a prayer to St. Jude. I typed out my prayer, donated $10, and went on my way.

Yesterday, the answer to my prayer came. Not as thunderbolts, not as the mighty arm of God parting the sea and knocking people into place, but as a still, strong voice; the answer to a conundrum that has plagued me and my family for some time now, an answer that will be implemented as the coming months unfold but in the meantime gives me peace and strength.

I honestly don't know how this stuff works - and I certainly could never prove, scientifically, that it does - but I do know that it works.

Thank you, St. Jude. I definitely got my 10-bucks worth, and what's more, you have a new devotee.



The little St. Jude medal my mother once wore that has been in my jewelry case for the past twenty-one years is now sharing space with my once-lost Miraculous Medal (related story, here).

February 13 - Lent, Day 1 - God's Unfailing Love

Ash Wednesday. Inspired by Scott Hahn's Lenten Reflections; A Father Who Keeps His Promise, a daily reader for the six weeks of Lent with a question at the end of each short chapter, I will attempt to record my own Lenten journey for the next forty days, here. The first question is, do I have the discipline to do this? Discipline, in itself, being a key to the Lenten journey in general, I suppose. So yeah, along with the thing I've given up, this journal is part of my offering for Lent.

These thoughts, along with the music I'm preparing for the 12 noon Liturgy of the Word, and again at 6pm - even though there are many other things I could and should be doing today - are my Ash Wednesday meditation and preparation for Lent. May these offerings be acceptable in your sight, Oh Lord.

Dr. Hahn's question for today: How has my earthly father shaped my understanding of God as Father? Do I believe that my heavenly Father loves me with an unfailing love?

Wow, great question. My earthly father - or lack of - has shaped my entire life, including and especially my understanding of God as Father. Indeed, one of the Hebrew names I chose for myself is Aviya, which means "God is my Father." (Avi: my father; Ya: a name for God) This name sums up my entire life; is both the question and the answer to my life. Coming into this world with no father, essentially being born with a broken heart, caused me to search for healing and meaning, which led me to find my Father in Heaven. I now know two things: one: God has always been with me (as it says many times in scripture, God has a special place in his heart for - and admonishes us, also, to care for - the widow, the orphan, and the fatherless), and for most of my adult life was the only father I knew; two: so also has my earthly father always been with me and indeed is very much a part of who I am. The latter knowledge having been understood only in recent years, aided by a special letter I found in which he expresses his love for me; visiting his grave (where he communicated directly to me); and the most miraculous occurrence of all: having been found, this past October - on my birthday - by his gigantic Italian family, a most wonderful, healing experience that continues daily as more and more of us cousins find each other (my father had 62 first cousins).

So yes, having no earthly father led me to my Heavenly Father, for which, after all is said and done (and many parts of this journey were not particularly fun), I am very grateful. Aviya: God is my Father; and yes, both of my fathers love me very much.

PS: As an aside, a few months ago I went up to Norwell to play at an Irish session with friends at The Tinker's Son. Peter and Pamela Smith graciously opened their home to me. I had a wonderful night's sleep in their guest bedroom, but when I got home that night I realized that the Miraculous Medal I carry in my jeans pocket was missing. The last place I saw it was that morning at the Smith's. I described it to them and asked if they'd found it. No luck. Still, I was positive it was in that house. The next time I used my mainland car I searched diligently - under and inside every possible surface - for the medal, thinking perhaps it had fallen out of my pocket while driving. The next time I stayed at the Smith's, I searched every square inch of the guest bedroom - to no avail. Okay, no big deal. It's a piece of metal - but blessed by the priest, with supposed miraculous properties; a medal that had some sentimental value because not only did my (supposedly non-religious) daughter, Maria, wear it twice while flying between the US and Europe, it's one of the few objects I have that links me to my devoutly Catholic years 12-15 years ago. I'm not even sure where it came from, to be honest. I think it was a gift. Anyway - last night I received a message from the Smiths: "We found your medallion..." Yes, I knew it was in that house. And now, the eve of Ash Wednesday it turns up. This is a sign, I believe, for good (yes, I was eventually going to purchase another one, but I will be very happy to have this one back); a miracle.

Return

When I wrote in yesterday morning's entry, "...fostering the knowledge that God is very near and that all is well... " I had no idea how well things actually were or how good the day was going to get.

Yesterday was my eldest's thirty-eighth birthday. At Mass, during intercessions, I offered a prayer of Thanksgiving (aloud; not typical for me), thanking God for its being my first-born's birthday and requesting that God bless him with love and peace, today and always.

Last night I received a surprise text message from him (the child, not God), a sweet message, ending with, "I love you."

This from one who has been gone from home, out of touch with me for close to two years.

Today I'm remembering that I've prayed to Mary for assistance with my family a few times recently, since re-acquainting myself with the Memorare: "...never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection, implored your help, or sought your intercession, was left unaided..." Mary should know about a mother's love, right?

If someday you suddenly see a bathtub on my front lawn with a statue of Mary in it, you'll know why.

Spring up, oh well!

The Memorare

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection, implored your help, or sought your intercession, was left unaided. Inspired by this confidence, I fly unto you, O Virgin of virgins, my Mother. To you I come; before you I stand sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate! Despise not my petitions, but in your mercy hear and answer me. Amen