Advent

Happy Glorious Beloved Blessed Gorgeous Advent!!!

Advent, meaning ‘to come’, is a new liturgical year, especially for us Catholics. (Happy New Year) Over the past several weeks at Mass the readings have been focusing on the end times.

When Christ first entered the world more than 2000 years ago, the only one who was fearful of Him was Herod. Herod was brutal and so jealous of the throne that he killed his own brother to gain it.

Yet, when He comes again, and He is a Man of His Word, we are the ones who fear Him.

Without Mercy

Holy Mother, pierce me through,
In my heart each wound renew
Of my Saviour crucified.

It’s a neat and tidy little verse, isn’t it? Short, but not so sweet.

Prayer is so different for me these days. It’s not dry, but it’s not blossoming either. As many know, this verse is part of a prayer to the Five Wounds of Christ that I prayed in novena fashion before telling my mother on Sunday, June 14th at 4:25pm that I was interested in religious life. I knew that I was not going to be received warmly by my own mother, hence what was the point in asking for Mercy? Instead I requested that my heart bear all the wounds of our Precious Lord’s own Heart. My heart would become His; my blood be replaced by His; words, thoughts, intentions, etc. All were to be replaced with His.

Careful. Be ever careful of what your soul says to God. Do not hinder your Soul, but be ever aware, and prepare yourself as best as you can. You ask to be put on the frontlines, you will be there. You will not be relieved from your duty until you languish and your soul faints. I have physically fainted once, and I can now also say that I know what it is to have your soul feel fatigued and faint.

Sometimes I get pulled from the front lines for a week, other times just a half hour. It is not pleasant when I have to leave the security of the camp and plunge headlong into the front lines, but I did not ask for Mercy. The moment one task is done I am handed another. Consolation is few and far between; oh the sweetness of it!

Truly, hands that are not my own grasp my heart, and hand the heart over to the Lord. She offers it to Him and He’s taken it. How torn it is, I don’t know, but I know that it is.

As a mother rocks a child to comfort and soothe, so has the Spirit rocked me.

Buying the Lying

I originally wrote this post for October, Domestic Violence Awareness Month.

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Many lies infect our society today; a good majority of these lies are not special to the 21st Century. Lies great and small, from the whispering voice that says no one will notice if you lift an item from a store, to the larger ones on not being worthy of love and respect. It is not scary that these lies exist, as lies are a sign that there is a truth worthy of attack. What is scarier is the rate and ease which these lies are pronounced and believed.

What happens the first time a lie is heard? It’s countered: That’s not true, and you know it. Come on, you’re better than that! Yet, if the lie is repeated further, we begin to waver. That’s not true, not really. Maybe it’s the truth. I’m not sure. And it is in this wavering that damage begins to be inflicted. Shoulders sag with the weight of worry and doubt. When something is done right, questions are raised. Worth is not seen in the gifts that are brought to other people.

The harm does not end with lies.

Lie breed lies, causing further pain and suffering. Soon enough shoulders sear in pain from blows. A nose drips with blood, and lips swell under force. Hands roughly grab arms, arms shove and fists pommel. I’m scared. I don’t know what to do, he says I’ll regret it if I tell anyone. He said he’d kill my kitty. Mommy hurts me. Maybe it’s true, I am a bitch. I’m a bitch. I am a whore. I am worthless. I should never have been born. I’m good for nothing. I cause all the problems in the house. I’m a painful reminder of all the poor choices she made. The lies are believed, and the actions “are” deserved.

Lies are hidden in the promises. Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s the last time. I promise it won’t happen. I’m sorry, but you made me do it. Hey, kiddo, we’ll get you another puppy. Until the next time.

Is the next time, the last time? No one is better than you. You are strong, capable, smart, and loved. There is no one who should be made to accept blows, punches, insults, humiliation, rape, abuse, spitting, kicking, slapping, bruising, burning, cutting, shoving, neglect, strict financial allowances, and social isolation. That is emptiness and death: death of self and esteem. It saps strength and hope: who would believe you? What did you say? That’s a family matter!

How dare you!

Yes, how dare you! Why did it take me so long to see? It’s okay to cry. It is healthy to be scared, and run from the source of my fear! I’m not a coward for running.

National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1−800−799−SAFE (7233)
Report Child Abuse: 1-800-25ABUSE (22873)
Report Elder Abuse: 1-800-252-8966