In April of 2002, our eldest son fell asleep at the wheel on his way to an English Composition class. He stayed up late that night to finish the paper he planned to hand in for the class. In just a few weeks, he would graduate from the community college at the age of 18.
His car crossed the center line of the well traveled country road. Then it met the back wheel of a tractor trailer carrying several tons of steel pipe and traveling in the opposite direction. The truck’s axle bent and the resulting flat tire deflated, sounding like an explosion.
Thank God, no one else became involved in the accident and the skilled driver managed to keep his pipes onboard.
The car spun around and landed on the shoulder of the road.
After 45 minutes, the Jaws of Life freed him from his vehicle. A helicopter arrived just in time to take him to a nearby hospital - one of the best in the area.
When we arrived there, they told us he showed no brain activity. During the next 4 days, he began to show signs of reacting, only to experience spikes in his inter-cranial pressure. The spikes returned him to a “no brain activity” state.
During that time, we relied on little more than prayer, because we signed paperwork forbidding us from bringing any supplements or anything from outside in to him. Our children grew up knowing only natural remedies for their few ailments.
However, my husband and I needed essential oils, along with our prayers, to keep us calm and focused. Recently, studies show that if a certain area of the brain is kept from firing during those critical first hours and/or days, it decreases the incidence of PTSD. We used a bunch of Peace and Calming (P&C). Perhaps his smelling the P&C on us helped him during the ensuing years.
After four days, he began to show more consistent signs of reacting. The medical team remained very guarded, if not somewhat pessimistic, about his prognosis. The neurologist told us she never saw anything like this. Her description of his becoming more reactive after experiencing no brain activity: “Usually, it only happens once....”
A nurse friend of ours noted to the nurse in charge of his care that his home smelled unlike a hospital. If we wanted him to come out of his coma, she advised us to bring in things that smelled like home. The nurse agreed. So someone brought a bunch of essential oils to the hospital. We also shared our oils with other families in the waiting room.
Our first thought, once we could use the oils was: Valor! We knew that he was literally fighting for his life and needed all the courage he could muster. In addition, our Raindrop training taught us that essential oils increase the oxygenation of the blood.
Of course, we were not allowed to use anything around his head because of the monitoring apparatus attached there. His crushed left leg was in a cast with the oxygen monitor attached. They figured that if his blood oxygen was ok there, then the rest of his body should be just fine. Since our only access remained to his right foot for oil application, whenever we went into his room, I headed for that right foot while Hubby headed for the monitors.
The first time I put the Valor on his foot, within just a few seconds, Hubby shouted: “Whoah!”
Apparently, there were two monitors for the oxygen level. Fortunately, his blood oxygenation level was solid throughout his stay in ICU. Of course the percentage never exceeds 100, but Hubby saw the other gauge jump dramatically. The next time we went in the boy’s room, we called in the nurse, who confirmed that it indicated that the oxygen in the blood rose dramatically.
While we maintain our gratitude for the medical help that supported him when he remained in such dire straits, the interventions are not without risk. Before long, our son had major infection issues: meningitis from the monitors in his skull and pneumonia from the respirator. An infection specialist was called in and he was put on 4 very strong antibiotics: “for at least two weeks, then we will see....”
At this point we began using ImmuPower and Thieves. We alternated the two. In four days, there was no sign of the meningitis. The immune specialist thought the lab made a mistake, but repeated testing confirmed the infection was gone.
Two and a half weeks after his accident they finally spoke to us about him leaving ICU (other than under a sheet). After a month in ICU, the boy moved to skilled nursing because he was still in a coma. By this time, he had a tracheotomy and a feeding tube and the monitors were removed from his head. Now we could put the oils anywhere on his body.
His face, left arm, and left leg were covered with scars. I put lavender on the scars. One nurse, after her 4 day weekend, declared that she hardly knew him because of the improvement in his face during that time. Only the name on his chart assured her he was the same patient.
Soon after he arrived at the skilled nursing facility, the head nurse pulled me aside to tell me her nurses were suffering with headaches because of the lavender oil we used. However, one staff member advocated for us, saying that the oils really made a big difference for him. So she required us to close the door and open the window whenever using the oils. No problem, springtime provided very pleasant outdoor weather.
Oddly, however, a few days later several of the nurses seemed to find reasons to come into his room whenever I applied the lavender and/or Valor. One even came in one day, took a deep breath and declared that it smelled like he had been to church.
Gary Young always tells us: “Don’t put anything on your skin that you would not put in your mouth.”
We turned this concept around and applied nutrients to his arms, legs, and torso since he could not take anything by mouth. I diluted Mineral Essence and used a liquid B complex to do a massage.
His left leg was wracked with muscle spasms. We massaged it with basil, marjoram, cypress, and peppermint.
With the apparatus removed from his head, I finally used a tofu plaster on him (a couple Tablespoons of tofu mixed with enough flour to hold it together, placed in a cotton sock and applied to the injured area). After applying the tofu, he spoke his first words since the accident - two months to the day and on his brother’s birthday.
A month passed in skilled nursing before we transferred him to a rehab hospital.
We grilled the officials at each hospital we visited. Since we gained so much success with the oils, we insisted that we be allowed to continue to use them.
Most places dispensed a firm “NO!”
We finally found one that allowed their use, as long as we gave a list to their pharmacist.
At the rehab hospital, they removed the trache and the feeding tube. We worked with the kitchen staff to make sure that most of the food he got was nutritious. He had fresh fruit and veggies with each meal.
We continued using Valor and the leg oils. We added frankincense and Brain Power. His college buddies borrowed the Brain Power for finals week and were thrilled with the results.
We also gave him scullcap and gotu kola herb tea with each meal. A few days after we started, he declared to the internist that the herbs gave him more pain relief than the drugs. You could have knocked the poor fellow over with a feather, because he had never heard the boy say two words, but this was delivered clearly, in full sentences.
Four weeks to the day from when we started giving him the tea, he made a major cognitive leap. The speech therapist, who tried to push ritalin felt victorious that we had finally given in. We made sure she knew that was not even a possibility.
We also found out that the antispasmodic medication he took sent his blood pressure into the basement. So, between getting him off that and giving him the tea, he made steady progress.
He finally came home, four months after his accident - on no medication at all. Many people find that radical. Government organizations refused to provide help to us because he is not on medication.
Of course, still severely impaired, he remained wheelchair bound and needed constant attention. So we continued with the oils we had been using and added various other oils as the need arose, and as new ones became available.
I also facilitate Raindrop on him, learning in a dramatic way that the direction of motion is opposite from the way we usually perform it.
We use many of the nutritional products as well: Super B, Super C, Mineral Essence, the enzymes.... And we fed him a nutrient rich diet.
Six months after he came home, he suddenly left the wheelchair behind (except when we have long distances to cover), much to the surprise of his physical therapist.
As time went on, we found several other useful resources:
• Extra Virgin Coconut Oil has been shown to improve cognitive function in Alzheimer patients.
• Branched Chain Amino Acids help to rebuild damaged brain tissues. This has been observed in studies with rats with induced brain injuries.
• Chia Seeds contain very concentrated nutrients and they help to keep the digestive channels healthy.
• Sea vegetables (we prefer dulse, but also use kelp and nori) provide a wide array of minerals which also help to repair damaged tissues and enhance the immune system.
Traumatic Brain Injury is not a simple issue, so it takes a good bit of resources and a great deal of commitment to wade through and get the best results possible. Many dire prognoses were put down on our son, and he surpassed every single one of them. He has slowly, but steadily progressed over the past 11 years, even after we were told we could expect no more progress.
We still face a very long road to his full recovery. Many tell us we hold impossible objectives for him and I have been told that nothing I do makes any difference. However, we continue to hope for the highest caliber he can attain.
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Update for those who have been praying with us
With the inspiration of the Holy Spirit (I am sure because of all the prayers) we have started a new protocol with Arif. It seems to be making some difference. The changes are still subtle, but occasionally we see some solid reason for hope.
His toileting skills are fine during the day, but not at night. We put adult diapers (the ones that fit like briefs) on him at night, but they are still not strong enough to hold all that he produces. So, we also put an absorbant pad on top of his sheet. Lately, he has been able to awaken without the pad overflowing on the sheet. A number of times, even the pad has been dry. Now, he is managing to get up with dry briefs as well. We are so thrilled and do not have so much laundry to do.
I have put up charts and lists over and over, through the past seven years, to remind him of the things that he needs to do. Generally, he just ignores them, or if I keep up with the charting, it seems to mean little to him. A few weeks ago, I put up a chart to keep track of his bed wetting process. Last week when he woke up completely dry and I put a sticker on the chart, Arif got really excited. He carried on the excitement throughout the whole day. Of course, one of his major problems has been short term memory. So to have him remember his accomplishment through the day is an improvement, too.
He does seem more aware than he had been, but that is something that is hard to measure.
We thank you for your prayers.
His toileting skills are fine during the day, but not at night. We put adult diapers (the ones that fit like briefs) on him at night, but they are still not strong enough to hold all that he produces. So, we also put an absorbant pad on top of his sheet. Lately, he has been able to awaken without the pad overflowing on the sheet. A number of times, even the pad has been dry. Now, he is managing to get up with dry briefs as well. We are so thrilled and do not have so much laundry to do.
I have put up charts and lists over and over, through the past seven years, to remind him of the things that he needs to do. Generally, he just ignores them, or if I keep up with the charting, it seems to mean little to him. A few weeks ago, I put up a chart to keep track of his bed wetting process. Last week when he woke up completely dry and I put a sticker on the chart, Arif got really excited. He carried on the excitement throughout the whole day. Of course, one of his major problems has been short term memory. So to have him remember his accomplishment through the day is an improvement, too.
He does seem more aware than he had been, but that is something that is hard to measure.
We thank you for your prayers.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Please Pray With Us
Arif's 26th birthday is fast approaching (it's June 7). It would be great if we could have you all come to celebrate with us. We so appreciate your support and concern. Most of you are so far away, however, it would not be practical.
Each year, we pray in a special way for his healing during the nine days leading up to his birthday (beginning on May 30).
You are welcome to join with us in this novena. Pray in whatever way you are comfortable. Your prayers will be much appreciated.
Just so that you know, we have some special prayers that we pray, to keep our focus.
When Arif was 13, he went with the youth group to Rome and Assisi. While they were there, the bishop arranged for the group to meet with Pope John Paul II on the steps of St. Peter's Basilica. As you can imagine, the young people were thrilled.
The pope greeted the group warmly, as expected. He then proceeded to shake hands with each member of the group. However, when he greeted Arif, he reached up and patted Arif on the cheek. The Vatican photographer captured the moment, and Arif managed to snag some of the photos. You can see one, if you look back through the archives in this blog.
We used to tease Arif that the late pope recognized his Polish heritage. It was only much later that we realized that, quite possibly, the holy man knew that Arif would need special attention later in his life.
With that in mind, we find ourselves asking for Pope John Paul II's intercession on Arif's behalf.
Regardless of religious affiliation, many people admire the influence the late pope had particularly on the spiritual lives of young people. His heroic battle with Parkinson's was a testament to the fortitude of the human spirit.
We believe that the late Pope is enjoying the beatific vision and is close to God for all of eternity. His soul is not dead, but very much alive and, as when he walked among us, he has a great concern for those of us who must continue to struggle through life on earth. so we feel that he will stand beside us in spirit, as we present our petitions to God.
The Church has published an official prayer for the intercession of Pope John Paul II:
O Blessed Trinity We thank You for having graced the Church with Pope John Paul II
and for allowing the tenderness of your Fatherly care, the glory of the cross of Christ, and the splendor of the Holy Spirit, to shine through him. Trusting fully in Your infinite mercy and in the maternal intercession of Mary, he has given us a living image of Jesus the Good Shepherd, and has shown us that holiness is the necessary measure of ordinary Christian life and is the way of achieving eternal communion with you.
Grant us, by his intercession, and according to Your will, the graces we implore, hoping that he will soon be numbered among your saints.
Amen.
And here is a prayer I made up for Arif soon after the late pope died:
Pope John Paul II, you told us “Be not afraid”.
So, laying aside our fear and doubts,
we ask you to open wide the door of heaven
and we ask that the rays of Divine Mercy shine from the heart of Jesus upon the earth to bring about the conversion of poor sinners. Please ask Our Lord to grace us with complete healing for Arif Marshall that he may fulfill the mission he was given in the presence of St Peter. We pray this in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Each year, we pray in a special way for his healing during the nine days leading up to his birthday (beginning on May 30).
You are welcome to join with us in this novena. Pray in whatever way you are comfortable. Your prayers will be much appreciated.
Just so that you know, we have some special prayers that we pray, to keep our focus.
When Arif was 13, he went with the youth group to Rome and Assisi. While they were there, the bishop arranged for the group to meet with Pope John Paul II on the steps of St. Peter's Basilica. As you can imagine, the young people were thrilled.
The pope greeted the group warmly, as expected. He then proceeded to shake hands with each member of the group. However, when he greeted Arif, he reached up and patted Arif on the cheek. The Vatican photographer captured the moment, and Arif managed to snag some of the photos. You can see one, if you look back through the archives in this blog.
We used to tease Arif that the late pope recognized his Polish heritage. It was only much later that we realized that, quite possibly, the holy man knew that Arif would need special attention later in his life.
With that in mind, we find ourselves asking for Pope John Paul II's intercession on Arif's behalf.
Regardless of religious affiliation, many people admire the influence the late pope had particularly on the spiritual lives of young people. His heroic battle with Parkinson's was a testament to the fortitude of the human spirit.
We believe that the late Pope is enjoying the beatific vision and is close to God for all of eternity. His soul is not dead, but very much alive and, as when he walked among us, he has a great concern for those of us who must continue to struggle through life on earth. so we feel that he will stand beside us in spirit, as we present our petitions to God.
The Church has published an official prayer for the intercession of Pope John Paul II:
O Blessed Trinity We thank You for having graced the Church with Pope John Paul II
and for allowing the tenderness of your Fatherly care, the glory of the cross of Christ, and the splendor of the Holy Spirit, to shine through him. Trusting fully in Your infinite mercy and in the maternal intercession of Mary, he has given us a living image of Jesus the Good Shepherd, and has shown us that holiness is the necessary measure of ordinary Christian life and is the way of achieving eternal communion with you.
Grant us, by his intercession, and according to Your will, the graces we implore, hoping that he will soon be numbered among your saints.
Amen.
And here is a prayer I made up for Arif soon after the late pope died:
Pope John Paul II, you told us “Be not afraid”.
So, laying aside our fear and doubts,
we ask you to open wide the door of heaven
and we ask that the rays of Divine Mercy shine from the heart of Jesus upon the earth to bring about the conversion of poor sinners. Please ask Our Lord to grace us with complete healing for Arif Marshall that he may fulfill the mission he was given in the presence of St Peter. We pray this in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
On Padre Pio's feast day
Stay With Me, Lord
Padre Pio's Prayer After Holy Communion
Stay with me, Lord, for it is necessary to have You present so that I do not forget You. You know how easily I abandon You.
Stay with me, Lord, because I am weak and I need Your strength, that I may not fall so often.
Stay with me, Lord, for You are my life and without You I am without fervor.
Stay with me, Lord, for You are my light and without You I am in darkness.
Stay with me, Lord, to show me Your will.
Stay with me, Lord, so that I hear Your voice and follow You.
Stay with me, Lord, for I desire to love You very much and always be in Your company.
Stay with me, Lord, if You wish me to be faithful to You.
Stay with me, Lord, as poor as my soul is I want it to be a place of consolation for You, a nest of Love.
Stay with me, Jesus, for it is getting late and the day is coming to a close and life passes, death, judgment and eternity approaches. It is necessary to renew my strength, so that I will not stop along the way and for that, I need You. It is getting late and death approaches, I fear the darkness, the temptations, the dryness, the cross, the sorrows. O how I need You, my Jesus, in this night of exile!
Stay with me tonight, Jesus, in life with all its dangers, I need You.
Let me recognize You as Your disciples did at the breaking of the bread, so that the Eucharistic Communion be the Light which disperses the darkness, the force which sustains me, the unique joy of my heart.
Stay with me, Lord, because at the hour of my death, I want to remain united to You, if not by Communion, at least by grace and love.
Stay with me, Lord, for it is You alone I look for, Your Love, Your Grace, Your Will, Your Heart, Your Spirit, because I love You and ask no other reward but to love You more and more.
With a firm love, I will love You with all my heart while on earth and continue to love You perfectly during all eternity. Amen.
Note:
Padre Pio was declared a saint on Arif's birthday while he was still in a coma. We know a very holy priest who has a deep devotion to St. Pio. So we feel a special closeness to him.
This prayer comes from Cukierski.net
More information on St. Pio can be found at:
Padre Pio Foundation of America
Padre Pio Devotions
National Center for Padre Pio
EWTN
Padre Pio Net
Padre Pio's Prayer After Holy Communion
Stay with me, Lord, for it is necessary to have You present so that I do not forget You. You know how easily I abandon You.
Stay with me, Lord, because I am weak and I need Your strength, that I may not fall so often.
Stay with me, Lord, for You are my life and without You I am without fervor.
Stay with me, Lord, for You are my light and without You I am in darkness.
Stay with me, Lord, to show me Your will.
Stay with me, Lord, so that I hear Your voice and follow You.
Stay with me, Lord, for I desire to love You very much and always be in Your company.
Stay with me, Lord, if You wish me to be faithful to You.
Stay with me, Lord, as poor as my soul is I want it to be a place of consolation for You, a nest of Love.
Stay with me, Jesus, for it is getting late and the day is coming to a close and life passes, death, judgment and eternity approaches. It is necessary to renew my strength, so that I will not stop along the way and for that, I need You. It is getting late and death approaches, I fear the darkness, the temptations, the dryness, the cross, the sorrows. O how I need You, my Jesus, in this night of exile!
Stay with me tonight, Jesus, in life with all its dangers, I need You.
Let me recognize You as Your disciples did at the breaking of the bread, so that the Eucharistic Communion be the Light which disperses the darkness, the force which sustains me, the unique joy of my heart.
Stay with me, Lord, because at the hour of my death, I want to remain united to You, if not by Communion, at least by grace and love.
Stay with me, Lord, for it is You alone I look for, Your Love, Your Grace, Your Will, Your Heart, Your Spirit, because I love You and ask no other reward but to love You more and more.
With a firm love, I will love You with all my heart while on earth and continue to love You perfectly during all eternity. Amen.
Note:
Padre Pio was declared a saint on Arif's birthday while he was still in a coma. We know a very holy priest who has a deep devotion to St. Pio. So we feel a special closeness to him.
This prayer comes from Cukierski.net
More information on St. Pio can be found at:
Padre Pio Foundation of America
Padre Pio Devotions
National Center for Padre Pio
EWTN
Padre Pio Net
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Part 7: A Message
Once we finish contemplating Jesus' Childhood, we fast forward to the heart of His mission in the Sorrowful Mysteries. At this time, we can join with Jesus in His suffering. We can unite our sufferings with His.
The Agony in the Garden is the first Sorrowful Mystery. It calls us to meditate on Jesus’ decision to accept all that He would suffer for the redemption of the world. This mystery always draws me in. I find a particular fascination with it. You might say it is my favorite mystery.
After eating the Passover Supper with His disciples, Jesus brings them to a nearby vineyard called Gethsemani. The group is accustomed to His habit of going off by Himself for prayer as He does on this particular night.
Since Jesus is God, He knows full well what lies ahead for Him in the next day.
One of His closest companions will betray Him with a false show of affection. He will be arrested and tried, against all the rubrics of Hebrew law. The leaders of His Chosen People will subject Him to an illicit and sham trial. They will taunt and mock Him. His own people will hand Him over to foreigners for disposal. The ‘legitimate authority’ will abdicate to the pressures of the crowd. Soldiers will further humiliate and cruelly torture Him. As weak as He is, He will carry the heavy beam of the cross through dirty, dusty streets while the crowds continue to jeer Him, although a few women lament at His treatment. His wounds from the earlier beatings will be renewed as He is stripped naked. He will die in the most cruel way that mankind ever devised.
He also knows the end result of all His efforts. He knows that it is necessary for Him to take on all our sinfulness in order that Heaven be opened for us. He knows that God ultimately wants each of us to spend all of eternity with Him in Heaven. Yet throughout time, many will reject His efforts.
As a human, He feels the same dread we would when faced with such an ordeal.
So our Lord agonizes over choosing the difficult Way for our salvation. Three times He asks God, His Father, to spare Him from the intense pain and suffering. It is such intense agony, that capillaries burst, allowing blood to seep out with His sweat. Each time He prays, He resolves that He wishes, above all, to do God’s will. In the end He accepts the mission as God’s perfect will, and offers no further resistance throughout the entire process.
Meanwhile, His disciples sleep, oblivious to all that their Teacher and their Friend experiences in His prayer time. He wakes them with a warning to watch and pray. Prayer builds strength of spirit to overcome human weakness.
This dramatic story is related through the gospels: in the twenty sixth chapter of Matthew, the fourteenth chapter of Mark, and the twenty second chapter of Luke.
By this time, we finally entered the city limits of Joplin. As we rode along, I began to think about what we might find once we finally arrived at the hospital. He was already gone when Joe got to Goodman. None of us saw Arif after the accident, so we had no idea what injuries he might have. There was no information about his condition. We were directed to St. John’s to find out any information at all.
Auto accidents happen every day. Some people walk away, seemingly unscarred by the event. We could hope for this outcome, but we already knew that was not Arif’s situation, because he went to St. John’s. Some end up with aches and pains, like whiplash or various bumps and bruises. We hoped this was the worst we could expect in Arif’s case, but a mother’s mind continues to review the full range of possibilities. I knew people who needed stitches or surgery after an accident. Others spent time in the hospital with more serious injuries: broken bones, damaged organs, or coma. Some came out with some sort of brain injury. Many times, in my healing ministry, I offered advice for recovery to those who had been devastated by some of the drugs that they became dependent upon. The emergency medical care can be life saving, thank God, but sometimes, the continuing intervention can interfere with the overall health of an individual. We may need a good bit of discernment to make appropriate choices on his care. Of course, the seemingly worst case scenario would be death.
Since I have a Master’s Degree in special education, I have seen the full range of human functioning. Many people I have worked with were severely limited either physically or cognitively. I knew that these outcomes would be extremely difficult for my family, especially Joe. The impact on my other four children could also be devastating. I prayed for all of them and Joe to be able to cope with whatever the outcome might be.
I had no idea what to pray. I know that God has wisdom and insight that are way beyond mine. He would know what was best for us all. I prayed and hoped against hope that he would not be allowed to live with such serious injuries that he would not be able to fulfill his hopes and dreams. But in the end, my prayer resolved: “Lord, You alone have the wisdom. Your will be done.” It was the only prayer I could bring myself to pray for days. I didn’t even know if I would be able to handle any number of the possible outcomes.
At this point, I was given a message: “You have everything you need to deal with this situation.”
It was not a voice, it was just a sense of resolve. Although I had no idea what it meant, I knew it was sent as a comfort.
I did not have much time to ponder. Jo’s cell phone rang.
How does this contraption work?
It was Mary, a Founding Mother of our home school group.
Jo called her asking for prayers. Her family felt close to Arif as he helped them move the previous summer. She wanted to make sure we knew that her family was praying for Arif. If there was anything we needed, be sure to let them know.
I filed that away for later. Who knew what we might need later.
By the time I finished talking with Mary, we arrived at the hospital. We would finish the Rosary later. When we had some idea of what we were praying for, there would be ample opportunity to follow Christ through His Passion and Death, and hopefully be able to rejoice in His Resurrection.
Meanwhile, our only – our best – prayer was: “Thy will be done!”
The Agony in the Garden is the first Sorrowful Mystery. It calls us to meditate on Jesus’ decision to accept all that He would suffer for the redemption of the world. This mystery always draws me in. I find a particular fascination with it. You might say it is my favorite mystery.
After eating the Passover Supper with His disciples, Jesus brings them to a nearby vineyard called Gethsemani. The group is accustomed to His habit of going off by Himself for prayer as He does on this particular night.
Since Jesus is God, He knows full well what lies ahead for Him in the next day.
One of His closest companions will betray Him with a false show of affection. He will be arrested and tried, against all the rubrics of Hebrew law. The leaders of His Chosen People will subject Him to an illicit and sham trial. They will taunt and mock Him. His own people will hand Him over to foreigners for disposal. The ‘legitimate authority’ will abdicate to the pressures of the crowd. Soldiers will further humiliate and cruelly torture Him. As weak as He is, He will carry the heavy beam of the cross through dirty, dusty streets while the crowds continue to jeer Him, although a few women lament at His treatment. His wounds from the earlier beatings will be renewed as He is stripped naked. He will die in the most cruel way that mankind ever devised.
He also knows the end result of all His efforts. He knows that it is necessary for Him to take on all our sinfulness in order that Heaven be opened for us. He knows that God ultimately wants each of us to spend all of eternity with Him in Heaven. Yet throughout time, many will reject His efforts.
As a human, He feels the same dread we would when faced with such an ordeal.
So our Lord agonizes over choosing the difficult Way for our salvation. Three times He asks God, His Father, to spare Him from the intense pain and suffering. It is such intense agony, that capillaries burst, allowing blood to seep out with His sweat. Each time He prays, He resolves that He wishes, above all, to do God’s will. In the end He accepts the mission as God’s perfect will, and offers no further resistance throughout the entire process.
Meanwhile, His disciples sleep, oblivious to all that their Teacher and their Friend experiences in His prayer time. He wakes them with a warning to watch and pray. Prayer builds strength of spirit to overcome human weakness.
This dramatic story is related through the gospels: in the twenty sixth chapter of Matthew, the fourteenth chapter of Mark, and the twenty second chapter of Luke.
By this time, we finally entered the city limits of Joplin. As we rode along, I began to think about what we might find once we finally arrived at the hospital. He was already gone when Joe got to Goodman. None of us saw Arif after the accident, so we had no idea what injuries he might have. There was no information about his condition. We were directed to St. John’s to find out any information at all.
Auto accidents happen every day. Some people walk away, seemingly unscarred by the event. We could hope for this outcome, but we already knew that was not Arif’s situation, because he went to St. John’s. Some end up with aches and pains, like whiplash or various bumps and bruises. We hoped this was the worst we could expect in Arif’s case, but a mother’s mind continues to review the full range of possibilities. I knew people who needed stitches or surgery after an accident. Others spent time in the hospital with more serious injuries: broken bones, damaged organs, or coma. Some came out with some sort of brain injury. Many times, in my healing ministry, I offered advice for recovery to those who had been devastated by some of the drugs that they became dependent upon. The emergency medical care can be life saving, thank God, but sometimes, the continuing intervention can interfere with the overall health of an individual. We may need a good bit of discernment to make appropriate choices on his care. Of course, the seemingly worst case scenario would be death.
Since I have a Master’s Degree in special education, I have seen the full range of human functioning. Many people I have worked with were severely limited either physically or cognitively. I knew that these outcomes would be extremely difficult for my family, especially Joe. The impact on my other four children could also be devastating. I prayed for all of them and Joe to be able to cope with whatever the outcome might be.
I had no idea what to pray. I know that God has wisdom and insight that are way beyond mine. He would know what was best for us all. I prayed and hoped against hope that he would not be allowed to live with such serious injuries that he would not be able to fulfill his hopes and dreams. But in the end, my prayer resolved: “Lord, You alone have the wisdom. Your will be done.” It was the only prayer I could bring myself to pray for days. I didn’t even know if I would be able to handle any number of the possible outcomes.
At this point, I was given a message: “You have everything you need to deal with this situation.”
It was not a voice, it was just a sense of resolve. Although I had no idea what it meant, I knew it was sent as a comfort.
I did not have much time to ponder. Jo’s cell phone rang.
How does this contraption work?
It was Mary, a Founding Mother of our home school group.
Jo called her asking for prayers. Her family felt close to Arif as he helped them move the previous summer. She wanted to make sure we knew that her family was praying for Arif. If there was anything we needed, be sure to let them know.
I filed that away for later. Who knew what we might need later.
By the time I finished talking with Mary, we arrived at the hospital. We would finish the Rosary later. When we had some idea of what we were praying for, there would be ample opportunity to follow Christ through His Passion and Death, and hopefully be able to rejoice in His Resurrection.
Meanwhile, our only – our best – prayer was: “Thy will be done!”
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Part 6: Wisdom Beyond His Years
The fifth joyful event, from Jesus’ Childhood, brings us to meditation on His parents finding Jesus in the Temple after searching for Him for three days:
Each year, the Holy Family takes a trip to Jerusalem to celebrate the High Holy Days of the Passover. Their extended family and the people from their village go in a caravan.
When Jesus is 12 years old, they make the trip as usual. However, after traveling for a day on the trip home, His parents realize that Jesus is not with the group.
Imagine the panic that seizes them. They return to Jerusalem, looking everywhere for Him.
On the third day of their search, they find Him in the Temple. He is calmly and patiently speaking with the elders and the teachers. These holy, learned men are amazed at the Boy’s wisdom and knowledge. He asks them questions which lead them to think about the subject they know so well in an entirely different way.
In that day, a boy was considered a man when he reached twelve years old. He began training in earnest for his career, often apprenticing with a family member.
Jesus’ response, when His mother chides Him for causing so much worry, logically explains that this place – the Temple in Jerusalem – provides the background for His future mission. She probably recalls the message of Simeon.
Then, He returns home with them to fulfill His place in His family as an obedient and dutiful son.
The second chapter of St. Luke’s Gospel relates this story, and tells us that Mary pondered the events of His life. For this reason, we reflect with love on the mysteries and the details that the Bible gives us about the life of our Savior.
There was no question that Arif, and any other children we were graced with, would be brought up with faith in God.
One of the benefits of home schooling is that we can carry God throughout the curriculum. Arif and all his siblings were taught about their faith from their earliest years. We tried to instill in them a sense that they were created by God for a purpose. They each have a unique calling to do something that God planned for them from the very beginning.
Arif seemed to enjoy being in church and at Mass even when he was very small. At the Consecration, the highest point of the Mass, I directed his attention to the altar as soon as he was aware enough. He ooh-ed and ahh-ed. Later, he described ‘sparkles’ around the bread and wine at that moment.
As toddlers are wont to do, he got squirrelly after a certain time in the pew. I took him out of church and explained that he could go back in as soon as he calmed down. He calmed quickly and soon asked to return to the service. We only observed this ritual a handful of times.
Mom encouraged us to teach Arif his prayers starting quite young.
We moved to Virginia, Arif was 3.
The first time we attended our new church was Christmas Eve. The children were invited to come forward for the ‘children’s homily.’ Arif trotted right up there and plopped right into Father’s lap.
“Well, hello there! What is your name?” Father queried.
“Arif.” came the reply.
“Well hello, Reese.”
“No, Father, it is Arif: A, R, I, F.”
“Very well, then. Do you know what holiday comes tomorrow?”
“Yeah! It’s Christmas. It is Jesus’ birthday! Happy birthday to you....”
The parish offered ‘children’s church,’ taking the children into a classroom during the Bible readings and homily to instruct them at their developmental level. One day the following spring, the teacher of the preschool group called in the pastor. One of her pupils already knew the Lord’s Prayer. You guessed it. That child was Arif.
I never taught any of my children to read. They learned to read the same way they learned to talk. We read to them from the time they were babies. When they were ready, they picked up a book and read to themselves. Only then did I undertake to teach them phonics.
Joe read bedtime stories every night. As children were added to his audience, he read one story for each child. We used to tease him about getting taller: by the time Arif was in school, Joe was a ‘four story Papa.’
At a certain point, Joe switched to chapter books. His first venture was The Witch, the Lion, and the Wardrobe, first in C. S. Lewis’ Narnia series. Arif grew impatient with stopping at the end of each chapter, so picked up the book during the day to read on his own. He was seven at the time.
“So, do I need to skip ahead to where you read?” Papa inquired.
“No, it’s all right. I don’t mind hearing the story again.”
Arif decided, when he was eight years old, to read through the Bible. Several months later, he announced that he accomplished his goal.
When Arif was in fifth grade, I tired of fighting him to do writing assignments. So I hit upon the idea that he publish a newsletter. He loved telling stories and sharing what he knew about his faith.
For almost three years, he and his siblings put together “The Mustard Seed Press.” We built a subscription base of about a hundred and twenty five. The addresses on our list included not only people from thirty four states, but three foreign countries as well. One was a missionary in South America who visited our prayer group, read the Mustard Seed, and wanted to see more of it.
Our prayer group leaders, the Buttaccios, published a newsletter with a circulation of over two thousand. When they saw the first few issues of “The Mustard Seed Press,” they felt it would be a harmonious addition to their publication.
We received accolades from our subscribers. A number of people wrote to us requesting permission to use Arif’s writings in Sunday School classes.
The diocese of Knoxville planned a trip to Paris for World Youth Day. Those who were too young to go petitioned the bishop to make some concessions. The bishop organized a trip to Rome and Assisi for them. Arif was 13. His heart was set on going. We scraped, begged, and did fund raisers to make it possible.
The trip was all he hoped for and more. Arif admired St. Francis from the time he first heard of him. As it turned out, two weeks after the trip. Assisi was hit by a devastating earthquake which ravaged St. Francis’ church. Arif felt he was blessed to be there before the destruction.
On Wednesdays, the pope gives a general audience. He stands on a balcony overlooking St. Peter’s Square. Pope John Paul II used these sessions to teach key concepts about the Bible and about the Christian life.
After the general audience, our bishop arranged for the youth to meet the pope on the steps of St. Peter’s Cathedral. The youngsters and their chaperones lined up for the greetings. The pope shook hands with each one of them.
Pope John Paul II gave Arif special attention by touching him on the cheek after the handshake.
At first we figured that he recognized Arif’s Polish heritage. Perhaps the holy man we called ‘Papa’ knew Arif would be in need of special graces.
I prayed again that each person who came into contact with Arif, in whatever lay ahead, be drawn closer to God. It was something I knew Arif would want as well.
Each year, the Holy Family takes a trip to Jerusalem to celebrate the High Holy Days of the Passover. Their extended family and the people from their village go in a caravan.
When Jesus is 12 years old, they make the trip as usual. However, after traveling for a day on the trip home, His parents realize that Jesus is not with the group.
Imagine the panic that seizes them. They return to Jerusalem, looking everywhere for Him.
On the third day of their search, they find Him in the Temple. He is calmly and patiently speaking with the elders and the teachers. These holy, learned men are amazed at the Boy’s wisdom and knowledge. He asks them questions which lead them to think about the subject they know so well in an entirely different way.
In that day, a boy was considered a man when he reached twelve years old. He began training in earnest for his career, often apprenticing with a family member.
Jesus’ response, when His mother chides Him for causing so much worry, logically explains that this place – the Temple in Jerusalem – provides the background for His future mission. She probably recalls the message of Simeon.
Then, He returns home with them to fulfill His place in His family as an obedient and dutiful son.
The second chapter of St. Luke’s Gospel relates this story, and tells us that Mary pondered the events of His life. For this reason, we reflect with love on the mysteries and the details that the Bible gives us about the life of our Savior.
There was no question that Arif, and any other children we were graced with, would be brought up with faith in God.
One of the benefits of home schooling is that we can carry God throughout the curriculum. Arif and all his siblings were taught about their faith from their earliest years. We tried to instill in them a sense that they were created by God for a purpose. They each have a unique calling to do something that God planned for them from the very beginning.
Arif seemed to enjoy being in church and at Mass even when he was very small. At the Consecration, the highest point of the Mass, I directed his attention to the altar as soon as he was aware enough. He ooh-ed and ahh-ed. Later, he described ‘sparkles’ around the bread and wine at that moment.
As toddlers are wont to do, he got squirrelly after a certain time in the pew. I took him out of church and explained that he could go back in as soon as he calmed down. He calmed quickly and soon asked to return to the service. We only observed this ritual a handful of times.
Mom encouraged us to teach Arif his prayers starting quite young.
We moved to Virginia, Arif was 3.
The first time we attended our new church was Christmas Eve. The children were invited to come forward for the ‘children’s homily.’ Arif trotted right up there and plopped right into Father’s lap.
“Well, hello there! What is your name?” Father queried.
“Arif.” came the reply.
“Well hello, Reese.”
“No, Father, it is Arif: A, R, I, F.”
“Very well, then. Do you know what holiday comes tomorrow?”
“Yeah! It’s Christmas. It is Jesus’ birthday! Happy birthday to you....”
The parish offered ‘children’s church,’ taking the children into a classroom during the Bible readings and homily to instruct them at their developmental level. One day the following spring, the teacher of the preschool group called in the pastor. One of her pupils already knew the Lord’s Prayer. You guessed it. That child was Arif.
I never taught any of my children to read. They learned to read the same way they learned to talk. We read to them from the time they were babies. When they were ready, they picked up a book and read to themselves. Only then did I undertake to teach them phonics.
Joe read bedtime stories every night. As children were added to his audience, he read one story for each child. We used to tease him about getting taller: by the time Arif was in school, Joe was a ‘four story Papa.’
At a certain point, Joe switched to chapter books. His first venture was The Witch, the Lion, and the Wardrobe, first in C. S. Lewis’ Narnia series. Arif grew impatient with stopping at the end of each chapter, so picked up the book during the day to read on his own. He was seven at the time.
“So, do I need to skip ahead to where you read?” Papa inquired.
“No, it’s all right. I don’t mind hearing the story again.”
Arif decided, when he was eight years old, to read through the Bible. Several months later, he announced that he accomplished his goal.
When Arif was in fifth grade, I tired of fighting him to do writing assignments. So I hit upon the idea that he publish a newsletter. He loved telling stories and sharing what he knew about his faith.
For almost three years, he and his siblings put together “The Mustard Seed Press.” We built a subscription base of about a hundred and twenty five. The addresses on our list included not only people from thirty four states, but three foreign countries as well. One was a missionary in South America who visited our prayer group, read the Mustard Seed, and wanted to see more of it.
Our prayer group leaders, the Buttaccios, published a newsletter with a circulation of over two thousand. When they saw the first few issues of “The Mustard Seed Press,” they felt it would be a harmonious addition to their publication.
We received accolades from our subscribers. A number of people wrote to us requesting permission to use Arif’s writings in Sunday School classes.
The diocese of Knoxville planned a trip to Paris for World Youth Day. Those who were too young to go petitioned the bishop to make some concessions. The bishop organized a trip to Rome and Assisi for them. Arif was 13. His heart was set on going. We scraped, begged, and did fund raisers to make it possible.
The trip was all he hoped for and more. Arif admired St. Francis from the time he first heard of him. As it turned out, two weeks after the trip. Assisi was hit by a devastating earthquake which ravaged St. Francis’ church. Arif felt he was blessed to be there before the destruction.
On Wednesdays, the pope gives a general audience. He stands on a balcony overlooking St. Peter’s Square. Pope John Paul II used these sessions to teach key concepts about the Bible and about the Christian life.
After the general audience, our bishop arranged for the youth to meet the pope on the steps of St. Peter’s Cathedral. The youngsters and their chaperones lined up for the greetings. The pope shook hands with each one of them.
Pope John Paul II gave Arif special attention by touching him on the cheek after the handshake.
At first we figured that he recognized Arif’s Polish heritage. Perhaps the holy man we called ‘Papa’ knew Arif would be in need of special graces.
I prayed again that each person who came into contact with Arif, in whatever lay ahead, be drawn closer to God. It was something I knew Arif would want as well.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Part 5: What's in a Name?
The Presentation in the Temple (the Fourth Joyful Mystery) leads us to think about the Holy Family fulfilling the Law of Moses, initiating their Child into their religious community:
On the eighth day of a child’s life, the Jews celebrate bestowing a carefully chosen name on the child. Joseph gives this Child the Name, Jesus, as the angel instructed him in a dream.
Forty days after a boy is born, the parents bring him to the temple, present him to the Lord, and redeem him by an offering – a picture of our infant baptism. When the Holy Family proceeds to fulfill this law, as many poor people do they present two turtle doves.
Two elderly people, Anna and Simeon, greet the Family. They joyfully offer confirmation of the mission of this Child. Simeon goes so far as to declare that the Boy’s mission will be a source of controversy. He also predicts deep sorrow for His mother.
The details of this story can be found in the middle of the second chapter of the Gospel of Luke.
As I think about St. Joseph bestowing the Name on his foster son, I remember how many times people questioned us about Arif’s name.
I need to take a few steps back before answering.
Arif’s father and grandfather share the name ‘Richard Joseph Marshall.’ Grandpa goes by ‘Dick.’ Papa is called by his middle name: ‘Joe.’ A family story tells that at some point, his parents gave their son the choice to be called ‘Dickie’ or ‘Joey,’ and he chose the latter.
As is often the case, we wanted our first born son to be named after his father. So that left us with the choice of putting a numeral after his name (III) or being more creative.
On the one hand, a numeral after a man’s name bears a sense of nobility. It gives a sense of a family legacy of success and elegance.
My oldest brother (may he rest in peace) carried the numeral III. It seems he bore it as a badge of the darker aspects of his heritage. Both Edward Radke I and II had background stories that would make you cry. Ed seemed to pick up not their strengths, but their weaknesses. He was often teased by being given the nickname ‘Da Turd.’
I had no intention of allowing my son even the possibility of being subjected to this sort of treatment. After all, his very existence was a miracle.
I grew up Catholic, and have always had a special place in my heart for St. Joseph. My godfather is named Joe as is another favorite uncle.
As Rachel from Genesis, I felt I was given a gift, ending my infertility. Granted, it came with much less pain and anguish than she experienced. A child would surely add to our joy (the Bible gives us the meaning in the story of Rachel's son). So, if our child was a boy, we would keep the name Joseph.
Joe, on the other hand, traveled far and wide in his spiritual journey: He was baptized in a Methodist church. In Junior High School, he experienced being ‘born again’ with his Baptist friends. The Lutheran church confirmed him.
Joe’s first love is music. It is the highest form of worship he encountered. So, in college, he joined a Sufi community. Their worship centers around music from a variety of musical traditions and borrows from all religions.
In the Sufi community, Joe was given the name ‘Arif.’ He was told that the name means: ‘the one who understands the deeper side of life.’ We have since confirmed that meaning with people from an Arabic background. We also found that it refers to a military leader. One man told us that an arif is the one a teacher chooses to lead and supervise his classmates.
Wow! That is a lot to fit into four letters! We liked the way it sounded.
When we met, half of the man's friends called him Joe, and the other half called him Arif. So we decided too keep both names – Joseph and Arif. The next question would be what order they would take. He would be called Arif either way.
Once the baby was born, Joe announced to his co-workers that he had a son. The name he announced was ‘Joseph Arif Marshall.’ So that is the name listed on all his official documents. He is called by his middle name and often signs ‘J. Arif Marshall.’ There is an air of nobility about using a first initial.
So he was Christened with a name which means: ‘the one who adds understanding to the deeper side of life.’ Joe often remarked that we are a lot smarter since he came along. Additionally, since his first name comes from the Hebrew, and his middle from Arabic, perhaps he is destined to be a peace maker.
Because of the diagnosis of endometriosis, and the doctor’s prognosis, Joe and I vowed our children dedicated to God’s service,
When he was four weeks old, we brought him to be baptized. It was also our first anniversary, so we also renewed our marriage vows.
As the children grew, we practiced an active prayer life. Each day we gathered to pray the Rosary. We took our time, telling the stories between the prayers and relating them to our daily life. The youngsters never seemed to notice – or care – how long it took.
When Arif was eight years old, the family traveled to Massachusetts to research the family history on my side of the family. My Uncle Joe’s wife, Ann, is a very faith filled woman. She advised us to visit a nearby shrine. The shrine promotes a devotion to the Divine Mercy. There, we learned prayers which led us to meditate on the abundant mercy of God. On the way home from Massachusetts, we were shown that the prayers carry great power. The devotion became a daily habit upon our return to Alabama. The growth in our family’s spiritual life seemed to hit warp speed with its practice.
I prayed that all those who encountered Arif throughout whatever happened would be drawn closer to God – that he would add to their understanding and foster a deeper faith.
On the eighth day of a child’s life, the Jews celebrate bestowing a carefully chosen name on the child. Joseph gives this Child the Name, Jesus, as the angel instructed him in a dream.
Forty days after a boy is born, the parents bring him to the temple, present him to the Lord, and redeem him by an offering – a picture of our infant baptism. When the Holy Family proceeds to fulfill this law, as many poor people do they present two turtle doves.
Two elderly people, Anna and Simeon, greet the Family. They joyfully offer confirmation of the mission of this Child. Simeon goes so far as to declare that the Boy’s mission will be a source of controversy. He also predicts deep sorrow for His mother.
The details of this story can be found in the middle of the second chapter of the Gospel of Luke.
As I think about St. Joseph bestowing the Name on his foster son, I remember how many times people questioned us about Arif’s name.
I need to take a few steps back before answering.
Arif’s father and grandfather share the name ‘Richard Joseph Marshall.’ Grandpa goes by ‘Dick.’ Papa is called by his middle name: ‘Joe.’ A family story tells that at some point, his parents gave their son the choice to be called ‘Dickie’ or ‘Joey,’ and he chose the latter.
As is often the case, we wanted our first born son to be named after his father. So that left us with the choice of putting a numeral after his name (III) or being more creative.
On the one hand, a numeral after a man’s name bears a sense of nobility. It gives a sense of a family legacy of success and elegance.
My oldest brother (may he rest in peace) carried the numeral III. It seems he bore it as a badge of the darker aspects of his heritage. Both Edward Radke I and II had background stories that would make you cry. Ed seemed to pick up not their strengths, but their weaknesses. He was often teased by being given the nickname ‘Da Turd.’
I had no intention of allowing my son even the possibility of being subjected to this sort of treatment. After all, his very existence was a miracle.
I grew up Catholic, and have always had a special place in my heart for St. Joseph. My godfather is named Joe as is another favorite uncle.
As Rachel from Genesis, I felt I was given a gift, ending my infertility. Granted, it came with much less pain and anguish than she experienced. A child would surely add to our joy (the Bible gives us the meaning in the story of Rachel's son). So, if our child was a boy, we would keep the name Joseph.
Joe, on the other hand, traveled far and wide in his spiritual journey: He was baptized in a Methodist church. In Junior High School, he experienced being ‘born again’ with his Baptist friends. The Lutheran church confirmed him.
Joe’s first love is music. It is the highest form of worship he encountered. So, in college, he joined a Sufi community. Their worship centers around music from a variety of musical traditions and borrows from all religions.
In the Sufi community, Joe was given the name ‘Arif.’ He was told that the name means: ‘the one who understands the deeper side of life.’ We have since confirmed that meaning with people from an Arabic background. We also found that it refers to a military leader. One man told us that an arif is the one a teacher chooses to lead and supervise his classmates.
Wow! That is a lot to fit into four letters! We liked the way it sounded.
When we met, half of the man's friends called him Joe, and the other half called him Arif. So we decided too keep both names – Joseph and Arif. The next question would be what order they would take. He would be called Arif either way.
Once the baby was born, Joe announced to his co-workers that he had a son. The name he announced was ‘Joseph Arif Marshall.’ So that is the name listed on all his official documents. He is called by his middle name and often signs ‘J. Arif Marshall.’ There is an air of nobility about using a first initial.
So he was Christened with a name which means: ‘the one who adds understanding to the deeper side of life.’ Joe often remarked that we are a lot smarter since he came along. Additionally, since his first name comes from the Hebrew, and his middle from Arabic, perhaps he is destined to be a peace maker.
Because of the diagnosis of endometriosis, and the doctor’s prognosis, Joe and I vowed our children dedicated to God’s service,
When he was four weeks old, we brought him to be baptized. It was also our first anniversary, so we also renewed our marriage vows.
As the children grew, we practiced an active prayer life. Each day we gathered to pray the Rosary. We took our time, telling the stories between the prayers and relating them to our daily life. The youngsters never seemed to notice – or care – how long it took.
When Arif was eight years old, the family traveled to Massachusetts to research the family history on my side of the family. My Uncle Joe’s wife, Ann, is a very faith filled woman. She advised us to visit a nearby shrine. The shrine promotes a devotion to the Divine Mercy. There, we learned prayers which led us to meditate on the abundant mercy of God. On the way home from Massachusetts, we were shown that the prayers carry great power. The devotion became a daily habit upon our return to Alabama. The growth in our family’s spiritual life seemed to hit warp speed with its practice.
I prayed that all those who encountered Arif throughout whatever happened would be drawn closer to God – that he would add to their understanding and foster a deeper faith.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Part 4: Birth Memories
Third, we joyfully meditate on Jesus’ birth – the Nativity: Because of a ruling from the government, each family is required to return to their ancestral home for a census. Joseph (and we presume Mary as St. Luke intimates) can trace lineage to King David as an ancestor. So they travel to the village of Bethlehem, where the great king was born.
The Holy Family’s journey to Bethlehem comes about at the very time when Jesus is due to be born. The crowds and their poverty result in Mary and Joseph finding lodging only in a stable – in a cave with animals all around. The Holy Child’s first bed is made of the hay meant for the animals to eat.
Although most people around pay little heed to His birth, those we would least expect come to honor Him: shepherds from the surrounding fields, and some mysterious visitors from eastern lands.
In the end, however, the Family is forced to flee to Egypt because King Herod wants Him dead.
Both St. Matthew and St. Luke weave the story of Jesus’ birth.
As I meditated on the birth of God’s son, I found myself thinking about our own eldest son’s arrival in the world.
Since I recently healed from the ravages of endometriosis, my health was at its best when I became pregnant. Further, our diet was still top notch. I sailed through my first pregnancy with very little difficulty beyond those which come from the drastic changes in the structure of a body over such a short time.
We knew we wanted our birth experience to be as natural as possible, given my hyper sensitivity to various chemicals. Our new baby deserved the best start we could offer, too.
I was delighted to find a doctor within walking distance of our apartment. The group he belonged to had a birthing room, which offered promise of minimal medical intervention, but proximity to medical facilities -- in case of an emergency.
Full of optimism, I strolled to the doctor’s office for my first prenatal visit.
First, the necessary tests confirmed the pregnancy.
The doctor’s examination was a bit disappointing, as he barely spoke to me, dictating notes to the attending nurse. Some of his observations seemed trivial and irrelevant.
His only direct interaction with me was to ask: “Any nausea or morning sickness?”
I responded that I felt wonderful. The only nausea I had occurred one day when we headed out to a retreat in Alabama right after work, without stopping for a meal. By the time the two hour drive was over, my stomach hit serious rebellion. Of course, it settled down quickly once we ate our dinner.
“Well,” the doctor replied, barely acknowledging my response. “Here’s a prescription for Bendectin, just in case. There is no reason to be uncomfortable if you don’t have to.”
The following day, the New Orleans Time-Picayune posted an article that Bendectin was under investigation due to its association with birth defects and neurological problems. Needless to say, I never filled the prescription.
Three weeks later, when I was preparing for my next appointment, I got a call informing me that this doctor was no longer with the practice and that I would have to go to their other office in Covington, a 45 minute drive from my home. Later, I found out that my doctor was dismissed for reasons related to alcoholism.
We decided we needed to investigate the whole range of birth alternatives. After a good deal of research into the range of options, home birth emerged as our favorite choice.
That was when we met Dee Ann Dominick, nurse-midwife.
Every three weeks, we spent what seemed like hours waiting to see the doctor, only to spend five minutes in the exam room.
One week, the doctor looked at my chart, found I had gained four pounds (never mind that I had lost five previous to the last visit) and declared that I was gaining too much weight. He advised me to go on a diet. End of exam.
On the other hand, our three week check ups with Dee Ann were filled with information and fellowship. We discussed the biology of pregnancy, nutritional issues, the ins and outs of herbs, family relationships, and on and on.
When I related the ‘weight’ incident to her, she picked up my boney left arm and declared that the man didn’t even look at me. We all had a good laugh.
She delivered our second child, Honnah, as well.
We became fast friends with Dee Ann and her family. Later, Dee Ann took one of my herb classes. Now, that class is listed on her vitae. She became an integral part of our family for the next three years, until we moved to Virginia.
My mother was so excited about the birth of her third grand-baby. She was not sure about this home birth stuff, so scheduled to arrive after the baby was born to help out (and, she declared, to make sure this one got spoiled right from the start).
Arif was due June first in 1983. It seemed like he waited for his grandmother to arrive. We went into labor ten minutes after she walked in the door – at ten o’clock on Sunday night, the sixth. Mom later declared that if she knew what home birth was like, she would have had all six or hers at home.
The labor progressed uneventfully. I actually slept between contractions through the night, waking to breathe through the working phases, then drifting back into a dream-filled haze. In the morning, however, things really picked up. Arif made his entrance to this world an hour before lunch. And he was certainly hungry. He was such an avid nurser, relatives worried that i would have to go to college with him. They wondered if it would be embarrassing for his room mate.
We had all five of our children at home – not in a stable in some far away city. Dee Anne and each subsequent midwife declared ours to be among the easiest births she attended.
Each time, the children were able to attend as much of the birth experience as they found comfortable. Mostly, they got bored and wandered off until after Baby was born and ready to be passed around. We felt the atmosphere of family unity surrounding each sibling’s birth helped to forge strong bonds between them.
I prayed that God would keep those bonds intact as we faced whatever was ahead.
The Holy Family’s journey to Bethlehem comes about at the very time when Jesus is due to be born. The crowds and their poverty result in Mary and Joseph finding lodging only in a stable – in a cave with animals all around. The Holy Child’s first bed is made of the hay meant for the animals to eat.
Although most people around pay little heed to His birth, those we would least expect come to honor Him: shepherds from the surrounding fields, and some mysterious visitors from eastern lands.
In the end, however, the Family is forced to flee to Egypt because King Herod wants Him dead.
Both St. Matthew and St. Luke weave the story of Jesus’ birth.
As I meditated on the birth of God’s son, I found myself thinking about our own eldest son’s arrival in the world.
Since I recently healed from the ravages of endometriosis, my health was at its best when I became pregnant. Further, our diet was still top notch. I sailed through my first pregnancy with very little difficulty beyond those which come from the drastic changes in the structure of a body over such a short time.
We knew we wanted our birth experience to be as natural as possible, given my hyper sensitivity to various chemicals. Our new baby deserved the best start we could offer, too.
I was delighted to find a doctor within walking distance of our apartment. The group he belonged to had a birthing room, which offered promise of minimal medical intervention, but proximity to medical facilities -- in case of an emergency.
Full of optimism, I strolled to the doctor’s office for my first prenatal visit.
First, the necessary tests confirmed the pregnancy.
The doctor’s examination was a bit disappointing, as he barely spoke to me, dictating notes to the attending nurse. Some of his observations seemed trivial and irrelevant.
His only direct interaction with me was to ask: “Any nausea or morning sickness?”
I responded that I felt wonderful. The only nausea I had occurred one day when we headed out to a retreat in Alabama right after work, without stopping for a meal. By the time the two hour drive was over, my stomach hit serious rebellion. Of course, it settled down quickly once we ate our dinner.
“Well,” the doctor replied, barely acknowledging my response. “Here’s a prescription for Bendectin, just in case. There is no reason to be uncomfortable if you don’t have to.”
The following day, the New Orleans Time-Picayune posted an article that Bendectin was under investigation due to its association with birth defects and neurological problems. Needless to say, I never filled the prescription.
Three weeks later, when I was preparing for my next appointment, I got a call informing me that this doctor was no longer with the practice and that I would have to go to their other office in Covington, a 45 minute drive from my home. Later, I found out that my doctor was dismissed for reasons related to alcoholism.
We decided we needed to investigate the whole range of birth alternatives. After a good deal of research into the range of options, home birth emerged as our favorite choice.
That was when we met Dee Ann Dominick, nurse-midwife.
Every three weeks, we spent what seemed like hours waiting to see the doctor, only to spend five minutes in the exam room.
One week, the doctor looked at my chart, found I had gained four pounds (never mind that I had lost five previous to the last visit) and declared that I was gaining too much weight. He advised me to go on a diet. End of exam.
On the other hand, our three week check ups with Dee Ann were filled with information and fellowship. We discussed the biology of pregnancy, nutritional issues, the ins and outs of herbs, family relationships, and on and on.
When I related the ‘weight’ incident to her, she picked up my boney left arm and declared that the man didn’t even look at me. We all had a good laugh.
She delivered our second child, Honnah, as well.
We became fast friends with Dee Ann and her family. Later, Dee Ann took one of my herb classes. Now, that class is listed on her vitae. She became an integral part of our family for the next three years, until we moved to Virginia.
My mother was so excited about the birth of her third grand-baby. She was not sure about this home birth stuff, so scheduled to arrive after the baby was born to help out (and, she declared, to make sure this one got spoiled right from the start).
Arif was due June first in 1983. It seemed like he waited for his grandmother to arrive. We went into labor ten minutes after she walked in the door – at ten o’clock on Sunday night, the sixth. Mom later declared that if she knew what home birth was like, she would have had all six or hers at home.
The labor progressed uneventfully. I actually slept between contractions through the night, waking to breathe through the working phases, then drifting back into a dream-filled haze. In the morning, however, things really picked up. Arif made his entrance to this world an hour before lunch. And he was certainly hungry. He was such an avid nurser, relatives worried that i would have to go to college with him. They wondered if it would be embarrassing for his room mate.
We had all five of our children at home – not in a stable in some far away city. Dee Anne and each subsequent midwife declared ours to be among the easiest births she attended.
Each time, the children were able to attend as much of the birth experience as they found comfortable. Mostly, they got bored and wandered off until after Baby was born and ready to be passed around. We felt the atmosphere of family unity surrounding each sibling’s birth helped to forge strong bonds between them.
I prayed that God would keep those bonds intact as we faced whatever was ahead.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Part 3: Caring Heart
The second joyful event for our meditation is called the Visitation: Since the Angel Gabriel tells Mary that her relative, Elizabeth, is to have her first baby in her old age, Mary quickly travels to help the elderly woman. It is a clear picture of Mary’s humility and confirmation of her nature as God’s servant. Surely, the angels’ message about Elizabeth was not only a way to confirm that his words were true, but a coaxing to provide an extra pair of hands in what must have been an exhausting time.
I imagine the rigors of traveling, on short notice, for a week or so when the Woman is first pregnant. Early pregnancy does take a toll on the body, even if a woman is healthy. I am sure the Blessed Mother maintains optimum health, as she undoubtedly follows the dietary laws prescribed in the Pentateuch.
Elizabeth – and her son at six months in utero – recognizes the newly conceived Savior. I always marvel here, about the interaction between the two unborn babies. Surely, life is precious from its first moments after conception until natural death.
Mary sings a song of joy about God’s favor shown to those we would least expect. God’s ways are surely not our ways. He always honors His promises, in His own perfect time.
The two women revel in their friendship and kinship for the next three months. The care that Mary undoubtedly gives to Elizabeth is freely given in love and joy.
You can find this story in the first chapter of St. Luke’s Gospel.
Throughout his life, Arif never knew a stranger. Always ready with a smile, he showered care and conversation on whomever he met. Everyone who knew him felt that he was their best friend. He was so full of life and love – so full of dreams and schemes and always ready to lend a helping hand, or an ear, to anyone in need. His prayer life was deep and rich with concern for those he knew were in need.
Over the past few months, Arif struggled with thoughts that others might think he had a superior attitude. He did not want them to think he felt he was smarter, stronger, or holier than anyone else. It caused him some deep agony. It was important to him that he be viewed as an equal by each person he encountered.
In the fall when he was 3 years old, my sister, Tina, called me in tears: She was pregnant with her first child. Her AFP test came back positive. The doctor told her she was going to have a child with spina bifida. She would have to go to Ft. Knox for further testing. Her concern that the testing might put the child in danger of miscarriage. Her doctor assured her that it was the least of her worries as she had a monster in there. He must have missed the class on bedside manner.
I assured her of our prayers. The test does not tell how much damage there may be. Spina bifida may present at a variety of levels. Tina, herself, has vertebrae missing at her tail bone. I also explained that the AFP test has a high rate of false positives. I stayed on the phone until she was more calm. With further assurance that we would pray for her and her baby, I hung up the phone.
As soon as I hung up, I called Arif from the other room. We spent a few minutes in prayer. Then I asked Arif for his reaction. He looked at me with shining eyes, explaining that when he had his eyes closed during the prayer, he saw a beautiful little girl with golden hair. He described her singing and dancing. She was happy and healthy.
A few days later, Tina called back saying that she was informed that the lab put the decimal in the wrong place. Her test was negative. We felt that God moved that decimal point for her.
The next May, Tina gave birth to a beautiful baby girl with golden hair. Heather loved music. She had a beautiful singing voice and loved to dance.
My mother (who was also named Elizabeth) lived with Congestive Heart Disease for five years. Although she had only eight percent of her heart function, she lived an active life: keeping up with her six grown offspring, running the family business, and working in her garden.
From time to time, however, she hit a crisis point. Several times each year, we traveled from Louisiana to Florida to help take care of my mother when she was so sick. Arif always found a way to bring a smile to her face. He told jokes, did magic tricks, made origami creations, or got his sister and brothers together to do skits or puppet shows.
Mom died when Arif was 8 years old. Arif and I both knew the moment she died.
When she was in ICU during her last few weeks, We faced issues about the appropriate use of life support.
I prayed we would not need to make any hard decisions about life support for Arif. These issues were also raised before my grandfather died during my freshman year at college.
How I wished Mom could be here to help and comfort us, now. I knew that she would be Johnny-on-the-spot to hop in her car and run right out to Missouri to take care of kiddos or whatever needs we might have while Arif was in the hospital. Who knows, she might even pitch in and milk goats.
Yet, I drew some comfort as I realized that she knew of the predicament and offered her prayers for us from her heavenly home.
I imagine the rigors of traveling, on short notice, for a week or so when the Woman is first pregnant. Early pregnancy does take a toll on the body, even if a woman is healthy. I am sure the Blessed Mother maintains optimum health, as she undoubtedly follows the dietary laws prescribed in the Pentateuch.
Elizabeth – and her son at six months in utero – recognizes the newly conceived Savior. I always marvel here, about the interaction between the two unborn babies. Surely, life is precious from its first moments after conception until natural death.
Mary sings a song of joy about God’s favor shown to those we would least expect. God’s ways are surely not our ways. He always honors His promises, in His own perfect time.
The two women revel in their friendship and kinship for the next three months. The care that Mary undoubtedly gives to Elizabeth is freely given in love and joy.
You can find this story in the first chapter of St. Luke’s Gospel.
Throughout his life, Arif never knew a stranger. Always ready with a smile, he showered care and conversation on whomever he met. Everyone who knew him felt that he was their best friend. He was so full of life and love – so full of dreams and schemes and always ready to lend a helping hand, or an ear, to anyone in need. His prayer life was deep and rich with concern for those he knew were in need.
Over the past few months, Arif struggled with thoughts that others might think he had a superior attitude. He did not want them to think he felt he was smarter, stronger, or holier than anyone else. It caused him some deep agony. It was important to him that he be viewed as an equal by each person he encountered.
In the fall when he was 3 years old, my sister, Tina, called me in tears: She was pregnant with her first child. Her AFP test came back positive. The doctor told her she was going to have a child with spina bifida. She would have to go to Ft. Knox for further testing. Her concern that the testing might put the child in danger of miscarriage. Her doctor assured her that it was the least of her worries as she had a monster in there. He must have missed the class on bedside manner.
I assured her of our prayers. The test does not tell how much damage there may be. Spina bifida may present at a variety of levels. Tina, herself, has vertebrae missing at her tail bone. I also explained that the AFP test has a high rate of false positives. I stayed on the phone until she was more calm. With further assurance that we would pray for her and her baby, I hung up the phone.
As soon as I hung up, I called Arif from the other room. We spent a few minutes in prayer. Then I asked Arif for his reaction. He looked at me with shining eyes, explaining that when he had his eyes closed during the prayer, he saw a beautiful little girl with golden hair. He described her singing and dancing. She was happy and healthy.
A few days later, Tina called back saying that she was informed that the lab put the decimal in the wrong place. Her test was negative. We felt that God moved that decimal point for her.
The next May, Tina gave birth to a beautiful baby girl with golden hair. Heather loved music. She had a beautiful singing voice and loved to dance.
My mother (who was also named Elizabeth) lived with Congestive Heart Disease for five years. Although she had only eight percent of her heart function, she lived an active life: keeping up with her six grown offspring, running the family business, and working in her garden.
From time to time, however, she hit a crisis point. Several times each year, we traveled from Louisiana to Florida to help take care of my mother when she was so sick. Arif always found a way to bring a smile to her face. He told jokes, did magic tricks, made origami creations, or got his sister and brothers together to do skits or puppet shows.
Mom died when Arif was 8 years old. Arif and I both knew the moment she died.
When she was in ICU during her last few weeks, We faced issues about the appropriate use of life support.
I prayed we would not need to make any hard decisions about life support for Arif. These issues were also raised before my grandfather died during my freshman year at college.
How I wished Mom could be here to help and comfort us, now. I knew that she would be Johnny-on-the-spot to hop in her car and run right out to Missouri to take care of kiddos or whatever needs we might have while Arif was in the hospital. Who knows, she might even pitch in and milk goats.
Yet, I drew some comfort as I realized that she knew of the predicament and offered her prayers for us from her heavenly home.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Chapter 2: Is This Car Moving?, Part 1: Getting There
I am no stranger to traveling. Planes, trains, boats, buses, or cars took me to many parts of the globe. My family, both growing up and after my marriage, moved several dozen times. During a certain move, I rode in a bus for days, with all my possessions in just two suitcases, not counting the guitar, of course. Another move was similar, except on airplanes. On one of those flights, I was the only passenger. I have even been halfway around the world, as I spent one summer studying and adventuring in Europe.
Still, this was the longest ride of my life. It seemed that the road hardly passed beneath the tires. Although it was a mere 40 miles away from Anderson, in the previous five years we made the trip to Joplin only a handful of times. Little did Honnah and I know how familiar this stretch of road would become.
We had no idea what was coming next. Only one way presented itself to cope with the endless journey. We fell back on the habits of faith and prayer that we developed through our family’s life. I don’t even want to imagine what torture it might be without some sort of belief that good can come from whatever happens in one’s life.
Our habits played out along that interminable leg. Honnah and I found ourselves relying on an old friend. We prayed the Rosary.
Far from being empty repetition, the prayers accompany meditations on events in Jesus’ life and how those events relate to our own life’s journey. Repeating the well known prayers – taken from the Bible – provided background music to wide ranging thoughts, bringing a sense of grounding and calming our frazzled nerves. Heartily entering into the meditations bears much fruit, bringing comfort for the situations in which we find ourselves.
We know that our God is no stranger to the trials and tribulations with which we find ourselves confronted. Further consolation comes from seeing these events through the eyes of the one who loved Jesus the most – his mother. We remember that another famliy suffered trials and tragedy through what happened to her Son. Mary provides for us a model of faith and an empathetic ally through our difficulties. We realize that even those closest to Christ on earth were not spared pain and sorrow for which they could see no rhyme or reason. They met these events with faith and humility, allowing God’s power to shine through for the benefit of all mankind.
The first five meditations, called the Joyful Mysteries, re-tell the incidents in Jesus’ early life that we find in the Bible, mostly in the Gospel of Luke. While each was indeed an occasion of joy, they were fraught with difficult circumstances as well. This line of thinking helped us to recall God’s merciful intervention in Arif’s younger days.
Following these, we enter into the Sorrowful Mysteries. The stories span all four Gospels, informing us of the Lord’s Passion and death. We are reminded of His redemptive Love for each of us. Beyond that, we can join our suffering with His, to know that there is a higher purpose for even the most tragic of circumstances.
Finally, we meditate on the glorious Mysteries, found in the Gospels, in the Acts of the Apostles, and in the Book of Revelation. These mysteries give us hope that this world of woe is not all there is. God has a plan for each of us and for the world. His deepest desire is that we spend all of eternity with Him in unending joy. In the end, His victory over all evil and tragedy is assured. Our part in it is to grow closer to Him each day: to know Him and see His hand in all that happens and all that is around us; to love Him with all our hearts, minds, and strength, knowing that He will not allow anything to happen to us that is not for our greater good and to trust that He will not give us more than we can handle with His grace; to serve Him and to offer all that we think, say, and do for the good of our souls and of those around us.
Our meditations on these mysteries ranged far and wide. It is amazing how many thoughts crowded into the space of each decade – each cycle of prayers.
Still, this was the longest ride of my life. It seemed that the road hardly passed beneath the tires. Although it was a mere 40 miles away from Anderson, in the previous five years we made the trip to Joplin only a handful of times. Little did Honnah and I know how familiar this stretch of road would become.
We had no idea what was coming next. Only one way presented itself to cope with the endless journey. We fell back on the habits of faith and prayer that we developed through our family’s life. I don’t even want to imagine what torture it might be without some sort of belief that good can come from whatever happens in one’s life.
Our habits played out along that interminable leg. Honnah and I found ourselves relying on an old friend. We prayed the Rosary.
Far from being empty repetition, the prayers accompany meditations on events in Jesus’ life and how those events relate to our own life’s journey. Repeating the well known prayers – taken from the Bible – provided background music to wide ranging thoughts, bringing a sense of grounding and calming our frazzled nerves. Heartily entering into the meditations bears much fruit, bringing comfort for the situations in which we find ourselves.
We know that our God is no stranger to the trials and tribulations with which we find ourselves confronted. Further consolation comes from seeing these events through the eyes of the one who loved Jesus the most – his mother. We remember that another famliy suffered trials and tragedy through what happened to her Son. Mary provides for us a model of faith and an empathetic ally through our difficulties. We realize that even those closest to Christ on earth were not spared pain and sorrow for which they could see no rhyme or reason. They met these events with faith and humility, allowing God’s power to shine through for the benefit of all mankind.
The first five meditations, called the Joyful Mysteries, re-tell the incidents in Jesus’ early life that we find in the Bible, mostly in the Gospel of Luke. While each was indeed an occasion of joy, they were fraught with difficult circumstances as well. This line of thinking helped us to recall God’s merciful intervention in Arif’s younger days.
Following these, we enter into the Sorrowful Mysteries. The stories span all four Gospels, informing us of the Lord’s Passion and death. We are reminded of His redemptive Love for each of us. Beyond that, we can join our suffering with His, to know that there is a higher purpose for even the most tragic of circumstances.
Finally, we meditate on the glorious Mysteries, found in the Gospels, in the Acts of the Apostles, and in the Book of Revelation. These mysteries give us hope that this world of woe is not all there is. God has a plan for each of us and for the world. His deepest desire is that we spend all of eternity with Him in unending joy. In the end, His victory over all evil and tragedy is assured. Our part in it is to grow closer to Him each day: to know Him and see His hand in all that happens and all that is around us; to love Him with all our hearts, minds, and strength, knowing that He will not allow anything to happen to us that is not for our greater good and to trust that He will not give us more than we can handle with His grace; to serve Him and to offer all that we think, say, and do for the good of our souls and of those around us.
Our meditations on these mysteries ranged far and wide. It is amazing how many thoughts crowded into the space of each decade – each cycle of prayers.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Part 2: Preparations
After Joe called home, preparations began to get Mom to the hospital.
Honnah, our only daughter, woke up about this time, wondering what was going on. I recounted the call from her father. She grabbed something to eat along the way and headed for the creek to get the boys.
For a few precious moments, David and I cuddled on the couch. I hugged him and rocked him. His 3 year old innocence inspired me to form a plan. Little did I know that this precious little one would become my lifeline.
I was scheduled to go to a Catholic Women’s Council conference in eastern Missouri as the recently elected president of the women’s group at our church. Earlier that spring, our pastor, Fr. Roger, and I sat down and made some terrific short and long range plans for the group. It was necessary to go to this conference to get ideas about carrying them out and for the fellowship of other women in similar positions in other parishes.
Somehow though, over the last few days, I found myself reluctant to get ready for the conference. Something did not seem right about the trip.
In addition, during the previous week I felt somewhat tense whenever Arif and I went somewhere. He was generally a good driver, so it was nothing about the driving, just an uneasy feeling. The Friday before, on the way to a home school group gathering, while we sat in a traffic jam with a number of big trucks. I got a bad case of the willies, for no apparent reason.
Now, I needed to call the church and tell Sister Ayleson that I would not be able to go to Cape Girardeau until I found out what the story was with my son.
I picked up the phone in a daze. I miss-dialed: 4 - 7 - 5 - 3 - 1 - 5 - 3. The church phone was: 475-3144. My fingers must have been on auto-dial. I reached the treasurer of our home school group, and a dear friend, Jo.
“You’re not Sister Ayleson.” I astutely observed.
“Not last time I checked.” Jo responded. “You sound upset. What’s wrong.”
I told her about Joe’s call.
“That’s terrible. Is there anything I can do?”
“As long as I have you on the phone, we need prayer for the situation. Would you please initiate the prayer chain for the home school group and let them know.”
“You got it. No problem. Is there anything else that I can do?”
“Well ... now that I’m thinking about it ... could you watch the boys for a few hours ... while I find out what’s going on?”
“Not a problem. When do you want me there?”
“As soon as you can get here. Steve and Micah are down at the creek fishing. I sent Honnah down after them.... And we will leave for the hospital as soon as you get here.”
“I’ll be there in 15 minutes. Let me get the prayer chain started.”
Thank God for good friends! I knew the boys would be in good, loving hands. Little did we know that those few hours would last all weekend until my mother-in-law arrived.
Many of our home school group members participate in other support groups besides ours. As the story continued to unfold, they connected with those groups with our prayer request.
Several husbands in the group also pastor churches. They contacted other pastors throughout the county.
Soon, a vast blanket of prayer started forming.
Now it was time to call Sister Ayleson. But the line was busy. So, I took a little more time to call some other people and inform them of our need for prayer.
First call was Bernadette, a shut-in and another close friend. I knew I could always count on her powerful prayers. She offered to call the priests, Fr. Roger and Fr. Joseph. The thought had not crossed my mind.. I gave her the go ahead. She also decided to call a number of prayer ministries she knew.
Next, I called Rosie, my best friend for years and years. Our children grew up together when we lived in Mobile. She loves Arif like her own son. I knew she would want to know. Her family’s prayers carry much power as well.
Rosie offered to call her home school group’s prayer chain. As it turns out, some of those members also had connections with other home school communities. I often gratefully wonder just how much of the home school community throughout the country supported us with their prayers.
Rosie and I prayed together on the phone. At that point, I began losing my concentration and things started to become a blur. I don’t remember exactly what she said, but I felt comforted by her words and her loving attention.
Finally I got through to Sister Ayleson. Certainly, there was no question of my need to stay home from the conference. She, of course, also had words of comfort and promises of prayers – the whole congregation would pray for him.
In our small church, everyone knew and loved Arif. His knowledge and the depth of his faith made an impact on all -- from the elders, to the youth group. Three years ago, he made his Confirmation with several other teens. He sparked lively discussions in his religion classes. The youth group counted him as a vital member, although less so since he started attending Crowder. He frequently served at Mass with a reverence that drew everyone into the heart of worship. Yet, his sense of fun delighted – and sometimes startled – many of his associates.
Jo arrived just as the boys came in from the creek. She loaned me her cell phone with a few hurried instructions on how to handle this new-fangled thing. She thought it would come in handy to keep in touch with those at home.
A quick explanation was given to the boys about the crisis, and we went our separate ways, the whole family in shock. Later I was told that Micah cried off and on all day.
It would be days before I could bring myself to cry. However, there is still probably a wet spot on the carpet in St. John’s hospital chapel.
Honnah, our only daughter, woke up about this time, wondering what was going on. I recounted the call from her father. She grabbed something to eat along the way and headed for the creek to get the boys.
For a few precious moments, David and I cuddled on the couch. I hugged him and rocked him. His 3 year old innocence inspired me to form a plan. Little did I know that this precious little one would become my lifeline.
I was scheduled to go to a Catholic Women’s Council conference in eastern Missouri as the recently elected president of the women’s group at our church. Earlier that spring, our pastor, Fr. Roger, and I sat down and made some terrific short and long range plans for the group. It was necessary to go to this conference to get ideas about carrying them out and for the fellowship of other women in similar positions in other parishes.
Somehow though, over the last few days, I found myself reluctant to get ready for the conference. Something did not seem right about the trip.
In addition, during the previous week I felt somewhat tense whenever Arif and I went somewhere. He was generally a good driver, so it was nothing about the driving, just an uneasy feeling. The Friday before, on the way to a home school group gathering, while we sat in a traffic jam with a number of big trucks. I got a bad case of the willies, for no apparent reason.
Now, I needed to call the church and tell Sister Ayleson that I would not be able to go to Cape Girardeau until I found out what the story was with my son.
I picked up the phone in a daze. I miss-dialed: 4 - 7 - 5 - 3 - 1 - 5 - 3. The church phone was: 475-3144. My fingers must have been on auto-dial. I reached the treasurer of our home school group, and a dear friend, Jo.
“You’re not Sister Ayleson.” I astutely observed.
“Not last time I checked.” Jo responded. “You sound upset. What’s wrong.”
I told her about Joe’s call.
“That’s terrible. Is there anything I can do?”
“As long as I have you on the phone, we need prayer for the situation. Would you please initiate the prayer chain for the home school group and let them know.”
“You got it. No problem. Is there anything else that I can do?”
“Well ... now that I’m thinking about it ... could you watch the boys for a few hours ... while I find out what’s going on?”
“Not a problem. When do you want me there?”
“As soon as you can get here. Steve and Micah are down at the creek fishing. I sent Honnah down after them.... And we will leave for the hospital as soon as you get here.”
“I’ll be there in 15 minutes. Let me get the prayer chain started.”
Thank God for good friends! I knew the boys would be in good, loving hands. Little did we know that those few hours would last all weekend until my mother-in-law arrived.
Many of our home school group members participate in other support groups besides ours. As the story continued to unfold, they connected with those groups with our prayer request.
Several husbands in the group also pastor churches. They contacted other pastors throughout the county.
Soon, a vast blanket of prayer started forming.
Now it was time to call Sister Ayleson. But the line was busy. So, I took a little more time to call some other people and inform them of our need for prayer.
First call was Bernadette, a shut-in and another close friend. I knew I could always count on her powerful prayers. She offered to call the priests, Fr. Roger and Fr. Joseph. The thought had not crossed my mind.. I gave her the go ahead. She also decided to call a number of prayer ministries she knew.
Next, I called Rosie, my best friend for years and years. Our children grew up together when we lived in Mobile. She loves Arif like her own son. I knew she would want to know. Her family’s prayers carry much power as well.
Rosie offered to call her home school group’s prayer chain. As it turns out, some of those members also had connections with other home school communities. I often gratefully wonder just how much of the home school community throughout the country supported us with their prayers.
Rosie and I prayed together on the phone. At that point, I began losing my concentration and things started to become a blur. I don’t remember exactly what she said, but I felt comforted by her words and her loving attention.
Finally I got through to Sister Ayleson. Certainly, there was no question of my need to stay home from the conference. She, of course, also had words of comfort and promises of prayers – the whole congregation would pray for him.
In our small church, everyone knew and loved Arif. His knowledge and the depth of his faith made an impact on all -- from the elders, to the youth group. Three years ago, he made his Confirmation with several other teens. He sparked lively discussions in his religion classes. The youth group counted him as a vital member, although less so since he started attending Crowder. He frequently served at Mass with a reverence that drew everyone into the heart of worship. Yet, his sense of fun delighted – and sometimes startled – many of his associates.
Jo arrived just as the boys came in from the creek. She loaned me her cell phone with a few hurried instructions on how to handle this new-fangled thing. She thought it would come in handy to keep in touch with those at home.
A quick explanation was given to the boys about the crisis, and we went our separate ways, the whole family in shock. Later I was told that Micah cried off and on all day.
It would be days before I could bring myself to cry. However, there is still probably a wet spot on the carpet in St. John’s hospital chapel.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Miracle Boy Song
Came a call this morning:
a parent’s worst nightmare come true.
“No, it’s not a good day.”
So we rush to be at his side
we call on Your mercy
asking only “Your will be done.”
Now, our child lies so still.
We watch our lives turned inside out.
Chorus:
Still You hold us near.
Your heart enfolds all our lives.
When we cry “Abba!”
Your love shows through everything.
Days and weeks of waiting:
his life hangs by less than a thread.
You give him all the best.
You promised we’d have all we need.
We watch the monitors--
try to make the best decisions.
You take the hardest ones
We cling to You as best we can.
Still...
You send us Your comfort:
Prayers come from all over the world.
Hear: “Can I pray with you?”
His short life touched many others.
Still he shows You to all.
And we marvel at Your power
to meet not just our needs,
but those of all who brush our lives.
Still...
His Recov’ry comes slow.
Days and weeks flow into long years.
We use the gifts You give
and struggle to keep our focus.
The love we hold for You
carries us when we’re discouraged.
We thank You for his life
And now wonder what You have planned.
Still...
a parent’s worst nightmare come true.
“No, it’s not a good day.”
So we rush to be at his side
we call on Your mercy
asking only “Your will be done.”
Now, our child lies so still.
We watch our lives turned inside out.
Chorus:
Still You hold us near.
Your heart enfolds all our lives.
When we cry “Abba!”
Your love shows through everything.
Days and weeks of waiting:
his life hangs by less than a thread.
You give him all the best.
You promised we’d have all we need.
We watch the monitors--
try to make the best decisions.
You take the hardest ones
We cling to You as best we can.
Still...
You send us Your comfort:
Prayers come from all over the world.
Hear: “Can I pray with you?”
His short life touched many others.
Still he shows You to all.
And we marvel at Your power
to meet not just our needs,
but those of all who brush our lives.
Still...
His Recov’ry comes slow.
Days and weeks flow into long years.
We use the gifts You give
and struggle to keep our focus.
The love we hold for You
carries us when we’re discouraged.
We thank You for his life
And now wonder what You have planned.
Still...
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