Gratitude!

 Last week, I had a follow-up visit with the doctor who performed the bronchoscopy, and what she told me then made my post-anesthesia vision even more meaningful.  All the tests for cancer were negative, thank God, although it seems that what they have been seeing in my lung since 2016 is a fungus caused by breathing in mold, usually from decaying plant matter.  It makes sense, as I have been gardening for many years, using leaf mold as mulch, cleaning out gutters and breathing in mold, etc.  

However, the reason I was under anesthesia so long was that the doctor struck a blood vessel in the lung as she removed tissue for diagnosis.  Although she was using a scan to guide the procedure, it seems that blood vessels do not show up on the scan.  As blood spurted all over the room, the doctor's colleague suggested that she not biopsy me another time, and she was not at all sure she could stop the bleeding.  

I asked how she did stop the bleeding, and she simply stated: I prayed.

After hearing her answer, my vision of the 23rd Psalm covering me as a blanket became even more stunning; I had not realized how close I had been to dying.  How can I thank the Lord for what He has done for me?  

Speak Your Word...

 Speak Your Word into my heart, O Spirit of God!

This is the second time it has happened.  Two years ago, I had a bronchoscopy under anesthesia.  As I awoke, but before I was alert enough to even have a thought, I saw and heard the 23rd Psalm as though I were watching a video.  The words appeared before me in similar fashion to the opening of the original Star Wars movie -- rolling upward on a screen, as I heard them spoken to me.  I was astonished, knowing that I had no capacity at the moment to even imagine such a thing.  In fact, a moment later, the nurse, seeing my eyes open, came over to ask me a question.  Still under the effects of anesthesia, I could not answer at the moment.  So I knew that what I was seeing and hearing could not be coming from my imagination.  It had to be a gift from the Holy Spirit, speaking to me at a time of great weakness.  

Yesterday, I had another bronchoscopy, but this time was under anesthesia for two hours, as the doctor performed five procedures in an attempt to finally diagnose the lung cancer she can see on the CT scan.  Coming out of the anesthesia was much more difficult this time; I felt like a butterfly pinned to a table, unable to move or speak.  And yet, as I opened my eyes, I once again saw and heard Psalm 23: The Lord is my shepherd....   This time, the words were not dramatic, but visually and auditorially very soft.  It felt as if a light blanket were being gently laid over my body.  And the entire Psalm was present to me, not just the opening words.

Actually, I had forgotten all about the first incident going into this surgery.  And so the second event was as unexpected as the first.  I could neither think nor speak, but just received the words as comfort, with a few tears of thanksgiving.  I knew once again that I could not be manufacturing this experience, as my brain was not yet engaged.  It had to be a gift from the Holy Spirit at a moment of extreme weakness. 

What this experience has done for me is to make me realize that God does not leave us alone in times of stress or weakness.  He is even more present to us in love and mercy and tenderness.  And it gives me great hope that I will not face death alone, but that His Word will be with me to comfort, guide, and lead me to the next life. 

The Power of the Sacrament

 For the very first time since I knew I had lung cancer in 2010, I felt fear.  For 13 years, I have known only the peace and joy of knowing that the Lord is my Shepherd:  Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou are with me.  Thy rod and thy staff bring me comfort.

And yet, yesterday morning, for some reason, fear overwhelmed me.  I am scheduled next week for yet another bronchoscopy. A tumor has been appearing on the left lung since 2016, but no biopsy or procedure has been able to capture it for diagnosis and treatment.  This time, my doctor thinks she can get a piece of it with a new instrument, and if she does, then radiation is the next step.  

I went into Mass thinking that I would not ask to be anointed for this procedure, as I have been anointed so many times previously.  I figured the power of the sacrament still held -- that it didn't "wear off," so to speak.  But then, for some reason, during Mass, I was encompassed by fear.  Not fear of dying, but fear of radiation and its side effects.  I knew myself to be weak, and I did not want to face pain and suffering.  In tears, I did request an anointing after Mass.

As the priest laid his hands upon my head, the most profound peace once again entered my soul and mind.  I knew I had nothing to fear, that the same God who had brought me through before would be with me once again.  Peace --- and freedom from worry and fear ---- took over.

Afterwards, I wondered why the sudden experience of fear.  And I wondered if I was supposed to once again experience the power of the sacrament (the anointing of the sick).  That I might know and testify to the working of the sacraments on our behalf.  If this laying on of hands and anointing with oil is so powerful, how much more the Eucharist, when God Himself joins His body and soul, heart and mind to ours!

No Condemnation

 Now there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus...(Rom.8:1)

We were made to be inhabited... not to be alone:  The one thing that was "Not Good" at the dawn of creation was that man was alone.  There is no greater joy in this life than knowing that we are not alone --- that we are one with another in mind, heart, and spirit.  Different, yes; opposite, no.  We yearn to be with those who love us, accept us, find joy in our presence as we do in theirs.  

What separates us is judgment, criticism, condemnation, non-acceptance of who we are, what we think, what we do.  And then fear overtakes us -- fear of more judgment, of more criticism, of more rejection.  And we back away, become alone again, knowing that we can trust only ourselves, not another.  The ancient name for the Devil was lo diabolo, meaning to "throw apart," to separate.  What separates us from one another is literally diabolic.

God came in the flesh seeking union with us, made in His image and likeness:  The Son of Man came not to condemn, but to seek and to save what was lost.  Sin separates us from God so that we are no longer one spirit, one mind, one heart with Him.  And His overflowing love can no longer flow through us to those around us.  The urge to criticize, to look down on, to condemn and to separate seems to be natural part of our makeup -- but it is not the "image and likeness" of God for which we were destined.  

Many "solutions" have arisen from mankind:  mindfulness, meditation, Buddhism, The Power of Positive Thinking.....  But what is bred into our genetic makeup over centuries is not easily dislodged.  Paul says in Romans 7 that if he does anyway what he has determined not to do, there is a power within him stronger than he is:  Unhappy man that I am!  Who will save me from this body of death?

But thanks be to God!  It has already been done --- there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.  The law of the Spirit of life has set you free from the spirit of death!

God desires to be One with us in heart, mind, and spirit.  And so "there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus."  In the sacrament of the Eucharist, He becomes one with us without rejection.  Little by little, His Spirit in us causes us to throw away useless ideas and behaviors, gradually transforming us into His very likeness.  His death was our death to the things that separate us from the love of God and of one another.  Even our utmost rejection of His Spirit was overcome in the Resurrection.  We are made new creatures, created once again according to the Divine Image!

An Awesome Power

 Whenever you go into a house, first say, "Peace to this house." 
If a man of peace is there, your peace will rest on him; if not, it will return to you.

Jesus is called "The Prince of Peace."  The Jews do not recognize Him as Messiah because He has not brought universal peace, according to Isaiah 9:7.  However, at the Last Supper, He said to His disciples, "My peace I give to you; I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid."  That peace is recognizable; it belongs to those who belong to Him.  It is the Pearl of Great Price for which a person will give all that he has.

The Peace which Isaiah prophesied of the Messiah belongs to his followers -- and it is spread from one to another.  It is possible to pass on that peace to others -- an awesome power, as only God can give peace.  

Last night, we celebrated Holy Thursday-- the Last Supper and the institution of the Eucharist.  After the ceremony, a few people (about 30) gathered in a small room where the Blessed Sacrament -- the Presence of Jesus -- would be temporarily kept.  Our tradition is that the Eucharist is removed from the church on Holy Thursday, as Jesus departed from the Upper Room for the Garden of Olives.  We are invited to spend some time with Him in prayer that night.

The Peace that descended on all present last night was palpable.  It could be felt --- even "heard," in a way.  At first, I thought it was just my own peace that was so profound it felt what heaven must be like.  Gradually, however, I began to realize how absolutely still the room was.  Never have I encountered such a presence of silence; in a sense, it was "heavy" in that it permeated every person with profound stillness. No one coughed, reached for a handkerchief, looked around, or even read from a book.  There were books held on laps, but everyone seemed totally absorbed in profound silence and peace.  

This morning, I realized what Jesus meant when He said, "My peace I give to you."  It is possible for us to pass on that peace to others -- if they are people of peace themselves.  It is a palpable gift.  If we cannot pass on peace, then it returns to us.  It seems to me that this peace could disarm nations -- and then that universal peace promised by Isaiah would proclaim Jesus as Lord and Messiah!

Traveling with the Eyes of God

 As I was preparing for yet another wonderful trip, thanks to the gracious generosity of my dear sister, my husband brought me today's meditation from Bread for the Journey by Henri Nouwen, a book he reads each morning.  I was so moved by the selection that I wanted to share it with everyone I know:

Traveling -- seeing new sights, hearing new music, and meeting new people -- is exciting and exhilarating.  But when we have no home to return to where someone will ask us, "How was your trip?" we might be less eager to go. Traveling is joyful when we travel with the eyes and ears of those who love us, who want to see our slides and hear our stories.

This is what life is about.  It is being sent on a trip by a loving God, who is waiting at home for our return and is eager to watch the slides we took and hear about the friends we made.  When we travel with the eyes and ears of the God who sent us, we will see wonderful sights, hear wonderful sounds, meet wonderful people....and be happy to return home. 

After reading this, I could just imagine God saying, "Let's see your slides!"  How many of them am I willing to show Him? 

 

A Different Starting Place

 One of the things I loved about teaching was knowing I could help people achieve their goals.  I aimed to get them through the semester successfully so they could move to the next level.  And since I knew what the final challenge of the term entailed, and what obstacles the students needed to overcome, I was usually successful in preparing them for the final test.  

Every now and then, however, there would be a student who sabotaged my best efforts to help him/her.  I am not talking about those who lacked ability, or those who were lazy, or those who were not sure why they were there at all.  I am thinking of the student who seemed to want to succeed but who always found a way to fail, albeit with the best intentions.

One of my students, a sweet Asian girl, habitually arrived about 20 minutes late each morning for a 2-hour class.  By that time, we were all on task, sometimes with the students quietly composing or re-writing their first drafts.  She attempted to sneak in the back door and slide into her desk without a disturbance.  However, she kept her books in a crinkly plastic bag which inevitably rustled and crackled as she extricated her supplies.  Normally, I did not tolerate late arrivals, but after discussing the problem with her, I found that someone else brought her to school daily, and she had no control over their schedule.  Since it was a 2-hour class, I decided to allow her to continue, accepting "no solution" as a compromise.  However, I did bring her a canvas bag in which to tote her books.  The next day she arrived with her plastic bag inserted in the canvas bag.  Once again, no solution.

Needless to say, this girl was always one step behind but eager to catch up.  So she would inevitably show up in my office after class, when I was relaxing with a cup of tea and preparing for my next class.  I quickly learned that all my "help" was like water running down a drain.  Nothing seemed to stick.  No amount of time spent with her seemed to make any difference whatsoever.  She brought out the Inspector Clouseau in me.  I'm not sure my eye began to twitch when I saw her, but once I did spill tea all over myself when I turned and saw her at my office door.

Finally I confessed my frustration to a close friend, who gave me some of the best advice of my life. "Your problem," she said, "is that you think you should be able to help her. And there are some people who cannot be helped.  Once you accept that fact, you will no longer be frustrated."  My friend was 100% on target.  I began to relax and enjoy this student for who she was.  No longer did I desire her success more than she did.  I began to realize that she was getting different things out of attending college; success was not necessarily her goal in life.  And I was willing to allow her to take what she could and leave the rest --- whether it fit my norms and expectations or not.

Unfortunately, that girl eventually stopped attending college and went on with another phase of her life, presumably happy after all.  Also unfortunately, the lesson I thought I learned did not stick forever.  There are still people in my life I think I should be able to help, but cannot.  When someone spends more than an hour on the phone telling me about all the things that make her unhappy in life, somehow the "helper" in me kicks in, and I begin thinking of "solutions" to her problems.  I lay awake at night solving problems that are not my own.  I have not yet learned that some things are unfixable.  And then in my frustration, I begin to resent the fact that I cannot make my friend happy.

After the wonderful gift of the sacrament of confession, once again I have come to a different starting place.  No longer (at least for a time) do I think I "should" be able to help another person achieve her goals or to be happy and content.  I realize again that Jesus did not try to "fix" people, but He welcomed them into His warm embrace and invited them to enjoy His Life -- now and forever.  If they chose not to accept His invitation, He allowed them to walk away. Their sadness broke the heart of the Good Shepherd who gladly would have shouldered their cross, but He let them go.  And when they returned to their father's house, He gladly brought out the ring, the cloak, and the fatted calf, saying, "Let us rejoice, for what was lost is now found!"