Over the course of this Lenten Season, Jesus has been teaching me, little by little, that it is actually possible to be fearless. Not just to be courageous, acting in spite of fear (though this is a great virtue, certainly) but to actually be WITHOUT fear.

I’m sure that must sound crazy. It does a little bit to me still, too when I’m being honest. But since when has the workings of the Holy Spirit in our hearts ever really fit into that neat little box where the constraints of our human understanding reside?

You see, what He has been revealing to me (and continues to), in little and big ways, throughout this desert walk, is the possibility that when one is so intently focused on Him and filled entirely with trust, there is, actually, no room for fear in the mind or heart. When Jesus takes up the full lens, the vision changes entirely. When the trust is boundless, so is the propensity to endure.

I was thinking tonight on my way to ‘keep watch for an hour with my Lord’ in adoration about the role that fear plays in the story of Christ’s passion. In many ways, it is the catalyst to the entire event. The fear of the Pharisees plotting the take down of the man whose mission they so tragically misunderstand. The fear of the apostles coursing as adrenaline through their veins, causing them to flee the side of the truest friend they’ve ever had in His moment of deepest need. The fear which leaps from Peter’s lips in the lie “I do not know this man.” The fear which pits Pilot against his gut as he renders the allowance of Jesus’ crucifixion. The downright terror of Judas after he realizes what he’s done and who He’s turned against.

As we see in these instances in Christ’s passion, and perhaps as we know from our own lives, fear dictates. It monopolizes. And it is neither a kind master nor merciful master. Fear barricades opportunities. It tramples prudence. It snuffs out love.

These realizations dawned on me anew recently as I began experiencing anxiety surrounding none other than my parenting abilities. (because toddlerhood isn’t hard enough, right?) I found myself in a place of constant worry- wondering if I was doing things ‘right’ and ‘enough’ and on and on. At the climax of my wrestle with this fear, my husband gently pushed me out the door to a women’s evening of adoration and reflection, during which a very wise priest shared the general origin of many of the fears we experience as human beings. To paraphrase his beautiful message- ‘we are people built to converse…and we will inevitably do so. And when we don’t converse with the trusted ‘others’ in our Church community and when we don’t converse with Christ, we will talk to ourselves. And it is this inner monologue that produces so much of the worry and anxiety we find ourselves facing about our circumstances.’

The light bulb when on right then and there as I was hit head-on by the truth. There I was, making myself believe that the pressure of parenthood and all the responsibilities it entails were laying squarely on my shoulders. I was relying (or trying to rely) fully on myself to get the job of raising an amazing human done. I was turning inward. And the pressure was paralyzing. The panic had never been more real. Because sisters, the truth, is that isolation breeds doubt. The truth is that whatever we have been given to carry or to do has been given to us in Christ, and it is ONLY in Him and THROUGH Him that we can step forward.

I can’t tell you the relief that flooded the depths of my being that evening as I relinquished the outcomes to Jesus or the peace that came as He whispered to my tired little heart “Just do your best and I’ll do the rest.”

Though since that moment, there have been many more where I have allowed fear to shackle me still, I am so deeply encouraged by those in Christ’s Passion story who lived this trust so fully- Our Mother, Mary, St. John and St. Mary Magdelene stand out to me in particular. It didn’t matter that they were surrounded by an angry mob, that they stood in contrast to the crowd around them, they merely kept their eyes on Christ, and, as such, found no reason to fear intimate proximity to Him, even as He endured horrific suffering. They are proof to me, if nothing else, that while following Christ will not spare heartache, it can be done fearlessly…that it is possible to so deeply desire to just be with Jesus that literally nothing will matter as much as doing so.

In reflecting on all of this—I have thought, too of two stories in contrast to each other—that of Peter when he walks on the water and that of the hemorrhaging woman who stretched out her arm to touch the cloak of Christ in order to be healed. One was told the impossible could be done for Him, the other TRUSTED it would be. If I close my eyes, I can see their walkings as if side by side—Peter atop a stormy sea, the bleeding woman pushing through throngs of people—Peter takes his gaze from Christ’s and turns inward, realizing he alone is not capable of doing what he’s actually doing, he sinks; the woman so determined for Jesus to heal her, so trusting of the fact that He can do what she cannot that ALL she sees is His garment as she reaches forth to touch Him.

The choice is ours, a freely given choice.

And so, as you walk alongside Christ this Good Friday, I encourage you to see Him and ONLY Him. Let the Holy Spirit fill you with the trust that will set you free. Set aside your current crosses and take up His instead.

Matthew 11:30 “For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

 

Love+Blessings,

Faith

It’s no secret that I’m a crier when it comes to good storytelling. While growing up, my brother used to deliver three or four tissues to my seat before each family movie night began, just to make sure there would be no tissue running interruptions. While I have no control over the tear ducts when I’m crying for others (happy tears or sad tears) it’s a different story where my own life’s emotions are concerned. I like to keep my cool in public.

I’ll never forget the last time I cried in public, however. It was a warm spring evening as I walked into the small Adoration Chapel near my home. I nodded and smiled as I passed a woman praying in the last pew, finding my own way toward the front of the room.

And then it happened – the waterworks. As I began to pray, a few stray tears turned into in violent sobs, uncontrolled and completely unannounced. At first, I thought I could hide them with a few quick sniffs and a determination to refocus my heart. But doing so was beyond my control and I reached a point where I thought, “the poor lady behind me is probably so annoyed right now.” I jumped up from my seat to grab the entire box of tissues nearby.

The past few months had been the hardest in my entire life. I was tired: tired of grief, tired of emotions, and tired of sadness. I felt like a ship on stormy seas that groaned under the blast of another storm, wondering how many more I could take before the ship collapsed?

But this storm didn’t break the ship; it simply broke the sea.

And slowly, as time progressed, the surges of tears began to lessen in length and intensity. I kept my eyes on the tiny white host, trying to give Him every tear, as I had given Him my heart.

A hand suddenly touched me on the shoulder. I turned around to find the other lady in the chapel and prepared for an apology. Before I could utter a word, she slipped a small piece of paper into my hand and said, “God bless you.” And just like that – she was gone.

I read the note in which the woman said that said her Holy Hour was offered for my intentions. She said she didn’t know what I was going through, but directed me to the Mother of Sorrows and Divine Mercy. She pointed me to the Mother of Sorrows – the woman who’s very heart was pierced with sword and the premonition of which cast a shadow on every day of her glorious Motherhood. She showed me what it looks like to keep her station at the foot of the Cross, just like Mary. She showed me that there is purpose and healing in the simple station of standing.

That is something none of us like to do, is it? We don’t like to stand and be still; we want to keep moving! When met with grief, oftentimes our first instinct is to run away or try to do what we can to “get through it” and past it. We think there is weakness in being broken.

In most cases, it is the state of being broken that can take shape into something even more beautiful than before. Like metal being forged, Our Lord works in our soul in time of grief. To be mended, we must be still. In that moment – however long or short it may be – we are being called to keep our station at the foot of the cross.

A note from a stranger that day spoke of wisdom and experience in the world of grief and healing. I felt instantly consoled and relieved at the presence of this kind soul who took the time to offer me consolation in a place where she too had been. She was strong and joyful and whole. She gave me hope that I too, could someday be strong and joyful and whole.

---

One year later, I kelt in the very same chapel when a familiar sound caught my attention. It was the unmistakable sound of the waterworks in full swing from the woman sitting behind me. I could hear the ebb and flow of the tears, coming and going in waves of emotion. My heart was pounding for her. I searched my purse for a pen… for I knew what I had to do.

I found the Holy Hour card and wrote: “Dear Sister in Christ, This hour is for you. I feel the power of your tears and am praying for you. Be it grief, desolation, frustration, or pain – I know what you are feeling all too well. You gaze upon Jesus and He gazes right back at you with more love and mercy than we can ever imagine. He is your courage. He cries with you and he lifts you up. Don’t ever forget that you are enough for Him and He is enough for you. God bless you! – Mary”

The woman looked puzzled as I handed her the note when she was leaving the chapel. She returned a few minutes later and walked up to me in the pew, fresh tears streaming down her face. But from the tears came a giant smile, “That was exactly what I needed to hear,” she said. We exchanged a hug and I smiled back, “Your going to be okay. You’re not alone.” We promised to pray for each other. And just like that, she was gone.

Sisters – if you are enduring a cross right now, this message is also for you! Take courage in standing by your cross. There is great healing to be found by standing there. And what’s even better is that you are not alone! You are joined by Mary – and others who know the healing that comes from being still with grief. You won’t be there forever, either. You will soon be strong and joyful and whole again.

Yours, Mary

“At the cross her station keeping, stood the mournful Mother weeping. Close to Jesus to the last.” – Stabat Mater

Today I must share with you the story of a little lie that grew and grew until it became a giant force in the life of my blog posts here on HerSoulProclaims. That lie looks something like perfectionism…

I cannot even being to tell you how many blog posts have been started – how many inspirations, stories, and discoveries I’ve wanted to share with you dear sisters, over this entire season of Lent.

Those stories are currently sitting in a document on my desktop. They may be unfinished and rough in their composition, but the sentiment is not. In fact, these stories combined made this Lent one of the best ever! With St. Joseph’s gift of surrender, a actual walk in the desert to relate to, and a foretaste of fearlessness to ponder – this Lent has been FULL and beautiful.

While time is often lacking in sharing these stories, the fact that I have given in to the the little lie of perfectionism is the biggest influence to my silence on this blog. The lie tells me that I have to formulate my ideas and thoughts perfectly before I can actually post about them; that I have to not just be inspired by something, but understand and emulate it before daring to share about it.

But that’s not what we’re all about here, is it? The whole purpose of this space in the blogosphere is to share in the journey of living out Her Soul, right? Our goal is to proclaim His presence, even when we’ve yet to understand it’s full meaning to our lives and salvation.

I don’t know about you, but blogging isn’t the only area of my life that perfectionism tries to control… So today, in an effort to live in the present moment of imperfection, I am exposing the lie and sharing with you a few things that shine out beyond the lie, in all their imperfections:

• LENTEN JOY: Yes, you read that right. The theme of Joy in this season of Lent has been rather radical in it’s arrival, but beautifully consistent. If what St. Pope John Paul II said is true, that “We are an Easter people and Alleluia is our song” than our walk in the Passion of Christ is different than that of the Apostles. Because we walk with Christ and His cross while having foretaste of the Resurrection. We get to see the suffering, accept our own crosses, and know without a doubt that it they are the “pain before the gain.” This is a privilege that only Mary shared in during the passion of Her Son. We have been given a great gift to see the joy with the cross. And I don’t know about you, but I think Our Lord, in giving us this vantage place, invites us to live like it… with joy, even in the midst of suffering.
• AN HOUR OF ADORATION EVERY DAY – has been my lifeline these past six weeks. It seemed almost impossible to do at first.. where am I going to come up with all this extra time? I can’t even find time to blog these days! But the time was there (I found it, usually wasted) and it became the best part of my day. Spending an hour of Adoration with Jesus is having the chance to share a heart-to-heart with the One who Loves me the Most. There, I can share my worries, fears, thankfulness, frustration, etc. There, I get to gaze at Him and guess what? He gazes right back at me!! Very few of these hours actually result in the “ah ha!” moments of the spiritual life. But the grounding time of being in His presence is the best part of my day.
• CAMINO PREP: While adventures await in all their excitement and glory – life happens. For me, this looks like an injured knee, passport dilemmas, and the inability to train as much as I would like to at the moment. But the Camino waits… and my companions have been more than supportive in their encouragement. One declared our journey to be a “no woman left behind” adventure. We’re in this together – all for one and one for all! In a recent Camino prep discussion, someone suggested that we all share our greatest “Camino fear” in order to get it out there and expose it for what it is. Although I had a bushel of fears to share, I exposed my #1: That I will get injured and have to taxi my way on The Way. And then it hit me: so what? I know better than to fear my greatest fear at this point in life! So WHAT if my greatest fear becomes a reality! The same God and grace that have seen me through the greatest fears of my life will also see me through the greatest fears of the Camino. This is what it means to be a Christian – to be fearless, even when the worst case scenario confronts us head-on. So while I’m still not counting on it, if I do injure myself on the Camino… if I do get bedbugs in an albergue, if I do lose my passport and all my money to a sneaky thief – SO WHAT!

This is life in the “now” – with all of it’s imperfections. For those readers who stuck with me as I discovered the lie and return to this space – thank you. Prayers for a blessed Holy Week and Triduum ahead!