Little Changes, Unexpected Consolations

 It’s been a hectic month. I went to the ER for wound care every 2-3 days for most of the month. My last (outside the home) wound care appointment was on Friday at an urgent care. The wound has healed enough to need only an antibiotic ointment applied to it once a day, something my mom can do for me at home. I only have a week respite because I have my second surgical procedure (at the same site, no less) next Friday. I don’t know what sort of wound care will be necessary after it but I hope it’ll be less crazy than the last month. 

I’ve also seen a mini health relapse, potentially as a result of all the stress my body has been under due to the infection I had last month and the dozens of wound care repacking I had this month. My body is simply worn down at this point. Just in the last week I had two painful wound care appointments as well as an important blood draw for my new endocrinologist to help her determine whether my adrenal insufficiency is indeed secondary or if I was misdiagnosed and it’s actually primary (Addison’s disease). Add stress from financial strain, a long-time neighbor spreading slanderous lies about my mother and I in an attempt to get our neighbors to “cancel” us, and a slew of other physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually difficult moments sprinkled throughout the month… it’s no wonder my body is feeling weak and exhausted. 

I was not expecting any consolations during this time. In fact, I was sort of expecting to have a St. Teresa of Calcutta-type situation on my hands. You know, where she had a “dark night of the soul” for the last decades of her life. I wasn’t receiving consolations from anything. Not prayer. Not (most) lectio divina. I think it’s because three very important things happened:

• Reading The Extraordinary Parents of St.
• Thérèse of Lisieux: Sts. Louis and Zélie Martin by Hélène Mongin as part of my lectio divina
• Changing my prayer life
• No longer fighting God on letting go of things that I’m overdue to detach from

I feel like the latter has been something that’s been in the works for the last year and a half — and a big reason why I was plunged into that terrible spiritual desert at the end of last year through the beginning of Lent this year. I’ll get to this last as it’s the final puzzle piece to the great consolation God gifted me.

I had recommended the book on St. Therese’s parents months (years?) ago to the Los Angeles Public Library. It had been so long that I don’t remember when. Either way, since I’d recommended it, I was given one of the first copies to borrow when they purchased copies. I went through it somewhat slowly — a chapter per day — because my brain fog and inability to concentrate on anything for more than few seconds at a time made it hard to do more. Thankfully, the chapters were short enough that I could read them between Terce and the time I had to leave to wound care. 

It was thanks to that book, and Sts. Louis & Zelle’s examples of suffering well, that I was able to endure the last appointments as well as I did. Even when I had a doctor make me feel like I was a burden to them — and that I was unwelcome — that I was able to (through tears) remind myself that I had received great care from other doctors and nurses and that not everyone was going to like me or treat me well… and that that was okay. I’ve always been very sensitive — there’s a reason why St. Therese’s life has resonated with me the way no other saint’s life has before — so the doctor’s words and actions (she was the one to physically hurt me the most during a repacking until a nurse stepped in) hurt but not the way they would’ve before. Instead I tried to remember to not complain, to offer up the pain, and to keep a cheerful disposition even though I was physically and emotionally hurting. It was when I changed my attitude and mind frame, the consolations started coming in. 

I think the changes in my prayer life also helped the graces begin to flow more easily. I made some major (for me) changes. I “downgraded” from the Monastic Diurnal to the Little Office of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I started watching the live streamed Mass (both live and prerecorded when I wasn’t home for the live Mass) from the Knock Shrine instead of watching it on EWTN. The weekday Masses tend to be a lot shorter at the Knock Shrine and I don’t get the music or Latin I like but it’s been a game changer. 

I made both changes because of my waning attention span. I can’t concentrate on longer prayers but I can do it more easily with shorter prayers. The same with the Mass. I unintentionally “check out” very easily and I end up not paying attention to either the readings or homily (or both on bad days) so the shorter Masses have been a blessing. That and I like the style of the Irish priests — they’re straight to the point in fewer words during their homilies. And, surprisingly, this style makes me think more and affect me (in a good way!) more than most of the homilies I’ve heard at OF Masses here in the States. For the record, I’m not knocking the styles of the priests here. I’m simply stating that in my current situation with my brain and everything else going on, this is what I need for my spiritual life… at this point in time. I still love my long Latin Masses with all the smells and bells but my brain is not cooperating with me for those so I will go where I can get quality Jesus time with my limitations.

And all of this goes into the big revelation from God that has brought even more consolation: the realization that I’ve way overdue to let go of things that keep me in a place of “perpetual adolescence” in many areas of my life. I hope to unpack this more on a separate blog post but, for now, I’ll say that God has made it abundantly clear that all the good things that have brought me comfort and joy — many of which aren’t actually bad things. As I said, I want to really get into this next time because this post is already long but I wanted to mention it because of the fruits. As soon as I stopped fighting the glaringly obvious and started embracing the “suffering” that came with letting go of things that have kept me either afloat or on fire (for the faith), I started seeing major positive changes in my life.

I’m starting to feel like the girl that started this blog almost 16 (!!!) years ago. As I used to write many years ago (but haven’t often felt in recent years), all the physical suffering is making me feel closer to God. I more easily accept these health crosses. I don’t go looking for them but I accept them… even if I’m sobbing as I tell God that I accept them if they’re part of His Will for me. I honestly don’t think I’ve been able to say that and truly mean it since the last time I was hospitalized in November. In fact, I remember asking God to remove the health crosses because I was so exhausted (physically, emotionally, mentally, & spiritually) that I didn’t them any longer. But things have changed and I feel like my old self again.

I’m also starting to feel like I’m in the final stages of the “great thaw” (as I’m calling it); finally moving forward after being stagnant for so many years. More on this next time.

Anyway, I’ll leave things here for now. I may just start writing the next post after publishing this one but I’ll publish it either tomorrow or later in the week. I have a big, important appointment tomorrow that could potentially help me move forward in my vocation discernment process so prayers it goes well would be appreciated. I’ll definitely try to post before my next surgical procedure next Friday so I don’t leave y’all hanging for too long.

I hope you’re all doing well and that you had a lovely weekend.

As always, thanks for reading and God bless! 😊

A Gift From My Father, 13 Years After His Deatn

 

There are a few mysteries from my childhood left. As I get older, my mother tells me more and more stories of what my baby years were like. 

I love hearing how my middle brother used to drive half an hour from where he lived (after work) just to rock me to sleep. As soon as I’d fallen asleep, he’d drive back home. He did this almost daily according to my mom. This same brother also walked around with his hands over my little 2-year-old ears to avoid getting hurt by the loud noises at Universal Studios Hollywood the first time they took me.

While I’ve heard stories like those most of my life, there was one mystery I always wondered about: where did I get my love of classical music from?

I remember growing up with everything from Motown and oldies (my mom’s preferences) to Perez Prado and Billy Vaughn (dad’s choices). I think I got my love of jazz from watching Mister Roger’s Neighborhood growing up. Everything else, I can trace to either listening to it on the radio or having it introduced to me by a family member or at school. But there was one genre that has stood the test of time: classical music.

Even before I was introduced to it at school and before hearing the PBS Masterpiece Theater theme song, I loved classical music. In fact, I remember that the first cassette (yes, I’m that old, lol) I ever purchased with my own money was one of Beethoven’s greatest compositions. I was in elementary school and I remember going to Target with my dad to get it. I think the first CDs I ever got were also a compilation of the 100 greatest classical music pieces. But, still, I couldn’t figure out where my love of the genre came from… until my mom gave me the answer on Monday night.

i forgot what exactly we were talking about that led to the topic but I remember sitting on my daybed and being completely surprised by what my mother had said.

“Oh, yeah, your dad used to turn on the little radio in your room — much like the one you have now — and putting on classical music to help lull you to sleep when you were a baby. He didn’t turn it off until you were fast asleep.”

In my *age redacted* years of life, I had never heard about how my father used to do that. I knew he took the graveyard shift so that my mom could work during the day and stay with me at night. I knew he took care of me during the day after I was physically hurt by a babysitter when I was a baby. I knew he was the one who basically raised me while my mom worked. I remember other things but I had never known about the classical music thing.

Having it be between the anniversary of his passing (July 11th) and the anniversary of his funeral (July 22nd), it felt like I’d received a gift from him. It took 13 years after his passing but I got it. I’m actually tearing up just thinking about the timing of it.

I always say that music is my love language because it’s been the one constant thing in my life. It’s where I get comfort during trials. It’s how I can express myself when words fail. I have very strong memories attached to certain songs and music triggers more vivid, detailed memories than any other sense. By far. You’re looking for a song, an artist, etc recommendation? This music nerd has you covered. As you can probably surmise, finding out where my love of classical music — which is, along with jazz, my favorite genre — came from is a big deal to me. And knowing that it was my father — the parent I always felt closest to — is just the cherry on top.

Ever since I got my little portable radio, it’s been tuned into Classical KUSC. I don’t listen to any other station on it. It’s been my favorite radio local radio station for as long as I can remember… and I think it’s the same station my father tuned into to help me fall asleep. It’s actually on right now as I type this; I like to start my mornings with it on as I have breakfast and start my day.

Anyway, this is not really faith or Catholicism related but I’m writing for friends at this point and I wanted to share this with y’all.

I took a little break between reading today’s portion of the Holy Rule of St. Benedict and praying Terce to write this. I have a couple of minutes before I have to pray Terce so I’ll just be this entry here.

Please pray for my continued healing; the doctor told me I have a couple more weeks (!!!) of wound care to do. At the ER. Every 2-3 days. With my immune system in a not-so-great state. Lord have mercy on me and protect me from getting sick from another thing while I’m there.

I hope y’all are doing well! 

As always, thanks for reading and God bless! 

My Childhood Best Friend Has Died

 Yesterday was a hard day for me. It was the anniversary of my father’s passing… and the day I found out my childhood best friend had died from cancer.

I’ve only mentioned him once in this blog (https://catholicnerdwriter.blogspot.com/2021/11/what-one-of-my-most-significant.html?m=0) but he played a big role in helping me realize things about myself, like how I was just a natural writer from a young age. 

I wish I could say I was there for him during his battle with cancer but I didn’t find out until it was too late. I wish I could say that I prayed for him when he most needed it. I wish I could’ve talked to him once more before he passed. And I wish I could’ve had the chance to tell him that he partially inspired the character of Noah. 

Novel four spoiler: I have a character named Noah. The friendship between Noah and the main character is very similar to the one that Rudy (that was his name) and I had. Not entirely similar but I definitely took my experience in having a male best friend growing up to build this specific friendship in (still untitled) novel four. There are also some personality traits of Rudy’s that I gave Noah. Again, not entire as Noah is a mix of Rudy and two other good guy friends as well as my own imagination. But, yeah. I was actually hoping to reconnect with him by sending him a copy of the finished novel and telling him about how he helped inspire part of Noah. 

I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that he’s no longer here. It’s weird. He’s the first friend from childhood that has passed. At least, the only one I’ve known about. I think it’ll eventually hit me as his birthday comes around next month and I’m reminded. Birthdays always hit me the hardest when someone is gone. He was so young — in his 30s — but cancer knows no age.

It may seem weird to people that I’ve started mourning his death because we hadn’t been in contact for years. It seems weird to me, too, but at the same time it doesn’t because of the friendship we had. From ages 5-19 (20 for him; he was a year older) he was my constant friend. Other friends came and went but he was always there. I always got along better with guys than girls (I was a tomboy growing up) and our friendship was always so well balanced. I’ve already written about that so I won’t repeat myself. Until we got into our teens and feelings started making things a little harder, the friendship was so pure and simple. We never fought. We brought out the best in each other. That’s why his death hit me the way it did; the memories of a beautiful friendship. 

Do I regret not keeping in touch? Yes and no. I would’ve loved to have been there for him but I think our friendship would’ve naturally gone in opposite directions as we grew older and our priorities changed. I reverted to Catholicism and did an almost 180. He also changed quite a bit, especially after he met the woman who became his fiancé in the last years of his life. Our lifestyles would’ve been at odds. We would’ve had to work hard to maintain the friendship with how much we both changed. And friendships with the opposite sex also naturally change as we get older and we enter our vocations. We would’ve had to eventually have distance once significant others entered the picture.

I had a couple of intrusive thoughts after the news had sunk in last night. Would I have been good for him if I’d stuck around in his life? If I had agreed to marry him (as his mother had fought so hard to make a reality) or if I had just kept in touch, could I have made a difference in his life? Could I have helped him not go the extremes he did during the last years of his life? But I knew immediately that, no. It wouldn’t have changed anything. I wouldn’t have changed anything… except pray for him sooner. God knew where we both had to end up. I honestly think I would’ve ended up where I am now — ready to make my vows as a bride of Christ — no matter what. And I know that my faith would’ve also cause some friction as we wouldn’t have agreed on many things as young adults.

I actually had a dream that he had come to visit me the night before I found out the news. In the dream — in which my dad also made a brief appearance — he had come over to my apartment to see if we could make a relationship work between us. In my typical Emmy (that he knew) fashion, I laughed and said that, while I loved him (but not like that; platonically), I was actually going to become a consecrated virgin. That’s how I said it — not that I was discerning but that it was pretty much a done deal. I remember he was surprised but understanding and even supportive. Even in the dream it seemed weird that he was okay with it because his Evangelical Christian faith doesn’t have anything close to this vocation.

The dream was actually what made me look for him, to seeing how he was doing. He hadn’t been active on his social media in a long time (now I know why) but then I saw his fiancé write about his passing and… ufff. Punch to the gut.

I started adding him to my list of recently departed that I add to the last decade of my daily Rosary. I try to remember the names for 9 days, a sort of novena for their souls. I hope that, wherever he is, he died in peace. I know we can offer up things for people who have passed so maybe I’ll do that as well, especially when I go back to the hospital for more wound care and when I have my next surgical procedure (scheduled for this upcoming Friday). As I said, he wasn’t Catholic and I have no idea where his soul is but I can still hope and pray he, in God’s mercy, is somewhere he can eventually spend eternity with God. Who knows, maybe he converted at some point and I just don’t know. 

Anyway, just wanted to get these thoughts out of my head. 

Rudy,

Thank you for being there for me while we grew up. Thank you for being such a great friend during some of craziest years of our lives. Thank you for teaching me how to skateboard, even if I almost killed myself in the process. Thank you for all those hours of conversations by the pool while we did homework together or while you drew and I wrote. I’ll never forget how your way of letting me know that you were outside was by getting out your drumsticks and annoying the neighbors until I came outside. Thank you for letting me be my weird, silly self without making me feel like there was something seriously wrong with me. 

Thank you for all those notebooks and pens you gave me every year for my birthday. Thank you for helping me realize how much I loved writing. You unintentionally got my writing career started. 

Thank you for the painting of Christ knocking on a closed door for my 18th birthday. It was one of the last gifts you gave me… and it set the tone to how my adulthood would unfold. Who would’ve thought I would’ve gotten to where I am now?

I hope you’re resting in peace, forever gazing at He who loves/loved us so much He sent His son — my (God willing) future Spouse — for our salvation.

I’ll have a Capri-Sun and some cookies in your honor soon. Oh, and I’ll bug the neighbors with some strumming, too. I don’t know if I still have drumsticks but I’ll find substitutes if needed. Ha! 

My Earthly and Spiritual Fathers

My earthly father and my spiritual father have been intertwined for much longer than I realized.

My earthly father was born the day after my spiritual father's feast day (the day he went to his eternal reward).

My earthly father also died on the solemnity (second feast of the year) of my spiritual father, St. Benedict.

l used to take road trips with my earthly father during the last years of his life, getting to know him better. I took my first solo flight and first road trip without family to officially become a part of my spiritual father's family.

Both fathers have taught me valuable life lessons that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

Both fathers fought for me during spiritually arduous times, my father during my teens and St. Benedict in recent months.

Both have shown me my worth, as a daughter of God and their biological and spiritual daughter.

I miss my dad so much, even 13 years after his passing. He was always the parent I felt closest to; the one who sacrificed so much for me. I have such beautiful memories of him that I will treasure forever.

St. Benedict continues to lead me closer to Christ through his Holy Rule. He has given me a spiritual family I feel so undeserving of but so blessed to be a part of.

Happy solemnity to my spiritual father, St. Benedict.

Prayers for the soul of my father who died 13 years ago today.

Paring My Prayer Life Down to the Basics

 I had every intention to write a reflection on the third anniversary of my Benedictine oblate novitiate anniversary (June 30th) but, alas, wound care and all of that took precedence. 

How am I doing with that? According to every doctor who has seen me — and I’ve seen 4 different doctors in the 5 trips — I’m healing really well & there’s no longer sign of the infection. However, since the wound was deep, I’m still going back for wound check and repacking. That’s never fun as the repacking hurts (no anesthesia for it) but it’s necessary. I still have to go back to the ER for wound care but they “fast track” me as it’s a quick check and redressing/repacking. I’ve been in and out of the ER in less than an hour the last 2 times I’ve been there. I have another trip to make tomorrow and I’m praying it’ll be the last one I have to go to the ER for. 

I now know the reason for the infection — my theory that it was due to the trapped oil and sweat in the cyst on my torso during the nearly 2 weeks we didn’t have AC was confirmed at my July 2nd wound care check. As was explained, the heat + humidity + the lack of blood flow in that particular area was a recipe for infection, which is what happened. Thankfully, it doesn’t look like it was MRSA (the wound culture didn’t find that specific bacteria) which would’ve complicated things. God is good!

But this post isn’t about that. Not the infection. It’s definitely another answer to something else I’ve been struggling with.

See, I’ve recently decided to make more changes that I feel are necessary for my spiritual and mental health. I already mentioned lighting a candle for quiet time, which I’ve been done. I was surprised (but not) at how quickly the Candlemas candle quieted my restless mind and heart a few days ago when my mom lit it for me. Long story short, there were a number of things that happened one after the other that not only stressed me out mentally but also emotionally and spiritually. That day, I felt like I needed the extra help so on went to the candle. It took a little while but I eventually felt calmer and that calmness has remained since. Candlemas candles should be part of everyone’s spiritual arsenal. Buy them ahead of time and get them blessed on February 2nd! 

The lighting of the candle seemed to also enlighten my mind on the struggles I was going through with my prayer life. Well, that and letting my spiritual director know what I was going through. I realized that I had too much going on and that that was causing the interior noise. But what struck me was how all these things were good things… I was simply doing too much of a good thing and it was causing more harm than good. It’s like when you eat too much of a delicious food and then you end up with a stomachache. The food itself wasn’t bad; it was overindulging in it. And that’s what was happening with me.

I haven’t been able to work since Candlemas this year. (Side note: okay, wow! I didn’t even realize that was the last time I submitted an article until I started writing that out; I didn’t realize the connection until now.) There are a number of reasons for this, health being the biggest reason. Because I wasn’t working (no labora for this Benedictine oblate), I added more prayer into my day. A lot more. I figured I had a lot more time and more prayer couldn’t hurt. But it ended up not being the best decision because of my tendency to overestimate myself.

I was doing all the Divine Office hours, the Rosary daily, the Angelus three times a day, the Litany of Humility, the Annunciation novena (which is 9 months long), a prayer for the Rosary confraternity (which I’m a part of), more prayers, random novenas, etc. I thought that because they were shorter than the Hours, I was fine. But I think it was still too much. That’s why St. Benedict wisely said we should do everything in moderation, prayer included. But, as is my M.O., I went to the “go big or go home” extreme that I’m still working hard to let go. As I’ve often written, moderation is quite possibly the hardest thing for me to do which is why becoming a Benedictine oblate is the best decision I ever made; it’s exactly what I need in my life.

I made the hard decision to give up praying the Monastic Diurnal and replacing it with The Little Office of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I love praying different psalms every day of the week — the prayers stay pretty much the same for the hours in the Little Office every day — but it was getting to be too much for my brain to process. After a while, my mind wanders and I can’t concentrate on the prayers any longer. So, instead of beating myself up over it, I opted to go with the shorter prayers in the Little Office. That way I can concentrate on the little that I do pray and focus on my time in prayer with God. My logic behind this is that short prayers said more devoutly and with more concentration are better than longer ones that was read/prayed on autopilot. 

I also chose which prayers I could let go for a while. I’m on month 3-4 of the Annunciation novena and that’s one of the shorter prayers/novenas so I kept that in. I break down the Rosary into decades said throughout the day instead of doing them all in one go. The confraternity prayers are kept in. Obviously, the Little Office is being prayed. I also use the daily Mass as my break after lunch and before I do something else (not prayer related). It still feels like a lot but — until I can talk to my SD about whether this needs to be pared down further — I’ll keep it as is. 

I’ll admit that I felt like a bit like a failure when I had to “downgrade” from the Diurnal to the Little Office. After all, I’ve been using the Diurnal for years. I hadn’t used the Little Office (at all) in about 2 years. Should I be used to the Diurnal at this point? Shouldn’t I struggle with concentration instead of giving into something easier? Thankfully, those negative thoughts were quickly replaced by more positive ones. I reminded myself that St. Benedict said he prefers shorter prayers to longer ones as long as they are said with the heart. He also said we should do what we can to the best of our abilities. Right now, shorter prayers are the best I can do with the state of my physical and mental health (and I do consider the brain fog/lack of concentration as part of a mental health issue though I may be wrong in doing so). God knows what I’m capable of and what I’m currently going through. I like to think He appreciates my efforts and won’t look down on having given up longer prayers for shorter ones. It was an admitted metaphorical shin kick to my pride but perhaps that’s what I needed.

I’m only on day 2-3 of starting this new prayer routine but I’ve already started seeing that my mind isn’t so flustered. My mind did wander a bit during this morning’s Prime and Terce hours but I’ve been exhausted today so that may be the reason for the lack of concentration. But I was better able to stop my wandering mind and redirect it back to the Hours which was so much harder to do when I prayed the Diurnal. Once my spiritual director gives me the okay to return to the Diurnal, I will. For now, I think this is what’s best for me. Back to the basics and back to keeping things simple.

It’s still very early on with the changes so I can’t say it’ll be exactly what will get me back on track but I’m hopeful. I know I’ll have to add a little more sleep to my schedule to help the concentration since I haven’t been able to nap for several days despite the fatigue due to my current schedule and trips to the ER. I hope that once these trips and my scheduled surgical procedure next Friday (July 15th) are done with, I’ll be able to rest a little more… until my next round of appointments.

Anyway, LAPL just let me know they got a copy of “The Extraordinary Parents of St. Thérèse of Lisieux: Sts. Louis and Zélie Martin” by Helene Mongin (which I recommended for purchase several months ago) on eBook so I’m going to go start that on my Kindle before I watch the daily Mass. I’ll attempt take a nap after the Mass. the kids are in the pool (and I live by the pool area) but maybe my noise-cancelling headphones will help.

I hope you’re all having a lovely start of the week.

As always, thanks for reading and God bless! ☺️