I launched this blog on Jan. 24 because it was the Feast of St. Francis de Sales, patron saint of journalists and writers. This is a special day for me, not only because of my blog-iversary but because it’s my professional feast day, having worked in the Catholic press in one form or another for just about 33 years. (How did I get this old?!?)

In my very first blog post, I shared one of my favorite prayers, written by St. Francis de Sales. This one used to hang on the mirror in my bathroom as a daily reminder, and it has made it into at least one of my books, maybe more. I’ve lost track. Here it is again:

Do not look forward in fear to the changes of life;

rather, look to them with full hope that as they arise,

God, whose very own you are,

will lead you safely through all things;

and when you cannot stand it,

God will carry you in His arms.

Do not fear what may happen tomorrow;

the same everlasting Father who cares for you today

will take care of you then and every day.

He will either shield you from suffering,

or will give you unfailing strength to bear it.

Be at peace,

and put aside all anxious thoughts and imagination.

                                                                        — St. Francis de Sales

 

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Truth and trust. I’m guessing that for most of us these two words stir up powerful emotions, whether close to the surface of our souls or buried deep within. Perhaps we still feel the sting of a trust that was betrayed, a truth that was twisted, leaving us devastated and permanently scarred. Or perhaps, just as painful but in a completely different way, we were on the other side of the equation, bringing damage and destruction to a relationship or even our own inner peace because of a sin or a weakness that caused us to choose omission over honesty, betrayal over loyalty, lies over truth.

“No one can serve two masters. He will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other.” Jesus says this knowing full well how often we will choose badly in matters big and small, opting to protect our own egos and ideas, offenses and indiscretions out of comfort or convenience or fear, even at the expense of someone else’s peace and happiness.

How do we restore trust and repair the wounds we bear on our own hearts or have left imprinted on the heart of another? Can we choose to live in the light despite the darkness of past sins, the ghosts that force us to live in shadows? Jesus says we can, but only when we turn our lives and hearts over to him and follow the way of truth, the way of the only Master that should matter.

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I come from a big Irish-Italian family, one where the food was always delicious and plentiful. On any given night, an entire extra family could show up for dinner at our house unannounced, and no one would go hungry. There would be chicken cutlets or pasta in abundance, and probably a batch of freshly made chocolate chip cookies. My mother wanted everyone to feel welcomed and loved. It didn’t matter whether you had an invitation, whether you were a close relative or the high school boyfriend of the resident teenager, whether you wanted a cup of tea or a three-course meal, she would smile and put out another place setting. Or five.

When they had had their fill, he said to his disciples, “Gather the fragments left over, so that nothing will be wasted.” So they collected them, and filled twelve wicker baskets with fragments from the five barley loaves that had been more than they could eat.

Jesus manages to give the crowd a feast from almost nothing and still have leftovers. My mother would have been impressed. Another place setting. Or five. Or five thousand. No one goes hungry; no one is turned away.

In this precursor to the Eucharist, Jesus reminds us in the most practical way that he will always make room for us at his table, even when we show up unannounced, even if we arrive empty-handed. He gives us food for the journey, food that never runs out, food that fills us to overflowing.

If you don’t already have a subscription to Give Us This Day, click HERE for more information on this wonderful collection of daily Scripture readings, Morning and Evening prayer, spiritual reflections, and more.

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Listen in at the link below for a conversation — and some tips — about prayer based on my book Everyday Divine, from my April 8 appearance on the Morning Air Show on Relevant Radio. I’m the first one up, so you don’t need to fast forward to find me. Just hit play.

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In light of all this, I was oh-so-happy, when 9-year-old Chiara came out of confession last week and announced, “That made me feel really happy!” Exactly. That’s what confession should do. She even said the priest gave her “good advice.” You can’t ask for more. I went to confession right after her, and I had the exact same feeling when I re-entered the chapel.

Unfortunately, not everyone at the service that day — almost no one, to be honest — got the memo on the meaning and significance of this sacrament. Or how to behave in a church. This particular reconciliation service was designed specifically for the fourth-grade faith formation class. At our parish, parents are able to choose whether a child receives the Sacrament of Reconciliation in second grade or fourth grade. We opted for the former, so this was not a first-time sacrament for Chiara, but for many of the children attending that day, it was. And so it should have been a big deal, an important step in their spiritual life, but it was more like a circus than a sacred event.

Families were invited to attend with their children and were encouraged to go to confession as well. After a brief Scripture reading and reflection, our pastor reminded everyone that we were in a chapel and the time waiting for confession should be spent in silent and thoughtful prayer in preparation for the sacrament. Then he left and went to our larger church to hear confession while two other priests waited in reconciliation rooms just off the chapel. Children lined up against the wall, parents sat back in their chairs, and that’s when the mayhem began.

It felt more like I was sitting in the bleachers at the Little League field than in front of the tabernacle in church. The folks behind me were talking — loudly — about grocery shopping and vacation. A good number of the kids were twirling around, laughing and jumping, doing push-ups against the chapel wall, and only one teacher attempted the Herculean task of trying to quiet the kids while their parents sat a few feet away oblivious and talking a mile a minute. There was a moment when I actually considered taking my three kids off their various confession lines and and returning another day. It was that bad. I was racking up sins even as I sat waiting for my confession. Let’s just say some of my thoughts were less than charitable.

How did we as a Church and a society get to this place — where there is no sense of the sacred, even when we’re sitting in a chapel waiting to receive a sacrament? It was depressing and deflating. I’m used to the cavalier attitude of the teenagers in my ninth-grade faith formation class, but seeing it from my fellow parents just drove home the fact that we have a lot of difficult work ahead of us if we want to reach adult Catholics who no longer understand the basics of the faith they apparently want to pass onto their children.

Only three parents, myself included, stayed to go to confession after the children were finished. Everyone else had coats on and keys ready as the boys and girls exited the reconciliation rooms. We teach our children by example, so for most of those children, the clear message was that confession doesn’t matter. Somewhere along the way, I’m assuming their parents got the same message.

We so desperately need to re-catechize the parents of children in our faith formation programs, and this was the perfect opportunity, a teachable moment tossed to the curb. Here we had a captive audience of adult Catholics, many of whom may not be practicing but could possibly be hungry for spiritual nourishment. Had the time waiting for confession been coordinated in a way that reinforced the need for silence and prayer, or had there at least been a warden in the chapel to give chatty parents the stink eye, perhaps we could have conveyed the sacredness of the moment, or even better, we could have made the moment something that would offer these obviously frazzled parents a slice of sanity amid the chaos of their lives. Prayer and confession can offer that, but only if we stop talking long enough to hear the sounds of silence, only when we realize that if we just take a moment to focus on something bigger than the grocery list or the summer lake house, we just might find the perspective we need.

If you haven’t gone to confession this Lent, find a parish near you that has convenient hours this week and give it a whirl. Even if you’re a bundle of nerves going in, you, too, just might come out smiling and realizing you feel real happiness for a change. Not the happiness that comes from scoring a great sale at the mall or watching your kid hit a home run, but the joy that comes from realizing none of that really matters because happiness isn’t a moment or an accomplishment but a state of mind, or, in this case, a state of grace.

For those in the Diocese of Rochester, a Day of Penance and Mercy will be held Tuesday, March 24. Every parish in the diocese will be “open for forgiveness” from 12:30 p.m. to 7:30 p.m.

For those downstate, the Archdiocese of New York, the Diocese of Brooklyn, and the Diocese of Rockville Centre, will jointly hold “Reconciliation Monday,” encouraging Catholics to come back to confession. Next Monday, March 30, every parish in the New York City area will be open for confessions from 3 p.m. to 9 p.m.

If your diocese or parish is making a concerted effort to bring people back to the Sacrament of Reconciliation this season, be sure to leave information in the comment section.

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Mindfulness sometimes gets a bad rap in Catholic circles. Not in my Catholic circles but in others swirling around out there, sometimes loudly. Some Catholics want to say mindfulness is not compatible with our faith because of its obvious connections to Buddhism. And to them I say: Look at the long and beautiful history of Catholic monasticism, and there you will find the very definition of mindfulness. Every hour, every day, every season, every action set to the rhythm of prayer. It doesn’t get more mindful than that.

As I have said in books and blog posts and interviews, when I think of mindfulness from the Catholic perspective, I think, “God is in the details.” When we look closely at the mundane moments of daily life and do things with attention and intention, we discover the divine right where we are. God is in the line at the grocery store. God is in the dishes in the sink. God is in the laundry piled to overflowing. God is in the crocus pushing up through the cold, hard ground.

Of course, none of that makes mindfulness easy. In our fast-paced world, multitasking is seen as a badge of honor, so going against the grain and doing only one thing at a time takes effort. We need reminders and prompts to get us into the habit of mindfulness. For me those prompts come in the form of sounds and visuals. I have an hourly chime that rings on my office computer. Every time it chimes, I say the one-line Jesus Prayer until the bells stops reverberating: “Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” So short but so powerful. I have a prayer card from the Abbey of the Genesee hanging over my coffee maker as a morning reminder to pray. I have crosses, saint statues, Rosary beads, lotus flowers, seashells, Mary statues and icons and paintings in almost every room, and yes, even a Buddha statue. All of these things serve as exterior reminders of the peace I need to cultivate within. I have a specific sacred space in my office, one small spot with a cushion and a prayer bench for those times I want to sit or kneel in dedicated prayer or silence. And although all of this sounds wonderful, it doesn’t mean I always make time for prayer or always remember to be mindful, but even when I’m not so successful all of those visual signs and symbols keep pulling me back to my center and reminding me to focus on God, and that is the beginning of mindfulness for me.

Here are more mindfulness resources from this blog. Click on the titles to go to these posts:

A bowl of oatmeal as spiritual practice

Mindfulness minus the monastery

Changing your meals from mindless to mindful

Mindfulness bell: the sound of silence

Everyday Divine (various posts related to mindfulness and everyday spirituality)

And don’t forget to head over to the Catholic Courier for the story on mindfulness by Amy Kotlarz. Click HERE for that.

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Operating on a couple of days without sleep, I drove home from the hospital in a fog last Sunday morning, hoping to grab a short nap and check on our girls while Noah rested in the Critical Care Unit with Dennis at his side. I drove through the cold, slushy streets of Albany with hot, salty tears running down my face, begging God, “Please don’t take my baby.” By the time I got home, I was no longer silently begging; I was loudly screaming. And then somewhere in the midst of it came the slow, creeping acknowledgment that despite my crying and carrying on, I had no right to expect an escape from the harshness of life. Suddenly all that kept running through my head was, “Why not me?”

I found some sort of strange solace there, a serenity that created a calm in the eye of my storm. I think it was due to all the prayer requests I had posted on Facebook and sent out by email and text. As I received message after message from people all over the map, I could feel myself growing stronger and my fears growing weaker. Yes, I was still afraid for Noah, and I was still running through the mental laundry list of “what ifs,” but underneath it all was a steadiness grounded in the fact that I was not special, that I shouldn’t expect to be spared the suffering so many others endure. I could feel strength surging up from that place, a willingness to acknowledge things might not turn out exactly as planned and that we would move forward anyway, standing alongside Noah as he faced whatever difficult thing might come his way.

Fortunately the tipping point in Noah’s case shifted in our favor and after a scary few days we were told he would make a full recovery. I could feel myself exhaling for what seemed like the first time in four days. Not long after this positive turn, his Critical Care nurse said, “You’re so calm. You’re really handling this so well.” I smiled at her, but on the inside I was laughing, because anyone who knows me would not put the words “calm” and “Mary” in the same sentence during a crisis.  Efficient and determined, yes, but calm? Not so much. And, again, I felt the blessing of all the prayers from around the world. I never thought those prayers would guarantee a positive outcome for Noah, because I know from experience that prayer doesn’t always get you what you want, like some kind of heavenly vending machine that sends down the spiritual equivalent of a Twix bar on request. But I did know the prayers would help us — Dennis and Noah and me — as we faced the toughest few days of our lives.

Our recent brush with our son’s mortality forced me to stand on the other side of the “Why me?” equation, to see that we were not singled out in this suffering but rather firmly entrenched with so many others in facing the reality of our frail and sometimes broken humanity. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. I am saying unending prayers of thanksgiving that in this case the Lord kept giving, that in the dark winter of Noah’s illness came the light of spring.

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At 2 a.m. on Saturday morning, Noah came into our bedroom complaining of chest pains. Thinking it was nothing more than indigestion or some other minor problem, we weren’t very worried, until a few minutes later when he said the pain was radiating to his jaw and left arm. At that point Dennis started preparing to go to the ER while I made Noah chew up low-dose aspirin in case he was having a heart attack. Still assuming it was something minor, I expected them to be home from ER in a couple of hours. Instead Dennis called to say Noah was being admitted to the cardiology unit with the likely diagnosis being pericarditis, inflammation of the sac surrounding the heart, and myocarditis, inflammation of the heart muscle itself — something that can cause permanent damage to the heart, congestive heart failure, and even death. All signs point to a viral infection brought on by his bout with the flu about four weeks ago (and, yes, he had a flu shot).

Life suddenly became surreal and scary, and I find it amazing how we managed to put one foot in front of the other and do what we had to do. If someone had told me a week ago that we would face what we faced, I would have said I couldn’t get through it. But there we were — sleeping in hospital lounge chairs, watching our son grit his teeth in absolute pain, listening to doctors rattle off a spectrum of outcomes that ranged from complete recovery on one extreme to heart transplant on the other, with plenty of really bad stuff in between.

Although the best hope on Saturday was that Noah’s condition had peaked and would start improving, on Sunday morning things went in the wrong direction with enzyme levels rising to the danger zone. That’s when I started posting prayer requests on Facebook. We cannot count the number of people who have been praying for Noah. We know it is in the thousands, and we are speechless over it. On Sunday morning, when things were not looking so good, the prayers and support that started pouring in lifted us up and gave us strength when we didn’t think we could face Noah without crying.

Prayer is not a magic bullet. We did not believe for one minute that just because people were praying Noah would be spared any permanent damage. Prayer doesn’t work that way. What it did do was link us to a larger community and make us feel less alone. And while we never stopped praying — probably not for one minute — all of those other prayers let us focus our energy on Noah because we knew so many people were taking up his cause in prayer. We have often said that living in the Capital Region is hard because we have no family nearby and, therefore, no support. These past five days have taught us that we have more support than we ever could have imagined. We feel so incredibly blessed.

It was not long after your prayers started pouring in that Noah’s condition started to improve dramatically, and I do not for one second think that was coincidence. To have thousands of friends and strangers focusing all of their spiritual and positive energy on our son made all the difference in our lives. I felt stronger. I know Dennis did as well. And because we were stronger, we were able to be a comfort to Noah and an advocate for Noah.

Of course, no amount of prayer could have saved Noah if he had not been in the care of some incredible doctors and nurses, starting with the cardiology fellow, Dr. Tariq Bhat, who happened to be on call in ER the night Noah was admitted. Noah’s pediatrician, Dr. Todd Giombetti, who was checking in with us constantly and conferring with Noah’s hospital doctors throughout, referred to Dr. Bhat as Noah’s “guardian angel,” saying that had we taken Noah to a different hospital or had there been another doctor on that night, Noah most likely would not have been given the test that showed so quickly what was causing his distress. Dr. Bhat is not yet a certified cardiologist, but he is an incredible heart doctor, as far as we are concerned. His fast diagnosis and his insistence first that Noah be admitted to cardio and the next night that he be moved to Critical Care were big factors, we believe, in Noah’s incredibly positive outcome. In addition to the medical care he provided, however, he also served as a reassuring presence to Dennis and me. He continued to remind us that we needed to remain calm for Noah.

On top of that, the cardiologist who was assigned to Noah, Dr. John Filippone, was beyond excellent. We had heard he was one of the best in the area, and now we know that is absolutely the case. He nailed down the details of Noah’s condition quickly, gave us all the information we needed — even when it was hard to hear — and did absolutely everything necessary to make sure nothing was missed. You often hear how hard it is to get a hold of doctors when you are in the hospital and need information. That was not the case with Dr. Filippone. I’m not sure when he sleeps because he seemed to be in CCU constantly, caring for Noah and a number of patients in even worse condition. We heard “code blue” over the intercom at least three times when we were there. And when he wasn’t in CCU, he was in the heart failure clinic or his own practice. We have new appreciation for just how hard these doctors work, and we are grateful that Dr. Filippone worked so hard to make Noah well so quickly. If you need a heart doctor, he’s your guy.

I’m sure people see Noah’s photo here (taken just after he came home yesterday) or on Facebook and may assume that maybe his condition wasn’t as bad as we led you all to believe. It was bad. Worse than what we led you to believe. He had three separate episodes over 24 hours that mimic a heart attack in terms of pain. On a scale of 1 to 10, he was at 10. It would take up to an hour for medication to relieve that pain. Noah was so strong and brave as he suffered through that while they tried to figure out what combination of meds would get things under control. I am so grateful that his doctors managed to figure it out so quickly.

While the doctors get much of the obvious praise for Noah’s treatment, we remain in awe of the nurses who cared for him. They were ever-present, top-notch, comforting, and kind. They didn’t just stay on top of Noah’s vitals and meds but made sure we had food or blankets or coffee. We would like to especially thank the two Laurens in cardiology, and Marie F., Julia, Kathryn, and Maria from Critical Care. A special thanks also to Trish, the phlebotomist, and Josh, the last echocardiogram tech we saw before discharge. There are too many others to thank by name, but we are so grateful to the entire staff of St. Peter’s. We could not have asked for better care.

And that goes for spiritual care as well. The pastoral ministry Noah received at St. Peter’s was so beautiful and comforting. Within hours of being admitting to cardiology, Sister Mary Frederick Coyne, SNJM, the former principal of St. Thomas the Apostle School in Delmar and former pastoral minister at our parish, came by to pray over Noah, not because she knew him but because he happened to be on her list of Catholic patients to visit. Later that day our former pastor, Father David Berberian, came to the hospital at a moment’s notice to anoint Noah. The next day Bishop Edward Scharfenberger of Albany came by to pray with us and anoint Noah again. The pastoral care person from St. Thomas the Apostle parish, Maura Barrett, also visited to check on us, to let us know our parish was praying for Noah, and to offer meals. On top of that the hospital chaplain, Father John Tallman, brought Noah Communion and visited him several times, as did an additional chaplain whose name we never got. And I can’t forget my Cornerstone sisters who showed up in St. Peter’s chapel on Sunday afternoon specifically to pray the Rosary for Noah, and also a parish friend who came to Mass at St. Peter’s on Monday to do the same. We are stunned by all of it, and realize what a powerful faith community we are blessed to be a part of.

And as for all of you, what can we say? Again, there are too many to name individually here, but we will be in touch over the next few days and weeks to thank you personally. Meals were dropped off, left on our doorstep, ordered from restaurants and delivered. People from all over town and from every area of our lives offered to take our kids — and some of you did for more than one night! — drive the girls around, drive us around, do whatever we needed. Even if we didn’t end up needing your help, knowing you were there made all the difference to us. We cannot possibly express our gratitude adequately. I suggested that once Noah is fully recovered we’ll have an open house party to thank all of you and celebrate our many blessings. We’ll keep you posted on that.

Noah is home and resting right now. They say his heart will fully recover from this. He has a crazy regimen of medicine for the next few months. I’ve got an entire notebook devoted to it so we don’t miss anything. Because Dr. Kristina Roddy — Noah’s excellent infectious disease specialist — cannot completely rule out the possibility that Noah’s condition was caused by the strep throat he was battling at the time and the slim chance of rheumatic fever, he will be on antibiotics for the next TEN YEARS. Yup, you read that right. It is a preventative measure to ensure that he never gets strep throat again because, if he does, it could do serious damage to his heart. Better safe than sorry, especially when taking penicillin twice a day for ten years seems like a terrific outcome given the other options.

So thank you, thank you, thank you for your prayers, your support, your love, and your concern. We will be forever grateful.

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Peace, joy, blessings, and love to you and yours on Christmas!

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This past summer, when my family spent a week at the New Jersey shore, I hopped out of bed every morning to run down to the beach with my camera and capture the sun as it came up. My husband thought I was a little bit nuts to get so excited about the same sun rising every day, but I would stand there in awe over the never-changing and yet ever-changing sun. I marveled at the way it could be bold and brilliant one morning and soft and subtle the next but always, always there, even when I couldn’t see it behind the clouds.

In today’s reading from Ecclesiastes, we hear, “The sun rises and the sun goes down; then it presses on to the place where it rises.” It sounds very much like our own life cycle, doesn’t it? We rise and we rest, pushing ever onward, sometimes feeling as if every day is more of the same. In hindsight we can usually see the bold strokes or subtle nuances that set one day apart from the next, the places where God broke through. The trick is to learn to appreciate those moments as they happen, recognizing God in the daily push, even when God is hidden by the clouds of our distraction or indifference or outright pain. No matter what we face, God is always, always with us. God is our constant, the star at the center of our interior universe, guiding us forward, loving us home like rivers running to the sea.

I am blessed to be a regular contributor to Give Us This Day, a wonderful monthly prayer/Scripture subscription from Liturgical Press. If you don’t already subscribe, do yourself a favor and check it out. 

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