Growing up, she hadn’t believed in God. She had been hungry and yearning for something, but did not know for what or whom. One day she walked into a church and felt completely full, entirely at peace. All of that aching and longing was suddenly satisfied. She didn’t know it at the time, but she had found herself before the Eucharist in a Catholic church. Heather left, but craved that fullness again. It eventually led her to spending hours before the Blessed Sacrament and to Catholicism.
"I also feel weak," she told me. "It's especially in these moments I try to remind myself: Get yourself to an empty church!"

Fast forward to 2020, when churches are closed, when I can no longer receive the Eucharist or even sit in a chapel with the Tabernacle before me. This week I felt that awful weight start to build in my chest. It had been too long. I grew anxious, impatient, frustrated. I had nothing left. Prayer didn’t  help, at least not significantly, and all my other tools for maintaining mental health were coming up short.
 
Finally, I simply told the Lord He needed to provide more. He needed to figure this out. And very gently, I was reminded about live streaming adoration. I’ve typically dismissed the whole idea because it seemed silly. How could being in front of my screen really provide that “ordering” that I felt when I sat before the Eucharist? How could it even compare?

But again, I listened to the all-too simple message, this time plopping myself down before my phone.
 
And it was the same as it always has been.
 
After about twenty minutes the weight eased from my soul, and continued to dissipate as I sat. Twenty minutes more and I was myself again. (I’m still a mess, of course, but not ready to bite everyone’s head off.) I grew peaceful, at ease, perceived things differently.

To be clear: it isn’t ever me. I often don’t have the right prayer or even more on my mind that what I ate for breakfast, but regardless, I always come out of adoration changed. Because being in His presence changes us. This, however bizarrely, was no different.
 
I share this with you in case you also are feeling the burden of this world right now. The suffering that surrounds us is real and I fear it will only intensify. We have so little control and we can hardly leave our homes. I’m not arguing that adoration or prayer will spare us the very real pain that is encircling us—that’s not how Christianity works. But perhaps the balm we crave and which will get us through the pain isn’t farther than a screen and twenty minutes with Him.

Yet even knowing He can—and will—remedy this does not stop compassion from overtaking His Heart. He sees how this event has crushed Mary, He witnesses the agony of those with her…and it affects Him. He weeps, and so intensely that it eventually draws comment: “See how he loved him!”

I find immense comfort in this.
 
Christ is not blind or unfeeling.
Christ sees me, sees my pain…and it affects Him.
He is not unmoved, but is standing beside me in the midst of the death and grief and agony of my life and feels compassion. The world might be chaos around me, but Jesus is never without a tender eye upon me.

Today in my reading I was struck by Matthew’s account of the Transfiguration, when Jesus took his best friends up Mount Tabor. He became dazzling white and His face was like the sun. Peter, James, and John watched the other-worldly scene, ‘exceedingly afraid.’

So often with the Father, I find that what He is doing is too grand, too incomprehensible, too other. I don’t perceive the gentleness, the mercy, the kindness. He is the bright cloud and the booming voice from which I hide. He does things—hard things—for my greater good, and I’m deaf to the sweetness of the words that accompany his actions. I'm unable to hear “beloved Son, well-pleased.” I simply bury my face, uncomfortable and afraid, certain He is asking something I could not possibly give.

And I guess this is where it really hits me: While I'm lost to perceiving the Lord (and the disciples were too), the Father is unwilling for this to be the place where it stops. He loves too grandly.

Jesus became human, became the very image of the Father. He came to be the person we could see with our eyes and touch with our hands and know with certainty. He made the divine accessible. He touches me, banishes my fears, and tells me to rise. With Christ, I can perceive love, however challenging and foreign the rest of His message (or that moment) is.

Years ago, when I was first dating Edward, I was a ball of nerves. Every time I wasn't with him my mind went in a thousand directions, certain suddenly that he was not the right thing for me. I needed to get away, needed to end it all. It was dizzying. But whenever I saw Edward again, his eyes calmed me and set all the madness to rest. I suddenly could remember who he was, and understood that I had nothing to fear. He was Edward, a good man who loved me.

The first 15-20 lessons are a breeze. They take no more than 15 minutes daily and they’re simple. The real storm hits though around lesson 20, and doesn’t ease until around 80-85. But fear not, everything is entirely doable. I have tricks to share… or at least great ways of bribing children.

I remember asking myself once, “Would I pay $100 to teach my kid to read well?”
The answer, even when we were struggling with cash, was a decided yes. I totally would.
So I used that money to buy incentives.

Reserve most of the stash in a hidden bag somewhere. This is strangely important. There is nothing so enticing as a new, un-imagined toy suddenly appearing in a prize bin right when a kid wants to give up. I’ve had a child who claimed she wasn't going to do anymore lessons suddenly start pestering me. “Can we do a lesson?” “Can we do an extra lesson?” I’m not even kidding. Prizes work.
 
Throw 6-7 of the items into a box. It doesn’t have to be fancy. It’s magical in itself. That’s your prize bin.

As You Begin…
 
Be patient, be thorough. Ideally, the book will work marvels and Chumpkin will come out literate in 4 months… In practice, this isn’t usually the case. I’ve had to stop and actually go back to re-do lessons. I think with Therese we got to lesson 65 and I brought her back to 15. She was just not getting it. But that’s okay. Start the charts over, take a deep breath, make a cup of tea. It is worth it, even if it isn’t as easy as we think it should be.
 
I really didn’t want to fight with my kids about lessons, so the prizes and sweets helped, but I also established another rule: no shows until we finished a lesson that day. Therese might have been willing to skip one day of TV, but she certainly wasn’t ready to go weeks without it.
 
Once I completed 100 Easy Lessons, I began a new chart. We would read for 30 minutes every day and she could earn prizes after 7-10 days. Many pushBOB books.  I think they are fine, but largely boring.
The best books are the ones that a kid laughs at, because then he/she will return and read them again on their own. And repetition is magical.

Here are a list of books I would recommend for the period following 100 Easy Lessons:

* Piggie and Elephant series* by Mo Willems –These are gold. They are amusing, creative, delightful. Our favorite was There is a Bird on Your Head! They are easy to reserve at the library, but I can also see these being a great thing to have at home for kids to come back to over and over.

I also recommend perusing the early reading section in the library. They have a lot of unexpected finds—Star Wars, science, animals, Lego. And if a kid is interested in a book? That is only going to help the process.

From there, short chapter books are the next step.
Here, I still read for a time with the kid. They still make a good number of errors at this stage, so it helps to follow along as they read aloud.

For me, this is when things start to get exciting. In my experience, after about 5-10 of these books, a kid's reading legs are less wobbly and they suddenly start reading on their own.  An entire new world is opened. And then I get to gradually share the wonders of Calvin & Hobbes, Narnia, Prydain, Hogwarts, the Middle Earth.
Reading is magical, even by extension.

One last note before I go...
Each kid is so different with reading. My eldest Clare is not the norm. She’s very bright and learned at 3 years old. My middle child, Therese, is also smart but waited until 5. I could see that she needed more time, and I didn’t want our relationship to suffer because I was pushing literacy too early. (I think 4-5 is typically a good age to start, but family circumstances or a child's development easily trump ideals.)
 
I say this both as encouragement and as a precaution. Teaching a little person to read isn’t always easy. Try not to crush yourself (or your kiddo) with expectations.
Reading will happen, it just might take a bit longer and include a few extra snuggles for some.

I’ve discovered something that isn’t really all that remarkable, but it has been habit changing for me. The Kindle app on my phone. I have a Kindle, but it isn’t as though I carry the thing around with me everywhere I go. But you know what I do carry? Yeah, you get the idea.

With this discovery, I have been spending loads more time with my nose between the pages. I’ve already surpassed my year-set ambitions to read 25 books and it is July. July!

Here are my favorite titles that I’ve really enjoyed thus far:

Sabriel, Lirael, and Abhorsen
by Garth Nix

These are my favorite fiction of the year.
Nix’s world is split in 2, half being similar to ours with technology and regular living, the other half subject to magic and fantasy. In the magical portion, the dead can be raised for bidding by evil necromancers, but it is the job of the Abhorsen to prevent it. The series has beautiful writing,  fascinating characters, and an intriguing story line. I found I simply jumped from one to the next, hardly taking a breath between novels. They were so, so fun.

The drive ended up being far longer because of construction.
After sitting at a standstill for 45 minutes, Edward turns to me.
E: I spy with my little eye, something that is brown.
Me: (looks around) That UPS truck?
E: Yes.
I laughed until I cried. Goodness that man is funny.

Miracles.
Places where people are actually healed and abandoned crutches paint the walls; saints whose bodies do not decompose; Eucharistic hosts that have bled or even transformed into a piece of heart flesh.

How is that not cool?
Weird, but really cool.

The Shroud of Turin? Oh my word. The science alone is boggling.

I am only more recently realizing that most people think these things are nutty or even macabre, but yes, I totally love it. It reminds me that the veil between heaven and earth is not as great as it seems.

Needless to say, I could talk your ear off about pilgrimages.

There aren’t many opportunities to go visit such things in America, yet on occasion, a relic (holy thing) will go on tour. A pilgrimage on wheels, if you will.
 
Recently, the incorrupt heart of St. Jean Vianney came through California.
He was a French priest who died in 1859. The heart does not decay.

“Why is it black?” was the first question I got from Therese.
I appreciate her reaction. It is childlike, honest, curious, and even a little skeptical.
Because truly, the whole thing is a bit weird.

Biblically, objects have been shown as instruments of healing. Handkerchiefs of Paul touching those who were sick or possessed and healing them (Acts 9), the corpse of a man meeting the prophet Elisha's bones and coming back to life (2 Kings 13), the hemorrhaging woman being cured by reaching out to Jesus' cloak (Matthew 9). These things worked as a channel for something profound.

Catholics are strict about respecting the dead, and especially in keeping them buried. It seems more than odd that as soon as a person is canonized we throw it all out the window. Yet, as bizarre as it is, I have only witnessed honor and respect for these parts. They are displayed for hope, for healing, for conversion. And in a riveting way continue to be signs pointing to Christ.

My own experience during the visit was quiet. It was fascinating to see a human heart, ordinary and preserved on a divine whim. It was a simple moment. I was reminded of His love, that I am good, that I am His. I left refreshed, grateful.
 
And this is truly why I go, why pilgrimages touch me. I absolutely need to be reminded of love. It helps me to continue on with the basic things: diaper changing, driving to appointments, kissing booboos, facing my own weak humanness. I need this reminder that heaven is close, that Christ is real, and that the manner in which I live and love right now matters.

Death, deployments, illness, moves, depression, anxiety, living abroad, chronic injury, single parenting… yet I feel like we could all make these kinds of lists. We all are a wreck and trying to make it through this crazy life.
 
I perceive all of this. I know I am not an expert. I don’t have every answer. But I have pushed through some madness. I have endured and learned ways to cope.
That is something.  
 
So with that, take what helps and ignore the rest. I merely offer you the small truths that I have benefited from, hoping that something can also help you.

1.  Gentleness to Self
I expect insane amounts from myself, and I push myself doggedly to achieve it all. Then… well, then when I inevitably fail, I name myself as a failure. And swim in shame.
It is a really fun cycle.
 
But I’ve started, during difficult periods, to try to look at my life from the outside.
I try to offer myself the same amount of understanding I would grant to another in my shoes. Sometimes I ask myself, “How would I treat my sister if she were in the middle of this mess that I am?” Then, I can breathe a bit more.. Because I would never expect perfection from a mother of three children, husband usually away on work, moving to a new city and friendless every two years. I wouldn’t get on her case because her house is a mess and her kids are eating lunch meat and toast for dinner. I would offer her compassion. I would offer her help. I would make her cookies and tell her she is rocking life.

2.  The daily 20 minute Whatever-Makes-Me-Feel-Human
To some, this is as simple as a daily shower, to another it is a coffee with a book, to yet another, it is a walk. The important thing is that it rejuvenates, or at least grants a breath in the chaos.

3. Exercise
I am not Susie Workout, but there is certainly something about getting my body moving. I can't run anymore after a foot injury, but I've found that even a 20 minute walk can turn my whole day right.

5.  Say No
When I am having a difficult season, the last thing I need is busyness and extra work. There is a time for volunteering for a class field trip. There is a time for signing up to host the neighborhood for Christmas festivities at your house. There is a time to be the secretary of the golf club. It ain’t now, at least if it is going to leave me strained and not able to focus on my own family.
There is an element of helping others that can center a person, but if it is just adding more to an already heaping plate? Nope, shut it down.

7. The Basics
Water, sleep, food.
Dehydration, too much caffeine, eating junk, burning the candle at both ends—all of these things make me feel like a monster. I’ve found that simple self-care is huge, and can be the deciding point for if I'm winning or the Out-To-Get-Me-Universe is.

Sometimes it doesn’t seem like there could possibly be a silver lining to a suffering. A father’s death, depression, chronic health problems. These don’t scream balloons and butterflies, yet often looking for the good helps me. During my miscarriage, I was grateful for all the love and support of my neighborhood, for getting closer to my friends Lisa and Rebecca, for the gentleness of my sweet Clare helping me while I labored. It doesn’t take away the suffering, but it does help my heart to accept the moment with greater patience.

9. Therapy
There is a strange societal stigma with seeing a counselor. I think it's bunk. I wouldn’t refuse to see a medical doctor if I needed antibiotics. It is equally as silly to avoid a therapist when I have death/depression/whatever to work through. I've seen a handful over the last fifteen years for varying reasons. Each has been transforming.

About three years ago, a friend mentioned that her entire family changed when her mother decided to start seeing a counselor. There was suddenly joy, peace, health.
At the time I was in a terrible rut of depression, and this snapped me awake. I took a deep breath, pulled on my big girl panties, and began counseling. I continued for about 6 months. It was difficult, but the best choice for me—and my family. Taking care of my stuff helped me to be a better mother, friend, sister, you name it.

I typically get one sheet and try to fill it front and back, shredding it afterwards. It astonishes me how much I can finally let go of things once I do this. I told a friend once it was 'cursing for closure.' It takes time, but at least I can live after I've done it.

I hope that something here has given you help or consolation, even if it is just a reminder of how awesome Calvin & Hobbes is.
If you have any other suggestions, please share! I am always ready to learn new ways to make it to the other side.

And if you are suffering right now, I'm sending a good thought your way.
If it means anything, I am thankful for every single season of suffering. I am more joyful and alive now because of them. They've deepened me. They've matured me. Suffering, strangely, has made me more human. And I don't believe that this is a circumstance limited only to myself

I grew up Catholic, but was fairly indifferent to the whole affair until young adulthood. Then I experienced truth and love and healing and transformation. I experienced Christ. I fell in love with Him, with the Bible, with the Eucharist, with the Catholic faith. Now I live every day with the firm belief and understanding that God exists. I have seen Him at work and I have felt His Hand. I have witnessed miracles. I know in my bones and blood that the Church is my home. I’m not leaving for anything.

I have been nauseous recently. I imagine you all know why.
Leaders of my beautiful Church, my home, have abused their power. They have preyed on the weak, they have taken advantage of the vulnerable, they have hidden dark and atrocious secrets. All under the guise of godliness.
 
Yes, it is nauseating.

It doesn’t matter if a person wears clerics; predators belong in prison.
There is nothing holy in lying and stealing innocence.
I am not perfect, and know that we are all broken and hypocritical to a degree, but this is not an instance of ordinary human sinfulness. This is the willful and repeated harming of others.
 
Goodness. And now those victims have a lifetime of work to find healing and peace. It isn’t fair. Where is the restitution? The justice?
 
I am sickened. I am angry. I am aghast.
I am now floored that it likely goes up to the very top.
Yes, nauseating.

I do want to reiterate though: The Church is my home. It is the place of truth. Some men decided to be predators, but that does not change Christ. He never once would have hidden their darkness. Christ had no qualms in calling anyone out—especially priests—and would have.
Molesting and manipulating are from hell, not Him.

This is why I have been mulling through emotions and words. I have not really known how to go about writing my position. It is a complex matter expressing my love for the Church and the simultaneous horror at the humanity within it. Because not once does my love give a free pass to the latter.
 
I will keep going to the Sacraments and living as a Catholic because I have no choice. It is my home. It is where I have known Truth. It is where I have found Life.
 
I did not choose the Church because of sickos. I am not going to leave because of them either.
But I also will not hide their darkness if and when I ever cross it.
It is well overdue for things to be brought to the light.