Category: Love

Keeping Track of Prayer Requests

Posted on by Lisa Marion

I keep note cards as reminders for my prayers. I keep one for each person I direct. I keep another specific card just for folks who’ve asked for healing. My cards are all different colors, except for the healing card, it is white.

Today during my quiet time, I crossed off two names and marked them with “RIP.” A phrase that has been highjacked by horror movies, but the sentiment is still full of our desires for the one who has died. In love we wish them the ability to rest from this chaotic earthly life, to rest from their pain and struggles. We pray they get the calm resting we all crave.

The act of praying for another is an act of love. People want to be released from their struggle, pain, and illness. Healing is a beautiful gift; one I’ve witnessed several times in my life. It is a profound experience, yet, one that I don’t fully understand. I’ve learned that healing is beautiful, an unexpected surprise, but I’ve also learned that death is not the worst thing that can befall us. Death can itself be a type of healing too.

My father’s health is declining. What sometimes seems “slowly” is actually “quickly.” His days drag on, and the months fly by at a breathtaking pace. This poor man is literally being kept alive with medicine and devices that propel his weakening body forward into each new day. His mind, still sharp, active, and mildly irritated, must adjust to an ever-changing medication regime. He is frail and can barely stand, but his mind rages against this reality. “I’ve got this! I am making progress.”

Yes Dad, progress, but your speech is beginning to lose its sharpness, you are short of breath, you confuse people and information. You may be making progress, winning these small battles, but you will eventually lose this war. He knows this and we are all content to leave it unsaid.

His weak heart  is full of emotions and memories. Tears are often his companion as he thinks back on his life. “I’m ready to go.” Is the battle cry some days and on other days I hear, “I’m 12 years from turning 100! Won’t that be interesting.” He may have 12 weeks, 12 months, but certainly not 12 years. It is hard.

The two souls that were marked off my white healing card were both terribly ill. One almost 100, bed-ridden, and fully dependent on others. The other younger than myself – taken too soon, or sooner than you would expect.

Removed from my prayer list, no longer in need of healing. Sad? Maybe, but not really. They received the ultimate healing. While we live, we have needs, but once this life is completed, our needs evaporate, and we move into that paradoxical place of experiencing yet waiting, “already but not yet” as some theologians put it. Death is often a great mercy.

I muse on the specific events that will end my father’s earthly life. I await the call, thinking on those last moments at his bedside. I pray for a peaceful end, yet I will be ready for whatever the end looks like.

Please pray for us. Pray for a good death a peaceful passage from this life to the next.

Thank you for listening to my thoughts, and if you have a specific need, something that I should place on one of my colorful prayer cards, please email me. lisa [at] dailypax.com

Midway Through Lent

Posted on by Lisa Marion

Well, we’re halfway through Lent. I’m finally hitting my stride (with lowered expectations of myself). I’ve participated in over 35 Lenten seasons. Each one is different because I am different. I have succeeded some years and failed miserably in others.

Years ago, I gave up my opinion for Lent. When I share this with people, I usually get a giggle or a raised eyebrow. As funny as it seems I was surprised how much mental space was freed up in conversations as I stopped formulating what I would say next. I found myself truly listening to the other.

I tried to give up my opinion again this year … that hasn’t worked too well. Sigh.

I remind myself that my Lenten disciplines are not for God, but for me. They are a means to an end, but not the End itself. The goal is to use these spiritual disciplines to bring me closer to God, remembering His mercy, and experiencing His love.

At this halfway moment I wanted to share a sermon I found years ago while on private retreat in Conyers, GA. The sermon is an encapsulation of a longer piece called “On Loving God” by St. Bernard of Clairvaux. You can read the sermon here.

I encourage you to stop at this Lenten halfway mark and read it reflectively. Let me know what you think. I hope it will bring you the same comfort I found when I read it for the first time.

As always, I wish you peace.

~ lisa 

 

p.s. The original piece can be found in this archive. It is spiritually rich, but thick and translated from French. https://archive.org/details/on-loving-god-by-saint-bernard-of-clairvaux

Unconditional Love & Unconventional Forgiveness

Posted on by Lisa Marion

Recently my Spiritual Director passed away. He was a wonderful example of Jesus with skin on. He was a lover of the many people who visited the abbey where he had lived for over 50 years. He was an incredible mentor to me and loved me through a multitude of difficult situations. I miss him deeply. As I reflect on his death I am saddened by three things; the loss of this gentle man to the many who sought his help, my own loss of a wise and compassionate Spiritual Guide, and most importantly, I don’t want his wisdom to die with him. With that end in mind, I have set my heart to do my best to share the Wisdom of my friend Fr. Francis.

2015 left me in mourning. My husband of 34 years had lost a five-year battle with alcoholism. Found by a stranger, alone, and dead. The struggle was over. During those years my life had been hijacked by his destructive behavior. When I finally stepped aside to let him find his way, my life then was hijacked with guilt and shame. I had tried to stay strong, to remain at his side, as a dutiful Christian wife, while he struggled. However, the more I tried to help him, the deeper and deeper I sank into depression, confusion, and self-loathing. Surely with love I could find an answer to his problem. It became increasingly obvious that my love could not save him, and my helping was not – helping. When he died this illusion of failed helpfulness led me deeper into depression. Only now, there was nothing that I or anyone else could do to help. He was done. It was over. He was dead.

A small sense of relief led me down a path of more guilt and shame, it was almost too much to bear. I’m thankful my faith tradition offered me an opportunity to release the weight of these obsessive thoughts in the Sacrament of Confession (or Penance as it’s officially called).

My confessor, Fr. Francis, is two hours away. Two hours that provided me the opportunity to examine my part in my husband’s descent into alcoholism and death. Alone in the car I could formulate an extensive list as to why I was responsible for his death. The conflict between being a “good Christian wife” and trying to live a life with boundaries caused me so much agony.

“You should leave him.” Came as the battle cry from many, several among the clergy.

“Okay, yes, I should leave him.” But the real part, the part of their battle cry that caused me the deepest pain was the question,

“Where does it say in the Gospels that I can abandon this very sick man?” The battle cry was quieted, they could offer no answer.

As I arrived my confessor greeted me with his usual hug. A warm, comforting embrace that gave me the feeling of protection from a source outside myself.

“I want you to hear my confession.” I quietly whispered in the safety of his embrace.

“Okay.” Came the gentle reply whispered almost as quietly as my request.

Silently we walked to the abbey chapel and made ourselves comfortable in the wooded confessional room. Armed with an extensive list of my wrongdoings (formulated in the 2-hour car ride) I began, “Forgive me Father …” He interrupted me. “Lisa,” taking my hands into his he said, “Simply say you’re sorry for whatever part was yours.” Stunned by his kindness I said, “Lord, I am sorry for whatever part was mine.” He continued gently with the grace-filled prayers prayed after confession, and we were done. Grace and forgiveness for “whatever part was mine.” I couldn’t believe it was that easy.

It is a cunning lie that those who love an addict feel that – somehow – they’re to blame. That somehow, they were not smart enough, not quick enough, not crafty enough to solve the problem for the one they love. A wicked and powerful lie. Yet, in his compassionate wisdom Fr. Francis officially, lovingly, and somewhat unconventionally released me from the grips of this lie. He could have easily insisted I recount the sorted details of this painful season, sending me back to hating myself for not rescuing the one I loved. I had spent years examining my actions and inactions, constantly beating myself up. With love and gentleness and without more self-flogging, I was released from guilt and shame. Fr. Francis was truly the physical presence of a loving God to me during a time of little comfort and less love. A gift.

Have you ever experienced a gift like this? Pure grace and pure love! Sometimes we have to be in a really dark space before any light pours in! What could you let go of if you were in that confessional with Fr. Francis. What could his gentle loving kindness help you release? Can you simply ask God to release you from “whatever part was yours?” Can you believe it is that easy? Can you accept this kind of unconditional love and forgiveness? Fr. Francis truly showed me God’s love at that moment, and I endeavor each day to release the chaos of guilt and shame that tears down my heart. Love builds up, it never tears down. Thank you, dear Francis, for building me up with your tangible expression of God’s love.