Going to Sleep Before Going to Italy

There have always been two places I wanted to travel to in my lifetime: Israel and Italy.

 Italy became a reality after years of saving; it was our 25th wedding anniversary destination.

Even though I have been travelling since I was eight and put on board a plane to cross the country to visit my father for the summer, I’m really not much of a traveler. I don’t travel well. In fact what I’ve discovered about myself is that I’m a great “signer-upper” but when the actual time comes for the thing, I’m not near as excited about it as I was when I signed up.

Recognizing this about myself, I made sure to keep my foibles in check as our trip of a lifetime neared. One way I was going to combat my idiosyncrasies was to quiz as many people as I could and gather information about international travel. This was going to be the adventure of a lifetime and I was going to enjoy every part of it even if it killed me.

One of my biggest concerns was in regards to sleeping on the plane. I’m not a great sleeper as it is—never have been—so this was a hurdle I was determined to jump with the ease of an Olympian. I gathered information and tips like a squirrel gathering nuts for winter. I kept reminding myself that millions of people sleep on planes. It couldn’t be that difficult, right?

Needless to say, in the back of my mind the pressure to be able to sleep on the plane kept increasing. I knew that the thing about international travel is such that you have to sleep on the plane because when you land you are off for the first day of you trip—the trip that cost you your life savings.

The pressure was mounting and the trip was two months out.

Sometimes panic would seize me in the middle of the day and I would just breathe deep and let it pass.

I would say things to my grown sons like “Remember that your brothers should always be important to you,” and “Make sure that you will always see each other at Christmas time,” and “Marry wives who will welcome your brothers in their homes,” and “Please divide my jewelry fairly among yourselves.”

At one point my husband reprimanded me and said, “Cheryl! We’re going to Italy! You haven’t been given a death sentence!”

Oh yeah.

I’m not sure why but in my heart and mind there wasn’t much of a difference as the day quickly approached. I fondly remembered when I had signed up for this trip and it was just a vision, something I could talk about in the abstract. Now it was here and so I frantically compiled my list of tips:

1. Take a Tylenol P.M. when you get to the airport (nope; I’m allergic to Tylenol)

2. Drink a glass of wine when you get to the airport (again, allergies)

3. Make sure to have some sort of shawl—preferably a pashmina (finally something I could do—bought it)

4. Have a small pillow to sleep on (check)

5. Use ear plugs to block out the sound (check)

6. Use an eye mask to keep out the light (check again—I’m on a roll)

7. Use a mild and relaxing scent to help calm your nerves since you can’t take Tylenol or drink wine (this was my own brilliant idea)

8. Don’t even get your meager sleep the night before so that your body will give in to exhaustion (another brilliant idea that I came up with)

So it was that the day arrived and with my “peace and calming” essential oil, small head pillow, ear plugs, eye mask and red-wool pashmina shawl in tow I boarded the plane departing from Michigan to Italy having not slept, at that point, for about 20 hours.

Here’s how it is supposed to work: You get served your meal right away once in the air so that you can eat and get to sleep. Even the airlines understand this whole need for sleep and I was grateful they were on my side.

About an hour after being on board, and still sitting on the runway, we were begrudgingly told by the pilot that there were problems with the lavatories on the plane. There were airline maintenance personnel coming on and getting off the plane as if it were a subway system. They were taping areas off and we were told to stay seated (did I mention that someone tipped me off to possible blood clots from sitting on a plane too long so at this point my legs were in constant motion—toes pointed out, toes pointed in, toes pointed out, toes pointed in).

My husband kept glancing at me as I’m sure 25 years into this whole marriage thing he knew that my panic was just barely being held below the surface.

Finally, after three hours on the runway, we were told that we would be able to take off. The only problem (right after the blood clots…) was that they weren’t able to fix the two broken lavs which left only two for us travelers trapped in the blood-clot forming section. To make matters worse, we weren’t allowed to use the perfectly fine lavs in first class so most of the 3,000 people on board would have to use the working one which was—you guessed it—3 seats away from me.

Seriously?

But by all appearances I remained calm.

So we eat and I am now ready to get to sleep. I’m buoyed by all the paraphernalia which will surely induce a relaxing somber and rejuvenate my well-being. My husband is instructed by me to wrangle the bag out of the overhead compartment so I can retrieve said paraphernalia.

I’ve been given a light blanket by the attendant and now am in a quandary about the need for my pashmina so it goes in and out of the bag (and overhead compartment) approximately three times. I finally settle on needing it but wonder why my husband won’t take his seat. Apparently he is tired of the up and down and rearranging and has opted to wait until my ritual is completed and I am sound asleep—or dead from blood clots—until he will sit down again.

I arrive at my solution and pull the pashmina around my shoulders and lay the blanket across my lap.

I sprinkle a few drops of “peace and calming” essential oil on my small head pillow and ignore my husband’s growl of “What the hell is that smell?!” to which I say through gritted teeth, “It is peace and calming oil!”

I make an attempt to push the foam ear plugs into my ears, not knowing that you need to sort of twist them and let them open up in your ears.

I cover my eyes with the mask and fasten the Velcro and prepare for a deep sleep as I lay my head back on the pillow.

No more than five seconds later, the silky, elastic eye mask starts creeping up to the top of my head and flings off while the foam ear plugs fly out and sweat breaks out on my forehead from the heat of all the coverings. I’m a bit nauseous from the smell of the oil and my pillow, as it is cupped in a non-removable pillow on the head piece of the seat, is pushing my head forward in an unnatural awkward way—unless I do throw up and then it is a perfect position.

And my husband, God bless him, is still standing in the aisle amidst the 3,000 people who are now in line for the restroom. He is waiting, patiently, for me to ask for the bag back from the overhead bin so that he can finally get to sleep.

Boys Will, Indeed, Be Boys

I remember when my first son was in need of his first haircut.  I took him to a professional stylist and, with 35mm camera in hand, clicked away, literally walking around and around his seat, so that, once developed, the pictures would immortalize that very special day in my life, in his life, in the world, I was sure.

By the time my third son was in need of his first haircut, I let my mom have at it and, as it turned out, time did not improve her hair-cutting skills.  My youngest son ended up with the same bangs that I had worn some 30 years earlier — a wavy line of hair jutting out all over the place somewhere between eyebrows and the hairline.

Things really do change from the first born to the second and then to the third.  And as that is all the children we were blessed with, I can go no further with my experience but my assumptions would be that by the fifth or sixth child, he or she may very well be performing his or her own first haircut.

Now, my oldest is now a college graduate and owns his first home, the second is a semester away from graduation and the third has begun his college years. All the years in between those first haircuts and this point in time have truly gone by in the blink of an eye.

I can’t say, for sure, what each of my son’s take on things has been; but, for me it has been an incredible journey.  And I’ll admit that I look back and find great relief that my oldest, in particular, has been so forgiving towards me in all the ways I tried to shape and mold him into what I thought was right — and certainly in keeping with my post-feminist upbringing which included the need to neutralize any distinctions between the sexes along with my politically-correct interest in taming all things that could even appear to have a glimmer of “inappropriateness” attached to them.

I remember once when my mother was reading a book to my oldest son.  She came to some point in the story where, when my husband and I read it, we had always chosen to replace some word or phrase with more “proper” words, but not knowing better, grandma read the actual words.  Well, when he heard her reading it verbatim, he was on the floor laughing, “Grandma! It does not say that!” So much for our attempt at politically-correct censorship.

No matter how hard I tried, though, he was still a “boy.”  And that means something. They all were, actually, very much “boys.”  For instance, they simply weren’t able to pass each other in the hall without a push and a shove for good luck.  Try as I might to dissuade them, they were just so “physical” all the time! I once received a note from a teacher who, in all seriousness, felt it was imperative to tell me that my son, while playing “Duck-Duck-Goose” became so mischievous that he tapped two children instead of one!  I can only imagine the pandemonium that ensued and my son received from me the sternest of warning against such wild classroom antics. At the time I was duly mortified that I would have birthed the child who wreaked havoc with “Duck-Duck-Goose” rules.

Of course, despite such notes and other miscellaneous offenses along the way, my boys were, in fact, quite good kids — in the grand scheme of things. Sure there were times that I was forced to walk away from parent-teacher conferences with a piece of paper held in front of my face in hopes of obscuring my identity as I made a beeline towards the door; but, all in all they were really fine young boys on their way growing into fine young men.

It’s just that I didn’t have brothers and couldn’t figure out why these boys of mine wouldn’t sit down and play quietly with one another or do their puzzles in an orderly fashion.  I could fondly recall how my sisters and I would play school for hours on end. Not a peep out of us as we wrote on the chalkboard and assigned one another “homework.”

The closest my boys came to that sort of quiet, structured, group play was when they were building Legos; but, for the most part, even that time was spent constructing weapons or creating scenarios in which caves, hideouts and counter-attack strategies were necessary.  This, after having been exposed to the dullest of television choices — which were extremely time-limited anyhow — and don’t forget censorship galore on all books!

One dinner, when the boys were around 2, 4, and 6 I remember one of them eating a piece of bread into the shape of a gun and being completely convinced that I had failed as a mother.

“How,” I moaned to my husband, “could they even know about such things?!”

Boys will be boys.

Now that’s a phrase I’m none too fond of but there is some truth to the fact that, well, boys will be boys.  However, if we understand it not as an excuse for bad behavior but, rather, being a plausible testament to some basic genetic truths, we are able to more sufficiently appreciate how God created male and female and the path on which each will proceed towards developing virtuous behaviors and moral choices.  Denying the genetic and natural differences between male and female will not make them go away.

And as a mother of all boys — and never having had any brothers — I have grown to love the way in which God has made male and female.  Raising boys has given me a new appreciation of my husband and how, if we are called to the vocation of marriage, we grow in beautiful ways when we embrace the unique gifts and talents and personalities of male and female.

I am fully convinced that God knew what he was doing when, in His immense wisdom, He gave me all sons.  I have learned so much about our Creator through my life as a mother of boys.  So many of the ill-conceived notions about gender-neutrality, which was part and parcel of my life as a teenager in the post-radical-feminist-movement that pervaded the 70s, have been washed away in the Truth about male and female, their inherent differences, their shared dignity, their beauty as having been created, equally but diverse, in His image, His likeness.

As my own sons grow into men, I am grateful for the gifts they have received from their Creator and feel blessed that I discovered, sooner rather than later, how important their unique “maleness” is and how it has been a gift to participate in helping them grow into all that God has called them to be as they venture out into the world as men.

Garbage Cans and Purgatory

Our kitchen garbage can is actually 24 years old. I bought it when I was pregnant with my oldest son, Jared. And it really is in good condition, considering its age. As my dear step-father would say, it doesn't owe me anything.

The only problem with it is that the lid's opening is in front, versus on the top. So to throw trash away, you have to use your hand -- or the actual trash -- to push the flap in and then you can throw your garbage away by opening your hand and letting it drop. Sometimes it is best to just lift the lid off and throw things away -- this is particularly true with coffee grounds.

Anyhow, it all works perfectly fine for my husband and I but the boys inevitably get the lid covered with food and I am washing the flap of the lid at least 3 times a week.

I recently saw a really nice shiny, new garbage can that had an automatic lid. It is an actual motion sensor so whenever you wave your trash near the lid it opens up -- from the top -- and you can drop your trash in without getting it everywhere. It is battery-powered. I bought it.

When my husband John walked in from work the other day, he looked at the box, read the words "Automatic Lid!" and remained quiet, God bless him.

Then, on the weekend, he patiently opened the box and put the trash can together with its batteries in the lid. Barely speaking a word as he worked, I knew he was going to support me in my quest for a kitchen garbage can that required less clean up. Or at least that’s the story I choose to believe.

Once the can was put together and turned “on,” John lovingly smiled at me (I’m pretty sure it was a smile of love) -- his job was done -- and then he walked past the garbage can and towards the living room.

John's movement was detected by the lid and the lid dutifully opened. Hmmm....we wondered how far the motion detector worked on the thing and soon discovered that the only way to avoid activating the lid was to hug the wall opposite the can, or belly crawl, as we passed.

And still not a word from John as he read through the instructions to see if the lid would work without batteries. Nope.

As I went to get the packaging so we could return the can, I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe.

My Aunt Polly always says that John is going straight to Heaven. "No Purgatory time for this man," is what she says.

I finally agree.

Lot's Wife Syndrome

By Cheryl Dickow

JUN. 16, 2011 (www.BezalelBooks.com)  -  When I get invited to speak at women’s events, by far the most popular topic is my “Embracing the Matriarch Within” presentation. This is due, in no small part, to the fact that the topic literally animates me while I speak. In fact, if someone were to tie my hands together and mark an “X” where I was expected to stand, I believe I would become mute.

Yes, I’m a spectacle when I speak – very much like I was when I taught in parochial middle school. I was a veritable jumping bean of enthusiasm for our faith, much to the chagrin of my students.

Fortunately for me, adult women are far more tolerant of my delivery methods than were my students.

No doubt they feel and see that I love talking about Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel and Leah and are quick to understand that what excites me will soon excite each of them.

What I have come to realize is that women tend to completely underestimate the great honor that we each have as matriarchs in our own families.

I’ve also come to see, with great interest, is that one of the women who speaks volumes to women is Lot’s wife.

I know this because of all the comments I receive after the presentation.

“Wow, I never thought about Lot’s wife that way.”

“Gee, Lot’s wife taught me a lot today.”

“I will never look at Lot’s wife the same way again.”

Lot’s wife? You are probably asking yourself about now. Wasn’t she the gal who turned into a pillar of salt? Oh yeah, her life’s message is about obedience. She teaches us to listen and obey. And the excitement about her is because . . . .

And I’ll give you that you’d be half right if this is how you respond to hearing about Lot’s wife and the lesson that we are able to learn from her life.

But when I present my topics on the Matriarchs, I purposely include a number of other women – like Lot’s wife – who, upon closer examination have a deeper message for women today. Women who are not, by strict Jewish standards, considered “Matriarchs” but who, by the very essence of how they lived and what we can cull from their lives, deserve the title in a more esoteric way.

For instance, when I specifically speak about Lot’s wife, I share my belief that while the obvious message is one of obedience, the subtler message is one of “letting go.”

But let’s face it; women tend to struggle with the reality of living either message whether it is one of obedience or one of letting go. I’m not intentionally discriminating against men here. I’m just sharing my direct, personal experiences with women as friends, sisters-in-the-Lord, colleagues, and those I speak with at conferences.

Given our fallen nature, obedience is something we strive daily to attain but more than likely isn’t something we continually succeed at; likewise, letting go of past pains, hurts, and wrong-doings is not quite a woman’s strong suit either.

Women, I have come to see, suffer from what I now like to call “Lot’s Wife Syndrome.”

And I will freely admit to Lot’s Wife Syndrome being a chronic disease in my life, as well. This is probably why I have become so adept at recognizing it.

Every woman I know who is struggling with letting go of something from the past does so because her own heart has been pierced but also because it is in her nature to “hang on” and “persevere” – even with all her baggage in tow. (Here’s where you see me hauling my imaginary baggage across the stage and why I can’t be committed to speaking without hand gestures or being confined to a particular spot.)

Don’t get me wrong about these traits because they are the exact same traits – hanging on and persevering – that make each and every woman an excellent Matriarch candidate. The Matriarchs proper (Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel and Leah) remind us that we are able to be strong in the most difficult of circumstances and that we have an inherent ability to hold our families together through sheer will, want, and prayer. We learn from the Matriarchs how to rely on God’s grace and mercy. They set the groundwork for us to understand that Mary’s fiat is to our earthly lives what Christ’s death and resurrection is to our eternal life.

But life is about balance and so women need to learn how to balance their ability to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders with the need to let go of some of it – especially if they carry it to their own peril.

Lot’s wife didn’t want to let go of her ____; that blank can be filled in many different ways:

Lot’s wife didn’t want to let go of her life as she knew it.

Lot’s wife didn’t want to let go of her pain.

Lot’s wife didn’t want to let go of her hopes and dreams.

Lot’s wife didn’t want to let go of her sorrows as they had become her best friends.

And in not letting go, Lot’s wife paid the ultimate price – her life.

Now change the subject of the sentence to suit your own life:

________ did want to let go of her life as she knew it.

________ did want to let go of her pain.

________ did want to let go of her hopes and dreams.

________ did want to let go of her sorrows as they had become her best friends.

Maybe Lot’s wife was going to have one last look and then planned on throwing herself a pity party. Who knows? But I dare say we’ve all been there, done that. Knowing that it is in our own best interest to let go, leave the past behind, we still manage to make use of pains, hurts, sorrows or broken dreams in one way or another.

Did you know that heart disease is the number one cause of death for American women? This is according to the American Heart Association.

I offer that sidebar of information because it seems to make the lessons of Lot’s wife all the more pertinent for women today. “Letting go” allows our bodies a modicum of stress-relief and frees us to laugh and enjoy more of life. Laughter produces the endorphins and neurotransmitters that reduce stress – often a contributing factor to heart disease. And while I am no doctor, I know that the heavier the load we drag behind us, the more burden it places on our minds, bodies and especially our hearts – emotionally and physically – and thus is best left behind. (Imagine me dragging my baggage ever more slowly across the stage, now stooped by its burdensome weight and size.)

All this isn’t to say that we ought to let go of things without having first let them serve their purpose in our lives. After all, it is often the things that wound us most that also allow us to build virtues such as compassion, kindness, forgiveness and fortitude. But there is a fine line between the building of virtuous characteristics and sending invitations to a full-blown pity party.

We aren’t meant to become martyrs in our own eyes but should be witnessing to the facets of a faith that will draw others in. That involves experiencing pain and sorrow, regret and dashed dreams, as well as what we do with those experiences. Here’s where Lot’s wife becomes a blatant reminder: Do Not Look Back!

This also isn’t to suggest that certain damages, neglects, or abuses from one’s past should be taken lightly or will be forgotten just through sheer, brute will. And in some cases it is clear that professional counseling or services is a necessary part of “letting go.”

But for most of us, letting go is simply a daily “giving over” to Christ. It is that moment in the morning when our thoughts and words turn to Jesus and we share our trust in Him and how He will guide our day, ever at our side.

Editor’s Note: Cheryl Dickow is the author of “Our Jewish Roots: A Catholic Woman’s Guide to Fulfillment Today by Connecting with Her Past.” Cheryl’s website is www.BezalelBooks.com and her phone number is 248-917-3865. 
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The cycle continues

A Baby's Baby

The cycle continues

By Arwen Mosher

Camilla runs past me and I pull her in for a hug, which she loves.

She kicks her feet and giggles delightedly as I nuzzle her neck. I whisper, “I love you, baby girl.”

Suddenly she’s serious, twisting to meet my eyes with her wide ones. “No, Mom. I’m a big girl!”

(“Mom!” It just kills me.)

“Of course you are, sweetie, but you’ll always be MY baby.”

Camilla laughs as if she thinks I might be teasing her, but her tone is indignant. “I already just told you! I’m not a baby!”

It seems like minutes ago I was rolling my eyes at my own mother, who kept insisting - long after I was far too big to sit on her lap - that I would always be her baby. Now that I’ve got children of my own, I understand exactly what she meant.

My daughter’s limbs were once tiny and wrinkled, then chubby and dimpled. They are long and slender now, and will only continue to grow. She won’t go back to being a real baby, not ever.

Camilla doesn’t remember the day I first kissed the fuzz on her newborn head. She won’t. Instead, she’ll remember growing bigger, more independent, less tolerant of being called a baby by her sentimental mother.

Someday, though, she might kiss a newborn head of her own. Then she’ll understand how that moment sticks around and how, in a certain sense, a baby is always a baby to her mother.

My mom still says it sometimes, but I never roll my eyes at her now. I get it.

(Love you, Mom!)

Full Story

Mary at Pentecost

Mary at Pentecost
Finding My Vocation in Her Example

By Sarah Reinhard

I find myself turning to Mary quite a bit in my role as mother. What I have found, when I look to her Pentecost example, is a series of lessons that inspire me to seek her Son in every moment of my day.

All women are called to motherhood.

Many aspects of this vocation didn’t feel natural to me at first. Maybe it’s that I didn’t feel that I deserved the many blessings I found coming to me as I went through my first pregnancy and labor.

Holding my first daughter, I thought of the women I knew who struggled with infertility, with a longing for more children, with miscarriages. I thought of the single women I knew who felt the pull toward marriage, but had no prospects.
I came to appreciate the different types of motherhood, and came to see that spiritual motherhood is a unique role women have been given by God.

There are women who have empty nests and wisdom to share and women with schedules crowded with sippy cups and diapers. But, perhaps unnoticed, there are also women who are single with a great passion for children and women with less children on earth than they have in heaven or in their heart.

In Pentecost, we see the Church as a family gathered together, Mom in our midst. Mary is there with the Apostles, and she encourages me to look around, at my fellow women, and be inspired by their examples of motherhood in all its forms.

We have to start with the present (and our presence).

By the time of Pentecost, the regular band of disciples must have been like a large extended family. And Mary must have been a warm, familiar sight to them. They were worried, and probably a little unsure.

In the Upper Room, Mary shows me the importance of the present, and the significance my mere presence can play. She didn’t miss any of the big events in her Son’s life, from His first step to His first miracle, from His Passion to His Resurrection.

It’s only natural that she’s in the Upper Room, and it underlines the importance of the here-and-now moment in each of our lives. God doesn’t ask us to pine for the past or live in the future; He holds the present before us as a gift given.

In the same way, I see that my presence makes such a difference in people’s lives. While I am not able to be all things to all people – or to be in all places at one time – I can focus my efforts and use Mary’s quiet example at Pentecost as a guiding light.

God is with us in our pain.

I had been dating my husband for a few years when his sister buried a baby. I had never experienced anything like what I witnessed in the months before and after the baby’s birth. We knew the baby would not be healthy, and we knew the likelihood was great that there would be a funeral following the birth. In fact, the doctors were disgusted that she did not have the abortion they scheduled.

On the day of the funeral, I saw my future husband sit tall and straight, his eyes red, even as I saw the grieving father in the front row sit with two young girls on his lap and his arm around his wife.

I had never witnessed grief of that sort, but I had also never seen the kind of hope I saw that day either. There were no recriminations. There were tears, and there was sorrow, but there was also peace.

Did my sister-in-law doubt God’s presence in the midst of her pain? Has she ever shaken her fist, sobbed her heart out, wondered at the cross she carries? When she found herself, once again, at the foot of the Cross with Mary, did she just stop and let Mary hold her?

In my sister-in-law’s example over the years, I have seen how her motherhood extended beyond her four children, two of whom were held first by the Blessed Mother. I watched her embrace other children, care for people, and give of herself unconditionally. She has been, for me, a model of trusting in God’s presence, even through pain beyond imagining.

Our Lady of the Cenacle, pray for us.

Above all, Pentecost gives me another way to invoke Mary. Here she is, patiently waiting. She knows what I’ve gone through, and she knows that there’s hardship ahead. But she smiles anyway. The greatest joy, as she knows so well, comes from always saying “Yes” to God.

—Sarah Reinhard writes online at SnoringScholar.com.

Resources:

• Resources for Spiritual Motherhood
• Mulieris Dignitatem, by John Paul II
• Rosarium Virginis Mariae, by John Paul II
• “On Mary’s Maternal Presence at Pentecost”

The Passion

The Passion
By Lenora Grimaud

Some might wonder, “Is there any real good that can come of suffering? What is the purpose of suffering?” If we are reflective we can see from our own experiences that suffering produces virtue, when accepted. We grow in patience, perseverance, fortitude, courage, strength, discernment, wisdom, knowledge, understanding, etc. But, what good could come from the passion and death of Jesus? How is suffering redemptive? How is death redemptive?

Jesus said, “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13). To many people, this is foolish, and a waste. They value their own life more than the life of their friends, even if they think their friends will make better use of their life than they would. If they think they are better than their friends, this kind of sacrifice is even more foolish.

Many people, however, are very humble and selfless. They would willingly risk their life to save others—like the helpless and innocent. Very few would risk their life to save a criminal or great sinner—perhaps, none—except for mothers for their children. Many people are also willing to risk their life for a good cause. These are magnanimous souls.

How many people could risk their life—or lay it down—if there was no honor in it; if they had to lay down their reputation and good name as well as their life? Jesus laid down his life, freely, in order to save sinners. He did it for the honor and glory of his Father, as well as to give eternal life to sinners. He also allowed himself to be taken for a criminal and a heretic—not a hero or martyr. Is there any greater act of love than this?

How did this love—this sacrifice of his life—help humanity? How has it saved anyone, let alone sinners? Jesus rose from the dead, proving that he can restore life and give eternal life; proving that he conquered sin and death; proving that he can deliver people from the slavery of sin and transform them into the image of God, by sending them the Holy Spirit. The evidence lies in the thousands of Saints and holy souls that followed after him. It has affected even non-believers. It has even brought about a new evolution of humanity, in spite of all the evil that still exists in the world. The kingdom of God is growing in the hearts of mankind.

Our understanding of what love is, is also growing and deepening. Although they prophesied about the mystery of God’s love, could the prophets have ever been able to conceive of the scope and magnitude of this love? Could they have understood a God who loved his enemies and the enemies of his people—who loved everyone; a God who loved unconditionally; a God who is so merciful, and so powerful that he can change the hearts of his enemies—of the most hardened sinner; a God who was willing to come among them and be with them—be one of them; a God who would lay down his life for them, in flesh and blood?

Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness; and found human in appearance, he humbled himself, becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross [public execution of a criminal]. Because of this, God greatly exalted him and bestowed on him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. (Phil. 2:6-11)

God is love, and the greatest suffering in life comes from the rejection of love—for both, the one who is loved and the one who loves. God has revealed to us, long ago, that even if we are unfaithful, if we abandon him and reject his love, he will always be faithful to us; he will never abandon us, reject us, or stop loving us. He accepts the pain and suffering of our rejection without retaliation—even if we refuse to repent—and continues to love us.

Unrequited love is somewhat flattering to the one who is loved, at first. But, because they do not return the love—or cannot return it—they reject it. When the one who loves, continues to love, it becomes bitter to the one who is loved. They become angry, and then want to destroy the one who loves them. The suffering that results is terrible for both, the one who loves and the one who is loved. Jesus wept over Jerusalem because they did not realize what was being offered to them, and the consequences of their rejection. (Mat. 23:37)

God loves us unconditionally, with unrequited love. Our rejection of his love brought about his crucifixion. When the first man and woman sinned, it was a rejection of God’s love, and if God had been flesh and blood, their rejection would have resulted in the passion and death of God upon the tree of life. The crucifixion of Jesus is a reenactment of the effect of sin upon God and humanity. Jesus accepted our rejection knowing what it would lead to—even before his incarnation. It was the Father’s will that his son love unconditionally, with the same unrequited love. Love does not, however, end with the cross—with crucifixion. Jesus rose from the dead, revealing the power of enduring love. The cross is not the last word. The cross is God’s act of mercy. Unrequited love will eventually conquer death and separation, and transform our relationship with God into the union of love, not because of us, but because of God’s unending mercy—his ultimate act of love.

The power of unconditional love was not immediately evident at the time of Jesus’ death. His resurrection revealed it to his disciples. It continues to be revealed throughout the ages, through subsequent disciples who love unconditionally, until the kingdom of God is fully established on earth. “The servant is not greater than the master.” (John 15:20) If they persecuted Jesus, they will also persecute his disciples. All suffering in life, even that of the totally innocent, can be traced back to sin—and to original sin—the rejection of God’s love.

When the love of God enables us to accept suffering and unite it to the suffering of Jesus, we continue to proclaim the Gospel—the Good News—and to manifest the unconditional love of God for humanity. When humans accept the mercy of God—his unconditional love for them—even though they do not deserve it, they enable the power of his resurrection—the power of unconditional love—to be made manifest in the world.

This was the message of the prophet, Hosea. His own relationship with his unfaithful wife became a metaphor for the relationship that God has with his people, as well as the whole human race. It has also served to deepen our understanding of the indisolvability of “marriage,” and the kind of love a married couple should have for one another. There have been many marriages in which one spouse, at some point, stops loving the other, or rejects their love. If the other spouse continues to love, unconditionally, there will probably be much suffering and conflict, for awhile. If they persevere, however, it will eventually win the other over. There may need to be a period of separation (a time-out) to allow for a change of heart before one of them destroys the other.

If they do not get a divorce, there is always hope for a reconciliation and union of love. This is why it is necessary for those who enter into marriage, to make a commitment for life to stay in the marriage. Marriage is a covenant of love and there is no love without sacrifice or suffering. Marriage is in sickness and health, for richer or poorer, in good times and bad. The same is true with our covenant with God. We have to trust in him and in his love for us. God never gives up on us and continually pours out his love and mercy on us.

In the book of Jonah, the message was that God is the creator of everyone, and loves everyone. God has no favorites. The “chosen people” were called for the sake of all nations—to be a light to the nations and direct them to God; to be a spokesman for God to reveal his love to all peoples.
In the book of Job, the message was that suffering is not punishment from God for sin. Suffering comes to good people as well as bad. All behavior has its own consequences—we reap what we sew. Nevertheless, the innocent suffer as well as the guilty, and the evil man prospers as well as the righteous man. When we have turned away from God, suffering can be a gift to turn us back to God. When we are righteous, as Job was, and suffering comes to us, we need to trust in God, accept the suffering and continue to trust that God is with us in the suffering and will bring good from it.

God takes no pleasure in seeing his people suffer. Through one man’s (Adam) sin, all of creation was wounded. All of creation is connected. When one person suffers, the whole of creation suffers. Through one man’s perfect act of love (only God is perfect) the whole of creation is healed and renewed—transformed. God did not come to destroy the world, but to save it. Sin is like the radio-active fall-out from a hydrogen bomb. It affects everything—all life on earth—people, animals, plants, water, air, and earth. God does not send natural disasters. They come from the impurities and imbalance in nature caused by sin. If a whole city repents (Nineveh) and turns to God, the elements of nature are affected, as well. To repent is to be with God—to receive his love and protection. To be separated from God (sin) is to be subject to destruction.

God is not a destroyer. The plagues of Egypt did not come from the hand of God. They were the result of nature rebelling against sin—cause and effect. Suffering is our rebellion against sin, because we were created for union with God. God could have intervened and stopped the plagues if Egypt would have allowed him to (as Jesus calmed the storms at sea). The Hebrews were saved by God because God was with them and they were with God, through obedience. God did not destroy Egypt, he saved the Hebrews.

The human body is always trying to heal itself of its impurities and disease. Nature does the same, through what appears to be natural disasters or interventions of God.

Some holy souls absorb the impurities of others into their own body like one who sucks out the venom of a snake bite in another person. Some nations do the same. They are a sign of the “Cross” for the world. These are the poor and the innocent ones. They become a sacrifice of love, uniting their suffering with Jesus—the sacrificial lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.

Notes to: “The Passion”
By Lenora Grimaud

Notes: I do not mean to imply that the pain we cause God by our rejection of his love is the same as that experienced by a person who experiences “unrequited romantic love.” Unrequited romantic love is painful to the ego and is not selfless love. This pain is the self-inflicted pain of not getting our own way—getting what we want. The “unrequited love” of God causes God pain, not because our rejection of him hurts him, but because it hurts us. God pursues us with his love like “the hound of heaven,” but he never forces his love upon us. He weeps over us because our rejection leads us toward death. An example of God’s pain of “unrequited love” is the pain of the Father in the parable of “The Prodigal Son,” (Lk.15:11-32) and Jesus, “weeping over Jerusalem” (Lk.13:34-35).

The relationship between a husband and wife is an exclusive relationship. A marriage is a relationship between one man and one woman. They each jealously guard this relationship against false lovers who attempt to break their covenant with each other. Righteous jealousy should not to be confused with the jealousy that comes from our ego, or lower nature. Righteous jealousy is comparable to the zeal of the “Shepherd” who guards and protects his sheep from the thief and the wolf, who comes to steal and to destroy the sheep. (John 10:11-16)

“God is a jealous God!” There can only be one God, who is God over all peoples. The “bride” is a metaphor for the human race—the people of God. The bride is inclusive of all humans. There is only one God, however, who makes a covenant with all humans—beginning with the first man and woman, who represent all humans.

There is no place for false gods in this covenant relationship. There is only one “Shepherd.” God jealously guards his people against thieves and hirelings who try to take his place, but he will not stoop to compete with them. He jealously guards his people because of what will become of them if they become slaves of false gods, and so he will never abandon them. He goes in search of them when they become lost, and never gives up until he rescues them. Jesus came to save the whole world. Not all of the sheep know the voice of the “Shepherd,” or follow him. They are not yet part of the flock. God will not rest until he has all his sheep back.

“And there are other sheep I have that are not of this fold, and these I have to lead as well. They too will listen to my voice, and there will be only one flock, and one shepherd.” (Jn. 10:16)

In a true marriage, there can only be one husband and one wife. Jesus said: “Have you not read that the creator from the beginning made them male and female and that he said: This is why a man must leave father and mother, and cling to his wife, and the two become one body? They are no longer two, therefore, but one body. So then, what God has united, man must not divide.” (Mat. 19:4-6) God took woman from out of man and formed her (Gen. 2:21-24).

He created man and woman for union—to be one, through marriage. This is not so of two women or two men, or of a human with an animal, or of a man and woman outside of marriage, or of an adult and a child. A husband and wife should be a matched pair, like two shoes—the same size and style, but, a left shoe and a right shoe. A marriage should be a perfect fit—a good match.