Concrete Sign- 1

The last day of retreat, I was very much aware of the stirring in my heart with regard to tilling my soil and planting. I couldn't wait to get home to begin dreaming in earnest. God was relentless as he inspired ideas as to location, resources etc...I could feel parts of myself resurrecting from the dead.

Then I got home.

Family life...laundry, bills, work, other details landed in front of me as soon as I walked in the door. I immediately felt the enthusiasm for gardening disappating....how could I possibly add one more thing to my list of responsibilites? Why would I want to till up a space in my yard on purpose and create that kind of mess. What if I didn't remain faithful to caring for it? What if I let the weeds come in and take over? What if it turned out to just be another burden among burdens? Oh....believe me, the desolation was thick and dark.

Thankfully, God loves me too much to leave me without help for long....St. Ignatius came to my aid. I knew enough to realize that I was being tempted to move from Consolation into Desolation. And what do we do when the bad spirit is trying to move us away from the Good Spirit? Yes...you know......RESIST!!!!!!!!!

At that point, I knew the dirt had to be tilled. I must garden. It was no longer a nice idea. It was (and still is) the difference between me being with God or.......not.

Sadly, my strength was waining. But in a beautiful turn of events, that very evening I encountered a professional Gardening Coach from Phoenix, AZ. http://thedesertgarden.com
In a personal, particular, and relational way, God seems to have arranged for me a friendly and keenly knowledgeable guide. Words can hardly express my gratitude.

Soil & Receptivity

On retreat a couple of weeks ago, I was having dinner with a group of women when a priest friend came to sit with us. Eventually the subject turned to gardening and all was going well until at one point in the conversation he looked at me and said that I have the most under-utilized piece of land he's ever seen and encouraged me to "plant something!"

My reaction to his innocent words surprised me in its intensity and because my reaction was so disproportionately strong, I've been relating what I've been finding in my heart with regard to 'tilling the soil' to Jesus since then. The grace that has come of this relating is what will now be my own "Chronicle of Gardenia". Thanks for coming along.

Jesus' Altar, Tabernacle and Monstrance

by Giuliana Spigone, A. O.
February 24, 2003

Jesus is always with us. He assured us, “[K]now that I am with you always, until the end of the world.”[1] Jesus remains always with us! Let us welcome Him; let us open wide the door of our heart to let Him in! Our heart has to be like an altar, a tabernacle, and a monstrance.

AN ALTAR
Let us make of our heart a table on which our offerings are placed; the same altar where every day Jesus offers Himself to the Father for us. We have to be an altar on which our poverty is offered. Let us place all we are and have on the altar of God; let us sacrifice ourselves, our selfishness, our pride, and all that belongs to us. The blessing of our heavenly Father will come upon our offerings and the Spirit will transform them into an oblation pleasing to God.

A TABERNACLE
Our heart must be like a tabernacle, a sacred place where the Lord lives, watches in silence, and murmurs words of goodness and love to the heart. “Taste and see how good the Lord is,” [2] the Psalmist sings. We have to experience the presence of the Lord within us and generously share it with others. Let us listen to what the Lord says to our heart about ourselves and about our brothers and sisters whom we are to love as He loves them.[3]

A MONSTRANCE
We want to make our heart like a monstrance, exposing Jesus to all we meet. Mary, the first monstrance, showed her Son to the Shepherds, the Magi, to all. Before Jesus was born, Mary brought Him to Elizabeth who rejoiced in Whom she saw. Elizabeth, in turn, became a monstrance herself and sang the first beatitude[4] and Mary responded with the Magnificat.[5] Together the two women - each bearing Jesus in her heart - sang a beautiful canticle of praise to the Lord.[6] May our own encounters with others reflect the mystery of the Visitation as we bring our Lord to a waiting world.

Therefore, let us say often:
Jesus, let my heart be
the altar where You sacrifice Yourself
the tabernacle where You watch over us
the monstrance where You manifest Yourself to the world. Amen.
[1] Mt 28:20
[2] Ps 34:9
[3] see Jn 15
[4] Lk 1:45
[5] Lk 1:46-55
[6] Lk 1:42-55

Emmanuel con't

...I knew from past experience that the event that caused the strong emotional response was exactly the place where I needed to press in during prayer. It was an invitation for healing. I wanted the healing, I just didn't want to look at the ugliness of the festering wound. As a matter of fact, I couldn't look at it without help. When ever I would get to it in prayer and I would sense Jesus asking me if he could help me with it, I would recoil in pain, "No! Absolutely not!" He would ask, "When have you experienced pain like this before?" and all I wanted to do was vomit!



I literally felt physically ill during prayer until, mercifully, one day in my Christian imagination, I had an image of being on an Emergency Room operating table. I was in grave danger and a very knowledgeable nurse rushed in the room to help me. She was working to save my life. The doctor was on his way, she was prepping me for his intervention. My nurse was Mary. I remember her making eye contact with me and saying, "The Doctor is coming and has to do a particular procedure. If he doesn't do it you will die. If he does, he can save you. Do you consent to having this procedure done?" I will never forget the loving concern in her eyes. I consented and said, "Yes, I consent, but you have to put me out!"



Each day in prayer after that experience, I went in my imagination to the operating room, I saw Mary there with me at my side, I saw the Divine Physician enter the room, I would give my consent to Mary and would immediately fall into a deep sleep. I would wake an hour or so later, thank the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit for their love and mercy, ask Mary to continue to pray for me, make the Sign of the Cross and go on my way.



Outside of prayer I started to notice that certain memories were coming to the surface that I thought I had sufficiently related to God in the past. They would re-occur each day and cause me each time with the mental images that came with them to recoil in disgust. I was not digging for these, they occurred spontaneously. I realized I needed to relate each image along with the particular past experience to Jesus in prayer, but I also needed to say them out loud.



All this began happening after I started praying for the grace to grieve each day the way the Father wanted me to grieve. All along I thought my grief could be isolated by situation. For instance, that my grief about Bill's passing was completely disconnected to any other type of grief experience I had in my life previously. This is not so, from my experience. In me it was like all my grief was tied together like knots on a strand. When I started pulling on one, they all started coming up, one at a time. It didn't happen automatically, it was by invitation. I had to consent. And once I did, the grace was there for me to look at each experience of grief as it came to the surface. I didn't have to go searching for it, but I could ignore it if I wanted to. Ignoring would create more pain, but it was still an option in my Christian freedom. God would never force me to heal, only invite.

Snow Plows and Joy

Bill and I used to ask each other the things we wanted to do before we died. And goofing around one night I told him I thought, just once, it would be a blast to drive one of those big snow plows (as a mom, just the fact that they could look in their rearview mirror and see immediate results made it a draw). The cool thing is, I now have my own plow (it’s just a blade on the front of our Suburban, but it’s a plow and it’s mine:)) I spend tons of time thinking of new ways to create bigger snow forts for the kids. It’s great fun and it brings me joy.

On the Third Sunday of Advent (Gaudette Sunday, or "The Pink Candle Sunday" if you're my 9 year-old) this year, our pastor preached about Joy. He said if you’re experiencing it, look around, you’re probably not alone. The other day I had and experience of joy when I was plowing, I was thinking about Bill and how happy he had to be knowing that was loving it so much. I was thanking him for bringing us here, and for giving me this beautiful place to live. I had a growing awareness that my heart was filled with gratitude and joy. I was bubbling over and was telling Jesus all about it when I remembered what Fr. Scott said about Joy…and even though I was alone in the vehicle, I realized I couldn't be. I'm pretty sure for one quick moment, Bill was there too. It was a precious, unexpected gift just like our move has been. Thanks, Bill, for the visit. I loved every second. Come see me again soon and stay longer next time :)

A Year Later...

This picture was taken of us last Christmas outside of Notre Dame in Paris. We spent that first anniversary with my sister Bobbi and her family. As our luck would have it, they were living in Germany at the time:) (still are, actually). We took a day trip to Paris. It was a beautiful adventure that taught me again how great my kids are and how important it is to be with family no matter how far away they are.

This year Bobbi and her sons are here in the States visiting us for Christmas. We're deeply blessed that my parents moved back to our home town this summer so we are all here together now. I'm comforted that not only is Bill's family close by, but that my family is near as well. When it's thirty below zero and people are wondering aloud why we live in South Dakota, I just remember...it's the people.

Emmanuel

Last September I started having some health problems that scared me. I don't know, losing Bill and being a cancer survivor myself kind of got my imagination activated and before I knew it, I was sure I was going to die. I answered a phone call from my doctor just as I was leaving a paint store and by the time I got to my car I had played it all out in my mind. The bad test results had to mean I was going to die and my children were going to be left without parents. Wow...looking back, the thinking is clearly delusional, but at the time, it seemed perfectly logical based on my history of fortune in this area.

God was no where to be found in my thinking other than to put words in his mouth. Thankfully my mom confronted me saying, "Jackie, you can only look at what you know. No speculating," for me to slow down and really evaluate what I did know. All I knew was that I needed more tests. I had to sit and wait. No running ahead.

At the time, I thought the whole thing was about this physical problem I had, but it's never just that. Is it? I ended up having what was supposed to be a minor surgical procedure. I was very resistant to it but believed I needed it done (which I did), but after what happened during the procedure, I would have rather had a tractor drive over me. My emotional reaction to it all was extremely disproportionate. I cried from the second I got on the table until twenty minutes after it was over. Something about this procedure hit a core wound and I could either respond to God's invitation to go with Him into the pain, or I could reject him and try to figure out and fix it myself. I'll tell you what I did in my next post......

Endings and Beginnings

Four years ago today, Bill had his first brain surgery. It was the last day of our innocence. The following days brought one seizure after another and an introduction to a glossary of terms we never could have imagined we'd have to master...Anaplastic Astrocytoma? Glio Blastoma? It was, and remains a difficult reality to accept, yet here we are four years later without him for a year an a half already.

We continue to grieve, but these days the memories are less sugar-coated and more honest. Bill was human after all and married to me not the Blessed Virgin. As I pray every day for the grace to grieve the way the Father wants me to that day, he leads me to deep places in the landscape of my heart that yet to resonate with the love of God. There is pain, to be sure, but every step through this rough and dangerous terrain is like watching a black and white image being gradually turned to full color. As I bring the dull and dark places into the light of God's love in prayer, they are being watered by my tears. New life is beginning to grow now in places where only despair lived before.

None of this healing was possible with Bill physically here in my daily life as the comforts of marriage sometimes cover places of deep woundedness with the balm of human intimacy. With that removed, all that remains is my relationship with the Trinitarian Lord. This is a severe mercy, but I give my God loving gratitude for it.

Father's Day

We had a peaceful, beautiful Father's Day today. We spent it remembering Bill in so many different ways. It was as if he was with us. As I did some reading while watching the kids swim at the lake I came across this scripture passage:

"For kindness to a father wil not be forgotten. It will serve as a sin offering...it will take lasting root. In time of tribulation it will be recalled to your advantage. Like warmth upon frost it will melt away your sins." ~Sir 3:14-15

Reading it was like Bill giving the children a big thank you letter. I read it to Jake and Hannah later and they were moved to tears. I want to frame it for each of them so they never forget the way God values every little thing they did to help their dad when he was sick. Not one cup of water or fingernail clipping is going to be forgotten. Glory be to God.

At Mass, Fr. Bain talked about how fathers are like Apostles called to lead their families into lives of holiness, to invite, challenge and encourage us to become the people God created us to be. I firmly believe Bill continues to lead us from his place with God. Days like today prove it.

The Fall

The last time I started to see the trees turning color, Bill was with me. One day last fall we decided to make the great effort to go for a drive. Getting him into the car was a difficult and somewhat dangerous process, but we always thought it was worth it for adventure's sake. The drive we went on that day was glorious. The weather perfectly warm, the trees all shades of yellow, orange and red. He was happy. I was happy. And as it happened, it turned out to be our last car ride together.

Now the trees are turning again and the memories of the last eighteen years find a way of dropping into my mind like the thousands of cottonwood leaves rustling their way to the ground under that old tree across the yard from me.

The memories always make me turn to our old photo albums, my old journals, our videos that prove we had a life together before this loss. We have all these things right here at our fingertips, but this week a great grace came to me. I was reminded in a gentle way that Bill's parents, brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles, his friends don't have these comforts to turn to when they start missing Bill. Not only do they feel his absence but they have to do it in that mental darkness that takes over our memory when someone has been away for awhile. We start forgetting what they look like, the shape of their faces, the expressions we once knew intimately are faded. Their voice is all but forgotten.

So it was a great grace this week to have Bill's mom call and tell me how she's missing Bill and would I gather the photo albums, the "Three Wishes" scrapbook Stella made and the DVD so she can spend some time remembering. How glad I am that she feels free to let me help her grieve. Bill, please pray for us as the leaves fall and we remember loosing you.

Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross

Oh my sweet Jesus, how I praise you and thank you for coming in the form of a slave to show me, and everyone who wishes to see, the way back to the Father. May I never lose sight of you or falter in courage as I press into the cross that is fashioned for me; the Cross that will transform us into yourself. May I never shrink from the desire to be in conformity with you through my suffering.

Your way of suffering is not to be feared for you are there~my ever loving Brother, Spouse...Almighty God.

We Adore you O Christ and we praise you, because by your Holy Cross you have redeemed the world.

"Let us boldly ask Christ by what way he is going to the Father;

and he will answer us: by way of the cross...

We must go by the way of the cross too

if we want to enter into the glory of Christ."

~ St. Anthony of Padua

The God of Restoration

Jacob had an accident with the Suburban the other day. By grace, no one was hurt but the vehicle was pretty banged up. And since my tendency is to overreact, that's what I did. I thought Jacob (whom in my mind right then had become 'that kid') needed to learn from this by having the consequences land squarely on him. While there was a tiny ounce of good in my reasoning, my motivation was not by any stretch a desire to lovingly teach. If I had to be honest, I wanted him to feel as frustrated as I felt about it.

Thankfully, in stepped my wise friend, Rena, a beautiful, faithfilled mother of seven whose expecting their eigth. She called and asked how I was doing (be careful asking that, the longer Bill's gone, the more apt I am to tell you and not care how long it takes...). I told her all about the accident and how I felt about it, but more importantly, telling her that I needed wisdom. She listened and then gently pointed out that it was an accident....something that could have happened to anyone and that it wasn't a result of recklessness, just life.

It made me think about how I'm called to be Christ to Jacob. And to be Christ to Jacob in this situation I have to remember that things are fleeting-even broken things, they come to an end. But with Jesus there is no end. His redemptive ways are endless and eternal.

So the question I rest with is this: In what particular way can I cooperate with the God of Restoration today? How can I work with Jesus to help restore and redeem the things that are broken in my midst...especially the things I've broken myself.

A saint is not someone who never falls. A saint is someone who never tires of getting back up. People who know me have heard me say this many times, but it's a truth I love remembering and sharing. It's the definition of our universal call to holiness.

May we never tire of starting over or shrink from the demands of love.

Mentor Mom

Tomorrow is our first MOPS meeting for the year and I was invited to be the Mentor Mom. Mentor means, 'teacher or coach'. I can hardly count how many beautiful women have served me in this way over the years. Some in person, through deep, rich relationships that still continue and others just through articles or books or maybe even just through stories others have told of their valliant struggle through life's challenges and how they found the strength to continue getting up each day.

I accept this invitation to 'teach and coach' this beautiful group of young mother as a sacred trust. I offer each of them and their families to Jesus and consecrate each of them today, some of them before we even meet, to His Sacred Heart.

I'm going to use this blog now to speak to them. To tell them what I know about prayer, suffering, love, sacrifice, the dignity of feminine identity, and the sacredness of being created in the image and likeness of God.

For those of you who already read this blog, I hope you'll join us. For those of you who are just joining me now, welcome.

Blindsided...

The children and I arrived late at my sister's place in California after a long day of traveling. As the six of us piled into the house with all our suitcases, the kids couldn't pull their jammies out fast enough. As their day clothes went flying, Bobbi and I whipped out the sheets and started making beds. We couldn't get Little Mermaid and Nemo tucked under the mattress before we had a child curling up waiting for a kiss and a blessing.

After the whirlwind died down, I found my own bed and began my mental review of the day, you know the way you do when you're out of your element and time zone. Was there anything I still needed to do before I could go to sleep? As I went through the checklist, in the most automatic and natural way I thought, "I need to call Bill to tell him that we made it ok."

It came out of nowhere. How could I think so naturally to call Bill?! It was as if that part of me was still living in 2004. Really, for a split second, he wasn't gone and I wasn't alone without him to care where and how I was. It was a moment of bliss utterly and mercifully destroyed by the truth.

Bobbi held me as I cried it out and she so beautifully and lovingly said as I held my head in my hands and sobbed, "Jackie, he knows you made it ok...he knows. He's with you." She told the truth. It was the only thing that could have consoled me. He knows.

Welcome...

I've decided to move my journaling to this page because the Caringbridge site is really Bill's page. I tried to write for him and about him. Toward the end, I spent time reflecting on what was happening from my perspective, but I never felt comfortable doing that on his page. Here I can.

Hope in the Fetal Position

A person whom had just met me and was just coming to a realization of the truth of the suffering in my life asked with a genuine heart one day, "What keeps you from curling up into the fetal position and staying there forever?"

Clearly he was speaking rhetorically, but it's still a bold question for anyone to ask, much more so from a new acquaintance. Though, remarkably, it didn't hit me as such when he asked. I was just numb enough to allow it to float over me. Only later, as I was mentally reviewing the conversation, did it strike me as odd. It got under my skin. It made me think. The Scripture passage "Be prepared to give an account for the hope that is within you," began to circulate interiorly.

Then, ironically, at Mass the next day, Father asked in his homily, "Where do you get the strength you need to live the life you have to live today?"

Yes, precisely where does my strength come from? How is it that I continued to get up everyday, taking care of my five young children and myself, the household, maintaining my relationships all while caring for my 38 year old husband who had been terminally ill with brain cancer for over two years? Why even today doesn't the fetal position occur to me? From where does the hope within me come?

All I can say is, the only thing that keeps me from falling apart is knowing that I am loved infinitely by a God who is so personal, so gracious, so human and real that being aware of his intimate gaze fills my heart with trust to follow him through this dark valley.

In this darkness I cannot see with my eyes what lies ahead, but I see with my heart that he is near. I hear with my soul the beating of his heart in love for me. I can trust him because he first loved me and labors at every second to make this more known to me.

No matter what, in Christ my Beloved, even if I find myself in the fetal position, as long as I am relating with all honesty the contents of my heart, and actively receiving in the silence of prayer, all is well. I will respond to this love with hope, even in the fetal position.

I will praise Him still ~ Psalm 77.

Life

...is happening here. We've moved. Half our stuff is in one town and half in another. I'm struggling again with false responsibility thinking it's some how my job to not only manage every detail of our family life but to actually have a hand in accomplishing all tasks. HELLO! Jackie....remember the definition of insanity?

A friend once said this to me: "There are only two forms of stress. 1. Taking responsibility for things you're not responsible for and 2. Not taking responsibility for things that you are. And if you're doing one, you're doing both. Time to evaluate the activities of my day. Chances are I've got some changes to make. Is that why I've been biting the inside of my lower lip? Lord have mercy.

Another thing about life that's getting to me is my home state, South Dakota, is about to execute a man. Elijah Page brutally murdered his friend with the intent of robbing from him. He confessed to the crime and has asked to have his appeals stopped and be killed by the people of South Dakota via lethal injection. Does anyone see the contridiction this is with the bill the people of South Dakota just passed in the house and senate and had signed into law declaring that human life begins at conception therefore making virtually all abortions illegal? What is our responsibility as citizens of this great state under these circumstances?

More...

Has this ever happened to you? In the middle of an emotional eating binge you have a moments clarity where you realize what you're doing and ask yourself, "What is it that I am desiring as I put my hand in this can of nuts (or spoon in this carton of ice cream or whatever...feel free to name your vice here) and then into my mouth?" I did this the other day when I (by GRACE... period) realized that at no point EVER would the time come when I didn't want another bite of whatever I was grazing on.

Do you know what my answer to the desire question was? More. All I wanted was more. And every bite after that first question was answered rendered the same response ...more....more...more (ok, it's late...I'm starting to sound like Billy Idol).

When I went to prayer later that day the word more kept running through my mind so as I related to the Father my desire for more the question that came back to me was, "More what or more Whom?" My desire is for the infinite and nuts, M&M's, ice cream etc. are not infinite therefore I will never be satisfied with them when all I want is MORE.

Jesus, you are the More of universe. You are the More I desire. You are the only More my emptiness craves.

What's in the more you're desiring?

Trust and Love

The rest will take care of itself!

"'Eye has not seen nor ear heard what God has prepared for those who love him.' And in the end, who needs specifics? What we do need is trust — trust in the full extent of God’s love for us. And from that trust in his love will come love in return — love that takes care and helps our neighbors to thrive."
~ Monsignor Dennis Clark, Ph.D.

Do you know...

where hope lives?

Hope lives in your heart's desire. Hope lives in the dreams you have for your future. Hope lives and can be resurrected, in my experience, when we experience freedom. Freedom is not doing whatever we want whenever we want. That's license and it's unfortunately standing in as an imposter for the real definition of freedom which is to know that which is good and that which is evil and to choose that which is good. To always seek to know the good and then to choose it is to experience true freedom. Only then when we are resting in that which is good are we able to go where hope lives.

I'll tell you my experience of discovering where hope resides. Maybe you've experienced this too. You know that for many years we lived beyond our means financially. We had stable income so we thought getting ahead of that first paycheck (and then a few more) was something from which we could easily recover. (I'm not going to harp on the reasons not to get into debt so you can keep reading.)

But what we didn't realize until we were out of it was how it limited our ability to dream. It limited our power to act in the world in such a discrete way that we didn't realize until we were out of debt and starting to build wealth for the first time in our marriage that we had stopped really dreaming. It wasn't others that came in and scoffed at our desires for the future, we just did it for ourselves because the mountain of obligations we had already made with our spending power made doing anything except paying bills seem impossible. We didn't even try to dream. But dreaming is where hope lives. If we can't dream we can't hope.

What's keeping you from dreaming? What are the desires of your heart? Discover that and you'll find out where hope lives.