The Trees

Nature plays an important role in our early morning walks. In Santa Barbara, the cool ocean breeze softly blows — a gentle reminder of His presence. The Pacific Ocean speaks in a powerful language. But at our home in Orange, the neighborhood is more stoic, the air a little thicker, and the sounds are mostly manmade.

When the city plants new trees, support poles are tied around them to help them grow strong. The city knows these immature trees must one day withstand the powerful Santa Ana winds, so until they are strong enough to stand on their own, the poles remain.

In many ways, these immature trees are like people who are still growing in spiritual knowledge. The Lord sends others to guide them — parents, grandparents, pastors, catechists, and friends — so that one day they can stand on their own.

The Role Of Parents

Parents represent the two poles holding the young tree. Together, they can help mold their child until that child is strong enough to withstand the world. Scripture is clear on this: “Train the young in the way they should go; even when old, they will not swerve from it” (Proverbs 22:6).

Rooted In God

Parents must regard their children as children of God and respect them as human persons. Showing themselves obedient to the will of the Father in heaven, they educate their children to fulfill God’s law. But no parent can do this on their own strength alone. The poles hold the tree — yet it is the soil, the sun, and the rain that give it life. So too, by incorporating prayer into everyday family experiences, parents teach their children by example — encouraging them to call upon God as their Father who loves and protects them, to look to Jesus their Savior who leads them to the Father, and to acknowledge the Holy Spirit who dwells within their hearts.

Standing Tall

The poles will not remain forever. One day the tree will stand tall on its own — rooted deep, branches wide, unshaken by the wind. That is the goal of every parent, and the quiet hope of every soul: to be so rooted in God that no storm can uproot what He has planted.

The Charlie Brown Trees

As the walk winds back toward home, three crepe myrtle trees come into view — planted years ago along the same stretch of sidewalk. Two of them stand tall and beautifully formed, their branches full and graceful. But between them stands a smaller, weaker tree — stunted, sparse, and struggling. What happened to the middle one? All three were planted at the same time, in the same soil, along the same street. For some unknown reason, the middle tree did not receive enough water.

When One Is Left Thirsty

The image is quietly heartbreaking — and instructive. In a family of three children, it is not uncommon for one child — perhaps more sensitive, perhaps more strong-willed — to slip through the cracks of proper formation. Sometimes a child is over-indulged, never given the loving discipline that builds character and wisdom. Sometimes a child is under-nurtured, left emotionally or spiritually dry. Either way, the damage is real.

Scripture does not soften this truth: “Whoever spares the rod hates the child, but whoever loves will apply discipline” (Proverbs 13:24). Discipline here is not harshness — it is the steady, faithful watering of a soul. A child who is never corrected, never challenged, never formed, never truly loved through difficulty — that child may grow tall in years but remain stunted in spirit, unable to make sound decisions or withstand the inevitable storms of life.

Every Tree Needs the Same Water

The lesson of the three crape myrtles is this: every child in a family deserves the same faithful attention, the same consistent love, the same firm and gentle formation. Favoritism — even when unintentional — leaves a mark. A parent’s calling is not simply to love all their children, but to love each one well, meeting them where they are, giving each what they need to grow.

The good news is that no tree is beyond recovery. With time, attention, and the grace of God, even the most stunted soul can begin to grow again. The Lord is patient with His garden — and He asks parents to be the same.

My Parable

In many ways, our lives are lived out in parables. We can’t fully understand God’s perfect nature, but He gives us beautiful hints of what heaven will be like. In life, I am a mature tree that provides shade when needed. I can withstand the storms that come my way and know that at every turn, a new season is at hand. Every season offers hope. When summer is about to scorch us, fall gently takes over. When winter takes its toll, spring is waiting for its glorious curtain call. We are all creatures of our Maker, waiting for the next great adventure of life.

Trusting  God

All of our stormy trials will come to an end. God allows us to suffer through them for a reason. Some of us must endure many difficult seasons because we have not yet grasped the life lesson being offered. Know that at all times, God has been — and always will be — in the midst of them. You are His child, and the love He has for you runs deeper than any root.

Jesus, I trust in You.

My Prayer

Lord, I thank You for all the beauty that surrounds us. May we look to nature to soothe our spirits. In the midst of our storms, send a cool breeze so that we may feel Your holy presence. Amen.

Born on the Feast

On August 6th, the Church celebrates the Feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord — the moment on Mount Tabor when Christ’s glory broke through His humanity and left the apostles breathless. What a joy, what a mystery, to have been born on that day.

And at 74, the transformation is still underway. Not finished. Not even close. Just continuing — the way grace always does, quietly and without fanfare, until one day you look in the mirror and realize something has shifted.

Weight Struggle

For as long as I can remember, I struggled with weight. I tried so many diets, joined groups — you name it, I did most of them. The problem was never a lack of trying. It was always the approach — and the wanting of immediate results. Learning that hard lesson took decades. But it finally paid off, and it all started with the lockdown.

Before we get into the story of the pandemic, I want to say plainly: I was convinced, early on, that COVID was going to touch all of us in some way. It did.

Lockdown

Mike and I were in our late sixties when the pandemic hit. By the government’s own math, we were already statistics waiting to happen. We weren’t allowed to visit our families — and that, more than anything, was the clincher for me.

I sat glued to the television looking for some scrap of solace in the middle of this epidemic. We were, in every real sense, living a kind of quiet hell inside our own home. The monotony was grinding. The sameness of each day was slowly breaking my spirit.

As a reminder — and it was a true reminder — I had been attending daily Mass. And then our governor closed the churches.

Without the Eucharist, both my body and my soul were in danger of losing hope entirely.

Model Seniors

We were model seniors. We stayed away from our grandchildren, away from family, away from everything. The fear that Dr. Fauci placed in our hearts was real — and all we wanted was to comply.

Seniors were given grave warnings about the vaccine. Mike didn’t hesitate. I, on the other hand, refused. My reason was not defiance. It was lived experience: I had already developed an autoimmune disorder from a flu shot, and I was not willing to repeat that.

The Flu Shot

In April of 2019, I was scheduled to travel to the Holy Land on a missionary trip. Mike wanted to make sure I was prepared, so — without giving it a second thought — the day before the trip I stopped into our local CVS and got a flu shot. I thought nothing more of it.

Symptoms

A few days into the trip, I felt a strange discomfort in my mouth. A perfectly ordinary tomato was causing a burning sensation I couldn’t explain. On closer inspection, my mouth was inflamed — covered in redness and a white substance. Being in a foreign country with a packed schedule, there was no practical way to see a doctor. The symptoms were uncomfortable, but there was little to be done.

Lichen Planus

The moment I returned home, a doctor’s visit delivered the news: it was lichen planus — an autoimmune inflammatory disease that can be triggered by infections, certain drugs, and vaccines. It did not stay confined to my mouth. For two years, lesions spread across my body. Two years of my life marked by that diagnosis, traced back to a routine stop at a pharmacy the day before a trip to the Holy Land.

For that reason, another flu shot has never been an option. And the COVID vaccine was out of the question. Mike would sometimes beg me to comply. But I knew what had happened once, and I was not willing to gamble again.

Weight Loss

Back to where this all began.

Three Ballerinas

There have been many foolish weight-loss choices in my life, but the one about the tea is unforgettable.

About ten years ago, I boarded a Southwest Airlines flight headed to New Orleans to visit my sister Jo. Mike wasn’t traveling with me that trip, so I settled into the window seat. A southern gentleman took the aisle. When the announcement came that the flight was full, a beautiful Filipino woman slipped into the middle seat beside me.

She was roughly my age — yet she looked absolutely fabulous. Was it genetics? A disciplined lifestyle? Or was she onto something I wasn’t? My curiosity was already building.

The southern gentleman introduced himself to us both, but my attention was fixed on this woman. He offered to order us cocktails. Normally, I’d have passed without a second thought — but I wanted an opening. A shared drink felt like the right setting to ask a stranger for her secret. We raised our glasses and toasted to a safe flight.

Then I went for it.

“How do you stay so slim?” I blurted out.

She let out the most adorable little giggle. “I drink tea — regularly,” she said.

“Tea? Tea?” I repeated.

“Yes.”

Well. Pandora’s box was wide open now. I dove into my enormous handbag, fished out a pen, and prepared to write down the name of this miracle tea.

“What’s it called?”

“Oh, you can only find it at an Asian market,” she said — which was not the answer I was looking for.

Just give me the NAME already, I thought, barely containing myself.

“It’s called Three Ballerinas,” she finally answered.

I exhaled slowly. I could not wait to land.

As the plane touched down, I made the Sign of the Cross and thanked God for traveling mercies — and, quietly, for Filipino seatmates. I said my goodbyes to my new companions and nearly sprinted to find my sister. I was on a mission.

Jo wrapped me in her signature bear hug, and before we even reached the car, I was already talking a mile a minute about Three Ballerinas tea. My sweet sister didn’t miss a beat. “I know exactly where an Asian market is,” she said. “Let’s go right now.”

Could this trip have started any better?

Sure enough, right there among shelves of strangely named teas sat the boxes — stacked neatly, almost waiting for me.

“How many are you buying?” Jo asked.

“Four boxes,” I said. “Just in case I can’t find it at home.” (Online shopping wasn’t yet a thing.)

We were practically giddy. The moment we arrived at Jo’s house, we brewed our first pot. My nephew Nick, who was staying with her at the time, wanted in on the experiment too.

The trip was a short three-day weekend, and Jo had something planned for every day — but all I could think about was losing weight, and fast. We had the tea with dinner. We had it again with breakfast.

The Tea From Hell

Thank God Jo’s home was equipped with three bathrooms.

We had to stay put for the entire day. The tea was wreaking absolute havoc on our bowels — all three of us doubled over with stomach cramps, afraid to stray more than ten feet from a bathroom. And yet, in a moment of either bravery or sheer stubbornness, we had the tea again with our takeout lunch.

The side effects were swift and merciless. There would be no sightseeing. No adventures. No leaving the house. Just the three of us, humbled and cramping, completely at the mercy of Three Ballerinas.

The Filipino woman was an experienced tea drinker. She had earned that slim figure one measured cup at a time. We, on the other hand, had treated her quiet daily habit like a fire hose — blasting our bodies in pursuit of instant results. The tea wasn’t the problem. We were.

From that day forward, hot tea has been off the table entirely. The very thought of it is enough.

The Weight Lost

Since COVID, thirty pounds have come off — not through miracle teas, crash diets, or anything ordered in a moment of desperation at 30,000 feet. Through consistency. Through showing up, day after day: an extra half hour of walking, Pilates several times a week — which somehow became the turning point.

At a recent doctor’s visit, the news came that another ten pounds would be beneficial. If it happens organically, fine. But the routine stays the same — no shortcuts, no pressure, no forcing what the body needs to do in its own time.

There is also a doctor in the picture who seems to believe that every problem has a pharmaceutical solution. That particular prescription will not be filled.

My Prayer

Dear Heavenly Father,

Bless all of us Baby Boomers with good health — so that we may continue to pray, to serve, and to love those around us.

Amen.

The Dream

This morning I had an unusual dream.

For context: I kept baby albums for both of my children — but Sonja’s disappeared somewhere along the way. Mikos’ is safely tucked in a drawer. Sonja, always with a smile, insists I must not have loved her as much as her brother. Not finding that album after all these years of searching truly breaks my heart.

In the dream, I was on a missionary trip, and we stopped in Chicago to do some shopping. There I found the bargain of a lifetime — a pair of $750 boots marked down to $130. I made the purchase quickly and wandered into the baby section of the department store. When I pulled open a display drawer, there it was, in living color: Sonja’s baby album.

The cover was identical to the real one — soft hues of yellow and blue — but this version had a baby on the cover who looked just like Sonja as an infant. The bargain of the century had become something far more precious than a pair of boots.

That boot deal was truly the stuff of dreams.

The Interpretation

Why did this dream come — and why was it so vivid?

Sometimes the things that have quietly slipped from our minds are brought back to the surface through a dream. God has a way of drawing our attention back to what matters, even in the night hours.

Why Chicago? Perhaps because that is the heart of the message: Sonja’s baby album is somewhere unexpected — hiding in plain sight, waiting to be found. The one place left to search is the proverbial attic, tucked away in a box alongside her Cabbage Patch Kids. When autumn arrives, the search begins again.

A side note: no technology existed at the time to reveal whether the child was a boy or a girl — that gift would be discovered only at birth.

God Still Speaks – And He uses Dreams

The Lord speaks to us in many ways — through Sacred Scripture, through dreams and visions, and by bringing others into our lives to help guide us. After much prayer, the Lord opened the door for this blog. He gave me a vivid dream about it, and in that dream, He told me to name it My Catholic Roots Are Showing. He even gave me instructions for the logo. When I woke up, I journaled everything with great excitement — but also with a real concern.

I prayed and questioned God: “How can I name it My Catholic Roots Are Showing when I have so many Protestant friends — and when my son is not serving You in the Catholic Church?” I waited on the Lord for an answer. The following night, I had the same dream again. That repetition was my confirmation: God was instructing me to use the name He had given.

Many people today are receiving dreams — some of them prophetic. A prophetic dream can be a confirmation of something that is about to happen, or it can serve as a warning, calling us to prepare spiritually and perhaps even change the course of what lies ahead.

A good friend’s daughter was away at college and had long struggled with substance abuse. My friend faithfully prayed for her wayward child without ceasing. Then one day, the Lord gave her a dream: she saw her daughter bursting out of a deep pit, her right hand stretched upward as she rose to the surface. That dream became a powerful reassurance — a sign that her prayers had been heard, and that her daughter’s freedom was on its way.

Joel 3:1 New American Bible (Revised Edition) (NABRE)

The Day of the Lord

Warning Dreams

Years ago, Mike and I were looking to purchase a larger home. I found one not far from ours, contacted the realtor, and had Mike come with me to see it. It needed a great deal of work, but I was at peace with that — the yard was twice the size of our current home’s, and that sealed it for me. We made an offer and were ready to sign the paperwork, but the realtor had an emergency and was unable to meet with us.

That night, I had a dream in which I was overwhelmed with grief over having sold my house. I was crying in disbelief. The following day, we scheduled a second appointment to sign — but Mike was delayed at work, and we had to cancel again. That night, I had the exact same dream: the same sorrow, the same tears, the same feeling of deep remorse over losing our home.

When I woke up, I told Mike we could not go through with the purchase. It was a warning dream. We would later discover that the home’s previous owner had died by suicide in the master bedroom.

Prophetic Dreams

I dream regularly, so I keep a journal to record them. On January 16, 2007, I recorded this dream:

Mike was driving me to the airport — we were headed to Los Angeles International Airport (LAX) — but I told him my flight was actually out of Orange County, so we turned back. Along the way, we encountered groups of people dressed in loose clothing, walking freely on the freeway. They moved slowly, in groups of five or six, crossing in front of cars and causing accidents. I urged Mike to be careful not to hit them. Some had already been struck — their bodies were still on the freeway.

On August 29, 2009, I recorded another prophetic dream:

The United States was under attack. I watched as ships were bombed. I stood waiting for the Lord to speak through me in a prophetic word. I said, “I…” — and then waited — and the words came: “I, the Lord thy God, will bring disaster to this country.” These were the words given to me in the dream.

Both of these dreams came to light again as I went back through my dream journals.

Instructional Dreams

The Lord gives us instructions through dreams. When my husband Mike faces a challenge at work or cannot figure out how to fix something around the house, the Lord will often give him a dream showing him exactly how to move forward. In the same way, the Lord has used dreams to show me how to lead a Bible study or how to approach a difficult situation with a friend or family member.

Interpretation

Not all dreams speak the same language. Some are direct and to the point — like when Mike receives clear instruction on how to repair something. Others carry hidden meanings that require prayerful discernment. Colors and numbers, in particular, can carry deep spiritual significance.

I once had a dream in which I was retrieving my luggage from a baggage carousel, only to find that my suitcase had been opened and all of my clothing was spread across it for everyone to see. I was mortified as I rushed to gather everything. But every piece of clothing was in shades of purple. Purple is the color of royalty and kingship — and it is also the color of the robe placed on Jesus along the Via Dolorosa. Though my clothes were scattered and I felt exposed, the dream carried a message of transparency and integrity: there was nothing hidden, nothing to be ashamed of before God.

A word of caution: be careful about seeking interpretations from others. There are many who will mislead you. Bring your dreams to God first, and if you seek outside help, go only to someone who genuinely seeks the Lord for wisdom and discernment.

Numbers, too, carry meaning in dreams. In the warning dream I described earlier, I received the same dream twice. I did not act on the first — but the repetition was a confirmation. Two was not a coincidence; it was God underlining the message.

In the dream about the people walking on the freeway, their loose clothing suggests comfort and ease — a picture of those who move through life unbothered by boundaries or consequence. The groups of five and six point to the number eleven. In biblical numerology, eleven is associated with disorder and incompleteness — much like the chaos of filing for Chapter Eleven bankruptcy.

Acts 1:26 (NABRE) “Then they gave lots to them, and the lot fell upon Matthias, and he was counted with the eleven apostles.”

The Apostles were made complete with twelve — a number that mirrored the twelve tribes of Israel. Eleven was never considered whole.

Modern-Day Prophets

These are urgent times, and the Lord is still speaking through those who are attentive to His voice. Those looking for faithful Catholic voices on the End Times would do well to spend time with Dr. Taylor Marshall, who offers thoughtful content on topics such as the Three Days of Darkness, and with Mark Mallett and Daniel O’Connor of Queen of Peace Media, whose work on End Times prophecy is rooted in Sacred Scripture and approved Catholic private revelation.

God is waiting for us to return to Him. May we be found prepared for this spiritual battle.

God bless you.