Holy Land

To say that missing the Holy Land is an understatement would itself be an understatement. Long ago, the gift of my experiences was stored deep in the chambers of memory. Visiting the Western Wall is one of them.

Sometimes, when asked how many times the Holy Land has been visited, the answer that proudly blurts out is, “At least 20 times.” But honestly, after visiting for 15 years, the count has been lost. The excitement starts at LAX, waiting to board a flight of more than 15 hours, settling into a coach seat, and making friends with whoever is seated nearby. Once the plane lands in Tel Aviv, the adrenaline kicks in. Passports are never stamped there, in case a visit to another Middle Eastern country is planned. The interrogation at Israeli customs is grueling. As tired as one may be, a battery of questions must be answered. Many times suitcases are opened and thoroughly searched — truly at their mercy. And when traveling in a group of 20, every person must be accounted for. Then it’s smooth sailing to Jerusalem.

The parish holds Adoration on the first Friday of every month. But on this particular Friday, the Monstrance was not exposed after the 8:30 AM Mass because another Mass followed shortly after. Still unable to drive, this complicated things considerably — and the day rushed by with Adoration forgotten entirely.

Then on Saturday, Mike was up early as usual, getting ready to take the granddog for a walk. Jumping out of bed, the request came quickly: “Will you take me to Adoration?” As we pulled into the parking lot, Mike looked around and said, “There’s no one here — what are you doing?” “There is always someone there,” came the firm reply. Walking through the doors, the powerful anointing was felt immediately.

Psalm 27:4

“One thing I ask of the LORD; this I seek: To dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life.”

 Prayer Requests

I Scroll through the notes app on my phone where all prayer intentions are safely stored.  This is where the prayer begins.

For years, a handbag has been filled with prayer requests to bring to the holy sites — and finally, to leave at the Western Wall. With every prayer offered, a personal intention is lifted for each individual. In a very real way, those petitions are placed into the small crevices of the Western Wall. To better organize the requests, they have been broken down into categories, beginning with the most serious ones.

To share the tearful joy of doing this in the presence of God is another level of experience altogether. Sometimes, tears need no explanation.

The Rosary

After finishing up with the over a hundred intentions on the list, there is still time to pray a Rosary. There before the Lord, praying the Rosary completes the session. Before leaving, kneeling before the Monstrance, a special blessing is asked for my family. Slowly walking backwards until reaching halfway to the door, then a quiet genuflection while making the Sign of the Cross. How the longing to spend the entire day there is real — but life happens. Mike had an appointment he needed to keep.

The Blessing

Blessings follow when the Lord is put first. So much was accomplished, and  Lynda — the Reluctant Chef — made a wonderful dinner for Mike. The home was filled with peace, and even the granddog felt it.

Matthew 6:33

“But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you besides.”

My Prayer

Thank You Lord for always meeting me where I am. Amen.

Tradwife

If the man takes the true role of leadership—spiritually, as financial provider, and as protector—all else will fall into place. I first encountered the term “tradwife”  a few months ago on TikTok. Am I a tradwife? Is this an insult for a woman who decides to stay home and raise a family?

Both my daughter and daughter-in-law work, yet alongside their careers, they remain mothers and wives first. Women are capable of much, but life’s balance is what matters. And if that means the man is the head of the household, we are to come alongside him as partners in raising a family.

Scripture provides the answer. The Word of God says to “be subordinate to one another.” This verse is one of the most misunderstood verses—why? Ephesians 5:22 makes people crazy. For years, I myself did not fully understand its meaning. It’s truly the way a husband and wife should mirror their lives: the husband leading with sacrificial love, the wife responding with trust and partnership. When a man takes his true role seriously, everything else is left to God.

Ephesians 5:21-30 New American Bible (Revised Edition)

The Train To No Where

Protests against the war in Vietnam, the Black Panthers, and the Chicano movement were gaining strength in numbers and our high school was part of this. I got involved in UMAS (United Mexican American Students). We protested about every injustice, held sit-ins at the school board demanding Chicano Studies. I can honestly say that no textbooks were written about this subject at this time, but somehow we got it into the curriculum. In my senior year I was voted president of MECHA (Movimiento Estudiantil Chicano de Aztlan) a more sophisticated name change for UMAS. We continued to separate ourselves to protect us from those that did not believe as we did. I look back on these years and can see how we were a part of the big picture of what is happening on our college campuses today. All it takes is a strong charismatic leader with either good or malevolent intentions to misguide young minds. Back then, I believed changes needed to take place to make teachers and administrators understand that not only one race could succeed.

With one year of college under my belt, I knew it all. Well, so I thought.  We can thank Mr. Lamb, my high school history teacher for first igniting the fire of fury in me. What a wonderful ride this was. Anger fueled with compassion took precedence over my mind. There was no room for God or His Son Jesus, I was too busy changing the world and spirituality was not even on the back burner.

The Reckoning

The same pride that once made me reject God’s authority made me resist my husband’s leadership. I had learned from Helen Reddy that submission meant weakness. But the 15 year of searching – through the Protestant churches, through BIOLA, through the charismatic renewal–taught me something the radical movement never could: The true freedom comes not from rejecting authority, but from trusting God enough to place myself under it. First through the church then through my marriage.

Get On The Bus

MECHA was the equivalent to the Black Panthers but created for Hispanics. In college, MECHA rallies were more intense and the organization was to round up as many kids, by the busloads, to spread the blanket of half-truths. Half-truths work in the minds of the youth. Preach how you were mistreated and how you can make the world a better place. With the exception of one racist teacher, our high school had wonderful instructors, but with half-truths they all fell into the bad category. I knew going into this movement that it was radical;  my oldest brother Robert warned me against MECHA, but I was not ready for his wise counsel.

I will never forget when a large yellow school bus rolled up in my neighborhood  to pick me up for a rally at Cal State Long Beach.  I watched the leaders of MECHA wearing brown berets that looked like the one that Che Guevara wore. This scared me because I had recently studied about him. He was the charismatic, Marxist revolutionary with a medical degree. Che Guevara had a strong following from many Latin American countries, and ours.

The men who were leading the movement at our college were well into their twenties. Their agenda was to indoctrinate us with radical ideologies. But after the Cal State Long Beach rally a discomfort and distrust was building inside me. MECHA sponsored me for Homecoming Queen and with that victory came more commitment to the organization. What happened next would not only change the trajectory of my involvement, I was quietly disowned because I started dating a white young man.

Adding God To The Equation

Mike and I married in January of 1972. After five years of marriage the search for a better understanding of the proverbial “meaning of life” opened a newly paved road to encounter God. It was not by accident but by providential portal waiting for me to discover. The search started with a Mass in Chatsworth, CA, something came alive in me after receiving communion. I remembered looking over at Mike, “Doesn’t this feel great?” We were filled with the peace of God. But it did not last because the journey led me away from my Catholic foundation. The meandering road to make my way back to the one true Church took 15 years.

The Hiatus

During those 15 years, I drifted through various Protestant churches, my children alongside me. Mike respected my search but didn’t participate—he found three-hour services ridiculous. Around 1995 I attended BIOLA University, where I earned my bachelor’s degree and deepened my love of Scripture. But something was calling me home. In 1996 I discovered a charismatic renewal group within the Catholic Church. That bridge felt right. The transition back to St. Norbert, my current parish, was finally peaceful.

So, back to the question: Am I a tradwife? The label matters less than reality. The role of mother, wife, and servant of God came into being when I surrendered every part of myself to Christ. Not to a cultural ideal, but to Him. Mother Mary—who said ‘Let it be done to me according to Thy word’—became my model (Luke 1:38). And through that surrender, Mike and I became truly one, as Scripture intended.

Genesis 2:24 New American Bible (Revised Edition)