Category: My Heart of the Matter

It’s difficult to understand why God allows illness or allows us to go through irrefragable trials. On the second night of being home from the hospital I asked God to give me a new direction in life. I was still recovering from COVID, but I knew that He had other plans for me.

As I prayed, the word “nonprofit” kept coming to me. I had never done anything like this, so I continued to pray. Again I received the word “nonprofit.” I asked theLord,”How and what should I do?” Then another word, “backpacks and for me to start with something small.” I continued to pray throughout the week about this matter. Then I took a leap of faith and ordered 24 backpacks. “Ok, Lord, now what?” I prayed again and sent out a few text messages. I wanted these backpacks to be filled with supplies, and that was going to cost money. I sent my granddaughter Maddie for supplies for one backpack so that I could estimate the cost. Then I received a response from Marianela, one of my dear friends. I had asked her to help with five backpacks; she immediately said “yes.” Then I received another text from her that she wanted to help with more. I told her to pray about it, and that’s exactly what she did. She went to church and said that the Lord told her to cover the cost for all the backpacks! This was a confirmation for me to continue with the project.  I ordered another 24 backpacks. My precious friend Jane also helped me with filling more. I know that the Lord will continue to guide my first nonprofit project. I’m still working on establishing it; Sonja and Mike are doing research with the legal aspects of a nonprofit.

¹⁶ It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit that will remain, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name he may give you.

I want to leave a legacy to my grandchildren. I understand that their parents are doing a wonderful job in raising them. I want them to follow in the steps of the greatest of all servants, Jesus Christ. Maddie (Melon) stepped up to the challenge; she, along with two of her friends, picked up the supplies for the first 24 backpacks. It took them over three hours at Walmart to complete the shopping, I could not go because I’m still using oxygen. Sonja, Lucas and Jacob helped with the packing. Before Sonja arrived, chaos broke out between the boys (they’re both hot heads). I told them that we had to pray. The prayer was simple: “Dear Lord, we are doing this work for Your Kingdom. Bring peace and bless the work of our hands.” After the prayer all went smoothly . Since these backpacks are going to public schools I had the boys make cards saying “You are loved.” Will will make the remainder of the cards. A week later Maddie and her friend Sarah came to finish the packing. My granddaughter is busy with her volleyball team; she also has a part-time job that occupies most of her free time. I’m so proud of my family for helping with this loving project. These hours will be considered service hours for all who can help.

Title One Schools

There are twelve Title One elementary schools in the city of Orange. Title One schools were established to provide fair academic services for neglected, delinquent, homeless, students with disabilities, migrant children and at-high-risk students. In order for a school to be considered Title One, 40%  of the students must be considered low-income to receive this federal aid. This program reaches over six-million students nationwide, primarily in the elementary grades.

During twelve years of working with Release Time Religious Education, I worked at four of these elementary schools. I am familiar with the hardships these students face. I have witnessed verbal abuse by teachers because these kids had trouble comprehending what they were being taught. Once I heard a teacher screaming at the top of her lungs while I waited outside the classroom to pick up the students. As I was leaving, I reported this incident to the office. With the Title One program, these students have an opportunity to excel in math, language arts and science through after-school programs.

In order to avoid any red tape, we did not go through the school district. Our daughter Sonja has a friend who is a teacher at one of these schools, so our first distribution will go to her school.

The Dream

I have a lot of dreams; some of them are prophetic. So much doubt comes to my mind about this project, but God always offers faith. On Sunday morning I had a dream that I was pregnant. This dream means  that I’m birthing something new. I have to trust God for the provisions because He planted this seed, and this dream is a confirmation. God knows that I suffer with the St. Thomas Doubter Syndrome; that’s why He gave me this dream.

Age Is Truly A Number

When I headed the ministry for the homeless I was in my late 40’s. This was a 20-year ministry that ended because of my autoimmune disorder; I could no longer feed the homeless because of the  open sores all over my body. Then COVID shut that door permanently. In a few days I will be 69 years old, but that is not going to stop me from serving the Lord. If you would like to be part of this nonprofit, you can reach me by commenting on this Blog or private message me. Hopefully within a few weeks the nonprofit will be established with a donate button. Please remember that even though Title One schools get federal funding, it does not trickle down to the parents. If you cannot support this project, please pray that all we do will be done for the glory of God.

My Prayer:

Dear Lord, we both know how much help I need to take on this endeavor. Please guide me in every decision, so that all donations will be properly distributed into the right hands. May I be ever  mindful of what a great responsibility You have entrusted me with. I pray for those who are willing to support this project to pray first and to do it from their hearts. Amen.

On the morning of July 7th, a cough jolted me awake — so violent it nearly made me pass out. Through the pain, I told Mike it was time to go to the hospital.

But first, I needed to wash my hair. I got up to shower, and what should have taken minutes stretched into an hour. The stairs were the obstacle. Each step felt nearly impossible, an ordeal in itself. Patient and steady, Mike walked backwards in front of me, guiding me down, one agonizing step at a time.

UCI

Once we reached the hospital, I felt great relief. UCI — University of California, Irvine — was not a hospital I had ever been to before; our insurance is with St. Joseph. But my son’s friend, a doctor who heads the emergency room, made the decision an easy one.

From triage to release, the care I received was phenomenal. The personal touch of every person who served my medical needs can only be described as agape love.

I am a true, red-blooded American. I love my country — and this experience gave me a deeper appreciation of just how beautifully diverse we are. The team of nurses and doctors represented so many different countries, yet here they are, Americans, just like me. Thank God they answered their calling. The gentleness of one nurse was so extraordinary that she French-braided my hair. Many of the staff shared powerful testimonies of their personal lives — and I, of course, shared Jesus.

The Study

The word placebo has never sat well — nor has what it represents. By this point, my oxygen had dropped from 83 to 73. It was time for the professionals to take over.

Once I was settled in my room, I received a call from an infectious disease specialist. He informed me that I qualified for a study involving a drug that had been around for more than fifty years — now being used in patients like me to accelerate recovery from COVID. I wanted nothing to do with it. I called Mike, and both he and Mikos felt I should participate in the research. Too weak in mind to weigh the ramifications, I agreed.

The following morning, the specialist walked in with papers for me to sign and a battery of questions. It felt less like a consultation and more like an interrogation. “Did you take a steroid before arriving?” I could not remember what day it was, let alone whether I had taken any particular medication. Before I could fully respond, he pressed again: “Why did you take that steroid?” I wanted to scream, Please leave and let me rest — but I held myself together and remained subdued.

When a coughing attack hit, the doctor jumped back and nearly flattened himself against the wall. The coughs always came with tremors as my body fought to reclaim its breath. Naturally, this prompted the next question: “Why do you have tremors?” Every fiber of my being wanted to say, Because I have COVID, you idiot — but I stayed quiet.

He glanced back at his paperwork. “Do you still have lichen planus?” “Yes,” I answered. “I’m currently dealing with an oral outbreak.” A pause. “You may not be a candidate for this study after all — and besides, you could simply be receiving the placebo.” No explanation. No follow-up. That was the last I ever saw of him.

Day One

Calls and text messages were pouring in, but talking was impossible and texting was draining what little energy remained. A call to my daughter Sonja solved both problems at once. She proved to be the finest advocate imaginable — arranging for the doctors to FaceTime whenever they needed to reach me, so nothing would be lost in translation or exhaustion.

At my request, she contacted my friends in Nepal and Croatia for prayer. She reached out to our team of powerful prayer warriors, my Bible study group, my sisters and brothers, and every close friend who needed to know. My sister Norma took charge of calling our cousins. By the time the calls were made, I had an army interceding on my behalf. My friend Susanna fasted and prayed. Cindy prayed for twenty-four hours straight — she said God gave her the grace to do it.

I knew that once Mike left the room, I would not see him for several days. I knew what my family was feeling, and all I could do was weep. In between decades of the Rosary, I begged God for healing. It was a living nightmare.

And yet — several times after my vitals were taken, I felt Jesus touch my hand. Sometimes it was a squeeze of my fingers. Sometimes it was my whole hand held. Each time, every fear dissolved, and I was able to rest.

Five days. Four nights. Then I was released.

Isaiah 41;13 New American Bible (Revised Edition)

¹³ For I am the Lord, your God,

who grasp your right hand;

It is I who say to you, Do not fear,
    I will help you.

My Hero

Though Mike had five days of respite while I was hospitalized, what he did for me when I came home was carried out with nothing less than the love of Christ. Too weak to climb the stairs, I had to sleep downstairs. Sonja researched and found a recliner that would serve as my bed. Mike came down at odd hours through the night to check on me. For the next week and a half, he made every meal, took my vitals, and handled all the cleaning.

The only thing missing was Holy Communion.

I texted my friend Claire from St. Norbert and asked whether she might be able to bring it to me. She has been bringing me daily Communion ever since. As it turned out, Mike had been struggling to take my vitals accurately — and then it came to me: Claire is a nurse. Much to Mike’s relief, she was more than happy to take that on as well. On Sundays, my neighbor Adele brings Communion along with an abundance of goodies.

The Vaccine

The decision is personal, not political — and it is rooted in lived suffering.

An autoimmune disorder developed after a flu shot left me enduring hundreds of open, unsightly wounds for two and a half years. The COVID-19 vaccine carries a real risk of triggering another outbreak. It is not something that can go into this body. And yet, there is genuine joy that Mike was vaccinated. For him, it was the right choice. For this body, it is not.

My Prayer

Dear Lord,

Thank You that the road to recovery is now underway. Gratitude runs deep for every soul who prayed — and they can count on prayer in return.

For those still in the midst of their battle: heal them, Lord. Draw them closer to You. For the thousands who lost their fight to this virus: bring peace to their families. Receive them with mercy.

And lastly — thank You for family, who bombarded heaven on my behalf: Mike, Mikos, Sonja, Jenny, Russ, Maddie, Wil, Lucas, and Jacob.

Family is the best medicine.

My plans for a trip to EWTN in Irondale, Alabama were set. My sister Norma and I would make a pilgrimage and spend time visiting the Shrine of the Blessed Sacrament to pray. On the morning of our departure both of our flights were canceled. I spent several hours sorting this out but now Norma would be flying solo and meeting me in Birmingham. Through the grace of God we made it only to find more obstacles waiting for us at the car rental. We had reserved a mid-sized vehicle, but due to COVID we ended up in the biggest Infinity SUV. It took two hours to sort all this out. Finally we arrived at our “Bates” hotel only to discover that someone was already in our room “very creepy”. By the time we settled into another  room it was 3:30 am.

The Shrine of the Blessed Sacrament

This 600-acre complex is in the small community of Hanceville, Alabama. Both my sister and I were out of the spirit and suffering fatigue. We were driving this huge SUV and complaining most of the way. When we arrived I noticed my phone had no charge; we forgot to bring a charger. We had about 20 minutes to shop in the gift store. All was going according to plan when suddenly a lady stepped up to the register. She was making five different transactions, paying separately while teaching her daughter to make change! I looked at Norma and rolled my eyes as far back as I could, saying to myself, “Lady, we are going to be late for the service because you want to teach your daughter math!” We had to leave all of our purchases on the counter and run to make the Mass. We knew that Father Leonard Mary was officiating. It was during his homily that I realized that this message was meant for Norma. Father Leonard spoke of the Beatitudes, so I gently nudged Norma when I felt it was approtriate.  I never expected her response; she nudged me back!

After Mass we made our purchases and went back into the shrine for Adoration. The presence of God was so powerful it almost felt tangible. Though it’s was frowned upon to take pictures, we sneakily took a few photographs. At the back door was a slim man praying the Rosary. He was also the watchman, making sure no overzealous tourist got out of hand. I told Norma to take a picture of the Blessed Mother, but Norma got out of the pew and walked up to the statue. Her bold behavior brought the watchman out of his seat. Norma looked at him and said, “Am I in trouble?” The man gently said no but asked us not to take any more pictures. We waited for Confessions and by the time we had finished it was close to 5 pm. I never understand GPS maps, so this time the hour- and a-half drive took us through green rolling hills. We passed through miles of mansions, big beautiful homes with sprawling yards. I have been to Birmingham several times, but I never expected these views. These homes were stunning!

The Retreat

The following morning we had a quiet Retreat. The message was about living prayer, being constantly in prayer. This is a process of self- abandonment, the mystical marriage. Our will is conformed to the will of God. We follow God’s will by taking steps of faith until we reach the point of trusting God. Fr. Leonard used St. Francis as an example: St. Francis was prayerful, patient, and was filled with the love of God. His desires were pure. His will was  conformed to God; he wanted things to be very simple. The Retreat was so much deeper than I could ever express.

We had invited our sister Jo, but she was preoccupied with her business and said that she would meet us for dinner instead. Though the retreat was not meant to expose our flaws, I felt as if I had been gently shaken to make me realize what the love of God is all about. I realized the sacrifice our sister Jo made driving more than five hours each  way to be with us. We had a wonderful dinner and after breakfast Jo was headed back home.

Since this was a Retreat, we spent several hours praying for the needs of others. When the Lord  showed me someone’s face, I’d text that person to tell him that I was praying for him. It was a powerful experience to sit in the chapel with the exposition of the Holy Eucharist. We did the same thing on Friday; we attended Mass and stayed for Adoration.

COVID

I don’t know how I caught this virus, but I suspect that it was while waiting for the storm to pass because we sat for two hours on the tarmac. The flight attendant kept cutting off the air conditioner, leaving us to breathe stagnant air. I missed my connecting  flight. I needed to attend my  cousin Sandy’s  funeral. At that time the only symptom I had was a dry throat, which I wake up with every morning. At the funeral I hugged and kissed everyone.

Later that day I had to take my grandson to his basketball game, I isolated myself from everyone in the crowd. I noticed that I coughed a few times but didn’t think anything of it until it was dinner time. Something was off because I had no appetite. The next morning I tested positive for COVID. It did not take long for the virus to do a number on me. I thought the pain was too much! Every day something became worse; every day something new was added to is already diabolical virus. I felt as if I had layers and layers of fever and back pain for which I never got any relief. This continued for nine days. On the tenth day the Devil sucker punched me in the gut. I could not hold anything down and then the cough. I forgot to mention that Mike, too, also tested positive for COVID. Since Mike was vaccinated his case was mild.

The Caregiver

I understand why God allowed Mike to get COVID. He was my caregiver, but when things got rough he struggled. My cough was so loud that I sounded like my neighbor’s dog barking at an intruder. This was always followed by tremors or out-of -control shaking. The coughing and gasping for air freaked Mike out. Dr. Rudkin, one of my son’s friends, stopped by to drop off a pulse oximeter to check my oxygen level. He said that if it dropped below 90 I needed to go to the emergency room. From one night to another, when my oxygen dropped from 93 to 83, I knew I was in trouble.

My primary doctor was helping me through virtual visits and by prescribing medications, but the Devil wanted more of me. He had me in a head lock, and when I could no longer pray, I cried.

The Battle

I was in a battle for my health; this was a personal, spiritual conflict and I knew what I was up against. You see our battle is not against flesh  and blood but against rulers, powers and principalities. I needed an army to fight this supernatural war, and they geared up and ran into the battlefield to bring Satan and his minions down.  This is what God’s army does when a general is down. Thank God for my faithful army.

To be continued…