Saturday, 21 November 2009
Brother Bishops and Priests,
Distinguished Artists,
Ladies and Gentlemen,
I've censored the following, in protest of a bill that gives any corporation and the US government the power to censor the internet--a bill that could pass THIS WEEK. To see the uncensored text, and to stop internet censorship, visit: http://americancensorship.org/posts/39834/uncensor
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I’m an injured person. We are all injured people, however it manifests itself in different ways in each life. I’d like you to know that I too am an injured person and even perhaps a bit more injured than you. A few years ago I could have been just another dead twenty-something year old Catholic saint; without the saint part. I have a brain injury. Things just don’t connect quite right upstairs. However, despite this I have a Mensa level IQ. It is hard feeling dumb when you are not. It wasn’t my fault. The accident. It is not like I was drunk or high or even being stupid. I’m twenty-something, not stupid. I’m not stupid. I was rear ended. Terror. Noise. Blackness. Hypergosia. Things haven’t been the same. It’s hard feeling dumb when you are not. It’s worse feeling crazy when you are not. I knew I wasn’t dumb. I wasn’t so sure I wasn’t crazy.
When you are young you trust doctors. Doctors know what they are doing. Doctors have your best interest at heart. Trust doctors. Doctors are adults. Adults know what they are doing. But why do some of these doctors look the same age as me? Doctors are supposed to be adults. I don’t feel like an adult. Why don’t I feel like an adult? The doctors said there was nothing wrong with me. That is wrong. Wrong. Wrong. I feel wrong. They make me feel crazy. Am I crazy? I am not crazy, though I felt crazy for a while. For a while the doctors all told me I was fine. I am not fine. I’m anything BUT fine. I’ll never, never, never be fine again. I’m NOT FINE! No one listens. The doctors say I am fine. It’s hard feeling dumb when you are not. I felt dumb. I felt crazy. Alone. Dumb and crazy…and all alone. Alone, so very alone. And crazy. Crazy alone. Alone, alone, alone. Lonely. Crazy. Confused. So confused. I don’t understand. Maybe I am dumb. Crazy. Crazy, crazy. Crazycrazycrazycrazycrazycrazy. It hurts.
Confession is like a giant Band-Aid. The priest says it sounds like trauma, not crazy. He knew I wasn’t crazy. I’m glad somebody knew. I sure didn’t. A new doctor discovered the brain injury. Perhaps crazy is off the table now.
Damage to the brain is permanent. That is what I have learned. That’s a pretty bum deal since it wasn’t my fault. They say the key is therapy. Therapy to work around it. To learn to do old things in new ways. It still sucks. I also realize that I am BORED out of my mind. NOT crazy. Lonely. Bored and lonely. So very alone. I know what Chesterton said about being crazy. Thinking that I am crazy proves that I am not. I may be a little crazy, like everybody, but not in THAT way. I’ve done Gilbert proud. My head in the clouds but not clouds in my head. Unless you count the brain injury. There things feel a bit cloudy. But THAT is okay now too. A holy Polish priest prayed over me one day and the fog in my head stays mostly dissipated now. Then suddenly I remember how lonely I feel. I sometimes want the fog back. No one understands. People get angry and frustrated with me when they don’t understand. That isn’t fair. It’s not my fault. Why don’t they remember it is not my fault.
I’m trying to be normal. I’m pretty good at acting. This may be the biggest role of my life… playing “normal”. I don’t think it’s working very well. They still look at me… like THAT. I wish they wouldn’t look at me like that. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault. I’m trying to be normal. It’s NOT my fault! I wish they wouldn’t look at me. Not if they are going to look at me like that. If I avoid them, then I won’t have to see them looking at me. Looking at me with their pity written all over their face. Looking at me…like an object…like something…something broken. Something less. Less than themselves. I’d like to shove their pity up their nose! But their expressions, they brand me. It hurts and all I want to do is cry. People should not be allowed to wear expressions that make people cry. So I don’t look. I don’t talk. I just follow with my head down and my hair falling out.
There is another sort of look. One I dread more. I shudder. I don’t like thinking of it. It’s worse than pity. Pity, at least, is a twisted sort of love. Maybe. I don’t know. I can pretend. But that annoyance… that frustration, it inevitably spews anger all over. I hate that the most. I hate it. I am not trying to be annoying. It is not fair to be annoyed at me. I’m trying not to be in the way. I’m trying not to be a pain. I’m trying not to be so broken. I’m trying very hard to be normal and to speak straight and to not burst into tears and not jump at sudden noises or flinch when people touch me or zone out when I’m overwhelmed! I try to stifle my panic when you all drive too fast or brake too fast or turn too fast. I know the passenger side brake pedal is broken. I know, but I can’t help using it. I can’t help it. It is not fair to be annoyed. It is not fair to be angry at me. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault. I’m not crazy. It’s not my fault. Don’t be angry. Don’t make me feel like a burden. Forgive me for throwing paint brushes at you. You frightened me. I can’t handle your anger. It is not fair to be angry. It makes me frightened and ashamed. It makes it hard to remember that “ashamed” is wrong. Because it is not my fault. And I am NOT crazy. I’m just broken.
Unfortunately, I have learned that being broken is the worst thing to be if you are American. Broken is the ultimate evil. Broken gets in the way of efficiency. It gets in the way of fun. It gets in the way of fun fuzzy feel good fictions. Brokenness destroys fictions. People don’t like their fictions destroyed. They would rather destroy the broken. Or make them go hide themselves away. But I know a secret. You are all broken too. Hypocrites. You are all broken too, yet you shove each other out of the way to be able to throw the first stone at me. Just because I can’t hide my “broken”. Just because my “broken” shows. I have another secret though. I am probably smarter than most of you fiction addicts. I am not stupid. I am VERY much not stupid. Go flush your stupid annoyed angry faces down a toilet. You make me sick.
I am lonely. I miss my best friend. I can’t even remember when we stopped talking. She doesn’t know about how I almost died. She doesn’t know about the brain injury. She just stopped calling. Then stopped visiting. Then I gave up on trying to reconnect. Perhaps I am glad she isn’t around to see the difference having a cracked brain makes. I’m not who I would have said myself was. And when I say that I miss my best friend, I am not entirely sure if I mean her or the One I used to go visit in the chapel. He is another victim of the accident. I can’t bring myself to go there anymore. I don’t know why. Maybe I don’t want to know why. But I do miss Him. Sunday’s are just so formal. What is wrong with me? Please don’t answer that.
My friend walked away! I can’t DO this alone! Was there something wrong with me? The cracked brain came AFTER. If I wasn’t worth knowing anymore, then I’m really screwed now. I don’t smile anymore. I noticed that. I never smile. There is no levity. I never even feel the urge to laugh. Nothing is funny. My brain is cracked and I’m terribly lonely. I am not crazy, but tell that to my parents. I hate my life. My best friend ran away and I can no longer face the man in the chapel. Why didn’t he save me? I can’t DO this alone!
I seem to have traded all my smiles for tears. And my hair is falling out. Two things can be counted on; my hair falling out all over everywhere, and my tendency to burst into tears. It wasn’t my fault, but I’m stuck with this forever. The friends that are left won’t say it to my face, but I have changed… and it is awkward. Scars in my soul. Scars in my head. Scars on my arm. When did this happen? This cannot be me! This cannot be real! I don’t know who I am anymore! Will I wake up at any moment? It’s hard feeling dumb when you’re not. And the pain… it is just too much. Silence echoes from the heavens. And my hair is falling out!
And I’m bleeding. It frightens me. The doctor, the head injury guy, I told him. He said “hemorrhoids” and dismissed it. He was wrong. He was very wrong and it almost killed me. That came later. Later I found I was much more broken that I knew. More pain. So much more pain. I didn’t really know what broken meant until later. One’s body isn’t supposed to betray you. I don’t want to think about it. No. NO! Nonononononononono!
I’m avoided. I can’t do this alone. I am so tired of needing to be strong. So very tired of needing to be strong for myself. There is no one to be strong for me. I am so sick and tired of being sick and tired of being sick and tired. If I stop being strong… I’m afraid. I’m afraid to stop being strong. I have no choice. They all leave me alone, broken brain and all. I’m not crazy, but I’ve changed. I don’t recognize myself. No one notices, but there is a stranger in my head and it is me. There are cuts that no one notices. The presence in the silence is gone. It is hard to pray to an empty silence. Where did the living silence flee too? Did He flee from me? I’m sorry. Please come back. Don’t leave me too. Has He gone, or was He ever there? I no longer go to the chapel. I don’t know why. Or maybe I’m afraid that the silence there is empty also. I don’t want to have been mistaken. I can’t do this alone. He’s the only one I ever truly had. Oh God! Please be real!
There’s no one to talk to. It is too hard for some to face. The difference. The difference is too much for them and I often can’t figure out the words. The thoughts are still there, but the words come out funny, if at all. I’m an inmate in my own skull. If eyes are windows does ANYONE see the prisoner staring out? There is no way to escape it. I’m lonely and scared. More scared than ever before. Mothers know. Mom says I’m not used to being the broken one, the small one. My prolific pen was quit speaking. My journal lays empty. Perhaps she is right.
Why don’t I draw anymore? Why is the silence so empty? Why does the world punish the innocent? Why does our spirit remind us that we are not so innocent? And the silence, THE WRETCHED SILENCE IS SOO EMPTY! I cannot take anymore emptiness. I am filled up to the top with it. The silence has never been empty before. Does God take vacations? If angels were allowed to plug my ears and screen my eyes, is THIS how the world would seem? So, so very empty?
I’m stuck in the stream of time and the world swirls in eddies around me. Past me. I am stuck. There is a broken clock in my head. I feel no older than the day the car struck. Years trickle down the drain and if I blink I might miss it all.
I can’t sleep.







New York Times reporter Benedict Carey referred to tears in a piece as “emotional perspiration.” Given that I sweat a lot and hate deodorant, I suppose it makes sense that I weep often. But I’m not going to apologize for that, because after a good cry, I always feel cleansed, like my heart and mind just rubbed each other’s backs in a warm bath.
In his intriguing article, “The Miracle of Tears”, from which I’ve borrowed some of the research for this post, author Jerry Bergman writes: “Tears are just one of many miracles which work so well that we taken them for granted every day.” Here, then, are seven ways tears and the phenomenon we call “crying” heal us physiologically, psychologically, and spiritually.
1. Tears help us see.
Starting with the most basic function of tears, they enable us to see. Literally. Tears not only lubricate our eyeballs and eyelids, they also prevent dehydration of our various mucous membranes. No lubrication, no eyesight. Writes Bergman: “Without tears, life would be drastically different for humans — in the short run enormously uncomfortable, and in the long run eyesight would be blocked out altogether.”
2. Tears kill bacteria.
No need for Clorox wipes. We’ve got tears! Our own antibacterial and antiviral agent working for us, fighting off all the germs we pick up on community computers, shopping carts, public sinks, and all those places the nasty little guys make their homes and procreate. Tears contain lysozyme, a fluid that the germ-a-phobic dreams about in her sleep, because it can kill 90 to 95 percent of all bacteria in just five to 10 minutes! Which translates, I’m guessing, to three months’ worth of colds and stomach viruses.
3. Tears remove toxins.
Biochemist William Frey, who has been researching tears for as long as I’ve been searching for sanity, found in one study that emotional tears–those formed in distress or grief–contained more toxic byproducts than tears of irritation (think onion peeling). Are tears toxic then? No! They actually remove toxins from our body that build up courtesy of stress. They are like a natural therapy or massage session, but they cost a lot less!
4. Crying can elevate mood.
Do you know what your manganese level is? No, neither do I. But chances are that you will feel better if it’s lower because overexposure to manganese can cause bad stuff: anxiety, nervousness, irritability, fatigue, aggression, emotional disturbance and the rest of the feelings that live inside my happy head rent-free. The act of crying can lower a person’s manganese level. And just like with the toxins I mentioned in my last point, emotional tears contain 24 percent higher albumin protein concentration — responsible for transporting many small molecules (which has to be a good thing, right?) — than irritation tears.
5. Crying lowers stress.
Tears really are like perspiration in that exercising and crying both relieve stress. For real. In his article, Bergman explains that tears remove some of the chemicals built up in the body from stress, like the endorphin leucine-enkaphalin and prolactin, the hormone I overproduce because of my pituitary tumor that affects my mood and stress tolerance. The opposite is true too. Bergman writes, “Suppressing tears increases stress levels, and contributes to diseases aggravated by stress, such as high blood pressure, heart problems, and peptic ulcers.
6. Tears build community.
In her “Science Digest” article, writer Ashley Montagu argued that crying not only contributes to good health, but it also builds community. I know what you’re thinking: “Well, yeah, but not the right kind of community. I mean, I might ask the woman bawling her eyes out behind me in church what’s wrong or if I can help her, but I’m certainly not going to invite her to dinner.”
I beg to differ. As a prolific crier, especially on video, I always come away astounded by the comments … the resounding support of people I know all that well, and the level of intimacy exchanged among them. Read for yourselves some of the comments on both my self-esteem video and my recent death and dying video and you’ll appreciate my point. Tears help communication and foster community.
7. Tears release feelings.
Even if you haven’t just been through something traumatic or are severely depressed, the average Jo goes through his day accumulating conflicts and resentments. Sometimes they gather inside the limbic system of the brain and in certain corners of the heart. Crying is cathartic. It lets the devils out. Before they wreak all kind of havoc with the nervous and cardiovascular systems. Writes John Bradshaw in his bestseller Home Coming: “All these feelings need to be felt. We need to stomp and storm; to sob and cry; to perspire and tremble.” Amen, Brother Bradford!
Everyone longs to give themselves completely to someone,
to have a deep soul relationship with another,
to be loved thoroughly and exclusively.
But to a Christian, God says "No, not until you are satisfied,
fulfilled, and content with being loved by Me alone,
with giving yourself totally and unreservedly to Me,
with having an intensely personal and unique relationship with Me alone.
Discovering that only in ME is your satisfaction to be found
will you be capable of the perfect human relationship that I have planned for you.
You will never be united to another
until you are united with Me,
exclusive of anyone or anything else,
exclusive of any other desires or longings.
I want you to stop planning, stop wishing, and allow ME to give you
the most thrilling plan existing... one that you cannot imagine.
I want you to have the best!
Please allow Me to bring it to you.
You keep watching Me, expecting the greatest thing.
Keep experiencing the satisfaction that I am.
Keep listening and learning the things that I tell you.
Just wait, that's all.
Don't be anxious. Don't worry.
Don't look around at things the others have gotten
or that I have given to them.
Don't look around at the things you think you want.
Just keep looking off and away up to ME
or you'll miss what I want to show you.
And then, when you are ready, I will surprise you with a love
far more wonderful than you would ever dream.
You see, until you are ready and until the one I have for you is ready,
I am working even at this moment to have both of you ready at the same time,
until you are both satisfied exclusively with Me and the life I have prepared for you,
you wont be able to experience the love that exemplifies your relationship with Me.
And this is perfect love.
And, dear one, I want you to have this most wonderful love.
I want you to see in the flesh a picture of your relationship with Me,
and to enjoy materially and concretely the everlasting union of beauty, perfection,
and love that I offer you with Myself.
Know that I love you utterly.
For I am God. Believe it, and be satisfied.
~Author Unknown






A FAMILY OF SAINTS
Eucharistic Adoration Leads to Sanctification
"Remain in Him now, little ones, so that, when He reveals Himself, we may be fully confident and not retreat in shame at His coming. If you consider the holiness that is His, you can be sure that everyone who acts in holiness has been begotten by Him" (1 Jn. 3:28-29).
During her short life on this earth St. Thérèse of Lisieux was a 'little one.' Born January 2, 1873, Thérèse was the youngest child of 9 in the Martin family, 4 having died in infancy. Louis and Zelie had instilled a strong Catholic faith in their children, both in teaching and example. They attended daily mass and frequent adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, as a family. In addition, Louis belonged to the Nocturnal Adoration Society. They prayed at home daily, together, and had a great devotion to Our Lady. Zelie's greatest desire in life was that all of her children become Saints. Zelie became very ill and was so weak that she could not even open the Church door. She would go to Church and wait on the steps for someone to open the door so she could attend Mass and adoration of Jesus in the Most Blessed Sacrament. When Zelie died of cancer at age 45, little Thérèse was only 4 years old. Zelie left her children with their strong faith and love which carried them through their intense period of grief and mourning. Marie, Pauline, Leonie and Celine, Thérèse's older sisters, became her great consolation. Her Father, Louis Martin, tried to lovingly protect Thérèse and her sisters from the darkness of the world.
Painting by Celine Martin, sister of St. Therese
Little Thérèse grew very close to Our Lady, especially after her earthly mother went to heaven. Our Lady took this special little one by the hand and formed her into a beautiful spouse for her Son. When Thérèse was 14 years of age she went to Rome on a pilgrimage with her father and sister to see the Holy Father. She begged the Pope to allow her to enter Carmel, as a religious sister, even though the rules clearly stated that she had to be much older.
He told her not to worry, if it was God's will it would happen. Upon returning home, in thanksgiving to Jesus, her King, for the grace of the pilgrimage, she donated her gold bracelet to be part of a monstrance which would adorn Him from that time to the present. This monstrance is at Le Sacre Coeur in Montmartre, Paris, where they have Perpetual Eucharistic Adoration, which began during her life and still continues today--over a hundred years later!
When Thérèse entered Carmel, at age 15, she grew rapidly in the virtue of humility, the mother of all virtues. She quickly grew in wisdom and grace, so much so that she was appointed novice mistress a few years after she entered the convent. This little one with her little way grew in such holiness in such a short time that God soon called her home to heaven where she could adore Him perpetually for eternity, and do so much more to help save souls and bring them to Him. Thérèse died on September 30, 1897, at 24 years of age. She said "My mission--to make God loved--will begin after my death." Thérèse promised, "I will spend my heaven doing good on earth. I will let fall a shower of roses." To this day she still showers down countless roses on those who invoke her aid.
St. Thérèse, the Little Flower, is one of God's very special little ones indeed! She was an exceptionally gifted writer, poet, lyricist and artist. Yet, in spite of her many talents, it was her little way, which is so very powerful, that crowned her as a Doctor of the Church! Her little way is a way that anyone can follow, with God's grace. It is being small--humble, in being loving-- charitable, in being meek--docile, in being a little child of God. It is the way of salvation, the way of holiness, the way of Sanctity, the way of God!
St. Thérèse did not learn her little way by means of extensive travel, by attending great universities, or by reading scholarly books. She learned this little way at the feet of Jesus in the most Blessed Sacrament (Whom she spent several hours with each day): by praying, meditating and contemplating His real presence in the Sacred Host, and by pondering His words in scripture, the book of love, as she called it. He gave her all she needed, and more, so that she could love and serve others not only in her monastery but in the whole world. Those who have read her autobiography, The Story of A Soul, know how she prayed, sacrificed and aided in the salvation of numerous souls while she was on this earth. At one time during her life, she wanted to be a missionary and travel to China, and many other countries, to help save souls. She did exactly that, not by traveling, but by offering up all of the routine, daily little prayers, penances and sacrifices for the success of the work of the missionaries and the salvation of souls. She did such an outstanding job that she has the title of Co-Patroness of the missions, with St. Francis Xavier! She is also Co-Patroness of France along with her patroness St. Joan of Arc!
St. Thérèse of Lisieux is a Saint that we can all try to emulate. Her little way can be our little way; it is within our reach. We can offer up all of our daily annoyances, inconveniences, trials, disappointments, things that we don't like doing and so forth, for the love of God and others--for the salvation of souls.
St. Thérèse is also a tremendous witness to the great importance of Holy Families. Her faith was born of the strong Catholic faith and the daily living of it, which came from her parents. They are role models for Catholic parents today. As parents, both biological and spiritual, we need to keep God's design for us and our children foremost in our minds, hearts and lives. That design is no less than Sanctity for each one of us and our children, and all of His children!
St. Thérèse said of her parents "God gave me a father and a mother more worthy of heaven than of earth." Louis and Zelie did such an outstanding job as parents and were so holy that both of their causes for beatification are being considered. All five of their daughters became religious sisters. Strengthened by The Eucharist Louis and Zelie inspired and led Therese, and her sisters, along the path of Sanctity. Some of their other daughters are also being considered for beatification!
These times in which we live are surely not enveloped in any less darkness than the time of the Martin family. Let us invoke the intercession of St. Thérèse, and her family, for our own salvation and that of our families, indeed the salvation of the whole family of God. She is still doing a tremendous amount of good on earth. She will intercede for us and continue to shower down roses from heaven!
St. Thérèse is the patroness of missionaries, although she never left her convent. She died at the early age of 24, yet accomplished great things through the power of prayer before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. The Church made her the patroness of missionaries to emphasize this most important truth: one soul coming before the Blessed Sacrament can change the world! "There is only one thing to do here below, to love Jesus, to win souls for Him that He may be loved"
(St. Thérèse). (Copyright 1999, L. Bracy. All rights reserved).
Angel of my Eucharist
It is you who will delight my heart
Yes, it is your sweet melody
That will console my sorrow.
I thirst to give myself to souls
But too many hearts are indifferent
Seraphim, give them your flames
Bring them with your sweet songs.
I would like the soul of the Priest
To look like the heavenly Seraphim!
I would like him to be born anew
Before going up to the Altar!
In order to obtain this miracle
Some souls near the tabernacle,
Praying unceasingly,
Should offer themselves to me every day.
(Words of Jesus from a play by St. Thérèse)
Painting by St. Thérèse of the Child Jesus and the Holy Face
“By our little acts of charity practiced in the shade we convert souls far away, we help missionaries, we win for them abundant alms; and by that means build actual dwellings spiritual and material for our Eucharistic Lord.” (St. Thérèse)
Therese's painting palette
If a piece of canvas painted upon by an artist could think and speak, it certainly would not complain at being constantly touched and retouched by the brush, and would not envy the lot of that instrument, for it would realize it was not to the brush but to the artist using it that it owed the beauty with which it was clothed. The brush would not be able to boast of the masterpiece produced with it, as it knows that artists are not at a loss; they play with difficulties, and are pleased to choose at times weak and defective instruments.
I am a little brush which Jesus has chosen in order to paint His own image in the souls entrusted to my care. An artist does not use only one brush, but needs at least two: the first is the more useful and with it he applies the general tins and covers the canvas entirely in a very short time; the other, the smaller one, he uses for details.
Our Prayer
Good Jesus, Artist of our Souls, we need Your healing touch. Disappointments, disillusionment and betrayals have discolored our soul. We are brokenhearted because we expect so much; we sense the the beautiful portrait of our life has been ruined. We have lost faith in ourselves as Your dwelling place and Your image – as the canvas where You are painting beauty.
We don’t let your inclusive and colorful love define us. We let hurts and anger harden our hearts, and transmit them to others. Our self-pity explodes in self-destructive ways or in violent attitudes, judgments, words and silence toward others. In the heavy emptiness of our hearts, we let power, privilege, prestige and plenty define us and justify our less-than-true selves.
Like St. Therese, help us transcend the heartbreaking disappointments of life and embrace the holy opportunities that are Your grace everywhere. Touch our brokenness, Lord Jesus. Your suffering and death opened You to God and the salvation of all. Transform the sufferings of our broken hearts into a deeper longing for You and a clearer vision of life in faith, with You as the Artist.
We ask You this, through the intercession of St. Therese, who teaches us confidence and trust in Your love.
Article by Fr. Bob here.