On Tuesday, I accompanied into our kitchen early in the morning to start coffee for my husband and begin my daily morning petitions when I abruptly became paralyzed by excruciating tendernes. I could barely move and considered whether or not I is necessary to howled out to my husband to take me to the Emergency Room. I have been dealing with intense pain off and on and for months so I had to consider if it was different enough to warrant a junket to the hospital. I decided to slowly drag myself back to our bed and support a heating pad to my abdomen that was inflamed from top to bottom due to a several chronic health issues that play off of one another.
Later in the morning, after I had slept for a while and the sting became bearable, I picked up my phone. There were variou text meanings, including one from one of my long time friends who just lost her father to ovarian cancer. Another from my spiritual mom who is very concerned about me after a difficult year during which she lost her mother to a abrupt stroke and her grandchild went into cardiac arrest at birth, but thankfully survived. Yet another from my best friend assuring me of her devotions who herself lost her step-mother to cancer earlier this year. I am surrounded by people who–on top of the pandemic–have been suffering immense hardships and trials.
That evening, my husband offered to help me finish praying my daily rosary for clergymen because I was struggling to focus in prayer. The hurting wears me out and I have a hard time staying on enterprise on days like this one. As we cried the rosary, I looked at our Christmas tree and thought about the fact that for the first time in my life I is no longer able be well enough to go to Christmas Mass. I have good days and then really bad days. Each era is different right now, so I won’t know until Christmas Eve if I will be well enough to go.
I thought about the intense discomfort of your best friend who are suffering the loss of a loved one. The numerous people who are isolated and alone in hospitals and rest home. Those who have been abandoned in our churches and in our own families. The homeless, the lonely, the accepted, and the dying. All of us, whether we are mindful of it or not, are seeking the Christ child. The Son of God, who became Incarnate, in order to enter into all of this sorrow so that we can have eternal life.
The answer to all of our sufferings–whether huge or small–is given to us at Christmas in the Incarnate Word of God. We are invited into the darkness of a wintertime night to become our method to the quiet lonely hill housing the cave where the Holy Family waits for each one of us. The move to the cave has been trodden by Our Blessed Mother, pregnant with Our Savior, and St. Joseph before us. They seek to lead us away from the sorrows of this life up the hill where all of our hope and glee can be found. The place where we may find rest and leave our onus at the manger.
It is Our Blessed Mother–who all loving mothers strive to desire like–wants to wipe away our tears. To make us creating our sorrow, heavy-laden hearts, and undermined forms to rest in her lap. She who loves each one of us with a excellent, tender, motherly cherish. She who carried Love within her for nine months and who wants to lead us to His perfect cherish.
In Russian icons Mary is always shown with Christ as small children. She is presenting the Child to the world. So you naturally go through Mary to her Son. She is a door to deliver people’s middles to her child.
Through the Year with Catherine Doherty: Grace in Every Season, 342.
She knows what we need. She knows Who the work requires despite all that headaches us in this life. Mothers enjoyed in a way no one else can and She is our perfect Mother who wants us to find the rejoice we have been constituted for in Christ.
She who was pierced and stands at the hoof of the Cross, wants to lead us to the wood of the manger in which all of our Hope lies. The wood of the manger and the wood of the Cross point to the same reality. Christ has come to pour Himself out altogether in love for each one of us. We are infinitely cherished. Our Blessed Mother ever times us to the desire of Her Son.
St. Joseph stands nearby. He is the spiritual father we all need. One who is strong, heroic, loving, soothing, and who wants to show us the Way. He knows we are hurting. He knows our difficulties and our brokenness. Servant of God Catherine Doherty tells us to go to St. Joseph 😛 TAGEND
Go to Joseph, the young, strong, silent gentleman. His silence, once enters into force, salves all it touches. His silence is a school of fearlessnes, faith, and love. It makes a beautiful bridge between humanity and God, a bridge we need to find, oh, so awfully much today, when most lives are so empty of God that men and women have forgotten the road back to him.
Go to Joseph, the poor man whose promote Son was born in a stable and whose pedigree lived most frugally in a little forgotten village of Palestine but who held in his arms the wealth of the nations and the Light of the world countries and who can teach us all how to empty-bellied our hands of tinsel and fill them with love, faith, and happiness.
Go to Joseph, the mender of interrupted toys, furniture, homes, as well as broken hearts, souls, figures, attentions, and kinfolks. Yes, let us go to Joseph, whom Jesus and Mary adore so much.
St. Joseph is not afraid of our ache, dejection, and brokenness. Often in this life, parties struggle in their own brokenness to confront our Crosses. They will often flee and vacate us. Much of the time it is fear, but often it is because we are afraid to be silent in the face of the great mystery of stand. We do not yet understand that all we can offer in the face of the immense mystery of woe is our loving presence to others.
There are no oaths for the loss of a parent or a child. We cannot define the illnesses of others or frustrate fatality. Instead, we are invited to be present to others in the silence. St. Joseph is the continuous, loving spiritual father who stays with us in the silence of our woes. He leads us to the silence of the cave where Our Lord sleeps in a manger. He who engulfs the deep riddle of our suffering in His Divine Love. St. Joseph shows us not to be scared the silence that meets our suffering because it is there that we fill Our Savior.
Our Blessed Mother and St. Joseph want to place the Christ child into our appendages this Christmas. To invite us to the joy and wonder of the proposed establishment of Our Savior. Not as a distant historical event, but preferably, as a moment present to us now. To help us find rest. To earmark the Incarnate Word to baked the sobbings from our eyes as we gazed His newborn infant face. To afford us the quietnes and exultation we long for and the strength to endure the privations, visitations, and adversities of this life. He had entered into our agonies and eases us. As our spiritual parents, they hope our ultimate good that can only be found in Christ Jesus.
Many of us are heavily inconvenienced as we conclude our path up the hill to the cave where the Holy Family waits for us. Let us expect Our Blessed Mother and St. Joseph to guide us along the track. May we enabled them to target the Christ child in our appendages once we arrive, so that we can experience the healing affection of the Most Holy Trinity this Christmas and all future Christmases of our lives.
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