Every Child is Both a Gift From God and a Task For Him

I went to confession last Sunday and scrapped six weeks of muck off of my soul. (Nothing like the drama of the NICU to point out how dreadfully short my soul is on charity!) After laying down my sins and telling Jesus that I was sorry, my priest handed me some deep food for thought.

Every Child is a gift from God. Like all of God's gifts, children are both a "gift" and "a task." A gift implies work--- a responsibility to heaven.

When God hands me a gift, it means that He trusts me to do the work.

God would never give me a task if he didn't already believe that I possess within me the means to accomplish His Will. In fact, God is waiting with the gift of grace to help me accomplish each of the tasks that I have as a mother, even the ones that seem impossible or overwhelming.

Still Meeting My Girl

 

This is my girl, Tess.

I'm still trying to figure out her personality.

The NICU put a giant monkey wretch in the typical "Getting to Know You, Getting to All About You" stage of newborn life.

For example, if asked by a reader last week I would have described my youngest daughter as--Intense, Moody, Sensitive, Fussy, One of those demanding babies who wouldn't let you put her down for a second-- a melancholic girl similar her older brother.

Then I went to the doctor. I got my newborn back on the strong anti-reflux meds that she was originally prescribed in the NICU after a NG tube rubbed a bloody hole in her stomach.

72 hours later, I have a different kid.

Baby Tess now sleeps! She smiles! She will let you put her down in a bouncy chair or a stroller!

Who is this smilely, phelgmatic kid we brought into our home?

Will it last? Or is my overly-sensitive, melancholic girl simply catching up on two weeks of lost sleep?

2 Month Check-up

Baby Tess got all A's on her two month check-up. She was in the 29% percentage of height/weight for her age when she left the NICU. A mere four weeks later she's in 86% for height and 75% for weight. Grow baby grow!

She's having some bad acid reflux, which I hear is a pretty common complaint for post-NICU babies. We just switched her back to the "strong stuff" for reflux medicine. Hopefully, that will translated into more sleep at night.

St. Peter of Alcatara, a master of penance, only slept three hours a night with a wooden beam as his pillow. It's pretty bad when Jon and I could claim to match his feats on most nights during this past week. Praise God for the supernatural gift of cheerfulness to the involuntarily sleep deprived!

Love and Laundry

Last Sunday, my daughter sat in a church pew in front of a dear friend of my grandma, Mrs. Kelso. In passing, I told Mrs. Kelso that my daughter was sad she never met "Grandma Jean" because they are so much alike--two party girls who love Jesus and pretty shoes.

Mrs. Kelso said "That Jean was a sharp dresser! Of course, your grandpa kept all of her clothes in tip top condition."

I gave a confused look. My grandpa was born in 1917 and was totally old school in the line between women's housework and men's work. After grandma got Alzheimer's, my grandpa tried to take over the housework. Grandpa ruined load after load of clothes by accidentally adding bleach to colored loads and other such laundry mishaps.

That's when Mrs. Kelso told me that when my grandmother started suffering from advancing Alzheimer's disease and could no longer handle the laundry, then my grandfather asked his neighbor, Mrs.Kelso for help. Every Thursday morning my grandfather would walk my grandma's pile of delicate laundry down three houses for Mrs. Kelso to wash for him.

Mrs. Kelso told me "He asked me to do her pretty things when Jean started getting so sick from Alzheimer's. It was my JOY to do that for her."

This new story about my grandparents made me cry. A friend saying that it was a JOY to do a sick friend's wash. My grandfather's total humility in asking a neighbor to do his family's wash.

My grandfather could have dressed his Jeanie in some easy to care for cotton sweatshirts at that last stage of her life. At that stage, my grandma wouldn't have know the difference. Instead, my grandpa insisted that his wife keep up her love of pretty, fussy clothes, even if that meant extra work and humiliation for him.

Married life is so beautiful!

Heaven Touching Earth

I wrote about the pain of losing my maternal grandfather, George Gableman, the last solid Christian in my family tree here. At his funeral service, I laid my head down on his casket and said "My friend, you have gone and left me here all alone."

I wanted to share with you the Joy that comes after the tears that I shed during the night.

From 2010-10-09

If you click on the picture located above, you can hear 30 seconds of Heaven touching Earth.

My maternal grandfather, George Gableman, spent almost 50 years wearing a red robe for this choir, the Fairlington United Methodist Church in Alexandria, Virginia (a suburb of Washington D.C.) After his death, my Mom told the choir director that she'd like to donate a new piece of music to the choir in honor of my grandfather.

Everyone expected the choir director to chose something typical like "Go Tell It On the Mountain."

Instead . . .

the choir director chose Schubert's Mass in G which she preformed with 90 voices and a four piece orchastra, all fellow members of the congregation to play on All Saint's Day Vigil.

I heard about the selection and started dancing around for pure joy in my bedroom.
The choir director chose Catholic Schubert, the composure who adored the Blessed Mother, and made sure that selections of the MASS got played in my grandfather's Protestant Church in honor of his memory. "The Catholic Mass" is never played in a United Methodist Church, and I took this selection of music to be a special gift of my grandpa to me.

The music was unbelievably beautiful. I drank it all in. My grandfather was an ordinary guy, who worked a boring government job. The only remarkable thing in his life was his great love for my grandmother and his fidelity to his little Methodist Church. My grandfather made sure that I was baptized during my parent's rebellion from the church. (He was responsible for baptizing a Secular Carmelite!) Last Sunday, it felt like God was sending down angels to dance in celebration of the extraordinary grace that comes from a hidden, humble life spent in dedication to the Sacrament of Marriage.


(Another funny side note: The church bulletin printed out the Latin words of the Mass (The Kyrie, the Agnus Dei etc.) along with their English translation. I sat next to my father during the church service. I had the joy of having my Dad poke me in the ribs saying "Did you see that "Lord Have Mercy On Me"? That line of text is so deep, isn't it?" I kept trying to keep a straight face and so "Oh yes, very deep" without rolling my eyes and saying "Dad, I'm a Catholic. I know the English translation to the Kyrie because I sing it every single Sunday." Each time my Dad poked me with excitement, I kept praying 'God make him a Catholic! He's so close right now!")

All Souls Day 2

My Papa (my paternal grandfather) died six days after my daughter's birth. Papa sent me flowers to my hospital room. He saw pictures of Baby Tess.

I didn't hear about his death immediately, because I was inside a hospital fighting for my baby's life.

My dad left the bedside of his dying father to come visit Baby Tess in the hospital, back when we just thought she had simple jaundice. As a result of that sacrifice, my father and my mother were with me the moment that I got the diagnosis that Tess had a fatal birth defect in her small intestine and would require immediate surgery. My parents were there for Baby Tess' emergency baptism. They drove me home from Children Hospital and spent the night in a hotel across the street from my apartment.

When I got home on Sunday night, after my whole world had been turned upside down, I logged onto facebook and saw a comment of condolence on my grandfather's passing left on my aunt's wall. I called my Dad at the hotel and asked if Papa had died. My Dad got choked up and said he wanted to tell me in person but Tessy's illness made the day so crazy there was never a good time.

I didn't get to grieve about my Papa's passing because I was in the NICU. I missed his Memorial Service because it was held three states away the weekend after we got Tess home from the hospital.

I'd hope to get to the Mass of Remembrance at my parish church tonight, but my husband needed me at home tonight. It's good to put marriage first and I got a pretty clear directive from Jesus saying "stay home from church tonight and feed your husband the pie you made him."

I'm fine that I missed All Souls Day Mass. Yet I'm totally confused. I'm left here wondering, when am I going to grieve my Papa?

This year, I lost both my maternal grandfather and my paternal grandfather. One loss is very real and healed and straight with Jesus. The other loss is just this numb, unreal "feeling."

We've got to pray for the dead, the ones that we were close to and the ones that we weren't. My Papa often chose work ahead of his family. That weakness was passed onto my father and onto me.

Sometimes people ask me why I don't just work part-time, and I think "I don't know how to do that." Working in moderation wasn't a trait demonstrated in my family. I fell into the family pattern of failing miserably at combining work and family , so I simply quit working.

And yet. . .

My father left the deathbed of his father to see me and Baby Tess.

Was that a good thing? Was that avoiding a painful reality?

I don't know.

I just know on a very, very hard day, I was so grateful for my Dad and my Mom's concerned presence inside their sick granddaughter's hospital room.

All Souls Day

 

Robert L. Rupp
Born into eternal life on Sept 5, 2010
(my paternal grandfather)

and George Gableman
Born into eternal life on Jan 1, 2010
(my maternal grandfather)

Eternal rest grant them O, Lord . . .

Help A Soul Get to Heaven this Week!

Lots going on this week, an election, etc. Don't forgot about our very important duty as Catholics to pray for the dead. This week getting an indulgence for a poor soul is easy, peasy, lemon-squeezy.

Indulgences for the Poor Souls
Current regulations in force by Pope Benedict XVI

I On All Souls’ Day (Nov. 2) a plenary indulgence, applicable only to the Poor Souls, is granted to those who visit any parish church or public oratory and there recite one Our Father and one Credo.

II On all the days from November I though November 8 inclusive, a plenary indulgence, applicable only to the Poor Souls, is granted to those who visit a cemetery and pray even if only mentally for the departed.

Conditions for both indulgences:
1. Only one plenary indulgence can be granted per day.
2. It is necessary to be in the state of grace, at least by completion of the work.
3. Freedom from attachment to sin, even venial sin, is necessary; otherwise the indulgence is only partial. (By this is meant attachment to a particular sin, not sin in general.)
4. Holy Communion must be received each time the indulgence is sought.
5. Prayers must he recited for the intentions of the Holy Father on each day the indulgence is sought. (No particular prayers are prescribed. One Our Father and one Hail Mary suffice, or other suitable prayers.
6. A sacramental concession must he made within a week of completion of the prescribed work. (One confession made during the week, made with the intention of gaining all the indulgences, suffices.)

HT: www-thelatinmass.com

Grandpas Kyrie

From 2010-10-09

My Cute Butterfly

 

When It Finally Pays to Live in An Apartment

 

Trick-or-Treating in the City, one of the few times life is way easier than when you live in the country. We spent 1 hour walking in a single batch of townhouses and came home with all of this loot!

 

Halloween Costumes

 

This year the NICU experience was so hard, that I coped out of making All Saints Day costumes for the kids and bought regular Halloween costumes from Old Navy. That's a measure of how exhausted I was, because I LOVE making up Saints costumes.

The article by the English Catholic Bishops really encouraged me to do better. Hannah happily exchanged "Super Girl" to become "Saint Queen Mathilda" and Mimi moved from generic princess to St. Elizabeth of Hungry. Initally, Alex was going to trade "Batman" for a real superhero, St. Micheal. Five minutes before trick-or-treat time, he changed his mind. I decided not to fight him. I was so excited that he voluntarily carved Jesus on his pumpkin ("Complete with the blood and water coming out of his side, Mom!") that I caved on the Batman request.

 

Little Tess stayed a butterfly because that's sort of Eastery right?

Finished Result

 

Order of Business for the Day

 

Pumpkin Carving! (Thanks to the great suggestions of the English Bishops our pumpkins will all be smiling this year!)

Dr. Emily

 

Dr. Emily, the resident who first gave us hope for a easily healed bunny, holding a completely healed Baby Tess the day after her heart surgery.

He Says He Can Fix It

On Thursday, September 23, 2010, I woke up at 6 AM to a startling conversation over the phone with my husband Jon. (My husband was spending the night with our almost completely healed newborn in a local hospital room. I was spending the night at our house with our three older children.)

At 3 AM, my husband woke up to a frightening situation. An 18 inch piece of plastic tubing, called a PICC line, broke off of a special type of IV in our daughter's foot. In a normal situation, a broken PICC line would easily slide out of the body. In my newborn daughter's case the broken PICC line got immediately sucked up through her leg vein and through all four chambers of her heart.

A newborn's heart is the size of a walnut. In Tessy's x-ray that morning, the PICC line looked like a giant tangle of yarn looped through every crevice of her heart.

This type of complication is beyond rare. The doctors at our community hospital had never seen it before. My brave husband stood by my daughter's bedside for four hours hearing more and more frightened doctors tell him "I don't know what to tell you. I've never heard of this happening before."

That's not reassuring information to hear when a foreign object is now lodged inside your newborn daughter's heart.

My daughter got transferred back to Children's Hospital.

When I called Tess' NICU resident at Children's Hospital, she seemed uncharistically vague and unsure. "We know the PICC line is in her heart. We're going to wait until we take another x-ray and then assess the options for treatment."

"What are the options?" I asked.

"I don't know yet. I've never heard of this happening before, it's very rare. We'll wait and see how the surgeons recommend removing the PICC line from her heart."

At 6:30 AM on a Thursday morning, I became convinced that my newborn baby would need emergency open heart surgery.

I made the long trek down to Children's Hospital alone on the Metro. I held a rosary in one hand (my link to my Blessed Mother) and my cellphone in the other (my link to my husband.)

When I got to the NICU, I met my husband who had come down hours earlier in the same ambulance as our baby. Our baby looked fine. Her heart rhythms were completely normal. She was squalling for food. Since no one knew what was going to happen to Tess that day, she was denied food in case she needed emergency surgery. (The poor dear ended up going 15 HOURS without food- my baby's first Fast).

My husband was trying to shush the baby in her crib while holding one of her leg's still.

"Can't we pick her up?" I asked.

"I hadn't thought to ask," my husband said. "She's so hungry. She's been crying for hours."

"I'm picking my baby up!" I announced loudly to her nurse. I had the baby up and in my arms. I rocked her slowly. Tess was disappointed the Mom wasn't providing any food either, but quickly fell asleep. I place the baby back into her crib. I suggested that my husband and I go take a walk to regroup.

The NICU in Children's Hospital is totally gorgeous. Its brand-new, completely expensive looking with dynamic views of downtown Washington D.C. through large plate-glass windows.

I stood in the "quiet room" which overlooks the Washington Monument and asked my husband dozens of questions about our baby.

Then young Doctor Emily came into the room. "I can't believe you guys are back here!" she said.

"There's a PICC line in Baby Tess' heart" I said.

Doctor Emily's wide open eyes met mine and seemed to say said "YEAH and it's 18 inches LONG!" But Dr. Emily's measured professional voice said "They say they can fix it."

"What?" I said.

"We don't know what to do in the NICU, but one of the Heart Cath Lab guys said this happens all the time and he can fix it easily," Doctor Emily answered.

For the first time all morning, Jon and I felt some relief.

Over and over again, throughout the day--more and more doctors came to examine our little Tess. Each one said "I don't know what to do, but the Heart Cath guy says he can fix it 'no problem.'"

We eventually met Mr. Fix-It Guy, Dr. Kanter.

Dr. Kanter tells us that he can have the foreign object out of our bunny's heart, quickly, "without a problem."

As we left the hospital the night before my Bunny's surgery, I told my husband that I wanted to spend the night at Dr. Kanter's house. "I believe he can fix our girl," I told Jon. "I just want to sleep over at his house tonight so that every time I get scared in the middle of the night I can hear him reassure me that 'he can fix it, no problem."

I spent the night in my own bed, of course, and woke up scared at 4 AM. I got out of bed and started to pray.

It was so strange to have a heart operation that was so clearly, hands up or hands down. Either Dr. Kanter could easily fish out a PICC line from my bunny's heart, or not.

It hit me in the middle of bunny's operation that her PICC line in the heart episode was the perfect example in real life of the grace of the Confessional. We have hearts that are made to love God. Yet through sin all kinds of "foreign objects" get sucked into our hearts and stop them from working properly. Sin can lead to all sorts of disaster. But there is one guy, Jesus, who says "He can fix it." I don't know how the mystery of the sacrament of Confession works, I only know that it works.

Bunny's PICC line got fixed easily in an operation that lasted under an hour. Dr. Kanter took a tiny lasso and went up through a vein in her leg. She left the lab with an incision so small it was covered up with a band aid. "It was a good thing it was so big," Dr. Kanter told us. "A big piece is much easier to remove from the heart."

When Dr. Kanter showed me the giant PICC line piece, I almost fainted! (We've got it curled up now in memory box at home.)

Dr. Kanter was right. He said he could fix it, and he did.

It makes me hope that I can worry less about the effects of sin on the world and instead point more people calmly to the Confessional Box. Just like Dr. Emily told us about Dr. Kanter, "He says he can fix it," that calm belief applies to Jesus the great physician as well.

When we leave the Confessional, and our penance seems so small. A few Hail Marys. A few Our Fathers. It's hard to believe that such tiny acts of penance can really heal a sin-stained heart. That remaining acts of penance after a standard Confession is as small as the single band aid that was left on my baby's leg.

Make no mistake, however, the miracle of "spiritual" heart surgery happens in a the Confessional in your local parish church is even more dramatic than the life-saving heart procedure my baby experienced at Children's Hospital.

The MovieGoer: Blindsight

This documentary traces how the first blind man who summited Mount Everest (an American) helps six blind Tibetan teenagers climb a nearby peak. The Tibetan culture looks on these blinds kids as total outcasts. It shocking to see how terribly they are treated and beautifully rewarding to see how these kids find hope in their friendships with each other.

When I was in college, the "Free Tibet" movement was huge. This movie shocked me with the ugly side of Buddhism: hatred of the disabled. Under the theory of reincarnation, if you're blind then you must have been a giant sinner in a previous lifetime.

It was totally chilling to hear a blind teenage from Tibet calmly explain "I must have done something really bad in my past life to merit becoming blind in this life, but I don't think I killed anyone. Killing someone would be a heinous crime and for that I would have been born again as a non-human."

We live in a pluralistic American society where Buddhism is hip and Catholicism is not. I listened to that Tibetan boy's statement in utter shock. It does matter what faith we teach our children! Non-truths spread in the name of religion are not harmless. Can you imagine my poor daughter Tess as a teenager saying "Man, I wish I hadn't sinned so much in an earlier life to merit getting a birth defect in this one!"

This week my Archdiocese celebrated "White Mass" the Mass for people with special needs. I'm reminded again and again that Christ had a special love for the disabled. Treating the suffering with compassion and seeing them as equal brothers in Christ is a unique marker of the Christian heart.

Losing My Last Five Minutes of Me Time

When Tess was in the NICU, I lost my last five minutes of selfish "Me" time.

The NICU is an intense, emotionally draining drama that is 24/7. Quitting time doesn't come at 6 PM. There is no let down during weekends. You can't say to your sick newborn, "Honey, could you please keep your oxygen saturation levels up over 98% tonight because I'd really like to enjoy a relaxing night out with your Dad?"

The paradox was that I actually took the best self-care after post-childbirth with Tess, than I had with any other baby. I left Tessy's hospital room to eat regular meals at the hospital cafeteria. I showered every morning. I slept in my own bed almost every night in long stretches of uninterrupted sleep.

The difference was that all of these "self-care" items were entirely unselfish. I ate meals, so that I had fuel to keep a vigil by my sick daughter's bedside. I slept in a real bed, so that I kept up my milk supply to fed her after her abdominal surgery. I showered faithfully to prevent my c-section incision from becoming infected, so that I wouldn't lose days of seeing my precious little girl.

This mindset was a dramatic switch from my usual post-partum whine that my husband "OWED" me on Saturdays some serious "me"- time alone for a hot shower, time alone to read Tolstoy, time alone to eat my favorite Cadbury Dairy Milk Chocolate Bars, since my life as the Mother of a newborn was so incredibly hard.

My life as the mother of a newborn in the NICU was incredibly hard, but I lost the selfish belief that my husband "owed" me anything in compensation for my daily struggle. Our daughter Tess was his sick baby, too.

Years ago, I remember hearing a beloved parish priest describe his conversion story. He joined the Josephite Order of Preachers and had to give away all his worldly goods. Father Grant said all he had left when he reached the seminary was $5.00 in change in a 7-11 cup inside his car. "It was so HARD to give up that last $5.00," he said.

I listened to that statement in total confusion. What's big deal about giving up $5.00? It's seminary. It's the priesthood. What's a couple of quarters compared to the glory of Holy Orders?

Sitting on my couch, holding my completely healed baby Tess, I finally got it. I'm not hoarding change in my life, but I am hoarding time. I made the big shift when I became a full time stay-at-home mother five years ago. I handed over most of my life to God's will for me.

But I'm still holding tightly onto selfish "me" time around the edges of my days.

My insistence that I've "earned" those last 5 minutes of "me" each day is making my miserable. If my husband doesn't get the kids down on time and I lose my happy Date Night time, I'm miserable. If I don't get to "catch up" on the chores I think are "must dos", then I'm miserable.

There is a paradox that I learned during the NICU. If I give every single moment away to God- to God's will for my day--then I receive time and energy and money and good cheer back in spades.

HomeSchooling Through a Family Crisis

 

My kids learning Chemistry with Daddy with the "Dangerous Things for Boys Chemistry Set" that Alex received for his 6th Birthday.

My baby girl, Tess got super sick the first week back for public school kids around here. I had some shocked comments from neighbors that I was continuing to home-school my older kids after Tessy's illness. I wasn't thinking clearly in social situations during Tessy's time in the NICU--so I missed coming up with some snappy comebacks. (Such unintended meekness on my part was probably for the best!) Still, I wanted to share how amazing homeschooling worked for a family coping with a severe medical crisis.

First, with a newborn in the NICU, childcare was an immediate crisis. I was so thankful that I didn't have to coordinate multiple school drop off and picks up with three older children. Who ever was free for the day, could easily pick up all of my kids at one time and keep them together for the whole day. Eventually, my older kids ended up spending over 10 days with their grandparents in another state. This would have been impossible if they were in a traditional school setting.

Second, I think it was really important NOT to make my older kids sit still at a desk and do traditional learning tasks while their little sister was had a severe medical crisis. Before Tess, I would have followed conventional wisdom that said older kids need "structure" during a crisis. Going through it, however, I can't imagine asking my kids to sit in a new school classroom on concentrate on difficult material. This wasn't a time to stress phonics or multiplication tables. Instead, my kids needed to look forward to going to the Smithsonian with their beloved Aunt Emily.

Third, hanging out with relatives was a win/win situation for everyone. My parents and my siblings were freaked out by Tessy's medical condition. They weren't the type to sit still in a hospital waiting room praying the rosary during Tessy's multiple surgeries when her outcome was so uncertain. Caring for my older kids allowed my family to do something intensely practical to help me during a very scary time.

Fourth, my kids LEARNED stuff this Fall. I didn't expect that. I worked my older kids hard this summer because I thought we'd simply take off for a long "new baby break" this September. That's why I had absolutely zero guilt about my kids "missing school" during Tessy's time in the NICU.

Yet instead, my kids learned so much stuff during Tessy's NICU stay. The National Air and Space Museum is near Tessy's hospital room, so the kids took in multiple viewings of the planetarium. We now talk about "super novas" and "wormholes" at my house. Their grandparents took them spelunking. Aunt Emily taught them Geography and French. Of course, thanks to Baby Tess, everyone now has advance knowledge of the digestive and circulatory systems!

Now that Baby Tess is home, we're back to our more familiar routine of Reading, Writing and Chemistry. (We're science geeks in the Benjamin house!) I'm so grateful for the flexibility and family solidarity that homeschooling lent us during Tessy's NICU crisis.

My Life with the Sisters

This is Sister Andrea, a Dominican Sister who worked at my last parish. I can't stress how little I actually know this holy Spouse of Christ. Sister Andrea worked with the Spanish speaking families of my parish. She offered crisis assistance to immigrant families. I only chatted with Sister Andrea a few times outside of Hannah's CCD classroom in 2007.

Back then, I thought Nuns were regular people. I'd chat with them in line at a parish event and then I forget about our meeting within a few days. I didn't realize that Sisters have a very special thing called "spiritual motherhood" which means that once you meet a Nun, she pretty much has you on her prayer list for the rest of her life. Since a Nun is MARRIED to Jesus, her interest in your spiritual welfares means that you'll run into each other AGAIN and AGAIN in completely crazy "coincidences."

That's been the case with Sister Andrea.

I switched churches 2 1/2 years ago and haven't seen Sister Andrea in a long time.

One night this past September, I staggered onto the elevator at Children's Hospital feeling overwhelmed and depressed. My Tessy was not doing well for the second straight week after her abdominal surgery. My older kids were home, so I couldn't stay late at the NICU. I left my newborn alone in her hospital room and walked into the elevator at 7 PM with the rest of my family. My heart ached with pain.

"God, I don't know how much longer I can do this" I prayed.

I walked out of the elevator and guess who had parked her car three feet from me?

Sister Andrea!

Sister Andrea came over and started to hug Hannah. "You have such a beautiful family!" she said.

I started to cry, "Oh Sister, you don't even know the half of it. I've got a newborn daughter who is upstairs in the NICU. She's beautiful, but so sick. She's been here for two weeks and I can't get her out."

Sister Andrea kept her face completely calm and serene. It was so calm, I didn't even know if she heard me. "It's okay," she told me. "We'll pray. We'll get your baby home."

On Sunday after attending the special Mass for Sister Peace, guess who I ran into with a completely healed Tess in my arms? Sister Andrea! Sister's companion came over to me and started to coo over my pretty baby Tess. Sister Andrea called over her shoulder, "You remember Sister, that was the sick baby who was in the hospital. The one we prayed for?"

It felt overwhelming to remember the grief I felt in that hospital parking lot. Yet here I was, a few short weeks later and a few blocks away from that same parking lot. During this meeting with Sister Andrea, however, I had a completely healed daughter in my arms. I started crying happy tears this time.

Those amazing Sisters, they touch my heart every time.