The Rookie and Drunk IPS

I'm bored tonight, so I've decided to repost one of my "cop stories", which was briefly posted and taken down a year or so ago. Everyone loves cop stories. I'm not really sure why; they actualy aren't that interesting. Believe me, I lived them.

YAWN.

So...anyway...

One night my FTO (Field Training Officer) and I were en route to...somewhere. Maybe just driving around. It had to be around 2:00 am; we were on "dog watch" until 7 am.

My FTO spotted a guy stumbling down a dark street, so we stopped. He didn't do anything to indicate he knew any details about the guy, and just directed me to approach him and talk to him.

So I did. I asked to see some identification. The drunk guy told me he wasn't doing anything wrong, was just walking down the street.

I explained that we were concerned for his safety because he wasn't really "walking"; he was "staggering", thus he must see why we had to stop and talk to him. He allowed as how he could understand such logic.

He had a hard time getting a yellow piece of paper out of his back pocket, and was very apologetic about this. I waited patiently, nodding understandingly while eyeballing him like a hawk in case he had a weapon. Although I could see the paper he was struggling to grasp. To make small talk to cover his ineptitude, he explained he'd been at a friends' house, and was on his way home. I nodded, waiting, watching.

He handed me a license renewal form,finally, and explained he didn't actually have a license and had no photo ID on him, but that the paper was his and it was his name and DOB. And I could check that information out and find that the description matched him. Fine. I wrote it down in my little notebook.

The man was swaying as he stood, finding it necessary to stagger here and there and to and fro in order to remain upright. He continued to answer my questions and cooperate with our sudden roadside "investigation". He was not in custody; this was merely a chat. It was almost a dance. I almost expected my FTO to start blasting a Waltz out of the car's PA system.

I asked the man to remain where he was (as well as he could) as I ran his name and DOB in the MDT (a computer in the car, likely obsolete now).

My FTO asked me what I was going to do; what was my plan? So now I have to explain the options:

Option 1: The man had clearly pickled himself. Detox was an option. We could do that. But one of the things they'd instilled in me was the need to document, document DOCUMENT if we were going to deprive anyone of their freedom, for we'd have to be able to articulate why that person needed to be deprived of said freedom. The key phrase was "unable to care for self", and that had to be clearly defined via objective observation and documentation of behavior. And if we happened to be recording the conversation in which someone displayed an inability to be reasonable, that was good to have in court.

(MN state law as it applies to this case indicates only 1 person needs to be informed of a recording taking place in order for said recording to be admissible in a court of law.)

Option 2: Let the man go his way, stumbling down the dark street and potentially into the path of...well...anything that might kill him, making us thus responsible for his untimely demise.


Option 3: Give the guy a ride somewhere. Anywhere...just off the road and somewhere to cover our behinds.


Well, I weighed my options. This guy was beyond hammered; did I have the right to deprive him of his freedom? He needed to go to Detox, but as he'd lost his license due to other alcohol offenses, was it likely to do any good? And the key question: Was he capable of caring for himself?

To an extent, no, for he was staggering haphazardly down the sidewalk. But he WAS, in fact, ON THE SIDEWALK. Not in the road. And he WAS cooperating with me.

So I figured we really didn't have the legal right to haul his sorry pickled butt away to holding and call for the detox van.

OK, fine. Let him go on his way? Nope. Option #2 was ruled out quickly.

So I had his address, asked him if it was where he was headed? Yes, so...ok, fine. We'll give you a ride home, then.

The man looked at me as though it was a ploy. I told him it wasn't and explained the logic. He nodded, not able to understand logic in his situation, still distrustful. He was making me promise that I was not going to try to handcuff him, and I promised that as long as he behaved himself, he was only going home. That's when the real negotiations started.

He wanted to ride in the front seat.

Nope.

He wanted a hug.

Nope.

I opened the door, and talked him sweetly into the back seat. He wanted me to sit in the back seat with him while my FTO drove.

I closed the door and walked around to the driver's seat.

My FTO seemed angry for some reason I didn't understand. He was always telling me to make decisions, and I did! I realized he disagreed, but he let me make the decision. But his silence was deafening and it freaked me out and made me wonder what I had done wong. Procedurally and legally, nothing at all. And I knew it.

We got the guy to his apartment complex and dropped him off.

My FTO remained in the passenger seat, brooding sulkily. I went around the car to let my drunk out.

He wanted a hug.

I refused.

He begged.

I refused, but offered my hand and wished him well.

He thanked me profusely, I told him goodnight and watched him stumble away, shaking my head.

My FTO brooded all the way back to the LEC (law enforcement center) until we called in 10-8.

The silence continued and finally I yelled "WHAT!????"

Finally he told me: This guy was a frequent flier. Every contact any officer had EVER had with him had ended in a physical fight.

EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

Because he was drunk A LOT. And he caused a lot of trouble, not just through disorderly behavior, but drunk driving and any other imaginable offense committable by a man out of his mind.

And keep in mind...the city I worked in was a pretty large city; it wasn't a small town with a carriage run for a main road and a couple of stores with a flagpole between them. It was significant that all 80 officers knew this man well.

All of the other female officers had also met and fought him to the ground not just once in their careers, but several times during their rookie year alone.

Apparently he was the unofficial litmus test of any given rookie. Poor guy.

I suspect that everyone else had also sentenced him into Detox, and perhaps that's what I should have done, too, because that's really where he belonged. But as he had been coooperative, I realized that he was, in fact, making a good decision for himself. He was not argumentative, he answered my questions, even if somtimes incoherently, and willingly sat in the squad car as directed. I couldn't in good conscience send him to Detox, not with the key phrase I'd have to put on the report.

I can't comment on what had happened before; for all I knew, this guy was normally a belligerant drunk who picked all the fights he was in. But I can say with certainty that my FTO was looking forward to a fight and it never happened. As it was, we returned to the station, I wrote up the report and filled out a driver evaluation form; The man's license status was "Cancelled IPS" (Inimical to Public Safety), with the restriction that any alcohol use would cause his license to remain revoked. I filled up the form to prevent his license from being reinstated. I hope to God the State of MN got the form and stamped his application "DENIED". That man maybe didn't need to go to Detox, but he sure didn't need a license, either!

I know that God was with me when I was on the Job, and that was one of the incidents that remind me of that fact; every other cop had got into a physical altarcation with the man, while I did not. It wasn't me; it was God who set that up.

I got another story about why God loves cops, too...but I'm not going to tell that one tonight.

Lord, have mercy, not just on the drunks, but on the cops who have to deal with them, and on the rookies who have FTO's who like to fight.

That's another story, too.

Alive in Christ

8. In the earthly liturgy we take part in a foretaste of that heavenly liturgy which is celebrated in the holy city of Jerusalem toward which we journey as pilgrims, where Christ is sitting at the right hand of God, a minister of the holies and of the true tabernacle [22]; we sing a hymn to the Lord's glory with all the warriors of the heavenly army; venerating the memory of the saints, we hope for some part and fellowship with them; we eagerly await the Saviour, Our Lord Jesus Christ, until He, our life, shall appear and we too will appear with Him in glory [23].

~ Sacrosanctum Concilium, Vatican II Document on Sacred Liturgy

This weekend I have class all weekend. Last night, one of my classmates announced that we were all invited to a baptism; she is the Godmother of a child who was being baptized in a manner that was being rushed for some reasons she would not divulge. The mother was living at the maternity home operated by the Missionaries of Charity, is Catholic, and agreed to have her son baptized.

So when our class (which takes place at a local church) adjourned for our one-and-a-half-hour lunch break, some of us went up to the sanctuary to be witnesses to this auspicious event.

Several things struck me immediately when we came into this small group, each having an impact of its own. First, I noticed a mother with a child. Initially I thought that she was the mother, but no, she was a witness, there to support her friend. Then I saw the little boy in question, a toddler, running around in a white satin tuxedo with Our Lady of Guadalupe embroidered on the back, coming back every now and again to hug his pregnant mother.

He was clearly the boy to be baptized. There was no father present, as you'd expect, although there were about four Missionaries of Charity...and their very holiness was so apparent in their faces. They were very similarly statured, and at times, I fully expected that if they turned around I would see Mother Teresa herself.

My devotion to her has suddenly increased. This was the first time I have ever been in the presence of the Missionaries of Charity. They were constantly smiling. They were clearly devoted to the mothers and children they serve. They were so obviously comitted to serving Jesus that He was present in every move.

Then we learned there was also to be a Mass. Great! But did we have time? Father was running late and came out to apologize, explaining he had to set up. There was no sacristan, apparently.

Some of us sat down in a pew to wait, as did a couple of the Sisters across the aisle. The little boy in his white tux ran around, seeking the Sisters. He ran into the pew, and Sister greeted him with a glowing smile, caught him up, and held him in her lap for a moment.

I was so struck by the image of her reaching arms, her veil, and that child coming to her. Suddenly I realized I was seeing a reflection of Mary, our Heavenly Mother, always ready with open arms, always ready to to catch us up, beaming, awaiting our affection, returning her own. The woman clothed as a Missionary of Charity was a very image of the Mother of God; and as I watched, my eyes teared up. All I saw was love. All I saw was Heaven; all I saw was our Mother, realizing that she treats us all in the same way. We are all her children, all so beloved.

Two of us had to leave for a moment, and then something came up that took me away. I left the church sadly, thinking I could not be there, honestly regretting it. I was torn; on one had I really wanted to eat lunch, and I brought part of our meal today for the class. On the other hand...I REALLY wanted to be at this Mass and Baptism! So I went and took care of the issue that had arisen, considered getting lunch...but could not eat. My hunger was quashed. So I walked up the stairs to the church...could I still go?

As I approached, I saw people kneeling in prayer. Was Mass well underway?

Quietly I opened the door and saw that although the candles on the altar were lit, Mass had not begun. I could attend! Yay!

So I slipped into a pew to join the very small crowd, and shortly thereafter, Mass began. We sang a hymn, and then Father opened with the Sign of the Cross...in SPANISH! I had not realized the mother could not speak English, or, rather, was just more comfortable with Spanish. Father greeted the little boy, asking him a question, and began the opening prayers in Spanish. I could not hear the words due to the reverberation in the large, empty sanctuary.

One of the Sisters did the readings and the Psalm, but again, I could not understand what she was saying. Had I been closer I could have heard, but being that this was a small group, they did not engage the PA system at anything other than a very low level, which was not sufficient to reach me.

The Sisters repeated the responsorial as appropriate, so I could understand some of the words, but as I was in the back, I could not make out all of the words...so remained silent, listening. Praying in spirit, if not in action.

Father read the Gospel also in Spanish, and it was a long one. I couldn't understand enough of what he was saying to even determine which Gospel. (Part of this may be due to a mild hearing loss I sustained a few years ago; I have trouble hearing at a certain register, and all of this was taking place within that very register.)

None of the Liturgy of the Word was done upon the altar; rather, the lector and Father stood in front of this small grouping of the faithful, and during the homily, which was also in Spanish, he directed much of what he was saying to the little boy. I could at this point understand enough of what he was saying to get the general gist of the homily; he was explaining baptism to this toddler. He was explaining God's love, and the transformation of baptism, how it would strengthen him, how the heart of Jesus would be within his own heart and make him strong.

It was so beautiful! Occasionally he would look up and speak a few English words, but most of the homily was in Spanish, spoken very carefully with clearly chosen words.

Then was the baptism. We the witnesses were invited to come forward to stand at the altar rail; in that church, the baptismal font is on the altar. I was a little unsure, but the Sister looked right at me and waved me forward smiling, and a few others also. This was a "family" thing; for the moment, we were family. One of the Sisters held the little boy as his pregnant mother stood by, smiling. I heard the words of the small exorcism ritual that takes place at the beginning of every baptism, and immediately, the tears began. I stood there, praying, and during the prayers to the Saints, I was able to respond, "Ruega por Nosotros". At the end, we prayed the "Salve Maria" in Spanish. It was a different version than one I learned some time ago, but I could pray the second part accurately.

(Santa Maria, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros peccadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte, Amen.)

I will never be able to explain how this was the most beautiful baptism I have ever witnessed; I will never be able to explain the PALPABLE grace that just encompassed all of us.

The Liturgy of the Eucharist took place on the altar as usual, but in Spanish. I knew what was happening, of course, but I did not know the Spanish responses, so I just listened.

Although I spent a semester in Mexico, I never once went to Mass. Although we were in many churches in Mexico, and Masses were going on in some of them, never once did we attend. And although I speak Spanish...I didn't understand most of the words spoken at this Mass today. It was completely humbling, and yet...transcendent. Because it didn't matter that intellectually I didn't understand the words. My soul was taking in more than I would ever be able to understand. It is our humanity that needs languages; our souls require no translations.

I knew what was happening, although a missalette would have been helpful (even in Spanish alone) so that I could have understood the words and responded. After all...I would not have needed an English translation. But the Mass was just as valuable and perhaps more beautiful than even the Latin Novus Ordo I attended...because I was at the mercy of God. We were there, we were praying so hard for this little boy, his mother, and her unborn child...each moment, each inconvenience...MEANT SOMETHING.

And although we were a small group, the Heavenly Contingent was present and the sanctuary could not contain all who were truly present.

After communion, although I tried, I could not stop the tears from overflowing once again. The presence of God sometimes does that; the recognition of grace is overwhelming; even grace not directed at us, but at a few souls most in need.

I cannot tell you the full story of this family; I don't think I'm free to do so. But this afternoon I learned the facts behind today's baptism of a beautiful toddler, and the very obvious and astounding change in him today. I will say only that his mother has been involved and is still involved in the occult, although she is a baptized Catholic. And this child apparently had been exhibiting some very bad behavior among his peers, but after his baptism, he has been a COMPLETELY different child! Please pray mightily for him, his mother, and her unborn child.

Prayers Needed!

I hit a huge problem at work yesterday; in November there is a retreat that I am supposed to plan and direct, a very important retreat having to do with Sacramental preparation.

The retreat is currently scheduled during the 3rd weekend of November; that is the weekend I am at class. I can't skip class - because it would be the equivalent of skipping 6 weeks or so of class.

I notified the Pastor yesterday of the conflict and asked if we have any options. He did state very directly that it's not something that can go on without my presence, so we are going to meet this afternoon to talk about it and see what we can do.

I have looked at the church calender; quite honestly, I've never seen such a full calender in my life. There are NO options. This is officially an impossible situation.

And yes, I took this problem to Adoration yesterday afternoon and I will do so again today before my meeting with the Pastor.

Please pray with me that our meeting will go well and that we will find a way out of this mess!


UPDATE! ~ I met with the Pastor this afternoon as planned, and things went well. As it turned out, the only reason they hadn't originally chosen the previous weekend was because he was supposed to lead a pilgrimage. Since the pilgrimage didn't happen, he still has the weekend available. So the conflict has been officially removed! And there are no space issues...those are also resolved!

PRAISE GOD! And thanks for your prayers!

Needed ~ The Intercession of St. Francis!

I just * knew * this would happen.

There's something wrong with my greyhound...he's limping. Initially I thought it was his toe, because last weekend he was seeming to favor his left rear paw. When I investigated further, and found a tender spot at his knee, he let me know with a loud bark and a long, low, growl, and a snap of his teeth in my general direction, while staring at me balefully.

There's no swelling, but I have been carefully checking every day....ther's heat in the area, and for now, I'm treating it as a sprain. He's going outside only to do his business, no regular walks until this clears up.

I've noticed it's worse in the morning, which is logical, but now it seems to be getting worse. Today he's barely putting weight on his left rear leg. All week, he's not even tried to climb onto the couch or the fouton I "gave" the dogs, just hanging out on his dogbed on the floor, or in his kennel.

I do NOT want to take him to the vet if I can avoid it...because of course they'll want to do X-Rays, which makes sense, but the cost of this is just not something I can afford right now. It's going on the plastic and since I just put a $500.00 brake job on my plastic, well, let's just say NOW is NOT the time to be building up debt or digging into my savings, which aren't, shall we say, "built to last" as it is.

If we must go, we must go. As a rule, I hold off if it seems to be a sprain only because of the simple fact that sprains clear up with simple treatment. This vet isn't one to dispense a lot of medications, and I can't give my greyhound aspirin, not even doggie aspirin. Greyhounds do not process meds like other dogs - what works for other breeds can go so far as to kill a grey. And, it could be arthritis or just a flareup of an old injury. He is an ex-racing dog, came to me after nearly a three year career.

So I'm praying to St. Francis for some help here. Last night was a cool night and I had the fan running. I noticed my hound was a little chilled this morning so I suspect he may just be working out some stiffness, but if it's really just a worsening condition, well...then at some point I will have to make the decision to take him to a pro.

I'm so completely unsurprised this is happening. When I discerned religious life, and worked to try to pay off my debt load, my dogs were both hit with amazing and strange (and some repetetive) illnesses requiring vet visits. I won't even TELL you how much I had to spend on them that year. The reality is that every time I am facing some major financial issue, the dogs get sick and the car breaks down or a necessary appliance in the house goes kuputz. Why should I be surprised that the dog broke down again?

And no, keeping the job isn't the answer...it's already been posted and my replacement is being primed.

St. Francis, Pray for us!

Novena Prayers to our Mother of Perpetual Help

For many, the novena begins tomorrow. However, in the Redemptorist tradition, it begins today. These are three traditional novena prayers to Our Lady of Perpetual Help, found at Vultus Christi. I don't know if the Litany is part of the Novena itself, but I recommend it just the same!



Novena Prayers to Our Mother of Perpetual Help

First Prayer

Behold at thy feet, O Mother of Perpetual Help, a wretched sinner who has recourse to thee and confides in thee. O Mother of mercy, have pity on me. I hear thee called by all the refuge and the hope of sinners: be then, my refuge and my hope. Assist me, for the love of Jesus Christ; stretch forth thy hand to a miserable fallen creature who recommends himself to thee, and who devotes himself to thy service for ever. I bless and thank Almighty God, who in His mercy has given me this confidence in thee, which I hold to be a pledge of my eternal salvation. It is true that in the past I have miserably fallen into sin, because I had not recourse to thee. I know that, with thy help, I shall conquer. I know too, that thou wilt assist me, if I recommend myself to thee; but I fear that, in time of danger, I may neglect to call on thee, and thus lose my soul. This grace, then, I ask of thee, and this I beg, with all the fervor of my soul, that in all the attacks of hell I may ever have recourse to thee. O Mary, help me. O Mother of Perpetual Help, never suffer me to lose my God.

Three Hail Marys.

Second Prayer

O Mother of Perpetual Help, grant that I may ever invoke thy most powerful name, which is the safeguard of the living and the salvation of the dying. O purest Mary, O sweetest Mary, let thy name henceforth be ever on my lips. Delay not, O Blessed Lady, to help me, whenever I call on thee; for, in all my temptations, in all my needs, I shall never cease to call on thee, ever repeating thy sacred name, Mary, Mary. O what consolation, what sweetness, what confidence, what emotion, fill my soul when I utter thy sacred name, or even only think of thee. I thank the Lord for having given thee, for my good so sweet, so powerful, so lovely a name. But I will not be content with merely uttering thy name. Let my love for thee prompt me ever to hail thee, Mother of Perpetual Help.

Three Hail Marys.

Third Prayer

O Mother of Perpetual Help, thou art the dispenser of all the gifts which God grants to us miserable sinners; and for this end He has made thee so powerful, so rich, and so bountiful, in order that thou mayest help us in our misery. Thou art the advocate of the most wretched and abandoned sinners who have recourse to thee: come to my aid, for I recommend myself to thee. In thy hands I place my eternal salvation, and to thee I entrust my soul. Count me among thy most devoted servants; take me under thy protection, and it is enough for me. For, if thou protect me, I fear nothing; not from my sins, because thou wilt obtain for me the pardon of them; nor from the devils, because thou art more powerful than all hell together; nor even from Jesus, my judge, because by one prayer from thee He will be appeased. But one thing I fear: that in the hour of temptation I may through negligence fail to have recourse to thee and thus perish miserably. Obtain for me, therefore, the pardon of my sins, love for Jesus, final perseverance, and the grace ever to have recourse to thee, O Mother of Perpetual Help.

Three Hail Marys.


Invocations to Our Lady

O Mother of Perpetual Help, thou whose very name inspires confidence.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
That I may be victorious in the trying time of temptation.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
That I may quickly rise again should I have the misfortune to fall into sin.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
That I may break asunder any bonds of Satan in which I may have become entangled.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
Against the seductions of the world, the flesh, and the devil.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
That I may return to my former fervour should I ever become lukewarm.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
That I may approach the Sacrament of Penance with a heart pierced by sorrow for my sins.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
That I may receive and adore the Most Holy Eucharist with love, thanksgiving, and awe.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
[Priests: That I may live my holy priesthood in intimate union with thy Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ, Victim and Priest.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.]
Against my own inconstancy.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
Against my own infidelity.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
In the spiritual battle against my vices and sins.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
When the powers of darkness threaten me.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
That I may persevere to the end in faith, hope and charity.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
That I may never despair of the Mercy of God.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
That I may ever love thee and serve thee and invoke thine assistance.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
That I may make thy Perpetual Help known to others.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
That I may invite others to pray to thee and to venerate thy sacred image.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.
At the hour of my death.
R. Help me, O loving Mother.

Our Lady of Perpetual Help and Evangelization

Last night a friend gave me a wonderful gift; a copy of the icon of Our Lady of Perpetual Help, purchased in Rome, and blessed by the Holy Father.

I am floored by this gift and although she likely considers it to be quite casual and not really a big deal, this gift means a great deal to me, for many reasons.

Today I set out to purchase a simple frame, thinking to just do something quick to preserve it from inadvertant damage, and then shop for the right frame at a later date. But another friend today encouraged me to at least get it matted, and then the framing will be simpler later. Agreed.

So I went to a nearby Michael's, glanced through a few matts, and realized assistance was needed. The man who assisted me commented he really liked the colors in the icon and helped me to select a few options, then recommended a double matt, which really helps to set off the image. Several worked, but I decided on blue over brushed gold, and a frame which is simple yet decorative, somewhat of a bronze color.

While we were choosing the colors and the frame, we discussed art, and I explained the history of OLPH, just briefly, the legend of her origins, and the meaning of the icon. I pointed out several things, such as how all the lines point to Jesus, how Our Lady points to Him, and about how this icon is all about the mystery of the Redemption. I pointed out some other symbols as well, and explained, in answer to some of his questions, what little I know of iconography and that it doesn't just involve images of Mary and Jesus, but Biblical depictions, Apostles, and Saints.

He was very clearly interested and I saw that he was "seeing" the icon by the end of our conversation, not just as a casual piece of art, but something that means something. He thanked me for the art lesson. :-)

As this is a blessed image, it is a sacramental, so I had determined to correctly seat and frame it permanently, so paid the money to do so today. I shouldn't have spent the money, but who knows? Perhaps one day this image will become a gift to someone else, just as it was a gift to me. Sometimes even when it costs us, it is the right thing to do to take our treasure and treat it properly so that someone else may benefit even more down the road.

So even as we conversed about the framing options, pricing, and all the details, I offered prayers that the blessing on this icon at the Holy Father's hands would carry on to this man. For those unfamiliar with our Catholic understanding of blessed objects, the wording in the blessing pronounced by the priest (or in this case, the Pope) has to do not so much with the object, but that all those who use it or gaze upon it be blessed and drawn in closer to what that image is about; Redemption. I do not know anything about this man, only that he indicated somewhat hesitantly that he is a Christian. My prayer to OLPH was that she would reach out to him and draw him inward, so I took special care to point out her eyes, and how the eyes of the icon really draw us into it, invite us into the mystery portrayed, like a window.

I had mentioned that St. Alphonsus has a shrine to OLPH, and he expressed surprise. Apparently he is familiar with the church, so I explained where the shrine can be found.

Based on the conversation we had today, it sounds like OLPH has drawn another soul closer to her so that she can lead him even closer to her Son.

I never realized the simple task of paying to have an icon framed could also become an act of evangelization. May the man and any others who looked upon this icon today be abundantly blessed and consoled by the love of God.

Our Lady of Perpetual Help, Pray for us!

Shrine of Our Lady of Perpetual Help

I have cultivated a devotion to Our Lady of Perpetual Help (or has it been cultivated in me by Our Lady herself?), and today, I made a mini-pilgrimage to a local shrine. I brought many intentions with me, including those of fellow bloggers, so I pray you all receive the blessings and consolations requested through Our Lady of Perpetual Help.

Many of you are likely unfamiliar with this icon, and truly, the icon itself deserves a post of its own, as so much is written into every line, every color, every diagonal and expression. For now, though, simply gaze at this image and allow it to enter your soul, become familiar with it, thus when I post further information about the symbolism, you will have a greater understanding.

The original iconographer is unknown; by legend dating from the 16th Century, it was found in Crete by a merchant who took the icon but gave it away on his deathbed to a Roman friend. Years later Our Lady appeared to his daughter, identifying herself as "Holy Mary of Perpetual Help", indicating that the icon should be placed in the Church of St. Matthew the Apostle.

I will not go into depth as to the other history of the icon, other than to say that, according to "Our Lady of Perpetual Help, the Icon, Favors and Shrines," in 1865, Redemptorist Superior General, Father Nicholas Mauron, petetioned Pope Pius IX to grant the icon to them to be placed in the new Church of the Holy Redeemer, in their care. He granted this request, directing them in his own handwriting, to "Make her known throughout the world!" (p. 14)

At that time in history, the Redemptorists were set spread to all corners of the globe, thus the Pope's directive, and to this day, the image of Our Lady of Perpetual Help remains their responsibility. The icon and devotions have indeed been spread throughout the world as that mission was successfully carried out by the Redemptorists.

A friend recently revealed to me that at her parish, St. Alphonsus in Brooklyn Park, MN, as they are a Redemptorist parish, they have a shrine to Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Before she said something, I'd had no idea. St. Alphonsus is only about 15 minutes away from me, maybe less, as I attend a parish in a neighboring city. I wondered why I didn't know a shrine was so close by?

I went online and found the parish's website, but no mention of the shrine. No mention of devotion to OLPH except for a Tuesday morning devotion after Mass. Her icon is in the upper left corner of the web pages, but other than that, it's a bland site with everyday information on the parish itself, what one would expect of an average parish website. Yesterday I called the parish, KNOWING I had to go there to visit the shrine. They explained that the icon is in the main church, which is apparently locked after the Masses. She explained that there is access through the parish office at other times, however. I thanked her and made plans to visit during a time in which I could enter quietly without having to go through the parish office.

I was looking for an unobtrusive visit to Our Lady of Perpetual Help; I did not want to announce my presence to anyone but God and of course anyone else who might be present and have the same desire for quiet, prayerful solitude in contemplation of this image.

This morning I got up earlier than I'd prefer and arrived at St. Alphonsus during the post-Mass rosary. There was only about seven people present, which was surprising to me as my own parish typically has droves of people remaining after daily and Saturday morning Masses to pray the rosary. As I've stated before, I struggle with the rosary, I don't like saying it with a group as I get more distracted than ever when attempting to do so, and so I thanked God for this small group's devotion.

St. Alphonsus is a very modern-styled church, modeled after a thrust-stage theater, an all-too-common design these days. The tabernacle is front and center on the altar, I realized, and did have a red candle lit, which I had not initially seen.

Although the church is quite ugly in appearance, (I'm not a fan of modern church architecture - it emphasizes the people and de-emphasizes God) it does have a few spots of great beauty, that being an alcove housing the baptismal font, a large suspended crucifix, a prie-dieu with an image of Our Lady of Guadalupe, and another prie-dieu with an image of Divine Mercy. Off to the far right side of the sanctuary is the icon of Our Lady of Perpetual help, surrounded by large vigil candles in blue and red, flowers, and about five prie-dieus in a half-circle around it.

I quietly walked around the small rosary group, again thanking God for their devotion, and knelt in front of the image. I actually saw a few things today I had not previously seen in the icon, and something else, too, in her expression.

Look at the icon: see the eyes, see the expression. At first the expression may seem bland, as it did to me when I first saw this image. Yet the more I look at it, the more I see in the total context and theological truth of it. I've been struck again and again at the communication in her eyes; they are wise, consoling, sorrowful, resigned, loving, tranquil...all that, at once. I have this icon on my wall at home and gaze upon it and pass by it frequently. I have actually seen reproach in her eyes!

But today, as I knelt there before her, she seemed to be smiling, her eyes had a loving gaze, if sorrowful and wise and consoling, but there was a joy I had not noticed before. I had not seen the "smile" before this and I was actually surprised.

I did not light a candle today, but I will be back with one. I looked around for a box for donations, for candles to light, and it seems that one either needs to request a candle from the parish office or bring one's own. As these are large novena candles, I can understand why they are not immediately available as they are far more costly than small vigil lights, not something to have on the "honor system". In the prie-dieu there is an alcove with a couple fliers; one is a little prayer card to Our Lady for vocations to the Redemptorists, and another is a prayer to Our Lady of Perpetual Help.

I would have thought that the shrine would also have something like a brochure or a sign explaining the history and devotion to Our Lady through this icon, but there was nothing. Finally I did find a small placque behind the candles, and as the candle holders are fixed in place, I was not able to read what it said. It seemed to indicate that candles were available in the parish office, but it seemed there was more on the sign that could not be read. I did observe a sign pointing to the parish office, but as I was in a pensive mood, I chose not to visit the office today. Perhaps next time, or I would bring my own candle to light.

I would encourage local Catholics to visit this shrine and do your own part to help renew devotion to Our Lady of Perpetual Help. In my opinion and through what I saw today, St. Alphonsus is not doing enough; they are not fulfilling their directive to make her known. Yes, they have placed the icon in a shrine in the church, but that's not "making her known" ~ not outside the parish, anyway. Had my friend not told me about the presence of this shrine, I would not have known about it. I spoke to a priest I know today, and he didn't know about it, either. I'm sure if I polled many faithful Catholics, they wouldn't have any idea.

The website at St. Alphonsus has an email for comments and suggestions, so I will be writing to suggest they do a better job of promoting devotion to Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Her feast day is June 27, and according to the bulletin, St. Alphonsus will be doing something special on that day.

If you are local, consider making your own pilgrimage to Our Lady of Perpetual Help, bring a large novena candle insert (they can be purchased at Catholic stores and gift shops or buy one at St. Alphonsus, and bring your intentions. This is a miraculous image, and has been so throughout history. Perhaps contained between her hands and the hands of the child Jesus, your own miracle is hidden, waiting only for your presence and your heartfelt request.

Our Lady of Perpetual Help, Pray for us!



Source for posted info:

Our Lady of Perpetual Help, The Icon, Favors, and Shrines, prepared by a team of Redemptorist Missionaries in Rome, Ligouri Publications, 2002.

For more information:

www.cssr.com

Update and Prayer Request

The last couple nights have been busy for me; Tuesday night I went on a blog hiatus. I was actually repelled by my computer, for some reason. So I went to Mass (this is a common occurrance), came home, and just spent the evening in silence, did some reading (Theology of the Body), prayed a lot, and I guess had a mini-retreat.

God was silent, though...he didn't offer any direction or even a new job offer to get me out of the hell I go to every day. This HAS to be worth something to someone, somewhere! So offering it up continues.

Last night our now-very-small RCIA team met to discuss next year and the format. We are actually going to be creating our curriculum from the Catechism published by the American Bishops, which quotes the CCC but lays the Church teachings out in a very readable format. It includes discussion questions and the like, and I praise this idea. It's solid catechesis and covers so much more than the liturgically-based program, yet there will still be a blend there as we'll go over the upcoming Sunday's readings each week, too. We are also blessed with a priest very knowledgable in scripture (I think he has a Doctorate relating to scripture), and some other people who can come in occasionally to teach in their areas of expertise.

So good things are happening here. We are also seeking ways to help the new Catholics find their way into our huge parish and get involved. If any of you out there have suggestions as to what your church does or what worked for you (if you are a convert), or if you have suggestions, please comment or send me an e-mail if you're more comfortable in doing so.

Now, as far as more blogging, I'm hoping to be more inspired tonight, having had two evenings "off"; maybe there is another "Blogs of our Lives" episode to be completed. We'll see.

Most importantly, please keep Angela Messenger and her community in your prayers. The river is flooding, people are being evacuated, and Angela's house is cut off. She also has no access to internet from her home, but does from work, so keep an eye on her blog for updates. The river is expected to crest on Saturday.

It's Official

I got my "Thanks for interviewing" letter today.

Thank you to all of you who have been praying for me in this process. God has spoken, and this is not where He is calling me, and I accept that.

If I could please humbly ask you all to keep praying. I need a miracle, and I need one SOON, and I have nowhere to go.

The good news is that my resume is up-to-date!

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow....

....creeps in this petty pace from day to day
And all our yesterdays are lighted fools
The way to dusty death.
Out! Out! Five year career
A walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the timeclock
It is a tale, told by a burned-out employee
Full of sound and fury...
Signifying...the beginning of something new?

My interview is tomorrow (Thursday)at 3 pm...and the clock is moving so slowly. I will be leaving work early so as to go home, freshen up, change clothes, and hopefully spend a few minutes in Adoration before heading up to my destination.

I promise not to mis-quote Shakespeare to them, nor will I parody the Gospel of John.

And I will be praying to several Saints. And asking for the prayers of all YOU saints out there as well!


UPDATE: 5:55 am - Last night I had more bad dreams per capita than I've had in a long time. And I kept waking up to a sense of an evil, terrifying presence.

Thank you for your prayers, everyone!

Don't Call My Name

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote this piece a few months after I "retired" from law enforcement. I was inspired upon the occasion of the untimely death of a local State Trooper, whom I did not personally know, to write this piece. I further edited the work upon the tragic death of another police officer, whose wife, a Deputy Chief at the time, had been one of my references. I consider this to be a work of fiction because the experiences within are not necessarily "mine", but those of police officers collectively, throughout the world. The beginning is mine, although I suspect that others would state something similar. Police Officers everywhere answer to a true call; it is not just a job, and even a short time in the field marks a soul for life. .
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I decided a long time ago to become a police officer. My family was shocked and most of them decided that I was insane. They spoke to me as if I were an irrational child, and everyone, EVERYONE, asked me "WHY!?" . I neither defended nor explained my choice. The simple reason was this: there was no rational or logical reason in the world for my desire to become a police officer. I knew the risks I'd be taking and I understood my family's concern.

So I prayed, "God, please don't call my name."

I went through the training where they made us run miles and hold the push-up position for what seemed like hours while we listened to our instructor give us his life story. They made us take our turns at leading calisthenics and if we didn't give it our all, they made us do extra. They stuck us in the "gas chamber" and gave us tear gas, CS gas, and pepper spray just to be sure we got our "money's worth" of education. They twisted our joints and shot at us, and throughout the training, they impressed upon us that no matter what happened, no matter how serious the injury, how intense the fear, or how close the panic, we were always to be in control of ourselves and the situation. They taught us the mentality necessary for survival on the streets. And they told us story after story of heroes fallen in the line of duty. They taught us to learn from their mistakes as well as our own and how to not make the same mistake twice. We may never get a second chance.

Throughout it all, I prayed, "God, please don't call my name."

When I was finally hired, I raised my right hand to give my oath to God, my Country, my State, City and Department, to uphold the Constitution of the United States, enforce the laws, to Serve and to Protect. In a room full of collegues, family, and superiors, I gave my oath and silently prayed, "God, please don't call my name."

I wore my brand-new uniform with pride, pinned on my badge, strapped on my vest, and holstered my loaded gun for the first time. As I did so, the full weight of my responsibility settled upon my soul. I experienced for the first time the taste of the knowledge that accompanies fear; sometimes "serving and protecting" means taking a life or risking my own...so I prayed, "God, please don't call my name."

I rode in a squad car, patrolled the strets, stopped offenders, served warrants, subpoenas, and took reports. I turned in documents upon which I had written, "status/inactive", knowing that someone's home, life, and rights were somehow violated, but I was unable to provide the solution they needed me to offer. I realized that although I was young and inexperienced, I was suddenly "Authority", and I supposedly had "the answer" the people I served were seeking. I comforted the grieving, warned the disorderly, and stopped the assault. I restored safety, referred people to other agencies for problems I couldn't fix, and I tracked down runaways and returned them to their parents, caring or otherwise. I held the hands of children trapped in twisted metal and I helped to save the life of someone's family member. Each and every day I saw both the best and the worst of human nature.

However, I always knew that I was not immune to the tragedies that strike unprovoked, so I prayed, "God, please don't call my name."

I learned early that because I wore a uniform and a badge, I was no longer my own person. My life was not mine; it belonged to the public and my reputation was relegated to the same. I became the target of hatred, unforgiving glares, and pointing fingers. Likewise I was seen as an expert in the law and the solution to life gone somehow awry. And I felt incredibly inept.

So I prayed, "God, please don't call my name."

I attended the funeral of a fellow officer who had fallen in the line of duty. I gave my condolences to his family and friends and I shared in their grief. As I paid my respects and said my goodbyes to the officer in the casket, I realized that his death was not personal. He was killed because he wore a uniform and a badge. He died for what he represented, not for who he really was. I knew that it could just as easily be any one of the thousands of officers who do the same job lying in that casket. I also knew that no matter who it was, the death would not be any easier to accept. And as the tears came to my eyes I understood the full impact of the identity I shared with this individual. And I prayed, "God, please don't call my name."

When I flipped on the lights, switched on the siren and screamed through crowded intersections en route to a call of a "man with a gun," and as I risked my life to reach an unknown situation, I knew that I couldn't spend my career, and thus my life, fearing that my name would be called. So I put my life into the hands of the Lord and I did the job that no one else would.

I stood by the closed door, drawing my weapon as, from the other side, came the unmistakable sound of a live round striking the empty chamber of an unidentified gun. I didn't need to see the frightened eyes of the victim to know that I was living someone else's desperate prayer. I knew why I was there.

"God, you already called my name.""

Please, Lord, for even the dogs eat the scraps that fall...

22 And behold, a Canaanite woman of that district came and called out, "Have pity on me, Lord, Son of David! My daughter is tormented by a demon."

23 But he did not say a word in answer to her. His disciples came and asked him, "Send her away, for she keeps calling out after us."

24 He said in reply, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel."

25 But the woman came and did him homage, saying, "Lord, help me."

26 He said in reply, "It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs."

27 She said, "Please, Lord, for even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the table of their masters."

28 Then Jesus said to her in reply, "O woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish."


I have often been puzzled about this verse. Why did Jesus call this poor woman a dog? His behavior simply doesn't seem to mesh with what we know about Jesus; why is he rebuking this pleading woman who is only seeking mercy for her beloved daughter?


Recently I recieved some insight into this when listening to a CD from a Bible Conference I attended last summer. And I have come to realize that Jesus has been calling me a dog for a very long time.

If we really LOOK at that verse, we see that this Caananite woman has come to Jesus, in faith and trust, begging for help for her daughter. Jesus calls her a dog! Yet she remains. Why does she remain?

Because this is not really a rebuke. Jesus is testing her; he is explaining his mission, that to the House of Israel, but notice he has not told her to go away! She seems to understand this, although his words must have punctured her heart and soul with a thousand arrows. Yet she remained, pleading on her knees, refusing to take "no" for an answer. Rather than running away, she followed and did him homage.

And what was Jesus's response? Read it again:

28 Then Jesus said to her in reply, "O woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish."

He's THRILLED! Jesus has seemed to reject her, but she persists, continuing to believe in spite of such a seeming insult. And as Jesus was wont to do, he was really inviting her to go deeper, to persevere in her faith; He did not want her to leave, only to understand FOR HER OWN VERY SOUL what she was asking him to do and what she BELIEVED he could do. Jesus knew he could heal her daughter and free her from the demons. But the woman must have been lacking in something to be tested in such a way. And she let her love for her daughter and the faith obtained through grace overcome what may have been her shame at being rejected.

Because she had faith, she grasped it with the tenacity of a dog, and she would not let Jesus turn her down.

And by Jesus' word, it was done.

I've been grasping this Gospel lately, myself, realizing that I'm just a dog begging for scraps from the Master's table.

I'm at the end of my rope at work. On Thursday, I nearly gave immediate notice and walked out; the only thing that saved me, ironically, was my dogs and the mortgage. I can't go around letting my frustration write resignation letters I can't afford to write. And so I remained. And still I remain, still begging the Lord for Mercy, for direction, for new and fruitful employment.

I know that my gifts are not a match for my current job and I know that I have no future with this company. Nor do I want a future here. And we know there is a systematic problem when the other THREE team members ALSO are desperate to walk off the job.

Because it comes down to the fact that our Manager is not hearing us, and Management in general in this company isn't hearing us nor do they want to; they are too focused on "the bottom line". They are too focused on "profit", and whenever someone complains about workload, the pressure, the stress, they offer trite platitudes about the end of the year profit-sharing and the money to be made by each individual.

I'm starting to wonder if they are Communists parading as Capitalists. And neither, in their pure form, is good.

I don't care if they were to offer me $10,000 more annually...I can't keep this up. I can't continue to go to work with my stomach in knots, my heart in my throat, and my pulses racing. I can't continue to take the whips and stings of a workload that becomes more and more burdensome, or a double standard that forces my unit to take excess work from other less specialized units, while they refuse to help us when we're so far overloaded. They use "numbers" to measure "productivity", and forget that the numbers aren't accurate for there's a lot of work yet to be done on issues that have been closed out. Nothing is really closed, and I have hours of work to do on a number they can't even see in their paltry system.

Not to mention the hours of work that comes without credit from our outstate counterparts who consistently get less measurable work, have stellar performance, make more money...we do their work and we don't get the credit for it. It doesn't measure into our "numbers" in our Metro office.

I can't continue to work for a company that has forgotten that without their employees, there is no company.

And yet, I can't find another job. I can't even figure out what I want to do, but for those careers for which I am not qualified because further education is required. (Which I am seeking, as you know).

All I'm really begging for is scraps from the Master's table; I'm not looking to get rich, I'm not looking for prestige, definitely not management, only to be able to pay those bills I have to pay to keep a roof over my head and the internet connection working! I'm asking for a job that I can go to in peace; not expecting perfection for we will not find Eden here, but there is more to life than the stress caused by bad employment. No matter how much we are paid. And although the money is decent, it's not enough for what it takes out of us.

When out legitimate complaints are deflected, downplayed, or outright rejected by Management, then it's time to abandon ship. Will someone please send a lifeboat? Mass exodus from the Titanic that is my company is in need of lifeboats and personal floatation devices. I'm not the only one.

So I am saying a prayer each day, now, from the depths of my soul, begging for mercy, reminding the Lord that I may be only a dog, but even dogs receive the scraps from the Master's table.

And I am praying that if I persevere with faith in the face of the silent rebuke which has so far met my tearful pleas, maybe Jesus will FINALLY say,

"O Woman, great is thy faith! Let it be done for you as you wish."

Should the Lord answer this prayer, you will all be the first to know. For I am now doing what the woman in scripture did...I am approaching Jesus publicly in the face of his rebuke, (2 1/2 year's worth) accepting the title of "dog", and I will follow him to the ends of the earth in order to obtain the answer to this prayer...and I will not take "No" for an answer.

Help me, Lord. I am only begging for some scraps.

Suicide, Mercy, and Redemption

Tonight I read a post over at Abbey Roads and in reflection, have decided maybe it's time to tell a particular story. I have told few people about this because what happened to me may seem a bit unbelievable...yet I am here today to give witness to the Glory of God. That must be worth something to someone, else I would not still be alive.

When I was a teenager, life was rough. Not the typical teenage angst all the rags try to capitalize upon, but something deeper and more sinister. My father was an alcoholic and as such, my parents divorced when I was 8. Around that same time, my Mom was diagnosed as a "Manic-Depressive", in currant parlance: Bipolar. As the years went on, her disease grew worse.

And as the years went on, I became a teenager, which is difficult in and of itself. Life was made more difficult by the fact that my father, whenever I went to visit him spent the time drinking in the bathroom, and my mother was becoming more unpredicable and irrational by the day. I realized the only control I had in my life was through school, so I focused on what I had to do, got involved in after-school activities not so much for the activity itself, but as an escape. Any reason not to have to go home.

Then things took a turn for the worse. A girl in my 8th grade class, a girl I had known a little and considered to be at least an acquaintance had a twin brother. He was killed in a tragic accident (in which he was not entirely innocent), and in her grief, the mean streak she had always had took over her entirely. I must have just passed by here at the wrong time because I became the focus of her anger. I hadn't known her well before this, but afterwards I wished I'd never met her. She became the ringleader of a clique of girls, and apparently I was their pet project.

I couldn't go anywhere without some sort of derision directed at me. They accused myself and my best friend of "lesing" together. (reference to lesbianism). This rumor spread like wildfire, as so as far as the student body had decided at the time, my friend and I were formally "lesbians". It wasn't true, but there was no escape.

I wasn't without friends, however, until one day in 8th grade. I was 14. My friends and I had a disagreement, really a minor one, and they ostracized me, too. I remember a loud verbal argument in front of the entire cafeteria during which I defended my position. Their argument was equally as loud, and we had the attention of the entire school. Great. I was actually beyond caring. I'd felt like the doormat for the entire school at the time, anyway, so this was no surprise.

I remember the "conversation" degenerating into some weird "my life is worse than your life" routine, in which I revealed that my mother was in a mental ward, and maybe I should just kill myself. My "friends" agreed.

They likely didn't realize it...but I was serious and it wasn't the first time the thought had crossed my mind. I really wanted to die, and in that moment, I realized that it was true...I really would prefer to cease to exist.

I remember, in those years, due to my mother's deep devotion to the faith, and my upbringing, and my involvement in the parish, that killing myself shouldn't be an option. I remember having learned that suicide was a mortal sin, and this is the type of sin that damns people to Hell. So I prayed through the psalms, I begged God to make my life better, to change things...yet nothing changed. It continued to go downhill. I couldn't stand being at school; I couldn't stand being at home. I had nowhere to go. I certainly wasn't going to tell the people at my church how I was feeling; not our parish priest, not any of the members of the choir, not even my best friend. No one knew my thoughts for I wrapped them deeply within a fragile outer covering. I pretended everything was peachy, but inside, I was really screaming.

Yet God seemed silent. He never answered my prayers, no matter how much I cried, no matter how many psalms I prayed. I began to question whether God was really there. How could he let me suffer like this? Why did I deserve this?

I kept hearing about "Friends of Jesus", but I didn't see anywhere in my life where Jesus was a "friend" of any sort. He was ignoring me, too. So I thought.

In school, in health class, in an effort to combat teenage suicides, all the health classes included an entire chapter to the subject. I studied hard, got wonderful grades...and realized that this was a a blueprint. I knew that I had to avoid all of those signs. It was imperative that no one know what I was thinking. I also knew that I had to avoid the "call for help" behavior of an almost-suicide.

Slowly I formulated my plan. I didn't like pain, and I didn't want to leave a mess. So my best option was drugs. That way, I could just go to sleep and die, and by the time I was found, it would be too late. No such thing as a way out.

Remember that my mother was bipolar. She had lots of drugs around, and through her constantly talking about them and their side effects, I learned a great deal. I also knew when she took them, how many, and when they were replaced. So I waited for her to get her refills, take her meds, and go into the kitchen.

This was the night. I had pretended to go to bed early, but had only been waiting for Mom to take her meds and get involved in her evening reading.

I'd been praying all along, so even though, at that point, I really didn't believe in God anymore, I decided to give Him one more chance before I put my plan into action. I'd give him a few minutes, and if no response, I was going to pad into the bathroom, open the cabinet, take the necessary drugs, and proceed to polish them off with the large bottle of water near my bed.

I rememeber sitting up in bed, leaning on my right elbow. In a whisper, I addressed God; I gave him an ultimatum: either save me or I will be damned by His choice, not my own. I remember looking at the clock, and I remember crying. I remember saying to God, audibly in my angry whisper that I was already in Hell; why worry about an eternity of it. Clearly He didn't care about me as I had continued to descend, thus maybe Hell didn't really exist. It had failed to continue as a deterrant of any sort, thus God must also not exist. I stated very clearly that I no longer believed in Him, so if I was wrong, and He did exist, now was the time to show himself.

I was actually shaking my left fist in the air, pointing up towards the general direction of the ceiling in my tirade, ready to throw back the covers and get the life-ending drugs.

That's when God really intervened.

Suddenly there was a very bright, intense, blue-white light appearing where the ceiling had been. A huge hand and arm reached down out of the light towards my upraised hand. I was transfixed by the vision as the hand touched mine...and it all disappeared.

I lowered my hand, shaken. I was in the same position I had been lying in, propped on my right elbow. I wondered if maybe I had fallen asleep and dreamed, but when I looked at the digital clock, I saw that only one minute had transpired since I had last glanced at the time.

A sense of peace enveloped me, and I no longer had even a shred of anger within me. It was gone. I no longer wanted to die, and somehow, my belief in God had been restored. I realized it was God's very hand that had touched me and all the pain had been removed. My heart was no longer broken; my soul no longer cried out for mercy. Death was no longer an answer to anything.

And I knew that I'd had a glimpse of Heaven. I knew that God was there, he'd heard every single prayer, and he'd been with me every step of the way.

I will never be able to answer as to why God didn't respond when I prayed, or why He answered so directly in my last moments, when I challenged Him. It went against everything I'd ever believed about the nature of God...one does not tempt God, one does not give God ultimatums.

I've learned throughout life, however, that God often answers in what we think are the last moments, when we have all but given up. I HAD given up...and that's when God chose to reach out in His glory.

I'll never know why He saved me, and not others I've known. It certainly had nothing to do with faith...I expressed the last shred in my final tirade...which turned out not to be final.

You may read this with disbelief. A vision? Riiight. I understand your feelings. You can try to explain it as a dream, but what of the time? The clock had only registered 1 minute...not 20, or 30, or an hour. I've never hit REM sleep so quickly...have you? I don't now, nor have I ever had sleep apnea.

And the proof is in the pudding. I have worked with suicidal teenagers since that time, and a few years later, my Mom attempted suicide, via a similar method. Never have I seen anyone go from a true desire to end their life to...the erasure of that desire. Never have I seen anyone healed so quickly, although I have seen evidence of answered prayers. But the issue of suicide has never been resolved without lengthy treatment, counseling, etc., along with God's grace.

God's grace was enough for me...He responded to my desperation so that I can be here today to testify to His Glory. The Lord healed me with a touch.

I do not deserve such a grace, but every day I get up, I thank God for another chance to see the sunrise. Another chance to praise Him.

I have never since considered taking my own life. There have been great difficulties in my life, yet death was never the answer. I've heard the evil one whisper such nothings in my ears...yet that moment of salvation is forever etched into my mind. It doesn't take long to banish the demon suicide from my presence.

Suicide is a tough issue, and from what I have seen through others, and experienced in my own life, those who contemplate it are not in their right minds.

Curt Jester has a great post on mortal sin today, and I think that it's a great way of clarify what the Church teaches on this subject.

Most suicidal people are not seeing the world from the right perspective; something is off in their lives, or in the chemicals in their brains. In any case, without a sound mind, they cannot make sound choices. They may think (as I did) that their choices are willful, however, they are not. I remember knowing and understanding that suicide is a mortal sin, results in damnation to Hell as, if one does not repent of the sin they are condemned. Self-murder leaves no opportunity for Reconciliation or repentance.

Yet keep in mind, always, with regard to someone who takes their own life; they are NOT in their right minds, no matter what they tell you. People hide their diseases, they hide their thought processes, and while they may seem "normal", often there are things going on that are impossible for the average person to discern.

The Church does not automatically assume those who committed suicide are in Hell, and in fact, we are encouraged to pray for them. Do not lose hope; God does not let His little ones go so easily.

I will never be able to explain what happened to me, why God chose to reach out to me in a physical manifestation, while others seem to be "lost"; this is a great mystery. But I have learned that life is a gift, it MUST be respected at all costs...and God hears ALL of our prayers, even when He seems to be silent.

Tonight, please say a Divine Mercy chaplet for those who think suicide is their own option, that the Lord may heal their pain and know that His hand is always there.