Season of the Rose

After my trip to Colorado, my interest in visiting Medjugorje increased. I hoped for a richer, deeper understanding of the messages and a clearer understanding of my life’s true direction. Steve and I had briefly discussed the possibility of going there together, but now we were ready to secure a spot with a tour group.

Steve and I asked our parents if they wanted to take the trip with us. Everyone agreed that a pilgrimage to Medjugorje was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I call- ed a woman named Rena, who not only was a tour guide but also happened to be the woman who had been translating for the visionary, Ivanka, when my mother saw her speak at St. Joseph’s Church in Maine. Her voice when she greeted me on the phone was soft and gentle. I immediately sensed that she was the right person to travel with, and after later receiving more detailed information on the pilgrimage by mail, we all decided that we wanted Rena as our guide. Within a few days, we were booked for an April pilgrimage to Medjugorje.

About a week after we secured our reservations, my mother called Rena to ask her advice about clothes and other items to bring on the trip. She also asked her the name of the hotel where we’d be staying—and she almost faint- ed when she heard the answer. As it turned out, we wouldn’t be going to a hotel, instead we were staying at Ivanka’s house—one of the six visionaries!

Ivanka and me outside of her home.

Not long after I joined the new company, I attended a training event. At the beginning, the facilitator conducted an icebreaker exercise to help participants get to know one another. She asked us to share our name, how long we had been at the company, what role we were in, and a little-known secret about ourselves. I decided to share with my group of peers that I was writing a book. I was very vague about the content and only said that I was writing a story about my journey to a small village in Bosnia-Herzegovina. This was one of the first times I ever spoke to people outside of my small circle of family and friends about the book. Part of me knew that I had to start sharing if it was ever going to become a reality, yet it still made me a little uncomfortable.

During one of the breaks, a colleague—a woman named Karen—approached me and seemed intrigued by my writing a book. After class ended, we walked out together, back to the main building across the street. She asked me about the book; she wanted to know in more detail what it was about. I’d seen Karen occasionally at the noon Mass in the cathedral near work, and sensed I might be able to open up a little to her. I told her that I was writing a story about Medjugorje, where there were visions of the Virgin Mary, and that Mary was sending messages for the world to return to God to achieve greater peace. It was similar, I told her, to the events in Lourdes, France, and Fatima, Portugal—other locations where Mary had appeared to children in the past, sending them the same urgent messages for the world to return to God. Although Karen was Catholic, she’d never heard of Medjugorje, but said she would research it. She told me that my book sounded interesting and that it seemed like a book from which many people would benefit.

Over the next six to eight months, I saw Karen periodically but never had a direct conversation with her or spoke to her again about the book. We were assigned to the same project at work but had fairly limited contact because the group was so large. One day, almost a year later in September, I woke up in a great mood and was looking forward to the day. This was refreshing, as my work environment at the time was very stressful and a source of extreme frustration for me. On this day, however, I knew that my calendar was clear at noon and I was determined to make it to the cathedral for Mass. As I was driving to work, Karen entered my mind, and I decided that I would contact her to ask if she wanted to go with me.

When I arrived in the office, the first thing I did was send her an e-mail, which I sent around 9:30 with the subject line “Mass.” A couple of hours passed, and I did not hear from her. I wondered if she had received my message. Just before noon, the phone rang, and it was Karen. She told me that she could not believe that I had e-mailed her. She thought it was quite ironic that I contacted her, because after more than a year of not really communicating with each other, it just happened that she was planning to approach me on something this very week. A very close friend of hers, Cassidy, was out of work on disability as a result of a resurgence of breast cancer and was undergoing chemotherapy treatments. Cassidy told her that she had a mystical experience related to the Virgin Mary that was powerful and moving. Although Karen did not know the details of her experience, she remembered that I had been writing a book about Mary and thought I might be able to help her in some way. She did not know the details of my book nor what I had been through, but felt very strongly that her friend and I should get together.

Karen and I talked for a while and were both amazed that we had been thinking of each other at the same time. We knew somehow that something greater than us was bringing us together. For all intents and purposes, we were strangers to one another but linked somehow in this larger plan of God’s. She suggested that maybe I was supposed to share my book with Cassidy or that maybe her experience had something to do with writing my book. Karen asked if I would meet with Cassidy to listen to her story and to possibly share mine. I was honored by the request and responded affirmatively. If someone needed me spiritually, I would be there.

We arranged for the three of us to get together after work during the third week in September, about two weeks from the time of our initial contact. I had been putting off the tedious process of making changes to my book; this meeting was the impetus to finally do that. The day before we planned our get-together, I took a personal day from work. I wrote for twelve hours, barely stopping to eat or to do anything else. Somehow, I knew that I had to share a draft copy with both Karen and Cassidy. I was so touched that they trusted me enough to bring me into the fold of this special situation that I, in return, trusted them to read a draft of my book. Then I realized something: it was not really about us. What we were doing wasn’t about trusting each other but about trusting in God through each other. None of us knew the significance of the meeting or why we were being brought together, but we all sensed that something special was happening.

One Tuesday evening after work, Karen and I took separate cars to Cassidy’s home in a nearby town. Since I did not know Cassidy or what state she would be in from her cancer treatment, I was a bit hesitant about the visit. But as I pulled into her condo complex, all doubt was removed, and I knew I was right where I should be. As I turned the corner, I noticed a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary on the front lawn of her neighbor’s house. It seems that Mary shows up wherever she is needed and always at the right time. Little did I know that she had made her presence known to Cassidy in a way that would be far more powerful than I could ever have imagined.

Karen soon arrived, too, with pizza and salad, and we sat down to dinner, sharing some personal history and getting to know one another. Before long, the conversation turned to Mary, and Cassidy asked me to share some of my experiences. As I told her my story, I became very engrossed in the details and, as always, began to feel the excitement and intensity generated when reflecting upon the awesome path of enlightenment afforded me. I realized that we could be there for many hours if I continued like this, so I tried to summarize the story, bringing out only the important details.

Then Cassidy described her own remarkable encounter with Mary. While undergoing chemotherapy a few months earlier, she’d had a very difficult day. Her only son had left town for a family reunion, and she was feeling extremely ill. She gathered all her strength and called a close family friend, saying she needed to get to the emergency room, and she needed to get there fast. In the back of her mind, she sensed the magnitude of what was happening. She felt that she was barely hanging on to her life and did not want to be alone. Her friend arrived and quickly transported her to the emergency room. She was immediately admitted to the intensive care unit, and the doctors began to gather around. Due to her extreme condition, she was also administered her last rites—a sacrament of the church, also known as anointing of the sick—given by a priest for those who are dying.

Cassidy lay in the hospital room, slipping in and out of consciousness. When she was awake, she prayed. Over the years, she had developed a particular devotion to St.Joseph, the earthly father of Jesus and Mary’s husband. Cassidy had been in and out of the church at different points in her life, with different levels of commitment and involvement. She had experienced a divorce, left the church, and returned periodically. Somehow, however, she maintained her affinity to St. Joseph and often called upon him in prayer. On this day, however, she said that she had an urge to pray directly to Mary instead. She said, “There is just something about the love of a mother.”

Within a short time after calling out to Mary, Cassidy experienced something truly mystical. As she lay in her hospital bed, clinging to her life, she suddenly saw the image of Mary standing over the bed. Although she could not see her whole body, she was able to see her face. Mary raised her hands above Cassidy and moved them up and down the entire length of her body. Light emanated from her hands, producing an energy that penetrated Cassidy with warmth. She felt an incredible healing force radiating through her entire body. She was totally enveloped by Mary’s gentle but powerful presence. Mary did not transmit the docile, passive image that she had expected but instead projected a strong, powerful, persistent force. Cassidy described her as being a “warrior for her children.” Mary worked over her body for what seemed like two to three hours and at one point, left her bedside and approached the doctor who was standing in the corner of the room, looking down at paperwork and test results. As she stood behind the doctor, she gently placed both of her hands on the oncologist’s head and stayed in that position for an undetermined amount of time. Cassidy closed her eyes and faded out of consciousness.

When she awoke some time later, she was still considered to be in a critical state but said that she felt more at ease. A doctor approached her and asked if she would like to speak to a chaplain, as there was no Catholic priest on site. Cassidy said that she would like to talk to anyone who was available. Within a few minutes, a non-denominational female chaplain came to her bedside. Cassidy was happy to see her and relieved that there was someone with whom she could share her story. “You might not believe this,” she said, “but I just spent the last few hours with the Blessed Mother.” The chaplain looked at her and smiled gently. She took Cassidy’s hand and said, “Well, then you are going to be very happy with what I brought you.” Still in a fatigued state, she watched the chaplain curiously as she reached into her pocket and took out two small gifts. The first was a beautiful rosary, the trademark sign of Mary, and the second was a tiny pocket prayer card. On the top of the prayer card was the word Medjugorje.

During her extended stay in the hospital, Cassidy grew stronger as she battled her cancer. Remarkably, after barely clinging to life, she showed progress and turned the corner toward recovery. For someone who had thought she was going to die the day she entered the hospital, this was nothing short of a miracle. Although she stated that she wasn’t completely “out of the woods,” she attributed healing during this time directly to Mary.

For several months after our initial meeting, Cassidy and I continued to exchange e-mails and communicate via Karen. I learned that she had gained enough strength to extend her daily walk to twenty minutes and was even able to attend Mass on a daily basis. She shared with me that she was exploring writing a book to help cancer survivors like herself. She said she wanted people to know that they did not have to go through the experience alone. I asked her if we could get together at some point in the future to talk about how I thought her story fit into my book. I was sensitive to her situation and did not want to push it, but she said that she would let me know a good time, after she met with her doctor. I looked forward to seeing her again and let her know how much her miraculous story touched me and had the potential to touch so many others.

I received a call from Karen in March, on Holy Thursday, the Thursday before Easter. She informed me that Cassidy was not doing well. In fact, her doctors said that there was nothing more that they could do for her. She was at home, with her family and friends, and had asked Karen to inform me of this news. She asked her to relay that she had not forgotten me and asked me to continue to pray for her. I was overwhelmed with sadness at the news. After work that day, I drove to a nearby church and stood in front of a beautiful statue of Mary. Tears filled my eyes as my grief surfaced, and I recited a special rosary for Cassidy. At times, I’d thought that her miraculous experience would lead to a full recovery, yet there was a part of me that knew this would not be the case. Over the next week, I continued to pray for her by including her in a Divine Mercy novena, the nine-day prayer that Jesus dictated to Saint Faustina. On a sunny spring day in 2008, Cassidy died in her home, surrounded by her family and friends who had kept a vigil by her side. In speaking with Karen, I learned that she seemed to be at peace prior to her death, ever since Mary’s appearance. She was able to hold on for the celebration of her son’s thirtieth birthday. What a blessing.

I attended visiting hours and the funeral on the following Saturday. It was held at a local church and it was a beautiful service. I kept struggling with balancing the intimacy of my personal relationship with Cassidy and the greater and bolder impact I knew that our connection represented. After all, we hadn’t known each other very long and by most standards, not very well at all. It was not until she was well advanced in her disease that I had the privilege of getting to know her the evening we had dinner and shared our experiences. But the true beauty lies in the fact that God’s love knows no time or boundaries. His love is not limited to the contexts and confines of this world. Cassidy and I did not need to know each other in the human context to connect in a deep and intense spiritual way. We simply had to extend our hearts in love, even if it was just for a moment.

At the funeral Mass, I prepared to receive Holy Communion by reflecting deeply in prayer. I rose from the pew, entered into the aisle, and approached the priest to receive the host. “Ave Maria” (the Hail Mary prayer in Latin) was radiating in song throughout the church as Mass participants made their way to Communion. The sun shone brightly through the vaulted glass ceiling of the church, illuminating the path down the aisle. If ever there was a time when I thought that only God could create a moving moment like this, it was now. I bowed before the priest before accepting the host, and as I looked up, I looked directly into the eyes of a familiar face. The priest presiding over Cassidy’s funeral was the only priest who had ever heard any part of my story, the one who brought me back into the church in a loving and nonjudgmental way. This was the priest who guided Steve and me through pre-marriage counseling and helped us both so much. At this point, I knew that somehow things had come full circle. After seven years of struggle, strife, reflection, and growth, I knew I was getting close to the beginning of the next chapter in my life, a major component of which would be sharing my story more broadly with others.

As for Cassidy, I cannot imagine the impact that her story will have upon other people in this world. Her impact on me is profound and our connection through “our Blessed Mother,” as she referred to her, is deep and everlasting. She brought me inspiration and hope—inspiration to complete my manuscript and hope that people would see beyond my own experiences. The non-denominational chaplain also provided light in a time of need to Cassidy, and she did it in a way that crossed religious boundaries. She demonstrated the true meaning of respect and love for one’s neighbor.

The real story is an invitation and opportunity to respond to the deep, penetrating love of God. Cassidy not only responded to that invitation but also gave me the great gift of seeing Jesus and Mary work powerfully through her. God gives us Mary through the church as well as throughout the world in her appearances at places such as Medjugorje; Lourdes, France; Fatima, Portugal; Knock, Ireland; Kibeho, Rwanda; and Guadalupe, Mexico. He gives us Mary to call us back to Him, and this call is for everyone. God does not discriminate. He simply extends his love to us in all possible ways.

A senior professional at work once made false, disparaging comments to others about me that were likely to damage my professional reputation. This person was in a position of authority over me and had the power to affect my employment. I became incensed and thought of confronting him, but it probably would have resulted in negative consequences. I did speak to a colleague about the situation and determined that the best course was to focus on being professional and influencing his perceptions of me going forward. This was very difficult to do but I knew I had to handle the situation constructively. I also knew on a spiritual level that this was an opportunity to approach things differently. I prayed and asked, What can I do, God? You always say that we are to love our enemies and love those who offend us, but I have no feeling of love for this person, only anger. I ruminated on this a lot and went back and forth on what my husband calls the slippery slope of anger, where I allow myself to be consumed by bitter thoughts and negativity. Then, through deep reflection, God reminded me of something—hate the sin, not the sinner. People do not equal their actions and I should not vilify this person for his one misstep. After all, I can’t just think and write about being spiritual; I have to actually be spiritual. But God took it one step further and encouraged me, through inspiration, to do something that I had no desire to do—pray for this person. It felt awkward and insincere, so I asked God for specific guidance on how to pray, and He showed me a path forward. Although I could not, in good conscience, pray for happiness for this person at that moment, I realized that I could pray sincerely for what God wanted for him. Of course, I could not possibly know what God would want for anyone, so I offered the following simple prayer: “Lord Jesus, I pray in my heart for whatever you desire for this person, spiritually—not what I want, Lord, but what you want for this person. Amen.” When I offered this prayer, I felt relieved. I wasn’t being phony. I still didn’t have positive feelings toward this person, but I knew I could not let my feelings consume me. Saint Faustina wrote in her diary that she did not always particularly feel love toward some people in her life, and this bothered her. Jesus said in a vision to her, “It is not always within your power to control your feelings. You will recognize that you have love if, after having experienced annoyance and contradiction, you don’t lose your peace but pray for those who have made you suffer and wish them well.”4 This quote brings me hope and strength, because often I don’t feel emotionally good inside about people or situations. But I know if I pray for them, I am following God’s will. Of course, I ultimately do hope to be able to feel emotionally better about all my interactions, but I am realistic that it will not always be the case. We are complex human beings with myriad experiences. We will never be fully able to understand one another. I understand now that building each other up is much more fruitful than ripping each other apart. This is what we are up against within ourselves—choosing the right spiritual behavior, fighting the battles of our heart. Gandhi once articulated this concept poignantly when he stated, “The only devils in this world are those running around inside your own hearts, and that is where all our battles should be fought.”5