Grey is November

By Mattie

Grey is November,

cold as cold.

Stormy November,

wind and rain.

No snow. 

No ice.

No glittering sun.

Grey is November,

except

by the bright fire

with a story, 

a cushion for the cat,

the dark shut outside

and

the light in the flames

where mysteries lie

and

we dream.

Elsa Beskow, Around the Year

To me that's exactly what November brings to mind! Just to say the name, I can only see gray skies and a nice warm stove and Joshua reading in front of it:

And yes, it gets this nice with the stove that short sleeves are the only option :)

But that's just the cozy side of things :) What about the spiritual aspect of it?

Well to me it is grey as well! Funny isn't it!? Maybe it is because this month is dedicated to the Souls in Purgatory? Or maybe because it's the last stretch before Advent (my favorite Liturgical Time)? I am not sure, but to me November = grey.

So shall we look into this grey month and find some glittering sun?

Well, first of all there is the radiant sun of the Feast of All Saints on November 1st!

Wow, what a fantastic feast! To be able to celebrate ALL the Saints in one day! As a family we first go to Mass, since it is a Holy Day of obligation, and then we gather all of our saints icons, holy cards, etc... and make a beautiful altar displaying them all with candles and foliage. And then the best part: stories! (I told you this poem was EXACTLY what November means to me :)) We gather all of our saints books and start reading. And that's how we spend our day: no school, just saints! And of course cake and candies!

Next is All Souls Day, on November 2nd. Another beautiful day for us to start with Mass to pray for the souls of our deceased loved ones.
Here are the guidelines to obtain a Plenary Indulgence on that day as well (or during the that week).
At home, I have made a poster with the pictures of all our deceased loved ones, and I add funeral cards every year. We leave this poster displayed for the month and pray for each soul everyday. And that is where the story part comes in: talking to the children about each departed soul! What a memory maker and how much the children love to learn about their deceased family members and remember dear friends.

The Passage of Souls by Louis Janmot (18140-1892)

On the 3rd, it is Saint Martin de Porres! A ray of sunshine straight from Peru. Maybe Rudy and Carmen will be able to share a little bit of the Peruvian traditions that accompany his feast day... Stay tuned!
Also on the 3rd is a favorite patron saint in our house: St. Hubert! Patron saint of hunters! He gets a cake with a Playmobil elk and a hunter (usually a knight)!

Cool hunting shirts can be found here

November 11th: Veterans Day and St. Martin de Tours' feast day. Perfect day to donate old coats to a homeless shelter! He is the Patron Saint of tailors ... and drunkards!
Horseshoe Cookies for Martinmas

November 13th: St. Frances Xavier Cabrini. For us Denverites, nothing easier than to go visit her shrine in Golden!
Italian Fare for the Feast of Mother Cabrini.

November 16th: St. Margaret of Scotland
A Scottish Feast to Celebrate Saint Margaret and Saint Andrew (November 30th)

November 22nd: Saint Cecilia, patroness of musicians and the Academy of Music in Rome.
Just turn up the music! This year, her feast day falls on Thanksgiving day: a good opportunity for double celebration!

November 25th: Christ the King
A big day in our family as it is both Christian and Christine's feast day, or name day!
We do celebrate everyone's name days throughout the year. Not as big a deal as birthdays but still we have cake and the person's whose feast day it is receives a small spiritual/religious present. We started with a book or movie about their patron saints (including middle name patron saints) and are slowly moving towards favorite saints, devotions, etc... Books, Icons, etc... make wonderful Name Day gifts.

On November 27th, we celebrate the Miraculous Medal of the Blessed Virgin Mary. This is a special day for Christine and Christian because it is the day they met! This year will mark for them the 38th anniversary of their meeting.

And then off into Advent! Yeah!
So give thanks, find the glittering sun during this grey month, and praise the Lord!

Click here to read on the lives of all the saints for the month of November. Make sure to bookmark this site!

Shaped by the Past, part I

By Christian

Our family trunk

Not long ago, one evening after dinner, I was showing our friends Mike and Marylyn a beautiful wooden trunk from Alsace, dated 1776, that I'd inherited from my Mom. It had been in the family since… 1776! I also showed them some antique silver Berber jewelry from Morocco that I had just brought back to the USA. Then Mike asked me how my ancestors had gotten to Morocco in the first place. 

I’ll jump from 1210, where we find the first trace of a Petrus Meert in Belgium, to the 19th century. To make a long story short, our family, on my father’s side, originated from Belgium. After the Napoleonic wars, they settled in France. At least three of our ancestors fought with Napoleon. Their names are engraved in the Arch of Triumph in Paris, on the Champs Elysées: Général Jean François Aimé Dejean, and his son Général Pierre François Marie Auguste Dejean (whose son became the French Minister of War in 1870, when France lost Alsace-Lorraine to the Germans, first link to my Mom’s side of the family), and Baron Général de Chamorin killed at Campo Mayor, Portugal in 1811.

Arc de Triomphe, Paris

My great, great grandfather was already French and had opened the very famous Chocolaterie Meert in Lille It's still in business today, and still very famous, though sadly not in the family anymore, but still bearing the name. 

Emblem of the Meert's chocolaterie

The General

My great grandfather was a general in the French army, Albert Ambroise Antoine Meert. He came to Tangiers, Morocco, for his son’s wedding to my grandmother on February 19, 1917. The general, his wife, and their daughter got stuck in Morocco after the wedding because of the German submarines patrolling the Gibraltar Chanel. They were still there for the birth of my Dad in Tangiers, Dec. 20, 1917.

At the time, most European countries were fighting to annex as many colonies as possible. France fought against the Turks in Algeria. The Turks had occupied most of the Mediterranean basin for centuries, including Palestine and Israel. France's main goal was to stop piracy in the Mediterranean, to free Christian slaves/prisoners, and all Christians who had been forcibly converted to Islam, the Janissaries. Then the French moved on to Tunisia, in the East, to Morocco, in the west, and to the Sub-Saharan countries of Africa to the South.

Hélène

When I was a child, we kept the general’s uniforms in a large steel case along with his swords and hats. He had been governor of Dunkirk and St Malo, and had an impressive series of medals; the most impressive one was a huge star of gold and vermeil that he had received from the Tsar in person in 1901. He had been a prisoner in Germany from 1870 to 1871 and had served in Algeria and other wars and colonial conquests.

By now, you know that my grandfather, Michel Henry Meert had married in Tangiers. My Grandmother, Hélène, whom I never knew because she died in 1945, was a French lady whose family originated from Valparaiso, Chile. They were in the import/export business. She was an artist, and moved to Tangiers with her family because of health problems. In Tangiers, she founded a live theater company. One day my grandfather happened to be an understudy for a sick actor, and the rest, as they say, is history. 

Her father was an inventor, and Freemason. 

He had invented the radial tire, but lost his invention to Michelin after a painful trial. 

He had also invented a transportation network of hot air balloons for Paris, a sort of aerial transport system where people could access and leave the balloons from rooftops. Sadly, it never took off.

Michel Henry

 

Michel Henry arrived in Morocco while serving in the military in 1912. Poor timing that made him stay there during and after WWI. 

The French Maréchal Lyautey was in charge of Morocco during WWI and kept all military personnel there to continue the development of the infrastructure: roads, railroads, electrification, telephone, and more. My grandfather worked for a Franco-Spanish railroad company that was building the railroad from Tangiers to Fez. As proof of originality, they named it the Tangiers-Fez Company. 

He was in charge of surveying construction and buying land from the local tribes.

From what I've been told, they had a pretty good life there, and lived on a grand scale. My grandparents had four children, starting with my dad, Pierre Ghislain, who was born in Tangiers, in 1917. I know they lived in Meknes, Morocco, for a while, to follow the railroad construction, Meknès being only 60 km from Fez. (More exciting stories to come...)

Back to Earth

By Christian
(continuing from previous post)
The Lord poured upon me so many graces after that, that I knew it had really happened, it had been real. I devoured the Scriptures, especially the Acts of the Apostles. I knew what it meant to chew the Word of God. I couldn’t stop reading, couldn’t stop praying. Everything was so clear. I knew that what I read in the Scriptures was the Truth. 

At that time I was traveling extensively in Muslim countries for my job, and to Libya in particular. There, it was forbidden to have a Bible. So I hid it in my underwear when going through customs. 

I read constantly when I was not meeting people. The guys I was competing against called me the Priest. Back home, I couldn’t see the Host or pray the Our Father without crying abundantly. I couldn’t stand to hear anyone gossiping. I remember, once, we were leaving the Church, and we met some friends. When they said something negative, just negative about another person, I left. I couldn’t stand it.
At the same time it happened that I saw only what was good, truly good in people and couldn’t see what was not good. I felt the presence of God all the time; I could talk and listen to Him, but not only to Him, also to Mary, to the Saints, especially to Saint Joseph.
I never had this vision of Mary and of this Light again, at least I don’t think so, but I know I encountered God in a very tangible, sensible way. The veil between the visible and the invisible had been lifted for a brief moment, and my life couldn’t be the same anymore.

We started to pray with our friends, faithfully every week, for many years. We also started to revive the parish. We organized a choir and sang at the Sunday Masses, we re-started Adoration that had been long forgotten. We taught Catechism, prepared youths to receive the Sacrament of Confirmation, did marriage preparation. One time I was at an empty hospital Chapel, kneeling and praying in the first row facing the Altar that was just a few feet away. 

Hospital Chapel, Le Creusot, France

Behind the Altar there was a painting of Jesus on the Cross, we could see Jesus with his open wounds and I got sucked into the wound on his side, but didn’t have the guts to go, so I stopped right there. For surfers or body surfers, you know this feeling when you are at the top of the wave and you look down and you say to yourself, “I can’t do this one”.
Another time during Adoration, I was facing a statue of St Joseph, and I felt that he was really there with me. I didn’t have any doubt about St Joseph’s presence.
During all this time, I thought everybody had the same connections. I was sure the Pope had conversations with Christ and the Saints, that he was receiving their help and advice in a very palpable way, like Joan of Arc. Speaking of Joan of Arc, I have to tell you this story. I had a Catholic friend who was in prison in a Muslim country. His competitors found a way to trap him, under a National Security case so he would be sent to prison and couldn’t get a lawyer. He was kept in secrecy, with no public hearing, no trial, for many years. It was completely unjust! Then I had a dream where I saw his judge telling my friend: “Now you can go, you are free and don’t complain it was an injustice. Many people had to suffer injustice in many countries. Look at Joan of Arc!” 

Why did I have such a strange dream? What did Joan of Arc have to do with a Muslim country? Well, a few months later I had a call from my friend’s secretary. She was so happy to tell me that he had been freed that very same day. It was the feast of Joan of Arc.
Another time, I was visiting some friends in Nebraska, and was supposed to attend a business Christmas party three hours drive from my friends’ house. There was an ice storm warning the whole morning on TV and on the radio. It rained the whole morning and the rain froze instantly when reaching the asphalt.

So I decided to leave early. I almost had to crawl to reach the car, a huge station wagon from the sixties that weigh a ton. The road was covered with 1/2 inch of crystal clear ice. On the highway there was a lot of traffic, everybody hurrying, slowly, to get home; things were getting hectic. I was driving slowly, and without warning the car started to veer and make circles; I could see the lights from the cars coming from every direction through the windshield, in the rear mirror. I just had time to say:  “Oh Lord no, not now, please!" I knew I was going to crash and it was going to be pretty bad. Well that didn’t happen. I landed peacefully on the left side of the highway (there was no middle separation) and got stopped by a few inches high snow drift, just before the ditch. Only the front plate got bent.
A few years later we left our relatives, friends, house, job, and finally our country, to live a life of prayer in a Catholic Community where families could live with priests, brothers, nuns and other families. We sold our house and belongings, shared the produce with our daughters and the poor and woke up one day knowing that we depended on God only for everything.

Community of the Beatitudes
Monastery of the Visitation where we entered in 1990
Pont Saint Esprit, France

We went to the Holy Land and I was so longing to receive more graces, visions. But I was very disappointed; I felt I had received nothing special. That wasn’t true, of course. I had felt such a strong presence of the Lord when we were in the upper room, where Jesus instituted Eucharist. That was not good enough for me who had already received so much. Still I wanted more goodies, more sweet stuff. I wanted to feel the presence of the Lord all the time. It didn’t happen; the Lord had decided it was time for me to stop sucking milk and start chewing on meat.
I don’t have the chill anymore; I don’t cry when I receive the Eucharist or say the Our Father.
I can hear gossip and even gossip myself.
But I know that the veil was lifted at one time and that everything I saw and lived was true. Living in the presence of the living God is our daily experience, He is always with each one of us, always present, always interested, always attentive: “I am with you always, until the end of the age.” Mt 28:20.

Heaven Opens

By Christian
We had already been married seven years and had three gorgeous daughters. We'd bought a beautiful farm house in the country side, close to my wife’s parents in the heart of Burgundy and its famous vineyards.

Our home in Burgundy, France

We had great friends with children the same age as ours. We were healthy, the children were great. Business was very good, money was not a problem.

Christine had started going back to Church after a deep conversion and I was going too, once in a while. More often, I stayed home with the children while she was at Mass. I felt a little jealous of her relationship with God and the Church. I sometimes resented having to baby-sit instead of  spending time with her, doing something fun. I felt as if God were stealing her away from me. It’s true, also, that I didn’t much like having spiritual conversations; it made me uncomfortable.

My Franciscan aunt

I had been raised Catholic; Sunday Mass, Catechism, some family prayer, the whole deal. I had gone to a Christian Brothers Elementary School, I had been to all the convents in my native Morocco to visit my aunt, who was a Franciscan nun, and my uncle was a Franciscan priest. We had spent a lot of time together, often going on long trips just the two of us. Then, at sixteen or seventeen, I became disinterested in my faith and drifted away. That was a sort of protection too; at that time the Church was in a turmoil. It was the sixties/seventies. I am glad my Mom never told me about our Boy Scouts Chaplain, who'd left to get married to a nun. It would only have justified my leaving the Church.

When I saw that Christine was going back to Church, praying, and enjoying it, I realized I was not fully happy, even though everything was going so well. I looking back at times when I had felt more fulfilled. I had enjoyed very much the beautiful Masses, full churches, the processions of the Blessed Sacrament, or the processions for Mary's Feast days, and the bells and smells. I also loved when, with my Mom, we prepared food boxes and visited poor people, mainly elderly, at a time when there was no social security and no retirement plans.
But now I was a grown man, a business man, and I was traveling all over the world meeting important people.

The Business Man (on the far left) in Italy!

I started to think: “I understand my Protestant brothers who talk directly to God. They don’t have to go through a priest for Confession. They don’t have to worry about the ritual of the Mass, when to kneel, sit or stand. They don’t have to worry about the Saints or the Virgin Mary. They talk to God like equals, so they can have adult conversations”. (When I was an Altar boy I was always afraid I would forget what I had to do, so I have been always a “flower pot”, just for decoration, doing nothing).
I knew very little of the Protestant way.
I thought Catholicism was too complicated and didn’t understand why we should learn about the Saints. What was their role? What about the Virgin Mary? That was too complicated.
I just wanted to talk to God directly, one on one, and everything would be just fine.

I was thirty-two when Christine and her sister trapped their husbands into a pilgrimage to Yugoslavia, via the Club Med. We were the only pilgrims at the Club Med.

The Church in Medjugorje, June 1984

Since that wasn’t enough, they dragged us, the same summer, to a one week retreat in Ars, France, with 5,000 people. Ars is the village of St Jean Vianney, the good Cure of Ars.
I was OK for the one week retreat, that was a good way to reconnect. I didn’t feel like going to a priest and talking. Talking about what? Why should I talk to anybody about my interior questions and my spiritual life when I could talk to God directly? I didn’t need to go through any third person.

Ars 1984

That one week retreat turned out to be a charismatic gathering, and all these smiling and joyful, exuberant people, were really getting on my nerves. But hey, I gave one week to the Lord. I was going to talk to Him and so I didn’t care much about the surroundings and all these people. Most of them were camping, but we stayed at a hotel.

The second evening was an evening of Reconciliation. I had my eyes closed and I was trying to pray when I started to shake. I felt as if I was holding 460 volts of naked wires in my bare hands. It was going all through my body in several waves. I thought: “Not me, not me, I didn’t ask for anything, I just came to look. I don’t want to do anything."
I felt like Zechaius; I wanted to see and not be seen. I wanted to be a spectator, not an actor. I knew something was happening!
Then somebody came to me in what I’d call a vision. It wasn’t God, no. It was the Virgin Mary.

Mary as depicted in Medjugorje

She was very young, very petite, and beautiful. She was maybe five feet above the ground, as though floating. She was in a very green pasture sloping down, surrounded by short stone walls. The Virgin didn’t say a word. I could see her blue eyes and dark hair; her lips. She was dressed in a long dress; the color of the dress was very dark, almost black but still very bright, full of light at the same time. It made me think of the color of black storm clouds when hit by the setting sun in summer.
Saint Pio used to call her, "Abyss of Grace, Incomparable Masterpiece, and Woman Clothed in Light. The Light of God flows into her and she - reflecting like a mirror - sends it back out onto humanity."
She had a very sad smile; she just looked at me.
Since I didn’t know what to do or say, I felt like I had to present to her all my family and friends. That’s what I did, as though I were presenting this long line of people to my Queen.
This is when she really smiled; she kind of even restrained herself to laugh joyfully. I don’t know why she laughed at that moment. Since she didn’t say a word, I felt like it could mean: “I know you and I know all your relatives and friends." Or , “I came for you and you only,” or even, “You're nice, it’s cute what you are doing,” or something like this. I felt comfortable, but shy and awkward. It lasted awhile and I felt it could have lasted longer. She welcomed everyone with this gentle smile; I could see her teeth, her hair moving. There was just one of my friends that she was not happy to meet; I had the feeling that she was repulsed by him.
Without noticing any changes in where we were, I sensed that she was leading me to a spot on my right side, up. And there I was, in front of a great light, nothing I have seen before, nothing I can describe.

Pope Benedict XVI once said that “when one has the grace to sense a strong experience of God, it is as though seeing something similar to what the disciples experienced during the Transfiguration: for a moment they experienced ahead of time something that will constitute the happiness of Paradise. In general, it is brief experiences that God grants on occasions, especially in anticipation of harsh trials.”

“While he was still speaking, behold, a bright cloud cast a shadow over them, then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.” Matt. 17: 5.

Yes, it was beautiful! Only years later could I compare it to what I read about people having had an after-life experience; the tunnel of light, and then this huge, magnificent light, so powerful. I knew I was in The Presence of the source of Light and Love. I was in the presence of God. It felt so good. No words can describe it. This was where I belonged; this was where I wanted to spend the rest of my life; my eternity. I stayed there in awe and didn’t want to move, not knowing what was happening. Everything of this world around me had disappeared; I didn’t feel the presence of anyone, didn’t hear the music nor the prayer. I was crying of happiness, and then I had to go back!

I didn’t know what had happened. I couldn’t talk about it. It took me a full year before I could talk about this experience to my wife and then many more years before I could talk about it to close friends and then I could give my testimony whenever I felt it was good to talk about it no matter who or what. The only thing I had decided on the spot was that I wanted to come back to this gathering the following year.

Instructors Interview: How Did You Meet?

By Carmen and Rudy

Funny, sincere, easygoing…this is how my friends describe me. And, what does Rudy say? Loving, pretty, spontaneous, caring, and the list goes and goes! Well, “Papi” (this is my special way to call him) doesn’t see my flaws!

Rudy has always been more difficult to share what he thinks or feels. Well, not until he knows you well and when this happens you will just find he is a sensitive, caring, funny, protective, golden-hearted man! My list can also goes on and on!

Let’s go back to the late 80s…It was time to organize our first School Reunion ever. Santa Angela is still a well known school in a small neighborhood in Lima, the capital city of our beautiful Peru. He happened to be the representative member of his class and so was I. We soon found each other delightful and enjoyable to be with.

We became very close friends even before thinking that God had brought us together for a specific mission: help people build strong Christ-centered marriage. Of course, we didn’t know that back then! We were just good friends doing what good friends do: laugh, chat for hours, and have fun!

It was New Year’s Eve 1988. Let me just say that in Peru, New Year’s Eve is a huge celebration. Most families and friends gather together before midnight, have a scrumptious dinner, firecrackers, nice decorations like yellow flowers for good luck, whistles, hats, and of course loud music! Salsa, merengue (latino rhytms) can be heard in every house as well as people cheering (we are so loud!) and simply having fun until dawn!

Well, it was almost 5:00 a.m. when “Papi” told about his feelings for me. He is so respectful and earnest that after I said I love him too, he organized a dinner with his mom and step dad to let them know about our brand-new dating relationship.

Those years we still lived in our beautiful Lima, Peru. I was working as an Elementary teacher while he was still finishing his studies of Electronics and working at a local gym as a Karate Sensei (coach) (Oh yeah! He is a black belt!) when we found ourselves deeply in love for each other! He was so romantic! I still remember getting out of work and finding my favorite piece of candy attached at the windshield wiper of my car with a little love note!

J Rudy would put into action his artist skills and draw nice pictures of Garfield, cartoon we both enjoyed watching, that I still keep.

We had some ups-and-downs but who has not? When we found ourselves ready for a commitment, we planned our Engagement Dinner. Oh yeah! It’s not like here in America! There are no kneeling and private times! Rudy came to my parents’ house with his mom and step dad to talk to my mom and dad about us getting married. After living 10 years in the USA, this sounds funny to us but back then, it made total sense since we wanted to honor and follow our customs and this was one of those!

We got married on December 17, 1993. There was no moving in together, no need to live together before marrying to prove our love was sincere and forever. At church, my dad walked me down the aisle, and what a surprise! My 4^th grade students were perfectly aligned to the sides of the aisle holding flower bouquets and smiling at me. 

Since then, we have shared our lives entirely thanking God for bringing us together. Almost 19 years after, we do still enjoy spending time together, dancing, watching movies, traveling, and looking at each other’s eyes while saying every day, even more than once, “Te amo, mi amor” (I love you honey) and praying to continue living a happy marriage and aging together until the very last day of our lives.

Next Child Post-Abortion Trauma

By Mattie

This is only my personal testimony, not the proof of any study.

I am, as most of you already know, the oldest daughter of Christian an Christine. They have asked me to write this as a follow up to their testimony.

When I was about eight years old, my mother decided to take me to see a psychologist, due to several issues I was experiencing.

The main issues were a tremendous fear of separation from my parents, to the point where it would make me physically sick (throwing up, fevers and chill, etc...). EVERY time my parents left, no matter the amount of time.

Another issue was my fierce temper; I just couldn't get along with my mother. We were constantly fighting. Of all our clashes, though, homework time was a nightmare (so much so that my sister became an A+ student in order to avoid having to do homework with my Mom) any kind of request from my mother would put me into a terrible rage.

Mattie, 8 years old

We ended up having only one visit with the psychologist and here's how it went:

First, Mom and I went in, the psychologist asked Mom what the issues were, etc...

Then the psychologist made me play a few games, draw a few things, and finally called Mom back in, actually asking me to wait in the waiting room.

The psychologist discussed with Mom her past, and my past, and Mom told her that she had had an abortion three years before getting pregnant with me.

“That’s it!” the psychologist said. “She knows about it! Subconsciously she knows about it! You have to tell her, and tell her now!” Then she called me back in, and Mom painfully explained to me what had happen, not getting into details because the psychologist was still in the room.

Feeling confused, as though the task was not finished, Mom took me to the park afterwards, and actually talked to me about it in more detail and greater intimacy. We also prayed about it.

We sat in front of this fountain to talk

Since then, I stopped panicking each time my parents had to leave and our relationship has evolved tremendously. If my husband was not my best friend, I would say that my mother is. We share many things together from scrapbooking to working side by side in our family owned business!

It has also kept me from making the same mistake. I avoided promiscuity and anything that could put me in a situation where I would be at risk.

And this was in 1986! In Socialist France! They know, the psychologists, the doctors, they know the damage abortion creates! But the money is more essential to them. So please do yourself and your children a favor. If you have had an abortion, share it with them, let them know! It will truly heal your family! It will be hard, yes, but SO worth it!

Mom and I

Struggling to the Surface

Christian
It’s very hard to revisit these times, very painful.
Not only for the loss and the pain of losing this baby, but also for the pain I had inflicted on Christine. I should have been her protector and I did nothing. I was desensitized completely. Pregnancy was an abstract concept to me; it didn’t seem real! Pregnancy was dissociated from baby.
Now, when I see ultrasounds of babies at every stage of life, pictures, and movies of the baby’s development, I can’t understand how we could have done what we did. It’s beyond imagination, beyond comprehension! A baby in the womb is so real, so alive.

Père J.M. Desbois

Christine
God in his Providence put a very holy priest on my path, Father Jean-Marie Desbois, a friend of my Mom’s family. I cannot remember exactly when, after the abortion, I met with him and confessed, but I think it was pretty soon. I didn’t feel the effect of this Confession right away, and I kept on living in sin. I kept this terrible event locked inside and would push the lid of the box shut each time it would attempt to open.

Only after our wedding in 1977 did the healing really begin. What is this grace we receive on our wedding day? Christ gives us a tremendous gift at that moment: He offers us the capacity to love each other as He loved the Church. He makes us capable of sacrificial, self-giving, selfless love; He offers us Agapè.

July 2nd, 1977

I was broken by my sin, hurting deeply, unable to truly love and give myself. Christian was deeply wounded too. Christ had to heal us first in order to allow us to become able to love fully.

The healing happened in steps--and is still going on!

After the first step of Reconciliation, today I can see the second step in the powerful testimony of a friend.
It was the end of 1981, and we lived in Aix en Provence. My Mom had asked me to pray for my brother’s endangered marriage. We didn’t go to church much, but I had decided to stop at the cathedral on my way back from ballet classes. But then time was short and I was about to change my mind, when I saw one of the ladies in my ballet class enter the cathedral. I thought, ‘if she’s going, I’m going.’ I went in behind her and asked her if it was where she came to mass. She told me she wasn’t Catholic but liked to stop here to pray. She then told me the story of her conversion! I was deeply touched and envious! Her story triggered a strong desire in me: I also wanted to have an encounter with Christ.

Aix en Provence, Cathedral Holy Savior

I made up my mind to go to a prayer group in Marseille. My sister had been praying with them when she lived there. It was a huge decision for me because I had learned to drive in Nebraska, and driving conditions around Marseille were vastly different! I hired a baby sitter for our two daughters, as Christian was on a business trip, and I left. I was scared, but I made it! I wasn’t good at parallel parking and the only parking spots there were parallel. I was about to give up and go home when this huge, American style car left, giving me ample space to practice my parking skills! I had no idea what a charismatic prayer group was. I joined the group and started praying with everybody. At one point, the leader invited those who wanted to kneel in the center to be prayed upon. I hadn’t come all this way for nothing, so I volunteered. I knelt and everyone started praying over me. The leader said this sentence (I thought it came from the Bible): “Come, my child, come and throw yourself into my ocean of love.” To me it was God the Father addressing me! I felt a great peace and a great joy come upon me. I felt I had been forgiven, I felt loved as never before! It was February 2^nd, 1982, the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord. 

Marseille, Notre Dame de la Garde

The priest who was there also said that many knots were being untied within me and would continue to be untied in the coming months. This is how I started praying again. I started going back to mass every Sunday, and sometimes even during the week, or whenever possible. I started praying the Rosary daily, too, praying for Christian to experience this encounter also. I was back on track, the healing could continue!

Christian

It took much longer for me to return to God and the Church. But when I look back, it seems that I was away from the Church for a very short time; I hope that’s the way the Lord looks at this period too. Still it wasn’t easy for me to see Christine rediscovering this intimacy with the Lord. I felt kind of forgotten, neglected, jealous, maybe? The Lord was taking away the little time I had with my wife. I didn’t like it too much. But deep in my heart I knew!

I knew that that was the life we were called to. Of course, I resisted a bit, to show that I was still in control, and it’s true that I didn’t know what was going to happen, or where we were going but yes, we were called to the Real Life.

Us then, with Mathilde and Jehanne